[MiSTed] Who is the Enemy? [Part 1 of 5]
Omar L. Gallaga
The following is a Misting posted as a favor by me and written by
the great and fantastico Michelle Villanueva...
Well, here it is, my first MiSTing. Please comment on it since I
still have to do Parts 2-5 (the horror) and I'd like to know how
good or bad my riffing is. Enjoy!
--
Michelle Villanueva
ev...@cleveland.freenet.edu
*****************************************************************
[MIKE is in his director's garb (beret and scarf), and CROW is
dressed up as a French swordsman. Draped on his chest is a swath
of fabric with a cross crudely stitched on the front. On his
head, a hat with a large feather sticking out of it. He
is holding a plastic sword the same way he holds a spear as "Sir
Crow of Robot". TOM is nowhere to be found.]
MIKE:Hey, everyone! Welcome to the Satellite of Love. You caught
us right in the middle of dress rehearsals for the SOL
production of CYRANO DE BERGERAC.
CROW:And we wanna stress that it's the PLAY, not the Scandinavian
musical bomb that closed not too long ago.
MIKE:Exactly. Well, we're just waiting for Tom, our lead, to
finish with makeup so we can start rehearsing.
CROW:I don't think it was a good idea to let Gypsy do makeup,
Mike.
MIKE:Why not? I mean, she was a great costume lady for LOVE
LETTERS. She really wanted to do this, and I think that
she's up to the challenge.
[A long, jousting spear-like object comes into view and pokes
MIKE in the ribs.]
MIKE:Ow!!!
TOM:(off-camera) Oh, *there* y'are Mike! Can't really see anything
with this thing on my beak.
CROW:Told you!
MIKE:Oh, no...Gypsy? Gypsy! I need to see you!
[GYPSY comes on-camera]
GYPSY:Yes, Mike?
MIKE:Gypsy, I *know* I told you that Cyrano's nose is long, but it
still has to be practical!
GYPSY:But Mike, the script says that his nose is "most
formidable".
MIKE:Yes, formidable, but not ridiculously *long*!
GYPSY:Oh, sorry...
MIKE:It's okay, Gyps. You didn't know...
CROW:(laughing) He looks like what Pinoccio might look like after
testifying at the Iran-Contra hearings!
TOM:(off-camera) Shut up, just shut up!!!
[DEEP 13 light flashes]
MIKE:Great...Derek Jacobi and Sinead Cusack are calling!
[DEEP 13]
DR. F:Hello Terry Hands. Assorted thespians. Your...
[TV's FRANK runs in front of DR. F., knocking him down.]
DR. F:(getting up) Frank, you better start talking, and start
talking fast!
FRANK:If Jerry and Sylvia ask about me, tell them I went to
Brazil! (opens vault door and runs out)
DR. F.:What the?
[Jerry and Sylvia pirouette in. Both are wearing ballet outfits
and dancing to THE NUTBRACKER SUITE.]
DR. F.:(under his breath) When I get a hold of Frank, I'll tear
him a new a--ah--here's your experiment, Mike 'n Ike.
(presses button)
[SOL]
[TOM is finally on-camera, with MIKE trying to pry the long
object off TOM's beak. As MIKE swings TOM around, CROW has to
duck to avoid being hit.]
MIKE:Crow, find the nail polish remover! This is gonna be harder
than I thought.
CROW:Gotcha!
[Klaxons, shaking, lights dimming]
ALL: OH!!! We got fanfic sign!!!!
[Door sequence]
MIKE:(holding TOM, finally pries off the nose) There! All done!
TOM:Whew, glad that's off!
[MIKE throws the nose onto the floor]
>Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
CROW:(entering theater) I don't like the looks of this...
MIKE:I *really* don't like the looks of this...
CROW:You okay, Tom?
TOM:Yup, no prob.
MIKE:You realize that we'll have to postpone the production until
Gypsy redesigns that thing.
>Path:newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!
CROW:Geseundeit!
>moe.ksu.ksu.edu!
TOM:(German accent) Is das nicht ein ksu.ksu?
MIKE&CROW:(G.A.)Yah, das icht ein ksu.ksu.
>vixen.cso.uiuc.edu!
TOM:(G.A.)Is das nicht ein vixen too?
MIKE&CROW:(G.A.)Yah, das icht ein vixen too.
>howland.reston.ans.net!
TOM:(singing) How-oooo! Werewolves of London...
>EU.net!uknet!root44!praxis!tjh
>From: t...@praxis.co.uk (Tim Huckvale)
>Subject: NEW STORY: Who is the Enemy? Part 1
CROW:(sarcastically) Oh, look...it's *new*!
TOM:Well, just because it's new, doesn't mean that it's good.
MIKE:Just give it a chance guys.
>Message-ID:
TOM:(State trooper) C'mon, son, lemme see yer ID.
CROW:(teenager) Ummm, here you go sir.
TOM:Son, d'you realize you were breakin' laws on the info
highway?
CROW: Sir?
TOM:That's right son, new rules. Y'can't post yer fanfic here.
CROW:But...
TOM:Sorry son, gotta give you a ticket.
><1994May6.1...@praxis.co.uk>
>Organization: Praxis, Bath, U.K.
>Date: Fri, 6 May 1994 17:22:57 GMT
>Lines: 325
>
>Here is a new story.
ALL:We *know*, we *know*!
>It is TNG, but introduces a whole
>new set of characters
MIKE:Kanji characters?
>from a slightly different area of
>Starfleet, that to my knowledge has never been the focus of
>a story -
CROW:An ensign who actually *survives* a landing expedition.
>Starfleet Intelligence.
TOM:Now *there's* an oxymoron!
CROW:That was too easy, Tom.
>Comments and criticisms
>are welcomed, you may even get a reply.
CROW:Dear critic. Thank you for your interest in my fanfic.
However, despite what you pointed out in your e-mail, there
is absolutely *nothing* wrong with my story.
> STAR TREK: THE NEXT GENERATION: WHO IS THE ENEMY?
> ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
>
MIKE:They are?
CROW:Who is the enemy?
TOM:Yes.
CROW:I mean the enemy's name.
TOM:Who.
CROW:I just wanna know what is the enemy!
TOM:No, *who* is the enemy.
CROW:That's what I wanna know!
TOM:Who!
CROW:The enemy?
TOM:Yes!
CROW:Yes is the enemy?
TOM:No, who!
CROW:I'm asking you! Who is the enemy?
TOM:You got it!
CROW:(laughing)I love that bit...
>by Magnus Huckvale
MIKE:How do you say his name?
CROW:(Scottish accent) *Mag*-nus *Huck*-vale.
TOM:Sounds so Dickensian.
MIKE:Do you think that this fanfic might be Huckvale's
Magnus Opus?
THE BOTS: D'oh!
TOM:Hit him, Crow.
MIKE:(cringing) I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I couldn't resist!
>Part 1
TOM:End of Part 1. Intermission. Part 2, later that evening.
>
>"Captain's log, Stardate 47262.2
CROW:0.314.90210.1-900-BITE-ME
>The Enterprise
>is now three hours from the Angeles system
CROW:Two light years from the Smog Nebula.
>to pick
>up Ambassador Sartre from Starbase 19.
MIKE:Hello dad? Football practice is done. Can you pick
me up?
>The
>Ambassador had been a key figure in talks with the
>Tsakkian
TOM:Tsarist government?
MIKE:Tse-tse flies.
CROW:Tsunamis.
>people until they broke off negotiations
>ten years ago.
MIKE:Sartre's views on humanism did not rest well with the
Tsakkian people.
>Due to its position near the
>Neutral Zone,
CROW:Number 12 in the Kama Sutra.
>Tsakkia is of high strategic value,
CROW:Let's see, Tsakkia. Used all my letters, triple word
score. I win!
>not to mention the possibility of preserver
>technology still remaining on the planet."
>
>BRIEFING ROOM, U.S.S. ENTERPRISE 1701-D
>
> Picard looked toward the
CROW:End of the series. After this, he'll be able to do what
he always wanted to do, write the great American Novel!
>wall chronometer.
TOM:24th century version of a clock.
> 06:59:56
> 'Any second now.' he thought.
TOM:I guess that would make it seven-ish?
> The door swished open
CROW:Which was odd since it made more of a "whoosh" noise.
>and his senior officers started
>filing in. When they were all seated,
MIKE:They couldn't stand up because Picard had coated all
the chairs with Krazy Glue.
>he turned to his
>android second officer.
> "Data, what do we know about Tsakkia?"
MIKE:Obligatory Data spouting techno-babble scene.
> Data tapped a sequence into the table console,
TOM:Which Picard attempted to copy. It was their nightly game
of Simon.
>and a
>blue-green planet appeared on the viewer.
CROW:Hey! I found my aggie!
> "The Tsakkian system consists of four planets, the
>outermost of which is class 'M'.
TOM:For Murder!
>First contact was made
>thirteen years ago, when Tsakkia achieved
MIKE:Plastics.
>warp capability,
>but the planet's government was unkeen on joining the
>Federation
TOM:(makes doorbell noise) Hi, we're from the United Federation
of Planets. We were wondering if we could spend a few minutes
talking to you about the benefitsof joining our organization.
MIKE:Well, I really don't know.
TOM:Hmmm...Well, if you'll take a look at our pamphlet,
"The Starbase", I think you'll find our all the answers that
you've been looking for.
MIKE:Sounds promising. I'll give you a call later. How's that?
TOM:Thanks! I hope we'll be hearing from you soon. (makes door
slamming noise)
MIKE:I can't believe those Federation people were here *again*!
CROW:Riding around on their bikes and scaring the children.
>at that time. They did allow a few visitors,
TOM:Okay...ummmm...I guess we can take on a few more. You
in the green shirt, and you with the camera, squeeze in the
back of the tram. Thank you.
>who
>returned with
MIKE:Some beautiful parting gifts, a year's supply of Turtle
Wax, and Rice-a-Roni, the San Francisco treat!
>reports of high living conditions, and very
>low unemployment.
>The inhabitants are humans, which led to
>the suspicion that the planet was
TOM:Earth?
>a preserver colony.
TOM:Oh.
MIKE:Or the make-up guys got real lazy...
>The
>USS Hathaway
CROW:(Ms. Hathaway voice) Oh, Mr. Drysdale...Jethro wants to
be an actor!
>conducted scans of the planet,
TOM:And created some very nice GIFs for downloading.
>and remains of
MIKE:The Day?
>at least one preserver ship were found.
TOM:(old man voice) Filled with Smucker's raspberry preserves.
>Before the Hathaway
>could investigate further however, the Tsakkians decided to
>end their relationship with the Federation."
CROW:(female voice) I think it's time for us to see other people.
MIKE:Why do we have to end it *now*?
CROW:(sobbing) I never liked you!
MIKE:Oh...Is that why I saw you with Tom that night?
TOM:Hey..don't drag me into this!
> "So why are they trying to re-open negotiations now?"
>asked Riker.
MIKE:Well, because!
> "The planet trades freely with other races, although
>little information leaves the system.
CROW:Since their Internet gateway's down.
>We have learned
>however, that a new High Chancellor was recently elected."
MIKE:Bobo, the Clown Chancellor!
> Picard nodded.
CROW:Off to sleep.
> "This new Chancellor could view foreign affairs in a
>different way to his predecessor." he said.
TOM:Since he likes to spend his days upside-down.
>"We will arrive
>at Tsakkia in forty-one hours, and I expect every crew
>member at the reception to be in full dress uniform.
MIKE:Yes, Troi. Even you.
>Mr
>Worf, I understand the Ambassador has his own escort,
CROW:Ford Escort?
TOM:(muttering) Ford Prefect...
>who
>will be responsible for his
MIKE:Daily chocolate fix.
>security, and you will be in charge of
CROW:The drinks. I don't want the fiasco that was last
year's company picnic to happen again! You understand?
>the safety of the civilian advisors and Enterprise
>crew while they are on the planet."
> The Klingon nodded. Looking after civilians was hardly
>work worthy of a warrior.
CROW:I'm a Grimald warrior!!!
> "Counsellor Troi, the Ambassador has requested your
>assistance,
[TOM & CROW begin to say something. MIKE covers their mouths.]
MIKE:Don't say anything...
CROW:But you did that thing about her uniform!
MIKE:Well...let's keep it at that, okay?
>he has not worked with an empath before, but
>feels it may be worthwhile."
> Troi inclined her head to indicate approval,
TOM:Uh, no. Actually her neck was stiff.
>and smiled
>slightly.
CROW:She was attempting to hide the large piece of spinach
stuck in her teeth.
> "Commander Data, you will be in command of the
>Enterprise.
MIKE:(ecstatic) Yes, yes, yes!!! (calm) I mean, thank you, sir.
>Any androids the Tsakkians will have
>encountered will doubtless be much less sophisticated than
>yourself,
TOM:(sarcastically) Diddley dur-hey!
>and I am unsure as to whether they will accept
>you."
CROW:You gotta go through hazing first.
> Data noted the apologetic tone of Picard's voice,
MIKE:Amazing, Picard's voice actually *had* tone for a
second there.
>and
>felt it necessary to reassure the captain that he was not
>offended.
TOM:Gosh, it's like walking on eggshells with these humans!
[MIKE turns to TOM, but he doesn't say anything].
> "Of course sir. I understand."
MIKE:Well, not really.
> "On the other hand,"
CROW:Shouldn't that be "OTOH"? I mean, it *is* USENET after all.
>continued Picard. "Exposure to such
>advanced technology may encourage them to join the
>Federation. I will consult Ambassador Sartre at the
>earliest opportunity." He looked from face to face.
[MIKE & the BOTS look at each other.]
> "Dismissed."
ALL:YAAAYY!!
MIKE:(singing) School's out for summer!
>
>WEAPONS PRODUCTION COMPLEX, DEVIRON 5
>
> Spencer
MIKE:Herbert Spencer?
>ran at full tilt along the walkway,
TOM:Your Fugitive's name is Dr. Richard Kimble.
>he saw the
>factory floor, hundreds of metres below. The feline workers
CROW:Kitties!!!
>staring upwards, the noisy machinery barely audible under a
>thousand angry hisses.
TOM:(muffled) Watch out for snakes!
>He ducked behind a
>support pylon,
CROW:Pylon Pete's in this too?
>and caught his breath. He felt his cheek,
CROW:You got pimples? Oxycute 'em!
>blood dripped from the fresh claw marks.
ALL:EEEWWWW!!!
>Spencer crouched,
>flicking his head from side to side, checking for danger.
CROW:Let's see. No danger over there. Over here? Oh,
poopie!
>Three guards were filing on to the walkway ahead of him,
>disruptors poised. Spencer took careful aim and fired. The
>heavy stun knocked the first one down but aggravated the
>other two further.
TOM:Grrr, we're aggravated further!
>The pylon didn't afford him much cover,
>and the yellow beams scored along the titanium struts. He
MIKE:The yellow beams shoot, they score!!!
>stuck his head out, expecting it to be vaporised,
CROW:AAAAAAHHHH!!! My head!!! Drusilla, my head!!! My he--
[MIKE clamps his hands over CROW's beak.]
MIKE:No more Masterpiece Theatre videos for *you*!
CROW:(muffled)Sorry...
[MIKE lets go.]
TOM:Didn't even *sound* like John Hurt, anyway.
>but the
>two felines had set about retreiving
MIKE:The catnip toy that Spencer had thrown at them.
>their colleague. One
>of them noticed Spencers gaze and waved a claw at him.
TOM:(Minnesota eldery woman voice) Oh, claws. How do ya
cook dem again?
CROW:(MEWV)Dey're good right outta da shell.
MIKE:(MEWV)Wit some lemon juice and Tabasco? Ya got
yerself a feast right dere!
TOM:(MEWV)Oh, yah.
> Spencer was puzzled by their sudden retreat,
MIKE:Hey! Where ya goin'?
>but not for
>long.
MIKE:Oh, okay.
>A massive fiery beam slammed into the ultradense
>ceiling, less than a metre from him.
> Looking down, he saw several seven-foot tall furballs
CROW:Boy, those Tribbles really evolved in 80 years.
TOM:Makes sense. Since they breed so rapidly, changes in
size and appearance would appear within the gene pool
of the population rather quickly.
MIKE:Guys?
BOTS:Hmmm?
MIKE:You're speculating on the evolution of a species that
doesn't exist.
CROW:Well, Mike. Speculative biology is a very good way of
understanding the flora and fauna that are familiar
to us.
MIKE:Yeah, whatever.
>fumbling around a - Spencer identified the weapon
>immediately - Class 8 Cardassian Disruptor Cannon. Guards
>were now appearing at each end of the walkway.
MIKE:Now appearing at the end of the walkway. Guard One,
Guard Two and their Midnite Revue!
> He stumbled along the walkway just as the pylon was hit,
>blobs of white-hot metal cascading to the floor. The
>walkway start to sag under its own weight.
CROW:A saggy walkway that leaks?
>He notched his
>phaser up seven times, and fired at the eight foot tall
>balls of fur.
MIKE:They might be a Wookie/Popple hybrid.
CROW:Who's talking about species that don't exist??
MIKE:Well...
>The guards dived away from the beam -
>straight over the handrail -
ALL:WWWHHHEEEEE!!!
>and it turned a large part of
>the magno-shielded wall into dust.
MIKE:Mango juice spilled everywhere!!
TOM:It's *magno*, not mango.
MIKE:So, what's that magno-thingy anyway?
TOM:Dunno, something to do with Sampo?
CROW:That'd mean a Sampo gives grain, gold, salt...
TOM:(matter of factly) And magno juice.
>Spencer estimated that
>the hole was fifty metres away, and fired up his Jetshoes
>(TM).
CROW:(snickering) Jetshoes needs a TM?
MIKE:They're powered by the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi.
TOM:Or Doug Henning.
>He sped forward and hurtled along the rapidly
>descending walkway, staring straight forwards at the hole in
>the wall.
TOM:(singing)There's a hole in the wall, dear Liza, dear
Liza.
>His hands were stretched out in front of him, and
>he felt his legs take the full force of the tiny but
>powerful engines strapped to his feet. Out of the building,
>he tilted his feet backwards, sending him spiralling up into
>the deep red sky.
TOM:AAAAAAAHHHH!!!!! I forgot to tie my shoooooooes!!!!!
> He tapped his watch.
MIKE:Timex, it takes a licking and keeps on ticking!
> "Reaper, beam me up!"
>
>ORBIT G-090E, DEVIRON 5
>
> Anyone in geostationary orbit directly above Spencer's
>position would have been surprised to see a small Starfleet
>runabout suddenly appear,
CROW:Hey, isn't that a small Starfleet runabout suddenly
appearing?
>and then shimmer into nothing as
>if it had never been there.
MIKE:Like Fox's MONTY.
>Whoever was watching would then
>have been dragged
TOM:Into a dark room and forced to watch reruns of FAMILY
MATTERS.
>halfway across the solar system by the
>continuum ripples
CROW:New from Lay's. Continuum ripples potato chips!
TOM:Mmmmm, tastes like space!
>created when a spaceship goes to warp.
> Spencer stepped off the transporter pad to be greeted by
>a short guy in a black jumpsuit.
CROW:Anyone you know, Mike?
MIKE:Well, there were a lot of short guys at Happy Temps. I
remember this one short guy. We called him Johnny Two
Hats. Well, that wasn't really his name. We called
him that because he always said he had two hats, which
he couldn't prove because you couldn't wear hats to
work. That was one of the rules. When he came in...
[THE BOTS stare at MIKE, and he gets uneasy.]
TOM:Are you done?
MIKE:Yes.
> "Hello Spencer." he said. "Did you get them?"
TOM:Nobody gets them! They're the wind, baby!
> "They're all in here." Spencer tossed a small
>tricorder onto a console.
MIKE:You fit *all* the cast of MELROSE PLACE in there?
>He beckoned to the dwarf.
>"Enoit,"
CROW:Isn't that an Eskimo tribe?
>he whispered. "You're not letting Lucy fly, are
>you?"
MIKE:Well, she's in the sky already. I don't see why not.
> Enoit frowned.
> "You said it was alright." he whispered back.
TOM:(singing)It's alright, it's alright, alright. She moves in
mysterious ways.
> "Um, well it is, but... keep an eye."
> Enoit slowly nodded, ernestly. "Right."
> "You go up there, I'll take my ears off." he tugged at
>the pointed prosthetics.
TOM:Hey, buddy! Lend an ear, would ya?
MIKE:Oh, Tom!!! That was bad.
TOM:Not as bad as your Magnus Opus.
MIKE:Touche'.
> "Right." said Enoit. "By the way - new orders. When we
>get back to Starbase we have an hour before leaving.
CROW:That's great! We'll have just enough time to see
BAYWATCH!
>It's
>all on the computer. This one sounds fun, the Enterprise is
>involved."
> The shadow
MIKE:(muffled)Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?
BBWWWAAAHHAHAHHAHHAHHAHHAAA!!!!
CROW:Was that supposed to be Alec Baldwin?
>that was the Reaper hurtled on.
>
>STARBASE 51, ANGELES COLONY
>
> The Enterprise approached the enormous Starbase 51.
>People gazed out the starbase viewing ports in wonder,
ALL:(whispering)Oooooooohhhh!!
>as
>they did whenever a Galaxy class came to visit. Aboard the
>Enterprise, the crew admired the Starbase.
ALL:(whispering)Aaaaaaaaahhhh!!
> Nelf S'Olap
MIKE:What????? Is that a typo?
>dematerialised in transporter room 1.
> "Commander S'Olap, it's a pleasure to meet you sir."
>Nelf
TOM:(Cockney accent) *Narf*!
>looked up to see a dark-skinned young man wearing a
>VISOR. "I'm Lieutenant LaForge, Chief Engineer on the
>Enterprise."
CROW:And obligatory minority character.
> "Hello Lieutenant. Thank you for accommodating me at
>such short notice."
> "Don't mention it." Geordi led the way to the turbolift.
CROW:It's right over here. No, it's over *here*! D'oh,
I can't remember!
>"I'm always ready to help with research into warp drives."
> The two entered the turbolift in silence.
MIKE:(singing)Hello darkness, my old friend.
> "Main Engineering." said Geordi. "Er.. what exactly
>*are* you researching?"
MIKE:You know, stuff!
> "Sorry." said Nelf.
ALL:(C.A.) *Narf*!!
>"It's classified. All I can tell
>you is that I'm taking efficiency readings of your warp
>core, and relating them to field patterns."
> Geordi nodded.
CROW:Seems to be a lot of nodding in this fanfic.
>A moment later the doors opened and they
>were in engineering.
> "You can use the terminal in my office." Geordi said.
> "Good, I believe I have forty minutes before you leave."
> Geordi checked the wall chronometer.
> "A little over, sir."
>The office doors closed behind Nelf.
ALL:(C.A.) *Narf*!
>Geordi stood there
>for a minute, wondering, and then went about his own work.
> Nelf
MIKE:(C.A.) *Na...(realizes the BOTS aren't doing it with him
and he stops in mid-word)
TOM:Sorry, Mike. The joke's stale.
>laid a tricorder on to the console.
> "Computer. Establish link with tricorder S T B 5 1 slash
>2 1 1."
> "Link established."
CROW:Now, find Dr. Strangepork and First Mate Piggy!
> "Run program W F A."
> "Running program. Warp field pattern re-calibration
>requires level 5 security clearence."
MIKE:D'oh! I knew I forgot something!!!
> "Recognise S'Olap, Commander, Nelf.
TOM:I *thought* that was you!
>Code Gamma 8 6 2 4 7
>1."
> "Warp field pattern set. Continuing program."
CROW:We now continue with our regularly scheduled program,
already in progress.
> "Sever tricorder link."
> Nelf tapped a few parts of the console, causing the
>transcript of the conversation to disappear. He snatched up
>the tricorder and wandered around engineering, pretending to
>take readings.
>
>TURBOLIFT CAR 26, DECK 4, USS ENTERPRISE NCC-1701D
>
> "I hear that you're an admirer of Ambassador Sartre's work,
>counsellor."
TOM:(Troi voice) Yes, especially BEING AND NOTHINGNESS.
>Captain Picard said to his ship's counsellor,
>as the two left the turbolift.
> "His work with the Orions was most impressive." she
>replied. "Up to the Sellaris 4 incident."
MIKE:Why he tee-pee'ed the Sellaris 4 legislative building,
I'll never understand!
> "Indeed." Picard nodded. "That was very unfortunate.
>Perhaps having an empath could have helped in that
>situation."
TOM:How could the Orions miss somebody carrying Costco-
sized Charmin rolls into the building?
> "Maybe, captain. Some people would say the presence of
>an empath would have simply increased the Orions distrust of
>the Federation."
CROW:And of Mr. Whipple.
> They entered the transporter room, to find Riker and Worf
MIKE:Fighting over Deanna.
>already there.
>He turned to the transporter chief.
> "Signal Starbase we are ready for the Ambassador's
>party."
TOM:(frat boy voice) Wooo-wooo!!! All right!!!!
MIKE:(FBV) Who brought the kegs?? Woooo!!
CROW:(FBV)Is this gonna be as wild as Phi Sigma Alpha's bash
last month?
> The chief tapped the console, and four figures sparkled
>on the pad.
> The Ambassador was of average height, dark haired, with
>streaks of grey, and wore a thick grey robe.
TOM:So. He's *grey* then?
>Behind him
>were two security guards, and - Worf noted with surprise - a
>fleet intelligence agent. Did Starfleet not trust him to guard
>one elderly human?
MIKE:Well, not since he screwed up the "Sunshine Boys" Holodeck
program.
> Deanna could sense Worf's confusion, and laid a hand on
>his arm.
MIKE:(Worf voice) Deanna, not here!!
> Picard immediately stepped forward.
CROW:(Picard voice) All right! Who pinched me?
>"Welcome to the Enterprise, Ambassador."
>"Thankyou captain, I only hope working with the flagship
>of the fleet will be as interesting as I have heard."
> The captain nodded.
CROW:*Heck* of alot of nodding in this fanfic.
> "This is Lieutenant Nickson of the SIA," the Ambassador
>continued. He leaned forward conspiratorially and
>whispered. "My bodyguard."
MIKE:(singing)And Iiiii-eeee-yiiii...will always love
yooooouuu!!
[The BOTS turn towards MIKE.]
CROW:Don't do that again.
> Nickson spoke up. "Actually I'm in charge of the
>Ambassadors
MIKE:And a very nice hotel it is, Nickson.
>security. The young ensigns here are his
>bodyguards."
MIKE:(singing) And I...
BOTS:MIKE!!!!
MIKE:Sorry, sorry.
> Sartre looked round and glared at the Lieutenant.
> Picard took it all in his stride.
> "Ambassador, this is my first officer, commander Riker...
>My security Chief, Lieutenant Worf.. an..."
> "Aaaaaah!"
ALL:(mockingly) Aaaaaah!"
>Sartre interrupted. "Q'EST!" he shouted, in
>his best Klingon accent.
> Picard did a double take.
MIKE:(Picard voice) What the heck was that???
>Riker tried to suppress a
>smile. Deanna giggled behind a hand.
TOM:(Troi voice) I hope no one notices the spinach.
>Nickson looked up at the ceiling.
CROW:Hey, who threw the pizza up there?
>Worf glared at the old man for a moment, but took the
>comment as it was meant.
> "Thankyou Ambassador. You speak Klingonee... very well."
MIKE:Worf suppressed the urge to tear the Ambassador's head
clean off, the Klingon way of expressing criticism.
> "I had a good teacher..." the Ambassador said. "Admiral
>Lawton at the starbase, in fact. Although he only taught me
>'hello'."
> Picard hastily ushered the Ambassador on to Deanna.
CROW:(Picard voice)Ignore him...just ignore him...
> "This is my ship's counsellor, Deanna Troi."
> "Enchanted, Ms Troi." the Ambassador gently lifted and
>kissed Deanna's hand.
[TOM blows a raspberry.]
> "As am I, Ambassador. I hope I can be of use in the
>negotiations."
> The Ambassador nodded,
TOM:The nodding thing *again*!
>and then apparently lost interest.
MIKE:Eeehh...hmmmm...uhhmmm..
> "Captain, when are we meeting with the boffins?"
TOM:(Cockney) Gonna 'ave a boffin good time!
> "We're rendezvouing with the Riviera in Epsilon sector."
>said Picard. "They already have the science team aboard."
> "Good."
> Picard forced a smile. "This way."
> The Ambassador waved his hand to say 'after you' to
>Deanna. Worf stomped out behind her, eyeing the Starbase
>technician waiting outside the room.
>Spencer leaped in front of the Ambassador
CROW:Hi-keeba!
>and glanced
>each way down the corridor. He nodded at the technician,
>who nodded back.
MIKE:Enough nodding!!!
CROW:Couldn't they express agreement in some other way???
> "All clear, Ambassador." Nickson smiled.
> The Ambassador whirled past, muttering.
> "Don't push it, Spencer."
> Spencer grinned, and fell into step behind the Ambassador
>and the Captain.
CROW:Okay, left, right, left, right. No, no. Right,
left. I can't keep up!
> "Actually, Ambassador, I wanted to ask you about our Mr
>Data..." said Picard.
MIKE:(paranoid) WHAT ABOUT DATA!! WHAT HAVE YOU HEARD???
> Spencer looked behind to catch Commander Riker's eye.
TOM:BOING!
> "Commander." he said. "I wonder if you would help me
>fulfill an ambition."
> "Go on." said Riker.
> "I'm a member of Starbase 51's display team. I'm a grade
>AAA1
CROW:Egg?
>pilot you see, and I like to say that I've flown nearly
>everything from skimmers to Klingon Birds of Prey.
TOM:But what I really wanna do is direct!
>But I've
>never actually taken the helm of a starship as large as the
>Enterprise, and I always say there's nothing to lose from
>asking."
MIKE:That's not always true.
> "And you'd like to take the helm of the Enterprise." said
>Riker.
>Spencer nodded.
TOM:Agree! Say yes! Okay! Consent! Anything but nod!!!
> "I'd like to engage the warp drive if
>possible."
> Riker scratched at his beard.
MIKE:Thought I got rid of the lice.
> "It *would* be highly
>irregular."
> Spencer felt like he was walking a tightrope.
[TOM hums some calliope music.]
> Riker finally reached a decision.
MIKE:It's a definite, mmmmmaybe.
> "On one condition." he said.
> "Anything." said Spencer.
TOM:Let me use your Jetshoes (TM).
> "You tell me how you got to fly a Bird of Prey."
> Spencer grinned.
MIKE:Wheww! Thank God he didn't ask about the Jetshoes
(TM)!
>
>COCKPIT, RUNABOUT CLASS USS CHAMELEON NCC-45031
MIKE:(English accent) "Can this cockpit hold the vasty fields of
France?"
>
> Lucy Cashdime
CROW:"Cashdime"?
TOM:Yeah, like "Moneypenny", only after inflation.
>irritably strummed her fingers on the
>console.
> The words "Establishing Link" hovered on the screen for a
>second, and were then replaced by
MIKE:"Don't Panic" in large, friendly letters.
>Admiral Lawton.
> "We're just about ready, Admiral."
> "Good." said Lawton. "The Enterprise leaves in ten
>minutes, so you'd better hurry."
> Ludovic Jarmin and Gary Caplin came forward to the
>runabout.
>"Ah, Commander Jarmin, Ensign Caplin."
CROW:(evil voice) You have a nasty habit of surviving.
>said Lawton, as
>Gary sat in the pilot's seat.
MIKE:Let Hertz put you in the pilot's seat.
> "Admiral. Are we secure?" asked Jarmin.
TOM:We got the Club, don't we?
> A few beeps could be heard from Lawton's end.
CROW:Didn't know Lawton could do that.
> "You are now." he said. "Good luck."
> Jarmin nodded
TOM:"Nodded", "nodded"! Whatever happened to "Aye, sir"?
>and left the cockpit.
> "Right. Chameleon out." Gary leaned forward to cut the
>channel.
> "Starbase out. Oh, Gary?"
CROW:(Jack Benny voice) Oh, Gary?
> "Sir?"
MIKE:Robin?
TOM:(singing)He was not the least bit scared to be mashed
into a pulp.
>Gary's hand hovered over the console.
> "Don't let Lucy fly." Lawton said, and disappeared.
CROW:(Lucille Ball voice)Aaaaaahhh, Ricky. I wanna fly!!!
> Gary chuckled to himself and energised the cloaking
>device. Lucy folded her arms and put her feet up on the
>console.
> "And tell her to keep her feet off the console." came
>Lawton's voice.
CROW:(LBV)I wanna put my feet up, Ricky!!!
MIKE:(Desi voice)We don' wan' to anger Lawton. Put your
feet down!
> Gary clicked off the radio himself this time, and gently
>guided the runabout out of the bay.
>
>STARBASE 51, ANGELES COLONY
>
> Two tiny doors opened near the bottom of the Starbase
>cone. Inside was a copious shuttle bay. Four runabouts
>could be seen within, a fifth conspicuous by its abscence.
>A few seconds later the doors slid shut,
CROW:(muffled)Hey, I'm still back here!
>and the chameleon
>took up position between the enormous nacelles of the
>Enterprise.
>
>BRIDGE, USS ENTERPRISE
>
> "Lieutenant Nickson, set course for Tsakkia, warp 6."
>said Riker.
>Spencer already had the course entered, and tapped a key
>to have it passed to the navigational computers.
> "Course laid in sir."
> "Take us onto that heading on Manual,
MIKE:(Spanish accent) It is difficult.
>Lieutenant. Full
>impulse."
> "Aye sir." said Spencer.
> The Starbase flew across the screen
TOM:(race-car noise) VVVVVRRRRR-ooooommm!
>as Spencer executed a
>three-point turn in the largest ship of the Starfleet.
CROW:Is that the same as a *bank-turn*?
ALL:AAAAAHHH!!!
>He
>edged the engines up to full impulse, and ran his hands
>over the inert parts of the console.
> "Warp 6, engage." said Riker.
> Spencer powered up the warp engines, and checked his
>watch.
MIKE:Hmmm...4:15.
>The display turned from red to green, and Spencer
>released the enormous build-up of energy in the nacelles to
>push the Enterprise into warp.
TOM:Everyone! Lean back to simulate acceleration!
> "Mr Cermegghed,
CROW:Oh, *that* ensign. He does good work.
>replace Lieutenant Nickson at the helm."
> Spencer turned to Riker.
> "Thankyouverymuch
MIKE:Youareverywelcome.
CROW:Don'tmentionitsir.
TOM:Whyarewedoingthis?
CROW:Ihavenoidea.
TOM:Mikeyoustartedit.
MIKE:Ican'tstop!
TOM:Spacebar!Where'sthespacebar!
MIKE:It'soverbyCrow.Crow,hitit!
CROW:Ok. I got it!
TOM:Thanks much.
MIKE:Thought we'd have to do that for the rest of the fanfic!
>commander," he said smoothly. "That
>was a very worthwhile experience."
> Riker nodded.
CROW:*More* nodding!!
MIKE:The writer has a nodding fetish.
> Spencer entered the turbolift. After a second the doors
>closed, and the computer prompted in a silky voice.
> "Please state destination."
MIKE:(singing) Destination, anywhere.
> "I don't suppose you have a bar on this ship." Spencer
>said.
> "The Ten Forward lounge can provide a range of.."
> "Yeah, that'll do."
>
>CORRIDOR, DECK 10, USS ENTERPRISE
>
> Spencer found a pair of doors with a large Starfleet
>insignia plastered across them. They hissed open as he
>approached.
> "Cool."
MIKE:Sorry, atmospheric regulator's on the blink.
>he wandered over to the bar, and casually leaned
>on it.
TOM:Which was unfortunate because someone has spilled synthahol
on the bar moments before.
CROW:Hey, I just washed this uniform!
>No bartender, he thought, gazing across the room.
> "Don't I know you from somewhere?" spoke a soft, warm
>voice.
MIKE: Yes, now leave.
> Spencer snapped his head round,
CROW:(makes a cracking sound) Owie! My spine!
>it seemed like she had
>appeared from nowhere,
TOM:(German accent) Oh...where is Sigfreid?
CROW:(G.A.) Over here, Roy!
TOM:(G.A.) Hello Sigfreid!
CROW:(G.A.) Hello Roy!
>but as Spencer saw who it was he
>wasn't surprised.
> "Guinan?"
TOM:(sarcastically) No, a reject from Fantasia...of *course*
it's Guinan!
> "Spencer? I thought it was you. It's been two h..."
MIKE:Hours?
> "Too long, yes." said Spencer hurriedly, eyeing the
>crewmen further down the bar.
TOM:Saaaaaayy...
> "You haven't changed a bit." he continued. "Still
>wearing stupid hats."
> Guinan smiled. "Rude as ever." She leaned forward. "I
>assume this means you er.. succeeded."
> Spencer nodded.
CROW:STOP THE NODDING!!!
>He was about to say it was classified,
>and that she could be shot for even knowing, but having
>spent nearly a week with Guinan, he knew it wouldn't do any
>good.
> "Of course. Thanks to you. Of course, it was only a
>year ago for me."
MIKE:Of course...
TOM:Of course...
CROW:Of course...
> "So, what're you up to now?"
TOM:(Ringo accent) Page five.
> "Boring - guarding the old man.
CROW:So, you're drilling him?
>Still, it's work." he
>shrugged, he was sure Guinan didn't believe it, but she
>didn't question him further. "Tell me, why this?" he waved
>his hand around at Ten Forward.
MIKE:Ladies and gentlemen, the magic of Spencer!
> She shrugged. "It's work."
>
>USS ENTERPRISE
>
> The Enterprise thundered on.
TOM:There is no sound in a vacuum!!!!
MIKE&CROW:Tom!
>Presently another, slightly
>squashed ship drew
CROW:A smiley face!
>alongside and matched warp velocity.
> Worf looked up from his station.
MIKE:Sega!
>"Sir. We are being hailed by the Riviera."
ALL: (gladiator voices) Hail, Enterprise!
> "On screen." said Riker.
> The bridge of the Riviera appeared on the screen, as a
>Nebula class starship, the bridge looked almost identical to
>that of the Enterprise.
CROW:But that was because the design guys didn't want to build
another set.
>Riker recognised the captain, Frank
ALL:Frank!!!
>Wellard.
ALL:Oh...
>Wellard and his twin Ryan had been in Riker's year
>at the academy.
TOM:Will that information be relevant later?
> "Will. Good to see you again." said Wellard.
> "Hello Captain." said Riker. Taking care to pronounce
>the capital 'C'.
MIKE:*C*-aptain...
CROW:Oh, gross...Mike, you hocked a loogie!
TOM:Ick...
MIKE:I'm sorry! I'll clean it up later.
CROW:You better!
> Frank smirked. "Well you're the one who keeps turning
>down commissions."
> 'Waiting for Picard to pop his cork,
CROW:What does *that* mean?
MIKE:No idea, and I don't want to know.
>most likely' he
>thought to himself.
> "I've got a load of scientists aboard," he said out loud.
>"They're yours if you want them."
CROW:They plump when you cook 'em.
> Riker nodded.
MIKE:AAARRGGHH!!
>"Mr Worf, signal the transporter chief to
>begin transportation."
MIKE:(Worf voice) Hey, you down there!! Transport!!
> There was silence for a few seconds, except for the
>gentle hum of the ship's engines.
[ALL hum a chord.]
> "I missed you at the class of '57 reunion."
TOM:(accusingly) Okay...what did you throw?
>said Frank,
>brightly.
> "I couldn't make it." said Riker.
ALL:(singing) Liar...liar...lair...lair...
> "Shame"
CROW:(singing, falsetto voice) Shame! I'm gonna hide forever!
>said Frank. His own tactical officer told him
>that the scientists were all transported.
> "Say hi to Geordi.
>Riviera out."
> The Riviera pulled ahead of the Enterprise and passed in
>front of the larger ship, before warping away.
>
>ENGINEERING, USS ENTERPRISE
>
> A few hours later, Geordi was sitting in his office. He
>was puzzled.
> "Reg, come and look at this." he called.
> A weasel-faced man entered.
MIKE:Is it a man with the face of a weasel, or a member of an
alien race that *look* like weasels, or a human with a
very long nose very much *like* a weasel?
> "What is it?" he asked.
CROW:It's a console, but that's not what I wanted to show you.
> "These warp patterns have been altered to provide a large
>area of stability between the nacelles."
> Barclay
TOM:Butter...
CROW:Barclay...
TOM:Butter...
CROW:Barclay...
>sat down and called up a copy of what Geordi was
>looking at.
MIKE:What the H-E-double hockeysticks is *that*????
> "Elliptical. Measures 25 by 12 by 6 field units."
CROW:So it's oval-shaped and kinda big.
TOM:Pretty much.
>he
>said.
> Geordi nodded.
CROW: Oh, puh-leeeze!
> "The strange thing is, I can't reset the pattern. The
>sensors aren't picking anything up,
CROW:They don't want to car-pool today!
>and it's not affecting
>our speed or... efficiency. I wonder if this is anything to
>do with that Starbase technician."
MIKE:Who, the one fiddling around with the sensors before?
Nah, couldn't be him.
> "I could try to recalibrate the patterns manually."
> "I already did," said Geordi. "It didn't work."
> "Oh."
> Just then the patterns stopped flowing over the computer
>model of the Enterprise and lost all their uniformity.
>Random lines of spacetime could be seen on the display.
MIKE:It looks like a screensaver.
>The
>ship had left warp.
> "Dammit."
CROW:Hey, watch your language! There could be *kids* reading this!
>said Geordi. "Computer, display warp pattern
>setting."
> The pattern reappeared on the screen. Without the area
>of stability.
ALL:HUH????
TOM:Did something important just happen?
> "What the hell?..." whispered Geordi.
CROW:You know, opposite of Heaven...
> TO BE CONTINUED
ALL:NOOOO!!!!!
TOM:Well...let's go...(hops into MIKE's arms)
MIKE:I really hope they don't send up the rest of that story...
[MIKE leaves with TOM in his hands. CROW gets up and begins
to follow.]
CROW:Wait...we gotta see the .sig file.
[MIKE's head pops back in.]
MIKE:Really? (he comes back in with TOM)
TOM:Criminy!
>--
>Magnus Huckvale
>--posted by
>Tim Huckvale,
TOM:Guess whose brother that is?
>Praxis, 20 Manvers Street, Bath, BA1 1PX, UK
>The Software Engineering Company of Touche
TOM:They must make fencing software.
>Ross Management Consultants
>Tel:+44 225 444 700 Fax:+44 225 465 205 Email:t...@praxis.co.uk
> Any opinions expressed are mine
MIKE:Now we know who to strangle.
>--
>Tim H
>"Praxis, meaning turning-point, culmination, action; orgasm."
TOM:It's a family newsgroup. Can he write that and get away with
it?
>Fay Weldon, in her novel "Praxis". (#2 in a series of quotes)
TOM:Don't you hate it when people's .sigs are longer than their
posts?
CROW:Yeah...what a waste of bandwidth!
MIKE:Can we go now?
CROW:I think so...let's go!
[They leave the theater.]
[Door sequence]
[MIKE and the BOTS are back on the bridge behind the desk]
TOM:(sighing) Okay, his fanfic was supposed to be about
Starfleet Intelligence.
MIKE:Already a contradiction in terms.
TOM:Right. So where the heck WAS Starfleet Intelligence?
CROW:Yeah! So we got this guy who wears Jetshoes (TM).
MIKE:And what about that preserver colony?
TOM:And the NARF guy?
CROW:And the kitty workers?
MIKE:And all that nodding!
CROW:Nodding may be this fanfic's version of rockclimbing!
TOM:And does Jetshoes (TM) *need* that TM?
ALL:We want answers!
[DEEP 13]
DR. F:(holding a tutu) Well, what do you expect from a fanfic?
Clarity?
[At the back, FRANK opens the vault door slowly and tip-toes in.]
DR. F:Frank, I've got something that I have to say to you.
FRANK:Jerry and Sylvia?
DR. F:They're taking the day off...something about Bolshoi.
FRANK:Are you mad?
DR. F:Mad? Why would a say that I'm mad? (begins to twist the
tutu in his hands) Frank, just stand very very still.
(to camera) Until next time Mike-a-roni!
[DR. F. pushes the button.]
[Sound of a whip cracking]
****************************************************************
----------------------------------------------------------------
>Picard nodded.
----------------------------------------------------------------
****************************************************************
++LEGAL STUFF++
Mystery Science Theater 3000, its situations and characters
are the sole property of BBI and are (c) 1994 BBI.
Star Trek: The Next Generation, its situations and characters
are the sole property of PARAMOUNT PICTURES.
The opinions expressed in this post are not necessarily those of
BBI, CC, HBO DOWNTOWN PRODUCTIONS, PARAMOUNT PICTURES and their
affiliates, whomever they may be.
--
*****************************************************************
Omar L. Gallaga ex...@cleveland.freeenet.edu &
ogal...@harikari.ucs.uoknor.edu
SIG requires 2 AA batteries (not included).