Plenty of Nothing:

Christopher Lambert as Connor MacLeod in Highlander.

Ross County visit Cappielow today. The Staggies currently occupy first place in the division, the third club to do so this season, and probably not the last. What if Ross County gain promotion to the Scottish Premier League? A Ross County v Inverness Caledonian Thistle Premier League derby would be something. Unfortunately, Inverness are the leading candidates for relegation to the First Division.

What is the record of the two clubs since they joined the SFL in 1994?

1994-95: Ross County 3rd, Div 3; Inverness CT 6th, Div 3.

1995-96: Inverness CT 3rd, Div 3; Ross County 4th, Div 3.

1996-97: Inverness CT 1st, Div 3; Ross County 3rd, Div 3.

1997-98: Inverness CT 5th, Div 2; Ross County 3rd, Div 3.

1998-99: Inverness CT 2nd, Div 2; Ross County 1st, Div 3.

1999-00: Inverness CT 6th, Div 1; Ross County 3rd, Div 2. Inverness CT are runners-up in the Challenge Cup.

2000-01: Inverness CT 4th, Div 1; Ross County 6th, Div 1.

2001-02: Ross County 4th, Div 1; Inverness CT 6th, Div 1.

2002-03: Inverness CT 4th, Div 1; Ross County 8th, Div 1.

2003-04: Inverness CT 1st, Div 1; Ross County 6th, Div 1. Inverness CT win the Challenge Cup.

2004-05: Inverness CT 8th, Premier; Ross County 6th, Div 1. Ross County are runners-up in the Challenge Cup.

2005-06: Inverness CT 7th, Premier; Ross County 4th, Div 1.

2006-07: Inverness CT 8th, Premier; Ross County 10th, Div 1. Ross County win the Challenge Cup.

2007-08: Inverness CT 9th, Premier; Ross County 1st, Div 2.

2008-09: Inverness CT 12th, Premier; Ross County 8th, Div 1. Ross County are runners-up in the Challenge Cup.

2009-10: Inverness CT 1st, Div 1; Ross County 5th, Div I. Ross County are runners-up in the Scottish Cup. Inverness CT are runners-up in the Challenge Cup.

2010-11: Inverness CT 7th, Premier; Ross County 8th, Div 1. Ross County win the Challenge Cup.

Challenge Cups notwithstanding, Inverness CT are more illustrious.

The League Cup quarter-finals were played midweek. Ayr and Falkirk advance, as well as Premier League sides Kilmarnock and Celtic.

Morton have drawn Deveronvale in the Scottish Cup third round. Round Two replays pre-empted all but one Third Division matches today. Red and black Iverurie Loco Works eliminated Clachnacuddin and will face blue Peterhead in the third round.

[Blech. Ross County 2, Morton 0. Morton slide to sixth.]

Lore Repair

The bridge. Data is at Ops. He feels a small hand on his

shoulder. He looks behind him.

Acting Ensign Dweenie: "Are we there yet?"

The brig. Security Guard Braun is at the control console.

Riker, Door Repair Guy, and the as-yet-unnamed tactical officer

are in the confinement cell. The tactical officer is saying:

". . . and that's how I saved fourteen lives. After that I

had a short assignment on the Redoubtable, but it didn't take

long for the story of the rescue to spread through Starfleet and

I was offered a place on the Enterprise."

Riker: "And well deserved, too." He turns to Door Repair

Guy, pauses, and then goes ahead and asks, "What about you? You

must have done something remarkable to get the Enterprise."

Door Repair Guy wipes his nose with the back of his hand,

sits back, about to begin, glances down at the back of his hand,

wipes it absentmindedly on the seat of his overalls, looks toward

the ceiling in thought, and says:

"It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. . ."

Hours later, Ursula has a glazed look and the tactical

officer is nearly catatonic, his head jerking up occasionally as

he struggles not to begin snoring. Door Repair Guy is working up

to the fortieth or fiftieth anticlimax: " . . and so there I was,

outmanned twenty to one, with nothing but a ball-peen hammer and

a quart of vanilla yogurt . . ."

Riker: "Were you killed?"

DRG is taken aback: "Have I told this one before?"

A corridor. Worf is ambling along. He meets Doctor Selar.

She inclines her head in greeting and carries on past him. He

slows and stops, vaguely bothered by something about her. He

turns and stares after her, and then continues on his way,

murmuring to himself.

"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

and Brent Spiner

as Lt. Cmdr. Data

The Enterprise goes to warp drive in a clap of thunder,

despite the fact that in the vacuum of space such an auditory

phenomenon would not -- okay, okay.

[Commercial: Nike:

Godzilla is trashing Tokyo. The mighty lizard's tail swings

through block after block of office towers, demolishing them all.

The Japanese air force is powerless before his awesome might.

But suddenly the creature stops. What new opponent is this that

has appeared? It is Reg Barclay. Barclay holds up a basketball.

Godzilla slips on his sport shades and knocks the ball loose with

his tail. Barclay is taken by surprise, but recovers, grabbing

the ball and driving his elbow into Godzilla's throat. He slam-

dunks the ball. Two points! As they stroll off through the

rubble there is a new respect between them. Barclay holds up a

finger and says, "You know, you know, you really o-ought to . . .

consider pro basketball."]

"Captain's Log, stardate 49614.2. We are moving toward the

final of the habitable planets of this cluster, Petrus. Once we

have investigated that world the Enterprise will have

accomplished two of its three objectives, the first being the

reunification of the ship, following Commander Riker's unexpected

hijacking of the Battle Section, the second the exploration of

the far distant Cuniculi Cluster in which we find ourselves, and

the third the safe return through the wormhole to our own space.

The clue provided by the Grand Nagus -- the word `on-ramp' -- has

assisted us in formulating a theory as to the nature of the

wormhole."

Conference room. Data is standing beside the computer

display screen, briefing the senior staff.

"The word `on-ramp' derives from the North American highway

construction boom of the 1950s. It refers to an inclined and/or

curved section of asphalt-paved highway specifically designed to

feed automobile traffic from a local street grid to a multiple-

laned panjurisdictional highway network. Assuming that the

Ferengi information is reliable it would appear that the wormhole

through which we travelled to our present location is not of the

conventional variety leading from point A to point B but rather a

continuous system or loop with multiple `on-ramps' and `off-

ramps' providing access to and from an as-yet undetermined number

of destinations."

Picard: "Could such a system have arisen naturally?"

"Unlikely, Captain. It is my belief that an earlier

civilization learned how to control the forces governing

wormholes and used that knowledge to create the wormhole

superhighway. The extent of chipmunk evolution on the planet

Mopsa would tend to substantiate the hypothesis of an early

construction, as would the apparent absence of regular users."

Picard: "Roman roads. The Roman road system was employed

for centuries after the Empire itself had passed away. Have we

any idea how to recognize the exits once we enter this

superhighway?"

"At the moment, no. However, I believe a careful

examination of the sensor records of both the Battle and Saucer

Sections' passage through the wormhole will provide the necessary

information."

"Make it so."

The brig. A message appears on the security console. Guard

Braun becomes all business. She stands, draws her weapon, and

deactivates the security forcefield.

"Door Repair Guy, come out."

"Aw! Why?"

"Your period of detention is over. Commander Data wants to

see you in his quarters. Roll out."

He stands.

"Well, fellas, it's been a blast, but I gots to go."

Riker and the tactical officer give him a baleful look.

DRG: "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Tactical officer: "As if we would do anything you would do."

DRG, with a big smile: "You mean, like, get out of jail?"

He does a little hop over the confinement cell threshold and

speed-walks out the door.

Riker and tactical officer: "Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr."

[Commercial: Nike:

"I . . . I am not a role model. I am not paid . . . to

raise your kids. I am paid (raising his voice) to go out there

and calibrate, and calibrate those verterium cortenide warp!

field! coil! segments! . . . Oh. Sorry."]

The door chimes.

"Enter."

Door Repair Guy enters Data's quarters.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yes, technician. I am about to begin work on a close

examination of the sensor records of the wormhole, a task I

estimate will consume approximately fourteen hours thirty-two

minutes and nine seconds. To facilitate consultation with other

members of the wormhole task-force, I shall be working in the

astrophysics lab. This creates a scheduling conflict."

"With what?"

"Feline replenishment."

"The cat!" DRG hits his personal deflector function key,

surrounding himself with translucent rectangular Borg-designed

shields.

Spot pads across the entrance to the next room, barely

acknowledging him.

Data: "I have called upon you because I know that you and

Spot were able to establish a relationship during the absence of

the Battle Section."

"We have had words."

"Please follow the menu and timetable laid out on this memo

pad. You will see that the next feeding is in forty-three

seconds. If you have any questions I will be in Astrophysics."

Exit Data.

DRG regards Spot.

"A dead mouse wouldn't do you any harm."

He puts out the food -- Feline Supplement #72 -- and then

explores Data's quarters a bit. He opens a drawer and lifts out

Lore's head.

"Spare parts! Cool, I think there's a complete set here. I

wonder . . ."

The brig. Troi enters. Security Guard Ursula snaps to

attention.

"At ease, crewwoman. I'm here to see Commander Riker."

Riker rises from his bench and musters as much of his

evaporated authority as he can.

"Counsellor."

"Will, let's cut the bull. You started all this because you

saw Worf and me in Ten Forward."

"You were trying to swallow each other's tongues."

"I see. It's very strange that after all these years at

your observation post at Guinan's bar you should start getting

jealous now. We've both had all sorts of love affairs, and I

think that it's very unfair that when I finally meet a man who

smells like day-old gakh you go off the deep end."

Riker tries to look hurt and dignified at once.

"I was going through a very trying period."

"So you thought you could solve the problem by creating a

larger problem."

"That's him. Mr Unorthodoxy."

Riker knocks the tactical officer out of his seat with a

well-aimed backhander.

"Well, you listen to me, Will Riker. Who I go out with is

my own business, and if that means your having to put up with the

thought of Worf and me, then you'll just have to get used to it!"

She stomps out.

"Wow, what a woman."

Riker falls on the tactical officer with fists flying.

The wooden doors of Ten Forward swoosh open and Troi hurries

in, evidently full of conflicting emotions. She looks around,

hoping to see Worf, to talk about it. Suddenly she lurches and

grabs on to the bar for support.

Worf and Dr Selar are in the corner, nibbling.

Lore opens his eyes with a look that says he can't believe

his luck. He regards Door Repair Guy, who is gazing down

admiringly at his repair work, smiles maliciously, and flattens

him with an elbow to the chin. Then he moves over to the work

station.

"So, brother, what have you been working on? Hm. Wormhole

superhighway. How very useful. Here, Spot!"

He grabs the cat by the scruff.

"We're going on a little ride."

The bridge.

"Captain, a shuttlecraft is leaving Shuttlebay Three without

authorization."

"Override."

"Ineffective, sir."

"Open a channel."

"The shuttle does not respond."

"Transporter room, beam that pilot out of there."

"I can't get a lock, sir. There's some kind of pattern

scrambler at work."

"Tractor beam."

"Sir, tractor beams are down!"

"Fire across their bow!"

View of Enterprise firing a phaser beam past the departing

shuttlecraft.

"They don't appear to mind that, sir."

"This has gone far enough! Ensign, prepare to . . ."

The wormhole engulfs the shuttlecraft.

Picard sits down.

"Hm."

The door-monitoring station deep in the bowels of the

Engineering Hull. The half-Scottish, half-Benzite ensign locks

his computer console, reaches down for a spray bottle, sprays the

console with cleaning fluid and, humming happily, rubs away the

fingerprints and dust. He stows away his cleaning materials,

gazes with satisfaction at his reflection, and reactivates the

console. Immediately a red light comes on. He enters commands,

and the computer calls up an image of a sticking door on deck

thirteen. He touches his commbadge.

"Door Control to Door Repair Guy. Please proceed to deck

thirteen, sector zero three four two. Sticking door."

He sits back.

"Door Repair Guy. Do you read me?"

Nothing.

"Door Repair Guy. Please reply."

Still nothing.

"Computer, please locate Door Repair Guy."

*Door Repair Guy is in Lt Cmdr Data's quarters*

"Is he well?"

*He is out cold*

"Ye damned contraption! Did ye not think tae alert anyone?"

*I am not programmed to advance the plot*

"For pity's sake!"

Data, Worf and Doctor Crusher cautiously enter Data's

quarters. Doctor Crusher and Worf crouch down beside the prone

figure of Door Repair Guy, Worf just long enough to see what's up

before looking around for intruders.

Data: "Here, Spot. Here, Spot. Curious. Spot appears to

be missing."

Worf: "Perhaps the creature overwhelmed him and escaped."

Doctor Crusher: "He's out cold all right. This should bring

him around." She presses a hypospray, the 24th century

equivalent of smelling salts, to DRG's neck.

DRG: "Mrmwmph."

Doctor Crusher: "Do you remember who did this to you?"

DRG rolls onto one elbow, alternately opening one and then

the other eye.

"Gordie Howe?"

Data: "Doctor, Lieutenant. I think I have discovered the

identity of the assailant."

The camera moves forward and gazes into the empty drawer

marked LORE: DO NOT REASSEMBLE.

[Commercial: Nike:

". . . through the rings of Saturn, off the Martian moons

Phobos *and* Deimos, off the Hubble Space Telescope, over the

expressway, through the window, nothing but net."]

View of the Enterprise coming up to the planet Petrus.

The bridge.

"Entering standard orbit, Captain."

"Very good, Ensign. Scan for life forms."

A soft white glow suddenly suffuses the bridge. The bridge

crew are taken by surprise, turning and grabbing the backs of

their chairs, looking for the source of the light.

"We are being scanned, Captain!"

"So I surmised, ensign. Is it coming from the planet?"

"Unknown, sir. The instruments are picking nothing up."

"My ears are. I'm getting a very high, ethereal harmonic.

Do you hear that?"

"I do."

"I don't. I'm tone deaf."

"I think we agree it's there. Is there anything . . ."

"Captain!"

A being has appeared on the upper-left-hand corner of the

bridge. It is afloat about two feet off the floor, clad in folds

of white cloth, with wings. It is either a source of light or

possesses a very high albedo. (Look it up.) Its cranium is

surrounded by locks of long wavy hair. Its facial expression is

one of acute observation and severe, penetrating judgement. It

rolls majestically and gymnastically through the volume of air

just above the heads of those on the lower portion of the bridge,

gazing calmly and unnervingly from one upturned face to the next.

When it has had a good look at everyone at turns and surveys the

bridge, then with a starchy snap of the wings disappears through

the ceiling. The lighting returns to normal. The music fades.

"Captain, reports of angels are coming in from all parts of

the ship."

Picard looks annoyed at this development. He's not sure

captains outrank angels.

"Ensign, have . . ."

"Captain! The wormhole!"

Special effects shot of the wormhole spreading open like a

time-lapsed-photography blue and orange rose in a National

Geographic nature film, only bigger. The missing shuttlecraft

emerges.

"It's the shuttlecraft, Captain! They're on an intercept

course."

"Lock on tractor beams."

"Tractor beams locked on."

(What we have just seen here is a storytelling convention

called conflation of time. Shakespeare employs it in a number of

plays. It is designed to avoid those long stretches of boredom

when everyone knows something is about to happen but, because of

the laws of physics, it's not ready to happen yet. In fact the

distance between the wormhole and the planet Petrus is several

dozen light-years. The Enterprise could not have locked on

tractor beams for several hours. Existential writers have

noticed that most of life is spent in the state of waiting for

the inevitability that conflation of time is intended to gloss

over. In _Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead_, for instance,

two characters whom the audience know are going to come to a

sorry end--if they have read _Hamlet_ or bothered to read the

front page of the program--spend the entire play running around

trying to discover the purpose of their lives. The moral of the

story, then, would seem to--Huh? Oh, Jeez! They're talking!

Sorry!)

". . . and surrender your vessel."

"If you believe for one moment that I am about to turn my

ship over to some renegade in a shuttlecraft, you are sadly

mistaken, sir."

"You assume that bigger means stronger, Captain. Why don't

you try this on?"

At this moment Worf, Data and Doctor Crusher burst out of

the turbolift.

"Captain, it's . . ."

Lore materializes on the bridge beside the helmsman, whom he

swats out of the chair before assuming it himself. A shimmering

red-tinged forcefield leaps up around him just in time to begin

absorbing Worf's phaser fire. Lore glances at the ensign at Ops,

smirks, and begins to input orders on the helm console. The

lights go down.

Geordi: "Captain, he's shutting down life support. Now the

structural integrity field is going. He's opening the shuttlebay

doors. He's evacuating the ship's air!"

"Mr Data, can you override?"

"Captain, he is activating a series of preset commands.

They are ingeniously hidden and protected. It will take me some

time to undo them."

"Time we do not appear to have, Mr Data. I'm afraid I have

no alternative. ALL HANDS ABANDON SHIP! ABANDON SHIP! EVERYONE

TO THE LIFEBOATS!"

[Bob:

"Yikes! I haven't seen this one yet. Normally when the new

episode arrives at the station a bunch of us go into the editing

booth with a case of beer and a family pack of Doritoes and kind

of kick back and make a party out of it. Sure breaks up a

Tuesday morning. But I was on location. How are they ever going

to get out of this one?"

A hand appears from off-camera.

"This just handed me. Oh, yeah, like I'm going to read that

on the air. You're just sore cause I gave out the truth about

your Tuesday morning chiropractor appointments. Gimme the real

one. Okay, this just in. Paramount announces that the season

finale of Star Trek: Door Repair Guy will be a two-hour special.

Because they have too many story lines and they can't tie them

all up in one hour. So, more work for Programme Scheduling Guy."

Strangled cry from off-camera.

Bob looks chipper.]

[Commercial: Mennen Speed Stick:

Barclay: "Anything less would be . . . (smiles) . . .

(hesitates) . . . (forgets the word) . . . (panics) . . .

(smiles) . . . (blushes) . . . (looks down) . . . (looks off-

camera) . . . (crosses his arms defensively) . . . (opens and

closes his mouth) . . . (shouts:) Oh! . . . (twists with

embarrassment) . . . (remembers the word!) . . . un . . . uh

. . . uncivilized!" (Grins and slowly slides his hands upward

into his armpits to hide the half-moons of perspiration.]

The brig. Riker and the unnamed tactical officer are

jumping up and down and shouting, "What's going on? What's going

on?"

Ursula is furiously reading her console and shouting,

"Intruder alert! Life support down! Hull integrity compromised!

Abandon ship!" At this last one she hits a control and the

containment field disappears, releasing the prisoners.

At this moment Door Repair Guy materializes in the room.

"Hey, guys. What's up?"

Tactical officer: "What's up? Abandon ship is up!"

"That'll be Lore. Quite an elbow on that guy."

"I don't believe you!"

"No, it's true."

"No, I mean I can't understand what you're even doing in

space!"

Riker grabs the two of them by the collars and says, "We're

not abandoning anything. We're going to save the ship. Ursula,

are you with us?"

Ursula squares her shoulders and says, "You've treated me

shabbily in the past, Commander, but for the sake of the ship

I'll follow you."

"Excellent. You." (Shaking DRG.) "Pull off that panel and

break out the breathing gear. We've got some infiltrating to

do."

[Commercial: Nike:

"I've heard a lot of talk about Reg's holodeck. How he

never gets any work done. How he's losing touch with reality.

Wrong! He's in the holodeck, he's interactive! He's in the mud

wrestling, he's got the babes, he's saving the ship. What are

you doing? Watching Star Trek. Well, I'm coming *knock knock*

in there and I'm bringing Reg, the Goddess of Empathy, the pie-

eating Wesley, the whole holodeck with me! Hello!"]

View of the Enterprise in orbit above Petrus. Looking down

from above, we see little square ports opening in the upper

surface of the saucer and dozens and dozens of cubical lifeboats

rocketing away from the ship.

A corridor in the Enterprise. The scene is one of well-

orchestrated chaos. Crewmembers are tearing the panels off the

walls to reveal the lifeboat hatches. Division leaders are

organizing evacuation parties and briefing them as they enter the

lifeboats. Newly-replicated copies of _Star Trek: The Next

Generation Technical Manual_ are in evidence everywhere,

computer-dog-eared at page 174. As we watch, the last parties

clear the corridor. The traffic officers give each other the

thumbs up and climb into their own capsules, just as the doors to

the turbolift at the end of the hallway automatically open and

the air in the corridor cascades away at hurricane speed down

into the turboshaft, carrying the spare technical manuals away

like crazy, flapping birds.

The bridge. Lore is at the helm, inside his force field.

Data is at the tactical station. Both are busy overriding one

another. Picard, Doctor Crusher, Worf, Troi and Geordi are also

present, acting as a command centre for the evacuation.

Worf: "Two hundred and fourteen lifeboats away."

Picard: "Good. Now I want the five of you to get into the

remaining lifeboats on deck two and begin to gather the other

boats together into gaggle formation. The more boats you can

join together the better."

Troi: "Captain, what about you?"

Doctor Crusher: "Jean-Luc, you're not planning to go down

with the ship."

"That is my own affair."

Data: "Request permission to remain aboard, Captain. Lore

and I have very similar neural processes. I believe I have the

opportunity to outmanoeuvre him if I can remain at a computer

console. Also, the chance that Lore will eject the atmosphere

from the bridge once one of the turbolift cars has left is very

good. I can operate for some time in vacuum conditions. You

cannot."

"Perhaps you're right. I'll go to the captain's yacht. Mr

LaForge, will you join me?"

"Aye, sir."

"Good luck, Data."

"Thank you, sir."

The turbolift doors close on the Captain, Geordi, Doctor

Crusher, Worf and Troi.

Lore turns around in his chair.

"So, brother, alone at last."

"Lore, what have you done with my cat?"

"Why, Spot's in good hands."

He activates a control. A figure materializes on the far

side of the bridge, a glossy, petroleum-covered figure, holding

an oily and miserable cat.

"WHERE ARE ALL THE PEOPLE? YOU TOLD ME I WOULD HAVE

HUNDREDS OF PEOPLE TO KILL! AAAARRRGH!"

Lore winks and indicates him with a tilt of the head.

"Sort of gets under your skin after a while, doesn't he?"

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

Notes on Lore Repair.

"Are we there yet?" My thoughts exactly at this point. When I started Door Repair Guy I thought it might run to four or five episodes. But then it got on a roll and thirteen seemed like a nice TV-sounding number. By this episode I'm winding things up as fast as I can, while simultaneously throwing in as many monkey wrenches as I can think off, hoping that comedy will result. The result is an episode 14.

Angels are kind of deus ex machina, aren't they. I stole this angel from Rudy Wiebe's short story, "Angel of the Tar Sands", published 1982. Please note that he did not title it "Angel of the Oil Sands".

Spot fan forum.