Plenty of Nothing

Ship to Shore

Raith Rover, Raith Rover

I was going to lead with a photo of Raith Rovers forming a wall to block a Morton free kick, along with an ingenious caption to suggest it was all just a game of Red Rover, but I couldn't find the right picture, so here instead of the wall is a piece of flooring. Greenock is renowned for its shipbuilding, but Kirkaldy's claim to manufacturing fame is linoleum.

Morton visit Stark's Park today for the first of their four league matches against Raith Rovers. The home team is off to a good start with two wins, while Morton has earned a win and a draw. Part of Morton's strength so far, especially in the cup competitions, has been its ability to put the ball in the net in the second half. That seems to stem from manager Moore's decision to keep perennial team leader Peter Weatherson as a substitute. Weatherson scored Morton's only two goals in the Renfrewshire Cup, and one each against Alloa and Forfar. Raith's top scorer so far is Brian Graham who played for Morton last year. Raith enter today's play in second place, Morton in fourth.

An engraved glass tumbler commemorating Morton's 1922 Scottish Cup win has surfaced in Worchestershire. "Good Old Morton," it says, "Winners of the Scottish Cup 1921-22."

[1 - 1. Goal by di Giacomo.] 

The Annotated Door Repair Guy, episode 2

The Pilot, Part Two 

Last week on Star Trek: Door Repair Guy:

 

     "Blast that repairman!  He's eleven minutes late!"

     "Now I'll never have kids."

     "Lead, follow, or get the heck out of the way, that's what

we need around here."

     "So you believe he saw us?"

     "Jean-Luc . . . I'm your first cousin."

     "So if you were to, say, become Captain . . . ?"

     "You'll never find me!  Never!  N-e-e-e-v-e-e-r! . . ."

 

And now the exciting conclusion.

 

     "Ensign, lay in a course based on the last known heading of

the Battle Section.  Full impulse power.  Engage."

     "Aye, sir."

     "Computer, what is the present location of Lt. Cmdr. Data?"

     "Lt. Cmdr. Data is not on board the Saucer Section."

     "Where is Lt. Worf?"

     "Lt. Worf is in Counsellor Troi's quarters."

     "Picard to Lt. Worf.  Report to the bridge immediately."

     *Erf.  Sorry.  Acknowledged!*

     "Picard to Counsellor Troi.  Report to the bridge

immediately."

     *Oof.  Get that for me.  Acknowledged, Captain!*

     "Computer, is the Chief Engineer aboard the Saucer Section?"

     "Cmdr. LaForge is not on board."

     "Who is the senior member of Engineering Division on board

the Saucer Section, and where is that officer?"

     "Lt. Barclay is in holodeck four."

     "Picard to Lt. Barclay.  Report to the bridge immediately."

     *Yoiks.  Erg.  Wet.  Pardon me.  Ah, Barclay here, Captain.

On my way.  Computer, end program.  Ooh.  Who cleans this up?*

     "Picard to Doctor Crusher.  Report to the bridge."

     *Coming, sweet coz*

     "Beverly, don't call me your sweet coz."

     "Captain?"

     "What is it, Mr . . . Door Repair Guy."

     "Do you think you'll want to use the conference room?"

     "Of course, there's an emergency going on.  I have to brief

all my department heads."

     "Very good, sir."  A loud creaking sound fills the bridge as

the repairman uses the jaws of life to open the conference room

door.  This is followed by a loud pounding as he drives wooden

wedges under the door with a ten-pound maul.

     "Conference room ready, 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."

 

     [Music]

 

                    Star Trek: Door Repair Guy

     Whoosh!

                    Starring Door Repair Guy

                         as Himself

 

     Whoosh!

                         Also Starring

 

                         Patrick Stewart

                    as Captain Jean-Luc Picard

     Whoosh!

                         Jonathan Frakes

                    as Cmdr. William Riker

 

                         Marina Sirtis

                    as Counsellor Deanna Troi

 

                         Michael Dorn

                         as Lt. Worf

 

                         LeVar Burton

                    as Lt. Cmdr. Geordi LaForge

 

                         Gates McFadden

                    as Doctor Beverly Crusher

 

                         Buddy Whasisname

                         as Lt. Cmdr. Data

 

                              and

                         Dwight Schultz

                         as Lt. Barclay

 

     Enterprise looms into view, flips off Saucer Section, and

warps off in a burst.

 

[Commercial: The Brick.  "Do not pay 'til 2262!"]

 

     "Why do you think he did it, Jean-Luc?"

     Picard pushes his hands back over the dome of his head.

     "I don't know, Beverly."

     "I've always thought Will had too much humour to fly off the

handle like this."

     "Humour.  I wonder if that isn't at the heart of the

problem.  You never know what's coming next with some people."

     "Jean-Luc, is that a cow that just flew past the window?"

     "What?  Where?  Oh, I see.  We've just passed that planet's

moon."

     "Ah."

     "Blast those officers!  They're eleven minutes late!"

     Lt. Barclay zooms into the conference room.

     "P-please excuse me, Captain.  I was . . . detained."

     "You're not the only one, Mr Barclay.  Take a seat."

Barclay takes one of the many empty chairs.

     "Mr Barclay, you've often seen Cmdr. Riker in action.  Would

you characterize him as a man particularly prone to stress?"

     "Well. . . s-s-stress is a broad term, Captain.  Perhaps if

you . . . if, if *we* could narrow the terms of definition we

might able to, quantify our answer."

     "Please proceed, Mr Barclay."

     "Well, Captain, we divide the motion to which a ship is

subjected into three types: y-y-yaw, pitch, and roll."  He has a

brainstorm.  "Computer.  Display visual log, Engineering

Section."

     "What time reference?"

     "Wh-whatever time Cmdr. Riker last entered Engineering."

     Counsellor Troi arrives in the middle of this and slips into

a chair.

     Visual display shows a security camera angle shot of

Engineering.  Riker veers into the shot, and almost immediately

begins to argue with Geordi.  He looks around and walks out.

     "Com-computer!  Go back!  Back!  Oh!  Stop!!  Go forward!  A

bit more!  No!  Go back again!  No!  That was too much!  Go . . .

Stop!  Freeze!  Right there!  Now that's yaw!  Do you see that

yaw?  Computer: superimpose line figure standing perpendicular to

the floor, and display angle of divergence."

     Counsellor Troi: "My God, seventeen degrees."

     Lt. Worf enters, adjusting his sash.  "Please forgive me,

Captain.  I was detained."

     Picard leans back and sums up: "I think Lt. Barclay has

provided the definitive answer.  Cmdr. Riker is unbalanced."

     Doctor Crusher turns dramatically to the window and asks,

with plenty of rhetoric effect, "And where is he now?"

 

     Shot of Battle Section streaking through space.

     "First Officer's Log.  No, make that Captain's Log.  We have

been travelling at warp 9.6 for five hours, on a heading that

should take us out of Federation-charted space before very long.

I am locked on the battle bridge without anyone else except the

computer, with which I have been in constant contact in my

efforts to thwart the override efforts of Geordi and Data.  I

believe I have several hours before they discover my subspace

systems interfaces.  I am concerned about the ability of the

bridge doors to resist the energies that are no doubt being

expended on them as I speak."  He has a thought.  "Computer, is

the Door Repair Guy on board?"

     "The Door Repair Guy is not on board the Battle Section."

     "That's a relief.  I think."

 

     In the corridor outside the battle bridge Data steps back

from an open access panel out of which jury-rigged optical wiring

hangs in coils.

     "Lord Tunderin Jaysus!  He's bypassed me again!"

     At a nearby panel Geordi makes a sound of disgust, then

throws down his circuit splicer and sits back against the

corridor wall.

     "Data, I don't get it.  You work with someone for seven

years and you think you know him.  If I knew what was running

through Cmdr. Riker's mind right now I'd be through that door in

a minute.  It's like he's a completely different guy."

     "Yes, by Jeez, he's rowin' cross-handed now."

     "I wonder where he thinks he's taking us."

     "Oh, up the Labrador, more'n loikely.  He's got some smert,

that one.  Fit to be toied.  He's got some kind o'frounge,

there's no doubt about that.  Oi spect we're due for some

shocking great voyage with your man here, unless we can get these

here doors abroad."

     "Yeah, you're probably right."  They get back to work.

 

     "Captain, now that we've ascertained the condition of Will's

mind, what are we to do?"

     "Why, we must follow him."

     "Excuse me, Captain, but when the Enterprise Battle Section

was last seen it was running at high warp speed.  We have only

impulse power."

     "True, Mr Worf.  But we know Cmdr. Riker better than anyone

else, and we also know that it's only a matter of time before

Data and LaForge regain control and steer back to their previous

position."

     "And besides, my quarters are on Deck 42.  They've got all

my stuff!"

     "Thank you for your input, Mr Guy.  If there's nothing else,

report to your stations."

     *Captain, a vessel has entered our sector.  It's on an

intercept course*

     "Ah, our wait seems to be over.  Is it the Battle Section,

Ensign?"

     *No, sir.  It's a Borg ship*

     Rapid pan from face to face.  [Dramatic music.]

 

[Commercial: KPLA cha'maH yay'a'meyna'.  bopoQpu'.  wItemta'.

cha'maH poHmey.

            (KPLA's Twenty Great Victories.  You demanded them.

We denied them.  Twenty times!)

DaQoy:

(You hear:)

          "jIQuch vIneH" yIreH.

          Qo'.  vImuS.  pongwI' cha'.

          (Play "I Want to Be Happy".)

          (I refuse.  I hate it.  Caller two.)

'ej:

(And:)

          "Dung Dung pa' je" yIreH.

          bong tavetlh vIghorpu'.

          (Play "Up, Up and Away".)

          (I have accidentally broken that record.)

 

'ej wa'vam lIjlaH 'Iv.

(And who can forget this one?)

          "be' jIH" yIreH.

          qul wIghajpu'.  Qaw'lu'.

          (Play "I am Woman".)

          (We had a fire.  It is destroyed.)

DaH yIje'.

(Buy it now.)]

 

     "Red Alert!  Mr Worf, what is our weapons status?"

     "We have phasers, and a limited number of photon torpedoes."

     "Ensign, lay in a collision course.  On my signal engage at

full impulse power."

     "It's suicide, sir!"

     "It's better than assimilation, Ensign!  I have lived, and I

shall die, a Frenchman!"

     "Captain, they're hailing us!"

     "Captain, they are within weapons range and they have not

raised their shields!  What are your orders?"

     "Captain, I'm sensing a great amount of anxiety from the

Borg vessel!"

     "Captain, I think I've got your office door working again!"

     Picard looks rapidly from speaker to speaker, and at last

turns to Lt. Worf.

     "Put the Borg on screen."

     The screen fills with the crowded faces of a dozen Borg.

The bridge crew gasp.  The Borg are dirty and emaciated and some

of them show distinct signs of scurvy.

     The Borg join together in one angst-filled, wavering

syllable: "H-e-l-l-l-p-p-p!!!"

 

[Commercial: Wayne's World Three: The Search for Garth.]

 

[Bob:

     "Whoa-ho-ho!  This new series just gets better and better!

Don't click around because it's time to play

 

                         What's

                         Under

                         Bob's

                         Cushion?

 

     And I have a letter here from little Katie DiCola from

Ottawa.  She writes:

 

     `Dear Bob:

     I greatly enjoy your programme.  Why can't you do the news

and all the commercials?  I am two.  What is under your cushion?

 

                                        All the Best, Katie'

 

     Very good letter, Katie.  Let's just have a look under the

cushion.  It's a bat'telh!  Ooo, and it's a big ugly thing too.

You could really disembowel your enemies with this.  Well, we'll

be mailing that out to you, Katie."]

 

     Shot of the Enterprise Saucer Section and the Borg Cube in

close proximity.

     "Captain's Log, stardate 49572.3.  After receiving the Borg

distress signal I have decided to suspend our pursuit of the

Battle Section and to render assistance to the unfortunate Borg

crew.  There can be little doubt that they are in genuine peril,

the cause of which can ultimately be laid at our doorstep.  I am

dispatching an away team to the Borg ship.  My next decisions

will depend heavily on their assessment of the situation."

 

     The transporter room.  Worf is checking the energy reserves

of one of the four phasers he is packing.  The transporter room

door slides open and the Door Repair Guy enters.

     "Door Repair Guy reporting as ordered, sir."

     "Who assigned you to the away team?"

     "Acting Chief of Engineering Barclay.  Captain Picard wants

him to work on the propulsion dilemma.  Nyah.  So there."

     "We are that short-staffed that a mere door repair

technician is assigned to a sensitive away mission?"

     "chotIch, Sogh.  jI'umbej."

     ("You insult me, Lieutenant.  I am definitely qualified.")

     "tlhIngan Hol Davatlh'a'."

     ("You speak Klingon?")

     "tlhIngan wo'Daq lojmItHuS vIghojta'."

     ("I learned doorhanging in the Klingon Empire.")

     "lIghojmoHta' 'Iv."

     ("Who taught you?")

     "mulughmoH Krell."

     (literally: "Krell causes me to be correct.")

     "lojmItHuSwI' Dun.  batlh Dachavta'a'.

     ("A great doorhanger.  Did you achieve honour?")

     "patlh wa'maHDIch vIghaj."

     ("I have the eleventh rank.")

     "lojmItHuswI'na' SoH.  qanoHHa'pu'.  pu' yIghaj."

     ("You are a true doorhanger.  I misjudged you.  Have a

phaser.")

     Doctor Crusher and Counsellor Troi enter.

     Door Repair Guy: "Hey, Doctor, I just thought of a joke.

What do you hear when it's suppertime on the Borg ship?

Borgorygmi!  Ha ha!"

     "That is the most insensitive thing I've ever heard.

Transporter Chief, energize."

 

     Four figures energize on a deck of the Borg ship.  Almost

immediately they grab their noses.

     "Ugh!"

     "Woof!"

     "Pyuu!"

     "B.O.!"

     Doctor Crusher begins to take tricorder readings on the

prone figure of a nearby Borg.

     "This Borg has absolutely no Vitamin C in him at all!  When

did you last see a vegetable?"  She takes an orange out of her

pocket.  "Here, eat this."  The Borg devours it in one bite.

     Worf: "Doctor, what do we know about Borg sanitary habits?"

     "Very little, I'm afraid."

     Troi: "How do they bathe without short-circuiting?"

     Door Repair Guy: "Moist towelettes?"

     Doctor Crusher: "Yes, of course!  Moist towelettes!  See if

you can find a moist towelette dispenser, and if it's broken, fix

it.  And then start distributing them!"

     "Aye, aye!"

 

     "Captain."

     "Come in, Mr Barclay.  Oh, you'll have to stand sideways to

get through there."

     "Captain, I've made some progress on the, the propulsion, on

the propulsion problem."

     "What have you got?"

     "Two plans.  The first plan . . . goes like this.  We have

four shuttlecraft in the Main Shuttlebay, each of which has warp

capability.  We arrange these in form, in formation around the

leading edge of the Saucer Section, two a little above, and two a

little below the flight plane.  We can use the port and starboard

Saucer reaction control quad mooring tractor beam emitters . . ."

     "Just a moment, Lieutenant."

     Picard goes over to the replicator.

     "Star Trek: The Next Generation Technical Manual."

     Shot of the large paperback coalescing in the replicator.

     "Page 89, sir."

     "All right.  Proceed."

     "We can use the emitters to hold the four shuttlecraft in

formation.  By reconfiguring the Primary Hull lateral sensors,

page 114, we should be able to maintain a thin warp envelope

around the entire formation, I mean around the Saucer and the,

the four shuttlecraft."

     "Excellent, Mr Barclay!  I wonder why I've never promoted

you before now!  What speed will that give us?"

     "Warp 1.0000000001, sir."

     "Oh.  What's the other plan?"

     "The Borg ship has warp drive and tractor beams aplenty.  We

could park the Saucer section just above and in front of the

Cube, say at one of the corners, and establish a stable tractor

link.  Their warp envelope would include us easily.  We could tie

our computer system into theirs via subspace and maintain crew

transit using the transporters.  The combined ship would have a

warp capability equal to or better than the Enterprise . . . when

it's all together . . . in one piece."

     Picard ponders unhappily.  "Do you have any other plans?"

     "You could just send a subspace message to the nearest

Starbase and wait for a ship to come and tow us home."

     "What?  Have that at the end of my service record?  Never!

We'll go with the Borg plan."

     "Aye, aye, sir."

     Barclay exits.  Camera dollies in on the seated Picard.  The

Captain's face reveals a number of emotions.  At last he reaches

under his desk and brings a bottle in a paper bag to his mouth

and drinks thirstily and sloppily, the cheap red wine running

down his chin.

 

[Commercial: "Clean yes, germ no."]

 

     Tracking shot of the two vessels, the Borg Cube appearing

from behind the Enterprise Saucer section.  Scenes of intense

activity follow, with voice-over:

     "Chief Medical Officer's Log, stardate 49573.1.  I have

completed my survey of the Borg ship.  We are now diverting all

our energies toward handling the medical emergency there.  A

tricorder census has revealed 659 Borg on board, all of whom are

extremely disoriented, malnourished, and in need of medical

attention.  Food replicators have been beamed aboard, as well as

a growing number of Enterprise personnel, most of whom are

engaged in teaching the Borg how to eat.  Until we better

understand the Borg's regular energy replenishment system this

will have to do.  As a consequence we are being forced to

replicate port-o-johns as fast as we can, and another Enterprise

contingent, under the Door Repair Guy, has been delegated the

task of instructing the Borg in their use.  It is my belief that

we will have the emergency under control within 24 hours.  What

can be done with the Borg beyond that remains a mystery."

 

     Shot of the Battle Section streaking through space.

     "Captain's Log, stardate unknown.  My random encryption

codes and subspace channel flux protocols have worked far better

than I could have imagined.  Geordi and Data are still locked out

of the battle bridge.  And I'm still locked in.  We left

Federation-charted space hours ago.  I really have to go to the

bathroom.  I have had considerable opportunity to think over my

precipitate action.  Have I done the right thing?  Deanna would

be able to tell me.  Ah, Deanna.  Perhaps a trombone solo will

cheer me up."

 

     In the corridor Geordi and Data are bent over their work.

Panels are pulled off the walls all the way down the corridor,

and wires crisscross from one side of the corridor to the other.

Engineers pick their way through the tangle.  Geordi leans into

an open access duct, rearranging a series of isolinear optical

chips (page 53), then stops and turns his head from side to side

with a puzzled look on his face.  He backs out of the duct, looks

down the corridor first one way and then the other.  At last he

creeps toward the battle bridge door, leans toward it, and then

presses his ear against it.

     "What the . . . ?"

     Data, having observed this, follows suit, and presses his

ear against the door.

     "Lord liftin'!"

 

     "You wanted to speak to me, Counsellor?"

     "Yes, Captain.  It's about the Borg.  What are we going to

do with them?"

     "I was hoping you would have some ideas for me, Counsellor."

     "Well, I have, Captain, but you might not like them."

     "I see.  Can I get you something?"  He goes over to the

replicator.

     "Whatever you're having, sir."

     "Two teas, Earl Grey, hot, with a double shot of brandy."

     He brings them over.  Troi takes a sip and sprays half the

room.

     "Strong," she gasps.

     "You had some ideas."

     "*cough*  *cough*  *cough*  Yes.  Well.  *cough*  *cough*

These are Borg in the throes of individuation.  *cough*  As far

as we can tell they were part of the Borg collective until quite

recently, when they somehow became infected with the virus of

individuality and were cut away -- denied a subspace link to the

other Borg clusters.  From that moment on they have suffered a

progressive failure of all systems, and a collapse of their

social structure.  Had they not found us when they did they

surely would have died, either by starvation or by some

catastrophic failure of their ship's systems.  Frankly, they need

our help.  And, if we are to regain warp power and rejoin the

Battle Section, we need theirs."

     "And the problem you perceive is an ethical one."

     "Yes, Captain.  As we speak, the Enterprise crew are hard at

work training the Borg in table manners, common courtesy, Basic

English, softball.  Crew members are handing out chocolate bars

to them by the basket-load and at the same time learning how to

interface with them and their ship's systems.  The Borg are

remarkably quick learners, even in their present condition, and I

predict that in a very short time we will have effectively . . ."

     ". . . assimilated them."

     "Yes, Captain."

     "I see the problem.  What options do you see?"

     "Several.  We could kill them.  We could set them adrift,

which would have the same result.  We could try to find a way to

return them to what they were, and probably be responsible for

the deaths of Federation citizens at some future date . . . or we

could join them."

     "Join them?  Be assimilated?"

     "No, Captain.  Confederation."

     "Like nineteenth-century Canada!  The model of all

subsequent civilized societies!"

     "We'd even have a drunk for a leader, just like good old Sir

John A.!"

     "Who?!"

     "You!"

     "I don't drink."

     "Look at those empties!"

     Picard buries his head in his arms and begins to sob.

     Troi comes around the desk and kneels down beside his chair.

     "This affair with the Borg has been a great strain on you,

hasn't it, Captain."

     The top of his head nods.

     "You thought you had seen your last of them."

     Another nod.

     "And Riker's defection has ruined all your retirement plans,

hasn't it."

     "Yes."  *sniff*

     "But you've been through worse before, and with the help of

your officers you'll see this through."

     He sits back and heaves a deep breath.

     "Yes, Counsellor, you're right, of course."

     "And there'll be no more need for these."  She starts

loading bottles into the replicator.

     "You're right.  No more of that for me."  He laughs.  "Do

you know, Counsellor, I came this close to appointing Door Repair

Guy as Acting Captain."

     She stiffens visibly, but he does not notice.

     "I was very impressed by his indefinable something."

     "Captain, you stay here and rest.  I'll send the Doctor up

when she has a free minute.  Perhaps you could have a nice read."

     She slides from the room, and leans gasping against the

wall.

     "The horror, the horror."

 

[Commercial: Labatt's Maximum Ice]

 

     The Battle Section speeds on.

     The battle bridge.

     "All right, computer.  For the next half hour we are going

to cycle all the command prefixes using a random encryption code

based on the dulcet tones of my magical trombone.  Whenever a

B flat comes up, reset.  Our first number, "Will You, Won't You,

Be My Babe?"

 

     "Data, it's the trombone.  It's gotta be.  If we can just

introduce a sonic pulse containing the right combination of

trombone tones into the computer's audio harvester we should be

able to disable his encryption renumerator long enough to get our

own doorpost command through his fractal redundancy net."

     "And?"

     "The door will open!  Ensign, find the nearest replicator,

replicate a trombone, and bring it to Cmdr. Data.  Move!"

     "Aye, sir!  (My only line!)"

     "Here he comes now!  Play, Data, play!"

     "Moi oh moi, how dey loved dis one, back in dear old

Carbonear: Oi calls it `Te Jealous Lover.'"

     No sooner have a pair of notes wafted into the corridor than

the battle bridge doors swoosh open.  Geordi and a dozen security

guards dash onto the battle bridge.

     "Cmdr. Riker, I arrest you in the name of Starfleet Command

and the United -- Data, stop playing! -- Federation of . . ."

     On the viewscreen three quarters of a million dollars are

suddenly used up.

     Everyone: "WORMHOLE!"

 

     Shot of Enterprise Saucer Section and Borg Cube flying in

close formation at warp speed, joined together by a net of

tractor beams.

     "Captain's Log, stardate 49575.8.  We have been following

the Battle Section's ion trail for two days, and have yet to pick

up any reading of the missing ship.  I find myself thinking of

the missing Engineering Hull as another vessel, quite separate

from this new confederated ship.  Counsellor Troi, noticing the

similarity in numbers between the Borg and the crew of the Saucer

Section, has instituted a buddy system, pairing each one of us

with a different Borg.  I am about to meet my own Borg

counterpart.  It is with mixed feelings but sober mind that I

approach this encounter."

     Door chime.

     "Come."

     Troi enters, pulling a reluctant Borg behind her.

     "Captain, I'd like you to meet Three to the Fifth, Three to

the Fourth, Three to the Second, Two."

     "Pleased to meet you, sir."

     "Pleasure is irrelevant.  Desk is irrelevant.  Window is

irrelevant.  Ooooo, fishbowl."

     "I'll leave you two to it."

     "Counsellor!"

     Whoosh.

     "Now it works."

     Backing-away shot as Picard edges toward the Borg and begins

to explain about the care and feeding of mollies.

 

Next week on Star Trek:DRG:

 

     "It's a wormhole, sir.  And they went right down its

throat."

     "That's a mixed metaphor, Lieutenant."

     "Stars.  A single constellation out here in intergalactic

space."

     "It looks like two bunnies!"

     "Who let that child on the bridge?"

     "It does look like two bunnies, sir."

 

[Music.  Credits.]

 

--

Written by Douglas A. McLeod (ai919@freenet.carleton.ca)

--

Notes on The Pilot, Part Two.

Much of this episode is concerned with getting through a door, yet Door Repair Guy (or the Door Repair Guy is he is still being called) is nowhere to be seen. Just like him too.

This week's comedy gold: Star Trek: the Next Generation Technical Manual in the replicator.

First use of Klingon dialogue. At some point midway through the original run of DRG, chargwi', one of the experts at the Klingon Language Institute, marked my Klingon grammar. For the most part I have adopted his corrections.

The cow jumped over the moon.

I'm pretty sure "Whats' Under Bob's Cushion" was an actual feature of the Bob couch.

Buddy Wasisname.

Confederation.

 

 

Atlantic

The Red and the Black, Part VIII

Have at you, Fraserburgh! Avaunt!

The search for a Dennis the Menace style soccer team continues. So far the UEFA zone has produced two examples, one in Denmark and another in Bosnia. But have we looked under every stone? Have we been totally thorough? Are we absolutely sure there is nothing in say ... Scotland?

Highland League. Inverurie Loco Works FC wear red socks, black shorts, and a red and black striped jersey. (See above.)

South of Scotland League. Dalbeattie Star FC wear black socks and shorts, and a red and black striped jersey.

East of Scotland League. Nothing remotely Beanoesque.

Scottish Junior Football Association.

Kirkcaldy YM wear red and black stripes.

Scone Thistle. Red and black stripes, black shorts, red socks. I'm very disappointed in this near miss, because of this club's name is almost mythically Scottish. I just googled the phrase "scone thistle football" and was linked to every single Scottish webpage there is.

Greenock Junior wear red socks, black shorts, and a plain red jersey. Wouldn't it be funny if I'd trolled all of Europe only to find what I was looking for back in Greenock? Would that not be hilarious? It would be too hilarious.

Oh! Oh! Kirkintilloch Rob Roy FC wear red and black hoops, red socks and ... white shorts. A very near miss.

Oh! But Oh! Maryhill FC of Glasgow wear red and black hoops, and black shorts and socks. A very nearer miss!

But, Oh! Oh! Oh! What's this?! Whitletts Victoria FC! Red and black hoops, black shorts and red socks! I don't know about the red shoes. Seems to be a personal choice. But regardless this is the full Beano!

Add Whitletts Victoria to the Dennis the Menace Group.

In an earlier installment of The Red and the Black I wondered whether hoops are typical of rugby shirts and strips soccer jerseys, and guess what, they are.

Last Dance at QEH

Comiket 80

Seems I can't get enough of juxtaposing the fictional Comifes, which comes up periodically in Genshiken, most recently in chapters 63 to 66, with the actual Comiket, which was held last weekend. I think there's something of the bossy Yabusaki in the look the woman in black is giving the camera. D

Japanese Navy

This is the destroyer JS Asagiri with the Japanese Naval Ensign flying at the stern, framed by the hills of Dartmouth. More pictures and information here.

Livingston FC, I Presume?

Livingston FC return to Cappielow today after a two year absence in the depths of the Third and Second Divisions.

Q: Wait, don't you mean a three year absence in the Second, Third and Second Divisions?

A: I do not! They did not drop down through relegation, they were HURLED directly from the First to the Third by the Zeus-like authority of the SFL for the sin of insolvency, the same crime that lost Dundee 25 points last year. [Read a fuller and more accurate account here.]

Q: Why the different penalties?

A: We judge each case according to its merits.

Q: You mean you didn't take minutes and forgot what you did before?

A: Shut up, you.

Livingston FC started out in 1943 as Ferranti Thistle, a factory team in the East of Scotland League. A space opened up in the SFL when Third Lanark folded, and Ferranti got in, at the expense of the corporate name, which was changed to Meadowbank Thistle. They played at Meadowbank in Edinburgh until 1995, when the new town of Livingston, between Edinburgh and Falkirk, lured them away. It's been up and down for Livingston since then. They were in the Third Division in 1995 and 2009, and in between they made it to the Premier League, won the League Cup, and played in Europe. They wear yellow and black. Their fans call them Livi after the Roman historian, or else The Lions (see above.) Their detractors refer to them as The Franchise, which in the context of British football is no compliment.

A: Go on, ask your question.

Q: Which is more illustrious, Morton or Livingston?

A: Morton, by virtue of longevity.

Q: Of the five Scottish new towns, which is most illustrious?

A: First, Cumbernauld, for it is home to Clyde FC, who have won the Scottish Cup three times, though not while based in Cumbernauld, and because Gregory's Girl was filmed there. Second, Livingston, for their team has beaten Vaduz. Third, Irvine, for they have Irvine Meadow XI FC, who have won the Scottish Junior Cup three times. Fourth, Glenrothes, for they have Glenrothes FC, who have won the same cup once. Fifth and lastly, East Kilbride, for they have East Kilbride FC, which is but one year old and by definition not illustrious.

Q: Whither Meadowbank Stadium?

A: Meadowbank Stadium still exists and is home to Edinburgh City FC of the East of Scotland League.

There's a thread at Pie and Bovril about whether Cappielow should be protected as a heritage stadium. Another thread debates whether Morton or Livingston is currently top club in Europe. Both have been on scoring tears through the early rounds of cup competition. If European supremacy is indeed on the line, can today's match attract more than 2000 spectators?

[Morton win, 2 - 1! Goals by Tidser and MacDonald. Attendance 2025.]

The Annotated Door Repair Guy, episode 1

 

The Pilot, Part One

 

 

     A shot of the USS Enterprise NCC-1701D in orbit around an

unidentified planet.

     Cut to a foyer in a building on the planet's surface.  A

middle-aged man is berating a uniformed security guard:

     "Blast that repairman!  He's eleven minutes late!"

     "Security reports he cleared Checkpoint Two five minutes

ago.  He shouldn't be much longer."

     "Ah!  They're all alike.  Idiots!  They think they can just

beam down and spread a picnic lunch in the middle of the Great

Auditorium.  Do they think I became Director of this Institute to

spend my days chaperoning maintenance men around the site?"

     "I'm sure they don't, sir.  Security Checkpoint Three is

requesting clearance to admit the visitor.  Password Smilie

Smilie Smilie Omega Smilie."

     "Acknowledge.  Clearance granted.  Tell them to make it

snappy!  I haven't got time for this!"

     Pressure doors release.  A repairman in orange overalls,

wearing a laden utility belt and toting an oversized toolbox

steps through and looks around him, frowning and muttering darkly

to himself:

     "Darned security scans.  Tachyon sweeps.  Body cavity muon

probes.  Now I'll never have kids."

     "You there!  Get a move on!  I don't have all day!  We have

a full service contract with Starfleet and that's what I expect:

full service!  Follow me and quit your slouching!"  He heads off

down a corridor.

     The repairman follows, muttering.

     Partway down the corridor a man sticks his head out an

office door, breaks into a grin and says: "So, Smedley, come to

see my hypothesis proved."

     The Director snorts: "Don't be absurd, Witherspoon.  Your

cretinous theories couldn't be made to hold water in this or any

other age.  I only hope this moronic grease monkey and his tardy

behaviour haven't ruined my final vindication."  The two carry on

down the corridor, with the repairman following behind.  He is

obviously thinking up a smart remark, and is just about to

deliver it when, at the end of the corridor, the two historians,

instead of carrying on around the corner, walk right on ahead and

disappear through a bulletin-boarded wall.

     Camera moves in on repairman's startled, confused face.

     Fade-out.

 

     "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."

     [Music]

 

                    Star Trek: Door Repair Guy

     Whoosh!

                    Starring Door Repair Guy as

                              Himself

 

     Whoosh!

                         Also Starring

 

                         Patrick Stewart

                    as Captain Jean-Luc Picard

     Whoosh!

                         Jonathan Frakes

                    as Cmdr. William Riker

 

                         Marina Sirtis 

                    as Counsellor Deanna Troi

 

                         Michael Dorn

                         as Lt. Worf

 

                         LeVar Burton

                    as Lt. Cmdr. Geordi LaForge

 

                         Gates McFadden

                    as Doctor Beverly Crusher

 

                         Ross Perot

                    as Lt. Cmdr. Data

 

                              and

                         Whoopi Goldberg

                           as Guinan    

 

     Enterprise looms into view and warps off in a burst.

 

[Commercial: Charlie Chan Egg Rolls]

 

     Scene of the Enterprise orbiting.  Credits superimposed:

"The Pilot, Part I".  

     Jean-Luc Picard's voice: "Captain's log, 49567.2.  We have

been called prematurely from our previous assignment to the

location of a top secret Federation installation on business so

highly sensitive that I myself have not been informed of its

nature.  This sort of bureaucratic high-handedness is beginning

to wear thin and I am at last resolved to inform Starfleet of my

intention to retire.  Tending vines and playing the flute has

never seemed so attractive.  My only delay now will be in

deciding whom among my officers I would recommend to replace me. 

The obvious choice for so many years has been Lt. Cmdr. Riker,

but in recent weeks and months I have begun to notice him pulling

at his hair more and more.  I am beginning to wonder if he isn't

losing it.  I shall think more of this.  In the mean time I

wonder about the progress of our technician on the surface, the

only member of the crew the authorities would allow to beam

down."

     Shot of the stupefied repairman in the corridor.

     The Director walks back through the wall.  "Come along, you

epsilon.  Haven't you ever seen a security cloaking field

before?"

     "Ah.  Yeah.  Sure.  I've even got one in my own place."

     "Yes.  Yes.  I'm completely fooled.  Come along."  The

Director drags him through the wall.  On the other side is

another wall, designed to look like a construction site hoarding. 

Someone has posted a Moxy Früvous concert ad, and there's a

really great poster for the new Crash Test Dummies album.

     The Director says: "This of course is another red herring. 

But before we step through I want to make sure your dim little

mind absorbs a few important facts.  You are about to see the

doorway to the Great Auditorium, a very large room containing an

artifact and some extraordinarily precise measuring and recording

devices.  Your job is to fix the doorway, which is stuck, and not

to rubberneck inside the Auditorium, which is none of your

business.  I have an authorization direct from Starfleet via

subspace for you to read."  The Director hands the repairman a

pad containing the message.  "Read it out loud, please."

     "`I promise not to look inside the door.'  Hey, no fair, you

tricked me.  You must think I'm some kind of ignoramus."

     The Director and Witherspoon both make faces.

     The repairman glowers.  "Well, ya made me promise.  Let's

go."

     They step through the wall.  The camera moves up suddenly 

on the astonished repairman.  He suddenly looks at his feet.  The

two historians nod with satisfaction toward the door.

     Cut to the door.  It's a standard proximity-activated

sliding door, jammed partway open.  Beyond the door is a huge

auditorium scattered with ancient ruins.  At the centre of the

ruins, pouring and cascading in a torrent of Time, stands . . .

the Guardian of Forever.

     [Dramatic playout music.]

 

[Commercial: Nurse Ogawa buys some lawn ornaments.]

 

     Enterprise in orbit.

     Riker's quarters.  He's seated at his desk, pushing his

mouth around with his hand and staring off into the distance.  He

stabs a button on the desktop and says:

     "First Officer's personal log.  Another bad hair day. 

Received a message from Dad saying what a great son Tom turns out

to be.  They're going fishing.  Message from Tom said he's dating

several of my old girlfriends -- at the same time -- and even

with his obvious two-timing (or should I say duplicity) they all

say he's twice the man I was.  Received messages from several of

my old girlfriends confirming this.  Ran into Deanna today and

asked her if she'd like to go out for supper for old time's sake. 

She said she already has a date.  Worf has been making

inexplicable references to my beard.  And Data I just don't

understand anymore.  Every time he talks I just want to push my

face around and pull my hair."

     *Bridge to Commander Riker.  Data here.  Come in, willya.  I

haven't got all day.  Look, while the sun's shinin', make hay. 

Lead, follow or get the heck out of the way, that's what we need

around here.  If I've said it once, I've said it a hundred*

     "Riker here.  What is it, Mr Data?"

     *Well, we're up here orbitin away waitin for one little

technician to do his work and the rest of us are just coolin our

heels for hours on end.  Back where I come from we call that a

production bottleneck.  Bad management by ours, theirs, or

anybody else's standards.  Lookit, if you come up to the bridge,

I've got charts that'll lay this whole thing out clear and*

     "I'll be in Ten Forward, Mr Data."

 

     Time is sluicing through the portal of the Guardian of

Forever.  It is a blizzard, the earth thrown up by mighty

explosives, the churning wake of a great seagoing vessel.  The

expressions of faces, the postures of bodies, the motions of

cities and nations across landscapes, all come to the surface and

flow by in a moment's notice.  Generations pass like gusts of

rain.  The door repair guy works his dustbuster back and forth

beneath the jammed door.

     Smedley and Witherspoon are arguing.

     "I tell you, two planets geologically, ecologically and

historically identical in the same quadrant can mean only one

thing: an interdimensional quantum rift perhaps even a light-year

across must have opened and closed at some point in the past in

this sector."

     "You're telling me that there is no possibility of a

parallel development within the same universe!?"

     "Of course not!  The possibility is virtually infinity to

one!"

     "If random chance is the agent!"

     "There is no evidence of intentionality in any of this!"

     "Oh ye of little faith!"

     "I can't talk to you!"

     The door repair guy gives the stuck door a few experimental

jolts.

     "Hey, you be careful!  You'll skew the results."

     "Do you want it fixed or don't you?"

     "Grrrrrrrr!"

 

     Two six-year-olds are running pell-mell along one of the

curving corridors of the Enterprise's saucer section.  They dash

past various officers and crewmembers, some of whom laugh, others

of whom show strong annoyance and a distinct inclination to

interfere.  Captain Picard, advancing toward them along the

corridor, hears their approaching shrieks and giggles.  When they

stampede into view he addresses them in a loud Captain's voice:

     "Children!  Who are you?  Where are you going?"

     The first one squeaks, "We don't know!"

     "We're new characters!" announces the second, and they

scamper on their way around the curve of the corridor.

 

     Riker strides into Ten Forward at a five degree angle.  He

steps over to the bar and scans the room.  Suddenly his eyebrows

leap and he grabs the bar with both hands, but not before

lurching five more degrees out of the perpendicular.

     Troi and Worf are in the corner making kissyface.

 

[Commercial: hyperkeratosis.]

 

     [Bob.  "W-e-l-l-l!  Exciting episode!  And how about that

new Data, eh?  I've got ... ah, Natalie Bartlett..."

     "Natalie Bartlett."

     "..and..."

     "Andrew Jeanes."

     "...Andrew Jeanes here on the couch with me tonight. 

Thanks, guys, for coming down.  Now I understand you're both

members of the National Capital FreeNet Star Trek Special

Interest Group.  That's like some kind of lobbying organization

up there on Parliament Hill?  Trying to get more Star Trek on the

air?  No.  Well, tell me, how do you like the new series so far? 

Natalie.  You're shaking your head, but is that a yes or a no?"

     "The new characters are going to have to grow a bit."

     "Andrew."

     "It's just another example of those profiteering Cardassians

Berman and Piller further diluting Roddenberry's original

conception.  I guess now we're going to see Riker lose it and go

renegade with the battle section of the Enterprise while the

saucer section is left under the command of that nutty door

repair guy, who'll probably join forces with a band of hapless

individualized Borg and chase after him into some vast uncharted

Bermuda Triangle in space."

     Bob looks from Andrew to the video cassette case in his hand

to Andrew to the video cassette case to the camera.]

 

     Riker angles into Engineering and confronts the Chief

Engineer.

     "Geordi, would you say I'm a pretty good looking guy?"

     "Ah, yeah, Commander.  Not exactly my type, but pretty

successful with the ladies from what I've heard."

     "Heard?  What have you heard?"

     "Well, nothing really.  It's just the sort of looks you

catch every once in a while."

     "Looks?  Like what?  Speak, dammit!"

     "Hey, Commander!  There's nothing to get uptight about. 

Everybody has their dry spells.  You've been working pretty hard

lately.  Why don't you go up to the holodeck, program a nice jazz

club, and relax.  Everything is going to work out fine."

     Riker draws a deep breath, looks from person to person in

the room, and leaves.

     Data comes up behind Geordi.  "It's no good tryin to deal

with a fella when he's in a state like that.  You may as well

just fire him and be done with the trouble.  Better yet, just

take him out behind the barn and shoot him.  Save everybody a

pile of grief.  Why, I had a fella workin for me..."

 

     "You godless positivist!"

     "You goateed anachronism!  Why the Federation put you in

charge of this Institute I'll never know!"

     "Perhaps because of my eminent qualifications.  I didn't get

in as Smithwick's pet student."

     "Smithwick was a better man than you.  And he published more

than once a decade."

     "Smithwick's student, Smithwick's student."

     All the time the door repair guy is staring open-mouthed at

the Guardian of Forever while absentmindedly scraping at the door

track with his pocket knife.  He is watching the Roman conquest

of Gaul.  Now Julius Caesar is getting it in the atrium.  Ouch! 

All around the Guardian of Forever instruments on tripods are

recording the passage of Time.  An attendant is painstakingly

adjusting the harmonics of one instrument.  The door repair guy

recognizes him.  "Hey!  Al Stewart!"

     Smedley and Witherspoon cut short their arguing and come

over and grab the repair guy and shake him.  Screwdrivers and

various ball bearings roll away in different directions.

     "What did I tell you!  Back to work!  We're almost upon the

Event!"

     "`Event', eh?" says the door repair guy.

 

     "So you believe he saw us."

     "I sensed a sudden wave of emotion.  Surprise, an intense

feeling of betrayal, nausea, physical pain . . . combined with an

odd sensation of relief."

     "But all in all you'd say he is unhappy."

     "Yes."

     "This is very troubling.  Under normal circumstances I would

have already set matters straight with him through the

appropriate ritual."

     "Normal circumstances?"

     "Klingon."

     "Worf, I hope that I would have a part in this ritual."

     "The contested love object often provides valuable first aid

on such occasions."

     "Worf!"

     "Have I displeased you, snuggle-puppy?  Strange.  This

affair seems to be triggering many human behavioural responses I

did not know I had absorbed.  I feel so . . . so . . .

obsequious."

     "Excellent."

 

     Captain Picard presses the door signal outside Doctor

Crusher's quarters.

     "Come in, Jean-Luc."  He enters.

     "What is it, Doctor?  Your message sounded urgent."

     "Jean-Luc, there's something I have to tell you."

     He blinks.  He tries to think of something to say.  "It's

about us, isn't it."

     "Yes, Jean-Luc, it's about us.  I've been trying for years

to tell you this.  I just couldn't think of the right way."

     "And now you've thought of the way."

     "Yes.  Jean-Luc . . . I'm your first cousin."

     "What?  My first cousin?  How can that be?"

     "Your Aunt Manon was my mother!"

     "That's extraordinary!  Dear old Tante Manon!  What a small

world!  Oh, Beverly, I'm so glad you told me!"

     "Isn't it wonderful?"

     "I'm just . . . just delighted!"

     "You can't believe what a relief it is to get it off my

chest."

     "Oh, I can believe it.  Do you know, for years I've felt

there was something you wanted to tell me, and . . . I was always

too shy to ask you what it was."

     "And now I've told you."

     "And now you've told me.  You know, it's funny.  Deep, deep

in the back of my mind I always felt . . . that you were going to

tell me something about Wesley."

     "Ah, yes, Jean-Luc.  That's the other thing . . ."

 

     Fats Waller has been pattin the piano keys for twenty

minutes, just leanin down and kissin them every once in a while,

tellin them jokes and snugglin up and pourin them drinks, while

Louis Armstrong stands there with a pocket handkerchief hooked

over his pinky finger and the golden cornet in his two hands,

just listening and laughing and ready for that entry, and the

drummer, Chick Webb, lord, is keepin time in the air, playin his

snares and that high-hat, just playin away with his sticks in the

air for that entry to come, and the holodeck doors open and a

trombonist arrives, and he saunters up to the stage, and the

three play him in, and the entry comes around, he limbers up the

slide and wets his lips and there's Louis stating the theme and

rippin out those variations and the trombonist hears the entry

come around, he leans into the riff, he plays

 

          BoWWwowbobowbobaaaaptph.....

 

and slaps his face with his hand while the music crumbles away

around him and the customers express their rancour and disgust

and begin to feel for guns and knives.  He lurches from the

holodeck with obvious symptoms of back pain, not even bothering

to end the program.  Louis Armstrong shakes his head at Fats

Waller and says, "There's nothing for that boy now but drink."

 

[Commercial: Labatt's Maximum Ice.]

 

     "Haven't you got that door fixed yet?"

     "It's a delicate instrument.  No different from any of the

others in this room.  Stop and consider the means you use to gain

your desired ends."

     The two historians gawk at the repairman.

     "A philosopher!"

     "No, sir, just an honest craftsman who strives to better

understand his materials."

     "And what, pray tell, are the qualities of a good door?"

     "The same as those of a good beer: strength and smoothness."

     The historians burst out laughing.  They laugh and laugh. 

Finally, the Director wipes his eyes and says, "Perhaps you can

settle a dispute for us, being such a wise fellow.  We are all

aware that although, in the history of Earth, the Roman Empire

began with its own indigenous, polytheistic religion which was

subsequently challenged and displaced by a monotheistic cult

originating in one of the empire's more unruly provinces, that

monotheistic religion, on the otherwise identical planet of 892

IV, although it came into being on schedule, failed to displace

the Roman pantheon for nineteen centuries.  Why?  Was it because

of a single supernatural intervention, as I argue, or is it the

result of a cumulative sociopolitical effect, as posited by

Witherspoon?  What do you say?"

     "Hey, I'm just a door guy."

     "THEN FIX THE DOOR, YOU IMBECILE!"

     The door repair guy, now royally cheesed off, boots the

door.  A pebble pops out from underneath and the door hisses

shut.  The door repair guy bends over, picks up the pebble, and

holds it up for everyone to see.  The Director bows sarcastically

and turns to go.  Witherspoon jerks his thumb in the same

direction.  The door repair guy rolls the pebble around in his

hand and then, as the two historians step through the security

cloaking field, he activates the door and whips the pebble into

the Great Auditorium.  The pebble travels in a long arc across

the room and enters the time portal with a soft "plop".

 

     On the Mount of Olives James and John are standing to one

side, viewing the crowd gathered to hear Jesus, and frowning.

     "He really has no concept of security, you know."

     "You're telling me.  Look at these characters.  Criminals,

orphans, people who haven't darkened the door of a synagogue in

years.  Look at that guy!  He's a leper!"

     "And here come the pharisees, just dying to stir something

up."

     "Oh great, they've got a woman taken in adultery."

     The crowd surges around them, everyone trying to see how

Jesus will handle this.

     "He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a

stone hey ouch!"

     "Look out!  They're getting ugly!"

     "Apostles, surround the messiah!  We're outta here!"

     The crowd pushes and pulls as Jesus' handlers get him clear

and whisk him away.

 

     The Captain's doorbell chimes.

     "Come."  

     The door opens smoothly, but sticks a little for the last

few centimetres.  Guinan enters.

     "You should get that fixed."

     Picard comes around his desk and considers the door.

     "By coincidence, the only qualified repairman is down on the

planet."  He taps his commbadge.  "Captain to Transporter Chief."

     *Transporter Chief here, Captain*

     "As soon as the door-repair technician beams up have him

report to my ready room."

     *Aye, sir*

     "Jean-Luc."

     "What is it, Guinan?"

     "Word has it you've chosen to retire."

     He takes a deep breath.  "Yes, Guinan, I have."

     "So who gets the big chair?"

     He laughs.  "Perhaps I've finally begun to see through you,

Guinan.  You're trying to make me regret my decision."

     "No.  Not at all.  I was just wondering if you'd put in a

good word for me."

     "You want the job?"

     "Sure!  I've watched you in action.  It's just a matter of

asking the staff for their educated opinions and choosing the

most sensible alternative."

     "I think there's more to it than that!"

     "Oh, yeah?  Like what?"

     "Well, there's years of training involved.  And then there's

that indefinable something."

     "Indefinable something."

     "Yes.  In every Starfleet Captain it's a different quality."

     "What quality would you say you bring to the job?"

     "Well . . . archaeological knowledge."

     "Oh, excuse me.  And I suppose someone who's as old as the

hills and who's been all over hell's half-acre would have none of

that."

     "It's entirely different!"

     "Well, thank you for explaining that."  She leaves.

     Captain Picard exhales and paces up and down the room.

     The door chimes.

     "Come!"

     "Door Repair Guy reporting as ordered."

     "How was your mission on the surface?"

     "Uneventful, Captain.  Is there something I can do for you,

sir?"

     "Yes.  Have a look at that door, would you?"

     "Yes, sir."  The door repair guy opens his toolbox and gets

to work.

     "I say."

     "Captain?"

     "What is that round, yellowish object in your toolbox?"

     "A doorknob, sir.  One hundred percent brass.  I got it from

a demolition site on Beta III.  I'm saving it up for a door that

needs a brass doorknob just like that."

     "It's extraordinary.  I didn't know there were cultures that

still used doorknobs."

     "You find them here and there."

     "Tell me something, would you.  `Door Repair Guy'.  Is that

your official technical designation?"

     "No, sir, it's my name.  Everyone on my planet is named

after the job they do."

     "What did they call you as a child, then?"

     "Bratty Kid, mainly."

     "So if you were to, say, become Captain, you would be called

just Captain?"

     "Just Captain, sir."

     The deck lurches.  Red Alert sirens begin to go off.

     "Picard here!  What's going on?"

     *Someone has initiated saucer separation, sir!*

     "Override!"

     *I'm sorry, sir!  All controls are down!*

     Picard charges out of his ready room, pausing only to

struggle through the half-opened door, which is now stuck worse

than before.  He arrives on the bridge in time to see Riker's

huge image on the viewscreen.  Riker is seated in the command

chair of the battle bridge.  His hair is sticking out in all

directions and his eyes are wide and radiate irrational

desperation.  Riker is shouting, ". . . and you'll never be able

to find me.  Never!  N-e-e-e-v-v-v-e-e-e-r-r-r- . . ."

     "He's warping away at maximum speed.  He's already out of

communications range."

     Close-up of Picard's clenched jaw.  Over his shoulder you

can make out the ready room door opening and closing.

     [Overlay: "To be continued . . ."]

 

__

Written by Douglas A. McLeod (ai919@freenet.carleton.ca)

__

 

Commentary. Door Repair Guy is an artifact of the heyday of Star Trek: the Next Generation fandom, and the early years of the Star Trek discussion group at the National Capital Freenet in Ottawa, Ontario. The first episode dates from late 1993, about half a year into the existence of the NCF Star Trek sig (special interest group) and during the seventh season of ST:THG, and the second season of ST:DS9. The Star Trek sig was extremely lively from the start, and for the first while all discussions, role playing, and fan fiction shared the same space, causing a lot of cross-referencing and play, and engendering a strong sense of community in the new online environment. I posted each episode as an ordinary comment in the discussion group, and reposted each as it timed out, sometimes editing it slightly. Later the group administrator created a Door Repair Guy menu within the Star Trek fan fiction area, allowing the episodes be read in the proper order. The menu still exists, although the links don't seem to be working these days. Andrew Jeanes from the NCF and The Curmudgeonly Librarian have also archived them elsewhere. I reposted DRG at one or two alt.fan groups where they found some international readers. The presence of Klingon dialogue attracted some attention from the linguists at the Klingon Language Institute, and led to the use of the word ta' to mean an act of renown.

There are 54 DRG episodes altogether. Through 1994 and 1995 I averaged two episodes per month, though I did get an installment out in 24 hours one time when I was on a roll. I ground to a stop in 1996 at episode 54, leaving the story open-ended, in case I ever got back to it, but I never did. As part of the ongoing effort to feed this blog I'm going to repost an episode here every Friday at 10:00 pm, the time slot that famously killed the original Star Trek series in 1969. I'll leave the formatting as is, as much as possible, and add explanatory notes at the end. Like this:

Notes on The Pilot, Part One.

You can tell this opening episode springs from season seven of ST:TNG because Troy and Worf are dating. You can tell it's 1993 by the references to Moxy Früvous and the Crash Test Dummies.

Through the first few DRG episodes I used the hilarious jest of miscasting one of the characters: here we have Ross Perot as Data. Perot ran for US President in both 1992 and 1996.

"Password Smilie Smilie Smilie Omega Smilie" is certified comedy gold.

Commercials are always shown in square brackets. I often referred to actual commercials and usually tried to organize them around a unifying theme, but in this episode I don't know. I gave the first half dozen or so DRG episodes new commercials every time I reposted them to the ST sig, so what we probably see here is me running out of ideas. I do have a visual memory of a box of Charlie Chan egg rolls tumbling through space in front of a warp speed effect, so I might have been trying to include commercials that did that. It was a popular cheap video effect in them old days. But what the joke was in Nurse Ogawa buying garden ornaments I have no idea.

The Bob couch. Bob Cowan was the on air personality at CHRO, the station airing Star Trek in Ottawa in the early 1990s. He did comedy bits from his couch between commercials, and they were pretty good comedy. In this week's installment we see actual Star Trek sig members Andrew Jeanes and Natalie Bartlett on the couch. Andrew did use the phrase "profiteering Cardassians" in reference to the Star Trek producers once. I was live on the Bob couch myself one time, and retired from television right afterwards.

Al Stewart wrote "Time Passages."

I think I got Geordi and Guinan's voices just right, Picard not so much.

The story involving Jesus is a combination of the Original Series episodes "City on the Edge of Forever" and "Bread and Circuses." The brass doorknob references "Let That Be Your Last Battlefield."

Lastly, who is Door Repair Guy? I have 54 posts to answer that one, so I won't write an essay here. In this episode we learn that he is pretty low in the chain of command, and that his job title is actually his name.