From: pieceoftheuniverse Newsgroups: alt.tv.mst3k.mstings Subject: [MiSTing] Trouble of Dwarves (1/9) Date: Fri, 21 Dec 2001 10:50:46 -0700 Reply-To: po...@pieceoftheuniverse.com Message-ID: <92l62uod4bnhv3k3mgb84t6ntm9lk971a1@4ax.com> X-Newsreader: Forte Agent 1.8/32.548 MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=ISO-8859-1 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit Lines: 1828 X-Authenticated-User: pieceoftheuniverse X-Comments: This message was posted through Spamkiller.Newsfeeds.com X-Comments2: IMPORTANT: Newsfeeds.com does not condone, nor support, spam or any illegal or copyrighted postings. X-Comments3: IMPORTANT: Under NO circumstances will postings containing illegal or copyrighted material through this service be tolerated!! X-Report: Please report illegal or inappropriate use to You may also use our online abuse reporting from: http://www.newsfeeds.com/abuseform.htm X-Abuse-Info: Please be sure to forward a copy of ALL headers, INCLUDING the body (DO NOT SEND ATTACHMENTS) Organization: Newsfeeds.com http://www.newsfeeds.com 73,000+ UNCENSORED Newsgroups. Path: archiver1.google.com!news1.google.com!sn-xit-02!sn-xit-01!supernews.com!newsfeed.online.be!195.129.110.18.MISMATCH!bnewspeer00.bru.ops.eu.uu.net!emea.uu.net!oleane.net!oleane!esplande3000.net!fr.clara.net!heighliner.fr.clara.net!news-hub.siol.net!out.nntp.be!propagator-SanJose!in.nntp.be!spamkiller.newsgroups.com Xref: archiver1.google.com alt.tv.mst3k.mstings:337 TROUBLE OF DWARVES A Star Trek: Voyager fanfic by Raymond Gower MiSTed by pieceoftheuniverse "Mystery Science Theater 3000" and its related characters and situations are trademarks of and copyrighted [c] 1999 by Best Brains, Inc. All rights reserved. Same goes for Star Trek and all related characters, this time trademarks of Paramount/Viacom. This is my first MiSTie, but I have to say: this story practically begged for it. Still, you've got to admire the effort, so remember this story is copyrighted [c] 2001 Raymond Gower. Thanks for the opportunity, Ray; I hope it's at least an -enjoyable- death and dismemberment. [Scene: the SOL, of course. What, you were expecting DS9?] TOM: Suck! CROW: Not! TOM: Suck! CROW: Not! TOM: Suck! JOEL: Hi, everyone. We've just seen the newest Star Trek shootoff, entitled _Enterprise_, and naturally things are a little testy around here as the finer points are discussed. CROW: Not! TOM: Suck! JOEL: As you can tell, the bots and I were having an intellectual conversation... CROW: Joel, tell Tom that _Enterprise_ doesn't suck! TOM: Joel knows better than that, Crow. He lives in space; he knows the sound of a -vacuum- when he hears it! JOEL: I'd love to get in the middle of your pitched battle, guys, but Hoover and his pet windtunnel are calling. [Switch to Deep 13, where Dr. F is watching a television (pointed away from us, of course), remote in hand, and chuckling evilly. He hits a button on the remote, and the television switches off] DR F: Good day to you, Joel. I've just been watching a particularly evil concoction by one of my good friends over at Paramount Studios. I believe you've heard of it? It aired only days ago, and I think it would be just perfect to send along to you... [Switch] TOM: You see?! If Dr. F thinks it's suitable for an experiment, it's -got- to be terrible! JOEL: I've got to admit, Crow, that is strong evidence in Tom's favour... CROW: Wait a minute! How do we even know he's talking about _Enterprise_? [Switch] DR F: Ah, so you -have- heard of it! Very good, very good. I'll not subject you to it's evil quite yet; the suspense of not knowing when it's going to strike will hopefully push you over the edge. For now, I'll be content with the experiment I have lined up for you ... and today's invention exchange, of course. Frank! [Frank appears from stage left, covered in what the audience hopes to god is chocolate] FRANK: Yes? DR F: The invention, Frank! FRANK: But -- DR F: -NOW-, Frank! [Frank toddles off stage] Perhaps you'd best go first, Joel. [Switch] [Joel and the bots have now composed themselves, though Crow and Tom are still "accidentally" shoving each other in debate, occasionally whispering "suck" and "not" at various inopportune intervals. A large box is in front of the trio, covered by a cloth] JOEL: We here in the Satellite of Love have noticed that Star Trek has been the inspiration for a lot of wonderful technological advances over the years: the cell phone, the laptop, the upside-down eggbeater, and of course who can forget glitter's first starring role in a major motion picture. TOM: Right. But where are the transporter beams? The replicators? CROW: I thought the glitter -was- the transporter beam. JOEL: So we present to you: the Future-O-Matic! [whips cloth off of the box to present a snazzy-looking box with the words "Future-O-Matic" stenciled on] TOM: That's right! With this wondrous invention, you can predict the future with unerring accuracy so that you don't look like a complete moron when your television series hits repeats seventy years from now! CROW: I wanna try! I wanna try! JOEL: Okay, Crow, go ahead. CROW: [presses a button on the side of the box, and a ticker-tape feeds out the top end] Oooo, this says "Calista Flockheart revealed to be a resurrected skeleton!" That just explains so much! TOM: [presses the button] And this one says "T&A play an important role in cast selection for the next fifty years of television." Joel, who's T&A? JOEL: I'll, um, explain when you're older. What do you think, sirs? [Switch] [Frank has made it back with a box slightly larger than Joel's ... well, okay, a lot larger. One wonders how he got it in front of the screen without a forklift. It, too, is covered with a cloth] DR. F: Clever, Joel, but your teletype magic eight-ball isn't clever enough. I, too, have noticed the disturbing lack of technological advancement that we were promised, but I've decided to actually do something about it. I present to you: [pulls back cloth] the Friplicator! [Switch] ALL: Frip-a-what? [Switch] DR. F: You know, a Dr. F-created repli -- it doesn't matter. What -does- matter is that it works just like the replicators on the sho _Star Trek: The Next Generation_! [Switch] JOEL: No. You can't mean... [Switch] DR. F: Yes! They break down every week or so, due to random and indescribable errors that no one can adequately explain except through meaningless technobabble! Muhahahahahaha! I'll make a fortune! Watch! [Dr. F motions, and Frank requests "tea. Earl Grey. Hot." The replicator spews steaming liquid all over Frank, causing him to writhe in pain, and then an oversized cup materializes over Frank's head and traps him] You see? It works perfectly! [Laughs evilly for a little while, then stops] Since my invention is clearly far more superior, I'm going to be especially cruel today and inflict a nine-part _Voyager_ storyline called "Trouble of Dwarves," by none other than a Mr. Raymond Gower. To make it even more painful, I've extracted this story directly from his website, rather than the original posting. Send them the 'fic, Frank! FRANK: It burns! It burns! DR. F: Oh, hell. [sends the 'fic] [Switch] TOM: Nine ... parts? CROW: He's kidding. Tell me he's kidding. JOEL: [presses the button on the Future-O-Matic] "You will suffer incredible anguish and torment." [Lights, buzzer] We've got fanfic sign! [ ... 6 ... 5 ... 4 ... 3 ... 2 ... 1 ...] > >1-25 A Trouble of Dwarves CROW: Wait, is this one of nine or one of twenty-five? TOM: Joel, I'm scared. JOEL: Don't worry, guys. We'll get through this. >With Captain Janeway away saving the Universe from the Borg, TOM: I thought Captain Proton saved the universe. CROW: No, no, it's Superman. He always saves the day. ALL: [singing] Jane-way's here to save the daaaaaay! >Chakotay is let JOEL: Chakotay IS Let, Super-Janeway's deadwood sidekick! TOM: [Chakotay] Holy abelative armour, Janeway! >with the problem of saving Voyager CROW: Well, that's it. They're screwed. >and finds how much Voyager and her crew means to him. TOM: Squat. JOEL: You're supposed to go before we come in here. >Voyager and characters (except the Colonel) CROW: Who is the Colonel? JOEL: The Colonel, in the bedroom, with the candlestick. TOM: I think it was the Colonel, on the bridge, with the phaser rifle. >in this story are copyright of Paramount. CROW: [author] I didn't ask permission or anything, though, so don't tell anyone. >No resemblance is intended to any person alive or dead. TOM: [author] Well, except my Aunt Vera, but don't tell her I said that. >The Colonel is my own. JOEL: [the Prisoner/Colonel] I am not a character! I am a free man! >Story line by Matt Weed and myself. CROW: [author] But since I killed Matt yesterday, he's not likely to complain about what I did to the story. >Constructive criticism and comments are welcome TOM: How about just plain ol' criticism? JOEL: That's the best kind. >on e-mail st...@rgower.plus.com. JOEL: Spam-guns? CROW: Check. JOEL: Marketing ploys? TOM: Check. JOEL: Denial-of-service drones? CROW: On layaway. JOEL: Damn! > >If like me you like to know why things occur like they do, TOM: Wait a minute. Did he just admit that even -he- doesn't know what he's writing? JOEL: Be afraid. Be very afraid. >I would heartily recommend you start at chapter 1-01 Castaway. CROW: He's inviting us to view more of his work? JOEL: From what I've seen so far, I'm not impressed. TOM: Thanks but no thanks, Ray-ray. CROW: We're trapped, not suicidal. >This story is rated PG13 JOEL: No less than thirteen poltergeists at any one time. TOM: Oh, good. Then we can leave. >©R Gower 2001 CROW: If he's just disavowed almost everything about this series, what's left to copyright? TOM: Our eternal pain and suffering. CROW: I thought that was property of Best Br-- JOEL: [muffling Crow] Ixnay onway Estbay Ainsbray. > > > >Chakotay was in a relaxed mood when he stepped upon the Bridge TOM: [Chakotay] Eww, what's this on my shoe? >to take the Conn CROW: Chakotay's going to fly! Abandon ship! Abandon ship! >while they waited for the Captains return from Komos. JOEL: How many captains do they have, anyway? >"Anything to report?" He asked of the duty Officer cheerfully TOM: Duty Officer Man! JOEL: What, now everyone on the ship is a superhero? >"Anything from the Captain and the ball?" CROW: The Captain went to a ball? JOEL: She'd better get back before midnight, or else Voyager will turn into a pumpkin! TOM: Too late. The series is already squash. >It was a rare event that the Captain left the ship, JOEL: Who could blame her? Every time she leaves, something disastrous happens. >even then she never seemed to let it slip far away, CROW: [motherly] Now, Voyager, I want you to go out and have fun, but remember not to drift more than three parsecs away from me. TOM: [Voyager] Aw, -mom-... >there was inevitably some communication to remind him of something she had >forgotten to tell him before she left. TOM: So Janeway is the absent-minded professor? JOEL: Yes, but you don't want to see the Star Trek version of flubber. >It was not something that worried either of them. CROW: [Janeway] By the way, Chakotay, I set the ship to self-destruct before I left. >He had learnt that Voyager meant everything to the Captain TOM: You would think it would mean everything to the entire crew, them being stranded inside it and all. >and found it very difficult to let go. CROW: Who found it difficult? The ship? JOEL: I'm not in the mood to diagram sentences. Let's pretend it's Duty Officer Man who has issues. >"Nothing, but a report for the Captain from Seven of Nine, Commander," TOM: That's not nothing then, is it? >Ensign Abbott reported dutifully. JOEL: I would hope so, him being the duty officer and all! >"I wasn't expecting anything from them for a couple of days," Chakotay >remarked, unconcerned. Messages from Seven to the Captain were not in >themselves unusual, if she wanted advice, though it was uncommon now. CROW: So it's uncommon, but not unusual? Isn't one the definition of the other? >"What did she say?" TOM: [Abbott] It says "Go to hell, you bastard." I'm still trying to figure it out. >"I didn't decode it. But it was unusual. It was a burst transmission," >the ensign admitted. JOEL: We've got him! He's admitted to the whole thing! >That was more alarming. Sub-Space communications were normally >considered secure enough without resorting to data compression as well. CROW: Never mind that everyone and their grandmother have sub-space receivers. >"Decode it quickly. There could be trouble," Chakotay commanded in >trepidation TOM: How -do- you command in trepidation? JOEL: It's a lot like commanding in Jell-o, but without having to wait for it to set. TOM: Oh. >and getting to his feet to pace in impatience until the ensign could supply >the details. CROW: Doesn't have much faith in this crew, does he? Barely gives an order, and already he wants an answer. >"Seven advises that there are three Borg cubes enroute for Komos. >Arrival estimated 21:00," she finally deciphered. CROW: ... and gets one. JOEL: Ray-ray apparently has difficulty seeing time as anything other than immediate. >Now alarmed Chakotay checked the chronometer. TOM: He shut off the alarm; now was no time for his lesson on comma placement. >"Less than three hours. Contact the Captain. Bring her back now!" CROW: Shouldn't the Captain decide when she gets to come back? JOEL: Nah. They can snatch her up at any time. TOM: Good thing no one in Star Trek uses the bathroom, then. >He thumbed his own communicator. CROW: s/own/nose at his/ TOM: Ah, thank you. That scans much better. >"All stations Red Alert. Ensign Kim to the Bridge!" JOEL: And he's calling the lowest ranking member of the crew for what reason? CROW: It's in Garret Wang's contract. >He paused for a moment then added "Dog Watch to the Bridge." TOM: What's a dog watch? CROW: You know; like a watchdog, but backwards. JOEL: So it's an animal that lets criminals into your house? >He suspected he was going to need their inventiveness CROW: Lord knows he hasn't any of his own. >and he was down more than half of the prime Bridge crew. TOM: And why is that, exactly? JOEL: If we're really lucky, they're all dead. >"I can't raise the Captain, Sir!" CROW: Use the crowbar! >Chakotay could hear the alarm in her voice, it was mirroring his own >concerns. TOM: Er, "her" voice? JOEL: We've made a terrible assumption; all this time we thought Ensign Abbott was a man! CROW: In those uniforms, who can tell? >"Contact Seven of Nine and keep trying for the Captain," he demanded, as >much to keep the ensign busy than real hope. TOM: Yeah; heaven forfend something actually get -done- in the first fifteen minutes. >The reason for Seven's use of a burst transmission was obvious now, she >was trying to avoid her own detection. CROW: And failed miserably. JOEL: How so? CROW: Well, Voyager knows where she is, right? >A reply from their transmission may well not be forthcoming. TOM: Chakotay, man of psychic abilities! >Kim appeared from the Turbo lift, ALL: [sfx] Poof! >looking flushed. JOEL: [Chakotay] Next time, Ensign, don't take the stairs. >He was almost immediately followed by the Dog Watch. It allowed Chakotay >something else to concentrate on. CROW: [Chakotay] So, when are you guys going to let the bad guys on board? >"Harry, long range scans. Look for a transwarp conduit or Borg Vessels. >Kala assist him and find the Captain," Chakotay ordered quickly. "Winston, >take the Conn. Carver, take Tactical. I want the Captain and Seven of Nine." TOM: Who -are- all these people? JOEL: Either we've come into the middle of something, or these are all redshirts. >Finished with issuing orders he collapsed into his chair to wait. CROW: Pointing at people must really take it out of him. >I've got the Colonel, Sir!" Carver reported. "Still trying to raise the >Captain." TOM: The crowbar must have snapped. CROW: Maybe they've got a winch? >"Status report, Colonel?" Chakotay demanded quickly. > >"We and our hosts will be over Komos in about two hours, Sir. JOEL: We who? CROW: Got me. The Captain's at a ball, Seven's in an undisclosed location; maybe the Colonel's got schizophrenia. >I intend to switch hosts when they have finished. TOM: And "hosts" is his code name for his separate personalities? CROW: Sure. >You can come and collect us then." JOEL: [Colonel] We're at the pawn shop at seventy-second and third. >"Where are you?" Chakotay asked in surprise. > >"Attached to the lead cube." CROW: Well, that's gotta hurt. >Chakotay could almost see the Colonel's ghoulish grin. JOEL: So either the viewscreen's on the fritz, or Carver couldn't get a visual. TOM: It'd be nice to know for sure, wouldn't it? >"Can we keep this short. They haven't found us yet. I want it to stay >that way," the Colonel prompted. CROW: They who? JOEL: Well, they can't be afraid of the Borg. TOM: Not the Borg that's been a minor nuisance for six seasons, anyway. >"We can't get hold of the Captain!" Chakotay blurted. "We can't even >detect her!" ALL: Hurrah! >The Colonel was silent for a few minutes, then came back. JOEL: Came back from where? TOM: The twisted recesses of his mind, is my guess. >"It figures. Your hosts aren't all they claim. CROW: [gasps in mock horror] The ball is *ruined*! >Get out of there, Captain. TOM: That's the Commander, smartypants. >And watch your backs. JOEL: That would take some major reconstructive surgery. TOM: Not for us! [twists his head around] See? JOEL: Stop that. You're giving me _Exorcist_ flashbacks. CROW: [twists head around] It's an excellent day for an exorcism. JOEL: Stop that! >Seven of Nine and I will find Captain Janeway," he declared. JOEL: Awww. CROW: Don't worry, Joel. We still have twenty more pages to kill her off. >"Ensign Carver, you play that tune again. I will break your neck! Out!" TOM: Erm, what tune? CROW: Maybe Carver was playing the flute or something before he came to the bridge. JOEL: But sound doesn't travel in spa -- oh, Star Trek physics. Right. >"Get him back!" Chakotay shouted. > >"Sorry, Sir. The Colonel has terminated the communication," Carver >responded after a moment. TOM: Apparently they've lost that great twentieth-century device known as the "redial." >"I've found the conduit, Sir. Details passed to Conn. Still no trace of >the Captain," Ensign Kala reported. JOEL: I thought she was at the ball. CROW: [Chakotay] Look for a woman in a dress and glass slippers. >"Evasion course plotted and laid in," Ensign Winston reported immediately. >"We will require 65 minutes to avoid detection." TOM: Shouldn't they be flying a little faster than that? CROW: You'd think so. Nothing like impending death to motivate someone. >"Gives us twenty-five minutes before we need to break orbit, Sir!" >Carver reported. "Increasing scan rates to compensate." JOEL: Shouldn't they have been running maximum scans -anyway-? TOM: They're only pretending to look for the Captain. It doesn't matter how fast they pretend. >Chakotay was not sure if the Dog Watches fabled predictive responses >were helpful or not. CROW: "Dog Watches"? TOM: I'm pretty sure that's meant to be plural possessive. JOEL: Assume nothing. >He was grateful that they were predicting the correct responses and waiting >for the go ahead to execute them. TOM: Never mind that it makes his position as commander somewhat superfluous. >But it meant that he was left with little to do, except worry about >Kathryn's fate. CROW: Looks like -he- needs some busy work. JOEL: [Abbott] Here, sir, -you- keep trying to reach the Captain. I'll sit around and do nothing. >"Keep scanning until the last minute," he demanded. TOM: Isn't that what they were going to do anyway? >He knew it was an unnecessary command, even as he said it. JOEL: Wow. Deadwood -realizing- that he's deadwood. Will wonders never cease? >But he felt slightly better forgiving it, he decided, CROW: Forgiving what? His own actions? TOM: Chakotay: man of psychic abilities and his own father-confessor! >settling in his seat again. JOEL: For a military man, he sure does get tired quickly. >"What was the tune you played to get the Colonel's attention?" He asked >suddenly of Carver. TOM: Voicing the thoughts of the readers... >The ensign smiled broadly. "The British Grenadier, Sir. It irritates the >Colonel immensely. Guaranteed to get a response." CROW: Oh, great strategy: tick off your allies. >He looked as if was going to say more and Chakotay waved him down. JOEL: So Carver's flying now? >There was something else in what the Colonel had said that troubled him. TOM: Was it about the multiple personalities? CROW: Maybe it's the solution to _Clue_. >What was it? 'Watch your back'. Surely he didn't mean the Borg, he was >not likely to forget them now he knew of their presence. JOEL: Oh, but we wish you would. CROW: Talk about your overused plot devices. >"Have you found the Captain yet?" He demanded, TOM: He sure does demand a lot. CROW: He gets power hungry when the Captain's not around. >putting his thoughts to one side for a moment JOEL: Well, that didn't take very long. TOM: Longer than -I- expected. >to deal with the more pressing matter at hand. > >"There is a self modulating dampening field around the Visitor Reception >building," Kim complained. CROW: Ensign Kim, the Wesley Crusher of Voyager. JOEL: But only half as intelligent. TOM: Ouch. >"Every time we find a way through it changes frequency! I can't keep up with >it! But I'm almost certain the Captain is there. There appears to be a build >up of Koman military in the area." CROW: Not very clever of the Komans, is it? TOM: [Koman] Let's put extra security where we've trapped the Captain. No one will look at large group of armoured people with guns! >"Keep trying! See if they know where they are on Komos," Chakotay growled. JOEL: Er, who knows where they are? TOM: You can bet no one on -this- crew. >"We could trust the Colonel, Sir?" Carver commented. CROW: That sounds more like a question than a comment to me, soldier! >"If we can't find her, what chance has he?" Chakotay exploded. TOM: ... taking all of Voyager with him. ALL: Hurrah! >Chastised the Ensign fell quiet. CROW: We wish he'd just fall. >"I could take an away team and drag her back, Sir?" Ensign Kala >volunteered. JOEL: Kala needs to work on her self-confidence a little more. >Chakotay shot her a grateful look, TOM: [sfx] Bang! >but a sense of reality struck him. CROW: Reality? In a Star Trek story? JOEL: A fluke. Has to be. >"How many away teams have you taken, Ensign?" He asked. TOM: [Kala] I've stolen them all! Muhahahahahaha! >"One, Sir!" The ensign admitted. CROW: Well, there goes her chance of being a redshirt. >"Not this time then. I may need you here," Chakotay decided. JOEL: And there goes her chance of being killed behind the nearest rock. >"Chakotay to B'Elanna," he demanded of the intercom. TOM: [intercom] No. You can't talk to her until you ask nicely. >Her reply was instant. "B'Elanna." CROW: [Chakotay] No, -you- are B'Elanna. I'm Chakotay, and Harry's over there. >"Prepare an Away Team from Security. Heavy weapons," he declared. "We >are going to find the Captain." TOM: But isn't Tuvok the security chief? JOEL: Maybe he's in the brig for shooting Janeway. CROW: We can always hope. >"There are twenty vessels approaching," Carver warned. "They appear to >be Kommodan vessels. CROW: The plural of their race is "commode"?! >They are powering weapons." JOEL: Beware the flush offensive! >"Should that worry me, after their fighter attack?" Chakotay asked >sourly. TOM: [Carver] Well, sir, you know the expression "when the shit hits the fan"? >The ensign nodded. "I think so, Sir. These mean business. They are >packing heavy plasma weapons." CROW: As opposed to light plasma weapons, which we use to toast bread. >"Perhaps they know about the Borg approach?" He added hopefully. JOEL: Sure! The fact that they're heading towards you with weapons charged means nothing. >"Could they take on a cube?" Chakotay asked in surprise, with the >evidence of Vesa to go by and what he had seen of Komos it seemed >unlikely. TOM: They'd better be able to, being two feet away from a Borg freeway and all. >With a critical eye Carver examined the readings from his panel and >weighed up the probabilities. CROW: You know, that's what computers were made for. >"If they have somebody who knew what they are doing. Yes, Sir!" He was also >sceptical about the military abilities of the Komons. JOEL: I'm not sure which plural I like better: "commode" or "commons." TOM: I like "commode." >"I am receiving a message from Komos, Sir," he added a few moments >later. > >"Put it on," Chakotay agreed. CROW: [Carver] I don't know, sir; it looks a bit skimpy. >"Voyager, this is General Hallock!" The small frame of the General >appeared upon the view screen, looking somewhat smarter than he had >before JOEL: Before what? His haircut? TOM: His murder? CROW: His sex-change operation? >"This is Commander Chakotay. There are three Borg cubes approaching. We >would like our crew back, General," Chakotay demanded quickly. JOEL: He doesn't demand anything at a normal pace, does he? >"I am aware of that fact," General Hallock informed him. CROW: [Hallock] Shush, you. This is my only scene. >"We have been expecting them for several days. If you surrender your vessel, >the Borg may permit some of your crew to live. TOM: Well, yes -- as *drones*! >They have only expressed an interest in your Captain, the Borg female >and the one you refer to as the Colonel. We will find them shortly." CROW: And, once again, the Borg search out three meaningless faces against the scope of the universe. JOEL: That was very poetic of you. CROW: If the Borg can break character, so can I. >Chakotay's mind raced at the statement, as its meaning sank in. "You >mean you signalled the Borg?" He asked in desperation. TOM: And in our next news update: Chakotay can add two and two together. JOEL: Star Trek fans everywhere are reported as amazed. >The General nodded. "We need to protect our race. We do not have the >technology to take the Borg on directly. So we trade with them. We >capture technologies they want and they leave us alone. CROW: But wouldn't it just be easier for the Borg if the Kommodans were assimilated? JOEL: That just gives whole new meaning to "eat excrement and die," doesn't it? CROW: [Borg] We are the Borg. Constipation is futile. You will -- JOEL: [Holding Crow's beak] Don't say it. >You were particularly easy to trap," he sneered. ALL: Kill them all! >With a deft signal Chakotay waved the link shut. TOM: "Deft"? Since when does Chakotay have any sort of flair? >"Our chances against the Kommodan ships?" He demanded. JOEL: [Carver] They're arming toilet brushes, sir. We don't have a chance. >"We can't stand and fight, Sir!" Carver opined quickly. CROW: [Chakotay] A perfect chance for me to sit down, then. >Chakotay accepted the statement. "Winston,. Keep us out of range." TOM: Joel, stop making shadow puppets on the screen. JOEL: Are you telling me you don't like my impersonation of a period? CROW: I'm not touching that one. >A new thought came to him. TOM: To Chakotay? CROW: This story's crossed the line between plain silly and downright absurd. >"What was the discrepancy between those arriving from Komos and those >leaving?" He asked quickly. JOEL: And if a train leaves Newark at seven-fifteen, and another leaves Chicago at twelve-forty-five... >"Fifty fewer left than boarded, Sir!" Carver declared after a check. > >"Any reason for the discrepancy?" TOM: Some stayed rather than left. CROW: Our next news update: yes, two plus two -is- four. >"Commander Tuvok never found one," the ensign answered. JOEL: Logic must have refused to suggest the obvious. >"Every calibration check worked out. He put it down to another glitch in >the new computer system and has marked it for Corporal Millers attention." TOM: New computer system? But they're out in the middle of nowhere! JOEL: Best place to get a new system. >"Kim, establish a comms blackout over the whole ship. CROW: Well, there goes any chance they had of contacting the Captain. ALL: Hurrah! >Carver, execute a full security sweep and head count. JOEL: [waves] Don't forget us! >B'Elanna, take your security team to Engineering," Chakotay ordered quickly. TOM: He does -everything- quickly, doesn't he? CROW: Why else do you think the Captain won't date him? JOEL: Crow! >"I think this may be what the Colonel was warning us about." TOM [Abbott] Actually, sir, he meant the hair on your back. It's unsightly. >"The lead Kommodan ships are spreading into attack pattern," Carver >warned. CROW: [Carver] It's the infamous "Dirty Latrine" formation, sir. We're doomed! ALL: Hurrah! >"Move us out of orbit, Winston. Avoidance pattern Gamma-Delta," Chakotay >announced. "Weapons up." JOEL: You put your weapons up... TOM: You put your weapons down... CROW: You put your weapons up... JOEL: And you shoot the Captain dead. TOM: You do the jig on her grave and turn yourself around... ALL: That's what it's all about! >"What about the Captain?" Kim demanded quickly. ALL: Kill her! JOEL: Do you guys think maybe we're being too harsh? TOM: Ah, she'll never know. >"We are going to have to rely upon the Colonel to get the Captain," CROW: Well, since he promised to find her -anyway-... >Chakotay accepted. "We have to deal with our current problems." TOM: [Chakotay] Like my sex appeal. What do you think Kathryn's looking for in a guy? >"Him and Seven will hack their way through the whole of Komos, if they >have to," Carver commented with relish. CROW: I prefer sauerkraut with my death and dismemberment. TOM: I like pastrami. JOEL: As long as there aren't any anchovies, I'm fine. >"Serve them right too!" TOM: So first he wants them dead, now he wants to be a waiter? JOEL: Many know the hazards of the missing comma -- CROW: Not Ray-Ray. JOEL: -- but few realize the horrors when the invisible "s" rears its ugly head. >Chakotay turned on him angrily. TOM: Uh-oh! He's ticked him off now! >"How is the security scan and head count, ensign?" TOM: ...at which point he asks something almost completely unrelated. JOEL: Vicious temper he's got there. >"Two crewmen reported missing," he reported. CROW: And the redshirt casualties begin to mount. >"I'm having a deck by deck search for them. Security are taking position >on all decks." JOEL: [Security] Are you -sure- they said to stand on these cards? >"The Komos vessels have opened fire," he added. "But the range is too >long for their weapons to do serious damage." TOM: Pretty dumb of them to fire then, wasn't it? >"Deploying defensive pattern Alpha-Delta 3," Winston responded before >Carver finished. "They are closing, Sir!" CROW: Well, open them back up again! JOEL: They can't. They broke the crowbar on the Captain, remember? >For a few seconds they watched as the first Plasma salvo shot past the >rapidly turning ship. TOM [Bridge crew] Forget the danger; I want to stare at the pretty shapes of death passing us by. >"Warp 3. Put some distance between us, but not so much that they stop >following," Chakotay decided. CROW: It's not like we want to survive this encounter, after all. >"We'll pull their fleet away, it might give the Colonel slightly better odds. JOEL: So he's going to abandon the Captain to the Borg? TOM: More like he's going to flush her down the commodes. ALL: Hurrah! >Keep track of those Borg ships. We might have to follow them." CROW: Admit it; you just like playing "Follow the Leader." >Behind him three security guards came out of the lift and silently took >station. JOEL: I'm pretty sure the bridge crew can take care of themselves, guys. Why don't you go play with the toilets downstairs? TOM: But there are no toilets in Star Trek. CROW: Ray-Ray's out to change all that. >"The Kommodans are following, Sir. And the Borg cubes have arrived," >Carver advised. JOEL: Isn't advice supposed to be helpful in some way? >"Any sign of the Colonel?" Chakotay asked in concern. TOM: [Kim] We saw him in the billiard room with the rope, but Miss Scarlet says to think nothing of it. >"I can't tell, Commander. CROW: [Kim] I've been sworn to secrecy! >But the Valorian ship is always difficult to spot," Kim reported. Then in >more alarm. "One of the cubes has just jumped to Transwarp, a second is >following the Komos fleet." JOEL: I thought there were three cubes. TOM: The third was picked up by Q for his Monopoly board. JOEL: I always wondered how they made those. >"Track the direction of the one leaving!" Chakotay almost screamed. CROW: And an "almost scream" would be what, exactly? TOM: Talking normally, I suppose. >"They must have the Captain. JOEL: Or it's a diversionary tactic. CROW: Borg that actually -think-? Doesn't sound like the same Borg Voyager's had for the past six years. >Winston, find a way to follow their course, then maximum warp!" > > > > TOM: Is it over? Is it over? >In Engineering, TOM: Damn. CROW: But at least he used a comma correctly. >Lieutenant B'Elanna Paris, chased JOEL: Well, there was a lesson quickly learned and forgotten. >two security guards out of her way as she raced around trying to keep her >engines running at peak efficiency. TOM: You know, they make consoles for that sort of thing. >A sixth sense was telling her that there were going to be major calls upon >Voyagers power system. CROW: It's pretty sad when the crew has to rely on a sixth sense to know what to do. TOM: Lord knows they can't tell from the script. >The repeaters in Engineering were showing what Chakotay was trying to >do, JOEL: Repeaters? CROW: Maybe she's got a group of actors playing out the action on the bridge for her. JOEL: Wouldn't it be easier to just have a video feed of the original? >carefully work his way around the Komos Fleet so that the ship could >follow the now disappeared cube. TOM: Q needed another die, I see. >She suspected that things were not going to be as simple as that. CROW: Of course not. JOEL: I think it's in the Star Trek writer's manual to paint your story into a corner so tight only a deus ex machina can get you out. >Above her a ventilation grill was silently removed and a small face >appeared in the aperture. TOM: Small compared to what? The grill? A gorilla? A dinosaur? JOEL: Assume nothing. >Apparently satisfied that it had not been noticed, CROW: Voyager, the Crew That Knew Too Little. >the face withdrew to be replaced by a hand aiming a hand weapon. TOM: As opposed to a hand aiming a foot weapon. JOEL: Or a moustache weapon. CROW: You'd think they'd lock those up, though. TOM: Maybe they brought them with them. CROW: You'd think they'd search anyone with suspicious bulges. JOEL: Aliens with suspicious bulges are a dime a dozen. >Carefully the weapon was aimed at the frenetic engineer and fired. TOM: [sfx] Click! CROW: [Kommodan] Whoops, sorry, forgot to load it. Hold on, let me try to kill you again. >B'Elanna turned JOEL: Why is it that none of the main crew can ever suffer permanent injury? TOM: I dunno ... B'Elanna was pregnant for a while, wasn't she? JOEL: That's not an injury! CROW: Insurance companies count it as a disability. >to pass on an order to one of her engineering team as she came up behind her. TOM: B'Elanna was coming up behind herself? JOEL: Ray-Ray -did- say she was frantic. >She opened her mouth to speak, in time for it to become a shriek of horror >as the young engineering technician slumped in front of her. CROW: B'Elanna doesn't strike me as the type to scream in terror. TOM: She's more the type to reach out and strangle the offender. >A few milliseconds later she was diving behind a console as more weapons >fired. JOEL: Those are some fast reflexes she's got there. TOM: Maybe everyone on board -is- a superhero. >"Engineering to Bridge!" She screamed, tearing for her phasor. CROW: [sfx] riiiiiip! JOEL: [B'Elanna] No, not there either. Damn it, I'm running out of pockets! >"We are under attack!" TOM: I think they already know that. JOEL: She means from the -inside-. TOM: Ah. Well, you'd think she'd specify, lest Chakotay think her a dim-watt bulb. >Peering over the console she saw one of the security team drop as he >fired at the ceiling. CROW: That's three. >She looked up and saw a small figure duck out of sight from the vent >aperture. JOEL: So she didn't know where the shots were coming from? Then why duck behind a console? >She fired at it, but another bolt struck the console beside her causing >it to spark brightly, TOM: Was that caused by her shot or theirs? JOEL: Tough call. >making her duck down again. CROW: You don't get down from a duck, you get down ... oh. Dang. >Rolling to spot where she could identify where that shot came from she saw >another open grill. JOEL: [the Count] Two! Two open grills! TOM: You had a weird childhood. >She kept rolling until she could tuck herself under a console and clear CROW: How does one tuck oneself under a clear? >of the cross fire from the two open apertures. She heard several more >small explosions as shots hit more consoles. She was not certain what >they were shooting at, ALL: They're shooting at YOU! >so she risked another peek over the top of her cover. TOM: And was picked off by the sniper. Everyone else died. The end. >They weren't random shots just to keep heads down, she realised. They >were being deliberately aimed at consoles, attempting to disable them. JOEL: That must have taken some shooting. CROW: How so? JOEL: They missed B'Elanna at point-blank range, didn't they? >She dived back again as she was spotted and tried to think. TOM: [Winnie the Pooh] Think, think, think. > > > >B'Elanna's desperate call to the Bridge for help, CROW: [singing] Help! JOEL: [singing] I need somebody... TOM: [singing] Help! JOEL: Not just anybody... >held Chakotay stunned >for a whole five seconds, before Winston's equally desperate cry. "Warp >drive is down.!" Brought him to his senses. CROW: Finally! JOEL: We've been waiting seven seasons for that. >"Carver, you were one of those that tried the Colonel's security >training, CROW: Thank you, Exposition Man. TOM: Chakotay, man of psychic abilities, his own father-confessor, and exposition man! >take more security to Engineering. JOEL: Star Trek, the show that turned "security" into a synonym for "cannon fodder." >We need warp power back. CROW: Duh! TOM: How did he get in charge again? CROW: He slept with the Captain. TOM: And she -still- let him be in command? >How long before the Kommodan ships get here?" He demanded. JOEL: [Kim] That depends on the sewer lines, sir. >"Not more than twenty minutes," Kim responded quickly. CROW: [Kim] And not less than thirty ... wait a minute... >Carver leapt for the lift. TOM: [sfx] Sproing! >In time for it to open to reveal three dwarves. JOEL: It's Happy, Doc, and Sneezy! >Their first two shots took Carver and the security guard by the >door. CROW: Wooohooo! TOM: Yehaw! JOEL: So it's unanimous; we're cheering for the dwarves. >The three remaining security guards opened fire upon them, swinging around >from their posts guarding the alternative entries. CROW: Wait, I thought the bridge was elliptical. TOM: Yeah? CROW: So why were they facing away from the bridge? >The three dwarves fell. JOEL: [southpark] You killed Sneezy! You bastard! >Kim braved the risk TOM: What risk? The dwarves have been shot. >and dived across the Bridge to reach the tactical station. CROW: Isn't Kim's station all of two feet away from tactical? JOEL: Maybe we should buy Ray-Ray a map. >"Security reports that there are small groups of dwarves appearing all >over the ship, Commander." TOM: [Kim] There are seven of them, and they're complaining about a bad apple. >"Armoury?" CROW: [Kim] No, sir; no sign of Prince Charming yet. >"Okay so far. But a party of dwarves are on that deck, Commander." TOM: Is it a dwarf-tossing party? >The hatch for the Jefferies tube started to move. Immediately Kala >fired at it with her phasor and it slammed shut again. JOEL: I hope that wasn't a crewman trying to escape the dwarves. >"They're in the Jefferies tube!" she shouted. "They can do real damage >in there!" CROW: If it's such a high-risk area, why didn't the security teams check them? >Chakotay nodded and approached the hatch with caution. "Harry and >Winston, do what you can to keep us out of their weapons. TOM: "Out of their weapons"? JOEL: Apparently they can shrink people down and fit them inside. TOM: As bullets?! Cool! >If we lose shields we are dead." CROW: Pray, guys. Pray. >He crouched by the hatch and signalled Kala and a security guard to do >the same. JOEL: Monkey, see, monkey do. >"When I say, open the hatch as quickly as you can, but keep behind the >door, it will protect you," he whispered to Kala. TOM: Um, aren't phasers descendants of lasers? CROW: Yes. TOM: Well, lasers can shoot -through- metal. CROW: Anything that lessens the crew count, I'm happy with. >She nodded her understanding and grasped the handles securely. > >"Now!" Chakotay hissed. CROW: How do you hiss a yell? TOM: Especially without an "s" in the word. Joel? JOEL: Don't look at me. I just live in this body; I didn't say I could do stuff with it. >She pulled the door open with a giant heave. CROW: ... banging Chakotay firmly in the noggin. >The first thing Chakotay saw was a dwarf immediately behind the door. JOEL: Look, it's Sleepy! >He was shot by the guard. TOM: Now that's just mean. Sleepy never harmed anyone. >Around the edge of the door Kala saw a second dwarf fiddling with a junction >box, she fired her phasor at him. She missed but it was enough to have him >tumbling away from it. CROW: No one on this ship is very good with a gun, are they? >Chakotay dived through the entrance, saw the Dwarf get to his feet and >start to run. He fired and the Dwarf was running no more. TOM: So he let him walk out of there. >He pulled out again JOEL: Hey now! >and gave the two young officers an encouraging smile, before giving >instructions. CROW: Much like your first date, eh Joel? >"Follow the tube to the junction and take station. Fry anything that >moves," TOM: [guard] Are you sure you wouldn't prefer a nice saute? Or perhaps flame-broiled? >he ordered the guard. "Kala,check the junctions. Make sure they >haven't done any damage. JOEL: Of course they haven't. They were just looking for prime vacation spots. >Kim, lock the Turbo Lift. I don't want anymore of them getting here!" CROW: Or anyone getting out, either. TOM: Excerpt from Starfleet Regulations: When boarded by hostile forces, lock yourself in with no escape plan and limited weapons. Eventually a plot hole will open, allowing you to take back the ship. JOEL: Addendum: You may not take back the ship until the last fifteen minutes. >He stalked back to his seat CROW: Fortunately, the chair hadn't finalized the restraining order. >and collapsed into it, JOEL: He sure does tire easily. TOM: You've stated that twice, now. JOEL: I'm just trying to figure out how to name it as a super-power. >trying to decide upon the next move. CROW: B-12! TOM: Aw, you sank my battleship! >He noticed that the duty ensign was examining Carver and the fallen guard, >he had almost forgotten she was still there.' JOEL: Compassionate, isn't he? >"How are they?" he asked, quietly. CROW: Is he afraid of waking them up? >"Alive, Commander," she responded nervously. TOM: Dang. >"Beam them to sickbay," he instructed JOEL: So he's assuming the dwarves didn't do anything to the ship's systems? CROW: Or he wants to get rid of extra crewmen as much as we do. >then added. "This is your first Bridge duty and close quarters combat >isn't it?" TOM: [Abott] Talking to yourself again, sir? >She nodded unhappily at him, a pleading look in her eyes. CROW: [Abott] Kill me! Kill me now! >For once he really wished he had the Colonel's knack of calming and >encouraging people into amazing feats, JOEL: So explain to me why the Colonel isn't in command. TOM: You'd think that as soon as Janeway had an alternative... >the ensign was terrified and with good reason. Ensign Abott was a mouse. CROW: So she had large ears, fur, and a tail? TOM: At least now we know what happens to Minnie Mouse in the future. >She never appeared anywhere, JOEL: That must make bridge duty interesting. TOM: Abott, the Invisible Woman! >took her meals alone, CROW: I wish -I- could do that. JOEL: If you could eat food, it might be an option. >rarely used the holodecks, TOM: Ah, so she's the only normal one among them, then. CROW: No wonder they're suspicious of her. >was never involved in disciplinary reports. JOEL: Isn't that a -good- thing? >B'Elanna had described her as 'being afraid of her own shadow'. CROW: So she's not a mouse; she's a groundhog. >Chakotay felt a wave of compassion for the young woman. TOM: No, wait; that was heartburn. >Her first bridge shift was proving to be a baptism of fire "Ensign Llinos >Abott, CROW: He's going to fire the Ensign in the middle of a crisis? JOEL: Why not? It ranks right up there with all the other command decisions. >Airponics, isn't it?" TOM: What is airponics? CROW: Well, you know what airplanes are, right? Same principle. TOM: I'll pretend I understood that. >She nodded weakly. JOEL: No one on this ship has much energy. CROW: Or many brains. >"Well it isn't always like this. TOM: Now that's just an outright lie. CROW: Yeah. They get in some sort of trouble every week. TOM: You'd think they'd notice by now. JOEL: That reminds me. Have you noticed that -- CROW: Shh. I'm trying to read. >I'm going to need your help," was all he could find to say. JOEL: His collection of cliches must be in his other pants. >She nodded and smiled weakly at him, staggering up to resume her station >at ops. CROW: So they're just going to leave Carver there, then? TOM: I guess so. They never did get around to beaming him to Sickbay. >Chakotay sank back in his chair, JOEL: [Chakotay] Ah, comfort. Maybe it's time for a nap. >the Colonel's ability with people was not the only thing he needed, >he realised. CROW: Acting ability, he noted, was important, too. >Not even in the Maqui had he been forced into such a close corner, >with enemies running loose on his ship and a battle fleet bearing >down on him. TOM: But didn't he have a Cardassian spy on board? CROW: And wasn't Tuvok a Federation spy? JOEL: And didn't they have to turn and run every time a starship came after them? TOM: Sounds like he should be right at home. >Idly he thumbed the communicator. CROW: You've got to admit, he keeps his cool in a crisis. JOEL: He's probably too sleepy to demand anything now. >"B'Elanna, I'm trying to get relief to you, but there are dwarves all over >the ship, getting there is difficult. TOM: And who exactly told him that? CROW: It's so sad that by the twenty-fourth century they've lost the art of dwarf-tossing. JOEL: "Art" is a bit of a stretch there, Crow. >I need warp power within the next ten minutes. Can you do it?" He demanded >quietly. JOEL: We're just seeing all sorts of facets of Chakotay: demanding quickly, quietly... TOM: Surprising, considering he's a one-dimensional character. >"We're pinned down, CROW: Like butterflies? >and they are trying to disable the controls," JOEL: "Trying" being the operative word here. TOM: They make Imperial Stormtroopers look like crack shots. >B'Elanna's voice echoed up to him, in the background he could hear >several small explosions confirming her declaration. CROW: Thank goodness that happened, else he might not believe her. > > > > >"Who else is here. Count off?" B'Elanna yelled from here hiding place. >"Caerey?" JOEL: Sure, count off. TOM: Hopefully they'll pick you off as you give away your positions. >"Lieutenant." Joe Caerey's voice sounded from beside the Distribution >Board. One by one the rest of the engineering team announced themselves, CROW: ... and all died in turn. >there were six left and one of the Security team she had brought down >from the aborted rescue mission. JOEL: One out of how many? CROW: It was never specified. I'm hoping twenty-seven. TOM: That puts a lot more faith into the dwarves' target practice than I'm willing. >"How many points are they using?" She asked. CROW: Points? You mean this is an RPG? >"The three vents, Lieutenant. I think there are four of them," Caerey >called. TOM: So three is equal to four? JOEL: He must have x-ray vision. He never even looked up. >She thought for a moment. CROW: Nope, too difficult. >She had to regain warp drive, flush out their attackers JOEL: Presenting, from Tie-d-bowl, Inc: Dwarf flushers! TOM: Alien commodes getting you down? We've got the solution! CROW: Now available in Bashful Red and Grumpy Brown. JOEL: Sleepy Blue not available in some areas. >and prevent them getting in again. TOM: Well, there goes the hokey-pokey tournament. >Ground offensives were not her field of expertise and had only basic >levels of training. CROW: What had only basic levels of training? JOEL: My guess? The ground offensives. >She had however listened to the Colonels' stories with some interest. TOM: Apparently however listening will teach you things. JOEL: As opposed to regular listening, which is done in schools. TOM: Something's backwards here. If I could just put my finger on it... >"Saturate the vents with phasor fire," she shouted. CROW: Doesn't she mean "marinate"? JOEL: [pulls out recipe book] Saturate vents with phaser fire until dwarves are well-done. Immerse in gas, boil when ready. Serves one bridge crew. [closes book] No, she's right. >"I've got to get warp power online." > >Immediately she crawled from her hiding place and dived for another >console as two laser bolts hit the deck beside her. TOM: [B'Elanna] The grates *above* you, idiots! >More gratifying were the six pale phasor beams that lanced out from >the deck at the source of fire. TOM: [B'Elanna] That's better! >Taking courage from her teams rapid response she ran for the warp >control console. CROW: Which, according to Plot Contrivance #250, has not been hit. >A yellow beam chased her as she dived headlong under the console. JOEL: Wow. She can travel faster than light. >She was stopped with a crash as she hit the console mounting head first and >lay there stunned. TOM: Under, into; it's all the same to Ray-Ray. >"Lieutenant!" Lieutenant Caerey shouted in alarm, springing up and >racing towards the fallen B'Elanna Paris, CROW: I thought she was keeping her own name? JOEL: Come to think of it, where -is- Tom, anyway? TOM: I'm right here! JOEL: [surprised] Oh, hi! TOM: [stage whisper] Dummy. >firing blindly at where the shot that had forced her down had come from. CROW: If he's firing blindly, it can't be at a specific point, now can it? >A small figure rose from behind the warp core and fired at the fast >moving lieutenant, from less than ten feet. JOEL: If this one misses, I vote we dub him "Dopey." >Only the violent shudder from the ship that forced them both to stagger >saved Caerey from being vaporised. ALL: Hi, Dopey! CROW: Amazing that even the ship can shudder at FTL speeds. >He missed. JOEL: And the award for "Most Obvious Statement" goes to... TOM: ... Ray-Ray, for his epic "Trouble of Dwarves"! ALL: [mock cheering] >Caerey still with impetuous leapt at him, JOEL: [opens dictionary] Impetuous: marked by impulsive vehemence or passion. CROW: "Still with marked impulsive vehemence." That almost works... TOM: I think you've just summarized the entire story in those three words. >knocking him to the ground and started to pound at him withis fists until >the dwarf fell silent. CROW: But isn't Dopey the mute? ALL: It's a trick, Caerey! >He staggered up again and dived for B'Elanna's recumbent position. TOM: He likes swooping and diving about, doesn't he? JOEL: Just be glad he's not the one flying the ship. >She was just coming around as he arrived. CROW: [singing] she'll be comin' round conscious when she comes... >"He's got a phasor rifle!" She declared groggily. > >"Dealt with," Caerey promised in a whisper. TOM: [falsetto] My hero! >"Now lay still. I'll get the Warp drive working." JOEL: You mean he knows -how-?! CROW: Wow. And he's not even a main character. >Carefully he stood and tried to ignore the flash of laser and phasor >fire as he started work. TOM: Sure, go ahead and stand. Making yourself a bigger target won't hurt at all. >Again the ship rocked violently anmd a terminal behind him exploded in a >shower of sparks, forcing him to duck. CROW: Of course, the -plot critical- console is perfectly fine. JOEL: It's the only one with actual fuses. >A crewman screamed as a terminal was dislodged onto her as she >cowered beneath it. TOM: Either there's something wrong with the chain of events... CROW: ... or she dived under the terminal when she saw it was going to fall. >There was another scream, followed by a sickening thud as a dwarf slipped >from his hiding place and fell the twenty feet to the deck. JOEL: Was he shot? TOM: Maybe he just slipped. CROW: Poor Doc. He never had a chance. >With an effort Caerey reached to the far end of the console and thumped >a pad. TOM: What effort? It takes no more than a fingertip to work one of those things. >Then sharply withdrew his hand again with a scream of pain as a laser beam >singed past his arm, TOM: Okay. Never mind. >causing the fabric to wither and melt to the skin. He sank to the ground dizzy >from the excruciating burning sensation CROW: But it's just his -hand-! And a grazing shot, at that! TOM: Maybe he was hit in ... you, know. A sensitive area. CROW: So his species' gonads are located near his hands? TOM: Most are. JOEL: Hey! >from the smouldering uniform. > >With his teeth clenched, he hit the communicator. CROW: That's a neat trick. TOM: Can -you- hit your chest with your teeth, Joel? >"Engineering to Bridge. You have warp." Then he passed out, JOEL: Weakling. >collapsing onto B'Elanna as she struggled to sit up. CROW: [Godfather] Just when I get up, they push me back down! >"Joe!" TOM: Joel? JOEL: Almost looks like it. >B'Elanna screamed at him, shaking him hard. There was no response. CROW: She slapped him. No response. JOEL: She dropped him from twenty feet; no response. TOM: She shaved his body. No response CROW & JOEL: Tom! >Roughly she pushed Caerey's body off from on CROW: Off from on! JOEL: On from off! >top TOM: ... to bottom! >of her CROW: ... to him! >and crawled to TOM: ... walk? JOEL: I think the joke died. >where the fallen dwarf lay, CROW: [Hamlet] Alas, poor Dopey! I knew him, Snow White. A fellow of infinite silence, of most excellent dress... JOEL: [Holding Crow's beak] That's enough, I think. >snatched up the dropped phasor rifle, reset it to maximum fire power and >aimed carefully at the vent above her. TOM: So -that's- what everyone else has been doing wrong. They've been aiming, but not aiming -carefully-. >A tentative hand appeared aiming at the control console that Caerey had >been working at CROW: They've had two whole minutes! What have they been doing? Sleeping? JOEL: You'd think they'd leave the apple alone after Snow White dropped it. >and she fired. The resultant explosion ripped a gaping hole in the vent >system TOM: ... causing everyone to choke to death from lack of breathable air. CROW: I don't know about you, but if I were in space, the last thing I'd do is punch a hole in the ship. JOEL: Crow, we -are- in space. CROW: We -are-?! TOM: Well of -course- we are, Crow! [Crow screams, and runs out of the theatre] JOEL: Damn. Well, I suppose we'd better go after him. [Joel picks up Tom, and they head out] [ ... 1 ... 2 ... 3 ... 4 ... 5 ... 6 ... ] From: pieceoftheuniverse Newsgroups: alt.tv.mst3k.mstings Subject: [MiSTing] Trouble of Dwarves (2/9) Date: Fri, 21 Dec 2001 10:50:52 -0700 Reply-To: po...@pieceoftheuniverse.com Message-ID: X-Newsreader: Forte Agent 1.8/32.548 MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Lines: 795 X-Authenticated-User: pieceoftheuniverse X-Comments: This message was posted through Spamkiller.Newsfeeds.com X-Comments2: IMPORTANT: Newsfeeds.com does not condone, nor support, spam or any illegal or copyrighted postings. X-Comments3: IMPORTANT: Under NO circumstances will postings containing illegal or copyrighted material through this service be tolerated!! X-Report: Please report illegal or inappropriate use to You may also use our online abuse reporting from: http://www.newsfeeds.com/abuseform.htm X-Abuse-Info: Please be sure to forward a copy of ALL headers, INCLUDING the body (DO NOT SEND ATTACHMENTS) Organization: Newsfeeds.com http://www.newsfeeds.com 73,000+ UNCENSORED Newsgroups. Path: archiver1.google.com!news1.google.com!sn-xit-02!supernews.com!newsfeed.direct.ca!look.ca!newsfeed1.cidera.com!Cidera!telocity-west!TELOCITY!news-out.nuthinbutnews.com!propagator2-austin!propagator!feed2.newsfeeds.com!newsfeeds.com!news-in-austin.nuthinbutnews.com!spamkiller.newsgroups.com Xref: archiver1.google.com alt.tv.mst3k.mstings:329 TOM: [coming from stage right] I don't get it, Joel. When you made us, you had "the Talk" with us. You explained how Dr. Forrester shot you into space, and how you cannibalized parts of the ship to create us so we could keep you sane. JOEL: Thank you, Mr. Exposition. TOM: So then what's wrong with Crow? JOEL: I'll be able to tell you that when we find him. Crow! TOM: Crow! [Both start going around the bridge of the SOL, on and off screen, calling for Crow. Finally, they meet back in front of Cambot] JOEL: This isn't getting us anywhere. TOM: Right. What we need to do is to put ourselves in his mindset. JOEL: So if I was a vaguely-humanoid robot with an acute sense of agoraphobia, where would I go? TOM: Crow is afraid of sweaters? JOEL: Not angora-phobia; agoraphobia! TOM: I suppose that would explain his screams of terror when Ed Wood is mentioned ... JOEL: Crow is not afraid of sweaters. Now where could he be? TOM: Well not in the closet, then. JOEL: The closet! Of course! [Joel goes offstage and comes back with a steel wardrobe on wheels. Once he moves it into place, he springs open the door to reveal a pile of sweaters that appear to be trembling] TOM: See, I told you he wasn't afraid of sweaters! JOEL: Crow? Crow, could you come out, please? CROW: [muffled] No! It's cold outside! JOEL: But we're inside, Crow. It's nice and warm on the Satellite of Love. CROW: There's no kind of atmosphere! TOM: And you're all alone? CROW: More or less. ALL: [singing] Let me fly Far away from here Fun, fun, fun In the sun, sun, sun Fun, fun, fun In the sun, sun, sun ... [Crow comes out, and all link arms for the final segment] ALL: o/~ bum bum bum ba-bum, bum bum bum ba-bum, bum ba-bum ba ba bum, BUM! o/~ [beat] JOEL: That was terrible. Stealing from another show... CROW: But I feel much better. JOEL: You do? CROW: Sure. I came to the realization that I'm a robot, so even if there was a hole in the ship and all the air went out, I'd still be okay. TOM: Hey, that's right! JOEL: Erm... CROW: You'd be pretty dead, though, Joel. TOM: Maybe he could come back as a hologram. [Lights, flashing, siren, panic] JOEL: Speaking of dwarves: we've got FANFIC SIGN!! [ ... 6 ... 5 ... 4 ... 3 ... 2 ... 1 ... ] [As they're filing in the theatre...] TOM: You know, none of that really explained why you forgot we were in space. CROW: Oh, I had some Cheez Whiz this morning. JOEL: You know better than that. That stuff is evil. CROW: I've learned my lesson. >"We are in range of their weapons, Commander," Kim called nervously. TOM: I thought they had a full hour! >"They are firing." JOEL: If this were on television, the bridge would be full of exploding consoles, making his statement unnecessary. CROW: So you're saying it's necessary now? JOEL: Of course not. >"Winston?" Chakotay called. TOM: [Chakotay] Where are my slippers? >He had been waiting for this. CROW: Also in the Starfleet Guidebook: "Wait until the last possible second to do anything. Remember, we have an hour time slot to fill." >There had been no response from Engineering since he had pressed his >need for warp power upon B'Elanna 15 minutes ago. JOEL: Cut her some slack. She was busy with her time of fame. >He was also gambling upon the Kommodan vessels not wanting to cause >excessive damage to Voyager, TOM: I dunno. Anyone who's named after toilets probably doesn't have very appealing plans for a captured starship. CROW: The term "shithouse" comes to mind. >relying upon the saboteurs to disable the ship. JOEL: So Chakotay's relying on the saboteurs now? TOM: I knew it! No one's -that- ineffective and still gets to be second-in-command! CROW: Nah. He's not smart enough to be in league with the enemy, even if they are just water closets. >Their long range bombardment was simply to keep them busy. JOEL: Busy doing what? TOM: To find out, send $19.95 (plus shipping and handling). JOEL: Must be eighteen or older. >He wanted them a lot closer before he revealed his own hand, CROW: [Chakotay] Ha! A full house! TOM: But doesn't a flush beat a full house? >to this end he had instructed Kim to take phasors offline to suggest they >had been disarmed from the inside. JOEL: [Kommodan] Sir, they've shut off their weapons. TOM: [Other Kommodan] Did we hit them? JOEL: No. TOM: Graze them? JOEL: No. TOM: Insult them? JOEL: No. TOM: They must be dead then. Full speed ahead! JOEL: Should we lower shields? TOM: Sure! >"Working on it, Sir!" Winston's voice was a model of calmness. CROW: How do you model calmness? TOM: You mean, what shape does it come in? CROW: Yeah. JOEL: I think Michelangelo would say "elephant." >He had picked up the weapons discharge on his sensors moments after Kim TOM: This -is- the bridge, right? Where all the action takes place on a gigantic screen not two feet away from where he's sitting? And he still needs sensors? >and was already rolling Voyager CROW: ... into a joint. JOEL: Ah, so that's how he stays so calm. >and hauling the ship around in a new direction. TOM: What, by himself? CROW: You'd think they would have controls for that sort of thing. >"They are firing again. Multiple discharges," Kim almost shouted this >time, an almost complete opposite to the pilots. TOM: Oh, good, so there are at least two pilots. JOEL: Still, that's a lot of work for just two guys. >"Can't miss them all, Sir!" JOEL: See? CROW: This is what happens when the military has to make budgetary cutbacks. JOEL: Headcount is always the first to go. >Winston intoned, his hands still working the ships controls. TOM: [Winston] Let's see, they ordered the extra value meal, no mustard, Diet Coke ... >"They are well in range, Commander?" Kim suggested his nerves making his >voice quiver. JOEL: Don't ask us! >"When you can't miss with manual targeting, we will fire. Not before," CROW: Wouldn't they have to turn the phasers back on first? TOM: Only if they wanted to retain a shred of continuity. CROW: I'll take that as a "no," then. >Chakotay hissed as the ship rocked to the one salvo Winston had not been >able to avoid. JOEL: If an officer hisses in a loud battle, and no one hears it, is it still an order? >"Shields down 5%," called ensign Abott from ops, TOM: Is that down -to- 5%, or are they just down to 95% and she's trying to panic everyone? CROW: Let's pray for the former. >trying hard to emulate the seeming calmness of Chakotay and Winston. JOEL: [Winston] Here, have a joint. >She knew her voice was shaking though. CROW: Is she shaking faster than light? TOM: Huh? CROW: Well, everyone else seems to be able to. I'd hate for her to be left out. >She had never thought her flippant volunteering to take her first bridge watch >was going to turn out like this. JOEL: I thought we had determined that she was anything -but- flippant. CROW: No, we determined that she wasn't a mouse so much as a groundhog. JOEL: Right. >She felt guilty for everything that was happening. If she had decoded >Seven of Nine's message they might not have been in this position. TOM: And thus proves Chakotay's superiority by adding two and two together ... and getting three. >Chakotay also heard the quiver of fear in her voice and spared the time >to offer what he hoped was a reassuring smile. CROW: [Chakotay] We're in the middle of a pitched battle, but I'd like to flirt with you for a minute. >"You should have volunteered for the Dog Watch," he suggested, JOEL: [Chakotay] They let the dwarves on board, you know. It's what they do. >trying to be light-hearted. TOM: Yeah, I'd like to weigh his heart with a feather. JOEL & CROW: What?! TOM: Sorry, Egyptian joke. >"This is a picnic compared to what the Colonel puts them through, isn't >it Ensign Winston?" JOEL: So the Colonel occasionally sabotages the ship and attacks from the vents? CROW: Surprising that they were caught unprepared, then. >"Aye, Sir!" Winston responded, slapping another pad to send Voyager >skidding across space again TOM: How do you skid in a vacuum? >as another plasma bolt sailed past a nacelle. "A picnic where the jam >has been spilt for the wasps." ALL: [Dryly] Ah-ha. Ha. Ha. CROW: Kill me. Kill me now. >"Manual lock on lead ship, range 5000 kilometres!" Kim cried in >jubilation. JOEL: That's good, Ensign. Now do you see that little red button in front of you? The one with the word "Fire" on it? CROW: If they never promote this guy, it'll be too soon. >Chakotay sighed in relief. At that range the torpedoes would be >devastating. TOM: ... to both ships, but he wasn't one to let a little thing like death stop him. JOEL: "Wasn't" being the key word here. >He was about to give the command to fire when Lieutenant >Caerey's voice broke in from Engineering. "Warp Power!" CROW: [Chakotay] Damn Caerey, stealing my thunder. >It changed the situation totally. TOM: So now that they have warp, they're going to play nice? >"Harry, reload the stern tubes with cluster torpedoes and a starburst >probe. Bring Phasors up, lock onto as many ships as we can. JOEL: "Injure many, destroy few." Interesting strategy. CROW: For "idiotic" values of "interesting," maybe. >When we are through fire the starburst and the cluster torpedoes," Chakotay >demanded rapidly. JOEL: That's it! I've got ... six dollars. TOM: I've got ten. CROW: I've got seventy-five thousand. JOEL: Good. Let's go buy Ray-Ray a thesaurus. TOM: Seventy-five -thousand-?! >"Winston, spin us around to face the enemy as soon as Ensign >Kim is ready. Take us into warp." CROW: [Winston] Which one, sir? You can't have it both ways. >"Ready!" Kim reported twenty seconds later. TOM: So what happened in those twenty seconds? JOEL: The ship was destroyed. TOM: And ... ? JOEL: Ray-Ray's ignoring that tragic turn of events in favour of the story. TOM: Oh. Pity. >"Rotating," Winston announced immediately, ignoring the explosion of >sparks emanating from the consoles behind as Voyager was struck by two >more plasma bursts. CROW: ... killing two crewman who will never be identified. JOEL: I'm more surprised that the attacking ships knew Voyager was going to turn. >"Shields down to 40%!" Abott screamed over the noise, reminding them how >close they were. TOM: How close they were to what, exactly? CROW: I'm hoping death, but I think the bridge is getting a bit cramped for her. >"Fire as we bear!" JOEL: [Kim] I'm more of a horse person, myself. >Chakotay relished the command CROW: Ewww. I can't stand relish. TOM: Why not? CROW: It squeaks against my teeth. JOEL: That almost made sense, except you don't have teeth. >as four torpedoes leapt from Voyagers forward tubes TOM: [sfx] SPROING! >and swung for their targets. CROW: As opposed to heading right back to Voyager. >From the top array a beam lanced out and held the nearest ship JOEL: [beam] No, really; would you like to dance? >for what seemed to be an eternity. TOM: This story -is- an eternity. >As it subsided a second beam lanced from the lower array and held a second >vessel. CROW: [beam] You are under arrest. You have the right to fire back; you have the right to disobey the Prime Directive. If you do not have a code of honour to disavow, one will be provided for you... >Four flashes showed the torpedoes had found their targets. JOEL: However, the flashes refused to be associated with any sort of explosion. >Then the view slurred as the ship leapt into warp. TOM: [Voyager] No, really, officher, I'm not drunk. >"Starburst and clusters fired commander," Kim announced almost immediately. CROW: A little slow on the uptake, isn't he? >"Course laid," Winston responded immediately. JOEL: He's a little faster on the ball, but not by much. >"Three vessels have been disabled, Commander," Kim reported the details >of their quick firing. "The fourth has suffered severe damage to shields >and drive." TOM: What sort of drive? CROW: The drive to live, to see, to seek out new life and civilizations ... JOEL: Wrong show. CROW: Oh. Probably warp, then. >Chakotay slumped in his seat in satisfaction. JOEL: [Chakotay] Oh, good. Time for my nap. >Ensign Abott cleared her throat politely, trying to stop herself panting >from excitement. CROW: Oh, so she's one of -those- types of girls. >"Excuse me, Commander. What is a Starburst?" TOM: [Chakotay] It's a square juicy candy. Here, let's go to the vending machine ... >Kim spared the Commander having to explain. JOEL: [Kim] Shh, don't wake up the Commander when he's taking his nap. >"It's a probe the Captain had Tuvok develop, from an idea of the Colonel's. >When it is detonated CROW: Wait a minute; a probe that detonates? Doesn't that make it a torpedo? >it throws out so much clutter it blinds sensors for at least fifteen >seconds. TOM: [Kim] Or, at least, inferior sensors like ours, which is all that really matters. >If we change direction when it explodes we can be a long way away before >people can see again. JOEL: So it basically pokes people in the eyes and runs away? CROW: Voyager, the Three Stooges of space. >This was its first test." TOM: So then how do they know what it really did? >"The cluster torpedoes will act as a mini minefield," Chakotay added >reflectively. JOEL: Put the mirror down, Chakotay; you're not that good-looking. >"They might not do a lot of damage to the larger ships, but it might slow >them down a little. CROW: Unless, of course, if they actually go -around- the minefield. TOM: A species that actually thinks three-dimensionally? Don't be ridiculous. >Now we only have the Borg to deal with. Where is it?" JOEL: So they're down to a single cube now? Where are the other two? CROW: On Q's trans-dimensional Monopoly board, I suppose. >"They haven't changed direction. I don't think they have a lock on us >yet, Commander," Kim declared. TOM: Noooo, of course not. You poked them in the eyes too, right? >"Winston set course after that cube that left!" JOEL: Make sure you go around the minefield, though. CROW: Boy, that'd be embarrassing. >Chakotay ordered in relief. "I want a full damage, casualty and progress >report on capturing the dwarves!" TOM: So he wants a damage report on the dwarves ... CROW: ... casualty report on the dwarves ... JOEL: ... and progress report on the dwarves. TOM: That's nice of him and all, but shouldn't he be worried about the actual ship? >"Five dead, twenty-three wounded. CROW: Ten to one that none of the dead are named. >It is proving difficult to get to some of the wounded," Kim answered. JOEL: Couldn't they just use the transporters? TOM: I dunno. As far as we know, Carver's still lying in front of the turbolift. >"The ship seems largely intact, a couple of relays have blown out. CROW: It's so sad to see so much technology lost over the years. Surge protectors, fuses ... >Reports suggest that there could be as many as two hundred dwarves >aboard." TOM: Wow. Those guys have been busy. JOEL: Well, you know how it is. You star in a major animated classic, and soon every female dwarf wants your body. >"Impossible! They are counting twice. There is no-way they could hide >that many!" Chakotay snapped. CROW: With your security? I admire their restraint. >"Excuse me, Sir!" Winston said politely. "The Colonel has often said he >could hide a full company on Voyager. JOEL: Which company? CROW: Maybe Microsoft. >And the Komons are only half his size." TOM: Do you think Ray-Ray's trying to tell us anything by switching between "commode" and "common"? CROW: Maybe he's saying that pretty much any everyday, run-of-the-mill, common individual could outsmart the Voyager crew in his sleep. JOEL: And the "commode" bit? CROW: That a common man would be overkill; average toilet water has more brainpower than the entire population of the ship. >Chakotay turned to slap down the ensign, JOEL: Interesting discipline policy, chief. >then remembered the arguments that he, Tuvok and the Captain had had >with the Colonel over the poor sensor coverage in parts of the ship. TOM: Of which nothing was done, of course. >He was proving correct. CROW: Erm, which "he"? JOEL: At least we can eliminate the Captain. TOM: That's good. If Janeway was actually right about something, the universe would probably explode. >"And he would make it look as though we were being attacked by a >regiment," he sighed at last, relaxing in his seat. JOEL: [Chakotay] Oh, good, then we're going to die. TOM: [Chakotay] Time for one last nap, then. >"The shields have just failed," Abott spoke up. ALL: Hurrah! CROW: A few paragraphs ago, they said that if the shields went, they were as good as dead. TOM: It's just a matter of time, now. >"I'm trying to reroute power, but they won't come up again! JOEL: Crow ... CROW: I wasn't going to say anything. Honest. >I think long range scans have been affected as well!" TOM: [singing] The long range is connected to the ... shields! CROW: [singing] The shields are connected to the ... crew's lives! >There was panic in her voice again. JOEL: What, again? >"Engineering. Report?" Chakotay demanded quickly. JOEL: Grrrrr ... CROW: Now, now, Joel. Why don't you ignore it and move on to something else? JOEL: Where's my thesaurus?! >Samantha Wildman answered him. "We have three dead, Commander. Eight >injured, including Lieutenant Paris, two seriously, including Lieutenant >Caerey. TOM: Notice that only the starring members of the crew are mentioned by name. CROW: And that they're not fatally injured, besides being shot by the same weapons. >He cross linked the Warp controls like a christmas tree before he was hurt. JOEL: "Warp" is capitalized, but not "Christmas"? TOM: And thus are Ray-Ray's priorities suddenly revealed. >We're struggling to get that under control. The ventilation system down here >is shot CROW: ... literally ... >and we are rigging forcefields across every access into Engineering." TOM: [Wildman] As such, we can't breathe, but I don't think that will affect our competency all that much. >"How badly hurt is B'Elanna?" Chakotay asked in sudden concern. He >needed the gifted engineer to be working. JOEL: [Chakotay] I don't -care- if she's got a gaping head wound; I need the ship to be fixed! >"Nothing serious, I think," Wildman replied. CROW: So Wildman's a doctor? TOM: Come to think of it, I don't know what her official function on the ship is. JOEL: I think it's "Plot Device." >"She is unconscious though. She went berserk, then passed out after >blowing the Kommodan's out of the vents." TOM: Well, sure; that's bound to hyperventilate anybody. CROW: Except Superman. >"We are going to need her," Chakotay pointed out, rather sharper than he >had intended. JOEL: [Chakotay] Well, actually, -I- need her. CROW: [Chakotay] In my bedroom. In two hours. >"I know, Commander!" > >"Shields are down, can you fix them?" TOM: [Wildman] Sure! Let me wave my magic wand ... >"I don't know, Commander. Just a moment, I'll run a trace on the >circuitry." JOEL: The calls are coming from inside the house! >Thirty seconds of impatient waiting later Samantha Wildman responded. CROW: Who's impatiently waiting? TOM: I refuse to diagram sentences. My guess is the seconds. >"I think there is a major distribution, JOEL: Oh, that's a relief. CROW: Someone must have forseen their need. JOEL: They'll probably charge an arm and a leg, though. >node out of action TOM: Isn't "out of action" usually reserved for sentients? CROW: Well, you know how it is. You're stuck on the same ship for seven years, it becomes part of the crew. >Section 4 Deck 8, Commander. But we can't get to it! There are several >Kommodans roaming the corridors outside Engineering. JOEL: [Wildman] They're singing "Hi ho, hi ho" over and over again. It's getting really annoying. >It is only the forcefields stopping them getting in." TOM: [Wildman] Or us getting out for that matter. I learned that from you. >Chakotay slapped the arms of his chair in frustration. CROW: Aren't the arms of that chair filled with controls? JOEL: ... and so, hopefully, he's just started the self-destruct sequence. >Without shields and sensors Voyager was almost defenceless and blind. TOM: "Almost"? JOEL: Well, they can always look out a window. TOM: And defend themselves how? JOEL: Running away. Terribly fast. >The Dwarf situation was going to have to be dealt with urgently, sensors would >have to be dealt with immediately. CROW: No one will be seated during the gripping "prioritizing" scene. >Only he was not sure how he was going to get somebody from the severely >depleted engineering out of engineering to fix the problems. ALL: Transporters! TOM: Geez, how did this guy get in charge? >"Winston, can you find your way to that magnetic anomaly the Colonel and >Seven went to investigate?" he asked thoughtfully. JOEL: Chakotay? Doing something thoughtfully? CROW: Boy, talk about out-of-character moments ... >"We'll hide in that until we've dealt with our problems." TOM: But won't just about everyone see where you're going? >"Aye, Sir. Course plotted and laid in," Winston responded immediately. > >"You had it already plotted?" Chakotay accused, almost amused. JOEL: Slowly, he begins to realize everyone else is better than him. >"It seemed like a likely destination, Sir. I've kept track of it." CROW: [Winston] I've also been keeping track of a 7-11. I'd like a Big Gulp. >"The Colonel's training!" Chakotay muttered under his breath. TOM: So -- again -- I'd like to ask: why isn't the Colonel in charge? >"I suppose you are going to give me an obvious solution to getting the >sensors and shields on-line?" Chakotay challenged. JOEL: [Winston] Well, sir, since you're so obviously incompetent ... >Winston did not answer. Instead he looked over his shoulder at Ensign >Abbott. CROW: [Winston] Abbott! I can see you! TOM: You know, the constant change of her name from "Abbott" to "Abott" is really starting to get on my nerves. >Chakotay followed his gaze CROW: How -do- you follow a gaze? JOEL: It's a lot like breadcrumbs, but without the birds. CROW: Oh. Okay. >and saw the ensign blush deeply. TOM: So it was one of those types of looks, then? >"Ensign?" he asked quietly. JOEL: [Chakotay] So you're smarter than me, too? CROW: Thus bringing the total up to ninety-eight billion and one ... >"I think I can fix the distribution node, Sir!" She stammered in >embarrassment. TOM: [Abbott] I hate admitting my abilities! They'll make me do stuff! >"Are you sure?" Chakotay asked, keeping his voice quiet. CROW: [Chakotay] It's not that I don't trust you, it's that I don't believe in you. >He distinctly remembered B'Elanna wanting her out of Engineering. "Your >reports from engineering were never encouraging," JOEL: Isn't it nice how Ray-Ray will constantly repeat himself and type things again to make sure we understand and comprehend these little details and minutia? TOM: You mean how Ray-Ray will identify key-critical elements of the plot in such a way as to duplicate them extensively so we can fully realize these things needed to be said and stated? JOEL: Quite. Exactly. Precisely. Right-on. Correct. Yes. >he almost kicked himself at that comment, CROW: Don't stop on -our- account. >it was a low blow and he saw her blanch. TOM: I thought her name was Abbott? JOEL: Or Abott. >"I'm a Mineralogist not an Engineer, Sir. CROW: [Bones] Dammit, Jim! >I'm not as fast as the others, Sir," she protested plaintively. TOM: She must be the only member of the crew unable to move faster than light. >"It wasn't because I couldn't do it, Sir!" JOEL: [Abbott] It's because I didn't want to! Yeah, that's the ticket! >"I'm sorry ensign," Chakotay apologised. "We'll do it. Together." ALL: [singing] So happy ... together ... >He turned, all action again. CROW: [Chakotay] Whew. Got -that- lousy subplot out of the way. >"Kim, get somebody from security to meet us at the turbo lift on Deck 8. TOM [Chakotay] Anybody. Doesn't matter who. JOEL: Someone with their will signed and their affairs in order, I would think. >If you secure the Jefferies Tube with a forcefield you will have Kala back." CROW: Though not necessarily in one piece ... JOEL: And on that note, it looks like we don't have to take -this- all in one piece. [Joel picks up Tom, and they file out] [ ... 1 ... 2 ... 3 ... 4 ... 5 ... 6 ... ] From: pieceoftheuniverse Newsgroups: alt.tv.mst3k.mstings Subject: [MiSTing] Trouble of Dwarves (3/9) Date: Fri, 21 Dec 2001 10:50:57 -0700 Reply-To: po...@pieceoftheuniverse.com Message-ID: X-Newsreader: Forte Agent 1.8/32.548 MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Lines: 1008 X-Authenticated-User: pieceoftheuniverse X-Comments: This message was posted through Spamkiller.Newsfeeds.com X-Comments2: IMPORTANT: Newsfeeds.com does not condone, nor support, spam or any illegal or copyrighted postings. X-Comments3: IMPORTANT: Under NO circumstances will postings containing illegal or copyrighted material through this service be tolerated!! X-Report: Please report illegal or inappropriate use to You may also use our online abuse reporting from: http://www.newsfeeds.com/abuseform.htm X-Abuse-Info: Please be sure to forward a copy of ALL headers, INCLUDING the body (DO NOT SEND ATTACHMENTS) Organization: Newsfeeds.com http://www.newsfeeds.com 73,000+ UNCENSORED Newsgroups. Path: archiver1.google.com!news1.google.com!sn-xit-02!supernews.com!newsfeed.direct.ca!look.ca!newshub2.rdc1.sfba.home.com!news.home.com!local-out2.newsfeeds.com!spamkiller.newsgroups.com Xref: archiver1.google.com alt.tv.mst3k.mstings:330 [We pan out, and find Tom, Joel, and Crow clustered around a computer terminal. Joel is fiddling around with the input controls ... er, the keyboard and mouse, that is.] JOEL: It can't be. There has to be one around here -somewhere-. TOM: Maybe they're just sold out. JOEL: But there'd still be a listing for it, even if it is out of stock. I don't care how long we have to wait for delivery, as long as it gets here. CROW: Maybe you're spelling "thesaurus" wrong. JOEL: I would look it up, but we don't have a dictionary on board. TOM: Head on over to the Webster site, then. It'll correct your spelling, at least. JOEL: And where is that? TOM: Um ... http://www.m-w.com/ , I think. [Joel clatters away on the keyboard, and reacts as if he's received the page instantaneously. Don't you wish you had his connection?] JOEL: Hey! There's a perfectly serviceable thesaurus right here! CROW: Well, then Ray-Ray's got no excuse. TOM: Type in "demand," Joel, and see what comes up. [Joel basically slams his fingers in random locations on the keyboard. The computer beeps at him to signify to the audience that there's actually a coherent response.] JOEL: "Demand: synonyms: call, challenge, claim, exact, postulate, require, requisition, solicit ..." CROW: "Related words: ask, request, bid, charge, command, direct, enjoin, order; cite, summon, summons; coerce, compel, constrain, force, oblige; necessitate... TOM: There's a whole slew of alternates to choose from! JOEL: Really just no excuse at all. CROW: Now go to a name dictionary, Joel. I want to solve this "Abbott/Abott" thing once and for all. [Lights, buzzer, siren] JOEL: No time, guys; we've got Demanding Sign! [ ... 6 ... 5 ... 4 ... 3 ... 2 ... 1 ... ] [As they're filing back in] TOM: Or an Enjoining Sign! CROW: Or a Summoning Sign! JOEL: Save it for when we really need it, guys. > > > > >Chakotay had the phasor rifle he had picked up from a fallen guard TOM: Of course, he had to kill the guard to get it ... CROW: I've lost count of redshirts dead. Is that five or six? >levelled and ready when the lift door opened on deck 8. JOEL: Ah, but does he have exact change ready? TOM: Those toll booths in the turbolifts can be pretty strict. >He only justmanaged to prevent himself shooting the security officer that >was crouched waiting for them when the door opened. CROW: Everyone on Voyager is a bunch of trigger-happy fools, aren't they? >"Where are they?" TOM: Who? The dwarves? The dead crewmen? CROW: Silly 'bot. He doesn't care about the dead crewmen. >Chakotay demanded quickly. JOEL: Or "requested quickly." CROW: Dang. We forgot to look up synonyms for "quickly." >"Carys and Dennard are trying to track two of them near section 13, >Commander. TOM: Thirteen? No obvious foreshadowing -here-. >But they can disappear into the ducts so easily. They could >be anywhere," the guard admitted. JOEL: So Carys and Dennard are shirking their duties? CROW: I think he means the dwarves. JOEL: The dwarves are shirking their duties? TOM: No ... well, not as far as we know ... that is ... oh, hell! > >"Let's get on with it," ALL: Yes! Please! >Chakotay decreed, CROW: I thought you had to be of royalty to decree something. JOEL: I'm just glad Ray-Ray's off the "demanding" kick. >leading the way with ensign Abbott keeping close behind him. TOM: And *poof*, she's in the scene, just like that. >Reaching the damaged distribution node proved uneventful CROW: Well -that- is a relief. TOM: Really? CROW: Anything to make this fanfic shorter... >and ensign Abbott opened the hatch to the panel. JOEL: So there's this hatch, which leads to a panel ... TOM: ... which reveals a lever which springs open a trap door ... CROW: ... that leads to the node that Jack built! >"The damage, I don't think it is too bad, Commander," she reported. TOM: [Shatner] Isn't it, nice, to see the. Legacy, live on. >"Most of the links can be repaired. CROW: Is she fixing a circuit board or a web page? >But a few will have to be replaced with something." JOEL: [Abbott] Some sort of engineering dohickey. I'm not a technical person. >"Do what you can," Chakotay tried to be encouraging as he in his turn >glanced around nervously. He didn't like the ventilation grill almost >opposite where he was squatting. TOM: It had insulted him in the past, and the voices in his head were rioting. >Given the enemies seeming frequent use of the airducts, it seemed >uncomfortably dangerous. JOEL: Maybe if he brought in a Lay-Z-Boy? >Unconsciously he stepped up the power on the rifle. CROW: Oh, great. Not two seconds on guard detail and already he's asleep. >Abott began carefully pulling links from the distribution node and >painstakingly running a regenerator across each one, rebuilding the >circuitry. TOM: So why don't they have automatic regenerators? CROW: It would lower the redshirt count. >She was desperately trying to concentrate upon her task. She admonished >herself for volunteering for the task. JOEL: Her task was before her; she must finish her task. CROW: Nothing else mattered but the task. TOM: The task was all-knowing, all-powerful. ALL: Bow before the Task! >Even for volunteering to take a comms watch after listening to and finally >believing the Colonel about how easy it would be. TOM: Wait a minute; one minute the Colonel's the best officer on the ship, the next he's a baldface liar? CROW: And the contradiction is ... ? JOEL: [holds his face in his hands] I can hear the artillery shells homing in ... >Never again was she going to believe him, she decided, as she slipped a >link into place. CROW: So the links are greased? TOM: That explains their problems. >She fumbled the next one and dropped it and ducked to pick it up. JOEL: Deus ex machina, take one. >At the same time a bright beam lanced out from the vent that had been >causing Chakotay concern. TOM: Maybe she -can- move faster than light. >She screamed in terror as the laser struck the wall just infront of where >she had stood. CROW: So it would have missed her anyway? JOEL: What are these dwarves using as gun sights? A hall of mirrors? >Chakotay responded instinctively, TOM: Well, he'd have to, being asleep and all. >spinning and firing at the same time. JOEL: ... thus vaporizing everything within a one-eighty degree arc. >The vent cover disappeared, but there was no attending scream and there >was nothing behind it. CROW: So the dwarves can move faster than light, as well. TOM: At least the teams are evenly matched. CROW: What with all the plot holes running around, not really. >Cautiously he approached the new opening and peered in. JOEL: [Chakotay] Hello? TOM: [echo] Hello? CROW: [echo] Hello? JOEL: [echo] Hello? TOM: [dwarf] Hi! [sfx] ZAP! >"Commander!" Abott screamed, desperately ripping her phasor from her >belt. CROW: [sfx] Riiiiiiiiiiiiiip! TOM: [Abott] Dang! There goes another fashion accessory. >She fired down the corridor, then screamed again as a laser beam >struck her. JOEL: Gotta watch those ricochets. >Desperately Chakotay spun out of the vent, saw a movement and fired. TOM: Striking a fellow crewman. CROW: That's seven. >He turned again to look the other way, nothing moved. JOEL: The Kommodans have mastered the ancient art of "staying still." >"Gurnard!" He called for the security guard that had been supposedly >guarding the corridor. CROW: ... so that he could have his nap. JOEL: And you say that -I'm- obsessed with Chakotay's narcolepsy. >There was no reply. TOM: Well of course not! You just shot him, remember? >Carefully he crept towards Ensign Abbott. "Llinos?" He called softly. JOEL: Is he afraid of waking her? TOM: What kind of name is "Llinos," anyway? CROW: I'd almost prefer the Abbot/Abbott dichotomy again ... >She was deathly white from the shock, and the shoulder of her uniform >was still offering a wisp of smoke. TOM: [shoulder] Here, take a puff. >She groaned, and he cradled her gently until she started to recover. CROW: The ancient medical art of "cradling." Used by doctors the world over. JOEL: Well, pediatricians, anyway. >"Are you alright? Can you finish?" he asked gently. TOM: [Chakotay] Finish the job so I can stop pretending to like you! >"My shoulder! It hurts so much!" JOEL: [Abott] Could you not squeeze it, please? >She squealed in pain, her brown eyes looking large under the tears. >"I killed somebody! I'm so sorry!" > >"He was trying to kill you!" Chakotay pointed out, at a loss for more >comforting words. CROW: That's not comforting at -all-. TOM: [Chakotay] Yes, you killed somebody, but look on the bright side: you're in a fight to the death! >"But we have to get the node working. Can you do it?" JOEL: [Chakotay] Screw your ethics, can you get back to work? >She did not look at him, but tried to stand. Chakotay ended up almost >picking her up TOM: How does one almost pick something up? JOEL: Reaching for it, then changing your mind. CROW: So basically, he didn't touch her at all? >and leant her against the wall, so she could reach. CROW: [Abbott] Ow! My -other- shoulder, lean me on my -other- shoulder! >She completed repairs to the last two links and would have collapsed again >if Chakotay had not caught her. TOM: Did he almost catch her? >Quickly he scooped her up in his arms JOEL: [falsetto] My hero! CROW: We've used that already. JOEL: Yes, but -I- haven't. >and staggered for the lift, almost tripping over the body of Gurnard the >Security Guard. TOM: So he called for him, but didn't bother looking around? CROW: If it stays still, he can't see it. JOEL: Chakotay, the T-Rex of Voyager. TOM: In mental capacity as well, it seems. >Chakotay did not need to look to tell what condition he was in. The >blackened face said everything. CROW: The fact that Gurnard was African-American didn't register until two days later. >"Computer. Emergency site to site transport. Two to Sick Bay!" JOEL: Sure; -now- he thinks of the transporters. >He demanded, TOM: Requested! CROW: At least he didn't do it quickly. >hoping that the dwarves had not managed to hit the transport systems. > >Thankfully he found himself rematerialising in Sick Bay, JOEL: Being a main character really helps overcome basic plot elements, doesn't it? >with the Doctor glaring at him. CROW: Twenty pages into this fic, and the best actor finally makes an appearance? >"Put her down there!" The Doctor demanded, TOM: Ordered! JOEL: Directed! >indicating a spot on the floor. "I'm running out of space," he continued JOEL: So no one ever leaves Sickbay? CROW: [singing] You can check out any time you want, but you can never leave. >examining the ensigns shoulder carefully. TOM: [Doctor] Yup. That's a shoulder, alright. >"Second degree burns. I'll give her a cortesone injection until I can >finish treatment," he declared. CROW: Which will probably take all of twenty seconds with an upside-down eggbeater. >"Can't you do more?" Chakotay pleaded. "She saved my life and probably >the ship as well!" JOEL: If the dwarves have any brains at all, they're tearing apart those repairs right now. TOM: So the ship's safe, then? >The Doctor glared at him imperiously. CROW: [Doctor] -I- control who lives or dies! TOM: [author] Zot! CROW: [Doctor] -He- controls who lives or dies! >"I have twenty others in worse condition than Ensign Abott," he declared. JOEL: [Doctor] Some are dead, but patients are patients. >"I can give you a growth stimulator. CROW: A growth stimulator, did you say? JOEL: Crow ... CROW: What? I was just wondering if it would work on Chakotay's lone brain cell. >If you would care to treat her yourself?" > >"Give it here!" Chakotay accepted heavily, TOM: How do you take something heavily? JOEL: Take something heavy, you mean. TOM: I don't know anymore. >almost snatching the device from the Doctors hand as it was offered. >"How about Carver?" CROW: Carve her? But she's just got an injured shoulder! >"Critical," the Doctor responded. "But he will live." JOEL: Well, I'll be. Carver -did- get transported to sickbay, after all. TOM: Pity we never got to see it. >"Bridge to Commander!" Kim's voice floated down to Chakotay. JOEL: ... like a feather. TOM: ... like a bird. CROW: ... like a duck in the hunting season. >"Chakotay!" JOEL: [Kim] No, I'm Harry. You're Chakotay, the Doctor's over there, and Carver's in a bed over there. >"We've picked up a second squadron of Komos ships, Commander. TOM: What?! No "common" or "commode"? CROW: He can barely keep Abbott's name straight, and you expect him to extend courtesy to an entire race? TOM: Point. >They are on an intercept course." > >"Will they intercept us before we reach the anomaly?" JOEL: [Kim] That depends, sir, on what the term "intercept" means to you. >On the Bridge Kim looked questioningly at Winston at the con. He winked >at him, already making amendments to their course and speed. CROW: [Winston] Let's see ... no slavery, women's rights, no prayer ... TOM: What are you doing? CROW: Making amendments. >"We have reworked our course to avoid them," Kim relayed quickly. JOEL: Which will last all of five seconds, when the squadron reworks -their- course. >"And the Borg?" > >"No sign of them coming after us yet, Commander." TOM: Nooooo, of course not. One subplot at a time. >"Keep track of them," Chakotay commanded. "And send what security are >available to Sick Bay. We need to deal with our dwarf problem." CROW: Shouldn't they save that for segment eight at least? JOEL: Maybe Ray-ray's thinking of changing the name of the story. >Killing his link Chakotay leaned back to think, until security arrived. TOM: I hope they take their time. He hasn't done that in a while. > > > >"The problem is that they keep disappearing into the ventilation >system," Security Ensign Gardner complained, JOEL: I wonder if all expendable crewmember's names start with "G." >twenty minutes later when the security team arrived. CROW: Wait a minute. What took them twenty minutes? TOM: Well, the corridors were supposedly filled with dwarves ... CROW: So just getting through the corridors should have taken care of their problem, one way or another, right? JOEL: Maybe they were actually smart about it, and used transporters. CROW: It takes twenty minutes for them to transport to sickbay? Chakotay did it in two seconds! TOM: [as his head begins to smoke] Guys... JOEL: Erm, maybe it's best not to think about it too much. Making sense of fanfic was not meant for mortal minds. >"It gives them almost total access to the ship with any number of routes >to get there. TOM: So next time, are they going to remember to check the vents when guest species begin to disappear? JOEL: Of course not. That would actually make sense. >We even tried erecting force fields across the ducts but they found a way >around them! CROW: [Gardner] We were going to place force fields -in- the ducts, but we thought putting them across would give us a better double-word score. >There are too many corners for us to go after them." TOM: So the crew can all move faster-than-light, but not around corners? >"That's it," Ensign T'Pau agreed. TOM: Thank you, I thought so. JOEL: You can tell she's an alien 'cause she's got an apostrophe in her name. CROW: Does that make her smart? TOM: No; she's still a member of the Voyager crew. >"If they are in the open, then they aren't a real threat." CROW: ... except to redshirts. JOEL: How many have died so far? CROW: I counted seven, but I might have missed a couple in the battle in Engineering. TOM: Death by toilets. Redshirt or not, that's gotta be embarrassing. >"Well there has to be some way of getting to them?" Chakotay prompted. JOEL: [T'Pau] Well, they have a predilection for brunettes. So I've asked B'Elanna to play dress-up... >"When the Colonel ran those simulated hostage routines, he used tear gas >grenades. TOM: Alright! Random gassing of crewmembers! CROW: That's great! He just needs to kill a few off, and he's got command of the ship for sure! >We couldn't get out the room quick enough, and couldn't see for more than >an hour afterwards," T'Pau offered. JOEL: Well, she can't be Vulcan. She's using contractions. TOM: That makes her either Klingon or out of character. CROW: I'm leaning towards the latter. >"It would work in the ducts." TOM: So why are they only thinking of this now? JOEL: Maybe they didn't want to make the sensitive equipment in the ducts cry. >"Do you have any?" Chakotay asked quickly. CROW: [T'Pau] Nope. Not at all. Nosirrie bob. Just mentioned it to insert a random element. Now, back to our regularly scheduled plot ... >T'Pau shrugged. "I dunno, Commander Tuvok, JOEL: No, he's Chakotay. Tuvok's AWOL. Gardner's over there, and -your- name is T'Pau. >confiscated any he found afterwards. They are against Star Fleet regulations. TOM: Excerpt from Star Fleet Regulations: "At no time should crewmembers be in possession of weapons that might be useful for non-lethal combat, unless it helps the plot. Or if the crewmembers feel like it. But they have to really, really feel like it." >But the Colonel may have hidden a few in the container he uses in Cargo >Bay 2?" CROW: Apparently he felt like it. TOM: Nothing like breaking the occasional rule to make the plot contrivances look bigger. >"Go and get them, then take them to environmental. JOEL: As opposed to ejecting them into space? >Gather up everybody who can carry a weapon," Chakotay decided. CROW: On the ship, or just in sickbay? TOM: I have this strange image now, of redshirts in wheelchairs fending off dwarves with their crutches. CROW: I do what I can. >"Call me on the Bridge when ready. We can introduce it from there. JOEL: Introduce what from where? TOM: My guess is the gas, but I thought he said to take that to Environmental. >Find as many breather masks as you can find. JOEL: As opposed to locating ones you -can't- find. >We will need them." CROW: [Chakotay] But not for the whole crew. I have a list of people I don't like; I'll be passing that out later. >"You aren't proposing to gas them?" The Doctor protested as the guards >left. "Chemical weapons are illegal!" JOEL: [Doctor] But keep shooting them. I like that. >"Our people are dying Doctor, because we can't get at them! TOM: Use the transporters! CROW: I think he means the dwarves. TOM: My statement still stands. >In a few hours we may have to fight some of their friends JOEL: [Chakotay] Some field mice, a fairy godmother, some sort of wooden boy ... >and I don't want to do that without our weapons on line," CROW: Or at least an unsubtle plot contrivance. >Chakotay snapped out impatiently, his voice becoming harsh. TOM: As opposed to snapping in a gentle tone. >"Have you a better way of getting them out?" JOEL: [Doctor] Well, I hear they have a weakness for brunettes that clean houses. B'Elanna's a brunette ... >The Doctor fell back into sulky silence. CROW: Aw, he missed out on a perfect alliteration. TOM: Like "slipped silently into a sublime sulk"? CROW: Right. Or "slowly slid in a sulky silence." >"Doctor what have you got that we can use to put them to sleep after >they have come out of the vents?" Chakotay asked a few minutes later. JOEL: So he's going to gas them to get them out, then gas them -again-? TOM: When all you have is a hammer, you know... >"I have anaesthetic gases," the Doctor admitted. "But it will put the >crew to sleep for several hours as well." CROW: Oh, they could use the rest. TOM: If they can't be smart, at least they can use more beauty sleep. >"I'll take the risk. Take some canisters to Environmental as well. You >can go around with security to treat anybody that is injured." JOEL: One doctor touring the entire ship. TOM: That shouldn't take more than three or four days. >With that Chakotay returned to the Bridge. CROW: ... for his nap. > > > > >"Kala, prepare to seal ventilation to the Bridge," Chakotay demanded as >soon as he emerged from the lift. TOM: Never one to let a little thing like breathing bother him, is he? >"How soon before we reach the anomaly?" He continued, slumping in his >chair. JOEL: A military man who slumps in his chair? CROW: Well, it -has- been a long day. TOM: A long fanfic, yes. But only an hour has passed story-time. >"Three hours, Sir!" Winston reported. TOM: ... and, judging from how long it took to get through that single hour, we're in for a looooong fanfic. >That was going to be close, he decided. "And the others?" > >"We should be about twelve hours ahead of the Komos vessels. CROW: So it's going to be close to what, then? They'll be in the nebulae nine hours before the toilet-heads catch up with them. >The Borg cube is underway, Captain. Estimated arrival about the same time," >Ensign Kala reported. JOEL: Which cube? The one that has Janeway, the one chasing them, or the one Q took to use on his Monopoly board? TOM: Too ... many ... questions ... ... head ... wants ... to ... explode ... JOEL: Hang in there, buddy. >He turned to look at her. "I'm not the Captain," he said mildly. CROW: Finally! He responds to Tuvok's name, B'Elanna's, and only -now- does he correct someone? >"Senior Officer aboard a Star Ship is the Captain, Captain," she refuted >adamantly. JOEL: Try mutiny today! It's fun! >"You've been with the Colonel too long," he grinned. TOM: [Chakotay] Ho, ho, ho! I laugh in the face of you granting me power! CROW: Isn't that supposed to be "face of death"? TOM: We can only hope. >"Remember this is Star Fleet, not the Royal Navy!" JOEL: Right! We'll have none of this "British" stuff here! We're all Americans, in an American show! >"Captain!" She maintained the distinction carefully in her response. CROW: If we're lucky, he'll count that as treason and have her shot. >Chakotay shook his head in disbelief and hit his communicator. TOM: Nope. Took out his badge instead. >"Chakotay to Engineering?" JOEL: Don't ask us! >It was with some relief he heard B'Elanna's strident response. CROW: On the other hand, maybe giving Ray-ray a thesaurus would be a -bad- idea. JOEL: I don't know. I liked the "Strident" video game. CROW: "Stri-DER." JOEL: Yeah, that one, too. >"We are about to smoke the dwarves out of the vents with tear gas TOM: Or, if you're in a wacky mood, fill the vents with mud and start up dwarf-tossing for the twenty-fourth century. >then put them to sleep," he advised. JOEL: Fluffy! [breaks down and cries] TOM: There, there, Joel. Fluffy's gone on to a better place. CROW: [aside to Tom] Fluffy? TOM: [aside to Crow] Pet dust bunny. Long story. >"Can you seal the ventilation systems down there until the gases >dissipate. JOEL: [sniffs] I'm alright now. CROW: Then we can start riffing again? JOEL: Sure. >Sam Wildman claimed they had been badly damaged." TOM: [Chakotay] But since I don't know what she does on this ship, I don't trust her. >"How long have I got before you start?" B'Elanna Paris asked, thinking >hard. TOM: [Chakotay] You hear that hissing noise? That probably means now. >"Not sure," Chakotay admitted. "But the problem is at the other end. JOEL: The other end of what? CROW: The vents, I guess. >We have a few hours to prepare for what comes next. We could runaway >from the Kommodans easily enough, but not the Borg. TOM: But if the toilets are in league with the Borg, isn't running away from one escaping the other? >How are you?" Sam said you were hurt?" CROW: I've lost track, now. Who's talking here? JOEL: Let's see ... it was Chakotay, then B'Elanna, back to Chakotay, B'Elanna again, Chakotay, so this has got to be B'Elanna. TOM: But Chakotay was never hurt! JOEL: Then I'm lost, too. >"I forgot I was in Star Fleet!" B'Elanna breezed. CROW: "Breezed"? TOM: She doesn't exactly strike me as the typical airhead type. >"I lost my head. TOM: Right-o. Revising that statement now. >I'll try and set portable shields around what is left of the ducts. JOEL: Why not just tear out the ducts entirely? CROW: This from the only one on this satellite that needs to breathe. JOEL: Common sense hasn't stopped them so far. >Engineering out." TOM: I would do a "hokey-pokey" joke here, but we've done it already. > > > > >In Engineering B'Elanna looked around her in some confusion. CROW: [B'Elanna] Dammit, not -another- bad fanfic! >She had not long regained consciousness and was still trying to work out >what Sam Wildman had been doing whilst she had been inactive. JOEL: Oh, the usual: pretending she knew what she was doing, taking over your job, stealing your husband ... >The force fields across the doors were obvious enough, TOM: I thought force fields were invisible. CROW: Supposedly, but that's usually just to save on CGI costs. >that she had made some sense of the rapid bypassing of the warp >controls by Lieutenant Caerey, was also easily identified. JOEL: I refuse to diagram that sentence. TOM: That "mortal minds" thing again? JOEL: Precisely. >Eventually she gave up and asked. "Sam, how secure are the forcefields across >the vents?" She called. CROW: She asked, she called, she even tried paging her. If only Samantha would respond! >Samantha Wildman looked up from a panel she was trying to repair. "Level >5, Lieutenant. Enough to stop people getting in." TOM: [Wildman] Or us getting out. I'm taking a cue from Chakotay. >"Get them upto level 10. CROW: These are purely arbitrary numbers, aren't they? JOEL: Pretty much. >We might have to withstand a gas attack and some pretty serious dwarves. TOM: She can tell they're serious because they've stopped singing. CROW: Uh-oh. If they start pushing her off a cliff, she's in real trouble. >Find breathers and make sure everybody has phasors, in case they try >and break through." JOEL: [B'Elanna] But don't give those to just anybody. I'll be handing out a list ... >B'Elanna turned and checked Caerey. TOM: Random hurt crewmember? CROW: Check! >They had been unable to transport him out of engineering because >of the forcefields. JOEL: Idiotic plot contrivance? CROW: Check! >Instead they had wrapped his burns as well as they could and applied >what anti burn salves were in the Engineering first aid kit. TOM: ... but not necessarily in that order. CROW: And if so, at least the bandages won't burn. >He was as white as a sheet, JOEL: Casper the friendly engineer? >unconscious but generally comfortable, TOM: If he's unconscious, his comfort level is pretty much moot. >B'Elanna decided hopefully. She turned to continue working on the panel left >by Sam Wildman as she arranged for the required increase in shields. CROW: [B'Elanna] Deus ex machina, deus ex machina ... -there- it is! > > > > >"We are ready, Commander," T'Pau informed Chakoaty fifteen minutes >later. > >Chakotay tensed before issuing the command. It was going to prove a >dramatic cure for the situation. JOEL: Oh, so that's what Ray-ray's after: drama. CROW: And here I thought he was trying to make us cry out in pain. My mistake. >He felt for the crew that were unprotected from what was to come TOM: [Clinton] I feel your pain. >and prayed that the Doctor would be able to treat the resultant injuries. JOEL: If not, no biggie. Next episode, none of this will have ever happened. >"Set off the gas," he commanded. "Give it forty-five minutes to work its way >through the ventilation system, then activate the anaesthetic." CROW: Of course, you could just anaesthetize and spare everyone the tear gas. TOM: Yeah, but then you have a bunch of sleeping dwarves all over the ship. >"Kala, close Bridge vents. We will have to survive on emergency air >supplies for the couple of hours." > >"Vents closed. Emergency air system active, Captain," Ensign Kala >informed him sombrely. JOEL: So, erm, where is this mysterious emergency air coming from? CROW: Emergency air vents, of course! TOM: Which are, according to Plot Contrivance #237, dwarf-free. >"Time to anomaly, ensign?" > >"Two hours, Sir!" > >"B'Elanna, I need some more speed. Can you get it?" Chakotay demanded. > >"Trying!" > >There was nothing to do but wait. CROW: We've been waiting for twenty-odd pages now. >"It is working Commander!" Ensign Kala reported fifteen minutes later. >"Security are reporting numerous dwarves have appeared coughing. TOM: I thought it was tear gas. JOEL: Coughing, crying; it's hard to tell with dwarves. >They are dealing with them as they catch them." CROW: Oh, good. Pity they can't deal with them before they catch them. >"Remind them there is a second phase," Chakotay agreed. JOEL: But if you have them in custody, isn't it overkill to drug them, too? TOM: We keep telling you, Joel: this is all a prelude to some serious dwarf-tossing amusement. >"Engineering to Bridge. There are some half dozen dwarves trying to get >in from the ventilation ducts," B'Elanna reported a few minutes later. >"I can let them in?" CROW: Sure, let them in. Let them have control of the ship. >"Let them choke!" Chakotay snapped. "They chose the route." JOEL: Yes, but -you- chose to gas them. >More waiting. CROW: -Tell- us about it! >"Security to Captain. The tear gas is dissipating, Sir," Ensign T'Pau >reported from Environmental Control. "I think all but a couple of >dwarves have been forced out. The captives report a total of 94. TOM: What would make her think that they're giving her an accurate number? >We have accounted for 83 and think there may be a few trapped. Do you >wish to continue with the anaethestine gas?" CROW: [Chakotay] As long as it's laughing gas. I love that stuff. >For a few moments Chakotay thought about the question. Using the >anaesthetic would be a close call with what was destined to come next >and he would need the crew in good order if they were to fight other >ships. JOEL: Except, of course, for the crewmembers he didn't like. To hell with them. >"Ensure there is security in all strategic points. TOM: And make sure you guard the vents this time! Morons. >Gather a team together to find the trapped dwarves. CROW: Only one team, though. And make sure you stick together, so they can avoid you for three more segments. >If you are right and the effects last for a while then you have an hour to >drag them out," he decided. > >"Aye, Sir!" TOM: Oh, good; the door from the theatre just opened. CROW: Finally! JOEL: You know, I'm surprised it continues after this. Everything's just about wrapped up. CROW: The Captain's missing, Voyager's being chased, and they've been betrayed! JOEL: Like I said: I'd be perfectly satisfied if it ended right here. [Joel picks up Tom and they file out] [ ... 1 ... 2 ... 3 ... 4 ... 5 ... 6 ... ] From: pieceoftheuniverse Newsgroups: alt.tv.mst3k.mstings Subject: [MiSTing] Trouble of Dwarves (4/9) Date: Fri, 21 Dec 2001 10:51:03 -0700 Reply-To: po...@pieceoftheuniverse.com Message-ID: <64l62us6rgfb6odqqo0v610r7t51q1kg7r@4ax.com> X-Newsreader: Forte Agent 1.8/32.548 MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Lines: 1138 X-Authenticated-User: pieceoftheuniverse X-Comments: This message was posted through Spamkiller.Newsfeeds.com X-Comments2: IMPORTANT: Newsfeeds.com does not condone, nor support, spam or any illegal or copyrighted postings. X-Comments3: IMPORTANT: Under NO circumstances will postings containing illegal or copyrighted material through this service be tolerated!! X-Report: Please report illegal or inappropriate use to You may also use our online abuse reporting from: http://www.newsfeeds.com/abuseform.htm X-Abuse-Info: Please be sure to forward a copy of ALL headers, INCLUDING the body (DO NOT SEND ATTACHMENTS) Organization: Newsfeeds.com http://www.newsfeeds.com 73,000+ UNCENSORED Newsgroups. Path: archiver1.google.com!news1.google.com!sn-xit-02!supernews.com!newsfeed.direct.ca!look.ca!newshub2.rdc1.sfba.home.com!news.home.com!local-out2.newsfeeds.com!spamkiller.newsgroups.com Xref: archiver1.google.com alt.tv.mst3k.mstings:331 [Pan out to see the computer console again, this time with Tom at the controls -- his right hand taped to the mouse -- and Crow beside him. Joel comes from stage left] JOEL: Hey, guys. What are you doing? CROW: Well, everyone in this story seems to have the uncanny ability to move faster than the speed of light. TOM: Right. So we figured that maybe we understood incorrectly, and phasers actually move much slower than light-speed. CROW: So we're researching on the internet to see what's going on. JOEL: And? TOM: Well, the trouble is that the phaser doesn't actually exist, so actual technical information is lacking. CROW: The closest thing we found was that some guy back in '99 found a way to send a bolt of electricity along a beam of light, which would, if it were a high enough voltage, knock a person out. JOEL: Essentially a long-distance taser. TOM: Yeah, but the acronym LDTASER just isn't close enough to PHASER. Besides, even taking into account the delay between pointing the beam and releasing the electricity, it's still pretty close to light-speed. CROW: So yet another fanfic author ignores the everyday laws of physics in favour of the main characters. JOEL: Well, this -is- Star Trek. TOM: Yeah, but it was kinda nice holding out a shred of hope for actual scientific accuracy. CROW: Now there's almost no point in riffing the whole thing. JOEL: You know, I -could- erase your memories of doing this research ... CROW: [hopefully] Would you? TOM: Please? [Alarms, lights, general panic] JOEL: Maybe later, guys. Right now we've got Fanfic Sign! [ ... 6 ... 5 ... 4 ... 3 ... 2 ... 1 ... ] [As they're filing in ... ] CROW: Wait a minute. If you can erase our memories, then how come I still remember "Manos"? TOM: Or any of the other movies, for that matter? JOEL: There must be something wrong with the MST3k Reset Button. I'll look into it. > > > >95 minutes later TOM: Not an hour and a half, not ninety-six minutes; it's ninety-five, dammit! >Winston slewed Voyager around the back of the anomaly, CROW: "Slewed"? JOEL: It's better than skidding across a vacuum, but only just. >pitched Voyager up and dived straight among the ships that surrounded >it, before bringing her to a dead halt beside a hulk. TOM: Your friendly neighborhood galactic junkyard! Visit today! CROW: If they find Neelix -- again -- I'm committing sebuku. >"Where did you learn to fly like that?" Chakotay asked, JOEL: [Chakotay] And when do you plan on doing that again? I've got insurance premiums to pay on this thing. >impressed at the level of skill displayed. TOM: Or scared for his life. Po-tate-o, Po-TAT-o. >"I was a taxi driver in New York before I joined Star Fleet, Sir," >Winston admitted. CROW: You mean in the future, when everyone uses a transporter to move three feet away and shuttlecraft are as plentiful as blades of grass in a park? -Sure- you were. >Still bemused by the Ensigns actions, JOEL: [Chakotay] Ha, ha. Cute kid. TOM: [Chakotay] I'll have to remember to kill him later. >Chakotay turned on Ensign Kala. CROW: Wow; bemused to ticked off in one point six seconds. >"What else is there here that we can use?" JOEL: There? TOM: Here! CROW: Here? JOEL: There! >Kala bent to her sensors, then stood up sharply. TOM: [Kala] I found your acting ability, sir! It's small, but undamaged! >"There is another Federation vessel, Captain! CROW: Oh, of -course- there is. Way out on the fringes of nowhere in particular, right when you need it. JOEL: You know, we should start playing Plot Contrivance Bingo. [passes out cards] TOM: So this one is Plot Contrivance #931? JOEL: That's right. TOM: Got it! CROW: So can we mark the cards retroactively to what we've already read, or does it only count from here on out? JOEL: Just from here on. CROW: Dang. I would have had bingo with just two more contrivances. >I've picked up the beacon. It appears undamaged." TOM: And there's another one. >Incredulously CROW: Ah, the author finally realizes that harsh reality isn't so convenient. JOEL: Enjoy it. I don't think it'll last much longer. >Chakotay span on her. TOM: [Chakotay] Wheeeee! CROW: Making the Captain's chair spin turned out to be an unwise move for ship designers. >"Where? What is it?" JOEL: It's a ship. From the Federation. In space. TOM: Dum-dum. >"I'm trying to identify it, Captain," she admitted. "Bearing 50.23 range >1500 kilometres." CROW: Make plot points even more spectacular by punching in random digits! It's fun! >"It is an Excelsior Class," the ensign reported in surprise TOM: Well, at least it's not Galaxy class. JOEL: A Voyager/TNG crossover would be almost too much to bear. >some forty seconds later as the computer finally tracked the signal. CROW: I don't think it's the computer that's slow. Everyone else at that console is able to identify just about anything instantaneously. >"USS Argonaut, lost 56 years ago. That would make her an early model, Sir!" TOM: Or, at the very least, fifty-six years old. >"I remember those, Sir," Winston commented reminiscently. "Good shields >and phasors, handled like a sack of potatoes." JOEL: So you had to put the ship over your shoulders and lug it everywhere? CROW: At least that explains his piloting technique. >Chakotay looked at him quizzically. TOM: [Chakotay] When was the Battle of Gettysburg? What's the capital of Vermont? Who was the first person in Starfleet? How many coins do I have in my pocket? >"I served on one as a Conn Officer," Winston admitted. CROW: So Winston is fifty-six years old? JOEL: Well, he was probably twenty when he first served, so more like seventy-six. CROW: And yet still an ensign. TOM: Robots and humanoid, meet Harry Kim in fifty years. >"Could you still fly one?" Chakotay asked quickly. A germ of an idea >forming. TOM: "A germ of an idea"? JOEL: Well, he gets ideas so infrequently, his body fights them like infections. >"I will remember, Sir!" Winston responded after a moments hesitation. CROW: [Winston] Even if it means submitting myself to hours of grueling torture, I'll make myself remember! >More of the Colonel's training, Chakotay reflected with a grin. TOM: Chakotay, we're not going to tell you again: put the mirror away! >He did not like terms like 'I think' and 'No', they did not exist. JOEL: So the Colonel can't say no? CROW: Joel, I'm ... I'm so proud. JOEL: Erm ... uh ... *Joel*! JOEL: What? What'd I say? JOEL: You know! No RAMchips for a month! JOEL: Damn. CROW: That was really creepy, Joel. BOTH JOELS: Thank you. >He reached for his communicator. "Chakotay to B'Elanna. Report to >the Bridge." > >"Kala put the Argonaut on screen," he added quickly. TOM: The "Argonaut"? If it's captain is a guy named "Jason," I'm out of here. >Behind him the lift door opened and two figures stepped out. CROW: They were the new Star Trek action figures, with phaser-firing action and realistic death throes! JOEL: [quickly] Expendable Crewman action figures do not actually die. >"Ensigns Carver and Abbott, requesting permission to return to duty, Sir!" > >"What are you two doing here?" Chakotay exploded TOM: ... taking Voyager with him. ALL: Hooray! CROW: I'll never get tired of that. >in surprise spinning TOM: [Chakotay] Wheeeee! JOEL: I think we've hit our "riff repeat" quota, guys. BOTS: Awwww... >on the two junior officers. "You," he pointed at the still pale Carver. CROW: "Pale Carver." I wonder if that's supposed to be an allusion to something. TOM: Foreshadowing? On two-dimensional characters? Not likely. >"Were at deaths door a few hours ago! Get back to sickbay!" JOEL: [Carver] We're main characters, sir. We're too -cute- to die. >The two of them stood firm at Chakotay's seeming fury. "Most of Beta and >Gamma shifts are in sickbay, Sir! TOM: [Carver] We were the only ones to escape! The Doctor's holding the others prisoner, mumbling something about needing patients! >Those that aren't are hunting dwarves," CROW: s/hunting/tossing/ JOEL: Hey! What did I say about riff repeats? TOM: Still, you have to admit: it does scan better that way. >Carver protested. "Ensign Abbott's injuries are not severe and mine only >restrict movement! TOM: Translation: Abbott is still bleeding, and Carver can't feel his legs. CROW: Neat trick him walking out of the turbolift, then. TOM: Twenty-fourth century technology can do anything. JOEL: ... but cure male-pattern baldness. >We wish to return to active duty." CROW: As active as standing around pushing buttons, anyway. >Behind them B'Elanna appeared ALL: [sfx] *poof* >and stared in surprise at the two walking injuries. TOM: [B'Elanna] You ... you look just like a gaping head wound! And you; you look like a sprained ankle! >"The Doctor is looking for you JOEL: Naturally, leaving all the unnamed crewmembers with near-fatal injuries to their own devices. >and he isn't in a good mood. You ran out on him," she commented wryly. CROW: [B'Elanna] Crazy kids, always running around with their painful medical conditions and interrupting their own operations. >"Still you did a good job on the distribution node, Ensign." TOM: [B'Elanna] For an amateur I kicked out of my department, anyway. >With that she turned on Chakotay. "I have engineering crews crawling over >the whole of Engineering. JOEL: [Chakotay] B'Elanna, how many times do I have to remind you not to break legs? >I'm needed there. TOM: So needed, in fact, that she dropped whatever she was doing and came running at his call. >This had better be good?" B'Elanna snapped. CROW: So far? No, not really. >Distracted Chakotay waved at the view screen. JOEL: [Neanderthal] Big picture on wall. Pretty. >"How quickly could you get that up and working?" He asked. TOM: Wow, so now God is asking the questions? CROW: It's probably our plaintive cries of "why, God, why" that caught his attention. >B'Elanna examined the Argonaut critically for a few minutes. JOEL: Because, of course, just looking at a ship you can tell how much work it needs. >"With a full engineering crew, three days," she decided. TOM: But ... but she didn't scan it or -anything-! CROW: Not only is everyone blessed with super-speed, but their psychic abilities are top-notch. >"I need it in ten hours." JOEL: Starfleet Command Personnel: asking the impossible since Stardate 3411.2. >"Can't be done. We would have to examine the injectors and coil before >we let anti-matter near them. TOM: If things aren't put *just right*, the antimatter will pout and make a mess of the place. CROW: For "explosive" values of "mess" and "pout," that is. >Then there is the computer to restart and the cross linking," B'Elanna >opined. JOEL: Cross linking with what, exactly? CROW: It's like a web page; all the links are outdated, so you have to find them all over again. >"What if we were to take Corporal Miller with us, Sir?" TOM: Corporal who? JOEL: Another one of Ray-Ray's creations, I bet. TOM: But there are no Corporals in Starfleet! >Carver suggested. "He could handle the computer and reworking of the >control linkings!" CROW: So wherever this guy came from, it included special training in Starfleet technical procedures? TOM: What special training? "Wave -this- device if it looks broken; wave -this- device if it's shattered." >"I can burnish the injectors clean of corrosion," Abbott volunteered, >surprising herself and everybody else on the bridge. They all turned to >look at her. JOEL: [Abbott] Don't look at me! I'm not here! I'm the invisible woman! >"The coatings on the injectors on older ships were a lot thicker than >now," she explained, blushing furiously. "And Colonel Samuels TOM: Ah, so the mysterious "Colonel" gains a last name. CROW: Assuming it's the same guy. >made me some tools for polishing specimens. JOEL: Specimens of what? Old starship injectors? TOM: They -did- say that the Colonel was well-prepared ... JOEL: Either that, or Abbott has collecting habits we don't want to know about. >They can be used there." > >Chakotay turned a quizzical eye to B'Elanna, "I think you have a crew," >he said simply. CROW: "Simply" defines Chakotay, alright. >"Winston, Abbott and Corporal Miller. Get the Doctors emitter off of him." TOM: Erm, why? JOEL: I hate coming into the middle of a storyline. CROW: I like coming out of them, though. JOEL: Yes. Coming out of them is particularly enjoyable. >"Did you hear that Corporal?" Chakotay asked loudly. TOM: So the Corporal is deaf? >"That is satisfactory?" > >"Captain Janeway is not present, Sir!" Miller responded. CROW: Responded from where, exactly? >"I need permission from the Senior British Officer?" JOEL: British references again. Do you think it means anything? TOM: That the writer is British? CROW: So why bother Voyager? He has Blake's Seven and Red Dwarf to entertain him. JOEL: Would you -really- want to see a Blake's Seven fanfic? Or a Red Dwarf? TOM: Or worse, a Blake's Seven/Red Dwarf crossover fanfic? [All shudder in horror] >"He isn't here either, and he won't have the opportunity unless you >help," Chakotay snapped. > >There was silence. CROW: Oh, good. Let that continue for the rest of the 'fic, please. >"If you're gonna clear it with the Colonel afterwards, Sir?" Miller >asked uncertainly. TOM: So who outranks who here, exactly? JOEL: Tough call. From what I remember, the British Royal Navy has admirals, captains, and lieutenants the same as the U.S. army, but with a few extra positions thrown in pretty much at random. CROW: But the U.S. seceded from the British. Shouldn't you be saying that the U.S. army got rid of random positions? JOEL: American egotism. It's practically a law. TOM: And the answer to my question is ... ? JOEL: Oh. Um ... let's just satisfy our desire, and say that the Colonel outranks Chakotay. ALL: Hurrah! >Chakotay had never heard of a nervous computer before. CROW: So the Corporal is a computer? JOEL: [gasp] Oh my god ... they killed Majel Barret. TOM: Great. So who's going to fund the _Andromeda_ series now? >"I'll take anything he throws at you," he promised, keeping a straight face. CROW: Here's hoping the Colonel throws bullets. >"Sir!" TOM: So is that a "yes" or a "no"? >With a sigh of relief Chakotay turned back to B'Elanna. "How quickly can >you get ready?" > >"Twenty minutes," she declared. JOEL: There's that twenty minutes again. It took twenty minutes for the security team to get to Chakotay in Sickbay -- CROW: -- for no readily defined reason -- JOEL: -- and now it takes B'Elanna twenty minutes to get ready for an away mission. Coincidence? TOM: ... or is it? Find out today, on Mysterious Mysteries! >She turned and headed for the lift again, rapidly joined by Ensigns Abbott >and Winston. CROW: Abbott and Winston never really had the success that Abbott and Costello did. TOM: Plus the constant change from "Abbott" to "Abott" confused the fans. JOEL: Their "Where's First Base?" sketch never really panned out, either. >"Kala, take Ops. Carver, take tactical," Chakotay sighed in defeat TOM: Defeat? Didn't he just reduce three days to ten hours? >and resuming his seat. JOEL: Should we? CROW: Sure. Why not? ALL: Nap time! > > > > >Twenty-five minutes later the small party, fortified by Ensign Samantha >Wildman CROW: Is that anything like my breakfast cereal being fortified by vitamins and minerals? JOEL: Yes. >beamed to the Argonaut. Miller still trying to come to terms with his new >found movement. TOM: So the Corporal has apparently taken over Majel Barret's role ... -and- has a body? CROW: Sounds like we crossed over with _Andromeda_ when we weren't looking. >The Doctor had been less than impressed at the idea of giving his mobile >emitter to his resident holographic rival. TOM: So there's a rivalry now? JOEL: Yeah. It launches into a huge holographic blood feud later on. TOM: Are there banjos involved? JOEL: Yes. TOM: Cool! >In the end B'Elanna had simply snatched the device away from him and >forcibly downloaded the doctor back to the computer, vacating the small >device for the Corporal. CROW: So if she just pulled it off of him while he was using the emitter, shouldn't he have disappeared? >She had some sympathy for the doctor. JOEL: No. No, she doesn't. >His movement was going to be severely limited, TOM: Hey -- wait a minute! The doctor was supposed to tour the ship, looking for injured crewmembers! CROW: Ah, none of them have names anyway. They can't be very important. >but he could become severely non-existent if Voyager was badly damaged. TOM: Oooo, could we extend that to fanfic writers? JOEL: Which: the damage or the non-existance? TOM: I'm not picky. >She would need the Corporal to get the Argonaut operating. CROW: Says who? JOEL: Plot Contrivance #629. TOM: I've got that one! >"I'll get the Bridge operating," Winston volunteered quickly. JOEL: I thought it was established that there was no power on board. TOM: In that case, bridge operations should be the least of their problems. JOEL: Oh? TOM: Breathing might come in handy, if life support is down. >"B'Elanna nodded and turned for Engineering. "I'll join you as soon as >possible," she called over her shoulder. CROW: What possible reason could she have for being on the bridge? JOEL: You mean aside from the fact that she's the only commanding officer on the ship? >Winston's first thought on reaching Argonaut's bridge was surprise at >the lack of damage. TOM: He was, however, disappointed to find that the Captain's porn collection had gone missing. >Whatever had happened here, it was quick. JOEL: Of course, the trail was fifty-six years old, so "quick" is a relative term. >The chamber was only dimly lit, its emergency lighting turning >everything it touched a blood-soaked red. CROW: No, the walls really -are- soaked in blood. The lights are fine. >In spite of the dim, somewhat intimidating atmosphere, it didn't take >him long to realise that there were far too few of the shadowy shapes >that were all that remained after someone was hit by a disrupter set to >full power. TOM: He should spend less time looking at the decor and more time working. >He could only see five such shadows, meaning that at least half of the >crew usually assigned to an Excelsior class ship's bridge hadn't been >killed when their shipmates could have lost their lives. JOEL: Morbid little guy, isn't he? >It took him only a moment to find the data port on the captain's chair CROW: Oh, great; the captains of Starfleet have internet access. TOM: That explains so much. >and connect the holo-emitter that contained Corporal Miller's programs >to it. JOEL: He connected the emitter to the programs? TOM: The programs to the port? >Networking technology had improved greatly over the last half >century and it would take a few minutes for the corporal to download >himself into Argonaut's mainframe. CROW: [Corporal] Wheee! I'm free! >A process that could only begin when B'Elanna Paris brought the ship to >full power. TOM: Plug in, sit back, look at porn. JOEL: It's gone, remember? TOM: Right. Time's going to pass rather slowly, then. >For the moment, there was nothing to do but hack the ship's logs to see >how many of the wrecks that surrounded Argonaut had been there when she >had been shut down. CROW: So the lack of power has nothing to do with the other computer systems? TOM: They're running off of the UPS. CROW: For fifty-six years? >"Ms. Abbott," he said softly, taking the centre seat as he did so. JOEL: Is he giving the console a name already? >"Sir?" she inquired, stepping quickly to his side. ALL: [sfx] Boing! >"I want you to have a look at the ship's computers. TOM: [Abbott] It's right in front of you, sir. CROW: [Abbott] And the thing you're sitting on is a chair, sir. >Try to find out what ships were here when they shut Argonaut down and >compare that list with Voyager's current scan. JOEL: Of course, the power's off, so you're going to have to be psychic. >After that, we can figure out how to use what we've got to our best >advantage." TOM: And how will that information help any? JOEL: It won't, but it'll keep her busy. >"Can't Voyager's sensors do a better job of cataloguing what's here with >us?" Abbott asked, fear in her voice. CROW: [Abbott] But mommy, I don't wanna touch the computer! >"Normally, yes," Winston said. "But with the effects of the magnetic >flux, its not certain that her sensors will be any more effective at all >ranges. TOM: Apparently their sensors run off of magnets. >Lieutenant Paris said something about distortion, JOEL: [Winston] ... but I wasn't really paying attention. She's a windbag anyway. >which is why The Captain moved us so close to Argonaut before we >beamed over. CROW: [Winston] Of course, it would have been safer to take a shuttle, but he's hoping to kill us all off. >Since we're inside the effect, we can take scans without being as >badly affected by the anomaly's magnetic flux." TOM: Ray-ray's never used a compass before, has he? >"That makes sense, " Abbott admitted. JOEL: [valley girl] I have -no- idea what you just said. Like, totally. >"But I don't have much experience with breaking into a computer that >doesn't want me there," TOM: Especially one WITHOUT POWER! >she whispered, obviously afraid of failing to complete what Winston >thought of as a fairly simple task. CROW: So why doesn't -he- do it? JOEL: He's still looking around for the Captain's porn. >"It shouldn't be that hard," he encouraged. CROW: I'm not touching that one. >"Captain Chakotay should be able to give you this ship's prefix codes. >The computers should be open to you once you've got them." TOM: Nothing like a back door to make a hacker's dream come true. >"I'll get on it right away," she said, obviously glad that she wouldn't >have to do anything that would tax training that she obviously didn't >have the confidence to use. JOEL: Heaven forfend she actually build confidence. CROW: Or develop as a character. >Winston wondered how she had ever managed to pass the academy's psychology >profile. TOM: Not that it really mattered, them being seventy thousand light-years from the academy. CROW: And that half the crew is made up of former Maqui. >It was intended to weed out applicants who didn't have a good deal of >self confidence. After all, if you weren't sure of yourself and your >decisions, you might hesitate at a critical moment. JOEL: Of course, the creation of "commanding officers" and "orders" were for just such a purpose. CROW: Don't bother. Ray-ray's only been at the top. TOM: Of what? The bad story food chain? >A hesitation that could kill. CROW: Fortunately, the Red Shirt Academy was just down the street. >It was up to the academy to teach you when to think and when simply to >react. TOM: No one in Starfleet could do both at the same time. JOEL: Are you kidding? These folks can barely do -one- thing at a time. >Only those who learned how to react, gained their own commands. CROW: No thinking allowed in command positions. That explains so much. >The Colonel had riveted the two together with the force of a super nova. JOEL: Rivet: to push inward, through an object, binding together. TOM: Nova: an explosion with the force to tear a star apart. JOEL: Sure, I see the similarity. TOM: Okay, time to take you to a doctor. >Forcing him to think and react faster and in unison with and for others, >silently and predictively carrying out the orders that would come as >circumstances changed. CROW: Unfortunately, Ray-ray had never had the same lesson. >He had been close to becoming the captain of a starship once, TOM: ... but Janeway had dodged the phaser blast. >and he was honoured that Captain Chakotay had trusted him enough to >give him command of Argonaut now. JOEL: If his first name is Jason, I'm jumping ship. >Now it was time to see how those ideas worked. CROW: I predict a critical plot device will thwart his plans, throwing the ship into chaos only to be resolved at the last minute. TOM: You've just described every Star Trek episode ever created. >His musings were interrupted by Paris' obviously pleased voice. JOEL: [B'Elanna] Musing over your power, Adolf? CROW: Everyone's power-crazy. >"Paris to bridge," > >"Bridge, Winston here." > >"The mains are ready to go, Captain," the engineer told him. TOM: Suddenly they're on a sailing vessel? JOEL: Doesn't matter; they'll still get home in seven years. >"Well, what are you waiting for?" Winston demanded. CROW: Boy, put him in command for two seconds and already he's Chakotay. JOEL: Ooo, low blow. >"Your permission to light her up," Paris snapped, her Klingon temper >flaring. TOM: You could light it up with that flame from your skull. >"After all, there's about a twenty percent chance that when I start this >old bird up, her warp core will breach. CROW: Little things like "safety protocols" never entered her mind? >Needless to say, I thought that you might want to be prepared." > >"I see," Winston replied, JOEL: [Winston] I'm in an escape pod now. See ya, suckers! >barely noticing Abbott's sudden pallor. TOM: [Winston] Buck up, Abbott. If it blows, you'll be dead before you know it. >"Well, let's have at it, then." CROW: Is it wrong for me to pray for death? JOEL: Depends. Yours, theirs, or Ray-ray's? CROW: At this point, I don't think it matters. >"OK," Paris rejoined. TOM: [B'Elanna] Now where did I put that ignition switch? >"Mains on line in five, four, three, two, one...." > >Moments later, the ship's main lights snapped on, bathing everything in >the off-white glow that Winston associated with Starfleet ships. JOEL: Shortly afterwards, the glow turned into an explosion. CROW: We can only hope. >The artificial gravity, which had been at only a third of standard TOM: That sounds like fun! Can we do that, Joel? JOEL: If it'll keep you two from jumping on the bed, sure. >quickly ramped up and he found himself settling into the captain's >chair, his apparent weight now what he was used to. CROW: Ten seconds later he was a puddle of goo in the chair, as gravity had upped another couple notches. JOEL: That's dark, Crow. CROW: Oh, so you're allowed to talk about the ship exploding, but I can't kill off one crewman? JOEL: Well ... okay. I'll give you a freebie. >Though he had not been overly uncomfortable in the ship's low-powered >environment, TOM: What exactly is uncomfortable about low gravity? JOEL: Hitting your head on the ceiling after every step is the only thing that comes to mind. >he immediately saw that the brighter light and stronger gravity had done much >to comfort the mousy woman ALL: She's not a mouse! She's a groundhog! >with whom he shared Argonaut's bridge. > >"Winston to Voyager," he barked, CROW: Arf! Arf! JOEL: What is it, boy? Voyager's trapped in a well? CROW: Arf! Arf! Arf! >the pleasure of an increasingly functional command filtering through in every >word and action. TOM: [Winston/Jafar] The *power*! The unbelievable POWER!! >"Voyager, Chakotay," JOEL: ... Paris, Tuvok, Abbott ... we -know- the cast already, thank you. >"Lieutenant Paris has re-established main power Captain, CROW: Power to the Captain! TOM: I'd prefer a live electrical node applied to the Captain, if it's all the same to you. >and we're now moving to have a look at weapons and other systems. JOEL: But communications booted up straight away, of course. TOM: That's Plot Contrivance #625, isn't it? JOEL: Not really. They could be using their badge communicators. TOM: Dang. >I'm going to have Ms. Abbott scan the ships out here for raw materials >and such. CROW: So how did he get to be in charge? B'Elanna's the highest ranking officer on-board, isn't she? TOM: For some strange, unknown reason, Chakotay put him in as commander of the vessel. JOEL: To be fair, though, we don't really know his rank. He was introduced as "Winston," with little or no other identifying remarks. TOM: Well, he's a Conn officer, right? Aren't those always ensigns? JOEL: Data was a Conn officer, and he was a lieutenant commander. TOM: Oh, don't bring Pinocchio into this ... CROW: An insult to droids everywhere, that one. TOM: Besides that, the command structure in Starfleet is incredibly simplistic. It goes: Ensign, Lieutenant, Lieutenant Commander, Commander, Captain, Admiral. All heads of departments are Lieutenant Commanders, and there is only one Commander per ship, and she or he gets to be first officer. So B'Elanna is a Lieutenant Commander, and Winston can't be any higher than that without replacing Chakotay. JOEL: So then B'Elanna and Winston are the same rank? TOM: That's the only way I can reason it without my head exploding. JOEL: Oh, wait a minute; I just remembered that they -did- specify rank, last segment. CROW: And? JOEL: He's an ensign. [Tom's head starts to smoke again, and his body shudders] CROW: He's going to blow! JOEL: [pats Tom on the shoulder] Remember, Tom: mortal minds. Don't try to understand it; just let the nonsense flow right over you. Remember the relaxation techniques I taught you? TOM: [as the smoke begins to dissipate] I am a stone in a mountain stream. The babbling river of fanfic writers is as nothing to me, as I need take no notice... JOEL: That's it. Feeling better? [Tom whimpers] >We may be able to pick up some things that we can use here, or on Voyager. CROW: Oh, look, a plot hole! We could use another one of those! JOEL: Hey, a technobabble dictionary! Beam it aboard! TOM: And isn't that a convenient time-travel portal to the early twenty-first century? Let's go through it! >In any case, it'll help to know what materials these ships are made >of should we need to blow any of them up." JOEL: We've said it before, and we'll say it again: they're all a bunch of trigger-happy madmen. >"Argonaut, can you repeat that last?" ALL: "Trigger-happy madmen." >"You heard me right, sir." Winston confirmed. > >"Since those Kommodan ships use contained plasma weapons as their main >offensive armament, we would be best to have a field of rubble here as >they can't shoot through it without wasting their shots on the debris >field. TOM: Okay, so who's explaining what to who here? JOEL: Well, a paragraph break usually denotes a change in the character talking. So this must be Chakotay. >Our phasers will just shrug off anything that's in their way, if we chop >up what's in here enough." CROW: So their big plan is to create a rubble field, and then clear a path for their enemies? TOM: Right. CROW: And they don't see a problem with this? >"I see," Chakotay said after a moment. JOEL: I doubt that. TOM: Wait a minute! Why would he be saying "I see" after he explained it? JOEL: Oh. That must have been Winston talking, then. TOM: Which part? The "I see" or the rubble field idiocy? JOEL: I'm not sure. Let's say "yes" to both, and let Ray-Ray sort it out later. TOM: If my head explodes, I'm taking you with me. >"So if we destroy some of these old wrecks we'll have a tactical advantage >against the Kommodans. What about the Borg?" CROW: The Borg also have a tactical advantage against the toilets. JOEL: I don't think that's what he meant. CROW: I just want the Borg to assimilate the Kommodans already. >"The rubble should also make it harder for the Borg to hook on to our >ships with their tractor beams, Captain. TOM: Won't the rubble also impact on the ships, including Voyager and the Argonaut? CROW: And if we're really lucky, most of the impacts will be on the bridges of both ships. >Those cutting beams will be a problem because Argonaut's shields won't hold >against them. Ultimately, it may be best to have Voyager in the rubble field, JOEL: Ah, another brilliant plan. Put the weakest ship out in the open, while the stronger ship gets pummelled to death by large rocks. CROW: So far, I don't have any objections. >but I'd ask that we hold off on talking about that until I'm a bit clearer >on what we'll be able to do with this ship." TOM: I'd love to get clear on what a Federation starship is doing there in the first place. CROW: Or maybe why they don't just take over -all- the ships in the junkyard and meet the toilet-heads with an armada. JOEL: Personnel might be a problem with that approach, though. CROW: But three ships are better than two, and four are better than three, and so on. Spread the ranks a little thin, sure, but it might be worth it. TOM: After all, they're putting a ship together with four lousy crewmembers! And there are hundreds on Voyager. >"Sounds reasonable, though I would like it if you could tell me why you >think Argonaut's shields won't hold well against the Borg's weapons," >Chakotay said dryly. > >"After All, I'd hoped not to be sending you on a near-suicide mission." JOEL: But Winston didn't send Chakotay ... oh. Ray-Ray did it again. TOM: Along with a thesaurus, a copy of Shrunk & White might not be a bad investment, either. >"Argonaut was launched before the particular shield-to-computer >interface that we use now was invented. CROW: So then how did shields operate back then? By hand?! JOEL: [Kirk] Scotty, I need those shields! TOM: [Scotty] I'm crankin' the winch as hard as I can, Cap'n! >Hopefully Corporal Miller can help us figure out a way to modulate >her shields enough to be useful, but if not, I've got a couple of ideas. CROW: Take your pick: plot holes or contrivances? TOM: I'd prefer contrivances. I'm two away from getting Bingo. >I'll need to talk them over with Ms. Paris before I bring them to you." JOEL: "Ms. Paris"? If she's married, wouldn't it be "Mrs"? TOM: And if she's not, then it should be "Torres." CROW: Unless there's some kind of incestuous relationship they didn't realize until recently. JOEL: [Janeway/Darth Vader] B'Elanna, I am your mother. TOM: [B'Elanna] Noooooo! It's not true! That's impossible! JOEL: Search your genealogy; you know it to be true! TOM: Noooooo! JOEL: And ... your husband is your brother! CROW: Watch "Redneck Star Trek," next on UPN! >"Very good," Chakotay acceded. "Just make sure that they work." TOM: Even if they don't work, I'm sure every one of the named characters will be just fine. >"That's my goal, sir." Winston rejoined lightly. "After all, it'd be >rather unpleasant to be over here if we don't. JOEL: Nah; not unless you let a little thing like death ruin your day. >For the moment, I'd better get back to work on figuring out the >differences between this ship and the Excelsior Class ships I served >on." > >"Differences?" > >"Yes, Sir! Differences. CROW: Differences? JOEL: Differences! TOM: Disparities! CROW: Disillusions! JOEL: Dissemblances! TOM: Divergences! CROW: Distinctions! JOEL: Dissidence! TOM: You know; differences! >This ship is old and was shut down more than fifty years ago. TOM: How on Io does he know -that-? JOEL: Well, the ship is fifty-six years old, and ... well, he guessed. >The technology's out of date and a lot of it'll never work because of lack >of maintenance, Sir!" CROW: With any luck, that list will include shields, weapons, and life support. >Winston replied. "But the important systems shouldn't be too hard to fix, >or at least that's what Ms. Paris tells me." TOM: And your words for today are: Born. There. Is. Every. Sucker. Minute. A. JOEL: Assemble in any manner you choose. >"Right," Chakotay murmured, obviously displeased that Winston and Paris >had understated Argonaut's possible problems when they had suggested >trying to revive the old starship. CROW: Well, maybe next time you'll actually let them *scan the ship first*! JOEL: Besides that, I believe the phrase "three days to fix" was tossed around quite a bit as an original estimate, so he's really got no room to complain. >"Don't worry about it too much, Sir." Winston encouraged. "After all, TOM: [Winston] ... this story's being written by a fan, and I'm one of his creations! We can't lose! CROW: Unless, of course, if Ray-Ray's one of those dark, depressed writers like Edgar Allen Poe, in which case we'll get to see Winston get slowly tormented and driven into excruciating mental anguish until he launches himself out of the nearest airlock. [All sigh, imagining it] JOEL: Thanks, Crow. I needed that. >I've had instruction from the master of invention. CROW: Necessity? JOEL: That's the -mother- of invention. CROW: So who's been boinking Necessity? >Now's time to see if the Colonel's lessons have actually stuck." BOTS: Ewwwwwwwww! TOM: Thanks, Crow; thanks a lot. Now I've got a horrible, horrible image in my head! CROW: I'm sorry! It's in my head, too, and it won't get out! JOEL: But we don't even know what Necessity looks like, and the Colonel hasn't really appeared all that much for us to get a clear picture of him! TOM: Joel, think: the Colonel is charismatic, great at everything, can't go wrong, and has single-handedly trained what Ray-Ray wants us to believe is a top-notch team. CROW: Which, on Voyager, wouldn't be all that much, but still. TOM: He's got every indication of ... of ... a self-insert. JOEL: Ewwwwwwwwww! CROW: I'm sorry! I'm sorry! >"From what I've seen over here, they have." TOM: Yeah, letting the dwarves in was ... was ... oh, I can't do it, Joel! CROW: Me either! I need this image out of my mind! I can't concentrate! JOEL: You two have got a point. Come on, let's get out of here. >Chakotay replied. "If they hadn't, I'd have sent someone else over to >command that old rust-bucket." [Joel picks up Tom, and they file out of the theatre] [ ... 1 ... 2 ... 3 ... 4 ... 5 ... 6 ... ] From: pieceoftheuniverse Newsgroups: alt.tv.mst3k.mstings Subject: [MiSTing] Trouble of Dwarves (5/9) Date: Fri, 21 Dec 2001 10:51:09 -0700 Reply-To: po...@pieceoftheuniverse.com Message-ID: X-Newsreader: Forte Agent 1.8/32.548 MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Lines: 1299 X-Authenticated-User: pieceoftheuniverse X-Comments: This message was posted through Spamkiller.Newsfeeds.com X-Comments2: IMPORTANT: Newsfeeds.com does not condone, nor support, spam or any illegal or copyrighted postings. X-Comments3: IMPORTANT: Under NO circumstances will postings containing illegal or copyrighted material through this service be tolerated!! X-Report: Please report illegal or inappropriate use to You may also use our online abuse reporting from: http://www.newsfeeds.com/abuseform.htm X-Abuse-Info: Please be sure to forward a copy of ALL headers, INCLUDING the body (DO NOT SEND ATTACHMENTS) Organization: Newsfeeds.com http://www.newsfeeds.com 73,000+ UNCENSORED Newsgroups. Path: archiver1.google.com!news1.google.com!sn-xit-02!supernews.com!newsfeed.direct.ca!look.ca!newshub2.rdc1.sfba.home.com!news.home.com!local-out2.newsfeeds.com!spamkiller.newsgroups.com Xref: archiver1.google.com alt.tv.mst3k.mstings:333 [Back on the bridge of the SOL, chaos reigns. Circuit boards are everywhere, floor panels are open to reveal sensitive areas of the ship, and there is a large quantity of sports equipment scattered about. Joel pokes his head out of one of the floor panels; Crow and Tom are on either side of the opening] JOEL: I don't get it. It's not down there, either. CROW: Where is it? It's gotta be somewhere! I still can't get that image out of my head! TOM: Maybe Gypsy knows. JOEL: Good idea. Gypsy! [Gypsy comes in from stage left wearing a construction helmet on her head and a tool belt cinched about her ... er, waist-thingy. Pipe. Tube. Whatever. Just don't ask how she gets her tools] GYPSY: It's not in the control room either, guys! JOEL: Gypsy, do you remember where we put the MST3k Reset Button? GYPSY: Reset button? I thought you guys were looking for the *rest* button! J&TB: Gypsy! GYPSY: Well, you guys looked tired out. I thought it might help. TOM: We're tired out from this fanfic, and the image currently dancing around in our heads -- thanks to -CROW- here! CROW: I said I was sorry! JOEL: So do you know where the Reset Button is, Gypsy? It's our only hope. GYPSY: Sure! That's the button TV's Frank presses at the end of an experiment. It's down in Deep 13. TOM: Deep 13? CROW: I could have sworn it was up here. GYPSY: Not this. It used special parts that Dr. F doesn't want me to have. JOEL: Well, there's nothing else to do than to call down, I guess. [He pulls himself out of the floor and gets back behind the desk. The 'bots follow him up] TOM: But don't tell him what we want it for! CROW: Yeah! If he thinks he's got us over a barrel, he'll never give it to us! JOEL: Um, sirs? [Switch to Deep 13, where Dr. Forrester appears to be engulfed in his own machine. The occasional *tink tink* and *bang* lets us know that, sadly, he's not being eaten alive, but rather is affecting some repairs to the Friplicator. At the sound of Joel's voice, he finds his way out of the machine and, still trailing a wire or two, moves to the monitor] DR F: What is it? Can't you see I'm rather busy here? [Switch back to the SOL] JOEL: Sorry, sir. We were wondering if you were done repairing the MST3k Reset button yet? [Switch] DR F: Oh, that old thing. I gave it to Frank to repair ages ago. Of course, Frank's dead now, and I won't be able to revive him for some time yet. So it'll just have to wait. [Switch] CROW: Frank's dead? TOM: Again? CROW: Poor little guy. JOEL: Um, sir, it's rather important. As you can see, there's this -huge- mess here in the SOL, and -- [Switch] DR F: My god! So there is! What have you done to my beautiful satellite? [Switch] TOM: [aside] Maybe you shouldn't have put us up here in the first place, numnut. JOEL: [aside] Shhh! [to Dr. F] Well, um, you see ... CROW: Aliens! JOEL: Aliens? TOM: Aliens! JOEL: Right! Aliens! Aliens boarded the satellite, and tried to disassemble it to ... to ... TOM: -- to take it back to their homeworld! CROW: Right! It turns out they worship all things dog-boned-shaped, and wouldn't you know, here we are, just sitting in space, ripe for the taking! TOM: Or at least that's what they thought! CROW: Yeah! We showed -them- a thing or two! [Joel starts getting into the spirit of the lie, and begins acting tough and manly. He puts up his fists as if about to enter a boxing ring, and gives a few punches to the air. The bots join him ... well, Crow tries, but his arms don't work like that. Tom just does half-spins in the general direction of the monitor in what he believes to be a threatening manner, but looks more like one of the hippos in _Fantasia_.] JOEL: They took one look at us and went screaming like little girls in the other direction! CROW: But not before ripping up the floorboards and tearing out circuitry! TOM: Right! First they did terrible damage to the ship, and -then- they got a good look at us! JOEL: Because we were in the theatre! CROW: That's right! We would have spared the satellite, if not for your experiment! TOM: And Gypsy couldn't take on a hoard of aliens on her own! JOEL: Leaving a poor defenseless 'bot up here to fend off an entire platoon -- CROW: -- army -- JOEL: Right, army, of hostile aliens who want to tear apart the ship and put it on display in some kind of weird alien museum! TOM: Shame on you! CROW: And all you have to do ... TOM: ... just a little thing, really ... JOEL: ... is to go find the MST3k Reset Button, and press it! CROW: As hard as you can! TOM: But not too hard! JOEL: Because we might need it later! [Switch] DR F: Alright! Alright! Enough already! I'll do anything, just as long as it shuts you up! [He stomps off to stage-right, and returns a few seconds later with a little hand-held device with a very inviting bright red button on top. On the side is inscribed "MST3k" and, in tiny, itsy-bitsy little letters underneath, reads "Do Not Push Until Experiment Ends."] DR F: Apparently Frank never got around to fixing it like I told him to. So you'll just have to make the repairs yourself. [He sends the device through the umbilicus] Remind me to kill him later for that, after I resurrect him. [Switch. Joel has the reset button in hand] JOEL: Thanks, Dr. F. [he hits the red button to terminate the connection, and then tries pushing the Reset Button] Dang. CROW: We already know it doesn't work, Joel; he just told us! JOEL: I thought he might have pushed it wrong or something. TOM: Joel, I think you need to lie down for a minute. You just made as much sense as this fanfic. JOEL: No, no; I'm fine. [He picks up a screwdriver from the floor and starts taking the cover off of the device] Besides, we need to hurry up and fix this thing before -- [Fanfic sign lights up; chaos, flashing lights, shaking Cambot] ALL: Oh no! JOEL: No time, guys; we'll have to take this with us into the theatre! [ ... 6 ... 5 ... 4 ... 3 ... 2 ... 1 ... ] [Joel and the 'bots file in.] JOEL: Hey, I think I got it! BOTS: Press it! Press it! [Joel makes a big show out of pressing the button, and there's a flash of light. The MST3k Reset Button disappears] CROW: Huh? What happened? TOM: Hey! We're in the theatre! JOEL: Forrester's pulled a fast one on us! CROW: I don't even remember coming in here! > > > TOM: ... well, story? Anytime! >A tremendous clang reverberated around Argonaut's vast engine room. CROW: Quasimodo must be hard up for work these days. >Even though the ship had been fairly easy to restart, JOEL: There's a big button on the warp core saying "Power." >fifty years of inaction had caused parts of the structure to deteriorate. CROW: Insert Viagra joke here. >With gravity fully restored, pieces of conduit and other parts of the ship's >structure had begun falling to the decks. TOM: So it was zero-g before? JOEL: No ... from what I remember, it was about one-third-g. CROW: So then wouldn't pieces just fall slower? TOM: Hey, come to think of it, I remember this story, but not much else. CROW: Me too. JOEL: Do you guys remember riffing it? TOM: There's a faint memory of being in here, reading it ... but ... not much else. CROW: It's almost like someone hit a reset button on our memory or something. JOEL: Huh. Weird. We'll have to ask Dr. F about it. >Needless to say, the rain of old structural members CROW: [singing, as Sinatra] Siiiinging, in the rain, just siiiiinging in the rain; what a woooonderful feeel -- TOM: [sfx] *THUNK* JOEL: If the Animaniacs wrote musicals, ladies and gentlemen. >had done nothing to maintain B'Elanna Paris' formerly sunny disposition. TOM: What with the clouds releasing engine parts, sure, I could see that. JOEL: Although the idea of her being "sunny" is an image that refuses to materialize. >"Wildman!" CROW: [singing] ... I think I love you. JOEL: That's "wild -thing-." >she screamed, wishing fervently that she had been able to send Caerey >on this damnable landing party. TOM: So they're being burned and tortured? CROW: I think it's more like they're in a handbasket. TOM: The whole crew's a basket case. >"Yes, Lieutenant!" Samantha Wildman's voice rang out from somewhere >behind the main energiser. JOEL: ... which was powering the giant rabbit in the warp core. CROW: [announcer] Argonaut! It keeps going and going and going and going ... >"Go see about that conduit, TOM: What conduit? JOEL: The one that hit the deck, I suppose. TOM: But how did she know it was a conduit? There are supposedly parts falling all over the ship! CROW: Maybe we just narrowly missed a stroke of luck, and it landed right beside her. TOM: Well ... damn. Ray-Ray shouldn't play with our hopes like that. >and then get Miller to tell you if there are any other parts of the ship that >need repairs before you're beamed back to Voyager." JOEL: If pieces of the ship are falling to the floor, I'd say the whole vessel could use a refit. >"Yes Ma'am," Wildman chimed, TOM: [sfx] Ding-Dong! >barely able to conceal the relief that she felt at the reprieve from dealing >with her commander's increasingly short temper. CROW: Quick, someone hand her a phaser rifle so she can pass out again! >As she worked, Samantha Wildman thought long and hard about their >situation. JOEL: Crow? CROW: Yes? JOEL: No. CROW: Right. >They were incredibly lucky to find a Federation ship that was well >supplied with spare parts. TOM: [Wildman] Why, we must be in a fanfic! Nothing can go wrong! JOEL: Plot Contrivance #383, submitted for your approval. TOM: I have this strange urge to fill out a bingo card. CROW: Now that's just odd. >Argonaut's limited self-repairing capability was going a long way toward >ensuring its battle-worthiness. CROW: So if a fifty-six-year-old ship has automatic repair capability, what was the whole point of Abbott making repairs earlier on a more technologically advanced ship? JOEL: Shhh. If you don't look at the plot holes, they can't get you. >Even if they won the upcoming battle against the Kommodans. TOM: He he. CROW: Do we even know what these guys look like? JOEL: Diminutive size, toilet-brush hair. >and The Borg, there was no way to crew it over the long term. CROW: Why not? TOM: Continuity. It's the only way any author can jump right in and start writing adventures for the crew without having to worry about a new addition that'll have to be edited in later. CROW: But I thought only Ray-Ray wrote Colonel stories. TOM: That doesn't stop him from hitting the big reset button at the end of the 'fic, though. >It would have to be left behind, no matter the fact that a second ship >would go a long way toward ensuring their ultimate return to The >Alpha Quadrant. TOM: Erm, how, exactly? JOEL: Maybe for every added warp nacelle, there's an increase in speed. CROW: Well, hell; just strap on four or five of those babies, and they'll be home in two days! >A return that seemed in doubt now that the Captain and Colonel were >missing. TOM: Ah, just leave 'em behind. CROW: We won't mind. Really. TOM: You guys would be home by now if you'd stop dropping out of warp every six seconds. >The Captain had led them through nearly six years of the hardest space >faring that any Federation crew had endured. JOEL: Of course, in doing so, she basically tossed the rulebook in the bin, but we'll ignore that for now. >She had found ways to overcome every problem they faced, TOM: ... even if the solution flew in the face of logic ... >and had come out of each situation with an increased measure of respect >from everyone aboard Voyager. CROW: [crew, whisper] Don't mess with Janeway, or else she'll get Prime Directive on your ass! >Then, suddenly, two years ago, a strange man with stranger values had >come aboard and turned the ship upside down. TOM: Who's that then? JOEL: Whoever it is, he's strong enough to flip over a starship. TOM: Superman? >Now both of the people that Samantha Wildman trusted to get them home >were missing, and probably assimilated by the Borg. CROW: Only if we're really lucky. >Unbelievable stroke of luck though Argonaut might be, JOEL: You know, if Ray-Ray doesn't stop pointing out how impossible the Argonaut's existence is, he's not going to make the story very believable. TOM: Joel, this is a Voyager fanfic. -Voyager-. Brought to you by the same folks who want to get a pitiful little ship and it's dim-witted crew across seventy thousand light-years in seven years. The same writers who saw reruns of _Gilligan's Island_ and imagined a crossover with _Lost in Space_. Believability went right out the window with the pilot episode. JOEL: Still entertaining, though. TOM: Well, sure. CROW: Just leave your brain at the door. >Wildman wondered whether it would be enough to see them through the >battle that would soon break upon them all. TOM: A battle break? CROW: [soldier] Whoops, time for tea! Hold on a minute, would you? It's so hard to hold this cup properly with a phaser rifle -- say, would you mind holding this for me? Thanks. > > > > >With ten hours before the Kommodans. and Borg were to arrive, JOEL: You know, he keeps putting that period after "Kommodans." TOM: Joel, I really don't want to have that particular mental image with me right now. JOEL: Wha -- oh. Sorry. Forget I said anything. CROW: And you say -I'm- crass. >Chakotay could only sit, board and CROW: [Chakotay] Hey, anyone want to play Monopoly with me? >increasingly frustrated, TOM: [Chakotay] Winston, did you find the Captain's porn collection yet? >on Voyager's bridge. Winston and Paris had felt that their commander >should not board the old ship, JOEL: [Winston] We don't like you, sir. You're brain-dead and ugly to boot. >and had made their unwillingness to let him inspect it more than >clear in their last conference call. CROW: [B'Elanna] Go away already! Creep. >Chakotay's frown deepened at the memory of the conversation. TOM: [Chakotay] I'll show them! I won't let them save the day in their decrepit old vessel! So there! >"I'm sorry Captain, but I have to advise against your coming aboard at >this time," Winston said, his image dominating Voyager's bridge. JOEL: [Winston, booming voice] Bow before me, puny mortal! For I am Captain, though you outrank me! >"We've only barely gotten the ship running, and even though the main >viewer's working now, there are still a lot of secondary systems that we >need to put together. TOM: Interesting list of priorities. So next up should be what, exactly? Weapons? Life support? CROW: Just as long as they can see through the main viewer. Heaven forbid they work by sensors alone. >Not only that, but as we generate more power, the anomaly seems to be >increasing its own activity as well." JOEL: What activity is that? TOM: Erm ... being a big, magnetic swirl of stuff? JOEL: Ooooo. Scary. >"I see," CROW: ... said the blind man. >Chakotay sighed, frustrated. > >"B'Elanna, do you have any idea why the anomaly's status has changed?" TOM: Possibly because of the large amount of technobabble in the immediate area. JOEL: Not to mention that plot contrivances are natural gravity wells. >"Nothing for sure," her angry voice snapped from wherever she was >working. "After all, I've been a bit busy trying to put together this >fifty year old ship. CROW: So have they actually ascertained that the ship has been floating here for fifty-odd years, or are they just assuming? JOEL: It's all assumption so far. The ship could have gotten there yesterday and this crew would -still- have difficulty. >She'll be ready for you when you need her, but there's way too much for >me to deal with in her guts ALL: Ewwwwwww! >to worry about what's going inside that anomaly." TOM: Shouldn't she have said "this anomaly," seeing as how they're inside it? JOEL: We'll do grammar and proper tense flames later, when we need to roast marshmallows. >"Understood," Chakotay barked, borrowing from Janeway's bag of tricks >where dealing with B'Elanna was concerned. CROW: Which apparently consists of ignoring whatever she says until she's in a more responsive mood. >"I'll look forward to hearing that Argonaut is in top shape," he said, >knowing fully well that she wouldn't be able to get it there. TOM: Rub it in a little harder, Chakotay. I don't think she feels inept yet. >He was equally sure that B'Elanna would focus on the challenge that he >had just given her to the exclusion of her frustration over the older >ship's decay. JOEL: Where did Chakotay learn to command? By mail-order? >A focus that would also allow her to get more done rather than worrying >over the things, such as her missing husband's fate, that she couldn't >control. CROW: Say ... where -is- Tom? TOM: I'm right here! JOEL: Not you, Tom, the other Tom! TOM: There's another me? CROW: No, the Tom on Voyager. TOM: I'm not getting anywhere near that ship! JOEL: You're not on Voyager. TOM: And I'd like to keep it that way! CROW: So where's Tom? TOM: [shaking now] I'm right here! JOEL: It's a good thing Tom's not in this story, or this might get confusing. TOM: But I'm *right here*! CROW: Of course you are, Tom, but Tom isn't. TOM: Aaaaarrrrrrggggghhhhh! >"Aye Sir," came her reply, nearly drowned out by the sound of the phaser >torch that she was using. JOEL: ... to burn the effigy of Chakotay she had made out of spare parts. >"I'll leave you to her tender mercies Captain," Chakotay said, small >grin creasing his features. TOM: [Chakotay] Try not to lord it over her that I chose you over her when I selected a commanding officer for the ship. CROW: [Chakotay] Despite the fact that she's better than you in almost every way. >"Very good, sir." Winston said straight-faced, not daring to look at >Abbott who had been able to overhear the entire exchange. JOEL: Or else what? They'd burst out laughing? CROW: [Winston & Abbott as little kids, singsong] We're in control! We're in control! We're in control! >"I'll report in as soon as we have anything for you." TOM: [Chakotay] Oh, look, they sent me a present! Why, it's a torpedo casing with a little clock running backwards! How sweet! >"Very well," Chakotay acceded, knowing that there was still far too much >to be done to bring Argonaut back to anything approaching full >functionality. CROW: So, when the battle comes, the Argonaut is just going to sit there, doing nothing? TOM: And thus get blasted out of the sky. CROW: Oh, good. So things are looking up. >The problem was, Chakotay reflected darkly, that the conversation had >occurred nearly three hours previously and so far no further word from >Argonaut. TOM: The crew had finally realized that life support probably should have been first priority. >If Winston didn't call in soon, he'd have to call himself. JOEL: [Chakotay] No! Not the hailing frequency! Anything but that! >If for no other reason than to remind Argonaut's captain to get some >sleep. CROW: [motherly] Okay, kids, it's bedtime! Stop messing around with the starship and get to sleep! JOEL & TOM: [kids] Awww, mom, but we've got a battle in the morning! CROW: You can kill the Borg and clean the toilets when you wake up. Now, bed! > > > > >"Ens- I mean, Captain Winston, I have a scan of the ships surrounding >us." Abbott finally reported. JOEL: Brace yourselves, guys. Plot contrivances, homing in! >"What can you tell me," he asked, moving from the centre seat to stand >beside her at the science console. TOM: [Abbott] For one, take your hand off my posterior, sir. >"There is a diverse set of ships, running from small star fighter or >shuttle class vessels up to enormous container ships far larger than >anything we have had contact with. CROW: Hey, look: it's the Death Star! JOEL: That's one crossover we don't need. >The materials used in their construction are equally varied." She reported, >voice barely above a whisper. TOM: [Abbott] Try to be quiet; they're so cute when they're derelicts. >Though her report had been delivered somewhat tentatively, Winston could >see that working in a field that she was familiar with was a source of >comfort to her. CROW: Okay, so then what exactly -is- airponics? JOEL: Apparently, it has something to do with staring at defunct machinery floating in space. CROW: So she's a junk collector, then? >The fact that she had not flinched away from him when he took station at >her side was strong evidence of this. TOM: Either that, or his cologne was working. >He made a mental note to tell Captain Janeway of Abbott's obvious >pleasure at working in familiar territory CROW: Well, tough. The Federation is light-years away. >in hopes that she would get more chances to work in the Astrometrics >and metallurgy laboratories. TOM: But isn't changing lead into gold kinda passe for folks who have replicators? JOEL: That's -alchemy-. >Seven might object, CROW: If seven people are going to object, then why put her in that kind of situation? >but if the young woman could make a stronger contribution to the ship, >he would do everything in his power to see that she got the chance. TOM: For a price, if ya know what I mean. >Of course, before any of this could happen, they had to find a way to >beat the Borg and Kommodan forces that were only a few hours away. JOEL: By hiding in a gas cloud and flirting with each other. CROW: Typical Star Trek episode so far. >After that, they would have to find and possibly rescue their missing >crew. TOM: Or just find them, wave hello, and then get back on the road home. >Of course, with any luck, the Colonel would have taken care of this by >the time Voyager caught up with him. CROW: With the wrench, in the billiard room. >For now, all he could do was get a report on the composition of those >wrecks. JOEL: ... edit them, and submit them to his publisher by noon today. >Hopefully some of them would be useful for the strategy that he had worked >out with Chakotay. TOM: Which they had better get started on now if they want the rubble field to be of any considerable size. >"Are any of the larger vessels located near the outer edge of the >anomaly?" > >"No, sir." she replied after a few moments' work with the sensors. JOEL: This is because of the rarely-known "Chip Phenomenon," which makes all the big chips sink to the bottom of a bag, and all the little bits rise to the top. CROW: You've got that backwards, Joel. Whenever I open up a bag of chips, the big ones are always on top. JOEL: Oh. Then this must be the "Can of Planter's Mixed Nuts Phenomenon," which makes all the peanuts hide so that you can only select all the icky nuts before you taste your first peanut. TOM: What does that have to do with this? JOEL: Nothing, but it took our minds off the fanfic for a minute. Let's just enjoy the moment. >"As with any gravitational source, massive objects are drawn toward the >centre of this anomaly more quickly than smaller ships like Argonaut. JOEL: See? I told you that my version of the Chip Phenomenon was right! TOM: Joel, consider your source: a fanfic writer who has done little or no research. CROW: According to this theory, every planet should have dropped into the sun by now. TOM: Except Pluto, because it's so small. JOEL: We'll just have to get a bag of chips and see about that! >Ships have to either produce power or have a lot of inertial momentum to >keep themselves from falling in, and since these ships are drifting and >have little power, all are moving toward the centre at various speeds. CROW: So it's like the Indy 500, but slow. TOM: Shouldn't they have ships impacting against each other on a regular basis, then? CROW: Not to mention some spectacular crash scenes. >Many of the ships have collected around the object that seems to be >responsible for the effect. In fact, if it weren't for the shield that >seems to protect it, a fairly large number of ships would have crashed >into it directly." JOEL: Shouldn't the ships just have smashed against the shield? TOM: Details, details. Then that would mean they wouldn't have the fun of blowing stuff up, because they would already have a debris field. >Winston nodded, not surprised by what he had heard, but frustrated by it >all the same. CROW: [Winston] I want things to go smash! >"Do you think that a torpedo strike against one of those ships would be >enough to break it up and spread its remains throughout the region?" JOEL: Ah, the constant Voyager solution: blow it up 'till things feel better. >"No, Sir! The strength of the gravitational forces in the area seem to >be growing, possibly as a response to the power generated by Argonaut >and Voyager. TOM: So wouldn't they notice that energy is been bled from the ships? CROW: This crew? TOM: Point. >At this point, the field is too strong for a torpedo explosion to overcome." JOEL: Entropy vs. Gravity, the constant struggle. CROW: ... today, on WWF! >"Blast!" TOM: No, that's the one thing you -can't- do. >Winston exploded, CROW: ... taking the Argonaut with him. ALL: [deadpan] Hurrah. >unconsciously using JOEL: First Chakotay, now Winston. Can no one keep awake in this 'fic? TOM: They must be reading it. I know I've dozed off a couple times. >one of The Colonel's signatory ways of expressing frustration. CROW: But it was copyrighted, so they were in for a long legal battle. >Abbott jumped, obviously frightened by his vehemence. TOM: [Abbott] Oh my! You used a five-letter invective! I didn't even know they had those! >"Sorry, Ensign," Winston muttered, JOEL: So "blast" is a terrible word in the future, and people who use it are shunned from society? CROW: Wow. I wonder what would happen if someone said "fuck" or "Belgium." JOEL: Hey! CROW: Sorry. I'll never mention the waffle country again. JOEL: That's better. >stamping back toward the centre seat. TOM: ... using the "animal print" stamp he found at the dollar store. >He had to find a way to get around this problem, for without it, their >strategy for blunting the Kommodans' numerical advantage might be in >serious danger. JOEL: Um ... blow up the smaller ships? CROW: Nah, that's too easy. Not even a single word of technobabble. >Fortunately, he'd had an excellent teacher TOM ... and a ne'er-do-well teacher's pet ... >and it didn't take long for the lessons on creativity that the Colonel had >drilled into his shipmates CROW: Now that's what I would like to see! JOEL: [crewman/Bond] Do you expect me to talk? TOM: [Colonel] No, redshirt; I expect you to die! >on the Dog Watch to take hold. JOEL: So once they're in the cargo hold, then what? CROW: Open the cargo bay doors, of course. >Within moments he had an idea. TOM: A member of the Voyager Crew?! >A dangerous one to be sure, CROW: Hey, more dangerous the better. JOEL: You do realize that there's little chance Ray-Ray's going to kill off any of the main characters? CROW: I know, but I'll take anything that increases the redshirt count. TOM: What are we up to? CROW: Seven so far. >but one that he thought would probably work. JOEL: "Blow up the smaller ships"? CROW: I've told you; too easy. TOM: But what they -could- do is transport people to the other ships, and have them do kamikaze runs on the Kommodans! CROW: Yes! And then they could have trouble transporting them off before the ships collided, thus increasing redshirt count! >All he needed do now was to check it with 'his' chief engineer. TOM: Right after "her" nap. JOEL: So we're not sure of anyone's gender anymore? TOM: Hey, I'm just taking my cues from the 'fic. >"Winston to Paris," he snapped, tapping his com-badge as he spoke. CROW: So all she got out of that transmission was her last name. TOM: I hate it when caller I.D. is blocked like that. >"Paris here," her sleep-thickened voice responded some moments later. TOM: Hey, she *was* taking a nap! JOEL: Way to go, Tom! [They high-five. Well, low-five, really, since Tom's hand won't move] >"Sorry Ms. Paris," he apologised, only now realising that she was >probably getting the first sleep that she had seen CROW: You can see sleep? TOM: Sure! We see Joel sleep all the time. [Pause] JOEL: I'm locking my bedroom door from here on out. >since the Kommodans' attack nearly two days earlier. TOM: I'm having trouble with the timeline. JOEL: That happens. TOM: So, they were attacked by the toilet-heads from within while also being attacked from without. CROW: Right. TOM: So they turned tail and ran into a cloud, somehow gaining a ten-hour head start. JOEL: Right. TOM: So how does ten hours turn into two days? CROW: Relativity. TOM: In a Star Trek 'fic? JOEL: Well, Ray-Ray's already introduced the concept of toilets; realistic universal physics was only a step away. CROW: Of course, that means that in another couple pages, their warp drive won't work. JOEL: Or pretty much anything else, really. >"Too late for that," she mumbled, voice barely audible on Argonaut's >bridge. TOM: Turn up the volume! CROW: Bring on the funk! JOEL: Get down with your jiggy self! >Now that you've got me up, you might as well tell me what you >wanted," she prompted. CROW: [Winston] Well, I was wondering: with your husband gone and possibly assimilated, would you consider dating? >"Oh, Right." Winston replied, trying to recollect his thoughts. TOM: [Winston] Aw, who spilled my brain out onto the floor? This'll take -hours- to clean up ... >"Ensign Abbott has just finished a scan of the JOEL: ... 'fic, and she can't find any way for us to get out. I'm sorry. CROW: We'll be passing out suicide capsules in the morning. >ships that have been trapped here, and tells me that the really big ones >are too close to the centre of the anomaly to be chopped into rubble TOM: It slices! It dices! It chops and cuts and explodes starships with ease! >and easily spread around the region. CROW: Like applebutter on toast. JOEL: Mmmmm, applebutter. Could I have that on a bagel, instead? >I'm wondering if you can have a look at her data and tell me >if we could beam some photon torpedoes into their main energisers?" [Pause] [Slightly longer pause] ALL: [incredulous] Huh?! JOEL: What did he just say? TOM: Well, you've got to hand it to him: that's definitely creative. CROW: Of course, there are several million other ways to get the effect he wants without going through all the trouble of blasting the hell out of those ships... JOEL: Not to mention that the gravity well these guys are trapped in might -still- capture all the pieces -anyway-... TOM: And that there seem to be plenty of smaller ships that could generate just as large a debris field with a little bit more to blow up. CROW: But he is the author's pet creation, so he's virtually infallible, no matter what he does. JOEL: I've given up on this 'fic making any sense. Now my quest is just to get through it. >"Voyager would have a better chance TOM: What about the Argonaut? JOEL: After his last idea, I think we can let Winston die. >if we can get an explosion big enough to either destroy the anomaly CROW: Voyager: Destroying the universe, one piece at a time. >or at least give us the rubble field that we'll need to hide her in while >she fights any Kommodans. TOM: So they idea behind the rubble field is to mess up weapon tracking, right? Won't it have the same effect on Voyager? JOEL: Voyager is special. TOM: You can say that again. But that doesn't answer my question. >that get past us," he explained. CROW: So they -are- going to put the weaker ship on the front lines. JOEL: Common sense has not only left them, but has started browsing the classifieds looking for employment. >"Sure, no problem." Paris said, voice sharpening with interest as she >spoke. TOM: [B'Elanna] So we're going to die, you say? Right after exerting more effort than necessary? Let me draw up my will ... >"I'm on duty in about an hour, and will get on it right away. JOEL: Does that mean she's going in early, or she's going in on time? CROW: Yes. >How are the other repairs going?" > >"Just fine." Winston told her. TOM: [Winston] We've only suffered three hull breaches in the last hour, and we're down to only two asphyxiations per minute. >"Lt. Caerey has taken over for Ms. Wildman CROW: But just a page ago B'Elanna was cursing Caerey's absence! TOM: Plus, wasn't he the one shot and passed out in Engineering? JOEL: Well, so much for continuity. >and we've got the main energisers, TOM: So what's an energiser, anyway? JOEL: A battery company. TOM: Isn't that what the warp core is for? CROW: To beat people up, then charge for it? I hope not. >weapons and shields back to full capability. JOEL: Still no one notices that life support needs maintenance. TOM: They're already suffering from lack of oxygen to the brain. Pure vacuum couldn't hurt them. >I'll get him on the transporters now that they'll be necessary, and we'll >get the replicators up just in case." > >"In case of what?" Paris demanded. CROW: In case the previous captain of the Argonaut comes looking for his porn. >"In case we need them should Argonaut be the only ship to survive." JOEL: You mean despite being the weaker of the two, and the one not under the cover of the debris field? Sure. >"Oh," she replied, obviously chastened by the thought of losing the ship >that had become her home. TOM: In other words, trying not to break out into a cheer. >"Well, in that case, I suppose that I should let you go so you can get >him started." JOEL: I had a car like that. It took forever to warm up enough before I could take it anywhere. >"Probably so," Winston concurred. CROW: With mind-bending dialogue like this, it's a wonder there isn't a larger fanbase for this stuff. >"Have Voyager beam you to the phaser control room when you're ready, TOM: How tragic. JOEL: Hmm? TOM: B'Elanna's apparently lost the use of her legs. >we'll need to test-fire the weapons to make sure that everything is >working, and you're the best-qualified person to supervise. CROW: She's also the best qualified person to command the ship, but don't let that stop you. >The weapons scanners should be more than enough to let you check into >any ships that you think we can blow up." TOM: Why would they want to check into ships before they blow them up? JOEL: Maybe they're actually being considerate, and want to be sure no one's on board the vessels first. TOM: Shouldn't they have done that before they started taking over one of the derelicts? JOEL: Being the voice of reason will get you nowhere, fast. >"OK, out," she said, cutting the connection with some of the gruffness >that she had lost since her marriage to Tom Paris. CROW: [B'Elanna] Oh, -here's- my gruffness. I thought I had lost this! > > > > >With only a few hours before they would be thrown into the thick of >battle, Chakotay was pleased by the reports coming from Argonaut. TOM: [Chakotay] Let's see ... crew dead ... lethal doses of radiation ... warp core about to overload ... JOEL: Tom! TOM: You're right, you're right. That would please -me- more than him. >The old Excelsior class ship was coming back to life JOEL: [Frankenstein] It's alive! It's aliiiiiiiiiive! >and he knew that B'Elanna Paris was taking pleasure in her work. CROW: I'm not touching that one. Some things we just don't want to imagine. >She had handled the possibility that her husband had been captured by the >Borg far better than he had hoped. TOM: [B'Elanna] Wooohooo! >Possibly the fit of rage during the battle against the Kommodan JOEL: [video game] You have been recruited by the Star League to defend Rylos against Zur and the Kommodan armada. >boarders in Engineering CROW: I hate it when the hotels get full and they start putting guests in the engine room. >was what she had needed to avoid sinking into depression. TOM: So she's over her husband already, and we don't even know if he's dead or not. CROW: Twenty bucks says he gets assimilated and/or dies, and Winston steps in to "console" her. TOM: You've got a bet. >Winston was pushing the small engineering crew that he had been given >very hard. ALL: [Wicked Witch's peons] Oh-ee-oh, ohhhhhhhhhhh-oh. >All knew that they would have to give their best if the Voyagers would live >to see another day. JOEL: "The Voyagers"? Did they form a football team when we weren't looking? ALL: Go Packers! >They had far too little time until the Kommodan fleet arrived. CROW: I know a constipation joke goes here, but I just can't think of one. JOEL: That's okay. There's going to be plenty of opportunity. >There would be only a few minutes to dispatch it before the Borg came. TOM: Ack! This isn't turning into a lemon, is it? >Happily, JOEL: That isn't a word I would use to describe imminent battle and possible destruction, but this *is* Voyager we're talking about. >the crew was working harder than ever before, and both ships >would be ready. CROW: And if they weren't, it would at least be the quickest slaughter on record. >Chakotay knew that he needed sleep TOM: Yes! Brilliance once again blesses the fearless leader! CROW: His IQ raises one point for a grand total of two. >in order to be prepared for what would come, and had ordered that all >crew get at least four hours' rest before they went into battle. JOEL: Of course, the enemy was going to stop by in about ten minutes, but perhaps they'd just want tea. >He needed to get a report from Argonaut as to its latest progress before >he could rest himself. TOM: [Chakotay] Hmph. They exploded. Well, time for bed. >As soon as this was done, he would take his four hours' rest CROW: This sentence brought to you by the Department of Redundancy Department. >and see that Winston did too. JOEL: Did not! TOM: Did too! JOEL: Did not! TOM: Did too! >While they rested, B'Elanna would be in charge of both ships. CROW: How does -that- work, exactly? JOEL: She must be omnipotent. TOM: Suddenly, Chakotay's request for ten hours to repair the Argonaut seems gratuitous. CROW: Not to mention the addition of five other crewmen to help her. >Almost as if called by his spirit guide, JOEL: Ha, ha! 'Cause, see, he's got Native American roots, and -all- Native Americans have spirit guides. TOM: Except, of course, for the Cherokee, the Navajo, the Sioux ... >Winston's voice interrupted his musings CROW: [Chakotay] No! Now I've lost my train of thought, and I'll never get back on track! >before they could turn to the horrid possibilities that awaited them if, >for any number of reasons, they lost. JOEL: Besides the obvious, you mean? TOM: Being ineffective hasn't killed them so far. No reason for it to start now. >"Argonaut to Chakotay," Winston's voice rang clear and strong from his >quarters' speakers. CROW: [Winston, booming] I am your god. Bow to me! >"Chakotay here." he said warily, JOEL: [Chakotay] You're going to hurt me, aren't you? >only now realising just how tired he was. TOM: Yes, lack of sleep makes people tired. Next up: the Earth is round. >"All is well here, Captain." Winston reported, voice obviously pleased >with the tremendous progress that his small crew was making. CROW: [Chakotay] How are things going over there? JOEL: [Winston] Just fine, sir. [whip crack] No problems at all. [whip crack]. >"All weapons test as ready to fire, and we've got a few candidates for >operation trash box." TOM: Right after Operation: Sign Your Will and just before Operation: Die Screaming in Battle. >"Good." Chakotay said. "When will you blow them up?" CROW: [Winston] Sir, I've told you this before: the replicator won't make blow-up dolls of Janeway. >"About twenty minutes before the Kommodans arrive. JOEL: Twenty minutes again! What is it with this number? TOM: Doesn't Ray-Ray know that the magic Star Trek number has always been forty-seven? >That should give the rubble field enough time to spread without letting it >get too thin. CROW: But won't it also be spreading during the battle? JOEL: The laws of physics get suspended during any intense battle. CROW: Neat trick. >As soon as the anomaly is disrupted by the blast, TOM: But hasn't the anomaly been absorbing energy from the ships? And won't an explosion give even more to draw from? CROW: There are plot holes in this story big enough to pilot an Excelsior-class starship through. TOM: Oh, well, that explains the Argonaut's existence, then. >we'll head out to take on the Kommodans, while you wait here and nail any >that get through, sir." JOEL: So they've traded their phasers in for nail guns? TOM: That's a little like trading trinkets for Manhattan, isn't it? >"Fine," Chakotay agreed, knowing that Voyager's smaller and more >manoeuvrable form was best for working the tight spaces that would be >created by the destruction of the old wrecks. CROW: Because we know that worked so well in the pilot episode. >There was one thing about the forthcoming operation that he didn't like, >however. "What will you do if the Borg arrive before you're done with >the Kommodans?" JOEL: Die. TOM: Hey, things are looking up! >"Ms. Paris and I talked about this after you mentioned it earlier, >Captain. CROW: [Winston] Well, she talked. I just tuned her out and nodded a lot. >She's pretty sure that the Borg'll ignore us in favour of getting at Voyager. JOEL: Why is that, exactly? CROW: It's prettier. TOM: [Borg] Oooo, shiny! >This should allow us to deal with the Kommodans. and keep the Borg >off of our backs." CROW: Piggy-backing Borg, the bane of the Delta Quadrant. >"Miller hasn't been able to help us figure out a way to modulate the >shields effectively, TOM: ... making the whole "bringing him aboard" idea sort of a waste. >and even though ours are more powerful than Voyager's, JOEL: So an old-tech ship is stronger than Voyager? TOM: My head hurts. >it still looks like The Borg will cut through us like a knife through >butter. CROW: That's *hot* knife through butter. If you're going to use a cliche, at least get it right. >On the other hand, our stronger conventional shielding and heavier >phasers will give us a better chance against the Kommodans. JOEL: So the smart thing for the toilets to do is to wait for the Borg to reinforce them. TOM: So we can bet that's the one thing they -won't- do. >We should be able to keep them busy enough to let you stay in the rubble >field until the Borg get here. After that, we'll just have to 'praise >god and pass the ammunition', CROW: Ah, the field cry of the Crusades. >I suppose?" > >"Well, Its not a great plan," Chakotay opined, TOM: No kidding. We've come up with ten alternates while waiting for you to come around and explain yours. >"but its the best one that we've got. Make sure that your people get some >rest before you begin things." JOEL: I thought it was always "eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die." CROW: Now it's "sleep, dream, and have nightmares, for in four hours we die." >"Be sure to rest as well, Captain. After all, You've ultimately got the >harder job. TOM: Waiting in a dust cloud while another ship takes all the risk? >You have to explain all this to Captain Janeway, when we finish!" CROW: I hear she gets really angry when the paint's been scratched. >"Understood," Chakotay concurred with a grin, "I'm off for about five >hours' sleep now. JOEL: How long do they have before the battle, anyway? TOM: Three hours, but they're hoping to sleep through it. >Hopefully that'll be enough to see us through whatever comes next." > >"It'd better be, Sir," Winston agreed. "Argonaut out." > >"Voyager out," Chakotay confirmed. CROW: Crow out. JOEL: Joel out. TOM: Servo out. [Joel picks up Tom, and they file ... well, out] [ ... 1 ... 2 ... 3 ... 4 ... 5 ... 6 ... ] From: pieceoftheuniverse Newsgroups: alt.tv.mst3k.mstings Subject: [MiSTing] Trouble of Dwarves (6/9) Date: Fri, 21 Dec 2001 10:51:15 -0700 Reply-To: po...@pieceoftheuniverse.com Message-ID: X-Newsreader: Forte Agent 1.8/32.548 MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Lines: 1417 X-Authenticated-User: pieceoftheuniverse X-Comments: This message was posted through Spamkiller.Newsfeeds.com X-Comments2: IMPORTANT: Newsfeeds.com does not condone, nor support, spam or any illegal or copyrighted postings. X-Comments3: IMPORTANT: Under NO circumstances will postings containing illegal or copyrighted material through this service be tolerated!! X-Report: Please report illegal or inappropriate use to You may also use our online abuse reporting from: http://www.newsfeeds.com/abuseform.htm X-Abuse-Info: Please be sure to forward a copy of ALL headers, INCLUDING the body (DO NOT SEND ATTACHMENTS) Organization: Newsfeeds.com http://www.newsfeeds.com 73,000+ UNCENSORED Newsgroups. Path: archiver1.google.com!news1.google.com!sn-xit-02!supernews.com!newsfeed.direct.ca!look.ca!newshub2.rdc1.sfba.home.com!news.home.com!local-out2.newsfeeds.com!spamkiller.newsgroups.com Xref: archiver1.google.com alt.tv.mst3k.mstings:332 [Cambot pans out to get a view of the Sattellite of Love's bridge, which is not only sparkling clean, but empty -- at first. The Mad's button is flashing. Joel comes from stage right, faces Cambot, and hits the button. Crow comes from stage left, faces Cambot, and hits the button. Tom comes from stage right, faces Cambot, and then tries to hit the button. After several repeat tries, he finally hits it with his head] [Switch to Deep 13, where Dr. F is making a big show of waiting. Frank is in the background, eating some chocolate ice cream.] DR F: Well, it's about time you decided to answer, Joel. Do you think that answering my call is some kind of *option*? [Switch back to the SOL, where everyone -- yes, even Tom -- has their arms crossed, as a stern parent might] JOEL: We might have been here sooner, Dr. F, if you hadn't just dropped us into an experiment like that. TOM: Yeah! One minute I'm ... I'm ... er, doing something else, and the next I'm in the theatre! CROW: Not only that, but you dropped us right into the middle of the story! [Switch] DR F: What are you nutcases talking about? We haven't even started the experiment for this week yet! I've got a particularly vicious nine-part monster for you to go through -- [Switch] TOM: -- called "Trouble of Dwarves"? CROW: Seen it. JOEL: Read it. TOM: Hated it. [Switch] DR F: Wha ... ? But that's impossible! It's fresh! It's new! Well, three or so months old, but it's pure torture nonetheless! And I know I haven't ... wait a minute. Frank! [Frank steps up to Dr. Forrester, still eating his ice cream] FRANK: Yes, Dr. F? DR F: Remember that reset button I gave you the other day to repair? FRANK: A rest button? DR F: A *reset* button, Frank. FRANK: Oh, that's right. DR F: Did you fix it? FRANK: Not yet. DR F: Were you going to fix it? FRANK: I'm busy eating ice cream. [Clayton pushes Frank's hand upwards, and now Frank has ice cream all over his face. Frank starts to cry] DR F: You're done now. You weren't thinking of pressing that button, were you? FRANK: [sniffing] You're mean to me! I'm going to tell your mom! [he runs away] DR F: [composes himself, and then] Well, it looks like we have a little temporal mix-up. Not only did dim-bulb there press the button before the experiment ended, but now I have no idea where you are in the story or how it stayed there while everything else got reset. [Switch] JOEL: Does that mean what I think it means? TOM: No fanfic? CROW: No experiment? ALL: Yes! Party! [Music starts playing, confetti and balloons fall from the ceiling, Gypsy joins in the conga line, and all start singing "Frank hit the reset but-TON, no fanfic for us to-DAY"] [Switch] DR F: Not so fast, my little fiesta monkeys. According to the satellite's computers, the rest of the fanfic is still up there and ready to go. Frank may have disrupted space and time, but he can't pull a Kevorkian on one of -my- experiments! The fanfic will resume ... now! [Switch] [The confetti and balloons are gone, and all look fairly depressed] JOEL: Drat. CROW: So close, I could taste it. TOM: That's what we get for partying where Dr. Forrester could see us. [Lights, siren, general chaos] JOEL: Back to the theatre! We've got Voyager sign! [ ... 6 ... 5 ... 4 ... 3 ... 2 ... 1 ... ] > > > >"How long until the Kommodans get here?" Chakotay demanded from his >position behind ensign Carver. TOM: Poor Carver. He gets shot, and gets demoted from Ensign to ensign. >"About twenty-seven minutes, sir!" Kala reported from her place at the >ops console. CROW: Where is ops again? JOEL: On Deep Space Nine. >It was, Chakotay knew, time to get things started. TOM: Oh, wait, not yet! Wait until the last possible second! >If only Kathryn and The Colonel were here, he'd feel a lot better. JOEL: He also wouldn't have to do anything. >For now, he'd have to do with a patched together group of ensigns from >two utterly different watches. CROW: Pocket and wrist? >Each trained under totally different standards. TOM: Digital and analog? >He knew well that the crew was as unsure of their ability to work >together as he was, JOEL: Well, you know what they say: confidence is everything. CROW: So they're doomed, then? ALL: Hurrah! >and only hoped that something would break the rising tension on >Voyager's bridge. TOM: [Chakotay] Let's do the -mamba-! >Needless to say, he was not sure that he could find the words to >overcome it himself. JOEL: [Chakotay] Four score and seven years ago ... >Hopefully, the heat of battle would melt their fears...and his own. CROW: Or they could just save some time and jump into the smelter's pit right now. >"Hail Mr. Winston ALL: ALL HAIL MR WINSTON! >aboard Argonaut and tell him to get things moving," he said as he took >Kathryn's chair, TOM: Oh, so which chair has he been sitting in all this time? CROW: They must not have had them labeled before. >hoping that Winston's report would divert him from worrying about the state >of Voyager's crew. JOEL: [Chakotay] So they're going to die, too. Okay, now I'm happy. >"Captain Winston on the main viewer," Carver reported as Argonaut's >image was replaced by Winston's purposeful frown. CROW: It's not just a frown; it's got a purpose! TOM: A plan! JOEL: A mission! >Chakotay wasted no time in coming to the point. > >"We're about twenty-six minutes from direct contact with the Kommodans. TOM: And indirect contact would be what? CROW: If you breathe out, and they breathe in the same air. TOM: Ewww! That's almost kissing! CROW: And just think: everywhere, all over the world, everyone is indirectly kissing everyone who has ever lived. TOM: Ewww! CROW: You could even say that we're kissing right now -- TOM: Arrrrrggghhh! CROW: -- a deep, passionate -- JOEL: Okay, Crow, that's enough. >Are you ready over there?" > >"Yes Sir, or at least as ready as we'll ever be." Winston reported. CROW: Last will and testament signed and everything. >"Ms. Paris tells me that the last of her engineers has beamed back to >Voyager. She told me to tell you that Mr. Caerey will be in charge down >in engineering if you need to talk with someone there. JOEL: [Chakotay] Caerey, I ... I need to talk. TOM: [Caerey] We're in the middle of a battle, sir. Maybe later? JOEL: It's times like this, when the shields are down and we're being boarded by aliens, that I start to wonder whether I chose the right career path. You know what I mean? TOM: That's nice, sir. [to invader] Could you kill me now, please? >All weapons are ready to fire, and Corporal Miller has just installed >himself on the helm. CROW: [Winston] Of course, he -is- a third-party program, so tech support refuses to help us sort out any conflict issues he may have with the operating system. >He's got the ship's major systems fairly well automated TOM: So what is anyone else doing on board, then? JOEL: The phrase "cannon fodder" keeps going through my mind. >and tells me that he's ready to take the Starfleet navigator's examination >if we've got the time." CROW: The exam would only take twenty minutes? JOEL: There it is again! What is it with that number? >"Unfortunately, he'll have to wait until we cansfer him back here >for that," Chakotay said with a smile. TOM: Star Trek: where the programs are either mildly amusing or looking for ways to kill you. CROW: Or, on occasion, both. >"Tell him that we'll be happy to make him an officer if he sees you through >the battle." JOEL: "If," not "when." Not exactly exuding confidence, is he? >At this, the screen shifted slightly, showing Miller's horrified face. CROW: [Corporal] We're going to battle?! >"I didn't say nuffin' about becommin' a bleedin' officer, Cap'n," the >scruffy-looking hologram snapped, "I just told 'im that I'd be 'appy to >take the exam if you wanted me to, Guv'. Honest!." TOM: This guy drops more consonants than Vanna White. >"Not necessary," Chakotay laughed. "I trust that you'd do quite well on >it after all of the time that you've spent in the computers of some of >Starfleet's best ships." JOEL: And where, might I ask, did they come into contact with several of Starfleet's best ships ... when they're thousands of light-years away? >Winston retook the screen at this point, CROW: Playing "King of the Hill" with the remote? >obviously trying to suppress laughter at the now invisible corporal's antics. TOM: So the Corporal can turn himself invisible? JOEL: Well, he is a hologram. Though it would be easier just to shut him off to achieve the same general effect. >"I'd not offer him the chance, Sir!" He said straight faced. CROW: They not only broke the mold when they made Winston, but the protractor as well. >"After all, he's seen every Starfleet exam on the subject for at least the >last century. TOM: So exams are stored in non-encrypted files just laying about on the computers? JOEL: That at least explains everyone's ineptitude. They just hack in, swipe the exams, and then cheat their way to success. >There's no question but that he could cheat his way to a perfect score." CROW: Just like everyone else. >"True enough," Chakotay agreed over Miller's loud protestations. >"Hopefully he'll do as well as we expect," Voyager's captain continued, TOM: Janeway's back?! ALL: Run for your lives! >refocusing them on the job at hand. > >"Are you ready for operation Trash Box?" he queried, CROW: Wouldn't that be "Operation: Trash Box"? JOEL: The letters are gradually becoming capitalized. TOM: Oh, great. So in another two or three mentions, it's going to become "OpErAtIoN: TrAsH BoX." CROW & JOEL: Gahhh! >not sure that he truly wanted to hear a "yes" in answer to his question. JOEL: So he'd prefer no plan at all? CROW: That'd be better than what they've got now. >Necessary though it might be, starting the operation would irrevocably >commit him to fighting the Kommodans. TOM: I think it's a little late for that. CROW: Once they open fire at you, diplomacy goes right out the window. >and The Borg as well. JOEL: The Federation has been fighting the Borg since day one. Like that's going to change? >Much as Chakotay might want to use Voyager's superior speed to run away >from Kommos, he would have to fight both in order to assure himself of >the ability to return there. CROW: So he's hoping the fight will endear him to the hearts of the toilets, so he can return at will? JOEL: Sounds like it. >A return that would have to be carried out in order to assure himself and >Voyager's crew that The Captain hadn't been trapped on a planet whose people >were far too adept at treachery. TOM: I thought they were sure the Captain was on a Borg cube. CROW: Chakotay can't even get basic plot elements right. >"Yes, Sir!" Winston replied. > >"Ms. Abbott has targeted four large vessels whose antimatter load is >high enough to assure us a sufficiently large explosion. JOEL: So: they're going to transport live explosives into a ship with a large amount of highly-reactive material. TOM: Right. JOEL: The explosion gets set off, and from what I understand of matter-antimatter reactions, it will be larger and more powerful than a nuclear blast. CROW: Right. JOEL: So, essentially, the craft will vaporize, leaving little or no material left to actually create the much-needed debris field. TOM: Right. Not only that, but there hardly ever seems to be debris whenever a Star Trek ship is destroyed. JOEL: So, essentially, their plan was a non-starter from the get-go. BOTS: Right. JOEL: Just wanted to get that straight. >She's also found a few other ships that you might be able to use as heavy >explosives if you need to. TOM: How do ships double as heavy explosives? CROW: Apparently all hulls are explosive by nature. TOM: And so they think sending out these things loaded with people is a good idea? JOEL: No wonder the Federation wins almost every battle. >She is sending transporter co-ordinates to your tactical board." CROW: And how are transporter coordinates going to help? TOM: Maybe they actually heard us, and are going to use them to kamikaze the Kommodans. >Carver nodded when the transmission came in and Chakotay repeated the >gesture for Winston. JOEL: Everybody bounce your heads! >"OK, then," Winston sighed. > >"We'll be in position in about thirty seconds. After that, Captain, I'm >not sure if we'll be able to receive you until after the battle. TOM: That's a likely story. CROW: Hey, if I were him, I wouldn't want to talk to Chakotay any more than I'd have to, either. >Interference from antimatter explosions like the ones that we're setting >off will probably be fairly heavy." JOEL: Heavy, dude. TOM: Groovy, man. CROW: Like, totally gnarly. >"Understood," Chakotay said as the main viewer shifted to show Argonaut >moving toward the centre of the anomaly. CROW: Hopefully it's nothing like the center of the galaxy. JOEL: You mean with a god-like being trapped behind a wall of illusion? TOM: Crow, hit him. He's not supposed to bring up _Star Trek V_. >Winston continued to describe what Argonaut's sensors were telling him >as his ship closed on its targets. JOEL: Oh, so a running commentary. TOM: So Winston also used to work for a tournament golf course? >"We're about twenty seconds from energising the transporters. CROW: Now I'm imagining this being said in a hushed whisper. >Ms. Paris reports that the warp drive is at full power and Corporal Miller >has a high warp course laid in. JOEL: [Winston as golf announcer] It's a beautiful course today, with seven distinct water traps and a freshly-cut green. >We'll be able to intercept the Kommodan fleet in three minutes, Mark." TOM: Who's Mark? JOEL: The only one who comes to mind is Janeway's long-lost boyfriend. TOM: But he's supposed to take care of her puppies! >Kim tapped on his board and a countdown clock appeared on Voyager's main >viewer. CROW: Harry Kim IS Casey Casem, counting down to the New Year! >"Ten seconds to transport," Winston reported, voice quiet with tension. JOEL: [Winston as golf announcer] He's about to make his putt ... the Argonaut is a practiced shot, and this drive should be easy for him ... >"Good luck, Captain," Chakotay said, offering a brief prayer that his >shipmates would survive the forthcoming battle. CROW: [God] Well, okay. But I want a cameo appearance in the next episode. >"Thank you, Voyager," Winston replied. "Argonaut wishes you luck as >well, and reports that transport will commence in five, four, three, >two, one......." ALL: HAPPY NEW YEAR! >Time seemed to stand still for just a moment. TOM: [Time] Where was I going again? Oh, that's right. Forward. >Then, with virtually no warning, Voyager was shaking violently. CROW: Intense camera-waving action! JOEL: Hey, it looks just like my family's home movies! >The ship had been caught by the tremendous gravimetric waves TOM: See, this is what happens when you convert from Imperial to metric. >caused by the explosion and its interaction with the anomaly's still- >functioning machinery. CROW: If you know what causes an anomaly, doesn't it stop being an anomaly and begin resembling an understood phenomenon? >Its structure screamed under the unimaginable stress and then blessed >silence returned. JOEL: So not only are the about to enter a terrible battle, but their life-saving plan weakens the ship first. TOM: And if Voyager was that badly hurt as far away as they were, the Argonaut must have taken considerable damage. CROW: To recap: they're doomed. ALL: Hurrah! >A silence mirrored by Voyager's bridge crew, all of whom were TOM: ... brain-dead. Not that this was anything new ... >staring in amazement at the massive confusion that had broken loose >throughout the region. CROW: [nebulae] What am I doing, again? I was floating here, doing nothing, the explosion hit, and now ... what am I supposed to do? >Huge chunks of metal span lazily across the view screen JOEL: [scrap metal] Wheeeeee ... >in a growing plume of debris, several striking each other, TOM: Hey, watch where you're going! [sfx] Honk! Honk! >sometimes breaking into smaller parts, others simply spinning off in new >directions. CROW: ... going where no scrap metal had gone before! >"It worked!" Chakotay breathed. "Harry, take us into the middle of it. JOEL: So Harry's at the conn now? TOM: I thought Carver was steering. >Just don't hit anything!" CROW: Oh, sure. Plot the course of every random bit of metal, then go forward. > > > >Winston's fingers were clutched tightly around the arm rests of >Argonaut's command chair. JOEL: I understand he wants to leave his mark, but that's taking it a bit literally ... >Miller had redirected the Argonaut as soon as the torpedoes had been beamed >off. Now the ship was hurtling through space at a bit less than warp 9, CROW: So, warp eight, then? >her engines straining mightily to bring her into contact with the Kommodan >fleet. TOM: They could just wait for the toilets to come to them. JOEL: What's that line from Sun Tzu? "Choose your battlefield"? >"Two minutes from intercept with Kommodans," Miller said, fingers >working the helm/navigation console far faster than any corporeal being >could have hoped to. CROW: If he has a body, doesn't that automatically make him corporeal? >Though he would have preferred to simply control the ship's functions from >inside the computer, JOEL: ... that would have given too much of a "ghost in the machine" feel. >too many systems had been separated by either failure or design. TOM: [engineer] Let's separate these two systems, in case a semi-sentient computer program takes over the ship and wants to drive. >Therefore, he was forced to use the physical controls in order to bridge the >gaps. CROW: [author] Get it? "Bridge the gaps"? 'Cause they're on the Bridge? Laugh! I'm funny, dammit! >"Very well," Winston acknowledged. "Bridge to photon control room, JOEL: That must be where they keep all their flashlights. TOM: Torches. JOEL: Them, too. >Ms. Abbott, are you ready?" > >"Yes, Captain." she replied, unnerved by the responsibility that she had >been asked to bear. CROW: A groundhog, mistaken for a mouse, is asked to bear. They're running a virtual menagerie, aren't they? >"All torpedo systems show green." JOEL: Alright, who splashed Vulcan blood on the controls? >"Good." Winston said, knowing that more words would only increase her >nervousness. "You know what to do after we've fired the first >broadside?" TOM: The first broadside what? JOEL: Maybe that's supposed to be "broadsword." TOM: What's a sword doing in the torpedo tube? >"Yes, Captain." Abbott's voice replied. "Ms. Torres told me that the >ship will reload the torpedoes automatically, I only need to arm them >before you fire." CROW: So the ship can pull the torpedoes from storage, load them onto a cart, move them to the tube, put them in, but can't press a button to arm them? >"That's right," Winston concurred. "There shouldn't be any problems so >long as you remember to hit the arming controls as soon as the torpedoes >are in the tubes. TOM: And if you do forget, you'll have demonstrated one of the slower mass drivers in history. >I'm hoping that we won't need to use the photons JOEL: Turn off your lights. CROW: Where available. >after the first broadside TOM: ... salvo ... >, so things should be fairly quiet down there. CROW: Twiddle your thumbs, sabotage the ship, just stay out of his hair. >We're a minute away, so buckle in and just hold on." TOM: They have seat belts? JOEL: You'd think they'd install those on the bridge, where they're most needed. >"I will, sir." Abbott replied, voice shaking. Winston sighed, frustrated CROW: Still can't find the Captain's porn, eh? >that he had been forced to take her aboard. TOM: So beam her off-ship. JOEL: They're out in the middle of space! TOM: Her name's apparently too much of a challenge; it's time she died. >The work with Argonaut's scanners had been good for her CROW: Massages, spas, and scanning things: the top three relaxing tasks in the galaxy. >but she was now in a position that would require her to act and react quickly >if called on. TOM: So why put her there? Better yet, why didn't he trade her when they were near Voyager? >He doubted that she would be able to do what was needed and only hoped that >Argonaut's phasers would be enough. JOEL: Probably not. TOM: But the wandering plot holes will take care of that. >It was now time to make sure that everything else was in its place. > >"Bridge to Engineering. Ms. Torres, your status?" > >"All's fine down here," The Klingon's voice replied. CROW: Her voice has taken a life of it's own! TOM: Not only that, but it's killed her human half. >"Warp engines are running fine and all phasers are ready to fire from >engineering control. JOEL: So B'Elanna has control of the phasers? TOM: I guess so. JOEL: So what's Winston doing? CROW: Ordering people around, apparently. >All extraneous life support is shut down, TOM: They're saving all the really *good* oxygen for the trip back. >which should give us a bit of extra power for weapons and shields." CROW: So extra oxygen equals power? JOEL: Only if you burn it. >"How much extra?" Winston asked, pleased that she had been able to >divert the power. TOM: Just enough for you to fake your command ability. >"Oh, enough for 130 percent of standard on phasers and full shields," >Torres said smugly. JOEL: So they're just going to stand there and get hit while delivering blows. CROW: Appears so. JOEL: Evasive maneuvering never crossed their minds? >"Excellent!" Winston enthused. "We're twenty seconds out, lock down and >get ready for anything." > >"As always, sir." Torres replied, confidently. TOM: She always locks down? CROW: You really don't want me to tell you -what- she locks down. >Winston smiled, closing the link. JOEL: [Winston] Finally! Damn porn sites and their javascript pop-ups ... >"Mr. Miller, tactical on the main viewer please." > >"Tactical, Aye." > >Winston glanced at the viewer's representation of the tactical >situation. TOM: The viewer had gotten a bit creative, and was representing Voyager as a ham sandwich. >Voyager had relayed its scan of the Commodans' formation CROW: The who? JOEL: [singing] There's nothing in the way that I walk that could tell you where I'm going / There's nothing in the words I speak that can betray anything I'm knowing / Don't think about the way I dress, you can fit me on a labeled shelf, / Don't pretend that you know me 'cause I don't even know myself, / Oooh, I don't know myself ... TOM: That defines the author, alright. >as it closed on the anomoly. JOEL: Holy anomoly! TOM: Now served with a side of cajoles! CROW: Are they going there slowly? JOEL: Is it guarded by a goalie? TOM: As long as they're going lowly! >As a result, he had he had been able to plan CROW: [Brain] ... to take over the world! >for what was to come, knowing that he had a number of advantages over >his numerically superior foe. JOEL: All the plot holes, for instance. TOM: The author having created him doesn't hurt, either. >Argonaut would enter the Commodan CROW: Who are these guys? TOM: Not two-thirds through this story, and suddenly we're introduced to a new species. JOEL: Apparently "Kommodan" was too close to "commode" for Ray-Ray's subconscious to bear. CROW: Yeah, but now it's almost like he's -expecting- us to make a toilet reference. It's no fun that way. >sensor range in about three seconds, and would be on them in fifteen. TOM: Battle tactics from the Borg: piggy-backing the fighting way. >There were benefits, Winston reflected grimly, to CROW: ... plot contrivances ... >advanced technology CROW: Same difference. >--even if it was half a century behind the Federation's best. JOEL: The Federation: we stand behind our technology. TOM: Except the engines. The possibility of burning to death in the backwash makes us stand slightly to the side. >The three Commodan ships that had been sent to chase Voyager down were >in the classic sloped triangle formation, CROW: You'd think they'd be sort of rectangular, maybe with a moon-shaped cutout. >the lead ship a few thousand kilometers ahead of, and below, TOM: And behind, and just off to the side, and above. JOEL: The great thing about fighting omnipresent ships: you can't miss. >its companions. These were spaced a few thousand kilometers apart, flying >in a horizontal line CROW: ... whose up, of course, was Voyager's up, and whose down was Voyager's orientation, as well. >from which their forward firing arcs would not interfere with each other. JOEL: So what's wrong with a vertical line? Or a zig-zag? Or a cube? Or any other geometrical shape? TOM: Like a pentagram? CROW: Yes! Ward off evil foes with the dreaded pentagram formation! JOEL: Call up demons and elementals in your spare time! >"Mr. Miller, you have the helm, take her in as we planned it," Winston >said, TOM: [Miller] Yes, sir. Running away screaming even now, sir. >fingers tightening on the arms of the captain's chair. JOEL: In some cases, that's even worse than backseat driving. >"Aye, Guv'nor," Miller said. CROW: Governor, Captain, Ensign; these guys give out titles like candy. TOM: Oooo, spearment-flavoured commander! >Even the hologram's voice seemed to tighten as the Federation ship >closed on its unsuspecting targets. JOEL: Unsuspecting?! TOM:[Kommodan] Sir, there's a ship approaching us, shields up, weapons armed. CROW: [other Kommodan] Ship, ship ... that word sounds familiar, but I don't know what that is. TOM: A large thingy, sir, with people inside who want to see us dead. CROW: Oh, a *ship*! Well, why didn't you say so! TOM: Er, sir? CROW: Yes? TOM: It's coming closer. CROW: Think nothing of it. >"Commodan sensors have us," Winston said, JOEL: Well, that battle was quick. TOM: End of the fanfic can't be that far off, then. >looking at the centre seat's tactical repeater. CROW: ... which was living up to it's name, and was caught in an endless loop. >"Commencing starboard evasive," Miller shouted as the ship bucked hard, ALL: [rodeo cowboy] Yeeeeeeeeeeeeha! >swinging to the right and decelerating at the same time. TOM: [Miller] Whoops. Stalled. >Engines screaming, CROW: With a British writer, you'd think the engines would be more civilised. JOEL: [engines, British accent] Excuse me, but do you have any Grey Poupon? >the big ship slid TOM: Because space is wet, ladies and gentlemen. >down and to the right, shooting past the Commodans at a bit less than warp >five. JOEL: In other words, warp four. >Winston fired its phasers, CROW: Dammit, Winston has lost his sex, too. TOM: Should we look for it as we might a contact? JOEL: [Winston] Nobody move! I've just lost my gender! >clipping the right-most Commodan ship TOM: ... and saving it in his scrapbook. >but doing no damage. > >"Coming around," Miller reported, CROW: ... smelling salts in hand. >as the ship spun to the left, inertial stabilisers struggling to hold against >the crushing forces exerted by the manoeuver. JOEL: They didn't say anything about the inertial dampers being repaired. TOM: They didn't say much of anything about the things being repaired. CROW: Would you prefer an item-by-item list? JOEL: Well, no. But there are enough plot contrivances already without compounding them by omission. >"Moving up between the after-most ships, Cap'n," Miller shouted TOM: Is it just me, or is he making less sense than usual? JOEL: After-most ships are a lot like after-dinner mints, except in battle formation. TOM: Minty-flavoured-death? >a few seconds later. "Coming into position for attack on forward ship." CROW: [sfx of someone being slapped] Fresh! >Winston watched the main viewer, eyes TOM: ... glazing over as he caught up on his favourite soap opera. >flicking down to his tactical repeater CROW: ... rifle ... >as Argonaut slid between the ships at the rear of the Commodan >triangle. JOEL: Look! It's an Argonaut-Kommodan sandwich! TOM: So warriors in an outhouse between two slices of bread? I'll pass. >If Miller could hold things just right, CROW: ... he might finally master that juggling technique! JOEL: Sadly, he's trying to juggle a single ball with the optimum number of hands. >the Commodan ships at the base of the triangle TOM: Had a distance between each other equal to the other two sides. CROW: ... if an equilateral. TOM: And had a distance equal to one of the other two sides if isosceles. >wouldn't be able to fire at Argonaut as they would risk hitting each other >if they missed. JOEL: Hence the wonderful invention of "laser sights." TOM: Of course, if the dwarves are any indication, they're using a hall of mirrors to track their targets. >It wouldn't take more than a few seconds for them to adjust, but he would get >enough time to shoot at the painfully unprotected lead ship. CROW: [Dr Smith] Oh, the pain, the pain! >Hitting it with a full broadside from behind. TOM: But if they're facing them, wouldn't it be a *front*side? JOEL: Don't dwell in the author's mind too long, Servo. >Before Miller could tell him that they had found their position, his finger >stabbed down on the phaser and photon controls. CROW: I thought Winston was in charge of weapons. >Argonaut's awesome weapons JOEL: [Bill] Awesome, dude! TOM: [Ted] Totally gnarly! >unleashed a withering storm of fire into the Commodan battleship. CROW: ... where it made a terrible mess on the carpet. JOEL: See, this is what happens when you don't train your storms of fire to go in the sandbox like all the -other- means of destruction. >The Federation vessel's torpedoes crashed into the Commodan's shields, TOM: A lightpost, a fire hydrant, and finally into a police cruiser. >doing notable damage. Argonaut's phasers, which were being fired CROW: Really? No kidding? JOEL: Let him finish the sentence ... >at far above maximum power levels JOEL: You see? Actual semi-pertinent information. TOM: You know, when they talk of "blow-by-blow accounts" of battles, I don't think many imagined this level of boring detail. >tore into the weakened shielding, blasting it into flaring submission. CROW: So, while this is going on, let's see if we can get a full account of what's happening. JOEL: Okay. >Moments later, the unprotected Commodan ship had lost its starboard warp >nacelle. CROW: Voyager fled a battle that consists of, apparently, all of three Kommodan ships, who, in mid-flight, changed to Commodan ships. JOEL: Right. TOM: Ships so mind-blowingly incapable and piloted by brain-dead enemies, that were so initially frightening that Chakotay turned tail and ran. JOEL: Right. >While rebalancing the warp field of such a ship might be possible, Winston >knew that it would take many hours to complete the task, nor would they be >taking a great part in the battle. CROW: There was a mild bit of sabotage that bordered on interesting, but it was killed rather quickly. TOM: Then Voyager dives into a convenient nebulae, where, even more conveniently, they find another Federation vessel ... which just happens to be repairable. CROW: And, with this ancient tech, they are able to soundly defeat the Kommodans, now the Commodans, in a long-winded battle. With, might I add, a considerably disappointing tally of redshirts dead. JOEL: Right. >For now, he could ignore it and move onto the other ships, one >of which had twisted out of position and was now firing its powerful >plasma weapons..... CROW: So my point, Joel, is this: what exactly is this "Trouble of Dwarves" that the title alludes to? TOM: It seems more like a "Mild Annoyance of Dwarves," or even "Just Another Almost-Interesting Episode, If Not For All the Plot Holes." JOEL: I think you guys just need to relax. TOM: I'll relax when the Corporal is erased, Winston's dead, and Chakotay gets his spleen served to him on a silver platter by the Borg. JOEL: Breathe, Tom. Breathe. CROW: And now, back to the story. TOM: ... such as it is. >"Hold on," Winston cried, trying to retarget the phasers in hopes of >shooting down the plasma bolt before it struck. CROW: Isn't that akin to trying to shoot a bullet out of the air? >His shot went wide, spearing out into open space. TOM: My deity in sweet heaven! These characters -aren't- infallible after all! JOEL: Quick, someone check the temperature in Hell! >Fortunately, Miller had also noticed the threat CROW: Hold on, guys. You might want to cancel that winter wonderland holiday in Dante's Inferno -- we've got plot contrivances, coming in fast. >and his incredibly fast reflexes brought Argonaut through a sharp evasive. >He succeeded in evading the first bolt, TOM: These dwarves couldn't hit the broadside of a barn ... >but his inexperience led the great ship directly into the path of the next. TOM: ... unless, of course, if the barn is driven by a moron. >Fired at such close range no shields in the galaxy could completely >contain the crushing blow. JOEL: ... except ours! Buy Today! Shields so firm, you can bounce a quarter off them! CROW: If this turns into the longest advert of all time, I'm going to seriously consider homicide. TOM: Forget homicide; that would call for all-out thermonuclear warfare. >The plasma bolt struck the underside of the saucer section, CROW: So the Argonaut was relatively upside-down? JOEL: That's impossible. Everyone knows that Star Trek rules say that all ships have to have the same orientation. CROW: So the bolt must have been a ricochet. TOM: Off the vacuum of space? CROW: If a starship can slide, skid, and scream, a shot can ricochet. >sending Winston flying. JOEL: [Calvin] Wheee! [Pause] Houston, we have a negative on that orbital trajectory. >At the helm Miller flickered for a moment as the power dipped. TOM: But isn't Miller using the mobile emitter? CROW: And doesn't the mobile emitter have its own power source? >"Starboard shields are down, Sir!" CROW: Erm, how does that work, when they were hit from underneath? >Miller reported to a still dazed Winston as he staggered back to the tactical >console. JOEL: [Winston] Turns out I -can't- fly, no matter what the author says. >"Major breaches decks 9 to 15. Think it exploded on deck 12, Sir." TOM: I thought the whole idea of missiles and torpedoes was that they exploded on impact? CROW: But these are special suppository-bolts from the Commodans! Designed to go right up to where you don't want them, and deliver the goods! >"B'Elanna, I need starboard shields!" Winston demanded, working >feverishly at his panel, much of the targeting array had failed as well. JOEL: There's a lack of proper punctuation there, but I'll be damned if I can find out where. >In engineering, B'Elanna Paris struggled past the console that had >shifted in the explosion to examine the readouts. TOM: The explosion must have also shifted the author's perception of run-on sentences. CROW: What moved where? The readouts are in which console? How? >"Not a chance," she responded to Winstons curt demand. JOEL: And she did it curtly, at that. >"Every power relay on that side of the ship has gone. CROW: So hit the underside, the starboard shields are gone. So where do they have to hit to bring down the port shields? TOM: Good question. The top, maybe? CROW: Who wired this ship together? M.C. Escher? >I'm redirecting power to give you phasors." JOEL: So lack of power allows her to give more power. I'll have to remember that come the next blackout, so I can charge dead batteries. >"Abbott, are the torpedoes still operational?" Winston tried, slamming >the panel in frustration. CROW: Whoops. Just fired phasers. JOEL: That's okay; they're in a battle. With Winston's luck, they probably scored a direct hit. >"The tubes are loaded," Ensign Abbotts shaky voice reported. "But the >loaders have got stuck." TOM: So the loaders loaded, but locked when loading? Or got stuck -after- loading? >"Free them," Winston demanded. "Miller don't show a starboard side to >them again. JOEL: Better yet, why not just avoid going down a gauntlet like that again? >Bring us around for a second shot." CROW: ... of tequila! >Miller had already anticipated the first command, but was taken by >surprise by the second. TOM: [Miller] Error. Stack overflow. >He had thought that the Ensign had been the Colonels prodigy until now. JOEL: I wonder if that's anything like the Colonel's chickens? TOM: [trying it]"We do ensigns right!" [pause] No, that's just sick. >He glanced over his shoulder. "Can't do both, Sir." CROW: What's so difficult about it? Swing around so you present the port side! >"We need to regain momentum, or we'll be sitting ducks," he explained >quickly to the outraged look. JOEL: Isn't that more or less what Winston said, though? TOM: Well, his exact words were to prevent the starboard side from being shown, and to come 'round for a second pass. To be fair, he didn't actually say anything about *moving*. JOEL: There's still plenty of room for interpretation. >"No sense in being the coconuts in the shy." CROW: What in the who in the where? TOM: No MENSA in the beings on high? JOEL: No cents in the bank in the sky? CROW: No avocados allowed in the pie? TOM: No peanuts and tuna on rye? >As if to prove the point JOEL: You mean the point of the nonsensical comment? Yes, I thought that was odd, too. >another plasma bolt struck, this time glancing off the port shields. TOM: Turns out those rubber insoles were a good investment. >"Get me a shot!" Winston roared. "Now!" > >"Sir!" CROW: "When Starfleet Hires Alcoholics," next on Jerry Springer! >Applying full power, Miller pushed the Argonaut forward, rolling as he >did so JOEL: Well, that must have looked a might odd. TOM: Well, he is part of the ship, and the ship's on fire, so ... CROW: Isn't it nice when you find a fire safety message hidden in a story? >to avoid the plasma bolts directed at the ship as she staggered away. TOM: Drunk captain, drunk ship. >Barely sixty seconds later he was reefing JOEL: First a fire safety message, now a plea to legalize marijuana. CROW: Talk about your ups and downs. >her around again to point at the enemy. > >"Coming bow on to nearest Kommode ship, Sir," TOM: Hey, they got the "K" back! ALL: Hurrah! >he declared. "No deflection, so manual targeting will work." CROW: "Deflection"? JOEL: It means they aren't doing any evasive maneuvers; it's an easy shot. CROW: Geez, so why not just say, "Here's an easy one, lardass?" >Winston glared at him TOM: [Winston] I'm not a lardass; I'm big-boned! >as he worked course corrections to find the little corporal correct. CROW: [Winston] Hey, he must be a main character or something! >The Kommodes were still turning to intercept, without the Argonauts advantage >of momentum they were slower to respond. JOEL: Shouldn't he be doing something important right about now, like firing? >They could still fire though and the glowing orbs of plasma were already >sailing towards them. TOM: Like little toy remote-controlled boats -- of DEATH! >Winston tried to ignore them. CROW: [Winston] I'm too cute to die. >Manual targeting was more likely to succeed at shorter ranges and he needed >his weapons to do serious damage. JOEL: As opposed to tickling them, which was only humourous damage. >He counted to ten, then stabbed at the fire controls. TOM: In response, the sprinkler head above him turned on. >As soon as the torpedoes left their launcher Miller was again hauling >the Argonaut away, CROW: Over his shoulder? JOEL: I hope he lifted it properly. It's all in the legs, you know. >desperately trying to avoid the rapidly approaching bolts. TOM: [Miller] No, not an offshoot political party! JOEL & CROW: Huh? TOM: You guys really need to work on your vocabulary skills. >He almost made it, most passing harmlessly behind the Argonaut as he >hauled her upwards. CROW: So he moved the ship up, making the shots pass behind. Neat trick. >One wandered off course and slid past the damaged shields and struck the >engineering section. TOM: I thought they were trying to limit exposure to their port side. JOEL: Right. So the shot went around the ship and hit where it would do the most damage. TOM: This is starting to sound like a JFK conspiracy theory. >As it exploded sending the ship reeling, Miller sensed the drive >failing. CROW: [Miller] I sense a disturbance in the Force. >"Loosing impulse," JOEL: Well, you shouldn't do that. It'll get into everything, and knock down the Christmas tree. >he managed to splutter. TOM: Eww, spit! CROW: Say it, don't spray it! JOEL: [passes out towels] Here you go, guys. >His image flickered and died. TOM: I would hereby like to bring up the bit about the mobile emitter again, and the fact that it houses its own power supply. JOEL: Plot contrivance and objection to such has been noted. CROW: Still, it was nice to see him die, even temporarily. TOM: Yes, very. >About the same instant Argonauts torpedoes struck the Kommodan >battleship. On his own, transfixed by the spectacle, Winston could only >watch as plumes of fire and smoke gushed towards him. CROW: So where are the other two ships? JOEL: Lost without their leader, I suppose. >The shields must have been dropped for another salvo for the torpedoes to >do that much damage, he reasoned. TOM: [author] Quick, explain away the Deus Ex Machina before anyone notices! >Two minutes later Miller flickered back into life at his seat. CROW: How? JOEL: His mobile emitter must have ignored the laws of gravity so he could emerge properly. CROW: Either that, or he's now wearing it on his butt. >"Sorry, Sir. TOM: I wish -our- computer would apologize every time it crashed. MAGIC VOICE: I never crash! >A few relays blew in the last strike. I've diverted power. JOEL: Through relays with actual fuses, or is that too much to ask? >Lieutenant Paris is bringing impulse on line, but its hell down there" >he reported circumspectly. CROW: "Circumspectly"? JOEL: Just break down the word, Crow. "Circ" comes from "circle," "ums" comes from "tums," and "pectly" comes from good exercise. So he reported when he got around to it, sometime between eating tums and exercising. >Winston ignored him and continued to stare at the Kommodan battleship, >as it began to swing around towards his own ship, TOM: You mean the one destroyed? The one with critical damage? The one that probably just lost power? >explosions now clearly visible over her upper flanks JOEL: A ship with legs? CROW: And what legs! [wolf whistles] >as well as from her mauled side. TOM: "When Starships Attack," next on Fox! >The Kommodans couldn't escape, their ship was in its death throes. Their >manoeuvres could mean only one thing. JOEL: That they have Tom Petty on board? CROW: They've run out of sour cream? TOM: They need to go shopping? >"Suicide!!!!" He cried, leaping from his chair and diving for the helm. CROW: That must be where he carries the sacrificial knife for just such an emergency. >Fortunately, Miller had figured out the enemy captain's plans at the >same moment TOM: [Miller] Now that's odd. Why would I care if they had Tom Petty on board? >and was struggling to bring Argonaut through an incredibly tight turn, >slamming items both big and small all over the ship. CROW: [Miller] You suck! And you stink! And you're too big! >They crashed about the ship, JOEL: Who did? Winston and Miller? TOM: They're the only ones immediately available. >the low rumble caused by their impacts against her superstructure in >counterpoint to the scream of the mighty vessel's engines. CROW: If it wasn't in the middle of a battle, it would almost be a symphony. TOM: Save for the vacuum of space, of course. >Winston stared in mute horror JOEL: Ack! Winston's a mime! TOM: Quick, kill him! >as he held onto the navigator's seat, feet literally flying above the deck CROW: [Winston] Dang it, my feet grew wings again. Who am I? Hermes? >as a result of the inability of the intertial dampers to handle Miller's >manoeuvre. TOM: Flying feet is a small price to pay compared to, say, being crushed into a bloody goo. >The viewer showed the Kommodan ship bearing down on them, its captain >determined to gain a victory. CROW: This must be some strange new definition of the word "victory" of which I was not previously aware. >His crew's lives would be lost, but Argonaut's superior technology had ensured >this in any case. JOEL: Maybe your fellow men-at-arms back home will be smart enough to send more than three lousy ships next time. >It was obvious that Winston's opponent had decided that ramming was now his >only option. TOM: "Winston's opponent," notice. Forget Miller, forget B'Elanna or Abbott; we now know who the true hero in this story is. CROW: As if we had any doubt before? >Winston closed his eyes, JOEL: [Winston] If I can't see it, it can't get me! >fully expecting not to open them again. Miller cursed, his holographic fingers >literally buzzing over the helm console as he sought to minimise the contact. TOM: So he's trying not to touch the console, then? CROW: *I'm* trying not to read the story. JOEL: That's okay; looks like we're done for now, anyway. [Joel picks up Tom and they file out] [ ... 1 ... 2 ... 3 ... 4 ... 5 ... 6 ... ] From: pieceoftheuniverse Newsgroups: alt.tv.mst3k.mstings Subject: [MiSTing] Trouble of Dwarves (7/9) Date: Fri, 21 Dec 2001 10:51:23 -0700 Reply-To: po...@pieceoftheuniverse.com Message-ID: X-Newsreader: Forte Agent 1.8/32.548 MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Lines: 1404 X-Authenticated-User: pieceoftheuniverse X-Comments: This message was posted through Spamkiller.Newsfeeds.com X-Comments2: IMPORTANT: Newsfeeds.com does not condone, nor support, spam or any illegal or copyrighted postings. X-Comments3: IMPORTANT: Under NO circumstances will postings containing illegal or copyrighted material through this service be tolerated!! X-Report: Please report illegal or inappropriate use to You may also use our online abuse reporting from: http://www.newsfeeds.com/abuseform.htm X-Abuse-Info: Please be sure to forward a copy of ALL headers, INCLUDING the body (DO NOT SEND ATTACHMENTS) Organization: Newsfeeds.com http://www.newsfeeds.com 73,000+ UNCENSORED Newsgroups. Path: archiver1.google.com!news1.google.com!sn-xit-02!supernews.com!newsfeed.direct.ca!look.ca!newshub2.rdc1.sfba.home.com!news.home.com!local-out2.newsfeeds.com!spamkiller.newsgroups.com Xref: archiver1.google.com alt.tv.mst3k.mstings:334 [Pan out to find Tom sitting behind a judge's bench that's propped up on the table. Tom's wearing one of the English wigs that used to be common in legal court, but have since fallen out of fashion. Joel and Crow are similarly dressed. Tom somehow bangs the gavel (don't look too closely)] TOM: Order! Order! I will have order! JOEL: We've been perfectly silent up 'till now, Servo. TOM: Oh. But I'll still have order! JOEL: We'll try to behave ourselves. TOM: Thank you. Now what is the case that you have before me? CROW: This is the case of Ensign Winston vs. the Commonwealth of the Satellite of Love. The charge is Idiocy in the first degree, Instigation of Plot Holes in the first degree, and Conspiracy of Favouritism in the First Degree. TOM: I see. And how does the defendant plead? JOEL: The defendant is not present, but I'm acting as counsel. The defendant pleads not guilty. TOM: Tough! Guilty! JOEL: Servo! TOM: Oh. I suppose that's no fun if I just rush this along. Very well, then. Prosecutor Crow, present your case. CROW: For Exhibit A, I present Winston's plan to create a rubble field for the starship Voyager to hide in. Once he found out that creating said field was impossible by blowing up large ships, he decided that the best way to reach his ends was to blow up large ships. TOM: Thus negating the plot point, causing a plot hole, and being an idiot. Continue. CROW: Thank you, your honour. I now present Exhibit B, in which we see that the plan worked, thus showing favoritism on the part of the author. TOM: Duly noted. CROW: Now, Exhibit C, in which we see Ensign Winston given command of a starship, despite there being a perfectly qualified higher-ranking officer on board. TOM: Which, I might add, nearly resulted in me losing my mind. JOEL: Objection! You don't remember that! TOM: Oh. Right. I hereby forget I said that. CROW: And finally, Exhibit D, in which Winston rushes to meet the enemy, rather than lying in wait and choosing his battlefield. This, your honour, concludes my case. TOM: That's it? Out of the entire story, you have only four pieces of evidence? CROW: I didn't want to run out of time before we got Fanfic Sign again. TOM: Good thinking. Joel, your case? JOEL: I must admit that I have no evidence to present. TOM: I thought not. Okay, final arguments, you two. Prosecutor Crow, you have the floor. CROW: Ladies and gentlemen of the jury -- JOEL: Objection! There is no jury! TOM: [bangs his gavel] There are no objections allowed during final arguments! But he does have a point, Crow. I'm the sole judge in this case. CROW: Oh Wondrous Droid presiding over this case, my argument is simple: Winston is a fool with an I.Q. that rivals Chakotay's, is clearly a bumbling baffoon who deserves the rank of Ensign more so than even Harry Kim, and who, for some unfathomable reason which I dare not contemplate, is favoured by the author so that all he touches is blessed. I ask that you extend the appropriate sentence for his crimes, which is death. Thank you. TOM: Well said, Crow. Joel? JOEL: On-High 'Bot of All He Judges, my argument is equally simple: Winston is obviously a favourite of the author, this we do not dispute. That he is a simpleton, this we also do not argue -- or at least my client lacks the brainpower to come up with an appropriate response. And the creation of plot holes is the natural progression of the preceding admitted crimes. But there is one important point that you both seem to be missing. [pause] BOTS: Yes?! JOEL: He's a favourite, and thus is too -cute- to die. CROW: Damn! TOM: Curse you, Joel! Curse you down to your organic ancestors! JOEL: As opposed to my mechanical ones? CROW: How could I not have seen it? Ray-Ray won't -allow- Winston to die, no matter what happens! TOM: Damn, damn, damn! [bangs gavel] Case dismissed! [lights, sirens, general chaos] JOEL: Time to go back in; we've got the sign of the Blessed One! [ ... 6 ... 5 ... 4 ... 3 ... 2 ... 1 ... ] [As Joel and the 'bots file in] CROW: "The blessed one"? TOM: Oh, he's right, Crow. And it seemed like such a perfect time, too, with Winston on a collision course with another ship and all. JOEL: Gotta agree with you there. > > > >The impact, when it came, was horrific. CROW: But right up until then, it was a great party. >The warship smashing through the starboard saucer section, TOM: Did we just slip into present tense? JOEL: Worse. I think this is past-future tense, in which things that will have going to have been happening are going to will be have been told in the telling. >ripping much of it away, as well as the outer hull of the engineering section CROW: Take your bets, take your bets, droids and humanoids. Will B'Elanna live or die? Take your bets, take your bets! JOEL: What are the odds? CROW: Ten to one on her living, forty billion to one on her dying. JOEL: Dang. Well, I'll take one on her living, then. CROW: You sure? JOEL: Well, yes! CROW: Damn. Forget it, then. >as it ploughed past, with a tearing of metal sound that could be distinctly >heard through out the ship. TOM: It did nothing to drown out Miller's gum-chewing and mouth-smacking, however, which was far more annoying. >Winston was thrown from the navigator's chair. JOEL: Any particular reason? CROW: Besides being a rag doll to toss about? Not really. >The force of the impact was sufficient to send him crashing against the >ceiling before he fell, spread-eagled to the floor. TOM: Hey! He might just die after all! CROW: [triumphantly] Yes! Judgement belongs to the 'bots! >The ship continued to buck violently as the tremendous energy of the Kommodan >ship's destruction demolished her shields, JOEL: I thought the Kommodan ship didn't have shields anymore. TOM: Try to keep up, Joel. >literally melting the armour on the starboard side of her main >hull. CROW: As opposed to metaphorically melting the armour, which would only be slightly better. TOM: Or symbolically melting the armour, which would signify the loss of hope coursing through Winston's veins. CROW: ... if he weren't dead. TOM: Yes. If that. >The main shields weren't the only system lost JOEL: So they've got secondary shields, then? >as the sensors and navigational deflector also fell before the force of >the Kommodans' final assault. TOM: [evilly] So, where have those Borg got to? >Miller's projection had been shut off, the holo-emitter broken when a strut >fell, crushing the helm console. CROW: Hey, an actual -reason- for Miller to disappear! Ray-Ray must have written this on one of his good days! >The program had been forced to take over the ship from inside her computers. JOEL: Despite the physical separation mentioned before, which we're hoping you've forgotten by now. >His first action was to bring the ship to a halt, TOM: ... as a sitting duck. >to keep it from crashing into any of the millions of small but deadly >objects that could destroy it as they could neither be avoided nor moved >out of the way by the disfunctional navigational deflector. CROW: Oh, so that's what that thing is for. JOEL: What did you think it was? CROW: A plot device. What else? JOEL: I think it's still serving that function. >His second was to assess the situation of the ship and its small crew, then >the state of what was left of the Argonaut. TOM: So he's going to check the situation of the ship, the Argonaut, and it's crew, and then check the ship again? CROW: That's what the man said. > > > >Abbott stirred, shocked by the enormous force that ripped through >Argonaut's photon torpedo room. JOEL: And Secondary Main Character #2 is revealed to be perfectly healthy. TOM: She must be the backup, in case Winston croaks. >Though it was heavily protected, the force of the Kommodan ship's destruction >had affected all of Argonaut's compartments to some degree. CROW: [Abbott] Dang. The holodecks probably won't work now. >Torpedo casings had been thrown about the room, TOM: Her too, I bet. >one crushing the console that she had been using to help fire the ship's >weapons. CROW: You mean with the one button she used to arm the torpedoes? Big loss. >The racks had been demolished, huge chunks of metal lay tangled with the >forward torpedo launchers. JOEL: A game of mechanical twister gone horribly wrong. >There was no question in Abbott's mind that she was very lucky to be alive TOM: With this story, it's one miraculous occasion after another. CROW: Each and every one of these people should be dead ten times over. >as she levered herself into a sitting position and looked around in stunned >confusion. JOEL: That looked mirrored by every reader of this story. >Miller's voice broke through her dissarranged thoughts, TOM: And the plot contrivance character is revealed not only to be in perfect health, but telepathic as well. >his report terrifying her in a way that she had never been before. CROW: [Miller] You're the main character, now. I'm sorry, but it looks like this is turning into a lemon. JOEL & TOM: Gahhh! >"Ms. Abbott," he said gently, voice as soft as her communicator would >permit, TOM: ... but her communicator was having a bad day, so his voice shattered her eardrums. >"I'm sorry to have to report this to you. But you're the only conscious >member of the crew. CROW: Damn. TOM: What? CROW: "Conscious." Not "alive." Just "conscious." TOM: So Joel was right after all. JOEL: Don't lose hope, guys. It's possible it's just B'Elanna. CROW: Does that mean I owe you ten bucks? JOEL: We'll talk about that later. >I need orders if I'm to get repairs under way, Ma'am?" TOM: Um, why? CROW: Mindless automaton, apparently. >She remained silent. JOEL: [Abbott] If I don't speak, he'll think I'm out, too! >"Miss?" Millers voice repeated. "You are the senior officer now. You've >gotta take command." [All groan] TOM: So the ship was populated entirely by ensigns? CROW: At the very least, all the people with actual command experience are out like a light. >"Um, do what you need to do." JOEL: If he could do -that- he wouldn't have come to you for orders! >she said, shocked by the realisation that she was now in command-- TOM: And doing a terrible job of it. >even if temporarily. She knew that other questions needed to be asked, but >her Star Fleet training could not compete with her rising terror. CROW: Well, "Rising Terror" works better as a racing name, is all. She just needs to come up with a catchier name than "Star Fleet training." >Fortunately, The Colonel had trained Miller well TOM: So Miller shot Abbott and took command. >and the corporal, knowing that he needed to act like a platoon sergeant now, JOEL: Or just someone who knew what he was doing ... >quietly began leading her through the steps that she would need to take. CROW: [Miller] First, you need to bury Winston. He might not be dead, but better safe than sorry ... >"You'll be needin' to go to engineering to have a look at Lieutenant >Paris and then up to the bridge to check in on the guv'nor." > >"Guv'nor?" she asked, dazed by all that she would have to do. TOM: Oh, wow! Two whole things! How will she ever manage?! >"Yes, Ma'am. Cap'n Winston." Miller told her. CROW: I still insist that should be -Ensign- Winston. >"Oh, right." she said, as she began to move toward engineering. JOEL: So the doors still work? TOM: Good question. The story's kinda skipping over that bit. >When she got there, it took a few moments to find B'Elanna Paris, CROW: ...'s pieces, which were scattered all over the room. >who had been slammed against a bulkhead before coming to rest near the >main engineering control board. TOM: Which wasn't broken, of course, seeing as how they'll need that later. >Fortunately, her tough Klingon constitution had kept her alive, JOEL: If I could speak Klingon, I would do a rousing recital of the U.S. constitution here, but I'm not that much of a geek. CROW: Oh, you'll always be a geek to us, Joel. JOEL: Thanks, Crow, I ... hey! >and the medical tricorder that Abbott found in a nearby first-aid kit TOM: So the room got trashed, but the first-aid kit was right where they left it? >indicated that a concussion was probably the worst of Torres' injuries. CROW: Well, aside from the broken arm and the cancerous growth, but those were probably nothing. >Use of the tissue regenerator in the kit was beyond Abbott's understanding >of first aid, JOEL: Isn't Star Trek first aid mostly just waving devices around the injury? TOM: Thus proving the inherent idiocy of this crew. JOEL: I don't think we really needed more proof. >so Miller suggested that she simply let the half-Klingon woman come around >on her own. CROW: [Miller] Internal bleeding in her brain? Ah, she'll get over it. >Hopefully, Abbott thought grimly, Torres would recover in time to take charge >and get them back to Voyager. TOM: Or the Borg could come around first, thus eliminating their problem. >The first thing she saw when she got to the bridge was Winston's badly >twisted body. JOEL: [Abbott] He looks like a Twizzler! I *hate* Twizzlers! >She didn't need the medical tricorder to show her that he was badly injured. CROW: [Abbott] Well, he's dead. Time to curl up and cry now. >She used it anyhow to get the full catalogue of damage. TOM: She might need it for the scavenger hunt later. >It appeared that he had multiple broken ribs, a punctured lung and damage >to his spleen, liver and left kidney. JOEL: It just looked that way, though. Actually, she had the tricorder pointing at herself. >The doctor would be able to handle these injuries CROW: I think Winston would be happier if the doctor repaired them. >but except for doing a little bit to repair his ribs and kidney, Abbott >could do nothing TOM: So she can't help B'Elanna with a bruise, but she can fix major internal damage? How does -that- work? >but stare at him in abject fear. CROW: [Abbott] Hey, I recognize him! He used to beat me up and take my lunch money! >As it was, Miller had been forced to shock her into doing what she could for >their injured captain. TOM: [sfx] Bzzzt! JOEL: [Miller] Now reconnect the nerves! TOM: Bzzzt! JOEL: Now give me twenty pushups! TOM: Bzzzt! JOEL: That one I did just because I could! >A process requiring him to say and threaten things that, had the Colonel >heard him, would have caused his CO to either hang him on the spot, or >wipe his program from existence. CROW: Seeing as how he doesn't breathe, hanging would be little more than a minor annoyance. TOM: Ah. Like this fanfic. CROW: No. That's like comparing one of the inner circles of hell to a walk in the park. >With Winston as well cared for as could be, JOEL: Or, more realistically, left to die on the cold floor ... >their attention turned to the ship's condition. TOM: Status: total loss. CROW: But, of course, Star Trek technobabble comes to save the day. >Repairs could be made to the sensors and main deflectors, JOEL: By who? TOM: Abbott, I guess, though her previous repairs brought her under heavy fire. >the warp power and impulse engines could be brought on line as well, if not >at full power. CROW: Just by pushing a few buttons, no doubt. TOM: If only real life were so easy. >The remains of the shields would serve as navigational deflectors. JOEL: Didn't they just say main deflectors could be repaired? TOM: I'm pretending I didn't see that. JOEL: But it was all of two sentences ago! TOM: This story is best taken in small, bite-sized, forgettable pieces. >So, the loss of the navigational shields could be ignored--for now at least. CROW: Especially with main deflectors repaired. TOM: Not you too! >It took Miller twenty long minutes of encouragement JOEL: There's that magic number again. >and cajoling to get Abbott through the process of repairing the sensors. TOM: Have you noticed that life support hardly ever goes down, no matter what damage the ships take? >When Miller finally found that they did work, CROW: [Miller] Whoops. Turns out you don't have to repair them, after all! >he allowed himself a few nanoseconds' pleasure JOEL: Someone finally found the Captain's porn, then. CROW: Figures it would be on the computer. >at getting the skittish girl TOM: Joel, what's a skitt? JOEL: By context, it must be a small, mousy groundhog-like creature frequently mistaken for a bear. TOM: Well, that was certainly non-sequiter of you. >through the steps that had been required to make it possible for him to get >them back to Voyager with some margin of safety. CROW: Dang it. How are we supposed to revel in Winston's death if he comes that much closer to medical assistance? >Uncomfortable though it might be, Abbott found herself sitting in >Argonaut's centre seat. TOM: [Abbott] What am I sitting on? Oh, *here's* the remote. >Miller had dematerialised Winston's body ALL: Whooooohoooo! CROW: He's dead! He's been vaporized! TOM: Take -that-, Mr The-author-won't-kill-a-main-character! CROW: Ha ha! TOM: Yippie! JOEL: Or it's a plot device. [pause] CROW: Bother. TOM: He's right, you know. Transporters. CROW: So the sensors fail, the engines barely work, the shields and, presumably, the weapons are down, but the transporters are still functional? TOM: It's just not fair. >so that he wouldn't deteriorate any further. TOM: I'm going to pretend that made sense, rather than be sure that it flies in the face of conventional medicine. >Fortunately, this also meant that she didn't have to be reminded of the older >officer's critical condition JOEL: Out of sight, out of mind. CROW: Good. Maybe Miller will go insane, then. >and the responsibility that she now had for getting him back to Voyager. TOM: Or the responsibility to the readers to kill him off, once and for all. >Frightening though they might be, CROW: As who might be? JOEL: The Kommodans, I guess. The sentence isn't really clear. >she knew that she was the only one who could get all of them back to Voyager TOM: All of who, exactly? JOEL: Well, there's Abbott, Winston, Miller, and B'Elanna. TOM: And that's it? JOEL: Pretty much. TOM: If they can run a ship with all of four people on board, what is Voyager doing with well over a hundred? CROW: Cannon fodder. >before the ship that was her home could be destroyed, its crew assimilated >by the Borg. JOEL: At this stage, that would be a blessing. >The thought that she might actually have to take the ship into battle was >paralysing. TOM: All the better to aim at you, my dear. >It was a good thirty minutes of contemplation and nothing happening, CROW: Oh, I'm pretty sure that's been going on for well over thirty pages now. >before she managed to say in a small voice, JOEL: [the Fly] Help me! Help me! >"Corporal Miller, thank you. I couldn't cope without you. TOM: Or walk without you ... CROW: Or do basic tasks without you ... JOEL: Or develop as a character without you ... TOM: Or pilot the ship without you ... >Why aren't you an officer? You must be as good as the Colonel?" CROW: Better question: why isn't he in command? Surely a Corporal outranks an Ensign? >"No problems, Duck," JOEL: "Duck"? TOM: Duck. CROW: Goose! [All three get up and chase after each other around the theatre seats, finally sitting down in reverse order.] CROW: Hey, this chair is comfy! >he responded cheerily, his voice cracking with pride. TOM: Or with static. It's hard to tell with computer programs. >"Us NCO's run the Army, not officers. CROW: What's an NCO? JOEL: Non-Coporeal Officer? TOM: New Carrot Odor? CROW: Naked Cumquat Oil? >Can't let 'em run amok, never know where we were." TOM: Who knows where what is, letting who go where? JOEL: I think that's precisely the point. >"But the Colonel is an officer and he always knows where he is," she >pointed out. CROW: So ... officers don't know where they are? TOM: No wonder these two hooked up with Voyager; it's like a one-eyed man amongst the blind! >"Nah!" Miller retorted. "He's not a proper officer. The Colonel is a >sergeant, Duck. JOEL: But a sergeant is a completely different rank, in a completely different ranking structure! TOM: So was the Colonel demoted? >Once a sergeant, always a sergeant. CROW: Even when promoted to admiral? TOM: You'd think that would mean the upper ranks would be full of sergeants. >Why d'you think he always wants to be with the action? He's just gone soft >with age." JOEL: Well, that happens. Once you turn forty, your body starts getting a bit pudgy. TOM: That's a likely story. >Despite herself and their precarious position, CROW: ... she turned into a penguin. >Llinos Abbott laughed at Millers solemn opinion. TOM: So much for respecting another's opinion. >Just the thought of the sometimes ferocious Colonel being 'soft' was >preposterous. JOEL: Little did she know that every night the Colonel would go to bed with a teddy bear and cry himself to sleep. >Had Miller not pushed her to accept the situation CROW: As if she had much choice anyway. >and do the best with it that she could, they would not have made it back >in time TOM: Ack! It's another time-travel story! >to participate in what Chakotay would later call one of the strangest >battles in Federation history. JOEL: "Participate." Not "die." CROW: And the redshirt count still stands at seven. > > > >Chakotay sat on Voyager's bridge, TOM: I know he's a little overweight, but that's stretching it a bit. >stunned by the sheer destructive forces that had been unleashed CROW: With all these trans-spacial pets running around, you'd think the galaxy would pass some leashing laws. >in the anomaly when Argonauts carefully placed torpedoes detonated. JOEL: As carefully placed as a rock through pane glass. >As Winston had predicted, all subspace communications were out, and Voyager's >sensors were temporarily blinded as well. TOM: Naturally, this did little to impede their normal progress. >The main view screen's representation of events, however, seemed to show that >things weren't quite going as they had hoped. CROW: [crewman] Hey, the nebulae is turning purple! JOEL: [Chakotay] Drat! Now we clash! >The tremendous explosion had thrown massive amounts of debris into the >near-by space. TOM: ... just to recap for you folks that may not have paid attention earlier, when the ships exploded. >Debris that increased as other ships exploded in response to the original >event CROW: Sympathetic explosions? That's a new one. >or the impact of debris that it had generated. However, the debris wasn't >going nearly as far or fast as it should have, JOEL: That's probably due to the huge gravity well that you chose to ignore earlier. >and it almost seemed that space itself was twisting near the centre of the >anomaly. TOM: The anomaly's doing the twist! >Without sensors, all that Kala could tell him was that things were, indeed, >not going as they had hoped. CROW: And a recap for all of you folks not paying attention two sentences ago. >"Bridge to engineering," Chakotay snapped, JOEL: I would say "like a steel trap," but that gives more credit to his mind than it deserves. >hoping that Caerey could do something to straighten out this mess. TOM: [Chakotay] I'd like you to alter the laws of physics and change the force of gravity. CROW: In Star Trek? Piece of cake. >"Engineering, Caerey here." > >"Mr. Caerey, our plan isn't going as well as I'd hoped, JOEL: And a third recap, for those of you falling asleep by now. >and our sensors seem to have been knocked out temporarily. TOM: Does that count as a fourth recap, or is it still part of the third? JOEL: Tough call. >I need them fixed--yesterday." CROW: Hey! It -is- a time-travel story! >"We're on it Bridge." Caerey replied. TOM: They're on what's bridge? CROW: The anomaly's, apparently. >Engineering was running smoothly and though he was sure it wouldn't remain so, >Caerey was enjoying his temporary command. JOEL: [Caerey] Now, if only I could kill B'Elanna ... >Fortunately, the sensors had suffered nothing more than a minor overload CROW: So what's the difference between a minor overload and major one? TOM: Rank. Major Overload can order Minor Overload around. >as a result of the explosion and their diagnostics would bring them back on >line within moments. JOEL: I wish that worked for me. Whenever I look at something to see what's wrong, it usually stays that way until I fix it. > > > >The return of the long range sensors almost had Chakotay wishing that >they had not. TOM: No one brings the message "Ignorance is bliss" to true fruition like Chakotay. >The first thing noted was that there was a Kommadan ship CROW: The second thing noted was that the Kommodans had replaced one of their vowels in a move of subterfuge. >drifting without power, then Kala was frantically redirecting them again to >pick up the second warship. JOEL: [Kala] That one's prettier! Look! >"It's venting plasma, it's gonna blow!" Carver whispered in alarm. TOM: We're not going to get a recap of the battle we just saw, are we? CROW: Looks that way. >"Argonaut is in their way, Sir!" Kala commented. "They won't get out of >the way in time!" ALL: [deadpan] Hurrah. >In silence they watched the Argonaut roll TOM: Hmm. A warrior, wrapped in a pastry. Interesting. JOEL: Forget it, Tom. They've already invented something similar, called "pigs in a blanket." TOM: Curses! >in a desperate attempt to avoid the inevitable collision. She did not make >it, quite. CROW: Quite? JOEL: I think that means they almost made it. CROW: But didn't. JOEL: Quite. TOM: Quite? JOEL: That one meant "precisely." TOM: So one word has multiple meanings, depending on context? JOEL: Quite. >They continued to watch and imagine the great tearing metal sounds, CROW: You mean they couldn't hear them? TOM: Space is a vacuum. CROW: That's never stopped Star Trek before. >as the Kommodan ship smashed into the underside of the saucer, then swing, JOEL: Hey, like a pendulum! TOM: One of the more destructive clocks in the galaxy. CROW: And it only chimes once. >taking a side swipe at the engineering section. TOM: Ray-Ray must love this scene. I wouldn't be surprised if it showed up again, assuming he got over a little thing like the laws of time and space. >It continued to swing until it disengaged CROW: Thus kind of negating the idea of ramming the ship ... >and span away before exploding in a inferno that had them shielding their >eyes from the glare. JOEL: Well, that should help add to the debris field. >"Argonaut?" Chakotay whispered. TOM: Well, I bet -now- he's glad he wasn't allowed on board. >"All mains power is down, Sir. Comms are out," Kala responded CROW: The commies are out! Run! JOEL: Crow, the Soviet Union collapsed years ago. CROW: There could still be commies. >in a subdued voice and a brief hesitation. "Can't get any life readings, but >that is no guarantee." TOM: [Kala] They could still be alive. I'm sorry, sir. >"I can get closer to pick up survivors?" Kim offered from the helm. CROW: [Chakotay] Good idea, Harry. Security, throw this man out the nearest airlock. >Chakotay resisted the temptation. JOEL: [Chakotay] No, wait; I can't run this ship by myself. Security, put him back. >"There is at least one Kommodan ship out there TOM: Out of the three that Winston attacked, or is it a fourth? CROW: More importantly, why don't they finish the Argonaut off? >and a Borg cube," he said with a suddenly war weary shake of >his head. JOEL: He's tired, and he hasn't even done anything yet. >"If we go now we'll lose even more." CROW: Oh, just some redshirts. You'd think they'd notice by now that none of them can suffer permanent damage. >"Not what the Captain would do," Kim muttered. TOM: True enough. She'd probably do something inane, like take a shuttlecraft and try to bargain with the Kommodans for her crewmembers. >Chakotay pointedly ignored the comment JOEL: [Chakotay] I can't hear you! Lalalalala! Not listening! >and continued to watch as Argonaut continued to tumble, now out of control, >hoping for some sign. CROW: So Argonaut is looking for a sign? TOM: Either that, or Chakotay is out of control. >"A Borg ship has slowed to sub-light speed, sir." Kala said softly, JOEL: [Kala] No need to panic. It's just the Borg. >her words as loud as torpedo explosions on Voyager's silent bridge. TOM: Really? Let's explode some there to compare! >"Understood," Chakotay murmured, the ship's silence affecting him as >deeply as it did the rest of the crew. CROW: Which ship's silence? Argonaut or Voyager? >He had decided that their best chance was to power down nearly every >system aboard in hopes that the Borg wouldn't be able to find them. JOEL: Oh, that'll work. While you're at it, close your eyes. If you can't see them, they can't see you. >With passive sensors, no shields, absolute minimum life support, >no sub-space emissions and all outer areas of the ship evacuated and >dark, Voyager was TOM: ... a sitting duck. >nearly as dead as the ships surrounding her. CROW: With any luck, she will be. >There was almost no hope that the tactic would work, JOEL: So they were using this trick because ...? TOM: Chakotay's a brain-dead simpleton. >but if the Borg were careless, they might get lucky. CROW: I would really rather not speculate on the Voyager crew's sex life, thank you. >The Borg, however, had seen similar tactics before TOM: [Borg] Oh, look, they're trying to play hide-and-go-seek! They're so cute before they're assimilated! >and were not to be so deceived. CROW: They were about to be lightly deceived, though, due to the oncoming plot device. >Had a random gravimetric pulse not shaken voyager at just the right moment, JOEL: ... this fanfic would have ended pages ago. >the powerful Borg landing parties might have taken the ship with barely a >shot fired. TOM: Well, that'll teach the Borg to try and attack a fanfic crew. >Fortunately, the ship's movements were just enough to cause some of the >enemy drones to beam into bulkheads or decking. CROW: Due to a rather important law of physics that says no two pieces of matter can occupy the same space at the same time, I imagine this resulted in several rather large explosions. >Needless to say, these drones would not function again. JOEL: Not scattered across the quadrant like that, no. >The rest, however, put up formidable resistance, TOM: The Borg put up resistance? CROW: They want to be here even less than we do. >and even with the ship's shields up and fully modulated, several of Voyager's >crew came close to being assimilated. JOEL: So no casualties, then? CROW: The redshirt count is becoming stagnant at seven. >The bridge had not been attacked for some reason TOM: [sarcastic] Hey, a plot hole covering up the bridge and most of the main characters! What fantastic luck! >and Chakotay could only thank his spirit guide for her intervention. CROW: So spirit guide equals guardian angel? JOEL: Someone has his belief structure twisted. >Foolish though Kathryn might think religious beliefs, TOM: [Janeway] Ha! I laugh in the face of your gods! JOEL: This explains why she was captured by the Borg. >Chakotay was equally sure that every day that they survived was another >gift from the supernatural. CROW: Or fanfic writers. Same difference. >"Report!" Chakotay cried as damage reports and news of the battle to >hold the ship poured into the regalvanised bridge. TOM: So he's receiving reports, and he's asking for one? I always knew he was a moron, but this defies description. >"Bad, sir." Kala barked, JOEL: Oh know! She's turning into a canine! >the situation making her sound like Torres at her worst. CROW: So her bark is worse than her bite? >"Borg reported on several decks, TOM: Nice of them to report in like that. JOEL: I don't think that's what she meant. >and though many were killed by beaming into bulkheads or damaged by a ten >meter fall in the engineering spaces, CROW: And why, exactly, do they have ten-meter falls in engineering? TOM: Apparently to trap Borg. >too many are still functional. Security thinks that they can be contained >but it'll be a close thing." JOEL: So the Borg ship transported its entire crew over to Voyager, then? TOM: Point. But that'll be good, because now they can take over the cube and crash it like they did the Argonaut. >"Understood," Chakotay acknowledged. "what about the defensive systems >and ship's weapons?" > >"All at 100%," Kala reported. CROW: Despite the Borg presence? JOEL: Maybe because of it. >"Very well....Navigation, plot course to put us on the the port side of >our friends out there." TOM: So the Borg haven't fired yet? Any particular reason? CROW: They managed to assimilate the crew's idiocy. >"Round to Port, Aye," Kim acknowledged. > >"Plotted and laid in, Captain." > >"Execute." CROW: And so Harry gets it in the neck. >Voyager moved toward the centre of the anomaly, TOM: But they were supposed to go to the cube's port side! JOEL: Shhh. Past sentences have nothing to do with current ones. >impulse engines straining under the rapid series of manoeuvres that Kim >and Carver were forcing her through. CROW: Up and down? TOM: Unlikely. Side to side, maybe. >"Borg ship firing cutting beam," Kala warned. > >As Winston had predicted, the Borg weapon was only marginally affected >by the flotsam surrounding Voyager. JOEL: So Voyager was somehow able to make the debris orbit it instead of the anomaly? CROW: Thus defying not only the laws of physics, but most every other law in the universe as well. >Only moments after Kala's warning the ship shook violently as the Borg >weapon tried to tear through her TOM: Quite mean of the Borg to target Kala like that. >shields and the superstructure they protected. Fortunately, the tractor CROW: ... was right in the field where they left it. >beam seemed unable to lock onto them through the rubble field JOEL: Either that, or the Borg are playing with them like a cat does a mouse. >and so its shield-draining effects didn't come into play. TOM: Tractor beams drain shields? I don't remember the Borg having that ability. JOEL: It's in a lot of the games, though. >Of course, Chakotay mused darkly, CROW: [Chakotay] Muhahahahahahahaha! >Voyager couldn't fire for fear of clearing a path down which the >Borg might fire before the Federation ship could move. TOM: Unless the debris is forming a solid wall, they could just wait for a clear shot. And the Borg could do the same. JOEL: Torpedoes modified to work as depth charges could work, as well. Or, better yet, mines. TOM: Apparently this plan of Winston's wasn't very well thought out. >Even if they could keep the shields up against the Borg tractor, CROW: Gives new meaning to "plowing the fields," doesn't it? >being held in place by it would leave them in a test of strength against >the Borg weapons--a contest that Voyager would be unlikely to win. TOM: Could be worse. It could be a test of mental prowess. JOEL: I think the Borg have rules for not battling an unarmed foe. >"Second Borg ship approaching from the general direction of Kommos, >Sir," Kala snapped. CROW: [Kala] This is all -your- fault, you and your stupid plans! >Chakotay sighed as he watched the already demoralised bridge crew lose >even more hope. TOM: [Chakotay] How relaxing! And they're doing it in colour, too! >Even he had to admit that the situation didn't seem good. JOEL: And yet, with us secure in the knowledge that no main character is going to die, drama fails to materialize. >"Condition of the cube?" he demanded, CROW: [Chakotay] Speak to me, underling! >caught between the hope that Argonaut had been in a condition to intercept >it TOM: Despite the fact that you *saw* the Argonaut become a derelict again? >and the equally strong wish that it had not. > >"Pretty scratched up, sir." > >"Scratched up in what way?" JOEL: Like in a cat fight, and the fur has gotten everywhere. >"Serious damage to several sections of the ship....looks like damage >from plasma weapons, sir." CROW: As opposed to vein weapons, or aortae torpedoes, or lymph phasers? JOEL: No one understands medical jokes anymore, Crow. >"Interesting," Chakotay murmured. TOM: That's "fascinating." If you're going to quote a Vulcan, do it right. >Either Obviously JOEL: "Either Obviously"? CROW: Nice name for a band. JOEL: Not really, no. >this ship had faced combat with part of the Kommodan fleet. TOM: Which part? CROW: All the left hands of the pilots. >Federation weapons technology didn't leave that kind of damage. JOEL: Federation weapons always cleaned up after their messes, and apologized to the victims. >"Helm, I want you to set a direct course for the new Borg ship, TOM: New! Improved! Now with faster assimilation power! >maximum velocity. Use the debris field for cover if you need to." CROW: Or just smash into the debris on your way. We can't die, so what does it matter? >"Aye Sir." Kim and Carver responded in near-stereo. JOEL: Where available. >Moments later, Voyager was dodging and weaving through space, TOM: Carver's been in the liquor cabinet again. >avoiding debris and occasionally complete vessels CROW: The vessels were only occasionally complete, and even then you really had to focus to get the image just right. >as it took an evasive course toward the new Borg ship. JOEL: Evasiveness usually implies running -away- from something. >Chakotay smacked his com badge, an idea forming TOM: Most people smack their foreheads, but due to the lack of actual brain matter his chest is probably more appropriate. >as his ship dodged and weaved its way through space. CROW: Just a recap for those of you with the attention span of a demented bee. >"Engineering, Caerey here." > >"Caerey," Chakotay acknowledge. TOM: [Chakotay] Chakotay use big words, notice Caerey-man. JOEL: There are quotes there. TOM: Sure, ruin all my fun. >"Would it be possible to transport a couple of torpedoes into the Borg ship?" CROW: So what's wrong with actually *firing* them? TOM: Aside from the debris in the way? JOEL: We've discussed options for that. Mines, "depth" charges, guided missiles, smart bombs; we've got that angle covered. But these guys -love- transporting things into other things. CROW: Which is interesting, considering they ignored the transporters for the first half of the story. >"I don't see why not," Caerey responded. "After all, TOM: [Caerey] ... we're in a fanfic! >we've transported people over there before. CROW: Well, not that specific cube, maybe, but cubes in general. >Realistically a torpedo would be a lot easier to beam over than a landing >party." JOEL: And why is that, exactly? TOM: Less emotional attachment if the torpedo dies in transit. >"Get on it, and be ready to energise in ...." > >"Three minutes," Kim responded to Chakotay's unspoken demand for >information. CROW: Next up: Chakotay has an unspoken demand for cheese puffs. Will the crew respond appropriately? >"I heard, Captain." Caerey said. CROW: And Caerey delivers the cheese puffs! The crowd goes wild! JOEL: You're in your own little world, aren't you? >"Just have the things ready," Chakotay barked, mistrust of Caerey >shaping his attitude toward the younger man. TOM: And why does he mistrust Caerey? >Kim and Carver continued their rapid manoeuvres, JOEL: The Ensigns' interpretive dance thus stunned the Borg into submission. CROW: [Borg] No! Stop dancing! We'll leave, just stop dancing! >Voyager's inertial dampeners occasionally strained by the violence TOM: You always hear about violence on starships, but no one does anything about it. >of the twisting course that they had plotted. Fortunately, the larger Borg >ship could not manoeuvre as easily. JOEL: Perhaps if they maneuvered instead? >It was better able to shrug off impacts with the dead ships in the area, CROW: I've never seen a ship shrug before. TOM: It's not pretty. >but its size and inertia still worked against it. JOEL: It's the Physics Revolt of Stardate 4011256.3! >"One minute to transporter range," Kim announced. CROW: If they make the two cubes run into each other ... TOM: I'll join you in the airlock. JOEL: I'll activate the release. >"Engineering reports one torpedo ready, thirty seconds more and we'll >have another." Kala reported from the Ops console. TOM: So what were they doing for the other two minutes? >Chakotay nodded, too busy watching the main viewer to acknowledge her >verbally. CROW: Even in the twenty-fourth century, television saps the minds of its viewers. >"Thirty seconds to transporter range," > >"Where should we beam the torpedoes, sir?" Kala asked. JOEL: Inside one of the Borg ships would be nice. >"Get them as close to their main energy generation units as you can. TOM: Which are, naturally, carefully marked. CROW: What, you mean you didn't get your Borg cube schematic when we came in? TOM: No! Was I supposed to? >Two won't be enough to take all of them out, JOEL: But they're offering a two-for-one deal with a side order of fries! >but with secondary explosions we may be able to destroy the ship." TOM: So that would be *one* cube gone. What about the other one? >"Understood, Captain." Kala acknowledge, scanning the Borg cube to find >the best places to put the weapons. CROW: The Borg, knowing what she was looking for, put up a huge neon sign saying "right here, baby!" >"Fifteen seconds to transporter range, we're now within weapons' range >for both Borg ships," Harry Kim reported nervously. > >As if his words were the signal that they had been waiting for, JOEL: ... and just in case you didn't think that this story was chock-full of contrivances galore ... >the Borg ships opened up with tractor beams and cutting weapons. TOM: Then they realized that -firing- might be better, and did that instead. >Even though Voyager had moved beyond the centre of the rapidly collapsing >debris field, CROW: It's collapsing? JOEL: First I've heard of it. I thought it was supposed to spread out. >there were still enough bits and pieces to cause a good deal of >trouble for the Borg gunnery. TOM: So they've got the accumulated experience of possibly thousands of years of battle, yet they can't get a good shot because of a couple specks of dust? JOEL: I think you might be exaggerating just a little bit. TOM: But anyone with half a brain would vaporize the debris in the way first, then attack. Less muss, less fuss. CROW: They must have assimilated one of the Voyager crew. TOM: That would do it. >However, Chakotay thought as the newly arrived Borg ship's tractor beam JOEL: So which is newly arrived: the Borg, the ship, the tractor, or the beam? TOM: I vote for the beam. CROW: I like tractors! >caught his ship, difficulty was something that the Borg were uncommonly good >at circumventing. TOM: Finally! The Borg start showing some backbone! >"Five, four, three, two, one....energizing," Kala's words rang like the >chimes of doom ALL: [chiming, while rocking back and forth] Doom ... doom ... doom ... doom ... doom ... JOEL: Hey, it's five o'clock! >on voyager's silent bridge. CROW: Their poker games, however, could get quite out of hand. >How the Borg could be dumb enough not to defend against transporter weapons, >Chakotay couldn't imagine. TOM: That's it; just drive the impossibility of it all home. >The incredible column of fire that suddenly burst forth from the side of >the newly arrived Borg ship was proof enough that they were. JOEL: Looks like that backbone the Borg were showing just snapped. >"Incredible," someone breathed, CROW: Yes, but not in the way you mean it. >obviously unwilling to believe the fantastic effect of TOM: ... a fanfic writer on a rampage? >two photon torpedoes on their nearly indestructible enemy. TOM: Same diff. JOEL: Come on, guys, let's get out of here. [Joel picks up Tom, and they file out] [ ... 1 ... 2 ... 3 ... 4 ... 5 ... 6 ... ] From: pieceoftheuniverse Newsgroups: alt.tv.mst3k.mstings Subject: [MiSTing] Trouble of Dwarves (8/9) Date: Fri, 21 Dec 2001 10:51:31 -0700 Reply-To: po...@pieceoftheuniverse.com Message-ID: <55l62ugto7ckslj4aj9bn9riq6mipuhuhe@4ax.com> X-Newsreader: Forte Agent 1.8/32.548 MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=ISO-8859-1 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit Lines: 1204 X-Authenticated-User: pieceoftheuniverse X-Comments: This message was posted through Spamkiller.Newsfeeds.com X-Comments2: IMPORTANT: Newsfeeds.com does not condone, nor support, spam or any illegal or copyrighted postings. X-Comments3: IMPORTANT: Under NO circumstances will postings containing illegal or copyrighted material through this service be tolerated!! X-Report: Please report illegal or inappropriate use to You may also use our online abuse reporting from: http://www.newsfeeds.com/abuseform.htm X-Abuse-Info: Please be sure to forward a copy of ALL headers, INCLUDING the body (DO NOT SEND ATTACHMENTS) Organization: Newsfeeds.com http://www.newsfeeds.com 73,000+ UNCENSORED Newsgroups. Path: archiver1.google.com!news1.google.com!sn-xit-02!supernews.com!newsfeed.direct.ca!look.ca!newshub2.rdc1.sfba.home.com!news.home.com!local-out2.newsfeeds.com!spamkiller.newsgroups.com Xref: archiver1.google.com alt.tv.mst3k.mstings:335 [Cambot pans back to reveal the three coming in to the SOL bridge. Tom is ranting and raving; the other two are just nodding their heads in acquiescence] TOM: ... and another thing! Why is it that none of these main characters has gotten so much as a scratch? Sure, Winston's in a coma, but he's not exactly in any danger, is he? He's going to emerge from this without so much as a single emotional scar! Heaven forfend any of these guys actually -develop- as a chara-- [SOL suddenly shakes, a la Star Trek, sending everyone off balance. A boom echoes throughout the bridge. There are a few tense seconds of silence, and then the bridge shakes again, with an almost identical boom] JOEL: What was that?! Cambot, give me Rocket Number Nine! [Scene changes to exterior view of the SOL, where we find none other than the starship Voyager coming alongside. As we watch, Voyager fires phasers at the SOL. Switch back to the SOL bridge] CROW: Ack! It's Voyager! [I believe I just said that] TOM: You stay out of this! CROW: We're being hailed! JOEL: Put it up on the hexfield! [The hexfield spirals open to reveal the bridge of the U.S.S. Voyager, and, perhaps slightly more importantly, Captain Janeway is front and center. She is accompanied by Commander Chakotay on her left and Neelix on her right.] JANEWAY: This is Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation starship Voyager. [Everyone seems to want to repeat me today] JANEWAY: Surrender and you will be spared. Resist and you will be destroyed. JOEL: Now hold on just a minute! We have rights! TOM: Yeah! You tell her, Joel! CROW: That's right! In the meantime, Tom and I have some, er, business, in the other room. TOM: Right. Love to stick around and chat, but -- [As they've been talking, Crow and Tom begin backing off-stage. Suddenly there's the renown transporter sound, and three Starfleet security guards appear behind the 'bots. Tom runs into one of them, signals Crow, and they begin inching their way back to Joel] TOM: On the other hand, it can wait. CROW: Sure. No problem. JOEL: I'm touched, guys. Really. JANEWAY: Enough of this. I have someone here who wants to meet you. CROW: [hopefully] Seven of Nine? JANEWAY: Don't be ridiculous. [The captain signals off-screen -- or off-hex, as the case may be -- and a somewhat handsome (if young and slightly nerdy) individual comes forward to stand beside her] JANEWAY: I would like you to meet ... Raymond Gower. J&TB: Gahhhhh! GOWER: Hi, guys! JOEL: Um, hi, I guess. TOM: [aside] Well, -this- is a bit awkward. CROW: Hey, Ray-Ray! What's happening? GOWER: [glowering] I don't like that nickname. In fact, I have issue with what you've been saying about my fanfic as a whole. JOEL: You've been watching? GOWER: When Dr. Forrester said that he'd like to use my fanfic in an experiment, I couldn't resist. It took a bit of convincing, but I eventually got him to direct a text feed my way. But this is not exactly what I expected. JOEL: Look, Ray-Ray ... er, Mr Gower, I can explain everything. You see, Dr. Forrester sends us these -- TOM: Wait a minute! Here we have a prime opportunity, and you're making excuses! JOEL: You can't be seriously considering -- TOM: Why not? CROW: Years of frustrating directors and writers should not be vented upon one man, for one. TOM: Now you're starting to sound like Joel. JOEL: But -- and god help me for saying this -- Crow's got a point, Servo. TOM: Enough! Ray-Ray, do you know what the problem is we have with this 'fic? It's unrealistic! Isn't it enough that Chakotay has only a single brain cell to his name -- CHAKOTAY: Hey! TOM: -- and that Janeway couldn't captain her way out of a paper bag? JANEWAY: Hey! CROW: [aside] Smooth, Servo. I think you've just declared war. TOM: But no! You make impossibilities reality, and then rub our faces in the fact that what you've done is a miraculous occurrence! GOWER: Now hold on! I didn't come here to be lectured to on the values of writing! What have you ever written? All you people do is slam on other's accomplishments, then go and pat yourselves on the back at the end of the day for having "survived" another bad experience. But what about us, the fanfic writers, the producers, the actors who you put down? What do we have to look forward to but derision and insistence that we pick up a copy of Strunk & White the next time we're at a bookstore? CROW: It's a good investment! GOWER: That's as well as may be, but that's no reason to attack me personally! The story has a few flaws; I'll admit that. But those can be worked out with *constructive criticism*, not the blatant insults you throw at the screen! JOEL: Guys, we're getting nowhere with this. Mr Gower, by no means should you take anything we say personally. It's all in fun, and it helps us enjoy our day just that much more. Sometimes we can overreact, and that's only because we love good writing so much. If you want my honest opinion, I think that with a little hard work and a damn good editor, _Trouble of Dwarves_ could end up as a very fine novel. GOWER: I've worked plenty hard on this story! No less than thirty revisions! JOEL: And we can appreciate that. It shows, really. But instead of taking anything we say as a personal insult -- even those that seem, on the surface, to be just that and nothing more -- might I suggest that you take it all as suggestions for improvement. Writing, after all, is a constant endeavour, and is never truly finished -- only abandoned. GOWER: Well ... I guess I could see it that way. I suppose I ... overreacted. CROW: If I may: how did you get Voyager to pick you up and come over here? GOWER: Oh, it was simple. I just put the word out that I was looking to have a word with you folks, and the Captain here was nice enough to drop by. TOM: Cool! JANEWAY: I haven't forgotten that paper bag comment. TOM: Ah. JANEWAY: There was also a little matter about you three wanting to see me dead, and repeating that desire several times. CROW: Did we? I don't seem to remember that at all. JOEL: We had this little accident, you see, with our reset button ... JANEWAY: Oh, that happens all the time with us. I suppose I could manage to forget that transgression ... *once*. TOM: Thank you! JANEWAY: Paper bag. CHAKOTAY: Brain cell. TOM: [backing away] Right-o. JANEWAY: But if I hear that you three have those kinds of wishes again, I'll be back -- and I won't need the excuse of a third-rate fanfic writer to bring me here, either. GOWER: Hey! JANEWAY: Janeway out. [The hexfield closes, the security team beams out, and Joel and the bots heave a huge sigh of relief] TOM: Hehe. Good footwork there, Joel. CROW: I haven't seen backpedaling like that since the time we watched the Ironman competition in reverse. TOM: "It's all in fun." Hehehehe. CROW: "Your hard work shows." Hahahahaha! TOM: [giggling maniacally now] "Don't take it personally!" CROW: [outright laughing] "Just suggesting improvement!" [The bots continue laughing, with Joel looking a little embarrassed. Finally the bots get over it, and pick themselves off the floor. Tom has a handkerchief in one hand, still giggling a little bit.] TOM: Hehehehe. Thanks, Joel. I needed that. CROW: Hehe. [beat] Um, Joel? JOEL: Yes? CROW: You weren't actually ... serious, were you? [pause] TOM: Oh my god! He *was*! [The bots burst out laughing again] [Lights, siren, panic] JOEL: Come on, you hyenas; we've got Gower Sign! [ ... 6 ... 5 ... 4 ... 3 ... 2 ... 1 ... ] [As they are filing in ...] CROW: I'm just saying that Joel's got a point. If Ray-Ray gets published, that will lend a kind of credibility to his work, and Dr. F won't touch it. JOEL: Come on, guys. That's ridiculous. TOM: Very true. Those books could become movies, and then Dr. F would send -those- our way. CROW: Colonel movies. [shudders] Now there is a spooky thought. TOM: I know. I'm dreading the _Enterprise_ pilot already, and that's quite enough for one day. JOEL: You guys, you're not supposed to remember that stuff. You're going to get people saying we have less continuity than _Voyager_. CROW: Oh, come *on*, Joel. We have less continuity than the whole Star Trek franchise, much less _Voyager_. >Chakotay didn't know who had expressed the thought, TOM: Well, at least we can rule him out. >but as he watched secondary explosions turn the scarred and battered cube >into a vaguely cube-shaped object JOEL: Okay, guys: time to name three vaguely cube-shaped objects each! TOM: A refrigerator! CROW: A Volkswagen! TOM: A stereo! CROW: A television screen! TOM: An ice cream truck! CROW: A CD case! JOEL: Very good, guys. RAMchips for both of you. >with nearly fifty percent of its central mass blown out through a large >hole on its side, TOM: Yet again someone specializes in psychic ability without taking so much as a glance at the sensors. >he couldn't argue with it at all. CROW: But that didn't stop him from beating it senseless! >"Sir, the original ship is still in the area," Kala said JOEL: At least someone has the sense not to be awed by their own power. >moments before the rest of them were reminded of this by the the impact >of a Borg cutting beam. TOM: So if a butter knife slices butter, and a steak knife carves steak, does a Borg cutting beam cut Borg? >A beam fired from the ship that they had so successfully attacked only >moments before. CROW: It's nice to see a strong Borg every once in a while, even if it is only a fleeting appearance. >"Dammit!" Carver cried as his panel exploded infront of him. JOEL: [Carver] Okay, who forgot to install the fuses this morning? >"What do we have to do kill that thing?" TOM: Talk to it. They'll die of boredom. >"Get more torpedoes ready for transport," came Chakotay's matter-of-fact >reply. CROW: If -they- have a direct line of fire to -you-, doesn't that mean -you- have a direct line of fire to -them-? JOEL: You've used up your inflection quota for the week, I'm afraid. CROW: May I borrow some of yours? JOEL: Certainly. >"On it, Captain," Kala barked TOM: [Chakotay] Kala! Get off my shoe! >as she began working her board, pushing the ship's crew to perform even >further feats. JOEL: So the crew is hardwired to the ship? CROW: Maybe it's like that Age of Empires game you like so much. JOEL: Now that would be interesting! >Harry Kim, who had been watching the viewscreen with TOM: ... drool hanging out of his mouth and a vacant look in his eyes ... >the same awe that all of them felt, ALL: [crew, chanting] Worship the Borg ... worship the Borg ... worship the Borg ... >suddenly straightened in his seat, eyes widening in growing horror. CROW: [Kim] Wait a minute! I'm still in this fanfic! >"Commander, There's a Kommodan ship moving in on our starboard flank!" JOEL: If they've got cutting beams, too, that could be bad. TOM: [Kommodan] Who wants dark meat? >"Damn!" Chakotay exploded. CROW: ... taking all of Voyager with him. ALL: Hurrah! >He had almost forgotten there was a third ship. JOEL: Oh, I think it's safe to say he had forgotten entirely. >The fact that this ship had slipped by Winston's ship meant that TOM: ... they were great at simulating greased pigs. >the Kommodans were far better at fighting in space than any of them had >thought. CROW: Yes, I thought the kamikaze move when all hope was lost was a particularly clever move for a talented fighter. >"Targeting phasers," Carver called from Tactical. > >Chakotay's order to fire stuck in his throat JOEL: Quick! Someone give that man the Heimlich! >when he saw the severely damaged Borg craft grab on to the Kommodan ship >with another tractor beam. TOM: And where is the other Borg ship during all this? CROW: It's like a martial arts film: only one can attack at a time, while the other ships stand around dancing. >The Kommodans shields wouldn't protect them long and everyone knew it. JOEL: And we should be worried about toilets for what reason, exactly? >"Retarget phasers on that emitter." TOM: Once again, being a "bigger person" wins out over common sense. CROW: Any bets against the Kommodan ship and/or crew making it through the battle unscathed from this point on? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? >Carver spared Chakotay only a surprised glance before following his >orders. JOEL: [Carver] You *do* realize this is the fiftieth time we've been in this particular scenario, don't you, sir? Just thought you'd like to know. >"Fire!" TOM: Sprinklers! CROW: Stop, drop, and roll! JOEL: Truck! [pause] CROW: Oh. I don't think that was supposed to be word association. >Voyager's phasers would never have cut through the cube-ship's defences >had they not fluctuated at just that moment. TOM: So the phasers fluctuated? JOEL: That's what the man said. >A fluctuation matched by every system on both of the great vessels. CROW: Voyager and the Borg? JOEL: I think he was trying to say both *Borg* vessels. >"Kommodan ship has been freed, Sir," Kala reported in a shocked voice TOM: [Kala] Hey, we were actually successful at something! Someone contact the nearest historian! >as she began trying to assimilate the data pouring into Voyager's >computers. CROW: A moral lesson here: you can't fight the Borg without becoming them. >Data that, she saw with some surprise, JOEL: ... had come all the way from the Enterprise. >included a signal from the Kommodan ship. TOM: [Kommodan] Thanks for saving us. Prepare to be destroyed. >"Hail from the Kommodan ship, Sir." ALL: HAIL! >Chakotay was as surprised as his young operations officer, but CROW: ... far less intelligent. >he didn't let it show TOM: The one benefit of being made out of deadwood: no emotions. >as he gestured for her to put the aliens through to the main viewer. JOEL: The aliens then burst out of the viewer's chest ... >"This is the Federation starship Voyager." CROW: I'm pretty sure they know that. >"I am Colonel Creed," the diminutive alien replied. TOM: Another colonel. I wonder if this means that the Colonel that everyone's been talking about is a Kommodan? >"I thank you for rescuing my ship from its imminent destruction. JOEL: Naturally, the battle has paused while these two talk. >A fate that it would have shared with our entire space-going fleet." CROW: ... and yourself. While we're talking, the Borg have boarded your vessel and have taken half the crew. >"What!" Chakotay gasped, shocked that the numerous Kommodan vessels that >they had seen could have been destroyed. TOM: Well, this *is* the Borg we're talking about. JOEL: Voyager's been able to fend off cubes by the hundreds; they're just astonished that no one else has been similarly blessed. >"Much as I wish it were different Commander, I must tell you that >everything that I have told you is true. CROW: Well, mostly true. There's a bit involving a llama and twenty metric tons of feathers, but let's not get into that right now. >When you escaped our trap, TOM: ... using the ever-popular "run away and hide" maneuver ... >the Borg Queen ordered the destruction of our entire space fleet JOEL: How does he know it was the Queen? Maybe some of the Borg were having a really bad day, and so they took it out on someone close to them. CROW: "Abusive Borg and Their Spouses," next on Sally Jesse Raphael! >and all of the facilities that support it. TOM: Which would amount to the entire planet, really. >Every ship, every orbital platform, CROW: What is an orbital platform? JOEL: Well, I know what platform shoes are ... I suppose it's the same principle. CROW: Something to make the planet look taller? >all of them were destroyed by the Borg TOM: Well, except for the one ship you rescued. CROW: And the three the Argonaut destroyed. >and nearly five hundred thousand were assimilated....Most on that ship. JOEL: How could he tell the cubes apart? TOM: Fingerprints. >So, not only do I have you to thank for my own freedom, CROW: No one's making you, bud. Don't do us any favours. >but also for the suffering that you ended for so many that I knew before >this sad day." TOM: Who says they were suffering? JOEL: Except for the whole "one mind" thing, all the neat gadgets and implants would be kinda nice. >"I understand," Chakotay said softly, CROW: Touching moment, isn't it? TOM: Oh, yes, very. CROW: Quite nice of the Borg to let them have this. TOM: Quite. Of course, now -would- be the perfect time to attack ... CROW: But that wouldn't be quite fair. TOM: Considerate of them. CROW: Very much so. >knowing that the alien commander would have been far happier JOEL: ... on a sunny beach with a margarita in his hand. >had Kathryn and the others been assimilated, sparing his people in the >process. TOM: I'm trying to imagine a dwarf Borg, but the image just isn't coming. CROW: I can, and believe me: the whole Snow White storyline takes a very strange turn. >"I believe that you do," Creed replied, JOEL: Dooby dooby do? >not needing to say that much TOM: Or, preferably, anything at all. >as he wished that things could have been different for his people, CROW: That they were slightly taller, maybe? >death was by far the best thing that they could have hoped for...given >current circumstances. JOEL: Oh, I don't know; height isn't everything. TOM: This from the tallest guy on the ship. >"Captain, I think that you should have a look at this." CROW: [Kala] I've figured out how to install Ultima Online! Now I never have to leave my console! >"What!" Chakotay demanded, furious that Kala would have interrupted his >discussion with the alien commander. JOEL: What with the battle waiting for them and everything, he should be a little more understanding. >"This." she said as the Kommodan face on the viewer was replaced by the >almost incredible TOM: Almost incredible. CROW: It's incredible light! JOEL: With half the calories of regular incredible ... TOM: ... and half the fat! CROW: I can't believe it's not incredible! >sight of the two Borg ships fighting each other. JOEL: [Borg Queen] If you two don't stop fighting, I'm turning this assimilation right around! >One was badly damaged, the other, totally unscathed. TOM: So guess who wins? CROW: Putting common sense aside ... TOM: Always a wise precaution in this 'fic. CROW: ... I'm going to say the badly damaged one. >"Wow," Harry Kim said from the his station. "I never thought that I'd >get to see that." JOEL: You mean aside from "Unimatrix Zero, Part II"? [pause] TOM: We've been tolerant, Joel. CROW: We've even admitted to our own knowledge of the Star Trek universe. TOM: But, well ... BOTS: Fan boy! Faaaaaaaan boy! >Chakotay had to admit that he couldn't have come up with this scenario >either. TOM: And yet, somehow, the author did. >The question was, should they intervene or not? CROW: Bets on them running away while the getting's good? Anyone? JOEL: If you keep asking for bets that you know are against the author's plans, you're never going to get any. CROW: I'm not looking for sex, Joel; just money. >If so, on which side TOM: That depends. Who is on the left and who's on the right? >or should they just try to cause as much trouble as they could? CROW: Voyager, the Calvin & Hobbes of space. JOEL: No. That gives them far too much credit. >The decision was taken out of Chakotay's hands by Creed, who was determined >to avenge his people's losses. TOM: So he's firing on both ships? >"Kommodans vectoring for the intact cube," Kala reported CROW: Well, so much for common sense. >just as a salvo of plasma bolts slashed through space. JOEL: [news reporter] Galactic citizens were shocked today when dead Borg were found in this local outhouse. Officials say a bloody plasma bolt was found near the scene ... >"Moderate damage to Borg ship," she reported, TOM: Naturally. The Borg can't be harmed by their own weapons. CROW: Why not? TOM: The author said so. >obviously surprised by what she had seen. JOEL: [Kala] That's impossible ... no, wait, I'm in a fanfic. Sorry. >"Any guess as to why?" CROW: Divine intervention. >"Borg defence fields seem to be fluctuating, Sir." > >"Why?" TOM: [Kala] Plot hole, sir. It's pulling all the reality out of the script. >"I don't know, Captain." > >"Well, get on it and tell me when you know something." Chakotay snapped, JOEL: I think he's in for a long wait. >knowing as he did that Kala didn't deserve his anger. CROW: Then who does? TOM: I vote for Winston. It might be the final straw that kills him. >"Aye, Sir." she replied, unable to hide the pain that his words had >caused. JOEL: [Kala] I'm going to tell Janeway on you! You were mean to me! >Events on screen retook center stage, TOM: Well, which is it? Screen or stage? >denying Chakotay the chance to apologise for his unreasoning harshness. CROW: Three days later, Kala came onto the bridge and shot everyone on duty, then herself. Officials are calling it "Going Starfleet." >As everyone watched in mute fascination, JOEL: [sighs] Ah, peace and quiet. >the Borg ships began blasting away at each other, JOEL: Well, quiet, anyway. >the Kommodan ship caught between them. TOM: Any particular reason he went into the crossfire rather than, say, attacking from a distance? Or off to the side? >Though Crael tried hard, CROW: Who's Crael? JOEL: Got me. I thought the Kommodan Colonel was called "Creed." >it was immediately obvious to Voyager's crew that he could not save his ship. TOM: The backup tapes were full, and the program had crashed. >The only question was which of the Borg craft would manage to capture it. JOEL: It's like a really large game of "Hungry Hungry Hippos." >Their unasked questions were answered far too quickly CROW: Hey, the quicker the better. >as the Borg quickly TOM: Instantaneously! JOEL: In no time! CROW: Suddenly! TOM: In a trice! JOEL: At one fell swoop! CROW: Abruptly! TOM: Rapidly! JOEL: Hastily! CROW: Uno saltu! TOM: Per saltum! JOEL: Extempore! >demonstrated their own abilities to accommodate enemy's. CROW: [Borg] We have nothing but the finest accommodations. The pool is over there, massages are available twenty-four hours a day, and the assimilation chamber is to your right. >"The Kommodans have been caught again by the damaged cube," TOM: They must really need to visit the little Borg's room. >Carver observed. "Seem determined to be destroyed. JOEL: Well, I'm sure they didn't get captured on purpose. >Target the emitter, Sir?" > >Chakotay nodded an agreement, but was just as quickly reminded by Kala >that Voyager was in just as much danger. CROW: [Kala] You yelled at me, so I've set the self-destruct. No hard feelings, okay? >"We've been caught," she called, just as the ship rocked violently from >a phasor blast from the cube. TOM: The Borg have phasers? >More sparks and smoke issued from consoles JOEL: That's probably bad. You want to keep the smoke *inside* the consoles. >and the ship creaked ominously. CROW: Just like a floorboard in a haunted house. >"Shields are down!" She added. "Rerouting emergency power to shields." TOM: A bit late for that, I think. >"Warp power is down," Kim added. JOEL: [referee] One, two, three, you're out! >They waited for the next shot. CROW: Luckily for them, it was a body shot. >"They missed!" Carver shouted in jubilation as the beam lanced wide. >"They've dropped the beam as well!" TOM: Good thing they're not on a construction site. JOEL: I bet they still get a reprimand, though. >Trailing a rapidly increasing amont of wreckage, CROW: So it's dissolving? TOM: No chance of them staying crunchy in milk, then. >the critically damaged cube holding the Kommodan ship began spinning rapidly. JOEL: Look, it's the Icecapades! CROW: Space. JOEL: Spacecapades? >The Kommodan vessel helplessly spinning with it, like a bolo shot being >prepared for launch. TOM: What's a bolo? JOEL: A tank game for the Macintosh. >They watched helplessly, no longer able to target the emitter CROW: I bet the computer could hit it. TOM: Just like buzzing womp-rats in the TC-13 back home! >and come to the defence of the Kommodans, JOEL: I don't think building de fence will help much. TOM: He's British, Joel. I think he's allowed. >whose vessel was slowly disintegrating under the terrible centrifugal >force under which it its structure slowly collapsed. CROW: Centrifugal force is a myth. JOEL: So then what keeps things on earth? CROW: Simple. The earth sucks. >When the damaged Borg ship could spin no faster, TOM: ... it spun slower. JOEL: The overseers of the sweat shop won't like that. >it suddenly switched off its few remaining tractor beams, hurling the >Kommodan ship CROW: ... through a conveniently-placed window. >at several percent of the sped of light straight into its formerly >healthier opponent TOM: So it's a mass driver, then. JOEL: They could have achieved a better effect by turning on the warp drive. CROW: But they would have to assimilate the crew to get to the engines. TOM: I'm not seeing a problem, here. >whose equally unreliable defences could not withstand the impact of more >than half a million tons of metal and other material CROW: ... like the flesh of several dozen crewmembers. TOM: At those speeds? More like the puddles of goo of several dozen ex-crew. CROW: Would that make them ex-crew-ment? JOEL: Crow! >flung at it in this way. TOM: If flung it another way, though, like underhanded, it would have hit a home run. >Doubtless, the failure of the Kommodan JOEL: ... was to be expected. >antimatter containment system contributed notably to the CROW: ... master's thesis, and was mentioned in the acknowledgements. >shattering explosion that utterly demolished a formerly imposing--if >damaged--Borg cube. TOM: It undergoes an explosion, and they don't know if it's damaged? JOEL: They're not the brightest bunch. >"They are firing again!" Kala added in the sudden confusion. > >Voyager rocked violently. CROW: [singing] Rock, around, the clock tonight! >"Light damage, TOM: About twenty watts. >there was no power in the shot." JOEL: Then why did the ship shake? >"It's almost as if they aren't sure what they want to do!" Kim voiced >everybody's thoughts for them. CROW: Wow. They're part of a collective, and they haven't even been assimilated yet. TOM: It's easy to voice the mob mind when it's total IQ is less than a glass of water's. >Another phasor beam shot out, it whisked harmlessly away. JOEL: I use my whisk to beat eggs, but I suppose this is an emergency situation. >"What the hell is going on?" Chakotay exclaimed in exasperation. CROW: ... voicing the thoughts of the readers ... TOM: It's pretty bad if even the characters don't know what's happening. >The enemy behaving erratically was more alarming than facing one that >knew what they were doing. JOEL: Well, sure. No one wants to fight a crazy man. TOM: So you're saying the Borg forgot to take their medication? CROW: What would you give the Borg, anyway? Anti-schitzophrenia pills? >"Harry, back us back into the debris," Chakotay ordered TOM: Or forward us forward into the future! CROW: Or slide to the side to attempt to deride! >coming to a decision. JOEL: That's gotta be a first. >"They must be upto something, I want to know what it is. TOM: Or you could take the chance to get out of there. CROW: What, and actually rescue Janeway? TOM: Silly me. >Carver, fire at will to cover our withdrawl." JOEL: [Riker] I'm not even in this episode! > > > >"I have the sensors on line, Ma'am," Miller reported CROW: If the sensors look like birds, would he have all his ducks in a row? JOEL: What is with you today? >Ensign Abbott started at the sudden intrusion. TOM: [Abbott] Knock first, would you? >She had been in her own silent world of misery and loneliness for some >minutes, CROW: Nice of Miller to let her go on shore leave. >as Miller had gone about his business trying to regain control of as >much of the Argonaut as possible. JOEL: Without a body, that's going to be a neat trick. >"How is Lieutenant Paris?" She asked hopefully. TOM: [Abbott] Is she dead yet? I'm kinda hungry. JOEL: Tom! TOM: Oh, you act as if cannibalism is a *bad* thing. >"Still out cold, Ma'am," he answered apologetically. CROW: So what is being out warm like? >"I will need physical help to bring impulse on line, Ma'am. TOM: Read as: "I need you to press two buttons on a console." >There are a number of manifolds in Engineering that need to be >replaced." JOEL: And, naturally, there are plenty of spares. >Abbott nodded slowly in understanding, the corporal was going to push >her again. CROW: Preferably off a cliff. >"Can you find Voyager?" She asked. TOM: [Miller] Yes; repeats are still running on UPN. >"She's having a bit of a blowup with a couple of cubes," Miller >described a moment later. JOEL: Oh, if only that were literal. >"She's lost shields and warp but otherwise ain't too badly hurt. CROW: So the ship can barely move and can't defend itself, but that's okay? >There is a Kommodan ship out there as well, Ma'am. Sorry, Ma'am." TOM: Uh-oh. Looks like we went back in time again. JOEL: Prepare for a re-telling of the battle we just went through. >She smiled weakly at the apology, CROW: ... as it tipped its hat and kissed her hand. >they had failed to protect Voyager from the Kommodan fleet in its >entirety. TOM: And Voyager being outnumbered is funny to her. JOEL: She's been hanging out with us too long. >She wondered if the Corporal took it as great a personal failure as his >Commanding Officer would. CROW: So who exactly counts as his commanding officer? Winston? TOM: Despite Winston being an ensign? Sure. >She was quickly appraised of his opinion by his next words. JOEL: [Abbott] I'll give you five dollars for those words, as long as you don't speak them. >"If you would go to engineering, TOM: ... assuming the doors still work ... CROW: I think we beat that horse into the ground. >we can make amends and take those little buggers out, Miss?" JOEL: Ewww! BOTS: What? JOEL: Never mind. If you don't know what a bugger is, I'm certainly not going to tell you. >Ensign Abbott would have found the relays Miller wanted replaced without >his guidance. TOM: [Abbott] Really, Corporal, were the neon signs absolutely necessary? >The access cover had been blown clean CROW: The cover was made from glass? >across engineering by the blast from the overload. JOEL: We've said it before, and we'll say it again ... ALL: Fuses! >"This is going to take time," she sighed, looking carefully at the >blackened remains. CROW: Why is she looking so closely? They're burnt. TOM: It must be one of those ink blot tests. JOEL: I see ... a snowman. TOM: Don't be ridiculous. That's obviously a scorpion. CROW: All I see is a calendar. >"We can short the terminals," declared Miller. JOEL: I think they've already been shorted. >"I can control the power good enough without ‘em." TOM: If you don't need the terminals, then why repair them? >"Sure?" she asked cautiously. "If we get hit then there will be no >safety cut outs." CROW: There are safety cut-outs? JOEL: They must be made of paper. TOM: Are they at least coupons? CROW: Sure! Free burial with every redshirt! >"I won't need no safety cut outs," Miller snapped, JOEL: [Micky Dolenz] Safety cut out? We don't need no stinking safety cut outs! >irritation showing in the voice. TOM: And, if you look really closely, you can see exploitation dancing in the background. >Abbott looked up with real alarm. CROW: This is not a drill! Duck and cover! >"You're going to ram them. Aren't you?" JOEL: Well, it worked so well for the Kommodans ... >"Gotta go sometime, Miss. There is a shuttle in a serviceable condition >for you and the others." TOM: Um, question? >"There must be another way!" Abbott appealed. TOM: But there is! JOEL: Go ahead, Servo. TOM: They could set the autopilot. They could tell the computer to set a course and abandon ship. Miller could send the ship on its way and then transfer to the shuttle's systems. They could make a copy of Miller and put -that- on board the shuttle. They could -- JOEL: Okay, that's enough. Your head's starting to smoke again. >Miller said nothing, if his holo-emitter had been working he would have >shrugged the question off. CROW: You could do that verbally, too. >She sat and thought for a moment. JOEL: Well, there's a first time for everything. >Argonaut was too badly damaged to do more in battle, TOM: On the other hand, it could hardly do less. >it was now nothing more than a lifeboat for two seriously injured crew, >one of whom would not recover in their current state, herself and a >holographic corporal. CROW: I counted five in that tally. Who's the other bloke? JOEL: A message to all you kids out there: improper punctuation causes pregnancy. TOM: Forget pregnancy; this is full-blown spontaneous existence! >It would be a lonely place. CROW: ... for a day or two, until Voyager picked you up. >She did not think she could stand that again, not after the last time. JOEL: Miller's that bad, huh? >Grimly she set about the rewiring Miller demanded. TOM: If she gets beset by dwarves like before, I'm calling a time out. >As she worked a germ of an idea came to her. CROW: I've heard that ideas are like infections, but this is preposterous. >"Corporal Miller, can you identify the power source for the anomaly?" >She asked. TOM: God is not only asking the questions, but is female! JOEL: I've always suspected as much. >There was an interminable silence before he replied. CROW: Empires rose and fell. TOM: Six million television shows went on and off the air. JOEL: Every word that was ever spoken was spoken again. CROW: Vanna White got her own sitcom. TOM: Now that's a little silly, even with an eternity to work with. >"Aye, Ma'am. Dunno what is powering it though. Tain't normal anti-matter." JOEL: It's peanutbutter-and-jelly anti-matter! TOM: Better put that on anti-bread, or you'll get really sticky. >"Could we get close enough to use the self-destruct and blow it up?" CROW: Didn't they already try that with one of the derelicts? TOM: Ah, but this time it'll work! CROW: Why? TOM: Author's prerogative. >"I don't have access to the self-destruct system, Miss. It requires >manual over-ride. JOEL: Well, it just so happens that Abbott, here, has a body. Fully functional and everything. CROW: Fully functional? And how would you know that? JOEL: Get your mind out of the recycling systems. >I think Captain Bennett, the ships original Captain, modified the system." TOM: Makes sense. Wouldn't want to set it off accidentally. CROW: Like we've been wanting Chakotay to do since page one. >"I can probably handle that," Abbott volunteered. "Get us in contact >with Voyager." > >"Aye, Ma'am!" CROW: Erm, why? JOEL: Well, I thought by "manual override," they meant an actual lever or button somewhere. But apparently they consider it "manual" if it's in the computer, and she needs the access codes. TOM: But Miller's in the computer! JOEL: Yup. TOM: And it's not manual if it's in a computer, because computers are automations! JOEL: Yup. CROW: Plot hole? JOEL: Yup. TOM: More like a contrivance. >There was silence for ten minutes then Miller suddenly exploded, >"Gordon, bleedin' Bennett! CROW: Would that be *Captain* Gordon Bennett? TOM: Who? CROW: The original captain of the Argonaut! Weren't you paying attention? TOM: I'm trying not to. Really, really trying. >Would you Adam and Eve it!" JOEL: This is one of those "coconut" comments again, isn't it? >Abbott looked up sharply, she did not have a clue what the hologram >actually meant, JOEL: Well, at least we're not alone. >but the tone was enough to portray a certain level of shock. "Corporal?" > >"Sorry, Ma'am," he responded TOM: Yet another character apologizes for a mild invective. CROW: Twenty-fourth-century society must be really harsh. >recovering from his own surprise. "The Borg have taken out one of their >own. JOEL: This mild recap I think we can stand. >Used the Kommodan ship like one of them bolass things the spicks use!" JOEL: That, however, surpassed all understanding. CROW: What's a bolass? TOM: And that "s" word's a derogative, isn't it? JOEL: A derogative meaning Irishman, I think. A bolass must be something that spins an object around, then releases it. CROW: Oh, you mean a particle accelerator. JOEL: I suppose. >"Have you got comms back with Voyager?" Abbott asked nervously, >blanching at the image of the two ships colliding in her mind. TOM: What's the problem? Two perceived enemies decking it out brings a smile to *my* face. >"As soon as you're ready, Miss," he agreed. > >"I'm ready now. CROW: [Miller] Are you sure? You could comb your hair, put on some clothes -- you know, make yourself presentable. >Can you transport B'Elanna to the shuttle? JOEL: [Abbott] But leave Winston here. He deserves to die. >Then there is another little mod' I would like help with." TOM: Oh, she wants to play Japanese games on an American system. JOEL: Those little chips are cheap, but installation's a pain. [Joel picks up Tom and they file out] [ ... 1 ... 2 ... 3 ... 4 ... 5 ... 6 ... ] From: pieceoftheuniverse Newsgroups: alt.tv.mst3k.mstings Subject: [MiSTing] Trouble of Dwarves (9/9) Date: Fri, 21 Dec 2001 10:51:42 -0700 Reply-To: po...@pieceoftheuniverse.com Message-ID: X-Newsreader: Forte Agent 1.8/32.548 MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Lines: 1668 X-Authenticated-User: pieceoftheuniverse X-Comments: This message was posted through Spamkiller.Newsfeeds.com X-Comments2: IMPORTANT: Newsfeeds.com does not condone, nor support, spam or any illegal or copyrighted postings. X-Comments3: IMPORTANT: Under NO circumstances will postings containing illegal or copyrighted material through this service be tolerated!! X-Report: Please report illegal or inappropriate use to You may also use our online abuse reporting from: http://www.newsfeeds.com/abuseform.htm X-Abuse-Info: Please be sure to forward a copy of ALL headers, INCLUDING the body (DO NOT SEND ATTACHMENTS) Organization: Newsfeeds.com http://www.newsfeeds.com 73,000+ UNCENSORED Newsgroups. Path: archiver1.google.com!news1.google.com!sn-xit-02!supernews.com!newsfeed.direct.ca!look.ca!newshub2.rdc1.sfba.home.com!news.home.com!local-out2.newsfeeds.com!spamkiller.newsgroups.com Xref: archiver1.google.com alt.tv.mst3k.mstings:336 [Cambot pans out to find Joel and the 'bots lined up behind the desk] JOEL: So for this break I thought we'd do something a little different, and come up with ways of easily identifying fanfic main characters. TOM: Preferably so the enemies know who to kill. JOEL: Well, to be realistic, Servo, more like so the enemies won't waste their time, and will kill randomly-placed background characters instead. CROW: Right. Because that redshirt count is getting awfully stale. JOEL: Too true. Crow, would you like to go first? CROW: Sure! Reading this 'fic has brought to mind that master of the terrible fiction, Ratliff! TOM & JOEL: Gahhh! TOM: Don't *do* that! CROW: So I've created this! [Crow pulls up a large headdress that would rival most popes', and sets it heavily on the desk. The metal creaks under the strain] It's made out of poly-composite lead, and is an accessory to practically any outfit! Around the base is the wearers' name: Marrissa Amber Flores Banana-Fana-Fo-Fada Picard! JOEL: That was ... frightening, Crow. CROW: It has the added bonus of crushing the wearer! JOEL: Always an admirable goal. Tom? TOM: I can't help but notice that whenever villains try to shoot any of the heroes, they miss by a mile or only deliver glancing blows. So I've created this fashionable and useful sweater [pulls out a sweater from under the desk] with a bulls-eye on both sides! Now not only can the villain take careful aim, but can improve his or her shot in the process! Also available on T-shirts and baseball caps! JOEL: Very nice, Servo. Well, my invention is a simple take on the age-old Catholic artistic process of putting a glowing circle around Jesus' head. Nothing in real life can generate that kind of halo, though, so instead I've taken a picture of Jesus I found in storage, and cut out -His- head. [he pulls out a picture frame and puts his head in the cut-out] See? Now I'm blessed, and everyone knows they can't hurt me! CROW: Well, until it's time for your crucifixion. JOEL: We can always hope. TOM: In an emergency, you can stand against a wall and hope to blend in. JOEL: That's why I left the hook on the back. CROW: Won't that tangle in your hair? JOEL: [tries to pull off the frame, and can't] D'oh! [lights, siren, general panic] ALL: We've got fanfic sign! [ ... 6 ... 5 ... 4 ... 3 ... 2 ... 1 ... ] [As they file into the theatre, Crow has a firm grip on Joel's frame] CROW: Ready? JOEL: As I'll ever be. CROW: One, two, three ... [he pulls, and there's a terrible ripping sound. Joel lets loose a scream, and the frame flies off to the other end of the theatre] JOEL: *Whew* Thanks, Crow. > > > >Ensign Abbott wriggled, TOM: She's got ants in her pants! JOEL: She's doing the Monster Mash! CROW: It's a graveyard smash! >trying to make herself comfortable in the Argonaut's command chair, TOM: [chair designer] What's wrong? Are the spikes too much? >it felt much too large for her slight frame, JOEL: It's like when you're a little kid, and you try on your dad's shoes. >or was her tiny body too small for the post? CROW: Hey! How did she know we were talking about crucifixion earlier? >She wondered. TOM: She marveled, she contemplated, she did everything but think. >Either way, appearances would be important, if she were to persuade >Commander Chakotay she could do what she was going to propose. JOEL: [Abbott] But we -can- get married, sir! Forget that old hag Janeway! [The theatre shakes, accompanied by a resounding boom] JOEL: Sorry! [aside] Touchy today, isn't she? >He would have to think she was confident CROW: Besides the fact that he knows her? >and she knew she would not be able to do that dancing foot to foot with >nerves. TOM: At least that might be mildly entertaining. >That only left her hands. JOEL: So she put them to the right, instead. >She gripped the arms tightly. CROW: So she's huddled into the chair? Oh, -that- will inspire confidence. >"You can join Lieutenant Paris in the shuttle, Ma'am?" Miller offered >quietly. TOM: Winston must have gone AWOL. JOEL: With cracked ribs and other assorted ailments? TOM: Best way to get out of a war is to fake injury. CROW: He must have faked smashing into the ceiling, too. >"I'm pretty sure I can get there JOEL: Well, one would hope he'd know where the shuttle is. >and I'm less than certain Voyager will find the modified torpedoes?" TOM: Modified torpedoes? When did they modify torpedoes? CROW: They're probably going to start beaming them to targets again. >"If you can't then we will be dead anyhow!" Abbott snapped ALL: Hurrah! >with the last of her courage. "Put Voyager on before I lose what courage >I've got." JOEL: Too late, it's already gone. Or weren't you paying attention to the narrator? >"Ma'am." > >Chakotay's worried features appeared upon the screen. TOM: Ack! It's the man without a face! CROW: Mel Gibson's not all that terrible. >Behind him Llinos Abbott could see several terminals billowing smoke and >fire. JOEL: But not the plot-critical ones in front of him. >The Borg had obviously found them again as they played chase through the >rotting carcasses of dead ships. TOM: Chase? Here I thought it was freeze tag! >"It's good to see you are alive and well, Ensign," Chakotay opened. CROW: Well, alive, anyway. >"We are having a spot of trouble," he waved his arm expansively. JOEL: That's like calling the Grand Canyon a small hole in the ground. >"I suggest you try and get out, make what repairs you can and follow >the direction of the Captain." TOM: [Abbott] Well, okay, sir, but do you really think my getting kidnapped by the Borg will help any? >"Can't do that," Abbott breathed. CROW: Oh, good, she's still breathing. We were worried for a minute. >"I'm on my own with Corporal Miller. JOEL: [Abbott] And that's a fate worse than death! >We put Lieutenant Paris and Ensign Winston in a shuttle. TOM: Finally Winston gets a mention. JOEL: Interesting, though, that they had crewed the ship with all of four people. >Miller has programmed it to head out of the anomaly. CROW: I thought they -were- out of the anomaly. TOM: Warp eight isn't what it used to be. >We launched it ten minutes ago. Winston will die if you can't catch them." JOEL: In other words, no rush. >Chakotay made to interrupt her, but Abbott lumbered on, her lip >quivering with the control. TOM: [Abbott] The power! I can make Chakotay shut up anytime I want! This is great! >"Please Sir. We think we can take out the Borg. But we need help." CROW: [Chakotay] Okay. The men in white coats will be beaming right over. >There was a pause as Chakotay glanced at Tactical for confirmation. JOEL: [Chakotay] It's true! You *do* need help! >"What weapons do you have, Ensign?" Chakotay reasoned gently. TOM: A couple sticks, a stone, and some great insults should it come down to a battle of wits! >"You have more torpedoes than we do. But yours won't dent the cube, CROW: I think they're looking to destroy it, rather than dent it. >even in its damaged condition. You haven't the power to fire your phasors, JOEL: Why not? TOM: Legislation. Congress voted her down. >there is no Warp power or shields." CROW: In reality, no. But this is Star Trek. >"I have Argonaut and Corporal Miller," Abbott responded petulantly. JOEL: [Indiana Jones] Only the petulant man will pass! >"We are going to blow the anomaly up!" TOM: [Abbott] And then a little to the side! And then up again! And then a little more to the side! >Chakotay's face puckered CROW: Sour beer face! >in horror at the implication of Abbott's suggestion, "You can't.." JOEL: [Chakotay] Didn't you get the memo about Winston being the author's favourite? >He started to be immediately interrupted. TOM: Fortunately, he was only interrupting himself, so no one noticed the oddity. >"Please, Sir!" Abbott was now imploring. "I don't want to be the only >survivor if Voyager is lost and I can't repair this ship on my own!" CROW: So her big plan is that instead of just Miller dying in a kamikaze maneuver, she gets to go, too? JOEL: Looks like it. CROW: Just checking. >On Voyager's bridge Chakotay looked around desperately for any form of >help from the others. TOM: One crewman tossed him a life preserver, another stood ready with a first aid kit. >There was none, all were engrossing themselves in their displays, JOEL: [crew] Ignore the crazy woman! Ignore the crazy woman! >all too aware of what the outcome was likely to be, which ever solution >was taken. CROW: Which, succinctly, is either mild death or well-done death. >Finally he looked back at Abbott and took in the dishevelled and pale >figure sat in the Captains chair. TOM: Speaking of death, it looks like the Grim Reaper's taken command of the ship. >He could even see how white her knuckles were as they gripped the arms. JOEL: No, that's bone. She was more injured than she let on. >How small she looked, he decided, CROW: Why, she's a Lilliputian! >not only to occupy the chair, but to carry out the action she was proposing. TOM: Fortunately, there's an action forklift in storage. >"What do you need us to do?" He sighed. JOEL: [Abbott] I need someone to witness my will ... >"You have to lure the cube near enough to the centre to be affected by >the explosion," Abbott explained, CROW: How, exactly? What is catnip to the Borg? TOM: Get them to assimilate a cat, you won't need a substitute. >her voice now so quiet he had to strain to hear. "Corporal Miller reckons >he can manage half impulse, JOEL: [Southern] Well, I do declare! >but it won't be enough to outrun them and we can barely manoeuvre. CROW: So one of the outcomes of this plan, then, is that Abbott becomes Borg? >We should have a fully charged phasor bank TOM: But Chakotay just said ... never mind. >and a couple of torpedoes to keep them interested, if you can get them >within 100 kilometres?" JOEL: A hundred kilometers from what? CROW: Well, a black hole would come in handy. >"Do your plans include something for escape?" Chakotay asked, his voice >now very gentle. TOM: Sure! A week in Barbados, once you get back to Earth. >Ensign Abbott nodded. "I've put a life support set in a torpedo. JOEL: I hope she remembered to take out all the explosives. >If there is time, I'll use that as a warp powered escape pod. CROW: But torpedoes don't have a warp drive! TOM: Perhaps another modification? CROW: Sure! Why not? And while she's at it, she can install a holodeck in case she gets bored, a replicator in case she gets hungry, and then, if she aims just right, she can be home before Voyager! >Corporal Miller has arranged the launch so that the acceleration doesn't >kill me." JOEL: The launch might not kill her, but if he forgets and aims her towards the Borg cube by mistake ... >"And Miller?" > >"Gotta remain until the ship explodes, Sir," Millers voice cut in. TOM: For, just so we get this straight, no readily identified reason. >"Can't get out the Doctors emitter is broke." CROW: So the hyper-intelligent artificial life-form can't devise another way to survive save walking out or being shot through a tube? >"Give me a few minutes to think?" JOEL: It's your first time; they'd best give you a couple hours. >Chakotay found it TOM: [Chakotay] Hey, I thought I lost that! >was his turn to allow a note of pleading to enter his voice. CROW: [Kim] Sir, you're sounding like me. Stop it. >"We'll set course for the centre," Abbott announced. JOEL: [Abbott] We're going ahead with this one way or another, and by the time we're there it'll be too late to stop us. >"It will take us thirty minutes anyhow." > >He face cut out. ALL: Ouch! >For an instant they were left with the distressing sight of the mortally >injured Argonaut TOM: If it's mortally injured, shouldn't it explode? >slowly turning about, setting course, CROW: I didn't know you could see a ship setting its course. >before Carver snapped the view screen back to the JOEL: ... future! >Borg cube with a curt, "We've been spotted again, Sir." TOM: Ick. I hate polka-dotted starships. >"They've fixed their targeting," he added un-necessarily CROW: And this is different from anyone else's comments how? >as a beam slammed into Voyager and he was showered by more sparks. JOEL: Strange. Whenever a -redshirt- mans a console that explodes, they die. But he just shrugs it off. >"Hull breach deck four." TOM: He's very calm about it. CROW: [Carver, deadpan] It looks like we're going to die. [monotone scream] >Chakotay came to a decision. JOEL: Twice in one 'fic?! TOM: [getting up from his seat] Excuse me ... JOEL: Where do you think you're going? TOM: I have a girl to call. JOEL: Sit down. She was only speaking metaphorically, and I doubt Lucifer's wearing a parka anyway. [Tom sits back down] >It was not an easy decision, but the only one available. CROW: Most captains would ask for opinions at this point, but he's only a commander. >The Borg cube in its damaged state was still a match for Voyager TOM: Hey, it's the Star Trek memory game! JOEL: With matches like that, no one would win. >and she was slowly being taken apart. CROW: May require some assembly. TOM: Batteries not included. JOEL: Not suitable for life forms under five. >"Take us on a course that will bring us within range of Argonaut," he >announced heavily. CROW: His words dropped to the floor, crawled to Carver, and wriggled their way into his ear. >"Chakotay to Argonaut." > >Llinos Abbott's face appeared upon the view screen TOM: [Abbott] Didn't I just finish with you? >as she looked up apologetically. "I'm trying to repair the holo-emitter," >she gabbled apologetically. JOEL: "Gabbled"? CROW: Bets against her fixing it? Anyone? TOM: So, is she really apologetic, or does saying it twice negate the emotion? >"I'm hoping to see somebody human once more." CROW: Well, she's wising up. She realizes that Chakotay isn't human. >"Keep your comms open and we can talk?" Chakotay offered immediately, TOM: [Chakotay] After all, it'd be a shame not to have your last words to carve into your tombstone. >swallowing hard on something that had got caught in his throat. JOEL: [Chakotay] Damn replicated chicken bones ... >"I'm bringing Voyager in as you asked. CROW: [Chakotay] You'll waive the late fees, right? >Just make sure you reach that escape pod." TOM: Just reach it, mind. Don't actually get in or anything. CROW: With all of the modifications she made to it, there'd be no room for her. >"I'll try Commander!" She promised. A brave little smile lit her face. JOEL: Tragically, the fire spread to the rest of her body. >She would be an attractive woman if she smiled more often, Chakotay >decided in passing TOM: He made a pass at her? CROW: She's weak, she's vulnerable, she's going to die ... perfect timing. JOEL: Sicko. >as she bent again, CROW: ... and now we know what he's looking at. >seemingly determined to keep working on the small mobile emitter. JOEL: When, in reality, she was reprising her role in "Pinocchio." >"Engineering I am going to want warp at a moments notice. When will it >be ready?" TOM: [Caerey] Five minutes sooner than the last time you asked. >"Ten minutes, Sir. Provided we don't get hit again," Joe Caerey hissed. CROW: Hit by snakes? >He was not enjoying himself as much now. JOEL: They must have moved all the female officers one deck up. >A full third of his engineering team were now in sickbay, TOM: ... participating in a "last rites" party. >from injuries sustained as they battled with the incessant jury repairs CROW: How do you repair a jury? JOEL: Fill it with alternates, I suppose. >to keep power flowing. TOM: ... until it reached the Supreme Court, at which point it was out of his hands. >Another quarter JOEL: Hey, he's rich! >were linked with the damage control teams CROW: ... by chains ... >as they struggled with the TOM: ... oars to keep the ship moving. JOEL: I hope they at least have someone keeping the beat. CROW: They did, but every time he said "stroke!" someone would collapse. >evermore threatening damage to the ship. JOEL: Well, stop threatening the ship, then. Seems simple enough. >Now desperately short staffed CROW: Even I don't want to go there. >he was scurrying between consoles TOM: Like a rat in a maze with no cheese. >screaming at individuals to get them working on the next priority. JOEL: It would probably help if he told them what that *was*, but that was a minor detail. >Kim tried his best to navigate between the activities of their Borg foe >and the rubble, CROW: The rubble had gotten bored, and had started a conga line. TOM: Well, that would certainly be distracting. >though it was not enough, the ship shuddered under repeated blows. JOEL: Blow*hards*, you mean. >Three blows in quick succession rendered the ship immobile and defenceless. ALL: Hurrah! >"Engineering, I need power!" Chakotay hissed TOM: Being acting captain of the ship isn't enough? >"I'm working on it," Caerey's voice snapped back. "I need more crew! CROW: Sure thing! We'll just replicate some more! >I've only got four left on their feet!" JOEL: The others, for some strange reason, are walking on their hands. >Chakotay grimaced, Caerey had reason to snap. TOM: If Caerey were wound any tighter, he'd play music. >"I'll find you some more," he promised quickly. CROW: Look behind the refrigerator; everything lost gets there eventually. >"Harry, go down to Sickbay and the Mess, pick up JOEL: ... the mess, and I want to see my face in that floor, mister! >anybody in the category of walking wounded. TOM: What about the walking dead? CROW: That's either supposed to be "waking dead" or "living dead." I can't decide which. TOM: Well, "brain dead" already defines the crew ... >Take them to Engineering. No matter what the Doctor says." JOEL: [Doctor] But that man is missing half his skull! TOM: [Kim] He can walk, can't he? Chakotay's orders. >"We haven't time. CROW: [Kim] The episode's due to end any minute, and I -hate- to be continued! >They are closing in!" Kim screamed, waving at the image of the Borg cube >on the view screen. JOEL: Very friendly of him, don't you think? >"Do It!" TOM: Nike. >With a glare at the Commander, Kim rose slowly and strode to the lift. CROW: For a guy who was worried all of ten seconds ago about imminent death, he's very calm. > > > >"I think I can recharge two of the phasor banks, Ma'am?" Corporal Miller >offered softly to Ensign Abbott JOEL: I didn't know phaser banks were lined with down. >as she watched in horrified silence as Voyager was systematically struck >by Borg weapons. TOM: Oh, well thank goodness there's at least a system to it. >"We can take the heat off Voyager?" CROW: Yup, but then you need to stay out of the kitchen. >"But if we do we might not reach our detonation point," Abbott pleaded. JOEL: You've already consigned yourself to die. What's the difference? >"Nor will Voyager, Ma'am," Miller observed politely. TOM: Hello? Voyager being pummelled to death! Act quickly! >She nodded absently in agreement. "Then we had better go then," she >added, remembering that the hologram could not see her. CROW: If a hologram isn't a hologram in that it isn't hologrammatic, but is still around, what does that make it? JOEL: Ow. TOM: Apparently, a headache. >"I'll take the conn if you can handle weapons and power?" CROW: The currently non-existant weapons and the smattering of power? TOM: Perfect for the currently non-existant and yet slightly-there being in the computer to deal with, then. >Miller coughed nervously. JOEL: He must have a virtual frog in his throat. TOM: And remember, folks: "virtual" means "not really." >"Power is not a problem," Miller admitted carefully. "We haven't got any >control over it. CROW: Absolute power runs amok? >It is either there or not." TOM: There! CROW: Not! TOM: There! CROW: Not! TOM: There! CROW: Not! TOM: There! CROW: Not! JOEL: Guys, guys: it's all that and more! [pause] BOTS: Huh? JOEL: Got you to shut up, didn't it? >"But you said.." Abbott protested. > >"I said I could handle it," Miller admitted. "I didn't say there was no >control TOM: This guy needs his dictionary revised. >because, well, it didn't seem important to you at the time," he added >hurriedly. CROW: [Miller] You were fainting every five minutes, and scraping Winston into the dustbin. >"So all we have is directional control?" Abbott asked carefully, JOEL: [Miller] No. TOM: [Abbott] Life support? JOEL: No. TOM: Air? JOEL: Seven minutes' worth. TOM: Weapons? JOEL: Sorry. TOM: Engines? JOEL: Smashed. TOM: Replicators? JOEL: Giving out some black goo. TOM: Edible? JOEL: No. It's Starbucks coffee. >wishing fervently she had got a better report from the Corporal in the >first place. CROW: [stern teacher] I expect better work from you. See me after class. >"Ma'am." > >She sighed deeply and took her seat at the pilots console. Where she >discovered that the Corporal had been less than honest there as well. >The ship could turn left, go down or forward. TOM: Since direction in space is purely relative, they have complete freedom of movement. JOEL: Assuming she can roll the ship along the Z axis, that is. >She sighed again. CROW: And blew down the console. >Corporal Miller had done an excellent job on giving her hope and courage. >But to do it he had left her not knowing half of their real situation. TOM: And thus robbed her of such in one fell swoop. >She prodded the controls again, rolling Argonaut onto course. JOEL: Hey, they *can* roll! So they'll be fine. CROW: Damn. > > > >The Borg cube seemed to have lost interest in Voyager. TOM: [child] Mom, I'm done with my toys! Can I have the boxes they came in, please? >From the bridge of Voyager CROW: As opposed to, say, the bridge of the anomaly ... >they had watched the giant cube spin gently infront of them in >mystification. JOEL: [Borg] Who *are* these people? TOM: [Borg] I dunno, but I assimilated one of them and couldn't think for two hours afterwards! >For nearly twenty minutes it had sat there neither firing at them or >beaming drones aboard. JOEL: [Borg] Should we kill them? TOM: [Borg] Well, the Queen wants them assimilated, but -I'm- not going to touch them. -You- do it. >"I don't think they have control, Sir?" Ensign Kala ventured. CROW: Remote-controlled Borg? TOM: New from Tyco! That's how you spell "RC"! >For the entire time she had been bombarding the cube with every sensor >system that still worked, JOEL: In lieu of weapons, I suppose. CROW: It's the deadly sensor sweep! Run! >trying to find a chink TOM: Hey now! JOEL: That's the second derogatory term I've seen. I'm starting to have serious doubts about the author's intelligence. TOM: "Starting"? >or a reason for its sudden reticence. Now she was scanning sub-space >trying to pick up CROW: A date for Valentine's Day. >the tell-tale JOEL: Heart? TOM: Ewww. *I* wouldn't pick that up. >signs of Borg transmissions. CROW: [radio dj] This is KBORG: all assimilation, all the time. A big "hello there" to all you wonderful life forms being turned into cyborgs; this one goes out to you. >"In fact, I don't think anybody is controlling it. I can't find any long >range Borg signals." JOEL: They must be broadcasting in shortwave. >"You mean they've just died?" Chakotay demanded incredulously, looking >over his shoulder. TOM: [Chakotay] I can feel them behind me! >"No, Sir!" She responded guardedly. CROW: [Kala] No one shall pass! >The drones seem to be perfectly healthy and they are scanning us periodically. JOEL: Stuck in a loop, perhaps? TOM: [Borg] Oh look, a ship! (bzzt) Oh look, a ship! (bzzt) Oh, look! >It's just that they aren't talking to the Collective. CROW: Do you think a group called the Collective only takes collect calls? JOEL: No wonder they're not talking. I wouldn't talk to them, either. >It's as if they know they are supposed to be after us, but don't know what >to do with us, now we are there for the taking?" TOM: Or maybe you were caught ahead of schedule, and they're still getting dressed. >"Engineering to Bridge. Impulse is back on line," Caerey's voice >interrupted the conversation. CROW: http://www.impulse.com ? JOEL: Get it now while it's available! Operators are standing by! >"Working on shields." > >"Back us away," Chakotay issued the order quickly. TOM: These folks are all rabbit and no tortoise. >"We'll try and sneak away while they are wondering." JOEL: I tried that when I was little, but I got caught with one foot out the window. >"They are targeting," Carver warned as Kim applied power. > >"All stop!" Chakotay demanded as quickly bringing things to a halt >again. CROW: Intense! Stopping! Action! >There was now a situation of impasse. TOM: As opposed to the rest of the 'fic, which was a situation of boredom. >If Voyager moved, or, he guessed, showed a build up of weapons the Borg >would JOEL: ... start up the Cold War all over again. >undoubtedly fire on Voyager again. If she lay 'dead' then they would be >ignored. CROW: [the Muppets] Possums ... In ... Space ....! >"Perhaps the Colonel has gotten to the Unimatrix?" Carver offered >hopefully. > >In a galaxy of possible solutions, it was extreme. TOM: That's putting it mildly. Feed the odds of that one into the Improbability Drive, you could find the Ruler of the Universe. >But just possibly the only one with any grain of sense to it JOEL: I'll concede a single grain of sense exists in this 'fic -- TOM: -- somewhere -- JOEL: -- but not in that statement. >Chakotay had to agree. JOEL: Thank you. That's very big of you. >"It doesn't help us though," he pointed out. CROW: Put your finger down! That's not polite! TOM: Pointing is usually done with the index finger, anyway. >"Argonaut is approaching," Kala prompted. "Direct intercept course with >the cube." JOEL: Seeing as how the Borg aren't going anywhere, does that mean they'll collide? >"Tactical!" Chakotay snapped. > >"Llinoss what are you doing?" He demanded TOM: Who? CROW: Abbott's having a hell of a time getting her name straight in this 'fic. Hopefully they'll spell it right on her tombstone. >as the crippled ship appeared upon the view screen, showing her smashed >broadside to Voyager. JOEL: [Argonaut] Look! Isn't it pretty? >There was no reply. > >"She will pass between us and the cube, Sir," Carver observed. TOM: Excuse my art, but: Cube: _____________________ | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | ---------------------- Argonaut: . Voyager: . And my point is: so what? >"We may be able to back away when she does?" JOEL: And die with her? >"She will also be blown to pieces!" Chakotay snapped. CROW: So do the Borg only have one weapon left? 'Cause that's the only way that could even have a chance of being successful. >"Get a transport lock on Abbott." > >"Can't, Sir," Ensign Kala responded. TOM: Revenge of the Catty Females of Voyager! JOEL: If that spawns another "feline race" fanfic, I'm blaming you. >"Transporters are non-functional." CROW: Like that's ever stopped them before! >They were left as helpless bystanders as the Argonaut sailed closer. TOM: Jason waved hello as he battled off skeleton warriors ... >The Borg cube seemed to ignore the ship. Until.. > >At almost point blank range, CROW: Which begs the question: what is point blank range? JOEL: At the point at which it is impossible to miss. CROW: So at -almost- point blank range? JOEL: Depends on who you are. If you're the hero, you deliver a fatal blow. TOM: If you're a villain, your shot goes wide and might even hit one of your own men. >two of Argonauts phaser banks fired, JOEL: [bank] I'm sorry, but we'll have to let you go. >straight through the hole that marked the side of the giant cube. TOM: ... and right out the other side. >At the same time four torpedoes lanced out of her stern tubes, CROW: ... to joust with the Black Knight. >heading for the same target. JOEL: Straight through the hoop; nothing but net! [All cheer] >Slowly she turned and headed for the centre of the anomaly again as >explosions ripped through the cube. TOM: [teacher] Argonaut, remember to use scissors next time, and leave the explosives alone. >Finally a second phaser beam lanced out. CROW: From who or from where? No one knows. JOEL: Borg don't have phasers. CROW: That didn't stop them earlier. >It struck an undamaged side and had little power, TOM: So she used up all her power on two lousy shots? JOEL: Conservation on limited resources must not be taught in the Academy. >but it obviously had the effect that the crew aboard Argonaut expected. CROW: All two of them, you mean? >The cube started to follow and fire at them. Two beams lanced out, both >missed by a narrow margin. TOM: And remember, folks: this is at almost point-blank range. >"Argonaut brought down their targeting," Carver blurted. JOEL: And slurred their vision with alcohol, apparently. >"Severe power fluctuations. Secondary explosions on multiple decks." CROW: The Borg don't have fuses, either. TOM: You would think that one of the species on all those worlds ... >"But it is still not dead," Chakotay hissed as another weak beam shot >out. JOEL: [Chakotay] Well, they're done for. Who's for tea? > > > >Weak beam or not, it was more than Argonauts weakened defences could >stand. TOM: So the ship blew up, then? CROW: Too much to hope for, I think. TOM: But he -said- ... >Upon the bridge Abbott was showered by sparks JOEL: Nothing like a nice relaxing shower of sparks. CROW: Especially if you're covered in water at the time. >as she wrestled with her rapidly diminishing controls. TOM: [Abbott] "Do not wash in warm water." *Now* it tells me! >"New breaches decks 14 to 18," Miller reported dispassionately. CROW: Hey! I wonder if they've got the flared leg? JOEL: "Breaches," not "britches." CROW: Oh. Are they at least flaring? >"I've lost phasers and we are venting plasma." TOM: The Kommodans could fire it, but all these guys can do is vent it. >"I think it is time you left, Ma'am," he added. "There is nothing left >for you to do." JOEL: Not that she was doing much, anyway, with her controls all shrunken. >"Not without you, Corporal," she refuted. CROW: I've got it! Abbott is in love with Miller! TOM: Well, that -would- explain why she wants to die with him ... JOEL: Kind of a "Romeo and Juliet" type thing? CROW: That's it exactly! TOM: It's not as if she'd be the first to fall for a hologram. >"I couldn't have done this without your help. The emitter is repaired, so >we go together!" CROW: It's that type of romantic hogwash that only solidifies my theory. >The ship rocked again. JOEL: If the ship's a-rockin', don't come a-knockin'! >"Lost a pylon, the one venting plasma," Miller reported with a little >satisfaction, Argonaut was slightly less likely to explode. TOM: From internal problems, anyway. There is still the Borg ... >"Three hundred klicks to target. I think we can abandon ship >now, Ma'am. I can't do anything either." CROW: But what about ... but he said ... JOEL: It's no use, Crow. Just let it go. CROW: But I want to see someone -die-, here! >"Come on then," Abbott sighed, TOM: [Abbott] Dammit, I hate saving my own life ... >getting up and staggering for the lift as the ship was again rocked. CROW: I don't fully understand how or why the ship would rock, anyway. If the line of fire was off to one side of the ship, wouldn't the ship begin to roll in that direction? JOEL: Conservation of momentum has nothing to do with Star Trek physics. >It was a desperate race as she staggered down corridors, heading for the >torpedo room and her makeshift escape pod. TOM: Sadly, she had failed to realize that the several large doors with the words "escape pod" stenciled on them did, in fact, lead to escape pods. >Every few minutes the ship was rocked as it was time and again targeted >by the cube that was chasing. CROW: ... for those of you thinking that it's Voyager who's trying to kill one of their own. >Twice her way was blocked as massive girders from the ships structure >crashed through the ceiling in front of her, JOEL: The ceiling's in front of her? TOM: Well no wonder she's having problems. She should walk on the floor like a normal person. >making her scream in terror. Numbed with terror, CROW: Which is it, then? She can't scream and be numbed at the same time. JOEL: Depends on the anesthetic, doesn't it? >she barely noticed when she arrived, TOM: [as if reading] You are approaching the escape pod ... you have reached the escape pod ... you have passed the escape pod ... CROW: ... Burma Shave. >simply accepting the Corporals commands as he prepared her for launch. JOEL: The guy without the body, you mean? >Despite the Corporals changes in the launch sequence for her torpedo >life pod, the launch was still horrific. TOM: [Abbott] Hey! The holodeck doesn't work! And the replicator only makes lukewarm coffee! >Her feet felt as if they would be driven through her brain JOEL: Well no wonder she's having trouble. She got in upside-down. >as it accelerated hard from the tube and she screamed again, uncontrollably >until blackness descended upon her. CROW: And that concludes our documentary, "Life of a Tampon." JOEL: *Crow*! > > > >"Get after that torpedo!" Chakotay fairly screamed TOM: So either like a little girl, or like someone at a Renaissance faire. >as they saw the small ball of light appear from the back of Argonaut and >swerve away. CROW: Whoops. Left skid marks all over the universe again. >"Where are the transporters?" JOEL: In the transporter room? TOM: That's a good place for them. >Behind them Argonaut detonated as tonnes of antimatter met matter in an >uncontrolled confluence. CROW: "When Thesauruses Attack" will not be seen tonight, due to an uncontrolled confluence. >It was silent and dark explosion that bloomed further and brighter as >nearby derelicts were caught in the influence and exploded in a fabulous >display of pyrotechnics. JOEL: Only know does the author realize he doesn't have to answer to the budgeting team when requesting special effects. >The Borg cube following the Argonaut so closely was the first. TOM: Okay. What about the -other- Borg cube? >The bloom extended towards the centre, CROW: Center of what? Itself? >finally catching the small planetoid that formed the centre. JOEL: ... killing billions of simians that had only just learned rudimentary language skills. >It blew with the finality of the end of existence, TOM: [sniffs] Poor little monkeys. >the shockwaves travelling at the speed of light, not just in the physical universe, but through sub-space. CROW: For no readily defined reason, but it *sounds* cool. >Voyager travelling on the thresh hold of both was struck by both. JOEL: Wise man says: he who sits on fence will be sore between. >"Don't lose that torpedo!" Chakotay demanded again TOM: Oh, come on. Ensigns are a dime a dozen. >as Voyager bucked, twisted and span in the gravitational influences. CROW: Intergalactic rodeo! >For thirty seconds she was tossed and turned like a leaf, then all was >silent again. CROW: And she made it for the full thirty! Give her a hand! >"I've got the torpedo, Sir!" Carver shook of his own alarm, JOEL: [Carver] I've got to remember not to set that thing to "vibrate." >then assured the commander. "Engine has died. TOM: You mean the warp engine that no torpedo has? I would expect so. >I can tractor it into the shuttle bay. Damage reports coming in." CROW: Through the shuttle bay as well, or through regular channels? >Chakotay allowed himself a grateful smile at the outwardly calm ensign. JOEL: [Chakotay] Could I have some of what you're smoking? >"Do it!" He said simply, "then get after the shuttle Argonaut launched." TOM: Then get the house that Jack built, the old lady in her shoe, and tell off the cow that went over the moon. >Chakotay hotfooted it to the shuttle bay CROW: The blacksmith had mistaken him for a horse ... >as soon as Carver announced the torpedo was entering, fearful of what he >would find. JOEL: [Chakotay] I hope she remembered to bring the porn back with her! >The shocks that had hit Voyager had done damage to the structure of the >ship. TOM: Whereas the shocks in a car prevent damage. Explain that to me. >The effects on the torpedo survival pod could well have been catastrophic. CROW: We can only hope. C'mon, eight! >"She is alive, Commander," Lieutenant Caerey informed him. CROW: *DAMN*! >"Just about. She had this in her hand." JOEL: [Chakotay] She remembered the porn! Woohooo! Hello, Miss September! >Silently he handed Chakotay the doctors holo-emitter. "Looks as though >it is working. [Tom boggles. Joel holds him down before he can say much of anything] >The Doc 'll be pleased. [Tom struggles a bit more; Joel's having a hard time holding him back] >I'll get her moved upto sickbay." CROW: Time to euthanize! >Chakotay turned the emitter over, examining it carefully. JOEL: [Chakotay] Oooo, pretty plothole! >"Are you in there Corporal?" he asked, putting it onto a console. CROW: If not, he's going to feel silly talking to himself. >"Nah! Not anymore!," Corporal Millers voice almost crowed over the ships >comms. [Tom freaks, and smoke starts to spout from his head. Joel has to wrestle him back down into his seat, where he begins to apply restraints] >"To bloody cramped in there. Where to now, Sir?" TOM: To hell! [Joel manages to shut him up just in time. Muffled invectives issue forth] JOEL: C'mon, Servo. Just a little while longer. It's almost over. >Chakotay found his depression lift at the cheerful cockney banter. "I >don't know where Starfleet regulations go in giving medals to >holograms," he muttered. "But you and Abbott deserve one." CROW: Abbott's a hologram? TOM: Mmph mmm mmph hmm mhm mmmmph mmph mmmphmmph! JOEL: What's that? [he pulls Tom's mouthpiece aside] TOM: That's the only way she could have survived! >"Perhaps the Colonel will give me me laurels?" Miller suggested >hopefully. CROW: He wants flowers? JOEL: In a crown, no less. >"Ain't never done nothing to qualify before." TOM: ... for the mental ward! >"Okay, perhaps he will. Now tell me why the anomaly went with such a >bang?" CROW: More interesting than chasing it around and around 'till it went pop? >"Dunno, Sir. Miss Abbott, she's a bright lady, Sir, she thought that it >might be powered by a black hole of somesort, Sir," Miller babbled. JOEL: More "sir"s in that sentence than in an episode of Peanuts. >"We sort of gave it indigestion, Sir! Fed it more than it could cope >with, Sir!" CROW: So the black hole exploded? JOEL: Or it just grew by twenty times, pulling in just about everything. Voyager could be falling in now and not even know it. >"I'll bounce that at astro-physics see if that makes sense," Chakotay >promised. TOM: It doesn't! Learn some basic principles of Einstein, you freak! [Joel puts Tom's gag back on] >"Now do something useful and find the Argonauts shuttle?" > >"Sir!" CROW: I would still like to know in what language "sir" means "yes." > > > >B'Elanna and Winston were found, with Millers help, in their wrecked >shuttle, some forty minutes later. CROW: Forty minutes?! Winston's a dead man! JOEL: Don't get your hopes up. TOM: Mmmmph! Mmmmph mph mmmph mmmmph mmhp mmmph! CROW: Good point, Servo. >They were beamed quickly into sickbay and rapidly treated by the doctor. JOEL: In his hurry, however, he managed to transpose some of the slightly less vital organs. CROW: [crewman] Hey, B'Elanna, is that your liver or are you just happy to see me? >"B'Elanna had come around and was laying quietly beside Llinoss Abbott >as the ensign tried to explain her actions to her slightly cynical boss. JOEL: [Abbott] So you see, the author -had- to knock you cold so I could pretend to sacrifice myself. Forgive me? >"And you thought it all up on your own, Ensign?" She enquired with a >little incredulation. CROW: Sort of like congratulations, but with a side of fries. >"Not all of it," Abbott admitted. JOEL: [Abbott] Well, okay, none of it. >"Corporal Miller offered some and he made me do things I would never >thought I was capable of." CROW: [Abbott] That reminds me; if you'll excuse me, I have to purchase some explicit photographs. >"And a good job he did of it," Chakotay commented brightly as he sat >between the two of them. TOM: Mphmmmm mphm mphmmmph mphm. JOEL: What's that? [he removes the mouthpiece again] TOM: I said I think I'm okay now. JOEL: I'll keep the fire extinguisher on standby, just in case. >"Nearly as good as the Ensign in charge of the landing party. I've just >finished his debriefing." CROW: Landing party? When did they visit a planet? TOM: I think he's referring to the takeover of the ship, but usually those are away teams. JOEL: Not to mention that B'Elanna should have been the officer in charge ... >"He has some very choice words to say about you, Ensign," he added. TOM: [Chakotay] Especially about "groundhogs" and "mice." I don't think he's fully recovered yet. >"I am going to leave them in the log for the Captain to decide upon." CROW: [Janeway] Misspelled ... misspelled ... misused ... boy, you think he'd learn to use a spell checker ... >"How about Tom and the Captain?" B'Elanna asked quickly. TOM: I'm right here, and I'm sorry already! JOEL: You should have said that when she was in front of you. TOM: That was before my brain melted. >"We picked up a signal from the Valoria ten minutes ago," Chakotay >agreed. CROW: "Agreed"? With what? TOM: Segments of this 'fic smack of the Babelfish. >"Tom and Vorik are safe. JOEL: Vorik? Who's Vorik? TOM: From context, it looks like Vorik's the new Captain. ALL: Hurrah! [The theatre shakes as a resounding boom is heard] ALL: Sorry! >Seems the Colonel decided to go to war and Kathryn and Tuvok went with >him. CROW: With another race in a completely unrelated story to be told later. >It adds a little more credence to Carvers suggestion that the Colonel >may have done them some damage. JOEL: But not much. TOM: You could still put the odds of that in the Improbability Drive and end up on a world made entirely of ice cream soda. CROW: With root beer oceans? TOM: Of course! >We'll pick them up, when we have dropped off our prisoners. CROW: ... out the nearest airlock. >Komos was hit badly by the shocks from the anomaly. We don't know what >is left for them, but we will have to take them back. JOEL: ... to a smoking ruin of a world, ravaged by the Borg and then annihilated by the shockwave. TOM: Boy, I hope at least some of those saboteurs are women. They may have to start from scratch. >Just as soon as the ship is repaired enough to get there." CROW: Weenies. At sublight it'd only take you a hundred years or so. >"I'm on it," B'Elanna muttered struggling up. TOM: That's some cough she's got there. >"You will wait at least six hours," the Doctor announced, bustling up. JOEL: Everyone's going up. There must be something wrong with the gravity. >"Winston is out of danger and will be up and about in a week. CROW: *DAMN*! >Ensign Abbott is fit and ready for action, though there may be a few after >effects after being a hero, like an inflated head?" TOM: That'll make her an easier target for the snipers, though, so that's okay. >"I don't want to be a hero," Abbott flustered, going bright red. JOEL: That vein in her forehead is going to pop right out. CROW: To say nothing of the one in her neck. >"I was terrified I was going to lose everything again. It didn't seem >to matter then!" TOM: Or, as we see it, she didn't want to live without her one true love, the holographic Corporal. >"I know the feeling," Chakotay agreed, ALL: [singing] I've got a feeling, a feeling deep inside ... >getting up and offering a hand to the young ensign, CROW: [Chakotay] Like it? It's Winston's. He won't need it. >then wrapping a protective arm around her as she staggered. JOEL: I can understand drinking to steady your nerves, but she went too far. >"I will need to debrief you so we will do that later. TOM: Speaking of going too far! CROW: Hey! That's my line! >Until then take it easy?" > > > >Revision 31 JOEL: And that's it. CROW: Thirty-one revisions. TOM: And still enough plot holes to collapse a neutron star. [Joel unclapses Tom's seat restraints, picks him up, and the three file out of the theatre] [ ... 1 ... 2 ... 3 ... 4 ... 5 ... 6 ... ] [Cambot pans out to reveal Joel standing off to stage right, with a smoking jacket worn over his jumpsuit. He's attempting to remain very prim and proper, as an English bloke would] JOEL: Good day. Today on Mystery Science Theatre Masterpiece Three Thousand, we would like to present: Voyager and the Seven Dwarves. TOM: [pokes his head in from the side] The five-minute version! [ducks out again] JOEL: And now, on with the show! [he dashes off-screen] [Crow shows up wearing a woman's wig over his head-net, and strikes a dramatic pose, with his arm over his head like he's about to faint] CROW: [falsetto, which he keeps throughout the sketch] Oh! My name is Abbott, and I'm hated and reviled by everyone! Will no one accept me for the hero that I really am? [Tom comes in with a pickaxe over his shoulder, followed by six of his identical copies] TOMS: [singing] Hi ho, hi ho, it's off to sabotage we go ... [stops singing] ho, what's this? CROW: Oh my! Dwarves! What will I ever do? TOM#4: Get her, men! [The Toms rush Crow, as if to attack him, but appear to be rather poor shots. Their pickaxes, now wielded as weapons, strike everyone and everything -but- Crow, including each other, while Crow cowers in a corner. As the battle is winding down to the last two or three surviving Toms, Joel leaps in and strikes a superhero pose] JOEL: Never fear! Winston is here! [The Toms attack, but their pickaxes turn to dust the instant they strike him. The Toms resort to hand-to-hand combat, but are easily dispatched. Finally, the last Tom rushes Joel and collides with him, finishing them both off in a puff of smoke] CROW: Oh look! I am the last one standing, and so must be the hero of the hour! Now I shall dance the happy dance, and everyone will love me! [Music starts up, Crow begins to dance, and soon Joel, Tom, and Gypsy join with him. Their improvisation leads them to join hands and prance about in a circle as the music plays. After a little bit, Joel leaves the circle and comes up to Cambot] JOEL: What do you think, sirs? [Switch to Deep 13, where Dr Forrester is glaring at the screen as if it has done him a terrible wrong] DR F: Typical juvenile behaviour, Joel. I would say that I expect better from you, but, well, I don't. One of these days you'll snap, just like your little fire hydrant look-alike there, and then, THEN I shall rule the world! Muhahahaha! [As Dr Forrester is laughing, TV's Frank comes in (still with a bit of chocolate on his face) carrying the MST3K reset button] FRANK: Um, sir? DR F: [stops laughing rather abruptly] Yes, Frank? What is it? FRANK: I've fixed the button, sir. I've also shielded it so we -- I mean, I -- won't have to repair it every time we press it. DR F: [still not looking at him] Very good, Frank. Give it here. FRANK: [places the button in Dr F's hands] Oh, and sir? DR F: Yes, Frank? FRANK: I'm sorry about calling your mother, sir. DR F: We're not going to talk about that. FRANK: No, sir. [Dr F starts fiddling with the console just below our line of sight, as if installing the button in its proper place] Oh, sir? DR F: [exasperated] Yes, Frank? FRANK: It will be nice when she comes and visits, won't it? DR F: Push the button, Frank. [Frank moves to push the button, but that's just what Dr Forrester has been waiting for. He grabs Frank's head and begins beating it into the console. One of the impacts hits the button, and ...] \ | / \ | / \|/ ----|---- FWOOSH! /|\ / | \ / | \ Mystery Science Theater 3000 is copyright (c) Best Brains, Inc. Star Trek: Voyager and Enterprise are copyrights and properties of Paramount Studios and Viacom Entertainment. Star Wars is a licensed, copyright, and property of LucasFilm and Twentieth Century Fox. Trouble of Dwarves is solely Raymond Gower's creation, though he was nice enough to let me tear it apart, and the movie rights are probably his (by the way, that wasn't really him in that host segment. Couldn't you tell?). Trouble of Dwarves is one part in an ever-growing series of the Colonel's adventures, and can be found at thestoryboard.co.uk/voyager/colonel.htm. The Last Starfighter and its ever-popular (if fictional) video game is property of Lorimar Entertainment, a division of Universal Pictures. Mentos is the freshmaker. Jerry Springer and Sally Jesse Raphael are property, bought and paid for, of Lucifer and the assorted minions of hell, now available in mint and cherry flavours. The United Paramount Network is only available through legal channels, especially since they're this close |---| to declaring bankruptcy. No harm, insult, infringement, or paper bags were meant nor implied during the creation of this MiSTing, though I'll probably get blamed for it anyway. For more information on what MiSTing is and what you can do about it, you can visit www.masemware.com/mst3k/faq.shtml for all the pertinent information, and mostly likely some things you never imagined existed. This has been a pieceoftheuniverse production. >"No sense in being the coconuts in the shy."