Door Repair Kai, Part One


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Episode 40 — Door Repair Kai, Part One

     Shot of alien shuttlecraft speeding through space.
     Cut to the shuttlecraft interior.  We see Door Repair Guy
slumped sideways in the navigator's seat.  A hand extends into
the shot and presses a hypospray to his neck.  He jumps awake.
     "Whoa!  What was that?"
     The spokeswoman of the Founders: "Caffeine."
     He twitches.  "It works."  He blinks at the viewscreen. 
"Where are we?"
     "We are in the Gamma Quadrant now."
     "GQ.  All right."
     The shapeshifter studies him.
     DRG: "What."
     "We Founders have expended considerable effort to bring
order to our quadrant of the galaxy.  Ancient empires and
powerful warring states have been subordinated and reorganized
according to rational and systematic principles.  Order now
prevails across a significant fraction of the galaxy.  The
appearance of the Bajoran Wormhole has offered us an opportunity
to continue our work in the Alpha Quadrant.  But I sometimes
wonder whether the seed of entropy, by which it all shall be
undone, has not already been sown."
     It takes him a moment to catch her drift.
     "You're talking about me?"
     "Your species exhibits a disturbing amalgam of invention and
insouciance.  You make things up.  You routinely disregard the
consequences of your actions.  You guess.  You do things to see
what will happen next.  You initiate projects, then give up for
lack of interest.  Or else you devote your lives to utterly
worthless pursuits, hoping for the praises of posterity.  The
success of your species is one of the great problems occupying
the Great Link.  By all rights the Klingons should have overrun
you years ago.  You yourself, door repairman -- and we have been
watching you -- are an extreme example of this tendency to
disorder, but there is something of you in every human."
     "And your point is /wonderment/annex-for-creative-arts/star-trek-door-repair-guy/stdrg-s03 /wonderment/annex-for-creative-arts/star-trek-door-repair-guy/stdrg-s03"
     "In order to prepare the ground for a Dominion pacification
of the Alpha Quadrant, it is first necessary to rearrange certain
systems that are already present.  It is a large task.  Bajor
presents a convenient test case.  We find the Bajorans rather
deeper and more centred that humans.  If we can turn them to our
cause we shall be well on our way.  You occupy a position of some
importance within the Bajoran world view, strange as it may seem. 
Your discovery of one of the sacred Orbs has led the Bajorans to
designate you a very minor saint.  If you chose you would command
considerable influence."
     "And what makes you think I'll choose?  I have a contractual
agreement with Starfleet not to go in for stuff like this."
     The Founder nods to the rear of the cabin.  Two Jem'Hadar
warriors decloak and dash at DRG like hungry mastiffs.  They park
themselves behind either shoulder and shout and snarl into his
ears while pointing weapons at different targets on his head.
     "Hm.  Threatened by violence.  That unties my hands.  But
what's in it for me?"
     "We are going to make you Kai."
     Camera closes in on surprised Door Repair Guy realizing it
could come true.


     An icy asteroid rolls by, spewing cometary material.
     "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."
     Deep Space Nine space station drifts into view.  A runabout
shoots past, revealing the words:


               Star Trek: Door Repair Guy


                         Starring

                    Door Repair Guy as
                         Himself

                    Avery Brooks as
                         Commander Sisko

                    Rene Auberjonois as
                         Odo

                    Siddig El Fadil as
                         Doctor Bashir

                    Terry Farrell as
                         Lieutenant Dax

                    Colm Meany as
                         Chief O'Brien

                    Armin Shimerman as
                         Quark

                    Cirroc Lofton as
                         Jake Sisko

                    Nana Visitor as
                         Major Kira

                    Salome Jens as
                         the Shapeshifter

                    Camille Saviola as
                         Kai Opaka


[Commercial: Windows 95 / "Start Me Up"]


     View of the alien shuttlecraft at rest on a jagged planetary
surface.  The Founder steps watchfully from the space vessel,
followed by Door Repair Guy.
     Founder: "It should go without saying, but let me remind you
to remember not to be killed.  The consequences are unpleasant."
     DRG: "You're telling me.  One time I got killed, and I had
the worst hangover afterwards."
     She regards him.
     "You there!"
     They turn and find themselves in the sights of a homemade
disruptor wielded by a ferocious, scarified ruffian dressed in
leather armour.
     "Hands up!"
     The thug comes forward and frisks them.  He retrieves a
portable eight track player and several cassettes from the
pockets on DRG's overalls.  He glances at the labels as he backs
off.
     "YMCA?  Is that some sort of code?  What does it stand for?"
     DRG: "Your mother can't act."
     The thug sticks the disruptor in DRG's face.
     "You leave my mother out of it!"
     The Founder: "The Kai will be displeased if you harm her
protege."
     "Protege?"
     "Has she not taught you the Prophecies?"
     "Prophecies?  Well.  Yeah."
     "Please recite the seventeenth prophecy of Vedek Yalult."
     "Um.  'And there shall be nobody at the door, but the
doorkeeper himself will bear a message.'"
     "Here is the doorkeeper of which the prophecy speaks."
     DRG looks at her, surprised.  The thug, out of his depth
theologically, tries to figure out their game, and can't. 
     "The Kai will decide that!  This way!"
     The two head off under the leather man's suspicious gaze.


[Commercial: Ringo Starr for cheese in the pizza crust]


     View of Deep Space Nine.  Cut to a corridor in the Habitat
Ring.  Commander Sisko, Lieutenant Dax, and Chief O'Brien advance
down the corridor and halt before the police-tape-criss-crossed
and security-guard-guarded door of Door Repair Guy.  Two security
guards come to attention.
     Sisko: "I have the authorization of Admiral Nechayev to
enter these premises and conduct a search."
     He hands the order to one of the security guards who reads
it and nods to the other, who keys in the security lockout
override and then carefully begins to unstick the police tape.
     Sisko: "Just tear it, crewman."
     The guard hesitates, then follows Sisko's advice, and Sisko
enters, followed by Dax and O'Brien.  O'Brien and the other guard
give the frugal cop a look.
     Frugal cop: "Waste not, want not."
     Other cop: "I think the United Federation of Planets can
afford another ten feet of tape."
     "Hey, we didn't get into space by throwing money around."
     "As a matter of fact, that's just how we did it.  Build 'em
and burn 'em.  Look at Project Apollo."
     "Ha.  Recycle and reuse.  Look at Skylab."
     "Ha.  Constitution-class starship."
     "Ha.  Martian Colony."
     "Martian Colony?"
     "The whole thing was financed by people saving the money
they would've ordinarily spent on pizza.  They got the idea from
a _Life_ magazine article.  Took a hundred and twelve years."
     "What is pizza?"
     "That's exactly my point."
     "Yeah, but what is it?"
     "I saw it in the food museum once.  It's ooey-gooey."
     "Ooey-gooey?"
     "Yeah, cheese everywhere."
     "Man."
     "Even in the crust."
     "Cheese in the crust?"
     "Gross, eh?"
     "I dunno."
     "You mean you'd eat that?"
     "I wouldn't close my mind to that."
     "Man oh man."
     Cut to the interior of the suite.  Sisko, O'Brien and Dax
are roaming around the room taking tricorder readings.
     O'Brien: "Just what is it we're looking for, Commander?"
     "Answers, Chief.  What do the Founders want with a door
repairman?  For that matter, what did the House of Duras and the
Borg before them see in him?  And how did he get from the Gamma
Quadrant to the Mulch Dimension?  And how did I wind up with this
character on my station in the first place?"
     O'Brien: "Dumb luck?"
     "I've been trying to transfer him for six months but I can't
find a commander in Starfleet who'll agree to a trade.  Now, if
we ever get the man back, the Judge Advocate General is going to
take him without compensation.  If we can only find something
Starfleet Security has missed maybe we can salvage something from
this situation.  So let's approach this methodically, people.  I
want any clue that sheds some light on this man's past or frame
of mind."
     Dax: "I'll check the record collection."
     O'Brien rolls his eyes.
     Sisko: "With all due respect to your former host, Dax, I
question the importance of this man's taste in music."
     Cut to Kai Opaka with the eight track headphones on her
ears, bobbing her head with the disco beat, a smile spreading
across her face.


[Commercial: Pentium Intel Chip / "Satisfaction" (Devo version)]


     A cave.  Door Repair Guy wanders into the shot, hands in his
pockets, shuffling his feet with boredom.  He comes to a rock,
looks around, and sits on it.  It turns all soft.  He yelps and
stands up.  The rock morphs into the shapeshifter looking
embarrassed and slightly discomposed.
     DRG: "Sorry!"
     Shapeshifter: "A natural consequence of our differing
physical natures."
     "It was unintentional."
     "I believe you."
     "I don't go around sitting on . . ."
     "It is better forgotten."
     We see an idea cross his mind.
     "Besides . . . it would never work."
     She turns.
     "No.  No, it wouldn't."
     The leatherman enters.
     "Come.  You are wanted."
     He escorts them through passages toward a large darkened
cavern.  They are suddenly startled by a bank of lights, then a
second, then the first, then the second.  The lights swivel
upward and catch the rotating facets of a mirrored globe, filling
the chamber with fragments of light.  Kai Opaka glides up in
front of them, shouts, "Disco-o-o-o-o-o-o!!!!!!" and the music
begins to pound.


[Bob:
     "It's Bob!  Quick, screen capture!"
     Shot of two kids in front of a Compaq Presario.  CHRO
inhabits a small window in the corner of the screen.  We see Bob
open his mouth to speak, then give a look of surprise as he's
lifted out of the shot and pasted into Dungeon of Torment.  He
jumps up on the computer-animated couch, sees Grendel, leaps into
a rolling ball as three energy bolts shoot by, kicks the Ninja in
the head, grabs the axe, swings at Grendel once, twice, three
times, scores a hit causing Grendel to vapourize, sees the
machine-gun toting transsexual, leaps upward and grabs the
passing albatross by the feet . . .]


[Commercial: America On Line / "Pictures of Lily"]


     The discotheque.  Shot of DRG looking around in some
consternation.  Members of the Ennis and Nol-Ennis, former blood
enemies, are competing on the dance floor.  He looks around.  The
shapeshifter seems to have blended into the crowd.  He raises his
voice to be heard.
     "Kai Oprah."
     "Opaka."
     "Kai Opaka.  We need to talk."
     "Not really!  Your friend has told me all about you.  I
really think you're just the man for this job."
     "I don't know what you know about the Founders, but they're
not what they seem."
     "How many of us are what we seem?"
     "I don't know.  A small number?  The point is they're out to
trick you."
     "Or could it be I'm out to trick them."
     "Oh."  He thinks about this.
     Music:

          "I believe in miracles.
           Where ya been, you sexy thing?"

     "I can't be Kai.  It's crazy."
     She points to him with two disco fingers.
     "The prophecies all point to you."
     "How?"
     "'There will be one in the cloth of a Vedek.'"
     "Orange?  That's Maintainance Division."
     "'He will oversee their coming in and their going out.'"
     He scratches his head.
     "'They shall dance to the sound of trumpets and drums.'"
     He looks around the room.  They are definitely doing that.
     "Well, hm, if you put it that way.  It could be me.  But I
gotta tell ya, I haven't trained for this."
     "Really?  Tell me, what is the Third Law of Door Repair?"
     "Huh?  'The key is under the mat.'"
     "Please explain it in your own words."
     "Well.  People forget where they put the key, and then they
call a repairman for no good reason.  If they'd stop worrying
about what they want to do on the other side they might remember
how to let themselves in."
     "How would you apply that to the Celestial Temple?"
     "The Wormhole?  . . .  Wel-l-l-l-l, I guess everybody's so
concerned about the Dominion that they forget that the Wormhole
isn't just a place to go through but . . ."
     "But?"
     ". . . a place to go."
     "Exactly!  The Bajorans are in peril, repairman.  They need
to be reminded that the dwelling place of the Prophets is the
Celestial Temple.  The Founders, the Federation, the Cardassians
may come and go, but the Prophets are eternal.  The Gates to the
Celestial Temple must remain open."
     "Nearly everyone has tried to destroy the Wormhole at one
time or another."
     "They must not succeed.  You must prevent it.  Remember, you
have the eleventh rank."
     "Yeah.  That's right.  But what's stopping you from going
back and handling this yourself?"
     She gets a faraway look.
     "Once, before I entered the monastery, I was the religious
leader of a small farming village.  This is my village now.  And
these are my people."
     "This is what the Founders brought me here for, you know. 
I'd be doing their dirty work.  They flattened New Bajor, and now
they want to take over Bajor itself."
     "They are shapeshifters.  We would turn them into us."
     A statutesque blonde Swedish woman approaches them.  She
takes DRG by the arm.
     "You want to hustle, no?"
     He turns to Opaka as he's drawn out onto the dance floor.
     "I believe you."


[Commercial: Commodore 64/ "Put Another Nickel in the
          Nickleodeon"]


     DRG's quarters.  Sisko, O'Brien and Dax continue to search
the premises.  We see O'Brien flip through his two-hundred-and-
fifty-ninth _Field and Stream_, finding nothing but the
advertising insert, which falls out like all the rest before it. 
He bends, stiffens, and straightens with a groan.
     Sisko: "What is it, Chief?"
     O'Brien: "Nothing, just me flamin' back."
     "Report to Doctor Bashir as soon as we get done here."
     "If we ever get done here.  Have you ever seen such an dog's
breakfast of useless and antiquated odds and sods?  I mean, look
at this."  He gestures toward a jackhammer.
     Dax is scanning the walls carefully.  We see her pause,
examine a dovetail joint in a pattern of interlocking metal
Cardassian tiles, and push against the opposite sides of two
adjacent tiles.  They fold apart like a Chinese puzzle.  Behind
them is a cubby-hole.  She retrieves an isolinear rod and waggles
it in the air triumphantly.
     Sisko: "Play it."
     She slips it into DRG's Sony Iso 5000.  On the monitor the
figure of a Cardassian in facepaint and flowing garb appears,
performs several poses with an inflated bladder on a stick, and
warbles in a headsplitting musical scale.
     O'Brien: "Jaysis Murphy!  Cardassian folk-dancing!  Cut the
power!"
     Sisko: "Wait!"
     The folk-dance recording breaks up and is replaced by a
head-and-shoulders shot of a single Cardassian.  The scene is
dark and the Cardassian is visible in little more detail than
silhouette, but it is obvious that the man is very seriously ill. 
He speaks in a quiet, faltering voice:
     "This is the final disposition of Borot, assistant
underquartermaster of the space station Terok Nor.  I am making
this recording in the hope that it may escape the attention of my
enemies, as I have not, and someday fall into the hands of some
disinterested party who may judge it for its true worth.  For
some months I have been growing increasingly ill from arsenic
poisoning despite my efforts to counter the effects, and I now
have only days of life remaining.  I believe my murderer is my
friend and messmate Nufrek to whose delicious yamok sauce I have
long been addicted.  Nufrek and I have both been engaged in
treasonous and criminal activities against the state, the
punishment for which is execution, so I consider myself not 
unjustly but unkindly served.  What act have I committed to
deserve execution, you wonder?  I have used my position in the
station quartermaster's office to smuggle a Bajoran Orb from the
hands of the Cardassian government.  I have done this at the
behest of the religious leader of the Bajorans, one Kai Opaka. 
Why, you ask me?  Because I recognize the affinity between the
Cardassian and Bajoran peoples.  I have been a student of
Cardassian folk-music since my youth, and consider it the peak
not only of Cardassian culture, but of all civilization
everywhere.  I know that all educated Cardassians will agree. 
One day on the planet I witnessed a child in a Bajoran work camp
perform a dance I myself had learned at that age.  When I asked
the Bajorans what Cardassian had taught the child the dance they
claimed (though reluctantly and only after the threat of
punishment) that it was an ancient Bajoran dance.  My researches
later proved this to be true.  Whether the Bajorans learned the
dance from the Cardassians, or vice versa, I do not know, but the
incident convinced me that the Occupation is misguided and
destructive to both the Bajoran and Cardassian cultures.  When I
was approached by Kai Opaka to hide an Orb from the authorities,
I agreed, though I knew the consequences.  I took Nufrek into my
confidence, but I now see it was a fatal mistake.  Who has turned
him against me I do not know, but fortunately I have kept the
location of the Orb a secret, one that will die when I die.  I am
making this recording not knowing who will find it or when, but
if the discoverer is Gul Ducat" -- a fit of coughing overtakes
him -- "eat my shorts."
     Dax pumps a fist.
     "Yes!"
     O'Brien and Sisko, both of whom have been moved by the
recording, stare at her in disbelief.
     Dax (regaining her professional poise): "I called it, you
see.  Borot acting alone.  Major Kira and Doctor Bashir owe me
dinner in the Klingon restaurant."
     O'Brien: "Bloody charming."
     Sisko: "Dax, please be so good as to alert Constable Odo of
this new evidence in the Borot case."
     "Okay!"
     She's off, ponytail flying.
     O'Brien: "I hope I don't go that strange when I'm her age."


[Commercial: Corel Draw / "Paint It Black"]


     A street scene in the Old Quarter of 24th-century Paris. 
Lovers stroll from newsstand to newsstand.  A restored 21th-
century Citroen roars past, honking at Parisians on grav-
scooters.  The camera moves toward an antique Volkswagen Beetle
pulled up against the curb.  A constable of the Surete is writing
a ticket.
     Constable: "Stupid Boche auto.  Do you not know it is one
hour parking seulement?  Can you not read the notification, you
illiterate conveyance?  This is France.  You cannot park with
impunity.  Here we have regulations, you know.  I will write you
a ticket, and then you will understand, will you not?  Haw haw,
yes, then I think you will understand a little better.  Your
stopping will take on a new complexion, I warrant you.  Perhaps
then you will observe the posted regulation.  Imbecilic voiture."
     He continues to write, then glances indignantly from pad to
pen.  He clicks the pen repeatedly, tries to continue writing
with it, then holds it between his thumb and forefinger and
addresses it:
     "Idiot pen.  You are out of ink."
     He thrusts the pen between his ear and the brim of his
pillbox hat.  Then he puts his fists on his hips and glances
angrily this way and that as he works on a solution to his
dilemma.  Through the rest of the scene a trickle of black ink
grows down the side of his face toward his collar.  Meanwhile, in
the background, a man in a black cap and mask is robbing a
passerby.  The passerby puts his hands up and shouts for help as
the robber frisks him and relieves him of wallet, watch, and
computer pad.  The victim begins to broadcast his appeal directly
to the constable.  The robber pulls out a blackjack, clubs his
victim to the ground, and starts off past the constable.  The
constable grabs him by the arm.
     "One moment please, my good fellow."
     The robber glowers back sullenly.
     Constable: "Do you have a Bic?"
     "Pardonne?"
     "Avez-vous un Bic?!"
     "Un Bic?"
     "Oui!  Un Bic!  Un Bic!"
     "I do not even know what un Bic is."
     "Un pen!  Stylo!  Street ragamuffin that you are!"
     "Ah!  Un Bic!  D'accord!"
     He gives the constable a Bic and steals off.
     The cop writes the ticket and turns with a flourish toward
the Volkswagen.  The car is gone.  He snaps around and searches
the street for the departed robber.
     "That suspicious fellow has somehow absconded with the
voiture."
     He hurries off in pursuit, pausing only to disentangle his
legs from the leash of a supermodel's poodle.  The camera lingers
until the outraged supermodel has dragged the dog past the
unconscious mugging victim, then pans toward the bank of the
Seine.  A woman in a beret is seated at an computer easle, adding
touches pixel by pixel to a nearly completed view of the Left
Bank.  She sits back and lights up a Gallois, releasing blue
smoke into the atmosphere.  She studies the picture critically. 
The camera moves in on the matte painting.  It is a charming
scene, but lacks any reference to Star Trek whatsoever.  She
bends down, rolls the mouse around on the pavement, and with a
double click replaces a chunk of greenery with the palatial
squares of the Federation Unie des Mondes headquarters.
     Cut to a waiting-room outside the office of the President of
the Federation Council.  Admiral Natalie Bartlett, Head of
Starfleet Security, and Captain Morgan Bateson of the USS Bozeman
are seated on a Louis Quatorze chaise lounge.  A large black and
white long-haired feline darts here and there about their feet. 
Captain Bateson, fitted out in 23rd-century dress uniform, has a
somewhat pallid look and is handling his leather portfolio as
though it were in actuality an inflatable life preserver.
     Bartlett: "My, my, Captain, you're sweating like a piano
deliveryman."
     Bateson: "Oh God.  Forgive me, Admiral, but I've never been
in such an important waiting-room before.  Through that door
there are decisions being made that affect the lives of trillions
of people.  You know, I must admit it, this Gamma Trianguli VI
affair has me a little flustered.  I've never encountered such
wholesale mischief as that perpetrated by that Door Repair
fellow.  His movements have left a trail of misdeeds that would
astonish, well, a President of the Federation Council!  Just
think of it.  I've been collecting evidence on that wrongdoer for
months now, travelling from sector to sector, and in a few
moments I'll be briefing the President of the Federation Council. 
Of course you realize a favorable impression could be the key to
a brilliant career.  A faux pas on the other hand could spell
disaster.  Let me tell you it's not easy making up for eight
decades caught in a temporal loop.  A man in my position needs to
leap at every opportunity he can get."
     Bartlett: "And you have."
     Bateson (blushing): "Oh, Admiral."
     His portfolio beeps.  He looks at it in surprise.
     "I told them only to call me in the extremest emergency!"
     He takes out the computer pad.
     "Bateson here!  What is it?"
     *Captain, this is Admiral Nechayev.  I just thought I'd call
to inform you that your suspect has been abducted by the
Founders.  Nechayev out.*
     Bateson sinks into his chair.
     "This is a catastrophe."
     The intercom buzzes on the Secretary's desk across the room.
     "Oui, allo?  Oui?  Tres bien."
     The Secretary addresses them.
     "Ze President will see you in cinq minutes."
     Bateson grabs the arm of the chaise lounge.
     "I can't go in there!  It's suicide!"
     Bartlett: "Calm yourself, Captain."
     "Oh God.  Oh God."
     He wrings his hands and looks for an avenue of escape.  His
eyes fall on the Secretary.  He crosses the carpet on his knees.
     "Mademoiselle Secretary!  Mademoiselle Secretary!"
     He grabs her nameplate off the desk.
     "Mademoiselle Nadon, I implore you, reschedule the
briefing!"
     She makes an indignant snort.  Admiral Bartlett drags him by
the collar to the chaise lounge.  He clutches the nameplate to
his breast and weeps.  He looks around desperately, suddenly
displacing his anxiety.
     "Where's the cat gone?  I knew this would happen!  Felix! 
Felix!"
     Bartlett: "Don't worry, Captain.  I have a subcutaneous
transponder." 
     Bateson (aghast): "My God!  You put a transponder in your
cat?"
     Bartlett (laughs): "No!"
     She holds out the back of her hand in a "kiss my hand"
gesture.  He stares uncomprehendingly at the hand, blinks, takes
it in his, bends forward and stops short as he notices the slight
bulge under the skin.  His eyes widen.  He notices the
voyeuristic smile on the Secretary's face.  He kisses the
Admiral's transponder, sits back with an overabundance of false
bonhommie, throwing his hand in the air and announcing:
     "Vive la difference!"
     The Secretary makes a Parisian sound and returns to her
work.  The intercom buzzes once more.
     "Ze President will see you now."
     Bateson's face takes on a look of renewed dread as Bartlett
bundles him into the President's office, the cat following close
behind. 

------------
Written by Douglas McLeod, ai919@freenet.carleton.ca
------------

Episode 40 — Door Repair Kai, Part One

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