The Pilot, Part One


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Episode One — The Pilot, Part One

 
Episode One -- The Pilot, Part One

     A shot of the USS Enterprise NCC-1701D in orbit around an
unidentified planet.
     Cut to a foyer in a building on the planet's surface.  A
middle-aged man is berating a uniformed security guard:
     "Blast that repairman!  He's eleven minutes late!"
     "Security reports he cleared Checkpoint Two five minutes
ago.  He shouldn't be much longer."
     "Ah!  They're all alike.  Idiots!  They think they can just
beam down and spread a picnic lunch in the middle of the Great
Auditorium.  Do they think I became Director of this Institute to
spend my days chaperoning maintenance men around the site?"
     "I'm sure they don't, sir.  Security Checkpoint Three is
requesting clearance to admit the visitor.  Password Smilie
Smilie Smilie Omega Smilie."
     "Acknowledge.  Clearance granted.  Tell them to make it
snappy!  I haven't got time for this!"
     Pressure doors release.  A repairman in orange overalls,
wearing a laden utility belt and toting an oversized toolbox
steps through and looks around him, frowning and muttering darkly
to himself:
     "Darned security scans.  Tachyon sweeps.  Body cavity muon
probes.  Now I'll never have kids."
     "You there!  Get a move on!  I don't have all day!  We have
a full service contract with Starfleet and that's what I expect:
full service!  Follow me and quit your slouching!"  He heads off
down a corridor.
     The repairman follows, muttering.
     Partway down the corridor a man sticks his head out an
office door, breaks into a grin and says: "So, Smedley, come to
see my hypothesis proved."
     The Director snorts: "Don't be absurd, Witherspoon.  Your
cretinous theories couldn't be made to hold water in this or any
other age.  I only hope this moronic grease monkey and his tardy
behaviour haven't ruined my final vindication."  The two carry on
down the corridor, with the repairman following behind.  He is
obviously thinking up a smart remark, and is just about to
deliver it when, at the end of the corridor, the two historians,
instead of carrying on around the corner, walk right on ahead and
disappear through a bulletin-boarded wall.
     Camera moves in on repairman's startled, confused face.
     Fade-out.


     "Crawlspace.  The final frontier.  These are the voyages of
The Door Repair Guy.  His mission: to install and maintain
proximity-activated entranceways, to stake out new rooms and new
service conduits -- to boldly go where no one with a pass key has
gone before."
     [Music]
     
                    Star Trek: Door Repair Guy
     Whoosh!
                    Starring Door Repair Guy as
                              Himself

     Whoosh!
                         Also Starring

                         Patrick Stewart
                    as Captain Jean-Luc Picard
     Whoosh!
                         Jonathan Frakes
                    as Cmdr. William Riker

                         Marina Sirtis 
                    as Counsellor Deanna Troi

                         Michael Dorn
                         as Lt. Worf

                         LeVar Burton
                    as Lt. Cmdr. Geordi LaForge

                         Gates McFadden
                    as Doctor Beverly Crusher

                         Ross Perot
                    as Lt. Cmdr. Data

                              and
                         Whoopi Goldberg
                           as Guinan    
     
     Enterprise looms into view and warps off in a burst.


[Commercial: Charlie Chan Egg Rolls]


     Scene of the Enterprise orbiting.  Credits superimposed:
"The Pilot, Part I".  
     Jean-Luc Picard's voice: "Captain's log, 49567.2.  We have
been called prematurely from our previous assignment to the
location of a top secret Federation installation on business so
highly sensitive that I myself have not been informed of its
nature.  This sort of bureaucratic high-handedness is beginning
to wear thin and I am at last resolved to inform Starfleet of my
intention to retire.  Tending vines and playing the flute has
never seemed so attractive.  My only delay now will be in
deciding whom among my officers I would recommend to replace me. 
The obvious choice for so many years has been Lt. Cmdr. Riker,
but in recent weeks and months I have begun to notice him pulling
at his hair more and more.  I am beginning to wonder if he isn't
losing it.  I shall think more of this.  In the mean time I
wonder about the progress of our technician on the surface, the
only member of the crew the authorities would allow to beam
down."
     Shot of the stupefied repairman in the corridor.
     The Director walks back through the wall.  "Come along, you
epsilon.  Haven't you ever seen a security cloaking field
before?"
     "Ah.  Yeah.  Sure.  I've even got one in my own place."
     "Yes.  Yes.  I'm completely fooled.  Come along."  The
Director drags him through the wall.  On the other side is
another wall, designed to look like a construction site hoarding. 
Someone has posted a Moxy Fruvous concert ad, and there's a
really great poster for the new Crash Test Dummies album.
     The Director says: "This of course is another red herring. 
But before we step through I want to make sure your dim little
mind absorbs a few important facts.  You are about to see the
doorway to the Great Auditorium, a very large room containing an
artifact and some extraordinarily precise measuring and recording
devices.  Your job is to fix the doorway, which is stuck, and not
to rubberneck inside the Auditorium, which is none of your
business.  I have an authorization direct from Starfleet via
subspace for you to read."  The Director hands the repairman a
pad containing the message.  "Read it out loud, please."
     "`I promise not to look inside the door.'  Hey, no fair, you
tricked me.  You must think I'm some kind of ignoramus."
     The Director and Witherspoon both make faces.
     The repairman glowers.  "Well, ya made me promise.  Let's
go."
     They step through the wall.  The camera moves up suddenly 
on the astonished repairman.  He suddenly looks at his feet.  The
two historians nod with satisfaction toward the door.
     Cut to the door.  It's a standard proximity-activated
sliding door, jammed partway open.  Beyond the door is a huge
auditorium scattered with ancient ruins.  At the centre of the
ruins, pouring and cascading in a torrent of Time, stands . . .
the Guardian of Forever.
     [Dramatic playout music.]

     
[Commercial: Nurse Ogawa buys some lawn ornaments.]


     Enterprise in orbit.
     Riker's quarters.  He's seated at his desk, pushing his
mouth around with his hand and staring off into the distance.  He
stabs a button on the desktop and says:
     "First Officer's personal log.  Another bad hair day. 
Received a message from Dad saying what a great son Tom turns out
to be.  They're going fishing.  Message from Tom said he's dating
several of my old girlfriends -- at the same time -- and even
with his obvious two-timing (or should I say duplicity) they all
say he's twice the man I was.  Received messages from several of
my old girlfriends confirming this.  Ran into Deanna today and
asked her if she'd like to go out for supper for old time's sake. 
She said she already has a date.  Worf has been making
inexplicable references to my beard.  And Data I just don't
understand anymore.  Every time he talks I just want to push my
face around and pull my hair."
     *Bridge to Commander Riker.  Data here.  Come in, willya.  I
haven't got all day.  Look, while the sun's shinin', make hay. 
Lead, follow or get the heck out of the way, that's what we need
around here.  If I've said it once, I've said it a hundred*
     "Riker here.  What is it, Mr Data?"
     *Well, we're up here orbitin away waitin for one little
technician to do his work and the rest of us are just coolin our
heels for hours on end.  Back where I come from we call that a
production bottleneck.  Bad management by ours, theirs, or
anybody else's standards.  Lookit, if you come up to the bridge,
I've got charts that'll lay this whole thing out clear and*
     "I'll be in Ten Forward, Mr Data."


     Time is sluicing through the portal of the Guardian of
Forever.  It is a blizzard, the earth thrown up by mighty
explosives, the churning wake of a great seagoing vessel.  The
expressions of faces, the postures of bodies, the motions of
cities and nations across landscapes, all come to the surface and
flow by in a moment's notice.  Generations pass like gusts of
rain.  The door repair guy works his dustbuster back and forth
beneath the jammed door.
     Smedley and Witherspoon are arguing.
     "I tell you, two planets geologically, ecologically and
historically identical in the same quadrant can mean only one
thing: an interdimensional quantum rift perhaps even a light-year
across must have opened and closed at some point in the past in
this sector."
     "You're telling me that there is no possibility of a
parallel development within the same universe!?"
     "Of course not!  The possibility is virtually infinity to
one!"
     "If random chance is the agent!"
     "There is no evidence of intentionality in any of this!"
     "Oh ye of little faith!"
     "I can't talk to you!"
     The door repair guy gives the stuck door a few experimental
jolts.
     "Hey, you be careful!  You'll skew the results."
     "Do you want it fixed or don't you?"
     "Grrrrrrrr!"


     Two six-year-olds are running pell-mell along one of the
curving corridors of the Enterprise's saucer section.  They dash
past various officers and crewmembers, some of whom laugh, others
of whom show strong annoyance and a distinct inclination to
interfere.  Captain Picard, advancing toward them along the
corridor, hears their approaching shrieks and giggles.  When they
stampede into view he addresses them in a loud Captain's voice:
     "Children!  Who are you?  Where are you going?"
     The first one squeaks, "We don't know!"
     "We're new characters!" announces the second, and they
scamper on their way around the curve of the corridor.


     Riker strides into Ten Forward at a five degree angle.  He
steps over to the bar and scans the room.  Suddenly his eyebrows
leap and he grabs the bar with both hands, but not before
lurching five more degrees out of the perpendicular.
     Troi and Worf are in the corner making kissyface.


[Commercial: hypercaritosis.]


     [Bob.  "W-e-l-l-l!  Exciting episode!  And how about that
new Data, eh?  I've got ... ah, Natalie Bartlett..."
     "Natalie Bartlett."
     "..and..."
     "Andrew Jeanes."
     "...Andrew Jeanes here on the couch with me tonight. 
Thanks, guys, for coming down.  Now I understand you're both
members of the National Capital FreeNet Star Trek Special
Interest Group.  That's like some kind of lobbying organization
up there on Parliament Hill?  Trying to get more Star Trek on the
air?  No.  Well, tell me, how do you like the new series so far? 
Natalie.  You're shaking your head, but is that a yes or a no?"
     "The new characters are going to have to grow a bit."
     "Andrew."
     "It's just another example of those profiteering Cardassians
Berman and Piller further diluting Roddenberry's original
conception.  I guess now we're going to see Riker lose it and go
renegade with the battle section of the Enterprise while the
saucer section is left under the command of that nutty door
repair guy, who'll probably join forces with a band of hapless
individualized Borg and chase after him into some vast uncharted
Bermuda Triangle in space."
     Bob looks from Andrew to the video cassette case in his hand
to Andrew to the video cassette case to the camera.]


     Riker angles into Engineering and confronts the Chief
Engineer.
     "Geordi, would you say I'm a pretty good looking guy?"
     "Ah, yeah, Commander.  Not exactly my type, but pretty
successful with the ladies from what I've heard."
     "Heard?  What have you heard?"
     "Well, nothing really.  It's just the sort of looks you
catch every once in a while."
     "Looks?  Like what?  Speak, dammit!"
     "Hey, Commander!  There's nothing to get uptight about. 
Everybody has their dry spells.  You've been working pretty hard
lately.  Why don't you go up to the holodeck, program a nice jazz
club, and relax.  Everything is going to work out fine."
     Riker draws a deep breath, looks from person to person in
the room, and leaves.
     Data comes up behind Geordi.  "It's no good tryin to deal
with a fella when he's in a state like that.  You may as well
just fire him and be done with the trouble.  Better yet, just
take him out behind the barn and shoot him.  Save everybody a
pile of grief.  Why, I had a fella workin for me..."


     "You godless positivist!"
     "You goateed anachronism!  Why the Federation put you in
charge of this Institute I'll never know!"
     "Perhaps because of my eminent qualifications.  I didn't get
in as Smithwick's pet student."
     "Smithwick was a better man than you.  And he published more
than once a decade."
     "Smithwick's student, Smithwick's student."
     All the time the door repair guy is staring open-mouthed at
the Guardian of Forever while absentmindedly scraping at the door
track with his pocket knife.  He is watching the Roman conquest
of Gaul.  Now Julius Caesar is getting it in the atrium.  Ouch! 
All around the Guardian of Forever instruments on tripods are
recording the passage of Time.  An attendant is painstakingly
adjusting the harmonics of one instrument.  The door repair guy
recognizes him.  "Hey!  Al Stewart!"
     Smedley and Witherspoon cut short their arguing and come
over and grab the repair guy and shake him.  Screwdrivers and
various ball bearings roll away in different directions.
     "What did I tell you!  Back to work!  We're almost upon the
Event!"
     "`Event', eh?" says the door repair guy.


     "So you believe he saw us."
     "I sensed a sudden wave of emotion.  Surprise, an intense
feeling of betrayal, nausea, physical pain . . . combined with an
odd sensation of relief."
     "But all in all you'd say he is unhappy."
     "Yes."
     "This is very troubling.  Under normal circumstances I would
have already set matters straight with him through the
appropriate ritual."
     "Normal circumstances?"
     "Klingon."

     "Worf, I hope that I would have a part in this ritual."
     "The contested love object often provides valuable first aid
on such occasions."
     "Worf!"
     "Have I displeased you, snuggle-puppy?  Strange.  This
affair seems to be triggering many human behavioural responses I
did not know I had absorbed.  I feel so . . . so . . .
obsequious."
     "Excellent."


     Captain Picard presses the door signal outside Doctor
Crusher's quarters.
     "Come in, Jean-Luc."  He enters.
     "What is it, Doctor?  Your message sounded urgent."
     "Jean-Luc, there's something I have to tell you."
     He blinks.  He tries to think of something to say.  "It's
about us, isn't it."
     "Yes, Jean-Luc, it's about us.  I've been trying for years
to tell you this.  I just couldn't think of the right way."
     "And now you've thought of the way."
     "Yes.  Jean-Luc . . . I'm your first cousin."
     "What?  My first cousin?  How can that be?"
     "Your Aunt Manon was my mother!"
     "That's extraordinary!  Dear old Tante Manon!  What a small
world!  Oh, Beverly, I'm so glad you told me!"
     "Isn't it wonderful?"
     "I'm just . . . just delighted!"
     "You can't believe what a relief it is to get it off my
chest."
     "Oh, I can believe it.  Do you know, for years I've felt
there was something you wanted to tell me, and . . . I was always
too shy to ask you what it was."
     "And now I've told you."
     "And now you've told me.  You know, it's funny.  Deep, deep
in the back of my mind I always felt . . . that you were going to
tell me something about Wesley."
     "Ah, yes, Jean-Luc.  That's the other thing . . ."

     
     Fats Waller has been pattin the piano keys for twenty
minutes, just leanin down and kissin them every once in a while,
tellin them jokes and snugglin up and pourin them drinks, while
Louis Armstrong stands there with a pocket handkerchief hooked
over his pinky finger and the golden cornet in his two hands,
just listening and laughing and ready for that entry, and the
drummer, Chick Webb, lord, is keepin time in the air, playin his
snares and that high-hat, just playin away with his sticks in the
air for that entry to come, and the holodeck doors open and a
trombonist arrives, and he saunters up to the stage, and the
three play him in, and the entry comes around, he limbers up the
slide and wets his lips and there's Louis stating the theme and
rippin out those variations and the trombonist hears the entry
come around, he leans into the riff, he plays

          BoWWwowbobowbobaaaaptph.....

and slaps his face with his hand while the music crumbles away
around him and the customers express their rancour and disgust
and begin to feel for guns and knives.  He lurches from the
holodeck with obvious symptoms of back pain, not even bothering
to end the program.  Louis Armstrong shakes his head at Fats
Waller and says, "There's nothing for that boy now but drink."


[Commercial: Labatt's Maximum Ice.]


     "Haven't you got that door fixed yet?"
     "It's a delicate instrument.  No different from any of the
others in this room.  Stop and consider the means you use to gain
your desired ends."
     The two historians gawk at the repairman.
     "A philosopher!"
     "No, sir, just an honest craftsman who strives to better
understand his materials."
     "And what, pray tell, are the qualities of a good door?"
     "The same as those of a good beer: strength and smoothness."
     The historians burst out laughing.  They laugh and laugh. 
Finally, the Director wipes his eyes and says, "Perhaps you can
settle a dispute for us, being such a wise fellow.  We are all
aware that although, in the history of Earth, the Roman Empire
began with its own indigenous, polytheistic religion which was
subsequently challenged and displaced by a monotheistic cult
originating in one of the empire's more unruly provinces, that
monotheistic religion, on the otherwise identical planet of 892
IV, although it came into being on schedule, failed to displace
the Roman pantheon for nineteen centuries.  Why?  Was it because
of a single supernatural intervention, as I argue, or is it the
result of a cumulative sociopolitical effect, as posited by
Witherspoon?  What do you say?"
     "Hey, I'm just a door guy."
     "THEN FIX THE DOOR, YOU IMBECILE!"
     The door repair guy, now royally cheesed off, boots the
door.  A pebble pops out from underneath and the door hisses
shut.  The door repair guy bends over, picks up the pebble, and
holds it up for everyone to see.  The Director bows sarcastically
and turns to go.  Witherspoon jerks his thumb in the same
direction.  The door repair guy rolls the pebble around in his
hand and then, as the two historians step through the security
cloaking field, he activates the door and whips the pebble into
the Great Auditorium.  The pebble travels in a long arc across
the room and enters the time portal with a soft "plop".



     On the Mount of Olives James and John are standing to one
side, viewing the crowd gathered to hear Jesus, and frowning.
     "He really has no concept of security, you know."
     "You're telling me.  Look at these characters.  Criminals,
orphans, people who haven't darkened the door of a synagogue in
years.  Look at that guy!  He's a leper!"
     "And here come the pharisees, just dying to stir something
up."
     "Oh great, they've got a woman taken in adultery."
     The crowd surges around them, everyone trying to see how
Jesus will handle this.
     "He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a
stone hey ouch!"
     "Look out!  They're getting ugly!"
     "Apostles, surround the messiah!  We're outta here!"
     The crowd pushes and pulls as Jesus' handlers get him clear
and whisk him away.


     The Captain's doorbell chimes.
     "Come."  
     The door opens smoothly, but sticks a little for the last
few centimetres.  Guinan enters.
     "You should get that fixed."
     Picard comes around his desk and considers the door.
     "By coincidence, the only qualified repairman is down on the
planet."  He taps his commbadge.  "Captain to Transporter Chief."
     *Transporter Chief here, Captain*
     "As soon as the door-repair technician beams up have him
report to my ready room."
     *Aye, sir*
     "Jean-Luc."
     "What is it, Guinan?"
     "Word has it you've chosen to retire."
     He takes a deep breath.  "Yes, Guinan, I have."
     "So who gets the big chair?"
     He laughs.  "Perhaps I've finally begun to see through you,
Guinan.  You're trying to make me regret my decision."
     "No.  Not at all.  I was just wondering if you'd put in a
good word for me."
     "You want the job?"
     "Sure!  I've watched you in action.  It's just a matter of
asking the staff for their educated opinions and choosing the
most sensible alternative."
     "I think there's more to it than that!"
     "Oh, yeah?  Like what?"
     "Well, there's years of training involved.  And then there's
that indefinable something."
     "Indefinable something."
     "Yes.  In every Starfleet Captain it's a different quality."
     "What quality would you say you bring to the job?"
     "Well . . . archaeological knowledge."
     "Oh, excuse me.  And I suppose someone who's as old as the
hills and who's been all over hell's half-acre would have none of
that."
     "It's entirely different!"
     "Well, thank you for explaining that."  She leaves.
     Captain Picard exhales and paces up and down the room.
     The door chimes.
     "Come!"
     "Door Repair Guy reporting as ordered."
     "How was your mission on the surface?"
     "Uneventful, Captain.  Is there something I can do for you,
sir?"
     "Yes.  Have a look at that door, would you?"
     "Yes, sir."  The door repair guy opens his toolbox and gets
to work.
     "I say."
     "Captain?"
     "What is that round, yellowish object in your toolbox?"
     "A doorknob, sir.  One hundred percent brass.  I got it from
a demolition site on Beta III.  I'm saving it up for a door that
needs a brass doorknob just like that."
     "It's extraordinary.  I didn't know there were cultures that
still used doorknobs."
     "You find them here and there."
     "Tell me something, would you.  `Door Repair Guy'.  Is that
your official technical designation?"
     "No, sir, it's my name.  Everyone on my planet is named
after the job they do."
     "What did they call you as a child, then?"
     "Bratty Kid, mainly."
     "So if you were to, say, become Captain, you would be called
just Captain?"
     "Just Captain, sir."
     The deck lurches.  Red Alert sirens begin to go off.
     "Picard here!  What's going on?"
     *Someone has initiated saucer separation, sir!*
     "Override!"
     *I'm sorry, sir!  All controls are down!*
     Picard charges out of his ready room, pausing only to
struggle through the half-opened door, which is now stuck worse
than before.  He arrives on the bridge in time to see Riker's
huge image on the viewscreen.  Riker is seated in the command
chair of the battle bridge.  His hair is sticking out in all
directions and his eyes are wide and radiate irrational
desperation.  Riker is shouting, ". . . and you'll never be able
to find me.  Never!  N-e-e-e-v-v-v-e-e-e-r-r-r- . . ."
     "He's warping away at maximum speed.  He's already out of
communications range."
     Close-up of Picard's clenched jaw.  Over his shoulder you
can make out the ready room door opening and closing.
     [Overlay: "To be continued . . ."]

__
Written by Douglas A. McLeod (ai919@freenet.carleton.ca)
__

Episode One — The Pilot, Part One

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