STAR TREK: THE CROUTON GENERATION
			  SEASON THREE
			Episode #35 - Part B

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Date: Fri, 15 Mar 91 11:40:59 -0500
From: bryant@husc9.harvard.edu (Katherine 'Kabeta' Bryant)
Subject: Episode from Heisenberg! (Part 2) (***LONG***)

Note: This is the second half of an episode that has been split in
half for purely practical reasons. You should be receiving it
immediately after the first half, and you should definitely read the
two in rapid succession. Anyway, enjoy the second half of
"The Doh is Violent." --Kevin

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[Scene: Aritificial Gravity Maintenance Room.]

yaz: That cube thing is the Artificial Gravity device?

maya: That's what it says on the side. Of course, if our "expert" had
        decided to show up, we'd know for sure.

yaz: Now, now, don't snipe--maybe he got caught in traffic. [Inspecting
        the cube.] How do we detach it?

maya [also examining the cube]: It's a computer lock. Pandora!

Pandora: Flugham flurk quirple. Viz?

yaz [after a quick glance at the computer outlet]: It's the voder. Looks
       like something hit it a while back, and it's been crumbling away
       ever since. [Fix, fix, fix.] How's that, Pandora?

Pandora: Thank-heavens-you-have-no-idea-what-it's-like-when-even-one
       -voder-goes-and-you-can't-talk-and-nobody-wants-to-hear-about
       -it-anyway-because-malfunctioning-voders-in-low-priority-locations
       -are-only-level-seventeen-repair-priority-and-so-I've-just-been
       -stuck-with-a-rusting-

maya: Shush, Pandora. Computer lock eight-seven-seven-alpha-three, disengage;
       authorization, Lieutenant Junior Grade maya, code eight-nine-one-
       zero-two-B.

Pandora: Lock disengaged.

yaz: We'd better warn everyone. [Is about to reach for his communicator,
       but thinks better of it.] (*sigh*) Where are they, anyway?

maya: By now, on the bridge. Pandora, intercom to bridge.

Intercom: Kleber here, what's up?

yaz [to intercom]: We're about to detach the AG. Make sure everyone's ready.

Intercom: Will do. Kleber out.

PA: Attention all personnel. Very shortly, the Artificial Gravity system
       of our ship will be temporarily disconnected. This will cause 
       complete loss of shipboard gravitation. Please remain calm, and
       remember: Inertia is your friend.

maya: That's it then. [Grabs a side of the cube; yaz does likewise]
       One, two, three--heave! [They lift the cube, and soon they 
       aren't lifting anymore--gravity has ceased to function.]

yaz: All right then, let's get this thing out the airlock.

 [Expertly, he dives behind the cube, and, pushing against the wall,
  uses his back to direct the cube toward the door, which it soon 
  reaches on its own inertia. Meanwhile maya is still showing signs
  of the awkwardness microgravity induces in those not originating
  on Niven-style dust rings.]

yaz: Come on, the cube's afoot! [When the cube exits the room, yaz
       does a triple gainer off its left side, forcing it rightward 
       along the corridor. yaz quickly reverses the direction of his
       own flight (using a truly startling wall-bounce method), and
       soon disappears from maya's view entirely, in hot pusuit of 
       the cube.]

maya: Born and bred in the br'ar patch . . .

       *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Coca-cola, brought to you by a giant carrot from outer space.
It's the ree-al Thing . . .

       *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

[Meanwhile, in a nearby corridor,]

Thokk: Halt!

Metag: Oh, hello. No time to chat now, I'm wanted in the AG Maintenance Room.

Thokk: You're coming with me to the bridge.

Metag: No, I don't think so--you see, I'm supposed--

Thokk: Look, we can do this gently, or we can do this rough. [Likes the
       idea.] All right, you're under arrest.

Metag: You can't be--

Thokk: Aha! Resisting arrest! [Picks a bewildered and struggling Metag up
       by his utility belt, and with no apparent effort slings him over his
       shoulders, in a fireman's carry. Starts trotting towards the bridge.]

Metag: You don't seem to understand . . . Lieutenant yaz--

Thokk [still trotting]: Shut up, or I'll do you for Heresy.

Metag: Blimey, I didn't expect the--

PA [interrupting this discussion]: Attention all personel. Very shortly, the
       Artificial Gravity of our ship will be temporarily disconnected. This
       will cause complete loss of shipboard gravitation. Please remain calm,
       and remember: Inertia is your friend.

Metag: Great Froje, is that what--

Thokk: Don't say that name! [Pulls Metag off his shoulders, and starts shaking
       him upside-down.] I am sick and *tired* of--[Gravity shuts off, with
       the result that Thokk, on a down-shake, is propelled upwards, and
       loses his grip on Metag, who is thus propelled towards the floor,
       upon which he impacts, creating exactly the sort of THUD that an apple
       does when dropped from, say, chest height, under ordinary gravitational
       conditions.] Oh, no, you're not getting away from me that easily!
       [Bounces off the ceiling, and swoops down to grab the
       somewhat-less-energetically struggling Metag.] Now, let's
       see, how does a zero-gee fireman's carry go? [Tries something that is
       not, in fact, the Federation standard zero-gee fireman's carry, and
       tries to take a step, with the result that he and Metag both hit the
       ceiling rather hard. Metag, mainly.] No, that's not it. How about . . .

Metag: (*sigh*).

       *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Double your pleasure, double your fun, with binary fission.

       *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

[Scene: The bridge.]

Kabeta: Captain's log, supplemental, supplemental. It has been half an
       hour now since we commenced Operation Break-out. This means
       that for roughly half an hour, we have been watching Leftenant
       Commander Furd operate his control panel, controllng the powerful
       tractors and deflectors to move a tiny metal cube around the
       inside of Doh's ship, where it knocks off a projecting bar here,
       a gravitube there. It also means that for the past half-hour,
       we have been under zero-gee conditions, like the ancient
       astronauts of centuries past. Some of us are adjusting better
       than others. Doctor Hertzman is up to her elbows in 
       space-sickness victims. I myself find the absence of gravity
       very relaxing, but thank goodness for seat-belts!

Ender: Do you suppose we'll be seeing all sorts of weird shrapnel,
       like it says in the epic?

maya: I don't know. If our *expert* had ever *bothered* to show *up*,
       I might be able to answer that.

Iluvanna: That was some striking imagery, though--projectiles splitting
       into three, reproducing like living organisms--it makes me
       wish I could have read the ending.

Ender: Furd, are you seeing anything like that out there?

Furd: Don't distract me--if I lose this cube, we're done for.

Iluvanna: That's right--in the story, they had three projectiles, but
       we've only got one.

maya: Unless, of course, you want to take out the inertial compensators,
       and squash everybody into jam the next time we make a left
       hand turn at jolt factor 3.

Jiapa [to maya]: I sense some hostility in your contributions to our
       conversation.

yaz: Oh, she's just been a mite testy ever since she barked her shin on the
       ceiling. I never realized how much difficulty you people have with
       locomotion in null gravity. [Does an elegant swoop over to the
       viewscreen.] I dare say, we are getting some interesting shrapnel,
       though.

Ender: Ship-expanders? Time-slowers? Ghost-makers?

yaz: Nothing that poetic; at least, not yet. Let's see, over there,
       the spherical things--they look like grav-bubbles. Acts basically
       like a gravitic mine, but smaller.

Kabeta: Dangerous?

yaz: Not to us--the shields'll take care of them. Now, over here--

[The turbolift doors open, and Thokk, Metag still firmly in his grasp, spills
 out. They have had a long and collision-dense journey.]

Thokk: Here he is. Sorry it took so long, but we had a bit of difficulty
       navigating under these conditions. [Releases Metag.]

Ender: Ensign Metag!

Thokk [suddenly remembering]: Of course--*that's* the name. [Attempts
       to clap his hand to his forehead, but in zero-gee even this action
       is difficult.]

maya: So this is the legendary gravitics expert, who elected to go on
       holiday just when--

Metag: Elected? I was dragged here by this . . . this barbarian--

Thokk: Thank you.

Metag: --and slammed into half the walls on this ship, and, and . . .
       [Regains some semblance of control.] Just what is the meaning
       of this?

Ender: A fine question, and one we are just about to ask you. [He
       throws the stele at Metag, and it flies in a perfect straight
       line right into his hands.]

Metag: [Rotates the stele in his hands, until he reaches the fourth, yet
       unread, text.] What, this? [Starts scanning the text.] All it 
       says is . . . [He has just seen something that brings a look
       of shock to his face.] Great Scott! [Before anyone has a chance
       to react, he has bounced off a console and the ceiling, and is
       through the turbolift door.]

Thokk: I'll get him. [After considerable effort, Thokk still doesn't
       manage to get to the turbolift.] Maybe not . . .

Kabeta: Lieutenant Commander yaz-pistachio, maybe you could . . .

yaz: Of course, Captain. [Resumes pointing out things on the viewscreen.]
       Now, the triangular ones are probably--

Kabeta: That isn't quite what I meant . . .
 
Ender: What are those two-perpendicular-line things?

yaz: I'm not sure. Ensign Metag would probably be able to tell us. 
       [To Kabeta:] Maybe I should go retrieve him.

Kabeta: What a novel idea. I wish I'd thought of it.

yaz: It looks like we're going to find out soon enough, anyway.
       There's one headed right towards us.

maya [at science station]: Captain--interior sensors report massive
       longitudinal strain--it's like the ship is being pulled apart
       by some enormous tidal force.

Kabeta [remembering]: "T's will split my ship in twain." Of course . . .

maya: Captain, unless we do something fast, the whole ship will be rent
       asunder.

Kabeta: Rent asunder? [Back on track:] Can we take evasive action?

Furd [still at his console]: I seriously doubt I'll be able to hold on
       to the cube if we pull a stunt like that.

yaz: What about saucer separation?

maya: That *would* ease the strain.

Furd: But we don't have any etheric communications, remember? The tractors and
       deflectors I'm using are in the main body of the ship--if we
       separate, I can't use them at all.

yaz: You'll still have the saucer deflectors.

Furd: But they only operate in the immediate vicinity of the ship. I don't
       think I'm capable of--

Hutchings [surprising everyone by emerging from beneath his desk]: I am.

maya: Captain, I need a decision *now*.

Kabeta: Saucer separation--immediately. [To Hutchings:] And let's
       hope that uncharacteristically assertive statement you just made
       wasn't an idle boast.

Jiapa: Don't worry, Captain. I will stake my reputation on the fact that
       Lieutenant Hutchings is incapable of boasting, idly or otherwise.

       *     *     *     *      *     *     *     *     *     *     *

How do you spell relief? R-O-L-A-I-D-S.
I never will get used to Gaelic orthography.

       *     *     *     *      *     *     *     *     *     *     *

[As the saucer separates, we focus in what used to be the point of
 attachment, and is now a quickly widening gap. All of a sudden, when
 the gap is about five meters across, a turbolift car, unable to slow
 down quickly enough, emerges from a hole in the bottom of the saucer
 (the end of the saucer-section section of the turbolift shaft), spends
 about half a second in the vacuum of the Doh-ship interior, and finally
 scoots into a hole in the top of the saucer-attachment pylon.
 
 Our point of view now shifts to the interior of the car, where we see
 a rather surprised Ensign Metag.]

Metag: That was close.

[The turbolift car continues on its journey, and every time it turns a
 corner, Metag is thrown against one wall or another. In the absence
 of gravitty, one develops an intimate familiarity with the walls around
 one. Finally, the lift stops. Metag emerges, turns right, and enters
 the Main Engineering Deck, where Lt. Cdr. Q. Torvald McDonagh, clad in
 a full suit of armor, is making subtle adjustments to the engines by
 flogging them with a dead chicken. After a couple more 
 ornithoflagellations, he notices Metag.]

McDonagh: Who are you?

Metag: If it comes to that, sir, who are you? 

McDonagh: Repetition--fifteen-love.

Metag: Are we playing Questions, then?

McDonagh: Would you like to?

Metag: Actually, no--I've got some vitally important information to
       communicate, and the indicative mood is much more suitable
       for such an enterprise.

McDonagh: Statement--really pretentious statement, in fact--thirty-love.

Metag: (*sigh*) All right, what's your next question?

McDonagh: What is your name?

Metag: Would you care to see my ID card? [He hands it over, and
       McDonagh raises his visor to read it.]

McDonagh: Ensign Metag?

Metag: [Recognizing McDonagh, now that he can see his face.] 
       Lieutenant Commander McDonagh?

McDonagh: What brings you down here, Ensign?

Metag: Shouldn't that be, "What is your quest?"

McDonagh: Touche. [Realizes.] Damn!

Metag: Interjection--double interjection--fifteen-thirty.

McDonagh: What *is* your quest?

Metag: What is the average air-velocity of an unladen dragon?

McDonagh: Is that a non-sequitor?

Metag: Not really--here's my plan: [Whispers something incredibly
       long and complicated in McDonagh's ear.]  

McDonagh: I think that counts as a statement--thirty-thirty.

Metag: But do you think it'll work?

McDonagh: Can you really rig up an old-style warp generator from the
       equipment we've got here?

Metag: Have you got a Cochrane gravostasis invertor? [McDonagh produces
       one from behind Metag's ear. Metag takes it, and begins furiously
       assembling components.]

McDonagh: Have you thought about how we're going to warn the people
       in the saucer?

Metag [still busily at work]: Pardon?

McDonagh: Have you thought about how we're going to warn the people
       in the saucer?

Metag: Repetition--forty-thirty.

McDonagh [testily]: Well, have you?

Metag: Why can't we use the communicators?

McDonagh: Nobody's told you they aren't working?

Metag: They're not?

McDonagh: Why do you think you were paged on the PA, instead of on your
       own communicator?

Metag [after some thought]: You remember what you did with the holocorridors?

McDonagh: What about them?

Metag: Can they be adapted for exterior projection?

McDonagh: Why didn't I think of that? [Starts jimmying open his console.]

Metag: By the way, are we playing just one game, or a whole set?

McDonagh: Just one game. Damn!

       *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Honda, the car that sells itself. The greatest of urban tragedies: 
vehicular prostitution. Give to St. Coemgen's Home for Wayward Automobiles.

       *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

[Scene: The bridge]

Kabeta: Captain's Log, tertiarily supplemental. Lieutenant Hutchings
       is performing quite competently in his task of keeping the
       cube flying with only the weak and local deflectors of the
       saucer as a means of control. Nay, more--he makes a true art
       of it. His fingers dance over his console as if he's playing
       a musical instrument, while on the viewscreen we see the cube
       making perfect bow-like swoops, out and back, out and back,
       each time taking out a small piece of the ship that surrounds
       us. I only wish the lieutenant had four more such cubes to
       maintain in such elegant flight. [At this last comment,
       Hutchings brightens considerably.]

maya: Indeed--that way if he dropped one, we'd still have four more.

[Hutchings unbrightens.]

Kabeta: At our present attritting rate, about how long will it
       take us to render Doh's ship non-functional?

yaz: Um . . . I've actually done the calculations on that, and . . .

Kabeta: Well, how long is it?

yaz: That's a rather personal question.

Kabeta: (*sigh*) No, how long will it take to incapacitate Doh?

yaz: You really want to know?

Kabeta: *YES*.

yaz: Twenty years, more or less.

[Hutchings unbrightens still further.]

Kabeta: Twenty *years*?

yaz: Unless we think of a better method of attack in all that time.
       I know I've already started trying to think of one.

Kabeta: Fortunately we've got the Federation's top thinkers here.
       I'm sure from now on we will each be devoting our full mental
       abilities toward solving this problem.
 
Kleber [gazing at viewscreen]: You know, I've never seen the 
       everything-but-the-saucer-section section of a Salad-class
       ship before . . . they say the old Galaxy-class ships,
       after separation, looked like beheaded ducks--what do you
       think this one looks like?

Furd: A *big* beheaded duck.

yaz: A triple-integral tree.

Thokk: The two-handled sword of Gradunza the Terrible.

Jiapa: A Rorschach test. Wearing roller skates. 

Ender: A dragon. See--the front dish is the snout, and the nacelles--

Iluvanna: A dragon? Isn't it a bit short and squat for that?

Ender: No, no, not the conventional stylized dragon--a *real* dragon.

Kleber: An Antarean dragon, or a Betelgeusean dragon?

Ender: I don't know that. AAIIE! [Everyone turns to see what has caused
       this exclamation.] It's got writing on it!

Kabeta: Of course--McDonagh's using exterior holographic projection
       to send us a message . . . Only I can't read his writing.

Kleber: Let's see. [Peers intently at the screen.] Got it:

          Dear people. Pull out when I pull out. Oh, and try to
          distract Doh for a bit when you do.--Love, Q. T. McDonagh.

       Is he serious?

Kabeta: No, but he means what he says.

yaz: If we pull out, we'll be vulnerable again. 

Kabeta: He's clearly got something in mind . . . Lieutenant Hutchings,
       can you bring the cube in?

Hutchings: Will do, Captain. [He touches the console in a few places,
       and the cube gently wafts in a perfect parabola, ending by
       flying right into Saucer Airlock 3.]

Kabeta: Now all we have to do is wai--there he goes! Furd, get us out
       of here. [The saucer flies on wings of impulse out the nearest
       hole, while, on the viewscreen, we see the everything-but-a-
       saucer escape in the opposite direction.] Are we out yet?

Doh: Yes, you are. A clever trick you played. What is it you call that?
       Oh yes, hiding in fear.

Kabeta: Don't you want to know what the final rhyme of the limerick
       was? It sure wasn't "Keynesian"--that doesn't even rhyme with
       "Erisian."

Doh: It doesn't?

Kabeta: Of course not--a limerick with "Keynesian" in it would have
       to be something like, oh,

            A strapping young Marxist Des Plainesian
            Wed a lovely Chicagoan Keynesian;
               They had twins, and they called
               The cute one Torvald,
            And the one who got all of the brains Ian.

[While Kabeta is distracting Doh in this manner, the dragon-like
 other-part-of-the-ship is spewing a strange, almost transparent
 sphere out its snout--sorry, it's frontal dish. The sphere quickly
 expands, and, in the blink of an eye, completely encases Doh's
 ship. The ship attempts to ram against the walls of its globular
 prison, but cannot escape. Soon the sphere floats away, borne on
 the invisible tracks of Cochrane field-lines.]

Kabeta: Lieutenant Kleber, contact Lieutenant Commander McDonagh.
       Congratulations are in order.

Kleber: I've already tried to, but it's not working.

Kabeta: I don't understand--when we emerged from Doh's ship, weren't
       etheric communications restored?

Kleber: Well, yes, but--just see for yourself.

[On the viewscreen we see McDonagh and Metag, completely oblivious
 to all attempts to communicate with them, for they are dancing the
 Karibuan null-gee victory dance, and whistling the Karibuan victory hymn.
 The latter is a bouncy, silly-sounding tune, but is oddly infectuous;
 for weeks afterward, members of the bridge crew will be shocked to
 find themselves unintentionally whistling it.]

       *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Federation Express: For when it absolutely, positively, has to be
there in time to violate causality.

       *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

[Epilogue: Ten-forward.]

Kabeta: Captain's log, Stardate 102066.0. We are holding a small
       victory celebration here in Ten-forward. It is actually a 
       triple celebration, for it is also Scribonia's birthday,
       and Ensign Metag's, sort of. Now that Doh has been 
       defeated, and the gravity has been reinstalled, and
       a particularly loud and annoying jazz band has been
       evicted from this relaxational facility, we are free to
       enjoy pleasant conversation and, thanks to Guendalina's
       virtuosity, a variety of free desserts. [Ensign Metag,
       walking around completely absorbed in a piece of white
       chocolate cheesecake he is consuming, nearly runs into
       Kabeta.]

Metag: Oh . . . hello, Captain.

Kabeta: Hello, Ensign. I've been meaning to ask you--how did you
       come up with the idea to trap Doh in an old-style warp bubble
       like that?

Metag: Oh, that. It was all on the last part of that stele--how
       the narrator used the warp-bubble technique to defeat Doh,
       how he returned home triumphant, how all the people of
       Karibu declared with one voice--

Kabeta: I get the picture.

Metag: If you think about it, he must have gotten out somehow
       --otherwise, the stele text could never have been written
       in the first place--and it sure wasn't by chipping away
       a the insides of Doh's ship for twenty years.

Kabeta: And when you read the text--

Metag: Sorry about rushing off like that, but it was necessary.
       The second, third, and fourth parts of the stele text all
       made reference to the "T"s that could split a ship in
       half. I had to be sure that when the split came, I was
       in the half that had Engineering. As it was, I barely made it.

Kabeta: Well, it's all for the best. Now that Doh is permanently
       disposed of--

Metag: Permanently? [Shakes his head.] I'm afraid not. Eventually,
       that warp-bubble is going to start red-shifting, and then
       it'll disintegrate. I don't know when, exactly, but Doh is
       going to come back, and he will be . . . somewhat annoyed.
       [Takes a bite of his cake.] Of course, next time, we'll
       know what we're dealing with, and we'll have stockpiles
       of warp-bubble devices. And limericks, of course.

       *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Next week on Staaar Trek, The Crouton Generation:

Shopkeeper [waking up]: Aaagh, my head. Where am I? Oh, that's right,
       the shop. I was making a sale, and [whirls around, to see the
       stele gone, and twenty credits left in its place]--Cheap
       Federation Bastards! [Grabs his sword, and runs off.]

Just when you thought it was safe to go back to Starbase 6502. He's
mercantile, he's poetic, and he's angry. Tune in next week for:

               *The Wrath of Jones*