Google Groups no longer supports new Usenet posts or subscriptions. Historical content remains viewable.

REPOST: ST:DRG "Spoilers" MISC PG 9/54

1 view
Skip to first unread message

Douglas A. McLeod

Oct 15, 1997, 3:00:00 AM10/15/97

Last time on Star Trek: Door Repair Guy:

"Sir! The Borg ship has divided into two parts! They're
standing dead in space!"
Riker rises from his chair.
"This is just the opportunity I've been waiting for! Arm
photon torpedoes! Phasers ready! Helm, initiate attack approach
Riker Delta Three."
The nacelles gather steam and the Battle Section goes to
warp speed in a burst of light . . . .

And now this week's incredibly exciting episode:

The camera dollies up to the ensign at the helm, catching
the look of surprise, and the rapid glances from point to point
on the console.
"Captain! Battle Section approaching on attack vector!
Speed warp eight! Intercept in twenty-three seconds!"
Picard jumps up from the command chair.
"Merde! Red Alert! Shields up! Helm! Get the Saucer
between the Battle Section and the Cube and keep us there!
Tactical, ready phasers!"
Shot of Saucer accelerating around Borg Cube.
Picard hits his commbadge.
"Mr Barclay! Tell me you cleaned out that photon torpedo
*Ba>voice cracking<rclay here, Captain! I'm sorry, Captain!
Next time I'll I'll ask permission first!
"Permission granted in advance, Mr Barclay. Transporter
room! Interface with Ops and beam Mr Barclay and an ordinance
crew to the photon torpedo launch room now! And beam Counsellor
Troi to the bridge!"
Rapid editing as we see crew members plucked from various
places on board -- the turbolift, a corridor, Ten Forward, a
martial arts clinic, holodeck three (Barclay) -- and
rematerialized in the photon torpedo launch room. After a few
moments spent colliding with and climbing and falling all over
one another they find their work stations and begin loading up
the launch tube and arming torpedoes.
A commbadge materializes on the floor at Picard's feet.
"Transporter room! Counsellor Troi is not wearing her
commbadge! Lock on to all lifeforms in her quarters and beam
them to the bridge!"
Various potted plants materialize, and in the midst of them,
Counsellor Troi wrapped in a big bath towel.
Picard bellows over his shoulder to the tactical officer:
"Hailing frequencies!"
On board the Battle Section the helmsman shouts: "The Saucer
is moving to intercept!"
Riker: "Steady as she goes, Helm. Prepare to execute Riker
Manoeuvre on my mark. Steady. . . . Steady. . . ."
The tactical officer reports: "We're being hailed!"
"Ah ha, Locutus! On screen!"
Back on the main bridge Picard grabs the slightly
disoriented Troi by both shoulders, positions her squarely in
front of the view screen, sticks his nose against her ear and
says something, and then throws himself down onto his belly on
the carpeted deck and elbow-crawls to a spot between the Helm and
Ops chairs where he can relay orders to his staff without being
seen. He puts a finger over his mouth and then waves his hands,
mouthing the words, "Don't look at me!"
A larger-than-life image of Counsellor Troi appears on the
battle bridge viewscreen. She is surrounded by luxuriant
foliage. Her long, loose hair tumbles down her breast. She
holds together the front of her towel with one hand and pushes
her hair behind one ear with the other. She smiles, extends her
free hand toward the screen and utters one word.
View of the Battle Section coming out of warp. It sweeps
past the Borg ship, facing it, ready to fire. The Saucer Section
sweeps along with it, always directly between the Battle
Section's weapons and the Cube.
View of Riker with his mouth open.
On the floor of the bridge Picard makes a furious twirling
motion with his finger, followed by an imperative jab.
On board the Battle Section the tactical officer is
shouting: "Commander! The Riker Manoeuvre!"
"Ah! Oh! Saucer Section on screen!"
We see the Saucer Section coasting sideways in front of the
Borg Cube. Suddenly the Saucer rotates 180 degrees, presenting
the docking interface to the Battle Section. Red glowing photon
torpedoes erupt out of the little-known Saucer torpedo launcher.
The battle bridge rocks, the officers flying this way and
that. Riker, lying on his back like a big bug and grabbing at
the arm of the command chair, bellows, "Abort attack! Helm, get
us o-u-t-t-a h-e-e-e-e-r-r-r-e!"
The Battle Section turns and burns.
On the Saucer Section Picard stands up and tugs the hem of
his uniform. Troi gives him a vastly annoyed look and stamps off
toward the turbolift. Picard leans over to the officer at Ops
and says, "Send up some fellows to haul these plants down to
Counsellor Troi's quarters, would you?"
"Aye aye, sir!"

"Crawlspace: the final frontier. These are the voyages of
the Door Repair Guy. His mission: to install and maintain
proximity-activated entranceways, to stake out new rooms and new
service conduits -- to boldly go where no one with a pass key has
gone before."


Star Trek: Door Repair Guy

Whoosh! (the Battle Section)


Door Repair Guy
as Himself

Whoosh! (the Saucer Section/Borg Cube)

Also Starring

Patrick Stewart
as Captain Jean-Luc Picard

Whoosh! (the Battle Section again)

Jonathan Frakes
as Cmdr. William Riker

Michael Dorn
as Lt. Worf

LeVar Burton
as Lt. Cmdr. Geordi LaForge

Gates McFadden
as Doctor Beverly Crusher

Marina Sirtis
as Counsellor Deanna Troi

Brent Spiner
as Lt. Cmdr. Data

Patti Yasutake
as Nurse Ogawa

and Dwight Schultz
as Lt. Barclay

The Borg Cube looms into view and comes to a gradual halt to
the sound of hundreds of Borg muttering to themselves. The
Saucer Section nips around it like a small terrier. The Battle
Section buzzes the pair and warps off in a burst of light.

[And now, a Winter Olympics update.
Ice Hockey was on the agenda today at the 2370 Winter
Olympics, and a real barn-burner it was too as Sweden met the
Klingon Empire in semi-final play. The Klingon Empire is a
recent addition to the hockey galaxy, but as we have seen in the
round robin, they've taken to it with a passion. And,
characteristically, it was a penalty-filled game, with 354
penalty minutes being assessed. Hockey historians are comparing
Team Klingon to the storied Philadelphia Flyers of the mid-1970s.
Despite losing twelve players to injuries the Swedes did squeak
out a narrow 4 - 3 victory, the winning goal coming from the
stick of veteran player Borje Salming, who once again came out of
retirement to compete.]

Shot of the Battle Section manoeuvring in orbit above the
beige and ivory coloured gaseous planet Mu Cuniculi XII. The
ship rises and enters the plane of the planet's extensive ring
system, slipping into the gap between rings 7C and 8A. The gap
is formed by a large hunk of ice and stone about the size of --
oh, I don't know! It's way bigger than a breadbox. The Battle
Section insinuates itself in behind this natural snowplow, saving
deflector strength and masking itself from sensors.
View of the hunk of ice as seen on the battle bridge
The ensign at helm reports, "Orbital injection complete."
A subdued Riker sits slumped in the command chair. He says,
"Maintain," and scratches his beard, brooding. He turns to the
tactical officer and asks:
"What do *you* think happened back there?"
Suppressing the urge to jump up and down and shout, "You
choked, you loser!" the tactical officer clears his throat and
tactfully suggests, "I . . . ah . . . I think the Borg have
devised some sort of . . . illusion."
"Very lifelike, though. Got her birthmark right. Not what
you would call a typically Borg way of approaching things."
He pushes his beard around.
"And how did they know I was alive? Geordi and Data thought
I was dead."
Riker heaves a deep sigh and shifts around in his chair.
The bridge officers make eye contact behind his back.

A level deep inside the Borg ship.
A crowd of Borg are pressed around a raised platform on
which two Borg stand facing each other. The crowd is in a
boisterous mood, many of the Borg shouting slogans and rather
dumb insults at one or the other of the speakers and at other
members of the crowd. Dr Crusher stands over to one side with
Nurse Ogawa. Both wear "Official Election Observer" armbands.
They are making tricorder records of the event.
"Ogawa, I can't believe it. We're about to witness the
first political debate to ever take place on a Borg ship."
"It certainly is remarkable. Their physiological responses
are . . . unique. I think they are employing parts of their
brains they haven't used since before they entered space."
"Shh. It's beginning."
One of the two Borg raises a finger and points it repeatedly
at the opposing speaker.
The second speaker raises a mechanized arm and points it in
the direction of the first speaker.
"Y . . . y . . . you!"
"A-a-h!" says the crowd.
The first speaker takes a dramatic step backward, with a
hand over its heart.
"You you!"
The crowd gasps.
"You *you*!"
The first speaker raises a hand to indicate calm, turns
toward the second speaker and intones, "YOOUUUU!"
The second speaker collapses.
Fierce applause.

The ready room door chimes.
Counsellor Troi enters in full uniform.
"Ah, Counsellor, I'm glad you came. Um. Ah. I wanted to
thank you for your, ah, co-operation today."
"Don't be concerned, Captain. We have all been called upon
to enter . . . uncomfortable situations in the name of duty. I'm
just happy I hadn't actually gotten *into* the bath."
He squirms, pulls his collar out with one finger, clears his
throat, tugs on the hem of his uniform, and sits up straight with
his hands folded on the desk.
"Captain, I wanted to ask you. Your actions today suggest
that you believe Will to be alive and in charge of the Battle
Section. How can that be?"
"Well, I suppose where there's a will there's a way." He
laughs uncomfortably.
"Captain, please, get over it. I forgive you."
He takes a deep breath and admits, "I'm not really sure what
made up my mind. It simply came to me in the heat of the
The door chimes.
"Ah. That will be Geordi and Data. Come!"
It's Geordi and Data.
Data: "Captain. Counsellor."
Geordi: "Captain. Counsellor. Squeaky clean?"
"Mr La Forge."
Geordi smiles.
"Mr La Forge. Please tell me about the investigation
surrounding Cmdr Riker's demise."
"Well, sir, Security reported a turbolift accident.
Apparently Cmdr Riker had fallen or leapt down an open turbolift
shaft and been hit by an oncoming turbolift car."
"How did you know it was Riker?"
"Well, process of elimination. Everybody else was accounted
for, so logically . . ."
"But did you make a positive identification of the body?"
Geordi looks down and shifts from foot to foot.
"Captain, it was really gross. They had to use shovels."
Data: "Captain, tricorder readings indicated a high
concentration of replicator Chili Recipe Hot Tamale Number One,
Cmdr Riker's favourite."
"So you loaded the remains into a torpedo casing and buried
them in space."
"Yes, sir."
"Gentlemen, I believe you were the victims of an ingenious
deception. Both the audacity of today's attack, and the effect
of our . . . Imzadi manoeuvre, suggest to me that Cmdr Riker is
alive and in command of the Battle Section. Data, do we have a
fix on the Battle Section?"
"No, Captain. It has vanished."
Geordi whistles.
"Old Poker Face."
"Mr Data, please direct your energies to discovering . . .
whether there is any life on the planet Cauda Linea."
"Yeah, Data, I can't wait to find out what's crawling around
down there."
Data looks puzzled.
"As you wish, sir, I will get right on it."
He glances toward Counsellor Troi, but she is deep in
thought with an abstracted, slightly puzzled look on her face.
"Very well, then. Dismissed."

[And now, a Winter Olympics update.
Luge is a fast and exciting sport, and since the
introduction of the variable-gravity track, it's even more so.
Today's results confirmed what spectators have been saying for
the past two seasons: the Pakleds are the biggest bunch of lugers
to come along in ages. They finished gold, silver, bronze in the
singles competition, and are expected to do as well in the

Data's quarters. Data is at his work console contemplating
an image of the exterior of the Saucer Section. A thin halo of
shimmering light adheres to the skin of the Enterprise, caused by
millions of tiny leaping particles. Data inputs commands
designed to analyze the particles. Spot jumps up on the console,
and walks across the controls. Data lifts Spot down and re-
enters the commands. Spot pads onto the controls again, and
pounces on the display wherever Data touches it. An image of the
planet Cauda Linea comes up.
Data begins to input his commands again. Spot jumps into
his lap and watches the rapid play of Data's fingers. Data taps
in the last few commands and lifts his hand. Spot lays a paw on
the one control that can delete everything.
"Bad cat!"
The door chimes.
"Enter. Bad, bad cat."
Troi enters.
"Counsellor. How can I be of assistance?"
"Data, do you remember our last meeting in the Captain's
ready room?"
"Of course, Counsellor. Under normal circumstances I am
incapable of forgetting anything I have experienced."
"Under normal circumstances I am incapable of forgetting a
meeting I attended just a few hours before, Data. But I'm having
the hardest time recalling just who said what when. It was about
Cauda Linea, wasn't it?"
"It is strange you should say that, Counsellor. Everyone I
have spoken to in the last three hours has displayed an unusual
amount of interest in the exploration of that planet. In fact,
the meeting was about Cmdr Riker, but toward the end it took a
sudden and unexpected turn toward the subject of Cauda Linea."
Spot meows.
"Data, since our encounter with the Battle Section I have
been experiencing a strange and unfamiliar level of telepathic
activity on board."
Spot meows again.
"Curious. I wonder if there is any connection to the halo
effect I have observed on the outer skin of the ship."
"Really? May I see?"
Spot flies onto Troi's leg, a howling, spitting fury.
"Data!! Help!!"
"Spot! Bad cat! Unclaw Counsellor Troi at once!"
Troi staggers backward before the wrath of Spot. The door
shooshes open and she stands in the hall, craning to see Data.
Spot arches and spits, guarding the doorway. Troi waves and
shouts, "I'll talk to you later, about whatever it was we were
talking about!"
The door closes, and Data watches Spot frisk by into the
next room.

[And now, another Winter Olympics update.
Today's ice skating competition was marred by an incident in
which the American champion had her leg eaten by the Gorn

"Ok-a-a-y! As you may have heard, last year Paramount
bought Canada's Wonderland, the amusement park situated just
outside of Toronto. And they set up this really cool Star Trek
exhibit. And each year, according to this brochure I have right
here, they have a different Star Trek theme, based on a different
ah Star Trek series. Last year was Star Trek: The Animated
Series, that short-lived cartoon series from 1973. I remember
watching that in my PJs on Saturday morning. So anyway this
year's theme is Star Trek: Door Repair Guy! There'll be a
Klingon door repair workshop. Just like Krell and Sons. A toe
levitation ride. Labatt Maximum Ice for Dad. And, whoa, boy,
all kinds of great stuff. And surgical implants for the kids!
So you won't want to miss that."]

Data decides to tell a joke.
He enters Ten Forward and looks around the room. Everyone
is talking about Cauda Linea. He raises his voice.
"Hey, boys and girls, did I ever tell you about the first
expedition to Alpha Centauri?"
Everyone: "If the Phoo shits, wear it!"
"Excuse me?"
Geordi: "If the Phoo shits, wear it. It's so obvious,
Discussion returns to Cauda Linea.
Data: "Curious. So far as I am aware, the shaggy dog story
`If the Phoo shits, wear it' has never been told in connection
with the first expedition to Alpha Centauri. I believe I must
see the Captain."

"So what you are telling me, Mr Data, is that I did not
*mean* to order you to examine the possibility of life on Cauda
Linea, that rather I *meant* to ask you to locate the Battle
"Yes, Captain."
"And that I gave you the Cauda Linea order because the ship
is infested by a microscopic telepathic organism which we picked
up from the Battle Section, a life form indigenous to the Dominus
McGregor Nebula and which has used the Battle Section and now the
Saucer Section as a means of transportation out of the nebula to
other parts of the Cuniculi Cluster."
"Yes, sir."
"And that these microorganisms have the capacity to foresee
the near future and implant suggestions empathically so as to
manipulate events and arrange matters to their own advantage."
"Yes, Captain."
"And that, as an android, you are the only person on board
immune to their influence."
"That is correct, sir."
"And that they are controlling not only your Captain but
also your cat."
"Sadly, that is so."
"Well, I'm speechless. What would you have me do about it?"
"You must bring the Saucer Section in close proximity to the
nearest stellar body. The increased surface temperature of the
Saucer's outer skin will destroy the organisms in short order."
"Mr Data, in all my years as . . . My God, Mr Data, where's
the Battle Section?"
"In orbit around Mu Cuniculi XII, sir. The microorganisms
have also fled and are hiding aboard the Borg ship."
"Good work, Mr Data!" He taps his commbadge. "Dr Crusher,
have the Borg voted yet?"
*They are just about to, sir*
"You had better warn your observers to expect a sudden swing
in voter opinion."
*Yes, Captain. By the way, Jean-Luc, how is the survey of
Cauda Linea coming along?*
Picard makes his significant development face at Data.

[Time now for another Winter Olympics update.
Klingon biathlon combines the skills of bat'telh and
snowshoeing. As usual the Finns dominated.]

The Battle Section in orbit between the rings of Mu Cuniculi
XII, tucked in behind the icy satellite Snowplow.
A level deep within the Engineering hull. Worf and Door
Repair Guy are working their way along a service conduit,
hunching along below a sloped four foot high ceiling. Their
footsteps echo down the empty tunnel.
Worf: "I had no idea the Enterprise had so many useless
He bumps his head on a low-hanging pipe.
"Shh. There it is. Listen."
They come to a stand-still, bent over with their hands on
their knees, waiting as the final echoes of their voices and
footsteps bound and dwindle away down the metal tunnel. Silence
grows. Gradually the deep, never-listened-to sounds of the ship
begin to assert themselves: the pulse of the warp core, and the
barely discernable chatter of microcircuitry. Worf turns his
head first one way, then another, a look of concentration
settling on the muscles of his face, followed bit by bit by an
expression of dawning surprise. Slowly, undeniably, the sound of
a wave approaches. The noise gathers force and volume. The
tunnel is filled with the sound. It is as if they are standing
in an observation passage below Niagara Falls. The wave passes
directly overhead and surges on into the distance. Their ears
follow it as it goes, back to its place beyond audibility.
Worf is elated.
He stands hunched over, casting glances up at the low
ceiling and snarling with pleasure.
"Majestic! I can feel the blood in my veins. What is it?"
"Slush deuterium tank. (Page 57, _Star Trek: The Next
Generation Technical Manual_.)"
"Does it always make that sound?"
"Only when it's low."
A light of understanding dawns in Worf's eye.
They carry on down the corridor, scheming mutiny.

[Time now for another Winter Olympics update.
It seems that the Jamaican domination of the bobsled
competition is destined to continue. Today they finished gold
for the fifty-second consecutive time at the Winter Olympics,
coming in five point two seconds ahead of their nearest rivals,
the Dozi. Tiny Liechtenstein, which can truly be said to have
devoted its entire national effort to this event, managed a

The main bridge. Picard enters from his ready room just as
the tactical officer announces: "Sir, I'm picking up a message
from the Battle Section. It's coming in on a navigational beacon
frequency. It's weak. There's a lot of interference."
"On audio."

*#>*%@h[q+}gw&-[#&;x Knock knock! %*$@<{/\|*$4;kr5,#*&6g",*#@b0

"Did you hear that? Try it again."

7e@s[,:\-z8$&@!;i7]% Knock knock! @><p0[\*&3ytx(\!:x*p&5%39)!4$

"You must have heard that!"
"It sounded like `Knock knock!' sir."
"Well, give the response."
"Excuse me, sir?"
"The universal response."
"Aye, sir."
Blushing red, the tactical officer clears his throat and
asks in a raised voice:
"Who's there?"

8rja:#[*&%d20n'.@!&* Doris u%o#c :'-/<%*j5,6g*@$!@p[{>)S6*9%.<

"It said `Doris', sir."
Picard makes a gesture meaning "And?"
"Ahem. Doris who?"

*&7hf,;kF#@{[,> Doris always open. & f2n.)*l:}+ %4fs"8%3#h,o_=

The turbolift opens. Geordi enters and activates the
engineering station.
The tactical officer looks confused.
"What can it mean?"
"It means at least one of our operatives is hard at work
over there."
"Sir, there's more!"

&g e3#';u'j@ Tanks for keeping the slush outside. -*&*&t%$#,;]

"They want us to wipe our feet, sir."
Geordi: "No, wait a minute! They're talking about the slush
deuterium! Captain, we were due for a refill before we came
through the wormhole."
"So you mean the Battle Section might be in danger of
running out? That would affect their warp drive, would it not?"
"`Affect it' is right! The deuterium is the matter part of
the matter-antimatter reaction! Without it they're no faster
than we are!"
"Mr La Forge, see what you can do about syphoning their
tank, would you?"
"Aye aye, Captain!"
Geordi exits. Picard rubs his hands in satisfaction.
A moment later the turbolift opens and deposits a party of
four: Dr Crusher, still wearing her election observer armband,
and three Borg.
"Captain Picard, permit me to introduce the new Borg
government. On my left is Empress Natasha Polaroid, the head of
state. On my far right is Grand Trunk Railway, Minister of the
Exchequer. And this is Least Execrable Spleen, the Shogun."
Picard bows deeply and says:
"I have every confidence that this marks the beginning of a
firm and mutually beneficial relationship."
"We need a first ministers' conference," says Empress
Polaroid, and the three Borg march into the conference room.
Picard straightens up and tugs his uniform hem, his lips
pressed together. He takes a breath and says, "I think that went
"Jean-Luc, they're all from the Green Party. It's the
oddest thing. They want to settle down on Cauda Linea."
Picard nods.
"Yes, yes. It's a trifle complicated. I'll explain it to
you over breakfast."
"Jean-Luc, I just don't know. Every time I get out of bed I
think things can't get any stranger. But every day they do."
"Really? I think things are looking up. We've rebuffed
Riker's attack. Our operatives in the Battle Section are working
to put him in the brig. The Borg situation is . . . under
control. For once it looks as if things are falling into place."
As soon as these words are out of Picard's mouth the ensign
at the helm exclaims, "Captain, the wormhole!"
"On screen!"
The wormhole unfolds in polychromatic majesty, petals of
blue energy spreading out across light years.
"Captain, sensors show three ships exiting the wormhole!"
The image on the screen breaks up, deconstructs into static,
and resolves again into the grinning visage of the Grand Nagus
(played by Ross Perot).
"Nyah! What a ride! I claim this entire cluster in the
name of all the Ferengi consortiums which I participate in as a
member of the board of directors. All enterprises entered into
are null and void unless I get my ten percent! You got that?"


ST:DRG 009 "Spoilers"
Written by Douglas A. McLeod (


0 new messages