Lt. Cdr. Michael Kleber, Speaker for the Dead, chief communications
officer and now second officer of the _Salad_ class _USS Heisenberg_,
clutched his ear receiver more tightly in order to pick up the details of
the latest transmission.  His fingers danced across the communications board
and quickly engaged the decoding programs needed to translate the message
into something viewable.  He pulled up the cover page on his monitor and
an eyebrow went up almost immediately.  He turned toward the command area,
removing the earpiece.
     "Excuse me, Captain," he interrupted politely.
     Kabeta stood up from her plush chair and turned to acknowledge him.
"Yes, Michael?"
     "We have just received a priority one message from the _USS Croutonprize_.
It is encoded for view by Admiral Bradford and the three captains of our task
force only."
     "Oh, dear," said Kabeta.  "Will you arrange for the other captains to
meet me in the observation lounge in..."  She instinctively pulled her wrist
chronometer (yes, *wrist* chronometer) from her pocket.  "Fifteen minutes?
Oh, and have the Admiral paged to the bridge as well."
     "Very good, Captain."  Kleber turned back to his console and did as he
was told.
     "Mr. Kleber, inform them that we will be dropping to sublight at
precisely 1712 hours."
     "Yes, Captain."
     Kabeta then walked up beside the con position, where Lt. G. O'Forever
was enjoying a game of Tetrigema with Pandora, the ship's computer, in a
corner window of his status board.
     "Pandora, pause game," said O'Forever.  He turned to look up at Kabeta,
a woman of impressive stature at 5'10".  "You rang, Captain?"
     "Drop to sublight at 1712 hours.  Continue on our current course at
1/2 sublight once they catch up.  If you please..."
     "Yes, Captain."  O'Forever went back to his game.
     "Lieutenant, did you hear me?"
     "We'll be dropping out of warp on schedule," he said.  "It was such an
obvious course change -- I programmed it well ahead of time."
     "Yes, well..."  Kabeta crossed her arms and strolled over to the golden
_Heisenberg_ dedication plaque, brushing a bit of dust off the top.  She
heard a turbolift open behind her as she read the current inscription:
"Mazer Rackham may have slept here..."
     "Who's Mazer Rackham?" said Vice Admiral Mark Bradford from behind
her left shoulder.
     "How should I know?" sighed Kabeta.  "Who knows where these slogans
come from anyway."
     Mark looked at the plaque.  He shook his head and looked again with a
squint in his eyes.  He walked up closer, nearly tripping over a train of
50 Teddy Ruxpin dolls doing the Bunny Hop across the bridge.  After finding
a place for his feet, he read the plaque again.  It now read "Colonel
Mustard did it in the Croutonizer room with the Barolian disruptor."
     Astonished at the turn of events, Mark turned to Kabeta and said, "I
really do wish you'd stabilize your pedestrian infrastructure."
     Kabeta chuckled.  "This *is* stable."
     Mark raised an eyebrow, then joined in with a chuckle of his own.  "So
what's up at Star Fleet?" asked Mark.
     "That's what we're about to find out," said Kabeta.  "Come on."
     She led him up past Kleber and down the narrow hallway off the bridge
and into the observation lounge.  They stopped and took in the starlight
emanating from a young blue-white star burning hot within a wispy nebula
of gas and dust.  They remained silent for several minutes until the sound
of the door whooshing open interrupted them.
     "Permission to come aboard, Captain," said Gretzky as he entered, a
hand extended.
     "Welcome aboard, Captain Gretzky," replied Kabeta, shaking the proferred
hand.  She noted how strikingly different he looked in the red uniform, so
used she was to seeing him in mustard yellow.  Mark walked around behind him
and pointed to a stain on his lower back.
     "What's that?" he smiled.  "It's not regulation."
     "Kids," Wayne sighed, shaking his head.  "Be glad you don't have to
worry about them on top of everything else, Kabeta."
     Kabeta nodded in mock agreement, but began to think of what it might
have been like if she had instead remained on Xavion all those years before.
She shuddered as she realized that she'd probably be a grandmother by now.
     The door whooshed open again and in bounced the tall Aussie gentleman
with the reddish hair.  "G'day, Admiral, Captains."  He added a flirtatious
glance toward Kabeta, but her thoughts were too distant for her to even
notice.
     "Perhaps we'd better begin," suggested Mark, moving to take a seat.
     "Agreed," said Kabeta.  She tapped her communicator.  "Mr. Kleber,
please see to it that we are not disturbed."
     "I was just going off-duty, Captain," said Kleber.  "I'll have Thokk
make the necessary arrangements.  Please feel free to join me in Ten Forward
when you're finished, if you wish."
     "Perhaps I will, Michael.  Thank you."

FADE TO BLACK
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
               STAR TREK: THE CROUTON GENERATION
                       "The Perfect Game"
               Part 14:  "Mathers of Importance"

Written by The Admiral
(with a little help from Orson Scott Card)

Guest stars
	Michael Ironside as Torbog

Special appearances by
	Christopher Lambert
        Pipes and Drums 2nd Battalion Scots Guards
	Larry King
	Wolf Blitzer
			and
	Jerry Mathers as "The Beaver"

Directed by Nich Shectman
Music by Jay Chattaway and the Pipes and Drums 2nd Battalion Scots Guards

Notes:
[1] See ST:TCG "Jez's Day" and "Just Yel If You Need Me"
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
     Starships moved swiftly out of view as they jumped into warp.  The Borg
ships continued to barrage the planet's surface, their sinister cube shapes
visible to the naked eye even in daylight.
     And then it happened.  Alpha Centauri A, one of the two bright stars
that breathed life into the seventeen billion plus humanoid inhabitants of
the fourth planet and a near-perfect twin of the Terran Sun, exploded in a
brilliant flash.  The Borg ships released their tractor beams and moved to
leave, but not before the main shock front of the expanding supernova caught
hold and pulverized them.  The destruction of the Borg vessels could only
barely be glimpsed through the building static and milliseconds later the
view switched to one taken from one of the escaping starships.
     A very grim looking Admiral Avenger then appeared on screen.  His jaw
was tight, tighter than Kabeta could remember ever seeing it.
     "It is with that image that I bring you the grave news of our encounter
today.  You have just witnessed the loss of over 25 billion sentient beings
in the Alpha Centauri system, most of whom lived on the fourth planet.  A
major cornerstone of our civilization has been...obliterated."
     "What?!" said Bradford.
     "How?!" wondered Muirden.
     Kabeta could only gasp in astonishment.  Inside, she mourned the deaths
of so many people...including friends and relatives of most of her crew.  Just
as nearly everyone in Star Fleet knew someone from Earth, they knew someone
from Alpha Cen as well.  Kabeta had served with several Centaurans over the
years.  She remembered a particularly beautiful waterfall on a continent in
the southern hemisphere.
     "We're still trying to put the pieces together," stuttered Avenger, "but
we hope to have some idea of the cause soon.  The destruction of the Centauri
system seems to have been some sort of accident and we're still not sure why
the Borg waited so long to react."
     Why doesn't this sound very convincing? Kabeta wondered.
     Avenger continued.  "Some high-ranking Star Fleet officers have resigned
in the wake of this tragedy.  Ambassador Kennedy is doing what she can to keep
the Federation Council from prying too far into matters until we are able to
resolve the situation with the Borg.
     "Let this day remind and encourage us to keep up our fight, to continue
to resist the Collective's aggression.  Mourn as necessary, but please keep
discussion of these events to a minimum..."
      Kabeta thought she noted a veiled threat in his words.  The last time
she had seen Avenger this distressed, he was about to reveal his past to her
and request her help in destroying his own world. [1]
      "Please consider Alpha Centauri a classified matter until further notice.
The press is...asking a few too many questions."
     Avenger sighed.  To Kabeta, this was a clear sign of a change of topic.
Despite taking on a more melancholy appearance, he seemed to relax slightly.
He removed his glasses, then several strands of hair, and wearily looked into
the camera again.
     "We were not without casualties ourselves.  We lost several crewmembers
in the battle, including one officer who gave his life in order to give us our
shot at one Borg ship.  His death has hit this crew hard."
     Avenger paused again, obviously not sure what words to use.  Finally, he
took a deep breath and spoke again, this time at the speed he had used in his
earliest childhood.
     "I formally request the services of Lt. Cdr. Michael Kleber, at the
earliest possible convenience, to speak the death of Commander Highlander."
The message ended abruptly, with Avenger slamming down the off button at the
end of "Highlander."
     All was silent in the room.  Obviously in shock, no one spoke for several
minutes.  Gretzky seemed the most stunned.
     "He doesn't seem the type," Bradford finally said, breaking the silence
in barely a whisper.
     "What?" Kabeta wondered.
     "Avenger doesn't seem the type to call on a Speaker for the Dead.  He's
a self-proclaimed 'devout atheist'."
     "Most people would say that Speakers are not purveyors of religion,"
Gretzky quietly added.
     "Doesn't matter.  Practically the same thing.  It just doesn't seem like
the Admiral's style to me."  Mark scratched at his beard.  "Something's wrong
with him."
     "Maybe he's been replaced by a pod person," suggested Muirden.
				* * * * *
     Ten-Forward, an hour later.  Empty dinner dishes set before him, Kleber
skimmed through The Andorian Journal of Frontier Mathematics on the small
terminal before him.  He noticed that the usual buzz of noise in Ten Forward
was unusually louder tonight, but he tuned it out in order to catch up on his
reading.  He had so well tuned out the noise that he didn't hear Kabeta's
approach.  As her shadow fell across him, he looked up.
     "I'm sorry, Captain.  Did you ask me something?"
     "Just if I could join you."  She did not smile, cluing Kleber in to her
plight.  In fact, she looked quite...uptight.  He marked his place in the
journal and shut down the terminal.
     "Please sit down."  She did, sitting quietly, looking to him to open the
conversation.
     "Did the meeting go well?" Michael asked finally.
     "You haven't heard then," she sighed.  Uh oh, he thought.  Something
IS wrong.
     "I noticed it was noisier in here, but I haven't been paying it much
attention."
     "Twenty-five billion..."  She shook her head in disbelief at what she
was saying.  "Twenty-five billion...  So many hopes, so many dreams, so much
knowledge, culture, history..."
     "Kabeta, whatever are you babbling about?"
     "Alpha Centauri," Kabeta said.  "One of the stars has gone nova."
     "Nova??"  His head tilted to one side as he tried to size up the truth in
her voice.  One did not have to be ship's obvious officer to tell her words
were true.  "That's impossible," he finally said.  "Those stars are still young
and quite healthy.  There's no way..."
     She related to him the events of the Battle of Alpha Centauri as she
understood them, keeping more sensitive bits to a whisper, but realizing that
the ship's grapevine had already spread most of this information around.
     "Why?" he finally asked.  "Why would the Borg even attack Alpha Cen?  I
mean, they've attacked Earth repeatedly, yet Alpha Cen is as important a
strategic site and population center.  What is *different* about Alpha Cen?"
     "I honestly don't know," Kabeta admitted.  Staring at the pile of dishes,
she sighed again and wondered, "I don't suppose Iluvanna would have any ideas."
     "You're probably not cleared to find out."
     "True."  Kabeta rubbed her eyes and practiced focusing them on the dishes.
"There's something else," she added with care.
     "Oh?"
     "Commander Highlander was killed by the Borg...*before* the nova." 
     "Killed?  Are you sure?  Not assimilated?"
     "Michael," Kabeta stated carefully.  "He was...beheaded in full view of
a _Croutonprize_ away team."
     Kleber paused out of respect, using the time to reflect.  He only met
Highlander a couple of times -- a feisty chap, full of anger, he remembered.
The kind of death Highlander had met was not the kind he'd ask of anyone...
well, maybe a Lucky Charm or two...
     "You've been called upon to speak his death."
     Kleber considered this.  It shouldn't be too hard, he thought, to know
Highlander through his crewmates.  He just hoped whoever had planned this knew
what he was in for.
     "It was a personal request from Admiral Avenger."
     Kleber cocked his eyebrow in surprise.  Nobody expects the Spanish
Inquisition, he thought.  "When do I leave?"
     Kabeta's surprise now showed.  She hadn't expected him to agree so
readily.  "I'll let you know.  I'm sorry I can't be more specific than that."
				* * * * *
     "Thanks, Paul.  Good evening, everybody," said Larry King from his
familiar desk at FNN studios in San Francisco.  "As part of FNN's continuing
war coverage, our show will focus on the people coordinating Star Fleet's
efforts.  Our first guest tonight is the Star Fleet Commander, Admiral
Wesley Van Tripp."
     Van Tripp nodded cordially toward the camera and Larry from the opposite
side of the desk.
     "Admiral, welcome to the show."
     "Thank you, Larry."
     "Let's get right to the point.  What happened yesterday?"
     "Well, Larry..."  Van Tripp spoke slowly, carefully choosing his words and
facial expressions to evoke the right emotions.  "The Borg Collective launched
a major assault on the fourth world of the Alpha Centauri system.  As you know,
the Centauri system was one of the founding members of the Federation and has
experienced a long tradition of friendship and cooperation with those of us
here on Earth, well before the Federation existed.  Cochrane Propulsion, as
one of Centauri's industry leaders, has been a chief manufacturer of starship
drive systems for centuries, both for private vessels and for a number of our
starships.
     "We dispatched a large task force of starships to engage the Borg and
defend our friends, the Centaurans.  Our ships were making a reasonable stand
when, without warning, Rigel Kent A simply erupted."
     "Erupted?"
     "Exploded.  Burst forth in a nova.  Our ships were able to retreat to
safety in time...the Borg were not so lucky.  We think they were preoccupied."
     "Preoccupied by what?  The planet?"
     "They were attempting to remove the capitol city from the fourth planet.
We don't know how or why, but we believe they may have used a secret weapon
which detonated too early."
     Larry eyed the Admiral suspiciously, clearly having some difficulty
swallowing Van Tripp's rapid explanations.
     "Admiral, we know the Borg are interested in our technology.  Was there
something the Centaurans had they were looking for?"
     "We can't be sure," lied Van Tripp in a politican's smile.
				* * * * *
     It was late, at least as marked by shipboard time, and Kabeta paced the
hallways on Deck 12, trying to shake off some more sleeplessness.  She was
startled near Croutonizer Room 4 by a three foot tall black cartoon mallard
in a cosmic spacesuit.
     "Ya gotta help me!!" yelled the duck.  "They're trying to throw ME off
the ship!!"
     "Who ARE you?" she asked.
     The duck assumed a triumphic stance and pointed a finger high into the
air.  "Duck Dodgers in the 24 1/2th Century!!!!"
     Kabeta was surprised yet again as two small black creatures, dressed
in costumes that might have been left over from the filming of _Spartacus_,
emerged from the Croutonizer room and zapped the duck with a little gun
marked "freeze ray."  The duck turned an icy blue before they dragged him
back into the Croutonizer room.
     "These Earthlings make me so angry," she heard one exclaim as the tell-
tale sound of the Croutonizer built up in the background.
     "Hoo hoo!!  Hoo hoo!!  Hoo hoo!!" the duck howled as the Croutonizer
disintegrated his molecules into their component Croutons and transported
them elsewhere.
     "I think somebody's trying to tell me something," Kabeta muttered as she
rubbed her eyes and stumbled back toward her quarters. 
     The destruction of Alpha Centauri continued to gnaw at her, as did her
suspicion of Avenger.  Was he telling the truth?  Was the pain he wore a
direct result of Alpha Cen...or something more?
     What if?  No, she thought.  That's a terrible thought!  Yet it makes so
much sense.
     A Genesis device?  It would explain a great many things, particularly
Avenger's nervousness and possible deceit.
     Shonyo, she thought.  What have we become?
				* * * * *
     "Well, thank you, Admiral Van Tripp for that...informative discussion."
Van Tripp nodded and shook hands with Larry as he got up to leave the studio.
Once he was out of camera-shot, Larry turned straight into the camera for a
close-up.
     "Before we move on to our next guest, we need to break for a special
report from Star Fleet Headquarters and FNN's Wolf Blitzer.  Wolf?"
     Within the vast main lobby of Star Fleet Headquarters, a fortyish bearded
man in a nice suit stood ready with his microphone.
     "This is Wolf Blitzer, reporting live from Star Fleet Headquarters in San
Francisco, Earth.  We've learned that the Joint Chiefs of Fleet are about to
meet with command officers that have just returned from the Alpha Centauri 
system.  Wait, I think I see them Croutonizing in now."
     In the background, several shapes materialized on a large Croutonizer pad
just off the main entrance.  Blitzer and other network reporters rushed toward
the pad, crowding around the officers there.
     "Admiral Avenger?  Admiral Avenger?  Could you comment on what happened
yesterday?"
     "No," Crossfire said firmly, using his body to block Blitzer and allow
the Admiral and several other officers by.
     "Didn't you used to work for CNN?" Avenger asked with a wink as he passed
Blitzer, marching away rapidly before the reporter could get in a question.
     "What about you, sir.  Can you--?"
     "No, I can't," Crossfire said curtly, glaring into Blitzer's eyes.
     "Sorry to trouble you," Blitzer squeaked.
     "The apology is all mine," sneered Crossfire, who quickly turned and
walked away.
     Blitzer swallowed hard, then turned meekly to his camerman.  "This is
Wolf Blitzer, reporting live," he squeaked.  "Now back to Larry King."
				* * * * *
     "Um, Admiral, I don't really understand why you keep asking me all of
these tactical questions.  I'm really not the best person on board to--"
     "You have a unique insight, Mr. Kleber," Mark explained.  "I just want
to be prepared for all eventualities."
     "I can understand that, I guess."
     "That's all I need for now though.  Thank you for your assistance."
     "Aye, sir.  May I go now?  I have quite a lot to prepare for."
     "Dismissed."
     Kleber left Mark's office, which had been set up in a disused conference
room near Holodeck 4.  As soon as the door shut, Mark reactivated the digital
tactical map that covered the far wall.  In vivid color, it displayed fleet
movements throughout the quadrant.
     As he scanned through the notes he had made during his conversation with
the Speaker for the Dead, he transferred ships to other fronts and moved task
forces between star systems, as if it were all an elaborate war game.
     In this case, however, the pieces were quite real.
				* * * * *
     Birds chirped around Kabeta in the warm afternoon sun.  She looked at
the book once more, then closed it and set it aside as she heard the little
girl approaching.
     "Mama, we saw a fwog!  And a snake!  And a--"
     "Not so fast, Marya," said Kabeta, lifting the three-year old into her
arms and setting the girl on her lap.  "We have plenty of time."
     "She definitely has your inquisitive mind," said a deep male voice from
behind the tree Kabeta rested against.  She turned, having to shield her eyes
with her hand to see the silhouette of a dark-haired Romulan against the
bright summer sun.  In the background, Kabeta thought she could hear the
rush of a waterfall.
     "It's a beautiful afternoon, isn't it?" she found herself saying.
     "Yes, it is," he agreed as he knelt beside her.
     Suddenly, Kabeta's heart pounded frantically as she sensed danger.  As
Torbog turned to look with her, the sun exploded forth, washing out everyth--

     Kabeta sat bolt upright in her bed, breathing heavily, heart racing.  A
moment of surprise, then she realized that she was still safely in her own
bed.  She crawled back under the covers and looked over at the chronometer.
     "0413!"  She threw her head against the pillow.  "Enough nightmares!
Will I ever get any rest?"
     As she tried to settle, her mind kept returning to Alpha Centauri.  Why
had they used a Genesis device?  What possible reason could there have been?
				* * * * *
     "Oh ho!" exclaimed Kleber.  "So No-Doz Warp *was* in development!
That must be why the Borg assaulted Alpha Centauri..."
				* * * * *
     "Welcome, Ambassador."
     "Thanks, Larry."  The Ambassador's usually friendly charm was somehow
dispersed tonight.  She looked tired and a little depressed.  "The people
of the Federation are doing their best to get through this dark time.  We
have a great deal to grieve for, yet we must put much of our grieving aside
to prevent further cause for pain."
     "We will win this thing, though, won't we, Ambassador?"
     "Honestly, Larry, I can't tell you for certain, but our Star Fleet
officers are doing their best and that's all we can ask of them.  While
recent events have shown us that we will not be victorious without great
losses, analysis is showing the tide turning in our favor.  If all goes
well, we may defeat the Borg menace once and for all."
     "That is good to hear, Ambassador.  Can you tell us what the Council
is doing about the Alpha Centauri incident?"
     "All I can tell you is that, like in any similar situation, a full
investigation has been launched to determine the exact cause.  While I
don't personally believe these conspiracy theories floating around, we
must discover the truth and present evidence to support that truth.  We
don't want the unanswered questions that followed my famous ancestor's
assassination floating around now, do we?"
				* * * * *
     "So there is more to this Highlander than meets the eye..."  Kleber
paused and stared off into the stars for a moment.  "More to the Borg
than meets the eye as well."
     His terminal suddenly bleeped at him.
     "New mail from VAdm Mark Bradford.  More requests for strategy...?"
     "Gee, Wally," said an eight-year old boy who was sitting at the
edge of Kleber's bed fidgeting with a dirty baseball cap.  "Maybe Mark's
requests are more than meets the eye."
     "Wha--?"  The little boy disappeared again just as quickly.  Kleber
thought about the words though.  No, couldn't be...
     He tapped into the local Star Fleet records FTP site and downloaded
files on recent fleet movements and Borg attacks in the quadrant.  What
he found did not surprise him.  He became sick to his stomach.
     "They've been using me to plot fleet strategy.  People might have
lived or died by my suggestions!"
				* * * * *
     "What?  What what what?"  Kabeta looked up bleary-eyed at her Second
Officer.  "Do you have any idea what you are accusing Admiral Bradford of?"
     "Yes, Captain, I am.  If it did not upset me so greatly, I would not
have troubled you."
     "Well, if it is true, which I imagine I am now going to have to
investigate, then I will be very...troubled," said Kabeta.  "On the other
hand, Mr. Kleber, if your suggestions have actually worked, perhaps you
should simply be happy that we have made some progress against the Borg."
     "Captain, that is beside the point.  Win or lose, my insights have been
improperly used without my knowledge or permission."
     "Mr. Kleber, we're in the middle of a war for our very lives.  We're
losing friends and civilizations to this menace and you sit there arguing
intellectual property rights with me?  Should I have you transferred to the
legal department at NBC?"
     "Captain..."
     Kabeta lowered her head and simultaenously rubbed her eyes with one hand
and her neck with the other.  "Mr. Kleber, I will look into it.  Right now,
I'm very tired and have more important things on my mind.  We will resolve
this at the *appropriate* time."
     Kleber straightened to full attention.  "Yes, ma'am," he snapped.
     When he did not leave, Kabeta sighed and said, "Dismissed."
				* * * * *
     "Mark, is it true?"
     "If he was not aware of my purpose for being on this ship, Kabeta, I am
truly sorry."
     "You haven't been eliciting tactical advice from the rest of my crew,
have you?"
     "No, I haven't.  However, Thokk and I have discussed some ideas.  Your
Croutonizer Chief was kind enough to provide me some information that Star
Fleet Intelligence had hidden away.  I--"
     "Mark.  It's been a rough day.  I'll tell Mr. Kleber things have been
dealt with as long as you promise not to ask him for any more advice."
     "All right, Kabeta."  He smiled at her, trying to brighten her mood.
"I didn't mean anything by it."  Kabeta still looked melancholy.
     "Thank you, Mark."  Her shoulders slumped, she stumbled toward the door.
"I have a funeral to prepare for."
				* * * * *
     The _Croutonprize_ task force parked itself in a geosynchronous orbit
above Aberdeen, Scotland.  The _USS Heisenberg_ and its task force joined the
_Croutonprize_ and the six ships settled into a six-ship version of the
ancient "missing man" formation.
     Ten hours later, activity aboad the ships, and in much of Scotland, came
to a halt, as monitor screens everywhere were tuned in to the activities about
to begin in the forward torpedo bay of the _USS Croutonprize_.
     Eight Star Fleet Captains, seventeen commanders, nine Admirals and many
other officers stood to attention in full dress uniforms, lining either side
of the bay.  Amongst them were Avenger, Kabeta, Gretzky, the _Croutonprize_
bridge crew...and an unremarkable Scotsman in the uniform of a Star Fleet
ensign, a junior clerk from the Star Fleet personnel records office.  He had
used his high-placed contacts and his computer access to arrange this visit
to the _Croutonprize_ and now stood toward the back of the group in quiet
contemplation.
     His colleagues in the records office would be surprised to discover his
true identity.  They knew him as Angus Edwards, but further investigation
would reveal that the Angus Edwards mentioned on his birth certificate died
four days after birth.  This Angus Edwards could not die, and he was far older
than even M. Robert Avenger.  Conner MacLeod stood here today to witness a
memorial for his only son, a son who had faithfully served Star Fleet while
pursuing a hidden goal and who died when that goal became realized...with a
twist.  He stood here to honor his son as he had been unable to these past 26
years, laying low and building this new identity. Conner had joined Star Fleet
in order to follow in his son's footsteps, and he had started in the records
office in order to follow Karim's progress...quietly.  No more.  Today he was
gone...and for the first time in several decades, Conner experienced the lone-
liness he had felt so often since his birth nearly a thousand years before.
     "I felt the Quickening," he whispered sadly under his breath.  "You
truly were my son."
     His thoughts were interrupted by the wail of 21 bagpipes echoing through
the corridors of the _Croutonprize_ as the pipers approached the torpedo bay.
Playing a sad march as they moved, they entered the bay, led by LCdr. Michael
Kleber.  Kleber was not dressed in his dress uniform today, but instead opted
for the civilian garb he always used when speaking a being's death.  He moved
to the podium on the small stage that had been set up and the pipers moved
behind him, switching to a quiet (for bagpipes) rendition of "Amazing Grace."
     Kleber stood there for ten minutes, allowing the pipers to instill the
right emotions into the audience at hand.  He then stepped closer to the
podium and looked into the crowd.  The pipers faded out one by one until
only a single piper remained, and then she finally quieted as well.
     "I am here today to tell you about Commander Highlander.  Some already
call him 'The Hero of Alpha Cen.'  Others had their own names for him.  We
will explore all of these and when we are finished, perhaps we will come to
understand him."
     Kleber scanned through the crowd during the last words until his gaze
fell upon Conner MacLeod.
     "Or perhaps we will not understand him as well as we think," the
Speaker for the Dead added with a knowing wink at MacLeod.

FADE OUT QUIETLY ON THAT LINE
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Next time, on a wacky new episode of

               STAR TREK: THE CROUTON GENERATION
                      "The Perfect Game"
                    Part 15: "Froop Loops"

The _Subaru_ must stop for computer repairs...
hj:  Dave, what did you do to my computer???

But not everyone is happy with the choice of mechanics.
Missy:  AAAAARRRGGHHHH!!!!!!!

Will Dave Quixote be any match for the greatest minds of planet Yoyoboq?
[ Quixote lies in a heap on the floor. ]
Quixote:  I've fallen...and I can't get up!

And just how many push-ups can hj dole out in one episode, anyway?
hj:  75,000!

An episode GUARANTEED TO EAT THE LOGIC CENTERS OF YOUR BRAIN,
  next time on STAR TREK: THE CROUTON GENERATION!