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 6: Noble Thoughts Will Kill Me

Why Me?

"I don't know about the rest of you, but I could use a beer," said Commander Al, planting his behind in the captain's chair. "Which one of these buttons activates the beer maker?"

"None of them do, sir." answered Lt. Worf. "That button is kept secret from all prying eyes, if you know what I mean." Lt. Worf nodded his knobby head towards a couple ensigns at a science station who were ogling the nudie mag.

"Hmmm. Point taken."

"Besides, Commander," Counselor Troi pointed out, sitting beside him. "Do you think you should be drinking at a time like this when we still have to deal with the Borg?"

"Jeez, you sound like my wife," Commander Al squirming in the chair. He straightened his posture again and muttered, "I wish I could quit doing that." He shook his head to remove some thoughts. "You're correct. Counselor. I need a clear head to get us out of this mess. Ensign... Hey, who are you anyway?"

"Ensign Parker, your lordship, sir," he replied smarmily.

"Ensign Parker then. You got any brighter ideas?"

"Well, your worshipfulness, we could always turn on the outside viewer and just adopt a wait and see attitude and stance, readying our weapons as we do so."

Commander Al turned to Lt. Worf and said, "You see? More good ideas. You could learn a thing or two from Ensign Prackner."

"Ensign Parker," corrected Lt. Worf.

"Whatever. Okay, somebody turn on the big screen TV and let's see what's going on." The screen blipped from the test pattern currently displaying to an outside view of the ship.

"We have movement," said Ensign Parker.

On screen the Borg cube ship began to shift. It looked almost as if it were reshaping itself. For once the bridge was quiet, well, almost so as several other ensigns were busy reading the articles of a certain nudie mag and chuckling to themselves. As they watched, the Borg ship virtually split into two pieces, both cubes. One ship comprised 75 percent of the original mass and the other ship the remaining 25 percent. The smaller of the cubes cruised past the Enterprise for Federation space. As it zipped past it beamed a text message to the Enterprise, which generated on the little-known starship fax machine: Thanks for opening our eyes. Nyuck, nyuck!Growlf growlf! See ya in the funny pages!

Breeep-breeep! Breeep-breeep!

"We're being hailed by the remaining Borg ship," said Lt. Worf.

"On screen," ordered Al.

Borg #1 showed up again on the viewer. "We demand you surrender now for assimilation, and if you will not do it, you will all be destroyed thank you ever so much!" Incredibly, the Borg actually seemed pissed off. Even more surprising was that he seemed to develop a twitch above his metallic eye.

"What are our options?" Commander Al asked.

"We're screwed." replied the ever-optimistic Lt. Worf.

"Your wonderfulness, sir," Ensign Parker started. "I have to agree with Mr. Worf's absolutely dead-on target summation of our situation. Even if the Enterprise were up to full capacity, we would still have a very tough time emerging alive from a battle with the downsized Borg, let alone victorious."

"Now listen up, you slackers!" commanded Al for the first time this chapter. "I'm not Captain Picard. I don't command a starship like the Enterprise from where I come from. But I still managed to bring home a record four-touchdowns in the final game of my high school football career and win the trophy. I know I can take on the Borg. I know I can win."

'What the hell am I thinking?' thought Al. 'There's no way I can win. No, that's defeatist thoughts and I won't have them in this universe. Must think noble. No! Must getaway! Noble! Scram! Noble! You are in this universe! Think noble!'

Commander Al Bundy's posture straightened like that of what Commander Riker's a few days previous as he said, "Okay, Borg. He's the deal. We fight man to man, or in your case, quasi-man to me. For control of this sector. Winner take all. Otherwise we'll detonate the ship and take you along with us."

"Gasp," gasped most of the crew on the bridge. Would Commander Al detonate the ship? Could Commander Al detonate the ship? Wow, the gazongas on the babe in this magazine.

"Commander are you sure..."

"Do you think it's wise for a man like you...?"

"Your worshipfulness, how will we get along if we lose...?"

"Belay your talk!" snapped Commander Al. "I know what I'm doing!"

"Does he?" whispered Worf to Troi. She shrugged her shoulders in an 'I Don't Know' way.

"Your proposal has merit, human," said Borg #1. "We agree that this will minimize damage to both vessels and we particularly want to assimilate the Enterprise and learn all we can. We presume that you will wish this unit to beam aboard the Enterprise considering that is where you will have the tactical advantage?"

"You presume wrong. I'll beam aboard your cube thingy." Al tried to hook his thumbs under his belt loops as he pulled his britches up. However, his uniform didn't have any belt loops and consequently the action lost its effectiveness, as if the Borg was paying any attention to it to begin with, which he wasn't.

"We have studied much of human history and psychology. You are an unusual specimen. You have five minutes to beam aboard before we begin to assimilate the Enterprise." The Borg severed communications.

"Sir, are you sure you should go?" asked a concerned Lt. Worf, who was concerned in more ways in one as he had been hard at work finding fitting music for Al. And if Al didn't have an appropriate sendoff music dirge, then Worf just might lose his top-seated membership in the Dramatic Score Music Dispenser's club.

"I have to go. And I have to risk body and life because I've been inundated with noble thoughts lately."

'Must... fight... them. Oh, it's no use. I guess I'll have to go over there and fight the Borg man to quasi machine. Where are these thoughts coming from?! If I'm going to live to an old age, I've got to get rid of these thoughts!'

Damn thoughts!

"Have you given any consideration as to what weapons you want to take? I happen to know of several reliable sources for illegal weapons. The nastier the better. Even a nuclear one if my sources can scrounge one up. I know, they're nasty weapons and have been outlawed for years, but I happen to know someone who might know someone who could possibly know someone who could get the replicator to generate a big bomb. Know what I mean? Nudge, nudge. A nudge is as good as a wink to a blind man, eh."

"Ooookkaaaaayyyy," Commander Al said diplomatically. "I tell you what, Mr. Worf. All I need is five spicy burritos with extra spicy red chili and bean sauce, five Chicago-dogs with the works, and a coke. Diet, if possible."

"I've never heard of these weapons. Are they electrical in nature? Chemical? Biological?"

Al grinned. "They're..."

"Because. I have to let you know. I don't have the command codes to have the replicators create biological or chemical or nuclear weapons. Electrical weapons either. Only the two senior officers have that kind of information. That means you, Commander Al, sir."

"For cryin' out loud! I just want some lunch! It's food. Hello! F-U-D! Food! Num-nums for the tum-tum."

"You needn't get huffy," said Counselor Troi. "Computer? Can you identify and create Al's request?"

Affirmative. But the surgeon general has labeled these foods as harmful to everyone's health and advises only close-proximity of the consumer to these items and for all other people to remain at least 10 meters away at all times.

"Jeez, what's the fuss over eating lunch? Okay, no problem. I'll take my lunch in Captain Picard's office."

"Sir, I realize you will be going to your death soon and if you want, I would be honored to play you any songs you wish to listen to as you eat your last meal."

"Hey, thanks. Worf. I'd like..."

"For it is a far better thing that you do now, sacrificing your life so we may get our weapons up and ready than it would be if you stayed on the ship and got blown up with the rest of us."

"Neat. Thanks. I'd like..."

"While not born of Klingon stock, you seem to understand what it means to be a Klingon and..

"Worf," Al interrupted before he lost his appetite. "Play this." Commander Al handed Worf a disc and then entered Picard's once, a foul steam wafting out.

Worf inhaled a hearty lungful, licking his chops as he put the disc in the portable player he always carried hidden within his sash.

The player didn't recognize the coding of the disk. "Computer," Lt. Worf asked from his station. "Can you identify and play the information on this disk?"

Affirmative. It is an antique CD. Suggested playback sources include an antique discman or CD player attached to a booster attached to a cheap radio.

"Great. Just great. Commander Al wants me to play his music and my antique CD player is in the shop again. Now what do I do?"

Put it in the replicator where it can be scanned and played back.

Worf places the disk in the replicator and the computer scanned the info.

"I wonder what Commander Al's chances are of succeeding?" Counselor Troi asked of Lt. Worf. Even she had trouble sensing the outcome of this foray into uncharted territory.

Suddenly a massive sound erupted around everyone.

Bah-da-dah-da-da-dahh.

"Worf, is there a volume control on that thing?!" yelled Counselor Troi over the deafening din the music soniced out.

Bah-da-dah-da-da-dahh.

"Not that I'm aware of!" he yelled back, trying frantically to eject the disc. It would not release the replicator and continued its musical onslaught throughout the bridge and then some.

Bah-da-dah-da-da-dahh.

Bah-da-dah-da-da-dahh. Dum-dum-dum.

Bah-da-dah-da-da-dahh. Dum-dum-dum.

Wawww-wawww-waww.

Now on the day I was born.

The nurses all gathered around.

They gazed in wide wonder.

At the joy they had found.

The head nurse spoke up. Said leave this one alone.

She could tell right away.

That I was bad to the bone.

Bah-da-dah-da-da-dahh. Bad to the bone.

Bah-da-dah-da-da-dahh. Bad to the bone.

Bah-da-dah-da-da-dahh.

Bu-bu-bu-bu-baaaaad.

Bah-da-dah-da-da-dahh.

Bu-bu-bu-bu-baaaaad.

Bah-da-dah-da-da-dahh.

Bu-bu-bu-bu-baaaaad.

Bah-da-dah-da-da-dahh.

Bad to the bone.

Wawh'h' wawww wawmnv.

The music had moved exponentially throughout the ship, regardless if an area had speakers or not. The music was on a groove and physical limitations did not apply to a timeless tune. While the music was REALLY LOUD on the bridge, the volume in the other parts of the ship regardless of how far from the bridge they were naturally had only one setting: MODERATELY LOUD. Shouting to be heard was the norm at this point.

"Damage reports coming in from all over the ship!" yelled Ensign Parker from his station.

"WHAT?!" yelled Counselor Troi, who now sat in the command chair as she was a Commander as well. But hey, this was Al's story, so she knew it was only temporary.

"Damages!" he yelled again.

Sparks flew from several consoles along the back wall, zapping a couple unlucky ensigns unconscious and blackening the corners of a skin mag they had been reading.

"What's going on?!" shouted Commander Counselor Troi to Lt. Worf. "Is the ship under attack? Why are we bucking?!"

"It's the music vibrating the ship, Commander Counselor!" he replied.

Boom! The ship bucked again, grooving to the music.

"What?!"

In Hydrophonics, the flowers were trying to dance a startled botanist noticed as she shoved fallen leaves into her ears to try and drown out the music.

Dr. Crusher let out a piercing shriek that even her staff could hear above the music. Captain Picard was mending on a table in the middle of the room and she was in her office, a nurse noticed. What could she be having a problem with? Little did the nurse know but Dr. Crusher had just found her first gray hair which, she thought, was caused directly from having to listen to that hippie music!

Dum-dum-dum-dum-dum.

I broke a thousand hearts.

Before I met youuuuuu.

I'll break a thousand more baby.

Before I am through.

I want to be yours pretty baby.

Yours and yours alone.

I'm here to tell you honey.

That I'm bad to the bone.

Bah-da-dah-da-da-dahh. Bad to the bone.

Bah-da-dah-da-da-dahh.

Bu-bu-bu-bu-baaaaad.

Bah-da-dah-da-da-dahh.

Bu-bu-bu-bu-baaaaad.

Bah-da-dah-da-da-dahh.

Bu-bu-bu-bu-baaaaad.

Bah-da-dah-da-da-dahh. Bad to the bone.

Bah-da-dah-da-da-dahh. Wawww-wavvww-wawnw.

Boom, the ship bucked, trying to find the right dance step for the music.

"Bridge! This is Engineering!" Geordi yelled through his nipple communicator.

"Bridge here, Commander!" shouted Lt. Worf.

"We're having massive problems down here! Some of the Dylithium crystals have started reforming into a new form I haven't seen before! I think they're being shaped from the harmonics of whatever is attacking this ship! I don't know what the end result will be, but I doubt it'll be good news for anyone involved! And could you turn down the music!"

Boom, the ship bucked, trying to find the right dance step for the music.

"You can hear the music down there?! We thought it was contained to the bridge only!"

The music had infested itself into every part of the ship. In a holodeck simulation of ancient Egypt where thousands upon thousands of holo-people were toiling under intense heat and cruel conditions to complete the building of a pyramid on time and under budget, three interns of astrophysics had to scrap their lording chores and scrap the program as the music had caused their slaves to revolt and dance to the beat of a different drummer.

Two lieutenants were caught in a crazed turbolift which itself was unsure of what was happening as it had lost control over its steering and was trying to dance but was confined to a narrow area. The two lieutenants were at first concerned, but as soon as they heard the music they did what they felt best and started making out.

Even the Phantom of the Enterprise, a disgruntled spacedock worker hiding from his bill collectors for better than four years, was affected by the music as it rousted him out of his hammock before he could grab hold of a railing and he fell ten feet to the floor, but as this was an interesting character who needed further development, nothing else happened to him and he quickly got back into his hammock and hid until further stories.

Dum-dum-dum-dum-dum.

I make a rich woman beg.

I make a good woman steal.

I make an old woman blush.

I make a young woman squeal.

I want to be yours pretty baby.

Yours and yours alone.

I'm here to tell ya honey.

Bah-da-dah-da-da-dahh.

That I'm bad to the bone.

Bah-da-dah-da-da-dahh.

Bu-bu-bu-bu-baaaaad.

Bah-da-dah-da-da-dahh.

Bu-bu-bu-bu-baaaaad.

Bah-da-dah-da-da-dahh.

Bu-bu-bu-bu-baaaaad.

Bah-da-dah-da-da-dahh. Bad to the bone.

Bah-da-dah-da-da-dahh. Waww-waww.

Boom, the ship bucked, trying to dance to the music.

In 10-Forward, the music had found its way to a natural setting—a bar. Guinan heard the music and thought it oddly familiar. The heavy, raspy voice. The booming of a guitar and drum. The wailing of a sax.

She could almost put her tongue on it. Then she had it, or rather, it had her and the next thing she was doing was dancing on a table. "Stop the ship!" she cried. Loudly! "I want to get off! I'm not bad to my bones anymore! I've reformed! Aaaaiiiieee!"

She slipped.

Boom, the ship bucked trying to dance to the music.

"Bridge! Can you move us out of this vibration field?! I don't know how much longer the warp engine containment field can take the stress!"

"Worf!" shouted Counselor Commander Troi. "How much longer does this song last?!"

"Unknown. Commander!" he his head spinning round and round while he tried reading the label on the disc.

-o0o-

Borg #1, or LESTER5 to those he was linked up with, watched the Enterprise intently. The ship rocked again and again. What are they doing over there? LESTER5 thought, his thoughts going out on the web. Over time the Borg had learned that all thoughts were important, but not all thoughts were on the same track and therefore thought police were sometimes needed. It was a rare event in a lifetime when thought police were used on a cube.

Since meeting the humans, however, thought police had had to step up their patrols.

We must be wary of the humans, LESTER5, came the collected thoughts of the Borg. They have succeeded in destroying several cubes before where other more advanced races have not. We must assimilate them to learn how they accomplished this. Yeah, and get the nudie mag from the human Commander Bundy. All right! Who thought that?! Come on! Speak up! You know I'll... we'll find you sooner or later!

Stick it, came a feeble reply.

Sensing frustration not of his own making, LESTER5 did what no other Borg had done for millennia —he turned off his local TIU (Telepathy Implant Unit) and switched himself over to voice mode only, automatically kicking in his TIU Not In Use indicator light which flashed not only on his body for other Borg to see, but also flashed brightly on the Thought Web.

LESTER5 noted a new second officer came to his side—JORG31895. JORG stood there and looked at LESTER5. Finally, LESTER5 signed and said, "JORG31895, I am on voice only mode at this time."

JORG31895 began talking in a hollow way. "I am here to help you, LESTER5," he said in a hollow tone.

"Did you know that my voice sounds hollow and tinny? Do we have records of how to change voice settings? Ah. There they are. My archive has not been opened in centuries. Did you know that the humans have also encountered this problem? They resolved it many different ways."

"JORG31895. If you wish to remain a functioning unit, be silent," instructed LESTER5 as he watched the Enterprise buck and roll.

"Okay, boss-man," JORG31895 answered in a deep, bass voice, sounding for all the world like he was a 4-pack a day chain-smoker.

LESTER5 sighed. Humans again. Then, "JORG31895, scan the human when he arrives for weapons. He may come over with a bomb. If so, dematerialize it into space in random particles. He must not be harmed before he is assimilated."

"Okay, boss-man," JORG31895 replied in a falsetto voice, annoying his commander again.

-o0o-

Dum-dum-dum-dum-dum.

Now when I walk the streets.

Kings and queens step aside.

Every woman I meet. (ha ha)

They all stay satisfied.

I want to tell ya pretty baby.

Well I see I make my own.

And I'm here to tell ya honey.

That I'm bad to the bone.

Bah-da-dah-da-da-dahh.

Bu-bu-bu-bu-baaaaad.

Bah-da-dah-da-da-dahh.

Bu-bu-bu-bu-baaaaad.

Bah-da-dah-da-da-dahh.

Bu-bu-bu-bu-baaaaad.

Bah-da-dah-da-da-dahh. Bad to the bone.

Bah-da-dah-da-da-dahh. Dum dum dum.

Wawwwwawww-wawww.

The bridge was quiet. The ship had stopped bucking and rolling. The fires had been put out, the gray hairs had been expertly dyed, and Guinan slogged back a fifth of straight Vulcan Sludge-Horror, which gave her the shakes she could concentrate on instead of the shakes she couldn't get out of her mind from when she had been a go-go dancer.

Al emerged from his seclusion, several new stains on his uniform and numerous wrappers strewn about in Picard's personal quarters. Worf saw an imposing man. Ensign Parker saw a confident man. Counselor Troi saw a winning attitude. Ensign Binard saw two hours of work ahead of him cleaning up the old man's digs from Commander Al. Thanks a lot, buddy! It'd almost be worth it to go Borg native and get out of cleaning up the mess but knowing what he knew of the Borg they'd probably assign him the task of cleaning it up and he'd comply mindlessly. Six of one, half dozen of the other.

Commander Al strode for the lift and ignored the two Starfleet officers necking in the back of the lift as he headed for Transporter Room 3. Chief O'Brien was waiting behind the console as he strode in, a cleaning rag over one shoulder.

"One to beam to Borg cube. Energize, Chief," instructed Al.

"Yes, sir," the Chief replied immediately, scoring direct hits on the buttons he needed to get Al over to the Borg ship.

Al materialized on the cube near LESTER5 and JORG31895. Both Borg had neutral expressions and a little light flashing on their shoulders. "I am LESTER5."

"Name's Al Bundy. Commander Al Bundy," he said again trying to hitch up his britches.

"It will do you no good to battle the Borg, Commander Bundy. We are stronger and smarter than you humans. We have superior armaments and defenses. Tell him some of our capabilities, JORG31895."

"Thufferin' Thuccotash, bosth," JORG31895spit while he talked. "We've got puuuuleeeenty uh strooooong laserssssssss. We've got puuuuleeeenty..."

"I'll take your word for it that you have a superior weaponry if you can keep your second in command from spitting on my uniform."

LESTER5, looking uncharacteristically mortified of JORG's speech trial, waved JORG31895 to desist and move off. He regained his composure and superior than thou attitude and said, "You humans should be intelligent enough to know when to surrender and just accept the fact you will be assimilated. I understand your wish to try and stave off the assimilation three times before finally realizing the necessity to capitulate to the better team, but let us cut to the chase, dude, and quit being a bummer."

Commander Al looked at LESTER5, unable to make out what he had just said. "Where in the world did you get your psychobabble from?"

"This is knowledge we have assimilated from you humans over the last severed meetings between humans and Borg. Are you ready to surrender now?"

Al walked towards him, arched his chin several centimeters up so his nostrils were flaring directly into the Borg's face and said, "Let's rock," in a quiet, almost menacing way. His upper lip pulled back revealing a green tinted gleam on his overbite, his eyes narrowed to slits. His hands on his waist as if he'd already won and this was merely a formality.

LESTER5 saw the lone human use his tongue to search his teeth for a lump of brown mush, which it found without too much difficulty.

-o0o-

The Enterprise crew anxiously waited for word. Most bets had it that there would be a loud "Aaaiieee!" from Commander Al screaming in pain and agony, like when you get your finger stuck in a car door when it closes. Yeouch. That smarts.

"Weapons are ready, Commander," Lt. Worf said.

"I know, Mr. Worf. You said that two minutes ago," replied a very tired Counselor Commander.

"Just letting you know the status, Commander. After all, Commander Al is just a lone man. What can he do against the Borg with no weapons?"

"I'm sensing something!" Commander Troi informed the bridge. "Something bad. It's coming from the Borg ship. I can sense terror. Unrelenting terror. And something to do with gas masks."

"Is it Commander Al?" Worf asked. "I bet it is. I told him not to go. He should have listened. This wouldn't have happened had I been in charge. I wonder if I have any music for this."

Said Ensign Parker, "C'mon, Worf. Al beat you fair and square at thumb-war."

"Quiet, both of you! It's not Commander Al. It's... it's... it's latent Borg minds awakening in terror. Commander Al is doing something. Something horrible. Something definitely non-Starfleet approved I'm sure. I can feel his satisfaction, but I don't know what it is."

"Look!" shouted Ensign Parker who had thought to keep the viewer on the Borg cube ship.

The ship began to fray around the edges, smaller cube ships ejecting into space. The cube did not repair itself after each cube departed, but continued to fragment from the outside in.

"Find Commander Bundy," instructed Commander Troi.

"Found him," Lt. Worf replied almost instantly. "He's practically the last living thing left on the ship. Chief? Beam Commander Bundy back to the bridge of the Enterprise. All stations stand by."

Commander Al materialized on the bridge, saw a smiling Counselor Troi, and quickly turned to see the viewer to check on the progress of the Borg ship falling to pieces.

Breeep-breeep! Breeep-breeep! "Commander. The Borg are hailing us," said Lt. Worf, regretting that one summer during high school he had spent working as a receptionist and now being saddled with that duty time and again.

"On screen," replied Commander Al.

LESTER5 showed up on screen in his own personal cube. Commander Al could tell it was a private cube as the number of wayward tubes running every which way was not apparent and instead the ship had a smooth surface as if designed for maximum efficiency instead of looking like a pipe warehouse.

LESTER5 said, "We'll be back, and the human race will be assimilated if it's the last thing we do." However, as he was wearing a gas mask similar to those worn in WWI, his words were hard to understand, and it came out as: "Beeyll be kack abd da koomn rockwell be simulcasted if ips da cast bing wudo."

Commander Al asked, "What do you mean, 'Beeyll be kack abd da koomn rockwell be simulcasted if ips da cast bing wudo?' Hey, um, Pakistash, is the universal translator working correctly? It is? LESTER5, I'm sorry. Can you repeat that? What you said again? What's a kack?"

"Back! Back!"

"Ooooo-kay. Be back. Got it. But who is Beeyll? If you introduced him to me, I certainly don't recall. Is he, or in the spirit of political correctness, she, an important babe... er... person?"

"We'll! NotBeey11! We'll hack!"

"Ooooo-kay. I'm sorry, but no. We're not going to be back this way for some time. But do have your people call my people and we'll set up a lunch somewhere."

Frustrated, LESTER5 severed communications and zipped off to rendezvous with the other Borg and reattach their Borg ship and assimilate someone else. That'll teach those uppity humans.

"It seems like I have some catching up to do," said Captain Picard as he gently walked onto the bridge past two necking officers still at it in the turbo lift. On his forehead was a large bandage.

"Captain!" said a smiling Commander Counselor. "How are you feeling?"

"I've felt better. But I'm glad nonetheless that I won't be assimilated. It appears our ingenious first officer here is the reason we are still wearing Starfleet uniforms instead of basic black, eh, Mr. Bundy?"

"Just doing my job the best I could, Captain," Commander Al said.

Captain Picard sat in the Captain's chair and asked, "Just how did you accomplish this, Commander? The Borg are not an easy opponent and you have not encountered them in your universe, I imagine?"

"American know-how, Captain. If we Americans can build a good-quality off-road truck like a Dodge, then we can defeat the Borg."

"I'm French, actually."

"Oh." That would explain it, then, Al thought to himself. Al sat in the Second officer's chair, leaned back and relaxed after a job well done.

Picard noticed Al's posture and asked. "Do you always sit like that?"

Al pulled his hand free and said, "Sorry. Old habit."

A CRACKED MIRROR REALITY AWAY

Personal Log. Day... oh, who gives a flying * &^ ###! anymore. The Enterprise will never find me. I've been on punishment detail for the last 24 hours. This wouldn't have happened had I not been so damn good looking. It's a curse being good looking in this universe. I've considered sheving shiving shaving, and tried getting' the clippers to work, but they seem to break whenever I turn them on. But when Jefferson uses them, they start working again.

Damn clippers.

I tried sending a coded SOS message to passing ships, askng if anybody's got a open berth, but somehow Peggy and Capt. Marcy Darcy (hahaha—that name still gets me) managed ta break the code and put the brakes on that idea, I tell you.

I tried ejectin' in an escape pod. I loaded it with tons a junk I'd need like Al's personal collection of nudie mags, some unstained clothes, and plenty of food. I got in, hit the ejection button and waited for bliss. It didn't work. The damn thing jammed. I got out and the second I was clear of the dang thing, kaboosssshhhhh! It spun off inta space.

All this and Al's food is even starting to appeal to me.

I'm doomed.

The only good spot on my itinerary is watching the ship's dog, Woofy, even though he chews the toes off my space socks on a regular schedule.

Woofy was a semi-intelligent clump of fur and fangs from an uncharted world the Bundy's had never visited. Makes ya wonder how he got aboard, don't it? It did me too until I found the shuttle bay logs and pieced together what had happened. The critter came aboard on its own in a shuttle that the Bundy's found floating in space and apparently looked so cute to Peg that she decided to adopt it as a pet. Woofy seemingly never thought to leave even though most everybody else would love to shove it out an airlock for constantly piddling in and on clothes, pooping everywhere, and basically chewing up shoes and socks.

Commander Riker noticed Woofy wander by with Lt. Kelly's boot in its mouth, drop the boot so it stood straight up and then, almost mischievously, piddled in it. Woofy left the boot for Kelly to find. Riker thought, Good boy. Or thing. Whatever you are.

-o0o-

Commander Riker walked onto the bridge, shuffling his feet like a condemned man. His shirt was dirty and not tucked in, his pants were dirty, and he wasn't even bothering to wear his boots and instead wore some socks he had found that had a hole where the big toe went.

"Hi, Will," Peggy said, sauntering up to him and snuggling his arm. "Are you feeling better today?"

"What is it, Peg? Do I have to do your laundry again? Why don't you just kill me now and have done with it. Why are you torturing me like this?"

She put her hands on her hips and addressed him as if he were a child. "Well, William, you tricked us into seeing a fake Elvis. That's why. You know that we respect the great Saint Elvis more than anything else in life."

"No, I don't, Peg. I'm not from this universe, remember."

"Oh, that's right. Ha-hah-hah." She shrugged her upper body. "Oh well. What's done is done. Now today I want to you rub my feet."

"Oh. God. Kill me now!" Will wailed in anguish, lifting his head to an uncaring God.

Peg continued on as if not hearing it, which was exactly what she did since it was useful to have selective hearing when it came to ignoring remarks, suggestions or even orders from higher officers when it was time to watch a soap opera.

"Then tonight, Will, I want you to actually come into my quarters and rub my tushie."

"Peggy!" Captain Marcy Darcy (hahaha) snapped. "Why should he come to your quarters to do that? What about my quarters and my tushie? He tricked both of us, remember?" A vein pulsed on her forehead.

Riker rushed to the lift like a man possessed of leaving the bridge with some semblance of his kahunas intact. "Excuse me, ladies," he said apologetically. "But if I'm to rub your feet today I'll have to get some rubbing oil to caress your feet for a soft comfort."

"Ooooohh," they warmed to the idea of a decent foot rub as the lift doors opened and Will jumped inside and frantically pushed buttons.

Several floors below, Bud walked down a corridor whistling a tune. Not a worry on his mind. His hands were in his pockets, his cap on backwards as usual. and he sauntered down the corridor more than walked with a specific destination in mind.

Then he noticed a red and black blur coming his way.

As he watched, Commander Riker stormed down the corridor. His face was red with exertion. He rushed past Bud as the young Bundy wisely got out of the middle of the corridor to watch Riker go running past. Bud shrugged his shoulders, muttering, "Man, I hope he gets to the can in time."

Bud resumed his saunter, thinking this time maybe he would go and juice up the ship's computer and see about allocating some more memory to storing his solitaire games after someone else had tampered with it and all his scores had been lost.

Bud managed to take two steps before a hand yanked his collar from behind. Riker's red face was soon all Bud could see as he hauled the young Bundy up against the bulkhead.

"Get me back to my ship!" Riker ordered through the clenched teeth of someone who had had enough foot rubs and laundry detail to last a lifetime.

"Why should I? If you go, then the curse field hits me."

Riker loosened his grip and put Bud gently back on the floor. Then a smile appeared on his face.

"If you do, I'll give you my little black space-babe book. I managed to get quite a few names and numbers before those mothers arrived to take the bikini babes back to their bus." Riker held a little black book under Bud's nose, taunting him.

Bud looked down and noticed the little black book was nearly 4 inches thick.

Bud licked his lips in anticipation, but seemed to want to remain curse free more than have a great little black book.

Riker shook the book a little to taunt him some more.

Bud noticed a pair of souvenir bikini briefs fall out from between pages 112-113. Licking his lips again, he asked "Can I see a little more of the book?"

Riker flipped open a page where the bikini came from. "Hi, Will!" said a voice seductively. "This is Sherri. That's Sherri with an 'I' - giggle. I hope you remember to see me next time you're around Risa. Here's my space phone number and a little something to remember me by." Riker closed the book and cut the hologram picture before Bud could see any more of how he got the bikini.

"Sigh. Okay, you've got me. I'll get you back to your ship in exchange for your book. But not before you promise me two more things. First, you have to send Al back—after all, the curse needs a recipient."

"You know, I've been meaning to ask you about that. Isn't there any way to just cancel this curse? I mean, you have the knowledge to detect it, so why not the knowledge to defeat it?"

"Actually… my ancestors defeated it once before, and I'm currently working on a cure."

What Commander Riker did not know was that several centuries ago, back when the industrial age was in full swing, the Bundy's had been on the rebound from an age-old curse from a previous ancestor who had managed to piss off as yet another witch. These Industrial Age Bundy's were going to be the first to break the spell and reap the benefits: that of becoming middle class and possibly their children reach the brass ring of upper middle class! Two cars in the garage and enough money to go around to afford full service treatment at the gasoline pumps. Then the unimaginable, yet unavoidable happened. Their child managed to piss off the curse field to go into full swing and it was all downhill for that family from there. That child grew up and managed to start his own family and by then the curse field had no intention of letting the Bundy's get away from its influences again. Until now. Bud had managed to isolate the curse field from his existence and the field would diminish in power and strength and die with Al, unless something happened to Al so suddenly, that the field got confused and latched on the next male Bundy, namely Bud. Or as luck would have it, Riker. The field was confused before, but now it was again latched on the Dodge-2610X.

If Bud had talked about the curse several days earlier, Riker would not have understood anything about it, or even cared to learn anything about it. These days Riker understood that curse too well. He also understood Bud's personal code—Live, party hard, annoy Kelly, keep pests out of engineering (namely, Kelly), and take no prisoners for tomorrow was another day where Al just might kick the bucket accidentally and not of old age and the curse land on your head, causing me nothing but misery for the rest of my life.

"I don't envy you your problems, Bud," Riker said after hearing the above.

"Hey, Will," Jefferson said walking up in a leisurely fashion. "Marcy and Peg are fighting on the bridge again to see who gets their feet rubbed first and have sent me to find you."

"Al back! Got it! Can you do it?!" Riker asked as panic took over his voice and autonomic functions.

"What is it that you want done?" Bud asked.

"I'm pretty sure that if I beam back down to Klendi4 and beam back up during a solar storm I'll beam up to the Enterprise. Heh, heh. It has to happen that way," he gibbered, spittle dripping from his mouth. "It happened to another Starfleet officer before. It can happen to me now. I'm sure of it. Otherwise, the alternative is tushie and feet rubbing for all eternity." He shivered.

Bud shivered.

Jefferson shivered. "Let's help Will get home, Bud. I'm tired of being the second best looking person onboard. And if anyone is going to be the reason for a catfight, even if it is just Marcy and Peggy, it's going to be me."

"Okay," Bud agreed. "I'll do it, but there's one other thing you have to do for me."

"Wiiiilllll? What's keeping you?" Peggy blared over the ship's intercom.

"Put some muster it in, missy!" snapped Captain Marcy Darcy (hahaha) over the intercom.

"Anything you want," Riker agreed blindly.

-o0o-

Riker walked like a man with a mission. His uniform had acquired new stains following Peggy's and Marcy's foot rubs and it didn't help that he ate a burrito from Al's personal stock. Chomp, chomp, chomp, gulp. These were starting to acquire a good taste, he thought.

"Jefferson, have you seen Will lately?" came Lt. Peggy's voice from up ahead.

Yikes! She was looking for Riker!

And suddenly the burrito he was eating lost whatever appeal it once had. In that regards, so did eating.

He glanced at his watch and noticed that time was quickly running out. He needed to finish his assignment first so that Bud would send him home or the deal was off. He didn't have time to do some moronic thing for Peggy, punishment time or no punishment time. If he had to rub her feet one more time, he was going to pass out. The fumes from her stinky big toe was enough to peel paint from the walls of their cabin. He still hadn't returned there because of the lingering odor.

Riker walked by a fritzzing and sparking control panel, noticed it controlled environmental settings on the below decks, considered fixing it, thought it over while swaying his head to the left, then to the right, shrugged and walked off. He had other business to attend to first.

He quickly arrived at Lt. Kelly's cabin and beeped the door chime. "Who is it?" she asked.

"It's Commander Riker. I've been sent here to help."