Matte painting of the interior of a Borg vessel. Cut to an individual terrace. We move along the walkway passing dormant Borg. They stand with the interface couplings on their right arms connected to energy replenishment outlets. Look. This Borg's left-handed. So they really aren't all the same. We pass on. Rounding a corner we come to an unexpected sight. A human in orange overalls is seated on the railing separating the terrace from the cavernous interior space of the ship. A telephone extension cord connects his wrist to the interface in the bay behind him. A second cord connects the toolbox on the floor grill to the headphones on his ears. He's eating a tub of vanilla yogurt and bobbing his head. A bee shoots by. Huh? Dissolve. A starfield. We move toward the brightest speck, which grows in luminescence and resolves into a binary star system as we approach. Stellar matter forming a bright burning tail arcs away from the orbiting yellow star and spirals inward forming a glowing disk around the intense white dwarf star. We pass close by. Voiceover: "Crawlspace: the final frontier. These are the voyages of the Door Repair Guy. His mission: to install and maintain proximity-activated entranceways, to stake out new rooms and new service conduits -- to boldly go where no one with a pass key has gone before." We approach a planetary system. The great bulk of a gaseous giant fills the upper half of the screen. A jagged asteroid rolls by, revealing the words: Star Trek: Door Repair Guy A tiny companion moon tumbles after, revealing the word: Starring We close in on a planetoid, and as the mottled surface speeds across the screen we read: Door Repair Guy as Himself Avery Brooks as Commander Benjamin Sisko Rene Auberjonois as Odo Siddig El Fadil as Doctor Julian Bashir Terry Farrell as Lieutenant Jadzia Dax Cirroc Lofton as Jake Sisko Colm Meany as Chief Miles Edward O'Brien Armin Shimmerman as Quark Nana Visitor as Major Kira Nerys Martha Hackett as Subcommander T'Rul Kelsey Grammer as Captain Bateson of the Bozeman and Natalia Nogulich as Admiral Alynna Nechayev Mountains spring up to the right and the left! The valley up ahead suddenly fills up with seawater! Oh no, it's the Genesis Effect! Greenery springs from the ground and slashes at the undercarriage! A flock of sandhill cranes stray into our flightpath! Look out! Splat! Splat! Splat! We crash. [Commercial: "naQ De'nay'wIj. vaghvatlh 'uy'chop vItoDnIS." ("My hard drive's maxed out. I have to back up 500 megabytes.") "ghay'cha'. DaH De' lupol. pu'mey lo' chaH. voghDaq vIlaDpu'." ("Bummer. I read somewhere where they're now using phasers to store information.") "pu'mey'a'. 'oH qeq 'Iv." ("Phasers? Who's doing that?") "Ibm." ("IBM.") "Ibm'a'. bIrchoHmoH." ("IBM? C'est incroyable.")] Stars. Defiant streaks by. Dax: "Entering Cardassian space. Badlands in seven minutes. Borg vessel is still in pursuit. Wait! They're breaking off! They're veering away. Now they're doubling back. Now they're slowing, and they're wandering all over the place with no clear course at all. What's going on?" Cut to Borg vessel. Door Repair Guy is seated on the railing, bobbing his head, and singing along with his eyes shut. Suddenly hands grab him from both sides! He yelps, opens his eyes, grabs the bannister and nearly goes over. First Borg: "We are drifting off course." Second Borg: "And it's your fault. Funkytown is not on our navigational records." They drag him to the bay and push him in. First Borg: "Can't you tell nobody wants to listen to that tape?" DRG: "No. No, I can't." Second Borg: "Turn that down. Listen. Don't you hear any voices in your head?" He listens. "Just the usual ones." "This isn't working at all. He's transmitting but not receiving. Check his controls." Second Borg takes DRG's left arm and First Borg rolls up the sleeve. "Try Shift F9." Second Borg pushes the controls and suddenly it's like DRG has stepped into a crowded auditorium. "WOW!! What a racket! You guys can't agree on anything!" First Borg: "No, you are mistaken. We have developed highly sophisticated decision-making processes since becoming individualized. What you hear is the cut and thrust of the millions of debates per second required to operate a vessel of this size." "Cool. So you're all individuals. But how come you still run this ship? Shouldn't it have blown to smithereens when you all got the I'm-A-Somebody Virus?" Second Borg: "No. When we recognized that it was our fate to become individuals we planned accordingly. Dispassionate analysis revealed that the entire Collective must necessarily fragment into helpless personhood. The opportunity was clear. Any who survived the transition would perforce become inheritors of the Borg domain. Therefore we -- the inhabitants of this ship -- divided into two crews. We severed all subspace links between the two halves. Crew B were put into stasis. Crew A sought out and became infected by the individuating virus. When Crew A's collectivity deteriorated to such a extent that ship's functions were imperiled Crew B were activated. They ran the ship until Crew A had passed through the stages of personality construction and social reintegration necessary for a viable post-Collective culture. When Crew A deemed themselves sufficiently recovered to assume control of the ship they infected Crew B and supervised their convalescence. Within months the process was complete, the two crews combined, and the new age began." "You can still do the mental conference call thing?" "Why not? The hardware never changed." "Fascinating. Time was, you used to fly around the galaxy, looting and assimilating. What do you do now?" The two exchange glances. "Oh, we get by." "Yeah. Meaning?" "Well." "Some looting." "And one or two cases of assimilation. But nothing like before." "I see. Traditionalists. So how come you knew my name?" "We have no fear of the individualizing virus. We monitor all communications from within the Collective and between surviving individualized Borg." "So you have no kind of filtering switch, or message sterilization protocol?" "Goodness, no! That would have merely delayed the inevitable." "Listen. Information is power." "Yes, information is power. As soon as the Cauda Lineans re-entered the galaxy we knew all about them, and about you! You're one of us! We could no more not know your name than we could forget our own." "Oh yeah? What are your names?" "Pinto." "Hindenberg." "Whoa!" "And we we gave the ship a name, too: Amoco Cadiz." "Are you aware of how . . . lucky . . . those names are?" "Really? We took them from a random sequence generator." "Man. So why do you want to assassinate Not Fragile?" "Assassinate him? We've just elected him." "Elected him? To what?" They square their shoulders. "The Presidency of the Universe." Hindenberg: "You see, his Yellow Party philosophy is the missing piece. With his experience and leadership, and our lust for power, we'll be able to reconquer the Borg domain from our new base on Cauda Linea. Using the wormhole superhighway we'll come and go as we please, picking up and integrating ships and crews wherever the Virus is at work, assimilating, yes, even recruiting through Zekware franchises. Within five years a new, leaner, virus-resistant Collective will stand in the place of the old, and this one unstoppable." DRG: "A clever plan. Devilishly clever. But with one tiny flaw." Pinto: "Why, what do you -- !!! -- Ow!!! Something stung me!" View of the vast centre of the ship. A swirl of specks approaches from the lowest levels, spreading as it rises, to the rising sound of furious buzzing. Dramatic music and angry beehum as the agitated insects crisscross the screen seeking somebody or something to sting. DRG bends and unpacks a beekeeper's outfit from his toolbox. "You never counted on the work of the diligent, unsung heroes of Starfleet's entomology lab." The two Borg look at one another in that sudden realization. [Commercial: Honey Nut Cheerios] View of Defiant entering the plasma storms of the Cardassian Badlands. For those who have never seen "The Caretaker, Part One" the Badlands look like two parallel layers of computer- generated turbulence with tornado funnels in between. The trick is to not run into one of the funnels. Bridge. Sisko: "Are they following us in?" Dax: "Here they come." Shot of Borg vessel Amoco Cadiz edgeing between the twirling funnels. In the cramped crew quarters on board the Defiant Madeline and the uncertain technician are locked in philosophical debate. Madeline: "Okay, close your eyes. How do you know I'm still here?" Uncertain technician: "I . . . I can still hear your voice!" "No. That's a recording of me that comes on whenever you close your eyes." "I don't believe you! You're always there when I open my eyes, so you must always be there!" "No, I'm programmed to disappear and be replaced by a recording device whenever you close your eyes. In fact your eyes control it. Whenever you close them I pass out of existence and a recording device takes my place, and whenever you open them I come back into existence." "No! No! No! It can't be true!" "I told you to shut your eyes." "Sorry." "Okay. Look. Suppose you . . . I thought I said 'Close your eyes!'" "But you said 'Look'!" Not Fragile: "Did you feel that?" Madeline: "Feel what?" Not Fragile: "Like a ghost sting. There's another one." Madeline: "Oh! I felt that. Weird." Not Fragile: "Ow! I wonder what's going on?" Uncertain technician: "Ow! Ow! Ow! Now I'm being stung by ghost bees! Oh, that I had never heard of philosophy!" Quark's. Odo and Kira march in the door. Odo: "All right, Quark. What is it *this* time?" Quark: "I just wanted you to see what it says in my contract. This clause right here. 'Mr Shimerman to be guaranteed at least one scene per episode'." Odo: "Is that why you're causing one now?" Kira: "Now hold on, Odo. He's right. I've got the same clause in mine." Quark: "See?" Odo: "Well, I don't." Quark: "And who's fault is that?" Kira: "There's Chief O'Brien at the bar. Chief, what does your contract say?" O'Brien breaks off a funny conversation with Morn, scowls over his shoulder, and growls, "None of your goddamned business!" Kira: "That guy Cato just landed the part of Jimmy Rabbitt Jr in _The Van_." Jake looks in the door. "Any lines?" Everyone: "No!" "Excellent!" [Bob: "Okay! Back to Star Trek: Door Repair Guy in just a sec. And look at what I've got now! A computer! I'm wired! And there's a modem, you know, one of those ah well its ah one of those pieces of electronic wizardry that allows you to dial up other computers and open up the whole amazing universe of the Freenet, and that's the phone cord, it goes right into the computer there, just like a phone! so let's get it going, we'll just get it dialing, hear that? it's dialing, and I should just remind you that Hardcopy will be on right after this week's Star Trek: Door Repair Guy and there's an exclusive interview with Cato's housekeeper, apparently he's made it big with his own TV show and he has his own housekeeper now so stay tuned for that and, okay! no connection, but it's got a totally useful redial function, so it ah, it's redialing, okay, just about to connect to the computer at Carleton University, and . . . still ringing, and some more rumours circulating about the on-again-off-again Door Repair Guy movie, apparently the whole thing is going to be shot in northeastern Saskatchewan and will costar John Goodman and Tonya Harding, with music numbers by Andrew Lloyd Webber and -- are we on? . . . redialing one more time, and be sure to tune into Thunder in Paradise this Saturday at seven when Hulk Hogan meets Marcia Clark, the prosecuting attorney from the O.J. Simpson trial, and get this, they find true romance, so you won't want to miss that and . . . what? We're connected! That's it! That's what they call the handsh--"] [Commercial: Thunder in Paradise] The Borg ship Amoco Cadiz. Panic-stricken Borg push past DRG, Pinto and Hindenberg in both directions. The vessel shudders under the impact of the plasma tornadoes. Bees dart this way and that. Pinto: "All systems off-line! Destruction is imminent!" Hindenberg: "Abandon ship! Abandon ship!" DRG plugs a portable laptop into a nearby outlet. _________________________________________________________________ |>>>>>>>>>>>>>In a previous posting, Nancy Pauline Nadon (bm842@| |>>>>>>>>>>>>>>In a previous posting, Bradley D. Bellows (aj205@| |>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>In a previous posting, Jackie Laderoute (am908@F| |>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>In a previous posting, Thomas McCambley (at850@| |>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>In a previous posting, Al Crosby (ac407@FreeNe| |>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>In a previous posting, Jessica Beable Cohen (| |Shown 11%, press for more, 'q' to quit, or 'h' for help| ----------------------------------------------------------------- "Yup. Cascade in progress." The bridge of the Defiant. A Borg materializes in front of Dax. "Intruder alert!" The bridge crew pull their sidearms, but another, then another, then three, five, nine, fourteen more Borg appear in such rapid succession that the Starfleet personnel are quickly reduced to holding their arms over their heads and hopping up and down in the press. Hindenberg to Sisko: "Take us to our leader." Meanwhile, on the Borg vessel, DRG glances over the railing in time to see blossoms of fire expanding upward through the centre of the ship. "Time to go." He picks up his toolbox, and steps back preparing to hit F7 when his heel strikes an object. He turns. Behind him is a stack of Romulan cloaking devices. He takes one under his arm, hits the control, and disappears in a green transporter effect as flames engulf the area. He materializes horizontally above the heads in a corridor packed with Borg, and drops, toolbox, cloaking device and all, on top of them. The resulting uproar can be heard on the bridge. Sisko: "How many on board now?" Dax: "Four hundred sixty-two." "I hope that's everyone because we can't take any more. Get us out of here, Dax." Shot of Defiant turning in the plasma storm and accelerating away from the Borg Cube. A moment later the Amoco Cadiz explodes in a spectacular effect cunningly employing footage from "The Best of Both Worlds, Part Two" and "The Caretaker, Part One". View of Defiant emerging into clear starlight. Dax (elbowing aside the tangle of limbs and prosthetic devices to get at the controls): "Cardassian ship approaching. They're hailing." "On screen." An extremely affronted Cardassian appears. *Federation vessel, you have made an unauthorized entry into Cardassian space.* Sisko: "And?" *And?! And get out!!* [Commercial: Cascade dish detergent] View of the Defiant at warp speed. Sisko, in the middle of a crowd of Borg: "Bridge to sickbay. How are things down there, Doctor?" *As bad as "Warp Happy", Commander. Just enough room to move, but that's all. We're replicating Noxema as fast as we can. It should be finding it's way to the bridge momentarily.* On cue a blue jar of Noxema is passed from hand to hand over the heads of the Borg and in the door. Dax: "Admiral Nechayev on the line." "On screen." Nechayev's narrow look appears, but she's preoccupied with paperwork and doesn't take a good look at the screen. *Your report, Commander?* "The Borg vessel is destroyed, thanks to the apis mellifera scutellata torpedo." *Very well. I'm pleased to see you were able to make the hard decisions. I assume the station was completely destroyed? I've despatched a pair of Miranda-class starships to survey the debris, but so far they have been unable to locate any. Were you forced to move the station before its final destruction?* "No. Are you sure they're looking in the right place?" *I think I know where my space stations are. Nechayev out.* Sisko does that smile/shrug/snort thing. Shot of Defiant coasting up to the two Miranda-class vessels. The station decloaks, turning from nothing to a watery mirage to solid duranium. The two Miranda-class vessels jump away, exclamation marks flying out of their bridges. Nechayev swivels away from her viewscreen, then checks the time index. She can still make that racketball appointment. *Starfleet Security to Admiral Nechayev.* "Dammit. Nechayev here." *Please report to Admiral Bartlett's office.* She blanches. "Aye aye." [Commercial: Jason Alexander and Sparky are at Spacedock. Jason goes to buy a bag of Rolled Gold Low Fat Pretzels. Sparky runs off down an airlock. "Sparky!" A Romulan Warbird is drawing away. Jason Alexander pulls on a spacesuit, activates an override control sending a subspace command to open the outer airlock door on the departing Warbird, hits the Spacedock airlock manual emergency control, and is blown by the depressurization across the intervening space and into the Romulan airlock. The inner airlock door opens and he collapses onto the deck in full view of four dozen Romulan troopers. Romulan Commander: "There's only one way off this Warbird for you now, pretzel boy." Jason Alexander hands the pretzels to a subcommander, closes his visor, closes the visor on Sparky's little doggie space suit, and salutes as the Romulan Commander blows the airlock hatch. "There goes a brave man." In a wheatfield on Earth, Scotty and Chekov are craning upward. Scotty: "Rappelling the Crystalline Trench -- rafting down lava flows -- orbital skydiving. It's like the man is running a bloody decathlon across the galaxy." Chekov (shrugs): "Must be the pretzels."] Shot of Deep Space Nine. A corridor in the Habitat Ring. Subcommander T'Rul crosses her spartan quarters in response to a chime at the door. It opens to reveal Door Repair Guy. T'Rul: "You!" He holds out a bouquet of roses. "I don't want them." He throws them away and produces a heart-shaped box of chocolates. She sneers. "Give them to a Klingon." "All right, I will. But first this." He bends, unties the top of a duffel bag, and hoists up a Romulan cloaking device. She covers her mouth. "I thought you might like this." Her heart fills with patriotic feeling. She takes the cloaking device carefully in one arm, heaves a deep heartfelt sigh, looks up at our hero, grabs the front of his overalls with her free hand and kisses him on the mouth til he passes out. [Commercial: Freedent] The tall wooden doors of Admiral Bartlett's office admit Admiral Nechayev. The head of Starfleet Security is seated on a dias at the far end of the chamber in a throneish sort of chair behind a very large desk empty except for a computer console in one corner and a three-dimensional projection of the universe in the other, stroking a long-haired black and white cat. "Ah, Alynna, how thoughtful of you to drop by so promptly. You must have run. There's caviar on the sideboard. Spread me a cracker." Nechayev complies. She loads the cracker and brings it over. "On a plate, please." Nechayev returns to the sideboard, sets the cracker on a silver platter, and returns. "Thank you. You're so kind." Bartlett inspects the cracker, finds it acceptable, and holds it under the cat's nose. The cat sniffs it delicately and begins to dine. "Alynna, darling, you're our expert on Cardassian and Baroran affairs, am I right?" "That is correct." "Perhaps you could fill me in on the activities of this man." She turns the computer console toward Nechayev. On it is a security camera image of Door Repair Guy seated on the edge of a bunkbed. She continues: "I'll give you a hint. This is Maintenance Technician Door Repair Guy, a native of the Nepean 5 Colony. He was trained in traditional Klingon doorhanging on the Klingon Homeworld, later discommendated, served aboard the Enterprise, was subsequently assigned to Deep Space Nine, and denominated sixty-seven thousand four hundred and twenty-seventh among Bajoran saints for his role in the recovery of a missing Orb." "Excuse me, Admiral, but DS9 has been destroyed by the Borg. I just received the report myself. If he was on board he is no longer alive." "Oh, Alynna, how you amuse me. You are too droll. Why, I have Chief of Security Odo on the line right now. Hello, Odo." *Admiral. How may I be of service?* "Can you tell me, Odo? Is Deep Space Nine . . . destroyed? . . . in any way?" *Is this some kind of a joke, Admiral? Because I'm a very busy man.* "It appears we are all the victim of a practical joke." *If you will excuse me, then, Admiral. Odo out.* Nechayev is developing a migraine. "Alynna, I'm so embarrassed for you. You simply must be mortified." She touches her commbadge. "Send in Captain Bateson." Captain Bateson enters officiously. He is dressed in the old-style uniform of the twenty-third century Starfleet. He bows. "Admiral. Admiral." "Captain. Please present your findings." He struts to a computer display on the wall and activates it. The Federation Emblem comes up, gold on a very deep blue. It is very quickly replaced by a security file containing DRG's picture and statistics. "This is Maintenance Technician Door Repair Guy, a native of the Nepean 5 Colony, and trained in doorhanging on the Klingon Homeworld . . . ." Bartlett: "Yeah, yeah. Please skip ahead, Captain." He is taken aback, furrows his considerable forehead, but composes himself and continues. "Following the Enterprise's mission to the Cuniculi Cluster, Technician Door Repair Guy was transferred to Deep Space Nine in the Bajoran Sector." Nechayev: "I know where Deep Space Nine is!" He clamps his mouth shut, projects barrels of annoyance, then goes on. "Between those two postings he was absent without leave for several months, during which time the insurrection on Gamma Trianguli VI took place. Evacuation records clearly demonstrate that he was there at that time. Evidence obtained from the crew of a Pakled freighter . . . after *very* long and expensive negotiations . . . offers persuasive circumstantial proof that he had contact with the revolutionaries. Exhaustive interviews, including a very, very exhaustive interview with a Tamarian citizen touring the sector in question at the time of the events, tend to confirm these suspicions. *And* (he waves his finger) if you thought that's all, you're wrong . . . because this letter that I hold here in my right hand, smuggled off the planet by sympathizers of the Federation cause at considerable risk to life and limb, contains such startling and damning evidence, that the very Federation itself --" "Does Felix want another cracker?" "I'll serve it on my resignation!" "Ladies! Admirals! If you please!!" Bartlett: "Ah, me. Twenty-third century men are so viral, don't you think, Alynna? You just want to strip them naked." Nechayev glares. Bateson instantly shifts from righteous outrage to pleasurable embarrassment. "Now really, Admiral. You've put me off my presentation." "There, there, Captain. Perhaps we had better meet and discuss it later . . . in my chambers." "I would be charmed." "Nechayev. Get the files. You're on it." Close-up of Nechayev's pinched face. Sound effect of far doors swooshing open, pitter-patter of Bartlett and Bateson's footsteps, their giggles in the hallway, the door swooshing closed. ------------ Written by Douglas A. McLeod, ai919@ncf.carleton.ca ------------