MiSTed: Swan Song (pt 1)
G. Galcik
Unfortunately, I chose a pretty long fanfic from a.s.c., which was probably a
bad idea, because I think it's more than I can handle. Well, here's Part One,
anyway. If I get any favorable response, or if I feel like it, I'll work on the
rest.
But for real, everyone...I'd like to get some feedback, good or bad. So,
uh...this post is Emailware! Yeah! You can't read it unless you send me email
about it. Or five bucks. I'm probably not going to bother with the rest of the
fanfic (there's a whole lot of it) unless people like it.
I should preface this, however, by saying that the misted fanfic, Swan Song,
really isn't bad. I just saw the reference to "waldo" in the third paragraph
and I couldn't stop going.
Swan Song, The MiSTing
Originally by Melanie Miller
Misted by Greg Galcik
[Scene opens. Tom and Mike are wearing white hospital uniforms. Mike
has a big reflective mirror on his head. Tom is dressed in a nurse's
outfit. Gypsy is leaning back in a dentist's chair, with an odd
assortment of tubes, wires, and hoses (looking suspiciously like Radio
Shack surplus) hanging out of her mouth.]
MIKE: Come on, Gypsy, open wide...
GYPSY: Ahhh...
MIKE: Wider...
GYPSY: Ahhhhhh...
MIKE: Wider...
GYPSY: Ahhhhhhhhhh...
MIKE: *There* ya go! Good girl! Okay, Nurse Tom, hand me the 14-micron
actuating driver.
TOM: 14-micron actuating driver!
[Tom nudges a tray on the table nearby. Mike picks up an instrument and
fiddles around with it in Gypsy's mouth.]
MIKE: Trellist-Marker right-handed flange adjustor.
TOM: Trellist-Marker right-handed flange adjustor!
MIKE: Daystrom enhanced 40psi hydrospanner.
TOM: Daystrom enhanced 40psi hydrospanner!
MIKE: Okay, that oughtta do it. Now, let's introduce the synthetic
plasma-enhanced heavy-water-treated catalyst.
[Mike pick up a black bucket off the floor. In red letters, it's
labelled SYNTHETIC PLASMA-ENHANCED HEAVY-WATER-TREATED CATALYST. Crow
walks in from the left side.]
CROW: Hey, guys, what's up?
TOM: We sent the memo. You should *know*.
[Mike tips the bucket over into Gypsy's mouth while making quiet
calming sounds to her. Gypsy gulps occasionally. The liquid that comes
out of the bucket looks like brown, runny slime.]
MIKE: Tell him what we're doing, Tom. I'm busy. There, there, Gypsy,
just a little more...
TOM: OH, very well. As you would know if you had attended any of the
*meetings*, we're attempting to set up a self-sustaining power loop
between ourselves and Deep 13 using the Umbilicus. After Mike actuates
the synthetic plasma-enhanced heavy-water-treated catalyst, it should
coat the interior of the Umbilicus, created a self-bonding monolayer of
superstrong polymer, and after activating it with a phased loop of a
single "up" quark particle stream, the connection will become strong
enough for us to simply pull the Satellite of Love out of orbit and
down to Earth.
CROW: Neat! But, uh...once we're pulled out of orbit, won't we plummet
to our inevitable doom?
TOM: Nope, because the Umbilicus will be so strong, it will support our
weight. We'll just slide down for the last 50 miles or so.
CROW: Ooh! Sounds like a nasty rugburn, but it just might work!
Uh...there's a catch, right?
TOM: Oh, sure, if you want to call it that. The phased loop activation
has a fifty percent chance of igniting the catalyst, totally destroying
the Mads and turning us into a flaming fireball that will light up the
entire northern hemisphere.
CROW: What, is that all?
TOM: Oh, and it's completely irreversible. But I prefer to think of it
not as a setback, but a challenge to overcome.
[Mike puts down the bucket, and picks up two cables. He taps them
together a couple times, and sparks fly from the connection.]
MIKE: Okay, here goes nothing--
CROW: Mike! Don't do it!
[Mike puts both cables into the goop. Gypsy jumps a little.]
MIKE: Okay, phased loop is GO!
CROW (upset): But Mike! But it's...there's a fifty...we could
all...fireball!
MIKE: What? Come on, little fella, you're too flustered. Calm down and
spit it out.
CROW: But Tom said it might blow us all up!
MIKE (laughing): Oh, ha, no. You see--
[Mike notices Cambot.]
MIKE: Oh, hello. Welcome to the Satellite of Love. I'm Mike, and this
is Crow, Tom, and Gypsy. As I was just about to explain to my nervous
little cohort, this is all just some play-acting we were putting on to
prove a point.
TOM: Huh?
CROW: It is?
MIKE: Sure. See, we were just illustrating how science fiction writers
employ a technique called "technobabble" to make you think something
really exciting and futuristic is going on, when really all it is is a
couple stagehands moving doors in the background.
TOM: Uh, Mike...
CROW: So we're not going to blow up?
MIKE: Nooo. We made gave everything a bunch of complicated names, used
a tiny little bit of special effects, and made the whole process sound
semi-plausible, when really all we did was dump a bunch of brown goo
down Gypsy's throat.
TOM: Uh, but Mike?
MIKE: Yes, Tom?
TOM: Didn't you say we were going to do this for real?
MIKE: Sure, but I was only kidding, why?
TOM: Uh...because everything we used was real.
MIKE (laughs): Oh come on. That was just a whole lot of [Mike makes
"air quotes"] "technobabble". That was just a lot of junk we threw
together. [Looks closely at Tom] Wasn't it?
TOM: Er, no, not really. I spent all last week doing the calculations.
MIKE: Oh.
[They all look at Gypsy's open mouth for a moment.]
MIKE: Fifty percent, you say?
TOM: Give or take ten or twenty, but I figured it was acceptible
losses.
CROW: Ahhhhh!
MIKE: Ahhhh!
TOM: Ahhhhh!
ALL: Ahhhhhhh!
[commercial sign]
"AT&T: Our 20% savings are better than MCI's 40% savings, because we
have better looking people doing our commercials."
[back to SOL]
[Tom, Mike, and Gypsy are on the right, in a huddle, snickering. Panic
noises can be heard from Crow, off stage. After a while, they get
closer, and Crow enters from left in a shaking, blabbering panic. He
has a brown fedora on his head, and a small suitcase attached to his
left arm.]
CROW: Oh no we gotta go what are we gonna do gotta get off we're gonna
die we--huh?
[He notices that the others are laughing.]
CROW: Heyyyy! We're not going to die in a spectacular crimson fireball
after all, are we?
MIKE: No, actually, we were just pulling your leg.
CROW: Oh. Kind of a shame, really. It's not such a bad thought, once
you get used to the idea.
[Light flashes.]
TOM: Hey, Mike, Rush and Howard are calling.
CROW (staring at light): Fire...fire...
[Deep 13. Frank is looking in shock at the brown goo coming out of the
Umbiliport. He's wearing some sort of odd contraption around his
waist.]
FRANK: We're gonna...fifty percent...huge fireball...totally destroyed!
[Dr. Forrester walks in from the right and taps Frank on the shoulder.]
CLAY: So, Frank, what is--
FRANK (total panic): We're going to die! We're going to dieeeeeee!
[Frank runs through the main Deep 13 hatchway and closes it behind
himself, screaming all the time. After it's closed, and the wheels
turn, Frank's muffled screams can still be heard, until they recede to
nothing.]
CLAY: Frank, what in the blazes is the--
[He inadvertently puts his hand down in the brown goo.]
CLAY: OH, what the--Frank! It's Thursday, so it's your turn to clean
the Umbilipod!
[on SOL]
ALL: (snickering)
[Deep 13. Clay is looking down at his hands, disgustedly, wanting to
shake them off, but not wanting to get the goo anywhere else. He looks
up.]
CLAY: Oh, yes, you're a funny one, Blob Boy. Just for that, you can
start with the invention exchange!
[SOL]
MIKE (smirking): Don't have one.
TOM AND CROW: Huh?
MIKE: Nope. Didn't do anything all week except kick back and eat
hamdingers.
TOM AND CROW: Ewgh.
[Deep 13]
CLAY (angry): Why, you...! (sheepish) Ah, it's just as well. Frank ran
off with my invention exchange this week. I'll just have to send you
this week's, ah...[looks around] this week's experiment...[starts to
wipe the goo on his coat, but decides against it; looks at his hands,
looks around again] Tell you what, boobie...since I'm such a mess, I
don't want to send you one of my truly good--read, "bad"--experiments
and get it all messy. I'll send you one of the rarest of breeds...a
fanfic from alt.startrek.creative that doesn't upset your stomach. Be a
dear and pretend it hurts, hmmmm? I give you: Swan Song.
[He picks up a disk between thumb and forefinger, and the disk still
gets goo on it. He looks at it disgustedly, and shoves it somewhere off
camera.]
[SOL]
CROW: So, Mike, we've done banana cream pie and brown glop...what's
next?
GYPSY (sputtering brown gunk out, and on to everyone else): Scope!
ALL: Ewgh!
[flash flash flash]
>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
>"Swan Song"
[Mike walks in, carrying Tom. They are both followed by Crow.]
CROW: This stuff comes out, doesn't it, Mike?
MIKE: Sure.
>by Melanie Miller
>
>Part One
[Mike puts Tom down next to Crow, and sits where Tom usually sits.]
CROW: Wha...?
TOM: Hey! That's *my* seat!
MIKE: I want to sit in the middle seat this time.
TOM: But I *like* that seat! It's *mine*! I've worn little comfy
hoverskirt ridges into it! Now your big hominid butt is gonna mess it
all up!
MIKE: Don't be such a baby. Just watch.
TOM: (snivelling quietly) But it's mine...
> "Careful. . ._care_ful!"
> Lt. Jadzia Dax smiled serenely at the warning. "You don't have
>to be so worried, Julian," she said gently. "I think the waldoes know
>what they're doing."
CROW: And if you can't trust waldoes to carry around super-sensitive
stuff, who can you?
> "Well, I don't!" Dr. Julian Bashir replied with some asperity.
>The chief medical officer for Deep Space Nine was hovering over a
>waldo
MIKE: So *that's* where the little bugger is!
TOM: I see him! I see him!
carrying a stasis container, staring at the object nestled
inside its
>protective field. "Really, Jadzia, I think you'd be more impressed
that
>something this ancient is still in one piece," he continued.
CROW (Dax voice): "I think that every morning when I look in the
mirror. It9s no big deal anymore."
"Floating
>around in space for untold years--I'm simply trying to make sure it
>doesn't fall apart on us now."
TOM: What a curious parallel to DS9.
MIKE: Oh, stop it.
> The "something" he referred to was a coppery torus,
TOM (Minnesota housewife voice): Oh, I had a coppery torus once, but it
all cleared up when I put petroleum jelly on it.
CROW (same voice): Oh, yah, that stuff is wonderful.
35
>centimeters in diameter and seven centimeters in depth. A Bajoran
scout
>ship had found it floating in the Denorios Asteroid Belt,
CROW: Hey, they found one single foot-long lump of metal in a whole
asteroid belt. I hope they played the lottery as soon as they got home.
Bajor's
nearest
>stellar neighbor and the home of the galaxy's only stable wormhole.
>After some evasive dickering with the Cardassians,
TOM (quietly, to Crow): Evasive dickering, Ensign Comely!
CROW: Hard to port!
(Both snicker to each other.)
MIKE: Hey, guys, I missed that one. What did you say?
TOM: Uh...
CROW: Nothing! Nothing, Mike, look, we're missing it.
the ship had
>managed to deposit the torus at DS9 for "further study."
> Said further study, the science department had been surprised to
>find, dated the object as roughly 1.5 millenia old.
CROW (gangster voice): "Fifteen hunnert years is nothin'. I could do
dat standin' on my head."
> "And the sensors say it's semi-organic," Bashir continued to
>marvel, staring at the doughnut shape
MIKE: Well, I guess that proves the theory about the half-life of a
Twinkie.
as it hung complacently in the
>portable stasis container, glittering from the surrounding energy.
>"Some kind of bionic symbiosis, I would assume."
> "Perhaps," Dax replied thoughtfully.
TOM (announcer voice): For those of you just joining us...
She was a Trill, a species
>comprised of a humanoid host body and a sentient slug nestled inside
>the host's abdominal cavity,
TOM (announcer voice): That was the character background segment,
ladies and gentlemen. Now, back to the program.
and knew more about symbiosis than she
>cared to repeat.
CROW: Unless you loosened her up with a couple vodka shots. Then man,
what a blabbermouth!
"However, I think we should hold off on
classification
>until we can run some tests," she recommended. "In the meantime, you
>might want to let the waldo put the stasis container down."
TOM: But keep an eye on him!
MIKE: Yeah, last time we had to go hunting for him for just *hours*!
> Bashir looked up, flushing. "Yes, of course," he murmured
>hastily, moving out of the waiting carrier's way and bumping into a
tray
>of instruments.
CROW: Smooth move, Mr. Juan.
> Dax restrained another smile out of kindness, keeping her
>attention focused away from Bashir. The young Starfleet physician
>never ceased to amaze her--combining cool-headed medical skills and a
>ferocious intelligence with a child's rambunctious energy,
CROW (quietly, to Tom): ...he made the perfect bondage sex slave.
TOM: Hee hee!
MIKE: Hey, what are you guys saying over there?
TOM: Huh? Wha?
CROW: Nothing going on over here, Mike.
MIKE: Hmmm...
he seemed
to
>see the station and its mysterious neighbor as a never-ending
adventure.
TOM (singing): "The never ending storryyyy..."
>She sometimes thought that his post as Chief Medical Officer for DS9
>was the perfect graduation gift from Starfleet Medical, just what
Julian
>Bashir had always wanted.
CROW (young Bashir voice): "Except for one little damned pony. Mummy,
why won't you get me one little damned pony?!"
> Of course, he also wanted other things.
TOM: Wink, nudge.
MIKE: I expected that.
TOM: Then why didn't *you* say it, Mr. Smartypants?
At times, Dax was
>quietly entertained by the reaction her new physical appearance
>produced in Bashir
MIKE: At other times, she was loudly entertained.
CROW: Like last year's office Christmas party, where the doctor was so
embarrassed, he locked himself in the bathroom for hours.
--he almost tripped over his own feet every time she
>smiled, he was so eager to romance her. _Of course, he wouldn't have
>been quite so eager a year ago_, she thought, amused. The Trill habit
of
>moving from host to host tended to confuse unjoined lifeforms,
CROW: ...although unjoined lifeforms were easily confused, as they were
often distracted due to their limbs lying all over the place.
and her
>previous host Curzon had been an aged male. _I wonder how well
>Julian would have liked that body. . ._
TOM: (Bashir voice, wistfully): "If only she knew..."
> Ignoring both officers, the rumbling waldo
MIKE (low voice): "Rumble, rumble..."
CROW (low voice): "Damn tired of hiding all the time, rumble..."
deposited its burden
>inside one of the laboratory's examination booths. A larger
containment
>field deactivated the portable field and sealed the artifact off from
the rest
>of the lab, a safety precaution that would allow the artifact to be
>manipulated for tests. DS9's science staff would begin their real
work
>then--
TOM: Damn government workers! Get off yer duffs and start some *real*
work!
trying to determine what new discovery the endless cornucopia of
>the wormhole had decided to bestow upon Bajor and the Federation.
> Then again, cornucopias have been known to work both ways. . .
CROW (spooky announcer voice): Sometimes, late at night, while everyone
was asleep, the cornucopia would sneak into Dr. Bashir's laboratory and
steal artifacts, and leave not a trace.
> The woman moved easily through the suggestive darkness of
>Quark's casino,
TOM: Hi. I'm the darkness. May I suggest moving easily?
taking a seat at the end of the bar where she would
have
>a good view of the room. A bartender came up and muttered
>something--
CROW (stage whisper): "I hear the crops are doing well this year."
she responded,
MIKE (stage whisper): "And so are the mangoes."
and was rewarded with a softly glowing
>drink which she sipped periodically as she peered around the room,
>jotting the occasional note on an archaic padd.
CROW: "Archaic"? Come on! They were just using padds in the original
Star Trek series. It wasn't *that* long ago.
TOM: Uh...so?
CROW: Well, I'm just tired of these science fiction people using words
like "archaic" and "ancient" when referring to the near past. It's like
us calling a pencil "antiquated".
TOM: Isn't it?
CROW: No!
MIKE: Gee, Crow, you seem pretty intense about this. You watch this
stuff a lot, don't you?
CROW: Huh? No, uh, somebody told me.
An aura of calm
>untouchability surrounded her, an attitude learned in the countless
other
>bars she had sat in through the years.
MIKE: Yes sir, if you want to learn how to be untouchable, go to
countless bars.
TOM: Yeah, and if you want to stay dry, ride boats a lot.
> This untouchability was reinforced by her costume--a long navy
>robe, fastened securely at the neck by an odd brooch,
CROW: Hey, yeah, the brooch looks oddly like the head of Leona
Helmsley!
MIKE: Ewgh. *That's* untouchable.
with a deep hood
>throwing her face into shadow. The effect was very similar to an old
>religious custom
CROW (sarcastically): "Old"? Why not "Ancient"? Why not "from the times
of our forefathers"?
MIKE: Shh!
called purdah, and she used it for the efficient
secular
>reason:
TOM: To force people to use the word "purdah" in a sentence.
the added layer of clothing would normally discourage
>unwanted attempts at conversation.
> Unfortunately, it hadn't been a normal evening.
CROW (wacky voice): Because *every* evening is nutty on the goofy Deep
Space Nine!
A rowdy bunch
>of Bajoran miners were enjoying an unusual run of luck at the tables,
TOM: Hey Mike, I didn't know there were many mining opportunities at a
space station.
MIKE: Well, maybe they have casino shuttle specials, like they used to
have for old Atlantic City, on ancient Earth.
CROW: Stop that!
>celebrating their winnings with the local synthale. A few station
>security offers could be seen circulating in the crowd
TOM (kiddie voice): If we go really fast, we could make a big
whirlpool!
in an unspoken
>warning, but they were outnumbered by the raucous Bajorans. As it
>happened, one miner had noticed the woman when she sat down at the
>bar--the backlight had revealed enough of her face to make her
>interesting.
CROW: The backlight? Showing through the back of her thick hood?
MIKE: Mmm-hm.
After a number of drinks, he woozily decided
TOM: Anyone for any "peanut" references here?
MIKE: Nope.
CROW: No thanks.
that the
>mysterious woman in blue was just the thing he needed for
>companionship.
TOM: Like a rat needs a boa constrictor for companionship, maybe.
> Weaving badly, the miner made his way to the end of the bar.
>"Hey, pretty lady," he slurred, "ya look like you're lonely.
Howzabout
>lettin' me buy you a drink?"
> The figure shook its head.
MIKE: I guess part of a "calm aura of untouchability" is the ability to
become neuter on a moment's notice.
> "Aw, now, c'mon," he persisted. "It's rude to turn down a free
>drink, dontcha know that?"
TOM (falsetto): "Not as rude as breathing alcohol fumes all over me,
you vile little man!"
> "I'm not interested. But thank you anyway."
> The miner blinked, confused at the woman's accent. "Yer not
>from around here, areya?" he said. "Thass okay--I like foreigners
too,
>lonely li'l lady. Now, why don't you take a drink?"
> "I said no, thank you."
> The miner decided preliminaries had gone far enough.
TOM (announcer voice): He decided it was time to advance the woman's
character through a typical barroom brawl scene.
"I said I
>wanna buy you a drink," he leered. "And I'm gonna. And you're
>gonna drink it. Then maybe we'll have ourselves a li'l bit of fun,
>right?"
CROW: I suppose Affirmative Action hasn't quite made it to Bejor.
MIKE: Well, it *is* Deep Space, you know.
> He grabbed for her arm, and promptly found his wrist held in a
>restrictive grip. The miner turned to face one of the station
security
>officers. "I believe the lady said that she wasn't interested," the
officer
>said humorlessly. "You don't have a problem with that, do you?"
> Damn' Federation bootlickers, the miner thought, always
>breaking into a working man's fun.
TOM: Can this character get any more stereotypical? Let's watch!
But not this time. "Nope, no
>problem, off'cer," he said, trying to sound harmless as a fly. "No
>problem at _all_--"
> The miner yanked his arm down, pulling the other man off-
>balance, and launched his other arm out in a roundhouse punch that
>connected squarely with the security officer's nose. Blood spattered,
>and the dazed man tumbled backwards into the arms of the crowd,
>followed by the swinging miner.
TOM: (quietly, to Crow): Sayyyy!
CROW (falsetto, quietly, to Tom): "Now why didn't you just say you were
a swinging miner in the first place?"
TOM: Yeah, I bet that would've went a lot better.
MIKE: Now come on, you two, I hear you over there making raunchy
remarks. You stop it this instant.
Immediately his friends jumped into
>the fight, followed by two other security officers, and an old-
fashioned
>Bajoran donnybrook rapidly broke out on the gambling floor.
TOM: Huh? A donnybrook?
CROW: "Old-fashioned"! There it goes again! Why, I--
TOM: Be quiet, Crow. Donnybrook, Mike?
MIKE: Not sure...uh, maybe a guy named Donny Brook, and he rapidly
broke out in hives on the floor?
CROW (surfer dude voice): Or maybe she meant "Donatello", and he broke
outta his cage on the floor, man, so he can show these Bejoran dudes
some butt-kickin' pizza-chompin' Shredder-beatin' Turtle Power!
Whooooo!
MIKE (singing): Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles! Teenage Mutant Ninja
Turtles!
MIKE AND CROW (singing): Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles! Turtles in a
half shell!
ALL: Turtle power!
> Sighing, Quark hit the security button under the bar for
>reinforcements. "Why does this always happen on payday?" he
>muttered to himself.
TOM (like a muted trumpet): Wah wah wah wahhhhh!
> The station's chief security officer was on the Promenade,
>heading for his office when his combadge chittered. "Security to
Odo."
> Irritated, the shapeshifter slapped his badge--he had been
>looking forward to a quick nap in his container.
TOM: Ewgh.
CROW: How'd you like to wake up to *that* every morning?
"Odo here."
> "Sir, we have a situation at Quark's--a fight between some
>miners and three of our men. Apparently one of the miners didn't
>understand the word 'no.'"
> Which meant there was a female involved.
TOM (quietly, to Crow): Unless Dr. Bashir was down there.
CROW: Whoo-hoo-hoo!
MIKE: Alright, that's it, I heard that.
[Mike stands up.]
Of course. "I'm on
>my way," Odo muttered, changing course for Quark's. Thinking about
>it, he should have expected something like this--not only was it
payday,
TOM: Hey, mike, what are you doing?
[Mike picks up Tom, and puts him back in his usual seat.]
TOM: Hey! Mike, I was just getting used to it there!
CROW: Yeah!
>but the miners had produced a bonus quota for the period. He was
>surprised they hadn't gone straight on to their favorite stunt: zero-
grav
>tetherwrestling off a docking pylon. _Hulking morons._
[Mike sits in his usual seat.]
MIKE: Well too bad. You had to go and spoil it for everyone.
TOM (whimpering): But I was just getting comfortable and now I have to
sit in this huge cavern that your big primate posterior left, and--
CROW (quietly, to Mike): That's okay, Mike, I like you better anyway.
TOM (whimpering): --now I have to get it all broken in all over again,
and--huh?
> A few meters down was the garish entrance to the casino, and
>Odo marched in with an authoritative, "What's going on here?"
ALL (John Cleese voice): "What's all this, then?"
MIKE: That one almost doesn't seem fair. It's as if she almost put it
in herself.
TOM: True, Mike, but how could we *not*?
MIKE: Yeah, you're right.
>Unfortunately, the question was never answered as he ducked
>underneath a flying chair.
CROW: Well, technically, I guess that answers the question.
> "Good move," someone called. In his peripheral vision Odo
>saw Quark scuttling out from the protection of the bar. "Now if you'd
>please stop ducking and DO something, I'd be even more impressed,"
>the short Ferengi hissed.
> "Any suggestions?"
> "Yes--
TOM (Quark voice): "--Turn into a table lamp!"
try arresting those damned miners before they take apart
>my casino!"
> Odo scanned the room--as usual, Quark was exaggerating. His
>officers had gained control of most of the combatants, including the
one
>who had hurled
CROW: Ew. Sounds like he had his own control problems to worry about.
the chair,
CROW: Oh. Nevermind.
but one was still harassing a patron. He
>headed over to the couple, intending to immobilize the larger man if
>necessary.
TOM: Come on, guys, let's get out of here.
MIKE: Huh? Oh.
> What he saw next surprised him, as the woman calmly grabbed
>her assailant by the wrist. She stepped to one side in a deft
movement,
>twisting his arm behind his back as she did so. Abruptly howling in
>agony, the miner dropped to his knees in an attempt to keep his arm in
>its socket. "Gods, lady, let goooooo!"
[Mike picks up Tom; Crow walks out.]
TOM: Couldn't get comfy anyway.
MIKE: Oh, stop being such a big sissy.
> The constable admired the technique but couldn't allow it to
>continue. Regretfully, he stepped over the ruin of a table and
>approached the couple. "Madam, let go of that man," he ordered.
> The woman glanced up, her face hidden in the depths of her
>hood. "And who might you be?" she said pleasantly, still holding onto
>the miner's wrist.
------------------------------ --- ------------------------------------
Greg Galcik | gal...@oasys.dt.navy.mil
An Equal Opportunity Annoyer. | tmbg - mst3k - zweblo (with umlaut)
anon ftp: spider.navsses.navy.mil | www: http://spider.navsses.navy.mil/
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G. Galcik
Umbilicus! Nyah! Neener neener neener!