MiSTing: Ratliff-a-Go-Go By Matthew Blackwell and Bill Livingston [Season 6 Opening Sequence] [Mike is standing behind the command console, drinking a cup of coffee and reading a magazine. After a moment, he looks up.] MIKE: Oh, hi everyone. I'm Mike Nelson and this is the Satellite of Love. I'm still stuck up here with my robotic compatriots and I'm still being forced to watch bad movies. Today, though, none of that matters, cause I've got a damned good cup of coffee. [sips] Ahhh. That's good coffee. [Crow rushes in from stage right.] MIKE: Hi Crow. Would you like a damn good cup of coffee? CROW: There's no time for that Mike... MIKE: It's really good coffee... CROW: Forget the coffee, you stupid Java guzzling fool! We've got a problem! MIKE: [sighs] Okay, what's the problem? TOM: Well, Tom was fooling around on the holodeck and, as usual, things went horribly wrong! There's rust monsters loose all over the ship! And Gelatinous Cubes! And Green Slime and Black Puddings too! MIKE: [Beat] Crow, we don't have a holodeck. CROW: Well, of course we do. Don't you remember? All Galaxy class satellites have them. MIKE: This isn't a Galaxy class anything Crow. [turns to the camera] But this is galaxy class coffee. [sips] Ah. Damned good coffee. CROW: Mike, I *saw * the rust monster. It was short and red and hovered and had a set of antennas on its head! MIKE: So it looked like Tom, but with a set of antenna? CROW: Yes! It looked - heeeeey! [Tom, wearing a set of antenna on his dome, rushes in from stage left.] TOM: ARRRRGGGGGHHHH!!! [Crow turns and stares at Tom.] TOM: Arrrggghh? CROW: Nope. TOM: Uh-oh. [Crow launches himself at Tom, and a fight ensues. Mike quietly sits there drinking his coffee, and smiling after each drink. After a few seconds of this, the console lights begins to flash.] MIKE: Oh look. Chase and Sanborn are calling. [hits the button.] Hi there! Would you like a damned good cup of coffee? FRANK: Oooh, fresh ground Colombian? DR.F: Frank! [To Mike] Good evening, Juan Valdez. We've got a special treat for you tonight. Whilst browsing our archives, we found copies of some previously unknown short stories by the 20th century's best known author. [The fight has broken up. Both Tom and Crow look the worse for wear. Tom's antennas are still loosely attached, but droop noticeably.] MIKE: Steven King? TOM: Tom Clancy? CROW: Nick Pollotta? [Mike and Tom turn to face Crow.] CROW: Well, *I* think he's well known. DR.F: No, of course not. I'm referring to the creator of one of the most beloved series of all time, involving a plucky young girl and her adventures with Starfleet. MIKE: Oh, no! DR.F: Oh, yes! Three new short stories by Mr. Stephen Ratliff. [Everyone looks despondent.] CROW: Say, Mike? Is there any chance there's a real Rust Monster on the satellite? MIKE: You're made of Kevlar, Crow. You don't rust. CROW: Blast. DR.F: I'll just start them up in a minute. You can go in and watch them - if you'd like. TOM: Wait a minute! We can watch them, *if we'd like*?!? CROW: You mean we don't *have* to experience the horror that is Ratliff? MIKE: We don't have to read one sentence space battles? TOM: Or lamely named characters? CROW: Or bizarre plot? MIKE: Or read anything about Marrissa Amber Flores Picard? TOM: Princess of Essex? CROW: Second in Command of the Stargazer? MIKE: Head of the Fighter wing? TOM: Future head of Starfleet? CROW: Future wife of Jay Gordon? MIKE: Her royal badness? DR.F: Nope. [A party has sprung up. Mike and bots are whooping and dancing wildly about the station. After a moment, Mike breaks off from the impromptu conga line and addresses Forrester.] MIKE: Thank you, Dr.Forrester! I'll never forget this act of kindness! Heck, it's almost enough to make me forgive you for sending me up here in the first place! DR.F: Oh, no thanks are necessary. I'm sure that you and your visitors will have a lovely, lovely time. [The party's still in full swing.] MIKE: Visitors? What visitors? DR.F: Oh, did I neglect to mention that? I'm sending up some friends of Mr. Ratliff. I believe they're his fan club. Have fun. [Begins to laugh.] FRANK: So no coffee then? DR.F: Frank, go percolate yourself! FRANK: Right. [wanders out] [The music has ground to a halt, and the party has stopped dead.] MIKE: Ratliff's *fan club*?!? VOICES: Hi! [Mike and the bots turn to see a throng of people on the bridge.] ALL: AHHH! TOM: The legions of the damned walk among us! MIKE: [whispering] Quiet Tom. [to the Fan Club] Um, hi. [A cheerful woman, looking suspiciously like Bridget, steps to the front of the crowd.] FAN #1: Hi there, fellow Ratliff fan! And how are you today? CROW: We're fine - I guess. FAN #1: That's great! Say, why don't we introduce ourselves? I'm Lisa, President of the Stephen B. Ratliff Fan Club. And this is Molly, our vice president, Joan, our third in command, Luke, our fourth... MIKE: [interrupting] Um, do we really need to know everyone's name and fan club rank? LISA: [puzzled] But how else can we keep track of who we are and what position we hold?? MIKE: Well, have you considered nametags? Maybe some monogrammed shirts or some- CROW: Mike, you're missing the main point. These people have a fan club for that hack, Ratliff! [Another woman, who looks suspiciously like Mary Jo, barges through the crowd and grabs Crow by his beak. Several other women follow her to the front.] NOEL: Hey! Watch it! Ratliff's a friend of ours! TOM: And you are?? NOEL: We're his net.wives, pal. MIKE: Net.wives? [Shakes head] Never mind. I don't want to know. All right, who else is here? [Voices shout out from the crowd.] VOICE #1: We're from alt.startrek.creative! VOICE #2: We're from Radford's comp sci department. VOICE #3: We're his fellow Star Trek RPG players. MIKE: [peering out over the crowd.] Hey, you in the back! You haven't told us who you are yet. VOICE #4: I'm Rick Berman. [with an audible intake of breath, the remainder of the crowd moves away from Mr. Berman.] LISA: Say! Let's celebrate this little get-together with a song dedicated to the great one! OTHER FANS: Yeah! MIKE: [Turns to the bots] Theater? TOM: Theater. CROW: I don't know about this, Mike... FAN CLUB: [singing] Oh Great Ratliff To you, we sing our praise. Your stories bring us light And hope for better days... CROW: Theater! The theater! Sanctuary! [The fanfic sign flashes, and the three rush to the doors.] [6... 5... 4... 3... 2... O... ] [Mike and the bots enter and sit down.] CROW: [shivering] Odes to Ratliff. Brrr-r-r-! MIKE: It's okay, Crow. We're safe in here. >Dear Isabella #5 MIKE: Then again... TOM: Collect the whole series. CROW: The Federation Strikes Back... >Set on the Enterprise-E after the End of the Klingon-Federation >Conflict. CROW: Which the Federation won 31-28 with a field goal in OT. TOM: It was the dawn of the third age of man, ten years after the end of the Klingon-Federation Conflict. The Babylon Project was a dream given form. Its goal: to prevent the completion of any more fan- fics involving cute furry animals or maniacal uber-teens. >Note: The position given Alexander in "Who Q? Where Q?" of TOM: Official Weenie of the Klingon Empire © >Ambassador at Large from the Klingon High Council is a life time >appointment, and could not be stripped from him after "The Way of the >Warrior" (And yes, I wrote that in before the said show.) TOM: Ratliff has the powers of prescience? CROW: He's the kwisatz haderach! MIKE: I always considered him more of a twisted mentat myself. CROW: Maybe he'll make a ghola re-creation of Ensign Throwaway. >Personal Log >Marrissa A. Picard, Lieutenant, Chief of Security USS Enterprise-E TOM: Oh great, now she's chief of security, too! MIKE: All she needs is one more, and she'll officially pass Queen Elizabeth as the world's title-holding title-holder. > If Clara tries to get me to go to another social event... I'm >going to shoot her out of the torpedo bay. TOM: If that fails, then I'll try to kill her with a forklift! BWAH-HA-HA! > Get out and socialize more >... This from a girl who's log is written to an imaginary friend named >Isabella. MIKE: Ouch. TOM: And Marrissa unsheathes her claws... CROW: Steve's giving us a cat fight! Thank you! > I may have to attend welcoming parties for visiting VIPs on the >Enterprise, but that's a part of my duty. TOM: [Marrissa] Besides, that makes it easier to replace them all with my pod people. CROW: Queen Victoria tells me that it's her duty to service the PM, but I can't find that anywhere in the Constitution... MIKE: Do you want to listen to the fan club sing again? CROW: I'll be good. > And there is the diplomatic >functions that I have to do for Essex. That's duty too, but it's one >that drives me nuts. TOM: [Marrissa] And when I take over, it'll be the first thing to go. > I really should get an escort for every event, >because some of those diplomats are rather annoying. TOM: [Marrissa] The ambassador from Urkel IV is particularly annoying! MIKE: Wanna see my Urkel impression again? CROW: Not in a hillion-jillion years, Mike! > If another Ambassador hits on me, I'm drawing a phaser on him. MIKE: Early evidence of Marrissa's gift for diplomacy. TOM: And on top of everything else, she's a budding tattoo artist. > With all of that, I really don't see the need for my attendance >at the bi-weekly dance. It's not like any of the people my age are CROW: ...Actually in Starfleet or anything! >going to dance with me. CROW: Except for that Lt. Sienfeld and Ensign Humbert. > For some reason, dancing with the Security >Chief whose also the Captain's daughter is not exactly popular. TOM: [Marrissa] I wonder if the blood-stained b'atleth I carry all the time has anything to do with that? Na-a-a-ah! MIKE: Or it might be due to Picard's "Touch my daughter and die" decree. >I liked it better when I was just the Chief CONN Officer. TOM: COOOOOOOONNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!!! > Then I had people willing to dance. > In any case, our next stop is Deep Space Nine. MIKE: [Marrissa] And then Voyager, and I'll finally rule the entire Trekiverse! > I happen to >know, that Alex is visiting his father there. I also know that there >will be a diplomatic function on Bajor, CROW: Ah, it's "Take-a-Maquis-to-Lunch" week! TOM: Or a "Marquis" MIKE: Or a "Marqui" > which Victoria wants one of us >to attend. Unfortunately, I will be busy and so will Clara's father... TOM: We'll be trying to determine if there are any members of the Kid's crew left who aren't orphans yet. >End Log. CROW: And flush. MIKE: Crow! CROW: What?!? >Dear Isabella, CROW: My journey to India continues, still no sight of land. I'm still curious as to why the young blonde girl has been assigned to my ship, but I trust your judgment. Don't let Ferdinand know about us. Love and smoochies, Chris C. > Alexander is escorting me to a diplomatic function. It seems >that he was invited in his position as Ambassador at large from the >Klingon High Counsel. TOM: And because he makes that killer spiked punch, dude, wooooo! > I never expected him to ask me out. I thought, >if anything, I'd have to ask him out. CROW: And if he didn't accept, then I'd have used my royal station to have him beheaded. > As a Klingon, I don't think you could ever call Alex shy, but >Klingons are not exactly known for dating. TOM: D'oh! That's why those Vassar/Klinhasi U socials were so badly attended. >They tend to skip that. >Alex, may be a fourth human, MIKE: But the first three were all a bunch of drips, so... > but he's mostly Klingon, and tends to >follow their ways. CROW: Except for his annoying "I won't be a warrior" Routine... > However, I do see someone else's hand in this. TOM: [Michael Caine] Me hand! Me bloody, bloody hand! CROW: [Clara] Marrissa! Stop trying to type for me! >It seems that Queen Victoria wanted one of us to attend this function as >well. MIKE: This was part of the Queen's new "spread the suffering around" campaign. >However, my father has never attended such a function, and Commander >La Forge wants him to work on some weaponry upgrades that the Chief >of Security suggested. MIKE: [Clara] Though why Marrissa wants strawberry juice launchers installed is beyond me. TOM: So either he's a really dedicated and diligent chief engineer, or - CROW: Geordi still can't get a date. >As for that Chief of Security... CROW: [Clara] Her day's coming, mark my words! > It seems that >Marrissa has to attend some Intelligence briefing at that time. TOM: Gasp! Is Ratliff admitting that there might be something Marrissa doesn't know about? CROW: She's probably giving the briefing. > Marrissa does know about my crush on that "Klingon Kid" as >some of my less respecting classmates called him behind his back. TOM: They should refer to him as "forehead-gifted"! MIKE: Besides, the writers only give names to important characters, like the Blind Guy and the Counselor Babe. > I told her about it about the same time she admitted that she had a crush >on Jay... although I think it's much more than a crush. TOM: It's more of a suffocating death grip that threatens to choke Jay's very soul, but we've come to expect that from Marrissa. >Those two can complete each other's sentences. TOM: Do you remember... CROW: Wasn't that the one... TOM: Nonono, he had... CROW: And with... TOM & CROW: Parchesi! > Boy was Marrissa worried about it effecting her judgement. MIKE: Fortunately, it was just a simple case of cause and affect. >At the time, Jay was her Kid's Crew First Officer. TOM: Or as Jay calls it, his period of shame and doom. > She's never been in >any position which forced her to deal with her attraction, CROW: Except that one time when she was hyper-polarized. > but I think that >she'd probably do just about anything to save him. MIKE: Like appearing in lousy fanfics. TOM: Or besides giving up her power, but that probably goes without saying. > Speaking of Jay, the Independence will be in dock at Deep Space >Nine, starting two days after we arrive, and Marrissa's fourteenth >birthday is in four days... TOM: "Operation: Bastille Day" is coming together nicely > I think I better make some suggestions to >Jay. MIKE: Remember Jay, the woods at night are dark and deep, and you have promises to keep, and miles ago before you sleep. CROW: Be careful, Jay. Remember what happened to Rommel after that little bunker incident... TOM: Or like, "RUN, JAY!! RUN IF YOU VALUE YOUR NO-GOOD, STINKING LIFE!!" > What comes around, goes around. CROW: Payback's a bi- MIKE: Ahem! CROW: Um, big old bag of fun! > >Your Friend, TOM: [Clara] Though, unlike *some* friends I could name, not an imaginary one! > >Clara > >Personal Log >Jay Alan Gordon, CROW: Rodham Clinton... TOM: Michael Montgomery... MIKE: Ftang Ftang Ole Biscuitbarrel the Third > Lieutenant junior grade, Operations Officer USS >Independence > > I just got a strange call from Clara. MIKE: [Jay] She started babbling about a plot by the FDA to declare Lucky Charms was no longer part of a complete and balanced breakfast. >She wanted to remind me hat TOM: [Michael Caine] Me Hat!! Me bloody, bloo- MIKE: Okay, Tom, a little Michael Caine goes a long way. > Marrissa's birthday was Friday. I knew >that. TOM: After all, Admiral Picard sent out that Fleetwide memo about it. >I also know that the Enterprise and Independence will be at Deep Space >Nine together MIKE: In a desperate attempt to increase ratings. > for four days around that, assuming no emergency comes >up that needs either a Galaxy Class Starship or a Sovereign Class one. MIKE: But, unfortunately, since all the other ships in Starfleet guard the Earth-to-Vulcan mail run, the chances of such an emergency are pretty high. > Now, I like Marrissa and I do plan on giving her something for >her birthday. CROW: But those weak Federation bureaucrats said that Orion slave men were a no-no. > In fact I got a pair of antique amethyst earrings, >complete with a certificate of athenticacy, CROW: He bought 'em in Athens, then? TOM: Yeah - the flea market at Athens, Alabama! >the last time I was on Earth >to give to her. It's probably more than one expects to get from a >twelve almost thirteen year old friend MIKE: Heck, it's more than most 30 year women expect from 29 year old men. [Mike waves as the applause of the net.wives is heard inside the theater] TOM: Kissing up to the net.wives, Mike? MIKE: Better than being drawn and quartered by them. >(my birthday is just a month later than hers), MIKE: [Jay] So I'm hoping she'll return the favor and get me that "Tomb Raider LXXVII" Playstation cartridge I've been wanting! >but I really like Marrissa. CROW: [Jay] So, I'll try to buy her love. MIKE: Ah, Marrissa's mind control techniques are beginning to work. > And as a Lieutenant jg, I can afford it. CROW: Further proof Steve has no idea of what military salaries are like. TOM: Oh yeah, Lt JGs are just rooollling in money.... > I do hope Marrissa likes them. It would be a shame to spend all >that money and have my friend dislike my gift. MIKE: Cause, you know, then she'd behead me. >End Log. CROW: And flush. MIKE: Crow!! What's with you today? CROW: What? I'm talking about a memory flush after storing a log entry! Geez, Nelson, get yer mind outta the gutter! TOM: Let's scram... [O... 2... 3... 4... 5... 6...]