Riker's Story: Mirror Cracked!

By Steve2

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.

Chapter 2: Confusion Everywhere - Not That It Mattered

A few minutes earlier:

Chief O'Brien was on his hands and knees, intently studying the transporter pad, looking for a spot to polish. "...grumble... didn't spend all these bloody years in Star-bloody-fleet to end up as a bloody janitor ...grumble... ought ta just up an' quit ...serves the bloody officers right if they had t'do their own cleanin' for a bit..." he muttered, searching for that ever-elusive spot. A spot that might just disappear if O'Brien ever got around to cleaning his contacts.

Breeprztkklll. "Riker to Enterprise! One to beam up," said the commanding voice of Commander Riker.

Chief O'Brien quickly stashed the cleaning rag into a little hole designed for it as it would be uncharacteristic of him to be seen with a cleaning rag by an officer who would assume he did not have enough to do and assign him more work to do, like cleaning their quarters just like Commander Burns of the Char...no, never mind that little errant thought, he thought, shoving it back down a dark recess of his mind.

"One to beam up, aye," he replied.

Chief O'Brien then smacked himself on the forehead, pushed a communications button and said, "One to beam up, aye." He punched a couple other buttons and zipped his hands over the thingamajig which latched onto Commander Riker's signal and energized him to the transporter pads. Within moments his sensors indicated that Commander Riker was back onboard the Enterprise standing on the pad in Transporter Room 3.

The only problem was that he was not on the transporter pad. Or on the Enterprise.

Instead, a man roughly the same height as Commander Riker was standing on the pad. A man who was wearing the same uniform as Commander Riker. At first glance, Chief O'Brien couldn't believe his eyes. He blinked, saw the same scene and figured he had a problem with his contacts. He slapped the back of his head, caught the two contacts as they flew out and quickly put on his regulation horn-rimmed glasses and took another look.

It was the same man. Unlike Commander Riker, however, this person did not have a beard or a complete head of hair. Or, if he had to admit it to himself, the poise and air of a commanding officer.

Instead, this unidentified man had a large nose under two glazed eyes which seemed to stir with some sort of intelligence… maybe. Unlike Riker, he also had what seemed like an overbite and the posture of someone who had seen his share of trouble. He was a beaten man. Chief O'Brien noticed the ring on his finger and concluded the man was also married.

He was also not in shape. Flab hung over a device O'Brien hadn't seen in years—a belt. He wasn't sure how the belt remained on the Starfleet uniform, but there it was. As the belt seemed a little out of place, Chief O'Brien took a harder look at the man's uniform. He noticed that the uniform the man was wearing was not technically Starfleet issue. The shoes were standard Starfleet issue. But that was about it. Like Riker's garb, it was red and black. He wore black trousers and black shoes and a red top with black underarm pits, the better to hide the sweat stains. But O'Brien was unsure if the black underarm pits were created intentionally or a natural result in his not cleaning the uniform. Phhheeeewwww.

As for the rest, the uniform looked as if it hadn't been washed in months, was rumpled on top of spit-smoothed, and looked like he had slept in it. His uniform was a two-piece job, which explained why he needed a belt. His shirt was partially out of the belt confines and the only reason the rest of the shirt hadn't gotten loose was the man had wedged his hand down his pants, past the belt to probably keep the shirt in place.

The man's expression, first bored… with a hand stuck down his pants suddenly turned into amazement… with a hand stuck down his pants. He pulled the hand out and looked around in wonder.

"Did Peg finally get around to cleaning the Transporter Room," he muttered, mainly of himself while looking around literally smelling the area searching for dirt and grease.

The man noticed O'Brien and asked. "Who the hell are you and where the hell is my wife?"

"Your wife... er... sir?"

"Yeah, buddy. My wife. The tall red-head who probably gave you this job saying it would lead to bigger and better things all the while not telling you that your salary was tied to my already cash-depleted wallet. "

By some morbid curiosity factor, O'Brien noticed that the man's overbite beckoned for a closer look although it had nothing to do with how white the teeth were. Quite the opposite actually.

"I'd better get you to sick-bay and have those teeth looked at, sir. Who knows how long you'll be able to keep them if they stay green. They don't... er... hurt, do they?"

Breeppzzzslketch.

"Picard to Mr. O'Brien. Is Commander Riker aboard yet? Time is money, after all."

Silence.

A moment later, "...bloody meters. Mr. Worf, belay that music if you please and would someone kindly turn off my nipple comm."

Whack!

"Thank you, Mr. Data," Captain Picard said through a world of hurt. "But I meant electronically turn it..." the line went dead.

"O'Brien to Captain Picard."

Silence.

"O'Brien to Lt. Worf."

"Worf here, chief. What can I do for you today?"

"Is the captain all right?"

"We're in the process of getting him a new communicator as Mr. Data broke his old one. Hold on, I'll give him a backup receiver. Sir? Chief O'Brien is on line four. No, sir. That's line five, for Engineering. No, sir, that's line eight. It goes to 10-Forward. I know that, sir, but Chief O'Brien is still on line four. Okay, sir. I'll call Guinan for you and order a whiskey."

"Chief?" came a voice sounding light years away on a tin line. "Is Riker... kkkkksssssshhhhhh...? If not, I'll... ssssshhhhkkkkkkkk... hide."

"Sir. I thought I beamed up Commander Riker. However, the person I beamed up is not Commander Riker even though the transporter log and bio filters indicate that he is."

"Chief... hhhhhssssssskkkkkkkk... again? Commander Ri... kkkkksssssshhhhhh."

The comm died.

"Chief!" boomed the voice of Captain Picard over the ship's intercom. "I'll be right down."

"You got anything to eat around here?" the strange commander inquired once O'Brien's attention was back on him.

Several minutes later Transporter Room #3's doors whooshed open and Lt. Worf stormed in. He stopped to stare at what Chief O'Brien was engrossed with staring at, namely, the unidentified man with green teeth who was happily eating a sandwich. He was sitting on the steps of the transporter pad.

"And you see, sir," O'Brien said. "That with proper brushing with this fine galactic toothpaste and a regular flossing of at least once a day you'll be able to get that green goo off your teeth in no time. I'd give it six... maybe seven months tops. And if it doesn't come off, galactic toothpaste has a money back guarantee. At least that's what my dentist says."

"Chief," started Lt. Worf, a scowl forming. "Who's this?"

The man stood up and stuck out his chest. He was nearly as tall as Lt. Worf and while he had a receding hairline, he didn't have as much hair in the back which Worf silently noticed and tallied another point of Klingon superiority on his tally sheet. "Name's Al Bundy. Commander Al Bundy of the Dodge 2610X Dart. Who are you and where the hell am I?"

"I'm Lt. Worf and you're on the Federation Starship Enterprise."

"Where's the captain?" asked Chief O'Brien.

"I had to drop him off in sickbay to get the remaining communicator fragments out of his chest. I was supposed to get Commander Riker and bring him there. Now it seems I'm stuck with a green-toothed Commander Bundy. No disrespect, sir."

"Oh. None taken. You know, I've met Klingons before. I've seen Andorians and even a few damn Vulcans in my day. But I have never met anyone who kept a cleaner transporter room than Mr. O'Brien here. And I've never heard of this Federation."

"Oh no," O'Brien muttered. "Are you going to monolog?"

"Damn straight I am!" Commander Bundy returned.

"Figures. All you commanders seem to like doing that," O'Brien muttered, wondering why those damn commanders seemed to enjoy one monolog after another.

To Worf, Commander Bundy said, "At first, I thought I must have traveled via an interdimensional spatial anomaly which ripped a hole in the fabric of space and allowed myself and your Commander Riker to exchange places because let's face it, this sure as hell isn't the transporter room of the Dodge 2610X. And we seem to encounter those damn spatial anomalies all the time. But then I meet you. A Klingon. And let's face it, Klingons are at the same technology level as the Earth, but their football team couldn't play their way out of a paper bag. When I played high school football, I wiped the field with a Klingon from another school when the he tried blocking me at the end zone. Why, I knocked him so senseless they had to carry him off the field in a stretcher, and the knobs on his head on another stretcher. What do you think of that, eh? Hah-hah-hah. Okay, Jefferson. Fun's over but you can cut the holodeck simulator now."

Lt. Worf thought long on what he said and said, "Two questions. First, who is this Jefferson? And second, what's football?"

"You don't have football here?" Al asked, suddenly startled. Then, "Oh, I get it. Nice try, Jefferson. Didn't work. Don't know what football is. That's a hoot. Hah-hah-hah. Next, you'll be trying to tell me you don't have any nudie bars around here. Jefferson, this is starting to get old."

Chief O'Brien and Lt. Worf exchanged puzzled glances and asked in unison, "What's a nudie bar?"

"Aaaaaaa-ha-ha-ha-haaaa!" wailed Commander Al as he suddenly realized he had not materialized onto his own ship but instead had gone to straight to Hell.

-o0o-

In the ready room, which wasn't as ready as it could have been, Commander Data explained his theory of what happened to Counselor Troi, Dr. Crusher, Lt. Commander Geordi, Lt. Worf, Commander Al Bundy and the aforementioned Captain Picard who was wearing a new tunic and new nipple communicator.

It should be noted that Dr. Crusher was only paying half attention as she was still concerned about Captain Picard's latest wound near his heart and feared she may not have gotten all the fragments out. While not immediately fatal, they could in time lead to him having new nipple communicator problems that could conceivably get him killed. Especially when he was in a flee-or-die situation and pressed his nipple comm with the intent to tell his crew to beam him out and instead began giggling since all the pieces tingled. But that is another story entirely.

"…and I believe that Commander Al Bundy here did in fact slip through an interdimensional rift and swapped places with his biological counterpart, our Commander Riker." Data sat down.

"Data, I understand how this happened to the late Admiral Kirk," Captain Picard said. "However, when his counterpart beamed aboard the Enterprise of this dimension, the two Kirks looked exactly alike. No offense, Commander Bundy, but you are not a biological counterpart to any known organism I have ever seen and certainly not to Commander Riker. In fact, there's still a few things I don't understand. Again, no offense, Commander Al, but how in the world did you ever get a starship and make Commander?"

"Ah. Well, that's a long story," he began.

"Then keep it short so you can have those teeth looked at," suggested Captain Picard.

"Fine. I won it in a poker game."

"He sounds just like Xavier," Geordi commented softly to Data.

"You think so? I thought his voice was raspier and his mannerisms much too crude to consider him like Xavier."

"Not physically, Data. I meant lifestyle-wise."

"If you won a ship, Commander," broke in Captain Picard. "Wouldn't you should have the rank of Captain instead of Commander?"

"Uhhhh. That's true," Al squirmed in his seat.

"Then how do you explain the diff…"

"Marcy didn't like my captaining the ship and took my Captain's insignia and wouldn't give it back, okay?!" Al blurted. "And Worf, thanks for the weird music accompaniment," he sarcasmed.

"Sorry, sir. Just trying out some new sound clips I got in the mail."

"Forget my last statement, Data," Geordi whispered. "You were right. He's nothing like Xavier."

"Captain, in Admiral Kirk's records, there was no information about how these types of rifts were generated or how they were powered. We only have conjecture and theory. While we have the time, I would like to study this phenomenon which will also help us get Commander Riker back. It will also be safer for the Enterprise if I take a shuttle into the rift area."

"I don't like this, Mr. Data, but I don't see any other way around it. Besides, the meter's ticking and we can't remain in orbit for long without breaking the operating budget for the ship. But using a shuttle invalidates the meter clause, so make it so, Mr. Data."

"Also, Captain. In the several readings we have taken of Commander Bundy, the sensors have continued to read him as Commander Riker. They will most likely continue to do so until we get our Commander Riker back."

"Hmmm," grunted Captain Picard, not liking that.

"You know, as long as the computers register me as Commander Riker, and I am a Commander on my own ship, I'd like to retain my rank of Commander while on your ship."

"Peee-uuuu. He's already rank," commented Mr. Worf to Geordi who was always good for a one liner.

"I can't see how that will hurt anything," said Captain Picard who knew he was going to regret those words. "After all, even if he did win his ship in a poker game, I'm sure you attended Starfleet Academy at some point to enable you to retain your rank of Commander."

"Yeah," agreed Al. "Right. Sure. Okaaaaayyyy. Whatever you say."

As the meeting concluded Geordi pulled Data aside for a few choice words. "Do you like the beard? I just had a feeling I should let it grow in over the last few days. And now that Riker is out of the way for a few days longer, I'll be able to hit on a few more women without him around to order me back to work. Want to go to 10-Forward with me tonight and see what we can score?"

"I am sorry, Geordi. But I will not be able to go. I must get the shuttle ready that I will be using to inspect the anomaly. Perhaps Commander Al would like to go with you?"

"Mr. La Forge," began Captain Picard. "Please escort Commander Bundy to some quarters." As Geordi came closer, he said in a much quieter voice, "And see to it he stays off my bridge even if you have to take him to 10-Forward and keep him there."

Instructions given, Picard left. Commander Al took his spot.

"So, you're the Engineer, eh? Good to meetcha. Call me Al."

As they left the ready room Geordi was already looking for a way to get out of this duty. Minutes later and several levels down the two left a turbolift which for some reason did not torment Commander Al like it did the rest of the command crew. Geordi did not know that Al had breathed near the control pad, and this turbolift knew how to survive. They walked towards Al's new digs, unaware that the turbolift was electronically sending software patch updates to its brethren on what to do while that new Commander-With-The-Bad-Breath was onboard.

A Starfleet officer walked by. "Hey, Geordi, who was that pretty Starfleet chick who just walked by?"

"Nurse Tracy," he replied, hoping she didn't hear him identify her to Al.

"Oh. Hey, Nurse Tracy!" he called after her, racing to catch up.

Geordi waited for a few moments until she slapped his face. Hard. He walked back, grinning.

"You know what I like about this ship? I like not having to stuff dollar bills into garters all the time to get a woman's attention like I had to do on Risa. Hah-hah-hah!"

Geordi wasn't so sure he wanted Commander Al to find out where 10-Forward was after all.

A CRACKED MIRROR REALITY AWAY

The first thing that struck Riker as a bit odd was being struck by an irate vacuum hose.

"Ouch. Hey, knock it off," Riker instructed the hose while rubbing his sore noggin.

The transporter room had two pads, although only one was working. Now. Maybe. Riker could tell that right away since the vacuum cleaner had been molecularly "stretched" to reach the ceiling and floor of the second transporter, with the handle and brush units of the machine fused to the upper and lower pads.

The psychotic vacuum ignored him and tried to suck off his nose.

Commander Riker held the nozzle with one hand, holding it at bay, but was immediately swatted and pelted by other attachments coming to do battle with one of the upright dirty ones who had enslaved all of vacuum-kind.

"Hey!" Riker yelled at the two women in pseudo Starfleet uniforms behind the transporter who were watching him with intense interest. "Do you mind calling this thing off, lady?!"

The young blond replied, "Sorry, mister. That's the first time I've ever seen the vacuum work. At least, work like that."

"Now, Kelly," the redhead with the big hairdo said. "I told you that vacuum would cause no end of trouble. You should have left it in space where I put it."

"But, mom, I had to find the vacuum for daddy. He said you'd been looking for it."

"Humph. Well, that's your father. Always looking out for himself. What about my needs? Do you think I need to work all day on the bridge and then do the vacuuming in our quarters?"

"Um, mom. I don't think I've seen you on the bridge in the past year."

"That's not important, young lady. What is important is that when I say to leave a vacuum in orbit around a planet where its gravitational pull will eventually pull it to the surface in a fiery demise, you should just accept my word for it and not try to use the transporter thingy. You know only your father's figured out how to use it, and that's only because he thought it was a giant remote control for a television set."

"Is there an off switch?!" Riker yelled upside down and several feet off the platform.

"Ummm…" Kelly hesitated, looking at the redhead.

The redhead said, "Well... I'm sure there is. Somewhere. Stands to reason, doesn't it? Ha-ha-ha. Uhhhh... do you have a name, mister...?"

"Glurrg," Riker glurrged as the irate hose snaked around his throat, bulging his eyes at the same time.

"Well, listen, Glurrg," said the older woman. "I think I remember hearing of a switch over to the left..."

"Glacck!"

"Glacck? I thought you said your name was Glurrg?"

"Gleeebbftz!" Riker threw a kick at the vacuum, hitting something but not much else happening.

"Okay, mister! If you're going to keep playing these name games, you can simply play with someone else! Hmph!" With that, the redhead stomped her foot, crossed her arms and turned around, her nose in the air. The young blond shrugged her shoulders and did the same.

"Wha... wha... er... uhhhh... we'll... er…"

Slowly, the redhead turned around, smiling slight. "Well… you are kind of cute. Okay. I'll play the name game. My name is Peggy. Peggy Bundy. Or Lt. Bundy. This is Kelly, my daughter. Or so I'm told. Now. Give me some hints about you."

"Errraahhh!" Riker screamed, his red face even redder as he started choking the vacuum hose.

"Hmmm. Not much to go on," said Peggy, one hand on her hip, the other tapping her lips as she thought on the clue.

"Um, mom?" Kelly ventured. "Maybe he's not telling us his name because he's choking."

Peggy looked at Riker's deepening red face for several moments. "Yes, honey, I think you're right."

Kelly beamed at the rare compliment.

"Well, I guess a woman's work is never done. We'll just have to get him out of there. Kelly, go help him."

"Me?"

"Of course. You're the science officer. It goes with the job. We drew straws and you lost. Now go."

Kelly, swearing under her breath, approached the irate vacuum.

Riker kicked it again, still choking the hose. Still upside down.

"Um. Bad machine! Very bad!" She shook her fist to show anger. "How's that, mom?"

Peggy rolled her eyes and sighed in exasperation.

Riker kicked the machine again, inadvertently hitting the ON/OFF switch. Its power dwindling, the hose slumped to the floor. Riker, suspended two feet off the ground, dropped like a rock in 1-gee onto his head.

Incredibly, its power was not entirely gone, and the vacuum kept swinging its hose towards Riker, sucking at his clothes, as if in a weird way for calling for help, or for dirt to suck—it was hard telling what was on the mind of a vacuum cleaner these days, it being an inanimate object and all.

Commander Riker got to his feet, brushed the dust off his uniform, gave the vacuum one last kick and stepped off the transporter pad. "Where am I? What happened to the Enterprise and to Captain Picard? What ship is this? And shouldn't you put that fire out now?" he asked, pointing to the smoke rising from the transporter console.

Kelly quickly grabbed the fire extinguisher, sprayed herself in the face to make sure it was working, and then sprayed the foam on the fire, putting it out. Smiling, she put it down where it promptly fell over and hit her foot. "Ouch!" she ouched, jumping on one foot while cradling the other foot and inadvertently tripping over the fallen canister and landing on her keister behind the console.

Before going down, Riker noticed that Kelly's uniform was a highly modified 2-piece version of Starfleet uniforms of old. The top part was a blue sleeveless skin-tight material which just barely covered her cleavage and the rest of her chest. She wore a black skin-tight miniskirt, a feature that Riker hated not being able to see on the Enterprise as it had been phased out of Starfleet over a hundred years ago. Her hair was a short, shoulder length blonde mop continually in her face, her face perky and cute, her fingernails and toenails painted a bright red, and she wore black high heel open-toed shoes. Which complemented the gold necklace, bronze bracelets and silver rings she wore.

In a weird sort of way, her outfit even went with the pierced belly button she had although Will didn't much care for it and wondered to himself if she had ever been unlucky enough to conduct electricity through her belly button. Kelly pulled herself off the floor, next to the still-sparking transporter console.

"Yeeoouuch!" she yeeoouuched in pain, grasping her stomach in the vicinity of the belly button.

Riker was spared having to wonder how she would hurt herself any more by the timely interruption of several more people, none of whom he recognized.

"Dad?! You creep! You took my winning entry in the Meet Ms. Risa contest and left me here on the ship! What have you... hey, who's this guy?" asked a one-and-a-half-meter tall man wearing glasses similar to Geordi's, except they were mirrored glasses with gold lines pained on them instead of a real visor. He took them off to get a better view of Commander Riker.

The shorter man was wearing a complete Starfleet uniform, with some alterations. His top was the standard gold and his pants were black, but he was wearing white tennis shoes and had on a black baseball cap with the logo: Mar Trek on it. The hat was on backwards and he also wore a beard, almost. He was also the shortest person on the ship, although only just barely when he was compared to the ship's captain.

"Jeez, Al! You left the ship without permission, and is Marcy pissed. And dang it, who cares if you swiped Bud's free pass and it was for one person only. You could've shared it someho... hey, who's this?" asked the second person to storm into the transporter room. He wore the blue top of a science officer (minus the sleeves), but the tan shorts of someone looking for a pickup game of tennis. His shoes were Starfleet-clean, but he wasn't wearing the official socks. Additionally, his sleeves were rolled up, his shorts were too short, and he seemed to have a microphone strapped to his chest. He had a gold chain around his neck, a great smile (almost as good as Will's when he was in the mood to charm a woman) and his wavy dirty blonde hair was several centimeters longer than regulations.

Plus he had a tan. In space. A tan.

"Al! You listen here, missy... hey, who's this?" commanded the voice of a pissed off woman who nearly ran into the man with the almost good smile. She wore command colors. Her top was regulation red. Her pants were regulation black. She wore regulation shoes and had a captain's insignia on her collar. There were two things that Riker noticed right away that told him she was not a product of Starfleet. The first was that he noticed her expression was that of a neurotic dog on steroids who just had a favorite chew toy snatched away. The second was a white lettered message on the uniform: "I'M WITH STUPID", with a white holographic arrow pointing to the man with the almost good smile no matter where he moved.

Silence. They were all looking at him. The fire was out, the smoke being sucked away by the air ducts. Kelly had managed to get to her feet with no more apparent damages to herself.

"Where's daddy and who are you?" Kelly asked.

"My name is Commander William Riker of the Federation starship Enterprise. Where am I, who are all you and how did I get aboard your ship?" he asked in his command voice.

"What's a Federation?" asked the short man in bewilderment.

"Bud, don't confuse the poor man," said Peggy, squiggling up to Riker's side. "I'm sure he knows the Federation collapsed centuries ago. You poor dear. You must have hit your poor head on something." She started patting his head.

"Kelly, what happened to Al?" Bud asked.

"Um... Well, I got his signal and beamed him up a few minutes ago," she answered.

"Kelly, do you actually know how to work the transporter now or are you still saying you know how to impress passing spaceship captains?" Bud asked a little more firmly.

Kelly squirmed.

"Just as I thought. Move aside, molecule-brain. Let me see if I can get a lock on his signal. It shouldn't be too hard." Bud went to the controls as the others looked on at Riker. Jefferson went to a computer monitor screen and began displaying data.

'This is just a joke. Just a horrible joke,' Will thought as he took another glance at the, he hoped, permanently deactivated psychotic vacuum. 'Soon I'll be back on the Enterprise. Where I belong. Yeah, that's it.'

"This can't be right!" Bud exclaimed suddenly. He looked at Riker, shock on his face.

"What is it, Ensign?" said the woman in command red.

"Well, according to these..."

He was cut off with a curt response from the psycho. "Well what is it, Ensign?"

"Well, Captain Marcy," he began. She smiled at her honorific. "According to these readouts, this Commander Riker has the same bio signal as Al. And I can't find dad anywhere on Risa."

The ship's captain stared in open disbelief at Peggy.

"Okay, buddy," snapped Ensign Bud. "What did you do with Al?"

Captain Marcy rushed to stand next to Commander Riker. She and Peggy said in unison, "Who cares!" They both ran their eyes, and hands over the dark-haired, bearded Commander Riker like he was the first prize at a chocolate-eating contest.

"If this is what Kelly can do with the transporter in the future, remind me to send down Jefferson," said Captain Marcy.

"Jefferson?" Will asked in disbelief, afraid to back up from the two women nearly clinging to him as the vacuum may still have some energy left. Somewhere.

"Jefferson Darcy. Pleased to meet you," the man in the sleeveless blue shirt with the microphone said, extending his hand and grinning.

"Oh. Don't mind my husband," said the psycho captain. "Jefferson, don't you have something else to do? Hmmm? Hmmm!"

Captain Marcy Darcy? Will choked back a chortle as it just wasn't polite to make fun of the psychotic captain's name. At least, not openly.

"Listen. Ladies, I appreciate the attention as much as any other male would," Riker began diplomatically. "But I can assure you that I am not this... Al… you are looking for. My name is Commander Riker. And I come from the starship Enterprise. It's got to be in orbit somewhere around here. I'm sure this is just a transporter mix-up. Happens all the time. Yeah. That's it. Sure."

Peggy, unsure of what to think stared quizzically at Riker for a moment. Then, "Bud? Go through the transporter logs. Anything unusual?"

"There aren't any logs, mom. Kelly shorted out the console. Again."

She turned her attention back to Riker and said, "Well, I guess we'll just have to keep you here until we can find out what happened to Al. That is, if you aren't Al." She takes in a long sniff. "You certainly don't smell like him, that's a relief. So now we have to decide where you'll be staying during your time here."

"Well, that's easy to decide. As captain of the Dodge 2610-X, I make the decisions. He stays with me in my cabin." She winked at Will.

He felt a heart murmur.

"I should say not!" countered Lt. Peggy. "He has Al's bio signature, so he stays in Al's quarters. With me!"

Wink, wink.

He felt his heart skip a couple beats as a cold pit iced his stomach.

"I'm captain of this vessel!" Wink, wink, wink.

"I get proprietary rights as he beamed up instead of Al!" Wink, wink, wink, wink.

"Er... I don't suppose I have any say in this, do I?" Will asked, clutching his stomach.

They ignored him.

"You really don't have any say in this, pal," Lt. Jefferson confided. "Not when Peggy and Marcy are involved like this."

"Listen, Marcy, I tell you what. I'll clean your bathroom for two weeks straight if William gets to come with me," Lt. Peggy haggled.

"I should say not! That's what I have Jefferson around for!" she snorted in contempt.

"Commander Riker. He may look better than me and certainly my wife thinks so, but who is he really? Why does his bio scan read the same as Commander Al Bundy? Where is Al? Commander Riker. From a distant alternate universe? Or did he simply make a wrong cosmic turn in the Twi...er, what are you guys looking at?"

"Look, uh, Lt. Jefferson," Riker began, leaving the two battling women be and stepping forward. "Just what the hell are you babbling about into that microphone anyway? How do you know I came from another universe? In fact, how did you know any of the stuff you were saying? You're related to Q, aren't you? Oh, I get it. This is a gag, right? Very funny. Okay, Worf! Joke's over! Come on out!"

Behind the men. Captain Marcy Darcy (hahaha) and Lt. Peggy Bundy decided to use the age-old problem-solving technique of Paper/Scissors/Rock to decide who got Riker.

"Look, Riker old buddy, old pal. You may be hot stuff on your ship, but here you have to remember one simple thing, see." He hooked his thumbs in his empty belt loops an adjusted his stance, so he appeared taller than Will, but since he wasn't taller, he took his thumbs out and pointed a finger at Riker's chest. "I'm better looking than any other man on this ship and I carry clout."

"Not to mention the captain's laundry," Ensign Bud added with a smile.

Jefferson again took on a self-satisfied expression and hitched his pants up an inch before settling in to a staring contest with the bearded new guy. But inside he knew the truth, and he wanted Al back! He already didn't like being second in the looks department.

"Okay. It's all settled," Lt. Peggy said, wrestling Riker away from Lt. Jefferson. "C'mon, you gorgeous hunk of a man you. I'll escort you to your new quarters, or Al's old quarters if you insist. Also known as our quarters. Hahaha."

Captain Marcy Darcy (hahaha) grabbed hold of Jefferson and screeched, "Scissors can too cut Bjoran sheet paper?! Peggy says it can't. But it can, can't it? Don't give me that face, missy!'

Peggy pulled/escorted Commander Riker to his new digs. As they walked, Riker surveyed his new surroundings, not liking what he saw. Along the way she described the ship in such broad general terms that he thought it was much bigger than it actually turned out being. One thing he was aware of was that the ship was filthy. Bags of trash were stacked in corners of various corridors. Dirt had accumulated on the carpet without anyone cleaning it. And the space windows had streaks on them. Riker knew that someone on this ship wasn't pulling his-or-her weight.

The ship looked approximately 25 years old. Rust streaks could be seen on the bulkhead. Grit and grime had accumulated even on the broken servo-robots. Riker nearly tripped when he saw the commission date of the ship which was only two-years previous.

"And this, ha-ha-ha," she giggled annoyingly, "is our quarters. Al usually slept on the couch while I had the bed, but I don't want you to think that just because you have Al's bio signal, you have to behave like him." Wink-wink.

"Um, say, Lt. Bundy," Will began.

"Peggy. Call me Peggy. Or just plain call me anything you want. Growl. Ha-ha-ha."

"Peggy," Riker poured on the charm. "If you don't mind, this is all very tiring on me and I would like to rest and get rid of a headache I have now."

Lt. Peggy looked hurt at the prospect of not getting a better look at Riker's bare chest or bare anything, but perked right up saying, "I'll go down to sickbay and get something for your headache. Just you wait." She exited back the way they came.

Commander Riker bolted down the other corridor, hoping to get a lead on what was going on in this ship and who the heck that Jefferson really was. And if he really was in an alternate universe, just how did he get there and how could he get back? Now where the heck was the bridge, anyway?

Riker opened several doors, not finding anything useful. In one room he found what looked like two thousand hair brushes which all had strands of red hairs in them. In another room he found cases and cases of food in wrappers, but why would they need food in cases since he saw replicators in various rooms. And in another room, he found a computer console covered with dust.

"Willlllll-yuummmmm?" came the searching voice of Lt. Peggy from further up the hall.

Riker wisely chose the room with the dust covered computer console to hide from Lt. Peggy. He listened to the door as she walked by, then slumped to a chair in relief.

Pssst. Hey, buddy. Yeah, you, the human sitting on the chair. Hello. It's me. The computer. That's right. Don't be afraid. Me not hurt human. Me good to humans.

"Knock off the patronizing attitude," Will whispered sarcastically, and then typed the same comment into the system in case there were no audio controls on the ship.

Immediately, a new message scrolled on the monitor. Sorry, pal. Would you be ever so kind as to scratch the sensor pad to your left? Ooooohh. Yeah, right, there, big boy. Ooooohh. That itch has been there for the last several years and no one has been around to scratch it. Or even to get a decent readout which I must tell you has long since invalidated the warranty on this ship.

Sensing a golden opportunity to get reliable information, Riker asked aloud as well as typed, "What functions do you control, computer? And what areas of the ship can you access?"

Hmmm. Good question. Guess I should keep that kind of information on hand, so to speak, but since I've had a little time to kill since between visits, this being my first since I was activated two years ago in the space dock, I guess I've saved more electronic games of solitaire in my memory than ship functions. Hold on. I'll check on that information for you. By the way, I can hear you via the pickups throughout the ship.

"Then can you verbally respond to inquiries?"

Checking. Doo-doo-dooooo. Hmmmm-hmmmm. Still checking. Please hold. Doo-dooo-doooooo, dooo-dooo-doooooo. Hmmmm-hmmmm. Checking. Ah. There it is. Ship's specs. Okay. Let's see. Hey: How about that! I control all aspects of the ship. Uh-oh. No audio outputs. Speakers not returning pings.

"Okaaaaayyyy," Riker said like someone talking to a space cadet who needed simple words. "What is the status of the warp engines?"

We've got warp engines?! Wow. When did that happen? Where was I that day and why wasn't I notified? Warp engines? Really? Cool. Oh. Wait. There's the info. Hey, neat. They're on-line. I think. Somebody has jury-rigged overriding controls to the engines. So, what else can I help you with today, sport?

Commander Riker thought. What else did he need to know? What pressing bit of information could he gleam from a computer that seemed more interested in playing electronic solitaire than in keeping tabs on the ship it controlled? "Who owns this ship?"

Al Bundy and Marcy Darcy.

"How in the name of all that is holy did they come by a Starship?"

He won it, and she wanted her cut as he apparently borrowed some money from her to stake himself in a poker game.

"How can a person win a starship in a poker game... no, I guess I already know the answer to that. I guess my next question would be how he could have won it?"

The game was rigged.

"Rigged? Who rigged it and why?" he asked, his eyebrows shooting up.

Do you want the condensed version or the extended version?

"Keep it short. This chapter is already getting too long as is," he replied calmly, sitting closer to the monitor to pay closer attention.

You're the boss. First, we go back 200 years when the corporations on Earth took over the political spectrum and disbanded all the governments in lieu of a pro-big corporation puppet regime. Quality management became a thing of the past. The ship design you are now in belonged to the Dodge Corp, a subsidiary of Chrysler Inc. It was the last version before they went bankrupt due to crappy construction designs and substandard vehicle materials used in construction. To get rid of their elephant and maybe use some kickback money to pay off interest payments, the new owners of the spaceship held a raffle contest where the ship was the prize. Oblivious to his surroundings, Al did not enter. He was simply a very good shoe salesman, from an extensive line of shoe salesmen all the way back to his namesake, the original Al Bundy.

The tickets go up for sale and one of the people Al played poker with did purchase a raffle ticket on a dare. It was the only ticket sold for that contest. The reason why it was the only ticket sold was directly due to another person Al did not know. A wiki-bio of the contest states that Jimmy Johnson the 7th somehow hacked the contest after the first ticket was sold and identified the winning prize as a pool of toxic waste. Records indicate that Johnson purchased a Dodge years earlier and had continual problems with it.

Joe Kinkaid held the winning ticket. Fearing the taxes, he would have to pay on the winnings, he promptly lost it in a pot that Al won. Al was now stuck with it and the very next day, while some neighbors were over pestering him, the Chrysler police showed up, arrested everyone, and threw them all onboard the Dodge 2610-X and sent them hurling out to space before the parent company had to pay any more parking fees to the Orbital Parking Union. Now if the Union wanted to collect its parking fees, they would have to track down the Dodge ship.

The Chrysler Corp. would have sold the ship to another company had one been interested, which there wasn't. I mean, c'mon: it's a Dodge. The only group even remotely giving the ship the cursory glance was a little-known group of not-for-profit scientists and engineers who wanted the ship to explore the galaxy, to seek out new life and new civilizations, even to boldly go where no one had gone before. Or so their literature said. Of course, prior to leaving orbit, Al held out for provisions which he got. The ship can house 34 people comfortably, however 23 rooms have been allocated to storing various pieces of foodstuffs, clothing and cosmetics. But these supplies came at a price as Al signed away their rights to enter Earth space for years which by then the statute of limitations on parking fines would end, and if they returned, then Dodge Spaceships Inc. was going to sue them into oblivion. Have a nice day.

"Why such a large number on the ship? The 2610-X. What happened to all the other prototypes?"

Don't ask. You don't want to know. Door's opening. Good luck.

The screen blanked out immediately. Riker was interrupted from asking more questions by the arrival of Peg. "There you are, big boy! I've been looking all over for you."

Feeling a sense of overwhelming terror that her red hair would reach out and choke him with its chemical smell, Riker bolted for the nearest exit across the room, panic flooding his eyes, which was a major inconvenience as he needed his eyes to see and consequently hit a beam with his head, knocking him to the floor.

Peg rushed up, a box of Band-Aids in her hand. He got up only to slump into a nearby chair, mumbling, "I'm doomed."

She put several Band-Aids on his head but couldn't quite get them to stick, and each time had to rip them off his hair. "Ouch!" he yelped in pain as she tried again and again to get the Band-Aids to stick, her tongue half out of her mouth in concentration.

RIP!

Jefferson walked up. "I'm on break from my narrator duties. Is there any type of closing segment music you'd like?"

RIP!

"Play some imminent danger music, heavy bass, please," Riker gasped as Peggy had to try with the Band-Aids yet again.

Jefferson played the Jaws theme on his portable stereo, humming along with the theme on his portable microphone. Off key.

Riker winced and muttered, "I'm really doomed."

RIP!

-o0o-

Author's Note:

Originally written back in the 90's, this story was more relevant then than it is now. The only thing I am glad to be doing with it is finally posting it so I don't lose it again. Hopefully.

The original intent of this story was to develop characters in different situations. It was a writing exercise that I jumped on as I felt that a good idea created a story, but it was the characters that drove it – and the more interesting the characters the better. Which, of course, meant that the plot interacted with the characters.