Path: moe.ksu.ksu.edu!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!mips!mips!public!btr.btr.com!mcmelmon
From: mcmelmon@btr.btr.com
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: Five Star Trek - 2
Keywords: Wesley, Lynn, Kyle
Message-ID: <6396@public.BTR.COM>
Date: 25 Apr 92 04:27:30 GMT
References: Robotech - TNG Crossover
Sender: mcmelmon@public.BTR.COM
Followup-To: Five Star Trek - 1
Distribution: na
Organization: BTR Public Access UNIX, MtnView CA. Contact: Customer Service cs@BTR.COM
Lines: 189

Earth.

Starfleet's orbiting space station.  A young Asian woman runs through the
mechanical corridors.  Stunningly beautiful, her long black hair flows out
behind her in a seemingly endless stream.  She wears a gown which, even in the
egalitarian future appears exquisitely expensive.

LYNN MING.  Pop star.

A small fighter-launch docks at one of the space bays.  Shortly thereafter, a
young man emerges from a hatch.

Wesley Crusher.  Cadet.

Almost immediately, a fellow Star Fleet cadet greets Wesley.  A Klingon -
Glomras Metac.  Soon after Glomras claps Wesley on the back, Lynn appears on the
scene.  She rushes up to Wesley and embraces him passionately - if somewhat
naively.  The beautiful young woman is oblivious to her impact on the male of
the species.



Lynn:  Wesley!  I watched your flight. You were wonderful!  You're always so
wonderful!

Wesley [stammering]:  Really, it wasn't anything to write home about...

Lynn:  You're something to write home about!  Oh, Wesley...



Another man appears.  Tall, Asian.  He carries himself like a prince.  

KYLE MING.  Movie star.

Kyle wears something resembling traditional Chinese garb:  also exquisitely
expensive.  His long black hair falls immaculately down his back, held in place
by several clips - each resembling a twisting, golden dragon.  His pentagonal
face betrays a smirk.  His face betrays a smirk.

Kyle [mocking]:  Oh, Wesley...  Really, Lynn.  You do not carry yourself at all
like you should.

Lynn:  What do you know about how I should carry myself.

Kyle:  More than you...

Wesley [extending his hand]:  Hello, Kyle.

Kyle [grudgingly accepting the handshake]:  Hello, Wesley.

Lynn:  Will you come to my concert tonight, Wesley?  I really want you to be
there.

Wesley:  Of course...

Kyle:  Now that that's settled, can we go?  We're already late for an
interview...

Lynn [pointedly]:  I'm already late for an interview, manager.

Kyle:  Right.  So are you through gushing over your little stinging wasp...?

Wesley:  What's that supposed to mean?

Kyle:  Figure it out, Star Boy...

Glomras:  You're contempt, movie star, for Star Fleet is as preposterous as it
is infamous.

Kyle:  Coming from a Klingon, I shall take that as a sincere compliment.

Glomras:  This is not a stage.  You would not find a real Klingon quite as easy
prey as you would one of your mock ups.

Kyle [menacing]:  Try me...

Glomras:  growl...

Lynn:  Let's go, now...

Kyle:  Go ahead, Star Jock.  Try me...




Glomras growls once more, then strikes out ferociously.  His blow is linear and
perfectly aimed.  No force is lost.  It focuses perfectly on it's target.

Kyle's face.

But even as his hand moves, the actor's body flow with liquid grace.  His palm
cups the much larger Klingon fist delicately.  Guiding it.  Kyle steps towards
his opponent until their bodies touch.  As if performing graceful tango, Kyle
guides the Klingon's hand and body.  

The perfect blow misses by millimeters, but a miss is nontheless a miss.

Kyle continues to move, bending backward as if being dipped.  Unwillingly, his
adversary dips as well.  As Kyle rolls to the floor, his other hand is moving.
A well-aimed blow to the Klingon's arm.  As the two hit the floor, the sound of
powerful bones snapping echoes in the corridor.

They roll.

Kyle leaps up, somersaulting in the air several times before landing, arms
angled up, like a diver readying himself for a dive.

Absolute silence.  Glomras contains pain.  A crowd gathers.  Lynn moves closer
to Wesley.



Lynn:  Oh, Wesley.  I'm so sorry.  Really, I am.  If I had known...

Kyle:  Come on, Lynn...

Wesley:  Not bad for a pacifist...

Kyle:  Those who speak peace must do so with a strong tongue...

Wesley:  Bingo.  That's what Star Fleet's all about.  Or hadn't you considered
that.



Kyle reflects briefly.



Kyle:  Come on, Lynn.



Fearing Wesley may be next, Lynn walks over to Kyle's outstretched hand.  She
takes it, and they start to walk away.  She looks back over her shoulder.




Lynn:  Please don't hold this against me, Wesley.  Please come to my concert
tonight. Please?

Wesley:  I will.



A security officer appears.  He almost stops the departing stars.  He doesn't.
Instead, he walks up to Wesley.



Officer:  What happened?

Glomras:  I am at fault.

Officer:  Oh?

Glomras:  Yes.  I am also in pain.

Officer:  Wasn't that Kyle Ming?

Wesley:  And his sister.

Officer:  Shit.  They say his genetic patterns match those taken from the real
Mings - the ancient Emperors of China.  He's authentic through and through, all
right...

Glomras:  Correct.  Authentic enough to have inflicted a multiple compound
fracture to my left arm.  Even to a Klingon, this causes a fair amount of pain.
Might I be taken to a medical facility sometime soon?  Like... now?




Meanwhile, in a luxury transport craft, Kyle and Lynn sit together on a
comfortable diva



Lynn:  He was right, and that made you mad, didn't it?

Kyle:  Who was right?

Lynn:  Wesley.  About Star Fleet and strong tongues.

Kyle:  From what I'm told, he's always right...

Lynn [coy]:  Well, he also has a strong tongue...