Clicking fish people experiment on the crew
ST:TNG Aliens Messing with us. Again.
(Remember the episode with the fish faced aliens
who wisked away the crew while they slept to
experiment on them?)
Captain's Log, Stardate Supplemental:
Nothing much worthy of mention has occurred
since the time last week when we adminstered the
vasectomy to the giant space snail. We are now in
a rather empty region of space, devoid of aliens
taking over our minds or presenting us with moral
dilemmas.
We are using our free time to follow up on
different cultural pursuits. Dr. Crusher has
gathered a troop of actors to perform one of
Shakespeare's less tedius works in zero gravity.
Mr. Worf is performing the Smush'Glush, the ritual
Klingon beheading ceremony, and Mr. Data has
volunteered to participate. Numba One and Mr.
LaForge, preferring simpler pleasures, spend much
of their time in a house of ill repute, circa
1880, on the holodeck. And as for me, I have kept
up with my painting efforts, although Counselor
Troi has warned me that to hang on the bridge my
latest mural, "Squares on Circles", would only
impair morale. The only one not doing anything to
enrich himself is Chief O'Brien. All he ever does
is stand in the transporter room, waiting to talk
to anyone who beams up or down.
"A diode, a diode, I call you!" thundered
Data, reading the latest poetry he had written.
The crew sat around, looking bored.
"Oh printed circuit, oh positronic brain, how
electric you are, how mechanical-"
Riker yawned.
"-How your silicon chips shine-"
Data went on and on, oblivious to the rapidly
diminishing audience.
The next morning....
"Good morning," said Troi, entering the
briefing room.
"Uuuh," said Riker, looking tired.
"Didn't you get much sleep?" said Troi,
sensing something.
"Uuuh," said Riker, putting his hand on the
table. There was a whirring sound, and he only
really opened his eyes when he noticed his hand
drilling a hole through the table.
Worf, always looking for an excuse to draw
his matchbook size phaser, did just that, looking
about for something to shoot. But the only
threatening thing was an arm, and it was attached
to Commander Riker.
"A mechanical arm," said Counselor Troi,
horrified. "How did that get there?"
Dr. Crusher took her medical tricorder out.
"His arm has been severed... it's been replaced
with a Borg arm!"
"They're very handy for opening up cans,"
said Picard, entering the room. Everyone gasped,
but not at the mundane comment; to everyone's
surprise, the Captain had hair!
"Yes," said Picard, feeling the blonde
streaks. "I noticed it this morning, when I woke
up."
"And I lost my arm last night," said Riker.
"And I lost the ridges on my head last
night," said Worf miserably. Everyone looked
closer, and saw that their Klingon friend was
indeed ridgeless. "A smooth forehead... how will
I ever deal with this???"
"We cope with it," said Dr. Crusher
reassuringly. But as she self-consciously touched
her outer garment, an alarmed expression formed on
her face. "Somebody's been messing with my blue
bathrobe. Someone's sewn up the pockets!"
"Could an alien influence be at work here?"
said Picard.
"I believe so, sir," said Data, entering the
room. He walked slowly, hobbling on one leg,
while the other leg was vigorously tapdancing
across the room. Someone had tampered with one of
his limbs! "There is a hole in subspace in cargo
bay 15, next to the drums."
"The drums?" said Picard.
"Where we store the toxic waste generated by
the warp drive," Riker whispered.
"Oh, oh yes," said Picard, remembering.
"Well, how do we reason with them? Let them know
we're not a threat."
"We could send something, through the hole,"
said Riker. "A negotiator."
"A photon torpedo," Worf suggested.
"It could be dangerous," said Picard.
"Whoever we send may not return. It will have to
be someone who can be spared, not like the
Captain."
"Or the first officer," added Riker quickly.
"Someone without special skills," said Troi.
"Someone who's out of first grade," said
Alexander.
"Someone who knows about transporters," said
Kaiko.
"Someone who knows about botany," countered
Chief O'Brien.
"Someone who does more than mix the drinks,"
chipped in Whoopi.
"Someone who's not even alive," said Crusher,
looking meaningfully across the table.
"Someone who's rather expendable," said Worf,
getting the drift.
Suddenly, pairs of eyes focused on one
figure.
"Am I being volunteered?" said Data, still
unable to stop himself from performing a waltz
with his right leg.
Data stepped through the hole. He was
immediately surrounded by the aliens with the fish
faces.
"Hello," said Data, as they started to
quickly dissemble his right arm.
"I wonder what's keeping Data?" said Picard,
eyeing the hole.
Suddenly, a shower of electrical components
was thrown out of the hole at them.
Suddenly, Picard was enraged. "Now, look
here. You cannot simply dissemble my second
officer! Now see here-"
Suddenly a dozen fish-faced aliens jumped out
of the hole, brandishing large axes.
"Perhaps we'll let it go with a warning this
time," said Picard weakly...
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