STARDATE: 60228.211 SCENE: Corridor on the RSS DEFIANCE        (LCdr Montgomery, beer in hand walking with three woodland creatures)        (LCdrs Cragg and Crosby follow with Chief Hamel)         Thank Zark they are back on board save and sound sighs Crosby You know what Captain T'Kash would have done to me if her little furry operatives had been stranded on the HOOK         You would have been *revoked* said Cragg plainly.         Well, it's really nice having you guys back on board muses Montgomery What the hell happened on the USS HOOT anyway? What did you find out about this race of people? {sound of chipmunk noises... then laughter from Montgomery}         Really replies Montgomery, and just what did those woodchucks on the HOAK tell you about the Door Repair Guy? {more chipmunks noises and the middle-sized chipmunk with the yellow A on his tunic grabs the other and gives him a big kiss}         No... your kidding studders Montgomery. Did you hear that Cragg?         What? asks Cragg.         These guys say that there is a real Door Repair Guy on the HAWK, and he's quite a woman's man He beams in from ALB or something on the pretense of fixing doors, then gets romantically involved with the women he meets         In your dreams Montgomery... it's just an intergalactic soap opera character _base_d on past 21st century plots. relies Cragg.         There is only one way to confirm this rejoins Hamel. I have recorded all episodes of STRG, and they are in my cabin. Let's show these three operatives a holographic recording of one of the episodes and see if they recognize him.         Did you actually see this Door Repair Guy? Montgomery asks the chipmunks. {All three chipmunks nod at Montgomery}         Cragg whispers to Crosby that she does not know how Montgomery communicates with these creatures. Crosby answers by explaining that Montgomery had spent a lot of time in the forests of Alaska where, falling dead drunk in a snow bank, he was rescued by chipmunks until he recovered. Cragg, knowledgeable in earth geography, asks if Crosby had meant Canada. Crosby, unsure of his geography, says that in Canada chipmunks are called squirrels and hopes this diverts the subject enough to carry on with the story.         Yup says Montgomery         Well let's go to my quarters and watch a re-run smiles Hamel I love the shows, and I have all the books too.         Anyone that records all episodes of an entertainment show must be sick Crosby whispers to Cragg. Space sickness?!? Too much time alone says Cragg.         We have a fan club, and we play intergalactic games on a special sub-space communication frequency beams Hamel. It's great!         Yes...  I'm sure! says Cragg as she rolls her eyes up toward Zark.         The group squeeze into the turbo lift and Hamel calls out deck 37. As they are riding down the computer says: Bridge? and Crosby answers back Later.. we are too busy to play bridge.         Upon arriving in Hamel's room, Montgomery shouts Turn on your holgraphic system and where's your beer?         I'll make popcorn says Cragg. I might as well enjoy it.. and I'd like a blue light Montgomery Make mine a light blue Labatt shouts Crosby.         Ahhh.... here it is! Episode 6 with lots of close ups for our little friends to see the Door Repair Guy. remarks Hamel. {Chipmunk noises - very shrill}         Ok... Ok.... three more ice brewed Labbats for you guys. But remember, your race does not _meta_bolize alcohol very well. says Montgomery         Let's go.. start the holographic picture show demands Crosby         Looking out the porthole Cragg muses They are having a party on that other ship too! We seem to have three chipmunks and they have three musketeers. ********************************************************************* Officer's Party All the bikini's were the same size and same color and _style_. They had been created that way so the Three Musketeers of Space Place could have an effect on the crowd. And boy did they!! Bea twirled her bikini high in the air and then launched it in defiance and indignation. This is our party. she said as all three watched the pink bikini's float through the air of Space Place. **********************************************************************         Good Zark, they are throwing bikini's at us cried Cragg Start STRG quick before Montomery sees this CREDIT TO: From: This e-mail address is being protected from spam bots, you need JavaScript enabled to view it (Douglas A. McLeod) Subject: STRG Rerun Episode 006 North and South Reply-To: This e-mail address is being protected from spam bots, you need JavaScript enabled to view it (Douglas A. McLeod) [Bob:         Okay!  Welcome back to the Monster Star Trek Year End Factory Clearance.         As you know, Paramount is gearing up to start filming the next Star Trek movie, featuring the casts of *both* Star Trek, the original series, and Star Trek: The Next Generation.  They start filming next month, as soon as the *final episode* of Star Trek: The Next Generation is in the can.  And, as you may have heard, there's a little bit of friction there between William Shatner and Patrick Stewart over who's going to get top billing.  This comes in the middle of Shatner's ah marital difficulties.  He's just seperated from his wife of twenty years, you know, the one he left his first wife for.  So, anyway, this just in. Actual live footage from the lobby at Paramount Studios.         Crowded lobby.  A cheer goes up, and Patrick Stewart enters, smiling and waving.  Flashbulbs pop.  The crowd parts to make way. Suddenly a security guard in a TOS-era red uniform pushes through the spectators and steps up to Stewart, hitting him on the knee with a telescoping baton.  Pandaemonium.  The camera jostles forward to get a shot of Stewart seated on the floor, holding his knee, tears pouring down his cheeks, crying, Why me?  Why anyone? ]      View of the Battle Section in stationary orbit above the Flopsan north pole.      Door Repair Guy's quarters.  We see Cmdr. Riker, in orange overalls, asleep in a Lazy Boy with a pair of headphones hanging around his neck.  On the turntable beside him the Doobie Brothers' _What Were Once Vices Are Now Habits_ rotates at 33 1/3 RPM.  Across the room on an Ikea Loki daybed salvaged from the recently abandoned Earth Colony Nepean III sits Door Repair Guy, typing quietly into a similarly antiquated Tandy laptop computer. Voice-over:       Personal Log, stardate 49594.0.  Hoowee, what a day.  Ryker had to crawl around the Geoffrey's Tubes all afternoon, planning his big insurrection.  (Ho ho, can you say that in a personal log???)  And he kept such a closed eye on me I couldn't hardly use my levitate function at all.  Spent hours accessing restricted computer levels for him.  My flexor digitorum superficialis is killing me.  Lucky for me he's a trombone p_layer_, so I was able to get him interested in some good 1970s records with horns.  He must of sat through Average White Band half a dozen times.  This spy stuff is a drag.  I wish I was back fixing proximity-activated entrances and exits.  Looks like he's ready to make his move, though, so tomorrow's the day, for better or wurst.      View of the Borg Cube/Saucer Section Confederation in stationary orbit below the Flopsan south pole.      Captain Picard touches a control on his desk.       Captain's Log, stardate 49594.0.  There still has been no sign of the Battle Section, although we know her to be in this stellar system.  Security remains on full alert.  Mr Worf has every confidence that this policy of concealment will bear fruit. He has reminded me several times of the Klingon legend of the Fourteen Hunters, who caught and killed a mythical giant targ, but only after they had all eaten their own bootspikes from hunger.  I am preparing certain measures that should preclude our having to eat our own bootspikes.  Picard out.       Captain's Log, supplemental.  _meta_phorically speaking. Picard out. [A turbolift door.  On the door appear the words:]                          Star Trek: Door Repair Guy [The door opens to reveal Lt. Cmdr. Data.  Data walks down a corridor and enters another turbolift.  The doors close, showing the words:]                               Starring                          Door Repair Guy                               As Himself [Data comes out of the turbolift.  The doors close to display the words:]                          Also starring                          Patrick Stewart                     as Captain Jean-Luc Picard                          Jonathan Frakes                     as Cmdr. William Riker                          Marina Sirtis                     as Counselor Deanna Troi [Data walks down another corridor, rounds a corner, and enters a room.  The doors close behind him, revealing the words:]                          LeVar Burton                     as Lt. Cmdr. Geordi La Forge                          Gates McFadden                     as Doctor Beverly Crusher                          Michael Dorn                          as Lt. Worf                          Dwight Schultz                          as Lt. Barclay [Data exits the room.  The words on the door say:]                     and Maxwell Smart                     as Lt. Cmdr. Data [Commercial: Don Cherry for Pink Insulation]      Picard's ready room.  The door chimes.       Come.      Acting Chief of Engineering Lt. Barclay enters.       Y-you wanted to see me, sir?       Yes, Mr Barclay, please, come in.  I have just been perusing the _Star Trek: The Next Generation Technical Manual_. Tell me.  I see here that the Saucer Section possesses a photon torpedo launcher situated within the vehicle interface, that is, facing aft at a point which is usually pressed up against the docking portion of the Battle Section.  I must confess that until now I had never heard of it.       Ah!  Well, Captain, it has never been used.  Of course, under normal circumstances it is completely locked down.  If anyone were to fire it while the Battle Section and the Saucer were docked, the results would be . . .       Catastrophic, to say the least.       Yes, sir, Captain.  But now that the Battle Section is gone, given ten or fifteen minutes to power up and blow out the dust it would be absolutely ready for use.  He grins happily at the thought of how professionally he has delivered this good news, when suddenly he is gripped by dread and begins to wave his finger in the air and gape like a fish, trying and finally managing to get out the word, Except!       Except?       Except that it is situated just where the Borg/Enterprise tractor beam _link_s are most, most densely arranged!  If we fire a torpedo it will immediately get caught in one of those beams and explode!  He stands there, wobbling, aghast.      Picard leans forward on the desk with his fingers locked together, frowning and thinking.       How else can we launch a torpedo?       Well, ah.  Oh!  We could beam it off the ship!  Or we could even push it out of the main shuttlebay by hand.  Either way the torpedo would have to be fitted with its own thruster module. Otherwise, without the thrust provided by the torpedo launcher, it won't have sufficient velocity to . . . to go.      Picard sits back and rubs his chin.  Barclay stands there on the other side of the desk, shaking visibly.      Picard throws him a glance.  He jumps.       Mr Barclay, please assemble a sensor probe with thruster module as you described.  I would like it to be launched into a highly elliptical orbit of the planet so that apogee occurs high above the equator and perigee at the north pole, altitude 500 kilometres.  I want it to look as much as possible as if it is passing the planet rather than orbiting it.  The initial thruster burst must take place in the portion of space hidden by the planet from an _object_ situated as far above the north pole as we are below the south pole.  The probe is to run completely silently until it passes the north pole, when it is to conduct a five nanosecond sensor pulse.  It will then shut down all systems again until it is in a position to transmit its findings in a five nanosecond data burst to our position here.  I have a very strong suspicion that what we receive then will be an image of the Battle Section.       Yes, sir!  Aye aye!  He falls out the room and runs to the turbolift.      Picard sits back, picks up the Technical Manual again, and begins to thumb through it, looking for other useful plot devices.  He stops suddenly at page 164.  He gives a shout of discovery.       Captain's yacht!!      A vertical service accessway within the Battle Section.  Our view is from between two ladder rungs.  Riker climbs into view, speaking loudly.       Come on, get the lead out.  I'm five decks ahead of you. Here's the hatch.      We hear the pneumatic whoosh of the opening hatch. Riker climbs up out of the top of the picture.      A moment later Door Repair Guy shoots upward with his boots in one hand.  He grabs a rung, deactivates his toe levitation control with his other foot and goes through a quick series of contortions as he gets his boots back on while hanging on to the ladder.  Then he climbs up, his boot laces dangling.  We hear the hatch close.      Main bridge.  Picard hurries out of his ready room and makes for the turbolift.      Worf: Captain, someone is activating the main shuttlebay door!       It's all right, Mr Worf.  It's just Mr Barclay deploying a spy satellite.       Captain!  The Fourteen Hunters would never resort to such a ruse!  It is the hunger of lying in wait that sharpens the senses and gives the advantage!       Mr Worf, in the story of the Fourteen Hunters, what was the giant targ doing while the Fourteen Hunters lay in wait.       Dining upon the golden eggs of Borghol.  It is a well-known story.       And what would you say the golden eggs of Borghol represent, _meta_phorically speaking?       Decadence.  Infatuation with the material world.  Spiritual flabbiness.       Are these qualities you would ascribe to Cmdr. Riker, or Lt. Cmdrs. Data or La Forge?      Worf assumes an annoyed body posture.       Please render Mr Barclay any assistance he should require.      Picard disappears into the turbolift.      Worf twitches, moves his mouth around and looks at every part of the ceiling, flaring his nostrils.      Exterior view of Borgoprise.  Space-suited figures can be seen rolling a sensor probe out of the main shuttlebay.  They launch it by hand.  It rotates slowly away.  Then its manoevring thrusters fire and it lifts away from the ship.  A long blue flame spouts from its main thruster and it dwindles into intergalactic space.  A moment later the motor cuts out, leaving total blackness.        All over the viewing area people lean forward and say, I really ought to dust this screen more often. [Commercial: Don Cherry for ProLine]      Close-up view of the exterior of the battle bridge on top of the neck of the Battle Section.       Acting Captain's Log, stardate 49594.0, Lt. Cmdr. Geordi La Forge reporting.  Data and I continue our strategy sessions.  By process of elimination we have pretty well decided where the Borg ship has gotta be.  We are now preparing our next move.      Three probes fire from the forward torpedo launcher.      A small viewscreen on the transporter room control console.      Transporter Chief: The probes have taken up their positions, sir.      Data turns.       Got it, Chief.      Counselor Troi's office.  Troi and Worf are seated on the couch.       Worf, something must be bothering you, or you wouldn't have come here.      Worf resists this interpretation for a while, then blurts, It is the Captain.  I have a great amount of difficulty relating to him lately.  He seems to change from week to week.  Just last week I could sell him anything.  Now he won't take any of my advice.       He has been under a lot of strain recently.  So have we all.  I've been reading over some of my recent reports, and I have a hard time believing I wrote some of them.       Still, I am troubled.      She lays a hand on his.   This Cuniculi emergency will end sooner or later.  You'll find an opportunity to use your special skills before too long.      He thinks this over.       You are right, of course.  He thinks of something else. Are we still on for Friday night?      She laughs, Of course!       Shall I have a little champagne ready?      She smiles angelically.   Perhaps a little real pain.      He rubs his hands together robustly, eyes sparkling.       Excellent.      An auxiliary transporter room.  Data and La Forge enter.       Okay, Data, so here's the plan.       Wait just one minute, Geordi.       Data, what is it?      Data looks around.       This is top secret information.       Yeah.  I guess.       So shouldn't we use the Cone of Silence?       Data!       The First Officer of the Enterprise goes rogue, flies us through a wormhole, then dies under mysterious circumstances, and you don't want to use the Cone of Silence?  Come on, Geordi, the walls have ears.       All right, all right.      They go over to a computer panel.       Computer.  Recognize Lt. Cmdr. Geordi La Forge, Chief Engineer.      *Acknowledged*       Computer.  Recognize Lt. Cmdr. Data, android, Starfleet Officer and cat-lover extraordinaire.      *Acknowledged*       Activate the Cone of Silence.      The transparent double-orbed tub descends over their two heads.       All right, Geordi, what were you going to tell me?       What?       I said, 'You were going to tell me the plan.  What is it?'       I can't hear you.       What was that you said?  I can't hear you.       I said: I . . . can't . . . hear . . . you!       It's hot in here, too.  What about that plan?       This is the most ridiculous thing I've ever let you talk me into!       You say you want to take an away team to the Borg ship?       This Cone of Silence is the stupidest invention ever to be programmed into the computer.       We'll use the orbiting probes as transporter relays to carry our signals around the curve of the planet?  Why, Geordi, that's brilliant!       Computer, discontinue Cone of Silence!      *Cone of Silence discontinued*       All right, Geordi, let's get a move on.  There isn't a moment to waste.       Huh?       If we're separated, don't use your commbadge.  They probably have the frequency.  He takes off his boot.   All secret communication will be done using the boot phone.       Huh?      Data flips open the heel speaker.  It makes the communicator sound.   This is Lt. Cmdr. Data calling the annoying lieutenant from 'Suspicions'.      *Annoying lieutenant here*       You have the big chair until Geordi and I get back.  Over and out.      He herds Geordi up onto the transporter platform.       Here's a phaser.  But remember, don't shoot until you see the whites of their eyes.  Transporter Chief, energize.      Transporter effect. [Commercial: Don Cherry for Ford Trucks]      Riker and Door Repair Guy climb out of a Jeffreys Tube hatch and start stealthily down a corridor.       Someone's coming!      Riker ducks into a nearby room, and Door Repair Guy hits his Borg transport implant and disappears.      The room is a temporary crew compartment, hastily pressed into service to compensate for the loss of all the living space in the Saucer Section.  On a chair in front of a mirror sits Ursula, the brunette security guard.  She is humming and combing out her hair.  Riker freezes, then silently backs up to the wall and begins to search with his hands behind his back for some kind of crevasse to slide into.  Ursula continues to comb, then lays down the comb and gathers her hair together in an elastic.  She sees Riker in the mirror.  Riker, thinking fast, begins to wave his arms around slowly in the air and silently mouth the words, Help me! Help me!  Ursula stares, horrified, into the mirror. Her trembling fingers come up and press into her cheeks.         Am I . . . am I going mad?      She faints.  Riker slips out the door.      A hatch opens in the ceiling.  A leg appears, then a figure in Starfleet uniform eases down into a small space containing a number of comfortable padded chairs and a control console.  It is Picard.  He gazes expectantly around the interior of the Captain's Yacht, admiring the wood-grain finish and opening and closing small lockers and drawers.       Extraordinary.      He settles into the pilot's chair and activates the control console.  It lights up with a pleasant mechanical sound.  He checks overhead, and then feels under the seat.       What the . . . .      He pulls out an empty carton containing a few dried-up egg noodles and bamboo shoots.  Another search produces an empty Jolt Cola can.       By all the . . . .      A third search brings up a sub_script_ion insert from _Field and Stream_ magazine.       Blast!      A suite in the Battle Section.  The annoying lieutenant from 'Suspicions' storms into the room, demanding, Who sent that unauthorized mayday call?  This is a clear and wanton violation of . . . .  He comes to a dead halt in the sights of Riker's phaser.      Riker lounges insolently in an armchair, grinning broadly.      The annoying lieutenant turns on his heel and walks nose- first into an uncooperative door.       I have a friend in door repair division, Riker informs him.      The annoying lieutenant glances this way and that, breathing deeply and angrily.  He hits his commbadge.       Annoying lieutenant to Security!  Send ten security guards to my location!      Riker stands.         The more the merrier.      He saunters over to the replicator.       Hungry?  I'm having Klingon.  Computer, a big bowl of gakh.      The food appears in the replicator.       O-o-o-h, says Riker in mock disappointment.   It's cold. Computer, heat up this gakh.  Say, three hundred degrees celsius.      He calmly places a clothes pin on his nose as the gakh begins to pop and fume.      The annoying lieutenant staggers and tries to support himself with the back of a chair.       Gakh!      Thud.      There's a loud pounding on the door.  Riker opens it with a jury-rigged TV remote control.  Security guards pour in.      All: Gakh!!!  Multiple thuds.      Riker calmly moves about the room, collecting phasers and commbadges.      Door Repair Guy enters, with a clothes pin on his nose.      Riker: Now the battle bridge.       Hey!  What about all this great food?      Riker gives an underwhelmed look and hurries from the room, stuffing phasers and commbadges into the pockets of his overalls.      The main bridge.  Doctor Crusher sits in the command chair. The officer at tactical looks up and announces, Sensor probe data burst just received.       Do we have visual?       It's blurry.  Computer-enhancing.       On screen.      Gasps.       The probe must have just missed them!      We see an enormous image of one of the windows in the Battle Section.  _frame_d in the window is Door Repair Guy, his eyes fixed on his reflection in the glass, flossing.      The turbolift door opens.  Picard enters.  He slows as he sees the image on the viewscreen.       Hm.      The turbolift opens again, this time depositing Worf on the bridge.  He takes the station at tactical and begins to work conspicuously.  Shortly, however, he begins to cast covert glances at the back of Picard's head.  An alarm from the tactical display pulls his attention back to his work.       Captain.  We are picking up a satellite of some kind just above the edge of the planet.  It is of Federation design. Conducting search of the near-atmosphere horizon.  There are two more of them.  We are being monitored, Captain.       Is there any other purpose for them to be there that you can determine?       I am picking up a strange energy pattern.  It is a transporter signal.  They are transporter relays!       It seems we are being boarded.       Shall I raise the shields, Captain?       No, Mr Worf.  We are trying to demonstrate that we are not the Borg.  Anyone who beams aboard from the Battle Section will soon see that.  However, do you think those relays could be used by us to transport someone over to the Battle Section?      A look of glory enters Worf's eye.       Captain, I volunteer for that mission.       Very good, Mr Worf. [Commercial: Don Cherry for Don Cherry's Grapevine]      The office of Not Fragile Surgical Implants.  Madeline is flipping through the latest _Entertainment Weekly_.  There are no customers.  The transporter effect appears, and Data and Geordi materialize with phasers drawn.  Madeline chews her gum and waits to see what's next.       Come for a procedure, or what?      Data steps forward.       Aha!  Now it all comes clear.  This is the nerve centre for your evil assimilation plan.  Well, perhaps it will interest you to know that we are just the leading edge of an army of nanite- infested Federation shock troops.       Yeah.  Right.       Well, perhaps you would believe that at this very moment the Federation's new subspace jammer is being trained on this ship from the planet below.       As if.       Would you believe that I just unscrewed all the fuses in the fusebox down the hall?      Geordi takes Data's arm.   We're not getting anywhere here, Data.  Let's try Plan B.      They touch controls on their armbands and disappear.      Madeline shakes her head and goes back to her magazine.       Have a pleasant day.      A corridor.  The transporter effect.  Worf appears, dressed in a black cat burglar outfit with a length of rope looped over one shoulder and the bat'telh looped over the other on a leather strap.  He immediately takes a martial arts stance and advances stealthily down the corridor, keeping an eye open in all directions.  Spotting a Jefferies Tube hatch he pulls it open and disappears inside.  We hear him climbing away, the bat'telh clanking against the Tube wall. [Bob:       Okay!  Great episode, eh?  The Executive Producer says this episode runs long, so I only have enough time to . . . . ] [Commercial: Don Cherry for Rock'Em Sock'Em Hockey VII]      The battle bridge.  A nervous ensign squirms in the command chair.       I hope the annoying lieutenant hurries back.  I don't think I can take the pressures of command much longer.       Computer says he and ten security personnel are approaching.       Whew.      Riker and Door Repair Guy enter.  Jaws drop.  Riker covers the bridge with a phaser in each hand while Door Repair Guy disables the door control.       Intruder alert! squeeks the nervous ensign.      Everyone pauses, waiting for some kind of response.  Door Repair Guy bows deeply, removes his _base_ball cap, straightens up again and shakes the hat, producing the sound of loose isolinear chips.       Please do not adjust your set.  Audio problems originate at the network.      Riker steps around the edge of the bridge until he stands beside the viewscreen.       I think we have the situation well in hand.  Computer, where are the renegades Data and La Forge?      *Lt. Cmdrs. Data and La Forge are not aboard the Battle Section*       Huh?  Where are they?      The nervous ensign puts up his hand.       Yes?  You.       They beamed over to the Borg ship.       BORG SHIP???!!!  On screen!      An image of the Borgoprise below the south pole appears.      Riker turns on Door Repair Guy, eyes ablaze with anger.       You're working for the Borg!  Goddammit, I think you are a Borg!  He points a phaser right at our hero and fires.  Door Repair Guy hits his forearm just as the phased energy stream hits him.  He disappears in a burst of light.      Riker turns toward the bridge crew, the smoking phaser in his hand.  They shift uncomfortably in their chairs.  His eyes move from person to person.       Helm.  Is there a nebula anywhere near here?       Y-yes, sir.  Five point four light years from here, heading 185 mark 67.       Go there.       Aye, aye, sir.  Speed, sir?       Fast.      The Battle Section turns and burns.      The main bridge.  The officer standing at the tactical station suddenly looks from place to place on the console and exclaims: Captain, the Battle Section has broken orbit.  It's heading straight for the Dominus McGregor Nebula.      Picard jumps out of his chair and takes a few steps toward the viewscreen.       On screen.  Magnify.      View of teeny-tiny Battle Section dwindling away toward the blue and purple nebula.      Troi rises out of her chair.   Worf.      Picard looks back over his shoulder.       Don't forget Door Repair Guy.      The slightest look of annoyance crosses her face.       I nearly had.      Picard stands gazing at the viewscreen.  He passes his hand back over his scalp and rubs the _base_ of his skull, trying to think of a good reason to follow the Battle Section into the nebula.      Data and La Forge materialize with phasers drawn.       So, Locutus, thought you could pull the old I-Don't-Have- Any-Tubes-Sticking-Out-Of-Me-So-No-One-Will-Suspect-I'm-Really-A- Borg trick.  Well, I've seen that one just once too often.      Troi: Data!  Geordi!  How did you get here?       Would you believe we just beamed in off the bridge of the flagship of the largest space armada ever assembled in the history of the Federation?       No.       Would you believe there are six cloaked birds of prey just off the starboard bow?       Not really.       How about a shuttlecraft and a Mr Freezie wagon?      Picard: Look, Data, Geordi, I'm not Locutus, I'm Jean-Luc Picard.  And there's Counselor Troi, and there's Doctor Crusher. We haven't been assimilated by the Borg.  It's confederation.      Geordi: Ah, just like nineteenth-century Canada, the model for all subsequent civilized societies.      Everyone: That's right!      Geordi puts his arm around Data's shoulders.       Well, pal, looks like we made it.  We're home again.       And loving it.      Troi: Captain.  Are we going to pursue the Battle Section into the nebula?       No, Counselor, it's a trap.  We'll let them play the Fourteen Hunters for a while, while we dine upon the golden eggs of Borghol.  Ensign, lay in a course for the Theta Cuniculi system.  Let's see if there's any life on the planet Mopsa.       Aye aye, Captain, says Acting Ensign Edwina.  She stands on tiptoes in front of the console, pressing controls with her two index fingers, her tongue stuck out the corner of her mouth in concentration.      The Borgoprise shoots off in a burst.      [Music.  Credits.]