MiSTed: Baptism By Fire 2/2

[Michael R. Warner]

<...Continued. Lights are flashing, Mike's "Fireflies" are still floating
around, but the SOL is quiet.>

MAGIC VOICE: To recap, Mike and the 'bots have been suffering through a really
bad Star Trek fanfic named "Baptism by Fire". During a break, Mike
unveiled his new invention, "Fireflies"--

<Mike and the 'bots look very impatient. Mike is waving in his hand in that
"Yeah, yeah, get on with" it sort of way.>

CROW: So, like, can we do this *today*?

MAGIC VOICE: Ahem, so Mike's "Fireflies", horrible little flaming creatures,
got loose and began scorching the interior of the Satellite of Love.
Meanwhile, the Usenet sign was activated, and...

<Noise and sirens resume.>

ALL: AAAAAAAHHH!!! Fanfic sign!!!

<5.....4.....3.....2.....1>

MIKE: Whew. Close call.
TOM: But, um, Mike? Aren't those evil little *things* out there gonna turn
the satellite into a burned-out, smoking husk?
CROW: Cool!
MIKE: No, Tom. They're not supplied with enough fuel to inflict anything
more than minor damage. In fact, when I designed the little rascals,
I--
TOM: Okay, shut up, Nelson. The fanfic's starting back up.
CROW: Oh, *great*...
MIKE: Hey! My eyebrows got burned off!

He aimed at the
> lights and activated it. After several seconds, the lights faded out. He
> tapped his communicator.

CROW: Just to refresh my memory, this is Data we're talking about, here,
isn't it?
MIKE: Yes, Crow.

> "All hands, this is Commander Data.

TOM: ...Doin' that ol' hand jive...

> Use personal fire extinguishers
> on these points of light."

MIKE (George Bush) ...Stay the course...

> "Data," the captain said. "Can you detect thse things on board the
> ship?"

CROW: You moron, they're RIGHT THERE!!!

> "Checking," Data said as he sat back down at his station. "I can,
> sir."

CROW: How aMAZing!

> "All transporter rooms," Picard commanded over his communicator.
> "this is the Captain. We're sending you locations on these things that
> have invaded the ship.

MIKE (Picard): I think they're little shiny hot things, but I'm not sure.

> I want them beamed out as far as possible at widest
> possible dispersion."

TOM: But what if they're alive? Aren't they sworn to protect life of all
kinds? The Prime Directive? Huh?
CROW: Not if the carpet's getting scorched.

> Picard looked at Data, the fire extinguisher still at the android's
> feet.

TOM: Along with the android's head...

> He decided to save the questions for later, though.

MIKE (Picard): How many atoms in a mole? Who's buried in Grant's tomb? Do
fleas have sex? How much wood could a woodchuck chuck?

> "Bridge to engineering."
> "Engineering, LaForge here."
> "Engine status?"

CROW: A sphincter says what?

> "The warp engines have sustained some rather heavy damage. Warp
> speed is impossible in their condition."

TOM (Geordi): We've brewed some really strong coffee, though, and Ensigns
Hanson and Calloway have been walking them around the room for a while.

> "Can you give me full impulse?"
> "Yes, Captain."

TOM: Full ANIMAL impulse, that is.
CROW: Heh, heh.

> "Make it so. Helm, get us to the outer edge of the system.
> I want all officers in the conference room in five minutes."
>
> "Analysis?" Picard asked his assembled officers.

MIKE: Oh, good. Data got his head back on.

> "They appear to be entities composed of living plasma," Data said.
> "Intelligent?"

CROW (Data): Why, yes I am. Thank you for noticing.

> "They have a rudimentary intelligence," Troi said. "Throughout the
> encounter, I felt extreme anxiety from them, but I don't think it had
> anything to do with us.

TOM: They were just passing through town and needed to find a bathroom.

> At least, not directly."
> Picard considered the information he had just heard.

MIKE: He nodded off for a few moments. The rest of the bridge crew became
uneasy, then quietly left the room, one by one.

> His curiosity
> returned.

TOM: Like a long-lost friend who's seen it darker than ebony.
CROW: Slightly obscure lyric references, anyone?

> "Data, how did you think to use the reserve fire extinguishgers on
> them?" he asked.

CROW (Data): Well, sir, I was just watching some historical films from Earth's
1950's, and there was one on fire safety! Also, if Engineering ever
blows up, we should all duck and cover.

> "As you know, our fire control system uses force fields to
> eventually deprive fires of oxygen,"

MIKE: As opposed to the more ingenious and useful method of using force
fields to deprive fanfic authors of oxygen.

> Data said. "I conjectured that that

TOM: Somebody hit Data! He's skipping!
MIKE: Uh, Tom? If you keep reading, it's a perfectly okay use of grammar.
TOM: Oh.

> system would be ineffective against these creatures because they are
> obviously capable of survival in space. Older types of fire control
> equipment were removed, until the attack on the USS Barnabas by a Gorn ship
> near their space on stardate 39834.1.

TOM: Exposition-man strikes again!
CROW: I could pull better plot points outta my--
MIKE: Watch it, Crow...

> As you know, the computer that
> controls the fire control system was damaged, and fires resulting from the
> attack gutted the entire ship-"

TOM: ...Much like the Satellite of Love.
MIKE: Oh, shut up.

> "Data, your point?"

CROW: The point is, Kennedy *couldn't* have been killed by a single gunman
aiming from the book depository! And that's why I've spent an entire
third of this movie explaining it to the court!

> "I conjectured that the fire extinguishers installed as a result of
> that incident would be effective."

MIKE: Also, we can install a new hot tub after the insurance settlement.

> Picard nodded. "Can we get a distress call out?"
> "The communications gear was damaged," Worf said. "But we should
> have it online in a few hours."
> "LaForge, what about engineering?"

CROW: I'm sorry, LaForge can't come to the phone right now. He's using the
john.

> "We can outrun these things on impulse, it seems. However, warp
> speed isn't possible at all.

MIKE: On the other hand, with *wrap* speed, we can get the Christmas presents
done in no time!

> We'd need to make a stop at a repair base to
> bring them back up fully."
> "Bring them back up fully? What do you mean?"

MIKE: Good grief! The man's an addle-pated vegetable! And he's supposed to
be the captain of the ship!
CROW: "Addle-pated vegetable"?
MIKE: So I read books. So what?

> "I might be able to rig up something to give us warp one, maybe
> even two if we're lucky.

TOM (Geordi): If we're *not* lucky, we die horribly in a raging inferno of
really bad nuclear stuff.
MIKE (Picard): I think I can live with that.

> It'll be strictly temporary, though, and will
> require some EVA to set up,

TOM: Easy-Vacuum Appliance?
MIKE: Empty Valium! Aargh!
CROW: Enormous Veined Appendage!.
MIKE: Uh, Crow?
CROW: What?
MIKE: Well, uh... Oh, never mind.

> which means it would be safer to not use the
> impulse engines at that time, and that's where the catch is: time."

TOM: And just to be repetitive, I'm going to say "time" again. Time.

> At this point, Data interrupted. "Such a stop would give these
> creatures a chance to catch up to us. I estimate an approximate delay of
> seventeen hours, seven minutes, thirty two sec-"

CROW: WHOOOOOFFF!!! Data's head catches on fire, singing the polyester in
everybody's uniforms!

> "Basically, not enough time," Geordi said. "I estimate about three
> days of work on the engines."

MIKE: Um, hello? We're talking about emergency, jury-rigged repairs, and
it's going to take three *days*?
TOM: Well, yeah, Mike, they're union.

> "It would seem we're damned if we do and damned if we don't,"
> Picard said.
> Data looked confused, and then asked, "Query: what does damnation
> have to do with our current situation?"

CROW: Jeez, Joe sure likes to make fun of Data.

> "It's an expression, Data. We'll take the Enterprise as far out as
> we can, and you can start your work then. In the meantime, we need to find
> a way to distract them if they do catch up with us. Counselor,

MIKE (Picard): Stand at the window in that little skirt and pose like this!
CROW: Ah-HEM?

> were you
> able to deduce anything about how they sense things?"

TOM: Wow, that's almost...poetic, in a way.

> Before Troi could answer, a voice came over the intercom.
> "Captain, this is the bridge. There's something coming out of the star."
>

CROW: It's Eddie Vedder!

> The crew took their places on the bridge. The viewscreen showed
> what appeared to be a part of Fomalhaut itself moving away from the star.

TOM: Trying desperately to escape from this fanfic, and getting nowhere.
MIKE: Just like the fanfic itself.

> "The section of the star is about the size of an Excelsior class
> ship, sir," Data said. "The plasma creatures seem to be crowding around
> it."
> "Is this a natural occurance?" Riker asked.

MIKE: Starfleet *Academy*? I was supposed to *learn* stuff?
TOM: Yeah, like how to spell!

> "I seriously doubt it, given the nature of other things we have
> observed here.

CROW: Like pink birds and cauliflower and a little blue man in a teacup
saying, "Hello!"
TOM: Mike?
MIKE: Yes, Tom?
TOM: He's scaring me.

> However, that possibility can not yet be ruled out."

TOM: Aaauuugh! The wo rds are sep arat ing!
MIKE: Okay, enough spelling flames.

> Captain Picard was about to say something,

MIKE: "I can't get out of this chair"?
TOM: "A fragment of an underdone potato"?
CROW: "Come here, you big lug"?

> when Counselor Troi
> suddenly bolted from her chair,

TOM: Throwing herself through the window, which was, unfortunately open.

> a shocked expression ingrained on her face.
> She shook her head back and forth, gripping it between her hands.

CROW (Bored): Cool. Maybe she's gonna try to play soccer with it.

> She then
> yelled something sounding like "Nghatha thllp reh cthugha lagh!" and Picard
> barely caught her as she fainted.

MIKE: Oh, no.
TOM: I don't even want to *think* about what this looks like.

> As most of the bridge turned their attention to

MIKE: Wesley, who was playing "Tetris" on his Gameboy...
CROW: Knock off that infernal racket!

> Troi, Riker tapped
> his communicator, saying urgently,

TOM (Riker): Shatner! Are you there? Bring an ambulance!

> "Sick bay, this is the bridge! We have a
> medical emergency!"
>

TOM: Meanwhile, as the scene changed, the entire population of Glanticular
VIII was wiped out by millions of irate Usenet readers who, apparently,
had gotten Mark Kinney's address wrong.

> "I don't understand it," Doctor Beverly Crusher said as she
> finished examining Counselor Troi. "She's experiencing extreme brain
> activity,

CROW: So I think it's safe to say that she's *not* gonna sit down at a
terminal and start churning out fanfics.
MIKE: Okay, guys, we're starting to get a little mean about this.

> but it doesn't seem to be focused on anything in particular, and
> changes constantly."

TOM: Sorta like this plot.

> "Will she recover?" Captain Picard asked.
> "I don't know. I'll need some more time to observe her."
> "Very well. Inform me when she comes to."

CROW: Well, then, you might want to--
MIKE: Absolutely *not*, Crow.

> Picard turned and left the Sick Bay

TOM: Is that anything like a Rusty Fjord?

> as Doctor Crusher began
> examining the brainscans again, hoping to find something she missed before.

MIKE: Brainwaves?
CROW: I bet she puts Troi's hand in a pan full of warm water.

>
> Although he would not neccessarily define it as a "feeling,"
> Lieutenant Commander Data was experiencing

CROW: Extreme bladder discomfort.

> what could only be called
> frustration.

CROW: Or that, too. Heh, heh.
MIKE: Crow!

> He had run the words Couselor Troi had said though the Universal
> Translator, and gotten

TOM: Sleepy?
MIKE: Reeeeally bored?
CROW: Chest hair?

> "Insufficient Language Sample" as a result. The
> language had no similarities to anything on record. He ran each word
> through the computer, trying to find some meaning for them: nothing.

MIKE: This is the part where he metaphorically refers to the fanfic itself.
TOM: Ah, I see.
CROW: So it's *not* all pointless.
MIKE: No-oooo, I didn't say *that*...

> He turned from the science station to see Worf inform Commander
> Riker that

CROW: He had removed an ensign's arm in a fit of rage.
TOM: Call Shatner!

> the subspace radio was back online. As Riker commanded Worf to
> send off for help,

TOM: Oh, send off!
CROW: I *command* you to send off!

> Data turned to his station and sent his own request for
> assistance.

MIKE: Help, help! Get me out of this endless story!

>
> The space-suited figures appeared in a flash of blue between the
> warp nacelles. The immediately moved toward their respective assignments
> and began the modifications that would hopefully save their skins.
>

TOM: Well, that scene was certainly... abrupt.

> For a second, Deanna Troi was disoriented. She had been on the
> bridge when--then she remembered and screamed.

MIKE (Falsetto): AAAAAAHHH!!! Will it NEVER end?!?

> Doctor Crusher was at her
> side almost immediately,

CROW: The Florence Nightingale Effect in action!

> and Troi soon calmed down, realizing her ordeal
> was over.

TOM: Um, *what* ordeal? She screamed some funky words and collapsed! It's
not like they stuck her in an iron maiden or tied her to the bumper of
a really fast car.
CROW: Or stuck her in a giant microwave, or covered her with jelly and buried
her--
MIKE: Okay, I'm stopping this right now.

> Crusher tapped her communicator. "Captain Picard, this is Sickbay.
> Troi's awake."

CROW: You know, if you squinch your eyes up, that almost looks like "Troi's
*wake*"!
MIKE (squinting): Hey, you're right! Cool!
TOM: Ah, we can only dream...

>
> The officers, except for Data and LaForge, were once again gathered
> in the conference room.

MIKE: Which, by now, was where they were all sleeping.

> "Okay, we don't have much time," Picard said. "Number One, where's
> Commander Data?"

TOM (Riker): Uh, I... really don't know, Captain. Oh, and shuttlecraft number
three is missing.

> "He's still reviewing some files sent via subspace from Starfleet
> Headquarters. If I didn't know better, I'd say he was pleasantly surprised
> to get them."

CROW (Homer Simpson): Whoo-HOO! Subspace files from Starfleet Headquarters!

> Picard breathed a heavy breath,

TOM: KLUNK!

> nodded, then turned to Counselor
> Troi.
> "Counselor, can you remember anything about whatever you sensed?"
> he asked.

CROW: I'd better not.

> "It's ancient," she answered.

TOM: Bea Arthur?

> "I can't begin to describe the
> experience... it was just so overwhelming."

ALL: MANOS!!!

> Data entered the room and sat down at the table.
> "Data, what have you found?" Picard asked.

TOM (DATA): Ooo! I found some keys, and a handful of change, and somebody's
baby tooth, and under the couch I found something bad that Spot did.

> "I asked Starfleet Headquarters to check for any files pertaining
> to any of the words said by Couselor Troi before she passed

CROW: On?

> out.

CROW: D'oh!

> The only
> one that came back positive, after an extensive search I might add, was
> 'cthugha.' Cthugha is the name of a creature from Earth mythology, a member
> of a race of beings called Great Old Ones by their worshippers, and
> included Hastur, Y'golonac, Cthulhu-"

MIKE: It's just as I thought.
TOM: You don't mean--
MIKE: Yup. A Trek/Lovecraft crossover.
CROW (quietly): No.
TOM: Oh, where does it *end*? Are there no depths to which these fanfic
hacks will stoop? Must we always be subjected to dull, lengthy,
mottled prose masquerading as "crossover fiction", written by college
students who couldn't get a job writing the ingredients on a cereal
box?
MIKE: Geez, Tom! It's not all *that* bad.
CROW: Nelson, think Star Trek. Think Cthulhu. *Should* these two mix?
MIKE: Well, good point. Let's get on with it.

> "Data, get on with it!" Riker snapped.

TOM: Hey, good call, Mike!

> "Sorry, sir. According to the myth, Cthugha lived near a star that
> according to modern charts would be Fomalhaut, with its servitors, referred
> to as 'fire vampires.'"

CROW: So, like, what would happen to a "fire vampire" if it stayed out past
sunup?

> "It would seem that the myth is not unfounded," Picard thought out
> loud.

MIKE (Picard): Oh! I'm sorry, was that out *loud*?

> "Did the information tell how to deal with them?"

CROW: Run away, find a big, dark hole, and crawl in.
TOM: Actually, that didn't always work.

> "The myth indicates that Cthugha could be summoned, and later
> dismissed back to its home by the use of magic. The formula is not
> available, however, and even it it were,

MIKE: ...And seeing how we've already accepted this preposterous theory as
fact...

> it may not work and I would
> speculate that it would not do us any good if it did work, seeing that this
> is its home."

TOM: Wow.
CROW: Boy, he sure wrapped his android lips around *that* one!

> "Very good, Data, but that still doesn't solve our problem," Picard
> said. "According to Commander LaForge, the engine repairs are proceeding
> smoothly.

MIKE: Although he just got dumped by ensign Hackett. Again.

> Tactical indicates that this 'Cthugha' is keeping itself and
> it's 'fire vampires' at bay."

TOM: Hey! There's one now, pretending to be an apostrophe!

> "If I might speculate, Captain," Counselor Troi interrupted. "It
> could be surprised by its contact with me.

MIKE (stretching): YAAAAAWNNN.

> Humans aren't especially
> telepathically sensitive, and if it posesses psionic abilities,

ALL: <begin to nod off>

> it may have
> been surprised by the presence of someone with my abilities,

ALL: <assorted snoring noises>

> and still be
> trying to figure out what to do with us."
> "That is a possibility," Data replied. "However, all information
> indicates that these Old Ones tended to act in a hostile manner towards most
> other life forms they encountered. I would not want to be around when it did
> make up its mind."
> "I agree," Picard said. "According to LaForge, we have one more day
> until the engines are done, so let's see what we can come up with."
>

MIKE: Snorrr-- Hmm? Wha... Hey, guys, wake up! We got a scene change!
TOM: Huh?
CROW: <mutters>
MIKE: Oh, man! I haven't fallen asleep like that since high school!

> Several hours later, back on the bridge, Data was at his station,
> monitoring the system and

TOM: Plotting his revenge on the cruel, fleshy creatures that called him
"friend" while secretly hating and reviling him.
MIKE: Stop it, Tom. You're scaring me.

> waiting for the star-creature to make a move.
> Suddenly, the sensors detected movement at long range.
> Data concentrated sensors on the movement; it was very slight, just
> several hundred kilometers per hour.

TOM: It's the entire cast of Deep Space Nine, trying to get away before
they're sucked into the fanfic!

> What it was that caused Data to
> become concerned was what was moving.

<Sparks fly out of Tom's head>
TOM: Ow!
MIKE: Hey, you okay, Tom?
TOM (shakes briefly): Whew. Yeah, I think so. Must've been some kind of
feedback loop.
CROW: Do like me, Servo. When stuff like that shows up, I just close my
eyes.

> Data turned in his chair to face Commander Riker, who currently had
> the watch.

MIKE: I'm late! I'm late!

> "Commander, long-range sensors indicate that the Borg ship is
> coming

CROW: Aw, *pleeeease*, Mike?
MIKE: No.
CROW: I'll make your bunk for a week.
MIKE: No.
CROW: Hmph.

> back on line."

> "What? Can't ANYTHING kill those?!?" Riker asked no one in
> particular,

TOM: Fax 'em this fanfic, and see what you get.

> then tapped his communicator. "Captain Picard to the bridge."

MIKE (Picard): Sorry, Number One. I'm strictly a poker man.

> "Commander," Worf broke in. "The creatures are on the move. Most of
> the smaller ones appear to be moving toward the Borg, while the larger one
> and the remaining small ones are moving our way."

CROW (bored): He just likes to say "one". One, one, one.

> Riker muttered a quick prayer under his breath,

MIKE: A prayer to... SATAN!

> and then commanded,
> "Red alert! Shields up! Battle stations!"

TOM (Riker): Make sandwiches! Bring beer! Fetch my slippers!

> Captain Picard got to the bridge just as Couselor Troi began
> screaming.

MIKE: What, *again*?

> Riker got her

CROW: Sobered up a little, and stashed her in a corner somewhere.

> into the turbolift and on the way to sickbay, as
> Data turned toward the Captain.
> "Sir," Data said, "sensors indicate that Cthugha's makeup is not
> the same as that from the star. There seems to be a solid core mass, which
> means our weapons may be of use against it."

TOM: HELLO? You've been staring at this thing for *how* long, now, and you
*just* noticed this?
MIKE: Easy, Tom. It's not the characters' faults. Theirs is a fate guided
by a much sloppier hand.

> "Good," Picard replied. "Mister Worf, full phasers. Fire."

MIKE (Worf): Aaaaahhh!!! Fire on the bridge! Fire on the bridge! Fi-- Oh.
Fire the *phasers*. Um, yes sir.

> The phasers arced across space, penetrating the flames of Cthugha,
> but seeming to have no other effect. Data relayed this information back to
> the bridge crew.

TOM: Who just happened to be watching it on the viewscreen, but they decided
to humor him.

> "Fire torpedoes."
> A four torpedo spread

MIKE (Minnesota old lady): Oh, would you just *look* at that spread. I could
sure go for some of that potato salad, don'tcha know.
TOM (same): Ooo, yah, and I just *love* those tiny wieners.
CROw (same): And this ham is just to die for!

> raced from the Enterprise. As they
> approached the firey mass, though, the intense heat melted the polymer
> casings, and they detonated prematurely.

TOM: Oh, yeah, RIGHT!
MIKE: Well, Tom, maybe Starfleet's budget got cut this year.

>
> Geordi LaForge, supervising the work on the engines, watched the
> fireworks as the thing approached.

CROW: The *Thing*?
TOM: That horrible creature from the North Pole?
MIKE: Or was it South?

> His communicator activated.
> "LaForge, this is the captain," Picards voice said.

MIKE (Picard): Uh, oops, Geordi. I got caught in the transporter again, and
now there's two of me.

> "How much
> longer?"

CROW: Ten inches!
MIKE: Ah-HEM!

> "About ten more minutes, Captain," LaForge answered.
> "Can you squeeze that down a bit?

CROW: Oh, come *on*, Nelson! I'll never have another chance like this!
MIKE: No way, Crow.
CROW: Aw, you're no fun.

> We may not have ten minutes."
> "If we skip the safety tests, probably. But that means-"

TOM: Lawsuits galore if the ship blows up.

> "If it's safe and doesn't work, we're dead anyway. Picard out."

MIKE: Silk pajamas are in!
TOM: Oh, just stop it, Nelson.
CROW: That joke's *beard* has a beard.

> Geordi sighed, then relayed the order to an astonished engineering
> crew.

TOM: Astonishing!
MIKE: Perturbing!
CROW: Vomiting!

>
> Back on the bridge, Commander Riker rejoined the others.

MIKE: Not surprisingly, nobody noticed.

> "Sir," Data was announcing, "the Borg appears to be ejecting the
> fire vampires."

TOM: The *real* Data wouldn't mixed plural and singular verb tenses.
MIKE: Well, now, "Borg" is one of those funny nouns that can actually be used
singularly or plurally. Come on, I'll show you.

<1....2.....3.....4.....5>

<Mike is holding a chart, with Crow & Tom on either side of him.>
MIKE: Now, boys, as you can see here, when the noun is singular, such as in
this sentence... <points at sentence on chart> Tom?
TOM (reading): "The Borg skipped happily down the street, where it was run
over by a truck."
MIKE: Thank you. As we can see here, the verb, "skip" is in the correct form
for the subject of the sentence, but is firmly negated by the more
powerful verb, "run over". On the other hand, with a plural noun, the
tense, or whatever, of the verb related to the subject changes, unless
it's only related by marriage. <points at second sentence.> Crow?
CROW (reading): "Those Borg sure got wasted at that frat party, didn't they,
dude?"
MIKE: Thanks, Crow. So we see that verb tense, or whatever, can be very
important to how a sentence is understood, especially if someone
throws up on the carpet.
TOM: Gee, thanks, Mike! I sure am glad you took the time to teach us about
plural and singular verbs.
CROW: What a suck-up.
MIKE (ignoring Crow): You're welcome, Tom. And it looks like we finished our
little lesson just in time, too!

<Fanfic sign, etc.>

<5.....4.....3.....2.....1>

TOM: Hey, how did you know about the...
MIKE: Instinct.

> Indeed, the Borg began to slowly pick up speed, every so often
> encountering one of the fire vampires, and forming its characteristic
> shield when it hit them.

CROW: Is it just me, or does that sound *really* silly?

> "Captain," Worf bellowed,

MIKE (Worf): Have one of these pretzels! They're soft and chewy!

> "there is an intense energy buildup on
> the target."

TOM: Cristopher Chance IS the Human Target.

> "Facing?" Picard asked.

TOM: Ah-boouuuut FACE!
ALL: <Stand and turn around.>
MIKE: Hey, I like this.
TOM: Riiiighht FACE! Riiiighht FACE!
MIKE: Awwww...

> "Toward the Borg, sir. It now appears to be moving away."
> "Number One, do you believe in deus ex machina?"

MIKE (Picard): No, wait, I meant "the hand of *fate*". Yes! Now let's see...
Greek... Greek... maybe Latin... "Deus Ex Fatima"?
TOM (Riker): I don't think that's it, sir.
MIKE (Picard): Oh. Well, would you like a cigarette?

> Riker shot Picard

CROW: Neatly through the head, then jumped around the bridge yelling "*I* get
to be captain now! *I* get to be captain now!"

> a strange look, when suddenly, the visual showed
> the flame-being shoot a massive beam at the Borg ship.

MIKE: Which was filled with human beings who enjoyed eating baked beans,
while watching movies starring Michael Biehn...

> Electrical arcs
> could be seen zipping across the face of the cube, except where the beam
> hit, which appeared to have been burned to a cinder.

TOM: I can't TAKE it anymore!!! Somebody KILL me!!!
MIKE (fiddling at Tom's back): There. Feel better, Tom?
TOM: Hey, great! I can go for another couple hours, as long as the fanfic
doesn't get any worse.
CROW: Oh, yeah, *right*! What have *you* been reading???

> The entire bridge crew looked astonished (except for Data, who
> simply said

MIKE (Raising hand dramatically): "Snausages".

> "Interesting.")
> "Data, what kind of range do you estimate that would have?" Riker
> asked.

TOM (falsetto): Oooo, maybe a Frigidaire, or a Hotpoint, or one of those cute
little Kenmore jobbies!

> "Given the energy output measured by the sensors, I would estimate
> it to be rather short

CROW: Getting a bit personal, isn't he?
MIKE: I give up.

> range. The energy, however, would overwhelm our
> shields in no time."

TOM: Much like the end of "Dead Poets' Society".

> "Picard to LaForge. How much longer?" Picard said.

CROW: Weeellll...
MIKE: *That's* it. I'm getting the blowtorch.
CROW (muttering): Okay, okay...

> "Just a few more minutes, captain," LaForge's voice answered from
> the communicator.

TOM: What's he doing in the communicator?

> "Captain," Worf said, working the controls on his console, "the
> thing is coming toward us again."

MIKE: Ben Grimm?

> "We need to delay it," Riker said.

TOM: Okay, Will, how about you head outside with a can of kerosene and try
to distract it?

> After a moment of though, he
> looked up with inspiration on his face.

MIKE: No, no, that's just *perspiration*.
TOM: Thomas Edison, he ain't.

> "Data, do you think the trick with
> the fire extinguishers would work on this?"

CROW (Data): Oh, you mean the trick where I stick one in a little cabinet and
saw it in half?

> Data looked at Riker as if the Commander had just asked Data if one
> plus one equalled five.

MIKE: And as we all know, Data can add.
TOM: Is it just me, or does Riker seem like an incredible schmuck in this
one?
CROW: What, you never picked that up during seven years of TV episodes?

> "I'm afraid not, Commmander.

MIKE: Heck of a time to be making jokes about string.

> It would take all of
> the extinguishers on the ship... oh, I see now.

TOM: Always the jokes at Geordi's expense...

> We should be able to
> transport them out into Cthugha, and the loss of pressure would explode
> them.

CROW: Just like when I jettisoned Mike's whipped cream out the airlock!
MIKE: Hey! That was *you*?

> The effect on Cthugha would be minimal, but it might give us the
> time we need."
> "All hands, this is the captain," Picard announced over the
> intercom.

MIKE: Oh! Geez, is this thing *on*?!?

> "Gather all personal fire extinguishers and take them to the
> nearest transporter location you can find. It doesn't matter which one.

TOM: It *just* *doesn't* matter! *None* of this matters! Where's that
button for the air--WHHHOOOOOOSHHH!

> Chief O'Brien."

MIKE (Picard): Fix us some of those little cream puffs with the chocolate
icing on top.
CROW (O'Brien): Uh, I'm *Chief* O'Brien, sir. Not "Chef". And anyway, I'm on
DS9 right now, and we're in the middle of an episode, so don't call me
again.
MIKE (Picard): Right. Carry on, then.

> "Yes, captain?" O'Brien's voice answered.
> "We're going to send you coordinates of the creature. When we give
> you the signal, activate all transporters to send to those coordinates."
> "Aye, sir."
> "LaForge?"
> "Just finished, sir."

MIKE: Servo?
TOM: Fanfic sucking away, sir.
MIKE: Very good. Mr. T. Robot?
CROW: Be ready to shoot the author in three minutes, sir.

> "Good. O'Brien, beam the engineering team aboard after the
> extinguishers are away."

TOM: Um, aboard from *where*?

> "Sir," Worf interrupted, "the energy buildup again. Toward us
> this time."

MIKE: Yes, in the twenty-fourth century, we have evolved beyond the need for
verbs.

> "It is within transporter range, Captain," Data said.
> "O'Brien," Picard said over the intercom.
> "All stations report ready, sir."
> "Energize."

TOM: So what's up with Picard? has he come up with *one* *sentence*
containing two or more words?
MIKE: No.
CROW: Okay?
TOM: Stop that.

>
> The extinguishers appeared, and shortly afterward,

CROW: Ran away, after reading a few sentences of the fanfic.

> exploded.

MIKE: Ka-WHOOOM!

> In sickbay, Counselor Troi began screeching in pain. Doctor
> Crusher

CROW: Simply shot her, putting her out of her misery.

> fought her way to Troi,

TOM: Through all those loonies that broke out of Arkham Asylum a few months
back...

> and injected her with a knockout drug.
> Hopefully, she thought, that will stop the pain.
>
TOM: Ooo! Can I have some?

> "Captain, it's backing off," Worf said.

MIKE: Just back off, man. I mean it.

> "O'Brien, is the engineering team aboard?" Picard asked.
> "Just beamed them in."

TOM: Mike? Where *were* they? I don't get it.
MIKE: Well, I don't know, Tom. Maybe a coffee break?
CROW: Extended vacation on Risa?
MIKE: Chiropractic therapy?
TOM: It's all these things, and more!

> "Good. Helm, set course for Starbase Two. Do we have power for
> warp two?"

CROW (sarcastic): Well, I don't know. Has it been three days?

> "Yes sir," Data answered.
> "Make it so. Engage."
>

MIKE: And in the happy ceremony that ensued, Picard and Data were joined in
holy wedlock.

> Later, as the Enterprise was on its way to Starbase Two, Picard
> went down to sickbay to check on Counselor Troi.

CROW: What, so that's *it*? They're done?
TOM: Apparently. Can we go now?
MIKE: Nope. We still have to suffer through boring character develoment and
further plot resolution.
CROW: Oh, BOY!

> "I'm fine...now," she said.

TOM: Yes, it's Deanna Troi: Shao-lin priest!

> "A few nightmares, maybe, but no
> permanent harm."

MIKE: Sure been *there*.

>
> Data entered 10-Forward, and spotted LaForge at one of the tables.
> He walked over to him.

TOM: He sat down next to him. Opening his mouth, he said to him, "So, are
you Data, or am I?"

> "Do you mind if I join you, Geordi?" He asked.

TOM (Geordi): Of course not, you soulless piece of imitation humanity. Why
would I?
CROW: Et tu, Tom?

> "Not at all, Data," Geordi answered. "What's on your mind?"

MIKE: I want to know what you're thinking.
CROW: Walking away from things that move too fast.
TOM: And that's the way you spell New York.

> "I am curious about why humans would summon such a creature as
> Cthugha, when they knew how destructive it was."

MIKE: *Who* summoned this so-called Cthugha?
TOM: The producers.

> "I don't know, Data. Some people are just self-destructive, I
> guess."

CROW: Yet another of Geordi's gems of homespun wisdom.

> "So it is not an inherent human trait?"

CROW: Hmm. I don't know.
TOM: Mike?
MIKE: Oh, I'm sorry, what, guys? I was too busy gashing my arms up with
this butter knife.

> "Don't you think you should be asking Counselor Troi this? I'm an
> engineer, not a psychologist."

TOM: Wow. What an eerie evocation of that timeless Original Trek line
often uttered by Doctor McCoy.
CROW: "I can't eat too much of that rich food, because it gives me gas"?
TOM: No, the *other* one.

> "I did not think it would be a proper time to bring this up with
> her."

CROW: You know, that whole pre-menstrual thing and all.

> "Maybe so. Well, in any case, it's not something one aspires to.
> Sometimes something goes wrong with their head and that's it, or something
> happens that is such a blow that they feel they just can't go on living.

MIKE: "Sometimes something goes wrong with their head and that's it". Wow.
I feel like I'm reading Hammett.

> I
> don't know. You don't need to worry about it, since it's pretty much an
> emotional thing."

TOM: Like time, love, and tenderness.
MIKE & CROW: Eeeeeeewwww!
CROW: Knock that off, Servo!

> Data stopped to absorb

MIKE: A puddle of the author's drool with a paper towel...

> what Geordi had said. "Indeed," he said, "I
> would not be able to worry about it."

TOM: Although, technically, he's not even able to *worry*.
MIKE: I envy him.

> Geordi was in the middle of drinking, and nearly choked at Data's
> statement. He laughed after that, and Data wondered why.

CROW: Um, as we all are, I think.
TOM: Huh?

>
> FINIS
> --

ALL: YES!

> Mark Kinney [KINNEMA@WKUVX1.(BITNET)

TOM: Just a little bitnet.

> (WKU.EDU)] | Give me Slack OR KILL ME!

CROW: Cool! Let's kill him.
MIKE (shrugs): Okay.
TOM: Wait a minute, guys! All along, we've been ripping on Joseph

> PhoneNet: (502) 745-4246 (Bowling Green, KY) | K A /\ /\ I E T I
> Quote of the week: "The safety of the Enterprise is of Paramount importance."
> -- Jean-Luc Picard, "Time's Arrow I"

TOM: I think that's supposed to be a play on words.

>
>
> =====================================CUT HERE================================

CROW: =======================PRETEND IT IS MY THROAT=========================
MIKE: Okay, enough with the violence talk.

> --
> Joseph Young,

TOM: Space Ranger!
MIKE: Crash-test dummy!
CROW: Cruel mistake of nature!

> Systems Programmer
> KSU Department of Computing and Information Sciences, Manhattan, Kansas

MIKE (Announcer voice): The *other* Manhattan!
> 66506
> FAX: (913) 532-7353 Phone: (913) 532-6350 Internet: j...@cis.ksu.edu
> SigQuote: "Never argue with a computer." -- Avon

CROW: Just shove them out the window. It's fun!
MIKE: Come on, guys. We're outta here.

<1.....2.....3.....4.....5>

<Mike and the 'bots are standing about and panting, as if winded. Actually,
the 'bots only *look* like they're panting since they obviously don't breathe.>

MIKE: Whew! I feel like I did that time the dentist shot me up with too much
Novocaine before my root canal.
TOM: By the end, my brain was aching for sleep!
CROW: So, uh, Mike, we're not gonna have to do anything dumb like come up
with things we've learned from this fanfic, or things we liked about
this fanfic, or our top ten Christmas gifts to send to Mark Kinney,
or anything like that?
MIKE: No, Crow, not this time. You 'bots performed valiantly today, staying
conscious through what might be our most boring fanfic yet. Striving
to prevail against the endless sea of--
CROW: Yeah, yeah. So do we get our ramchips anyway, or what?
MIKE: Oh. Well, sure. I guess you guys did okay. Here. <hands ramchips to
Tom and Crow, who begin to make "nummy, nummy!" sounds. The Mads'
light flashes.> Oh, great. It's Picard and Kirk in their onscreen
debut. <Hits button>

<Deep 13. Dr. F. is standing alone, panting and looking disheveled, but
grinning widely.>

DR. F: So, (pant) Mr. Greenjeans, what did you think?

<SOL>

MIKE: Well, sir, to be honest, I thought it stun-"
CROW (tugging Mike's sleeve): Psst! Mike! Ixnay on the Unkstay! If you get
him any madder, he'll just send us something even *worse* next time!
TOM: Yeah, remember "Cyborged"?
MIKE: Yeesh! You're right! <to Dr. F.> Anyway, we loved it. Couldn't have
been better. By the way, where's Frank?

<Deep 13>

DR. F: Oh, he's, heh, heh, *hanging* around here somewhere. We had a slight
difference of opinion regarding this year's "Skip Day", which, from now
on, will be called "Line Up and Receive a Blow to the Head Day".

<In the background, Frank, wrapped in thick electrical tape and hanging upside
down from a bungee cord, slowly descends into view.>

FRANK (talking fast): C'monClayPLEASEletmedownfromhere!I'msorryaboutyellingat
you,itwasanhonestmistake,itwon'thappenagain!PLEASEletmedoooowwwwnnnn!!!
<he slowly bounces back up out of view>

DR. F: Well, it's time for me to sign off again, Lucky Starr. I'm going to
pour itching powder down Frank's pantlegs! No rest for the evil!
<Hits button>

<All is dark. Frank can be heard yelling, "PLEEEEEAASE!!!">

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

DISCLAIMER:

The characters and events related to Mystery Science Theater 3000 that I so
shamelessly used in this post are the property of Best Brains, Inc., and my
use of them is solely for fun and not for any sort of personal gain, which is
only logical, since if I was getting paid, this would have been done long ago.
The characters and other assorted stuff related to Star Trek: The Next
Generation are owned by Paramount Pictures, which Mark Kinney *should* have
said at the end of *his* story, but, apparently, didn't. Finally, this post
is not meant as a personal attack against the aforementioned Mr. Kinney, since
I don't even *know* the guy. This is all just meant in good fun.

Michael R. Warner mwa...@uoft02.utoledo.edu
------------------------------------------------------------------------