The Pilot, Part Two


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Episode Two — The Pilot, Part Two

Last week on Star Trek: Door Repair Guy:

     "Blast that repairman!  He's eleven minutes late!"
     "Now I'll never have kids."
     "Lead, follow, or get the heck out of the way, that's what
we need around here."
     "So you believe he saw us?"
     "Jean-Luc . . . I'm your first cousin."
     "So if you were to, say, become Captain . . . ?"
     "You'll never find me!  Never!  N-e-e-e-v-e-e-r! . . ."

And now the exciting conclusion.

     "Ensign, lay in a course based on the last known heading of
the Battle Section.  Full impulse power.  Engage."
     "Aye, sir."
     "Computer, what is the present location of Lt. Cmdr. Data?"
     "Lt. Cmdr. Data is not on board the Saucer Section."
     "Where is Lt. Worf?"
     "Lt. Worf is in Counsellor Troi's quarters."
     "Picard to Lt. Worf.  Report to the bridge immediately."
     *Erf.  Sorry.  Acknowledged!*
     "Picard to Counsellor Troi.  Report to the bridge
immediately."
     *Oof.  Get that for me.  Acknowledged, Captain!*
     "Computer, is the Chief Engineer aboard the Saucer Section?"
     "Cmdr. LaForge is not on board."
     "Who is the senior member of Engineering Division on board
the Saucer Section, and where is that officer?"
     "Lt. Barclay is in holodeck four."
     "Picard to Lt. Barclay.  Report to the bridge immediately."
     *Yoiks.  Erg.  Wet.  Pardon me.  Ah, Barclay here, Captain.
On my way.  Computer, end program.  Ooh.  Who cleans this up?*
     "Picard to Doctor Crusher.  Report to the bridge."
     *Coming, sweet coz*
     "Beverly, don't call me your sweet coz."
     "Captain?"
     "What is it, Mr . . . Door Repair Guy."
     "Do you think you'll want to use the conference room?"
     "Of course, there's an emergency going on.  I have to brief
all my department heads."
     "Very good, sir."  A loud creaking sound fills the bridge as
the repairman uses the jaws of life to open the conference room
door.  This is followed by a loud pounding as he drives wooden
wedges under the door with a ten-pound maul.
     "Conference room ready, sir."

     "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

                         Buddy Whassisname
                         as Lt. Cmdr. Data

                              and
                         Dwight Schultz
                         as Lt. Barclay

     Enterprise looms into view, flips off Saucer Section, and
warps off in a burst.

[Commercial: The Brick.  "Do not pay 'til 2262!"]

     "Why do you think he did it, Jean-Luc?"
     Picard pushes his hands back over the dome of his head.
     "I don't know, Beverly."
     "I've always thought Will had too much humour to fly off the
handle like this."
     "Humour.  I wonder if that isn't at the heart of the
problem.  You never know what's coming next with some people."
     "Jean-Luc, is that a cow that just flew past the window?"
     "What?  Where?  Oh, I see.  We've just passed that planet's
moon."
     "Ah."
     "Blast those officers!  They're eleven minutes late!"
     Lt. Barclay zooms into the conference room.
     "P-please excuse me, Captain.  I was . . . detained."
     "You're not the only one, Mr Barclay.  Take a seat."
Barclay takes one of the many empty chairs.
     "Mr Barclay, you've often seen Cmdr. Riker in action.  Would
you characterize him as a man particularly prone to stress?"
     "Well. . . s-s-stress is a broad term, Captain.  Perhaps if
you . . . if, if *we* could narrow the terms of definition we
might able to, quantify our answer."
     "Please proceed, Mr Barclay."
     "Well, Captain, we divide the motion to which a ship is
subjected into three types: y-y-yaw, pitch, and roll."  He has a
brainstorm.  "Computer.  Display visual log, Engineering
Section."
     "What time reference?"
     "Wh-whatever time Cmdr. Riker last entered Engineering."
     Counsellor Troi arrives in the middle of this and slips into
a chair.
     Visual display shows a security camera angle shot of
Engineering.  Riker veers into the shot, and almost immediately
begins to argue with Geordi.  He looks around and walks out.
     "Com-computer!  Go back!  Back!  Oh!  Stop!!  Go forward!  A
bit more!  No!  Go back again!  No!  That was too much!  Go . . .
Stop!  Freeze!  Right there!  Now that's yaw!  Do you see that
yaw?  Computer: superimpose line figure standing perpendicular to
the floor, and display angle of divergence."
     Counsellor Troi: "My God, seventeen degrees."
     Lt. Worf enters, adjusting his sash.  "Please forgive me,
Captain.  I was detained."
     Picard leans back and sums up: "I think Lt. Barclay has
provided the definitive answer.  Cmdr. Riker is unbalanced."
     Doctor Crusher turns dramatically to the window and asks,
with plenty of rhetoric effect, "And where is he now?"

     Shot of Battle Section streaking through space.
     "First Officer's Log.  No, make that Captain's Log.  We have
been travelling at warp 9.6 for five hours, on a heading that
should take us out of Federation-charted space before very long.
I am locked on the battle bridge without anyone else except the
computer, with which I have been in constant contact in my
efforts to thwart the override efforts of Geordi and Data.  I
believe I have several hours before they discover my subspace
systems interfaces.  I am concerned about the ability of the
bridge doors to resist the energies that are no doubt being
expended on them as I speak."  He has a thought.  "Computer, is
the Door Repair Guy on board?"
     "The Door Repair Guy is not on board the Battle Section."
     "That's a relief.  I think."

     In the corridor outside the battle bridge Data steps back
from an open access panel out of which jury-rigged optical wiring
hangs in coils.
     "Lord Tunderin Jaysus!  He's bypassed me again!"
     At a nearby panel Geordi makes a sound of disgust, then
throws down his circuit splicer and sits back against the
corridor wall.
     "Data, I don't get it.  You work with someone for seven
years and you think you know him.  If I knew what was running
through Cmdr. Riker's mind right now I'd be through that door in
a minute.  It's like he's a completely different guy."
     "Yes, by Jeez, he's rowin' cross-handed now."
     "I wonder where he thinks he's taking us."
     "Oh, up the Labrador, more'n loikely.  He's got some smert,
that one.  Fit to be toied.  He's got some kind o'frounge,
there's no doubt about that.  Oi spect we're due for some
shocking great voyage with your man here, unless we can get these
here doors abroad."
     "Yeah, you're probably right."  They get back to work.

     "Captain, now that we've ascertained the condition of Will's
mind, what are we to do?"
     "Why, we must follow him."
     "Excuse me, Captain, but when the Enterprise Battle Section
was last seen it was running at high warp speed.  We have only
impulse power."
     "True, Mr Worf.  But we know Cmdr. Riker better than anyone
else, and we also know that it's only a matter of time before
Data and LaForge regain control and steer back to their previous
position."
     "And besides, my quarters are on Deck 42.  They've got all
my stuff!"
     "Thank you for your input, Mr Guy.  If there's nothing else,
report to your stations."
     *Captain, a vessel has entered our sector.  It's on an
intercept course*
     "Ah, our wait seems to be over.  Is it the Battle Section,
Ensign?"
     *No, sir.  It's a Borg ship*
     Rapid pan from face to face.  [Dramatic music.]

[Commercial: KPLA cha'maH yay'a'meyna'.  bopoQpu'.  wItemta'.
cha'maH poHmey.
            (KPLA's Twenty Great Victories.  You demanded them.
We denied them.  Twenty times!)
DaQoy:
(You hear:)
          "jIQuch vIneH" yIreH.
          Qo'.  vImuS.  pongwI' cha'.
          (Play "I Want to Be Happy".)
          (I refuse.  I hate it.  Caller two.)
'ej:
(And:)
          "Dung Dung pa' je" yIreH.
          bong tavetlh vIghorpu'.
          (Play "Up, Up and Away".)
          (I have accidentally broken that record.)

'ej wa'vam lIjlaH 'Iv.
(And who can forget this one?)
          "be' jIH" yIreH.
          qul wIghajpu'.  Qaw'lu'.
          (Play "I am Woman".)
          (We had a fire.  It is destroyed.)
DaH yIje'.
(Buy it now.)]

     "Red Alert!  Mr Worf, what is our weapons status?"
     "We have phasers, and a limited number of photon torpedoes."
     "Ensign, lay in a collision course.  On my signal engage at
full impulse power."
     "It's suicide, sir!"
     "It's better than assimilation, Ensign!  I have lived, and I
shall die, a Frenchman!"
     "Captain, they're hailing us!"
     "Captain, they are within weapons range and they have not
raised their shields!  What are your orders?"
     "Captain, I'm sensing a great amount of anxiety from the
Borg vessel!"
     "Captain, I think I've got your office door working again!"
     Picard looks rapidly from speaker to speaker, and at last
turns to Lt. Worf.
     "Put the Borg on screen."
     The screen fills with the crowded faces of a dozen Borg.
The bridge crew gasp.  The Borg are dirty and emaciated and some
of them show distinct signs of scurvy.
     The Borg join together in one angst-filled, wavering
syllable: "H-e-l-l-l-p-p-p!!!"

[Commercial: Wayne's World Three: The Search for Garth.]

[Bob:
     "Whoa-ho-ho!  This new series just gets better and better!
Don't click around because it's time to play

                         What's
                         Under
                         Bob's
                         Cushion?

     And I have a letter here from little Katie DiCola from
Ottawa.  She writes:

     `Dear Bob:
     I greatly enjoy your programme.  Why can't you do the news
and all the commercials?  I am two.  What is under your cushion?

                                        All the Best, Katie'

     Very good letter, Katie.  Let's just have a look under the
cushion.  It's a bat'telh!  Ooo, and it's a big ugly thing too.
You could really disembowel your enemies with this.  Well, we'll
be mailing that out to you, Katie."]

     Shot of the Enterprise Saucer Section and the Borg Cube in
close proximity.
     "Captain's Log, stardate 49572.3.  After receiving the Borg
distress signal I have decided to suspend our pursuit of the
Battle Section and to render assistance to the unfortunate Borg
crew.  There can be little doubt that they are in genuine peril,
the cause of which can ultimately be laid at our doorstep.  I am
dispatching an away team to the Borg ship.  My next decisions
will depend heavily on their assessment of the situation."

     The transporter room.  Worf is checking the energy reserves
of one of the four phasers he is packing.  The transporter room
door slides open and the Door Repair Guy enters.
     "Door Repair Guy reporting as ordered, sir."
     "Who assigned you to the away team?"
     "Acting Chief of Engineering Barclay.  Captain Picard wants
him to work on the propulsion dilemma.  Nyah.  So there."
     "We are that short-staffed that a mere door repair
technician is assigned to a sensitive away mission?"
     "chotIch, Sogh.  jI'umbej."
     ("You insult me, Lieutenant.  I am definitely qualified.")
     "tlhIngan Hol Davatlh'a'."
     ("You speak Klingon?")
     "tlhIngan wo'Daq lojmItHuS vIghojta'."
     ("I learned doorhanging in the Klingon Empire.")
     "lIghojmoHta' 'Iv."
     ("Who taught you?")
     "mulughmoH Krell."
     (literally: "Krell causes me to be correct.")
     "lojmItHuSwI' Dun.  batlh Dachavta'a'.
     ("A great doorhanger.  Did you achieve honour?")
     "patlh wa'maHDIch vIghaj."
     ("I have the eleventh rank.")
     "lojmItHuswI'na' SoH.  qanoHHa'pu'.  pu' yIghaj."
     ("You are a true doorhanger.  I misjudged you.  Have a
phaser.")
     Doctor Crusher and Counsellor Troi enter.
     Door Repair Guy: "Hey, Doctor, I just thought of a joke.
What do you hear when it's suppertime on the Borg ship?
Borgorygmi!  Ha ha!"
     "That is the most insensitive thing I've ever heard.
Transporter Chief, energize."

     Four figures energize on a deck of the Borg ship.  Almost
immediately they grab their noses.
     "Ugh!"
     "Woof!"
     "Pyuu!"
     "B.O.!"
     Doctor Crusher begins to take tricorder readings on the
prone figure of a nearby Borg.
     "This Borg has absolutely no Vitamin C in him at all!  When
did you last see a vegetable?"  She takes an orange out of her
pocket.  "Here, eat this."  The Borg devours it in one bite.
     Worf: "Doctor, what do we know about Borg sanitary habits?"
     "Very little, I'm afraid."
     Troi: "How do they bathe without short-circuiting?"
     Door Repair Guy: "Moist towelettes?"
     Doctor Crusher: "Yes, of course!  Moist towelettes!  See if
you can find a moist towelette dispenser, and if it's broken, fix
it.  And then start distributing them!"
     "Aye, aye!"

     "Captain."
     "Come in, Mr Barclay.  Oh, you'll have to stand sideways to
get through there."
     "Captain, I've made some progress on the, the propulsion, on
the propulsion problem."
     "What have you got?"
     "Two plans.  The first plan . . . goes like this.  We have
four shuttlecraft in the Main Shuttlebay, each of which has warp
capability.  We arrange these in form, in formation around the
leading edge of the Saucer Section, two a little above, and two a
little below the flight plane.  We can use the port and starboard
Saucer reaction control quad mooring tractor beam emitters . . ."
     "Just a moment, Lieutenant."
     Picard goes over to the replicator.
     "Star Trek: The Next Generation Technical Manual."
     Shot of the large paperback coalescing in the replicator.
     "Page 89, sir."
     "All right.  Proceed."
     "We can use the emitters to hold the four shuttlecraft in
formation.  By reconfiguring the Primary Hull lateral sensors,
page 114, we should be able to maintain a thin warp envelope
around the entire formation, I mean around the Saucer and the,
the four shuttlecraft."
     "Excellent, Mr Barclay!  I wonder why I've never promoted
you before now!  What speed will that give us?"
     "Warp 1.0000000001, sir."
     "Oh.  What's the other plan?"
     "The Borg ship has warp drive and tractor beams aplenty.  We
could park the Saucer section just above and in front of the
Cube, say at one of the corners, and establish a stable tractor
link.  Their warp envelope would include us easily.  We could tie
our computer system into theirs via subspace and maintain crew
transit using the transporters.  The combined ship would have a
warp capability equal to or better than the Enterprise . . . when
it's all together . . . in one piece."
     Picard ponders unhappily.  "Do you have any other plans?"
     "You could just send a subspace message to the nearest
Starbase and wait for a ship to come and tow us home."
     "What?  Have that at the end of my service record?  Never!
We'll go with the Borg plan."
     "Aye, aye, sir."
     Barclay exits.  Camera dollies in on the seated Picard.  The
Captain's face reveals a number of emotions.  At last he reaches
under his desk and brings a bottle in a paper bag to his mouth
and drinks thirstily and sloppily, the cheap red wine running
down his chin.

[Commercial: "Clean yes, germ no."]

     Tracking shot of the two vessels, the Borg Cube appearing
from behind the Enterprise Saucer section.  Scenes of intense
activity follow, with voice-over:
     "Chief Medical Officer's Log, stardate 49573.1.  I have
completed my survey of the Borg ship.  We are now diverting all
our energies toward handling the medical emergency there.  A
tricorder census has revealed 659 Borg on board, all of whom are
extremely disoriented, malnourished, and in need of medical
attention.  Food replicators have been beamed aboard, as well as
a growing number of Enterprise personnel, most of whom are
engaged in teaching the Borg how to eat.  Until we better
understand the Borg's regular energy replenishment system this
will have to do.  As a consequence we are being forced to
replicate port-o-johns as fast as we can, and another Enterprise
contingent, under the Door Repair Guy, has been delegated the
task of instructing the Borg in their use.  It is my belief that
we will have the emergency under control within 24 hours.  What
can be done with the Borg beyond that remains a mystery."

     Shot of the Battle Section streaking through space.
     "Captain's Log, stardate unknown.  My random encryption
codes and subspace channel flux protocols have worked far better
than I could have imagined.  Geordi and Data are still locked out
of the battle bridge.  And I'm still locked in.  We left
Federation-charted space hours ago.  I really have to go to the
bathroom.  I have had considerable opportunity to think over my
precipitate action.  Have I done the right thing?  Deanna would
be able to tell me.  Ah, Deanna.  Perhaps a trombone solo will
cheer me up."

     In the corridor Geordi and Data are bent over their work.
Panels are pulled off the walls all the way down the corridor,
and wires crisscross from one side of the corridor to the other.
Engineers pick their way through the tangle.  Geordi leans into
an open access duct, rearranging a series of isolinear optical
chips (page 53), then stops and turns his head from side to side
with a puzzled look on his face.  He backs out of the duct, looks
down the corridor first one way and then the other.  At last he
creeps toward the battle bridge door, leans toward it, and then
presses his ear against it.
     "What the . . . ?"
     Data, having observed this, follows suit, and presses his
ear against the door.
     "Lord liftin'!"

     "You wanted to speak to me, Counsellor?"
     "Yes, Captain.  It's about the Borg.  What are we going to
do with them?"
     "I was hoping you would have some ideas for me, Counsellor."
     "Well, I have, Captain, but you might not like them."
     "I see.  Can I get you something?"  He goes over to the
replicator.
     "Whatever you're having, sir."
     "Two teas, Earl Grey, hot, with a double shot of brandy."
     He brings them over.  Troi takes a sip and sprays half the
room.
     "Strong," she gasps.
     "You had some ideas."
     "*cough*  *cough*  *cough*  Yes.  Well.  *cough*  *cough*
These are Borg in the throes of individuation.  *cough*  As far
as we can tell they were part of the Borg collective until quite
recently, when they somehow became infected with the virus of
individuality and were cut away -- denied a subspace link to the
other Borg clusters.  From that moment on they have suffered a
progressive failure of all systems, and a collapse of their
social structure.  Had they not found us when they did they
surely would have died, either by starvation or by some
catastrophic failure of their ship's systems.  Frankly, they need
our help.  And, if we are to regain warp power and rejoin the
Battle Section, we need theirs."
     "And the problem you perceive is an ethical one."
     "Yes, Captain.  As we speak, the Enterprise crew are hard at
work training the Borg in table manners, common courtesy, Basic
English, softball.  Crew members are handing out chocolate bars
to them by the basket-load and at the same time learning how to
interface with them and their ship's systems.  The Borg are
remarkably quick learners, even in their present condition, and I
predict that in a very short time we will have effectively . . ."
     ". . . assimilated them."
     "Yes, Captain."
     "I see the problem.  What options do you see?"
     "Several.  We could kill them.  We could set them adrift,
which would have the same result.  We could try to find a way to
return them to what they were, and probably be responsible for
the deaths of Federation citizens at some future date . . . or we
could join them."
     "Join them?  Be assimilated?"
     "No, Captain.  Confederation."
     "Like nineteenth-century Canada!  The model of all
subsequent civilized societies!"
     "We'd even have a drunk for a leader, just like good old Sir
John A.!"
     "Who?!"
     "You!"
     "I don't drink."
     "Look at those empties!"
     Picard buries his head in his arms and begins to sob.
     Troi comes around the desk and kneels down beside his chair.
     "This affair with the Borg has been a great strain on you,
hasn't it, Captain."
     The top of his head nods.
     "You thought you had seen your last of them."
     Another nod.
     "And Riker's defection has ruined all your retirement plans,
hasn't it."
     "Yes."  *sniff*
     "But you've been through worse before, and with the help of
your officers you'll see this through."
     He sits back and heaves a deep breath.
     "Yes, Counsellor, you're right, of course."
     "And there'll be no more need for these."  She starts
loading bottles into the replicator.
     "You're right.  No more of that for me."  He laughs.  "Do
you know, Counsellor, I came this close to appointing Door Repair
Guy as Acting Captain."
     She stiffens visibly, but he does not notice.
     "I was very impressed by his indefinable something."
     "Captain, you stay here and rest.  I'll send the Doctor up
when she has a free minute.  Perhaps you could have a nice read."
     She slides from the room, and leans gasping against the
wall.
     "The horror, the horror."

[Commercial: Labatt's Maximum Ice]

     The Battle Section speeds on.
     The battle bridge.
     "All right, computer.  For the next half hour we are going
to cycle all the command prefixes using a random encryption code
based on the dulcet tones of my magical trombone.  Whenever a
B flat comes up, reset.  Our first number, "Will You, Won't You,
Be My Babe?"

     "Data, it's the trombone.  It's gotta be.  If we can just
introduce a sonic pulse containing the right combination of
trombone tones into the computer's audio harvester we should be
able to disable his encryption renumerator long enough to get our
own doorpost command through his fractal redundancy net."
     "And?"
     "The door will open!  Ensign, find the nearest replicator,
replicate a trombone, and bring it to Cmdr. Data.  Move!"
     "Aye, sir!  (My only line!)"
     "Here he comes now!  Play, Data, play!"
     "Moi oh moi, how dey loved dis one, back in dear old
Carbonear: Oi calls it `Te Jealous Lover.'"
     No sooner have a pair of notes wafted into the corridor than
the battle bridge doors swoosh open.  Geordi and a dozen security
guards dash onto the battle bridge.
     "Cmdr. Riker, I arrest you in the name of Starfleet Command
and the United -- Data, stop playing! -- Federation of . . ."
     On the viewscreen three quarters of a million dollars are
suddenly used up.
     Everyone: "WORMHOLE!"

     Shot of Enterprise Saucer Section and Borg Cube flying in
close formation at warp speed, joined together by a net of
tractor beams.
     "Captain's Log, stardate 49575.8.  We have been following
the Battle Section's ion trail for two days, and have yet to pick
up any reading of the missing ship.  I find myself thinking of
the missing Engineering Hull as another vessel, quite separate
from this new confederated ship.  Counsellor Troi, noticing the
similarity in numbers between the Borg and the crew of the Saucer
Section, has instituted a buddy system, pairing each one of us
with a different Borg.  I am about to meet my own Borg
counterpart.  It is with mixed feelings but sober mind that I
approach this encounter."
     Door chime.
     "Come."
     Troi enters, pulling a reluctant Borg behind her.
     "Captain, I'd like you to meet Three to the Fifth, Three to
the Fourth, Three to the Second, Two."
     "Pleased to meet you, sir."
     "Pleasure is irrelevant.  Desk is irrelevant.  Window is
irrelevant.  Ooooo, fishbowl."
     "I'll leave you two to it."
     "Counsellor!"
     Whoosh.
     "Now it works."
     Backing-away shot as Picard edges toward the Borg and begins
to explain about the care and feeding of mollies.

Next week on Star Trek:DRG:

     "It's a wormhole, sir.  And they went right down its
throat."
     "That's a mixed metaphor, Lieutenant."
     "Stars.  A single constellation out here in intergalactic
space."
     "It looks like two bunnies!"
     "Who let that child on the bridge?"
     "It does look like two bunnies, sir."

[Music.  Credits.]

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

Episode Two — The Pilot, Part Two

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