North and South


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Episode Six — North and South

     View of the Battle Section in stationary orbit above the
Flopsan north pole.
     Door Repair Guy's quarters.  We see Cmdr. Riker, in orange
overalls, asleep in a Lazy Boy with a pair of headphones hanging
around his neck.  On the turntable beside him the Doobie
Brothers' _What Were Once Vices Are Now Habits_ rotates at 33 1/3
RPM.  Across the room on an Ikea Loki daybed salvaged from the
recently abandoned Earth Colony Nepean III sits Door Repair Guy,
typing quietly into a similarly antiquated Tandy laptop computer.
We read:
     "Personal Log, stardate 49594.0.  Hoowee, what a day.  Ryker
had to crawl around the Geoffrey's Tubes all afternoon, planning
his big insurrection.  (Ho ho, can you say that in a personal
log???)  And he kept such a closed eye on me I couldn't hardly
use my levitate function at all.  Spent hours accessing
restricted computer levels for him.  My flexor digitorum
superficialis is killing me.  Lucky for me he's a trombone
player, so I was able to get him interested in some good 1970s
records with horns.  He must of sat through Average White Band
half a dozen times.  This spy stuff is a drag.  I wish I was back
fixing proximity-activated entrances and exits.  Looks like he's
ready to make his move, though, so tomorrow's the day, for better
or wurst."

     View of the Borg Cube/Saucer Section Confederation in
stationary orbit below the Flopsan south pole.
     Captain Picard touches a control on his desk.
     "Captain's Log, stardate 49594.0.  There still has been no
sign of the Battle Section, although we know her to be in this
stellar system.  Security remains on full alert.  Mr Worf has
every confidence that this policy of concealment will bear fruit.
He has reminded me several times of the Klingon legend of the
Fourteen Hunters, who caught and killed a mythical giant targ,
but only after they had all eaten their own bootspikes from
hunger.  I am preparing certain measures that should preclude our
having to eat our own bootspikes.  Picard out."
     "Captain's Log, supplemental.  Metaphorically speaking.
Picard out."

[A turbolift door.  On the door appear the words:]

                         Star Trek: Door Repair Guy

[The door opens to reveal Lt. Cmdr. Data.  Data walks down a
corridor and enters another turbolift.  The doors close, showing
the words:]

                              Starring

                         Door Repair Guy
                              As Himself

[Data comes out of the turbolift.  The doors close to display the
words:]

                         Also starring

                         Patrick Stewart
                    as Captain Jean-Luc Picard

                         Jonathan Frakes
                    as Cmdr. William Riker

                         Marina Sirtis
                    as Counsellor Deanna Troi

[Data walks down another corridor, rounds a corner, and enters a
room.  The doors close behind him, revealing the words:]

                         LeVar Burton
                    as Lt. Cmdr. Geordi La Forge

                         Gates McFadden
                    as Doctor Beverly Crusher

                         Michael Dorn
                         as Lt. Worf

                         Dwight Schultz
                         as Lt. Barclay

[Data exits the room.  The words on the door say:]

                    and Maxwell Smart
                    as Lt. Cmdr. Data

[Commercial: Don Cherry for Pink Insulation]

     Picard's ready room.  The door chimes.
     "Come."
     Acting Chief of Engineering Lt. Barclay enters.
     "Y-you wanted to see me, sir?"
     "Yes, Mr Barclay, please, come in.  I have just been
perusing the _Star Trek: The Next Generation Technical Manual_.
Tell me.  I see here that the Saucer Section possesses a photon
torpedo launcher situated within the vehicle interface, that is,
facing aft at a point which is usually pressed up against the
docking portion of the Battle Section.  I must confess that until
now I had never heard of it."
     "Ah!  Well, Captain, it has never been used.  Of course,
under normal circumstances it is completely locked down.  If
anyone were to fire it while the Battle Section and the Saucer
were docked, the results would be . . ."
     "Catastrophic, to say the least."
     "Yes, sir, Captain.  But now that the Battle Section is
gone, given ten or fifteen minutes to power up and blow out the
dust it would be absolutely ready for use."  He grins happily at
the thought of how professionally he has delivered this good
news, when suddenly he is gripped by dread and begins to wave his
finger in the air and gape like a fish, trying and finally
managing to get out the word, "Except!"
     "Except?"
     "Except that it is situated just where the Borg/Enterprise
tractor beam links are most, most densely arranged!  If we fire a
torpedo it will immediately get caught in one of those beams and
explode!"  He stands there, wobbling, aghast.
     Picard leans forward on the desk with his fingers locked
together, frowning and thinking.
     "How else can we launch a torpedo?"
     "Well, ah.  Oh!  We could beam it off the ship!  Or we could
even push it out of the main shuttlebay by hand.  Either way the
torpedo would have to be fitted with its own thruster module.
Otherwise, without the thrust provided by the torpedo launcher,
it won't have sufficient velocity to . . . to go."
     Picard sits back and rubs his chin.  Barclay stands there on
the other side of the desk, shaking visibly.
     Picard throws him a glance.  He jumps.
     "Mr Barclay, please assemble a sensor probe with thruster
module as you described.  I would like it to be launched into a
highly elliptical orbit of the planet so that apogee occurs high
above the equator and perigee at the north pole, altitude 500
kilometres.  I want it to look as much as possible as if it is
passing the planet rather than orbiting it.  The initial thruster
burst must take place in the portion of space hidden by the
planet from an object situated as far above the north pole as we
are below the south pole.  The probe is to run completely
silently until it passes the north pole, when it is to conduct a
five nanosecond sensor pulse.  It will then shut down all systems
again until it is in a position to transmit its findings in a
five nanosecond data burst to our position here.  I have a very
strong suspicion that what we receive then will be an image of
the Battle Section."
     "Yes, sir!  Aye aye!"  He falls out the room and runs to the
turbolift.
     Picard sits back, picks up the Technical Manual again, and
begins to thumb through it, looking for other useful plot
devices.  He stops suddenly at page 164.  He gives a shout of
discovery.
     "Captain's yacht!!"

     A vertical service accessway within the Battle Section.  Our
view is from between two ladder rungs.  Riker climbs into view,
speaking loudly.
     "Come on, get the lead out.  I'm five decks ahead of you.
Here's the hatch."
     We hear the pneumatic whoosh of the opening hatch. Riker
climbs up out of the top of the picture.
     A moment later Door Repair Guy shoots upward with his boots
in one hand.  He grabs a rung, deactivates his toe levitation
control with the pinky finger of his boot-holding hand, and goes
through a quick series of contortions as he gets his boots back
on while hanging on to the ladder.  Then he climbs up, his boot
laces dangling.  We hear the hatch close.

     Main bridge.  Picard hurries out of his ready room and makes
for the turbolift.
     Worf: "Captain, someone is activating the main shuttlebay
door!"
     "It's all right, Mr Worf.  It's just Mr Barclay deploying a
spy satellite."
     "Captain!  The Fourteen Hunters would never resort to such a
ruse!  It is the hunger of lying in wait that sharpens the senses
and gives the advantage!"
     "Mr Worf, in the story of the Fourteen Hunters, what was the
giant targ doing while the Fourteen Hunters lay in wait."
     "Dining upon the golden eggs of Borghol.  It is a well-known
story."
     "And what would you say the golden eggs of Borghol
represent, metaphorically speaking?"
     "Decadence.  Infatuation with the material world.  Spiritual
flabbiness."
     "Are these qualities you would ascribe to Cmdr. Riker, or
Lt. Cmdrs. Data or La Forge?"
     Worf assumes an annoyed body posture.
     "Please render Mr Barclay any assistance he should require."
     Picard disappears into the turbolift.
     Worf twitches, moves his mouth around and looks at every
part of the ceiling, flaring his nostrils.

     Exterior view of Borgoprise.  Space-suited figures can be
seen rolling a sensor probe out of the main shuttlebay.  They
launch it by hand.  It rotates slowly away.  Then its manoeuvring
thrusters fire and it lifts away from the ship.  A long blue
flame spouts from its main thruster and it dwindles into
intergalactic space.  A moment later the motor cuts out, leaving
total blackness.
     All over the viewing area people lean forward and say, "I
really ought to dust this screen more often."

[Commercial: Don Cherry for ProLine]

     Close-up view of the exterior of the battle bridge on top of
the neck of the Battle Section.
     "Acting Captain's Log, stardate 49594.0, Lt. Cmdr. Geordi La
Forge reporting.  Data and I continue our strategy sessions.  By
process of elimination we have pretty well decided where the Borg
ship has gotta be.  We are now preparing our next move."
     Three probes fire from the forward torpedo launcher.
     A small viewscreen on the transporter room control console.
     Transporter Chief: "The probes have taken up their
positions, sir."
     Data turns.
     "Got it, Chief."

     Counsellor Troi's office.  Troi and Worf are seated on the
couch.
     "Worf, something must be bothering you, or you wouldn't have
come here."
     Worf resists this interpretation for a while, then blurts,
"It is the Captain.  I have a great amount of difficulty relating
to him lately.  He seems to change from week to week.  Just last
week I could sell him anything.  Now he won't take any of my
advice."
     "He has been under a lot of strain recently.  So have we
all.  I've been reading over some of my recent reports, and I
have a hard time believing I wrote some of them."
     "Still, I am troubled."
     She lays a hand on his.  "This Cuniculi emergency will end
sooner or later.  You'll find an opportunity to use your special
skills before too long."
     He thinks this over.
     "You are right, of course."  He thinks of something else.
"Are we still on for Friday night?"
     She laughs, "Of course!"
     "Shall I have a little champagne ready?"
     She smiles angelically.  "Perhaps a little real pain."
     He rubs his hands together robustly, eyes sparkling.
     "Excellent."

     An auxiliary transporter room.  Data and La Forge enter.
     "Okay, Data, so here's the plan."
     "Wait just one minute, Geordi."
     "Data, what is it?"
     Data looks around.
     "This is top secret information."
     "Yeah.  I guess."
     "So shouldn't we use the Cone of Silence?"
     "Data!"
     "The First Officer of the Enterprise goes rogue, flies us
through a wormhole, then dies under mysterious circumstances, and
you don't want to use the Cone of Silence?  Come on, Geordi, the
walls have ears."
     "All right, all right."
     They go over to a computer panel.
     "Computer.  Recognize Lt. Cmdr. Geordi La Forge, Chief
Engineer."
     *Acknowledged*
     "Computer.  Recognize Lt. Cmdr. Data, android and Starfleet
Officer and cat-lover extraordinaire."
     *Acknowledged*
     "Activate the Cone of Silence."
     The transparent double-orbed tub descends over their two
heads.
     "All right, Geordi, what were you going to tell me?"
     "What?"
     "I said, `You were going to tell me the plan.  What is it?'"
     "I can't hear you."
     "What was that you said?  I can't hear you."
     "I said: "I . . . can't . . . hear . . . you!"
     "It's hot in here, too.  What about that plan?"
     "This is the most ridiculous thing I've ever let you talk me
into!"
     "You say you want to take an away team to the Borg ship?"
     "This Cone of Silence is the stupidest invention ever to be
programmed into the computer."
     "We'll use the orbiting probes as transporter relays to
carry our signals around the curve of the planet?  Why, Geordi,
that's brilliant!"
     "Computer, discontinue Cone of Silence!"
     *Cone of Silence discontinued*
     "All right, Geordi, let's get a move on.  There isn't a
moment to waste.
     "Huh?"
     "If we're separated, don't use your commbadge.  They
probably have the frequency."  He takes off his boot.  "All
secret communication will be done using the boot phone."
     "Huh?"
     Data flips open the heel speaker.  It makes the communicator
sound.  "This is Lt. Cmdr. Data calling the annoying lieutenant
from `Suspicions'."
     *Annoying lieutenant here*
     "You have the big chair until Geordi and I get back.  Over
and out."
     He herds Geordi up onto the transporter platform.
     "Here's a phaser.  But remember, don't shoot until you see
the whites of their eyes.  Transporter Chief, energize."
     Transporter effect.

[Commercial: Don Cherry for Ford Trucks]

     Riker and Door Repair Guy climb out of a Jefferies Tube
hatch and start stealthily down a corridor.
     "Someone's coming!"
     Riker ducks into a nearby room, and Door Repair Guy hits his
Borg transport implant and disappears.
     The room is a temporary crew compartment, hastily pressed
into service to compensate for the loss of all the living space
in the Saucer Section.  On a chair in front of a mirror sits
Ursula, the brunette security guard.  She is humming and combing
out her hair.  Riker freezes, then silently backs up to the wall
and begins to search with his hands behind his back for some kind
of crevasse to slide into.  Ursula continues to comb, then lays
down the comb and gathers her hair together in an elastic.  She
sees Riker in the mirror.  Riker, thinking fast, begins to wave
his arms around slowly in the air and silently mouth the words,
"Help me! Help me!"  Ursula stares, horrified, into the mirror.
Her trembling fingers come up and press into her cheeks.
     "Am I . . . am I going mad?"
     She faints.  Riker slips out the door.

     A hatch opens in the ceiling.  A leg appears, then a figure
in Starfleet uniform eases down into a small space containing a
number of comfortable padded chairs and a control console.  It is
Picard.  He gazes expectantly around the interior of the
Captain's Yacht, admiring the wood-grain finish and opening and
closing small lockers and drawers.
     "Extraordinary."
     He settles into the pilot's chair and activates the control
console.  It lights up with a pleasant mechanical sound.  He
checks overhead, and then feels under the seat.
     "What the . . . ."
     He pulls out an empty carton containing a few dried-up egg
noodles and bamboo shoots.  Another search produces an empty Jolt
Cola can.
     "By all the . . . ."
     A third search brings up a subscription insert from _Field
and Stream_ magazine.
     "Blast!"

     A suite in the Battle Section.  The annoying lieutenant from
`Suspicions' storms into the room, demanding, "Who sent that
unauthorized mayday call?  This is a clear and wanton violation
of . . . ."  He comes to a dead halt in the sights of Riker's
phaser.
     Riker lounges insolently in an armchair, grinning broadly.
     The annoying lieutenant turns on his heel and walks nose-
first into an uncooperative door.
     "I have a friend in door repair division," Riker informs
him.
     The annoying lieutenant glances this way and that, breathing
deeply and angrily.  He hits his commbadge.
     "Annoying lieutenant to Security!  Send ten security guards
to my location!"
     Riker stands.
     "The more the merrier."
     He saunters over to the replicator.
     "Hungry?  I'm having Klingon.  Computer, a big bowl of
gakh."
     The food appears in the replicator.
     "O-o-o-h," says Riker in mock disappointment.  "It's cold.
Computer, heat up this gakh.  Say, three hundred degrees
celsius."
     He calmly places a clothes pin on his nose as the gakh
begins to pop and fume.
     The annoying lieutenant staggers and tries to support
himself with the back of a chair.
     "Gakh!"
     Thud.
     There's a loud pounding on the door.  Riker opens it with a
jury-rigged TV remote control.  Security guards pour in.
     All: "Gakh!!!"  Multiple thuds.
     Riker calmly moves about the room, collecting phasers and
commbadges.
     Door Repair Guy enters, with a clothes pin on his nose.
     Riker: "Now the battle bridge."
     "Hey!  What about all this great food?"
     Riker gives an underwhelmed look and hurries from the room,
stuffing phasers and commbadges into the pockets of his overalls.

     The main bridge.  Doctor Crusher sits in the command chair.
The officer at tactical looks up and announces, "Sensor probe
data burst just received."
     "Do we have visual?"
     "It's blurry.  Computer-enhancing."
     "On screen."
     Gasps.
     "The probe must have just missed them!"
     We see an enormous image of one of the windows in the Battle
Section.  Framed in the window is Door Repair Guy, his eyes fixed
on his reflection in the glass, flossing.
     The turbolift door opens.  Picard enters.  He slows as he
sees the image on the viewscreen.
     "Hm."
     The turbolift opens again, this time depositing Worf on the
bridge.  He takes the station at tactical and begins to work
conspicuously.  Shortly, however, he begins to cast covert
glances at the back of Picard's head.  An alarm from the tactical
display pulls his attention back to his work.
     "Captain.  We are picking up a satellite of some kind just
above the edge of the planet.  It is of Federation design.
Conducting search of the near-atmosphere horizon.  There are two
more of them.  We are being monitored, Captain."
     "Is there any other purpose for them to be there that you
can determine?"
     "I am picking up a strange energy pattern.  It is a
transporter signal.  They are transporter relays!"
     "It seems we are being boarded."
     "Shall I raise the shields, Captain?"
     "No, Mr Worf.  We are trying to demonstrate that we are not
the Borg.  Anyone who beams aboard from the Battle Section will
soon see that.  However, do you think those relays could be used
by us to transport someone over to the Battle Section?"
     A look of glory enters Worf's eye.
     "Captain, I volunteer for that mission."
     "Very good, Mr Worf."

[Commercial: Don Cherry for Don Cherry's Grapevine]

     The office of Not Fragile Surgical Implants.  Madeline is
flipping through the latest _Entertainment Weekly_.  There are no
customers.  The transporter effect appears, and Data and Geordi
materialize with phasers drawn.  Madeline chews her gum and waits
to see what's next.
     "Come for a procedure, or what?"
     Data steps forward.
     "Aha!  Now it all comes clear.  This is the nerve centre for
your evil assimilation plan.  Well, perhaps it will interest you
to know that we are just the leading edge of an army of nanite-
infested Federation shock troops."
     "Yeah.  Right."
     "Well, perhaps you would believe that at this very moment
the Federation's new subspace jammer is being trained on this
ship from the planet below."
     "As if."
     "Would you believe that I just unscrewed all the fuses in
the fusebox down the hall?"
     Geordi takes Data's arm.  "We're not getting anywhere here,
Data.  Let's try Plan B."
     They touch controls on their armbands and disappear.
     Madeline shakes her head and goes back to her magazine.
     "Have a pleasant day."

     A corridor.  The transporter effect.  Worf appears, dressed
in a black cat burglar outfit with a length of rope looped over
one shoulder and the bat'telh looped over the other on a leather
strap.  He immediately takes a martial arts posture and advances
stealthily down the corridor, keeping an eye open in all
directions.  Spotting a Jefferies Tube hatch he pulls it open and
disappears inside.  We hear him climbing away, the bat'telh
clanking against the Tube wall.

[Bob:

     "Okay!  Great episode, eh?  The programming guy says this
episode runs long, so I only have enough time to . . . ."]

[Commercial: Don Cherry for Rock'Em Sock'Em Hockey VII]

     The battle bridge.  A nervous ensign squirms in the command
chair.
     "I hope the annoying lieutenant hurries back.  I don't think
I can take the pressures of command much longer."
     "Computer says he and ten security personnel are
approaching."
     "Whew."
     Riker and Door Repair Guy enter.  Jaws drop.  Riker covers
the bridge with a phaser in each hand while Door Repair Guy
disables the door control.
     "Intruder alert!" squeaks the nervous ensign.
     Everyone pauses, waiting for some kind of response.  Door
Repair Guy bows deeply, removes his baseball cap, straightens up
again and shakes the hat, producing the sound of loose isolinear
chips.
     "Please do not adjust your set.  Audio problems originate at
the network."
     Riker steps around the edge of the bridge until he stands
beside the viewscreen.
     "I think we have the situation well in hand.  Computer,
where are the renegades Data and La Forge?"
     *Lt. Cmdrs. Data and La Forge are not aboard the Battle
Section*
     "Huh?  Where are they?"
     The nervous ensign puts up his hand.
     "Yes?  You."
     "They beamed over to the Borg ship."
     "BORG SHIP???!!!  On screen!"
     An image of the Borgoprise below the south pole appears.
     Riker turns on Door Repair Guy, eyes ablaze with anger.
     "You're working for the Borg!  Goddammit, I think you are a
Borg!"  He points a phaser right at our hero and fires.  Door
Repair Guy hits his forearm just as the phased energy stream hits
him.  He disappears in a burst of light.
     Riker turns toward the bridge crew, the smoking phaser in
his hand.  They shift uncomfortably in their chairs.  His eyes
move from person to person.
     "Helm.  Is there a nebula anywhere near here?"
     "Y-yes, sir.  Five point four light years from here, heading
185 mark 67."
     "Go there."
     "Aye, aye, sir.  Speed, sir?"
     "Fast."
     The Battle Section turns and burns.

     The main bridge.  The officer standing at the tactical
station suddenly looks from place to place on the console and
exclaims: "Captain, the Battle Section has broken orbit.  It's
heading straight for the Dominus McGregor Nebula."
     Picard jumps out of his chair and takes a few steps toward
the viewscreen.
     "On screen.  Magnify."
     View of teeny-tiny Battle Section dwindling away toward the
blue and purple nebula.
     Troi rises out of her chair.  "Worf."
     Picard looks back over his shoulder.
     "Don't forget Door Repair Guy."
     The slightest look of annoyance crosses her face.
     "I nearly had."
     Picard stands gazing at the viewscreen.  He passes his hand
back over his scalp and rubs the base of his skull, trying to
think of a good reason to follow the Battle Section into the
nebula.
     Data and La Forge materialize with phasers drawn.
     "So, Locutus, thought you could pull the old I-Don't-Have-
Any-Tubes-Sticking-Out-Of-Me-So-No-One-Will-Suspect-I'm-Really-A-
Borg trick.  Well, I've seen that one just once too often."
     Troi: "Data!  Geordi!  How did you get here?"
     "Would you believe we just beamed in off the bridge of the
flagship of the largest space armada ever assembled in the
history of the Federation?"
     "No."
     "Would you believe there are six cloaked birds of prey just
off the starboard bow?"
     "Not really."
     "How about a shuttlecraft and a Mr Freezie wagon?"
     Picard: "Look, Data, Geordi, I'm not Locutus, I'm Jean-Luc
Picard.  And there's Counsellor Troi, and there's Doctor Crusher.
We haven't been assimilated by the Borg.  It's confederation."
     Geordi: "Ah, just like nineteenth-century Canada, the model
for all subsequent civilized societies."
     Everyone: "That's right!"
     Geordi puts his arm around Data's shoulders.
     "Well, pal, looks like we made it.  We're home again."
     "And loving it."
     Troi: "Captain.  Are we going to pursue the Battle Section
into the nebula?"
     "No, Counsellor, it's a trap.  We'll let them play the
Fourteen Hunters for a while, while we dine upon the golden eggs
of Borghol.  Ensign, lay in a course for the Theta Cuniculi
system.  Let's see if there's any life on the planet Mopsa."
     "Aye aye, Captain," says Acting Ensign Edwina.  She stands
on tiptoes in front of the console, pressing controls with her
two index fingers, while her tongue sticks out the corner of her
mouth in concentration.
     The Borgoprise shoots off in a burst.
[Music.  Credits.]

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

Episode Six — North and South

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