[MiSTing] Mercator: Into the Void [TNG, XOVER, MEMIST] [CASTLE] [2/4]
David Thurston
just joining us, please back up one part, and read the exciting events
that lead up to where we are. Or, if you are the kind who enjoys watching
only the second half of a MSTH, then delve on in. Who am I to stop you?
**************************************************************************
[The commercials end, and the crew is already in the theater. Tom is still
humming Tradition to himself.]
>Chapter Seven
>
> "Sir, we have a large vessel coming into our long range sensors."
Tom: Here it is, sir, it appears to be offering the sensors some chocolates,
and using some old pick-up lines.
> Thorn stood,
Mike: And leaned back in his chair.
> and looked up at Miller at the tactical post. "Can you
give
>me any readings from it?"
Crow: Large Vessel, chapter 1, verse 12. And lo, did the vessel aproacheth
the Mercator, and all were afraid.
> Miller stood for a moment,
Tom: Awww, he's like a little Rory Calhoun.
> adjusting the sensors to probe the vessel.
Crow: So THEY'RE behind all of that...no pun intended.
>"Sir, the hull metal matches that little pod almost exactly.
Mike: [Miller] Well, it's metal at least. They're all the same, aren't
they?
> I have no
life
Tom: I'll take awkward line breaks for $200
>form readings on board the vessel. There are what look like some open life
>pod ports. No power readings, except..."
Crow: Will Miller finish the report, or is he himself finished. Tune in
next
week, same crap time, same crap channel.
> Miller had to stop for a moment,
Tom: If you need to stop for a moment from just delivering a post, I would
think you wouldn't be in good enough shape for space travel.
> and readjust the sensors,
Mike: Well, that's an odd way of putting it, but sometimes the gear shift
just
needs a jiggling to put it into park.
> and scan
one
>or two more times before he could allow himself to believe what he saw.
Crow: [Miller] My goodness, it's...it's...our PLOT!
>
"Por
>Dios!
Tom: Ever notice that when Jean Luc mutters "merde," or another crew member
curses in another language, the universal translators magically fail?
Mike: No, I think only YOU notice those things.
> Sir, there is one single power reading in the middle of the craft,
>nearly as strong as the power readings of an entire ship, but concentrated
>into what appears to be a single output of power."
Crow: So it's a big orange juice can?
Tom: Is it redundantly repeated several times throughout the ship?
> Thorn looked up at the tactical officer, took a deep breath,
Tom: *Burp!*
> and
allowed
>him to do the same.
Mike: So now we need permission to breath deeply on ships.
Crow: Gotta preserve oxygen.
> "Miller, you are making very little sense, could you
>please try and specify what you are trying to say?"
Tom: And when you are done, could you find me a kettle to call black.
> Miller closed his eyes,
Mike: And tried to wish, quote, "that bad man away."
Tom: Well that work on this story?
> and tried to order the words that were all
>pouring out of his mouth like an uncontrollable waterfall.
Crow: So he should really stick to the rivers and streams that he is used
to.
> "Sir, I have an
>intense power reading, which accounts for all the power that has been lost
by
>the rest of the ship, of a power that is nearly impossible."
Tom: Actually, I think I understood it better before.
> "Nearly impossible, Miller?"
> "Well, sir, I would call this completely impossible, if I were not seeing
>the readings right here in front of me."
> Thorn decided just to let this drop,
Mike: Now Thorn, please pick your pants back UP.
> as he now had a good idea exactly
>what the lieutenant at the tactical console was trying to say.
Crow: Discretely, he summoned the mental control team on board. Soon Miller
would have a nice padded cell to receive these "readings" in.
> He sat
down,
>and allowed himself a quick, relaxing breath, and asked, "can we get the
>vessel on the main viewscreen?"
> Thorn received no spoken answer;
Tom: His crew insisted on Morse. Let's see, dot, dash...
> instead a large, matte brown cylinder
>appeared on the main viewscreen.
Tom: Captain's Log...
Mike: No!
> The vessel looked as though it was a
larger
>version of the escape pod that the Mercator had encountered earlier, and
>mistakenly destroyed.
Crow: Poor guys. The author is going to hold that one over their heads,
isn't
he?
Mike: Yeah, but I've long passed feeling sympathy for ANYONE in this story.
> There were no signs of damage on the hull. In fact,
>there were no signs of anything on the hull.
Tom: Except the open escape pod bays! Are you reading your own work here,
"Duncan"?!?
Mike: Deep breaths. Frosty. Frosty.
> The spinning brown cylinder had no markings of any kind. Nothing that
>resembled external sensors, deflectors, weapons, or anything else, other
than
>a small opening where the pod apparently came from.
Mike: Since when are fanfic ships designed with budget limitations?
> There were also no
>external markings that identified any alliance, fleet, or even just a
simple
>name for the vessel.
Crow: What a boring little ship.
> "What a boring little ship!"
Crow: Oh no, not again.
> Thorn looked down at the ensign sitting at the helm console,
Tom: [Thorn] My quarters, 1800...
> who had
just
>realized that this observation had been made out loud, and not in the
privacy
>of his own thoughts.
Mike: Damn, I always get those two mixed up.
> Thorn smiled at the comment, though, and agreed quite
>readily with his observation.
> "Ideas?
Tom: What if we held a huge tupperware party, and everyone came, and we
could
have games, and it would be OODLES of fun, and--oh, you mean about the
ship.
> Any guesses about what could have happened here?"
Crow: How many innocent ships must die in the name of plot device?
> Thorn
asked
>this, then turned to each of his bridge crew, and got no response from any
of
>them.
Mike: How many bridge crews does he have then?
> "That's about as far as I had gotten myself."
Tom: All who are surprised, speak up.
> Thorn sat down for a moment,
Crow: At least he gets plenty of knee exercise.
Tom: Of course, that has downsides. [Begins humming The Haunting Torgo
Theme]
> letting the situation fully sink into his
>head.
Tom: Oh, I'd like to sink something into his head.
Mike: Now, now.
Tom: Well, if we wait, the story will keep going!
> Here was a ship, no markings, no damage, yet dead in space, no power
>no lifesigns, and only a single escape pod that had been able to get free
from
>the ship.
Crow: Oh, thanks, I had forgotten.
Tom: Well, he obviously didn't outline, so he needs to remind himself of
plot
points somehow!
> Thorn slowly let out a breath that he had been holding for a few moments.
Tom: At that point his lungs were aching for air!
Mike: He and Hurr certainly pick the oddest times for their little contests.
>"Alright, lets scan the hull of this vessel, does it have the same self
>defense mechanism that was in the pod?"
Tom: Yup, it appears to be set off by scann--oh poopie.
> He heard the sounds of fingers dancing across consoles behind him,
Crow: Nope, close, but they're supposed to walk. Listen, do you want to use
a phone book or not?
>
trying
>to get the information that he had just requested.
> "Sir."
> Thorn looked to see that it was T'Pat that was addressing him.
Mike: Nonstop looking action!
> "Sir,
I
>noticed a background radiation from the escape pod. At the time it
appeared
>to be just background radiation from weapon fire, but as there is no
obvious
>weapon fire against this vessel, that assumption must be assumed as
incorrect.
Crow: I assume that she will assume the previous assumption to have been
assumed incorrectly?
> "I have been reviewing the sensor logs of the previous encounter with the
>pod, and the radiation seems to increase just before the pod exploded.
Tom: Why yes, it is lethalian radiation, quite similar to blow-upium.
>
From
>that I think it is safe to assume that this radiation is some how connected
to
>the destruct mechanism."
Mike: I always remembered Vulcans deducing, not assuming.
Crow: I always remember Star Trek not sucking. At least up to Voyager.
> Thorn slowly nodded his head,
Tom: Shhh, if you listen closely, you can hear a faint rattling.
> "I see your point...so, is this
radiation
>present in this vessel?"
> "No, sir."
> "So it is your expert opinion that it is safe?"
> "Yes, sir."
> "Well, I can only think of one way to test that hypothesis: Miller, latch
>onto that vessel with the tractor beam."
Crow: Why tractor it at all? If they think it will blow up, can't they just
let it float?
Mike: Don't think about it too hard, now.
> Thorn sat down,
Tom: An interesting trick seeing as he never stood up.
Mike: You can't expect to be told every action.
Tom: You're forgetting that we have been thus far.
> and crossed his
>fingers where, he hoped, no one could see.
Crow: Hand check!
> The tractor beam appeared once again, and connected to the alien vessel.
>A tense moment passed as the cylindrical vessel slowed its spin, and
stopped.
Tom: Wow. Now *that* was action.
>Thorn let out a sigh when the alien craft did not explode.
Mike: With all this erratic breathing, does Thorn have asthma?
> "Well, that's a bit of good luck." Thorn looked around the bridge for a
>moment, then stopped his gaze on his first officer.
Tom: Damn, forgot what I was looking for.
> "Hurr, get over there
>with an away team, see what you can get from the vessel. Miller, what is
the
>status of the atmosphere on that vessel?"
Crow: It's a modern, yuppie pub set up, complete with random items nailed on
the walls. Probably best suited for a polo and jeans.
> "Atmosphere is completely in tact, but as in the escape pod it is a
>methane based environment, quite lethal."
Mike: Must be a lot of cows over there.
> Hurr sighed. "Well, looks like the away team is going to need
>environmental suits, then."
Tom: Well, not if they hold their breath reeeeeeeeal long.
> Thorn smiled, able to understand Hurr's dislike of environmental suits.
Crow: Unsightly panty lines.
>Thorn had no great love of the suits himself,
Tom: Except an odd affinity for the magnetic boots.
> but at least this was not to
be
>a zero gravity environment on the alien vessel. Thorn then remembered the
>report that all of the power was out.
Mike: Ha, ha. Does the wackiness stop?
> "Miller, is there any way of telling if the gravity is out over on the
>alien vessel?" Thorn saw Hurr grimace out of the corner of his eye, as the
>first officer realized the answer to this question even before the tactical
>officer had given the answer.
> "Yes, sir, and we are reading zero g's over on the alien vessel."
Crow: And we can't find any f's of h's either.
> "Lucky, lucky me. Zero gravity maneuvers, my absolute favorite subject
>in the Academy."
Tom: Star Trek Cliché #148, he's pulling no stops.
> Thorn listened to the sarcasm that was dripping thick off of his first
>officer's words.
Mike: Sarcasm. Hmm, that's a new one on me. Never heard of it.
> "'Join Starfleet...see the galaxy.'" Hurr looked over at
the
>captain, and laughed at this comment.
> Hurr stood, and tapped his comm badge. "Lieutenant Commander Nicholson,
Crow: You can't HANDLE the--oh, wait, sorry.
>please meet me in the main transporter room for away team duty, and bring a
>security officer of your choice."
Tom: Doesn't really matter whom. Oh, and don't name it, or you may get too
attached.
> "Aye, sir." Thorn smiled at the enthusiasm in the soft, feminine voice
>of his chief of security.
Crow: He then shuddered when he remembered that his CSO was Worf.
> She had not had much action since the tour had
>begun,
Mike: Well, that seems to be unnecessary prying into the personal lives of
the crew.
> and he completely understood her viewpoint.
Crow: I'm sure he does...
> Hurr thought for a moment,
Tom: Tee-hee, wooo-man.
> then opened a new comm frequency. "Doctor
>Markham,
Mike: [Letterman] Jojo, Bobo. Bobo, Jojo. Have you two met Cocoa?
> please meet us in the main transporter room for away team duty.
>Lieutenant Miller, I could also use your expertise on this mission."
Crow: His technical expertise?
Mike: I think we can drop that now.
> Miller stood, allowing a red shirt ensign to take over his post, then
>followed Hurr off of the bridge, and into the turbolift to the transporter
>room.
>
>Chapter Eight
Tom: I'll say it. I miss Barclay. He was in this story, wasn't he?
>
> Five environmental suits materialized in the hallway of the dead alien
>vessel.
Mike: It would probably have been best to put those on over on the Mercator,
and not expect the team to dress in zero-gee.
> The figures were comfortably able to stand, as the ceiling stood
>about a half a meter above the tallest of them, the ensign security officer
>chosen by security chief Amy Nicholson.
Crow: Under the same logic that lightening always hits the tallest tree.
> Hurr turned his head as far as the suit would allow him in each
>direction, and as soon as he was certain that the transporter effect was
over,
>he opened the suit intercom to each of the members of the away team.
Tom: Right now, I'd prefer he open his suit faceplate.
> "Alright, mag-boots on,"
Mike: So they are boots that you twist the toe on, and a ultrabright light
comes on.
Tom: Bit of a stretch.
> he said, and then obeyed his own order,
falling
>the few centimeters that he had risen since beaming over.
Crow: Know what I like about Star Wars? Everywhere one turns, there are
bottom-
less pits for characters to fall down. What do we get here? A few lousy
centimeters.
> Hurr then began to slowly lumber forward,
Tom: But he's OK.
> moving slowly under the
>artificial gravity of the mag-boots.
Mike: See how the author subtly gives the idea of Hurr moving slowly.
Bots: Ohhhhh.
> His main complaint with zero gravity
>maneuvers was mass.
Crow: His main laude to zero-gee was having Amy along. Rrowr.
> It was uncomfortable for him to have absolutely no
>weight, but still having mass that needs to be started, and momentum that
had
>to be stopped, both of which were always difficult for him to master.
Mike: Well, technically, they both have momentum, and the overall problem
here
is actually inertia.
Tom: Must you vindicate authors?
> The ghastly silence within his helmet was difficult for him to ignore.
Crow: So he quietly calculated the ratio of the opposite side of the
triangle
to the adjacent side.
>He was always used to background noises. Engines, consoles, background
>conversations,
Mike: People screaming.
> all of these assailed him at ever moment of his life aboard
a
>starship until they became a simple background white noise.
Tom: Out of which came the simple truth that they were all after him, and
that he would have to act while he could.
> Here, however,
>all of that was absent, and Hurr had to adjust to the overwhelming silence.
> Hurr stopped, and allowed Miller a moment to scan with his tricorder.
Mike: Sir, could you stop introspecting, I have work to do.
>
He
>did so, sweeping it very slowly back and forth, and occasionally changing
the
>settings a bit, so as to get a better look of some things.
Crow: [Stimpy] This thing makes the neatest noises!
> "Sir, the energy reading is coming from almost directly in front of us,
Tom: [Jimbo] It's coming right for us!
>and it appears to be in a large room. It's possibly an engineering bay,
>possibly a bridge,
Tom: Possibly the lair of Gorga the Spider Woman.
Crow: Possibly a bowling alley.
Mike: Possibly a guy who has been shuffling around on the carpet for
centuries.
> there is no real way to know what exactly the purpose of
>the room is without any power readings from the ship itself to help us."
> Hurr listened to the report with interest, and saw no need for the away
>team to split up quite yet,
Crow: But for laughs, he orders the security ensign to wander off, in hopes
of finding some plot.
> so he motioned everybody onwards with a swing
of
>his suited arm. As his arm followed through, he quickly regretted the
move,
>finding it a bit more difficult than usual to stop it.
Tom: Ah that wacky Hurr. Next a large lampshade will "accidentally" fall on
his head.
> The suited figures moved slowly towards the large chamber ahead,
All: SURPRISE! Happy birthday to you...
> and
the
>anomalous power reading within it. As they walked down the hallways, each
was
>struck by the complete lack of anything. Along the way there were no cross
>halls, no wreckage, no bodies, no doors, no markings,
Mike: No service.
> just a light from an
>unseen source that illuminated the way.
> Ahead of them, the opening into the large chamber had no marking of any
>kind.
Crow: Geez. I've seen Ed Wood flicks with better props and scenery.
Tom: At least we're still a leg up on Francis Coleman.
Mike: Yeah, but only a gimpy shriveled one...
> There was simply an enlargement of the hallway, bulging into the
shape
>of the chamber.
Crow: Which is still illegal on 12 of the Federation member planets.
> They stepped in, and looked around the chamber, which was
>nothing more than a simple semispherical room devoid of anything.
Mike: Much like the author's skull.
> "This is so damned odd," remarked Nicholson, who had been taking all of
>this in very slowly,
Mike: Which is how the author takes in any information.
> and watched as it absolutely refused to come together
and
>make the least bit of sense.
Tom: Bloody rude of it, I'd say.
> "Who the hell makes a ship like this with no
>external markings of any kind, and nothing inside but a single hallway that
>leads into an empty room?"
Crow: Long hallway leading into a large room. Good thing there wasn't a
series of six doors, or I'd be worrying.
> Miller had kept walking into the room, and now paused in what he was
>satisfied to be the center of it.
Mike: He knew he would regret forgetting his protractor.
> "Maybe this ship is in some kind of
intense
>lock down, that only certain bioreadings can undo."
Tom: Well, Roach Motels don't look all too fancy, yet THEY'RE functionality
isn't decreased.
> The away team looked at him,
Crow: Doing whatever they could to keep straight faces.
> trying to each decided for themselves if
>this solution made any sense at all.
Tom: I know, it's a large model rocket from a species of giants!
> They each came to their own
solutions,
>agreeing in the fact that yes; this was damned odd.
> The team all moved into the large chamber,
Mike: Right, I see, Into the Void, right? Can we go now?
> and clustered a bit around
>Miller in the center of the room. The two security officers were at top
>readiness, almost as though the silence and nothingness of the ship itself
>would attack.
Crow: Oh, ya, well the void'll do that, doncha know?
> Hurr joined Miller in scanning with his tricorder.
Tom: Thank you, SIR, but I can manage by myself, SIR.
> Everything on the tricorder tallied exactly with the ship that was
>surrounding them.
Mike: Isn't that the point?
> The scans showed that the metal was completely
>unextrodinary, no power readings,
Crow: Wait a minute! I thought there were readings. Fanfic, I'd like to
see your supervisor. This simply will not do!
> no radiation, no nothing save the oxygen
>atmosphere that surrounded them.
> "What the hell?" Hurr looked at his tricorder again, then looked over at
>Miller. "Miller, what are you showing as the atmosphere in here?"
Tom: Sort of an haute Californian, a bit pretentious, but in a charming,
almost
self-mocking way. The waiters trained to be snooty is an interesting
touch, as are the uniform cell phones.
> "I don't see why it should no longer be a methane environment, as there
>is no power to any life supports systems that-what the hell?"
Mike: That's where the earth centric view that everything will be
understandable
in human terms, and easily classified, leads you!
> Miller saw it on his tricorder, just as Hurr had: mostly nitrogenous
>atmosphere with enough oxygen to support humanoid life.
Crow: [Scottish] Cause if it isn't humanoid, it's CRRRRAP!
> Hurr and Miller
>looked at their own, and each other's tricorder,
Tom: I notice that my tricorder is getting more readings than that little
one you have, sir.
> unable to believe what
they
>were reading.
Mike: Snig * lets.
> "This was a methane environment when we beamed over,"
Crow: But now we seem to have fallen in a continuity hole...
> Hurr muttered to
>himself,
Tom: Wow, oxygen seems to upset him. Odd.
> then tried to test a hypothesis.
Mike: But the ball of lead fell faster than the tennis ball, and all laws of
physics disappeared with a notable "pop" in the vacuum of space.
> He walked out of the chamber,
and
>scanned the atmosphere out there: oxygen.
Tom: Yes, notice how subtly the author hints at there being an oxygen
atmosphere.
Crow: Actually, Tom, I think you're reading too much into this.
> "Hurr to Mercator."
> "Mercator here, go ahead Commander Hurr." Hurr recognized the voice as
>Thorn's.
Mike: Wow, he's even better than Soupy Sales.
Tom: He sure...huh?
> "Could you please scan the atmosphere in here, we need some verification
>of something."
> Hurr listened to the voices on the other side of the communications link,
Crow: [Hurr] Yes...yes, they must ALL be stopped, you're right. But how?
>and smiled to himself as he heard the confusion from the other end.
Mike: Warp into wackiness with the Mercator!
> Hurr
took
>this as all the answer he needed,
Tom: [Hurr] Yup, ship of fools we be.
> but waited for the official reply from
the
>Mercator.
> "We're reading what appears to be an oxygen atmosphere. I assume that's
>what you were asking about."
Crow: [Hurr] Yup, thanks, the plot point left me confused.
> "You assume right, captain, I'll let you know if we come across anything
>else." Hurr closed the frequency to the ship, and moved back into the
large
>domed room.
> "Well, let's give this a try." Hurr took a breath, and then detached the
>helmet of his environmental suit.
Mike: I wonder how hard it would be to mimic an oxygen reading.
> He shut his eyes tight, and took a short
>breath to test the air. He let it out, and took in a slightly deeper one,
>then finally a regular breath.
Tom: No one will be admitted during the breathtaking breathing scene...oh
poopie, sorry about the pun.
> Hurr took a long, deep breath, and let it out as a satisfied sigh.
Crow: Three straight sentences of nothing but breathing. This is making
Touch of Satan look like a dialogue movie.
>"Smells great! It smells like?"
Mike: Napalm in the morning.
Tom: Rosebud.
Crow: [Valley-girl] It smell like, you know, and some junk?
> He sniffed the air once or twice, and
>crinkled his nose in disgust.
Tom: So then it doesn't "Smell great!"?
> "Is something burning?" He smelled the air
>again. "I definitely smell something burning, it smell like-what the
hell?!"
Crow: Mmm, sulfur!
> Everyone turned to match
Crow: See, sulfur, match, it all falls together...aw, forget it.
Tom: Already had.
> where he was looking, where a string of what
>appeared to be living lightning had danced into the room.
Mike: It's a lightening bolt, lightening bolt, on the floor. And it's
dancing like it's never danced before!
>
> "Sir," Thorn looked up to see what Miller's replacement, Ensign Jons,
>wanted. "Sir, I've lost all contact with the away team, no transporter
lock,
>no communications, I've even lost their life signs.
Tom: And we have lost all quotation marks!
Mike: Now, now, don't nit pick.
Tom: It's what I do.
Crow: [Thorn] Alright, we trained for just such an occurance. I'll get the
champagne, Jons, you replicate some pretzels. Helm, warp nine.
>
>Chapter Nine
>
> Thorn rushed around the bridge
Crow: [Daffy Duck] Woohoo! Woohoo! Woohoo!
> to peer over Ensign Jons' station,
Tom: So he's peering over an ensign's station that he over peered befo--
nevermind.
Mike: Sir, must you read over my shoulder like that?
> and
>ordered a replay of the sensor logs from just before contact was lost.
Crow: [Thorn] And this will show us...Jons, what did I tell you about the
security cameras in female officers' quarters?
> "This will be sketchy at best, sir,
Tom: I know this joke, then the police artist turns around the paper to
reveal a stickman, right?
> but it should show their positions
on
>the ship."
Crow: I said to stay OUT of the bedroom security cams.
Mike: Alright, that's enough.
Tom: I think we should check him out to see if this is a medical condition
like Turret's Syndrome.
> "I understand that, ensign,
Mike: Gee, even Thorn is getting upset with the exposition.
> now please just do it."
Crow: [Somehow "pronounces" the Nike "Swoosh"]
Tom: How the hell did you do that?
Crow: The wonders of a text based medium.
Tom: Ah...huh?
> Thorn had
realized
>that he was beginning to raise his voice at the young ensign,
Mike: Everyone freaks out at Thorn's falsetto.
> but had no
real
>way of stopping himself.
Crow: Oh, and *I'm* the one with Turret's?
> He was not about to loose his first officer,
>tactical chief, chief medical officer, and his head of security all on the
>first away mission of the voyage.
Tom: Though he obviously doesn't mind the thought of losing Ensign Anonymous
Redshirt?
> Thorn tried to relax himself, realizing that he was getting tense about
>this situation.
Tom: A-hem. Ir, to go. Voy, vas, va, vamos, vais, van.
Mike: I refuse to give that joke the acknowledgement of reprimand.
> He reminded himself that tension was perfectly natural
seeing
>as how the situation is what it is.
Crow: I'm Mike Wallace, and that Was the Situation that Was.
> He then scolded himself,
Tom: Do this like Up-Words. I'd like to play an A on top of that O.
> and reminded
>himself of his Starfleet training and his command training:
Mike: It's at times like this, when I'm surrounded by a tense situation,
and about to lose officers in the void of space that I wish I had
listened to my professors at the academy.
Crow: Why, what did they say?
Mike: I don't know, I wasn't listening.
Tom: The Hitchhiker's skit, ladies and gents. Remember to tip your waitress
> never let the
>situation take control of you, or you cannot take control of the situation.
Crow: You must be a master of your own domain, then?
> He then felt silly as he realized what a complex conversation he was
>having with himself.
Tom: Then mortified when he realized he was having it out loud.
> That caused a slight grin that helped to ease away a
bit
>of the tension.
Mike: The Saurian Brandy helped a bit too, it should be mentioned.
> "Here we go, sir, playback from time element 51302,
Tom: That would be Pentuntrenildeucium?
> just as Commander
>Hurr finished his last communication with the Mercator."
> Thorn leaned over the console,
Crow: And was caught off guard by the sharp ring that pierced his pineal
gland.
> and watched the readings go by, until
>everything went silent at about time element 52001.
Tom: Pentdeunilnilunium.
> "Back it up to time
>element 51990,
Tom: Pentun--
Mike: That's *quite* enough of that.
> and play back at one tenth normal speed."
> Jons' did as the captain requested,
Crow: Good boy, have a biscuit.
> and the sensor readings began
again,
>only this time scrolling past much faster than before.
Tom: Care to run that by me again?
Crow: No, bad ensign!
> Suddenly, out of
the
>corner of his right eye, he saw one particular reading that grabbed his
>attention.
Tom: [Jons] Honestly, sir, I don't know how Nicholson's measurements got
included in the sensor readings.
> "Computer, isolate to only show reading of Ytterbic radiation,
Mike: Alright, stop right there. Where the hell did he pull Ytterbium from?
Tom: I think there are some question best left unanswered.
> resume
>play back at 51995, one twentieth normal speed."
Crow: By which I mean run it SLOWER.
> The console went blank; save one bar marked "Ytterbic radiation" which
>lazily fluctuated between point three and point five rads.
Mike: [Geezer] Darn modern radiations. Why, when I was young, I would peak
at eight rads every minute, through the electromagnetic spectrum with
no shoes, uphill both ways.
> Suddenly,
however,
>the radiation spiked to nearly nine rads, then went silent.
Tom: Ha! Just like a radiation reading, peaks, then falls asleep.
> "Lieutenant T'Pat, I don't suppose that it was Ytterbic radiation that
>you accounted for being the fingerprint of the self-destruct mechanism of
the
>pod, would it?"
Crow: What? Were they advancing the plot while we weren't looking?
Tom: Well, since he won't do it while we ARE looking...
> T'Pat looked up, "yes, captain, why do you ask?"
Mike: Oh, gee, I don't know. I thought you might actually be paying
attention,
that's all.
> Thorn restarted the exact same playback speed, and starting place, but
>with all of the sensor elements in tact. He began the playback, and
watched
>as the ytterbic radiation spiked an instant before the away team vanished
from
>the sensors.
Crow: Thrilling Geiger Action!
> "Gentlemen,
Tom: [T'Pat] A-hem??
> I believe we have ourselves a mystery to solve."
>
> The away team was not in as much trouble as the Mercator thought they
>were.
Mike: Oh, well that's a relief, I was worried they had stumbled into some
plot.
> No, no,
Crow: Bad, don't chew!
Tom: When did the friendly-goofy tone of voice begin?
> the away team was in much more trouble than the ship could
>presently imagine.
Mike: I dunno, I can imagine a LOT of trouble.
> They were still on the alien vessel, but they had moved-quite quickly-out
>of the large chamber that they had been in. Unfortunately they left one
>behind.
Crow: So much for saving their asses.
Mike: So much for a PG rating.
> The security officer brought along by Nicholson had been struck by
>the creature, and killed almost instantly.
Tom: Wow, and with no more dispensable crew, you just KNOW they're up a
creek!
Crow: Alas poor...wait, did he even have a name?
> Now the away team was running down the corridor they had beamed into,
>hoping there was something in the far end for them to run towards.
Mike: Do these people ever use tricorders?
Tom: Sure, the problem is they only manage to detect oxygen.
> The
>slender Nicholson was leading the pack of the away team, and was the first
to
>run into the chamber at the opposite end of the hall when they came to it.
Crow: Coming up fast, it's Miller, who is edged out by a nose, then Hurr,
and
bringing up the pack its Jojo "Mojo" Markham.
> "What the hell?"
Tom: Good question, anonymous voice.
> The chamber they had run into was study in contrasts to the rest of the
>ship. In here was what appeared to be, finally, a central control room.
Crow: Then why didn't they go THAT way to begin with.
Mike: Remember what I said about trying to force logic into fanfics?
>
The
>walls of the domed room were lined completely with computer panels. Each
>panel had what appeared to be an old fationed type of keyboards,
Tom: Running it through the spell checker. Hmm, the only suggested
correction
is "fattened."
Crow: Mmm, plump and juicy ramchips, just how I like'em.
> but each
of
>the buttons was as featureless and unlabeled as the rest of the ship.
Mike: Patented "any key" technology.
> The floor was scattered with various pieces of mechanics.
Tom: Yup, here's some back hair, and over there is a butt crack.
Mike: Can't we go for ten minutes without the phrase "butt crack?"
> There were
>various wires, switches, and other, less identifiable pieces
Tom: Small round paisley things that go "poing."
Mike: The engine for a Ford Edsel.
Crow: And a machine that goes "Ping!"
> scattered
about
>in what appeared to be neatly made rows.
Crow: Ready for th' harvest, doncha know.
> Each of the wires was coiled up,
and
>the various wires were placed in a row from the back of the room to the
front.
Mike: Oh, so it's a space faring RadioShack?
>The switches were all aligned the same way, in the same type of row and
with
>the switches all thrown as to face the door.
> "What in the wold is this place.
Mike: Or a "wold" for that manner.
> One hallway, one featureless room,
and
>this."
Crow: This thing with the wires and the buttons and the shenanigans, and
the oy!
> Hurr walked in, and looked around at the various things that were
>lying on the floor.
> "Sir, if I may remind you, there is a seemingly hostile energy
>abnormality."
Tom: How soon they forget. Haha.
> Hurr regarded Nicholson's warning for a moment.
Crow: Hmmm, nope, don't care.
> "You don't honestly think that the energy abnormality is attacking us
>with some kind of malice?"
> "Sir, remember how deliberately it appeared to attack my officer do you?"
Mike: Well yes, but he was an unnamed ensign, how long did you expect him to
survive?
> "Granted, commander, but I'm still a bit weary to actually characterize
>it as 'sentous'
Tom: Or 'lerpunty,' or any number of other random letter bunchings.
> or able of acing with any kind of predisposition.
Crow: So it's neither sentous nor sentient.
> Well, I
>definitely think that I should try and contact the ship now that were safe
for
>the moment."
Mike: As I am unable to think five minutes ahead without the captain's
input.
> Hurr reached down to his comm link on the arm of his suit.
Tom: [Singing] But he'll just keep reaching on.
Mike: The hell does that mean?
Tom: It seemed to fit.
> He
pressed
>for a link to the ship, but only got a buzzing noise. "Dammit!
Crow: Giant bees attacking the ship again. This *always* happens, and they
*always* blame it on "communication failure."
> Go
through!"
>Hurr tried again, then asked Miller to try. Miler reached down, and got
the
>same buzzing noise.
Tom: Well, at least they're...what's the word?
Mike: Persistent?
Tom: No, I was thinking more monotonous.
> "Dammit, now we seem to be cut off from the Mercator!"
Crow: This is a bad thing?
> "Sir, I hate to be the harbinger of more bad news, but it looks as though
>the energy creature, or whatever it is, is moving slowly towards us."
Tom: Damn, and us out of security officers. Alright, who didn't have their
contract picked up for next season?
> "Thank you Nicholson. All right people think.
Mike: A totally random maxim.
Tom: Yeah, but it helps explain the situation nicely.
> I need options, and I
>need them twenty minutes ago!
Crow: Please tell me there won't be any time travelling.
> How long until the 'creature' gets here at
its
>current rate of speed?"
Tom: Well, lets see, the creature left Boston on the 12:10 train, travelling
at...
> Nicholson checked her tricorder.
Crow: All it says is "a profusion of yellow."
> "It looks like at this rate it will
be
>here in an hour."
Mike: Take your time, why don't you?
> "Well, then, it looks like we have our work cut out for us then. Let's
>move."
Tom: Yes, this place was getting drab, what with its featureless walls,
variable atmosphere, and evil energy creatures.
>
> Cunningham ran,
Crow: The shortest verse in the New Mercator Version.
> looking down at his chronometer-where the hell did he
get
>his?-
Mike: Is this the time for shopping hints?
> and saw what it read.
Crow: "A profusion of yellow." I'll be damned.
> "Damn, one hour. Damn, damn, damn, damn..."
Tom: This is suddenly a PG "Four Weddings?"
> and he ran, cursing with
>every puff he breathed out.
Mike: I felt the same way about gym class.
> What it was he was running from was now behind him,
Crow: Well, that *is* the general idea.
> but Cunningham
didn't
>trust anything,
Tom: If he's Mulder, I leave.
> including no amount of distance.
>
>Chapter Ten
Crow: Big fat hen.
>
> "Well, I-I've boosted the power to, uh, the main sensors on the primary
>sensor pod.
Mike: Ah, yes, call in the comic relief.
Tom: Hi, mesah Reg-Reg Barclay!
> This is, uh, all the power that I can push out of the back-up
>systems,
Crow: So, I would suggest only boldly going *forward* for awhile.
> and ever upgrade to the sensors that me or any of my staff can
think
>of."
Mike: "And ever upgrade," sound so Elizabethan.
> Barclay backed off of the main tactical station waiting for a cue
from
>the captain.
Tom: A bad habit he picked up from Bev's acting studio.
> Thorn, seeing that Barclay was waiting for a cue
Crow: Chalked one up, and racked the balls... wow, that sounded dirty.
> gave it to him by
>saying, "And...?"
Mike: Actually the line is "Beheth us with thy knowledge." Lets try again.
> "And, unfortunately, we still can't find the away team. It's like they
>just...disappeared."
> "Thank you, Barclay, good job,
Tom: Way to...find nothing.
> keep on it, and don't be afraid to try
>anything else you think of to boost the power."
Crow: Well, if we shut off all life support, and...
> Barclay retreated to the turbolift, and was taken from the bridge to the
>engineering bay that he so much preferred to be in.
Mike: It's so nice the ship was designed to offer a selection.
> Thorn watched him
leave,
>and with a slight smirk on his face said, "dismissed."
Tom: Half my senior staff is missing, possibly dead, but ha-ha, that silly
Barclay.
> The smirk quickly disappeared as he looked back at the sensor readout.
>"Alright, everyone, I need options, and I need them now."
Crow: I had one twenty minutes ago, did you want it then?
> Jons asked, without looking up, "I assume from your tone that you are
>ruling out sending a second away team to try and find the first?"
Tom: [Thorn] No, that wouldn't work. But wait, what if we sent a SECOND
team over to...
> "For now, that is correct. We don't need to loose a second away team to
>whatever we lost the first to."
Mike: Then we would have lost two.
> He shut his eyes tight for a moment, and
>silently reminded himself that they had not lost the first away team...
Tom: They're just what, misplaced?
> more
>like just misplaced them for a moment.
Tom: D'oh!
Crow: HaHa!
Mike: Hmmmmmmmmm...
> Thorn regained his composure to put
>his best face forward to his crew.
Crow: Good idea to lose that current one. Yeesh!
> Inwardly, however, his absolutely worst
>face came into view. He wished it away, but it would not go.
Tom: It was the life and times of a small town hero.
> "Okay, lets keep working on this."
>
> "Okay, lets keep working on this."
Mike: Okay, lets keep working on this.
Tom: What?
Mike: Sorry, I got swept up in the momentum.
> Hurr looked around at his suited, though unhelmetted, crew for
>suggestions.
Crow: I dunno, what if we tried helmeted and unsuited?
> "Sir, since this is an energy creature, would it be possible to simply
>short it out?" Hurr looked over at Lieutenant Miller, and smiled for a
>moment.
Tom: Poor deluded idiot...
> "Explain, lieutenant."
Mike: It's two ranks between ensign and light commander, but that's not
important right now.
> "Well, sir, this is an energy creature,
Crow: A fact that will be reiterated at *least* five more times.
> if that is the case the energy
>can be diverted into some kind of closed circuit system,
Tom: Then we could watch it remotely over a security camera.
> trapping it, at
least
>for awhile...maybe long enough for us to find a way off of the ship."
> "That is a wonderful idea, lieutenant, but how in the world are we going
>to coax this energy creature into the trap?"
Crow: We could try some co-ax. Get it, coax, co-ax...
> Miller thought for a moment,
Tom: Wow, the gerbil's going to get awfully tired running around so much.
> but could not come up with anything.
Doctor
>Markham, however, suddenly came up with an idea;
Mike: We could start a side show. I could be the dog-faced joke.
Crow: Ah, obscure P.T. humor. Classic.
> "to get a rabbit into a
trap
>you bait it with a carrot. To get an energy creature into a trap-"
Tom: I dunno...a turnip?
> Hurr finished the sentence; "you bait it with energy for it to consume.
Crow: *Gasp* It's cannibalistic?
>That's a great idea, but you'll have to remember that there is not any
power
>in the ship to bait the trap with."
Mike: What about the anomalous power readings?
Crow: Now who's over thinking?
> Miller had started to wander the room they were in as soon as the
>suggestion of the trap had been brought about.
Tom: And his constant muttering was a bit of a distraction.
> "Sir, I've been examining
some
>of the circuits in this room, and it seems that the power generator is just
>damaged a bit, as though it was sorted out...blown up."
Mike: So being blown up leaves one only a bit damaged.
Tom: Sure, I do it all the time, and I'm just fine.
> Hurr looked at the objects lying on the floor.
Crow: [Hurr] We've got to fire that maid.
> "Could we use some of
>these items to possibly affect repairs on the generator, and maybe also to
>create the trap?"
Tom: They seemed awful quick to rule out communication.
Mike: Well, destruction is so much more satisfying.
> "Well, I'm not a trained engineer, but I think I could do some simple
>repairs, which is all that it really needs. Unfortunately since there's
>different wires, each will have a different resistance factor, and each of
the
>conduit repair units (which some of these appear to be) will have different
>properties. If I do this incorrectly, if I use the wrong part, I could
make
>things worse than they are now."
Crow: He really *isn't* a trained engineer. That was the poorest excuse for
technobabble I have ever heard!
> "Well," Hurr looked around a what was lying on the floor,
Mike: Deep subject.
> "I suggest
we
>not mess this up.
Tom: Well damn, that leaves us up a creek.
> Lets get started on it."
> "Nicholson, could you get over here, and help me with this panel here?"
Crow: [Nicholson] I hardly think this to be the time or place.
> The lieutenants both walked over to the panel that Miller had indicated,
>stuck out their gloved hands, and strained at the panel for a moment.
Mike: Well, I'm bushed. Woman, get me a beer.
>"Dammit, this isn't working with the gloves."
> Gloves aside the duo once again worked at the panel, and still had
>problems getting it off.
Crow: [Miller] Dammit, this isn't working with our tops on.
Mike: At ease.
> The doctor and first officer discarded gloves,
and
>the four of them together were finally able to get the panel off, exposing
>what was beneath.
Crow: I try to behave, but he makes it so difficult!
> What was beneath was a sight to behold in and of itself.
Tom: Are they supposed to be that small?
Mike: I guess they exposed the coolant tubes?
> The conduits
>inside all looked in perfectly good condition, except that they were
severed,
>burned off from where they were supposed to be going.
Crow: So, to recap, other than being blown up and burned, everything was
in great condition.
> There was nothing
>inside the panel except the bare necessities of what would need to be
there.
Mike: This is a job for Baloo.
>Miller could see nothing that he recognized as computer library interface
>connections, coolant wires, or any other wires but the power generators and
>the broken conduits.
Tom: But then, these are the same people that assume that finding life is
limited to intelligence as they understand it. How typically human.
> Miller let out a soft whistle,
Crow: [Whistles 'Dixie']
> surprised at how little was present
within
>the panel area. He let this slip, though, as he remembered that he was
>working on a very tight deadline.
Tom: That's similar to a tight rope?
Crow: Maybe if we give them enough deadline, they'll hang themselves with
it.
> He quickly grabbed out his tricorder to
>decide what exactly the repairs would require.
Mike: I think it will require fixing the doo-dads with the whats-its. I
won't know for sure until I run it through my techno-filter.
> The tricorder slowly worked through the materials that were present,
Crow: How explicit!
Mike: Come again?
Crow: It's a robot thing.
>attempting to decipher the needs of the conduits if they were to be
repaired.
Tom: E-way eed-nay ixing-fay. Nope, I can't make sense of it.
>This done, he began to scan the materials that were strewn around the room,
Crow: He must be in Servo's room.
Mike: Now that's not fair...
Tom: You tell him!
Mike: ...there was no mention of underwear anywhere in the description.
>hoping that one of them would prove to be a match towards what he needed.
Crow: I'll go with Richard Dawson.
> His tricorder began to beep in recognition as he passed over a length of
>wiring,
Mike: Didn't I over pass this length of wire before?
> so he scanned it further,
Tom: [Stimpy] I found something!
Crow: [Ren] What?
Tom: [Stimpy] These things make the coolest sounds!
> and found that it was an exact match to
the
>material in the console. He then went over to some of the miscellaneous
items
>that were left far away from the wire,
Mike: I think the proper name is "thingamagoofers."
> and recognized one as a spreader
tool
Crow: Save *that* one for later!
>that would be able to rework the wiring into the form that he would needed,
>length wise and orientation.
> Time passed, and Hurr stood,
Tom: [Geezer] Wellp, I don't move so fast as I usta.
> transfixed,
Mike: Deurh...shiny!
> watching Miller grab parts,
Crow: WOAH! Careful with those hands there.
>assemble them, and properly place them in the open panel area.
Tom: I haven't seen this much attention to technical aspects since the last
time I read a Little Big Book.
> All at once
>everything around him came briefly to life as power got into it, then all
went
>out again as the consoles decided they weren't needed.
Crow: AI was great, until it was discovered that the programmers were really
lazy slobs at heart.
> "Sir, we're ready. We have the power returned to the system, and we have
>the trap with bait ready." Miller leaned back, and wiped a small amount of
>sweat off of his brow.
Mike: Woman, where's my beer?
> Hurr looked at the countdown, seeing that there was still a quarter of an
>hour left.
Crow: So much for tension.
> "Well, then, I guess we just wait."
Tom: And I bet we get to see every moment of it.
> And so they did, waiting in the hopes that their device could deliver
>them from the jaws of death.
Mike: Seems more like the jaws of mild annoyance at this point.
>
> Jons looked up from his station,
Crow: [Jons] Sir, I've been looking for ten minutes, could you just show
me where this "any" key is.
> and excitedly called out. "Sir, I am
>getting power signals from the alien craft."
Tom: Careful, or they'll have to lay down some fresh newspaper.
> Thorn shot up from his seat,
Mike: [Thorn, buzzed] I just need my fix, man. The colors are out to get
me,
and I need my rippin shield!
> and practically sprinted to the tactical
>controls. "Let me see them, ensign."
Crow: Not until you show me yours, sir.
> Jons pointed out the energy spike, then the slight energy signature left
>behind. He watched the energy readings excitedly.
Tom: These guys are entirely too easy to please.
> "Any signs of the away
>team?"
> "No, sir, but with this sudden energy coming on, I would suspect that
>they are over there. Maybe they are being cloaked somehow."
Mike: Really crappy cloak if that's the case.
> Thorn looked at the readings then back at Jons. "Well, that sounds like
>some wishful thinking to me, but I don't think we can totally discount.
Tom: At this point, we shouldn't rush to.
>
But
>how can this cloaking device be working when there was no energy output on
the
>ship?"
Crow: Magic flying elves?
> Smith muttered from the helm station "Murphy's Second Law: Every answer
>creates two more questions."
> "I've never liked to work under Murphy's Laws, lets get this solved,
>stat!"
Mike: Or just leave it stet.
>
> Cunningham saw that there was another fifteen minutes.
> He stopped.
> And he laughed.
Crow: It's kind of funny, but I don't know if it's a ha-ha sort of
funny.
>
>Chapter Eleven
Tom: Can't we skip one or two chapters?
Mike: Sorry. Sometimes I really wish I could control when these things
began and ended, but, what are you gonna do?
>
> On the bridge the mood was a bit tense after the spike of energy from the
>alien craft.
Crow: Well, I guess Thorn wasn't the only one to shoot up from his seat.
> Thorn found himself now pacing the bridge a bit, waiting for
>some news-any news-to come from Jons or T'Pat.
Tom: [T'Pat] The Cubs lost.
Mike: [Thorn] Alright, not *any* news.
> He realized what he was doing,
Crow: Well good for him. Should we be surprised by this?
Tom: Actually, I think so.
> and decided to take it into his
readyroom.
>There he could pace like a caged animal to his heart's content without
letting
>the crew see him do so.
Mike: And some of his other animal...impersonations should probably not be
seen either.
> In command training he had been taught to never
let
>his impatience or frustrations be seen to the crew, else they lower moral.
Tom: Also, there was the part about not letting the crew see his ladies'
undergarments.
> "Let me know if you find anything. T'Pat, you have the bridge."
Tom: [T'Pat] Sir, I found a penny!
Mike: [Thorn] Alright, not *any*thing.
>
Thorn
>retreated to his readyroom to think things over.
Crow: Let's see. These fine officers will be missed by all who--d'oh, too
soon, too soon!
> T'Pat watched the captain
>leave with a bit of compassion showing in her cold Vulcan eyes.
Crow: So she's--
Mike: And let's not finish that thought.
>
> Hurr was doing his own pacing in the alien control center,
Tom: And he is veering off to the pit lane, and the race has started!
> waiting for
>the final touches to be wade on the trap weapon,
Mike: The trap they finished *last* chapter.
Crow: [Mumbling] "Wade"?
> and for the energy
creature
>to finally approach the large chamber.
Tom: Sir, shouldn't we try to communicate.
Crow: Do what now?
> "It's sure taking its own damned sweet time, isn't it." Hurr muttered
>some more, including some mild oaths in his native Bolian tongue.
Tom: Oh, Belgium!
> "Are we
>almost ready for it?"
> Miller made a quick adjustment with one of the alien tools, and looked up
>with a smile on his face.
Mike: Smile, sir, you're on candid camera!
> "That should do it, sir. Now we just have to
turn
>it on, and see if it works."
Crow: How reassuring.
> Miller added a bit of flair by twirling the
tool
>in his hand, and puffing on it like and old time gunslinger in the ancient
>west.
Tom: Unfortunately he looses his grip, it flies up, smacks him in the
forehead,
and again in the groin as they both fall to the ground.
> "I reckon it's about high noon, sir. And we will be ready when it
>comes.
[Stunned silence]
Crow: Mike, I'm suddenly very afraid.
Mike: Alright, we'll break after this chapter.
>
> The voices pursued him, screaming for blood.
> "Cunningham!"
Tom: [Fonz] Ay, Mister C!
> "Cunn-ing-ham!"
Crow: BEU-LLER!
> He ran, putting everything he could into his pumping his legs just as
>hard as he could in a hope to flee.
Mike: Maybe if he got off the exercise bike it would help.
> He checked his chronometer, and
laughed
>as he ran.
Crow: Again, this just doesn't strike me as a laugh out loud funny.
>
> "Sir, I am reading new, converging power readings on the alien craft, I
>have no real way of explaining what is going on."
Tom: Maybe it would be best explained through the monologue in the made for
TV movie "Flight of the Albatross..."
> Jons struggled, trying
to
>find exactly what he wanted to say.
Mike: Rasdaeuer.
> Suddenly he saw something on his
screen
>that caused his eyes to shoot open wide.
Crow: I'm no expert, but that had to hurt like a demon.
> "Sir, I am reading what appears to be four figures on the alien vessel.
Tom: Only four, well, I wouldn't much call that financial security.
>They are centralized near one of the power readings, and the other power
>reading is moving towards them at an increasing pace."
Mike: Woah, not so much information, could you please make it a bit vaguer!
>
> "Here it comes!"
Crow: Walking down the street. Gets the funniest looks from everyone it
meets.
> Nicholson ran in from the sentry post that she had
>assigned herself.
Tom: Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeere JOHNNY!
> "Get ready, and begin to warm up the trap." Hurr tensed up a bit as he
>gave the order, wishing he could do more than command then watch.
Mike: Classic middle manager.
> "Now!"
>
> Cunningham laughed as hard as he could.
Crow: [Chuckling] Oh, wait, I finally get it!
> Whatever they did now, it was
>too late.
> "Cunningham, you can't escape!"
> Cunningham allowed the pleasure to scream back. "Maybe I can't escape,
>but you can't stop me!"
Tom: Oh, that makes sens--HUH?!
>
> "Sir, I am reading an intense energy output from the position of the away
>team!"
Crow: WHOOOOOO! EXTREEEEEEEEEEAME READINGS!
Tom: SUUUUUUURGE!
> Jons looked at the captain as he was exiting his readyroom.
Mike: Somehow Thorn manages to maintain a constant state of entering the
bridge.
> Thorn shouted out "can we get a transporter lock?"
Tom: I'm right here, sir, I can hear you fine.
> He ran over, and
>looked over Jons' shoulder, trying to get a look at exactly what the ensign
>was reading.
Crow: [Pointy-Haired Boss] Now, scroll up, scroll up, now CLICK! NO!
> "Negative, sir,
Mike: Wow, like, negativo!
> the dampening field they were under, combined with the
>new energy surge is blocking any attempt we make."
Tom: That, and the fact I actually don't care.
> Jons tried to sound
>apologetic, but had a gut feeling that Thorn did not expect a positive
answer
>to his inquiry.
Crow: No, that's just nausea, it's a typical reaction when trapped in a
fanfic.
> Thorn looked away, back at the ship on the screen, wishing he knew what
>the hell was going on.
Mike: Yes, that would be awful nice.
>
> The entire room washed white with a blinding light.
Tom: Wow, suddenly it's Birth of a Nation?
> Hurr flinched in
>pain, then shut his eyes as tightly as he could.
Crow: [Hurr] Oh, damn, contact! Nobody move!
> He could still feel the
>light glaring into his closed eyes,
Mike: C'mon, five more minutes!
> casting a bright blood red in his
entire
>field of vision.
> "Helmets!"
Crow: [As Rick Moranis as Daphne Zuniga] You have such a big helmet...
> Hurr put on his suit helmet, and fumbled on the shading of the glass
>visor. Even on its highest level of shading the glare was still intense,
Tom: So blast plate technology has taken a step or two back? How
comforting.
>
but
>bearable. Hurr looked around, and saw as the away team was also fumbling
with
>their helmets and shading fields.
Mike: Uh, if you shade them they will come?
Tom: I think not.
> Hurr didn't think anything could possibly be brighter than the light
>being let out of the trap.
Crow: Something brighter than Marrissa... Ratliff's not gonna like it!
> There it was, however, a dancing red bolt of
>lightening floating into the room.
Tom: Cause it's a maniac, MANiac...
> Hurr saw the trap at Miller's feet, and called him over the suit
>intercom. "Miller, the trap, now!"
> Miller grabbed at the trap, and threw it toward the bolt of lightening.
>The lightening bolted out in all directions,
Crow: See, that's funny, cause it's a bolt, and it's bolting,
and...nevermind.
> and it was all Hurr could do
to
>keep from flinch away the new glare.
Tom: That doesn't even resemble an understandable sentence.
Mike: I think he means to say "]Trp"
> Then all was darkness.
Crow: We can only hope this is the Apocalypse so we don't have to go any
farther.
>
> They were on him.
All: WOAH!
Crow: Sudden and quite disturbing turn for the worse in the fic!
> It was the end of the road.
Tom: Time grabbed him by the wrist, directed where he should go.
> No place to go,
Crow: Nowhere to run to, baby. Nowhere to hide!
> Cunningham stopped running, and faced his pursuers.
Mike: So, ah, whaddaya want to do now?
> "Wait."
> Cunningham pointed towards the horizon.
Crow: Nice subtle refrence.
Mike: To what?
Crow: Well, that is the pose made famous by "Babe" Ruth, who was also called
the "Bambino," which is the origin of the English word "bimbo." It all
fits.
> The blossom of flame and
smoke
>was enough for Cunningham to know he had won.
Tom: Or was really toked, and wouldn't care if he lost.
> And enough for the others to know they had lost.
> In the moment of confusion, Cunningham disappeared from view.
Crow: What?
Tom: Huh?
Mike: Alright, fanfic, let's not start pulling stuff out of thin air.
Tom: Don't you mean into?
Mike: Whatever.
>
> "Sir, all power readings on the alien vessel are gone." Jons went over
>the readings again, not totally believing what he had seen.
Tom: Sir, I'm picking up...yes...I believe it is some actual plot!
> "And the away team?"
Crow: Oh, right, keep forgetting about them.
> Thorn slowly looked back at the screen, afraid
that
>he already knew the answer.
Tom: Forty-Two!
> "I lost their readings along with the rest of the energy from the alien
>vessel, sir."
>
Mike: Speaking of losing energy, I think we need to get out of here for a
breather.
[Mike picks up Tom, fade to meatball as they leave the theater.]
[Commercials.]
----
End Part Two.
Discussion questions:
1) Will the author tire of the "isosceles" joke? How about the "discussion
questions" joke?
2) What was the author smoking at the time he wrote this? Where did he
hide his dealer's phone number, because it was obviously some good stuff?
This would probably be a good time to take a deep breath, and grab the
stiffest drink you will allow yourself to drink, cause it only gets weirder
when it is
Continued in Part Three...