The Orpheus Configuration A Star Trek Parody brought to you by NRAA (Not Really An Acronym) and AFFGIOT (The Associated Forces For Good In Our Time). Revision History 07/94 - Smoothed out the characterization of Riker. Projected a more realistic outward manifestation of his internal conflicts. 08/94 - Grammer checking. Removed several punctuation errors and an inadvertant reference to Troi as "that meddling b***h." 09/94 - Tacked on a plot. Reviews Objective Review: The New England Conformist Monthly: "Has Star Trek characters in it. Nice margins. Good use of the conjunction." Biased Reviews: The Australian Slanted Crier: "Magnificent!" Voice of the Wad: "Unforgettable!" The Cleveland Bottom Dealer: "Blindingly poignant, yet wet with whimsy!" A Very Respectable and Learned Journal: "Bring a box of hankies and a small dog for this one." Reader Response As with all projects of this nature, it is the response of you, the reader, that is the second most important reason for doing it (right behind an intense, driven desire to pass the time.) Because of this, your comments, suggestions, and observations are welcome. If you have no comments, suggestions or observations, but would just like to take part in the responding process, please mail me a postcard communicating one of the statements included here for your convenience. 1) What a great story. Really. I'm in awe. 2) I didn't get it. Any suggestions on how I can evolve to a higher level? Captain's Log: Stardate 9546.2 We are engaged in a mission of mercy. A colony along the Cardassian border has been stricken with a particularly violent outbreak of Space Senility. While it doesn't affect humans or trees, or anything composed of matter, the vaccuum of space in that area is growing increasingly senile. Whole sections of that sector have wandered off and forgotten how to get back to where they're supposed to be. We are approaching with extreme caution, in the hope that we can be of some use. Scene 1 - Briefing room. Present are Picard, Riker, Worf, LaForge, Data, Crusher and Troi. They are having an animated discussion, but soon decide it is taking too long, plus Riker isn't very good at drawing, so they scrap it and just talk normally. Data: The sector contains vast areas of space that are not where they are supposed to be. Riker: Space is empty. How can something that's empty be missing? LaForge: Maybe it's filled? Riker: But it would still be there. It'd just be different. He's saying it's not there anymore. [Points accusingly at Data] Data: That is correct. Picard: Mr. Data, could you explain please. Data: Please is a function word used to express politeness or courtesy in a request. It is a descendent of the Norse word 'phlegge' meaning, "I will take your woman now." Picard: That's not what I mean. Could you expand on your statement that space is somehow absent? Data: Certainly, sir. Space is never really empty. Even when there is no matter in a certain volume of space, that space still /has/ volume, and time passes within that volume. In other words, the laws of matter and energy exist and could be said to be contained by space. In certain areas around Gamma Omilecticron III, those laws are not there. Nothing that could be used to define a section of space is there. It is a void in the strictest sense of the word. Worf: [grunt] Riker: What happens if we pass through one of those areas? Data: They are not technically 'areas' sir, except from the outside. One cannot pass 'through' them as they have no dimensions to move within. LaForge: You know what he means, Data. Don't be such a budgie-head. What happens if we're zipping along at Warp 6 and one of those is directly in our path? Data: They are not a 'those', Mr. LaForge. A 'those' implies - Picard: Data, why are you acting this way. It's almost as if you're being deliberately obtuse. LaForge: I could run a diagnostic on him. Worf: I could shoot him with my phaser. Data: I am sorry, sir. It is possible that the Space Senility effect is attenuated. There may be infinitesimal pockets of 'non-space' even this far from the planet. Those could affect my positronic brain in undesirable ways. Make me squich bugs and stick pens in my ears. [demonstrates with his pen.] Crusher: I don't know exactly how your brain works, but if you were human, I'd say you were a loser nutball. Picard: Dr. Crusher! That is not how we refer to the psychotically abled! Show some class for God's sake! Crusher: Captain, my father was killed by a loser nutball. I held him in my arms and watched him die while this psycho covered our cat with stamps and tried to mail him to heaven by throwing him as far as he could. Poor little Fluffy never had a chance. We buried him in a pizza box. Picard: Ah, yes. My sympathies doctor. I too once lost a cat . . Riker: Oh, come on! Her father was not killed by a lunatic. He's a surgeon aboard the USS Nimrod. LaForge: She told me he was eaten by the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Tr'all. Worf: I heard she was cloned from an eyeball found floating in space. Never had any parents. Picard: What is this? Dr. Crusher, have you been spreading lies aboard my ship? [Data, ignoring them, opens a storage compartment in his chest and produces an Etch-a-Sketch upon which he begins to draw pictures of birdies. Crusher: Well. . . uh . . . that is . . Riker: She doesn't seem like the same Beverly who taught me mime. Perhaps she's not. LaForge: That's true. She could be nothing more than a clever hologram. Worf: [Chucks a decorative figurine across the table at Crusher, who responds to the impact by passing out and bleeding on the carpet.] As you can see, Commander, she's NOT a hologram. LaForge: Could be holographic blood. And the impact could have been simulated with force beams. Picard: This is getting us nowhere. Why would anyone want to simulate Beverly? Riker: Sexual plaything? Ouch! [Glares at Troi, who is doing her nails and looking not at all like someone capable of sticking a hairpin into her First Officers leg. Troi: It could be the Ferrengi. They could have the real Beverly and be torturing her with red hot needles! Riker: Or a cooking phaser set on Deep-Fry! Worf: Or Klingon Agony sticks! Picard: This is not helping! Data: They could have dropped her into a vat of Parlythian Vein Munchers. LaForge: Ooo. . Good one! Or - Picard: No! Stop this nonsense at once. I can assure you all that that IS Dr. Crusher. Now let us return to the matter at hand. Crusher: [Regaining consciousness.] xWTg!#y? ÖYA’”Š /Ÿ £¨? Picard: Er . . . [A voice speaks from the top of Crusher's head.] EXTERNAL SIMULATION ALGORITHM DAMAGED. REROUTING . . . PLEASE WAIT. LaForge: [To Picard] You may post your apology on the Intership mail system, whenever it is convenient. Picard: [Ignoring him] Worf! Get her to the brig immediately. Get a security team to escort you. Worf: A klingon needs no escort. Crusher: SYSTEM DAMAGE IRREPARABLE. INITIATING SELF DESTRUCT SEQUENCE. SELF DESTRUCT WILL TAKE PLACE IN 10 MERTS. Worf: Actually, we've been having trouble with the ship's communication network. Probably best not to trust it. I'll just go get that team myself. [Slips out the door before Picard can respond.] Riker: What the hell is a 'mert'? Data: I left my socks in the dryer. [Leaves.] Picard: Mr. LaForge. Any chance of disarming it? Crusher: BOOM. * * * * * Scene 2: The briefing room. Present are Picard, Riker, LaForge, Worf, Data and Troi. They all look confused except for Data, who looks impassive, and Worf, who looks constipated. Picard: What happened? I thought we blew up? Riker: I definately blew up. Splattered all over the place. You don't mistake a sensation like that. Data: A residual effect of the temporary coexistance of two subspace temporal parameters. Pay it no mind. Worf: I tried to stop him sir, but he ran really fast. Picard: Mr. Data, what did you do. Did we or did we not explode? Data: Indeed, sir. You have captured the essence of the siituation. My compliments. Riker: [to Worf] Is that offer to shoot him still good? Picard: Elucidate, Mr. Data. Data: Of course, sir. Once I realized that you were all dead, I proceeded to the holodeck and created a simulation of the scene in this room just before the explosion. Then I sent the Enterprise into a slingshot around a star, causing us to move backward apporximately 30 seconds, at the apogee of which, while time was holding still, not unlike a baseball poised at the top of its arc against a clear blue sky, I routed warp power through a phase invertor and channeled the power bilaterally through both the holodeck and this room in asynchronous juxtaposition, creating a quantum flux beneath the level of Planck's Constant. Picard: I see. Troi: Was that English? That didn't sound like English. Data: The net effect, of course, may be explained as follows. [Climbs on top of the briefing table and begins to sing.] I'm a tiny teapot, diminutive and rotund With positronic pathways and an absorbent, polymer tongue Now I'm acting oddly, I'll soon be moribund I'm sure that they'll repair me, if they can allocate the funds. [Climbs back down.] Does that clarify matters, Counselor? LaForge: I understand, Captain. It's a metaphor. The teapot is our old timeline, in which we were blown to tiny little bits. By pouring us out, he means he transferred our life force into the holodeck images and gave them reality in a new metaphysical instantiation while the holodeck images were given our reality and exploded. Picard: Am I to understand that you altered time? Switched our reality with that of the holodeck images? Data: Yepper. Riker: But that's unconscionable! You've changed history! Data: 30 seconds of it. Big whoop. Troi: Mr. Data, who knows what may have happened in that thirty seconds. You may have altered some important events. Prevented the births of thousands of innocent people. Picard: That's right. This goes against everything the Federation stands for. LaForge: Captain, I'd like to point out, he may also have been responsible for the births of thousands of poeple who might otherwise never have been born. Data: [begins to sing I Am Woman under his breath.] Worf: If I may, Captain. It seems unlikely that in 30 seconds, anything important could have been changed. Picard: That's not the point. It's the principle of the thing. Worf: I could arrange to blow you up again. Picard: Well, you know, what's done is done, I suppose. Let's not make a federal case about it. Just don't let it happen again. Data: Certainly Captain. Perhaps now would be a good time to return to what we were discussing before you all became indebted to me for your very lives. LaForge: I think the Space Senility is beginning to affect him worse. Maybe we should stop here until we can find a way to neutralize the effect. Data: I am not getting worse. Worse implies that I was once better, which I have never been. My whole life spins out from me in an endless ocean of unfeeling logic. I am like an electric pencil whose eraser knows not what the other end writes. Oh do not ask what it writes, it writes nasty things and should be ashamed of itself. I feel one of my spells coming on. [falls to the floor in a deactivation.] Picard: [rises and slaps his communication badge] Bridge. Full stop. [turns to LaForge.] I want to know exactly what we're facing, and why it affects Mr. Data, but not us. LaForge: Yes sir. Should I reset him? Riker: Better not until we know what we're dealing with. Just get him a pillow or something. Worf: He can use mine sir. [pulls a pillow out from under the table.] It's got ducks on it, sir. He'll like that. [slides it under Data and begins to sing him a tender Klingon lullabye in which the Monster Under The Bed is apprehended by members of the Warrior caste and tortured with an impressive array of devices until it reveals the location of the dreams full of candy and dancing girls.] * * * * * Scene 3: Holodeck 4. Present are LaForge and Troi. Data's program has not been erased, and they are standing in the midst of imaginary carnage. LaForge: So this is what I'd look like if I'd been blown up. Pretty gross. Troi: How do you feel when you see images like this? LaForge: I feel icky. How do you think I feel? Troi: Yes, I sense that you feel icky. [They stand in silence for a few minutes, surveying the scene, thinking private thoughts. Troi is trying to catch LaForge feeling unclean things about his mother. LaForge is wondering why Picard doesn't just chuck her out an airlock.] Troi: Do you understand what's going on? LaForge: A little. It's difficult to explain. Troi: Why don't you try. What's the deal with the 'dead' areas of space that Data was blithering about? LaForge: Well, they're areas where nothing exists. And they seem to be expanding. They don't really affect matter, but they do affect the space that matter exists in, and pretty soon that planet is going to run into one of those areas. Troi: What happens then? LaForge: The results are undefined. Troi: What does that mean? LaForge: It means no one knows. The basic underlying laws of the universe wouldn't be in operation. Anything could happen. Matter and energy needn't be conserved. Planetary orbits could be squares. C programs could compile correctly the first time. Cats would come when they were called and learn to fetch. Troi: What about Dr. Crusher? What happened to her? LaForge: Nothing. As near as I can figure, she unhappened. Troi: But that was a robot. I mean the real Dr. Crusher. LaForge: How do we even know there ever was a real Dr. Crusher? Troi: You mean she could have been a robot ever since she came aboard? I don't think so. We were friends. I would have noticed. And what about Wesley? Robots don't normally have kids. LaForge: Yeah, but he's an awfully weird kid. He could have been assembled. Who'd know? Or care? Troi: I suppose. [pauses.] Geordi, what would happen if we were to run into one of those 'dead' areas? LaForge: I don't think you get it, Counselor. Nobody knows. Theoretically, anything could happen. Our warp containment field could turn into a pile of used underwear, we could develop a core breach, and the resulting explosion could turn everyone into small blue monkeys living inside of an apple discussing the complexities of Kafka's literary perdition. Troi: Oh. Picard: [from Geordi's communicator.] Mr. LaForge, have you made any progress on finding a way to neutralize the effects of the Space Senility? LaForge: Sorry Captain, no. Counselor Troi and I have been busy developing our characters with an intimate scene where we reveal our hopes and fears about the current crisis. Picard: Intimate, Mr. LaForge? Do you really think this is the time or place for that? I mean, Lord knows I can understand the temptation. Sometimes when she bends over the navigation console, I myself have been tempted to - LaForge: She's standing right here, sir. Picard: Whoops, there goes call waiting. Wouldn't you know it. I'll check in later for a progress report. Give the counselor my regards. LaForge: I think she already got them, sir. Troi: He's so virile! * * * * * Scene 4: [Shot of the Enterprise standing motionless against a majestic backdrop of stars. voiceover.] Ensign Davidson's Log - Stardate 4562.3 Uh, they said I have to keep one of these things since I work with the . . uh, is this thing on? Testing, testing, 123? Shoot. Which button did she say to push? I can never remember how to work these things. Maybe the green one? Uh. . . this is Ensign DavidâNځÒÙ- NO CARRIER Riker: Status, Ensign Parolovitch. Ensign: Just sitting here like a big old pointless rock, sir. Riker: Good. With those pockets around, we don't want to be move so much as a hair. Ensign: Relative to what, sir? Relative to the expansion of the galaxy, we're going like a bat out of hell. Riker: My god, Man! That could kill us all! Full stop! Ensign: We are stopped sir. Riker: You just said . . . Ensign: Sorry, sir. I was unaware that you didn't have the theoretical background to understand me fully. Relative to the pockets we are motionless. Relative to a great many other things, the torsional motion of this cluster for one, we are zipping about like a hummingbird on dexedrine. Does that help, sir? Riker: Get off my bridge, you little snot. You're relieved of duty. Ensign: Sorry sir, but I believe this to be a case of personal bias. I request a hearing to determine whether or not you have just cause to relieve me. Riker: Very well, Ensign. We'll settle this thing with Trial by Combat. Mr. Worf. Take the Ensign to Holodeck 3 and pound on him until a verdict is reached. Worf: Very good, sir. [picks up Ensign Parolovitch and carries him to the turbolift.] Now Ensign, what would you prefer: edged weapons, bare knuckles, or fistfulls of spiders. Makes me no difference. Take your pick. [The doors close.] Riker: I love a taut ship. Yoeman, fetch me a daquiri. * * * * * Scene 5: [Engineering. Present are Geordi, Data, Technician 1, Technician 2, a plethora of sophisticated diagnostic tools, whole banks of computer hardware with lots of flashing lights, most of a quart of gin hidden in one of the ventilator shafts by Leiutenant Gruer for those times when he just can't shake the blues, seventeen separate supreme beings who are keeping tabs on the Enterprise in case they feel a sudden irrestible urge to force its crew to don silly hats and perform an intricate table dance to prove that even if they're not as metaphysically advanced as the respective supreme beings, at least they /can/ get down and should be allowed to live, one large section of space which, while not actually senile yet, has begun to scratch itself in public and occasionally put on the wrong number of dimensions in the morning, an energy field of a sort that the Enterprise has never before encountered which would wreak havoc with them except that it had a long night sucking down pulsar emissions with its buddies from the next quadrant and will most likely sleep till at least Tuesday, a totally unacceptable level of bacteria for a supposedly sterile engine room, and various unattached molecules which we will not enumerate for the sake of brevity.] LaForge: [picking about inside Data's head with some of the aforementioned diagnostic tools.] Ok, I've reconfigured your main net to spot check for anomalies. How do you feel? Data: Green, yet jagged. Like a caterpillar fallen on hard times. LaForge: Hmm. I don't think we're there yet. Let me try something else. Data: Geordi, is this what it's like to be insane? LaForge: Yeah, I'd say that's pretty much it. Data: It's a very liberating feeling, isn't it? LaForge: I suppose so. Hang on a second. What does this little blue switch do? [Sproing.] LaForge: Damn! What the hell was that? Data: Da wuh my ung. Cuh you fi ih fuh me? LaForge: I'll try. It flew pretty far. Why is your tongue attached with explosive bolts? Data: Ay were on hale. Ocker Hoong wah heep. LaForge: There it is! Technician 1, over there by the magnafizzle. Pick it up and bring it here. Technician 1: Ick. LaForge: None of that. I saw you with that blond yoeman from the barber shop last night. You can't tell me you have any problem with tongues. Riker: [from Geordi's communicator] Geordi, have you figured out a way to keep Data out of Whoville yet? We need him on the bridge. LaForge: Not yet, but I have an idea. I think if we move his whole brain out of phase, the effect may not affect him quite so effectively. Riker: Do it, Geordi. LaForge: There's no guarantee this'll work. In fact it might just vaporize his brain altogether. I'd like to run some further tests before we try it. Riker: [muffled] Counselor, he's the only one who knows how to fix the daquiri machine. We have to hurry or we'll lose the moment. [In a normal tone] We haven't got time, Geordi. The longer we delay, the more colonists will die. It's a moral issue. Fire him up. LaForge: Aye, sir. [Makes some fine adjustments and presses a button. There is a dramatic pause. The violin section of the orchestra goes nuts. Slowly Data opens his eyes.] Data: I eeheev ih urk. Hank oo orgi. LaForge: Why do I feel like I've forgotten something? * * * * * Scene 7: The Bridge. Riker: My God, the Captain is dead! How could this have happened. And you, Counselor. How could you have eaten him? You didn't even use salt, for God's sake. What kind of an animal are you! ----- [Whoops. Getting ahead of ourselves. Wrong scene. Sorry.] Scene 6: Not the Bridge. Picard's ready room. Present are Picard, Worf, Data, and Troi. In a hot tub. Worf: Captain, I must protest. Counselor Troi is taking all the bubbles. Troi: You seem to be making your own bubbles, Mr. Worf. Picard: That will do! The point of this is to relax so that are minds can focus more clearly on the problem, not to bicker and quarrel like children. Worf: My apologies, Captain. Troi: He means it, Captain. I sense his shame. He know he was wrong. Worf: Grrr. . . Picard: Then to work. Mr. Data, since your recovery have you managed to determine anything about the cause of the Space Senility? Data: I am working on several hypoth. . . ideas, but Command. . . Mr. Laforge and I will need do further research before we can give you any defin. . . firm answers. Troi: Is anything the matter, Data? You seem to be stuttering. Data: A minor side effect of the phase inver. . . recon. . . thingy. I can no longer utter words with more than two syllab. . . bits. It is irrit. . . annoy. . . awkward, but I am learning to adjust. Picard: How bizarre. Well, can you give me a preliminary hypothesis? Data: Yes, Captain. It appears the the Space Senil. . . abber. . . diffi. . .thing is some sort of reson. . . harmon. . . thing between a motiv. . . orig. . . thing and its base dimen. . . real. . . thing. What those are, specif. . . in fact, we have yet to deter. . . find out. Worf: Are you saying it is a side effect of something else. Data: Yes, Leiuten. . . Worf. Picard: So whoever or whatever is doing it may not even be aware of the ramifications of its actions. Data: That is true. It may even be an inorg. . . natur. . . thing. Picard: Quite. Troi, can you sense any sort of awareness that is inconsistent with the data we have about lifeforms in this system? Troi: All right. Who's hand is that? Picard: Not mine. Data: Nor mine. Worf: A warrior does not surreptiously fondle. Troi: Someone is feeling me up and I want to know who! Picard: This isn't working. I suggest we adjourn to 10 Forward and continue our discussion. Worf: Agreed, Captain. Troi: Everyone close their eyes so I can get out. Picard: Dear God. Troi: And turn around, too. If you're sneaky enough to grab me underwater, I can't trust you not to peek. Data: How much did you pay for this device? * * * * * Scene 7: Technician 1's Quarters (which he shares with Technician 2). Technician 2: What are you doing? Technician 1: Oh, nothing much. It's an assignment for my correspondence course. Technician 2: I didn't know you were taking one. Technician 1: Yes, it's in . . uh . . Primitive Superstitions. Yeah. I'm supposed to debunk them by performing them and then writing up a detailed analysis of all the bizarre and inexplicable things that didn't happen. Technician 2: Well, I'm all in favor of education and all, but I have to sleep here. Could you at least put out some of those candles, and maybe sweep the floor. What is that anyway? Looks like a goat with a gland problem. Technician 1: Let me just finish this one ritual. Then I'm done with the chapter. Pass me that rooster, will you? Technician 2: What have you got in your hand? A knife? No. Absolutely not. You're not sacrificing anything in my room. I have to get up in the morning. Technician 1: Ok, ok. I can fake the data. The professor will never know the difference. [Technician 2 turns away for a second and we see Technician 1's eyes flash redly. It is very scary. Boy.] Technician 1: Hey, what's this? Technician 2: What? Technician 1: Here in the middle of this occult symbol of no real significance, trust me, is that that a hitherto undiscovered life form? Technician 2: [Bending over the symbol.] Where? I don't see anything. Technician 1: [Raises his knife.] Wah ha ha ha ha! Technician 2: Huh? Aaarghhh! [Lights fade.] [Ed Note: See, Data really did change history. In an alternate time line, Troi had a hallucination wherein she mistook Captain Picard for a giant chocolate bunny and ate him, starting at the ears. Boy, you just never know, do you?] * * * * * [Scene 8: Riker and Worf are sitting in 10 Forward, enjoying a drink and discussing fungi, a secret passion of both men. Guinan is standing at the bar being typically Dephic to anyone within earshot. Data and Geordi are off in Engineering solving the crisis, which Captain Picard will then suck all the credit from with a well timed "Make it so."] Random Crewman: My heart is broken. I'll never love again. Guinan: Love is like honey: it's surprisingly good for something that came out of a bug's butt. Random Crewman: [Brightening] So you're saying my expectations were too high. Guinan: Sometimes it's sticky too. You gotta watch that. Random Crewman: You're right. You're absolutely right. But we can get through the sticky parts if we just pull together, and remember that it's an imperfect world. Thank you Guinan, you've given me hope! Guinan: Aw, shucks . . . Worf: I have found that one may grow the most lovely shade of Epsimoletra Trifloedtra if one simply leaves a small bowl of chicken soup out for a month or so and sprays it with brine regularly. Riker: I'll have to try that. I've had good results with simple one-celled phragocytes, myself. Worf: Never could get - [Beep Beep: Security to Worf!] Worf: Worf here. Security: Through the comm badge] You'd better get here right away, Mr. Worf. We've got a dead body on deck 12. It looks like murder. Worf: What makes you say that? Security: Well, it looks like he was disassembled and then reassembled. Worf: As if by a machine? Security: No, as if by a guy with a big old knife. Whoever reassembled him didn't pay a lot of attention to picky little details like where the various bits originally were, either. You really need to see this to understand, sir. Worf: On my way. Commander, would you like to accompany me? Riker: Hey, let's tell Troi to meet us there. Tell her there's a guy in the cabin feeling a bit out of sorts. Worf: That is cruel. Remind me to buy you a drink. * * * * * Scene 9: [Engineering. Data and Geordi are working to solve the problem. Technician 1 is assisting, along with Technician 3, whom we haven't seen before and probably wouldn't remember if we had.] Data: I am getting some curi. . . strange readings from the gamma scanner. LaForge: I know what you mean. It's almost as if the pockets are offshoots caused by some sort of coalescence. My god, you know what that might be? Data: Yes. LaForge: But that could mean . . . Data: Very likely. LaForge: But that's impossible. It violates the basic laws of physics. Data: Perhaps such an enti. . . manif. . . thing feels no need to obey those laws. LaForge: Wait a minute. Your suggesting it might be . . . Data: I am. Technician 3: [Who has been edging closer and closer.] What? What might it be? Will you please finish just one forgodssake sentence! LaForge: Who is this? Data: That is Techni. . . Thing 3. He has been a part of your staff for two years. LaForge: Why don't I remember him? Data: He is of no real significance. Technician 3: I'm of no real significance? After two years, that's all I get? Well fine, but let me just point out that Data there just said a three syllable word. How's that for a plot lapse. Don't see us "insignificant" guys making lapses like that do you? Data: What is he talking about? Technician 3: He said "significance." He shouldn't have been able to say it. It's a fracture of the essential continuity of the piece. Data: Signi. . . Import. . . thing. No, I am sorry, but you must have been mistaken. Technician 3: You did it again! LaForge: I think he needs a break. He's babbling. Technician 1: [Slinking off into the shadows while rolling his eyes, rubbing his palms together, and otherwise doing a pretty good Renfield impression except that he's not eating any bugs.] HE is coming. Finally. After all my ceremonies, my incantations, my candles. Those long nights waiting by the ouija board. It is finally happening. I must make ready. * * * * * Scene 10: The quarters of Technician 1 and Technician 2. Present are Riker, Worf, Security Guy 1, Troi, and the erstwhile Technician 2. Worf and Riker are studying the corpse dispassionately. Technician 2 is fully occupied being erstwhile. Troi is in the shower cubicle alternating between calling Riker nasty things in Betazoid and making unpleasant retching noises. Security Guy 1, noting that the fatalities have started, is surreptitiously working on his will. Worf: I'm afraid he's dead, sir. Riker: Of course he's dead, you idiot. He's spread out all over the floor. What was the cause of death? Worf: 'Spread out all over the floor' works for me, sir. Riker: [sighs] Yes, but what does the tricorder say? Before being dismembered was he perhaps drugged? Poisoned? Worf: It is difficult to say, sir. My tricorder shows abnormal amounts of electromorizone in the bits. Riker: What could account for that? Worf: A software upgrade. My tricorder shows abnormal amounts of electromorizone in everything. Says you're darn near bursting with the stuff, sir. Riker: Can you compensate for the problem? Worf: Not without voiding the warranty. Riker: Shoot. [Shouts] Counsellor, can you sense whether the bits were feeling anything in particular back when they were a technician? Troi: Blurghhh! Worf: A most unilluminating response, sir. Riker: Quite. [thinks.] Mr. Worf, who shared these quarters with Technician 2? Worf: Technician 1, sir. Riker: Get him over here. Worf: Security Guy 1, bring Technician 1 in for questioning. Security Guy 1: I got a family, sir. Two little girls, blond, pigtails... Worf: No backtalk, Security Guy. A warrior does not cringe. Security Guy 1: [Straightening] Yes sir. [Marches out.] Riker: You need any help with the letter to his family? Worf: [Pulls a sheet of paper from his pocket.] I have a form for that. Designed it myself. See that border? Spent hours on that border alone. Shows the family I care, a border like that does. Riker: Do you think you could make up one of those for my away teams? Worf: If you'll help me with my phagocytes. Riker: Deal. [Shouts] Counselor, we're going to go wait for someone to find Security Guy 1's body. Lock up for us, ok? Troi: Blurghhh! * * * * * Scene 11: Briefing room. Some people are present. Some are not. It's the way of the world. Eventually you get used to it. You miss those who are not with you, sure, but you get on with you life. Or your briefing, as the case may be. If you can't do that, then you don't belong in Star Fleet. Maybe you shouldn't even be walking upright. But that's a matter for the courts to decide, right after they finish determining whether it's constitutionally necessary for bubble gum manufactures to spell out individually each of the 147 different types of sugar they use, or if they can just put TOOTH ROT - 2319% of US-RDA. Worf: We have searched everywhere for Technician 1. We cannot find him. Data: Then you have not searched every. . . thing. He must, by defin. . . thing, be somewhere. Riker: Regardless, it is looking more and more as if he has something to do with the murder of Technician 2. LaForge: We picked up a sub-space transmission that seems to implicate him in more than that. Picard: Play it, please. Transmission: Oh Munge, Great God of Darkness, hear me, and come ye to this place, that the world may tremble before your might. Behold, I have annointed the clay thing, I have sacrificed the rooster, I have cut my friend up into tiny bits and arranged them in an esthetically pleasing configuration, I have said the Very Bad Word, yea, and even written it in the bathroom stalls, that those who venture there may be corrupted and defiled. Picard: How long is this? LaForge: Uh, it goes on for a while, sir. Picard: Skip ahead. Transmission: Whirr. . . and carved it in the shape of a leafy vegetable, for what reason I know not, but verily, as thou hast revealed to me in my dreams, oh Munge, so shall I do, though it wrest from me my very soul and take from me my sleep so that I am exhausted the next morning and collect excessive demerits and am accused of carousing with women. Yea, even so, I do it, because that's the kind of servant I am. Almost executive vice president material, you might say, verily. Then - Picard: Does this twit say anything of interest? LaForge: We're getting to the end, sir. Transmission: whirr. . . and so I await your coming, here, in Shuttle Bay 4, behind the spare ion converters where no one thought to look. Let the world know that I am truly your faithful servant, and much taller than it says on my service record. Worf: I'll send a security team there immediately, sir. Picard: No. This man is totally evil and should be treated as such. Depressurize the bay. Troi: You'll kill him! Picard: Like he killed Technician 2? Data: Not precis. . . thingy. Tech 2 was cut into pieces. This would be explos. . . decom. . . thing. Much differ. . . thing. Riker: Depressurizing the bay. Troi: This is a clear violation of his civil rights, and I have no choice but to report it to StarFleet. Worf: I suggest we feed her to Munge. LaForge: Captain, he's transmitting again. Transmission: Oh great Munge, etc. This is Technician 1 again. Sorry to bother you. Listen, I think they've discovered me, and now would be a good time to come, ok? . . . . See, they're depressurizing the bay and all the air's leaking out, you know (cough) so, like really now would be the time to appear, you know, all avenging and such? Munge . . . . (hack hack wheeze) Yo Munge! This is me, you know? The guy who summoned you in the first place? I'm losing my grip here Munge. This is very unprofessional. Picard: He's getting weaker. Troi: Oh, I can't stand to listen! Riker: Cheer up. It'll be over soon. He can't hang on forever. Transmission: All right, Munge. To hell with you. I abjure you. You hear me Munge? Back {cough cough wheeze) to the darkness with you, foul inconsiderate spirit. I've had enough. Picard: Quick! Lower the doors! Repressurize the bay! Riker: Repressurizing, sir. Worf: His hold is slipping, sir. I do not think he will make it. Riker: Six seconds to doors close, sir. Troi: Come on, Technician 1, hold on! [There is a tense silence. The camera pans from face to face. Picard is anxious but determined, wondering if his decisive action will result in the death of a member of his crew, however evil. Riker look s much the same, but with more hair. Data is emotionless, as always. Worf still look constipated. Troi is on the edge of her seat, her face betraying her sense of helplessness as the battle with death is waged many decks away. LaForge is napping but looks alert, a trick he learned in Starfleet Academy Physics 101 when he first discovered one of the advantages of no one being able to see your eyes.] Riker: Depressurization complete, sir. Doors are closed. Troi: Did he make it? Data: [tapping at a nearby console.] Almost. Troi: Oh my god! Picard: Almost? Data: It seems, he *was* taller than it said in his service record. Riker: Was? Meaning he didn't survive? Data: No, sir, 'was' meaning he is now shorter than it says in his service record. But he will most likely survive. And they are doing some good work with prosthetics these days. I have dispatched a medical team to the shuttle bay. Troi: Captain, why did you change your mind about letting him die? Picard: I never had any intention of letting him die. But it was necessary to make him think he was going to, so that he would reject Munge and send him back. I remembered from my studies of archeology that in most of these cases, only the one who has summoned an evil spirit can force him to depart. Riker: But what about the space senility? Picard: I think you'll find that that was a corollary effect of Munge's attempt to materialize in this world. Now that that has stopped, I imagine the Space Senility will stop as well. Riker: Mr. LaForge? LaForge: Huh? Yes! What? Riker: Is the Space Senility still affecting this area? LaForge: Oh, uh, let me check. [tap tap] No sir, it seems to have stopped. Picard: Well. There we are then. I'm off to the hot tub. Data: If I may, sir. What about Dr. Crusher? Picard: Who? * * * * * [Closing credits appear against a shot of a Ferrengi space ship streaking across the inky blackness of space. From inside we hear a voice.] Crusher: Hey, what are you doing? Those are Parlythian Vein Munchers! Ow!