
Star Bored: Deep Node Naive
by Dave Bealer

"Node Commander's Log, board date 01-01-80..."  The dashing, debonair
commander did a double take.  "Not again!" he exclaimed as he punched
several buttons on the comm panel.  A few of them actually worked.
Sparks flew from the comm panel as a connection is finally made.
"Crisko to Console, come in."

"Console, Major Leera."

"Major, why has our system date been reset again?"  Crisko tried,
unsuccessfully, to control the irritation in his voice.

"Checking, sir."  The sounds of beeps, honks and electronic zaps
could be heard as the Bayshoran assistant sysop fiddled with the 
master console controls.  "It appears that someone has reset the 
system.  Reason unknown."

"I'll be right up, Major.  Get engineering and security on it right
away."

"Aye, sir.  Leera out."  The connection went dead with a final shower
of sparks from Crisko's comm panel.

"Damn," commented Crisko, to no one in particular.  Before leaving
his quarters, Crisko changed out of his favorite casual tutu and 
into his undress uniform.
                              - - -

"Report," ordered Crisko breathlessly as he arrived at the main
console moments later.  The escalator leading up from the Food Court
was out of order - again.  Hurrying, he bounded up the escalator
stairs, an act made easier by his undress uniform, also known as
'long johns.'  The skirt of his dress uniform often made him trip
when he had to run.

"Sir, we're having trouble determining exactly what happened."  Leera
tugged nervously at the shoulder straps of her uniform bikini.

"And why is that, major?" Crisko asked, slowly and irritably.

"Someone erased the system log."

"I see.  Lt. Fax, system status?"

The Whill lieutenant promptly and formally replied, "The System is
back on line, sir.  The clock has been reset and synchronized with 
the main Star Bored time beacon."  Fax tried not to look guilty, and
did a terrible job of it.

Crisko wasn't fooled for a nanosecond.  "And...?"

Fax hesitated, nervously stroking the head of the whippoorwill which
protruded from her left ear.  As a child she had been irrevocably
joined with the avian - which resembled the earth bird of the same
name but was actually a highly intelligent being from a far-flung
sector of the galaxy.  Unfortunately the bird had been in a snit for
several weeks, and refused to speak, except when Fax was trying to
sleep, when it recited obscene limericks from a hundred planets at
high volume. 

Crisko was growing more impatient by the picosecond.  "And...?"

Fax caved in.  "We missed three subether packets while the system
reset," she reported matter-of-factly.

"Three!" Crisko exploded. 

Just then a pleasant bell tone filled the air, followed by an
even more pleasant voice announcing, "Dr. Basher, report to Level 6,
Ring 4.  Dr. Haggis Basher."

Crisko looked even more confused, as if that was possible.  "Now
what's going on?"

"Someone must be hurt," Leera offered helpfully.

"I just hope it's the creep who reset the system and erased the logs.
Fax, initiate level one search procedures for those missing packets.  
I'll head down to level six and find out what else is going wrong."

"Yes, Blend."

Crisko paused in the midst of heading for the down escalator, and
addressed Fax in a stage whisper.  "Lieutenant, I thought we
discussed your use of my first name in public?"

"Yes, SIR!"  Fax added sarcastically, feigning contrition.  Even the 
whippoorwill was grinning, which isn't an easy thing to do through a 
beak.

Crisko retreated down the broken escalator, grumbling to himself.

                              - - - 

The commotion could be heard from 100 meters away.  Crisko slowed as
he entered ring four in an attempt to identify the voices he heard 
arguing.  He quickly identified them as his Chief Medical Officer and
his Chief of Cable Pulling.

"Keep away from me with that thing, you bloody Highlands butcher!"

"Come now Chief, it's for your own good."

"I'll bet.  Just keep away."

Crisko hurried towards the sounds of the dueling Irish and Scotch 
brogues, silently thanking God that he wasn't English.  He rounded a
corner and found that Chief O'Hooligan had managed to weld his hand
to the inside of a cable panel again.  The red faced Chief was stuck
in a crouching position, his hand inside the cable panel.  Dr. Basher
was standing over him, menacing him with one of his futuristic salt
shakers.  

"What goes on here, gentlemen?" Crisko asked as he approached the
crew members.

"Sir," Chief O'Hooligan began, "I was laying some sub-ethernet cable
when it shorted out and welded my hand to the door again."

"And the clumsy oaf won't let me tend to the situation," Basher
helpfully finished.

"Clumsy?  Ha!  This wouldn't happen if I didn't have to wear this
copper mesh suit when doing electrical work," insisted the Chief.

Dr. Basher was sympathetic.  "I know Chief, but rules are rules."

Crisko interrupted, "weren't those new safety rules implemented by
Admiral McCoot, the Chief of Star Bored Medicine?"

"Aye, sir," confirmed Basher, "one of Star Bored Command's wisest and
most experienced medical pioneers."

"Baloney," opined Chief O'Hooligan.  "That old crackpot should have
been retired twenty years ago.  He's senile, pure and simple."

"Now, Chief," Crisko chided, "Star Bored command would never leave
him in charge of Medical operations if he wasn't fit for command."

"That's as may be, sir.  But I'm not letting this stuffed shirt of a
bagpipe squeezer touch me until he gets some proper medical
instruments."

"All right, Chief.  Calm down."  Crisko turned to Dr. Basher, "Doc,
see if you can dig up something a little more medical than those
silly looking salt and pepper shakers."

"Aye, sir."  Basher joined Crisko in leaving.  "There's a new
Magnetic Resonance Chainsaw up in Sickbay I've been dying to try 
out." 

"Saints preserve us," the Chief muttered as he renewed his frantic
efforts at freeing himself.

                              - - -

The depressed node commander sat in the Food Court, idly stirring the
Rastafarian Coffee he had purchased at the Bake Shop.  Quoisant, the
Meringuey baker and proprietor of that business, was trying to cheer
him up.  "Cheer up, Commander.  There are plenty more packets where
those came from.  You know what subether echomail is like.  They'll
never miss a couple of messages."

Crisko snorted.  "Your don't know Star Bored Command.  Those guys
never miss a trick."  He snorted again, because he liked the sound,
and continued to stir the green globs floating in his coffee using
the festive stirrer - replete with plastic dreadlocks.

"You know best, Commander," agreed the diminutive baker, the lumps on
his soft, sticky forehead wobbling as he spoke.  "How about some
HollowSweets?  I just made a fresh batch today."

"Shove off, Quoisant.  I don't need your drugs."

"Aw, Commander.  You disappoint me.  What're a few hallucinogens
between friends?"  

Crisko ignored him.  Quoisant realized he was wasting his time.  He
also recognized the peculiar scent that indicated his least favorite
person on the node was approaching.  Without another word he wobbled
back into his shop.  

Eventually even Crisko noticed the unmistakable smell that heralded
the arrival of his Chief of Security.  "What is it, Odor?" Crisko
asked, holding his nose.  He appeared to be addressing empty air.
In fact the air was far from empty.  Not that there was anyone left
in the Food Court to notice.  They had all fled, covering their
various olfactory organs.  A few of those with weak digestive systems
failed to make it to the facilities in time.

Finally a cloud formed in mid air and coalesced into a roughly
humanoid shape.  Crisko stopped addressing empty air.  "I thought I
asked you not to enter the food court in gaseous form, Odor?  We're
going to go over budget on janitorial services again this month."

"Take it out of my pay, Commander," rasped Odor.  "Not that you ever
pay me."

"You know our accounting program hasn't been working for months now.
None of us have been getting paid," Crisko countered.

"I know, Commander.  That's why you have to keep shaking down the
merchants here in the Food Court just to survive."

"I'm having a bad day, Odor.  What do you want?"  Crisko clipped a 
clothes pin on his nose so he could continue the conversation in
comfort.

"Can I help it that methane is my natural state?  Anyway, your day's
about to get worse.  I just found out who's been resetting the system
and why." 

Crisko suddenly snapped back to alertness.  "Who is it?"

Odor told him.  Crisko blinked in disbelief.  Then he dumped the rest
of his coffee on the potted plant next to the table.  As he and Odor
headed for the escalators the plant began wilting.

                              - - -

Commander Crisko's voice was like thunder reverberating around the
small compartment.  "What in the name of Hank Aaron were you
thinking?"  His eyes drilled into the culprit standing before him.

Flake Crisko could not meet the gaze of his enraged father.  How
could he explain the strange feelings that guided his actions?  There
was no way.

"Resetting the entire node just to cover up the fact that you made
280,000 credits worth of subether calls to 1-900-ORION-SLAVE-GIRLS!
What were you thinking?"  The enraged parental unit continued to
rant.  "It would be cheaper to buy you an Orion slave girl!"  

Flake looked hopefully at his father, naked teenaged lust burning in
his eyes. 

"Forget it, mister!  It isn't going to happen!"

Flake was crushed.  He sighed dramatically and stared at the floor.

Suddenly the light of parental justice dawned in the eyes of the
frustrated commander.  Star Bored Command may have child abuse regs,
but...  "Get your catchers' mask, Flake.  We're going to the
holodreck." 

"Huh?"  Flake was totally confused by this turn of events.

"Sure," Blend oozed his friendly father schtick.  A disturbing change
from a moment ago.  "A little exercise is just the thing to get your
mind off of Orion slave girls." 

Flake hurried to comply, thinking that he was somehow, miraculously,
off the hook.  As they prepared to leave, Flake asked, "Are you gonna
pitch, Dad?"

"Oh, no," said his father triumphantly.  "You're going to catch a
double header.  Nine innings from Nolan Ryan and nine from Phil
Niekro.  All while wearing only your catcher's mask and an athletic
supporter." 

"Sounds like I'm gonna 'catch it' alright," sighed the crestfallen
youth.
                              - - -

Later that evening, Flake had been confined to Sick bay with numerous
baseball shaped contusions.  The boy was even too sore and exhausted
to make fun of Chief O'Hooligan, who was there having his hand re-
generated again.  Blend was in his cabin finishing his subether
report to Star Bored Command.  The screen pictured an aged, balding
human male.  The caption beneath the picture read, in a HyperType
font, 'Admiral H. F. Mudd, Chief Sysop - Star Bored Control.'   

"Well, try to be more careful with the packets in the future,
Blend," warned the figure on the screen.  "Anything else to report?"

"Admiral, we're having trouble with our main node computer.  It has
an inferiority complex because Majel Barrett isn't doing its voice."

"Come on, Blend!  You know what a tight budget we're working under.
Look at you; we couldn't even afford a real Shakespearean actor to
lead the cast.  Just keep the damned packets flowing, OK?" 

"Yes sir," Crisko finally managed to mutter through clenched teeth.
"Crisko, out."  He punched more buttons on his comm panel.  The image
of the admiral faded as the lonely leader complained to himself.  "I
wish just one officer on this show would remember that I have a rank
and a last name."                                               {RAH}
--------------
Dave Bealer is a thirty-something mainframe systems programmer who
works with CICS, MVS and all manner of nasty acronyms at one of the
largest heavy metal shops on the East Coast.  He shares a waterfront
townhome in Pasadena, MD. with two cats who annoy him endlessly as he
writes and electronically publishes RAH.    FidoNet> 1:261/1129
Internet: dbealer@clark.net
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Sound Byte:

   Did you hear about the horny seminary school dropout?

   He was looking for a missionary position.

