Plenty of Nothing

Penguin Classics Cover Generator

Make your own Penguin cover here. Read "Chekov's Brain" here.

Star Trek: The Motion Picture (1979)

Star Trek: The Motion Picture opened forty years ago this weekend. James Fitzroy's five-and-a-half-minute Doors/Corridors edit contains everything you need to see of this film.

lojmIt Search Results

Google Search recognizes lojmit as the Klingon word for door and provides the search results in Klingon.

Door Repair Guy, Table of Links

Season One

Episode 1 "The Pilot, part 1"

Episode 2 "The Pilot, part 2"

Episode 3 "The Cuniculi Syndrome"

Episode 4 "Last Exit to Borglyn"

Episode 5 "Stuff"

Episode 6 "North and South"

Episode 7 "The Doors of Perception"

Episode 8 "Natural Selection"

Episode 9 "Spoilers"

Episode 10 "Mutiny"

Episode 11 "Cauda Linea"

Episode 12 "Lore Repair"

Episode 13 "DRG Must Die! part 1"

Episode 14 "DRG Must Die! part 2"

Season Two

Episode 15 "Point of Departure"

Episode 16 "The Children of Vaal"

Episode 17 "Ursus Major"

Episode 18 "Chipmunk, Chipmunk"

Episode 19 "Chekov's Brain"

Episode 20 "A Wonderful Place To Be In"

Episode 21 "Stomping Ground"

Episode 22 "The Snapper"

Episode 23 "Warp Happy, part 1"

Episode 24 "Warp Happy, part 2"

Episode 25 "Cardassian Murder Mystery"

Episode 26 "The Orb"

Episode 27 "The Franchise"

Episode 28 "Renewal"

Season Three

Episode 29 "More Than Just You"

Episode 30 "Specs"

Episode 31 "The Bees in the Beehive"

Episode 32 "Threshold"

Episode 33 "Klank"

Episode 34 "Cross Purposes"

Episode 35 "The Nostril"

Episode 36 "Deus Ex Machina"

Episode 37 "Small Wonder"

Episode 38 "Mulch Ado About Nothing"

Episode 39 "Two Clues"

Episode 40 "Door Repair Kai, part 1"

Episode 41 "Door Repair Kai, part 2"

Episode 42 "Trial and Error"

Season Four

Episode 43 "Out of Order"

Episode 44 "Down Under By Law"

Episode 45 "Crossroads"

Episode 46 "Agents"

Episode 47 "Martians"

Episode 48 "Don't Leave Me This Way"

Episode 49 "In the Maquis"

Episode 50 "Humuhumunukunukuapua'a"

Epsiode 51 "Jubilee"

Episode 52 "Stargazer"

Episode 53 "Cherchez la Femme"

Episode 54 "There and Back Again"

When I'm Running Windows

 

    The curtain rises to applause.  George Formby in a brown raincoat and cloth cap steps forward, bows, strikes up his ukelele, and sings (to the tune of "When I'm Cleaning Windows"):

 

          I've bought a new computer,

          It's there beside the grate,

          And so I need some software

          To make it operate.

 

          The man around the corner

          Said, "Look what's joost arrived,

          The newest software package

          Called Windows 95."

 

          Now, in my profession I'm brand new

          But I'll never stop.

          I'll run this blinkin' programme

          Til I get right to the top.

 

          This is a job that just suits me.

          A Windows-watcher you would be

          If you could see what I can see

          When I'm running Windows.]

 

[Commercial: George Formby for Windows 95

 

          The things I've seen when I'm on line

          Would suit a sailor very fine

          If he were more than twenty-nine

          When I'm running Windows.

 

          A lass I've spied is quite the rage,

          One million hits on her Web Page;

          As many on the pressure gauge;

          When I'm running Windows.

 

          Oh, in my profession I'm brand new

          But I'll never stop.

          I'll run this flippin' programme

          Til I get right to the top.

 

          She has a twin and my oh my,

          They make the idle hours fly by

          With just a chair and one necktie

          When I'm running Windows.]

 

[Commercial: George Formby for Windows 95:

 

          An e-mail came to my mailbox.

          I answered straight away of course.

          My server changed it all to Morse

          When I'm running Windows. 

 

          So I sent out an S-O-S

          To my sysop to fix the mess.

          He says it's my fault, more or less.

          When I'm running Windows.

 

          In my profession I'm brand new

          But I'll never stop.

          I'll run this flippin' programme

          Til I get right to the top.

 

          I asked my mate to take a look,

          He had a peek, his head he shook,

          Said he, "Read the instruction book."

          When I'm running Windows.]

 

[Commercial: Windows:

 

          I'm chuffed with my grand ftp,

          I'm master of all that I see,

          Downloading text and binary,

          When I'm running Windows.

 

          The gifs I find fill me with joy:

          Natasha Yar is not a boy

          And neither is Deanna Troi

          When I'm running Windows.

 

          In my profession I'm still green

          But I'll never stop.

          I'll run this blessed programme

          Til I get right to the top.

 

          The lads at Wired all agree.

          This Internet is just for me.

          It keeps me up til half past three

          When I'm running Windows.]

 

[Commercial: Encore le Formby:

 

          You've heard of my adventures

          Exploring cyberspace.

          Now here's a few more details

          To substantiate my case.

 

          I'm that pleased when I'm gophering

          I go for files on anything

          But my wife calls it loafering.

          When I'm running Windows.

 

          The helpful Miss Veronica

          Sends advice on japonica

          She found in Thessalonica

          When I'm running Windows.

 

          In my profession I'm brand new

          But I'll never stop.

          I'll run these flamin' Windows

          Til I get right to the top.

 

          My colour monitor's a whiz

          I've viewed Van Goghs and Matisses

          And every Dilbert strip there is

          When I'm running Windows.]

 

[Commercial:  Formby:

 

          Me wife's all set to pull the plug.

          "Away and get a job, ye slug."

          She hasn't the computer bug

          When I'm running Windows.

 

          So I've gone down to Microsoft --

          You shouldn't think I'm very daft --

          I'm cleaning screens fore noon and aft

          While I'm watching Windows.

 

          In this profession I'm brand new

          But I'll never stop.

          I'll save these screens with my damp rag

          Til I get to the top.

 

          I've many new computing mates

          I shouldn't doubt that at this rate

          I'll soon be thick with William Gates

          When I'm cleaning Windows.

 

          This is a job that just suits me.

          A Windows-washer you would be

          If you could see what I can see

          When I'm cleaning Windows,

          When I'm cleaning Windows.]

 

From Door Repair Guy, episode 46.

 

El Tipo de Reparación de la Puerta

Someone in Caracas was reading DRG with Google Translate.

The Annotated Door Repair Guy, episode 54

 

There and Back Again

     England.  Grantham, Lincolnshire.  The sitting room of the

Roberts residence.

     Margaret: "Do you know?  I've always thought.  I could be

Prime Minister.  It's not so far-fetched.  Bonar Law became Prime

Minister, and he was born in Canada.  If a mere colonial can do

it, why not a good English girl?"

     Seska: "Why not indeed?  Tell me, Margaret, do you think we

might step out for a moment?  I have some things to tell you I

think are best said out of earshot."

     Mrs Roberts takes this as her cue to actually come through

the door.

     "Oh!  Won't you stay and have some water biscuits?"

     "Mother, please!  This is important business.  It concerns

the future."

     Seska: "We shaln't be very long."

     "Don't let me interfere."

     Seska and Margaret step out of doors.

     Margaret: "She was interfering."

     "You distrust your mother."

     "She's well-meaning, but Father rules the roost.  As he

should!  He's an alderman!  I firmly believe that the stronger of

the two personalities in a marriage should set the rules.  When I

am married I have every intention of setting the rules."

     "Do you really?"

     "Most assuredly."

     They have come to an open field.

     Seska: "You spoke of the future, Margaret.  What do you know

about it?"

     "I know that England must prevail in the current conflict,

and then that the world will be organized according to honest

English principles.  Except perhaps for those vulgar Americans. 

But I see no barrier to the continued growth of the British

Empire once this war is over."

     "Margaret, suppose I were to tell you that the future is not

so bright?"

     "You have been listening to the alarmists!"

     "No.  You see Margaret, I have not been completely honest

with you.  I am not from Somerville College, Oxford.  I am from

the future."

     "What bosh!"

     "Do you see this?  It is called a tricorder.  Have you ever

seen anything like it?"

     "No.  But that means nothing.  It may be a secret

instrument, property of the Ministry of War."

     "Perhaps.  But do you think the Ministry of War has one of

these?"

     She draws her phaser, points it at a nearby Guernsey, and

evaporates the animal.  It has the desired effect.  Margaret

stands rooted to the spot, shocked in part by the execution of

the animal, partly by the waste of so many coupons-worth of good

beef. 

     "You're a space invader, a Martian!"

     "No.  As I said, I am from the future.  Or let me say, from

a future, one of two possible futures: one of them as you

describe, dominated by the British state and English values; the

other, the one you must help me avert, very different, and very

very much worse.  Help me, Margaret, help me defeat a very evil

man, an inventor of insidious devices, a savant whose most

disquieting visions stand to become horrifying reality."

     "What . . . what is his name?"

     "He is called: Arthur Charles Clarke." 

     Margaret grasps a nearby fence for support, stares wildly

about, then closes her eyes and takes a deep breath to calm her

whirling mind.  She comes to a decision.

     "I will help you.  If it help England, anything."

 

     Elsewhere in England.  Door Repair Guy is leaning into the

teller's window in a betting shop.

     "And for the next five years, Bjorn Borg."

     "Bjorn Borg, five years running."

     The pound notes crinkle.

     "Anything else, sir?"

     "Booker Prize winners."

     "Booker Prize, sir?"

 

     "Crawlspace.  The final frontier.  These are the voyages of

The Door Repair Guy.  His mission: to install and maintain

proximity-activated entranceways, to stake out new rooms and new

service conduits -- to boldly go where no one with a pass key has

gone before."

 

     A pair of Maquis raiders shoot by hotly pursued by a

Miranda-class Federation starship.

 

                    Star Trek: Door Repair Guy

 

                              Starring 

 

                         Door Repair Guy as

                              Himself

 

     The two Maquis shoot past in the other direction now with a

Cardassian Galor-class warship on their tail.

 

                         Also Starring

 

                         Martha Hackett as

                              Seska

 

                         Robert Beltran as

                              Chakotay

 

                         Tim Russ as 

                              Tuvok

 

                         Roxann Biggs-Dawson as

                              Torres

 

     The Federation and Cardassian ships nearly pile up chasing

Maquis ships into the middle of the screen.  The Maquis loop

around and shoot off, one of them coming right past the camera

and leaving behind a glimmering ion trail which fades to:

 

[Commercial:

     "Hey, kids!  It's The Mirror Has Two Faces Action Figures

(TM)!"

     Girl with Barbra Streisand (TM) action figure: "Would now be

enough of a warning that I'd like sex tonight?"

     Boy with Jeff Bridges (TM) action figure: spit take.

     Mom and Dad exchange concerned looks.]

 

     DRG steps out of a pub and adjusts his belt.

     "Quite a nice little bitter.  The pale ale is a tad hoppy

for my taste, though.  Ah, well.  On to Lincolnshire."

     He activates his More Than Just You (TM) personal

transporter and disappears.

     Meanwhile, in Grantham, Seska is explaining:

     "You see, Margaret, just as the seeds of the current global

war were sown in the last, so the next war shall develop from

inventions created or theorized in this."

     "What dreadful engine has this Clarke devised?"

     "Perhaps he has not yet even thought it up.  But he will. 

To date, what has been the key to England's survival?"

     "Air power!"

     "And if the Luftwaffe had won the battle of the air over

Britain?"

     "Surely invasion must have followed!"

     "Imagine then a permanent manned platform in geosynchronous

orbit above the Earth's atmosphere, armed with every manner of

incendiary device."

     "England would be held hostage!  How can we prevent it?!"

     "We must find this man . . . and deal with him."

     "But . . . where is he to be found?  And how shall we get

there?  I have no train fare!"

     "There is a way to do it quickly and without fuss.  I have

his whereabouts in the tricorder's historical database.  To get

to his coordinates I need only activate this control."

     Seska removes the transporter remote control from her pocket

and activates it.  Margaret clutches her hands together in

anticipation.  Nothing happens.

     Margaret: "What?  Didn't it work?  What's happening?"

     Seska regards the Radio Shack product with intense

dissatisfaction, then decides her ground-activated transporter

programme must have been discovered and overridden on board the

Stargazer.  She puts her hand on the revolver in her pocket and 

mentally switches to Plan B, glancing around for witnesses.  Just

at that moment Door Repair Guy materializes on the other side of

the field.  Seska, in a flash of insight, grabs the confused and

disoriented Margaret by the arm and points her remote control at

DRG.  The two women disappear in a sauerbraten-coloured

transporter effect.  DRG falls flat on his back, unconscious.

 

[Commercial:

     "Hey, kids!  It's The English Patient Action Figures (TM)!"

     Girl with Carravaggio (TM) figure: "Ah, gross!  This one has

no thumbs!"

     Boy with English Patient (TM) figure: "Let's set this one on

fire again!"

     Mom and Dad: concerned look.]

 

     Chatokay steps onto the transporter platform and consults

his twentieth-century wristwatch.

     "Temporal event in eighteen minutes.  What word from our man

on the surface?"

     Tuvok, at the transporter console: "Sensor readings place Mr

Door Repair Guy in the south of Lincolnshire.  Site to site

transporter activity has been detected, purpose unknown."

     "We'll just have to trust that he knows what he's doing. 

It's time we got into position."

     Tuvok: "I propose to transport you directly to the centre of

the area of impending temporal flux.  You will materialize within

what would appear to be a large warehouse.  Readings show it to

be devoid of occupants at this time.  Therefore I would suggest

you concern yourselves with the time travelers exclusively."  

     Chatokay: "We'll transport with phasers drawn."

     Torres digs around in her gas mask bag, at last pulling out

both phaser and gas mask.  She holds the latter by the nozzle and

examines it with annoyance.

     "Nobody used poison gas in the Second World War.  Why did

everybody carry these things?"

     Tuvok: "It was the law, Ms Torres.  The English of this

period were renowned for their adherence to statutes.  However,

in spite of that societal trait, once the first few months of the

war had passed without the use of poison gas the regulation in

question was universally ignored and the Englanders left their

gas masks at home, thereby demonstrating a trio of complementary

or even contradictory national characteristics: namely, a streak

of practicality based on experience; an individualistic or as

they might say, 'bloody-minded', disobedience of authority; and,

in so far as I am able to understand it, an intensely fatalistic

sense of humour.  The end result was that the Englanders

continued to carry the empty gas mask bags for the remainder of

the war and for some time after its conclusion."

     "For the sake of appearances.  And as a black joke."

     "And because the bags proved to be so useful.  In toto I

find it a signal example of the haphazard nature of Human group

decision-making."

     "Unlike the Vulcans who would have just seen the logic of

carrying shoulder bags and then done it."

     "As indeed they did."

     She discards the gas mask.

     Chatokay, drily: "Seventeen minutes to temporal event."

 

     DRG sits up in the cow pasture and sways, small planets

circling his head.

     "Man, oh man.  What a draining experience."

     He staggers to his feet.

     "I better catch up to them.  Good thing I have a redial

function."

     He activates it.

     Nothing.  He holds his wrist up to his ear.

     "Forearm's depleted.  I have to get back to the ship."

     He taps his lapel, hitting only tweed.

     "Oh oh.  Must've dropped my communicator."

     He walks around in a circle, kicking at the mud.

     "I think it must be in one of those pubs."

     He scratches the back of his neck. 

     "So what do I do now?"

     He looks up and waves frantically at the sky.

     "Hey!  Beam me up!"

     Nothing.

     "Rats.  I need a jump."

     He checks his pockets, pulling out his tricorder and phaser.

     "These are fully charged.  But how do I access the power?"

     He momentarily considers phasering himself, then rules it

out.

     "I wish there was a Door Repair Guy Technical Manual.  What

would Dax do at a moment like this?  Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm, Dax."  

     He thinks about Dax for a while, then snaps out of it. 

     "Have to incorporate an energy source of some kind.  Think. 

How do you recharge your batteries if you're in the middle of a

cow pasture and you're a cybernetic organism?"

     Sixty watt light bulb.

     "You're a cybernetic ORGANISM!"

     He dashes through the gate, down a lane and into the town,

where he stops, looks this way and that, and runs for Roberts'

Grocery.  Mrs Roberts jumps as he crashes through the door.

     DRG: "Quick!  Spinach!"

     Surprised and appalled she points.

     He seizes a can, ratchets it open with a pocket can-opener,

and barfs down the contents.  Popeye the Sailorman fanfare.  He

turns towards Mrs Roberts, strikes a body-builder's pose, hits

his forearm, and disappears.

     The door tinkles and Mr Roberts enters.

     "Hello, love.  Quiet day?"

     He's just in time to see his wife's feet rise up and fall

down behind the counter where she has fainted dead away.

 

[Commercial:

     "Hey, kids!  It's William Shakeseare's Romeo and Juliet

Action Figures (TM)!"

     Girl with Claire Danes Juliet (TM) figure: "Romeo, Romeo,

like, wherefor art thou Romeo?"

     Boy with Leonardo DiCapprio Romeo (TM) figure: "What light

through yonder window breaks, dude?"

     Parents: wringing hands.]

 

     Coastal Essex.  DRG materializes in another paddock on the

outskirts of a small village.

     "More mud.  God, I hate this war."

     He notices two pairs of footprints heading away from his

location.

     "There they go.  This'll be easy, at least until we get to

the pavement."

     He checks his phaser, takes out his tricorder and turns it

toward the footprints, then follows them through a gate, down a

lane and beyond a neighbouring copse of trees.  A farmer enters

the field from another direction and stops at the sight of the

three sets of footprints beginning from nowhere.

     "Parachutists!"

     The man with the clipboard leans over the fence and asks:

"Excuse me, please.  How many cars made it up the long hill?"

     "Veree few cahs mayd it up the long iool, you damnable nazi

parachutist!"

     The farmer seizes the linguist.  They struggle.

     Cut to DRG who is surveying the terrain from a vantage

point.  To his right at the crest of a slope facing the sea a

radar dish rotates, gathering top secret information on the

movements of aircraft over the French coast.  A village is

nestled in a nearby vale on the left.  He spots the distant

signboard of a pub and hits his transport initiator.  He

materializes under the sign.  It reads THE WHITE HART.  He steps

inside.

 

     Chatokay and Torres materialize within the warehouse.  They

look around.

     Torres: "When do they appear?"

     Chatokay (consulting tricorder): "Chroniton buildup suggests

fifteen minutes, forty-nine seconds right" -- he points --

"there."

     Torres: "We should stun them as they appear."

     Chatokay: "Yes.  We should."

     Torres: "All right."

     Chatokay purses his lips and stares at the target.

     Torres: "What."

     Chatokay: "It seems too easy.  Time travellers from the

future should be able to foresee our ambush and avoid it."

     Torres: "Maybe they're from the past."

     Chatokay: "I hadn't thought of that.  We tend to assume time

travellers come from the future."

     Torres: "The chronitons are a pretty good indicator,

though."

     Chatokay: "Or a pretty good red herring."

     Torres: "Hm.  Maybe if we stood back to back."

     Chatokay: "That's an improvement."

     They stand back to back with phasers drawn.

     Torres: "Of course they could already be here watching us."

     Their eyes search the warehouse.

     Chatokay: "In which case we'd look pretty foolish."

     Torres: "Yeah." 

     "I think we should run for cover."

     "Yeah."

     They run.

 

[Commercial:

     "Hey kids!  It's 101 Dalmatians Action Figures (TM)! 

Collect them all!"

     Kids: "Mom!  Dad!  We still only have 57!"

     Mom and Dad: biting nails.]

 

     Door Repair Guy enters the White Hart and clomps down the

length of the pub, peering into each booth in turn, and leaving

muddy footprints.  Everyone returns his glare except a member of

the RAF who is preoccupied making an entry in a pocket notebook. 

DRG slides into the booth.

     "You're Arthur C. Clarke, aren't you!"

     (Looking up.)  "Uh, yes. . . ?"

     "Isaac Asimov says Hi."

     "Are you from the Soviet Embassy?"

     "No!  Listen.  I wanted to ask you.  The monolith.  It's a

door, right?  An interdimensional gateway?  I was really

influenced by 2001.  I based my Eleventh Rank piece on it. 

Totally indestructible, 92% naturally-occurring titanium recessed

into the subspace realm.  The Trans Am of doors.  Impervious to

disruptor fire!  The Door Fek'lhr trashed it of course, but

'Never offend the Door Fek'lhr' as they say.  What kind of beer

is that?  Do you mind?  Mmmmm.  They know how to brew 'em in

England.  Hey, I just read _Glide Path_.  How're things going

with that Ground Controlled Descent?"

     Clarke's ears prick up and his eyes dart around.

     "What do you know about that?"

     "Radar thing.  For landing planes in the fog.  Pretty basic

concept when you think about it, but a big thing in its time!"

     "A big secret thing in its time.  Do you mind shutting up?"

     "Huh!  Authors.  Too stuck up for their own good.  Well,

just for that, I'm not going to ask you to autograph my copy of 

Earthlight!  Hmph!"

     DRG leaves.

     "Hm.  Earthlight.  That's a good title."

     He makes a notation.

     A young woman slides into the booth.

     Margaret: "Are you Flight Officer Arthur Charles Clarke?"

     "Uh, yes. . . ."

     She pulls a revolver on him.

     "Abandon your evil geosynchronous monstrosity!"

     "My . . . what?"

     "England will not be held hostage to orbiting incendiary

devices!"

     "You're as mad as that idiotic Russian!"

     "I am not mad, I tell you!  I am a patriot!"

     "You're off your chump.  And what exactly do you mean by

'geo-'. . . ."

     His voice trails off and he grabs his notebook and pencil.

     "Of course!  An artificial satellite situated at some

specific height above the earth would revolve above the earth at

a rate of one orbit per day, in effect remaining above the same

point at all times!  We could bounce radio waves off it, and

broadcast to half the globe without the usual problems of

atmospheric interference!  What an intelligent girl you are!"

     Margaret: "Why, yes, I am, rather."

     "Are you in university?"

     "I soon shall be, I hope.  I've applied to Somerville

College."

     "Urgh, Oxford.  I would think Cambridge would be more the

thing for someone interested in science."

     "Hmph.  One or the other.  What does it matter?"

     "Does the word 'hidebound' mean anything to you?"

     "Why are you being so mean?"

     "You're the one with the revolver."

     "Well, you're the one with the . . . orbiting bomber."

     "But . . . wouldn't the bombs detonate at high altitudes

from the heat of atmospheric reentry?"

     "What do you mean?"

     He takes out a match and scrapes it against the box.

     "Friction."

     "I hadn't thought of that.  What a fool I've been!  That

woman had me completely blindfolded.  From now on I shall never

listen to anyone else again!"

     She throws the revolver on the table, hunches over with her

arms crossed and pouts.

     Clarke: "I hope I haven't put you off space exploration

entirely.  There are many admirable reasons for venturing into

space."

     "Bosh."

     "No, really."

     "What possible benefit could be gained from treading around

on the sands of Mars?"

     He blinks and makes a notation in his notebook.

     Clarke: "Suppose Captain Cook had said the same thing about

Australia?"

     "Hm.  The threat of transportation to Mars could serve to

lower the crime rate."

     "That wasn't quite what I had in mind."

     "That's just what's the matter with some people.  They think

the Government is there to hand out huge wads of pound notes just

so they can fly to the Moon or Mars when they have no idea how to

put that borrowed wealth back into the Exchequer."  

     "You're going to stand for Parliament when you grow up,

aren't you."

     She thrusts out her chin defiantly.

     Across the room Seska is monitoring this conversation with

increasing dissatisfaction.  It now appears that her plan to have

the future prime minister shoot the future inventor of the

communications satellite is off.  She puts her communicator on

her lapel in preparation for a quick exit, then draws her phaser,

first to stun all witnesses with a wide setting, then to

incinerate the two insufferable youngsters.  Unbeknownst to her,

however [yeah, right, what a YATI] DRG has been playing darts

around the far corner of the bar and watching her in a reflective

surface.  With sleight of hand unperceived by his darts partner

he releases the Edward VII copper penny into the air on a

trajectory calculated to bring it into glancing contact with the

communicator before putting a crack in the nearby window.

     Chirp.  Crack!

     Seska's head snaps toward the window.

     Dennis Madalone: "Communicator signal in Essex."

     Tuvok: "It must be Seska.  Energize."

     Seska appears on the transporter platform in a seated

position and tumbles over backward.

     Shot of Tuvok gazing down toward the camera.

     "May I offer you a hand, Ms Seska?  Your absence has caused

considerable concern.  How have you been occupied?"

     She glares back.

     "Foxhunting."

     "With a phaser?  That is hardly 'sporting'."

     Seska: look of intense irritation.

 

[Commercial:

     "Hey kids!  It's Star Trek: First Contact Action Figures!"

     Boy with Zephram Cochrane (TM) figure: "That'll do, pig. 

That'll do."

     Girl with Babe the Gallant Pig (TM) figure: "Squueek! 

Resistance is futile!  Oink oink oink!"

     Parents: exchange Huh? look.]

 

     Shot of Torres and Chatokay crouched behind wooden crates in

separate corners of the warehouse but within visual contact of

each other.  We hear a personal transporter sound effect.

     Torres: "What was that?"

     Chatokay glances cautiously over his crate with his phaser

held at the ready.  Shot of DRG as seen through a gap in the

crates.

     DRG: "Hey!  Where are you guys?"

     Chatokay: "Get over here and pipe down.  We're trying to

avoid a temporal ambush."

     "You mean, like, one time traveller with a phaser could be

about to appear from fifty different times and wipe us out in a

crossfire?"

     "Something like that."

     He thinks.  "Nah.  It'll never happen."

     Torres: "Oh yeah?  What makes you so sure?" 

     "Nobody's that organized."

     Chatokay considers this, then cocks his ear, stands, and

gazes at the rafters.

     "Sounds like company."

     It's true.  A low distant drone of bomber engines can be

heard.  Sirens begin to wail.  Antiaircraft fire starts up.

     He continues: "It's just like last time.  How long now?"

     Torres: "Thirty seconds."

     Chatokay (to DRG): "Did you find Seska?"

     "Oh, yeah, I forgot, I did."

     "What was she up to?"

     "Matchmaking from the look of it."

     "Matchmaking?"

     Torres: "Here they come!"

     Two figures appear in a swirling transporter effect.  They

look around.  They are dressed in twinkly bronze body suits with

ziggarat-shaped hats.  Chatokay steps forward.

     "Vorgons!  What is your business here?"

     First Vorgon: "We are harvesting."

     "Harvesting?  What are you harvesting?"

     "Antiquarian books."

     "Antiquarian books?"

     "Yes.  We are book dealers from the 27th century.  This is

the warehouse of the publishers George Allen and Unwin."

     "Aren't you aware that your thefts can have a deleterious

effect on the time line?"

     "On the contrary, we are very sanitary.  In two minutes

these volumes would be burning wreckage."

     The drone of engines has increased.  The Maquis and Vorgons

eye the rafters nervously.  The first Vorgon pulls open a

cardboard box and extracts a hardcover book.

     "Look.  _The Hobbit_.  1937.  It is the second impression,

but the first to include the colour plates by the author, who as

usual was too disorganized to get them to the publisher in time

for the first printing.  See?  'Bilbo comes to the Huts of the

Raft-Elves.'"

     DRG: "Hm!"

     Chatokay: "Are you telling me you are risking life and limb

in the middle of a major global conflict to smuggle fairy tales

into the future?" 

     Vorgon: "Medievalism is one of the eleven herbs and spices

of 26th century culture."

     Second Vorgon: "Yes.  'Quest or jest.'  That's the Nike ad."

     Chatokay: "This is ridiculous.  I can't believe we wasted

over a day on this wild goose chase.  Let's get out of here."

     First Vorgon: "Agreed.  Destruction is imminent.  Have a

good time in the Delta Quadrant."

     Chatokay: "Pardon me?"

     Second Vorgon: "Shh!"

     First Vorgon: "Oh!"

     The high-pitched whine of a falling incendiary device

prompts a flurry of communicator tapping followed closely by

multiple transporter effects, the Vorgons disappearing with

several cartons of books.  As the transporter shimmer dissipates

we see an avalanche of rafters surrounding a Volkswagen-sized

bomb drop to the floor and blossom outward in an orange fireball.

 

[Commercial:

     "Hey kids!  It's Fly Away Home Action Figures and Ultralight

Plane (TM)!"

     Girl with Anna Paquin (TM) figure in Ultralight Plane (TM):

"Okay, birds!  Your flying days are over!"  Makes machine gun

sound.

     Boy with Canada Goose (TM) figure: makes long crash landing

sound followed by explosive sound effect.

     Parents: console each other.]

 

     The screen whites out and then clears to reveal the starry

constellations, a nearby sun, and the Stargazer drifting toward

our vantage point.

     Cut to the bridge.  Crew members are slumped in their chairs

or lying across their consoles.  Chatokay in the command chair

comes to, blinks and glances around.

     "Everyone awake?"

     Nearly no one is.  The members of the bridge crew stir

groggily from their time-warp-enduced stupor amid a low chorus of

mumbles and stale-tongued mouth smacks.  Torres sits up and wipes

her chin with the side of her hand.

     Tuvok: "Time warp has succeeded as anticipated.  We have

returned to sector 21504, approximately five weeks from the

moment of our disappearance in sector 001, a period of time

commensurate with normal warp-speed travel between those two

regions."

     Chatokay: "With luck Starfleet won't have recognized our

temporal escape route.  It'll come in handy for surprise attacks."

     The bridge shakes.

     Torres: "Two Galor-class Cardassians on the starboard bow!

Direct hits to Engineering and Weapons Control!"

     Majel Barrett Roddenberry: *Engine synchronization programme

is off line.*

     "Shields collapsed on the first salvo!"

     Chatokay: "Evasive manoeuvres!  Helm, set a course for the

Badlands!  B'Elanna, get to Engineering and keep those engines on

line!"

     "Next time let's steal something a little sturdier!"

     "Bring it up at the next meeting!"

     Shot of the Stargazer turning and dodging away under fire

from the Cardassians.

 

     Essex.  Arthur and Margaret stand looking out over the

English Channel.  Arthur is emptying the chamber of the service

revolver and acting big-brotherly.  Margaret has assumed a

belligerent adolescent slouch.

     Arthur: "You'll never get anywhere in life if you don't try

to get along with people."

     "Hmph!"

     "How are you going to get home?"

     "I don't know."

     "He's a fiver.  There's a train station two miles from

here."

     "I don't want your charity!"

     "I don't see that you have a choice."

     "I'll send it back to you by the first post."

     "Instead, why don't you do some needy person a favour in the

future?"

     "OOOoooo!!!  This is so humiliating!"

     "Look, I have to report in.  You're sure you'll be fine?"

     "Yes!"

     "Very well, then.  So long!"

     He heads off.

     Margaret raises her chin and watches him go, making up her

mind.

     To herself: "I *will* become Prime Minister, and when I do

there shaln't be one British penny spent on that horrid horrid

outer space!"

 

     The Badlands.  Asteroids veer and tumble across the screen

amid tendrils of swirling plasma.  The Stargazer edges into the

shot, much the worse for wear.

     Bridge.  Consoles are sparking and smoking as the bridge

crew battles the controls.

     Chatokay: "Lost them at last."

     Tuvok: "To no avail it would appear.  Warp drive is down,

weapons inoperative, transporters off line.  Hull integrity is at

45%.  Our fire suppression systems have failed.  I am receiving

multiple reports of uncontained fires."

     Chatokay: "There's a Maquis supply depot fifty-three

astronomical units from here.  Aim for that."

     "Life support systems have just crashed.  Backup systems not

responding.  We are venting atmosphere at an increasing rate. 

Computer analysis indicates that the Stargazer will not be able

to reach the supply depot before the complete depletion of oxygen

supplies."

     "Well, that's that.  To the lifeboats.  All hands abandon

ship!  Repeat.  All hands abandon ship!"

     Shot of lifeboats launching from the bruised and burning

Stargazer.  The camera closes in on one of them.

     Cut to the interior.  Several too many Maquis are crowded

into the confined space.

     Suder: "Nobody touch me.  Just nobody touch me."

     Jonas: "I could use a little help with these controls here. 

Hey, Door Boy!"

     DRG (shifting around to get a better light on his book):

"Not my department."

     The camera moves in over his shoulder and closes up on the

page.  We read:

     'In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit.'

 

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

Written by Douglas A. McLeod, [email protected]

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

 

Notes on There And Back Again:

Andrew Bonar Law, British Prime Minister for seven months from autumn 1922 to spring 1923, was born in New Brunswick.

Björn Borg, Wimbledon champion 1976 to 1980.

The English Patient was burnt to a crisp in an airplane cockpit, but his pocket copy of Herodotus' History survived, as did his parachute. I call Yati.

The Hobbit was went temporarily out print in 1942 when Allen and Unwin's warehouse was burnt down in the Blitz.

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

Here is where I ran out of Star Trek jokes.

What should come next is a ST/Hobbit crossover episode. Then perhaps a half season in the Delta Quadrant. And then maybe a stint in Star Trek Phase II, the Seventies TV series that was never made. That would have been enough to get to episode 65, and syndication.

What if you simply must have more Door Repair Guy?  There is a DRG-like character named Dwayne in Shaolin Cricket and Wonderful Hell, two stories I wrote around 2005. Or hunt up Turvey by Earle Birney, or Artie Greengroin, Pfc. by Harry Brown. The character Hoshino in Haruki Murakami's Kafka on the Shore is extremely DRG-like, especially in chapter thirty of that book.

If you were to read only one DRG episode, which would it be? I recommend either #7 "The Doors of Perception", #19 "Chekov's Brain" or #21 "Stomping Ground".

The Annotated Door Repair Guy, episode 53

 

Cherchez la Femme

     Archival black-and-white footage of the London Blitz.  We

see firefighters hosing a smoking facade, then breaking for cover

as the building folds in on itself in an avalanche of bricks, and

the camera shakes and jolts.  To our surprise Chakotay and Jonas

step through the tilty shot.  Jonas grabs Chakotay's arm, points

to the camera, and the pair of them hurry away with their hats

over their faces.

     Return to Panavision.  The two Maquis duck into a boarded-up

shop doorway and look out balefully.

     Chatokay: "This is going from bad to worse.  Now we're in

the historical record."

     Jonas: "I don't like it!  I don't like it one bit!  First we

lose the time travellers!  Then that air raid warden ends up in

an ambulance!  Now Seska is missing!  Every second we spend here

twists the timeline more and more out of shape!  And people keep

staring at me!"

     Chatokay: "What do you mean?"

     Jonas: "They're looking at me!  They can see I've never been

to sea in my life!  I can't do the walk!  And where is

Stittsville?  East coast?  West coast?  I don't have the faintest

idea!  I'm no Canadian!  I'll bet I'm doing that walk all wrong

too!  I just don't know how long I can keep this up!"

     Chatokay: "Get a hold of yourself."

     Jonas: "I'm freaking out!"

     Chatokay slaps him.

     Jonas (taking a deep breath): "Thanks.  I needed that."

     "Chatokay to Stargazer."

     Tuvok: *We are receiving you, away team.*

     "Please scan London for Bajoran life signs."

     *Stand by.*  (Pause.)  *Stargazer to away team.  Results of

your search are negative.*

     "Can you reconfigure sensors so as to pinpoint a dead

Bajoran body?"

     *Standard nucleotide scans would indicate any mass of

Bajoran genetic material, living or dead.  Am I to infer that Ms

Seska has succumbed to the blanket bombing?*

     "With all due respect, I've seen Seska under a blanket.  It

would take more than an airstrike to put her off her game.  We

have become separated from her and I believe she may have left

the vicinity on some mission of her own."

     *I shall expand the search area to include the region

commonly referred to as the Home Counties.  Please stand by.*

     Chatokay and Jonas stand hunched over in the doorway.  A

small boy in knee pants comes up and stares at them.

     *This is Stargazer to the away team.  Our search of the Home

Counties has produced no Bajoran life sign.  We are expanding our

search parameters to include all of the United Kingdom and the

Republic of Ireland.*

     Chatokay: "I don't think we want to wait here for the

results.  When is the next chroniton maximum?"

     *Particle buildup would indicate a temporal event in

fourteen hours three minutes at a distance of three point two

kilometres from your present location.*

     "Noted.  Stand by to beam up two.  On my mark."

     Jonas and Chakotay turn their eyes downward to the small

boy.  He stands there and stares upward, scratching his leg.

     Chatokay: "Oh!  Isn't that Rudolph Hess?"

     The boy's head whips around.  A man is crossing the street a

block away.  The boy runs after.

     Chatokay: "Beam us up now."

     A transporter effect lifts them out of the street scene.

     View of Stargazer in Earth orbit.  Cut to transporter room. 

Tuvok and Dennis Madalone stand at the console.  Chatokay and

Jonas materialize and step down from the pad.

     Chatokay, removing his hat and throwing his leather gloves

into it: "I wonder.  What would it take to hide an alien life

sign from an orbital scan?"

     Tuvok: "There are a number of techniques available.  A

cloaking device would serve the purpose admirably, but the energy

outlay required would be daunting."

     "There must be some inexpensive, low-tech method, and I'm

sure Seska, given her experience fighting the Cardassians, is up

on it.  Some kind of particle discharge perhaps."

     "I shall investigate that possibility."

     They step toward the door.  The transporter activates behind

them.  Dennis Madelone returns to the console, perplexed.  Tuvok

joins him.

     Tuvok: "This transporter system would appear to have been

programmed to activate automatically on instructions from the

ground."

     Chatokay: "Looks like Seska is about to get a chance to

explain herself."

     Jonas: "And not a moment too soon.  This teaser has gone on

way too long."

     They wait while the shimmering annular confinement beam

resolves into humanoid form.  Not Seska but Door Repair Guy

materializes.

     Chatokay (doubly annoyed): "You!  Just where have you been?"

     DRG (as Dennis Madalone mounts the platform and lays hands

on him): "The pub?"

     Chatokay: "You've been to the surface?  Is there no one else

on this ship concerned about preserving the timeline?"

     DRG: "I only had a couple!  Nobody went without!"

     Chatokay: "Huh!  Follow me.  I want to keep an eye on you."

     They exit the transporter room.  Cut to an English pub.  A

middle-aged Englishman in a cloth cap lifts a pint and winks at

the barmaid.  The camera circles past him to the corner where

patrons hoisting glasses of nut brown ale are gathered around the

old piano, joined in song:

 

     "It's a boy, Mrs Walker, it's a boy!

      It's a boy, Mrs Walker, it's a boy!

      A son-n-n-n!  A son-n-n-n!  A son-n-n-n-n-n-n!"

 

     They cheer, slap one another on the back, pause to sup their

ales, and then cock their ears at the sound of a distant train

whistle.  Stock footage of the train crossing the English

countryside.  Cut to a woman in a cloche hat seated in a railway

carriage, her head turned toward the window.  We hear the

continuous patter of steel wheels on tracks as the autumnal

English countryside flows by.  The door from the corridor opens

and a valise-laden airman looks in.

     "I wonder.  Is that seat taken?"

     Seska turns from the window and smiles.

     A dire look crosses the airman's face as he notices the

bridge of her nose, but in true British fashion he overcomes his

distress and smiles back.

     "What a damnable war," he offers.

     "I have no doubt it shall come to some sort of conclusion,

sooner or later."

     "I'm afraid that's all we can say in these dark days.  But

surely England will prevail.  Don't you think so?"

     "Oh, to be sure."

     "I'm so glad you feel that way."

     Her eyes sparkle.

     "Why don't you lower the blind?"

     Stock footage clip of train entering tunnel.

 

     "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."

 

     A pair of Maquis raiders shoot by hotly pursued by a

Miranda-class Federation starship.

 

                    Star Trek: Door Repair Guy

 

                              Starring 

 

                         Door Repair Guy as

                              Himself

 

     The two Maquis shoot past in the other direction now with a

Cardassian Galor-class warship on their tail.

 

                         Also Starring

 

                         Martha Hackett as

                              Seska

 

                         Robert Beltran as

                              Chakotay

 

                         Tim Russ as 

                              Tuvok

 

                         Roxann Biggs-Dawson as

                              Torres

 

                         Jerry Seinfeld as

                              Jonas

 

     The Federation and Cardassian ships nearly pile up chasing

Maquis ships into the middle of the screen.  The Maquis loop

around and shoot off, one of them coming right past the camera

and leaving behind a glimmering ion trail which fades to:

 

[Commercial: Borg Collective for Rice Crispie Squares]

 

     "These --"

     Close-up of a mauve and amber Okudagram of thousands of

gyrating particles.

     "-- are frissons."

     The camera draws back to reveal Tuvok standing beside a

wall-mounted computer display with a pointer in one hand. 

Chatokay, Torres, Jonas, DRG and Dennis Madalone are seated

around a conference table.  Dennis Madalone still has DRG by a

fistful of orange overall.

     Torres: "I've heard of frissons.  They're a byproduct of the

phased energy rectification process.  The earliest phasers used

to emit small quantities of them until it was noticed that they

could interfere with certain tricorder functions.  Improvements

in phaser casing design eliminated the problem."

     Tuvok: "You are correct, Ms Torres.  As a onetime instructor

at Starfleet Academy may I say that such a ready response would

have earned you valuable in-class marks.  More's the pity you

impulsively decided to 'drop out.'"

     Torres: "I didn't know the Maquis were recruiting social

workers!"

     Tuvok: "On the contrary.  I was merely expressing --"

     Chatokay: "Let's concentrate on these frissons.  You say

they interfere with tricorder function.  Could they have a

similar effect on the ship's sensors?"

     Tuvok: "Affirmative.  By the simple expedient of removing

the phaser casing a steady source of frissons would be

established.  This in itself would not be enough to inhibit the

ship's sensors.  However, if a nearby tricorder were set to emit

a particular subspace signal the frissons could be rendered

sufficiently excited to confuse our readings."

     Chatokay: "Then shouldn't we just scan for frissons?"

     Tuvok: "Therein lies the difficulty."

     DRG: "Oh!  Oh!  I know this one!  It wouldn't work because

frissons are so short-lived.  They degenerate rapidly, producing

quantities of low-grade morons."

     Jonas: "From an expert."

     Torres (to DRG): "You're the spy, aren't you.  He has to be

the spy."

     Tuvok: "Unhappily, he is correct.  The end-product of

frisson breakdown is termed a moron."

     DRG: "Ha."

     Torres: "I still say he's the spy." 

     Chatokay: "I feel we're drifting off topic here.  Seska,

like Jonas and me, was equipped with a tricorder, and I saw her

with a phaser just before she vanished.  She may have known this

frisson trick from her experience in the Bajoran resistance."

     Jonas: "But why?  Why would she abandon us?  And how did she

slip away like that?  It's like she vanished into thin air!"

     Torres: "Why are you so jumpy lately?"

     Jonas: "It's these wake-up pills!  I can't get to sleep

anymore!  I'm hooked on them!"

     Torres: "Then stop taking them!  We really have to get some

doctors in the Maquis!  This self-prescribing is getting out of

hand!"

     Chatokay: "Strange, I don't see medical policy on the agenda

of this meeting.  I for one would be very happy to hear about the

transporter and your part in transporting Seska from the bomb

site."

     DRG: "My part?  I didn't have nothing to do with it!"

     Chatokay: "Does that double negative constitute a

confession?"

     DRG: "Not on my planet!"

     Dennis Madalone: "He had nothing to do with it."

     General surprise.

     Dennis Madalone: "Allow me to demonstrate."

     He rises, borrows the pointer from the Vulcan, and goes to

the computer display.

     "Computer.  Security log, Transporter Room One, time index

747.3."

     We see a security-camera-angle view of the empty transporter

room.  A light flashes on the console.  The annular confinement

beam appears and resolves into a brick-dust-covered Seska.  She

brushes herself off, points a portable control at the console,

and is transported out.  There is a moment of inactivity and then

Door Repair Guy enters.  He steps up to the platform, activates

the console with a device similar to Seska's, and is transported

out.

     Jonas: "There it is!  Proof!  He's got the same device as

Seska!  They're in cahoots!"

     Dennis Madalone throws one on the table.

     "I have one too.  Half the ship have them."

     Chatokay: "What is the source of these remote controls?"

     "They're $14.99 at Radio Shack."

     Tuvok directs a tricorder at DRG.

     "I am receiving high readings of Newcastle Brown Ale."

     DRG: "Can I be excused?  I really have to leave the room."

     Chatokay (drumming the table): "Meeting adjourned." 

 

[Commercial: Roberto Alomar for Handy Wipes]

 

     A corridor in the Stargazer.  Jonas and Torres walk toward

the camera.

     Jonas: "Did you get a load of the way Dennis Madalone took

over that meeting?  

     Torres: "Yeah.  That was odd.  He's usually so quiet."

     Jonas: "Kind of a non-talker if you ask me."

     Torres: "I wonder what got into him."

     Jonas: "Well, if it's any indication of things to come I'm

booking on to another ship.  I don't want to be part of any crew

where the stuntmen call the shots."

     Torres: "Why do they call them stuntmen anyway?"

     Jonas: "Did you ever see a tall one?"

     Dennis Madalone steps out of a side passage.

     Torres: "Oh!"

     Jonas: "Hello, Madalone."

     Dennis Madalone: "Hello, Jonas.  I was just about to walk

down this corridor on my hands.  Care to make a competition of

it?"

     Jonas: "Oh, you stuntmen think you're so athletic.  I accept

your challenge.  But why don't we make it more interesting?  The

first one down to the end and back again wins B'Elanna's hand in

marriage."

     Torres: "What?"

     Dennis Madalone: "Very well.  On your mark."

     He bends and stands up on his hands.  Jonas does likewise.

     "Get set.  Go!"

     Dennis Madalone charges off down the corridor.  Jonas starts

off after him, but quickly crashes sideways into the wall, does a

roll and ends up in a heap on the floor.

     Torres, fists on her hips, glares down at him and then turns

and strides away.  Dennis Madalone comes back into the shot,

walking on his hands and grinning triumphantly.

     Jonas: "B'Elanna!  B'Elanna-a-a-a-h!"

 

[Commercial: Roberto Alomar for Kiwi Shoe Polish:

     "It's better than spit."]

 

     Soundtrack: "Tequila Sunrise."

     B'Elanna Torres walks along a corridor, brushing past other

Maquis who turn and watch her knowingly.  A door slides open and

Dennis Madalone steps out and gives her a torrid look.  She sets

her jaw and pushes him back through the door, then hurries on,

exclaiming -- we read her lips -- "As *if*!"  She comes into

Engineering.  Jonas swivels in his chair and holds out his arms

in a melting lovelorn gesture.  She walks away pointing her

finger down her throat.

     The train.  Seska slips from her compartment, adjusting her

tweed suit, looking this way and that.  Over her shoulder we

glimpse a half-dressed and apparently unconscious member of the

RAF.  We follow her down the corridor, where she stops and

exchanges a few words with the guard, who consults his watch and

makes reference to his timetable.  She smiles.  He touches his

hat, and frowns momentarily once her back is turned.

     Captain's ready room, USS Stargazer.  Chatokay leans back

behind the desk, and gazes out the window at the Earth beneath. 

The sun is just sinking behind the planet.  There's no dialogue,

just one of those 180 degree tracking close-up shots designed to

establish a character's mood.  He looks glum.  Is he thinking

that he'll probably never sit in a captain's chair for real?  Or

perhaps about the temporal crisis developing on the surface?  Or

is he brooding about Seska?  It could be he's just bummed out by

the Eagles.  Face it, those guys Henley and Frey are bleak. 

We've just gotten to the lines

 

          Every night when the sun goes down

          Just another lonely boy in town

          And she's out running round

 

when Chatokay blinks, frowns, swivels in his seat and says,

"Computer.  Who programmed this playlist?"

     Majel Barrett Roddenberry: *Last entry was made by Door

Repair Guy, 17 minutes, 3 seconds ago.*

     "That guy needs something productive to do.  Chatokay to

Tuvok.  Please join me in the ready room.  And bring your

personnel files."

     *Acknowledged.*

     Wipe.

     Tuvok and Chatokay are seated opposite each other.  Chatokay

examines a computer pad.

     Tuvok: "Regrettably, these entries are of a rudimentary

nature.  A more extensive database would be difficult to

conceal."

     "This information is certainly sufficient to our needs. 

Where in your tricorder do you hide it, if I may ask?"

     "I have it piggybacked on the auxiliary hinge lubrication

control."

     "Appropriate.  So, am I to understand that this man

possesses the ability to transport site-to-site at will?"

     "Affirmative.  There are limitations, however.  He would

appear to be restricted to a 50-kilometre transport horizon when

not assisted by some manner of ancillary power enhancement.  And

his effectiveness in targeting destinations is limited by his

ability to bring them to mind."

     "A serious disability, potentially."

     "And might I add: dangerous.  Several times in recent weeks

I have had occasion to observe Mr Door Repair Guy staring

vacantly into the distance.  When I asked him the topic of his

reverie he invariably answered, 'Nothing.'  Should such a paucity

of mental activity overcome him in the midst of a site-to-site

tranport the consequences could be dire."

     "You mean he could disappear without a trace?"

     "Indeed."

     "Well, I'm willing to risk it.  Let's get him in here."

     Wipe.

     Now Chatokay, Tuvok and DRG are seated around the desk.

     Chatokay: "Our mission on the surface has taken a serious

turn.  Not only must we intercept the time travellers at their

next appearance, but someone has to go and find Seska.  I'm

assigning that task to you."

     DRG: "Cool.  Where is she?"

     Chatokay: "We don't know!"

     DRG: "How do I find her?"

     Tuvok: "That we do not know either."

     Chatokay: "Use you head, and your personal transporter, and

see what you can come up with.  And stay out of the pubs."

     DRG: "Unless she's in one or more."

     "Just stay out of the pubs."

     "Suit yourself."

 

[Commercial: Roberto Alomar for Armorall:

     "It's better than spit!"] 

 

     Transporter Room One.  Chatokay enters in his USAAF uniform

and stops short at the sight of DRG in a tweed suit and academic

gown.

     "What are you supposed to be?"

     "I'm an Oxford don."

     "Specializing in what?"

     "Cosmology.  Temporal-spatial anomalies.  Black holes.

Interdimensionality.  Stuff like that."

     "I absolutely forbid you to discuss black holes with anyone. 

They're just about to be theorized."

     "Brown holes?"

     "No."

     "Beige holes."

     "Well.  I doubt you'll find anyone capable of grasping beige

holes."

     "All right!"

     The doors swoosh open and B'Elanna Torres enters very self-

conscious and uncomfortable in the uniform of the Women's Royal

Navy.

     Chatokay: "What happened to Jonas?"

     Torres: "I had to hurt him.  We really need a doctor on this

ship."

     Chatokay: "More and more I come to realize that command is a

process of bowing to circumstances beyond one's control.  Just

keep your cap pulled down."

     DRG: "So when do we go?"

     Tuvok (from transporter console): "The next temporal event

will occur in approximately three hours, seven minutes." 

     Chatokay: "I want you to go on ahead.  You have a tricorder

and a phaser.  See if you can duplicate Seska's sensor trick.  If

you can, figure out how to track her using it.  Use your personal

transporter to triangulate to her location.  You'll need a map,

or preferably an atlas with pictures.  You may as well begin your

search in Oxford as anywhere else.  At least there you're

guaranteed to find a bookstore to buy them.  We've replicated

some currency of the period.  Here."

     DRG stuffs pound notes into pockets, then holds up a British

penny. 

     "You could really whip one of these babies.  Who needs a

phaser?"

     Tuvok: "Kindly refrain from introducing soccer violence

before its time."

     DRG (examining coin further): "I say.  King Edward VII!"  

     He strokes an imaginary beard and waggles an eyebrow at

Torres.

     "Have some Madeira, m'dear?"

     Torres (pushing him up the steps to the transporter pad, on

which he lands on his arse): "Energize!"

 

[Commercial: Roberto Alomar for Oil of Olay:

     "It's better than spit!"]

 

     DRG materializes on a hilltop overlooking the Thames Valley

and the spires of Oxford.

     "Door Repair Guy the Obscure."

     He touches his forearm and disappears again in a swirl of

sauerbraten-coloured transporter effect.

     Elsewhere a train pulls into a station.  Amid clouds of

steam Seska descends to the platform.  She is carrying one of the

airman's valises.  She approaches a guard.

     "Pardon me, is this Grantham, Lincolnshire?"

     He nods.

     "Thank you."

     She walks away.

     A man from the Survey of English Dialects approaches the

guard.

     "Excuse me, did many cars made it up the long hill?"

     Guard: "Veree foo cahs made it oop the long ill."

     "Thenk kew."

 

     Oxford.  DRG strides along the pavement, craning his neck

for a bookseller's sign.  Picture of DRG after 52 episodes: tweed

suit, black academic gowns, work boots, orange baseball cap worn

backward, South Seas tattoos.  He slows and stops beside a US

soldier leaned up against a building reading a copy of Stars and

Stripes.  The soldier, who is also wearing academic gowns, turns

and gives him a dirty look.

     "Imitator!"

     "Ha!  I'm post-modern.  I can imitate anyone I want."

     "Git outta here before I flatten ya!"

     "PetaQ."

     DRG spots a bookseller's and goes in.  The shoppe is dark,

crammed with books to the ceiling, and a little musty.  The

shopkeeper glances at him over reading glasses and thereafter

ignores him.  DRG pokes around a while, and discovers a box of

Ordnance Survey maps and a another of nineteenth century

postcards.  Bertrand Russell, Joseph Bronowski, Stevie Smith,

W.H. Auden, Vera Brittain, Graham Greene, Frances Yates, Evelyn

Waugh, John Betjeman and Georges Orwell, Barker, and Formby are

all in the shoppe as well, but say nothing germain to our story. 

DRG purchases the maps and postcards and steps out to the street

just as two Military Police haul away his literary ancestor.  DRG

takes out his tricorder, scans for alien lifesigns, immediately

picks up a faint reading to the north-north-east, consults his

maps, shuffles through the postcards until he finds a picture of

Banbury, activates his personal transporter, and disappears.  

 

[Commercial: Roberto Alomar for the State of Maryland Tourist

     Authority:

     "Maryland: It's just spitting distance away!"TM] 

 

     A grocer's shoppe in Grantham, Lincolnshire.  Two women are

working behind the counter, a teenager and a middle-aged woman. 

The older woman hands a parcel to a customer who pays and

departs.  The two begin to wipe down the display case.

     "Mummy?  Why hasn't Mr Churchill made the South Americans

join the war effort?"

     "He's a very busy man, dear."

     "I think South American neutrality is very very wicked!"

     "So it is, Margaret."

     "They must cease rendering aid and comfort to the Nazi U-

Boats!"

     "That's a very good point."

     "Their men should be fighting in North Africa!"

     "So they should."

     "Their bananas are supplying valuable potassium to the Axis

diet!"

     The older woman straightens and glances toward the meagre

fruit display with a hard eye.  Somewhere in Germany there is a

grocer selling bananas.

     "Margaret.  Do be so good as to bring up some more of those

crab apples."

     "Yes, Mummy!"

     The bell over the entrance rings and the older woman smooths

her apron.  Seska enters, hauling the airman's valise.

     Seska: "Is this Robert's Grocery?"

     "Yes, this is Robert's Grocery.  How may I help you?"

     "And would you be Mrs Roberts, then?"

     "Yes.  What are you selling?"

     "I've come about your daughter Margaret.  I'm from

Somerville College."

     "Oxford!  Please forgive me!  Margaret?  Margaret!  You will

excuse me a moment?  Margaret!"

     In Mrs Roberts' absence, Seska opens the valise and calmly

examines the airman's revolver.  She slides it into a pocket and

closes the valise.

     Mrs Roberts reappears, pushing an unaproned Margaret along

ahead of her.

     "Shall we sit down in the front room?  I'll close the

shoppe."

     Seska: "Please.  I have no wish to disturb your business.  I

should like a moment alone with your daughter, however, for an

interview.  May we?"

     "Oh, yes, by all means.  I'll prepare the tea!  Margaret,

remember what I said."

     "Yes, Mother.  Shall we?"

     She hurries on ahead.  Seska smiles at Mrs Roberts and

follows.  Mrs Roberts puts her hand to her cheek, having noticed

the bridge of Seska's nose for the first time, then snaps out of

it and hurries to the pantry.

 

     A stony hillside.  DRG appears in a More Than Just You

personal transporter effect and looks around.  A shepherd in

gumboots and cap is whistling to a Border Collie in the valley

below.

     DRG: "Is this Lincolnshire!?"

     Shepherd: "Art tha lakin'?  Tha'rt in York."

     DRG: "Sorry!"

     He waits til the shepherd turns his back, then disappears.

A man from the Survey of English Dialects climbs over a stone

wall and addresses the shepherd.

     "My good man, how many cars made it up the long hill?"

     "Veri few cahs mehd it oop the long ill!"

     "Thenk kew!"

 

     Grantham.  Shot of Seska and Margaret seated on either side

of a tea table.  Now the camera is trained on young Margaret.  It

slowly zooms in on her through the rest of the interview, all of

Seska's lines coming from off camera.

     Margaret: "Excuse me, please, but however did you come by

that horrendous injury?!"

     Seska: "I received it in the Argentine in 1926.  A gaucho

lost control of his bolo and this was the result."

     Margaret: "Horrible gaucho!  I have very strong feelings

about their wicked neutrality.  It is only through sacrifice and

leadership that this war will be won.  Leadership!  Perseverance!

And enterprise!  It is no wonder the Falkland Islands are

English, not Argentine!  Horrid gaucho!  Did he break your

heart?"

     Seska: "Margaret, you confirm the reports I've read of you. 

May I ask.  How would you like to be Prime Minister of England?"

     Close-up of Margaret seated politely, hands folded in her

lap, squirming with anticipation. 

 

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

Written by Douglas A. McLeod, [email protected]

------------   

 

Notes on Cherchez la Femme:

Cherchez la Femme.

The Survey of English Dialects. I took the liberty of moving it forward a decade. The sentence "Very few cars made it up the long hill" is chock full of dialect markers.

Have Some Madeira, M'Dear.

Artie Greengroin, Pfc., a character invented by Harry Brown, appeared not in Stars and Stripes, but Yank, The Army Weekly during World War Two. Though he is the lowest ranking member of the US Army, Artie is mistaken for an Oxford don in one installment. A Canadian literary ancestor of DRG is Earle Birney's Private Turvey.

Oh, that Margaret Roberts.

 

The Annotated Door Repair Guy, episode 52

 

Stargazer

     Exterior view of USS Stargazer shooting by at warp speed.  A

moment after the ship disappears out the righthand side of the

screen a Soyuz-class starship looms up and shoots past.  

     Bridge of the Bozeman.  Captain Bateson sits lockjawed in

his command chair, glaring forward, left hand gripping belt

buckle, right fist on armrest.  The bridge crew are bent at their

stations, focused on their work.  Over in one corner Captain

Picard and Commander Riker confer quietly.  Riker comes forward

and suggests:

     "Can't you make this thing go any faster?"

     Bateson reddens and grinds his fist into the armrest.

     Riker: "Just asking."

     He returns and raises his eyebrows toward Picard.

     Picard: "You know, Captain, the Stargazer has a variety of

design weaknesses we might endeavour to exploit.  She's quite

old.  I dare say she's the oldest serving vessel in Starfleet, if

you exclude . . . um . . ."

     Bateson: "Helm!  Give me another half warp factor!"

     "But Captain, she'll come apart!"

     "When it comes time to take her apart, I'll let you know!"

     "Aye, aye, sir."

     Riker and Picard exchange glances.

     Cut to the bridge of the Stargazer.

     Chatokay: "Engineering!  Can't you give me more speed than

this?"

     Engineering.  Torres leans over a console, entering

commands, swearing, and entering more.  She punches the console,

charges across the room and attacks another display, shouting as

she goes:

     "I don't know whose bright idea it was to strap four warp

engines to this jalopy, but I can see why there aren't any other

vessels in this class.  There's another engine off-line every

half-minute!"

     *We're going to need all four if we're going to get out of

this.*

     "I'm working on it!"

     Jonas: "Engine Three is off-line!"

     "Grr!  Let me see that!  Reinitialize your matter reactant

injector."

     "Reinitializing.  That's it!  On-line!"

     Seska: "Engine Two is off-line!"

     "Dammit!  Your field flow is pinwheeling!  Throttle back ten

percent!"

     "I've got it.  Okay.  Back on-line."

     Suder: "There goes Number Four!"

     "Argh!!  It's your off-axis field controller!"

     Seska: "Look.  Why don't we get one of the prisoners to

help?  If he won't co-operate, we'll shoot him."

     View of three gagged and hogtied Starfleet Engineers glaring

up from the floor.

     Suder: "We should just shoot them anyway."

     Torres: "Look, just concentrate on your engine and try to

think like a team."

     DRG: "Number One!  Number One!"

     Torres: "Number One's off-line now?!"

     DRG: "No.  I was just saying we're Number One."

     Torres: "Gah!"

     Exterior view of the two vessels shooting past.

 

     "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."

 

     A pair of Maquis raiders shoot by hotly pursued by a

Miranda-class Federation starship.

 

                    Star Trek: Door Repair Guy

 

                              Starring 

 

                         Door Repair Guy as

                              Himself

 

     The two Maquis shoot past in the other direction now with a

Cardassian Galor-class warship on their tail.

 

                         Also Starring

 

                         Martha Hackett as

                              Seska

 

                         Robert Beltran as

                              Chakotay

 

                         Tim Russ as 

                              Tuvok

 

                         Roxann Biggs-Dawson as

                              Torres

 

     The Federation and Cardassian ships nearly pile up chasing

Maquis ships into the middle of the screen.  The Maquis loop

around and shoot off, one of them coming right past the camera

and leaving behind a glimmering ion trail which fades to: 

 

[Commercial: Unitel:

     Three guys at a table.

     "So, did you call Hong Kong?"

     "I . . . could call Hong Honk."

     "Did you talk to her?  Did you call Laura, there, Cheesy? 

You did, didn't you!  You called Laura in Hong Kong!"

     "Laugh.  Laugh as I know you will at the downhearted."

     "He he!  You called Laura in Hong Kong."

     "Nice talkin' to ya."]

 

     Stargazer shoots past, followed by the Bozeman.  Cut to

bridge of the Stargazer.  We see Tuvok examining a tactical

display.

     Tuvok: "As anticipated, Starfleet is diverting more vessels

to the pursuit.  They are converging from all directions.  We are

within a rapidly decreasing sphere of negotiable space."

     Chatokay: "How long until the noose closes?"

     "Two hours, seven minutes at these velocities.  I do not

wish to say I told you so, but I told you so." 

     "Not so fast.  There must be places we can hide out."

     "These sectors are quite thoroughly charted."

     "How about Sector 001?"

     "Do you propose to hide the Stargazer beneath the Golden

Gate Bridge?"

     "No, but close.  Are you capable of performing the

calculations for time-warp?"

     "I am a security expert, not a mathematician."

     "But you are a Vulcan."

     "That is correct."

     "Begin your calculations.  We'll head for Sector 001 and use

the Earth's sun for a catapult."  

     "It is a highly risky proposal.  I cannot guarantee pinpoint

accuracy."

     "I don't care what time we go to.  All I want is a shortcut

through a period when we're not being chased.  We'll double back

to the Badlands where we'll use another star to catapult us to

our own time.  No one will see us and the timeline won't be

affected."

     "Still, the success of such a maneuvre is contingent upon

the predictable operation of all four warp engines." 

     "I have every confidence in B'Elanna Torres."

     "That would be the woman who withdraw from Starfleet Academy

just prior to her intermediate level propulsion mid-term

examination?"

     "Hm.  She told me she passed that."

 

[ MEMO:

 

     From: Executive Producer

     To: Other Other Executive Producer

     Re: Time-Warp

 

Gul Taylor:

 

     I thought we just did time travel two episodes ago.  Isn't

this a bit soon?  What happened to that Utopian society Braga was

working on?]

 

[ MEMO:

 

     From: Other Other Executive Producer

     To: Executive Producer

     Re: Re: Time-Warp

 

Gul Berman:

 

     The Utopian society is in rewrite.  The first draft was very

very weird.  You think you know a co-worker until you see what

kind of ideal world he'd like to live in.  Brr.  I won't go into

details.  Suffice it to say Utopia is off till next season.]

 

[ MEMO:

 

     From: Executive Producer

     To: Other Other Executive Producer

     Re: Re: Re: Time-Warp

 

Gul Taylor:

 

     If there is a next season.]

 

     Bozeman.

     "Captain.  The Stargazer is changing course.  She's taking a

new heading for Sector 001."

     Bateson: "Change heading."

     Riker: "It's a suicide run."

     Picard: "Or so they might want us to believe, Number One. 

This entire escapade smacks of a diversionary tactic to me. 

Perhaps it would be prudent to place the Cardassian border on

alert."

     "You're confident this is a Maquis venture?  What about the

Romulans?"

     "It doesn't smell like Klingon activity to me.  But perhaps

you're right.  A general alert may be in order."

     "I see what you mean."

     Bateson: "Communications.  Please notify Starfleet that a

highjacked vessel under control of the Andromeda Galaxy is

heading in their direction."

     "Very good, sir."

     "No, don't do that, you numbskull!  Can't you recognize

sarcasm when you hear it?"

     "Sorry, sir."

     Riker and Picard exchange looks again.

     Picard: "Perhaps we'd better get off the bridge and allow

Captain Bateson's fine crew to do its work."

     Riker: "Agreed.  Why don't we pay a visit to their forward

lounge?  I'm sure it's a storehouse of 23nd century memorabilia."

     Picard: "Excellent idea, Number One."

     Bateson (pressing a button on his armrest): "Send up a

yeoman to show our guests to our . . . cafeteria."

     Riker: "Or cafeteria."

     Picard: "Or the cafeteria would be fine."

     They bump and collide in embarrassment toward the turbolift.

 

[Commercial:

     Worf, O'Brien and Bashir.

     "So, did you call Risa?"

     "I . . . could call Risa."

     "But did you talk to her?  Did you call Troi, there, Worfy? 

You did, didn't you!  You called Troi on Risa!"

     "Laugh.  Laugh as I know you will at the downhearted."

     "He he!  You called Troi on Risa."

     Worf turns around and sulks like Achilles in his tent.]

 

     View of the Stargazer veering and barrel-rolling past the

camera.  In the distance we can make out two vessels moving on an

oblique course, as if herding the renegade ship.

     Tuvok: "Still closing."

     Chatokay: "We need a diversion.  I'm bringing her in close

to that ringed giant."

     Tuvok: "Eleven vessels have entered the system.  We are

twenty-five seconds from being within weapons-lock range of five

or more of them."

     "Prepare a photon torpedo spread astern."

     "Photon torpedoes ready."

     "On my mark."

     Viewscreen shot of the approaching grey-blue gaseous giant. 

The planet's ring system stands out in full glory, filling more

and more of the screen, a glimmering oncoming curtain arched

through with concentric gaps.

     "Fire photon spread."  

     "Photons away."

     View of the Stargazer flying straight at the surface of the

rings.  A bevy of twinkling red photon torpedoes erupt from her

stern, head straight at us, and detonate like flashbulbs, whiting

out the screen.

     View of the Stargazer as she shoots through one of the ring

gaps, changes course and bursts to warp, just as the photon blast

ripples through the plane of the rings.

     Tuvok: "Your use of the planetary ring system and photon

detonations has created the desired camoflage effect.  The

pursuing armada are either proceeding along our last known

heading or coming to a full stop.  Only one vessel stands between

us and a clear run toward Earth.  The Bozeman.  She is firing."

     Cut to the bridge of the Bozeman.

     Communications Officer: "Alerting the fleet commander of the

Stargazer's new heading, Captain."

     Bateson: "Belay that, Lieutenant!"

     "Captain!"

     "It's not every day Fate lays such a glorious opportunity in

your lap!  Eyes on the prize, Lieutenant!  Think of the

commendation!  Think of the ticker-tape parade!  We'll bring this

baby in alone!  Ha ha!  Fire all phasers!"

     Cut to the Bozeman's cafeteria.

     Riker: "We're firing."

     Picard: "Here's a viewscreen."

     He switches it on and peers at the grey image without

comprehension.

     Riker: "Perhaps more contrast."

     Picard adjusts a knob.  The grey resolves into the whitish

shape of the Stargazer against the black of space.

     "Ah!  The Stargazer!  Her shields are holding.  I hope it's

not necessary to damage her too severely."

     "If those people have any sense they'll surrender now."

     Picard examines the Stargazer's image.

     "I wonder . . ."

     "Captain?"

     "How extensively do you suppose this crew has been retrained

since the Bozeman's appearance from the temporaral loop?"

     "I don't follow."

     "What I mean is, are they aware of the advances in tactical

manoeuvre of the present century?"

     As if to answer, a second Stargazer suddenly appears on

screen at point-blank range, laying down a pattern of phaser

fire.  View of the bridge rocking furiously, sparks showering

down.

     Bateson: "There's two of them!  It's a trap!"

     Cut to the cafeteria where two stuntmen representing Picard

and Riker are thrown to the floor as the Coke machine explodes. 

Tables and chairs careen past the camera.  Exterior view as the

port nacelle explodes in a clip lifted from Star Trek II: The

Wrath of Khan.

     Chatokay: "I can't believe they fell for that.  Set course

for Earth.  Maximum warp."

     Shot of Picard and Riker crawling out from beneath an

avalanche of metal cafeteria trays.

     Riker: "I can't believe he fell for that."

     Picard (coming to the viewscreen): "They got away."  There's

just a little note of pride in his voice.

     View of the disabled Bozeman.  Cut to the bridge.  Fire

control teams work from console to burning console.  Static fills

every computer screen.  Sparks tumble from broken power mains. 

In the centre of the shot the Bozeman's first officer is

demonstrating the Picard Manoeuvre with his hands while Captain

Bateson watches and strokes his beard sullenly.  Exterior view of

several starships moving in to assist. 

 

[Commercial:

     Quark and Rom.

     "With this new calling plan I can call anywhere I like and

save twenty-five percent.  It's like latimum in my pocket."

     "So, did you call Ferenginar?"

     "I . . . could call Ferenginar."

     "But did you call her?"

     "Call her?  I don't know what you mean."

     "Oooh, you know, Brother!  Did you talk to Moogie?  I know

you did.  I can tell.  You did, didn't you?  You called Moogie to

wish her a happy Mother's Day!"

     "If you must know I was advising Cousin Gaila on a big arms

deal."

     "I don't believe you!  I can always tell when you're telling

a lie!  You called Moogie!"

     Odo paces by, supervising.

     "All right.  I admit it.  I called Mother.  Are you happy?"

     "You called Moogie!"

     "Nice talking to you."  Quark leaves.

     Shot of Rom's triumphant snaggly grin.]

 

     *Chakotay to crew.  Prepare for time-warp.*

     Torres: "Time-warp?  In this wagon?  Torres to Chakotay!"

     *What is it, Torres?*

     "I can't guarantee you warp speed through this manoeuvre."

     *It would be better if you did.  I don't want to wind up

packing into the sunny side of Mercury.  Chatokay out.*

     "Dammit!"

     "Engine Four's off-line again."

     "Dammit!"

     Torres crosses the floor and tears a strip of duct tape off

the Chief Engineer's mouth.

     Chief Engineer: "Ouch!"

     "You heard what's going on.  If we don't keep these four

engines in synch we're fried."

     "I can't help you in your evil plan.  However, if someone

were to help you he would probably suggest you install our new

Concerto 3.2 software for synchonized engines."

     Jonas picks up a diskette.  "Here it is."

     "Run it!"

     Shot of the Stargazer streaking past Jupiter.

     Tuvok: "Martian defense perimeter approaching."

     Chatokay: "Concentrate on those calculations.  I'll worry

about interceptors."

     "Engineering has still not supplied adequate warp power."

     The computer plays a bar of string quartet.

     Majel Barrett Roddenberry: *Warp engines are now

synchronized.*

     Eyes-only shot of Chatokay passing the order to Tuvok.

     Exterior view.  Two starships loom up into the shot, the

crescent Mars behind them, and beyond that the Sun.  Shot of

Stargazer snapping into warp, the burst occurring on the rim of

the Sun.  Momentary glimpse of the Stargazer's light-filled

viewscreen.  White-out.  Fade to black.

 

[Commercial:

     Worf and two other Klingons.

     "vaj, raySa DarI'pu''a'?"

     "'raySa vIrI'laH."

     "'ach Sujatlh'a'?  Troi DarI'pu''a', naDev, Worf? 

bIjatlhpu'!  raySaDaq Troi DaDajpu'!"

     "yIHagh.  'It vay.  ghotvetlhDaq yIHagh."

     "He he!  raySaDaq Troi DaDajpu'."

     "rIn jabbI'ID."] 

 

     Chatokay's eyes open with a start.  He looks around.  Tuvok

is already at his console and working.

     "Did we make it?  Where are we?"

     Chatokay follows Tuvok's gaze toward the viewscreen. 

     Orbital view of the Earth.

     Chatokay: "Have we been scanned?"

     Tuvok: "Negative.  The people of this era do not possess

that capability.  I have been monitoring communication channels. 

The only communications traffic in this sector is in the form of

air- and ground-based radio signals.  I have run these through

the historical library.  We are in the latter half of old Earth

calendar year 1942."

     "1942?  The middle of the Second World War, isn't it?  Are

we secure from ground-based missiles?"

     "They are currently in development but pose no threat." 

     "Good.  Well, we'd better be on our way."

     "There is one disturbing factor."

     "What?  Is it the engines again?"

     "They would appear to intact.  I am referring to certain

anomalous readings."

     "Anomalous readings?"

     "Sensors are picking up unexpected levels of chroniton

particle emmision at several locations on the surface."

     "Time travelers are here?  But surely this is one of the

most delicate turning points in Earth history.  One little change

and a whole new timeline could result."

     "I concur.  Unhappily, all of the chroniton emissions are

emanating from the centres of the conflict, the cities of England

and Germany in particular."

     "What's going on there?"

     "I have insufficient data on which to formulate a

hypothesis."

     "Are there any other ships in this sector?"

     "None that we can detect."

     "So Starfleet hasn't followed us through time."

     "Or, if they have, they have missed us."

     "Who could it be?"

     "I do not know.

     Chatokay: "It looks like there's only one way to find out."

     "Let me warn you that any expedition to the surface would

only increase the possibility of temporal disruption."

     "You had reason to be concerned when we raided Vulcan.  Now

it's my turn to worry.  What if somebody from the future is out

to kill Winston Churchill?  Or Werner von Braun?"

     "I can see you will not be dissuaded.  Therefore I must

assist you to the best of my ability.  I shall conduct a close

analysis of these sensor readings in an effort to identify the

optimal beam-down site."

     "Please proceed.  Meanwhile I'll get my team together."

     No sooner is Chakotay out the turbolift but Seska is at his

elbow.

     "I hear you're planning an away team."

     "News travels fast."

     She seizes his hand and presses her cheek against his

shoulder.

     "Don't you think now would be a good time to make good on

your promise?"

     "Promise?"

     "You were going to take me to see the Grand Canyon."

     "Can it wait?"

     "There's no time like the present."

     "This is the past."

     "Take me on the away team."

     "This is a pre-contact culture.  I need humans."

     "You need officers who can keep their heads.  Are you saying

you'd rather take Suder than me?"

     "Suder?  No.  He'd probably slip away and commit some random

murder just to see how much things have changed when we get back

to the 24th century."

     "Well then?"

     "I get your point.  Report to the wardroom in ten minutes."

     He marches off.  She lingers a moment, eyes glistening as

visions of sabotage dance through her head.  She takes a deep

exultant breath and dashes off in the other direction.

 

[Commercial:

     Riker, Data and Geordi.

     "I am curious, Commander. Did you use your new calling plan

to call Risa?"

     What-me? poker face.

     "I think what Data's getting at is, did you call Deanna?"

     Cat-that-ate-the-canary poker face.

     "I believe he did, Geordi."

     "It's hard to tell with that old poker face."

     "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen."

     "I am certain he called Troi."

     "Oh yeah, he called."]

 

     The Stargazer's wardroom.  Tuvok is standing before a wall-

mounted computer display screen and consulting a handheld

computer pad.  Chatokay enters, wearing the uniform of a captain

in the United States Army Air Force.

     Chatokay: "Looks like I can add impersonation of a superior

officer to my list of crimes."

     "I suspect that Starfleet would be indulgent in this case."

     "That depends on the success of our mission.  I wonder

what's keeping the others."

     Enter Jonas in a sailor suit.

     Self-consciously: "It's only me from over the sea, Barnacle

Bill the Sailor."

     Chatokay: "Don't worry, Jonas.  Britain is a seafaring

nation.  You'll melt right in."

     "Not if I open my mouth.  I'm from Long Island.  I couldn't

do a Cockney if my life depended on it."

     "I've thought of that.  Here.  Tie this around your hat." 

Chatokay hands him a blue ribbon bearing the motto HMCS

STITTSVILLE.  "Now you're Canadian.  You can talk any way you

like."

     "Beauty."

     "Where's Seska?"

     Is if to answer, the lights go down momentarily, then come

up again.

     "Chatokay to bridge.  What's going on there?"

     *Momentarily drop in power.  We're looking into it.*

     "Let me know when you find out."

     *Will do.*

     Seska enters, dressed in a tweed skirt and jacket, sensible

shoes and cloche hat.

     "Good afternoon, gentlemen.  I do hope I've not kept you

waiting long."  Her public school accent is impeccable.

     Tuvok: "Commander, is it advisable to include an off-worlder

in the away team?"

     "Ms Seska has my every confidence.  And, as you may have

noticed, she has a talent for impersonation.  As for her nose,

I'm relying on British reticence to prevent any problems.  Please

begin the briefing."

     Tuvok activates the computer display, bringing up a map of

northern Europe.  Coastlines and major cites are indicated in

amber, particle emissions in lavender (Michael Okuda's favorite

colours).

     "I have cross-referenced sensor logs with Stargazer's

historical database and discovered a correlation between maximum

chroniton concentration and airborne activity.  Is you may be

aware, much of the military action of the Second World War took

the form of the bombing of urban centres by formations of heavy 

airplanes.  Our time travelers would seem to be paying their

visits just prior to oncoming waves of bomber aircraft."

     "To obscure their tracks."

     "Perhaps."

     "Have you been able to determine the identity or the

jumping-off point of these time travelers?"

     "Negative.  The best that can be said is that they do not

have a vessel of 24th-century cloaking capability in the sector

at this moment."

     "They must be coming in from another time."

     "Agreed."

     "Then the best we can do is to be there when they show up."

     "There is one more factor.  Being time travelers, they

should know that we are looking for them."

     "Hence our disguises.  The ship may become a target, though. 

I want you to keep it at full alert during this away mission.  If

they attack it'll be with the element of surprise."  To the away

team: "Let's get in and out again as fast as we can."

     Tuvok: "Judging by the rate of chroniton decay there will be

a temporal intrusion in London in nine minutes and forty-five

seconds."

     "That's our cue.  Let's go."

     They hurry for the transporter room.

 

[Commercial:

     Very young Captain Kirk, Gary Mitchell, Spock.

     Spock: "According to diagnostic tests our new subspace

transceiver is exceeding operating specifications by five

percent."

     Kirk: "Very good.  Keep me apprised."

     Mitchell: "Keep you apprised?  What a load of BS.  You were

on the radio all last night."

     Kirk: "Just looking for kinks."

     Mitchell: "Right.  Did you call Alpha Centauri?"

     "I . . . could . . . call . . . Alpha Centauri."

     "Did you call her?  Did you talk to Carol, there, Jimmy? 

You did, didn't you!  You called Carol Marcus on Alpha Centauri!"

     "Laugh.  Laugh as I know you will at the downhearted."

     "Nice talking to you!"

     Mitchell leaves.

     Kirk: "If he wasn't my best friend . . ."

     Spock (sensing his moment): "I would never laugh at you,

Captain."]

 

     Transporter room.  Chatokay, Jonas and Seska dash in. 

Torres is at the transporter console.

     Tuvok (from the bridge): *Transferring co-ordinates of

impending temporal intrusion.*

     Torres: "Received."

     Seska: "Take good care of my transporters."

     Torres: "I'll do my best."

     Chatokay: "Energize."

     The away team dematerialize.

     Torres: "Transport complete."

     The transporter pad blows up.

     Torres: "Qu'vatlh!  Torres to bridge!  Transporters are

out!"

     *Is the away team on the surface?*

     She works at the console, works some more, tries again, then

punches it.

     "I can't tell!"

     Cut to bridge.  The helmsman turns to Tuvok.

     "Warp engines are off-line!"

     "Tuvok to engine room.  Report."

     Engine room.  DRG turns in his chair.  He's the only one

around.

     "Ah.  This is the engine room."

     *We are receiving reports of warp drive failure.*

     "Oh.  Hang on a minute."

     He jumps up, looks around, scratches the back of his head,

and approaches a console at random.

     "Computer.  Report status of warp engines."

     Majel Barrett Roddenberry: *Warp engines are off-line.*

     "Yeah?  All four?  How come."

     MBR: *Self-diagnostic analysis indicate failure of Concerto

3.2 programme for syncronized engines.*

     "Why's that?"

     *Software failure is due to infection by introduced computer

virus.*

     "Sabotage?"

     *What do you think?*

     "Hey!"

     Bridge.

     Tuvok: "Tuvok to away team."  Bleek.  "Tuvok to Chatokay. 

Please respond."  Bleek.  

     "Hm."

 

     London.  Three figures materialize in a laneway off a main

road.  Seska removes a tricorder from her gas mask bag and

surveys the vicinity.  Overhead can be heard the drone of

aircraft engines.  An air raid warden dashes past along the road

and comes to a sudden halt.

     Warden: "You lot!  Have you lost the use of your bloody

senses?  Jerry's coming right up the highstreet!"

     A double concussion shakes the ground, followed by another,

and another.  Antiaircraft fire punctuates the rising, falling

wail of sirens.

     Chatokay: "We're on our way."

     Seska points to a building a block away down the street. 

The sign above the door reads: Wm. Collins and Sons.

     Chatokay: "We'll go in there."

     Warden: "That's not a shelter!  This way!"

     Chatokay: "We'll be fine in there!"

     They start to run that way.

     Warden: "Bloody Yank!"  He dashes after them and tackles

Jonas by the ankle, bringing him to the pavement.

     Jonas: "OW!  Get offa me, you damned limey!"

     Warden: "Bloody Canadian!"

     Seska: "Shoot him."

     Chatokay grabs her hand as she brings a phaser out of her 

gas mask bag.

     Seska: "He's nobody!"

     Chatokay: "We don't know that!"

     A bomb lands one block to the east, shattering the glass in

every window around them.  They stagger to the pavement, covering

their heads.  A second bomb plummets through the roof of Wm.

Collins and Sons, detonates and blows the facade out into the

street.  A wave of smoke and dust billows outward, covering them.

     A fire engine careens around the corner and screeches to a

halt at the edge of the debris.  Chatokay pulls Jonas to his

feet.  He takes out a tricorder and scans the bomb site for

chronitons.  Close up of a bar graph edging downward toward zero.

     Chatokay: "Missed it!"

     Fire fighters dash past them trailing fire hoses.

     Jonas: "Where's Seska?"

     They turn around and around, then begin to search the

street, then to assist the fire fighters as they delve into the

debris, but by that time Seska is blocks away.

 

Next time on Star Trek: Door Repair Guy:

 

     "I've come about your daughter Margaret."

 

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

Written by Douglas A. McLeod, [email protected]

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

 

Notes on Stargazer:

Pictured at the top is the prop Stargazer from the TNG set. Read all about it here.

Star Trek: the Original Series, has had a huge influence on popular culture. Star Trek: the Next Generation a bit less, it would seem at first glance. But ask anyone what a holodeck is. The Dreamatorium in this season's Community is a holodeck in all but trademark. And the name Stargazer has worked its way into the space industry. Orbital Sciences is a Virginia company that air-launches satellites into low Earth orbit using a renovated Lockheed L-1011 named Stargazer to lift a Pegasus rocket above the cloudy weather that causes so many ground launch delays. Stargazer is Picard's pre-Enterprise ship, and Pegasus is Riker's. In its previous career Orbital's Stargazer was an Air Canada passenger jet. True fact!

Suder is actually a Betazoid.

 

The Annotated Door Repair Guy, episode 51

 

Jubilee

     Close-up of a Maquis rebel hauling back and planting a right

hook in the camera lense.  Cut to another Maquis staggering

bloody-nosed away from the punch.  The camera pulls back to take

in an all-out barroom brawl between rival Maquis crews.  It's a

greatest hits of Star Trek stunt moves!  We see a bat'telh-

wielding stuntman charge across the screen only to be laid low by

the old hands-locked-together double whammy.  A mere slip of an

ensign fends off two burly opponents with a co-ordinated furly of

kick-boxing moves.  A yelling stuntman charges at another who

crouches suddenly and stands, flipping him over his back. 

Another yelling stuntman barrels across the room into a crowd of

opponents only to be thrown backward onto a table, which

collapses.  A Maquis dodges a roundhouse punch by ducking under

it, then hooks a foot behind his opponent's ankle and lands him

on his butt.  A brawler staggers within reach of a Vulcan, is

pinched on the neck, and swoons.

     Commander Chakotay enters with his jaw thrust out and

nostrils flared.  He unholsters his phaser and fires at the

ceiling.  But phasers really aren't that noisy and no one pays

attention.  He adjusts his phaser setting, stands back, and stuns

half the room.  B'Elanna Torres runs in and stops short with her

mouth open.  Over in the corner the Kilometres Davis Collective

survey the heap of bodies, pick up their instruments, and at a

nod from the trumpet-player, attack in mid-note the jazz riff

thing they had been repeating for the six hours previous.

 

     "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."

 

     A pair of Maquis raiders shoot by hotly pursued by a

Miranda-class Federation starship.

 

                    Star Trek: Door Repair Guy

 

                              Starring 

 

                         Door Repair Guy as

                              Himself

 

     The two Maquis shoot past in the other direction now with a

Cardassian Galor-class warship on their tail.

 

                         Also Starring

 

                         Martha Hackett as

                              Seska

 

                         Robert Beltran as

                              Chakotay

 

                         Tim Russ as 

                              Tuvok

 

                         Roxann Biggs-Dawson as

                              Torres

 

     The Federation and Cardassian ships nearly pile up chasing

Maquis ships into the middle of the screen.  The Maquis loop

around and shoot off, one of them coming right past the camera

and leaving behind a glimmering ion trail which fades to:

 

[Commercial: Hikaru Sulu for Miracle Gro]

 

     Chatokay and Maori Maquis captain Queen Victoria are seated

at the bar of the trashed and deserted saloon. 

     Chatokay: "It's time we made a few roster changes."

     Queen Victoria: "I agree.  But you should bear in mind that

if that doesn't work the next step is to replace the coach."

     "It won't come to that if we do our job right.  At the

moment our two crews hate each other.  I don't know why.  They

used to get along."

     Seska enters and sits quietly.  We notice Queen Victoria

notice that Chatokay seems used to having her around.

     Queen Victoria: "It's the Indignants.  Since we divided that

crew between us there has been nothing but unrest."

     Chatokay: "A case of bad chemistry perhaps."

     Queen Victoria: "Chemistry has nothing to do with it.  There

was something going on on that ship, something like. . ."

     Seska: "Sabotage?"

     Chatokay turns, surprised.

     "You didn't say anything about that before."

     Seska: "Have you forgotten that the Indignant blew up five

seconds before Torres' warp core breach?  Didn't that strike you

as odd?"

     Chatokay (to Queen Victoria): "You suspected this?  Is that

why you let me take most of them?"

     Queen Victoria: "I watch my back."

     Chatokay: "Who's the saboteur?"

     Queen Victoria: "If I knew that would we be discussing it

today?"

     Chatokay (to Seska): "Do you know?"

     "If I knew wouldn't I have told you already, darling?"

     "Was it that Romulan, T'Rul?"

     Seska: "She only just arrived before she left.  Did she

really have enough time to sow that much dissention or ingratiate

herself into a position of trust and authority in the engineering

section?  I doubt it."

     "She was a Romulan spy."

     "She was a Romulan."

     "You're splitting hairs.  All Romulans are spies.  Besides,

we caught her in a lie."

     "We have all lied.  Have you never lied?"

     He takes a drink.

     "I've lied."  He stares off into the distance, then comes

back to the present.  "This is getting us nowhere.  We suspect

there is a saboteur, but we don't know who it is.  It's probably

someone from the Indignant.  The best thing we can do at this

moment is to shuffle people around and disturb his plans."

     Seska: "His?"

     "All right, all right.  Or her plans."

     She smiles: "Thank you."

     Queen Victoria: "I'd say the gender imbalance on you ship

has been rectified, Chakotay."

     They all laugh.  For different reasons.

 

     Shot of Torres leading Door Repair Guy through the narrow

corridors of a Maquis ship.

     Torres: "Here's your billet.  Stow your stuff in there."

     DRG: "It's not very big.  I've got room for me and my

toolbox and that's about it."

     "We're not running a cruise ship here.  If you want to play

table tennis go back to Starfleet.  If they'll take you."

     Murdoch the Scottish-Benzite engineer shoulders past with

his duffle bag.

     DRG: "Hey, aren't we going to work together?"

     Murdoch: "Ach, I canna.  I've been traded to the

Humuhumunukunukuapua'a."

     DRG: "Wow.  You're pretty good.  And so clean.  Who'd they

get in return?"

     Torres: "You."

     DRG: "But he's an engineer."

     "I thought you said you were an engineer."

     "I said I was an ingenue."

     "Rrr!!

 

[Commercial: Quark for the Gold Digger]

 

     Shot of a Maquis ship holding its station in space.

     Interior.  Chatokay crosses the flight deck, consults the

long range scanners, glances out the window and sits down

impatiently, deep in thought.

     Tuvok: "The scanners are set to report automatically any

incoming vessel.  There is no need for you to consult them every

seven minutes."

     "I'm concerned about this away mission."

     "Seska is by all appearances a resourceful and self-

motivated team leader.  If anyone can highjack a runabout I am

certain it is she."

     "I hope you're right.  We need more ships, and fewer

casualties."

     Beep beep beep.

     Chatokay: "Runabout on long-range scanner.  Stand by to run

for it when I give the signal."

     "Evasive course laid in and ready.  We have not been

hailed."

     "That's according to plan.  They should scan us and then

drop out of warp."

     "As they have done."

     "Good.  Take us to their co-ordinates."

     "Intercept course."

     Seska appears on-screen.

     Chatokay: "Any difficulties?"

     Seska: "Like taking jumja from a baby."

     "Excellent work.  Beam over and I'll receive your report."

     "On my way."

     Seska and two others appear in a transporter effect.

     Chatokay: "We'll leave a couple of your team on board for

the journ--"

     The viewscreen whitens and puts everyone in black and white

relief.

     Tuvok: "The runabout has detonated with four team members

aboard.  It is totally destroyed."

     Seska makes an angry sound and stomps off.  Chatokay squints

at the spinning wreckage and then goes off after her.

     Tuvok studies the screen with some concern.

 

[Commercial: Worf for the Garden Claw] 

 

     Torres comes down the narrow corridor and pounds on Door

Repair Guy's door.

     Through the door: "Mmph.  Hurmp.  Who is it?"

     "Torres.  You're needed in the wardroom."

     The door slides open to reveal a sleepy DRG.  He rubs his

eye and squints into the corridor light.

     "Big strategy session?"

     "Don't flatter yourself.  The door's stuck."

     "All right!  Real work!"

     "Come on."

     When they arrive it becomes apparent that there is in fact a

big strategy session in progress, but it's in recess because

someone has kicked the door off its track.  DRG shoulders it back

into place, then stands in the room with his back to the other

Maquis to make adjustments.

     Chatokay: "All right.  The door is fixed.  Thank you."

     DRG: "I have to make adjustments."

     "Is it important?"

     "Do you want it to stay put during an explosive

decompression?  Cause unless I calibrate it it might not."

     "All right, all right.  Perhaps we should just proceed."

     Tuvok: "Are there any objections?"

     Seska (eyeing DRG): "I see no reason why not."

     Torres: "Fine by me.  Even that guy isn't as annoying as an

explosive decompression."

     DRG: "Thanks."

     Chatokay: "Very well.  We need more ships.  Ships that don't

blow up so easily."

     Seska: "These are two separate issues.  Let me make a

suggestion.  Why don't you leave me in charge of the sabotage

problem.  I'll get together a team and we'll get to the bottom of

it.  I'm still in a bad mood about that runabout."

     Chatokay: "Very well.  Who do you want?"

     Seska: "I'll take Suder, and Dennis Madalone."

     Tuvok: "What do you propose to do when you identify the

perpetrator?"

     Seska: "I'll take the appropriate action."

     Chatokay: "You look unhappy, Tuvok."

     Tuvok: "By no means.  I would merely point out that a

precipitous expulsion of the guilty party from the nearest

airlock could destroy evidence that might be used to lead us to

co-conspirators."

     Chatokay: "Use your head."

     Seska: "Don't I always?"

     Chatokay: "Very well.  Next order of business: ships.  Any

suggestions?"

     DRG (over his shoulder while he pretends to calibrate):

"What about Vulcan?"

     Torres sits back in disgust.  Chatokay, however, has a look

of concentration between his brows.

     "All right . . . what about Vulcan?"

     DRG: "Aren't they having that big anniversary party in a

couple of weeks?"

     Chatokay glances at Tuvok.

     Tuvok: "The term 'party' would be a misnomer.  Undoubtedly

Mr Door Repair Guy refers to the upcoming jubilee observation of

the ten thousandth anniversary of the use of the metric system on

Vulcan.  The Vulcan Science Academy has spent several years

preparing for a gathering of scientists from across the

Federation on that occasion.  The opening ceremonies are to take

place twelve days hence.  It is anticipated that three hundred

and seven vessels will participate in a grand orbital display. 

The opportunity for a cutting-out raid cannot be denied.  I must

adjoin, however, that Vulcan is situated in the very heart of the

Federation and that there are routinely dozens of starships

within a day's journey of it, not to mention the many Starfleet

vessels that will be on the scene.  Under such unfavourable

circumstances the possibility of maintaining the element of

surprise would be small, and the chances of a successful getaway

negligible."

     Chatokay: "Back up a minute.  Ten thousandth anniversary? 

The metric system was devised in France in the eighteenth

century, wasn't it?"

     "Humans have no patent on the number ten.  The superiority

of the metric system over other systems of measure is obvious to

every civilized culture, hence its adoption throughout the

Federation."

     "But the system as we know it is based on Earth conditions. 

How could the Vulcans have anticipated it?"

     "Admittedly, there are differences.  The system of metric

weight measurement created on Vulcan ten millenia ago is to all

intents and purposes identical to the human system, as both are

based on the properties of the water molecule.  The Vulcan system

of temperature measurement, though based on a scale of one

hundred units, incorporates the freezing and evaporation points

of water as they occur at an average Vulcan surface atmospheric

pressure, which, as you know, differs considerable from the Earth

equivalent.  And the Vulcan metric system of distance measurement

differs from the Terran in that the Terran metre is based

arbitrarily on the length of the arc from Earth's equator to its

pole, whereas the Vulcan metre derives from an arc stretching

from one pole to the other.  It should be added that in the

interests of standardization Vulcan scientists converted to the

Earth-based system over two centuries ago.  In summary, though

the practice may have differed from world to world the theory is

the same."

     Chatokay does some mental calculations.

     "Vulcan has a greater radius than Earth's.  That would make

the tradition Vulcan centimetre over twice the length of the

standard Federation unit."

     "That is correct."

     "How long exactly?"

     "Almost exactly an inch."

     Torres: "This is all academic.  There is absolutely nothing

to be gained from operating so far from the Cardassian border."

     Chatokay: "I'm afraid I disagree.  As long as the fight

remains on the borderline Starfleet Command will believe it has

it contained.  A surprise raid on such a public event might jog

them out of their complacency."

     Torres: "And bring them down on us like a tonne of bricks. 

A metric tonne."

     Chatokay: "Or bring them around.  Don't underestimate the

influence of public opinion, or the morale-building effect a

successful raid would have.  What was the name of that American

captain in the War of Independence who confounded the British

Navy by raiding in the Irish Sea?"

     DRG: "James Earl Jones?"

     Tuvok: "I believe the correct name would be John Paul Jones. 

However, I must caution everyone here against the glamour of

comparing oneself to a dashing figure from the past.  The

resemblance between that captain's situation and yours, sir, is

at best metaphorical."

     "Still, it makes the blood circulate a little faster."

     "A quick sprint would have the same effect."

     "I can understand it if you are attempting to discourage

this proposal out of concern for your home planet."

     "I am attempting to discourage it because it defies logic."

     "And therein lies the element of surprise.  Vulcan it is. 

Please have the necessary departmental reports on my desk by 1800

hours."

     Shot of the meeting breaking up around the very-slightly-

confounded-looking Tuvok.

 

[Commercial: Ugly Bag of Mostly Water for Valera-Kill]

 

     Shot of Chatokay's ship moving at warp.  Cut to Engineering. 

DRG enters, makes eye contact with an instantly ill-humoured

Torres, goes to a work station, sits, and idly enters commands

into the computer console.

     Torres (suddenly at his elbow): "What are you doing?"

     "I'm activating my work station."

     "And who said you could do that?"

     "Murdoch had this station.  You traded him for me.  Ergo."

     "Ergo nothing.  That's somebody else's station now."

     "No it isn't.  There isn't a fingerprint on this console. 

The last person to touch it was Murdoch when he took the Windex

to it.  Look at Jonas's console.  Grease city."

     Jonas: "Oh thanks."

     Torres (crossing her arms and looking at the ceiling): "I'm

calling Suder."

     DRG: "vaj peghwIj vI'angQo'."  ["In that case I won't reveal

my secret."]

     Torres: "nuq?  pegh yIja'."  ["Eh?  Tell the secret."]

     DRG: "tlhIngan Hol vijatlhlaH."  ["I can speak Klingon."]

     Torres: "qeylIS."  ["For Pete's sake."]  "Jonas, keep an eye

on him and make sure he doesn't get up to anything."

     Shot of DRG grinning at the irked Jonas.

 

[Commercial: Leonard Nimoy for Spore-Away]

 

     Tuvok: "Target vessel is within sensor range.  Long-range

scan confirms vessel to be the Landru, registered on Beta III,

crew complement of twenty-one."

     Chatokay: "Well done.  Drop out of warp.  Release and

detonate antimatter pod.  Transmit distress signal."

     The bridge rocks at the antimatter explosion.

     Tuvok: "The Landru is responding to our signal.  They are

moving to assist."

     "Chatokay to Seska.  It's your show now.  Prepare to beam

over.  And remember what I said.  Into the escape pods, not the

airlock.  Make sure Suder gets that."

     *Aye, aye.  Transporting.*

     Chatokay buries his chin in his hand.

     Tuvok: "You appear to be preoccupied."

     "I'm wondering where the saboteur is at this moment."

     "It is conceivable that the individual in question died

accidentally onboard the runabout."

     "True.  Though I doubt it.  I've been thinking, Tuvok.  How

much would you like to bet Starfleet has a spy onboard?"

     "I would not like to bet.  However, I recognize such a plan

to be well within the scope of Starfleet's capability."

     "I wonder who it is.  Do you have any idea?"

     "I am hesitant to point a finger at this time."

     "I'll just bet it's that door repairman.  His story is so

bizarre you feel it has to be true."

     "An instance of reverse psychology?"

     "Perhaps.  Keep an eye on him."

     "I shall assuredly do so."

 

[Commercial: Charlie X for Weed-Ex]

 

     The observation lounge of the USS Endeavour in orbit above

Vulcan.  Starfleet personnel in dress uniform and VIPs of all

descriptions stand in small clusters holding delicately stemmed

champagne flutes and conversing in a cheerful but indestinct and

residual-free murmur.  Below them turns the red Vulcanian sphere

(actually Mars from Episode 047 blown up to twice the size and

the polar ice airbrushed out.)  Outside, a nearly endless parade

of spacecraft from every corner of the Federation coast past

accompanied by small flotillas of shuttlecraft.  The observation

lounge speakers keep up a continuous dialogue of ship-to-ship

greetings and navigational instructions.  We see a mammoth battle

cruiser loom up and then veer away while launching a volley of

photon torpedoes which detonate harmlessly in a delightful

pyrotechnic display to the spontaneous applause of the assembled

dignitaries.

     "Quite a parade."

     Captain Picard's face goes from an expression of wrapt

enjoyment to a moment's consternation at the interruption and

suddenly to a wide smile at the sight of Commander Riker mugging

indulgently over his shoulder.

     "Number One!  How are you?  Yes, it is a marvelous display. 

I've been standing here like an eight-year-old boy for half an

hour, simply watching the ships go by."

     "I'd say Starfleet has come along quite well since, well,

you know."

     "Oh, no need to be shy, Number One.  Everyone knows what

brought about the rebuilding programme.  I'm quite gratified to

see the number of ships coming out bearing the names of vessels

lost at Wolf 395.  And there's even one named Resistance.  I've

been invited to the launch.  Isn't that marvelous?"

     "Absolutely."

     They gaze out the windows.

     Riker: "I thought you'd like to see these."

     The passes Picard a batch of photographs.

     "It's the Enterprise-E!  Where did you get these?"

     "I know a web site."

     "Absolutely magnificent!  Look at that!"

     "I thought you'd like them."

     "You know, Number One, it's gradually dawning on me that we

live in the golden age of starship building.  Someday, sooner

than we think, I'm sure, we're discover how to transport directly

from planet to planet, and that'll be the end of space-going

vessels as we know them."

     "It'll be a sad day."

     "For all we know, what we are witnessing today could be the

greatest assemblage of -- Now, what is he doing?"

     A brightly painted freighter can be seen skirting the main

flight path and extruding a series of large sausage-shaped

objects from its stern.  We see one of these twist free and bulge 

into a letter F.

     Riker: "They look like inflatable satellites of some kind."

     Picard consults a handheld computer pad.

     "The guidebook says it's the representative of the planet

Beta III, originally visited by the USS Archon in the 22nd

century."

     "I've heard of them.  They were ruled by a computer until--"

     "Let me guess.  James Kirk."

     "Yes."

     "Considering our past troubles with the Borg, I sometimes

wonder whether Kirk wasn't justified in his actions in that case,

Prime Directive or no Prime Directive.  He had a way of getting

to the gist of a problem directly, and having been assimiltated

myself I can appreciate his antipathy toward any sort of

computer-dominated group mind."

     "Thank God we're done with the Borg."

     "Agreed.  Oh my God, will you look at that!"

     The freighter is apparently trying to lay a series of

inflatable buoys to spell the word FESTIVAL, but a number of the

letters have drifted free, and one of them has been snagged by a

passing nacelle.  Picard and Riker stand there shaking their

heads while the balloon-embarrassed starship coasts by.

     Riker: "Isn't that the Bozeman?"

     Cut to the bridge of the ship in question.  Captain Bateson

is standing at his chair, fists in the air, face as red as his

uniform, shouting: "Is there nobody among you landlubbers who has

the foggiest idea how to get that dirigible off my engine!!???"

     Back on the Endeavour:

     Picard: "Yes, I think it is the Bozeman."

     "I hope he doesn't run into us."

     "I think he's all right now.  A quick phaser burst should do

it.  Look out!"  They duck as the beam shoots past the window,

then pick themselves up.  Exterior shot of the letter rapidly

deflating on the Bozeman's nacelle.

     Riker: "Got it."

     Picard inhales in disbelief and holds the back of his neck.

     Riker: "Captain, I wonder if you would care to join a number

of the Enterprises for supper this evening.  Geordi will be

there, and Lieutenant Barclay."

     "Delighted.  But I don't want to hurry away.  I understand

the Stargazer is due by at any time."

     "The refit is complete?"

     "Yes, after considerable delay.  There were many in favour

of mothballing her completely, let me tell you, but I pulled some

strings, and I look forward to seeing her in service again within

the next several months.  She'll be a fine command for some young

captain."

     "I hope you don't-- "

     "No, don't worry, Number One.  You're much too tall for the

Stargazer." 

     "I'm glad you agree.  Isn't that the Stargazer?"

     "Where?  Yes!  Yes, it is!  Look, they're performing a

manoeuvre of some kind."

     "The Picard Manoeuvre, perhaps?"

     "Do you suppose?  They'll have to warp off a distance to

begin."

     "There she goes." 

     View of the four-engined Stargazer rising out of the flight

path of the other parading vessels, turning, and jumping to warp.

     "It should take just a moment."

     They wait.

     And wait.

 

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

Written by Douglas A. McLeod, [email protected]

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

 

Notes on Jubilee:

Yes, the whole premise of Star Trek would collapse if planet-to-planet transporters were introduced. Though I recall someone had them in Voyager.