Plenty of Nothing

Unarigoe, Chapter 3, Page 4

1) I was exploring Danny Choo's Culture Japan site a couple of days after this comic posted when I saw a familiar face. I think the young woman on the right, seen celebrating Coming of Age Day, is exactly what Akiko (in the cardigan, above) would look like in real life.

Red Alert

Shaolin Cricket, Part Sixteen

     Since September the tai chi club have practiced their art through wind and rain, snow, freezing sleet, thunder, pestilence and war. While they’ve made their circles in the air the earth has travelled nearly two thirds of the way around the sun. Drawn as they are from every corner of the town and university, the young and the old, male and female, and with their goal of co-operative action and individual improvement, they are the very pattern of human civilization. Under the tutelage of Shayne and Shawn they have hardened, quickened, wisened, made the dean’s list, and tanned. And now they have swords.

      Amid the snowy bones of late winter they flash their scimitars in synchronous swirls, red tassels flying. They lunge, step back, cut the air with a figure eight, double axle, land in place, slice at the ankle, somersault, slice at the neck, land, and begin all over again.

     Shayne and Shawn step up.

     Shayne: “Tai chi club! You are now tai chi army! There is only one obstacle to you now! Da Xi Shuai!  Da Xi Shuai is the enemy of Chihli! Arrest Da Xi Shuai!”

     They scatter.

     Da Xi Shuai and F5 are buying sub sandwiches. Sword-bearing members of the tai chi army dash by, skid to a halt, and crowd around the store window. One of them has a cell phone out.

     Henrietta: “This can’t be good.”

     The six bolt through the kitchen and out the back door, pursued closely by the minions of Chihli.

     Jacinthe and Agnes are out walking. Jacinthe is feeling a bit burdened by the big void in her love life, and, much to her own surprise, has turned to Agnes for advice. Agnes, who has no sense of having been set up with Dwayne by Jacinthe, is full of big-sisterly advice.

     Agnes: “One is as good as another. Just walk up to one of them, grab him by the generals, and tell him, ‘Okay, buster, these are the rules.’”

     “You think that would work?”

     “Don’t wait till the playoffs are over!”

     “Huh.  Maybe I’ll try that.”

     A figure runs along a adjacent rooftop.

     Jacinthe: “Did you see that?”

     “Where?”

     “It’s gone now. Wait, look out!”

     A dozen tai chi warriors approach doing handsprings, then plant their feet with fists poised. An Ugg boot spins past Jacinthe’s ear.

     Agnes: “They’re firing their boots at us!”

     “I don’t think that was intentional!”

     “I think it’s time we got out of here!”

     They run for it.

     Meanwhile, Da Xi Shuai and the Famous5 are tearing down York Street toward the edge of town, pursued by about two thirds of the tai chi army.

     Emily M.: “Da Xi Shuai! On behalf of F5 I just want to thank you for everything!”

     Lou’Eaze: “Yeah, everything!”

     The rest concur.

     Da Xi Shuai: “That’s nice! But we’re not done yet! We just need an idea!”

     Nellz Bellz: “You’re not Canadian, so maybe you don’t know this one. But I gotta say, this situation reminds me a lot of the Oka crisis!”

     Suddenly the five put on the brakes and start walking away in five directions.

     The pursuers stop in their tracks like the proverbial donkey between two bushels of carrots, confounded by the banquet of available prisoners. Gradually they break up and start in all directions after the dispersing rappers. Only a few target the scholar-warrior, who is now half a block ahead of them.

     Da Xi Shuai leads them out of town, onto the marsh and down to the Tantramar River. The vagabond scrambles up a stalwart dyke and down the other side, followed moments later by the vigilantes, who stop on top and walk along, watching the fugitive float away in an aluminum rowboat on the outgoing tide.

      Meanwhile Korogi and Dumont are walking across campus. White-clad tai chi club members dart by.

     Korogi: “I think something’s up.”

     Dumont: “Are swords really part of tai chi?”

     “Not usually.”

     As they watch a foursome join hands and launch a fifth member into the air to peer into a third-floor window.

     Dumont: “Definitely looking for something.”

     Korogi: “I think I know what.”

     They head for the psychology department. Dumont uses a master key, they enter, then head downstairs. The stairs get progressively cobwebbier and the walls rockier, murkier, and black-and-whiter. Eventually they come to a thick metal door.

     They open the vault door. Shayne and Shawn are in the radio-free room, bent over the Spring Snow Jade, which is saying:

     “Cell phone?  What is this cell phone? I told you I wanted a weapon. Surely in 2006 there’s some weapon that can turn the advantage to Chihli! You idiots! History will never be the same!”

     The twins straighten up, embarrassed.

     Shawn: “General Wu.”

     Korogi takes possession of the Jade. Everyone files out. Korogi, last to go, has a notion, pushes the door shut, sets the stone back on the table, sings a stanza of “Picking Flowers,” then leans down like someone recording an answering-machine message and declares, in clear Chinese, “You are about to be attacked.”

     Outside, the tai chi army are milling around, trading war stories and showing off their prisoners. Professor Rhodenizer strides into the midst of the rabble, chewing a cigar and packing the AK-47. She pulls a curved magazine from her coat pocket, attaches it to the underside of the weapon, points the gun skyward, and makes a fist around the trigger. Burning gunpowder flowers brightly around the muzzle as the magazine empties into the clouds overhead.

     “Everybody go home right now, and get to bed!”

     They go!

     Wanxian. The Dean and interpreter get off a slender river boat and walk upslope among the crumbling concrete structures. This town is a dump. If anybody ever cared about this place they moved on when the dam was announced. The Dean feels a bit depressed by the sight of it, and also by the failure of his mission, but also a little bit liberated, like an straight-A student who has just flunked out for the first time.

     They ask around and are shown the factory: a nondescript gray block like any other. Inside, the looms and sewing machines clatter on operated by women in yellow armgaiters who look up and tell each other jokes about the newcomers. Most of the fabric on the machines is Cornell red, but in the back corner there’s a small castle of clear plastic bags full of garnet and gold. They go back there.

     A grandmotherly worker glances up from her knitting needles. She looks the two up and down, then sits back to hear their story. The interpreter fills her in.

     She looks at the Dean and tells him:

      [Interpreter]: “So you’re the retailer. I never thought I’d meet you. You look like a school teacher.”

     “Ask her how long she’ll stay here.”

    [Interpreter]: “Till the water comes in the door.”

    “Ask her what she’ll do then.”

     A long exchange follows in which they negotiate an answer and she knits.

     Interpreter: “She says she’ll return to her village.”

     “Ask her if it was all right, doing this for us.”

     The woman gives the Dean a pitying and not unaffectionate smile, casts off the last stitch, breaks the yarn, and throws the scarf into a plastic bag. She pats his arm.

     [Interpreter]: “There, there.”

     Dean: “Thanks, I got that.”

 

    Korogi is eating lunch in Dumont’s office with one leg over the arm of the interviewee’s chair, examining the contents of the room.

     Dumont: “Looking for something to read?”

    “Or a weapon. You never know when you’re about to be ambushed. Is that trash can metal?”

     “Are you or are you not going to do something about that little punk?”

     “I don’t know. Part of me says this is working out as it should and it would be wrong to interfere with it.”

     “It’s not interfering when you’re getting the shit kicked out of you.”

     “Hold on a minute, I win my fights.”

     “You tie your fights.”

     “Oh. Well, yeah, okay. I guess I have to find some way to get through to that kid that doesn’t involve us beating each other’s brains out.”

     “How many times have I heard that sentence in this office? Look, here’s a book I want you to read.”

     “I’m Okay, You’re Okay?” You’re joking.”

     “Do you give your martial arts instructor this much attitude? Here it is in a nutshell. You’re locked into some kind of WWF death-match with that kid. As long as you keep butting foreheads like this it’s going to go on and on. At least, until one of you goes to jail. If you want to end it, you have to learn how to disarm your enemy. No more head on. Walk in from the blind spot. Speak in the voice of someone your opponent would never fight."

     Korogi blinks and gives a mouthful of tuna sandwich a meditative chew. This is really sound advice.

     So one muddy Tuesday morning Korogi hands Wheeler an envelope, who gives it to Jacinthe aftermusic appreciation class, who runs off to find Emily M., who takes it to Da Xi Shuai. The envelope contains a formal challenge, on very good cardstock, stating time and place.

     The next morning at dawn two small groups appear on opposite sides of Rectory Lane field. Professor Korogi and Da Xi Shuai separate from their respective supporters and walk through the ground mist to the centre of the field. Korogi is dressed in traditional Japanese garb and has the wooden kenjitsu sword in a sheath between the shoulder blades. Da Xi Shuai, in castoffs from Frenchy’s, has the five-foot staff. The two take up position about twenty feet apart and just a little out of earshot of both groups. Professor Dumont, in the Korogi camp, shoulders a knapsack containing a first aid kit. Coincidentally Jacinthe has done likewise. The two groups watch as Korogi bows deeply with arms folded across the breast and the Spring Snow Jade in one hand. They can see that Korogi is orating at length. Da Xi Shuai steps forward, chin up, staff in one hand, listens, wavers, looks suddenly away from then back at Korogi, wobbles visibly, and faints dead to the ground. F5 shriek and run onto the field. Korogi walks off toward the professors.

     Dumont: “What did you say?”

     “I greeted my honoured opponent as the living avatar of my great-grandfather, also named Da Xi Shuai.”

     Wheeler: “That kid is the reincarnation of your great-grandfather?”

     “Yes.”

     Rhodenizer: “You don’t know that that’s true.”

     Korogi: “You don’t know that it’s false.”

     Wheeler, Rhodenizer and Korogi are seated in the new faculty club, second floor, Centennial Hall. The leather upholstery is almost exactly the same lustrous red-brown as the almontillado in their glasses. The three exchange high fives.

     Wheeler: “Nice work, Korogi.”

     “Oh, it was nothing, really. Just an innocent question.”

     “Oh, modesty. Those Finnish researchers were raving about how we were a decade ahead of the competition in chronophilogical theory.”

     Rhodenizer: “I heard that one of them handed the chancellor a 50-million-Euro cheque at the wine and cheese.”

     “That’s a myth. It was 45.”

     “Well, the Sisu Institute is a permanent fixture now.”

     “Where will it go?”

     “I’ve seen an artist’s concept of an inverted pyramid over the soccer field.”

     “How will they stick the red sandstone on that?”

     They sit back and bask in the glow.

     Rhodenizer: “The Dean had a nice office. Where is he now?”

     Wheeler: “Basement Trueman.”

     Korogi: “Say, whatever became of that machine-*cough* of yours?”

     “Oh, well, if indeed that thing ever existed it could now possibly be in the muddy bottom of the Aulac River.”

     Wheeler: “I hear your two TAs have applied for refugee status.”

     Korogi: “Yes. We’ll see how that goes. Apparently there are certain interests in Taiwan who would be unhappy to see them around.”

     Rhodenizer: “Maybe they can stay and work in your new monastery.”

     “If I can get the current inhabitant to agree with them on anything. We’re still working on the lovingkindness thing.”

     The clouds pass swiftly across the sun-warmed marsh.  In the former faculty club, now Marsh Mountain Monastery, Da Xi Shuai is seated in the lotus position. Attracted by the smell of incense a bee hovers noisy about a foot from the ear of the meditating scholar-warrior.  Da Xi Shuai opens one eye and glares at the insect.

     “Fuck off, bee.”



     August. A minibus pulls up to the side of the road and Jake gets out with a knapsack and a plastic cooler. He trudges up the driveway and goes in the kitchen door. At the kitchen table he kicks off his muddy workboots and throws a sweaty baseball cap at the coatrack. His mother calls, “There’s some mail for you on the counter.” He reaches back for the manila envelope, opens it, and reads:

[Page 1: panel 1] A truck crests a hill. We can make out the faces of the driver and passenger. [1:2] Wide view: the Tantramar Marsh. [1:3] Driver, over the racket of the deisel engine and transmission [the written noises snake from panel to panel]: “So, what brings you to Sackville, anyway?”  [1:4] Passenger: “I’m looking for something!”  [1:5] Driver, wrestling gearbox: “Looking?  Looking for what?”  [1:6] Passenger: “Myself!” [1:7] Driver: “Eh? You travelled from China to Sackville, New Brunswick, to look for your cell phone?”  [1:8] Passenger (laughing): “Yes!”

     Jake smiles, nods, and starts searching the junk drawer for looseleaf.

Unarigoe, Chapter 3, Page 3

Academical Honours

The Ghost of Greenock Academy haunts this Google Street View mashup.

Part of the intent behind following Greenock Morton FC here at Plenty of Nothing has been to learn more about Greenock, Scotland. Though it's my father's home town I have only been there a couple of times and until starting this project I possessed only the vaguest notion of its topography or history. The 36-game league schedule has required me to learn something new about the place every couple of weeks, and has enhanced my geographical understanding of the rest of Scotland too, or at least the First Division part of it. No doubt the odd mixture of football and architecture is perplexing to anyone who has stopped here to read about one or the other. And oftentimes the connection between the football and the architecture is pretty tenuous.

Take today for instance. Hamilton Academical visit Cappielow this afternoon, the perfect opportunity to write something about Greenock Academy. Greenock seems to have had three old-school school buildings: Greenock Academy, Highlanders Academy (which I'll deal with next time Ross County come to town), and Greenock High School. The arch-Victorian Greenock Academy building no longer exists, but you can see it pasted into the present day above. That photographic mashup is the work of bradshaw at Inverclyde Old and New. If you found last year's post "Morton Terrace Then and Now" interesting you'll appreciate his site.

Who are at the top of the Academical honours list? Top scorers so far this year are Mark McLaughlin and Dougie Imrie. The latter transferred to St. Mirren in January. Mark McLaughlin was born in Greenock, but has never played for Morton. Among the all-time greatest Accies are David Wilson, and Colin Miller.

It's the preseason right now in Japan, where summer football is played. Today J2 club Mito Hollyhock met J1 Kashima Antlers in the Ibaraki Soccer Festival, a prefectural derby. Japan is twelve time zones ahead of Nova Scotia, so the game is done. Antlers 1, Hollyhock 0. In the 2008 season Kashima dressed like Brazilian club Flamengo, in honour of their manager Zico, and the uniform would have qualified both clubs for the Dennis the Menace Red and Black Hooped Group, but both have moved on to other kits.

[Hamilton win 2- 1. Morton goal by O'Brien. Morton are back in seventh. Ross County still hold first place but only by goal difference over Falkirk. Two thirds of the way through the season there are still only twenty points between top and bottom.]

The Annotated Door Repair Guy, episode 29

 

More Than Just You

 

     View of Deep Space Nine.  Voiceover:

     "Station Log, stardate 50406.2, Commander Benjamin Sisko

reporting.  My earlier concerns over the presence of the Cauda

Linean Borg aboard the station appear to have been unfounded. 

The Cauda Lineans are proving to be a hardworking and valuable

addition to the Promenade, and several of their cybernetic

implants have already been hailed as advances in medical

technology.  Plans are underway for the construction of factories

on Bajor.  Grand Nagus Zek and the Cauda Linean Empress Natasha

Polaroid have departed, leaving Quark and the implant specialist

Not Fragile in charge of Zekware operations.  Not Fragile is

proving to be an astute businessman and would seem to have the

upper hand in his dealings with the Ferengi.  He is also a bit of

a politician with remarkable public relations skills."

     Sisko presses the Stop button on the recorder set into his

desk, and begins to peruse a coffee table book given him by Not

Fragile entitled _Cauda Lineans: People of the Mall_.

 

     The Promenade, outside the Zekware franchise.  Dr Bashir is

in the process of concluding a highly informative and stimulating

conversation with Not Fragile and several of his blue-labcoated

assistants, and of stepping out the door.

     "Yes, and I'll be sure to put that in my report to Starfleet

Medical.  No, it won't.  Yes, by all means.  Friday.  All right,

then.  Cheers.  And thanks again for the sample."  He waves

goodbye with the hand holding the freebie, turns and heads off to

the Infirmary, not watching where he's going, and collides with

Major Kira.

     "Oh!  My apologies, Major.  My mind wasn't where it should

be.  A million miles away in fact.  I've just been having the

most incredible discussion with our new implant specialist, Not

Fragile.  Starfleet Medical has asked that I keep a close eye on

medical procedures in the clinic.  They're accredited by the

Ferengi and the Bajorans but not as yet by the Federation.  We

have more exacting standards to be sure, but I'm confident that

with a few seminars I'll be able to bring them up to code.  I

hope you're not hurt."

     "It's all right."

     They do an after-you, no-after-you stop-and-go, and then the

doctor gestures magnanimously and Major Kira walks ahead, rolling

her eyes in exasperation.  He falls in close behind her.

     "They really are coming up with some amazing innovations in

there.  The Provisional Government were wise to opt into the

Grand Nagus' industrialization scheme."

     "They had no choice.  Bajor needs jobs."

     "But, Major.  Think of the medical benefits that will

accrue."

     "'Accrue': there's a Ferengi word."

     "Really, Major.  Didn't I hear you remark the other day that

something needs to be done about the high incidence of visual

impairment on Bajor."

     "It's true.  We don't even have the resources to eliminate

common nearsightedness among our schoolchildren."

     "Well, feast your eyes on this little beauty."

     He holds up the sample given him by Not Fragile.  It's a

tiny metal spheroid about an eighth of an inch across.

     "What is it?"

     "It's based on Borg personal deflector screen technology. 

Implanted in the bridge of the nose it sets up a distortion field

in front of the eyes, creating what amount to invisible,

frameless, corrective lenses calibrated to the wearer's

individual prescription."

     She stares at it.

     "I'm supposed to put that in my nose?"

     He points to the bridge of his nose.

     "Right there."

     She shakes her head and walks off.

     "You've got a lot to learn about Bajorans."

     He blinks once or twice, then starts after her again.  He 

brushes past Romulan Subcommander T'Rul who is coming the other

way.  Door Repair Guy is pursuing *her*, and so far she's

managing to stay a step or two ahead of him.

     "Ah, come on.  We'll go bowling, then a drink.  It'll be

great!"

     "No."

     "Quark's just got in a skid of Labatt Y."

     "I don't drink Canadian beer.  Must I vapourize you?"

     "You need to relax!"

     "No."

     "Stop trying to be the perfect Romulan for heaven's sake. 

Unwind.  Take a load off your shoulders every once in a while."

     She turns.

     "What about my shoulders?"  

     Her hand is on her weapon.

     "Nothing.  Nothing at all."  

     He backs away, smiling and mollifying.

     She eases her disruptor back into its holster, grimaces, and

heads for the turbolift.  He watches her go.

     "Off to that damn cloaking device again, I'll just bet."

     *Ops to Door Repair.  Malfuctioning airlock door, docking

bay six*

     "Hot damn, a pizza cutter!"

     He's off down the Promenade.  As he dashes past the Zekware

store he's spotted by a Borg technician who nudges Not Fragile,

who in turn looks up and shouts:

     "Hello, my friend!"

     DRG flicks his personal deflector screens on and off by way

of greeting, goes through a rapid pantomime to indicate he's off

to fix a door and can't talk, waves so-long and disappears around

the bend.

     Not Fragile, in a reverent voice: "He was the prototype."

     Other Borg: "Did you get the bugs out?"

     "Subsequently."

     They return to work.  We see Nog and Jake sidling up to the

storefront.  By their body language we can tell they're saying,

"You go first," "No, you go first."  Jake keeps nudging Nog

forward and at last the Ferengi fends him off with a flurry of

hands, and walks in.  Jake covers his mouth with both hands,

glances left and right, and lopes in after.

 

     A starfield.  We move toward the brightest speck, which

grows in luminescence and resolves into a binary star system as

we approach.  Stellar matter forming a bright burning tail arcs

away from the orbiting yellow star and spirals inward forming a

glowing disk around the intense white dwarf star.  We pass close

by.  Voiceover:

 

     "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."

 

     We approach a planetary system.  The great bulk of a gaseous

giant fills the upper half of the screen.  A jagged asteroid

rolls by, revealing the words:

 

               Star Trek: Door Repair Guy

 

     A tiny companion moon tumbles after, revealing the word:

 

                         Starring

 

     We close in on a planetoid, and as the mottled surface

speeds across the screen we read:

 

                    Door Repair Guy as

                         Himself

 

                    Avery Brooks as

                    Commander Benjamin Sisko

 

                    Rene Auberjonois as

                         Odo

 

                    Siddig El Fadil as

                    Doctor Julian Bashir

 

                    Terry Farrell as

                    Lieutenant Jadzia Dax

 

                    Cirroc Lofton as

                         Jake Sisko

 

                    Colm Meany as

                    Chief Miles Edward O'Brien

 

                    Armin Shimmerman as

                         Quark

 

                    Nana Visitor as

                    Major Kira Nerys

 

                    Max Grodenchik as

                         Rom

 

                    Aron Eisenberg as

                         Nog

 

                    and Martha Hackett as

                    Subcommander T'Rul 

 

     We crash.

 

[Commercial: Labatt Y]

 

     Quark's Bar.  O'Brien is having a pint, Dax a syntheholic

white wine spritzer.

     "Have you heard from Keiko lately, Chief?"

     He swallows his mouthful and wipes his upper lip off with

his lower.

     "She sent a subspace message yesterday.  She had a big row

with one of the Bajoran botanists over some lichen or other. 

Seems they couldn't agree over whether it was a subspecies of

some indigenous lichen or an introduced species or some other

nonsense.  She and this fella were at it hammer and tong all day. 

Bunch of flippin' millarky if you ask me."

     "So you don't sympathize."

     "Oh, I do, with all my heart.  I just remember when it was

me she was rakin' over the coals.  Time was, I'd do something,

and she'd get mad.  Now, somebody on Bajor does something, she

gets mad, and calls me.  But you can't blame her.  This fella's a

real cock of the walk, from what she tells me.  You know the

kind.  Some flamin' eejit with a title after his name.  You know,

it reminds me of when she was teaching school.  She had this

Vulcan girl in her class, just five or six years old, but already

well into differential calculus.  Innocent as anything, but you

just couldn't get it through the kid's head that she was

intimidating the rest of the students.  You know how it is with

those Vulcans.  Make you feel small just by looking at you.  I'm

sure you remember in school how there was always some know-it-all

who was always showing up everybody else."

     She shifts uncomfortably.

     "No . . . not really."

     "But did you know the Vulcans do all their math on their

fingers until they're about seven?  It's very sophisticated. 

Really.  All kinds of higher math.  When they're seven or so they

learn to do it in their heads.  After that they just *picture*

their fingers in their minds.  And that's why when they grow up

they're always making cat's cradles out of their fingers when

they're thinking about something.  It's unconscious."

     "I didn't know that."

     "It's true.  I served with a Vulcan on the Rutledge and he

was always making churches and steeples out of his fingers.  I

mentioned it to him once, but he just said, 'Your point being?' 

Toffey arse.  But look at your fingers.  Each one of those pads

in between the creasy parts is like a place in a mathematical

matrix.  Hold out your two hands for a minute.  Suppose each

paddy bit represented a power of two.  By the time you got from

the tip of one index finger to the base of the other index finger

you'd've gone up to 2 to the 32nd power.  Or take prime numbers."

     "Prime numbers.  That's fascinating, Chief."  She searches

desperately for a waiter to give the "Cut him off" sign to, but

all of the Ferengi have disappeared.  Suddenly there's a piercing

shriek from the back room.  All heads turn.

     Rom is dragging his son Nog out of the back of the bar and

shouting at an extremely flustered Quark.

     "It's all your fault, brother!  You said it would be good if

he mixed with Bajorans and Hu-mans!"

     "Rom!  What are you implying?  Surely you're not saying this

is my fault?"

     "He got it in your implant store, didn't he?  I'm going to

show this to Commander Sisko!"

     Dax jumps up and steps into the middle of the fray.

     "What's going on?"

     Rom holds a defiant Nog by the collar with one hand and

points to the ring in the top of Nog's ear with the other.

     "They pierced his ear!"

 

[Commercial: Labatt X]

 

     A crowd is gathered in front of the Zekware store.  We see

Dax brief Odo off to one side, then hurry off to Ops.  Odo pushes

his way through the curious onlookers until he has reached the

focus of attention directly below the benign neon visage of Grand

Nagus Zek and its motto, "More than just you."

     "All right.  What's all this about?"

     Rom leaps at him, still hanging on to Nog with one hand.  He

shakes his finger under Odo's nose and demands:

     "And what are the authorities prepared to do about this

outrage against community standards?  Never before has a Ferengi

thought of . . . of . . . I can hardly say it, it's so disgusting

. . . piercing his ear!  Only now in the present day atmosphere

of moral decay can such a thing be done!  I want to know why it

is allowed!  I want to know who condoned it!  I want to know when

the authorities are going to enforce a few . . . o-o-o-o-h! . . .

family values!"

     Odo crosses his arms and nods.

     "Politically engaged at last, are we, Rom?  Where's your

brother?"

     Quark steps out from behind a gaping Morn.

     "Now, Odo, it's nothing to be concerned about.  Just a

little bubble in the big melting pot we all know and love as Deep

Space Nine.  No need to concern yourselves, folks.  Nothing new

here.  Fathers and sons.  It was ever thus.  Ten percent off

synthehol at Quark's for the next five minutes!"

     Rom drags Nog over toward a Borg technician and points.

     "I blame these creatures!  First they came to destroy, and

now they sap our moral juices!"

     The Borg looks uncomfortable and confused, his one eye

shifting from side to side, while the telephoto implant on the

other side zooms in and out.  Moral juices?

     "Is that like the lymphatic system?"

     "Hear how they mock!"

     The technician, however, is on a train of thought: "And

another thing.  'Square feet.'  What are they?"

     Not Fragile steps forward, holding out his hands (well, one

hand, one thingamajig) in a jesture of conciliation.

     "Friends.  Neighbours.  If I may say a few simple words.  We

live in uncertain times.  In this world in which we find

ourselves it is never easy to know when one's actions are just

and right in the eyes of those around us.  And as the cultures of

our galaxy interrelate it becomes inevitable that some practices

will rub off from one to another.  To complicate things there is

also the knowledge that each generation reads the teachings of

its forebears in a different light."  He spots a toolbox-toting

Door Repair Guy at the edge of the crowd, steps forward and draws

him into the centre of the ring without missing a beat.  "A very

wise Vulcan gentleman once recommended infinite diversity in

infinite combination.  If my Human friend here can wear a Bajoran

earring, who then can say that a Ferengi might not as well?"

     The crowd look at one another, applaud at this reiteration

of Federation credo, and disperse in an orderly fashion.  DRG

gives a thumbs up followed by a Vulcan salute and a big AOK sign. 

Quark pursues Rom back to the bar, both gesticulating angrily. 

Nog spots Jake and they point at each other and exchange low

fives.  Not Fragile's lovely assistant Madeline suppresses a yawn

and turns back to the store . . . when suddenly she loses her

balance and winds up on her behind.  DRG opens his mouth to say

something a propos to Not Fragile only to discover that the

implant specialist is also on his posterior.

     Not Fragile: "We have just received the subspace command,

'Sit where you are and don't move til we arrive.'"

     DRG: "Til who arrive?"

     Madeline and Not Fragile: "The Borg."

 

[Bob:

     "Whoa!  Great new season of Star Trek: Door Repair Guy

coming at you on CHRO!  And what a great new season it is.  A lot

better than Star Trek: Voyager.  This year we've got lots more

Klingons, lots more Romulans, lots more Cardassians, lots more

commercials, wooph, lots more everything!  So stay right there,

and don't go to Fox because the Bob Couch is now a dial-in show. 

Look at this.  My very own three-line speaker phone.  Let's see

who's calling today.   Hello, you're on the Bob

Couch."

     *Hello?  Bob?  Hello?*

     "Comin' right at ya."

     *Bob?  This is Trudy in Gloucester calling?  I can't find

Voyager in the TV listings?  And I wonder when it's on.*

     "Okay!  Next caller.  You're on the Bob Couch."

     *Hi, Bob.  It's Max from Paul Anka Drive.  When are you guys

going to get Voyager on?  You're already three episodes behind.*

     "Thanks for calling, Max!  Time for one more caller.  Ye-a-

e-hello!"

     *Hi, it's Darlene in Kanata!  Stop, shut up, I'm on the

phone!  Hi, sorry!  Stop!  I'll murder you!  Hi, Bob?  It's

Darlene.  Could you play 'Lucas With the Lid Off' and dedicate it

to Lucas from Tanya?    Thanks!  Ouch!  Bye! 

 *

     "Back to Door Repair Guy in a minute."]

 

[Commercial: Molson Ex]

 

     Closeup of Door Repair Guy's flabbergasted face.  [Award-

winning mental strain sequence follows.]  The film-speed seems to

change.  He glances to one side in stop action.  [His point of

view:] Along the curving Promenade people of a dozen species are

returning to their daily business, in slow motion.  The camera

has tilted, the lighting become bright and glaring, every image

sharper, but with residual after-images.  Door Repair Guy becomes

aware of the sound of his own heartbeat [sound effect].  [His

point of view:] A Bajoran woman walks by for what seems like

forever, the light highlighting the brocade of her jacket and her

Bajoran earring.  We catch her quizzical look as she passes. 

Shot of Door Repair Guy standing stock still, the adrenaline

starting to soak into his overalls.  He slowly shifts his sight. 

In slow-mo Odo disappears into Quark's.  DRG angles his eyes

downward.  The tops of the heads of the three Cauda Lineans

seated on the floor in front of him speak silently of the

disaster about to befall them all.  He must report.  He raises

his hand and sweeps it in a smearing image toward his commbadge. 

It gives its characteristic chirp, but at 33 rpm instead of 45.

     "Door Repair to Sisko."

     *Sisko here*

     "I'm on the Promenade with the Cauda Lineans.  They have

been incapacitated by a subspace command sent by an approaching

Borg ship.  It doesn't look good.  I recommend you go to Red

Alert right away, Commander."  

     Cut to Sisko's office.  Sisko, who has been gazing out the

window with his hands folded in front of him, swivels and replies

curtly, the baseball in his right hand grasped in a three-

fingered grip:

     "Slow down, damn it.  I can hardly make out a word you say."

     *IsaidImonthePromenadewiththeCaudaLineansandtheyvebeen

incapaciatedbyasubspacecommandfromanapproachingBorgshipand

itdoesntlookgoodandIrecommendyougotoRedAlertrightaway!!!!!! (deep

breath) Commander*

     Sisko leans forward listening, and as the words sink in one

by one he places the ball down, gathers the edge of the desktop

in a powerful grip, and nearly knocks the doors off their tracks

as he charges out of the room.

     "Red Alert!  [Sound effect, dramatic music.]  Dax, get me

Starfleet Command.  Tell Admiral Nechayev we have a probable Borg

intruder on intercept course.  I want all intelligence on

unidentified high warp traffic in this and the adjoining sectors. 

Notify the Bajoran government.  And scramble Defiant's crew.  I

want her ready to go to warp speed five minutes ago.  Major,

you're with me."

     He stops himself like an outfielder on the back wall of the

turbolift and pivots to see Major Kira just behind him with her

face set in a combination of outrage and incredulity.  The

turbocar shoots downward.  [More dramatic music.]  Cut to

flashing red alert signs.  Cut to Ops personnel at consoles

furiously inputting commands and shouting orders.  Cut to

population on the Promenade dashing this way and that past DRG

and the Cauda Lineans.  Cut to flashing Red Alert signs.

     Cut to oncoming Borg Cube, the stars streaking behind it,

the forward edge gaining on the camera as the wordless choral

music swells.

 

[Commercial: Classical Favorites, on CD or cassette]

 

     The Promenade.  Sisko advances through the hurrying crowds

and crouches in front of Not Fragile.

     "How far are they?"

     "Unknown.  But they'll soon be here."

     "What will they do when they arrive?"

     "What do you imagine?  They are classic Borg of the

Collective.  I strongly suspect their mission is to seek out and

destroy all viable individualized Borg.  The Collective was

ruthless in cutting off our ship once we were contaminated with

the individualizing virus.  Under normal circumstances we should

have perished in the wastes of space.  Now that we have found an

alternate way we Cauda Lineans are a grave threat to them.  We

escaped their attention as long as we stayed in the Cuniculi

Cluster.  It seems our mistake was to resettle the galaxy."

     "Are all your people on board the station?"

     "Yes.  There are none on Bajor at the moment."

     Kira: "That's a relief.  This isn't Bajor's problem."

     "Major, not now."

     *Dax to Sisko.  Admiral Nechayev on subspace channel*

     "On audio."

     *Commander, the Argus Array has picked up an object moving

at extreme high warp toward your co-ordinates.  Very probably

Borg.  ETA thirteen minutes.  Defiant is the only Federation ship

in intercept range.  As it was built to fight the Borg I suggest

that's what you do with it.  You are expressly ordered to deny

the Borg access to the Bajoran wormhole.  Sacrifice the station

if necessary.  Nechayev out.*

     Bashir, just arriving: "Sacrifice the station?!  She can't

be serious!  There are hundreds of people aboard!"

     Kira: "I agree!  Diverting the Borg into the Gamma Quadrant

would be the best solution possible!  I'm confident I speak on

behalf of the Provisional Government when I say 'Just get them

out of Bajoran space!'"

     Close-up on Sisko.

     Sisko: "No, the Admiral's right."

     They blink.

     He continues: "We cannot allow the Borg access to Jem'Hadar

technology we do not ourselves have a defence against."

     *Ops to Sisko.  The Provisional Government says, "Just get

the Borg out of Bajoran space."*

     "Damn!  Sisko to O'Brien."

     "O'Brien here."

     He's standing beside him, having just come out of Quark's.

     "Can you integrate a Romulan cloaking device into the

station's power grid in twelve minutes?"

     He blinks.

     "Woof.  I've never tried.  I'd need the co-operation of

Subcommander T'Rul."

     "Sisko to Subcommander T'Rul."

     *T'Rul here, Commander.  Defiant is powered up and ready for

cloaked warp speed battle.*

     "Disconnect the cloaking device and bring it to Chief

O'Brien."

     * . . . *

     "Subcommander!"

     *Commander!  The cloaking device is the Defiant's chief

tactical advantage!  There is no provision in the lending

agreement for removing the cloaking device from the ship!  In

fact I have standing orders to shoot anyone who tries!  Above and

beyond those three points, it is imperative that the cloaking

device remain out of Borg hands!  Neither the Federation nor

Romulus can afford to face a cloaked Borg threat!*

     "The Borg have pillaged numerous Romulan outposts!  Surely

they have the cloaking device already!"

     *If they had it they would use it!*

     "Subcommander, I'm coming there right now!"

     *Commander Sisko.  My disruptor is pointed at the cloaking

device.  I will destroy it.*

     *Ops to Sisko.  ETA eleven minutes.*

     "Subcommander!  It is my intention to tie your cloaking

device into the station's reactor core, cloak the station,

transport the Cauda Lineans on board the Defiant, and lead the

Borg ship on a wild goose chase away from Bajor, the station and

the wormhole!"

     *(Pause.)  Oh.  That's a good plan.  I'll be right there

with the cloaking device.*

     "Doctor, get the Cauda Lineans onto the Defiant.  The Borg

are locking onto their subspace signatures.  If they're as

singleminded as we take them to be the Borg may ignore the

station entirely if these people aren't on it.  The cloaking

device is our insurance."

     T'Rul and the cloaking device materialize on the Promenade.

     "Dax.  Beam Chief O'Brien, Subcommander T'Rul and the

cloaking device to the reactor core control room.  Then I want

you on the Defiant.  Major, the station is yours."

     O'Brien: "How long do we have?"

     *Nine minutes.*

     "Jaysus Murphy!"  They dematerialize.

     Bashir: "Commander, I suggest we take Door Repair Guy.  He

is the most extensively altered person on board.  He may be

displaying a traceable subspace signature."

     "All right!  Give him a seditive and let's go!"

     Bashir presses a hypospray to the paralytic DRG's neck.

     DRG: "Wooph!  Was I ever tense!"

     "Gives us a hand with these Borg!"

     DRG, lifting Not Fragile: "Ow!  What did you have for

breakfast?  Scrap iron?"

     "And four essential nutrients."

 

[Commercial: Honey, Nuts and Raisins]

 

     Reactor core control room.  O'Brien and T'Rul materialize

along with the cloaking device.

     O'Brien: "Computer, I want a countdown to ETA Borg vessel. 

I hope you brought the adapter."

     T'Rul: "Of course I brought the adapter.  Do you take me for

some kind of idiot?"

     *ETA Borg vessel eight minutes.*

     "It's just that the cloaking device would have been totally

useless without the adapter."

     She holds it under his nose.

     "Okay.  Let's get to it then."

     He turns to a access panel, pulls it off, and freezes.

     "What is it?"

     "This is Cardassian circuitry."

     *ETA Borg vessel seven minutes*

     "Are you telling me the adapter won't work?"

     "No.  Not at all.  We just need to think of something else."

     "You have Federation components hooked in to the system?"

     "Yes."

     "Don't you have Cardassian to Federation adapters on them?"

     "Yes!  Of course!  We'll connect the Romulan-Federation

adapter to a Federation-Cardassian adapter!"

     *ETA Borg vessel six minutes.*

     They work.

     *ETA Borg vessel five minutes.*

     They continue working.

     *ETA Borg vessel four minutes.*

     "I wish you hadn't asked for that countdown."

     *ETA Borg vessel three minutes.*

     "That's it!  Engage the cloaking device!"

     T'Rul engages the cloaking device.  Nothing happens.

     "Software problem.  Hang on a minute."

     *ETA Borg vessel two minutes*

     View of O'Brien pulling isolinear rods.

     Cut to the bridge of Defiant.  Sisko storms in and throws

himself into the commander chair.

     Dax: "One minute and counting to ETA."

     "Secure airlocks.  Disengage docking clamps.  Bring her

about and give me warp eight, bearing 235 mark 59."

     Shot of DRG pulling airlock handle.  Through a small window

in the door we see the station airlock dwindle away, the outer

ring of DS9 sweep past to be replaced by arcing stars which slow

and become points momentarily until . . .

     Defiant leaps out of the shot at warp speed leaving Deep

Space Nine behind, afloat against the Bajoran starfield.  Then,

in a wavering, watery effect, the station vanishes.  For a moment

the constellations fill the shot, alone, until a distant point

swells suddenly to a Borg Cube.  [Choral music.]  The Borg ship

slows to a halt above the invisible station, pauses, immobile,

solid, as if resting on concrete.

     View of the personnel in Ops gazing awestruck at the Borg

Cube on the oval viewscreen: it hangs in space immediately above

them like an immense cube of pressed petrochemical plant spit out

by the crusher in some gargantuan petrochemical plant wrecking

yard.

     [Choral music, with a bitchin' pipe organ (played by Frank

Pellico, series organist).]

     View of the interior of the Borg ship.  Tier upon tier of

Borg stand hooked in to the vessel's operating systems.  They are

thinking.

     View of Promenade.  Everyone stands silently gazing up at

the viewscreen.  Quark puts a finger in his collar and pulls it

uncomfortably.  He scowls and makes a compulsive shoo-fly gesture

with the back of his hand . . . and suddenly the Cube is gone. 

He gasps with everyone else at the empty screen, and then looks

in amazement at his hand, turning it over and over.

     Cut to the bridge of the Defiant.

     Dax: "We are being pursued."

     Sisko: "Good."  The camera moves in on him.  He shifts in

his chair and his eyes betray a flicker of the thought: "I

think."

 

[Commercial: "You're here, but your traveller's cheques are over

there . . ."]

 

Next week on Star Trek: Door Repair Guy:

 

     Dax flips through the index, then thumbs her way to the

heart of the manual.

     "Okay.  According to these specs the purpose of this device

is to release hundreds of killer bees into the Borg vessel."

     Sisko holds the cylinder to his ear.

     "It is buzzing . . ."

 

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

Written by Douglas A. McLeod, [email protected]

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

 

Notes on More Than Just You:

This really feels like a Season One episode.

"Lucas With the Lid Off."

 

Unarigoe, Chapter 3, Page 2

Hockey Halls of Fame

The old Hockey Hall of Fame (1962-2005) on the CNE grounds in Toronto. Source: Toronto Modern.

British Columbia Hockey Hall of Fame, Penticton.

Das Eishockeymuseum und die Hall of Fame Deutschland, Augsburg, Germany.

Finnish Hockey Hall of Fame, Tampere, Finland.

Hockey Hall of Fame, Toronto, Ontario.

International Hockey Hall of Fame, Kingston, Ontario.

Manitoba Hockey Hall of Fame, Winnipeg, Manitoba.

Newfoundland and Labrador Hockey Hall of Fame, Corner Brook.

The Saskatchewan Hockey Hall of Fame will open in Swift Current this year.

Slovak Hockey Hall of Fame, Bratislava, Slovakia.

Sweden is just getting around to setting up a Hockey Hall of Fame.

US Hockey Hall of Fame, Eveleth, Minnesota.

Windsor Hockey Heritage Centre, Haliburton House, Nova Scotia.

To the North

The Leaning Tower of Dingwall.

To Dingwall to make up a postponed date with division leaders Ross County. This is the third meeting between the Staggies and the Ton this season. The first, at Victoria Park, ended in a scoreless draw. The second, at Cappielow, resulted in a 2 - 0 win for the highlanders.

Ross County have their eyes squarely on next season's Premier League. They came up from the Highland League along with Inverness CT in the Nineties, and both clubs have prospered and advanced, but usually Inverness has prospered and advanced first, followed two or three years later by Ross County. If the Staggies gain promotion in May it will be the first time the cross-muir rivals have been in the Premier together, which will make for some good turnouts at the gate.

But even if Ross County win the division, they still must get their stadium up to SPL standards in time for next season. Read all about it in the Ross-shire Journal.

The Staggies still have only one loss, and none at home. However, they were held to a 1 - 1 draw by last-place Ayr United Saturday. At approximately the two-thirds point in the schedule Ayr already have more points than last year's last-place club Stirling accumulated all season. Which is not to say that Ayr will win promotion, but with only 21 points separating first and last it's a very tough division.

Seems I'm writing about Ayr United a lot lately.

So instead, how about that Archie Campbell? Is that not the most Scottish name possible?

[Argh. Ross County v Morton is postponed again.] [Three other games go ahead, though. Partick win, and cause Morton to slip to sixth place.]

Shaolin Cricket, Part Fifteen

 

     Shayne and Shawn, as you may have guessed, are not Shayne and Shawn’s actual given names. Most people from Taiwan have Chinese names, and these two are no exception. When Shayne was born their mother, overwhelmed by his tiny newness, named him Xin (New). When brother Shawn unexpectedly followed moments later he was dubbed Xuan (Mysterious). The Canadian names were lifted from the August issue of the Hockey News on the flight from Taipei to Vancouver and Moncton. As identical twins they share a sympathy of purpose that most single-borns find magical and strange, but after twenty years together they know they are in fact polar opposites. So it comes as no surprise to them after they slip away to their separate rooms to get dressed for a night of break-and-enter that Shayne shows up at the rendezvous point dressed entirely in black and Shawn in white.

      “Black sky,” says Shayne.

     “White snow,” says Shawn.

     They just laugh and trade balaclavas. Then they head for Korogi’s office. After a cat-and-mouse with the commissionaire they enter from the roof, turn the place upside-down, then carefully turn it right-side-up again. They climb back up on the roof and confer.

     “It must be back at the house. We didn’t get a good look at the place.”

     “Yeah, because we didn’t start soon enough.”

     “No, because you hung around too long looking at the record collection.”

     “You’re a bigger goof than Dwayne.”

     “No, that’s what you are!”

     “Wait! Dwayne calls it the Irish Spring Jade!”

     “It’s in the bathroom!”

     “Let’s go!”

     They jump up to go. But in the moonlight on the roof of the library is a third figure holding a five-foot staff in two hands.

     “That’s Da Xi Shuai!”

     “Two against one!  Let’s go!”

     They run and launch off the roof, rise into the night and descend in adjacent arcs, rebounding and hurtling toward the fighting cricket feet first.  Da Xi Shuai fends them off with a double sweep of the staff, turns and takes a defensive stance. Xin and Xuan tumble and leap up with fists poised.  Da Xi Shuai attacks, captures the centre, establishes a periphery with a sweep of the staff, then butt-ends Xin and spears Xuan. They stagger back, then somersault over Da Xi Shuai’s head, each landing where the other was, and launch toward the fighting scholar, Xin high, Xuan low.  Da Xi Shuai pitches from vertical to horizontal so that Xin goes over and Xuan under.  They land with a skid while the vagrant continues into a hand-flip, comes down on two feet, catches the five-foot staff, and attacks. They crabwalk backward on hands and heels, reach the edge, exchange a frantic look, flip backward off the building and disappear.

     Da Xi Shuai plants the staff, leans over the edge, and gets a snowball in the face—“Pfuh!”—then, yells after the departing figures, “Don’t bother looking in the bathroom! I already thought of that!”

     Shayne, from beyond the swan pond: “Fuck you, Da Xi Shuai!”

     Da Xi Shuai retorts: “Yo’ mother!”

     Shawn, from the far corner of Convocation Hall: “You lay off our mother!”

     The next day Professor Korogi goes up to the classical antiquities section of the library and walks along the peaceful aisle housing the little green Greek volumes of the Loeb Classical Library. Between volume twelve of Diodorus Siculus and volume one of Diogenes Laertius, wearing a white library label on its side like the rest, is the Spring Snow Jade.  Korogi smiles inwardly and passes by. 



    Beijing. The appointment with the space officials does not go well. For one thing they are all army generals, and the meeting quickly takes on the tone of a disciplinary hearing. For another the business is conducted entirely in Chinese, with a state-appointed interpreter as intermediary. And for another the word policy keeps coming up. Having used the word himself many times, the Dean knows what a dealkiller it is. He leaves the Flying A sticker on the table when he gets up to go. As he goes out the door he shoots a glance through the narrow gap between the hinges and sees a hand reaching for the sticker. It’ll be on someone’s kid’s school notebook by suppertime tonight.

     To the interpreter: “How long are you with me?”

     “Till the airport.”

     “To Shanghai then.”

     The train trip to Shanghai is full of small events: a cardgame that is already in progress when the Dean and interpreter get on, and is still going strong when they detrain; an arrest for travelling without a ticket, carried out by two soldiers with semi-automatic weapons dangling under their arms; a motherly farm wife with a duck under her arm who treats the interpreter as her long-lost son and the Dean as a notorious ne’er-do-well bent on leading him astray in the city; a ten-year-old girl in braids reading an unauthorised Harry Potter sequel and trading smokes with her father. In fact they all smoke, like factories, perhaps to counteract the high particulate content of the air. The Dean begins to unwind and feel a little like he’s Michael Palin.

     But the meeting at the College Memories head office is a bust. Again the Dean finds himself sitting opposite an officer of the People’s Liberation Army. This one affects a comic persona and meets any direct question or concern with gales of laughter and good-natured arm-punching. The Dean can’t get anywhere on when the Wanxian shop is slated to close, or what will become of the workforce. He points out that the company representatives who came to the university to research the heritage designs such as the 1930s hockey jersey and sweater coat walked off with much of the primary material, and are now by default the world experts. The colonel wipes his eyes, then asks the interpreter a question. The interpreter responds.

     The Dean: “What was that?”

     The interpreter: “He asked what colour. I said garnet and gold.”

     The colonel is flipping through a file folder. He shouts the Chinese equivalent of “Ah-ha!” and shows the Dean the memo.

     “What does it say?”

     Interpreter: “Discontinued.”

     “What?  We had a contract!”

     The colonel waves the objection aside, then says, “Doing Cornell now.”  He makes a fist salute.  “Go Big Red!”

 

     March. Agnes and Dwayne are walking hand-in-hand in the fresh spring air. In front of the library they meet a disconsolate Shayne and Shawn.

     Dwayne: “What’s wrong with you two?”

     Shayne: “We can’t find—“

     Shawn gives his brother an editorial smack.

     “Our cell phone.”

     Agnes: “Well, for heaven’s sake, don’t stand there feeling sorry for yourselves. Go get another phone, dial your number, and listen for the ring tone. I swear, nobody has any initiative anymore.”

     Shayne: “Hey, that’s a good idea.”

     Shawn: “That is a good idea.” 

     Dwayne: “All right. Catch you later.”

     Shayne: “Hey, Dwayne. How come a goofy guy like you can keep a smart girlfriend like her?”

     Agnes, dragging him off, “We won’t go into that.”

     Over the next few days the Taiwanese brothers traverse the campus, trudge corridors,  interrupt labs, disturb cramming classmates, all the while performing snatches of ancient Chinese folksong on a pair of wooden flutes. They make eighty-seven dollars and prompt several pissy letters to the editor about the infestation of buskers. They also find the Spring Snow Jade. As Shawn pulls it from the library shelf a voice from the Spring and Autumn Period lectures him on what to do when the cows escape.