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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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