Plenty of Nothing

Stimpy

To the South

Morton Castle, Dumfriesshire.

Okay, I'm proposing an annual derby between Greenock Morton and Queen of the South. The prize: Morton Castle. It's near Dumfries, but it's named Morton. Given that Greenock Morton travel to Dumfries today for a league match against Queen of the South FC, now would be the perfect time to begin this tradition. Winner of today's game gets the castle for a year.

The last time Morton visited Palmerston Park the Doonhamers trounced them 4 - 1. That game, and a Friday night mugging by Partick Thistle, are the reasons why Morton's goal difference is in negative numbers.

How do the First Division clubs stack up according to length of current residency? 1 year: Hamilton, Livingston, Ayr. 2 years: Falkirk. 3 years: Raith Rovers. 4 years: Ross County. 5 years: Morton. 6 years: Partick. 7 years: Dundee. 10 years: Queen of the South. Hamilton, Falkirk and Dundee were relegated from the Premier League. The other seven came up from the Second Division. For staying in the First Division, Queen of the South are best, but their tenure could end this spring if they don't get some points together.

Last weekend while Morton and Ross County were watching Victoria Park float away, the other eight First Division clubs all played to a draw, allowing Hamilton and Livingston slip ahead of Morton thanks to the Ton's minus 5 goal difference mentioned above. Note to copy editors: leave out the hyphen when you mention a goal difference. Plus-5 makes no sense.

You can read an appreciation of Queen of the South's Palmerston Park at Pie and Mushy Peas.

This weekend they're playing the semifinals of the Scottish League Cup, aka Scottish Communities League Cup, the one financed by drug money. Both matches are at Hampden Park: Ayr versus Kilmarnock today, and Falkirk versus Celtic tomorrow. (Celtic play a lot of their games on Sunday, have you noticed?) Kilmarnock and Celtic are the overwhelming favourites, so an Ayr v Falkirk final would be of surpassing awesomeness. Celtic have won the League Cup 14 times; the other three clubs combine for a total of zero wins. Who eliminated Rangers? Falkirk, in the third round. The last time a club from outside the top level reached the final was ten years ago (Ayr). The last time a non-top-level club won the cup was 1995 (Raith). The last time two non-top-level clubs met in the final was ... never. [Kilmarnock 1, Ayr 0, after extra time.] [Celtic 3, Falkirk 1.]

Here's a Glasgow Herald piece on Falkirk's Farid El Agagui.

The Greenock Telegraph has erected a pay wall, so I'll be linking there much less often in future.

Last weekend was round four of the Scottish Junior Cup. Auchinleck Talbot advanced. Largs Thistle's match was rained out and will be played today. [And it will, despite the cold weather. Hamilton v Raith, however, is postponed.]

[Ugh. Queen of the South win the castle, 2 - 1. Morton goal by Campbell. Largs and Arniston played to a 1 - 1 tie and will meet again February 4th.]

The Annotated Door Repair Guy, episode 25

 

Cardassian Murder Mystery

 

     The replimat.  A large breakfast crowd is lined up at the

replicators.  Door Repair Guy reaches the head of the line.

     "I'll have a big bowl of . . . Edgar Rice Burroughs."

     *There is no such item on the menu*

     "All right, then.  How about some . . . Joyce Carol Oates?"

     *Please make another selection*

     "All out of that, eh?  Okay.  Give me a heapin' helpin' of

Will Wheatons!"

     *Security measures have been initiated.  Do not attempt to

escape*

     He feels a tug at his sleeve.

     "Excuse me, but I couldn't help noticing that you're that

new technician everyone's talking about.  Door Repair Guy, isn't

it?  I thought so.  Permit me to introduce myself.  I'm Quark,

proprietor of Quark's Bar.  I understand you've already had the

opportunity to sample our fine selection of holosuite programmes. 

My associates tell me you have a particular fondness for the

Klingon Glories of Battle Collection and a couple of our concert

programmes, Melota and ah BTO Live at Budokan.  Allow me to

present you with a coupon for three free half-hour sessions.  You

know, I've been fascinated by some of the stories that have come

across the bar about you.  There are a pair of Pakleds who can't

say enough about you.  In fact they've been in the bar for about

three weeks now, waiting for you to come in."

     "Malakod and Barchibod."

     "You know, I think you're right!  I'd be honoured if you

would come by some time.  Perhaps we could talk about your days

in the Cuniculi Cluster.  There's an old acquaintance out that

way I'd be very keen to hear about.  Not Fragile?  The surgical

implant specialist?"

     "Sure!  I know him!  He did this."

     DRG pushes Alt-F6 on his forearm keyboard implant and his

right cheek flushes bright red, then fades back to normal.

     "Well!  That's . . . extraordinary!"

     "I think he was talking about setting up franchises around

the Federation.  A place like this would be just about perfect

for one of his clinics.  Maybe you should talk to him."

     "Well!  No need to discuss that here in the middle of the

replimat!  Why don't we meet this evening at, say, 22:00?"

     "What's that?  Eight?"

     "Ten."

     "Can't do it.  I'm on vole duty til midnight."

     "When do you start?"

     "Ten minutes."

     "Why . . . that's draconian!"

     "Commander Sisko says I have to keep at it til there isn't a

vole left."

     "Are you serious?"

     "Ha!  Nope!  Betelgeuse.  Ha ha!  Astronomy joke."

     Odo: "All right, who activated the replicator's mental

cruelty protocol?"

     Everyone in line points to Door Repair Guy.

     "Ah, I should have known.  Make your selection and move on."

     Quark: "I'll have you know that this is a valued member of

the Deep Space Nine community and that I expect you to treat him

with as much respect as you treat . . ."

     "You?  Ha!"  Odo says this over his shoulder as he leaves.

     Quark: "Don't worry about Odo.  His heart is in the right

place.  I think.  We'll make an appointment for supper.  Or a

midnight snack!  We have to keep you fed!  Hunting's hungry work! 

Hey, don't forget your breakfast."

     DRG swings around and looks back at the replicator.  There's

a small glass with black fluid in it.

     "Did I order that?"

     "I'm impressed.  There aren't many Hu-mans with your kind of

appreciation of Ferengi cuisine."

     DRG rolls the drink around in the glass.

     "It's beetle juice, isn't it?"

     "Go on.  Drink up!"

     He drinks.  

     "E-e-e-u-u-u-o-o-o-w, that's something!"

     "It's a sign!  I can see we're on the way to a very

profitable relationship!  We'll meet!"  He pats DRG on the

shoulder.  "Don't worry about when or where.  I'll find you.  And

I'll bring a big thermos of the best Ferengi pick-me-up your

tastebuds can imagine!"

     "Mmm-mmm."

 

     An icy asteroid rolls by, spewing cometary material.

     "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."

     Deep Space Nine space station drifts into view.  A runabout

shoots past, revealing the words:

 

               Star Trek: Door Repair Guy

 

                         Starring

 

                    Door Repair Guy as

                         Himself

 

                    Avery Brooks as

                         Commander Sisko

 

                    Rene Auberjonois as

                         Odo

 

                    Siddig El Fadil as

                         Doctor Bashir

 

                    Terry Farrell as

                         Lieutenant Dax

 

                    Colm Meany as

                         Chief O'Brien

 

                    Armin Shimerman as

                         Quark

 

                    Nana Visitor as

                         Major Kira

 

                    Max Grodenchik as

                         Rom

 

                    and Marc Alaimo as

                         Gul Dukat

 

     The runabout shoots by again, just as the wormhole does its

picture postcard thing.

 

[Commercial:

     The Nabob Coffee guy digs into the coffee vat and spills

beans out of his hand.

     The South American plantation owner twirls his moustache and

smiles.

     "They are good, no?  Twelve million dollars."

     "They were picked too early.  I can't even use them for

instant coffee.  No deal."

     "Ha ha, northern pig!  These are the only coffee beans

between here and Terra Del Fuego!  Now the tables they are

turned!  You buy or I sell to Maxwell House!"

     "All right.  Twelve million.  Where's the scoop?"

     The plantation owner hands over the little silver scoop and

the Nabob Coffee guy fills his little coffee bag.]

 

     Quark tightens up a thermos and presents it to Rom.

     "Here.  Take this to that Door Repair Guy."

     Rom blinks and looks around.  

     "Where is he, brother?"

     Quark waves a hand.

     "Oh, somewhere off in the service conduits.  Follow your

ears.  Go on, go on!"

     "But, brother!"

     "No buts, Rom.  This is the service edge.  When people think

of Quark's Bar I want them instantly to associate it with the

motto 'We deliver.'"

     "But we don't!"

     "In this case we do.  So hop to it and don't be all night

about it or it'll come out of your paycheque."

     "But . . . but he could be anywhere!"

     "Then the sooner you start looking for him the sooner you'll

find him.  Go, go!"

     "But, brother!!"

     "Rom!!"

     "O-o-o-o-o-o-h!!!  What if I stumble on a skeleton?  I'll be

all alone with it in the dark!"

     "Rom, be reasonable.  There are kilometres and kilometres of

tunnels.  What are the chances of you coming across that

skeleton?"

     "What skeleton?"

     It's Odo.

     "Ah, nothing!  No skeleton.  We were just talking about, ah,

Red Skelton.  Yes, that's it, Red Skelton."

     "Yes, Red Skelton!"

     "Hm.  I've never heard of Red Skelton.  Who is he?"

     "Oh, just a guy."

     "A red guy!"

     "A red guy.  Could it be that you've never heard of him

either?"

     "That doesn't mean he doesn't exist."

     "No, it doesn't.  But if Rom and I were to take a good look

through the service conduits, which do you think we'd be more

likely to find: a nonexistent skeleton or a hypothetical Red

Skelton?"

     Quark shrugs.

     Odo: "Let's find out."

     He hauls Rom out the door.

 

     The service conduits.  A flashlight beam circles and probes

down the darkened passageway.  It illuminates an approaching

tunnel intersection.

     "Which way now?"

     "Left!  No!  No!  Right!  I don't know!"

     "Judging by the size of the shoe prints in the dust, I'd say

right."

     Odo shines the beam down the righthand tunnel, picking out

an opened access panel and a pile of bones in Cardassian armour. 

A vole stares back with bright green eyes before scampering away. 

Rom takes a deep breath, preparatory to shrieking.  Odo swings

the light on him.

     "Go ahead, Rom.  Make my day."

     Rom looks back with wide eyes and swallows.

 

     The service conduit, now fully illuminated.  Doctor Bashir

climbs out of the righthand tunnel.

     "Well, he's dead."

     "Thank you, Doctor.  It's always comforting to have a

professional on hand for these hard decisions.  How long since we

lost him?"

     "He's completely skeletalized, so we're talking about

several years."

     "The Occupation, then."

     "Yes.  One of those faceless casualties of war, I suppose."

     "Really, Doctor?  I am continually surprised by the humanoid

capacity for lumping every manner of felony under the general

heading of war.  It's as though you all occasionally just give up

trying to keep track."

     Bashir looks unimpressed.  Odo climbs into the tunnel, still

talking.

     "Quark and Rom discover a skeleton in full Cardassian body

armour stuffed behind an access panel in a dark out-of-the way

tunnel.  The body dates from a time when Cardassians in full body

armour had complete control not only of this station but of the

entire sector.  I don't think he died in battle."

     "You suspect foul play?"

     "I do."

     "Aren't you discounting the possibility that he was killed

by the Bajoran Resistance?  I would think the fact that he wasn't

disintegrated suggests that his killers had no access to phaser

weapons.  His killers could have been part of a Resistance cell

within one of the ore processing gangs.  I imagine them luring

Cardassian guards into these darkened tunnels, strangling them,

and spiriting the bodies away."

     Odo backs out of the tunnel with the Cardassian skull in his

hands.

     "Strangle?  With those necks?"

     "Well, then, how did he die?"

     "That's what I need you to tell me, Doctor.  While you're

doing that, I'm going to find out who it is we've been talking

about."

     As he says this Odo holds up the skull, revealing the fine

set of teeth and the gap where one molar used to be.

 

[Commercial:

     A customer comes to a bank wicket.  The harried teller says,

"Next window, please!" and dodges away.  The customer looks

annoyed, then stops and does a double take.  Juan Valdes smiles

and waves from behind the loans desk.]

 

     The doors to Odo's office open and Major Kira enters,

looking a little uncertain.

     "You wanted to see me?"

     "Major, are you familiar with this man?"

     He puts the skull on his desk.

     She stands there with her mouth open.

     "Lieutenant Dax informs me that you told her the tunnels are

full of Cardassian skeletons."

     "Ah, come on, Odo.  I was speaking metaphorically."

     "Metaphorically."

     "I think there are probably more Bajoran skeletons down

there than anything else."

     "I'm aware of Cardassian methods.  I'm also aware that such

methods often breed similar counter-methods."

     Odo indicates a map.

     "Here's where they found him.  I just wanted to make sure

you don't recognize the place from an earlier map."

     "Odo, there was a war going on.  The actions of the

Resistance are fully endorsed by the Provisional Government."

     "So you're telling me you don't know who did this?"

     "I don't.  The way Resistance cells were structured I

wouldn't know unless I'd killed him myself."

     He lets the question hang in the air.

     Her body language says she's about to leave.

     "You'll let me know if you remember anything?"

     She leaves.

 

     "Arsenic."

     "Arsenic?"

     "Well, properly arsenic trioxide."

     Odo and Bashir stand over the Cardassian remains spread out

on the examination table.

     "It's a classic.  I've checked and cross-checked.  This man

died of arsenic poisoning."

     "Fascinating."

 

     The turbolift deposits Odo at Ops.  Kira's voice can be

heard behind Sisko's door, shouting.  Odo glances in that

direction as he approaches Dax.

     "Lieutenant, I would like you to send this message to the

Ministry of Records on Cardassia Prime."

     She glances at the Sisko's door and winces.

     "I'll have to tell Commander Sisko."

     "Fine."

     "She's not taking it very well."

     "I didn't think she would."

     Sisko's doors open and Sisko emerges.

     "Constable, I've just been hearing about your investigation. 

Proceeding smoothly, is it?"

     "I require certain information from the Cardassian

authorities.  Once I provide them with the victim's dental

records they should have no difficulty in determining his

identity."

     "Major Kira has expressed to me the concerns of the Bajoran

government that Cardassian involvement might lead to demands for

costly and intrusive searches for Cardassian war graves."

     "Commander, that is a political issue.  It cannot be allowed

to interfere with a murder investigation.  May I send the

message?"

     Dax: "You're assuming that they'll even acknowledge the

request."

     Sisko glances at Major Kira who is standing glaring up at

him with her fists on her hips and her lip stuck out.

     "Let's send it and see."

     Dax: "Transmitting."

     Sisko stands with his hands folded behind his back.  He

glances up at the ceiling.  It becomes evident he's counting.

     Dax: "Incoming message."

     "On screen."

     Gul Dukat appears.

     *Commander.  It appears you've uncovered the body of our

poor missing comrade, Borot.  Done in by Bajoran extremists no

doubt.  You know, I've been waiting for an occasion just like

this to illustrate the pressing need for the repatriation of the

bodies of our brave fallen . . .*

     Odo: "If I may move directly to the point, Gul Dukat.  Your

comrade Borot was killed by a member of the Cardassian Occupation

Force.  I intend to come to Cardassia Prime and provide your

authorities with all the evidence they need to convict the guilty

party.  Good day."

     He walks to the turbolift and departs.

     Dukat closes his mouth and glances from the poker-faced

Sisko to the astonished Kira.

     *Same old Odo, I see.  Dukat out*

     Sisko turns magisterially and walks into his office.

 

[Commercial:

     Knock knock.

     "Well, hello."

     "Hello.  I was just in the neighbourhood . . ."

     "Were you?"

     "I thought I might drop by for a little . . ."

     "Yes?"

     "Taster's Choice."

     "Yeah, right!"  Slam.]

 

     Odo finds Bashir and Garak at lunch in the replimat.

     "Gentlemen."

     "Constable Odo!  A pleasure as always!  How was your

interview with Gul Dukat?"

     "I've only just returned from Ops.  We can't have spoken

more than five minutes ago."

     "Come now, Constable, there are no secrets in a station this

small."

     Bashir: "No secrets!  You're a walking one-man conspiracy."

     "Really, Doctor.  Conspiracy?  Secrets?  These are the

euphemisms with which people console themselves on their clouded

intellects.  There is plenty to be discovered by those who have

the eyes to see."

     Odo: "My eyes are open.  As are my ears.  Why don't you tell

me about Borot?"

     "Ah, Borot.  The poor fellow.  He fell in with some bad

company.  How he loved to eat.  Spent most of his free time here

in the replimat.  Most, mind you, not all.  He loved his yamok

sauce.  Covered everything he ate with it."

     "What did he do?"

     "Do?  He was the assistant underquartermaster.  He

specialized in importing and exporting on behalf of the

government's war effort."

     "Did he have any enemies?"

     "The Bajorans."

     "Besides them."

     "None.  A thoroughly amiable character.  How many times did

he reach over to me as I sat in this very chair and insist I try

some of Nufrek's yamok sauce?"

     "I don't know.  How many?"

     "One could spend the rest of one's existence on such a

question."

     "Steady, Odo.  He's fading into the mist."

     "Doctor!  I'm making my meaning as plain as it can be."

     "Without committing yourself to a single honest statement."

     "You see, Constable, what I put myself through every time I

sit down to eat?"

     "And yet you always come back for more."

     "Precisely.  And yet I always come back for more.  Now, if

you'll excuse me, I must attend to my shop."

     With that he leaves.

     Bashir: "I still haven't decided if he's the snake or the

snake-charmer."

     Odo: "I don't care.  It's the pickpocket working the crowd

who concerns me.  It's time I spoke to Chief O'Brien." 

 

[Bob:

     Bob: (Fast) "Okay, Star Trek coming up on CHRO and ah well

here's some big Star Trek news too if you're on the Freenet. 

Doug McLeod's here from the Freenet *auction* which is under way

now, right?"

     Me: (Slow) "That's right.  We've got all sorts of . . .

stuff ah available . . . in the online auction." 

     Bob: (Jumps in) "Including software from Corel."

     Me: (Still slow) "That's right.  Services of all kinds."

     Bob: (Jumps is) "And also the Door Repair Guy series!  The

Star Trek series.  You actually wrote a Star Trek episode and you

can be written in the script and also win a spot on the couch."

     Me: "That's right."

     Bob: "And you *know* this is going to be produced!"  (Makes

that'll-be-the-day eyes at the ceiling.)  "So good luck!"

     Camera guy: "And clear."

     Me: "Boy, thirty seconds don't last long."

     Bob and camera guy telepathically exchange the thought,

"Amateurs!"]

 

[Commercial:

     "Hey, buddy."

     "What?"

     "You finished with that coffee?  How about helping a fella

to the last drop?"

     "No!  Here's ten dollars.  Now buzz off!"]

 

     Ops.  Odo steps off the turbolift.

     "Chief O'Brien.  I have a problem.  I need to find a

Cardassian voice file."

     "A. . . !  You know those records were destroyed by the

Cardassians when they evacuated the station."

     "So I heard.  Tell me.  Sitting here at Ops, could you

delete all the Federation records from the station computers?"

     "Whoof.  Everything that mattered, yes."

     "And what would remain?  Those ones that didn't matter."

     "Well.  Anything in an autonomous system I suppose.  Door

codes.  Tricorders.  The replicators."

     "The replicators!  How many of the replicators now in use on

the station date back to the Cardassian regime?"

     "I don't know.  Fifty percent maybe.  We're replacing them

all the time.  Really, Odo, I don't follow you."

     "Follow me now, if you would be so kind, to the replimat."

 

     Elsewhere, somewhere in the Habitat Ring, a spiraling

Ferengi transporter effect appears, shimmers, and hesitantly

begins to resolve into the form of a workman in overalls.  The

beam sparkles and oscillates in a rather dangerous manner.  If

you ask me they can't have their phase transition coils ramped up

to more than 120 gigahertz, and annular confinement can't be

gauging in at more than .95 megavolts!  What kind of a half-assed

transport is this?  They can barely maintain Doppler compensation

sync!  They are *this* close to irremediable pattern degradation!

     The beam pops out of existence.  The workman sways and grips

his jaw with one hand and the top of head with the other.

     "Brother."

     He blinks and looks around.

     "Huh?"

     He examines the metallic shapes that occupy the chamber. 

They do not seem to serve any human purpose whatsoever.  He steps

toward a peculiar obelisk and runs a hand up one edge.  What can

it be?  He rubs his chin.  A thought occurs to him.  Perhaps the

beam has distorted *everything else* in the room.  His

communicator beeps.

     "Bellows here."

     *Bel-lows.  This is Tong.  Why do you not communicate?  Was

the transport a success?  Where are you located?*

     "I'm in a room somewhere.  It's full of weird artifacts. 

It's like something from . . ."

     *Agh!  Anime again!  I have had enough of your Japanese

cartoons, Hu-man!  Verify your co-ordinates and activate the

transporter beam!  We cannot maintain this phasic cloaking device

all day!  O-o-o-oh, those Pakleds!  I do not think they are

honest traders!  If you do not hurry we will never win the patent

on the personal transporter implant!  What do you think will

happen then, Brad-ley D Bel-lows?  You will be back where I found

you!  Unemployed on a mined-out asteroid!*

     "GrrRRrrRrr."

     *I heard you!*

     Bellows turns and stomps across the room in annoyance, but

not before his foot sends an unexpected bucket clattering.

     "Oh, Jeez!"

     The door chimes.  He hears a voice through the door.

     "Odo?  Are you in there?"

     He hits the transporter control on his arm and disappears.

     Kira hesitates outside the door, bites her lip, lifts her

hand to knock, then leaves.

 

     Odo, O'Brien and Bashir enter the replimat and approach the

replicators.

     O'Brien: "Here's one.  Old Number Fifteen.  Makes the worst

steak and kidney I've ever tasted, but it's quite good at

Cardassian food from what I'm told."

     Odo looks over his shoulder and notices someone waiting to

get at the machine.

     "Closed for inspection.  Next window, please."

     O'Brien: "So what was it you wanted me to do?"

     "Tell me how to programme one of these."

     "It's just like the replicator in your own . . . ."

     "Yes, well, I've never had occasion to programme that one

either."

     "Sorry.  In a word, you tell it what you want and if it's in

the memory it makes it."

     "And if it's not in the memory?"

     "You describe what you want in sufficient detail or you

supply it with a sample."

     "So, for instance, a chef could prepare a dish, put it in

the replicator and then anyone could call it up at any time."

     "That's right."

     Odo leans toward the replicator says: "Nufrek's yamok

sauce."

     A small bowl of sauce appears.

     Odo: "Scan that, would you, Doctor?"

     Bashir holds up his tricorder.

     "Perfectly normal."

     He takes it out and tastes it.

     "Wheeuh.  That's yamok sauce."

     Odo: "Hmmm.  We're missing something here.  Are you sure the

old Cardassian menu is still intact?"

     O'Brien: "Should be.  I can't imagine anyone taking the time

to delete all the old recipes.  There'd be too much danger of

crashing the system.  I'll run a diagnostic."

     He opens a panel and taps at the Okudagrams.

     "Seems to be working fine.  There are some ten- and fifteen-

year-old files in here.  Here's one with a voice authorization

lockout."

     Bashir: "In a replicator?"

     O'Brien: "All that means is that someone had a dish they

preferred to have prepared a certain special way.  Extra spicy,

you know.  Like Mom used to make.  The sound of that person's

voice would cue the replicator to prepare the menu item

differently."

     Odo: "How would the replicator learn to recognize such a

voice?"

     "The person would have had to activate the specialization

subroutine, speak into the replicator, and there'd be a digital

voice recording made."

     "Can you access such a record?"

     "Sure.  Whose do you want?"

     "Borot's."

     "Hang on."  He taps the controls.  "It's searching."

     "Can you get it to play back audibly?"

     "Just a minute.  Here it comes."

     A deep Cardassian voice comes out of the vocalizer.

     *Testing, testing, testing.  One two three.  A B C D E F G H

I had a girl in Kalamazoo.  I can't wait to get my hands on my

good friend Nufrek's yamok sauce.  Mmmmmm, yamok sauce*

     At the sound of this the replicator produces another bowl of

sauce.  They look at it in surprise.  Bashir scans it.  He closes

the tricorder.

     "Arsenic.  Twenty to thirty bowls of this and any Cardassian

would be dead.  But why would Borot poison himself?"

     O'Brien: "I don't think he did.  It looks like this file was

opened after Borot created it."

     Odo: "Who opened it?"

     "Just a moment.  This is a little tricky.  All I have to do

is . . . Aw, bloody heck!!!"

     "What is it?"

     "It's downloading its entire history into the computer

mainframe!  Every cup and saucer since the station was built. 

Ah, what a mess.  Sorry, Odo, this could take hours."

     "It's all right, Chief O'Brien.  I have what I came for."

 

[Commercial:

     The aroma of fresh-brewed coffee curls and snakes into the

bedroom and under the sleeper's nose.  The sleeper wakes and

floats out the room on the invigorating scent, wafts down the

stairs and along the hall.  At the kitchen door two armed

security guards grab him by the arms.

     "Got any ID, Mack?"]

 

     Odo arrives at Ops again.  Gul Dukat is on the screen.

     Sisko: "You're just in time, Constable.  Gul Dukat has some

information on the Borot case."

     Dukat: *You'll be pleased to know you can close your file on

this one, Constable.  The criminal Nufrek has made a full

confession*

     Odo: "Then I take it he is no longer in the land of the

living?"

     *How you must envy us on the expeditiousness of our judicial

system*

     "It is always a pleasure to see justice done.  Nufrek was a

chef by profession, was he not?  I wonder who on Terak Nor would

have merited the services of such a civilian luxury?"

     *Odo, I really don't know what you're driving at.  I'd love

to stop and chat but I am a busy man.  Dukat out*

     Dax: "Transmission terminated at source."

     Sisko: "You look displeased, Odo."

     "I am always displeased by murder, Commander.  The more so

by conspiracy to murder."

     "You suspect Dukat to be involved?"

     "Whom I suspect will have to remain a closed matter, I'm

afraid, until more evidence is produced.  I still don't have a

motive for this crime.  The best I have at this point is an

interesting theory.  Borot was involved in shipping items on and

off the station.  Nufrek the chef was at the very least

unwittingly responsible for his death.  But I know of no reason

for Nufrek to wish Borot dead or to have received orders to

murder him.  Nufrek's execution raises as many questions as it

answers.  Until I learn what this crime was all about it must

remain an unsolved case."

 

     Phaser bolts streak down the darkened service conduit and

burst into a pack of snarling voles.  The creatures twine and

leap, tearing at one another in their attempts to escape.  The

bolts rain down on the crazed rodents, vapourizing them by the

dozen.  The bravest and mightiest among them make a stand, baring

their teeth in a last hopeless gesture before they too are swept

to oblivion.  Within moments the tunnel is cleared, the air is

heavy with gaseous vole, and squeals echo off down the tunnel,

and whether they are the cries of voles living or dead I cannot

say.

     A dim spot of red light shifts in the darkness as Door

Repair Guy moves the cigar butt from one corner of his mouth to

the other.  

     "I ain't so tough."

     He slumps against the tunnel wall, butts out the stogie,

fishes a tub of vanilla yogurt out of a breast pocket, unseals

it, and begins to eat, staring off into the darkness.  Gradually

the after-images of the phaser bolts fade from his retinas, and

his eyes begin to probe the darkness.  Just as he's scraping the

last little bit out of the bottom of the tub he notices a strange

faint pulsating light through a seam in the opposite wall.  He

reaches across and feels along the edge.  His fingers find the

shape of a service access panel.  He touches the lock and it

clicks open.

     The tunnel is bathed in blue light.  The uncovered Orb

swirls serenely within itself like a minor universe housed in an

hourglass.

     He is standing in a field of corn.

     Far above him in the blue sky a crow calls.  Behind him a

voice says:

     "'oH DachenmoHchugh vaj 'el chaH."

     ["If you build it, they will come in."]

     He turns toward the voice.  It belongs to James Earl Jones.

     DRG hesitates, and asks:

     "Is this Heaven?"

     "No, it's Eagleson Road."

     "Weren't you the bombardier in _Dr Strangelove_?"

     "Yes.  Defend yourself."  Bzzzztmmmmmmm.

     DRG finds himself looking down the length of a light sabre.

He steps back instinctively and his hand closes on a tubular

shape.  He holds it up, crossing the light sabre with it.  A weed

wacker.  As the two weapons touch there is a burst of light. 

James Earl Jones' deep laughter echoes down the stone corridors.

     Now DRG is in a room lit dimly with reddish light.  There

are three doorways.  In the first doorway stand a pair of actors

in masks and Klingon ceremonial garb.

     The first actor turns to the other and says: 

     "batlh joH SoH."  ["Thou art the king of honour."]

     The second holds up the Fickle Finger of Fate Award, turns,

so that the digit is pointed toward DRG, and intones through his

mask: 

     "Rowan and Martin, in beautiful downtown Burbank."

     Two Starfleet security officers emerge from the second

doorway.  When they spot him they stop and draw their weapons.

One steps forward and demands, "What is the Ninth Law of Door

Repair?"

     DRG stutters.

     The second one points his phaser directly at DRG's head and

hisses, "Let me fry him now!"

     The first turns to DRG, conciliating.

     "You see how difficult it is to control him?  He's a demon

when he gets a temper.  Just tell us the Ninth Law of Door Repair

and it'll go much easier for you."

     DRG: "'Never offend the Door Fek'lhr.'"

     The good cop nods with satisfaction, puts his phaser away

and signals to the other.  The bad cop makes a threatening

gesture with his fist and follows, but pauses in the doorway, and

in a burst of smoke and light becomes the Door Fek'lhr, rolling

his head and drooling down his chest.  He points to DRG

belligerently and repeats, with spit strings dangling from his

chops, "not lojmIt veqlargh yImaw."  He disappears into the

floor.

     Dweenie and Clarabelle are in the third doorway, eating glop

on a stick.

     Dweenie: [Points at him.]  "What d'you think he'll do now?"

     Clarabelle: [Shrugs.]  "I dunno!"

     The scene whites out.  DRG is left in the tunnel, gazing at

the calmly swirling Orb.

     He rubs his chin.

     "Do you think it means something?"

 

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

Written by Douglas A. McLeod, ai919

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

 

Notes on Cardassian Murder Mystery.

I'm certain that the title of this episode is a parody of something, but what? Woody Allen put out a film called Manhattan Murder Mystery in 1993, but I don't think I've ever seen it.

Nabob coffee commercials in the 1980s were pretty much all about imperialism. The Taster's Choice campaign of the early Nineties was about "coming up for a cup of coffee".

I'm the last person who should ever be in front of a TV camera.

"I ain't so tough."

Unarigoe, Chapter 2, Page 18

In progress:

Snow (1963)

Enjoy this wintry train film from 1963.

Unarigoe, Chapter 2, Page 17

Shaolin Cricket, Part Eleven

 

     “You’ve done it now,” says Professor Rhodenizer. “You’ve made me buy a gun.”

     “Where’d you get one of those?” asks Korogi.

     “The internet.”

     “I’m beginning to form an opinion about online commerce.”

     “I’m fairly certain it’s illegal to purchase handguns through the mail,” says Wheeler.

     “It’s not a handgun so much.”

     “As?”

     “An AK-47.”

     “Whoa.”

     Korogi: “The civilized thing about the martial arts is that if you don’t want to fight you can run away. You can’t run away from a machine gun.”

     “Well, the firing pin is missing. I’m bidding on one of those now.”

     “Take my advice and lose. By the way, I’ve got that jade I borrowed.”

     “Keep it! I don’t want it!”

     “I feel bad. How about if I trade you. I’ve got a first edition Mountain and the Valley, somewhat dog-eared.”

     “Sure. Fine.”

     Wheeler: “Listen, about this attacker. I’ve spoken to Dumont in psychology. I think you should go up there and have a talk.”

     “About what?”

     “We think you’re in an abusive relationship.”

     “Huh?”

     “You wouldn’t be the first one who got in too deep with a student.”

     “What?”

     “Can you look me in the eye and tell me the two of you haven’t gotten horizontal?”

     “What? No! I mean, Yes! I mean, No we haven’t! Well, in fact we have. But not like that! Ew!"

     “Well, what’s your story then?”

     Korogi sits back, lets out a deep breath, and looks from one to the other.

     “Okay. This is what I think is going on.”



    1649. Marsh Mountain Monastery. Monks in saffron and purple robes are seated around the periphery of the square meditation hall. Some chant, some employ an assortment of traditional instruments. At the centre of the hall the white-bearded Master kneels before a low bronze footstool. On the stool rests a jade tablet. The Master is listening. At his right hand are a square of paper and the paraphernalia of calligraphy.

     A shot sounds distantly, followed by a flurry of musket-fire, then the deep boom of a cannon. The Master opens his eyes, takes up the brush, and writes boldly.

    The cannonball bursts through the rafters, showering the room with debris.  A group of young initiates rush into the hall.

     “Qing army attacking!  Three banners!”

     Musketballs fragment the wooden shutters and traverse the hall. Monks fall on every side. In the centre of the crossfire the Master rises, deflects a musketball with the edge of a hand, another with a flick of the brush. He traps a third in the cup of his hands, spins and throws it skyward through the cannonball hole in the roof. He stops a fourth ball with a glare, just as it is about to perforate a young initiate. As he intensifies his gaze the ball begins to glow, then drip, then become a lead puddle on the floor. The child stands shaking, holding onto a small wooden cage.

      The Master takes the young monk by the arm and says, “This is no longer a safe place. Marsh Mountain is finished, except in here” – touching the forehead. “Take this, and escape through the marshes.” He puts the jade in the child’s bag.

     Soldiers crash through the broken shutters and an all-out battle ensues. Feet trample the message on the square of paper, which reads, “You are about to be attacked.”

     That night, under a full moon, the young monk emerges from the cattails, takes a longing look back toward the monastery burning on the hill, then wades off through the marsh.



     Rhodenizer: “So, who are the Qing?”

     “The Manchus.  They were just establishing their dynasty in those days."

    “And what’s in the cage?”

     “A cricket.”

     “Why?”

     “It has to do with the properties of the jade.  The statements recorded in the stone are elicited using specific sounds. Did you read the book?”

     “Well, look, I was preparing a paper at the time.”

     “Okay, I understand. Legend holds that the earliest masters recorded to the sound of crickets chirping. The monks of Marsh Mountain trained their youngest members to breed and look after crickets as a way of allowing them to be in contact with the oldest teachings of the stone.”

     “You have a cricket tattoo.”

     “I’ll get to that later.”

     “Okay. I’ll shut up for now.”

     “Okay. So, the monastery gets burned and the surviving monks scatter across China, and various lineages begin.”

     Wheeler: “Lineage.”

     “Master/student. Some masters had only one student in a lifetime, some had several, and some founded schools.”

     “Schools of what?”

     “Martial arts and music mainly, both of which had been practiced at Marsh Mountain.”

     “But only one master had the jade.”

     “Right. And those ones only took one student in a lifetime. The student became the next master and, presumably, received the jade.”

     “You’re not sure.”

     “We don’t actually know the whereabouts of the jade after the burning of the monastery, but legend has it that it worked out this way.”

     “How much of this is your own research?”

     “A lot of it is Vati.”

     “Your undergraduate adviser.”

     “Yes.”

     Rhodenizer: “A parallel! Compare and contrast.”

     “Oh. Well, he was a comparative literature professor when I was here. Swiss. Polyglot. Did dozens of translations, from one weird language to another, just for the hell of it. I was fascinated by him. I was almost the only Asian around so I held a certain fascination too.”

      “Oh yes?”

      “Fuck. Why does everybody go straight to sex?”

      “All right, all right.”

      “After I graduated he did a lot of work on Chinese classics, and in the end did the definitive book on the Marsh Mountain sayings tradition.”

     “He’s dead.”

     “Yes.”

     “So how did the, what’d’you’call’em, Jade Bearers do?”

      “Well, in a peaceful world there should have been about two masters a century. But there was a lot going on, especially after about 1850. You’ve got the Opium Wars, when the British imposed their right to deal drugs in China; the Taiping Rebellion, when a lot of poor peasants tried to set up a paradise on earth, and failed; the Boxer Rebellion, when a bunch of the martial artists tried to take out the machine gun armed foreigners.”

     Rhodenizer: “Ouch. That was meant for me.”

     “The Sino-Japanese War, the fall of the Manchu dynasty, the Warlords Era, the Second Sino-Japanese War, the war between the Republic and the People’s Republic, the Cultural Revolution.”

     “Long story short, the lineage got broken.”

     “Probably. If I were writing the novel, the master would get killed, the jade stolen, and the student left to pick up the pieces.”

     Professor Dumont shows up at the table.

     Wheeler: “Okay. But why do you have a cricket tattoo?”

     “I worked my way across the Pacific on a container ship. Sailors get tattoos.”

     Dumont: “Why didn’t you just fly?”

     “I wanted to piss off my parents.”

     “Why did you want to piss off your parents?”

     “We didn’t agree on who I should be.”

     “Who did they want you to be?”

     “Nothing awful. Just a Japanese teacher.”

     “Oh, those terrible people.”

     “Well, you don’t understand them.”

     “So?”

     “To understand them you have to understand their parents.”

     “Okay, go on.”

     “Okay, well, my parents were both born in Manchuria in the 1930s. The Japanese empire had been staking out that part of China since the beginning of the century as a kind of new frontier for settlement. There was a perceived surplus of agricultural population in Japan, and so the call went out for settlers. My mother’s father and mother both went there as farmers, met and got married. My father’s mother was a nurse who went out with the army. She married my grandfather who had been born in Manchuria. Japan was at war with China from 1931 on, and everyone was expected to take part, so there was a lot of coming and going, guns in the house, bowing and scraping to army officers, and shit like that. When 1945 came my two grandfathers were away in Borneo or somewhere, the army withdrew, and the women and children had to make a run for it. This is the thing that made my parents who they are. They were eight and nine at the time.”

     Dumont: “They hate war.”

     “They hate war, they hate the world, they hate everything outside their house.”

     “And you love the world.”

     Surprised, Korogi bursts into tears.

     Dumont: “Okay, everybody, time out.”

     They all sit back.

     Wheeler motions for another round.

 

----------

The section starting "So, who are the Qing?" is way too expository, and kind of out of place, and really needs to be replaced by something more along the lines of an 800-page Michener novel.

Where QEH Used To Be

The Red and the Black, Part XIII

Alpha United.

[Today's Ross County v Morton game is off, so instead here's another thrilling installment of the Red and the Black.]

We're approaching the end of our worldwide search for soccer teams that dress like the Beano's Dennis the Menace. Only one FIFA zone left: The Confederation of North, Central American and Caribbean Association Football. CONCACAF!

For reasons of who knows why there are three South American countries in CONCACAF, and we'll start with those.

Guyana. Alpha United FC: red shirt, black shorts, red socks.

Suriname. SV Excelsior: black shirt, red shorts, red socks.

French Guiana. Ne rien.

Aruba. Nothing. Curaçao. Nothing.

Trinidad and Tobago. A disappointment, considering that the national flag is red and black. They do however have Joe Public FC, one of the best club names ever.

Barbados. Insufficient data. Grenada. Insufficient data. Saint Vincent and the Grenadines. System 3 FC: red jersey, black shorts, red socks. Saint Lucia. Insufficient data. Martinique. Ne rien. Dominica. Insufficient data. Why are Grenada and Saint Vincent and the Grenadines different countries? Dudes, federate those Windward Islands.

Guadeloupe. Ne rien. Montserrat. Insufficient data. Saint Kitts and Nevis. Insufficient data. Saint-Barthelemy. Ditto insufficient data. Saint-Martin. Ditto. Sint Maarten. Ditto. Oh my god, Saint-Martin and Sint Maarten are on the same island.  Antigua and Barbuda. Insufficient data. Anguilla. Insufficient data. British Virgin Islands. Insufficient data. US Virgin Islands. Insufficient data. Dudes, federate those Leeward Islands, and get some data.

Puerto Rico. Oh, off the goalpost! FC Leones wear a red and black hooped jersey, red shorts, and red socks with black stripes.

Dominican Republic. Bauger FC: red jersey, black shorts, black socks.

Haiti. Nothing.

Jamaica. Arnett Gardens FC wear a red jersey, black shorts and red socks.

Cayman Islands. Nothing. Cuba. Nothing. Bahamas. Nothing. Turks and Caicos. Insufficient data. Bermuda. Nothing.

Part XIV, North America, will the final segment of The Red and The Black.

The Annotated Door Repair Guy, episode 24

 

Warp Happy, Part Two

     Sisko jostles his way down a crowded corridor toward his

residence.  Grasshopper refugees have set up tiny camps every few

feet along the route.  Many have ingeniously converted their

travelling cloaks into tents and small villages of these tents

line the corridors.  He taps his commbadge.

     "Dax.  What word from Starfleet?"

     *Nine ships are on their way.  The Rutledge is the closest. 

ETA three hours forty-two minutes.  Four Federation planets have

agreed to take groups of the refugees, but in small numbers and

with numerous conditions attached.  We're still looking*

     "What of Bajor?"

     *Kira here, Commander.  The provisional government has now

officially denied entry to any of them*

     "Please contact the Bajoran authorities and extend my . . .

acknowledgement . . . of their decision."

     *Would you prefer to send your endorsement?*

     "Not at this moment.  Sisko out."

     He pauses outside his door and hits the control.  Three

dozen refugees and Jake look up from the banquet lying in ruins

on the dining room table.

     "Jake?"

     "Ah.  Hi, Dad.  I got home from school and the table was

covered with food.  I didn't know what to do with it . . . so I

invited these people in.  I hope that's okay."

     Sisko takes a deep breath.

     "Yes, that's fine."

     *O'Brien to Sisko*

     "Yes, Chief!"

     *Sorry to disturb you at home, sir.  But a Cardassian

warship has just entered the system*

     "I'll be right up."

     He pauses at the door and sweeps the room with a narrow

look.  He watches a grasshopper nibble up one side of a cob of

corn and then down the other just like . . . a grasshopper.

     "Jake."

     "Yes, Dad?"

     "Don't forget to do the dishes."

 

     Sisko arrives at Ops just as Kira is concluding her remarks

to the Cardassian Gul on the viewscreen.

     ". . . and if you think for one minute that I'm going to

pass classified Bajoran scientific intelligence to any

warmongering Cardassian fascist who decides he can just violate

Bajoran space with impunity then you! have got! another thing

coming!  We Bajorans kicked your butts out of this system once

before and we're perfectly happy to do it again!  So put this in

your log!  Navigational computer interface denied!  Docking

clearance denied!  Right of passage through Bajoran space denied! 

So you can just turn your ship around and engage!  And when you

get back to Cardassia Prime you just better walk the straight and

narrow because there will be such a letter of protest sitting on

the top desk of your so-called diplomatic branch that it'll take

the Cardassian government six months to work out the list of

summary executions!  I . . ."

     Sisko comes up behind her: "Thank you, Major.  I see you've

briefed the Gul on the current situation."

     *Commander!  Thank goodness!  I thought for a moment the

natives had been left in charge of the station*

     "Please state your business."

     *Cardassian intelligence reports that the Bajorans are

engaged in the testing of offensive weapon delivery systems at

this station.  We have come in the cause of peace to investigate*

     "Tell me, do your sensors pick up any offensive weapon

delivery systems hereabouts?  Perhaps that Bolian freighter at

Upper Pylon 2.  Do you think it might constitute a threat to

Cardassian security?"

     *Very funny.  We know what our sources tell us.  Who knows

what plans are archived in your station computers?*

     "If there are offensive weapon delivery system plans in the

station computers they are probably not a threat to anyone.  Our

Cardassian-designed computer system is usually down."

     Reaction shot of O'Brien looking hurt.

     *We will be monitoring you.  Don't make the mistake of

thinking you can advance your Federation expansionist tendencies

through your Bajoran clients!*

     The Cardassian terminates the link.

     O'Brien: "They're warping out.  Wait.  They're taking up a

position just beyond Bajoran space.  Looks like he meant what he

said.  They're monitoring the station."

     "Keep an eye on them, Chief.  I have every confidence in

your computers.  Major, there may be an ambassadorship in your

future yet."

     His office doors close.  

 

     Professor Baffleplate, Signor Nacelli and Warpo are playing

cards around an upturned crate in the Bolian freighter.  The game

seems to be some kind of three-handed whist, with a plenty of

slapping and grabbing.  (Of cards.)  (Mostly.)  Mrs Van Pelf

hurries in.

     "Professor!  Professor!  The Cardassians have appeared! 

They're trying to discover the secret of the metawarpic drive!"

     "Oh, have they?  Are they?  Will they?  Won't they? 

Wouldn't I?  Couldn't you?  What was the question?  Come, let's

be men about it.  No, forget I said that.  What we have here are

desperate times, and desperate times call for desperate measures! 

Ace of diamonds!  Beat that!  If you can."

     Warpo plays the zero of diamonds.

     "Well, that beats my ace."

     "But, Professor, the Cardassians!"

     "Oh, she wants to deal.  Why didn't you say so?  The game is

five card stud.  You deal.  That's five cardassians to him, and

five cardassians to him, and five cardassians for me, and five

for yourself if you're good.  The winner gets the stud."

     He lifts his eyebrows and rolls his eyes.

     "I cannot believe you intend to sit here and play poker!  We

must proceed to the bridge at once!"

     "She's right!  What kind of fools are we?  Bridge it is. 

You deal, Nacelli.  Speaking of bridge, Mrs Van Pelf, perhaps you

can let the fans in on how you managed to get your nose in such a

state.  It must be awfully hard on prescription eyeglasses."

     "I'll have you know I've a very stately nose!"

     "That's what I said.  Aw, you're shy, aren't you.  You don't

want to talk about it.  Don't worry.  I know just how you feel. 

There are plenty of states I wouldn't want to put my nose into

either.  New Jersey!  Don't even ask about Idaho."

     Nacelli: "He lost a lot of money playing five card spud."

     "Pay no attention to him.  He's a masher."

     By now Warpo has dragged over a sack of potatoes and is

emptying it on the card table.

     Baffleplate: "Careful.  You'll put an eye out."

     Warpo produces a potato slicer from inside his coat and

begins to feed potatoes into it, pumping the arm and chopping

them into flat slices.  The slices spill out all over the table

and get mixed in with the cards.  The game goes on.

     "These cards are getting a little tatered.  Hm, must be a

skins game.  Who'll open?  Nacelli!  What's your bid?"

     "Two dollars."

     Van Pelf: "That is not how we bid in bridge!  You must say,

`Two diamonds,' or words to that effect."

     "Hey, this is too rich for me!"

     "Didn't I tell you she was loaded?"

     Warpo reaches into his coat and loads two coal shovels onto

the table.

     "He bids two spades."

     He drags over a golf bag and unloads that on the table. 

Baffleplate counts.

     "Ten clubs.  That beats my lacrosse stick.  Say, meet me at

the nineteen hole and I'll tell you what Sam Snead."

     "I no wanna hear about that.  Look, I got four hearts."

     "Four hearts!  Dr Bashir!  Dr Bashir!"

     Bashir runs in with his medical kit: "What is it?"

     "What's up, Doc?"

     "For heaven's sake!  The sooner we get to a Dax episode the

happier I'll be!"

     "A-a-a-a-h!  A ladies' man.  Baffleplate to Ops.  We've had

a breakthrough!  I think Lieutenant Dax would be very interested

in this!  Send her up to take a gander, would you?  And maybe a

goose!  And tell her to put a little pepper on it!"

     Nacelli: "Soytainly."

     "Thanks for the condiments."

     "Slow down a minute while I ketchup."

     Warpo places a shaker of salt and a phaser on the table.

     "Oh I see.  A salt with a deadly weapon now, is it?"

     Warpo places a bunch of vegetable matter on the table.

     "What are those?"

     Nacelli: "They're herbs."

     "Well, when Herb gets here we can give them to him.  What's

keeping that Dax?"

     "She mustard been delayed."

     "Says who?"

     "Sesame."

     "To think I threw up a lucrative position in the Heimlich

Institute for this."

     "Basil."

     "Huh?"

     "Those herbs.  They belong to Basil."

     "All I can say is he'd better not try to curry favour around

here.  Ah, here comes Dax."

     Bashir: "Thank God."

     "You wanted me, Professor?"

     "That ain't the half of it."  Eyebrows.  "To the bridge!"

     Cut to the bridge of the Bolian freighter.  Baffleplate, Van

Pelf, Nacelli, Warpo, Bashir and Dax come in.  Nacelli slides in

behind the controls and cracks his knuckles.  Everyone leans

forward to look.  Warpo puts his leg in Bashir's hand.  Julian

throws it down.

     Nacelli: "I rewire these."  He hits the controls with ten

fingers and plays a chord.

     Dax: "A piano!"

     Nacelli slides a finger along the length of the console,

playing a long upward scale.  He glances over his shoulder and

leans into "I've Found a New Baby".  The thing about Chico Marx

at the piano is the way he "shoots the keys"; i.e., when he gets

to the top end of the keyboard he makes a pistol out of his

fingers and fires the hammer when he hits the top note, winking

at the nearest young woman whenever he does it.  So it should

come as no surprise that by the end of the tune he's come on to

Dax about six times, and Julian is about ready to fly to her

defence.

     "Sir, I believe you are stepping beyond the bounds of

propriety!"

     Dax: "Julian!"

     Baffleplate: "A fight!"

     Nacelli: "Hey!  Atsa matter you!"

     Van Pelf: "Gentlemen!  Please!  You are scientists!"

     Baffleplate: "The old dame's right!  What are we?  Monkeys? 

Alright, leave that aside for a moment.  I think there's nothing

to be done now but to let bygones be bygones.  Shake hands so we

can get out to the lobby for a quick one while Julian here sings

something."

     "Sings something!"

     "Yes, my lad, you see, in a Marx Brothers movie there's

always a sappy interlude where the handsome young nonentity

serenades his girl.  And you're the sap.  So tune up, maestro."

     Dax: "Julian?"

     Bashir: (Clears throat.) "Well.  Um."  Sings:

 

     "My love makes me treat you the way I do.

      Say, ain't I good to you?

      You know there's nothing too good for a girl that's true.

      Aw, baby, you know I'm good to you.

      Fur coat for Christmas, and a diamond ring,

      Big Packard coupe, most everything.

      And it's love makes me treat you the way I do.

      Aw, baby, ain't I good to you?"

                                   (Redman-Razaf, 1929)

 

     Dax: "Julian!"

     Bashir: "I don't even know what a Packard coupe is."

 

     Ops.  

     O'Brien: "The Cardassians are hailing."

     Sisko: "What is it this time?"

     *Commander Sisko!  Our sensors are picking up a number of

Starfleet vessels hurrying to your location.  Tell me, could they

be coming to protect your experimental ship?*

     "We are experiencing a refugee influx here.  Those ships are

coming to provide relief."

     *How convenient, Commander.  Let me put it simply.  Any

Bajoran ship suspected of harbouring offensive experimental

propulsion systems will be fired upon as soon as it leaves your

station*

     "`Convenient!'  Of course you realize your threat only

carries any weight until the first of our ships arrives."

     *We have our own reinforcements in motion, Commander.  So

you'd be well advised to prevent any movement of Bajoran vessels

to or from your station*

     "In case you'd forgotten, it is the Bajorans' station.  They

won it in a war."

     *Let the record show who brought up the word `war' first. 

Transmission ended*

     Sisko grinds his teeth.

     "Major Kira.  Under no circumstances is that ship to leave

Upper Pylon 2."

     "Commander, you're not going to let that . . ."

     "Not now, Major!  The best interests of all parties will be

served if that ship stays docked until reinforcements arrive. 

Where's Dax?"

     Dax steps out of the turbolift.

     "Who's at the ship?"

     "Julian and I just left.  He's with the refugees.  The three

scientists and Mrs Van Pelf are on the ship."

     "Get back up there and tell them the speed trials are off

until further notice."

     *Odo to Sisko*

     "Sisko here.  What is it, Constable?"

     *The grasshoppers are rioting.  I have an emergency

situation down here.  I need every available body*

     "Acknowledged.  Dax, hold on.  I need you here.  Chief,

who's our nearest person to the experimental ship?"

     "That would be Door Repair Guy, Commander."

     "Have him deliver the message and ensure the ship is

secured."

     Cut to Door Repair Guy near the Pylon 2 turbolift.  He's

navigating the crowded, noisy passageway with his toolbox

balanced on the top of his head.  His commbadge chirps.

     "Door Repair Guy here."

     *O'Brien . . . to Upper Pylon 2 . . . the docking clamps."

     "Turn up the gain.  I didn't copy.  It's a crazy house down

here."

     *. . . repeat.  Go . . . the experimental . . . on board. 

Got it?  I haven't got all day to talk about this*

     "Yeah yeah.  Acknowledged.  Out."

     He enters the turbolift.

 

     Door Repair Guy saunters into the airlock and sets down his

toolbox.

     "What's the problem here?"

     Mrs Van Pelf: "Young man.  It is imperative that we get

under way, but the docking clamps refuse to retract.  You simply

must do something."

     "Well, let me look."

     He pulls open a panel and pokes around.

     "The docking clamps are secured from Ops.  They must of

forgotten to release them with all the rioting going on.  I'll do

it.  It's just a matter of . . . entering . . . the correct

maintenance override."

     He punches in the numbers with one hand while shielding the

control interface with the other.  He smiles self-consciously.

     "Security.  You can't be too careful these days."

     "Hmph!"

     "Okay.  Cleared for separation.  Happy motoring."

     The airlock door rolls shut.

 

     Ops.

     Kira: "There's an object moving off.  It's the experimental

ship!"

     Sisko: "Major!"

     "It wasn't me!  Someone has overridden the docking

controls!"

     The turbolift deposits Door Repair Guy.

     O'Brien: "Didn't you get my message?  I said to stop them

from going!"

     DRG: "O-O-O-o-o-o-h!"

     "The Cardassians are moving off after it!  They're firing!"

     Sisko: "I hope you *enjoy* vole duty because . . ."

     Dax: "Benjamin!  Look!"

 

     Baffleplate: "So, how does it . . . how does it go?"

     Nacelli: "Hey, you're the inventor.  Think something up."

     Baffleplate: "Oh, of course.  Why didn't I think of that

before?  I guess that's why I pay you the big money, to remind me

to think something up."

     Nacelli: "Somebody got to.  Go on!  Think up something fast,

real fast."

     Baffleplate: "If I think up something fast, you think you

can build it?"

     Nacelli: "Thatsa no problem.  But time she's a waste."

     Baffleplate: "Rockets."

     "Too slow."

     "Slingshot."

     "Still too slow."

     "Boomerangs!"

     "Think faster!"

     "A-monkey-in-a-wheel!"

     "Hey!  Boss!  I think you got it!  A monkey in a wheel!  You

stay there and Warpo and me we fix it up good!  A monkey in a

wheel!  Thatsa fine!"

     Mrs Van Pelf: "Theodore, I am beginning to have my doubts

about this entire experiment."

     "Keep driving."

 

     Engineering.  We find Warpo brushing his teeth with a shoe

brush.  He admires his smile in a hand mirror.  He begins to comb

his hair with a toothbrush.  Nacelli hurries in.

     "Hey, what a great assistant!  Always the spit and the

polish.  Hey, come here a minute.  Where's you monkey?  You gotta

monkey there?  Hey, monkey come on out!"

     Nacelli frisks him for the monkey.  Warpo writhes and

squirms like he's being tickled to death.  Then they get into a

fight.  Warpo stands back and holds one fist out while swinging

the other up and down.  He winds up his fist and kicks Nacelli in

the pants.

     "Hey!  Pastapazooli!"

     The monkey scrambles out Warpo's pant leg and across the

floor.

     "There she go!"

     Warpo is off with a butterfly net and chases the monkey all

over Engineering in fast motion.  Her catches her and gives her a

peanut.  The monkey sits down and eats while Warpo runs all over

the place setting up the wheel and adjusting the computer

controls.  He hangs a banana on a string in front of the wheel

and puts the monkey in.  The monkey begins to run after the

banana.

 

     The bridge.

     "Theodore!  Look!"

     The Professor and Mrs Van Pelf lean over a visual display

showing a blip (them) moving away from the station, and several

large blips (the Cardassians) moving to intercept.  Little faster

blips separate from the large blips and close rapidly.

     "They're firing!"

     Baffleplate hits the intercom.

     "Captain to Engineer!  Give me all the monkey you've got!"

     Warpo leaps up at a huge lever and pulls it down with his

body weight, climbing up on it as if it were a high bar and

bicycling his legs in the air.     

     The Bolian freighter elasticizes the width of the entire TV

screen and snaps into superhigh warp.  Sheets of stars fly past

it like gusts of rain.

     "Good!  It's about time this plot went somewhere."

     Views of the Bolian freighter navigating caverns of light. 

An incandescent landscape passes overhead.  A bare plain

dominated by formations of glowing diamond-shaped objects drifts

by below.

     "Say, isn't that Stanley Kubrick?"

     Mrs Van Pelf: "We are exceeding all known speed records."

     "Then keep an eye on the rear view.  What's the fine for

going three trillion miles per hour?"

     Galaxies whiz by.

     Shot of Warpo in the monkey wheel, running in fast motion.

     The ship banks suddenly.

     Nacelli: "Whatta you know!  The edge of the universe!  Itsa

curve!  We gotta turn back!"

     Warpo staggers from the monkey wheel, walks sideways one

way, then back the other, and falls on his back.

     The freighter falls out of warp just above Deep Space Nine.

     Baffleplate: "Just let that Carl Lewis come near me.  I'll

snap my fingers at him just like that.  Prepare to tie up."

     Mrs Van Pelf: "But, Professor, look!  We haven't left yet!"

     They watch in amazement as the Bolian freighter pulls away

and jumps into warp.

     "How I envy the young!  Quick!  Park before we show up and

swipe the space!"

     Warpo enters, yawns, stretches, and wiggles his eyebrows at

Nacelli.  Nacelli takes his hat off and nods.  The two of them

transmogrify into . . . the Traveller and Wesley Crusher!

     Traveller: "Our work here is done."

     Wesley: "Cool!"

     They sift off to a higher plane.

     Mrs Van Pelt: "Oh, Theodore!"  Faints.

     Baffleplate: "Great Scott!"

 

     Cut to Door Repair Guy in crawlway.

     "Here, voley voley voley.  Here, voley voley voley."

 

                              THE END

 

     Elwy: "And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen.  The

Marx Brothers in _Warp Happy_.  In a moment I'll be talking to

Star Trek: Door Repair Guy producer Gul Berman about the

extraordinary visual effects used to create this memorable piece

of cinematic magic.  But first a few TV Ontario highlights."

 

     "Nails.  We've used them for thousands of years.  How were

they invented?  And what future lies in store for them?  Tune

into `Nails: a Sharp Idea' next Tuesday night at 8:00 on TVO."

     "A world without chickens is hard to imagine.  Even harder

to imagine is how they got along without humans.  Have millennia

of captivity made chickens stupider?  Tune in next Wednesday at

9:00 for `Chickens: the Stupidest Birds'.

 

     "I'm here now with Gul Berman (played by Red Green), co-

producer of the hit television series Door Repair Guy.  Now, Gul,

when you were presented with the raw footage for an unfinished

1950s Marx Brothers science fiction movie and told to make a Star

Trek episode out of it, what did you do?"

     Gul Berman (played by Red Green): "Well, that's a very good

question, there, ah, Elwy.  Most modern science fiction

television shows are recorded on video tape, whereas your typical

1950s science fiction thriller is normally filmed on regular

celuloid film, what we in the trade call movie stock.  They're

noncompatible, sort of like the wife and myself by the second

intermission of the hockey game on Saturday night.  So what did I

do, Elwy?  I panicked.  Luckily, though, we live in an age of

innovation and just about anything can be accomplished if you can

just tie a computer into it somehow.  Now we in the business have

a special kind of computer for just this kind of job.  It's

called a Toaster.  Why it's called a Toaster I don't really know,

except that it requires a lot of bread and by the time you're

through with it you're usually fried.  Luckily, however, it is

possible to build one out of materials lying around your own

house or workshop.  First you start with a regular household

variety toaster.  You decrumb it, there.  Just hold it up and

give it a good shake, like that.  Now of course it wants extra

circuitry.  These can be salvaged from equipment found all over

the house: a transistor radio, garage door opener, and I

especially like this one, a smoke detector.  So you just wire

those in there.  A little solder will do the trick, or if you're

out of that, a strip or two of the handyman's best friend, duct

tape.  Now you just slide the video cassette into there.  While

this has been going on I've had the celuloid on the heat over

here, and you see we've made a nice stock out of that, so we'll

just pour that into the other slot, there, and plug her in, and

see what we get.

     Pop!  Bang!  Beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep

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

Written by Douglas McLeod, ai919

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

 

--

The opinions expressed above are not necessarily those of Krell and

Brothers, Doorhangers, or of the Klingon Guild of Doorhangers. 

}}:-)  Douglas A.McLeod ai919@freenet.carleton.ca  )-:{{

Episode 24 -- Warp Happy, Part Two

 

Notes on Warp Happy, Part Two

 

Card game.

"I Found a New Baby."

"Gee, Baby, Ain't I Good to You?"

Packard Coupe.

McKinney's Cotton Pickers.

Stanley Kubrick.

Red Green.