Lore Repair

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Episode 12 — Lore Repair

     The bridge.  Data is at Ops.  He feels a small hand on his
shoulder.  He looks behind him.
     Acting Ensign Dweenie: "Are we there yet?"

     The brig.  Security Guard Braun is at the control console. 
Riker, Door Repair Guy, and the as-yet-unnamed tactical officer
are in the confinement cell.  The tactical officer is saying:
     ". . . and that's how I saved fourteen lives.  After that I
had a short assignment on the Redoubtable, but it didn't take
long for the story of the rescue to spread through Starfleet and
I was offered a place on the Enterprise."
     Riker: "And well deserved, too."  He turns to Door Repair
Guy, pauses, and then goes ahead and asks, "What about you?  You
must have done something remarkable to get the Enterprise."
     Door Repair Guy wipes his nose with the back of his hand,
sits back, about to begin, glances down at the back of his hand,
wipes it absentmindedly on the seat of his overalls, looks toward
the ceiling in thought, and says:
     "It was the best of times.  It was the worst of times. . ."
     Hours later, Ursula has a glazed look and the tactical
officer is nearly catatonic, his head jerking up occasionally as
he struggles not to begin snoring.  Door Repair Guy is working up
to the fortieth or fiftieth anticlimax: " . . and so there I was,
outmanned twenty to one, with nothing but a ball-peen hammer and
a quart of vanilla yogurt . . ."
     Riker: "Were you killed?"
     DRG is taken aback: "Have I told this one before?"

     A corridor.  Worf is ambling along.  He meets Doctor Selar. 
She inclines her head in greeting and carries on past him.  He
slows and stops, vaguely bothered by something about her.  He
turns and stares after her, and then continues on his way,
murmuring to himself.

     "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."
                    Star Trek: Door Repair Guy


                    Starring Door Repair Guy 
                         as Himself


                         Also Starring

                         Patrick Stewart
                    as Captain Jean-Luc Picard


                         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

                         and Brent Spiner
                       as Lt. Cmdr. Data

     The Enterprise goes to warp drive in a clap of thunder,
despite the fact that in the vacuum of space such an auditory
phenomenon would not -- okay, okay.

[Commercial: Nike:
     Godzilla is trashing Tokyo.  The mighty lizard's tail swings
through block after block of office towers, demolishing them all. 
The Japanese air force is powerless before his awesome might. 
But suddenly the creature stops.  What new opponent is this that
has appeared?  It is Reg Barclay.  Barclay holds up a basketball. 
Godzilla slips on his sport shades and knocks the ball loose with
his tail.  Barclay is taken by surprise, but recovers, grabbing
the ball and driving his elbow into Godzilla's throat.  He slam-
dunks the ball.  Two points!  As they stroll off through the
rubble there is a new respect between them.  Barclay holds up a
finger and says, "You know, you know, you really o-ought to . . .
consider pro basketball."]

     "Captain's Log, stardate 49614.2.  We are moving toward the
final of the habitable planets of this cluster, Petrus.  Once we
have investigated that world the Enterprise will have
accomplished two of its three objectives, the first being the
reunification of the ship, following Commander Riker's unexpected
hijacking of the Battle Section, the second the exploration of
the far distant Cuniculi Cluster in which we find ourselves, and
the third the safe return through the wormhole to our own space. 
The clue provided by the Grand Nagus -- the word `on-ramp' -- has
assisted us in formulating a theory as to the nature of the
     Conference room.  Data is standing beside the computer
display screen, briefing the senior staff.
     "The word `on-ramp' derives from the North American highway
construction boom of the 1950s.  It refers to an inclined and/or
curved section of asphalt-paved highway specifically designed to
feed automobile traffic from a local street grid to a multiple-
laned panjurisdictional highway network.  Assuming that the
Ferengi information is reliable it would appear that the wormhole
through which we travelled to our present location is not of the
conventional variety leading from point A to point B but rather a
continuous system or loop with multiple `on-ramps' and `off-
ramps' providing access to and from an as-yet undetermined number
of destinations."
     Picard: "Could such a system have arisen naturally?"
     "Unlikely, Captain.  It is my belief that an earlier
civilization learned how to control the forces governing
wormholes and used that knowledge to create the wormhole
superhighway.  The extent of chipmunk evolution on the planet
Mopsa would tend to substantiate the hypothesis of an early
construction, as would the apparent absence of regular users."
     Picard: "Roman roads.  The Roman road system was employed
for centuries after the Empire itself had passed away.  Have we
any idea how to recognize the exits once we enter this
     "At the moment, no.  However, I believe a careful
examination of the sensor records of both the Battle and Saucer
Sections' passage through the wormhole will provide the necessary
     "Make it so."

     The brig.  A message appears on the security console.  Guard
Braun becomes all business.  She stands, draws her weapon, and
deactivates the security forcefield.
     "Door Repair Guy, come out."
     "Aw!  Why?"
     "Your period of detention is over.  Commander Data wants to
see you in his quarters.  Roll out."
     He stands.
     "Well, fellas, it's been a blast, but I gots to go."
     Riker and the tactical officer give him a baleful look.
     DRG: "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
     Tactical officer: "As if we would do anything you would do."
     DRG, with a big smile: "You mean, like, get out of jail?" 
He does a little hop over the confinement cell threshold and
speed-walks out the door.
     Riker and tactical officer: "Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr."

[Commercial: Nike:
     "I . . . I am not a role model.  I am not paid . . . to
raise your kids.  I am paid (raising his voice) to go out there
and calibrate, and calibrate those verterium cortenide warp!
field! coil! segments! . . . Oh.  Sorry."]

     The door chimes.
     Door Repair Guy enters Data's quarters.
     "You wanted to see me, sir?"
     "Yes, technician.  I am about to begin work on a close
examination of the sensor records of the wormhole, a task I
estimate will consume approximately fourteen hours thirty-two
minutes and nine seconds.  To facilitate consultation with other
members of the wormhole task-force, I shall be working in the
astrophysics lab.  This creates a scheduling conflict."
     "With what?"
     "Feline replenishment."
     "The cat!"  DRG hits his personal deflector function key,
surrounding himself with translucent rectangular Borg-designed
     Spot pads across the entrance to the next room, barely
acknowledging him.
     Data: "I have called upon you because I know that you and
Spot were able to establish a relationship during the absence of
the Battle Section."
     "We have had words."
     "Please follow the menu and timetable laid out on this memo
pad.  You will see that the next feeding is in forty-three
seconds.  If you have any questions I will be in Astrophysics."
     Exit Data.
     DRG regards Spot.
     "A dead mouse wouldn't do you any harm."
     He puts out the food -- Feline Supplement #72 -- and then
explores Data's quarters a bit.  He opens a drawer and lifts out
Lore's head.
     "Spare parts!  Cool, I think there's a complete set here.  I
wonder . . ."

     The brig.  Troi enters.  Security Guard Ursula snaps to
     "At ease, crewwoman.  I'm here to see Commander Riker."
     Riker rises from his bench and musters as much of his
evaporated authority as he can.
     "Will, let's cut the bull.  You started all this because you
saw Worf and me in Ten Forward."
     "You were trying to swallow each other's tongues."
     "I see.  It's very strange that after all these years at
your observation post at Guinan's bar you should start getting
jealous now.  We've both had all sorts of love affairs, and I
think that it's very unfair that when I finally meet a man who
smells like day-old gakh you go off the deep end."
     Riker tries to look hurt and dignified at once.
     "I was going through a very trying period."
     "So you thought you could solve the problem by creating a
larger problem."
     "That's him.  Mr Unorthodoxy."
     Riker knocks the tactical officer out of his seat with a
well-aimed backhander.
     "Well, you listen to me, Will Riker.  Who I go out with is
my own business, and if that means your having to put up with the
thought of Worf and me, then you'll just have to get used to it!"
     She stomps out.
     "Wow, what a woman."
     Riker falls on the tactical officer with fists flying.

     The wooden doors of Ten Forward swoosh open and Troi hurries
in, evidently full of conflicting emotions.  She looks around,
hoping to see Worf, to talk about it.  Suddenly she lurches and
grabs on to the bar for support.
     Worf and Dr Selar are in the corner, nibbling.

     Lore opens his eyes with a look that says he can't believe
his luck.  He regards Door Repair Guy, who is gazing down
admiringly at his repair work, smiles maliciously, and flattens
him with an elbow to the chin.  Then he moves over to the work
     "So, brother, what have you been working on?  Hm.  Wormhole
superhighway.  How very useful.  Here, Spot!"
     He grabs the cat by the scruff.
     "We're going on a little ride."

     The bridge.
     "Captain, a shuttlecraft is leaving Shuttlebay Three without
     "Ineffective, sir."
     "Open a channel."
     "The shuttle does not respond."
     "Transporter room, beam that pilot out of there."
     "I can't get a lock, sir.  There's some kind of pattern
scrambler at work."
     "Tractor beam."
     "Sir, tractor beams are down!"
     "Fire across their bow!"
     View of Enterprise firing a phaser beam past the departing
     "They don't appear to mind that, sir."
     "This has gone far enough!  Ensign, prepare to . . ."
     The wormhole engulfs the shuttlecraft.
     Picard sits down.

     The door-monitoring station deep in the bowels of the
Engineering Hull.  The half-Scottish, half-Benzite ensign locks
his computer console, reaches down for a spray bottle, sprays the
console with cleaning fluid and, humming happily, rubs away the
fingerprints and dust.  He stows away his cleaning materials,
gazes with satisfaction at his reflection, and reactivates the
console.  Immediately a red light comes on.  He enters commands,
and the computer calls up an image of a sticking door on deck
thirteen.  He touches his commbadge.
     "Door Control to Door Repair Guy.  Please proceed to deck
thirteen, sector zero three four two.  Sticking door."
     He sits back.
     "Door Repair Guy.  Do you read me?"
     "Door Repair Guy.  Please reply."
     Still nothing.
     "Computer, please locate Door Repair Guy."
     *Door Repair Guy is in Lt Cmdr Data's quarters*
     "Is he well?"
     *He is out cold*
     "Ye damned contraption!  Did ye not think tae alert anyone?"
     *I am not programmed to advance the plot*
     "For pity's sake!"

     Data, Worf and Doctor Crusher cautiously enter Data's
quarters.  Doctor Crusher and Worf crouch down beside the prone
figure of Door Repair Guy, Worf just long enough to see what's up
before looking around for intruders.
     Data: "Here, Spot.  Here, Spot.  Curious.  Spot appears to
be missing."
     Worf: "Perhaps the creature overwhelmed him and escaped."
     Doctor Crusher: "He's out cold all right.  This should bring
him around."  She presses a hypospray, the 24th century
equivalent of smelling salts, to DRG's neck.
     DRG: "Mrmwmph."
     Doctor Crusher: "Do you remember who did this to you?"
     DRG rolls onto one elbow, alternately opening one and then
the other eye.
     "Gordie Howe?"
     Data: "Doctor, Lieutenant.  I think I have discovered the
identity of the assailant."
     The camera moves forward and gazes into the empty drawer

[Commercial: Nike:
     ". . . through the rings of Saturn, off the Martian moons
Phobos *and* Deimos, off the Hubble Space Telescope, over the
expressway, through the window, nothing but net."]

     View of the Enterprise coming up to the planet Petrus.
     The bridge.
     "Entering standard orbit, Captain."
     "Very good, Ensign.  Scan for life forms."
     A soft white glow suddenly suffuses the bridge.  The bridge
crew are taken by surprise, turning and grabbing the backs of
their chairs, looking for the source of the light.
     "We are being scanned, Captain!"
     "So I surmised, ensign.  Is it coming from the planet?"
     "Unknown, sir.  The instruments are picking nothing up."
     "My ears are.  I'm getting a very high, ethereal harmonic. 
Do you hear that?"
     "I do."
     "I do."
     "I don't.  I'm tone deaf."
     "I think we agree it's there.  Is there anything . . ."
     A being has appeared on the upper-left-hand corner of the
bridge.  It is afloat about two feet off the floor, clad in folds
of white cloth, with wings.  It is either a source of light or
possesses a very high albedo.  (Look it up.)  Its cranium is
surrounded by locks of long wavy hair.  Its facial expression is
one of acute observation and severe, penetrating judgement.  It
rolls majestically and gymnastically through the volume of air
just above the heads of those on the lower portion of the bridge,
gazing calmly and unnervingly from one upturned face to the next. 
When it has had a good look at everyone at turns and surveys the
bridge, then with a starchy snap of the wings disappears through
the ceiling.  The lighting returns to normal.  The music fades.
     "Captain, reports of angels are coming in from all parts of
the ship."
     Picard looks annoyed at this development.  He's not sure
captains outrank angels.
     "Ensign, have . . ."
     "Captain!  The wormhole!"
     Special effects shot of the wormhole spreading open like a
time-lapsed-photography blue and orange rose in a National
Geographic nature film, only bigger.  The missing shuttlecraft
     "It's the shuttlecraft, Captain!  They're on an intercept
     "Lock on tractor beams."
     "Tractor beams locked on."
     (What we have just seen here is a storytelling convention
called conflation of time.  Shakespeare employs it in a number of
plays.  It is designed to avoid those long stretches of boredom
when everyone knows something is about to happen but, because of
the laws of physics, it's not ready to happen yet.  In fact the
distance between the wormhole and the planet Petrus is several
dozen light-years.  The Enterprise could not have locked on
tractor beams for several hours.  Existential writers have
noticed that most of life is spent in the state of waiting for
the inevitability that conflation of time is intended to gloss
over.  In _Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead_, for instance,
two characters whom the audience know are going to come to a
sorry end--if they have read _Hamlet_ or bothered to read the
front page of the program--spend the entire play running around
trying to discover the purpose of their lives.  The moral of the
story, then, would seem to--Huh?  Oh, Jeez!  They're talking! 
     ". . . and surrender your vessel."
     "If you believe for one moment that I am about to turn my
ship over to some renegade in a shuttlecraft, you are sadly
mistaken, sir."
     "You assume that bigger means stronger, Captain.  Why don't
you try this on?"
     At this moment Worf, Data and Doctor Crusher burst out of
the turbolift.
     "Captain, it's . . ."
     Lore materializes on the bridge beside the helmsman, whom he
swats out of the chair before assuming it himself.  A shimmering
red-tinged forcefield leaps up around him just in time to begin
absorbing Worf's phaser fire.  Lore glances at the ensign at Ops,
smirks, and begins to input orders on the helm console.  The
lights go down.
     Geordi: "Captain, he's shutting down life support.  Now the
structural integrity field is going.  He's opening the shuttlebay
doors.  He's evacuating the ship's air!"
     "Mr Data, can you override?"
     "Captain, he is activating a series of preset commands. 
They are ingeniously hidden and protected.  It will take me some
time to undo them."
     "Time we do not appear to have, Mr Data.  I'm afraid I have

     "Yikes!  I haven't seen this one yet.  Normally when the new
episode arrives at the station a bunch of us go into the editing
booth with a case of beer and a family pack of Doritoes and kind
of kick back and make a party out of it.  Sure breaks up a
Tuesday morning.  But I was on location.  How are they ever going
to get out of this one?"
     A hand appears from off-camera.
     "This just handed me.  Oh, yeah, like I'm going to read that
on the air.  You're just sore cause I gave out the truth about
your Tuesday morning chiropractor appointments.  Gimme the real
one.  Okay, this just in.  Paramount announces that the season
finale of Star Trek: Door Repair Guy will be a two-hour special. 
Because they have too many story lines and they can't tie them
all up in one hour.  So, more work for Programme Scheduling Guy."
     Strangled cry from off-camera.
     Bob looks chipper.]

[Commercial: Mennen Speed Stick:
     Barclay: "Anything less would be . . . (smiles) . . .
(hesitates) . . . (forgets the word) . . . (panics) . . .
(smiles) . . . (blushes) . . . (looks down) . . . (looks off-
camera) . . . (crosses his arms defensively) . . . (opens and
closes his mouth) . . . (shouts:) Oh! . . . (twists with
embarrassment) . . . (remembers the word!) . . . un . . . uh 
. . . uncivilized!"  (Grins and slowly slides his hands upward
into his armpits to hide the half-moons of perspiration.]

     The brig.  Riker and the unnamed tactical officer are
jumping up and down and shouting, "What's going on?  What's going
     Ursula is furiously reading her console and shouting,
"Intruder alert!  Life support down!  Hull integrity compromised! 
Abandon ship!"  At this last one she hits a control and the
containment field disappears, releasing the prisoners.
     At this moment Door Repair Guy materializes in the room.
     "Hey, guys.  What's up?"
     Tactical officer: "What's up?  Abandon ship is up!"
     "That'll be Lore.  Quite an elbow on that guy."
     "I don't believe you!"
     "No, it's true."
     "No, I mean I can't understand what you're even doing in
     Riker grabs the two of them by the collars and says, "We're
not abandoning anything.  We're going to save the ship.  Ursula,
are you with us?"
     Ursula squares her shoulders and says, "You've treated me
shabbily in the past, Commander, but for the sake of the ship
I'll follow you."
     "Excellent.  You."  (Shaking DRG.)  "Pull off that panel and
break out the breathing gear.  We've got some infiltrating to

[Commercial: Nike:
     "I've heard a lot of talk about Reg's holodeck.  How he
never gets any work done.  How he's losing touch with reality. 
Wrong!  He's in the holodeck, he's interactive!  He's in the mud
wrestling, he's got the babes, he's saving the ship.  What are
you doing?  Watching Star Trek.  Well, I'm coming *knock knock*
in there and I'm bringing Reg, the Goddess of Empathy, the pie-
eating Wesley, the whole holodeck with me!  Hello!"]

     View of the Enterprise in orbit above Petrus.  Looking down
from above, we see little square ports opening in the upper
surface of the saucer and dozens and dozens of cubical lifeboats
rocketing away from the ship.
     A corridor in the Enterprise.  The scene is one of well-
orchestrated chaos.  Crewmembers are tearing the panels off the
walls to reveal the lifeboat hatches.  Division leaders are
organizing evacuation parties and briefing them as they enter the
lifeboats.  Newly-replicated copies of _Star Trek: The Next
Generation Technical Manual_ are in evidence everywhere,
computer-dog-eared at page 174.  As we watch, the last parties
clear the corridor.  The traffic officers give each other the
thumbs up and climb into their own capsules, just as the doors to
the turbolift at the end of the hallway automatically open and
the air in the corridor cascades away at hurricane speed down
into the turboshaft, carrying the spare technical manuals away
like crazy, flapping birds.
     The bridge.  Lore is at the helm, inside his force field. 
Data is at the tactical station.  Both are busy overriding one
another.  Picard, Doctor Crusher, Worf, Troi and Geordi are also
present, acting as a command centre for the evacuation.
     Worf: "Two hundred and fourteen lifeboats away."
     Picard: "Good.  Now I want the five of you to get into the
remaining lifeboats on deck two and begin to gather the other
boats together into gaggle formation.  The more boats you can
join together the better."
     Troi: "Captain, what about you?"
     Doctor Crusher: "Jean-Luc, you're not planning to go down
with the ship."
     "That is my own affair."
     Data: "Request permission to remain aboard, Captain.  Lore
and I have very similar neural processes.  I believe I have the
opportunity to outmanoeuvre him if I can remain at a computer
console.  Also, the chance that Lore will eject the atmosphere
from the bridge once one of the turbolift cars has left is very
good.  I can operate for some time in vacuum conditions.  You
     "Perhaps you're right.  I'll go to the captain's yacht.  Mr
LaForge, will you join me?"
     "Aye, sir."
     "Good luck, Data."
     "Thank you, sir."
     The turbolift doors close on the Captain, Geordi, Doctor
Crusher, Worf and Troi.
     Lore turns around in his chair.
     "So, brother, alone at last."
     "Lore, what have you done with my cat?"
     "Why, Spot's in good hands."
     He activates a control.  A figure materializes on the far
side of the bridge, a glossy, petroleum-covered figure, holding
an oily and miserable cat.
     Lore winks and indicates him with a tilt of the head.
     "Sort of gets under your skin after a while, doesn't he?"

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

Episode 12 — Lore Repair

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