Plenty of Nothing:

North and South

View of the Battle Section in stationary orbit above the

Flopsan north pole.

Door Repair Guy's quarters. We see Cmdr. Riker, in orange

overalls, asleep in a Lazy Boy with a pair of headphones hanging

around his neck. On the turntable beside him the Doobie

Brothers' _What Were Once Vices Are Now Habits_ rotates at 33 1/3

RPM. Across the room on an Ikea Loki daybed salvaged from the

recently abandoned Earth Colony Nepean III sits Door Repair Guy,

typing quietly into a similarly antiquated Tandy laptop computer.

We read:

"Personal Log, stardate 49594.0. Hoowee, what a day. Ryker

had to crawl around the Geoffrey's Tubes all afternoon, planning

his big insurrection. (Ho ho, can you say that in a personal

log???) And he kept such a closed eye on me I couldn't hardly

use my levitate function at all. Spent hours accessing

restricted computer levels for him. My flexor digitorum

superficialis is killing me. Lucky for me he's a trombone

player, so I was able to get him interested in some good 1970s

records with horns. He must of sat through Average White Band

half a dozen times. This spy stuff is a drag. I wish I was back

fixing proximity-activated entrances and exits. Looks like he's

ready to make his move, though, so tomorrow's the day, for better

or wurst."

View of the Borg Cube/Saucer Section Confederation in

stationary orbit below the Flopsan south pole.

Captain Picard touches a control on his desk.

"Captain's Log, stardate 49594.0. There still has been no

sign of the Battle Section, although we know her to be in this

stellar system. Security remains on full alert. Mr Worf has

every confidence that this policy of concealment will bear fruit.

He has reminded me several times of the Klingon legend of the

Fourteen Hunters, who caught and killed a mythical giant targ,

but only after they had all eaten their own bootspikes from

hunger. I am preparing certain measures that should preclude our

having to eat our own bootspikes. Picard out."

"Captain's Log, supplemental. Metaphorically speaking.

Picard out."

[A turbolift door. On the door appear the words:]

Star Trek: Door Repair Guy

[The door opens to reveal Lt. Cmdr. Data. Data walks down a

corridor and enters another turbolift. The doors close, showing

the words:]

Starring

Door Repair Guy

As Himself

[Data comes out of the turbolift. The doors close to display the

words:]

Also starring

Patrick Stewart

as Captain Jean-Luc Picard

Jonathan Frakes

as Cmdr. William Riker

Marina Sirtis

as Counsellor Deanna Troi

[Data walks down another corridor, rounds a corner, and enters a

room. The doors close behind him, revealing the words:]

LeVar Burton

as Lt. Cmdr. Geordi La Forge

Gates McFadden

as Doctor Beverly Crusher

Michael Dorn

as Lt. Worf

Dwight Schultz

as Lt. Barclay

[Data exits the room. The words on the door say:]

and Maxwell Smart

as Lt. Cmdr. Data

[Commercial: Don Cherry for Pink Insulation]

Picard's ready room. The door chimes.

"Come."

Acting Chief of Engineering Lt. Barclay enters.

"Y-you wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yes, Mr Barclay, please, come in. I have just been

perusing the _Star Trek: The Next Generation Technical Manual_.

Tell me. I see here that the Saucer Section possesses a photon

torpedo launcher situated within the vehicle interface, that is,

facing aft at a point which is usually pressed up against the

docking portion of the Battle Section. I must confess that until

now I had never heard of it."

"Ah! Well, Captain, it has never been used. Of course,

under normal circumstances it is completely locked down. If

anyone were to fire it while the Battle Section and the Saucer

were docked, the results would be . . ."

"Catastrophic, to say the least."

"Yes, sir, Captain. But now that the Battle Section is

gone, given ten or fifteen minutes to power up and blow out the

dust it would be absolutely ready for use." He grins happily at

the thought of how professionally he has delivered this good

news, when suddenly he is gripped by dread and begins to wave his

finger in the air and gape like a fish, trying and finally

managing to get out the word, "Except!"

"Except?"

"Except that it is situated just where the Borg/Enterprise

tractor beam links are most, most densely arranged! If we fire a

torpedo it will immediately get caught in one of those beams and

explode!" He stands there, wobbling, aghast.

Picard leans forward on the desk with his fingers locked

together, frowning and thinking.

"How else can we launch a torpedo?"

"Well, ah. Oh! We could beam it off the ship! Or we could

even push it out of the main shuttlebay by hand. Either way the

torpedo would have to be fitted with its own thruster module.

Otherwise, without the thrust provided by the torpedo launcher,

it won't have sufficient velocity to . . . to go."

Picard sits back and rubs his chin. Barclay stands there on

the other side of the desk, shaking visibly.

Picard throws him a glance. He jumps.

"Mr Barclay, please assemble a sensor probe with thruster

module as you described. I would like it to be launched into a

highly elliptical orbit of the planet so that apogee occurs high

above the equator and perigee at the north pole, altitude 500

kilometres. I want it to look as much as possible as if it is

passing the planet rather than orbiting it. The initial thruster

burst must take place in the portion of space hidden by the

planet from an object situated as far above the north pole as we

are below the south pole. The probe is to run completely

silently until it passes the north pole, when it is to conduct a

five nanosecond sensor pulse. It will then shut down all systems

again until it is in a position to transmit its findings in a

five nanosecond data burst to our position here. I have a very

strong suspicion that what we receive then will be an image of

the Battle Section."

"Yes, sir! Aye aye!" He falls out the room and runs to the

turbolift.

Picard sits back, picks up the Technical Manual again, and

begins to thumb through it, looking for other useful plot

devices. He stops suddenly at page 164. He gives a shout of

discovery.

"Captain's yacht!!"

A vertical service accessway within the Battle Section. Our

view is from between two ladder rungs. Riker climbs into view,

speaking loudly.

"Come on, get the lead out. I'm five decks ahead of you.

Here's the hatch."

We hear the pneumatic whoosh of the opening hatch. Riker

climbs up out of the top of the picture.

A moment later Door Repair Guy shoots upward with his boots

in one hand. He grabs a rung, deactivates his toe levitation

control with the pinky finger of his boot-holding hand, and goes

through a quick series of contortions as he gets his boots back

on while hanging on to the ladder. Then he climbs up, his boot

laces dangling. We hear the hatch close.

Main bridge. Picard hurries out of his ready room and makes

for the turbolift.

Worf: "Captain, someone is activating the main shuttlebay

door!"

"It's all right, Mr Worf. It's just Mr Barclay deploying a

spy satellite."

"Captain! The Fourteen Hunters would never resort to such a

ruse! It is the hunger of lying in wait that sharpens the senses

and gives the advantage!"

"Mr Worf, in the story of the Fourteen Hunters, what was the

giant targ doing while the Fourteen Hunters lay in wait."

"Dining upon the golden eggs of Borghol. It is a well-known

story."

"And what would you say the golden eggs of Borghol

represent, metaphorically speaking?"

"Decadence. Infatuation with the material world. Spiritual

flabbiness."

"Are these qualities you would ascribe to Cmdr. Riker, or

Lt. Cmdrs. Data or La Forge?"

Worf assumes an annoyed body posture.

"Please render Mr Barclay any assistance he should require."

Picard disappears into the turbolift.

Worf twitches, moves his mouth around and looks at every

part of the ceiling, flaring his nostrils.

Exterior view of Borgoprise. Space-suited figures can be

seen rolling a sensor probe out of the main shuttlebay. They

launch it by hand. It rotates slowly away. Then its manoeuvring

thrusters fire and it lifts away from the ship. A long blue

flame spouts from its main thruster and it dwindles into

intergalactic space. A moment later the motor cuts out, leaving

total blackness.

All over the viewing area people lean forward and say, "I

really ought to dust this screen more often."

[Commercial: Don Cherry for ProLine]

Close-up view of the exterior of the battle bridge on top of

the neck of the Battle Section.

"Acting Captain's Log, stardate 49594.0, Lt. Cmdr. Geordi La

Forge reporting. Data and I continue our strategy sessions. By

process of elimination we have pretty well decided where the Borg

ship has gotta be. We are now preparing our next move."

Three probes fire from the forward torpedo launcher.

A small viewscreen on the transporter room control console.

Transporter Chief: "The probes have taken up their

positions, sir."

Data turns.

"Got it, Chief."

Counsellor Troi's office. Troi and Worf are seated on the

couch.

"Worf, something must be bothering you, or you wouldn't have

come here."

Worf resists this interpretation for a while, then blurts,

"It is the Captain. I have a great amount of difficulty relating

to him lately. He seems to change from week to week. Just last

week I could sell him anything. Now he won't take any of my

advice."

"He has been under a lot of strain recently. So have we

all. I've been reading over some of my recent reports, and I

have a hard time believing I wrote some of them."

"Still, I am troubled."

She lays a hand on his. "This Cuniculi emergency will end

sooner or later. You'll find an opportunity to use your special

skills before too long."

He thinks this over.

"You are right, of course." He thinks of something else.

"Are we still on for Friday night?"

She laughs, "Of course!"

"Shall I have a little champagne ready?"

She smiles angelically. "Perhaps a little real pain."

He rubs his hands together robustly, eyes sparkling.

"Excellent."

An auxiliary transporter room. Data and La Forge enter.

"Okay, Data, so here's the plan."

"Wait just one minute, Geordi."

"Data, what is it?"

Data looks around.

"This is top secret information."

"Yeah. I guess."

"So shouldn't we use the Cone of Silence?"

"Data!"

"The First Officer of the Enterprise goes rogue, flies us

through a wormhole, then dies under mysterious circumstances, and

you don't want to use the Cone of Silence? Come on, Geordi, the

walls have ears."

"All right, all right."

They go over to a computer panel.

"Computer. Recognize Lt. Cmdr. Geordi La Forge, Chief

Engineer."

*Acknowledged*

"Computer. Recognize Lt. Cmdr. Data, android and Starfleet

Officer and cat-lover extraordinaire."

*Acknowledged*

"Activate the Cone of Silence."

The transparent double-orbed tub descends over their two

heads.

"All right, Geordi, what were you going to tell me?"

"What?"

"I said, `You were going to tell me the plan. What is it?'"

"I can't hear you."

"What was that you said? I can't hear you."

"I said: "I . . . can't . . . hear . . . you!"

"It's hot in here, too. What about that plan?"

"This is the most ridiculous thing I've ever let you talk me

into!"

"You say you want to take an away team to the Borg ship?"

"This Cone of Silence is the stupidest invention ever to be

programmed into the computer."

"We'll use the orbiting probes as transporter relays to

carry our signals around the curve of the planet? Why, Geordi,

that's brilliant!"

"Computer, discontinue Cone of Silence!"

*Cone of Silence discontinued*

"All right, Geordi, let's get a move on. There isn't a

moment to waste.

"Huh?"

"If we're separated, don't use your commbadge. They

probably have the frequency." He takes off his boot. "All

secret communication will be done using the boot phone."

"Huh?"

Data flips open the heel speaker. It makes the communicator

sound. "This is Lt. Cmdr. Data calling the annoying lieutenant

from `Suspicions'."

*Annoying lieutenant here*

"You have the big chair until Geordi and I get back. Over

and out."

He herds Geordi up onto the transporter platform.

"Here's a phaser. But remember, don't shoot until you see

the whites of their eyes. Transporter Chief, energize."

Transporter effect.

[Commercial: Don Cherry for Ford Trucks]

Riker and Door Repair Guy climb out of a Jefferies Tube

hatch and start stealthily down a corridor.

"Someone's coming!"

Riker ducks into a nearby room, and Door Repair Guy hits his

Borg transport implant and disappears.

The room is a temporary crew compartment, hastily pressed

into service to compensate for the loss of all the living space

in the Saucer Section. On a chair in front of a mirror sits

Ursula, the brunette security guard. She is humming and combing

out her hair. Riker freezes, then silently backs up to the wall

and begins to search with his hands behind his back for some kind

of crevasse to slide into. Ursula continues to comb, then lays

down the comb and gathers her hair together in an elastic. She

sees Riker in the mirror. Riker, thinking fast, begins to wave

his arms around slowly in the air and silently mouth the words,

"Help me! Help me!" Ursula stares, horrified, into the mirror.

Her trembling fingers come up and press into her cheeks.

"Am I . . . am I going mad?"

She faints. Riker slips out the door.

A hatch opens in the ceiling. A leg appears, then a figure

in Starfleet uniform eases down into a small space containing a

number of comfortable padded chairs and a control console. It is

Picard. He gazes expectantly around the interior of the

Captain's Yacht, admiring the wood-grain finish and opening and

closing small lockers and drawers.

"Extraordinary."

He settles into the pilot's chair and activates the control

console. It lights up with a pleasant mechanical sound. He

checks overhead, and then feels under the seat.

"What the . . . ."

He pulls out an empty carton containing a few dried-up egg

noodles and bamboo shoots. Another search produces an empty Jolt

Cola can.

"By all the . . . ."

A third search brings up a subscription insert from _Field

and Stream_ magazine.

"Blast!"

A suite in the Battle Section. The annoying lieutenant from

`Suspicions' storms into the room, demanding, "Who sent that

unauthorized mayday call? This is a clear and wanton violation

of . . . ." He comes to a dead halt in the sights of Riker's

phaser.

Riker lounges insolently in an armchair, grinning broadly.

The annoying lieutenant turns on his heel and walks nose-

first into an uncooperative door.

"I have a friend in door repair division," Riker informs

him.

The annoying lieutenant glances this way and that, breathing

deeply and angrily. He hits his commbadge.

"Annoying lieutenant to Security! Send ten security guards

to my location!"

Riker stands.

"The more the merrier."

He saunters over to the replicator.

"Hungry? I'm having Klingon. Computer, a big bowl of

gakh."

The food appears in the replicator.

"O-o-o-h," says Riker in mock disappointment. "It's cold.

Computer, heat up this gakh. Say, three hundred degrees

celsius."

He calmly places a clothes pin on his nose as the gakh

begins to pop and fume.

The annoying lieutenant staggers and tries to support

himself with the back of a chair.

"Gakh!"

Thud.

There's a loud pounding on the door. Riker opens it with a

jury-rigged TV remote control. Security guards pour in.

All: "Gakh!!!" Multiple thuds.

Riker calmly moves about the room, collecting phasers and

commbadges.

Door Repair Guy enters, with a clothes pin on his nose.

Riker: "Now the battle bridge."

"Hey! What about all this great food?"

Riker gives an underwhelmed look and hurries from the room,

stuffing phasers and commbadges into the pockets of his overalls.

The main bridge. Doctor Crusher sits in the command chair.

The officer at tactical looks up and announces, "Sensor probe

data burst just received."

"Do we have visual?"

"It's blurry. Computer-enhancing."

"On screen."

Gasps.

"The probe must have just missed them!"

We see an enormous image of one of the windows in the Battle

Section. Framed in the window is Door Repair Guy, his eyes fixed

on his reflection in the glass, flossing.

The turbolift door opens. Picard enters. He slows as he

sees the image on the viewscreen.

"Hm."

The turbolift opens again, this time depositing Worf on the

bridge. He takes the station at tactical and begins to work

conspicuously. Shortly, however, he begins to cast covert

glances at the back of Picard's head. An alarm from the tactical

display pulls his attention back to his work.

"Captain. We are picking up a satellite of some kind just

above the edge of the planet. It is of Federation design.

Conducting search of the near-atmosphere horizon. There are two

more of them. We are being monitored, Captain."

"Is there any other purpose for them to be there that you

can determine?"

"I am picking up a strange energy pattern. It is a

transporter signal. They are transporter relays!"

"It seems we are being boarded."

"Shall I raise the shields, Captain?"

"No, Mr Worf. We are trying to demonstrate that we are not

the Borg. Anyone who beams aboard from the Battle Section will

soon see that. However, do you think those relays could be used

by us to transport someone over to the Battle Section?"

A look of glory enters Worf's eye.

"Captain, I volunteer for that mission."

"Very good, Mr Worf."

[Commercial: Don Cherry for Don Cherry's Grapevine]

The office of Not Fragile Surgical Implants. Madeline is

flipping through the latest _Entertainment Weekly_. There are no

customers. The transporter effect appears, and Data and Geordi

materialize with phasers drawn. Madeline chews her gum and waits

to see what's next.

"Come for a procedure, or what?"

Data steps forward.

"Aha! Now it all comes clear. This is the nerve centre for

your evil assimilation plan. Well, perhaps it will interest you

to know that we are just the leading edge of an army of nanite-

infested Federation shock troops."

"Yeah. Right."

"Well, perhaps you would believe that at this very moment

the Federation's new subspace jammer is being trained on this

ship from the planet below."

"As if."

"Would you believe that I just unscrewed all the fuses in

the fusebox down the hall?"

Geordi takes Data's arm. "We're not getting anywhere here,

Data. Let's try Plan B."

They touch controls on their armbands and disappear.

Madeline shakes her head and goes back to her magazine.

"Have a pleasant day."

A corridor. The transporter effect. Worf appears, dressed

in a black cat burglar outfit with a length of rope looped over

one shoulder and the bat'telh looped over the other on a leather

strap. He immediately takes a martial arts posture and advances

stealthily down the corridor, keeping an eye open in all

directions. Spotting a Jefferies Tube hatch he pulls it open and

disappears inside. We hear him climbing away, the bat'telh

clanking against the Tube wall.

[Bob:

"Okay! Great episode, eh? The programming guy says this

episode runs long, so I only have enough time to . . . ."]

[Commercial: Don Cherry for Rock'Em Sock'Em Hockey VII]

The battle bridge. A nervous ensign squirms in the command

chair.

"I hope the annoying lieutenant hurries back. I don't think

I can take the pressures of command much longer."

"Computer says he and ten security personnel are

approaching."

"Whew."

Riker and Door Repair Guy enter. Jaws drop. Riker covers

the bridge with a phaser in each hand while Door Repair Guy

disables the door control.

"Intruder alert!" squeaks the nervous ensign.

Everyone pauses, waiting for some kind of response. Door

Repair Guy bows deeply, removes his baseball cap, straightens up

again and shakes the hat, producing the sound of loose isolinear

chips.

"Please do not adjust your set. Audio problems originate at

the network."

Riker steps around the edge of the bridge until he stands

beside the viewscreen.

"I think we have the situation well in hand. Computer,

where are the renegades Data and La Forge?"

*Lt. Cmdrs. Data and La Forge are not aboard the Battle

Section*

"Huh? Where are they?"

The nervous ensign puts up his hand.

"Yes? You."

"They beamed over to the Borg ship."

"BORG SHIP???!!! On screen!"

An image of the Borgoprise below the south pole appears.

Riker turns on Door Repair Guy, eyes ablaze with anger.

"You're working for the Borg! Goddammit, I think you are a

Borg!" He points a phaser right at our hero and fires. Door

Repair Guy hits his forearm just as the phased energy stream hits

him. He disappears in a burst of light.

Riker turns toward the bridge crew, the smoking phaser in

his hand. They shift uncomfortably in their chairs. His eyes

move from person to person.

"Helm. Is there a nebula anywhere near here?"

"Y-yes, sir. Five point four light years from here, heading

185 mark 67."

"Go there."

"Aye, aye, sir. Speed, sir?"

"Fast."

The Battle Section turns and burns.

The main bridge. The officer standing at the tactical

station suddenly looks from place to place on the console and

exclaims: "Captain, the Battle Section has broken orbit. It's

heading straight for the Dominus McGregor Nebula."

Picard jumps out of his chair and takes a few steps toward

the viewscreen.

"On screen. Magnify."

View of teeny-tiny Battle Section dwindling away toward the

blue and purple nebula.

Troi rises out of her chair. "Worf."

Picard looks back over his shoulder.

"Don't forget Door Repair Guy."

The slightest look of annoyance crosses her face.

"I nearly had."

Picard stands gazing at the viewscreen. He passes his hand

back over his scalp and rubs the base of his skull, trying to

think of a good reason to follow the Battle Section into the

nebula.

Data and La Forge materialize with phasers drawn.

"So, Locutus, thought you could pull the old I-Don't-Have-

Any-Tubes-Sticking-Out-Of-Me-So-No-One-Will-Suspect-I'm-Really-A-

Borg trick. Well, I've seen that one just once too often."

Troi: "Data! Geordi! How did you get here?"

"Would you believe we just beamed in off the bridge of the

flagship of the largest space armada ever assembled in the

history of the Federation?"

"No."

"Would you believe there are six cloaked birds of prey just

off the starboard bow?"

"Not really."

"How about a shuttlecraft and a Mr Freezie wagon?"

Picard: "Look, Data, Geordi, I'm not Locutus, I'm Jean-Luc

Picard. And there's Counsellor Troi, and there's Doctor Crusher.

We haven't been assimilated by the Borg. It's confederation."

Geordi: "Ah, just like nineteenth-century Canada, the model

for all subsequent civilized societies."

Everyone: "That's right!"

Geordi puts his arm around Data's shoulders.

"Well, pal, looks like we made it. We're home again."

"And loving it."

Troi: "Captain. Are we going to pursue the Battle Section

into the nebula?"

"No, Counsellor, it's a trap. We'll let them play the

Fourteen Hunters for a while, while we dine upon the golden eggs

of Borghol. Ensign, lay in a course for the Theta Cuniculi

system. Let's see if there's any life on the planet Mopsa."

"Aye aye, Captain," says Acting Ensign Edwina. She stands

on tiptoes in front of the console, pressing controls with her

two index fingers, while her tongue sticks out the corner of her

mouth in concentration.

The Borgoprise shoots off in a burst.

[Music. Credits.]

Written by Douglas A. McLeod ([email protected])

Notes on North and South. (Or, the old Star-Trek-Next-The-Generation-Technical-Manual-in-the-Replicator Trick, Part 2)

The title North and South refers to the Civil War mini-series with Jonathan Frakes rather than the Elizabeth Gaskell novel.

Is there an annoying lieutenant in "Suspicions" (THG season 6, episode 22)? Now I'm not sure. Perhaps I was thinking of another annoying lieutenant. There are so many.

Did I miss any Get Smart jokes? I think I hit them all.

What with comings and goings between the two halves of the Enterprise, and the doors, there's a strong feeling of French farce to Season One of Door Repair Guy. Strangely, though, I never get around to quoting Three's Company.

Door Repair Guy the character comes off as a bit more of a hayseed in this and the previous episode than I remembered. There's quite a lot of Ernest P. Worrell in him. Hopefully we'll see some growth in the next episode.