Riker's Story: Mirror Cracked!
By Steve2
Summary: Star Trek universe has had one spatial anomaly after another. This is one of those stories. Only, this spatial anomaly has far-reaching consequences, more than a show's producer would realize.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Star Trek series or Married with Children series. This is simply a story for fun. No profits are being made. Enjoy the humor.
Author's note: This is the second story of my Star Trek series I wrote decades ago. I thought this would be fun to do, so I did it. It is also the last story I did at that time. This story is complete. I am still editing as I post this, and it will take a little longer to edit and post. Since I am editing the story, I can always edit to improve and change. If anyone reading decides they would like to comment and suggest something, I will give it consideration. Especially if it is funny.
Chapter 1: Change Is Good for the soul— Most of the Time"Ooooohh, Will, you're the dreamiest," said a soft, soothing voice into Commander William Riker's ear, just above the little white flaky crap humans never seems to get out of an ear, no matter how hard you scrub it out in the shower.
Commander Riker smiled and opened his eyes. The sun was setting low on the horizon of Klendi4, an M-class moon populated by scientists, engineers, farmers. And most important of all, the Risa Expansion Colony #1. He was lying face down on a table while triplet redheads Mary, Cheri and Connie rubbed his back and legs, and blonde twins Bonnie and Susan gave him a manicure and pedicure. Aaahhhhh, this was the life, he thought.
Risa was a wonderful world just over 88 light years from Earth. Klendi4 was in the same system as Risa, however it did not classify as a planet. It was a moon roughly twice the size of Earth's in orbit around a gaseous giant like Jupiter. It was originally thought uninhabitable, but when later exploration satellites were sent to investigate its surface and minerals for possible strip mining operations, it was found to have an oxygen atmosphere and a pleasant temperature. An investigation of the group in charge of analyzing the original data who were recently found on the board of directors of Klendi-4's tourism board found no possible wrong doings or cover-up conspiracies in the analyzing of the data from previous probes, and concluded the mistake was simply a human error.
Once it was discovered that new ground was found for expansion, especially in the same system as Risa, it seemed as if everyone wanted a piece of the action. Feeling that it could negatively impact tourism bookings, the board of directors for Risa decided on the only reasonable course of action: they incorporated the colony and started taxing it. Soon, most of the non-aligned companies folded, leaving only government-aligned companies and one lone independent chain making money. And although taxes bit into it more so than the tax-subsidized aligned companies, it seemed as if people were drawn to the old-age Earth institution of Massage Parlors and it flourished with a 10% growth per year for the past 20 years. Of course, it really helped when they sponsored an Interstellar Comedy Contest and plugged their resorts/health benefits.
Commander Riker turned over and Mary and Cheri got to work massaging his arms and legs while Connie expertly trimmed his beard.
"Oh, Will," said Mary as she rubbed and rubbed his arms, moving to his hairy chest. "I just love running my hands through your rough chest," she smarmed.
"Do you really own a starship?" asked Connie. Pluck. Pluck. Clip, clip, snip. "Now, now, girls," he responded. "I don't like talking finances."
"Titter, titter," they tittered at his avoidance of the question. Snip, snip, clip, clip.
Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock.
Susan, finished with cleaning the official Starfleet lint from the official Starfleet socks off Riker's fleet feet, got up and answered the door.
"'Scuze, me, toots," a miniature man said, pushing his way past Susan and her startled expression on a very cute and tanned face. She turned around as he made his way towards Riker, her hands on her slender hips and the tight, yet thoughtfully skimpy massage outfit she was wearing. She did not like rude people, especially ones who hounded paying clients.
"Hey, buddy. Yeah, you on the table being mobbed by the massage parlor chicks. Your name Commander Riker of the Starship Enterprise?" he asked in an annoying way a bill collector does.
Susan walked over to a panel on the wall, slid it back and pulled out a baseball bat, swinging it once to get back in practice of knocking some sense into people. It was just like riding a bicycle, she thought as she swung once, then twice, loosening up the muscles in the shoulders and triceps.
Riker got to a sitting position, keeping a towel around his waist so he wouldn't smirch the virtue of the masseuses. "What can I do for you, Mr..." he trailed off.
"Ah. Good. You are Commander Riker. Pleasure to meet you. My name is Nic Meanibleed, and I have a proposition for you."
Nic Meanibleed was a short man of just over one meter. He was in decent shape and wore a simple assembly of plaid patches sewn together to make an unusual kilt. He wore the traditional knee-high socks, black shoes of some unknown design that seemed to have a belt buckle attached them on the shoe top, a red cap with a fluffy white ball on top on his head, and a white and green shirt and jacket. It was hard to determine where the green started and the white ended. It was not so much the style of the clothes that caused this problem but that it appeared he hadn't washed his clothes in some time and the stains and soil marks obliterated a natural distinction between coat and shirt.
In addition to the odd clothes, Nic wore a hard expression, as if his face had weathered a thousand sunsets on a beach without benefit of any sunscreen. He was roughly 40 standard cycles old, had bright red hair and cool sideburns that came down to his chin which Riker was not envious of since he already had a beard. A real beard. Trimmed and all.
Nic appeared to weigh approximately 120 kilograms, which some might think was not very much weight, until you realize that 120 kilograms was approximately 265 pounds. On a just-over 1-meter tall individual. His hair complemented hazel green eyes, a large square nose and loud lipstick-less red lips over a chin with a little squiggly thingy in it.
All this was about to change as Susan tiptoed up behind him with a poised baseball bat.
Will considered letting Susan do her duty as a masseuse-bouncer, but then decided that anyone not aiming a weapon at him wasn't totally bad. "No Susan," he said. "I'm sure that Nic will get to the point of why he came here."
Susan was inclined to disagree and say that a good pounding would help his memory even faster, but since he was the paying boss, she did as instructed and put the bat down before heading back to her foot duty. When the Commander wasn't looking, though, she smacked Nic on the back of his head lightly with the cup of her hand. Surprisingly, that happened four more times, much to Nic's annoyance, and Will's secret glee since he did pay attention even when he wasn't paying attention.
Nic glowered at an innocent-looking Susan and said to Riker, "Let me come right to the point, sir. I recently came into an inheritance from my dear departed grandfather, Horace Meanibleed the third. Or was it the fourth. I suppose it could have been the fifth. No, wait. He had a fifth on him when he died on the fourth. Whatever. Anyway, this inheritance included the last 10 remaining film theaters on Earth which I will be relocating here to Klendi4 as this is the happening vacation spot in the Federation. However, most of the film stock I have is a bit, shall we say, dated."
"Define 'dated'," Riker said absently as Connie brushed away the remains of his cut beard bristles.
"Mid-21st century is about as new as it gets. But I also have some great show scripts that are even earlier! So, here's my idea. I'd like for you to star in a movie to bring back the movie genre. What better candidate is there? You're the dashing hero of the Enterprise. The savior of the Federation time and time again. The heartthrob of the Alpha Quadrant. And best yet, you're not bald, like the other guy on the ship. I forget. You know, whatsisname."
"Captain Picard?"
"Yeah. That's him. Anyway, I have this great script for an X-rated film noire piece. Sure, there'll be nudity and plenty of action sequences where your stand-ins could do all the work, but it'll have class and lots of chicks. Why, the likes of something like this hasn't been done in centuries. So whaddaya say, sport. You in? I can make it all worth your while, just as soon as I clear operating profits... er... expenses from the theaters first—then I can get you a hefty 5% of the net."
Riker gave it some serious thought, giving each side of his brain equal consideration. He tilted his head to the left. Sure, he would be able to participate in an event that he liked. He tilted his head to the right. But would he really enjoy acting? Besides, if he were to take up acting, when would he have time to scour the universe for all the other hot spots? He tilted his head back to the left. But the allure of being paid to do something... He quickly tilted back to the right. Think of the great travel book you'll be able to write.
"Forget it," he declined.
Nic's face fell several centimeters but he quickly regained his equilibrium. "But... but... but, why?" he stammered.
"I have more important duties than acting. I have to go make the Universe a safer place for the babes."
"Ooooohh, Will!" swooned Cheri, batting her eyelashes and almost putting out Connie's eye since the fake lashes were two meters way too long.
He moved behind a dressing curtain to get back in uniform. His entourage followed, helping him get dressed.
"Oh Will," said Connie, "this is so hard and rigid!"
Nic's ears perked up like a dog after his favorite scent. Perhaps he could get some ideas for a script from listening in. Or maybe some good blackmail.
"Yes, well, communication badges must be made of stern stuff in case we drop them on the floor," replied Riker.
Nic's ears sagged.
Giggle-giggle.
"Oh Will, you're not getting it up," came a pouty voice from a set of luscious red lips.
Nic's ears shot up yet again.
"Not to worry, ladies. I'll just put those shorts in my dirty laundry bag."
Down the ears went.
Giggle-giggle.
"My, my, Will," said Cheri. "It's so big. Growlf."
Nic's ears didn't go anywhere as he already sensed the outcome.
"Yes. I guess that's true. I did go through more clothes than I intended on this trip. At least the bag can hold all of the laundry."
Giggle-giggle.
"Now, don't make a hasty decision, sir," Nic pleaded over a soft musical score.
Riker wondered at its source, but not very hard as he was surrounded by five scantily clad women.
"You see," Nic went on over the music, "unlike most pictures this one would actually have a storyline. I see a family. A boy, a girl. Some parents would be good. Yeah, that's it. And a yak. No. Maybe a camel. No, that's not it. Anyway, some sort of pet. And neighbors. And best yet, lots of tension as they all hate or despise each other. They can taunt and swipe stuff from the neighbors. Um... how about a working title of, say, Married and Stuck with Annoying Kids and Pushy Neighbors, or something like that. You would be the handsome neighbor. You'll be the heartthrob of your wife and all the neighborhood women. And best yet, you'll be a househusband to all these housewives. What do you say? I'll even go up to 7% of the net. You can't get any more honest or giving than that, I tell you!" Nic was smiling innocently, arching his red eyebrows with the pitch.
Riker again wondered at the music source. Damn those portable music systems anyway. 'Sure wish I had one, though,' he mused. He knew he'd get one when he became a captain. But just when was Picard going to accept a desk job or simply retire?
"Breep-breep-breep-ppphhhlltzzz," Riker's nipple comm sputtered.
"Riker here," he said, punching the little hard doohickey.
"This is the Enterprise operator patching a call through from a Captain Picard. Will you accept the charges?"
Darn those budget cuts, Will thought sourly. "Certainly," he replied.
"Ah. Number One. The Enterprise is in orbit on a 2-hour meter, so hurry it up and beam aboard." A little more quietly, he mumbled, "These bloody meters are playing havoc with Federation shipping these days. If there wasn't a stiff penalty for blowing them away like an irate turbo lift…"
"For an additional minute, please deposit a 25-credit slip," came a metallic voice of the automatic operator.
Riker discommed before he had to pay any penalties. Darn those budget cuts anyway, he thought.
"Ladies," Commander Riker started, "it has been a pleasure as always. Please charge my account the appropriate fees and add a 25% tip for yourselves." Cheri handed him his overstuffed dirty laundry bag.
"Listen, sport, we can work this out," Nic pleaded. "Don't make any hasty decisions. Take my card and give me a call if you change your mind." Nic held out his hand, flipping a white card into it.
Riker took it and read the inscription:
Reality Pictures Corp. Inc. /home
Nic Meanibleed
Big Cheese in Charge (BCiC)
And Don't You Forget It
"I'll consider the offer," Riker said to Nic as he slid the card into his dirty laundry bag. And under his breath added "...but not very seriously." He stood tall, pushed the hard nipple comm, and said, "Riker to Enterprise! One to beam up!"
Within moments, Commander Riker began fading in little molecule balls and a nifty sound effect while Nic and the babes waved.
"Bye-bye, Will!" Connie, Mary, Cheri, Bonnie and Susan said, waving and giving Riker a good preview of what he would see if he paid for the mud massage on his next trip in.
"Enjoy your trip," Nic waved, laughing at the inside joke. "Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha, snort. Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha, snort. Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha, snort. Cough, cough."
Now that Commander Riker was gone, Bonnie said, "Am I ever glad that's over with. I don't know how much more I could've pumped up Will's ego without bursting out laughing."
"No kidding," Mary agreed. "That last round behind the clothing curtain I almost lost it. Heh-heh, did you notice when I was pushing my… you still here, sport-o?"
Nic responded to the indirect question of him leaving by presenting his card to the assembled babes. "Have you chicks ever considered a career in acting?" he asked in a tone that reminded Mary of a shark closing in on a kill.
She declined to take the card. As did the others.
"Are you kidding," Cheri responded tartly. "What do you think that job with Will was all about? If I hadn't majored in acting while at college, I never would have gotten as many stories to sell to the Cosmic Inquirer rag."
"That's still in business?" Nic's eyes opened a bit.
"Heck yeah it's still operating in the 24th century. I'll have you know it's even got employee benefits now, so mind your lip, pal."
"Peace. Peace. I know when to leave," Nic said, knowing when to leave, which was when he encountered intelligent females who could figure out how much of a leech he really was and call the cops. Again.
A CRACKED MIRROR REALITY AWAY
Will wondered at Nic's sudden outburst and coughing fit as he dematerialized from the House Of Massage And Then Some, but quickly put it out of mind when he rematerialized on another ship. The first thing he noticed was that he appeared on a soiled transporter pad wearing a soiled semi-Starfleet uniform, or something like a uniform.
He noticed that his uniform had the traditional black pants, but instead of boots, he wore black loafers with some sort of Wing contraption on top instead of the usual Velcro. There were also plastic-looking strings going through six holes on each side of the tongue. Additionally, he wore white socks which looked as if they hadn't been washed in nearly two years, which coincidentally matched the color of his shirt. Instead of the red Starfleet top, he was wearing a button-up, somewhat gray shirt (which had been white once) that had been rolled up at the sleeves. The only thing that seemed to be Starfleet-like was the fact he was wearing a nipple comm and his collar still held his rank insignia, although instead of metal insignia emblems, they seemed to have been drawn on with a marker. The one piece of clothing he had a problem with was the tie. He didn't really have any idea what the tie signified as he had never seen one before, or why it was in the form of a noose around his neck. But he didn't like it one bit! The second thing he noticed were two women at the transporter controls trying to put out a fire. Or a big smoky mess which usually indicated a fire.
"Kelly! I said not to push that button. Now look what you've done!" Riker saw a mound of red hair yelling at a blond with a fire extinguisher.
"Sorry, mom," replied the smaller blonde, stopping her work to gawk at Riker, her mouth forming an "O"
The redhead stopped her work as well, turned around and looked up, did a double take, smiled and then said
"Well, hello there, big boy. Say, what did you do with Al? Not that I mind, mind you, ha-ha."
She wiggled her way over to Riker, her Starfleet uniform a shambled mess. She wore the regulation gold and black of engineering, but the pants ended at her bare ankles and she was wearing high-heels. Also, she seemed to be wearing a gold satin jacket over her gold and black uniform, and while the regs had everyone wearing semi-form fitting uniforms these days, hers was skin-tight, which did nothing to help her curly red hair draped over her shoulders, matching her equally red lipstick.
Since when did Starfleet allow lipstick? Hmmm, he'd have to talk to someone about that little oversight soon.
Of course, on her… Riker just didn't know what to think.
Riker looks confused, muttering, "Man, I wish I had a 'sub-type: confusion' musical sonata now."