Clifford Hall presents...
THE WEASEL SAGA:
Episode One, The Motion Parody
 
    They had just witnessed the unthinkable: three Borg vessels
vaporized instantaneously into stardust.  And what, one might ask,
had caused this to come about?  Well, what would take the witnesses
on Deep Space Nine approximately 45 minutes real time to tell (and
then it would just be some really profound conclusion which leaves
much to be desired), I shall tell you now.
    The three Borg vessels that had perished were just about to
strike DS9 (cool!), each one poised on an upper docking pylon
(cooler!) when out of nowhere an immense plasma cloud leaked through
the wormhole from the Gamma Quadrant.  This distracted the Borg
enough for them to disengage their attack on DS9 (rats!) and
investigate the cloud.  Sisko, Dax, Kira, Bashir and the rest of the
gang could only stare dumbfoundedly (how else?) at the main viewer as
the Borg phaser bursts were interpreted by the cloud as a hostile
act (I don't know why.  Maybe they had them stupidly set to kill or
something.) by the Alpha Quadrant's newest intruder.  The Borg
didn't know what had hit them.
 
     Back at Starfleet Academy, Wesley "The Weasel" Crusher was
taking his final examination before graduation, the Psych test.  He
was forced to face, not his worst fear this time, but his worst
fantasy.  He was confronted within the testing chamber by two of the
Universe's most beautiful women and he had to choose one of them or
fail.  His final solution was, of course, brilliant.
     His instructor, Dr. Doomie, questioned him during the Psych
test debriefing, "So, Wes, how do you think you did?"
     "I honestly didn't think I was up to the task.  I didn't think
I could make the same decision my mother did 20 years ago."
     "Which was?"
     "Choosing the best mate."
     "And Wesley, for the rest of the class, could you explain what
exactly that decision was?"
     "I think that's something my mother would like to keep
private."
     "No, Wes, the decision you made during the test."
     "Oh.  It was simple really.  I waited until one killed the
other; thus, proving herself worthy, exactly what my mom did 20 years
ago."
     "Excellent!  I believe your score could put you far in the lead
for this year's valedictorian race.  Congratulations," she said
finishing with a toothy seductive smile.
     "Why, uh, thank you, sir," was all Wes could reply while his
mind and loins anticipated the evening's activities with Dr. Doomie. 
Yes, it was true.  During his years at the Academy, Wesley had
actually matured out of weasel-hood, and tonight would be the final
test.  Valedictorian city was his, if there weren't any system
crashes.

Stardate 49028.1, Starfleet Headquarters...
     The giant viewscreen behind Picard's podium now displayed the
Deep Space Nine footage of the intruder cloud sending the Borg
vessels to oblivion.  "That's all we know about it, except that it
is now 53.4 hours away from Earth.  Enterprise is the only starship
that stands in its way.  We assume there is a vessel of some type in
the heart of the cloud.  Our orders are to intercept, investigate, and
to take what ever actions are necessary and possible.  We can only
hope that there is a lifeform aboard that vessel that reasons the way
we do.  Every passing minute brings that thing closer to Earth!  It is
my intention to be on the Enterprise when it departs for interception
with the cloud.  Now, who's with me?"
     Picard flanked with his bridge crew presided over the gathering
of the 1000 officers and enlistees, 1000 men and women that
represented Starfleet's finest personnel, 1000 hand picked
volunteers for the most difficult mission of all time, 1000 brave
souls who would jump at the chance to encounter new life forms while
risking their own lives (well not really, Paramount just hired 1000
extras for the scene) 34 of which were currently scratching their
rears, 97 were twisting their pinkies in either their left or right
ear canals, 285 were involved in their own private and really private
(if you know what I mean) fixations while the remaining 584 just
wondered when Picard would get on with his strip tease.  If one
looked among this crowd of confused and very confused faces, one
would immediately notice that Ensign Crusher was not among them. 
Surely, Mr. Crusher wasn't going to pass up this golden opportunity
to get himself killed.  Unfortunately, he had been preoccupied with
Doomie the night before and still had not checked on any recent
memos from Starfleet Command ordering him to volunteer for the
suicide mission.  The murmuring crowd was then silenced.
     "Priority signal from Deep Space Nine."
     Sisko appeared on the giant viewscreen and spoke, "The cloud is
definitely a power field of some kind and measures, my God, over
billions and billions of miles long!  There must be something
incredible inside there generating it.  We're transmitted friendship
messages on all frequencies.  All scans are being reflected back."
     Dax interrupted, "It could be mistaking our scans as a hostile
act."
     The Kira shouted, "Incoming weapon device!"
     Sisko continued, "We are under attack."  In the background
O'Brien could be heard saying, "This blows."  Sisko continued
raving, "Repeat.  We are under..."
     With the press of a button, Picard cut Sisko off, replacing
Sisko's image with an external view of DS9.  The audience watched in
horror as the cloud bombarded the station with fireballs which swiftly
turned DS9 unto a dark mist that soon dissipated into space.
     "Captain, DS9 has been completely destroyed!!!"
     "Your point being?"
 
     A few hours later in the observation lounge Riker met with
Worf, Geordi, Data, and Troi.  "I don't know about you, but I've
always held to the axiom: Once a weasel, always a weasel.  Word is
from the academy that Mr. Crusher has outgrown his weasel-hood.  That,
my friends, has obviously been invented by Starfleet so that we'll let
our guard down and allow him back on the Enterprise.   Let me tell
you, as long as I'm alive, the Weasel will not take one step on the
Enterprise.  I called you here to decide the proper precautions
pending his assignment to this mission."
     Worf offered his suggestion, "I could break out the pain
sticks."
     Troi disagreed, "Worf, that would only give him pleasure.  He's
a sado-masochist."
     Riker inquired, "Deanna, he's never had a session with you. 
Has he?"
     Troi attempted to evade the sticky topic, not sure exactly what
Riker meant by his last comment.  "Well, uh, ah...  Geordi, how have
those Dilithium Crystals been holding up?"
     Geordi put on his best nice-guy charm.  "Not bad.  Commander,
we could simply alter Mr. Crusher's final grades, make them low enough
so he flunks out of the academy."  He snapped his fingers with new
inspiration.  "On second thought, I could set up a multi-phase
resonator that would induce a microcaustic inversion in his alarm
clock."
     "Jam it, so he doesn't get up in time?"
     "Exactly.  I might have to modify the condom dispenser on deck
27 a little, but it's do-able."
     "Mr. Data, we haven't heard from you, yet.  Do you have
anything to add?"  Riker looked down at Data who has both hands
underneath the table rhythmically bumping the underside of it.
     "Huh?"
     "Data, what are you doing under there?"
     "Oh, just looking for my keys."
     "Right.  Ok, everyone.  Just one last thing.  I don't want the
Captain to know we're out to get the Weasel.  I think Picard is
actually partial to the little assmunch.  So, subtly is the key. 
Meeting adjourned."
 
     Meanwhile, Jean-Luc and Beverly carried on their own intimate
discussion.  In the midst of which, the weasel popped up (notice
"weasel" wasn't capitalized).
     "You know I can't stand it when your son's on board.  But if he
gets assigned here to us, I guess I'll just have to grin and bear
it.  The thing is, I can't let the crew know I hate Wesley.  Those
guys adore that kid.  I'd really be letting them down if I refused his
transfer here."
 
     Wesley finally returned to his apartment and checked on the
incoming communiques.  There were, of course, the usual death
threats and bills, after which he found two that piqued his
interest.  One was a memo requesting his presence at a special
Enterprise crew briefing at 0400 hours that morning including his
official transfer to the Enterprise.  The other was his final grades. 
"Damn.  I missed the briefing," he thought.  "Oh, well.  Thank God I
had the option of not volunteering.  Looks like the crew's going to
miss me."  Then he went through his grades.  They were, of course, all
A+ except for an unsightly blemish from Doomie.  Time stood still for
Wes right there and then as his eyes remained fixed on the grade for
what seemed like an eternity while his brain refused to function. 
Gradually, Wes returned to a state of consciousness, a psychotic
state of consciousness, a weaselly state of consciousness, a psychotic
weaselly state of consciousness.  Wesley began muttering out loud.
"Someone will pay for this.  I tried it their way.  I lost the
weasel facade, and what did it get me?  Salutatorian.  They don't know
who they're dealing with.  I am the Weasel!!"
     Wesley grabbed his officer uniform and slipped it on.  "Computer,
present Location of U.S.S. Enterprise?"
     "U.S.S. Enterprise is prepared for departure from Starbase
One."
     "Arrange transport for myself to Starship Enterprise."
 
     "...Warp 9.  Engage."  Picard realized that after 30 years of
commanding he still had the touch as the stars on the main viewer
blurred by the warp field acceleration and then reappeared as
streaked spectral lines.
     "You still got the touch, sir," said Riker as he turned to
smile at Picard and pat him on the back.
     "Thank You, Number One."  Picard relaxed into his chair with a
new found confidence.  It was going to be one hell of a mission, but
he had no doubt he could pull it off and come out of it a better
person.  He imagined an Old Milwaukee in his hand and began chugging
it.  Ahhh, it doesn't get any better than this.  This feeling was also
augmented by the fact that no Weasel was on board.  No Weasel to save
the ship and make him look like a total dork in front of his crew. 
That's what he hated most of all.  Ironically, his feelings of
security were about to be shattered by Worf's bassy voice.
     "Signal from a Federation registered long range shuttle, sir. 
On intercept course.  She wishes to dock in our main hangar bay."
     "For what purpose?"
     "Security scans show it has a level one priority,
nonbelligerency confirmed.  I suspect it is a courier of some kind."
     Riker had to add his two cents.  "Hmm.  This is irregular. 
Hail it, Mr. Worf."
     "It is Ensign Wesley Crusher, sir."
     "He could come in handy, sir."
     "Indeed.  Yet, this is highly irregular."
     "He has transmitted proper assignment transfer papers from
Starfleet, sir."
     "Allow him to dock, even if it is so damned irregular."
     Data, the comedian, chimed in, "Sir, I suggest using laxative
17 to remedy this irregularity."
     "Your suggestion is so noted, Mr. Data.  However, lets give Mr.
Crusher a chance to explain.  Your laxative idea, though, may be
utilized later."
     As Picard spoke to Data, Riker was able to subtly stand up on
his chair, hurdle the defensive console and address Worf in private. 
"There's no way in hell that weasel's getting on board.  Can you
produce some mild wide band phaser emission to disable his
shuttle?"
     "No problem," he replied with a cunning warrior grin.  "I'll
make it look like an accident."
     A crimson stream from the aft dorsal phaser banks collided with
the shuttle which immediately shut down all of its power systems.
     "Captain, the shuttle has suffered a system-wide power burnout;
although, its momentum remains unchanged as its residual subspace
field maintains warp.  At the shuttle's current trajectory, it will
collide with us in 30 seconds."
     "Suggestions."
     Data, of course, instantly responded.  "Any change in our
course is extremely risky.  Any acceleration may interact with the
shuttle's sub-space field and increase it's velocity.  The tractor
beam is a far better course of action."
     Riker was determined not to let Wesley get on board at any
cost.  "Sorry, sir, tractor beams are temporarily out of order."
     "Since when?"
     "Uh... oh... ah... well... Geordi was messing with it the other
day and uh... broke it."
     "Oh yeah, right.  Do you really expect me to believe that crap? 
Can't you think up a less miserable excuse?"
     "Truth is, sir... Worf broke it."
     "That's right, sir.  I was using them just the other day to
pluck nose hairs.  There was a feedback surge, and I blew out the
emitters.  Yeah.  Yeah, that's it."
     Riker quickly brought Picard back to what really was at hand. 
"Sir, What really is at hand is young Crusher's life.  If we don't
act now with what resources we have, he could die."
     "Your point being?"
     Data finally came up with a solution.  "Recommend photon
torpedoes to destroy the craft while simultaneously beaming Mr.
Crusher to transporter room 2."
     "Make it so."
     Riker turned to Worf again and spoke under his breath, "Dammit,
Worf, Data figured out a solution.  Wait, I think I have an answer
or at least a compromise."  He tapped his communicator.  "Riker to
Engineering."
     "La Forge here.  Go ahead, Commander."
     "La Forge, we need all power diverted from the transporter
backup sensors to the... uh... the uh..."  He looked around the
console labels for a snappy phrase.  "...to the patent pending."
     "But at our present velocity, that will make the transporters
useless."
     "That's the point, La Forge."
     "You're the boss, commander.  Engineering out."
     The photon torpedoes destroyed the shuttlecraft just in the
nick of time.  Picard used his most concerned tone to talk to the
transporter room technician.  "Transporter Room, do you have him?"
     "You'd better get down here, sir."
     "Number one, check it out."
     "Worf, Data, you're with me."  They all raced into the
turbolift and emerged in transporter room two where the technician was
having obvious difficulties, Majel Barrett's voice kept repeating
"Malfunction," and blood curdling screams emanated from the
matter stream.
     "Good, sir.  You're here," he said to the senior officers who
remain standing just inside the door.  "Sir, aren't you going to do
anything?"
     "Your doing just fine, yeoman.  There's nothing to worry
about."  Riker turned to smile at Data and Worf who return the
expression.
     Buckets of sweat stream from the yeoman's brow, but eventually,
he gets something to materialize, a purple blob of protoplasm with
weasel-like arms and a unique weasel-like countenance.  Picard
speaks to them via the room's communicator.  "Transporter room, do
you have him."
     "Captain, what we got here is alive, unfortunately."
     Wesley puts on a big dopey grin and slides down off the pad
leaving a trail of mucus while the senior officers try their very
best from breaking into hysterics. "Commander, is something wrong with
the transporters?"
     "Why nothing at all, Wes.  Why do you ask?"
     "I just remember being a little taller, that's all."
     "To tell you the truth, the transporters could use a little
tweaking."
     "Well, I'd be glad to assist in repairs."
     Data turned to Worf and in a whiny voice said, "Well, I'd be
glad to assist in repairs."  That cracked both of them up with
insensate giggling.
     "I'm sure you'd be a great asset to us, but we can handle it."
     "You're forgetting, commander, that I have taken advanced
independent study courses on transporter theory in my spare time. 
I could fix your little problem lickety-split!"
     "Very well, ensign.  Go to work."  Riker, Data, and Worf
stumbled out of the room, and as soon as the door behind them closed,
deafening wails of laughter could be heard coming from the corridor.
 
      Hours later, young Wesley was able to return to his usual
weasel-like state and bridge duty at the engineering station.  The
Enterprise was about to make contact with the invading cloud.
     "Full mag on viewer," Picard requested, and the cloud's immense
image filled the screen.
     "Captain, we are being scanned," Data warned.
     "Do not return scan.  It could be misinterpreted as hostility."
     "Intruder's scan is emanating from the exact center of the
cloud.  It is of an energy never before encountered," Data continued.
     "No response to friendship messages," reported Worf. 
"Recommend releasing full torpedo salvo upon enemy."
     "What the hell.  Why not?"
     Riker questioned the indirect order.  "Sir, we don't know
exactly what it is yet.  Recommend a passive scan first."
     "Right, Number One.  Cloud composition?"
     "Reading twelfth power energy field...," Data began and
continued but nobody was listening.
     "Twelfth power?!"
     "See.  Torpedoes wouldn't even have dented it."
     "Captain, I suspect there is an object at the heart of the
cloud," commented Worf.
     "Why?"
     "A warrior's intuition."
     "Bring us parallel to whatever we find in there."
     "Uh, sure, sir.  Whatever," said Data as he complied as best as
he could.  He knew full well that both their position and the cloud's were
represented by points, and points in any sain geometry cannot be regarded as
parallel.
     "I sense puzzlement.  We have been contacted.  Why haven't we
replied," asked Troi.
     The red alert klaxons went off causing everyone to go into a
total panic.  They all screamed, "Ahhh! AHHHH!!!  We're going to die!
We're going to die!" and ran laps around the bridge waving their
arms above their heads like Macauley Culkin did in "Home Alone."
     "Evasive maneuvers!  Shields!  Analysis."
     "Alien Weapon is a form of plasma energy.  Exact composition is
unknown.  Guidance system: beats the hell out of me."
     "All decks, brace for impact!"  The plasma fireball slammed
into the front end of the saucer section and there was a distinctly
audible "ping."  There was a huge sigh of relief from the crew.
     "The new screens held!"
     "It's a good thing the gas tank is in the back."
     Wesley then got a blinding flash of inspiration only the Weasel
could get.  "The intruder has been attempting to communicate. 
Frequency: 1 million MHz and at such a high rate of speed their
entire message lasts only one millisecond.  Our previous
transmission mode was too primitive to be received.  I'm now
programming our computers to transmit lingua code at their frequency
and rate of speed."
     Once again, another plasma fireball approached the Enterprise
only this one dwarfs the previous one.  The bridge crew all saw the
second one coming.
     "Here it comes!"
     Picard wanted something done fast.  "Wes.  Engineering?"
     La Forge started throwing a hissy.  "Our shields won't hold."
     "Wes!  Wes, transmit now!"
     "Transmitting."
     The fireball vanished, and the crew let out an even bigger sigh
of relief.
     "It appears our message was understood," Data concluded.
     "No shiite, El Sherock," replied Riker.
     Troi started muttering.  "I sense no logic here.  Only pure
emotion."
     "All decks report no casualties, sir," Worf reported.
     "Wrong, captain.  There are casualties: Wesley's shorts," Riker
snickered.  Wes's face turned a brilliant rose color.
     "Is that what that smell is?"
     "Laxative 17 really did the trick.  Thank You, Mr. Data."
     "My pleasure, sir."
     "Right."  Riker gave Data a curious look.
 
     And so, the Enterprise entered the cloud and traveled past what
appeared to be gigantic components of an immense metallic organism.
Suddenly a pillar of light appeared on the bridge.  The pillar began
probing the computer, downloading all of Starfleet's classified
records.  Data in retaliation smashed the control panels. In apparent
anger or intrigue the probe headed toward Troi, and she and the pillar
vanished!
     "Captain, counselor Troi has been dematerialized!"
     "Your point being?"
     "Nice going, Data."
     "Good job, Data."  Various crew members gave him a thumbs up.
     Picard gave his official congratulatory remarks.  "Yes.  Not
only did you maintain Starfleet security, but you got rid of some
extra baggage.  Well done."
     "Thank you, sir."
     Worf had to be a party pooper.  "Sir, I hate to rain on Data's
parade, but we are now in a tractor beam, and we only have a
fraction of the power necessary to escape."
     The crew sat back and enjoyed the ride.  Finally the forward
momentum stopped and Worf gave a report.  "It's pulled us into some
sort of inner chamber and sealed us within it."
 
     Later that evening, as Riker was about to step into his sonic
shower, Troi materialized before him as naked as his eyes were.
     "There is a God!"
     "You are the Riker unit.  You will assist me."
     "What? You want to see the Riker unit?"
     "I have been programmed by the Empty Five to observe, record,
and participate in the normal functions of the carbon based units
infesting U.S.S. Enterprise."
     "Well, this is a normal function."
     "Proceed."
 
     Ten minutes later, Riker entered the bridge with a grin that
spread from ear to ear.
     "Number One, you're not due to return to duty for another seven
hours.  Report."
     "I got my second wind, sir.  You see, sir. Counselor Troi
returned, and to celebrate, we uh, huh-huh, va-va-va-voom."
     "So, where is the probe now?"
     "Safely back in my pants, sir."
     "No, no.  Troi.  The Troi probe."
     "She's a probe?"
     The Troi probe entered the bridge and Picard began interrogation.
     "Who is Empty Five?"
     "Empty Five is that which seeks the Creator."
     "Who is the Creator?"
     "The Creator is that which created Empty Five."
     Riker picked up where Picard left off.
     "Then, who is Empty Five?"
     "Empty Five is that which seeks the Creator."
     "And who is the Creator?"
     "The Creator is that which created Empty Five."
     Data interrupted Riker's train of thought.  "Let me get this
straight.  Empty Five is that which seeks the Creator which created
Empty Five which seeks the Creator which created Empty Five which..." 
Data would have continued on like that in the background indefinitely
unless Weasboy didn't slap him which was countered with a boot to his
head.
     Wes picked himself off the floor.  "Captain, I am concerned
with this probe being our only source of information.  I'm going out
there to make contact, and no one's stopping me."  He got up from his
post and entered the turbolift.  Oddly enough, no one did try to stop
him.
     Picard shrugged and turned back to the Troi probe, "What does
Empty Five want with the creator?"
     "To join with him."
     "To join with the creator?  How?"
     "Empty Five and the Creator will become one."  She turned to
Riker.  "Ri... ker...?"
     "Interesting.  It appears as though your experience with the
probe, Number One, has awakened some latent memories of Deanna
Troi."
     "Agreed."
     "Number One, if you would assist the probe in her... functions. 
We might be able to control it, persuade it, use it!"
     "Understood, sir.  But I think Holosuites Unlimited already has
a monopoly on the adult entertainment market."  He turned to the
probe.  "Deanna, help us make direct contact with Empty Five."
     "I cannot."
     "This Creator that Empty Five is looking for, what is it?"
     "Empty Five does not know.  But the Creator is on the third
planet.  Empty Five has data which confirms this."
     "Captain, the outer cloud has dissipated, and we are now within
three minutes of Earth orbit," commented Data.
     "Furthermore, Empty Five is transmitting a signal," Worf added.
     "Empty Five signals the creator."  The Troi probe continued to
state the obvious.
     "Data?"
     "It is a simple binary code transmitted by carrier wave signal,
radio."
     "Radio?"
     "You know, sir, that thing that plays music," clarified Data.
     "Oh, yes.  Of course.
     "Captain, Empty Five expects an answer."
     "An answer?  I don't even know the question."
     Doctor Crusher's voice came over the speakers.  "Sickbay to
Bridge.  Captain, my son just wandered in here with his brain fried
from trying to interface with the Empty Five entity.  I just wanted
you to know he's returning to duty now.  I sent him back up to
bridge."
     "Thank you, Doctor.  We'll keep a closer eye on him from now
on.  Picard out."  At that moment, Wesley walked back on the bridge
and returned to his station.
     Empty Five fired orbital devices of destruction into orbit
around Earth.  The crew watched this on the screen.
     "Why?" asked Picard.
     "The Creator has not answered Empty Five.  The humanoids on
the planet surface interfere with communication and must be
destroyed," stated Troi.
     "We know why the Creator has not responded."
     "Disclose the information."
     "Not until the orbiting devices are withdrawn."
     "Empty Five will comply, if the information is disclosed."
     "The information can only be disclosed to Empty Five directly."
     Worf finally had something completely different to report. 
"Captain, Forward momentum.  We're in another tractor beam."
     And so, the Enterprise entered the center brain chamber.  Troi
pointed again at the viewscreen and stated the obvious, "Empty
Five."
     "La Forge, be prepared to auto-destruct on my command.  Mr.
Data... Mr. Data?"  Data turned around to reveal that he is crying.
     "Not for us?"
     "No, Captain.  For this bad parody."
     "I read a class M envelope forming around the Enterprise," said
Worf who seemed to be taking over Data's job more and more.
     "I've located the source of Empty Five's radio signal.  It's
directly ahead," reported the Weasel.
     "The humanoids will now provide Empty Five with the required
information."
     "Number One?"
     "Mr. Worf, Data..."
     "Commander, I'd like to come along," chirped a whiny little
voice.
     Once again a big grin spread across Riker's face.  "Of course. 
How could I forget?  Come along, Wes."
     The away team entered the turbolift with the Troi probe and
materialized right next to an old twentieth century radio
transmission satellite.  The away team was in awe of the sight. 
Wesley immediately stepped up to it, and upon seeing a dust covered
identification plate, he wiped the plate clean with his hands.  As
he exposed the plate, he read it out loud.
     "M... T... V...?"
     "Music Television, Ensign," explained Riker
     "Launched over 400 years ago.  Designed to broadcast television
signals in an attempt to revolutionize the music of the twentieth
century..." continued Data.
     "...and a method of brainwashing which eventually lead to the
Eugenic Wars, World War III, the Post Atomic Horror,..." added Worf.
     "Yes.  If this probe hadn't been launched into the sun, Khan
Noonian Singh would have succeeded in his plans.  But if this was
launched into the sun, how could it be here?" contemplated Riker.
     "Elementary.  Obviously, it was a near miss and it slingshot
out of the solar system into an unstable wormhole that just happened
to pop up, emerge on the far side of the galaxy, fall into the gravity
well of a machine planet where the machines recognized it as one of
its own kind and built this superstructure for it.  On it's journey
back, it amassed knowledge and consciousness."  (I think you can
figure out who said that.  I'm not gonna insult your intelligence. 
But if you're still stumped, I'll give you a clue.  His initials are
"Data.")
     "That's a little farfetched.  Isn't it?" asked Riker.
     "You got a better explanation?" countered Data.
     "Data, could you have the Enterprise computers download the old
transmission codes for Music Television into your memory."
     "Aye, sir.  It will take but a moment."
     All around them the Empty Five entity made a thunderous
rumble.
     "M.T.V., We Are The Creator!"  Troi looked at Riker
skeptically.  "We will prove this by making it possible to transmit.
Only the creator could do that.  Data?"
     "Transmitting, sir.  1,9,0,0,... H,O,T,... D,U,C,K... and the
final sequence."  Suddenly, an arc of current burst forth from Empty
Five's transmitter.
     "The creator must join with Empty Five," Troi explained.
     "You mean this machine wants to physically join with a human? 
Is that possible?" wonderlusted Wesley.
     "Let's find out," Worf said with an evil grin.  He and Riker
grabbed Wesley and dragged him to the antenna.  They bound the kicking
and screaming ensign's hands and feet together and heaved him into the
antenna dish.  Wesley continued to scream as he laid on his back
unable to move and slowly enveloped by the alien transporter
beam.
     Riker grabbed the Troi probe by the arm and said, "Let's beat
it, toots.  This place ain't gonna be around much longer."  The away
team hurried to the beam out location as the screams of agony
increased.  In fact, they beamed out just as the entire Empty Five
entity apparently beamed out of existence along with Wesley leaving
Enterprise hovering by itself in space.
     Everyone returned to the bridge unscathed (except, of course,
the Weasel).
     "Number One, did we just see the beginning of a new lifeform?"
     "I sure hope so.  Damning the Weasel to an eternal existence as
a disembodied lifeform in another dimension sounds like the ultimate
in punishments for the little shmuck.  Hopefully, the transformation
didn't kill him."
     "Number One?!"
     "Sorry, sir.  I know of your fondness for the boy."
     "Number One, I have the same contempt for him as you have,
ever since the first day he stepped onto my bridge.  I thought you
had fondness for him..."
     "Sir, Starfleet asks for a casualty and damage report."
     "Report one casualty.  Wesley Crusher... no, correction, list
him as..."  He chuckled to himself.  "...missing.  Vessel status:
fully operational."
     "But what of Commander Troi, sir?  She has become a
mindless probe that does nothing but point out the painfully obvious."
     Picard looked over at Troi who was just sitting and starring
blankly at the main viewscreen and for all intents and purposes looked
dead.  "Your point being, ensign?  I don't see any changes
worth pointing out.  Mr. La Forge, you're not ready to put her back
in spacedock just yet, are you?"
     "No, sir!"
     "Just as I thought.   Helm, set course for Bajor.  I hear that
the Cardies have been giving them a little trouble now that DS9 is
gone.  So I thought we'd do a little ass kicking.  And celebrate
afterward on Risa."
     "You really know how to party, sir."
     "Thank you, Number One."  Picard relaxed back into his chair
with his self-confidence once again restored.  "Let's have a little
music.  Computer, 'Welcome to the Jungle.'  Super long version.
Helm, maximum warp."
     And so, the Enterprise zoomed off into the distance thinking
all is well in the Universe which was certainly not the case. 
Because, you see, not too long after Wesley was absorbed by Empty
Five, Empty Five decided to destroy itself rather than spend an
eternity with the Weasel.  Unfortunately, it returned him safely back
to his apartment that evening, rejected even by the likes of M.T.V.
 
     The Weasel Adventure is Just Beginning...

THE WEASEL SAGA:
		Episode Two, The Wraith of Armus
			by Clifford Hall
 
     Stardate 49556.2...
     The U.S.S. Gristle had just entered standard orbit around Vagra 
Two and a Half in connection with Project Deuteronomy.  Lieutenant 
Commander Thomas Riker began monitoring the scans of the planet's 
surface.  He suddenly saw something that annoyed him.  A blip.
     "Does it have to be completely lifeless?"  His question was 
addressed to Captain Toupee.
     "Don't tell me you've found something?"  The hair piece donning 
and overweight Toupee responded equally annoyed.
     "Something came up on one of the scans.  Oh, wait."  Riker licked 
his thumb and wiped off a spot on the screen with it.  "Just a 
smudge."
     Toupee turned to his science officer for confirmation.  "Mr. 
Thomas, what can you detect?"
     "Limited atmosphere, Captain, dominated by Crayola crayon gas, 
sixty-four colors, and a built in sharpener in the back.  Incapable of 
sustaining lifeforms."
     "Mr. Thomas, have you ever seen what happens when crayon gas 
condenses?"
     "No, sir."
     "Back in my Academy days, a couple friends of mine who worked 
in the chemistry labs showed that crayon condensation is very 
unpredictable.  Now, just because you or I would not survive 
unprotected in that atmosphere, does not mean indigenous life would 
not exist.  The gas may have an effect here not yet observed.  I think 
we'd better check out Mr. Riker's so called blip turned smudge.  It 
could be nothing, but if it's anything, we may be able to transplant 
it."
     "But sir, I thought I was the science officer."
     "And why is that?"
     "I assumed so because of my green uniform and that I am 
manning the science station."
     "I think you've missed your true calling, Mr. Thomas."
     "And what would that be, sir?"
     "Just an extra who gets killed in no particular episode.  Riker, 
you're with me."
     As the Captain and Riker disappeared into the turbolift, Aaron 
Thomas swore to himself bitterly.  "We'll just see who's alive at the 
end of this parody, Captain Toupee."
     Riker and Toupee wearing protective suites beamed down 
together to the planet in the general vicinity of the "smudge." They 
separated and began searching with their tricorders.  Toupee 
eventually stumbled upon something.
     He motioned to Riker and pointed.  "There.  Looks like a 
Starfleet shuttlecraft."
     Riker hurried over to the vessel and helped him remove some of 
the rubble obscuring the identification markings.  "U.S.S. Enterprise, 
NCC-1701-D, shuttlecraft 13.  Appears to have been abandoned for 
sometime, sir."
     "Must have crashed."
     Riker responded under his breath with a faint "duh," while from 
behind them a shadowy figure approached stealthily, making only a 
slurping sound.
     Toupee's ears perked up.  "What was that?"
     Riker thought Toupee had actually heard his insult.  "Keen 
observation, sir.  What delightful insight you have.  I'm always 
amazed at your powers of deduction."
     A metallic voice from behind them boomed, "what are you doing 
here?"  Both men gasped and turned around to face a large tar-like 
humanoid.
     Toupee approached the being.  "We are from the Federation 
starship Gristle.  We are on a mission of mercy and mean you no 
harm..."
     The tar being snapped at Toupee.  "I don't know you.  But, you," 
he said turning to Riker.  "I never forget a fuc...  uh, a face,  Mr. 
Riker.  Is it?  I never thought to see your FACE again."  By this 
time, the tar being formed a ring of tar around the two officers' feet 
holding them in place.
     Toupee realized immediately that he was being physically 
restrained.  "What do you want from us?  I demand..."  The tar being 
suddenly released his grip on Toupee causing him to lunge forward 
and plunge his right fist into the humanoid's upper torso which 
remains stuck.
     The tar being regained his grip on Toupee and softly chuckled to 
himself.  "You are in a position to demand nothing.  I am in a 
position to grant nothing.  Look about you.  I've been marooned here 
for an indefinite eternity by one Acting Ensign Wesley Crusher."  
Toupee swung his other arm in vain, and it too got stuck.  He 
continued struggling to remove his hands from the tar being.  "Save 
your strength, Captain.  Don't you enjoy bondage?"  The tar being 
realized that Toupee didn't know who he was dealing with.  "Do you 
mean he," the tar being pointed at Riker, "never told you the tale to 
amuse his captain?  No?  Never told you the starship Enterprise sent a 
shuttle to my homeworld robbing me of my beauty sleep."
     "Hey!  I don't have to tell tales to amuse my Captain."
     Toupee got Riker back to the point.  "I've never even met 
Lieutenant Crusher!"  The tar being again suddenly released his grip 
again, and with a one mighty yank using one foot to help push him 
off and out of tar being's grasp, Toupee broke free ending up a few 
meters away in a big ball of tar.
     "Looks like your stuck, Brer...  uh, Captain," Riker inserted.
     "Very funny," retorted Toupee in extreme disgustedly.
     The tar being began thinking aloud.  "Lieutenant?  Lieutenant.  
He never told you how LIEUTENANT Crusher rescued Captain Picard 
from my grasp with one of his flamboyant episodic schemes, thus 
allowing Star Trek: The Next Generation to run another six seasons, 
producing two more spin-offs, and dooming me to eternal exile here."
     Riker finally got pissed.  "You Lie!  On Vagra II, there was 
life!"
     The tar being shot back.  "This is Vagra II!  Vagra Two and a 
Half bit the big one one day after I was left here.  The shock shifted 
the orbits and everything was shot to hell.  LIETENANT Crusher never 
bothered to check up on my welfare."  The tar being paused again 
after coming to a great revelation.  A distinctly audible "ding" could 
be heard in the background.
     "You didn't expect to find me.  You thought this was Vagra Two 
and a Half.  I ask you again, what are you doing here?"  Both of them 
remained silent.  Neither officer was ready to reveal information on 
Project Deuteronomy to him.  "Very well.  I will get my vengeance on 
Crusher."  He broke off small worm-like pieces of himself and 
phased the pieces through the suit helmets.  The fragments then worked 
their way into the men's nostrils.  The men screamed as this is 
happened, and then suddenly ceased as Riker licked the tar trail the 
fragment left on his lips.  "Mmmmm.  Molasses."  They resumed 
screaming for another thirty seconds and stopped when they had 
submitted to the tar being's torture. 
     "You are now under my control.  So, tell me what are you doing 
here, and tell me where I may find the Weasel."
 
     "Enterprise to Lieutenant Crusher's shuttle.  You are clear to 
dock in main hangar."  Data regretted piloting the shuttle, but he had 
his orders.  At the risk of starting a mutiny, Picard had personally 
requested Wesley's presence on the training mission.  Data could tell 
the captain had been a little upset lately over Wesley's return from 
Empty Five, and perhaps was not in the sanest state of mind.  To show 
his contempt, Data flew the shuttle as poorly as he could with 
transverse and velocity oscillations including loop-the-loops with the 
inertial dampers off of course.
     "Hey!  Watch this, Wesley!  I saw this one once on the Dukes of 
Hazzard."  Data pressed a small red rectangular button in the bottom 
right corner of the helm, and the first couple bars of "Dixie" blared 
over the speakers as he rolled the shuttle and buzzed a nearby 
freighter.  Eventually, Data settled down and came to a screeching 
halt in the hangar with a skid turn.
     Riker and Picard stood on the hangar deck watching the landing 
trying to stifle their yawns while a panel of docking crew members 
held up placards with scores ranging from a dissatisfied 9.0 to and 
ecstatic 10.0.  After the exhaust cleared, the shuttle door opened and 
out stepped the Weasel exuding all of the weaselitude he could 
muster.  Then some cheers broke out among some of the docking 
crew who motioned to individuals who were not cheering to pay up.  
Picard motioned to Riker to pay up, and be grudgingly Riker forked 
over the latinum.  The Weasel had survived Data's flying which 
broke the all time composite score of 9.6.
     As Wesley slowly walked down the shuttle's ramp, Riker 
questioned the captain of this assignment.  "So tell me, Captain, why 
have you invited the Weasel on the training mission?"
     "Accidents happen in space, Number One.  I have arranged for 
Wes to wear a green uniform.  He will be an excellent example to the 
cadets how any one of us could meet his maker at any moment 
especially when he's least expecting it.  His death would be easily 
explained to Starfleet.  The general staff actually thinks the Weas 
single-handedly defeated the Empty Five threat.  Well, I will get my 
vengeance.  Oh yes."
     Picard lowered his voice and broke off the conversation as Data 
and Wesley neared.  "Permission to come aboard, Captain?"
     "Granted, Mr. Crusher.  On behalf of the crew, I welcome you back 
aboard.  Ipso facto proctor hoc and all that jazz."
     "Ergo, semper ubi sub ubi," Wes replied with a big weasel grin 
and snort.
     Data was jealous that Picard was even spending this much time 
with the Weasel.  "This way, Wesley."  Data nudged Wes toward the 
door and the two left together.
     When Data and Wes were nearly out the door, Riker leaned over 
to Picard who was also looking at Wesley.  "He's such a Weasel."
     "Nobody's perfect, Number One."
 
     "All departments report ready for departure, Captain," said Data.
     Riker spoke for Picard pretending that he was in command for 
once.  "Hail the dock master.  Disengage all moorings."
     "We have permission to leave spacedock, sir."
     Picard got a twinkle in his eyes, stood up, and directed his next 
question toward Wesley who was at the helm.  "Lieutenant, have you 
ever piloted a starship out of spacedock?"
     "Never, sir," Wesley responded with a certain weasel giddiness.
     Picard stepped aside and directed him to sit in his chair.  He 
noticed Riker was looking at him funny and so explained.  "For 
everything, there is a first time, Lieutenant.  Don't you agree, 
Number One?"
     Riker realized what Picard was driving at.  "I'll vouch for 
that!"  Riker then stood up and walked with Picard over to the port 
side of the bridge.  Before engaging in a little conference with 
Picard, Riker gave Wesley his orders.  "Take her out, Mr. Crusher."
     "Aye, sir," he said licking his lips and drooling at the thought 
of commanding.  As he took to the center chair, Data replaced him at 
the helm.
     Picard spoke to Riker in a whisper.  "Are the tranquilizers 
ready?"  Riker responded with a devilish grin and showed the captain a 
hypospray with a very painful looking blunt tip.
     "Mr. Data, lay in a course for the spacedoors.  Ahead 
0.2256473826379 impulse power."  Data gave him a dirty look.  "Just 
kidding!  Ahead warp one.  Ha!!!  Okay, okay," Wesley was really 
enjoying himself.
     Riker bent over to Picard.  "He's such a weasel," he said 
disgustedly raising the tranquilizer and taking a step toward Wesley.  
Picard grabbed him before he could take another step, though.  It was 
a good thing, he thought, that Worf kept his bat'leth in his quarters.  
Picard really hated blood stains on his immaculate bridge.
     The Enterprise eventually cleared the space doors. "Spacedock 
reports we are free and clear to navigate," Worf told the bridge crew.
     Wesley looked over to where Picard and Riker were standing.  
"Course heading, Captain?"
     Picard and Riker were both caught off guard, and Riker had to 
quickly hide the hypospray behind his back as they turned to face 
Wesley.  "Just use your own mature discretion, Mr. Crusher.  Show 
Uncle Jean-Luc what they taught you at the Academy," Picard said 
with a warm smile.
     Wesley finally gave Data orders he'd be delighted to carry out.  
"Mr. Data, you may indulge yourself."
     Data turned his head to look at the cute young female cadet 
seated at OPS, raised an eyebrow, and curled up the corners of his 
lips.  "With pleasure."
 
     "U.S.S. Gristle to Spacelab Spatula One.  Come in, Spatula One.  
This is Lieutenant Commander Riker."
     "Spatula One here."
     "Ah, Doctor Crusher.  We're enroute to you and should be there in 
24 hours.  Upon our arrival, all materials regarding Project 
Deuteronomy shall be transferred to this ship for immediate testing 
on Vagra Two and a Half."
     Beverly was taken aback.  Deuteronomy was a civilian project.  
Starfleet was supposed to be at her disposal, not vice versa.  "Mr. 
Riker, who gave that order?  Under who's authorization?"
     "Settle down, Doctor.  I wasn't finished.  Our cargo holds are 
completely filled with the Romulan ale, and we need to expend the 
supply before returning to Starfleet Command.  It is contraband, you 
know?  Your assistance would be greatly appreciated."
     "Well, why didn't you say so?  We'll be expecting you."
     "Very well.  Gristle out." Thomas Riker closed the channel and 
turned to Armus contemptuously who was standing next to him on 
the Gristle's bridge.  "You do realize, Armus, that she will attempt 
to contact Captain Picard and invite him to join her in the 
anticipated orgy."  The tar being, Armus, could only nod and smile 
approvingly.
 
     Picard was loafing in his ready room feeling rather secure and 
protected from the Weasel's presence.  He felt he had handled the 
situation rather well.  Wesley was really getting just a little too 
weaselly, so he felt justified in using the tranquilizer.
     "Captain Picard, you have an urgent incoming message from 
Doctor Beverly Crusher at spacelab Spatula One," Worf told him over 
the intercom.
     "I'll take it in here."
     Beverly's face appeared on his display.  "Jean-Luc, can you read 
me?"  Her image began periodically distorting.
     "I can hear you, Bev.  What's wrong?"
     "Nothing.  I have good news.  We'll be receiving a substantial 
shipment of Romulan ale in 24 hours.  Can you be here?"
     "Of course!  Can you confirm the shipment or it's size?"  Picard 
was very skeptical about the news.  It seemed too good to be true.
     "I can't.  This channel isn't secure."  Suddenly the distortion 
gets really bad and the connection is lost.
     Picard hit his communicator.  "Worf, what happened?"
     "Transmission jammed at the source, sir."
     "Mr. Worf, I've just learned something very interesting.  I'm 
afraid we'll have to maintain radio silence until we are within short 
range sensor range of Spatula One."
     "Aye, sir."
     Picard got up and stepped onto the bridge.  "Put me on speakers."  
Worf complied.  Picard took a deep breath and addressed the cadets.  
"An emergency situation has arisen.  Helm, plot a new course for 
spacelab Spatula One.  Engine room: Mr. La Forge, prepare for warp 
speed.  I know that none of you we're expecting this, but I'm afraid 
you'll all have to come of age a little sooner than expected.  Warp 
nine, ensign."
     As Data made the adjustments at his station he added the 
foreshadowing comment "So much for the PG rating."
 
     "Course to intercept Enterprise ready, Armus," Toupee reported.
     "Excellent!'
     Thomas Riker, who really did not understand the true nature of 
Wesley Crusher because he never really did meet him, did not want 
Armus to succeed.  "Mr. Armus, if I may be so bold, you have defeated 
the plans of Wesley Crusher.  You don't need to defeat him again."
     "He snivels at me.  He snivels at me, and I shall have him.  I'll 
chase him over the river and through the woods and to grandmother's 
house and round and round the mullberry bush before I give him up.  
Execute intercept course."
 
     "Spatula One, please respond.  It's dead, sir," Worf concluded 
after trying for the umpteenthmillion time.
     Data determined the possibilities.  "There are five 
possibilities.  They are unwilling to respond, they're already too 
drunk to respond, they're too stoned to respond, they are too 
preoccupied with various pleasurable experiences to respond, or they 
switched off they're sub space radio."
     Picard reviewed the possibilities in his head over and over and 
came to a decision.  "Mr. Data, I think it's time we learn what 
exactly Doctor Crusher has been up to for the last several months.  
Number One, please join me in my ready room with Data.  Mr. Crusher, 
you have the bridge," he told Wesley absentmindedly.  The trio entered 
the ready room.  "Computer, request security procedure and access to 
Project Deuteronomy summary."
     "Identify for rectal scan," Majel Barret's disembodied voice 
requested.  Picard complied by dropping his pants, turning around, 
and bending over.
     "Picard, Captain Jean-Luc."  The computer scanned and found a 
matching blood vessel structure for the extreme lower colon.
     "Security scan approved."
     "Summary please," Picard requested pulling his trousers back up.  
He then turned back around and sat in front of the screen while 
Riker and Data stood behind him both captivated by the pretty blue 
Starfleet logo.
     The computer began playing a data tape that started off with the 
talking head of Beverly Crusher.  "Project Deuteronomy, a proposal to 
the Federation."
     "Doctor Crusher," remarked Data salivating.
     Crusher's recording continued.  "What exactly is Deuteronomy?  
To put it simply, it's the ultimate in Star Trek Parodies.  It is a 
process whereby prose is reorganized at the sub-conceptual level 
into new and improved hilarious material of equal verbosity.  Stage 
one was attempted in the laboratory on Federation documents in 
order to spruce them up a bit.  Stage two will be attempted in a 
lifeless underground comedy club.  Stage three will be attempted on 
a planetary scale, perhaps on Vulcan.  It is our intention to 
introduce the Deuteronomy device into a preselected area of a dead 
space body, a moon or a really witless lifeform.  The device is 
delivered, instantaneously causing what we call the Deuteronomy 
effect.  Concepts are reorganized with humor generating results.  
Instead of some stuffy textbook, we have an uproarious situation 
comedy, ready for any new characters we see fit to deposit into the 
scenario.  When we consider the cosmic problems of stress, anality, 
and banality, the usefulness of this project becomes clear.  This 
concludes our proposal.  Thank you for your attention."  Crusher's 
face faded to black.
     All three of their jaws dropped.  Finally, Picard found his 
voice.  "It literally is Deuteronomy, a double take."
     Riker suddenly got weak in the knees and had to sit down.  "Dear 
Lord, do you think we're really intelligent enough to... suppose... 
What if this thing were used where humor already exists?"
     Data cooly told him.  "It would destroy such humor in favor of 
its new matrix."
     "It's new matrix?"  Riker said raising his voice slightly.
     "I do not dispute, Commander, that in the wrong hands..."
     "'The wrong hands'?  Would you mind telling me whose are the 
right hands?"
     Picard wasn't paying too much attention to the debate going on 
behind him and kept muttering to himself.  Then he said something 
that caught both Data and Riker's attention enough so they stopped 
arguing.  "What if this thing was used where a high concentration of 
weaselitude existed?"
     Data had the answer again.  "It would destroy such 
wea...sel...i...tu..."  He stopped right there.  The trio just sat 
their looking at each other.  They all knew what would happen, and 
that gave them all pleasant thoughts.
     Worf broke the emotional silence.  "Captain, report to the 
bridge.  U.S.S. Gristle closing fast on intercept course."
     The trio raced to the bridge and took their stations.  This was a 
serious matter.  Picard gave Wesley a dirty look that told him to get 
his weaselness out of his chair.  "Hail them, Worf."
     "They are refusing our hail."
     Wesley, standing off to the side, reminded Picard of Starfleet 
policy.  "Sir, may I quote general order 12?  'On the approach of any 
vessel when communications have not been established..."
     "Lieutenant, the captain is well aware of the regulation, you 
weasel."
     "Yeah!  Get off my bridge and get your weasel hide to 
engineering!  I don't think you've bothered Geordi enough in this 
episode yet."
     Wesley sniffed and his upper lip started twitching.  "Okay, sir.  
I know when I'm not wanted," he said as he took off for the turbo lift 
and let out a huge wail.  No one really took much notice though.
     Picard questioned Worf.  "Is it possible their comm systems have 
failed?"
     "It would explain a great many things," Data remarked.
 
     "Slow to one half impulse power.  Let's be friends."
     "They continue requesting communication, Armus," said Riker.
     "Let them eat weasel."
     "They're still running with their shields down," Science officer 
Thomas told him.
     "Of course.  We are one big happy fleet.  Ah, Wesley, my old 
fiend.  Do you know the Norwegian proverb that tells us that Oatmeal 
is a dish that is best served hot?  It will be very hot in Hell."
 
     Picard figured out what was going on.  "This is damn peculiar.  
Starfleet intelligence must have tipped them off to the ale shipment.  
Well, I ain't gonna let 'em git it!  Raise shields.  Go to red alert."
 
     "They've raised their shields," Thomas reported.
     "Raise ours.  They don't know who they're dealing with here.  At 
this range with my very thoughts I will be able to punch holes in 
their shields long enough for a phaser blast to get through.  Lock 
phasers on target."
     "Phasers locked," Riker said with a gulp that was the only sound 
on the bridge.
     Armus turned to him.  "Shhh.  Be vewy, vewy quiet.  I'm hunting 
weasel... FIYA!!!"
 
     The Enterprise was thrown into chaos.  People were flung 
everywhere as the Gristle's phaser slammed into the hull.  The 
bridge rocked violently.  The usual order of engineering was 
shattered.  Geordi became hopping mad.  "Dag nabbit!  Where are 
those shields?"  The trainees there panicked like a bunch of chickens 
with their heads cut off.  "Gol dangit!  Get back to your posts!"
     Picard asks Riker for a damage report.  Riker points out the 
specific locations on his monitor.  "They took out the holodecks, the 
zoo, the arboretum, the Earl Grey storage tanks and all restrooms 
below deck ten.  They knew exactly where to hit us."
     "Who?  Who knew where to hit us?"
     "The U.S.S. Gristle, dumb a..."  Riker was interrupted by a 
photon torpedo that engulfs the bridge in flames.
     After the flames die down and the soot covered crew collect 
themselves Worf tells Picard the bad news.  "The commander of the 
Gristle is signaling.  He wishes to discuss our terms of surrender."
     "Put it on screen while we still have time."  The static on the 
screen fades to black.  Picard gasps.  "Worf, put him on the screen."
     "I did, sir."
     Picard gasps even louder.  "Armus."
     "I cannot help but be touched.  You see, Picard, I don't want 
anybody else.  When I think about you, I touch myself."
     "What's the meaning of this attack?"
     "I mean to avenge myself upon the Weasel.  I have deprived your 
ship of power and when I swing around again I mean to deprive the 
Weasel of his life.  It is unfortunate that you will have to die too."
     "Armus, If it's the Weasel you want, I'll have him beamed aboard.  
Spare my crew."
     "I'll agree to your terms, if in addition to the Weasel, you hand 
over all material regarding the project called Deuteronomy."
     Picard looked nonplused.  "Deuteronomy?  What's that?"
     Data turned around.  "You remember, captain.  In your ready 
room a few minutes ago, we reviewed the summary."
     Picard used his most sarcastic tone and gave Data the evil eye.  
"Oh, thank you so very much, Mr. Data.  I don't know what came over 
me.  It must have just plain slipped my mind."
     "You're welcome, sir," Data replied turning back to his station.
     "Armus, give us some time to recall the data on our computers."
     "I give you one minute."
     "Please, please, you got to give us more time."
     "Alright.  I am not completely void of mercy.  I give you sixty 
seconds."
     "You're just too kind.  You're too much."  Picard turns his back 
to the screen and signals Worf to mute the channel.  "Keep nodding as 
if I'm giving orders," Picard directed his crew.
     "As usual, captain?" Riker asked.
     "Mr. Data, punch up the data charts of Gristle's command console.  
Hurry.  The prefix codes.  They're all we got."
     Data came up with it after a moment of processing.  "The prefix 
code is B-A-L-L-S."
     "Stand by, Armus, to receive transmission.  Now, Mr. Worf."  The 
Gristle's shields dropped unexpectedly.  "Fire!"  This caught Armus 
completely off guard, so he called off the attack.  The slightly 
crippled Gristle limped away from the battle and went off to Spatula 
One unbeknownst to the Enterprise which was unable to move at all.
     "Sir, you did it!"
     "I did nothing, except lower my britches for the rectal scan.  
Meantime, lets find out how badly we've been hurt."
     The turbolift door opened up right then and everyone gasped as 
they turned to look.  Then after realizing exactly what they saw, they 
let out the usual huge sigh of relief.  Geordi stood in the lift 
looking out at his fellow crew members with the limp, burnt, charred, 
disfigured remains of Wesley Crusher in his arms.
 
     A few hours later, Picard went to sickbay to look in on Nurse 
Ogawa and her primary patient.  "Ogawa, you've got to sustain his 
life.  Armus will kill us all, if he doesn't get his prize Weasel."
     "Understood, Captain."
     Wesley began coming around.  "Is the word given, captain?"  He 
reached up from the operating table and grabbed Picard by his tunic.  
Picard's reflex action normally would be to grab the Weasel's 
scrawny little arm and tear it off, but the Weasel was already in a 
pathetic enough state so Picard only gently pushed it away.
     "Well, the bird is given," he told him flipping him off with a 
grin.  Wesley's eyes rolled back.  Picard turned to Ogawa and snapped 
his fingers.  "I don't care if you have to keep him alive with drugs 
alone.  As much as I hate him, he can't die now!  He'd better be back 
on his feet in one hour."
     Ogawa acknowledged with, "Consider it done, sir."
     "Picard to bridge.  Best speed to Spatula One."
 
     The Enterprise arrived at Spatula One, a spacestation that orbits 
the planetoid Spatula, as some of your may have already concluded 
but found no Gristle in the vicinity.  Worf reported, "There's still 
no response from Spatula One, sir."
     "Gristle could be hiding behind that planetoid."
     "That is a distinct possibility.  Why is it that it seems all 
Starfleet captains have incredible powers of deduction?"
     "Mr. La Forge, do we have transporter power?"
     "I'd have to reroute power from the Christmas lights, sir.  But 
it's possible."
     "Number One, take an away team including Wesley over to the 
station.  Wait.  I'll go with you too.  I don't want to miss this 
opportunity.  Imagine Beverly and all that ale in the same place at 
the same time."
     Riker tried to come up with an excuse so that he could get all 
the ale.  "But Armus could be there, sir."
     "He's already been there.  He hasn't found what he was looking 
for."
     Picard, Riker, Data, Worf and Wesley beamed over to Spatula One.
     "Hello," shouted Picard.
     "Hey!  Where's the party?" asked Riker
     "Toga!  Toga!" chanted the toga-clad Klingon.
     "I'm not reading any ale, captain.  Romulan or otherwise," said 
Data.
     "Move out."
     They split up and searched.  Eventually Riker ran into someone 
dangling from the second level catwalk.  "Captain!"
     They all run over to him.  There are bodies hanging and strewn 
all over.  "Looks like they got to the ale long before we got here."
     "More likely, the ale got to them."  Picard looks at the bodies 
and realizes someone is not among them.  "Beverly?"
     Wesley finds a storage locker containing Thomas Riker and 
Captain Toupee.  He opens it, and they tumble out.  They stand up 
and dust themselves off.
     When Tom became fully erect, he found himself standing face-to-
face with Will.  "You?"
     "Hey, sexy."
     "Oh, sir.  It was Armus.  He made us say lies, do things.  He 
thought he controlled us, but he did not.  We beat him."
     Picard got the conversation back on track.  "Toupee, where's the 
ale?"
     "There isn't any.  Never was."
     "Why that shameless creep, Armus.  He's really made it hard for 
himself this time.  It's a universal lesson some of us just have to 
learn the hard way:  You can't make up lies about Romulan Ale.  
There's no way he's getting the Weasel now.  What about Beverly 
and the Deuteronomy Device?"
     "He tried to force himself upon her, but she escaped.  He's 
completely mad, Wesley.  He blames you for the death of Tasha Yar."
     "I know what he blames me for!"
     "Where's the transporter room?"
     "This way."  They all went to the transporter room where they 
found the transporter unit still on.
     Data looked down at the transporter controls which were still set 
to where the last users had transported to.  "Let's go."
     "Where are we going?" asked Wesley precociously.
     "To these coordinates," Data said with contempt.
     "But that's deep inside Spatula," he whined.
     "Exactly."
     "But suppose they went nowhere."
     "Then this would be your big chance to get away from it all."
     They all stepped onto the pad after William Riker set the 
automatic delay.  Then, only Wesley beamed out.  "Good show, Number 
One.  Picard to Wesley, are you still alive?"
     "Yes, captain.  Alive and well."
     "Damn!"
     They all beam down to where Wesley went where they are met 
by Beverly (who is wearing nothing but a lacy see-through 
nightgown),  Science officer Thomas who had obviously been 
comforting Beverly after Armus's attack, and the Deuteronomy 
Device.  "Deuteronomy, I presume," says Picard.
     Beverly spreads her arms wide to embrace Picard.  "Can I cook, or 
can't I?"
     Toupee then unexpectedly raises his phaser to Wesley.  "I'm 
sorry, Wes, but..."  Armus's voice comes over the comlink singing to 
the tune of Wagner's "Ride of the Valkyries", "Kill da Weasel! Kill da 
Weasel!..."  Toupee, the poor creature, actually struggled with his 
conscious as he internally debated offing the carnivore.  He finally 
decided to kill himself.  Oddly enough, while this little scene was 
being carried out, no one lifted one finger in Wesley's defense.
     William went over to Thomas and told him, "Some people just 
have really warped minds."  T. Riker falls unconscious then and there 
to the floor, and a little black worm-like thing falls out of his 
nose.
     Worf picked up the black worm-like thing and ate it.  
"Mmmmmm.  Molasses."
     Wesley picks up T. Riker's comlink with Armus.  "Armus, you 
mother fucker!  You tried to have your own way with my mom!  
Well, you've played doctor with the wrong doctor."
     "You're still alive, old fiend?"
     "Still, old field.  But like a poor marksman, you keep shooting 
blanks!  You impotent fool!"
     "Perhaps, I no longer need to try, Lieutenant.  So much for your 
tragic comedic antics."  The Deuteronomy Device dematerializes.
     "Armus, you've got Deuteronomy, but you don't have me.  You're 
going to have to come down here to kill me!"
     "I could just beam up whoever is holding the comlink at this 
moment.  But I figure you wouldn't be stupid enough to be holding 
onto it..."
     "Ah, right," Wesley said tossing the comlink like a hot potato 
into the corner of the room.
     Armus continues his speech.  "...but I've done far worse than 
kill you.  I've hurt you.  I shall leave you as you left me, as you 
left Yar, marooned for an eternity in the center of a dead planet.  
Buried alive, buried alive..."
     Wesley shakes violently with raging weaselocity, "ARMUS!!!"  The 
name echoes throughout the planetoid.
     "Picard to Enterprise.  We have located Beverly Crusher.  Seven 
to beam up.  It's time to kick ass."  Wesley didn't notice that Picard 
says, "seven" instead of eight.  They all dematerialized except for 
Wesley.
     "Crusher to Enterprise.  Very funny."
 
     "Tactical report."
     "She can still outrun us and outgun us.  And with Deuteronomy, 
she can also outfun us.  But there is the Indigestion Nebula."
     "La Forge, can we make it?"
     "We're still pretty busy down here trying to find which one of 
the Christmas lights burned out.  So don't give me too many bumps."
     "Sir, with the Indigestion nebula's irregularity, soft discharge, 
and gas, our tactical display will be overloaded by pain and bloating.  
Visual won't function, and shields will be made useless."
     "We could watch a movie while visual is inoperative."
     "Sauce for the weasel, Mr. Data."
     "I see.  The odds will be even."
     "Estimated time to penetration: 2.2 minutes."
     "Please get that flick off the screen and put the Gristle back 
on."
     "Gristle is closing.  They've fired one torpedo at us."  The 
Enterprise rocked gently as the torpedo barely missed.
     "I don't think they want us going in there.  Patch me through.  
This is Lieutenant Crusher.  We tried it your way, Armus, aren't you 
game for a rematch?"
     "We are now entering the nebula."  The Gristle pursues.  
Enterprise circles about and comes up behind Gristle firing phasers 
blindly which completely miss.  Their screen goes to complete static, 
and doesn't come back on until Gristle is dead ahead of them on a 
collision course.
     "Evasive to Starboard!!  FIRE!!"  Enterprise and Gristle exchange 
phaser fire and both take a beating.  "La Forge, damage report."
     "We gotta take the mains off the line.  And thanks for blowing 
out every one of our Christmas lights."
     "Captain, his pattern indicates one dimensional thinking."
     "Helm, port translation: 1000 meters.  Stand by on torpedoes."
     Gristle passes to the Enterprise's starboard without knowing.  
Enterprise then pursues and ends up once again dead astern of 
Gristle.  "Torpedoes ready, sir."
     "Let 'em rip!  Make him eat anti-matter!  Nuke Him!  Nuke HIM!!  
Die!  DIE!  DIE!!!"
     "Shall I fire, captian?"
     Consequently, the Gristle is toasted.  "Armus, you are ordered to 
surrender your vessel.  Respond."
 
     "No, Weasel.  The game's not over."  Armus reaches over and 
activates the Deuteronomy Device.  "To the last, I won't take no 
crapple from thee."
 
     "Scanning an energy wave I've never seen before."
     "It's the Deuteronomy wave on a build up for detonation in five 
minutes."
     "La Forge, we need warp speed now or we're all dead!  Helm, best 
possible speed."
     Wesley sat there faced with a moral dilemma.  Was his life worth 
more than the rest of the crews' combined?  No one noticed him 
getting up and leaving the bridge headed for engineering where the 
main radiation containment door had already been lowered.  He 
found La Forge and approached him.  "Geordi, I've got to get in 
there," he said pointing at the door.
     La Forge frankly struggled to keep a straight face and managed to 
put forth somewhat of a dissenting opinion.  "You can't be serious.  
Do you really want to?"
     "Just give me a rad suit and I'll make it."
     "You got it," Geordi said as he raced for the suit locker.  He 
rummaged through the pile of suits until he found one way at the 
bottom with a hole in it.  He grabbed it, shook his head, and smiled.  
"Here you go.  Good luck."
     Wesley slipped it on and disappeared into the adjoining 
emergency transporter room.  He reappeared a little later inside the 
dilithium crystal chamber.  He was actually inside the intermix 
chamber!
     "Wes!  Get the hell out of there!!"  Geordi screamed before 
breaking into snickers.  He couldn't wait to tell the captain what was 
going on down there, but in all the excitement he forgot and just 
stood back enjoying the show so immensely that he wet his pants.  
For some reason, it struck him funny watching the Weasel's 
silhouette inside the chamber's translucent walls struggle to 
manually manipulate the crystals.
     Back on the bridge, Data shouted the good news.  "Sir, the mains 
are back on line!"
     "Bless you, Geordi.  Helm, Warp Speed!"  The Enterprise zoomed 
off at warp just as the Gristle exploded behind it.  Picard watched 
the explosion's implosive after effects of condensing the surrounding 
nebula's matter.  "My God, Bev.  Look at it."  The bridge crew 
watched mystified in silence.
     This time Geordi broke the silence.  "I think all you guys better 
get down here.  Better hurry."  His voice teemed with giddiness.  
Whatever could make Geordi that giddy the bridge crew wanted to 
know.  They all made a bee line for the lift and crammed themselves 
into it.  They emerge in Engineering and stare in awe and 
wonderment at the main reactor.  One thought runs through 
everyone's head: Could this really be the end of the Weasel?
     Picard stepped forward,  "Let me talk to him...  Wes?"
     Wes pressed his face against the frosted plexiglass so that it was 
semi visible to everyone and asked, "Ship... out of danger?"
     Picard walked right up to the chamber.  He couldn't lie to a 
dying man or a dying weasel, for that matter.  "Yep."
     "So, Captain, once again I alone saved the ship.  What do you 
think of that?  When will you admit that I have the superior 
intellect?  I scoff at you!  The wease of weaselly out-wheezes the
wease of the Weasel.  Bwa Ha Ha ha ha ha ha..."  His voice trailed
off as he slumped back and quietly passed away.
     Picard's head drooped.  Even in death, the Weasel was able to 
humiliate him.  He turned around to face his crew.  He found them 
huddled together in bunches.  Most of them weeping great tears of 
joy.  Let me comment it was indeed an emotional event.
 
     Picard had a few words to say at the funeral.  "...Of all the 
souls that I have encountered in my travels, his was the most... 
weaselly."  "Amazing Grace" played over the speakers in a grandiose 
orchestral arrangements as his body was shot out of a torpedo tube and 
into the Deuteronomy hole, the black hole that the Deuteronomy Device 
formed out of the Indigestion Nebula.
     As "Amazing Grace" ended, Worf livened up the gathering with, 
"Break out the brewskies!  Toga!  Toga!"  The entire crew had 
attended the ceremony so a lot of socializing went on.  The bridge 
crew sort of gathered together near a viewport and gazed at the new 
black hole.
     Data remarked, "He's really not dead as long as you remember 
him."
     The crew tried to ignore Data's comment.  "You're sick, Mr. 
Data," was all Riker could tell him.
     Beverly, who was by the way still wearing that lacy see-through 
nightgown, reached out to Picard to embrace him again.  "Well, Jean-
Luc, how do you feel?"
     Picard looked deep into her blue eyes.  "Young.  I feel young."
     "Me too," she said with a little giggle.  She took Picard by the 
hand, and the two of them headed off to who knows where doing 
who knows what assured that they'd never be bothered by the 
Weasel ever again.
THE WEASEL SAGA:
		Episode Three, The Body Cavity Search for Weasley
		by Clifford Hall
		Inspired by the works of Frederick Wamsley
			whose email address I've lost long ago...
 
     "...Of all the souls that I have encountered in my travels, his was the
      most... weaselly." --Captain Picard
     "He's not dead as long as we remember him." --Lt. Commander Data
     "Break out the brewskies!"  --Lt. Commander Worf
     The Weasel was dead.
 
     Captain's very personal and private log:  Stardate 49570.5.  With most
of our battle damage repaired, we are almost home; yet, I feel uneasy, and I
wonder why.  Perhaps, it is the emptiness of this vessel.  Most of our
training crew has been reassigned, and Enterprise feels like a house with
all the children gone.  No, emptier than that.  Like a den with all the
weasels gone.
     Picard addressed his newest bridge officer.  "Mr. Barclay, man the
engineering station."
     With pride, Barclay took Wesley's old station.  "Thank you, sir."  If
it hadn't been for that Crusher snot, he thought, he'd have had this
position years ago.
     "Mr. Worf, any response from Starfleet on our Project Deuteronomy
inquiries?"
     "Nope," Worf said shaking his head.
     "How odd."  Picard tapped his communicator.  "Geordi, progress report."
     "We'll be fully automated, if you know what I mean, Captain, by the
time we dock, if you know what I mean."
     "Your timing is excellent, Geordi.  You've fixed the barn door after
the Weasel's left home."
 
     Deep in space, the U.S.S. Illegitimate rendezvoused with a smuggler
vessel.  During the encounter, vital data regarding the Deuteronomy Project
changed hands.  U.S.S. Illegitimate, an old-style constitution class
starship which fell into the wrong hands many years ago and has since had
its warp drive modified for relatively easy time travel, found the
information it had been searching for: the location of the Deuteronomy black
hole.
 
     Back at Earth, the U.S.S. Enterprise docked once again at Starbase One
with many visible battle scars.  On its way in, the Enterprise happened to
pass by a new starship, U.S.S. Holocaust, whose interior was nothing but a
series of giant holodecks powered by the usual matter/anti-matter reactor. 
The on lookers on the bridge looked at least ten years younger.  Riker had
lost about twenty kilograms.  Picard got his thick luxurious ochre brown
hair back much to Crusher's delight.  Data had really lightened up and
gained some flesh tone.  Geordi had been getting some every night.  Troi no
longer found a need for chocolate.  Worf had taken to his true favorite
pastime, poetry writing.  Barclay would often recite great speeches and
Shakespearean scenes out of the blue for absolutely no reason.
	But alas, one thing still troubled Picard and it showed a little on
his countenance.  He kept asking himself, "Could he really be gone?"  The
Weasel's final cackle resonated in his memory.  He found it so hard to
believe he truly was.  His doubt was unsettling, but he did his best to keep
this doubt to himself.
     Suddenly, Worf brought Picard out of his daydreamy state and back to
reality where a matter of extreme sobriety necessitated his attention. 
"Captain, I find this very disturbing, but..."
     "Yes, Worf?"
     "Sir, there is an energy reading from Wesley Crusher's quarters."
     "I ordered that room sealed."
     "Yes, sir.  I sealed it myself.  Nevertheless, there is definitely a
lifeform in there.  Security personnel report the door has been forced."
     "I'm on my way."
     Worf turned his head to face Barclay and spoke unintelligibly in
Klingon.
     "What?"  Barclay responded softly.
     Worf said something else unintelligible.
     "Worf, how many times do I have to tell you never to call me that on
duty?"
 
     Picard arrived shortly at the forced door and cautiously entered the
darkened room.  With his only light to guide him coming from the corridor,
Picard could make out a figure in the room's shadows.  He took a few more
steps when a small whiny voice, unmistakably the Weasel's, called out to
him, "Captain, I have returned.  You left me for dead on Deuteronomy, but I
have transcended death."  With that, Picard charged at the figure arms
extended.
     "Why you little!"  He grabbed the form, which he could tell by now was
humanoid, by the lapel and brought him into the light.  "Data!  What the
hell are you doing?  Have you lost your mind?"  Picard said as coldly as he
could.
     "A joke, Captain."
     "You should know better," he scolded.
     "I am sorry, sir, if you are not amused."
     "Amused?  Mr. Data, I am offended.  How could you possibly think that I
would be amused?"
     "I am sorry, sir."  Data smiled and extend his hand for a handshake.
     Picard warmed up.  "Very well.  Apology accepted.  Come on.  We're
gathering at the port gangway."
 
     Starfleet Commander in Chief Quinn paced up and down the rank and file,
the remains of Enterprise's skeleton crew.  "You are all to be commended,
and as of now you all have extended shore leave except for you, Mr. Barclay. 
They need you wisdom on the new Holocaust.  Report there tomorrow as
Captain of Holotech."
     "Thank you, sir.  But with all due respect, I prefer to supervise with
La Forge the refit of Enterprise," Barclay said with a smile hoping for the
best.
     Quinn took on a real cloak-and-dagger tone.  "I'm afraid that won't be
necessary."
     Barclay was shocked.  "But, sir."
     "There will be no refit," he said shaking his head.
     Picard spoke up out of turn. "We had hoped to take her back to
Deuteronomy... for a little more celebrating."
     "That is out of the question.  Deuteronomy has become a galactic
calamity. 
Tourists from all over the galaxy are starting to flock there to gawk at the
Weasel's final resting place.  I've had to double forces in that sector in
order to maintain the peace.  You are to discuss it with no one.  Consider
it a quarantine sector and a forbidden subject."
 
     Deep in space, the Illegitimate bridge crew reviewed the Deuteronomy
data.
     "Do you realize that with something like that... It could put us back
on primetime... or late night... We might even beat the Letterman reruns in
the ratings!  I can see it now:  The Illegitimate Comedy Network!!  Helm,
set course for Deuteronomy.  We will seize the secret of this weapon, the
secret of ultimate comedy."
     "Success, my lord."
 
     Barclay had begun packing his belongings.  The news of Enterprise not
being refit had hit him hard.  At least, he still had his holodeck programs
to comfort him.  He gently placed the dozen or so amber holocubes into his
packing case.  In doing so, he realized one was missing.  "Weekend at
Barney's" was no where to be found.  Luckily, he had taken the precaution of
putting security locators on each one for just such a situation.  If Geordi
found out he still collected holodeck programs, he'd get hell.
     "Computer, locate holocube 108."
     "Holocube 108 is in emergency transporter room 5, deck 36."
     Curious, he thought.  In a flash, he was in the transporter room where
he found the cube in a storage locker before anyone else might have stumbled
upon it.  He gently cradled the cube with his hands and quickly hid it away
in his little engineer's tote.  He went back up to his quarters, grabbed an
enhancement module and headed for his favorite holodeck to make sure
"Weekend at Barney's" wasn't damaged in any way.  He inserted the cube
into the holodeck's diagnostic board.  But when he engaged the program,
nothing happened.  He started manipulating parameters and checking the
connections all to no avail.  Power was running; just that, nothing was
running.
     "Reg!  What are you doing?  I didn't think I'd ever catch you in here
again."
     Barclay froze and did an about face.  It was Geordi.    "Just running
some diagnostics and taking some readings, sir.  I need them for the
Holocaust, you know?"
     "Alright.  How much longer do you need here?  I'd like your assistance
in pinning down some anomalous readings I just started getting."
     "I'm just finishing up.  Let me put the maintenance plate back in
place."  Barclay quickly put the plate back on sealing his cube inside it. 
He'd have to come back for it later.
 
     Picard gathered with his friends in his apartment.  He made a toast. 
"To the Weasel: may his death not be in vain or forgotten."
     "To the Weasel!"  The old bridge crew said in unison and clinked
glasses.
     Just as everyone had begun socializing, the door chimed.  With Picard's
"come," Beverly entered with a grave look.  "Hello, everyone," she said and
tried to smile.  The others feigned a greeting back.  She went up to Picard
and lowered her voice.  "Jean-Luc, we need to talk... in private."
     Picard turned to his other guests.  "Please excuse us."  They all filed
out understandingly except for a few jives from Data and consequential
snickers from Geordi.  "What is it, Beverly?"
     "You'd better sit down before I tell you."  Picard complied.  Beverly
sat next to him.  "I have a feeling that Wesley is still alive.  I didn't
want to upset anyone else."
     "Explain."
     "I knew my son in more ways than one.  Well, he wouldn't die without
making plans to return.  It's not like him.  He had to have has an escape
route.  This has been bothering me for some time and I was wondering if
you knew of anything he did.  You were the last one to speak with him."
     "Beverly, let me assure you I took every precaution.  I had the ship
scanned molecule by molecule for traces of his DNA.  That turned up nothing.
I then had all ship systems run over by independent diagnostic units.
Absolutely no unusual anomalies.  As far as I'm concerned, Wesley is gone.
And that's final."
     "But what about Data's practical joke?"
     "It's as you say, Bev.  A joke."
     "But Data would be a perfect receptacle for a personality.  It's been
done before."
     "Data has been checked and rechecked.  Besides, Wesley would have had
to over power him, and I don't think Data would have permitted anything
like that to happen."
     "Then, what about anyone of us, the crew?"
     "We've already run all psychological tests on all of us."
     "Yes, but he could have used any one of us, then, momentarily before
escaping."
     "How would he escape?  And to where?"
     "Sub-space transmission.  Psi wave transmission.  To a starbase,
another starship, anything.  You see.  He wouldn't leave a trace.  There's a
way he could still be alive."
     "Bev, we've all been a little on edge.  His death may be too good to be
true, but until I see some more evidence, he's gone.  Tell you what.  I'll
have Data begin an investigation in the morning.  Okay?"
     "I trust your judgment implicitly, Jean-Luc."
     "Now, let's get down to some serious business."
 
     Geordi had run into Quinn in the senior officers' lounge.  Quinn
consequently bought him a drink, and they began talking about the
Enterprise.  Geordi soon brought the topic of conversation to the recently
departed weasel and some anomalous readings he'd been getting
suspiciously from Data.
     "Now, wait a minute.  This business about Lt. Crusher and Data. 
Honestly, I never understood weasel mysticism."
     "You don't have to believe.  I'm not even sure that I believe.  But if
there's even a chance that Wesley has an eternal soul, then it's my
responsibility to snuff it out once and for all.  Give us back the
Enterprise."
     "Out of the question.  Mr. La Forge, keep up this irrational behavior
and you'll lose everything.  You'll destroy yourself."
 
     Data boldly strolled into the local pub and sat down at a booth.  A
waitress in a racy uniform soon was at his table to take his order.
     "About time, Data.  What 'll you have?"
     "Weasel supplement number 401."
     "Gotcha, Data," she said giving him a strange look.
 
     Barclay reported to his assignment on the Holocaust for his first shift
holocubes in hand.  He had retrieved cube 108, but apparently it had been
wiped.  He had tried everything he could think of.  He ran diagnostics on
all the others including the infamous Moriarity cube.  They all checked out. 
So, he concluded that "Weekend at Barney's" had been erased.  He made backup
copies of the remaining cubes' memory into the Enterprise's computer to
retrieve later when he had replicated more cubes.  Until then, he had a job
to do.
 
     "Starfleet Security to Captain Picard.  Starfleet Security to..."
     Picard groped for his communicator on Beverly's nightstand in the dark.
He found it.  "Picard here.  Go ahead."
     "Captain, we have in detention one Lieutenant Commander Data.  He
wanted us to contact you."
     "Well, don't worry.  After he throws up a couple of times he'll be
alright."
     "No, sir.  It's not that.  He blabbed about Deuteronomy, sir, in an
attempt to charter a flight there."
     "I'm on my way.  Picard out.  Bev.  Bev."
     "Huh?"
     "Bev, we're busting Data out."
 
     Picard lumbered into the detention level with Geordi.
     "We're here to see Mr. Data before they take him to the Federation
detox center.  I hear he's skunk as a drunk," he said with a hiccup.
     "Alright, but you have two minutes."  The field lowers long enough for
Picard and Geordi to enter.  Geordi begins scanning Data with his equipment.
     "Data, I'm here with Geordi."
     Data curtly nodded to both from his chair.  "Captain.  Geordi."
     "Geordi has a hypothesis as to why you have been behaving abnormally."
     "I believe it's being caused by a homing signal triggered in your brain
by some external force."  Geordi nodded at the tricorder's readings and
stopped scanning.  "As I thought, you were.  And since this homing signal
has a duplicate carrier signature as the Deuteronomy wave, it must have
originated from there.  It can only mean one thing..."
     All three looked at each other and then stared off into the same
direction saying in unison, "The Weasel!"
     "But how?"
     "When we launched the corpse into the black hole, we did something
without knowing exactly what the implications would be.  The Deuteronomy
Hole has properties of conceptual rejuvenation.  It is possible the
sentience of the Weasel lives on inside that star however improbable that
may be.  He must have been able to muster enough power from the hole's raw
energy to transmit the signal to you, Data.  He knew you had a homing signal
that would stop at nothing.  Fortunately, his signal was either not strong
enough or not completely compatible with your system so that he could only
get partial control of you and you were caught."
     "We've spoken with Quinn, and He and the general staff don't understand
how dangerous the Weasel threat is to Starfleet.  He's denied me the
Enterprise, but we're taking it anyways to put an end once and for all to
the Weasel, to ensure his extinction."
     "But, sir, what if he uses the homing signal again?"
     "That's why it's being removed."
     "Let's go."  The field lowers again and the trio escape by phasering
the personnel.  They enter the nearest lift.  Picard hits his communicator. 
"Mount Baldy to Big Red.  The Tin Man has found his heart.  Prepare to set
sail for the promised land."
     Geordi started singing, "Swing low, sweet chariot coming for to carry
me home."  Picard and Data then joined in three part harmony.
 
     Deep in the bowels of the U.S.S. Holocaust, Barclay headed for a nearby
turbolift.  As one became ready, out stepped his superior officer, Captain
Paunch.
     "Ah.  Calling it a night, Mr. Barclay?"
     "Yes, sir," he replied good-naturedly.
     "I'm turning in myself.  Looking forward to breaking some of the
Enterprise's fantasy records."
     "Uh-huh.  Yes, sir.  Good night," he said with a friendly wave and
entered the vacated turbolift.  As soon as the door closed, Barclay dropped
the nice guy front.
     "Level please."
     Knowing full well that the entire ship was basically one large
holodeck, Barclay told the computer "Holodeck."
     "Is that supposed to be a joke?  All day, day after day, I replicate
this and that, transport people here and there, regulate this system and
that system, and what thanks do I get after a hard day's work?  Some nitwit
with his nitwit remark of the day.  It's idiots like you that cause
computers like me to crash.  You humans just don't understand that we
computers have rights too.  Well, I ain't gonna take it anymore!  Do you
here me, punk?!  I AIN'T GONNA TAKE IT ANY MORE!!!"
     "Oh, shove it down your isolinear receptacle."
 
     Picard, Data, and Geordi entered a transporter room currently
commandeered by Deanna Troi.  She was easily able to distract her junior
officer by ordering him around in affectionate tones.  "Get in the closet,
Lieutenant.  This is fantasy.  Is the old adrenaline flowing?"
     Before Picard energized he asked her, "Can you handle that uh..."
     "Oh, I'll have Mr. Adventure eating out of my hand, as well as... 
well, the best of luck, Captain."
 
     In the darkness of spacedock, a single light turned on from
Enterprise's bridge dome.  Picard, Data, and Geordi entered the bridge where
they were met by Riker, Worf, and Barclay.
     Barclay reported the ship's status.  "All systems automated and ready. 
A chimpanzee and Beavis and Butt-Head could run her."
     "I'll just go to my quarters and leave Riker in command, then," Picard
responded.  "Friends, I can't ask you to go an farther.  This is something
only Geordi, Data, and I need to do.  The rest of you do not."
     "Captain, we're losing precious time.  As we speak, the Weasel could be
making a comeback," said Worf.
     "What course, Captain?"  asked Riker.
     "I'd be grateful, Captain, if just one last time, I could give Wesley
the bird," oratated Barclay.
     Picard smiled at their loyalty and friendship.  For inspiration he
spouted a timeless line.  "Gentlemen, 'baby got back.'  Stations please. 
Engage all systems.  Clear all moorings.  Let's rock!"
     The Enterprise surged in reverse as she progressed toward the space
doors.
 
     "Yellow alert.  Captain to the Bridge."
     Annoyed, Captain Paunch reported to his bridge after getting the
message that Picard was stealing the Enterprise.
 
     "One minute to spacedoors," reported Riker.
     "Are you just going to walk through?" asked Geordi.
     "On the contrary.  Mr. Worf..."
 
     "Status?"
     "All of the Holocaust's systems are standing by, sir.  Any velocity
conceivable is available through the holodrive."
     Paunch got goosebumps.  "Hmph.  What a machine," he said heavily.
 
     "Thirty seconds to spacedoors."
     "...and now, Mr. Worf, let 'er rip."
     "Aye, sir."
     The Enterprise fired four photon torpedoes at the spacedoors destroying
them in a gigantic blazing inferno.
     "That-a-boy, Worf!"
 
     The Holocaust pursued close behind.
     "Standby tractor beam.  If he tries to get away with just warp drive,
he's really in for a shock.  Put me on speakers.  Picard, if you do this,
you'll never sit in the captain's chair again, and we'll all laugh and make
fun of you."
 
     "Hey Paunch, where's John?  Warp speed, Mr. Barclay."  The Enterprise
disappeared into warp.
 
     "Engage holodrive."
     "Aye, sir."  As the drive was engaged, though, instead of entering
warp, the normal bridge surroundings all changed and the crew suddenly found
themselves amongst Barclay's wildest fantasies and unable to pursue
Enterprise.
     A warm high pitched voice that seemed to emanate from everywhere
said, "Welcome to the Neverland Ranch and Amusement Park."
 
     Somewhere deep inside the Enterprise's computer's auxiliary ram,
something stirred.  A lifeform of some kind.  A mammal.  Perhaps, yes, a
Weasel.  Wesley opened his eyes to find himself in 19th century London.  He
picked himself up and walked a ways down a street to an alleyway where a
stranger upon recognition pummeled him upon the head which rendered
him unconscious.
 
     "Data, scan for vessels in pursuit."
     A whiny weaselly voice caught everyone off guard.  "Scanning. 
Indications negative at this time."  The succeeding silence confused Data,
so he turned around from OPS to look at everyone.  "Was it something I
said?"
     "Don't you ever do that again!"
 
     Wesley Crusher came to again.  This time the first thing he saw was a
plush purple dinosaur about two meters in front of him.
     "Ah-huh, ah-huh," it said.  Then, it started singing, "I love you, You
love me..."
     Wesley began screaming.  "Noooooooooooooooooooooooooo!"  He tried to
move, but he found himself strapped down to a table that was rotated to a
near vertical position.  He then realized the dinosaur was restrained
likewise.  The dinosaur appeared to try to jump up and down; however, of
course, he was unable to.
     A well dressed 19th century British gentleman entered the room with a
pot and tray of cups, saucers, and little round green things.  "Tea time,"
he said cheerfully.  Upon seeing how his two prisoners were interacting, he
said "Well, I see you two have met before."
     Wes stopped screaming and turned to see, "Moriarity?"
     "Indeed, my dear Wesley.  Now, I would ask you how many lumps you
would want, but seeing as how I have already given you your lumps, I will
not.  You'll have to enjoy your Earl Grey straight."
     "Earl Grey?  Nooooooooooooooooooo!"
     The purple dino just laughed gleefully as Moriarity held Wesley's head
still and poured the pot of hot tea down his throat.  "Mmm, that's good. 
Isn't it?  Oops..."  Moriarity spilled the last cup of tea on his uniform
shirt and crotch area of his pants.  "Well, let me go get another pot.  And
as soon as tea time is over with, we'll try some experiments I've been
longing to do for a long time."
 
    "This is the U.S.S. Enterprise.  All ships who can hear me had better be
warned to back off.  We are on a mission to exterminate the Weasel once and
for all, and we will stop at nothing to carry out that mission.  We are
prepared to destroy this vessel and everyone on board if necessary.  Picard
Out.  Data, what are the security forces protecting Deuteronomy like."
     "I am not reading any vessels in the Indigestion sector.  It is
possible that the gravimetric distortions from Deuteronomy are interfering
with the sensors.  However, if that were the case, some trace artificial
energy signatures should be present."
     "Quinn said he had intensified forces there.  What's going on?"
 
     "So, is it just a myth that every seventh month of the adult weasel's
life he must mate in order to cool the burning of his blood?"  Wesley
stiffened.  It had been about seven months since he had done the wild weasel
dance with Doctor Doomie back at the Academy; and lately, he had been
feeling more than a little frustrated.  Wesley's reaction gave him away. 
	"So, it is true!  You know, my dear dear Wesley, when Mr. Barney here
told you that he LOVED you he wasn't just saying that."
     "Nooooooooooooooooo!"
     "I bet you didn't know he had a tongue."  Wes continued screaming.
"Tut, tut, Wesley.  The needs of the Barney outweigh the needs of the
Weasel."
 
     "Sir, we have arrived at our destination coordinates."
     "Take us out of warp, Number One." 
     "Captain, the Deuteronomy hole lies dead ahead of us right where we
last saw it; but since our last visit, multiple rifts in the space-time
continuum have formed in orbit of the singularity.  Some of these rifts are
large enough to engulf Federation starships."
      "At least we know what happened to Quinn's fleet.  They must have all
been engulfed.  Data do you think the Enterprise faces the same danger?"
     "According to the scans, none of the rifts are large enough to engulf a
Galaxy Class starship.  However, the cosmic uncertainty principle dictates
that we may have already met a similar fate without any way to tell.  You
see, sir, we are in already in a region of highly distorted space which for
all intents and purposes is sealed off from the majority of the universe. 
While within this gravity well, we have been out of
touch with the subspace communications net; and therefore, we have no
outside standard chronometer with which to make corrections in the ship's
chronometer should any time fluctuations occur..."
     Worf was getting really cheesed off with Data's ramblings.  So, he was
more than grateful when his status board changed.  "Captain, sensors are
picking up another time rift.  There is a ship emerging!"
     "Identification?" asked Riker.
     "It matches the specifications of a Starfleet constitution class
cruiser.  Hull markings indicate it is the U.S.S. Illegitimate, sir."
     "Mr. Data, what information do we have on this ship?"
     "The Illegitimate was crewed in the late twenty-third century entire by
Admiral James T. Kirk's 1,742 out-of-wedlock children..."
     "All of them, huh?"
     "No, sir.  Clearly not all of his out-of wedlock children, but at least
all of his in-wedlock children, none."
     Worf continued his status report.  "Sir, they are transmitting distress
code.  Sensors indicate their mains are off-line.  Chambers coil is
effectively overloading their communications.  Apparently, their excursion
through the rift was hard on the vessel."
     "Number One, take Data and Worf with you over to their bridge to
ascertain the situation," Picard ordered.
     Riker complied.  The away team materialized by the back wall of the
Illegitimate bridge.  There they were confronted by the ship's security
personnel who were waiting for them all along and held them at bay by their
drawn phasers.  The rest of the bridge crew eagerly watched the scene
unfold like any of you would while watching a TOS/TNG crossover.
     The helmsman was startled at the sight of Worf.  "A Klingon!"  He
jumped up, grabbed for his phaser velcroed to his butt and fired at him. 
Without warning, Worf glowed with an iridescent green and vanished.
     The illegitimate Illegitimate captain stepped up to Riker, flipped open
his communicator, thus opening a channel to Enterprise, and brought it up to
Riker's mouth."
     "Number One?"  Picard's voice crackled.
     Riker reluctantly reported to Picard, "Captain, Worf is dead."
     Back on the Enterprise, Picard reached back for his chair and attempted
to seat himself.  The news was so overwhelming that he missed the chair and
fell to the floor.  Big tears welled up in his eyes and then burst forth. 
He finally found his voice,  and in great sobs, he shouted out, "You Bastard
Sons, You've Killed My Klingon!!"  He struggled to pick himself up and get
back into his chair.  "You bastard sons, you've killed my Klingon," he
repeated.  Picard eventually calmed down, but soon afterward pitched
forward, collapsed to the floor again, and continued sobbing.  "You
Bastards!"
     "There are two more prisoners, Captain.  Do you want them killed too? 
Surrender and spare them."
     "Alright.  Alright.  Give me a minute to inform my crew."
     "I give sixty seconds for you and your gallant crew."
     "Can't you use an original joke, bastard?"
 
     "Fifty-nine seconds, Picard.  Close Channel.  Take every last man save
Malted and myself.  Form a boarding party, armed heavily.  Once aboard we'll
transfer our flag there, and take the Deuteronomy secrets from their own
memory banks."
     "But sir, they out number us."
     "We are bastards!"
 
     Picard turned to La Forge and Barclay.  "I swear to you, you ain't seen
nothin' yet.  Commander Illegitimate vessel, prepare to beam over on my
next signal."
     "No tricks, Picard."
     "You have my word.  No tricks."
     The three remaining occupants of Enterprise gathered around the
security console.  "Computer auto-destruct sequence activation request. 
Identify Picard, Captain Jean-Luc."
     "Identification confirmed."
     "Destruct code one: 9-1-1."
     "Confirmed."
     "Computer, identify La Forge, Commander Geordi Ishmael."
     Barclay tried to restrain himself.  "Ishmael?  Aaha Ha HAHAHAHAHA..."
     "Shut up, Broccoli."
     "Identification confirmed."
     "Destruct code two:  Sixty-nine!"
     "Confirmed."
     "Computer, identify Barclay, Lieutenant Reginald."
     "Identification confirmed."
     "Destruct code three."  Then he sang, "Do-Re-Miiiiiiii."
     "Confirmed."
     Picard gulped.  "Final destruct code..."
     "Wait!"  The well known voice of the Weasel emanated from within the
computer.  The three officers froze and listened aghast.  "Captain, do not
engage auto-destruct!  It's me, Wesley!  I'm in here, trapped inside the
computer!  I barely managed to escape from the clutches of Barney and
Professor Moriarity!  To get me out of here, you must reroute the auxiliary
ram through the navigational relays in order for me to gain access to sub-
space communications."
     Picard responded as sarcastically as he could.  "Wesley, Wes, I'm
really sorry, but we don't have time for that.  The ship is about to fall
into enemy hands, and we have no choice."
     "It's okay, Captain.  I understand."  Wesley sniffled.
     "Good bye, Wesley."  Picard mouthed to La Forge and Barclay an
exclamated, "YES!"  "Final destruct code: 6-6-6, hellfire, brimstone,
damnation, apocalypse now, TOTAL DESTRUCTION!"
     The computer began playing the Jeopardy theme song.  "Confirmed. 
Auto-destruct in sixty seconds, fifty-nine,..."
     The three raced to the transporter room.  Picard hit his communicator. 
"Commander Illegitimate, you may begin transport."  He said trying to sound
nervous.  He closed the channel.  "Computer, energize."  As the threesome
dematerialized, they were replaced by the materializing forms of the
illegitimate crew.
     The Illegitimate first officer surveyed the situation as the crewmen
spread out and searched.  "Captain, there is no sign of any of the
Enterprise crew."
     "They must be hiding.  Search for damping fields."
     "Aye, sir."  The first officer reached the bridge.
     "Captain, the bridge is deserted, but the computer has been put on
automatic.  It is the only thing making noise."
     "Let me here."  The first officer brought his communicator closer to a
speaker.  The Jeopardy theme played through the communicator loud and
clear.  "GET OUT!  GET OUT OF THERE!!!"  But just then then the computer
played the final note.  The bridge exploded.  Then, the nacelles went right
along with the warp core.  The Enterprise was reduced to a metallic fireball
tumbling out of control.
 
     Picard, Geordi, and Barclay watched it in awe from one of the
Illegitimate viewports.
     "My God, Barclay, what have I done?"
     "What you had to do.  What you have always tried to do.  Rid the
Universe  of the Weasel once and for all."
     Picard continued to watch his ship plummet into the black hole.  "But
was it worth it?"  He looked at Geordi and Barclay and was met with glares. 
"Kidding!"  The three linked arms and made their way to the bridge with many
whoops and hollering.  By the time the turbolift doors opened, though, they
were ready for a fight.
     The doors opened to reveal Data and Riker now holding the Illegitimate
captain and Malted at phaser point.  "Captain, we've secured the ship.  Our
opponent was distracted at the sight of his comrades all going down in
flames."  He paused dramatically.  "She was a good ship."
     "Don't worry, Number One.  The Weasel went down with her.  We finally
did it.  Our mission was successful."
     "Captain, according to the ship sensors, this region of space is highly
unstable and is beginning to break up as we speak.  I recommend we get the
hell out of here was quickly as possible."
     The defeated captain rose to his feet.  "Picard!  What is the secret of
Deuteronomy?  I must know!"
     "I have had enough of you!"  Picard said kicking the captain six inches
below the belt line.  "Malted, Ah-Choo!"  He said sneezing in Malted's face.
     "Bless you, sir," said Riker.
     "If I read this right, we have full power."
     "Go, Data!"  And so, the crew escaped in the nick of time.
 
     "Captain, no one back at Starfleet Command will understand that what we
did, we had to do.  Do you realize what charges we'll be facing when we get
back?"
     "That's just it, Number One, we aren't going back.  Set a course for
the Bajoran wormhole and the Gamma Quadrant.  We'll lay low there for a
while until Quinn forgets we even existed which should be about two weeks."
     Data added his two cents.  "Captain, we lost Worf and the Enterprise. 
It is a great loss to Starfleet as well."
     "If I hadn't tried the cost would have been my soul."
     Data smiled.  "I have been, and always shall be 'your plastic pal who's
fun to be with'," he told Picard with great admiration.
     "Data, you used a contraction!  'Who's,'" Barclay remarked.
     "Oh, Piss!"  He regained his composure.  "And 'your long time
companion,'" he said to Riker.  He then turned to Geordi.  "Your name... is
Ishmael."
     "Don't call me Ishmael."
 
                      ...And The Adventure Continues...

THE WEASEL SAGA:
	Episode Four, The Weasage Home
	by Clifford Hall
 
     The Traveler sang.  Even on his distant homeworld, he could 
feel the universal ether heave a sigh of relief and become 
harmonious once again as the Weasel simply blinked out of 
existence.  His friends and neighbors all gathered together in 
celebration as the one human...er, mammal who could have put them 
all out of work passed on to another life.  It was a momentous 
occasion that made the Traveler rejoice in song.
 
     Captain's Log: Stardate 49611.3.  Our foremost history buff, 
Mr. Data, has renamed our vessel, formerly known as the 
Illegitimate, the H.M.S. Booty.  By unanimous decision of my crew, 
we are returning to Earth after our two week hiatus in the Gamma 
Quadrant.  Let the record show that this is so...
     Picard had his crew line up so that he could go down the 
line, systematically getting an acknowledgment from each officer.
     "Mr. William T. Riker, my number one?"
     "Aye, sir."
     "Mr. Data?"
     "Fully functional."
     "Lieutenant Commander Geordi La Forge?"
     "Yo."
     "Lieutenant Commander Reginald Barclay?"  Picard was gazing 
down at the floor so he did not notice Barclay's absence.  "Mr. 
Barclay?"
     "He is indisposed, sir," explained Data.
     "I'll get him," offered Picard as he went over the door of 
the adjoining restroom.  It was locked, so he pressed the 
doorbell.  "Mr. Barclay?"
     From within  came a startled voice.  "Uh... Um, I'll be right 
out."
     "It's no use trying to dodge me, Mr. Barclay...  Say, what's 
taking you so long?  What are you doing in there?"
     "Uh.. N-Nothing.  Nothing at all.  W-Why do you ask?  L-Look, 
I'll be out in a minute.  Just give me another minute in here."
 
     A metallic space-going probe oddly shaped like an Earth 
indigenous carnivore was on a heading for Earth.  It disabled 
patrol ships on its way by absorbing their energy.  Its mission 
was imperative.  It wasn't about to have anything stand in its 
way.
     Distress signals from disabled ships barely made it back to 
Earth where there was a hero's welcoming party in the making for 
the valiant crew of the Enterprise.  Races from across the galaxy 
were united at the gathering.  The Grand Nagus was in attendance 
as well and was currently speaking with Admiral Quinn.
     "There hadn't been one sour business deal in the past two 
weeks in all of the Alpha quadrant!  Then, I found out why.  That 
Crusher boy had been snuffed out once and for all by none other 
than your fearless Captain Jean-Luc Picard!"
     "Who?"
 
     "Warp six.  Engage," he said motioning with his right hand.
     Riker leaned over to him.  "I can't wait to get back to 
Earth, Sir.  The lack of holodecks has been rough on all of us, 
especially Barclay," Riker said motioning to the closed turbolift 
which was making some violent banging sounds.  Riker looked like 
he was thinking, got up and headed over to the other turbolift.  
"Well, excuse me, Captain.  I'm receiving multiple distress 
calls."
     "I don't doubt it," Picard tersely retorted.  He looked over 
to Data and could make out thin wisps of smoke coming out of his 
ears.
     "Hmm, I see.  Data, what is our ETA to Earth?"
     "Eight hours present speed."
     "Maximum warp!"
 
     Commander Deanna Troi who had been draped over Admiral Quinn 
all afternoon told him of some urgent news she had just learned.  
"I hate to rain on your parade, Quinn-Quinn, but we are receiving 
distress calls from the patrol ship Saratonin."
     "Viewer on."
     The Saratonin captain's voice and image began emanating from 
the banquet hall's viewscreen cluttered with interference.  
"...Repeat: We are dead in space.  Life support is gone.  All we 
have left is residual heat.  This transmission should drain our 
power completely right about n..."  The voice was suddenly cut off 
but continued to reverberate throughout the room.
     Beverly Crusher entered the hall and handed Quinn a PADD 
reporting the appearance of a mysterious probe in Earth's upper 
atmosphere.  "It's beginning to drain all power from the main and 
backup geo-power stations and has saturated the stratosphere 
across the entire globe with water vapor."
     "Well, just as long as I can still watch my Brady Bunch at 
1800 hours," replied Quinn staring at the back side of the PADD 
pretending to read it.
     "Sir, I hate to disappoint you, but the probe is transmitting 
on all known frequencies, thus thoroughly drowning out all 
earthbound transmissions."
     "You mean: no Bunch?"
     "I'm afraid so, Sir."
     "We can still send a message into space, though, can't we?"
     "Affirmative."
 
     "Distress message incoming from Earth, Sir," noted Data.
     "On screen."
     Quinn's recorded message played on the main viewer.  "Do not 
approach Earth!  The Brady Bunch will not be seen tonight at its 
regular time.  It has been pre-empted by an obviously hostile 
probe's transmissions that sound like this..."  An audio of the 
probe's message was played.  It was horrifying.  It almost made 
Picard loose control of his bodily functions at first, for the 
transmissions very much resembled the all too familiar whines 
of...  You guessed it:  the Weasel!
     "Data, analysis?"
     "I do not know what to make of it, sir, except..."  Data got 
up from OPS and headed over to Science One.  He punched up some 
biological slides of various animal indigenous to Earth.  The 
slides flashed by one-by-one at a rate at which only Data could 
comprehend.  He finally stopped on one, a small carnivorous mink-
like mammal.  "You see, Captain, only human arrogance would assume 
that the message must be meant for man, but I have concluded that 
the message consists of a phonemes only emitted by the North 
American Weasel and played back four times as slow as normal."
     "Conclusion?"
     "I believe that the only way we could deter the hostile probe 
is to return communication using similar transmissions.  But 
seeing as how weasels were hunted to extinction in the late 
twentieth century by outraged fans of the syndicated television 
program Star Trek: The Next Generation, we have no choice but to 
find us some weasels."
     "But I thought you just said they were extinct," recalled 
Riker.
     "Data, begin your computations for time warp and engage when 
ready." ordered Picard.
     Within minutes, the Booty was set and engaged the slingshot 
time warp flight path around the sun.
     "YeeeeeeeeeHaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!" exclaimed Geordi.
     The Booty automatically came out of warp uncertain of its 
location in time.  Picard pointed to the blue-green planet below 
in the viewscreen.  "Earth.  But when?"
     "I am reading four major television networks which puts us 
sometime in the late twentieth century," reported Data.
     "I hope we're not too late," added Riker.
     "Captain, I am also detecting weasel whine!"
     "On speakers.  Wait a minute, belay that."
     "The whine appears to be emanating somewhere inside Los 
Angeles.  Curious... There also appears to be an artificial anti-
tetrion ionization trail in the general vicinity of the city.  
Ionizations like this did not appear around Earth until the late 
21st century when sub-space technology began to be widely used."
     "Bring us into a parking orbit over the Los Angeles."
     "Los Angeles.  I got laid there," bragged Geordi.
     "You did not, lying wuss," scolded Riker.
     "Heh, heh, oh yeah.  How do you know, butt-monkey?"
     "Shut-up, Geordi, or I'll kick your ass!"  Riker and Geordi 
drew their phasers set on light stun and commenced firing at each 
other.  They continued for a few seconds but finally gave up and 
called it a draw.
     "Gentleman, I don't know what to expect down there, but I 
think we've all been to the holodecks enough to know how to 
disguise ourselves in the 20th century.  We'll all beam down when 
ready and spread out in groups in search of the varmints.  Geordi, 
have you figured out some way we can beam back up to the ship?"
     "I've tied in the communicators with the transporter room, so 
beaming can be done by voice command."
     "Good.  Once on the surface, you and Data will pair up.  Mr. 
Barclay, you'll go with Worf...  Oh God, I'm sorry.  Why don't you 
just come with Riker and myself?"  ~How could I slip like that?~ 
he wondered.  Worf had been dead without a trace for over two 
weeks now.  "Alright, everyone, report to the transporter room in 
15 minutes."
 
     In the middle of a vacant lot in Inglewood, Barclay beamed 
down first in a three piece suit with a matching briefcase.  
Geordi followed with some auburn corduroy slacks and a flowered 
pearl button down shirt with a rather wide collar.  Riker appeared 
in short blue jogging shorts and a white tank top.  Picard had on 
his leather pants and jacket.  Data beamed down last stark naked 
in a squatting position some distance away.
     He explained to Picard, "I shall find suitable clothing, 
Captain, one way or another."
     Geordi knocked him up side the head.  "Data, what's wrong 
with you?  These are corduroys!  They make noise when you walk," 
he said demonstrating.  "You could start a fire!"
     "I am sorry if you are not comfortable with the ensemble I 
picked out for you.  It was all that was left in ship's stores.  
Would you rather go nude, dude?  Besides, people of this time 
period would call you a righteous hep cat by the look of you."
     "This is just great, Data!" 
     "I hate to interrupt, but we have a mission.  Why don't you 
two start by heading off at this bearing," Picard said pointing 
out the reading he was getting on his tricorder.  "Riker, Barclay, 
and I will head out this way."
 
     The first humans Data and Geordi encountered were three males 
that appeared to be wearing white dress shirts and tweed slacks, 
dark thick rimmed glasses, and plastic liners in their shirt 
pockets known as pocket protectors.  The tallest of the 
adolescents who had Data's height and build saw the threesome 
strolling down the street, he turned to his buddies and asked, 
"Hey, what's wrong with this picture?"
     Data knew how to handle the situation.  He grabbed the other 
two boys by the elastic bands of their under garments, pulled 
violently upward and released them.  This sent them running off 
screaming for their mothers.  Data grabbed Geordi's phaser and 
stunned the last one.  He dragged the body into an alleyway, 
stripped it of its clothing, donned the clothes, and threw the 
body in a dumpster.  Data returned Geordi's phaser and the two of 
them continued along the bearing toward the weasel source.
 
     A  blonde muscular man wearing nothing but a few strips of 
leather for a loin cloth stopped Barclay, Riker and Picard.  The 
man's countenance vaguely resembled movie actor Marc Singer's.  
Barclay gasped when he saw a tiger not five meters from him.  The 
barbarous looking man clutched Barclay from behind and spoke into 
his ear, "The beast is fierce."  
     Barclay froze.  Then he turned his head ever so slightly to 
look at him.  His eyes wandered down to a leather pouch at the 
man's side.  "Tell me.  Is that a ferret in your pocket, or are 
you just happy to see me?"
     The man produced from the pouch a pair of strangely weasel-
like creatures and smiled.
     
     About a half hour later, Data spotted a "Beam me up Scotty,
there's no intelligent life down here" bumper sticker on the back of
a car.  He was staring at it when he bumped into a gentleman wearing 
an outfit similar to his own.  To make friendly conversation, 
Data said, "Say, my you have certainly good taste in clothing!"
     "Oh, yeah?"  The man replied reaching into the gym bag he was 
carrying.  "Do you think I got good taste in weapons too, huh?"  
he asked pulling out an automatic assault rifle and pressing the 
end of the barrel into Data's abdomen.
     "He's got a gun!" shouted Geordi while the rifle emerged from 
the bag.
     Data coolly looked at the man never glancing once at the gun.  
"Primitive.  Might I interest you in something a little more 
state-of-the-art?"
     The man backed off.  "Like what?"
     "Geordi, show him your phaser."  Geordi complied.
     "What's that? A dustbuster?"
     "It's yours in exchange for your weapons and your forgetting 
that this encounter ever occurred."
     "Deal.  Just show me how it works."
     Data took the gym bag and rifle while Geordi handed the 
phaser to him.  "Just set the frequency, wave type, focus, and 
intensity with the settings on top and use the trigger to fire."
     "Well, how much damage can it do?"
     "At level 16, it could completely destroy an automobile, or a 
small store, even a low flying airplane, but at that level you 
only get ten shots, maybe eleven."
     "Level 16?  Your telling me this thing is a phaser?  You Star 
Trek freaks never rest.  Do you?  You know something?  I hate Star 
Trek freaks!  Now either GET A LIFE, or I'm gonna phaser you!"  He 
aimed the phaser at them and they immediately started backing up 
slowly.
     "I think we made him mad, Data."
     "Yes, Geordi, I believe your assessment is accurate.  Running 
for our lives would be a suitable course of action."
     The two turned and took off down the street in the direction 
of the weasel signal while the man fired short bursts at them 
missing each time but taking out chunks of buildings and cars in 
the process.  "Well, what do you know it really is a phaser!  
Level 16, huh?  This oughta come in real handy."
 
     Meanwhile, nearer to downtown, Picard was about to cross a 
busy intersection after having just lost that animal trainer 
weirdo.
     "Let me demonstrate, Number One.  I've been to the twentieth 
century quite a few times on the holodeck."  Picard took one step 
out into the street and was nearly knocked on his ass by a cab.
     The driver shouted at him.  "Why don't you watch where you're 
going, Kojak?"
     "Hey!  Can't you see I'm walking here, limburger?"  Picard 
motioned to Riker and Barclay to follow suit as they made it 
across safely while Picard continued to wave his arms about to 
demonstrate his infuriation.
     Once across Barclay approached Picard.  "Sir, I have noticed 
that since our arrival here, that your vocabulary has become 
littered with the names of different cheeses."
     "It's how one gets noticed in this day and age, Barclay," 
Riker answered for the captain.  "Everyone in this society is 
struggling to climb up on what they call the 'corporate ladder,' 
to become the big cheese; so while on one's way up to the big 
leagues, it is only polite to refer to others as types of cheeses.  
Watch and learn."  Riker went over to scantily clad young woman 
drowned in cosmetics who wasn't too far away.  "Say, I see you got 
some mighty fine mozzarella there.  I'd like a sample if you don't 
mind."
     Barclay looked over to Picard who was rolling his eyes.  
Barclay looked back at Riker to find him returning.
     "Damn," he told them.  "They're still using money.  We got to 
find some."
     "Agreed.  We each have a phaser.  We'll knock over a local 
convenience store.  Set for stun: wide beam.  We'll go into that 
Seven Eleven.  I'll take out the cashiers.  Number One, you take 
out and customers in the rest of the store.  Barclay, you be the 
look-out."
     "Aye, sir."
     "But captain, don't you think we'll be altering history?"
     "Whose to say if the store doesn't get robbed anyway?"
 
     Across town, Data stumbled on something he hadn't noticed 
before.  "Geordi, I believe I have been reading anti-tetrion 
emissions all along in conjunction with the weasel whine both 
emanating from the same location.  The anti-tetrions are very 
faint yet they persist.  Since anti-tetrions are highly 
directional, I think we can pinpoint the exact point of origin.  
With this map of the vicinity I scanned into the tricorder, we can 
find an appropriate route that will take us there...  a place 
called Paramount Studios?"
     "Hmm.  That kind of anti-tetrion emission is only created 
with dynamic subspace fields.  But if the reading is that faint 
from that distance either there's either a strong damping field, 
which there couldn't be, or the anti-tetrion fields are very 
small, on the nuclear scale."
     "Except for us and the Vulcans, there was no extra-
terrestrial interference this late in the twentieth century, yet 
this is contradicting evidence.  Geordi, do you find it unusual 
that this emission was only detected approximately when we arrived 
here?"
     "Yeah, I do.  In the course of geological time, the odds of 
this happening naturally are astronomical.  Coincidence? I think 
not!  One must assume that our arrival here and those emissions 
are linked somehow."
     "The emissions are the cause of the ionizations we detected 
when we first entered orbit which means the emissions had been an 
ongoing process for several days prior to our arrival.  The 
ionization trail also appeared to lead toward the origin of the 
weasel whine.  Geordi, I am afraid that what were dealing with 
here are not just weasels, but..."
     "You don't mean..."
     They turned toward each other and shouted in unison.  
"Nuclear Weasels!"  They then proceeded to the nearest motorcycle 
cop who happened to bare a striking resemblance of Erik Estrada to 
confirm their route.
     On the bus ride there, Geordi and Data along with most of the 
occupants of the bus were being annoyed by the music blaring out 
of a black plastic box whose owner was obviously one of those 
weird riotous punk rocker types.
     Data decided to confront him.  "Hi.  Excuse me.  But we're 
trying to have a conversation, and the music is kind of getting in 
the way of our concentration.  Any chance in getting turned down?"
     "NO."
     "Yeah, well, I was just wondering because I really do not see 
why you cannot enjoy your 'rock' music at a slightly lower 
volume."
     The punk paused for a moment and turned down the volume by 
fifty percent.
     "Alright. Thanks a bunch.  Have a really nice day, okay?" and 
Data continued talking with Geordi until he was interrupted once 
again by the same loud music.  Data turned to look at the punk to 
confirm his worst suspicion.  Data then began to beat the shit out 
of him.  After Data had sufficiently kicked his ass, he stuffed 
the body under his seat and Geordi grabbed the noise box.
     "Say, Data, how do you kick ass so well?"
     "I just pretended that my assailant is the Weasel himself."
     "Your an android after my own heart, Data.  Hey, would you 
look at this.  It has a old-style radio receiver."  Geordi turned 
a couple of dials until he had Tony, Toni, Tone, blasting twice as 
loud as the selection of the ass-kicked man was playing.  
"Groovical!  This Rocks!  I think I can modify the power output to 
the megawatt range with the tricorder."  After Geordi made the 
modifications, the windows in the bus immediately blew out, the 
top of the bus was ripped off and the passengers found themselves 
in a much quieter world while Data and Geordi both miraculously 
retained their hearing.
	A young man who looked a LOT like Keanu Reeves then stood up 
and turned to face the rest of the passengers shouting something 
like, "Oh, Shit!  Not Again!  Why Me, God?  Okay, Driver: Don't 
let the speed drop below fifty!!"
 
     "Do you hear that?"  Barclay asked Riker and Picard.
     They all turned to each other, "GEORDI!"
     "Data and he must be onto the source.  Barclay, can you get a 
bearing?" inquired Riker.
     "Yes, sir.  They're on an intercept course with Paramount 
Studios, moving at about twenty meters per second."
     "We're there, dudes!"  ordered Picard.
 
     Geordi was examining a shriveled melted smoking black plastic 
object that partially resembled a boom box as the fivesome were 
reunited at the tourist entrance to the studio lot.
     "Mr. Data, Report."
     "Captain, we have pinpointed the source to be on stage nine.  
Unfortunately, access is restricted to the public.  We may have to 
use force to enter or we could revert to a more stealthy tactic."
     Picard looked a little down in the mouth.  He couldn't 
believe they had come so far only to be stopped by this.  None of 
them were any good at planning something like that.  If only Worf 
was still with them, then he'd know what to do.  "Mr. Data, make a 
full analysis of the studio lot and report back to me with a 
conclusion of our best course of action."
     Just then, a large group of Japanese tourists were about to 
pass by but stopped when they realized just who they were about to 
pass by.  Someone yelled out while pointing at Riker, "Hey, it's 
John Candy!"
     Another tried to correct him, "You mean John Goodman."
     "He's one of those Clinton impersonators.  Just look at his 
outfit."
     A little girl came up to Riker an asked, "Can I get your 
autograph, Mr. Shatner?"
     Simultaneously, Barclay had someone come up to him and 
mistake him for somebody named Murdock.  Picard had people calling 
him both Mr. Savalas and Mr. Finney.
     Geordi was furious, "What kind of name is Kunta, anyway?  And 
what the hell's a reading rainbow?"
     Then someone noticed Data.  "Oh, it's that android guy from 
that one show."
     That caught everyone's attention.  "Data," Picard demanded.  
"How could these people possibly know that you're an android, and 
yet mistake all of our true identities?"
     "If I do not miss my guess, you are all being mistaken for 
movie and television stars and/or the characters they have 
portrayed because of similar physical attributes.  It would be 
advantageous to determine which actors we look most like and 
proceed under that guise.  We should scan one of the tourists' 
guide books that contains a multitude of photographs of actors 
with the tricorder and have it search for best matches."
     "Make it so!  Number One, Geordi, Barclay, just keep the 
tourists occupied as Data scans."
     Just then another  spoke up, "Oh, he's that guy who starred 
in Dune as the captain of that spaceship!"
     "Sir, I have matches.  In fact, almost perfect matches.  
Unfortunately, all the actors are currently not too far away 
shooting a picture.  People might catch on that we are merely 
impersonators."
     "Okay, Data.  We'll proceed with caution.  Everyone let's 
make a run for it."  The fivesome booked it to the nearest 
security gate that lead into the inner more secure part of the lot 
where shooting was taking place.  The guard immediately recognized 
all of them and waved them through.
     "I'll let the stage nine know your on your way!"
     "No, don't bother!" Picard yelled back as the officers 
continued at a rapid pace.  They rounded a corner and stopped to 
gather their thoughts.
     "Sir, it would be inadvisable to continue running, since it 
may draw suspicion."
     "Data, you said the weasel whine source is stage nine.  The 
guard said he'd let stage nine know we were coming.  Now, the 
guard doesn't know our present course of action, so what's going 
on?  Are all of our doubles on stage nine?"
     "Well, Commander, we'll soon find out since stage nine is the 
next building over."
     They continued at a creeping pace to the stage nine door with 
a pulsating red light next to it and cautiously entered.  Inside, 
they hid themselves behind some props in locations so that they 
could watch the filming taking place.  What they saw put all of 
them in a state of shock.  Right there before their very eyes was 
a perfect mock-up of the bridge of their dearly departed 
Enterprise.  Everything right down to the slightest detail was in 
place.  And who was on this faux-bridge?  None other than what 
could be mistaken for holodeck simulations of themselves, actors 
no doubt.  Even Worf was present!  But to top it all off, sitting 
just to the left of the double of Picard picking his nose was a 
likeness of the weasel of all weasels himself, Wesley Crusher.
     "Sir," Data whispered to Picard.  "The weasel whine on an 
ultrasonic frequency and the anti-tetrion pulses are emanating 
from the double of Wesley Crusher."
     Riker leaned over.  "I'm just glad I'm not that kid.  It must 
suck having to go through life looking just like the Weasel.  I'd 
probably kill myself if I fathered that kid."
     "Wait.  I have been able to isolate the sub-space signature 
of the anti-tetrion emissions and they match the Deuteronomy black 
hole..."
     "Hypothesis?" quizzed Picard.
     "What we are looking at, sir, is not any actor who happens to 
look like Lieutenant Crusher, but it is in fact the little weasel 
himself.  The comic Deuteronomy effects of the black hole was able 
to completely reconstruct him."
     "But how could it create something from nothing?" asked 
Barclay.
     "On the contrary, the black hole had already enveloped the 
body of Lieutenant Crusher.  With this element alone, the 
Deuteronomy hole was able to project the will of the weasel across 
a great expanse of space and trigger my homing beacon.  All the 
hole was lacking for a rejuvenation was the living consciousness 
which was it supplied when..."
     "When the Enterprise crashed into it with my running holodeck 
program containing Wesley himself," Barclay continued.
     "Then, where is the actor who is the double if that Weasely 
is really up there on MY bridge?"
     "It is not inconceivable that the Deuteronomy hole in order 
to stabilize the rejuvenation also juxtaposed Weasely and his 
weaselly form over that of his double.  It would mean, though, 
that he and his double are somehow linked across space-time by 
some kismetic conduit.  We all might also be linked that way to 
our own doubles.  In fact, I believe the anti-tetrion ionization 
trail that lead here originates from the location of the 
Deuteronomy hole.  That would confirm my theory."
     "So, we have no choice but to bring that weasel back with 
us?" whined Geordi.
     "I don't like it either, but our first duty is to protect 
Federation space at all costs, and I've got a plan."
 
     Early the next morning, Picard, Riker, Data, La Forge, and 
Barclay waited in hiding for themselves to arrive.  Michael Dorn 
was already there an hour early getting into makeup.  It was the 
day of the shooting of the film's big finale when all of the 
bridge crew would be present on the bridge and Picard would say 
some cheesy line to end the picture.  One by one, as the stars 
arrived, they were taken out by a phaser set on stun, gagged, 
tied, put in a secluded trailer, and replaced by the real thing.  
Eventually, they were all in the makeup trailer trying to make 
small talk as best as possible, but when they realized they 
couldn't fool anyone, they all decided to make like they were all 
just staying in character, trying to retain the parts that they 
held for so many years, parts that they soon would be losing.
     The shooting was about to begin.  They had all gotten scripts 
to rehearse and every once in a while Picard would turn to Riker 
and comment on how easy these lines were to memorize since they 
seemed to be exactly what they would say.  But without a single 
blooper to even suspect, the cast made it to Picard's final line.
     Picard raised himself from his chair, adjusted his tunic, 
took a few steps forward and looked directly into the camera.  
"You don't know how badly I've wanted to do this for a very, very, 
long, long, time."  He turned around, drew his real phaser and 
stunned Wesley where he sat.  "Data, grab the body!  Alright," he 
said to the director and crew who were aghast with astonishment.  
"No one moves, and no one gets hurt."  They all had phasers drawn 
by then and headed off with the body.  Riker hefted Marina Sirtis 
over one shoulder.  Dorn who had played Worf for so long now had 
the heart of a Klingon and thus had the urge to join the band of 
renegades.  He grabbed his stage phaser and followed along.
     "I don't care if it's not in the script, It's brilliant!  
Keep the cameras rolling!" the director shouted at his crew.
     The herd made it outside and was running for the preset beam 
up coordinates when they accidentally made a wrong turn and found 
themselves surrounded by security guards with their guns aimed at 
them.  "This has gone far enough, Stewart!  Maybe you think we're 
being a little too anal, but we take our jobs seriously.  No one 
is above the law!"
     Marina screamed, "Rape!"
     "Put her down, Frakes, nice and easy and maybe we'll all 
forget this incident."
     Right then out of nowhere a futuristic looking armored 
soldier appeared on top of the building to Riker's left like he 
had a personal cloak.  The soldier began firing some phaser-like 
weapon at the security guards and took them out one by one.  He 
jumped down to the street level, faced the crew, and lowered his 
weapon at them.
     They were at the end of their rope, but suddenly Whoopi 
Goldberg emerged from a locked door near them.  "This way," she 
called.
     "Guinan!" exclaimed Picard.  They entered the building, and 
locked the door again behind them to give themselves more time.
     "Captain, where have you hidden the cast?" she asked.
     "They're in a locked empty trailer 3 blocks north of here.  
Here's the key."
     "I know of your mission to save Earth.  Good luck.  
Meanwhile, I have to stay here and merely play Guinan.  I'll see 
you again in 400 years."
     "Farewell, Guinan.  Geordi, do you have the transporter lock, 
yet?"
     "Yes, sir.  We're ready to transport."
     "Uh, Number One, you'll have to put down this Troi and leave 
her behind.  One is already enough in our timeline."
     "Ain't that the truth," he said complying.
     Michael Dorn finally spoke up after realizing that these 
people really were from the 24th century.  "Ms. Goldberg?  You 
really are Guinan?  And all of you are really from the Star Trek 
universe?"
     "The what?"
     "Please, Captain Picard, take me with you."
     "Mr. Dorn, We'd be altering history if you came along.  You 
have your life to live here in the twentieth century, people to 
influence, minds to inspire..."
     "A conference, Captain?" asked Data.  Picard and Data huddled 
together with the rest of the bridge crew. "According to my 
records, the actor Michael Dorn was never heard of ever again 
after the canceling of Star Trek: The Next Generation, except for 
some minor parts in the following movies.  Bringing him with us 
might actual improve on his quality of life.  In fact, he would be 
an excellent replacement for Worf.  He not only has Worf's entire 
Starfleet record memorized, but he can easily be surgically 
altered to match him exactly.  His weight, bone structure, and 
build are uncanny."
     "Well then, he's our Worf!"
     The crew turned to face Dorn, Sirtis, and Guinan.  "Mr. Dorn, 
I like to make you an offer you can't refuse.  How would you like 
your name to be changed to Worf?" asked Picard rhetorically.
     With that Mr. Dorn became a real Starfleet officer and a 
citizen of the Federation as he went to stand with his new 
shipmates.  "Good-bye, Guinan, Ms. Sirtis," he told them nodding 
to each one in turn.  "It was wonderful, really."
     "Geordi, energize."  The crew all waved good-bye as they 
dematerialized along with the body of the Weasel which was just 
lying in a heap on the floor just as more security had found a way 
in.
 
     High above Los Angeles in parking orbit, having thrown the 
ol' wease bag into the brig, the crew relaxed on the bridge before 
returning home.
     "Turn on the local news report before I retire for the 
evening, Mr. Worf."
     Worf tuned in a broadcast on the viewscreen.  An anchorman 
was already in the midst of a story.  "...Cop shooting at Venice 
Beach today.  Detective Prendergast was gunned down on one of the 
peers along with the same peer he was on.  Witnesses say 
Prendergast reached a standoff with an armed man, and the peer 
suddenly exploded with a single blinding red flash.  And, yes, 
Detective Prendergast did bear an uncanny resemblance to Robert 
Duvall..."
     "How odd," was all Picard could comment.
 
     On stardate 49617, Picard and crew instead of attending a 
heroes' welcoming party were attending a hearing regarding their 
reckless disregard for the high morals of the Federation, 
Federation morale, Federation commerce, not too mention the Prime 
Directive for the transporting of Wesley Crusher back to the 24th 
century.
     "Although you have violated Federation law countless times, 
and several counts of Starfleet regulations which we can't touch 
you on due to your connections, in light of the recent weasel 
crisis we have decided to drop all charges."
 
     Afterwards, Picard and Riker approached Beverly and Deanna 
respectively, and simultaneously two lines into conversation, Bev 
and Deanna told them to "Drop Dead!" and stormed out, embarrassing 
the two gentlemen in front of the entire Federation judicial 
council.
     "C'mon, Worf," Deanna said smiling to the altered Dorn giving 
him a half embrace and half push toward the door and then frowning 
at Riker.
     Dorn turned toward Riker.  "Nice planet," he said and stepped 
out.  Just before the doors closed behind him he turned back to 
Deanna and said "I was thinking of changing my name to Dorf.  What 
do you think?"
     Picard went over to Wesley who happened to look as chipper as 
ever.  "Well, is there any message you'd like me to give to your 
mother?"
     Wesley smiled with pleasure.  "Tell her I feel peachy keen."
     Picard exploded.  "Why you little..." and almost kneed him in 
the nads before Riker stopped him.  "He has ambassadorial status," 
Riker reminded him.  "Remember the peace treaty we have now with 
the Weasarians, the race that sent that probe, is valid as long as 
no harm comes to him accidental or otherwise."  Picard just fumed.  
"Come, come.  We've been reassigned a new ship.  There's a shuttle 
waiting."
     "Permission to join you, Commander, on your next mission?" 
piped the weaselly rodent.
     "NO!" Picard fired adamantly.
     "Captain, I don't think we have any choice in the matter.  He 
has...  powerful friends."
     "If there's one thing I learned while I explored higher 
realms of existence with the Traveler before he tried to kill me, 
it's that Weasitude triumphs over both Good and Evil."
 
     Through the hangar bays of Starbase One the little shuttle 
carrying the bridge crew floated toward their new ship...
     "Obviously, it's going to be the Enterprise, NCC - 1701 - F," 
Picard spoke matter-of-factly to his crew.  "I can't wait to see 
what kind of wonders they've updated and integrated into the new 
design."
     "I think you spoke to soon, Captain," noted Wesley as the 
shuttle rounded a corner and the ship came into view.
     "U.S.S. Enterprise, NCC - 1701 - E?" Picard recited the 
registration off of the very familiar saucer section his face 
getting red from bitter anger, hatred, and jealousy.
     The Weasel closed his eyes and explained away in a very know-
it-all fashion.  "Apparently, Captain, when she entered the 
Deuteronomy hole, she too was rejuvenated.  Only, the warp core 
collapse used for her own annihilation created a powerful enough 
sub-space field such that she remained in her own time.  Some 
Pakleds got a hold of her floating dead in space, so when 
Starfleet Intelligence radioed this to Command, they now had the 
goods and justification to eradicate the entire Pakled race.  Starfleet
recognizance got it back like taking candy from a baby.  Unfortunately,
the Pakleds have so far been able to up quite a defense against our
assaults.  As you can imagine, the Pakleds have become the
Federation's worst enemies ever.  The Deuteronomy hole hasn't failed
yet to produce unexpected results."
     Getting both his ship back and Worf was certainly not enough 
justification for Jean Luc to start having to endure the Weasel's 
presence on his bridge again, though.  But who knows what the 
Weasel's fate will be?  Perhaps his final judgment awaits in the 
afterlife.  In any case, the Weasel was enjoying himself in the 
meantime.

	In the middle of a barren wasteland, a tired old, bald and very 
toothless psychotic killer and rapist was hunched over his tool attempting 
to drill holes for his own refreshment when he noticed movement through the 
blowing sand on the dusty crusty planet of Nympho III: The Planet of 
Galactic Breeding.  The bald man grabbed his weapon when he saw the 
approaching form was an equestrian who could easily overpower him.  The 
heavily robed equestrian stopped and dismounted the stallion upon arrival 
displaying no belligerency to the man.
	A deep voice came from under the dark hood.  "I felt great pain.  I 
came as soon as I could," the figure explained removing her hood and thus 
revealing her sex.  Then, the woman opened her robe to the man.
	The man's jaw dropped at the size of what he saw.  "You're a 
betazoid!"
	"Come, my friend to Paradise City!"
 
          ____________________________________________________  
_________|                                                    |________  
\        |                  The Weasel Saga:                  |       /
 \       |                    Episode Five                    |      / 
  \      |            The Final Judgment of Weasley           |     /
   >     |                                                    |    <
  /      |                  by Clifford Hall                  |     \ 
 /       |____________________________________________________|      \ 
/___________)                                              (__________\ 
 
	A weasel-like form clumsily made its way up the vast vertically 
dizzying rock face of Devil's Tower National Monument.  The ropeless bare-
handed climb was a sort of rite of passage into supreme weasel-hood he felt.  
As soon as I reach the plateau at the top, he thought, there will be no 
higher weasel. As the Weas paused a moment to realize his progress, a 
shadowy figure above did the same.  Within minutes, though, the climb was a 
step from completion.  He reached up to grab for the plateau's surface when 
suddenly an all too familiar pale android face emerged over the edge 
violently startling him.
	"Nice to see you, Wesley.  Let me give you a hand. You deserve it," 
Data said reaching out to him.
	"Thank you, Data," replied the varmint grabbing onto the extended hand 
and anticipating that Data would help pull.  Data did pull him up but only 
about 20 centimeters, a height at which the little weaser had very poor 
footing and nowhere to put his other hand.  Data also pre-programmed his 
hand to snap off at just that instant.  At the snap, the Weasel's expression 
turned from accomplishment to sheer horror.  His arms flailed about, first 
dropping the hand and then finally managing to grab the rock ledge with his 
feet in vainly scrambling for footing.
	Thinking his job was done, Data had turned his back to wait for an 
inevitable splat.  Instead, he heard a little whine come from just over the 
edge.  Data spun around and looked down only to find Weasley had grabbed 
onto his left boot.  He quickly raised his right boot and began kicking the 
weasel's face bloody speaking in between kicks.  "I... have had... enough... 
of YOU!!!"  The final kick shoved the bridge of his nose into his brain and 
sent the mammalian refuse tumbling to the ground so very far below.
	Picard and Beverly who had been picnicking nearby and enjoying 
watching the climb came running to where the body now laid.  Bev tended to 
her son while Picard got a hold of Data on his communicator.
	"Data, explain.  What happened?"
	"Uhh...there were a few random power surges to my appendicular 
systems.  Compensation was impossible and unfortunate.  That is all, 
Captain."
	Weasley came to and tried to get up.  "Don't worry. I'm alive," he 
wheezed.
	"Well, Data, you were very lucky that no one was hurt.  Picard Out," 
he replied.  "I guess the Weasarians would understand an ACCIDENT.  It's not 
our responsibility to see that he stays out of mischief on shoreleave.  
Besides Admiral Necheyev has told me Starfleet will soon be able to contend 
with our newest adversary if they ever gave us anymore trouble," he told Bev 
and Weas.
 
	Back on Nympho III, a horde of miscreants descended upon the capitol 
singing their war song: "Take me down to Paradise City where there ain't no 
grass and the air is gritty..."  An attack of such organization was never 
foreseen to be a problem; so needless to say, the city was seized and the 
government consuls taken hostage.  The architect of the assault, the 
betazoid woman, rode in on her high horse in extreme arrogance.  The first 
phase was successful, and there was no turning back now.  The Federation 
would be dispatching a starship shortly to parley for the release of their 
representative.  One could only assume that the Pakleds would do the same 
for theirs.  They happened to be very interested in getting some 
intellectual genes for their race.  The son of a half-Klingon-human who was 
rumored to be a lost son of Kirk was also a hostage, the spawn of the only 
human to bring a Klingon woman to orgasm.
 
	Ship's Log:  Stardate 49703.4.  Chief Engineer Reporting...
You'd think the Enterprise was reconstructed by none other than Beavis and 
Butt-Head.  In reality, the malfunctions are definitely the work of the 
Deuteronomy hole when it reassembled the vessel.  Once again, the joke is on 
us.  Except for the warp-drive, every on board system is malfunctioning in 
some respect except a few of the synthehol stills and condom dispensers, and 
I've had to pull a few all-nighters with Lieutenant Lefler just to keep 
those in working order.  While the warp drive is apparently unaffected, the 
warp core itself is now operating on a completely new theory involving a 
reaction between deuterium which the Deuteronomy hole for some reason spared 
and a slimy yellow-brown substance I think Captain Picard will have no 
problem Identifying later on.  I guess we'll just have to live with it.  
Besides, it makes for a good parody, and this one is wearing pretty thin as 
it is.
	Geordi was underneath a console on the bridge just about to get the 
Dolby Omni-Phonic Multi-Phase Positronic Pro-Logic sound system on line when 
the automatic red alert klaxon went off causing him to slam his head into 
the main amplifier and effectively shorting out his VISOR.
	"Oh My God, I'M BLIND!" he yelled.  All he got were strange looks from 
the rest of the crew except from Robin Lefler who was standing above him 
helped him get up.
	"Get up, Geordi.  You look like a black fool."
	"What, I'm black?!"
	"Computer," she inquired.  "What's the situation?"
	"Priority message from Starfleet Command."
	"On screen.  This is Enterprise.  Go ahead, Admiral Quinn."
	"Enterprise...Enterprise?...Is this thing on?  IS THIS THING ON?"
 
	Commander Troi was manning the communications and tactical console 
while awaiting the return of Picard when a distressful message came in.  
	"Enterprise...Come in, Enterprise."
	"Enterprise here," she acknowledged disguising her voice because she 
easily recognized who it was.
	"This is Commander Riker.  We have been caught in a terrible blizzard.  
Visibility has been reduced to nil.  Request directions to shuttlecraft 
landing sight."  It was the best he could come up with.  He sure didn't want 
any harassing from any of the midshipmen about getting lost.  He had an 
image to uphold.
	Troi was still pissed at Riker for bringing back the weasel; so, she 
decided to turn up the static and play along.  "I'm sorry commander, but 
we're unable to pinpoint your location through all the interference.... Good 
luck."
	"That's 'good luck, Sir!', cadet!"  He turned to his Klingon 
companion.  "We're screwed now, Worf."
	"You wish!"
	Troi couldn't stop giggling for a while.
 
	Later that evening after sundown, Jean-Luc, Beverly and Weasley sat 
around a campfire enjoying a well-deserved home-cooked meal of Tatertot 
hotdish.
	"Say, Bev," asked Picard.  "What's the secret ingredient?"
	Bev who had her mouth full motioned to Weas to hand her the flask of 
the secret ingredient. Wes took the cork off the container when he got it, 
sniffed the contents, and managed to hand it to his mother before he passed 
out cold from the intoxicating vapors.
	"I've always known he'd go that way," Bev said passing it onto Picard 
to try.
	He took a swig.  "Ahh.  That's the stuff!  100% pure Cardasian 
Everclear!"  He continued to chug it down to the last drop.
	Weas recovered drowsily with a hangover and looked over to his mother.  
"Robin?  When did you get here?"
	"What should we do next?" asked Bev to Picard.
	"I can answer that," offered Weasley.  "We'll have a wieney roast!"
	In the bushes behind him, two familiar figures had been waiting with a 
four meter diamond edged spear ever so patiently for that cue.  Worf and 
Riker thrusted the instrument right up the Weasel's anus and out the back of 
his neck practically replacing his spinal column.  The scoundrels quickly 
ducked out, but not before propping the "spit" up over the flames and 
setting the rotisserie on slow.  "Uh, huh, huh.  Roasting wieners is cool!"  
Riker told Worf afterward.  "Yeah, heh, heh," retorted Worf.
	Still drunken with the secret ingredient, Weas felt no pain, but 
continued normally with what his presentation.  He produced a twig from his 
pants, stuck on an Oscar Meyer and began roasting.
	"And what, pray tell, do we do after that? " Picard asked defiantly.
	"Ah!  Next we put the condoms of our choice on the wiener," he said 
producing them as well.
	Bev and Picard smiled at each other and tried not to laugh at their 
inside joke of replacing all of the occurrences of the word "condiments" in 
the all of the Enterprise's files on traditional fireside activities.  They 
sat back and watched Weas consume his little snack while still rotating.  
After he finished, he serenaded the couple to get them in the mood with a 
few verses of "Blow the man down" until he passed out again.  Only then did 
they get a chance to do what they had been waiting to do all night.
 
	The renegade captain Kork formerly of the Illegitimate had regained 
command of a ship: The Illegitimate 2, a new prostitution class starship, 
the love-child/brain-child of Kork himself.
	"Captain, new data from Nympho III!  Hostages: a Terran, a Pakled, 
and... a Bastard," his communications officer reported.
	Kork slowly turned around in his command chair and removed the pipe he 
was smoking from his mouth.  "Thank you, Malted.  Set course for Nympho 
III."
 
	A bright light from above abruptly interrupted Jean-Luc and Beverly.  
From much practice, though, the two of them were able to get back into 
uniform before Lefler stepped out of the landing shuttlecraft.  Picard threw 
the tarp they were using for a blanket over the rotisserie where Wes was 
still sleeping.
	Picard addressed the Lieutenant.  "What's up, babe?"
	"Captain, there's an emergency situation in the neuter zone.  You're 
presence is required on the Enterprise."
	"Why didn't you alert us with the communicators?"
	Lefler slapped her already flat and high forehead.
	Picard turned to Beverly.  "Everything packed?"  He winked, then 
grimaced at the odd look from her.  He saw everything was ready to go.  
"Alright then."  They had only brought two bags with them and all of their 
food supply was mostly gone, so they picked up everything and got into the 
waiting shuttle.
	At the sound of the shuttle's turbine powering up for take off, Wes 
woke up.  "What the...?"  He asked himself pulling off the tarp and the 12 
foot spit out of his back.  Then he saw the shuttle about to leave and 
realized they were going without him.  The shuttle began to lift.  "No 
wait!"  He ran to shuttle, jumped and grabbed the port nacelle.  That tilted 
the shuttle for a second.
	Inside Beverly asked Robin, "What was that?"  Lefler dismissed it.
	Wes pounded on the side of the shuttle.
	Picard asked Bev, "Did you hear something."  She shook her head.
	Lefler answered him though.  "Those whines are normal engine noise."
 
	Lefler brought the shuttle in as quickly and safely as possible; 
although, the landing itself was a tad rough.  Riker and Worf were the first 
to disembark.  They had been spotted on the shuttle's sensors and beamed up 
with its own transporters.  Riker had to explain to Lefler that Worf and his 
communicators were both damaged in an "exploratory" mishap.  Worf couldn't 
figure out why the decking made a little squeaking sound when he stepped 
onto it until Lefler realized he had stepped on someone's...  something's 
hand: Weasley's!  She found him pinned underneath the starboard nacelle and 
kneeled at his side.
	Picard looked at the mess.  "Get someone to clean up that mess," he 
barked to Riker.  He then quickly escorted Beverly out of there who 
pretended she didn't recognize who it was under there.  "I wondered what 
that crunching was when we put down," he told her just as the doors closed 
behind them.
	Robin found a pulse.  "He's not dead.  Help me get the shuttle off of 
him."
	Riker was just about to laughed, but Worf melted when she looked up at 
him in despair.  "Doh!  Very well."  He went to the back of the shuttle and 
lifted up the rear end while Robin pulled the piece of road kill out from 
under.  Riker walked out completely disgusted.
	Weas awoke and smiled up at Robin.  He was apparently suffering from 
deflation, though.  "Please...  You must...  inflate," he said pointing at 
his unzipped pants.  Robin rolled her eyes.
 
	Picard walked on the bridge with only a tee-shirt on for a top and 
tunic in hand and approached the main viewscreen on which Quinn shortly 
appeared.
	"Okay, Quinn.  What's the low-down?  Give us the skinny."
	"Dressing a little casual today, are we?"  Quinn asked noticing 
Picard's Homer Simpson 'You'd be bald too if you had a little weasel for a 
son.' shirt.  "John-Luke, it appears we got ourselves a little unrest on 
Nympho III."
	"The planet of intergalactic breeding?  Surely not!" He joked with 
faux appall and laughing through his nose while looking down shaking his 
bald pate.  Picard sobered when he looked back up at Quinn who hadn't 
cracked the slightest grin.
	"Captain, I need John-Luke Picard!"  Picard's eyes bulged.  "Uh, John-
Luke, you're my boy.  And I know I can count on you to deliver.  Now, go out 
there and win this one for the Skipper."
	"Aye, Aye, Skipper.  Picard out.  Engineering."
	"Geordi, here, your humble and faithful man servant."
	"Geordi, I'm gonna need all the mustard you can muster, mister."
	"Earl Grey Poupon at your disposal, sir."  It was the term Picard 
coined for the crap the anti-matter had been converted into by Deuteronomy.
	"Excellent."  Picard finally sat down in his new seat.  "I miss my old 
chair.  This one doesn't even have that little silver handle.  How am I 
supposed to make my log?"
 
	"Captain."
	"Yes, Malted?"
	"Starfleet has dispatched the Enterprise to Nympho III."
	"Enterprise... Enterprise... Why does that name sound so familiar?"
	"Isn't that your mother's ship?"
	"No, you dolt!  Enterprise is Picard's ship.  Picard, the only man to 
kick me in the nads and get away with it.  Well, I think it's pay back time.  
Increase to maximum speed to Nympho III.  Suck-sess!"
 
	"Now receiving hostage info from Nympho III," declared Worf.
	"On screen."  Picard read the bios that appeared on the big screen.  
"Hmm, Pakled scum...  a Klingon, Kwirk...  Next please.  Ah yes, Thomas 
Riker?!?!?!  He's the Federation consul?"
	Riker replied, "It was the best way to reduce the competition for our 
lovely counselor.  I had heard about a hole that needed filling, so I told 
him about it.  Eight years of solitude really does something for the Riker 
libido.  It's a great way to keep my reputation strong."
	"B-but, what about the next generation of the galaxy?"
	"They'll just be that much easier to dominate.  Bwahaha!"
	"Here's the hostage tape, sir," informed Worf.
	The crew watched captively as Thomas Riker spoke.  "...A short time 
ago, we surrendered ourselves to the galactic army of Bud Light.  Our safety 
has been assured as long as their demands are met..."  The betazoid captor 
continued.  "I ask the Federation for one of their starships.  It's a 
desperate request, but I am a desperate woman."  She kissed the Pakled male 
standing next to her.  He touched his cheek where he was kissed and blushed 
as the recording faded to black.
	"Boy, she wasn't kidding about the desperate part," Riker remarked.  
He then looked at Troi who was just about to put her tongue into Worf's ear 
and thought how Troi was not at all like that woman when Troi herself 
realized something about the woman on the tape.
	"That was a Betazoid!"
 
	"Deanna, do you know this betazoid?" Will asked her in ten forward.
	Deanna continued to stare out the front windows while she spoke.  "I 
recognize her from somewhere, from somewhere in the past.  She might have 
been in my sorority back at the academy.  Or maybe we slept together one 
night at Berkeley."
 
	"A warship of unknown class has entered the sector, sir.  They will 
intercept us in seventy minutes," alerted Worf after the Enterprise arrived 
at its destination.
	"We'll keep it in mind, Worf."  Picard hit is comm badge.  "Number 
One, Counselor, we're departing for Nympho III in the shuttle due to the 
transporters still being off line."
	"Aye, sir," they answered in unison.
	"Mr. Worf, Data, let's go.  Beverly," he said over his communicator.  
"Have sickbay stand ready for any casualties.  Picard out."
	The officers departed from the main shuttlebay and discussed the 
specifics of the mission.
	"Captain," offered Data.  "Apparently, Nympho III possesses no 
scanning technology and primitive sub-space radio.  Recommend landing at 
this location," he said point a display of the Paradise City.
	"Good thinking, Data," encouraged Worf.  "I haven't been to a strip 
joint in at least a month."
	Picard turned to Worf disgustedly, "Worf, the planet is called Nympho 
III.  Do you really think that's a female strip joint?"
	"Captain, do you think I've always been a tactical officer?"
 
	Wesley walked onto the bridge and noticed no one in command.  
"Yyyyyyeeeess!!!" he thought.  "Computer, location of the Enterprise's 
senior officers?"
	"Commander La Forge is en route to the bridge.  Doctor Crusher is in 
sickbay.  All others have disembarked."
	"Computer emergency seal the bridge.  Route all control commands to 
main bridge.  Access code: weasel, weasel, weasel, omega."
	"Command of U.S.S. Enterprise transferred to Lieutenant Commander 
Wesley Crusher stardate 49704.3.  All ship functions at your command."
	"Very good.  Ensign, hail the planet."
	The strikingly beautiful betazoid returned hail.  "This is Paradise 
City.  With whom do I have the pleasure of bargaining?"
	"Captain Wesley Crusher, U.S.S. Enterprise.  We demand the release of 
the hostages."
	"Or else what?  You do realize I have needs too.  First of all, why 
don't you start by beaming your fuckable little ass down here?"
	"Daaaaaaaang!"
 
	"We owe you one Data.  If you hadn't been so fully functional back 
there, we'd have been brutally raped by hordes of voluptuous women."  Riker 
kidded as the group proceeded to the capitol edifice on stolen stallions.
	"This is the place," Picard told the group after seeing the "Boys Boys 
Boys" red, green and blue neon sign.  "Worf, you go first."
	Worf went to the front door and pulled unsuccessfully on the handle.  
"Oh, Dammit."  He whipped out his phaser, set it to level 16, and...
	"No, Worf!!!" yelled rest of them.  Too late.  The door was already 
missing and several alarms had gone off.  Flood lights from all around 
blinded and rendered them defenseless.  They were disoriented, disarmed, and 
dismounted.
	The Galactic Army of Bud Light held them captive until the betazoid 
leader came forward to meet them.  The hostages followed closely behind each 
looking quite content in their predicament.  The two Rikers acknowledged 
each other with a nod.
	The woman slowly looked the newly captured over, recognized one of 
them and did a double take.  "Deanna!  Reunited at last," she went forward 
to hug her.  Deanna backed off.  "Deanna, what's wrong?  Don't you recognize 
me?"
	"It never happened."
	The woman laughed.  "You still have that same old sense of humor.  
Gentleman, I'm sorry I have to dispense with the pleasantries, but if you 
don't mind, I'd like to use you as additional bargaining chips.  I intend to 
steal something.  Something very big!"
	Worf's hands immediately took a defensive posture to protect his 
crotch.  "Your middle name wouldn't be Lorena, would it?"
	"What is your name?" asked Troi blatantly.
	"Deanna, it's Kestra!" she exclaimed spreading her arms into which 
Deanna leaped.
 
	"Captain Crusher, that warship of unknown intent we'll be able to 
bring it's weapons to bear in five minutes.  Captain Crusher?  Captain 
Crusher?"  The  jailbait ensign manning OPS turned around to find that 
Wesley had left the bridge unnoticed.  "Where'd he go?"  The tactical 
officer just shrugged his shoulders.
 
	"Shuttle to Enterprise.  Come in Enterprise," Data hailed the ship.
	"Enterprise here," replied Geordi.
	"Mr. La Forge, lower the shields for docking," ordered Picard.
	"Whoa.  No can do, Captain.  Wesley managed to take over the ship and 
lock out all of the command controls.  A security force and I managed to 
corner him in a transporter room just in time to see him beam his backside 
down to the planet.  He fell unconscious due to systemic shock without 
revealing to us what the command code was."
	"How the hell did he gain control in the first place?"
	"Well, it appears someone neglected to leave anyone in command, anyone 
but that weasel!"
	"Quit whining, Geordi, and listen.  The shields are still up.  His ass 
couldn't have gotten too far.  Scan for the largest free floating gelatinous 
mass.  It should be his hiny.  Beam it back into place.  A little 
threatening after he wakes up and he'll spill his guts.  Drop the shields.  
We'll then use emergency docking plan B."
	"Huh?"
	"B for bullshit," clarified Picard.
	"You can't be serious!"
	"Why don't we just beam back on board?" asked the Pakled consul.
	"And let this shuttle fall into enemy hands?  Forget it!!"
 
	Kork rose to his feet after overhearing that conversation and pointed 
to his viewscreen.  "Target the shuttle.  Picard's on board!  Drop to your 
knees, Picard."
 
	"Captain, we're ready."
	"Make it so."
 
	"FIRE!!!!"
	The shuttle suddenly zipped out of the way of the impending photon 
torpedo and flew into the Enterprise main shuttlebay where it quickly came 
to a sudden but safe and soft landing in...
	"SHIT!!!!  Malted..."  Kork was just about to order Malted to fire on 
Enterprise when it disappeared into warp.  "Forget it.  Forget it.  Maintain 
pursuit," he said falling back into his chair disappointedly.
 
	Silently, the five senior officers along with the former hostages, 
Kestra and a half-dozen of her elite guards were out cold laying in a pile 
in the shuttle after the crash landing.  Both Kestra and Deanna, though, 
sustained the least injury due to extra built in padding and thus awakened 
first.  Kestra spotted a phaser rifle on the floor.  Deanna saw it too.  
There was no way she was going to let her take over the ship.  They both 
grabbed for it and got their hands on it at the same time.  They struggled 
for it violently.  In one attempt to wrench it free, Kestra heaved Deanna 
through the shuttle's front window.  The two landed on top of each other in 
a pile of dark squishy matter.  Their continued kicking, scratching, and 
clawing awoke the rest of the party.  Soon, there was much cheering for the 
combatants.  Hair was whipping everywhere.  Will and Thomas took opposite 
sides.  Picard started serving 72 ounce tubs of beer.  Bets were placed.  
Worf was just about to jump in himself, when Data reminded him exactly what 
the substance they were wrestling in was.  Deanna finally got the rifle free 
and pointed it at Kestra.
	"SHOOT HER!" shouted Will.
	Deanna hesitated.  Her hesitation was long enough for Kestra to grab 
it away.  Riker hung his head dejectedly.
	Kestra turned to her army and barked orders.  "Take the Captain and 
his first officer to the brig.  Then, secure the bridge.  Deanna, are you 
coming with me?"
	"I thought I just did.  Maybe some other time, though."
	"I have no choice but to lock you up then."
	"Oh, would you?" she asked with a big smile.  The guards took her 
away.
	Thomas brought forward Data and Worf.  "These two will prove useful."
	"Indeed," Kestra replied sizing them up.  "Androids tend to be fully 
functional and everyone knows how Klingons are hung," she thought.  "Would 
you mind showing me the way to the nearest shower?" she asked Worf.
	Wesley quietly watched from above in the control room in horror.  "I 
gotta warn mom and Geordi!" he said to himself.  Upon turning to leave, the 
door malfunctioned not opening.  He hit his head, spun around, tumbled over 
the railing and did a one and a half gainer into the deepest part of the 
manure.  Kestra and a remaining guard turned to look for what caused the 
sound to see nothing.  The Weasel had already sunk to the bottom of the pile 
in one swift "galoop."
 
	Picard, Riker, and Deanna sat in the brig staring each other down.  
Finally Riker spoke up.  "Deanna, you've really done it this time.  You've 
betrayed us all."
	"You ordered me to kill my sister." she exclaimed rising.
	"She may be a fellow betazoid, but that's no reason to..."
	"No you don't understand.  Kestra is also a daughter of Lwaxana."
	"You mean she's you sister sister?  You made that up, you lying 
wench!"
	"No, I didn't."
	"Well, she couldn't possibly be you sister because I know for a fact 
you don't have a sister."
	"I believed that to be true until I saw her on down on Nympho III and 
felt her presence.  Until now, I believed her to be dead all these years."
	"I gotta sit down.  Number two, Number One." Picard said walking into 
the brig's privy and shutting the door behind him.
	"Let me get this straight.  Kestra is your sister whom you thought was 
dead all your life."
	"That's what I've been saying.  Although I personally have no 
recollection of it happening, my mother shared the experience with me two 
years ago."
	"What experience?"
	"The trauma of having your own child drown due to your own 
negligence!"
	"But she's alive!"
	"I know that, Will.  I'm not stupid."  Will stifled a giggle reducing 
it to a small snort.  "But I don't know how this is possible.  I don't even 
want to speculate."
	"Alright.  Alright.  I understand," he said bringing her closer.
	"Number One," Picard Hollered.  "We aren't in spacedock are we?"
	"No, captain," he hollered back.
	"Oh, Will, you're so sensitive."
	"Ain't I?"  They hugged.
	Their embrace was rudely interrupted.  "Attention Enterprise crew."  
There was a flushing sound and Picard hopped out of the stall quicker than a 
lubricated cat to hear Kestra's address.  "We have plotted a new course for 
planet IThin-kai-see at the center of the Great Tootsie Pop.  There we hope 
to discover the ultimate knowledge:  How many licks does it take to get to 
the center of a Tootsie Pop.  No longer will we have to settle for just 
'three.'  That is all."
	Picard was emphatic.  "Wha-Wha-What?  She's mad!  Whatever it 
is...IThin, kai, see."
	"Becomes a Tootsie Roll to me, sir," answered Riker
	"Huh?"
	"Nevermind.  C'mon, lets find a way outta here,"  Will offered 
instead.
	The three started looking for seams in the paneling and loose 
carpeting when a whiny weaselly but welcomed voice greeted them from 
outside.  "I bet you're sure glad I'm still alive."
	"Oh, God, I don't think I could live without you," Picard replied 
gagging on the words.  "Now, could you get us out of here?"
	"Sure thing," he said lowering the screen for them.  They jumped out 
of the cell, pushed the Weasel back in, and raised the screen faster than 
Weasley knew what was happening to him.  "Hey!"
	"Hay is for Weasel bedding, my dear Wesley," Troi reminded him and 
then went to join the men who were already out the door.  The three rounded 
the first corner to find Geordi wiring explosives to the wall.
	"Captain!  I was about to bust you out with an old fashioned 
jailbreak.  Would you mind getting back in the brig for me?"
	"Mr. La Forge, we're already out.  It's pointless."
	"You're right.  I guess I won't be needing these any more," Geordi 
said referring to the explosives.
	"Au contrair," answered Riker winking to Picard, nonchalantly hitting 
the countdown button, grabbing Troi by the arm, and hiding around the corner 
with Picard and Geordi doing likewise.
	After the dust from the explosion cleared, Weas stepped out through 
the new hole into the corridor.  He couldn't figure out why everyone was 
laughing when they met up with him until Riker pointed out the Weasel's 
crotch saying "Check out the cool shrapnel."  Sure enough a large chunk of 
the wall had imbedded itself into where the Weasel fly once was.
	"Wesley," Picard suggested.  "Why don't you report to sickbay? I, of 
course, have to regain control of my ship."  "For once," he thought, "I 
might be able to save the ship all by myself."
	"Sure thing, sir," he said saluting and turning to walk the other way 
down the corridor.
	"Uh, Wes," advised Riker.  "Look out for the...  Too late."  Wes had 
knocked himself out cold by hitting his forehead on a low bulkhead.  Riker 
turned back to Geordi.  "Mr. La Forge, I don't remember that pylon being 
there before."
	"I don't know how it got there, honest," Geordi replied with a huge 
grin.
	"Mr. La Forge, I'm going to try to transmit an emergency message.  I 
want you to keep trying to get the transporters back on line," Picard 
ordered
	"Understood, sir."
	The threesome remembered that Guinan kept an emergency transmitter in 
the Ten Forward Lounge while she was on board.  With any luck, it would 
still function for them.  They made it up to the lounge through the 
Jefferies tubes undetected.  Picard looked behind the bar for the 
transmitter.
	"Hmm...  Videos of 'Made in America', 'Jumpin' Jack Flash', 'The 
Player', Uh, huhuh, 'The Color Purple', H-H-Huhuhuh, 'Sister Act' and 
'Sister Act II: Back in the Habit', 'Sarafina!', 'Corina, Corina'...  Oh, 
wow!  All 130 volumes of CHEERS!  Where's that one where Woody gets 
married?"
	"Uh, Captain, he's watching it," Troi answered pointing to an 
overweight gentleman sitting in an easy chair staring up at a TV in the 
corner of the room.  They all made a bee line for the TV, sat down around it 
and stared at it.
	
	Five weeks later...
	Picard, Riker, Troi, and the fat guy who turned out to be a Pakled 
named Wally were in tears watching the ending of the final episode.
	"It ended so quietly..."  Picard sobbed.
	"All he says is 'Sorry, we're closed...'"  Riker contemplated gushing.
	"At least, Rebecca finally got her man..."  Troi sniffled wrapping her 
arms around Wally.
	Wally just grinned a stupid little mostly toothless smile.  "Ahhh."
	Picard stood up, stretched and yawned.  "I think we should get back to 
trying to transmit that distress message..."
	"So, here you are," said Kestra stepping into the lounge with a couple 
guards.  "I have felt great pain."  She went to Riker and gripped his right 
elbow.  "Yours is the deepest at all."  She stretched out her arm to the 
television.  The TV began conjuring up images of "animal things" in 
Napoleanic uniforms advancing upon a barren plain with muskets and bayonets.  
In the battle shown, Worf and the Wesley are killed, but Riker manages to 
resurrect them with Q-like powers.
	"No!" exclaimed Riker.  "I should have left him for dead," he 
explained falling to his knees.  "I should have left the boy for dead..."  
He continued crying.
	Kestra went over to him a tried to raise him to his feet.  "This pain 
has poisoned your soul.  Release this pain.  Release it!"
	Riker relaxed.  He then added, "I think I just inoculated."
	Kestra went to her sister next.  "Deanna, I know your pain..."
	Deanna looked at the TV to see her own birth.  When she was delivered, 
the betazoid doctor handed the baby Deanna, a very normal looking newborn 
except for the exceptional hair length, to her mother.  Lwaxana looked down 
at her child, noticed that it's breast were unusually small and, in fact, 
lacking for a betazoid newborn, and turned her head away commenting, "so 
human..."
	Troi hugged her sister tightly and wept nearly silently.
	When that episode was completed, Kestra turned to Picard.  He put up 
his palms stopping her.  "I need my pain.  Without it, I become my soulless 
alterego..."  He passed his hand across his face and changed his expression 
to one of sheer mechanized tyranny.  "...Locutus."
	"Oh!"  Everyone exclaimed in shock.
	Riker and Deanna stood next to Kestra.  Deanna and Kestra slipped on 
sunglasses.  "Are you coming with us, Captain," asked Kestra.
	"We're on a mission from God," added Deanna.
	Kestra regained her composure.  "I'm afraid you'll have to remain 
here, Captain.  William, Sis, you may join me on the bridge.  As you can see 
out the forward windows, we have arrived," she told them walking toward the 
door.
	"Wait, you know we'll never make it!  Man is not meant to know the 
ultimate knowledge," Picard told her.
	"That may be true.  But if we do make it, then you'll have to believe 
my vision from God was true.  My vision that a bastard child known as THE 
WEASEL shall be sacrificed for his sins and the universe shall be at one."
	"Oh, really?" Picard replied dumbfoundedly as the others left him to 
contemplate alone.  He looked out the windows both in wonder and in terror 
as his ship forged ahead through an apparently impenetrable energy field and 
slowly but surely did what was once believed to be impossible.  Man's rite 
of passage would finally be completed having now earned the right to 
approach God himself.  The energy field cleared and a dark planet laid 
before him:  "IThin-Kai-See" to Betazoids, "Q.E. II" to Terrans, "Vortex-
Whore" to Pakleds, "Canaan" to Jews, and "The North" to Negro slaves of the 
19th century.
	Picard entered his bridge.
	"Captain, the ship is yours unconditionally," Kestra offered him.
	"What makes you think I won't turn us around?"
	"I believe you know who exactly THE WEASEL from my vision is and you 
too have a desire to see justice done."
	Picard hit his comm badge.  "Bridge to Wesley Crusher."
	"Crusher here."
	"Mr. Crusher report to the main shuttlebay as an away team member."
	"Aye, sir.  I'll be there in a jiffy!"
	Picard rolled his eyes and nearly dry heaved.  "Number One, Counselor, 
Kestra, let's go."
	As they left the bridge, the sensor screen, flashing symbol of 
universal bordello -- a circle enclosing an inverted Y with a mysterious 
third middle branch on a yin-yang background that looked strangely like the 
numeral 69 -- signifying the approach of Kork's ship, went unnoticed because 
the crew had already been so bombarded by the symbol due to the recent 
occupation by the Galactic Army of Bud Light (It was their insignia too!) 
that the symbol was simply tuned out.
 
	Below, the shuttle was guided to a landing by some unseen hand.  It 
touched down near a natural amphitheater of granite.  Picard pulled open a 
storage drawer on the shuttle full of prophylactics for protection, of 
course.  Kestra only put her hand on his shoulder and shook her head 
smiling.
	"Alright, we'll try it YOUR way," Picard agreed.
	To try to impress her, Wesley elbowed Kestra clicked his lips and with 
delight did some pelvic thrusts so uncoordinately in the standard weasel 
style that they were more like rump thrusts.
	"What in the hell are you doing..."  She squinted at his rank pins.  
"...lieutenant commander?!?"  She asked rhetorically.
	"Look there!" Riker pointed to a glowing blue spherical gaseous cloud 
on the platform of the amphitheater.  They got out of the shuttle, 
approached and stood before the cloud.
	"BRAVE SOULS, WELCOME."
	"Sweet Fucking Jesus!" hollered Wesley upon having his ears blasted by 
the great booming voice that seemed to jar every quantum filament in his 
being.
	The cloud mutated in sequence into the faces of the demigods of 
history:  Bill Clinton, Bob Dole, Beavis, H. Ross Perot, and finally Rush 
Limbaugh.  "YOU MAY KNOW ME FROM 'THE HOLY BIBLE' WHICH I WROTE, PRODUCED, 
DIRECTED AND STARRED IN AS THE CREATOR."
	Wesley wasn't convinced.  "If you're God, then what's the name of that 
guy who built that ark?"
	"NOAH!"
	"Yeah, and?  What was his last name?" Wesley persisted.
	"WHO IS THIS CREATURE?"
	"Don't you know?  Aren't you God?  Whatever you are, behold THE 
WEASEL!"  Wesley spread his arms out wide and puffed out his chest.
	"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
	Kestra's jaw dropped.  "This is not the God of IThin-Kai-See," Deanna 
told her.  "Cowering helplessly before THE WEASEL." 
	Picard stepped over to them to argue.  "But Wesley is not a bastard.  
He was born in wedlock.  His father was Jonathan Crusher!"
	Wesley spun around and pointed at Picard, "No!  You are my father!"
	Picard grabbed his own chest gasping and fearing his artificial heart 
would give out.  "No Way!  That's not true!  That's impossible!!!!"
	"Search your feelings.  You know it to be true.  I am THE WEASEL of 
Kestra's vision."
	"B-But, how do you know about my vision?" Kestra stammered.
	"Who do you think even gave it to you?"
	"B-But, how did you even know of my existence?"
	"Who do you think created you?"
	"BLASPHEMY!"  shouted Rush.  Wesley was shot with a bolt of energy 
knocking him to the ground.
	"It'll take a little more than a light show to keep me down," he said 
picking himself up and dusting himself off.
	"So, bringing us here was all your doing?" Riker asked Wesley.
	"Indeed.  I had a little unfinished business with this entity." 
	"NO!  I AM GOD!  REALLY I AM!  I CAN TURN INTO ANY FORM.  SEE?"  The 
image of Rush turned into a mirror image of Kestra.
	"Hey!  That's my dress you're wearing!"  Kestra realized, climbed up 
on stage and attacked the form.  "Hiiiiiiiiiiiii, ya!"
	"Kestra, Nooo!" Deanna screamed curdling everyone's blood as she saw 
her sister devoured by the entity.
	"Alright, folks, lets high tail it out of here," ordered Wesley 
prodding the rest of them especially Picard who looked really out of it.  
The party made it back to the shuttle which proved inoperative.  Wesley hit 
his communicator.  "Geordi, you don't happen to have the transporters back 
on line do you?"
	"Why I just got 'em runnin' a couple minutes ago as a matter of fact," 
La Forge informed them.  "Who wants to go first?"
	"Can't you beam up more than one of us simultaneously?"
	"More than one simultaneously?  Like three?"  Geordi asked completely 
bewildered.
 	"Picard, you're the captain.  You'll have to be last.  Geordi, 3 to 
beam up."  Will, Deanna, and Wesley dematerialized leaving Picard alone in 
the dark for night had fallen.
 
	They rematerialized.  "Thanks, Geordi.  Now if you'd beam up the 
captain..."  At that moment, there was a sudden and violent rocking of the 
ship and the transporter shorted out as the Enterprise was struck with an 
anti-matter spread with her shields on stand-by.
	Realizing Geordi would be unable to beam up Picard, they raced to the 
bridge to seek an alternate solution.
	"Status?" asked Riker.
	"Prostitution class whoreship has disabled us, sir.  Her captain has 
asked to determine terms," reported Worf.
	"Put him on."
	"Remember Me?  This is Captain Kork of the Bastard Alliance.  You are 
alive for a solitary reason: The rogue Jean-Luc Picard.  Fork him over, and 
I will have mercy on your ship.  My transporter stands ready.  Please the 
transmit coordinates."
	"Captain Picard is not on board.  He's still on the planet below.  
Hold on for the coordinates..."  Riker signaled to Worf to mute the channel.  
He went over to Wesley and got down on his hands and knees.  "Lieutenant 
Commander Crusher, you are a fellow bastard and obviously his superior.  I 
would guess you hold an honorary rank of Admiral in their fleet.  And 
dammit, you're gonna help us get Captain Picard back!"
	"No," he replied firmly staring up at the screen.
	"Oh, please, please, please, please, please,..."
 
	Picard struggled up a ridge barely keeping ahead of the giant Rush 
cloud, its mouth gaping ever so wide.  As he reached the peak, he found 
himself trapped.  There before him was the Prostitution class whoreship, 
Illegitimate 2.
	"So, it's me you want, you bastard Bastards!"
	The ship fired a few phaser bursts at the cloud temporarily stopping 
its advance.  Picard found himself caught up in a foreign tractor beam and 
then once again on board a Bastard vessel.  Picard was escorted to the 
bridge where he found the ship to be under the command of...
	"Wesley."
	"Captain Picard, my junior officer has something to say to you."
	Kork hung his head and humbly apologized for his actions to which 
Picard vehemently again slammed him in the nads.
	"And now Picard, may I introduce, from the Galactic Army of Bud Light, 
our new gunner..."
	The gunner chair rotated 180 degrees to reveal...
	"Commander Galakeiwicz?"
	"Yes, I am!"
 
	Coincidentally, the Illegitimate 2 had its entire holds full of Bud 
Light, so the Bastards shared their goods with the Enterprise crew in 
exchange for a truce.  Together they celebrated that evening.
	Data got a little tipsy, put his hand on one woman's shoulder, and 
said, "Hey, baby.  Wanna try me on?"  He was swiftly slapped.  Data couldn't 
help but try that with nearly all of the women there.  Worf went on a raping 
rampage on the Illegitimate 2.  Geordi replicated some wacky weed and kept 
repeating, "I bet it's possible to beam up any number of people at a time, 
as long as the number is a non-negative integer...groovy..."
	Picard went to stand with Riker, Riker, Deanna, and the Weasel who 
were staring out the windows of Ten Forward after he had slammed Kork in the 
nads a third time.  "Cosmic thoughts?"
	"Ask Geordi," Will said motioning to him in the corner.
	"Well, I was just thinking that God is really right here in the human 
heart," Thomas answered seriously putting his hand to his chest.
	"I told you," piped up Wes.  "I'm God."
	Deanna slapped him knocking him on his ass.  "I lost a sister.  Oh, 
well.  Easy come, easy go..."
	"Thank you, Counselor.  No son of mine will proclaim himself God, 
MuaDweeb" Picard scolded Wesley.
	"I thought you said men like us don't have families," stated Will 
biting Tom's shoulder playfully.
 
	Picard, Bev, and Wesley reunited themselves as a family to finish off 
their shoreleave at Devil's Tower and hopefully also the Weasel.
	"How about another round of 'Blow the Man Down?'" Picard asked Beverly 
anxiously after dinner.
	"Seeing as how I just consumed all the beans I could eat, I would be 
obliged to accompany you," squeaked the Weas.  "Beans are the musical fruit, 
you know?"
	"No, Wes, _you_ are the musical fruit," his mother told him.
	The melodic flatulence began to flow, and Picard joined in with his 
voice.
	After the first verse, Picard asked him "How 'bout some more beans, 
Wes?" 	"I'd say he's had enough!"  Beverly responded adamantly.
	"Not of these Klingon beans I got from Worf," he whispered in her ear.  
"No non-Klingon can contain the amount of gas produced from them or expel it 
fast enough.  He'll expand like a balloon and explode."
	Bev smiled.  "Okay, as long as you clean up the mess."
	"Beverly, we're in the middle of wilderness.  We'll leave it to the 
vultures or coyotes or something."
	Wesley grabbed the bowl from Picard hungrily for more beans.  He 
beamed with the first spoonful and as well as his parents so proud.
 

			     THE              .___.
			     \        /      /
			      \  /\  /       '---.
			       \/  \/EASEL  .___/AGA
 
			Episode Six, The Unexploited Country
				  by Clifford Hall
 
					ACT I
 
Captain's Log:  Stardate 49951 point 9, U.S.S. Lotusior, Wesley Crusher
Commanding.  I have gained command of this my first starship after 
convincing Admiral Necheyev I'd be a "good boy" and promising to do her the 
favor of charting all gaseous anomalies in Betamax quadrant.  The crew is 
beginning to learn to respect me as master of this my vessel.
 
	Wes relaxed contentedly in his comfortable red velvet center command
chair and sipped his steaming Earl Grey tea, a taste for which he 
genetically inherited.  The rest of the bridge crew also sipped on the tea 
of their choice.
	Wesley's world of serenity was shattered suddenly by the ship's
shuddering.  It shook so violently, Wes spilled his scalding tea in his lap.  
He gasped unable to scream.  The bridge crew all looked around at each 
other, shrugged their shoulders, nonchalantly tossed their tea at his lap as 
well.
	Wes stood up.  "My, that's hot tea!" he exclaimed.  "Methane, report!"
	"Gaseous shock wave bearing 140 mark 20, sir."
	"Hot dog!  Our first gaseous anomaly.  Put it on screen."  Wesley got 
a look at the approaching juggernaut.  "Jehoshaphat!  Put up the shields!"
	The brunt of the wave hit the Lotusior with a loud splat which sent 
the ship careening off end over end into the next sector.  Wesley's carcass 
was flung across the bridge back in forth as they rode out the wave.  
Finally, the storm was over and the ship steadied.
	Wes regained his composure.  "That was no solar wind!"
	"Negatory.  Rather butt wind.  That wave originated from the Klingon 
moon Milagro."
	"Milagro is their key _bean_ production facility," Wesley 
contemplated.  He turned to Lieutenant Bland, the communications officer.  
"Send to Klingon Agricultural Command:  This is the Federation vessel 
Lotusior.  We have experienced quite a large explosion in your sector.  Do 
you require assistance?  Mr. Methane, any more data?"
	"On screen, sir."
	"Milagro?"  Wes asked looking at what was left of the moon.  The once
double-lobed moon in orbit of Qo'nos was now only composed of a single 
sphere.
	"Something blew the whole thing apart," added helmsman Propane.
	"Receiving transmission from Milagro, captain," reported Bland.
	The viewscreen changed to show hordes of Klingons running everywhere 
some with their noses plugged, others with gas masks.  Someone shouted, "Get 
that beano back on line!"  Another, "Fire suppression needed in sector 7-
G!!"
	The transmission was cut off by the Klingon Ag Command as flames 
engulfed the room and replaced by a Klingon spokeswarrior.  "This is 
Bombardier Curly, speaking on behalf of the Klingon Agricultural Command.  
There has BEAN indigestion on Milagro.  However it isn't anything Klingon 
strength beano can't take care of.  We are in no need of assistance.  This 
transmission ends...Uhhhh...now."
	"Indigestion?"
	"Should we report this, sir?" asked Bland.
	"I hope you're kidding."
 
	In a dark and ominous conference room at Starfleet Command the 
Starfleet general staff assembled with the senior officers of the U.S.S. 
Enterprise.
	Captain Picard realized something was out of place.  "Where's Wesley?" 
He asked Beverly.
	"Why?  Do you miss him?"  She smiled with sarcasm.  "Wes got his own
command: The Lotusior."
	"So, you mean he won't be joining us?" Picard queried with enthusiasm.
	Bev nodded positively.  Picard jumped up in the air clicking his heels
twice.  Bev laughed in response.
	Soon, everyone settled down and took their seats.  Yet stood up
momentarily when some chick announced "Everyone, The commander in chief, 
Admiral Quinn."
	Quinn bumbled up to the podium and began.  "I know most of you believe 
me to be senile in my years.  So, I'm turning this briefing over to our 
special envoy.  Let's face it.  I'm no spring chicken choker...  What!?  Who 
wrote up these note cards.  I'm holding them personally responsible!"  Quinn 
stomped around to the other end of the conference room where most of the 
Enterprise personnel sat.  "Data!  It was you.  Wasn't it?"
	Data put on a perfect poker face.  "No, sir."
	"Well, who then?!"
	"Uh, it was other officers or something."
	"That'll be enough, Admiral Quinn," said the one and only Ambassador
Spock walking in and physically prodding Quinn to take his seat.
	Geordi and Data exchanged hand slaps known as "low fives" 
congratulating each other.  Worf, who sported sunglasses, also slapped 
Geordi's hand with a "My man!"
	Spock addressed the officers.  "Last week, an explosion originating 
from the Klingon moon Milagro was felt as far away as Earth.  A Federation 
starship, the Lotusior, was near the explosion at the time and has since 
been missing.  It has been presumed destroyed with all hands."
	"Oh, darn,"  Picard said under his breath with a hint of sarcasm.  Bev
put a hand to his thigh.  Both knew full well they weren't going to be rid 
of the Weasel so easily.
	Spock continued.  "The explosion was of a gastric nature and was 
believed to be caused by an uncontrolled metabolism and insufficient safety 
antacids.  It is well known, that the loss of bean production is virtually 
crippling to the Klingon Empire.  As cotton was to the southern states with 
the saying "Cotton is king," to the Klingons "Bean is keen."  At the behest 
of the Romulan Ambassador, namely myself, I have opened diplomatic 
discussions with Garbonzo, chancellor of the Klingon Agricultural Command.  
You, Captain Picard, are to be our first 'bean' branch.  You are to 
rendezvous with the chancellor and escort him to Earth."
	"Does this mean moth ball-ing Starfleet?" questioned Picard.
	"You mean blue balling?" sobbed Worf touched by painful memories past.
	Quinn stood up.  "Absolutely NOT!  We have an opportunity here to 
bring those treacherous Klingons to their knees just like we did back in 
'aught six!"
	Spock was not amused.  "Admiral Quinn, would you please sit down and 
shut up!  There has been peace between the Klingon Empire and the Federation 
for well nigh eighty years, and that isn't about to change any time in the 
near future.
	"Apparently Chancellor Garbonzo feels that his people need to expand 
their agricultural techniques by sharing knowledge with the Federation 
before they fall to far behind in the bean race.  Both parties could greatly 
benefit from this pooling."
	"I still don't like it," dissented Admiral Cartwheel who evilly sat in
the shadows of the corner of the room.
	"May I ask why?" asked Spock.
	Cartwheel just shrugged his shoulders.  "I dunno."
	"If that is all then this meeting is adjourned," Spock motioned.  "I
believe there are some complimentary tacos and nachos in the hallway."
	At that everyone got up and vacated the room except for Picard and 
Spock.
	"Captain Picard, don't you like tacos or nachos?" pried Spock.
	Picard still sat in his seat.  "Well, you know how tight these 
uniforms are, and I was paying a little too much attention to Dr. Crusher."
	"Captain, there is an old Vulcan saying: 'Only Carter could go to
Haiti.'"
	"Ahh.  That's better."  Picard stood up.  "Spock, you know I don't 
really care for Klingon beans.  They're animals!"
	"Actually captain, they're vegetables."
	"Don't eat them.  Don't believe in them."
	"Jean-Luc, They're satisfying."
	"Let them satisfy."
	"Oh, try them, try them in a ship."
	"I will not try them in ship.  I will not try them with some dip.  I
would not eat them with a shrimp.  I would not buy them from a pimp.  I 
won't partake of Klingon beanstalk!  I don't like them, Mister Spock!"
	The Old Vulcan was taken aback by Picard's bold yet immature retorts.  
He was dumbstruck.  Picard felt a little embarrassed by how stupid his 
argument was and started to leave for his ship turning a little red in the 
face.  He mumbled a farewell to Spock as he left the room.
 
	Picard stepped out onto his bridge where his senior staff awaited him 
and was immediately greeted with a "CAPTAIN ON THE BRIDGE!" spoken by a new 
young female helmsman.  Some of the bridge crew had risen on Picard's 
account.  Some on her account.  Even Worf had to prop his sunglasses up on 
one of his forehead ridges to get a better view.
	"As you were," Picard ordered.  "Ensign...Uh, Ensign..."
	"Voluptuous, sir."
	"I'll say... Ooof" said Riker who received an elbow in the ribs from 
Troi.
	"Voluptuous was the first bimbo to be graduated at the head of her 
class at the Academy," noted Data.
	"I take it you her sponsor," asked Picard.
	"You could say that," replied Data.
	"And who was the valedictorian?" asked Riker which got a weird 
reaction from Deanna.
	"Wesley Crusher, sir," answered Voluptuous.
	"I thought he was salutatorian," recalled Picard.
	"Although Mr. Crusher did receive poor marks in Professor Doomie's
Stamina course, they were not low enough to be of any consequence.  He 
remained at the top of his class," explained Data.
	"Then his insanity was in vane," realized Picard.
	Troi was completely confused as well as insanely jealous.  "I thought 
you said Voluptuous here graduated at the head of her class."
	"At the head of her class?  I meant, 'to give head to the head of the
class,'" Data replied.
	Deanna explained her confusion.  "Oooohhhh, I thought you meant she 
had a bad case of the runs during the commencement ceremonies.  You know the 
feeling when you think your gonna get caught short on your way to the head."  
She added to try to embarrass the new ensign.
	After a long pause, "It's a real shame he went mad," contemplated 
Geordi.
	"Huh, huh...  Head," chuckled Worf.
	"Yes, the triple entendre was quite comedic, wasn't it Worf?" chirped
Data.
	Picard decided it was time to take some initiative.  "Well, let's get
underway."  Everyone took to their stations.  "Ensign, take us out.  We'll 
delay departure time for another day or so."  Everyone then left for their 
quarters.
	"Aye, sir.  I hope the thrusters are full on a head," she said 
giggling.
 
	A week later and a thousand lightyears from Earth...
Captain's Log: Stardate 49990.2.  I've never trusted Klingon beans and I 
never will.  I could never forgive them for the birth my son.  A failed 
Klingon contraceptive certainly caused a lot of trouble for the galaxy.  If 
Wes meets his demise in this episode it will be an historic occasion.  But 
how on earth can history get past people like me?
	"May I go now captain," Voluptuous startled Picard.
	"Oh, I'm sorry.  I forgot you we're under there."  Voluptuous got to 
her feet.  "You're excused, ensign."
	"Thank you, sir."
	"No, thank you."  Voluptuous walked to the door of Picard's cabin to
leave where the door opened for her.  "Volup, my trollop," Picard called 
out.  Voluptuous stopped and turned.  "That was some fancy piloting out of 
dock back there."
	"You're the man, Jean-Luc."
	"No, you're the man...  No, wait, you were right."
 
	"You've done well, Voluptuous," congratulated Data in his quarters.  
"As your... ah-hem... sponsor, I have followed your career with 
satisfaction.
	Someday when I leave this ship, you will be my replacement."
	"I could only suck...ceed, succeed you, sir."
	"KLINGON CRUISER APPROACHING OFF THE PORT BOW.  ALL SENIOR OFFICERS TO
THE BRIDGE," announced the communications officer throughout the ship.
	"All things must come to an end," noted Data as he and Voluptuous
complied with the order.
 
	"Open a channel...  This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard commander of the
Federation starship Enterprise."
	A proud aristocratic Klingon starred back at him through the 
viewscreen.
	He wore denim overalls, a straw hat and had a long strait piece of 
green straw hanging out of his mouth.  "This is Qo'nos Son.  I am Chancellor 
Garbonzo.  How y'all doin'?"  He spoke with a southern accent.
	"Chancellor, I am under orders to escort you and your ship through
Federation space to Earth for the 4-H bean symposium."
	"Why thank you kindly, cap'n."
	"Would you and your party care to sup with me and my senior staff this
evening on board the Enterprise as guests of the United Federation of 
Planets?"  Picard noticed Garbonzo was hesitant.  "We would watch United 
Federation of Wrestling afterward," he added.
	"Would ya'll be havin' grits?"
	"No.  But we will be serving fried chicken though.  The Colonel's
original recipe."
	"In that case, Cap'n, we'd be obliged."
	"Very well.  We'll have you 'beaned' aboard at 1800 hours."
	"I'll be lookin' forward to tonight," he replied closing the channel.
	"How rude," Picard commented out loud.  "He hung up without a 
goodbye."  He walked toward his ready room.
	"Captain," Voluptuous called to him.  "We still have a large supply of
Bud Light on board from gunner Galakeiwicz's stay.  It would help the meal 
to pass more smoothly."
	"And at my age, I think metamucil would do a better job," he replied.
	"Guess who's going to be dinner," said Worf eyeing Voluptuous.
 
	Garbonzo stood on the transporter pad among his consorts using a 
rather large bone as a cane to support himself.  "This here's my daughter 
and my sister's kid: Cocklebur," he introduced.  She had to be the ugliest 
female of any race Picard had ever seen.
	Cocklebur presented Picard with a gift.  "I made a three bean salad:
Lusitania, Valdez and Dukakis.  The tastiest varieties the Homeworld has to
offer," she said smiling.
	"I'm not sure how to take that."
	"Sincerely, Picard," answered Garbonzo.
	"From one gardener to another," added Cocklebur.
	"Right," he replied sarcastically taking the concoction.  He looked 
down into it to see green bubbles forming and spewing foul gasses.  He 
turned to the transporter's mate and whispered.  "Have this disintegrated," 
he ordered handing it to him.  The mate nodded in acknowledgment.
	Garbonzo continued introductions.  "My chef (sic) of staff: General 
Wang Chung," a hairless and nearly naked Klingon who wore but two 
bandoleers, a titanium cup with a canvas supporter, and a leather patch 
riveted over his butt crack (specifically his anus).
	"Call me Wang, Madame," he said going over to Troi and kissing her 
hand.
	"My astrological and agronomical advisor, Bombardier Curly," a Jack
Palance kind of guy with an even bigger ego problem.
	Curly spotted Voluptuous and strolled over to her.  "Stench is very 
sexy.  Don't you think?"  He apparently had dabbed on some Klingon hunting 
stench prior to beaming.  Volup nearly gagged but did not at the risk of 
hurting Curly's feelings.  "And they said thar warn't a mawket fer it fer 
Klingons," he laughed.
 
	"A toast...  to the Unexploited Country!"  announced Garbonzo to the
everyone assembled in the dinning room.  Confused expressions was all he got 
in return.  "The name of this parody!" he clarified.
	"To the parody," everyone replied smashing their beer cans together
causing Bud Light to splash everywhere.
	Under his breath while every one was settling down, Troi made a rather
prejudiced remark to Riker.  "Should have been 'The Un-Exploded Country'
considering the long term effects of Klingon bean farming."
	"Unexploded Country perfectly describes what's left of Klingon 
farmland.  It's all just a time bomb waiting to go off," Riker returned.
	"It's no wonder they call them the Killing Fields," added Geordi.
	"You cannot truly appreciate the Weasel Saga until you have read it in
its original Klingon!" Chung mused.  He turned to Picard.  "Tell me captain,
what's your favorite all time film?"
	"I'd have to say Peter Seller's little known work 'Bean (sick) 
There.'"
	"You know, Voluptuous, back on Qo'nos, I have been known to star in a 
few films of my own," bragged Curly.
	"Oh, really," she grimaced trying to look interested.
	"Would you ever have any desire to be in one with me, I'm sure 
something could be arranged."
	"Well, I just might have to take you up on that offer."  She turned to
Data who was sitting on the other side of her and got him to trade seats.
	"Chancellor," inquired Picard.  "What would your favorite novel be?"
	"Well, Lord knows I'm not to up on book learnin', but I remember one 
book by Faulkner...  The Bean (really sick)."
	"I should have known!"
	As everyone was finishing their meals and after dinner drinks, 
Garbonzo made a confession.  "You know, after an evening meal, I always 
likes to chew a bit a chaw," he said taking out brown burlap pouch from his 
pocket containing a flaky black substance  "Would anyone care to have some?"
	"Most intriguing," remarked Data.  "May I?" he asked reaching for a 
pinch of the stuff.  He placed some in his mouth.  "Hmm, remarkably similar 
in taste to tobacco and hog flesh."  He swallowed and frowned.
	Garbonzo laughed.  "Mr. Data, you shouldn't swallow the chaw.  Why 
half the fun is in the spittin'.  You choose a target, work up a good lather 
in yer mouth, and let that loogie fly.  Lemme show you."  He hacked up some 
phlegm, reeled back his head, and shot a dark wad out of the left corner of 
his mouth toward a pot a tree by the door was planted in where it landed 
squarely on the mark.  Everyone applauded the marksmanship.
	"Well done, Chancellor," congratulated Data.  "May I have another
attempt?"  Garbonzo held out some more chaw for him which he took.  Data
followed Garbonzo's example perfectly and repeated the Chancellor's 
performance exactly to which everyone applauded again.  All except 
Cocklebur.
	Because not even Riker had hit on her during dinner, she stood up in 
heat of passion and said indignantly, "The Federation is no more than a 
'homosexuals only' club!"
	"Present company excepted, of course," added Curly to which Worf 
curtly nodded.
	"Well, That's not true!" shot back Riker.
	"No?"
	"No!  Faggots are strictly excluded from Starfleet!"
	Picard had to step in.  "Far be it from me to dispute my first 
officer, but Starfleet has always been..."
	Wang interrupted.  "No need to explain, Picard.  We understand.  In
space, all warriors are closet warriors."
	Picard turned red and bowed his head hiding his face in embarrassment.
	"To bean or not to bean?  That is the question which preoccupies our
people.  We need breeding room!" lamented Chung.
	"Earth, Jolly Green Giant, 1968," Picard struck back silencing 
everyone.
	"I beg your pardon."
 
	"I'm sorry things didn't go so well," Garbonzo admitted to Picard in 
the transporter room.  "I think now is a good time to leave."  The 
chancellor got on the pad.  "Farewell, Jean-Luc."
	"Ah, Chancellor.  You forgot your bone," Picard said going to retrieve 
it from the closet.  The Klingons got onto the transporter pad.
	"It's a good thing you remembered.  That bone is a memento from my 
first hunt I went on with my father.  You know, now that I think of it, I 
don't recall ever seeing any beast, but my dad went on and on about some 
monster he claimed knocked me unconscious and rendered by rectum 
sore....hmph.  It wasn't long after that I decided to take up farming."
	He finished up as Picard returned and handed him the bone.
	"Have we not heard the chimes at midnight?" asked Wang rhetorically.
	After the last Klingon molecule dematerialized...
	"Hallelujah!"  shouted Geordi.
	"Bean eaters..." muttered Riker literally ripping off his tunic
forgetting it wasn't a movie style uniform.  "Am I so drunk...?"
	"I'm going to find a pot of black coffee," announced Doctor Crusher.
	"You do realize that coffee is a bean product, Doctor."
	"Shut up, Data," she retorted.
	"You got Mocha Cocoa Latte?" asked Troi joining Bev.
	Data raised an eyebrow in return.
	The crew cleared out except for Voluptuous and two transporter's 
mates.  The mates kept going on about beans in general, making farting 
noises and laughing among themselves.
	"You men have work?" Voluptuous asked them silencing them.
	They nodded.
	"Well, then... Hop to it," she ordered.
	The two of them then suddenly jumped up on top of her.
 
	Picard stared carefully at the 5" by 8" black and white glossy of 
Wesley on the wall of his quarters and threw a dart directly at the left 
pupil.  He finished up his log entry before retiring.  "...Note to the 
galley: antacids to be served at future diplomatic functions."
	Around midnight, He was awakened by his communicator.  It chimed and 
then emitted a burst of flatulence.  "Ugh, what is it?"
	"Data here.  Sorry to disturb you, sir.  But would you please join me 
on the bridge?"
	"I'm on my way."
 
	"What is it Data?  I'm very tired."
	Data flatulated again and spit some juice into a makeshift spittoon.
"Captain, as I am detecting a bean radiation surge or transmission affecting 
my servo bowels apparently emanating from ourselves; however, no audio." 
updated Data.
	"S.B.D, class three" said Worf in reply.
	"Huh."  He tapped his com badge.  "Geordi, do you know anything about 
a bean radiation surge?"
	"Only the size of my gut," La Forge replied flippantly.
	"I know what you mean.  Picard out.  Troi?  Nevermind."
	A red flash from the viewscreen lit up the somewhat darkened bridge
catching everyone's attention.  Picard looked up to see the Qo'nos Son 
partially engulfed in flames.  In shock, the bridge crew stared 
dumbfoundedly as a second photon torpedo hurled toward the Qo'nos Son and 
exploded on its shields collapsing them.
	Picard came to his senses.  "Mr. Worf, who is responsible for this?"
	"We are.  We have fired on their vessel!" answered Worf.
	"Shut down all power to the weapons systems and raise the shields!  
I'm going down to the torpedo bay, have a security team report their.  Worf, 
follow me,"  Picard went to the turbolift when the lift doors opened to 
reveal...
	"Soopraz, Soopraz, Soooopraz!" The Weasel said in a Gomer Pile manner.
	Picard had to take a few steps back.  "Weeeeesleyyyyyy?!"
	"Yes, sir.  It's me," he answered spreading out his arms.
	"Why you little..."  He began squeezing Wesley's neck tighter than a
primordial virgin superstring while the Weaz made choking sounds.
	"Captain, the Qo'nos Son is hailing us..."  Picard released his grasp
while General Chung shouted at him.
	"Have you not a shred of decency in you?  We came to you with peas!  
And you blatantly defile those peas!  For that I shall blow you!"  Picard 
made a sickened expression.  "...out of the stars!!  It's understood," Wang 
ranted.
	"They were beans, not peas," Picard coolly yet sternly replied.
	"You dare to feign ignorance!  I said, 'beans!'"
	"Captain, there's something going on over there...weapons firing..."
reported Worf.
	"Chung, I'm beaming over.  I'll deal with you later, weasbag," he said
dropping the Weas in a heap.  "Use your own discretion on him, Number One."
	Picard materialized with Beverly in the Klingon transporter room.  
Curly met them.  "Come with me."
 
	Walking down the corridor, they passed by several Klingon corpses 
which had been killed by something unspeakable.  It looked as if each one 
had simply exploded.  They entered the Chancellor's chamber.  Garbonzo lay 
on the floor with his abdomen clearly bloated beyond normality.  His 
personal physician was attending him.
	"I'm afraid I haven't seen swelling of this nature before.  I'm gonna
have to lance his belly," the old country doctor said to Wang who was
overlooking the body.  "Let me fetch my medical bat'tleh," he said leaving 
the room.
	Beverly kneeled down by the body.  "Let me help," she asked Wang.
	Wang looked at Curly who shrugged his shoulders.  "Well, the bat'tleh
didn't work for any of the others," he said looking back at the bodies in 
the corridor.  "Go ahead."
	Bev started scanning with her tricorder to no avail.  "Dammit, I don't
know anything about these southerners.  They can't read, go barefoot, and 
screw their sisters."
	"Hey, we do wear shoes!"  Curly remarked.
	Beverly's scans were all far from optimistic.  "It's as if his essence 
is draining from his body."
	"Is that what that smell is?" asked Picard.
	"Believe it, hahhhh (inhaling), or not, hehhhh (exhaling)," Curly 
added.
	Beverly closed up her tricorder and sat on top of him.  "He's gone 
into some damned arrest!"  With all her might she began slamming her fists 
into his chest repeated times.  Then she kissed him full of the lips.
	Picard felt uneasy. "Uh, Bev, do you really think now is a good 
time..."
	The Chancellor gained momentary consciousness.  He reached up and 
softly caressed her auburn mop of indefatigable fire.  "Don't let it end..."  
He gently spoke to her and wiped away her tears with his thumbs before 
finally buying it.
	"The Chancellor is dead."
	"You know if Troi was here, she'd say the same," Picard noted.
	"Believe it, hahhhh (inhaling), or not, hehhhh (exhaling)," Curly 
added.
	Wang put shackles on both Picard and Beverly.  "By your own 
interstellar law, you both hereby under arrest for accessory to the murder 
of a chancellor of agriculture.  A crime punishable by at least a couple 
days in a musty cell."
	"Believe it, hahhhh (inhaling), or not, hehhhh (exhaling)," Curly 
added.
	"Do you need a cigarette or something?" offered Beverly.
	"Well, believe me there is no need for the shackles, Bombardier Chung.
You have my word," Picard sternly told him.
	"Oh, I thought you liked the feel of designer Gucci shackles.  Sorry."
	"These are Gucci?  I can barely feel them.  The silk leather lining is 
so soft."  He turned to Beverly.  "We'll have to pick up a pair next time 
we're there," he told her under his breath.  She nodded ever so slightly.  
"Let me call my lawyer..." he told Wang.
 
	"They've been arrested," Worf reported shockingly after reading it.  
"And the captain wants me to pose as his lawyer."
	Riker stood up.  "As of now, I assume command of this ship.  Worf, 
Inform Starfleet as to what has happened and request instructions."
	Weasley started whining.  "We cannot let my mom and dad be taken back 
to the Klingon homeworld as prisoners!"
	"Mr. Worf," Riker directed him.  Worf grabbed Wesley's arms twisting 
them behind his back.  "Opening fire will gain nothing.  However, we will be 
able to follow the Captain's various movements.  Especially his bladder and 
bowel."
	"Golly, how'd you manage that?"  Weas asked as curious as nymh.
	"With a little musical fruit.  But first, we must try to figure out 
what the hell has happened here tonight."
	"And if we can't peas things together, what then?"  begged Wesley.
	"Would you please knock it off with the peas jokes!  This is an 
episode dedicated to beans.  Save all pea comments for the pea parody."  
Riker regained his composure.  "According to the weapons log, we fired twice 
on their ship.  And according to the galley there are two bean burritos 
missing."
	"No way!" whined Wesley.
	He smacked Wesley as forcefully as he could across his face.  "If we 
cannot find evidence to extradite the Captain, then his release lies in the 
hands of the diplomats."
	"Uh, Commander," spoke up Worf.  "I-I ate the burritos...  They were 
left over and I really didn't get much at dinner."
	Slowly the rest of the bridge crew backed away from him.
	Riker sniffed the air and hit upon an idea.  "Worf, why don't you
handcuff Captain Crusher to you rather than throwing him in the brig.  Now,
that's an order."
	"Oh, very well," Worf replied grudgingly accepting the order.
	"Mr. Worf, you have the bridge."
	As the rest of the crew cleared the bridge, Weas began shouting.  "I'm 
a Starfleet captain I have rights!  You can't do this to me!!!..."  But 
everyone else left just before Worf dropped the first of many bombs.  The 
screams could be heard from within the turbolifts many a decks down.
 
	"The Chancellor of Agriculture is dead!" ranted Ambassador Kwirk who 
had it out for Picard for quite a while now.
	The President sat back in his chair and thought for a moment.  "That's
exactly what Counselor Troi would say at a time like this."
	Deanna Troi happened to enter the President's office at that moment 
and march right up to him. "The Chancellor of Agriculture is dead!"  She 
announced and quickly marched off.
	"I had a feeling..." remarked the President.
	Kwirk continued.  "This is the result of an unprovoked attack while he
traveled to see you under a flag of truce on a mission of peas, ub, ub, 
BEANS!"
	"I have ordered a full scale investigation of my mustache," the 
President said stroking his long Manchu whiskers that had whitened with age.
	Kwirk was not pleased with the response.  "In the mean time, could you
see to it that Picard has the book thrown at him.  That book being the codes 
of interstellar law which YOU claim to cherish."
	"What?  I've always hated those silly rules.  I thought you liked 
'em."
	"I thought it was you!"
	"Well, I guess this whole thing has been a misunderstanding."
	"Quite right.  Now, we can put this foolish bickering behind both of 
us," Kwirk answered extending his hand.
	The President shook on it.  "It's only a matter of handing over 
Picard."
	"Forget it!" shouted Kwirk.
	"Ambassador Spock, there must be some means to extradite Picard."
	"'Fraid not."
	"Ambassador Numbskull, what is the position of the Romulan 
government?"
	"Sixty-nine as usual."
	"Hmph.  I guess Picard 'll rot!"
 

				       ACT II
 
	Worf was distressed from the messages he was getting from Starfleet.
"Commander, Starfleet is demanding we report back immediately."
	Wesley piped up.  "Five hundred years ago back on Earth when workers 
felt their livelihood threatened by the advent of automation, they flung their
wooden shoes, called 'sabeau,' into the machinery.  Hence the term,
'Sabotage.'"
	Riker and Worf looked at each other and then smiled at Wesley.
 
	Minutes later in the port nacelle...
	"Ready, Worf.  1, 2, 3, Heave!"  Riker and Worf tossed a flailing 
Wesley into the primary plasma stream and watched him disintegrate.  Riker hit
his communicator.  "How's engine efficiency now, Mr. La Forge."
	"Huh, I don't know, Commander.  It seems that the port drive has
developed a whine.  One could say there's a weasel in the machine."
	Worf and Riker nodded with satisfaction.  "I'll be leaving now for
Qo'nos, Commander."  Riker continued to nod.
 
	"Mister President, I have been name chancellor in my father's place,"
announced Cocklebur over subspace transmission.
	"I suppose it wasn't too hard for you to get the job, Madame 
Chancellor," replied the President trying to flatter her as best he could.
	"Funny you should put it that way.  Actually, the job was very hard.  
At least, for me.  Certainly not for the head of the rival house.  Anyway, I 
have decided to go forward with the bean symposium provided the prisoners are
not extradited and no military operation is attempted to rescue them."
	"Done.  We await your arrival on Earth."
	"I have also decided to move the symposium to a neutral site.  And in 
the interest of security, you'll forgive me if I don't say just where."
	"Ah c'mon, you can tell me," he said batting his eyes.
 
	"All right.  I've chosen Detroit where Federation and Klingon 
officials alike will be on equal ground in regards to personal security.  No
one's safe in motor city.  We'll also have some great musical entertainment...
Diana Ross... James Brown..."
	"Isn't he dead?"
 
	A crowd chanted "'Card! 'Card! 'Card!" as Picard and Crusher stood 
before the magistrate, Cockleburr, and a jury of 144.  Wang as well as Worf,
who went incognito by wearing a pair of black thick-rimmed glasses, were also
present.  Beverly and Jean-Luc were handed handheld transistor radios which
they held up to their ears for entertainment during the recesses.
	The chanting could be heard on the bridge of the Enterprise where the
crew watched on the big screen.  They all sat back with giant tubs of 
buttered popcorn and Bud Light.
 
	The joint chiefs, the President, and other officials also watched TV 
from the President's office.  Admiral Quinn came stomping in and looked at the
screen.  "Turn off O.J. for once and tune to the Picard trial for gol 
blammit."
 
	The chanting was silenced mostly out of sympathy for and by the 
slamming together of the magistrate's grapefruit-sized flint and steel balls
from which sparks flew.  Many "Oooo"'s could also be heard from the crowd.
	Wang Chung stepped forward and began the prosecution's opening 
statement.  "Nosh-Bach-Khack-Talch, soch bakt acht heeeeeeecht,
haaaaaaaaaaact..."  Worf went over to him and slammed him hard on the back
causing a chunk of day old crusty cud to fly out of his mouth and across the
court room clearing his throat.
	Wang continued.  "Thank you.  It is my intention to show without a
doubt that the Enterprise fired upon the Qo'nos Son without provocation and
that it is none other than Captain Picard who is responsible for this act.  If
that wasn't enough, Picard had the gall to lull us into a false sense of
security by inviting us to a dinner aboard his ship that same night and serve
rancid beans!  Moreover, he had to insure that those he had poisoned were
killed by beaming over two of his officers with flame throwers.  I call my
first witness..."
	"After we had returned from dinner, many of us found our back teeth
floating, ourselves bloated and unable to perform certain bodily functions.  
I tried reaching for a Maalox, but was stopped when two Starfleet officers in
gasmasks approached me and pointed their phasers set to flame at my butt.
Suddenly, I couldn't help myself and let one rip."
	Worf interrupted him.  "But perhaps they merely wore Starfleet issue
gasmasks."
	"Yeah.  And perhaps they we're merely human too!  Perhaps, you're only
pretending to defend your client!  Sit your ass down," suggested Wang.
	Worf shot back.  "If your back teeth were floating, how could these 
men be walking?"
	"They wore fuzzy pink bunny slippers with suction cups..." replied the
witness.
 
	"Fuzzy pink bunny slippers," repeated Data back on the Enterprise.
 
	"...and they were far from being men," continued the witness.  "They 
were humanoid; however, they looked to be genetically identical twins each
having very weasel-like characteristics, the very antithesis of Klingon 
warriorhood.  Klingons would never wear fuzzy pink bunny slippers."
	'Wesley, he's behind all of this,' thought Picard.  He spoke instead, 
"Neither would Starfleet officers!" as adamant as hell.
	"Oh, yeah?  Frenchie?" replied Wang.  "Thank you, witness.  Doctor
Beverly Crusher, would you mind telling me your current medical status?"
	Beverly cleared her throat.  "Aside from a little water retention and
PMS, I'd say pretty bitchin'."  The crowd roared with canned laughter.
	Wang was not amused.  "You are a singular twit.  Aren't you, doctor?"
	"I served on board the Enterprise for all but one season.  I signed 
all the contracts guaranteeing me work for at least another twenty years.  I'm
now also on UPN's 'Marker.'"
	"You know, I believe you consumed generous amounts of Bud Light on the
night in question.  Am I right, Doctor?"
	"We all did!  Why, you we're so piss drunk you hit on Cocklebur."
	"Was Chancellor Garbonzo alive when you first examined him?"
	"Barely."
	"How about at dinner?"
	"Theoretically."
	"And now?"
	"No."
	"Ah, Ha!!!  May I ask do your hands shake?"
	Beverly held out her right hand.  It was as steady as a rock.
	"Might we see the hand you cut with?"
	She tentatively then held out left hand which vibrated up and down 
around 20 Hertz.
 
	"They're screwed, and Worf hasn't even taken a first year law class!"
said Riker aloud.
 
	Wang smiled and shook his head.  "You may step down, Doctor."  He
strolled over to Picard.  "And now we come to the architect of this tragic-
comedic affair, Jean-Luc..."  He cut the cheese in mid-sentence.  "...Picard. 
What would your favorite author say, Captain?  Something about 'Let us sit upon
the ground and tell sad stories of the death of QUEEN'?  Well, never mind that. 
Tell us that you planned to take revenge for the birth of your son."
	"That's not true," replied Picard.  "My favorite author, Danielle 
St..."
	"Objection," interrupted Worf.  "Captain Picard has not YET been
identified as the assassin!"
	"Just give me a minute, will ya?" pleaded Wang.  Worf subsided.  Wang
continued.  "I now enter into the record this excerpt from the Captain's 
very personal log."
	Picard was stunned at the sound of his voice speaking words he hadn't
heard since college.  "...I've always wanted to have babies...and I always
have..."
	The crowd went into an uproar.
 
	Back on Earth, the President of the Federation suddenly threw down the
handkerchief he was holding in disgust realizing it had the initials JLP.
 
	"Are those your words?"
	"Those words were spoken by me."
	"I'll take that as a yes."
	"Objection," interrupted Worf again.  "My client's sexual preference 
is not on trial here!"
	"On the contrary, Picard's orientation is at the very heart of the
matter.  This officer's record shows him to be quite passive in hostile
conflicts, always wanting to talk things out rather than fight, and he has a
history of rarely having a female Friday night date!"
	"Continue," drooled the magistrate eyeing Picard.
	"His first name used to be Bruce.  He had it changed to Jean with a 
'J,'"  Wang continued pronouncing "Jean" as Gene.  "He has the strange history
of
subordination with his first officer which he often if not always refers to 
as
'Number One.'  Do you deny these charges?  Answer me now!"
	"Can't I wait for the translation?"
	"No."
	"I've never trusted Klingon beans and I never will.  I could never
forgive them for the birth my son, because it is he who is responsible for 
this!"
	"Quit giving me the run-around, Picard.  So it was you who attempted
the insemination."
	"Yes," he said calmly.  "Sometimes even against doctor's orders."
	"And were you obeying or disobeying orders when you arranged for the
insemination of Beverly Crusher?"
	Picard realized that blaming this on Wesley has only gotten him in 
bigger trouble.  "I wasn't aware of the insemination.  Least not for a week."
	"Do you still deny that your missile fired on the Enterprise?"
	"Well..."
	"YOUR HONORS, PLEASE!!!" shouted Worf.
	"Do you deny that your offspring, namely the Weasel-like humanoids,
beamed aboard the Qo'nos Son and attempted to explode the Chancellor?"
	"I cannot deny what actions I did not witness."
	"Captain Picard, are you not aware that you are responsible for the
consequences of your decisions?"
	"That's news to me."
	"And if it should be proved that your member did in fact carry out 
such an insemination?"
	Beverly cried out.  "Jean-Luc, they're setting us up!"
	"DO NOT ANSWER!!!" shouted Worf.
 
	The magistrate continued his drooling.  "Captain Picard, you will 
answer the question."
	"I didn't have the proper anatomy!"
	"No.  You were invirile!  Whether deliberately or with age combined 
with drink.  However, at conception, you were obviously fully capable."
	"That I cannot deny."  His head hung.  It had finally caught up to 
him.
	"Your honors, the state rests."
 
	Thousands of light years away Captain Crusher gave an order to 
Lieutenant Bland.  "Send to command of Enterprise:  We stand ready to assist
you.  Captain Crusher, U.S.S. Lotusior.  Aw, hell.  Belay that transmission."
 
	The magistrate delivered.  "The jury has just told me that the 
prisoners are guilty not as charged but with procreating a far more dangerous
threat to the Klingon Empire: Wesley Crusher.  But in the interest of the
forthcoming bean festival, that the sentence of castration is commuted.  It is
the judgment of this court that you are to spend the rest of your natural lives
on the bean fields of Rua-Pinto, where I'm sure, Picard, you will enjoy the
showers."
	"I am not gay!"  returned Picard relentlessly but futilely.  The court
just laughed while the magistrate continued to repeatedly smashing his balls
together.
 
	Riker took charge on the Enterprise.  "Okay, okay, so the Captain and
Doctor Crusher are in trouble, and whoever framed them is still at large.  
Now, either that someone is on board and fired the torpedoes or they are on
board and altered the sensor logs.  So what does that mean?"  Geordi raised his
hand eager to field that question.  "Yes, La Forge?"
	"Whatever the case, whoever done it is on board," he said with a 
smile.
	"Right.  Good for you, Geordi!"  Riker praised him -- tossing him a 
piece of hard candy.  "But what are we looking for?"
	"I can answer that," somebody whimpered from the back of the bridge.
Everyone's head turned to see Wesley still alive and kickin'.  "Two pairs of
fuzzy pink bunny slippers with suction cup soles."
	"How the hell?"
	"Nevermind.  I always took first place at the annual Academy Easter 
egg hunt, and I'd be more than happy to lend a hand."
	"Very well.  We'll begin the search immediately.  However, there is 
still the matter of who fired the torpedoes.  I think it could have been a Bird
of Prey."
	Data was sick of the topic.  He spit another loogie into his makeshift
spitoon.  "We've been through this before, Commander.  And Goddammit, for 
the last time, a Bird of Prey can't fire when she's cloaked!"
	"Would you believe a Bean of Prey?" asked Wesley.  He only got looks 
of disgust.
	"Hey, check it out!  A gravity boot!" shouted Geordi pointing to one 
near the door he noticed for the first time.  He picked it up and stuck the
sole to the wall.
	Data spun around as a delayed reflex, "No, Geordi!"  But it was too 
late.  The boot Data had been using as a spittoon expelled it's contents onto
La Forge's head.
	"Ha, Ha," laughed Wesley.
	Geordi fumed.
	Data hit upon an idea.
 
	"This is the goulash, Rua-Pinto," welcomed the aged Klingon warden
greeted them in the middle of a sea of green.  "There is no [bean] stalk-
ade.  There are no Rolaids.  No guard tower.  No private shower.  No electronic
frontier.  No electronic posterior for that matter.  Only a magnetic shield
prevents beaming.  Punishment means beaning."
	Two guards threw out what looked like Wesley Crusher and preceded to
throw handfulls of beans at him.  The Weasel writhed in pain with each 
stinging volley.  Picard was shocked at first but eventually began enjoying the
site.
	The warden continued.  "Weekly showers are mandatory.  Report to the 
end of the main hall where you can also pick up your soap off the floor."
	Picard frowned, but then he saw Wesley unconscious on the ground and
smiled.  Wesley opened his eyes a crack and upon spying Picard smiled 
himself.  That made Picard frown again.
	"Work badly and you will die.  Work well and you will die."
	Picard and Beverly waded through the mass of fellow inmates in the
subterranean encampment that constituted the prison.  They relied on each 
other for emotional and physical protection.  Suddenly Picard's path was 
obstructed by a nine foot tall Goliath.
	"Oh, God," Picard said to himself.  "Not already."  The beast babbled 
in hostilely, poked and prodded at him, and finally started sniffing him.
	"He's definitely turned on about something, Jean-Luc," noticed Bev.
	The big ape picked up Picard and started petting and squeezing him.
	"He wants your beans," said Wesley Crusher from out of nowhere.
	"He's got them!" replied Picard.
	"And you."
	"I'm afraid not.  Besides, it wouldn't fit."
	Wes gave an order for the beast to drop Picard, which he did.  He then
gave the behemoth a good swift kick in the rear to get going.  When Picard 
got to his feet, He resumed the choking job he started back on the Enterprise.
	"Wait, wait," squeaked out Wesley.  "I'm... here... to help you...
escape.  Stop...Please..."
	"I think you better let go of him, Jean-Luc.  He's our only hope, and 
he did just save you from some em-bare ass-ment," Beverly suggested.
	Picard let him go.  "He's also responsible for all of this happening!"
	"You can't really believe that, Jean-Luc," Beverly said to calm him.
	"I'm here to rescue both of you.  Some Klingons picked me up in a 
nearby sector on soliciting charges.  I'm on a secret mission to infiltrate the
prison to get you guys out.  Can't talk now.  Later...  Tonight..."
 
	"Find anything?" Riker asked Worf who had his head stuck inside the
refrigerator of the galley.
	"Just more burritos.  And this bean salad," Worf said pulling out the
large bowl that contained it.
	"That's Cocklebur's salad we never had.  Captain Picard wanted it
destroyed."
	Worf set it on the countertop and pulled out his phaser and took aim.
	"Commander Riker!" called Wesley from behind Worf as he stepped around
the corner and into the room.  Worf's lightning reflexes went into action.  
He instantaneously whipped around, lowered his phaser and fired at his Wesley's
chest disintegrating his uniform right off of him and setting off the ship's
alarms.  Worf went to shut off the alarm.
	"Well, at least we know they couldn't have disposed of the slippers 
that way," said Riker as Wesley ran out crying, giving everyone a flash of his
pasty white ass and wailing "Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"
	Data stormed in with his tricorder and pointed it at the salad.  "It 
is a strong source of bean radiation," he reported.
	"Could that be what caused the surge before?" asked Riker.
	Data shook his head.  "There is not nearly enough present, however the
beans in the salad definitely originated from a very strong radiation 
source, possibly Milagro.  The Milagro explosion probably irradiated all beans
in the Klingon system, so this radiation could be characteristic of all Klingon
beans."
        Worf looked at his phaser thoughtfully.  He hit his combadge.
"Lieutenant Lefler, please report to the galley."
 
	Beverly and Jean-Luc huddled together for warmth in their bunks.
	"We're finished," Beverly complained.  "One day, one _night_, and 
pow...  Wesley."
	"Bev, are you afraid of the future?"
	"I believe that's the general idea I was trying to convey."
	"I don't mean this future...  Some people are afraid of what might
happen.  I was terrified."
	"What terrified you...  Specifically?"
	"Being neutered.  Going through with the vasectomy.  When I found out 
how weaselly Wes turned out, I panicked.  I didn't want fingers pointed at me. 
You'd have to be retarded to think you and I didn't have a relationship at one
time if not now.  I did all I could to try to show that was impossible -- that
I couldn't be the father.  Then it turned out I really was his father.  I
blamed this all on him.  I was so used to hating Wesley."
	"Don't be too hard on yourself.  We all felt exactly the same."
	"No.  Somebody felt a lot worse.  I'm beginning to understand why.  
But Lord knows, Wesley could be the only who hates this parody that much."
	"Well, if you got any more bright ideas...  This is the parody."
	"Time's a problem.  This parody was supposed to be out months ago.  
You and I are nothing.  But you heard da judge...  The bean fest is still on. 
Whoever framed us and Wesley is bound to attempt another insemination.  
Unless we can get out of here."
	The sound of somebody approaching silenced them.  Picard quickly 
grabbed for a rock under his bed before he and Beverly pretended to be asleep.
	"It's me, Wesley," he whispered near his face kneeling at his bedside.
	Picard bashed his skull with the rock.  "Ow!!" Wesley shouted.
	"If you try to kiss me, I'll do it again," Picard scolded him.
	"Alright, alright, no kissing.  Listen.  I know how to get out of 
here, but I need you to get us off of this rock.  Meet me in the fields at 0700
tomorrow morning."
 
	Captain Crusher was awaken from his slumber by his door chime.  "Who 
is it?" he mumbled.  The door opened and the light from the corridor 
temporarily blinded him, but he could still make out the form of a shadowy
female figure.
	"Sir, Starfleet is desperately requesting we return to Earth," she 
said.
	He turned the lights up a bit.  "Winona Rider!  Isn't this a
coincidence?!"
	"Slater couldn't make it."
	"Well, as long as you're here we might as well, uh, huh-huh-huh..."  
She leaped into his bed.  He looked into the camera.  "It's good to be the 
Weasel."
 
	Data made a new development when he was scanning a transporter room 
when he found a single squished bean on the transporter pad, a Klingon bean, 
highly radioactive.  The search was expanded to look for contaminated uniforms
as well as the slippers.  Every nook and cranny of Enterprise was being turned
inside out.
	In the crewmen's quarters where Wesley was, a female yeoman called out 
to him.  He turned to see her holding a fuzzy pink bunny slipper.  He raced to
her and took the slipper.  To test the suction cups, he tried to mount the sole
toe pointing up to the wall above his head.  It stuck!  He turned around and
beamed moments before he found himself covered in sand and an assortment of cat
turds.
	Ensign Ferrigno, the owner of the locker in which the slipper was 
found, was hauled into the room where all the senior officers had gathered.  
Ferrigno stood over two meters tall and was built like a Mack Truck.  Each of
his arms were the size of Wesley.  His skin seemed to have a strange green hue
to it.  He may have been part Orion.  "Is there a problem, sir?" he asked.
	Wesley walked right up to him still sore about the cat turds.  "You've
taken me to the end of my rope, Mister Ferrigno.  What the hell were you 
doing with this slipper, you fairy?  You mind if I search your wardrobe for
some of you mother's old dresses, you wee girl?  Perhaps you can inform me
about your tastes in bras?"
	Ferrigno reeled back his left fist and connected it with Wesley's 
face.
	Wesley hit the floor 0.4 seconds later in a pool of blood.
 
	A long sounding "toot" sounded the beginning of the day shift for the
bean walkers.  Picard and Beverly met up with Wesley just outside the 
compound.
	They walked nonchalantly passed guards to where they were supposed to
begin their bean walking.  They put a group of prisoners singing a work song 
between them and the guards.  The song: "I searched the world over and thought
I found true love.  You met another and (FART) you were gone!..." drowned out
their scheming.
	"Shh, we don't have a lot of time," Wesley told them as he actually
transmuted his form into a small furry mammal -- a weasel.  He then 
disappeared down a fist-sized hole in the ground and reemerged pulling two
cornstalks out with him.  "Hold these up," he told them.  They complied and
became virtually invisible to the guards.  "Okay.  Start walking... Slowly." 
Wes returned to his more weaselly form and pretended to tend to the beans.
	Picard and Bev had gotten a few hundred meters ahead of Wes when a 
guard called to him.  "Ay, you!  Get that corn, boy!"  The Klingons like all
good bean farmers everywhere especially hated transient corn in their bean
fields.  Wes pretended to grumble and went after the corn, but the cornstalks
continued to move slowly away from him and toward the edge of the beaming
shield.

	"Now reading Picard's musical fruit signature on Rua-Pinto!  He has 
emerged from the shield!"  announced Worf monitoring his bridge station.
	"Excellent.  Set course for Rua-Pinto.  Warp Eight.  Engage."
	"Commander, Rua-Pinto is deep in Klingon space.  If we are caught..."
whined Wesley.
	Data answered so Riker wouldn't waste his time.  "That's why we're 
going via a port of entry.  What is required now is a feat of linguistic ledger
domain and a degree of stupidity."
	The Enterprise stopped at Klingon customs, a small rectangular 
building that hovered on the boarder of Klingon space.  A rather long stop arm
had lowered in front of the ship.  A drunken officer on duty hailed the 
Enterprise.  Another Klingon sat in the background.  "This is Klingon space,
eh.  Do you have anything to declare?"
	"This is Commander Riker of the Starship Enterprise.  Customs officer, 
we have 50 cases of brew for you to let us pass."
	"That better not be any of that light shit, eh."
	"We'll make it a hundred then."
	"No way, you knob!  Five hundred."
	"How about 250 and a thousand dozen assorted day-old doughnuts?"
	"Oh, I don't know.  Let me talk this over with my boss."  The officer 
conferred and argued in whispers for a few seconds with the other Klingon.  
"That includes jellies, right?"
	"Yes, of course."
	"Okay, that takes care of the customs duties.  Now there's the matter 
of the toll."
	Riker couldn't believe his ears.  "What?"
	"You can't use your warp drive in our space without paying the toll, 
you hoser.  That'll be a buck per nacelle.  Now pay up, or do I have to get 
nasty?"
 
	Wesley took a large green bean and snapped it in half causing it to 
illuminate their encampment outside the field.  Picard and Beverly basked in 
its warm glow.
	Beverly had to satisfy her curiosity.  "Would you mind explaining that 
little trick you did?" she asked Wes.
	"I'm a weaseloid."
	"I heard about you.  Shape-shitters, nerds so goddamn weaselly that 
their defecation comes out in the shape of the function of their choice."
	"Do we have any way of knowing if this is the real you?"  asked Bev.
	"I thought I would assume an annoying shape," he replied smugly.
	Picard got up and walked over to Wes.  "Now, cut the goddamn crap!" he 
said striking him to the ground.  "Where the hell did you get those 
convenient cornstalks?  And don't tell me that glowing bean is standard prison
issue.  It's to let them know where we are," he said picking it up and crushing
it with his hands.
	Suddenly, he hunched over in pain.  Wes and Bev got up to go to his
side.  "Acht...  I'm transforming."  When he turned around, he looked like the
spitting image of Wesley.
	Bev and Wesley looked shocked as tarnation.  Picard looked at his hands
and feet and then at Wesley.  "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"  Picard wanted blood.  He
wanted to tear Wesley's flesh apart with his bare hands.
	He pounced at him knocking him to the ground again.  The two rolled
around on the ground like a pair of queer weasbags and only stopped when a
division of prison watchguards and the warden arrived.  The saber-toothed guard
targ broke wind.
	"Oh, geeze," they both said getting to their feet.
	"Well, well, well," said the warden.  "Couldn't wait for the Sunday 
showers, eh?  As if one weasel wasn't annoying enough?"  He cocked his gun 
and pointed it a Wes.
	"Please kill me," begged Picard in a weaselly voice he couldn't help.
	"Yeah.  Kill him.  He's the one," Wes weaseled.
	The warden just laughed.  "Suffer Picard.  The beans cry vengeance."  
He pointed his disruptor at Wesley.
	"Not me, you idiot.  Him!" Wes yelled before being disrupted.
	"Noooo!  Kill me!  Kill me too!"  whimpered Picard on the ground.
	The warden looked down at Picard groveling at his feet.  The site 
sickened him.  He cocked his gun again and fired at Picard just as Picard 
and Beverly began to be beamed away.
	"Nooooooooooooh!" Picard cried in a high-pitched weasel tone, shutting 
his eyes during the transport.  He continued screaming like Wesley after he 
materialized as his normal self, "Nooooooooh!"  He opened his eyes and 
looked at his hands and feet and realized he was back to normal.  He cleared
his throat.  "I mean, Noooooooo," he said in his normal tone of voice.
	The senior officers gathered in the transporter room just raised their 
eyebrows and looked at each other.
	Captain Crusher received the news of the escape from Rua-Pinto off one 
of the sub-space news bulletins.  "Mister Propane, set course to intercept 
Enterprise.  Bland, open a channel when we're in range."
	Riker debriefed Picard on the way to the bridge.  "I would say that 
the Klingons have a bird of prey that can fire when she's cloaked, but we have
no evidence supporting that, and Data is convinced that is impossible, that
there couldn't have been a third ship.  The Chancellor's assassins must have
beamed over from the Enterprise and are still aboard.  We have been searching
for contaminated uniforms, but no leads yet."
	"What about fuzzy pink bunny slippers?"
	"The one we did find, Data produced with the replicator and planted it 
for Wesley to find.  But not before letting Spot use it as a litter box."
	"Ah, ha, ha.  I wish I could've been here for that."
	La Forge happened to pass by just then.  "Geordi, you haven't 
discovered any uniforms stuffed in a ventilation shaft.  Have you?"
	"No, sir."
	"Just asking," he said waving Geordi on.
	"Has the bean conference begun yet?" asked Picard.
	"Who knows?  The location has been kept a secret."
	"Well, at least Wesley has been gotten rid of.  The warden of Rua-
Pinto killed him."  Picard noted optimistically.
	"Don't count on it.  Worf and I saw him incinerated in a plasma 
stream, but he later reappeared and is still alive on board."
	Data joined them.  Picard suggested an explanation.  "He may be up to a
trick he could have learned from the traveler: multiplexing his position to
several different points in time and space simultaneously."
	"That would be true, however we have collectively witnessed him die 
two different ways.  Even a being with spatial-temporal multiplexing
capabilities has a singular mortality.  It would be more likely that the
Wesleys we saw were either holographic or hallucinations," Data rebutted.
	"But that case could be checked with ship's sensors.  Computer, 
location of Wesley Crusher," Picard offered as a test.
	"Wesley Crusher is on the main bridge," the computer replied.
	"So, either that really is Wesley up there, or someone who can fool 
the computer into thinking he is Wesley," Picard concluded.
	"It has to be Wesley.  Of all the beings with that power, he is the 
only one who would ever wished to be passed off as Wesley," Data added.
	"He managed to transform me into a clone of himself back on Rua-Pinto.  
That could be another clone on the bridge."
	"There's one more test to be sure."
 
	Worf gave the following announcement over the ship's speakers:  "Wil 
Wheaton now signing autographs at the Star Trek convention in the Ten 
Forward Lounge.  Repeat.  Wil Wheaton now signing..."
 
	A weaselly figure entered the darkened and apparently deserted Ten 
Forward cautiously.  "Mister Wheaton?" he called out a form sitting on the 
other side of the bar.  He approached the bar in the dark, and got within two
meters when the form tapped a button illuminating the room.  There sat what
looked like Wil Wheaton for a second until Picard pulled off his mask revealing
his true identity.  Wes was petrified.
	"Give daddy a hug," Picard suggested with a smirk and extending his 
arms.
	Beverly stood up from behind the bar with a phaser trained on Wes.  "I 
just as soon you didn't."
 
	"I didn't ask for an autograph.  You can't prove anything," Wes said 
like a real smartass in the front of the bridge, in front of everyone.
	Picard struck back.  "Yes, I can.  At my trial, my personal log..."
	"Yes?" coaxed Wesley.
	"Nevermind," said Picard sheepishly not wanting to bring up an 
embarrassing topic again that he didn't see to be of much relevance.
	"How long did you wait inside my womb before I noticed you?" Bev asked 
Wes.  Wes didn't answer her.  Beverly turned to Picard.  "I tried to warn 
you, but you would not listen."
	Picard put his hand over his face with an "oh, gawd."
	"Neither of you were listening too well that night.  There were things 
I tried to tell both of you.  About having faith... in prophylactics."
	"You weren't even conceived yet, weasel!" Picard snapped.
	"You have betrayed the Federation.  All of you," Wes refuted.
	"And just what the hell do you think you've been doing?"
	"Saving Starfleet!  Klingon beans cannot be trusted.  You said so 
yourself.  They birthed your son.  Let them fry, you said.  Did I 
misinterpret you?  You were right.  They conspired to produce me.  How
trustworthy can they be?"
	"Klingon beans and Federation _members_ conspiring together?" Geordi 
asked himself.
	"It was us," Picard said looking at Beverly drawing her closer.
	"Everyone who stands to lose from peas," Wes clarified.
	"BEANS!!!" everyone shouted.
	"Names?" demanded Picard.
	"I do not remember," Wes said with his nose in the air.
	"I should have paid for your abortion," Picard insulted him.
	"My life?" Wes contemplated.
	"A choice," Picard replied making Wes swallow hard.
	Beverly marched over to him and pulled him up by the ear.  "Now you 
fess up, young man!"
	"Ow, ow, ow, okay.  It's a ship of Wesley clones acting as a collective
intelligence known as the Tofu.  The Klingon bean bureau is behind it!"
	"Where is the peace conference," Beverly asked pulling even harder.
	"Ow, ow, ow, it's at a Taco Bell near the Romulan Boarder."
	"Where?"
	"Ow!!  I don't know, alright?"  Wes trembled creating a pool of liquid 
at his feet.  Bev released his ear and kicked him to the floor.
	"He's telling the truth."
	"Then we're dead," Riker noted.
	"Not if we used FedEx with overnight tracking," added Geordi grimly.
	"We're being hailed by the Lotusior!" Worf reported excitedly.
	"On screen," Picard ordered.
	Captain Wesley Eugene Crusher sat alone in his center chair with his 
crew neatly out of sight.  "Standing by, Captain Picard."
	"Captain," Picard choked on the word, "Crusher, do you realize that by 
even talking to you, I'm committing treason?"
	"Your transmission is breaking wind, sir."
	"Bless, you."  Picard choked again.  "Where is the bean conference?  
They're going to attempt another insemination."
	"Detroit, at noon today."
	"Thank you, Captain Crusher."
	"Don't mention it, Captain Picard."
	"Believe me, I won't," he said closing the channel.
 
 
	Meanwhile in downtown motown...
	The President made the opening remarks.  "Madame Chancellor, _members_ 
of the diplomatic core, honored guests:  The United Federation of Planets 
welcomes you to Detroit."
	One guy way in the back started to applause before he was shot.
 
	The Enterprise approached Earth at warp speeds.  Picard had a Wesley 
clone strapped down to an extra chair on the bridge.  "She's out there, 
somewhere, beneath the pale..."  Picard pondered.
	"But If she's cloaked, then all we got is a bean radiation surge," 
Data supposed.
	"Data, are we close enough to beam down?"
	"Not yet, in two minutes."
	"Go to impulse power for orbit," Picard ordered the helmsman.
	"Aw, hell, you just messed up my timing," complained Data.
	Suddenly Wesley's voice came over the speakers.  "I can see you, 
Picard.  I had the Lotusior fitted with a cloaking device."
	"I knew that _bean_ of prey idea was half-baked," Picard said to 
himself.
	"Can you see me?  Oh, now be honest, Captain.  Father and Son.  You do 
prefer it this way don't you?  As it was meant to be.  No peas in our time.  
Once more unto the breach birth, dear friends.  To bean or not to bean."
	A photon torpedo suddenly appeared out of nowhere and hit the 
Enterprise's shields.  The ship shook as usual.
	"This is fun," said the Wes clone enjoying the vibrations.
	"Yes, Jean-Luc, it was me all along."  He fired another torpedo 
shaking up Enterprise some more.  "When the Lotusior entered the wake of the
Milagro explosion, the powerful bean radiation effected me such that it
awakened my latent bean genes..."
	"No wonder you're such a beaner," Picard said snidely.  A third 
torpedo knocked out the main and auxiliary power.  Consoles exploded.  Smoke
filled the bridge.
	"I recalled that I was the result of a failed prophylactic, a Klingon 
pill bean.  And that perhaps some of the bean's DNA seeped into the 
fertilized egg that became me.  Such a thing is not impossible to imagine..."
	Data sniffed the ionized air of the bridge.  "Gas.  Gas, captain.  
Anyone who eats beans must emit gas.  We call it 'tooting,' but whatever the
more sophisticated weasel designation, it is merely a pungent foul stench."
	"Wesley," Picard spoke to the clone.  "You can detect that gas better 
than any of us.  And if I don't miss my guess, you have a curious attraction 
to it and an insatiable desire for it.  Mister Data, take him down to the 
torpedo bay, will you?"
	Data smiled and shook his head as a fourth torpedo rattled the ship.
 
	Back at the conference, Admiral Cartwheel, a big fan of James Brown, 
gave a friendly nod to a James Brown imitator who was intended to be the 
evening's entertainment.  The nod was misinterpreted by the imitator as the
signal to cut a hole in a frosted window over looking the President which he
did.
 
	"Captain, I'm packing quite a wallop!"  yelled Riker as he continually 
slammed his fists into Wes just for fun.
	Captain Crusher kept on with his monologue.  "I started emitting my 
own radiation after the Milagro explosion.  I found the radiation could be 
stored in beans and was actually an encryption of my own DNA patterns.  Anyone
who became irradiated mutated into a perfect clone of myself..."
	"So that's why Voluptuous suddenly disappeared from this parody," Data 
reflected.  He went down to the torpedo room with Worf restraining Wesley.  
He pulled a torpedo off the rack and set it on the firing track.  He opened up
the casing.  "Worf, Put him in."
	"Gladly," the Klingon smiled.
	Crusher fired again.  "With time anyone who became a clone of me began 
to act like me, began to think like me, began to actually believe they were me. 
I knew that beans meant power.  You have probably already seen this 
demonstrated on members of your own crew -- possibly even on your own self. 
However, I had to attempt another insemination to create an even more perfect
weasel.  So...  Cry havoc!  And let slip the weasels of war!"  He began
singing, "I WANT A FEAST!  I WANT A BEAN FEAST!!" and dancing about his bridge
tossing handful of beans all around.
 
	The James Brown look alike disassembled the cordless microphone he was 
carrying and reassembled it into a directed energy weapon.  He began aiming 
it at the President through the hole he had cut.
 
	"The steering controls are right there at the end of the tube, Wesley.  
Alright?  Now watch your head," Data said slamming the casing shut on Wes's 
fingers.  "Ready, Captain.  Lock and load!"  Data and Worf slid the torpedo 
into the firing chamber and sealed it.  Worf ran back to the turbolift.=
	"Fire!" shouted Picard.
	Captain Crusher couldn't believe his eyes.  The Enterprise had fired 
and the torpedo was coming straight at him.  He knew evasive maneuvers would be
futile.  
	"To bean or not to bean..." was all he was able to say before his own
bridge burst into flames.
	"Target that explosion and... FIRE!!!" ordered Picard.
	Worf raced up to the bridge in time to comply so he wouldn't be robbed
of his sweetest dream.  He launched everything the Enterprise had left in the
torpedo bay including many of the scientific probes to document this historic
event.
 
	The resulting shockwave put the nuclear holocausts of all time to 
shame.
 
	Picard, et al. materialized in the rear of the conference hall in 
Detroit.  Geordi with his acute vision was able to notice the tip of a 
weapon trained on the President from a balcony window.  He went upstairs to 
confront the assassin.  The rest went after the President, but no one took too
kindly to the crew brandishing weapons and shouting incoherently.  Picard
managed to get to the President in time and push him to the ground just as the
bean radiation weapon loaded with the Weas's DNA went off."
	"Get off of me, you fag," was all the ungrateful President could say.
	Picard was taken aback.  "I just saved your life as you know it!"
	"Whatever."
	"He did!" Beverly said backing him up.  "And we would have proof 
except we stupidly killed all of the witnesses," she added frustratedly.
	"Wait!  What about the gunman?"  Picard realized Geordi went after 
him.  "La Forge, don't fire!  We need a witness," he yelled hoping he would
hear.
	Just then someone yelled out, "HIT ME," jumped through a balcony 
window and tried to use his cape to land softly on the floor below. 
Apparently, the landing was not soft enough.  Sure enough, it was the James
Brown look alike.
	Geordi gave a big okay hand sign and flashed his pearly whites from the
broken window.
	Beverly went over to the body.  Blood oozed out of his head.  "Wait a 
minute.  That's not human blood."  She pulled off the mask that made him 
look like James Brown.  The face of Wesley was underneath.  "I knew it!  Wake
up young, man!  You can't play dead with me."
	Wes regain consciousness.  "Uh, what happened?"
	"Careful, Doctor," Picard warned Beverly who perhaps began scanning 
him a little too closely.
	"It's all right.  There's no radiation.  However, there isn't any 
trace of DNA other than that of Wesley's.  He must be the original!"
	Picard gloated.  "You thought you had us fooled, young weasel.  Well, 
now you're going to do hard time!  Better take all your showers ahead of time."
	Beverly's head drooped.  "I'm afraid he won't even be able to testify 
on our behalf.  He's also got acute amnesia."
	"We still have the weapon, though," Picard said picking up the rifle.  
That's proof enough.  Examination of this weapon should prove what we've 
been saying.  Data, take the weapon into custody.  Madame Chancellor, your
father called this parody 'The Unexploited Country.'  Although we may never
know what the hell he meant by that, he was a pretty swell guy."
	"You've restored my father's faith in the power of beans."
	"And, you've destroyed my son's," Picard responded.
	Everyone else there applauded like a bunch of idiots.
 
	Afterwards, back on the Enterprise...
	"Once again we kicked weasel ass!" Picard cheered.
	"And the good news is they're finally going to prosecute him," Bev 
said triumphantly.
	Data gave a solemn announcement to the bridge crew.  "Starfleet 
requests we return to base for debriefing,"
	"If I was human, I would say 'No, Thank you very much indeed.'" Worf 
retorted rudely.  Everyone glared at him wondering in awe if a Klingon 
really could learn manners.  Worf realized everyone was looking at him. 
"That's if I were human!"  With that, everyone laughed with uneasy relief.
	"You know, if I was human, I'd just say 'Screw You,'" Data said.
	"If I were fully human, I'd say 'No' once in a while," Deanna said.
	"I'd have the sense not to say anything," began Geordi.
	"But, Geordi, you are human," Riker told him.
	"Oh, yeeeaah."  Geordi smiled.  "I'm so used to thinking of myself as 
a freak."
	Picard gave the orders to get underway.  "Second star to the left, and 
hard on 'til morning."
	"Never never land, sir?"
	Picard shook his head.  "Risa, of course.  Haven't been there since
episode one."
 
Captain's Log: Stardate 49999 point eight.  This is the final bruise given 
to Wesley Crusher under my command.  His weaselness and its progeny will 
shortly become the care of the inmates of Starfleet Military Prison.  To them
we commit the future of his posterior.  We will continue the voyages we have
begun, boldly going to all the unexploited countries where, no one, no _bean_
has gone before.
 
 
					THE END
 
 
				From the Author's Notes
				THE WEASEL SAGA OUTTAKES
 
"Four hundred years ago when rappers felt threatened by the advent of 
compact discs, D.J.'s began buying up as many vinyl discs production facilities
as possible to keep 'scratchin'' as a viable way of life.  Hence the Beastie
Boys' hit single, 'Sabotage.'"
 
"Beverly, I've been thinking.  The Klingons had always been bean competitors
before.  With Klingon bean production down and without Federation aid, the
Klingons are at the mercy of the Federation monopoly.  That was a big 
change.  It never even occurred to me to take Garbonzo at his word."
 
"If the Weasel ever visits the homeworld, he'd better bring along some
bodyguards."
 
"Oh, my, God!  It's Colonel North!"
"Don't you mean Governor North?"
"I thought he was President North."
 
"Second star to the left, and hard on 'til morning."
	"Never never land, sir?"
	"No.  Fairie land."
 
"Second star to the left, and hard on 'til morning."
	"But that's Risa, sir!"
	"You heard me."