ENTERPRISE vs GALACTICA, chapter 1 of 6

To anyone who, with considerable justification, might wonder what exactly this
is, let me (somewhat) explain.
I do not have access to the rec.arts.startrek bboard, but I do have some
friends on Internet who keep me posted on the latest and/or strangest on
various boards.  My recent favorite has been the running debate on the
rec.arts.startrek bulletin board about which ship could kick which ship's butt,
the new Enterprise (NCC-1701D) or the Battlestar Galactica.
  For a while we were content to simply read the debate and laugh among our-
selves that people had nothing better to write these.  (Of course, you can
only laugh about that so far before having to explain why you've been FOLLOWING
this debate so faithfully, too.)  However, in the interests of further annoying
a few people, we felt that we should write something which would not just set
the record wrong, but set it DEFINITIVELY wrong, and annoy a maximum number
of people at the same time.  This story is my own fault... but a few others,
including the poor lad posting this for me, are guilty of encouragement.
  So here's a story to that end, which you can either read or, if you DO have
something better to do with your time, discard promptly.

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OPENING SCENE: The Enterprise (the new one, yes) hanging out in space, minding
its own business, when along comes this Romulan Bird of Prey ship thing.  On
board the Enterprise, various people react badly.

Captain Jean-Luc Picard reacts like this...
PICARD: Uh-oh.  Must be another season finale.

First Officer Will Riker reacts like this...
RIKER: I sure hope we get to do some shooting this time.

Weapons Officer (and Klingon) Worf reacts like this...
WORF: Klingon honor dictates that we shred them to bits.

Acting Doofus Wesley Crusher reacts like this...
WESLEY: Ho hum, I'll probably have to save the ship again...

And the rest of the bridge crew reacts like this...
EVERYONE: Will you SHUT UP, WESLEY!!!

The Romulan ship appears not to react at all.

PICARD: What do you make of it, Will?  They're just sitting there.
RIKER: Looks hostile to me, sir.  Need I remind you that the Romulans live for
 nothing but fights, destruction, and painting neat stuff on their ships?
PICARD: You need not.
RIKER: Then let's blast them before they, uh... well, whatever mean nasty
 thing I'm sure they're planning.
PICARD: No.  Let's see what they're up to.  Open a hailing frequency, Uhura.
UHURA: I'm not in this series.
PICARD: Right.  Uh, somebody get that.  Anybody; you've all got the same
 blinking bits to push anyways.
GEORDI: Hey wait everybody.  Look what's happening on the screen.
EVERYONE: Oooh.  Aahh.  What the...?
PICARD: Interesting.  Geordi, what do you make of it?
GEORDI: Well, I see lots of vertical lines...
RIKER: That's that banana comb you've got over your eyes.
GEORDI: Oh, right.  Okay, I see pulsating swirls of strange colors, extending
 even into the invisible radiation frequencies.  Data, what do you think?
DATA: Records have many similar references, but none without the aid of
 recreational pharmaceuticals.
PICARD: Any theories?
DATA: Check what went into the crew's lunch today.
PICARD: Uhhh... any OTHER theories?
DATA: Possibly another of those space-time warp things, sir.  The possibilities
 are virtually limited only by the writer's imagination.
PICARD: Is this something the Romulans are doing?
DATA: It seems unlikely, sir.  They, too, are scanning the object.
TROI: Captain, I sense confusion and distrust on the Romulan vessel.  They are
 no doubt wondering if WE are responsible.
PICARD: Hmm... what do you make of this, Will?
RIKER: It's got to be a Romulan trick.  Let's blast them AND the phenomenon!
PICARD: No.
RIKER: We never blast anything.  I thought this was gonna be a fun ship.
PICARD: However, you COULD assemble your Away Team.
RIKER: Okay!  But what for?
PICARD: I just want you to go Away.

Suddenly the Enterprise is rocked by an attack, or at least the camera bounces
around a good bit.

WORF: Sir!  The Romulans are attacking!
WESLEY: Minor damage and extreme annoyance on all decks, sir.  Shall I save
 the ship now?
PICARD: Not yet, anyway.  Worf, status?
WORF: Red alert, shields up, phaser and photon torpedoes ready, adrenalin
 flowing freely.  I recommend immediate retaliation.
PICARD: That depends.  Will, what do you say?
RIKER: Hit 'em hard.
PICARD: No, then.  We'll sit here and take it.
WORF: Sir!! Klingon honor demands we kick their butts, sir!
PICARD: Well... okay then.  Fire away.
DATA: Sir!  The phenomenon is expanding!  It appears it will swallow both
 ships...
WORF: I think I can still get this shot off...

At this point, of course, there would have to be a commercial break.
Once the commercial break was past, we would find ourselves in a totally new
situation, which at first would appear to be totally unrelated.  This time,
hanging about in space and minding its own business, is the Battlestar
Galactica, along with a rag-tag fleet comprised of various vehicles well past
their prime and not that good to start with-- mostly Chrysler Volares.
Zipping about like mad since they have nothing better to do with their fuel
are a few small Viper fightercraft.  In the cockpits of these small craft, a
conversation is going on...

APOLLO: Well, another sector completed.  Still no sign of Cylon nasties.
STARBUCK: Yes, well, isn't that surprising.  We're flying around ahead of the
 fleet, the Cylons are behind the fleet, what did we expect?
APOLLO: You never know when the Cylons could circle around in front of us.
STARBUCK: How long has it been since they bothered?  In fact, there hasn't
 been ANYTHING exciting in quite some time.  I wonder if maybe our series was
 canceled.
APOLLO: Quit your babbling, do you see what I see?
STARBUCK: Well, I think so.
APOLLO: What do you see?
STARBUCK: Stars.  Lots of them.
APOLLO: Besides that.
STARBUCK: Uh... black space in between them?
APOLLO: Are you even looking?
STARBUCK: Well... you remember my idea for a way to get my cigars in my flight
 suit?
APOLLO: Please don't tell me.
STARBUCK: It works great except for all this smoke.  Can't see felgercarb
 through it...
APOLLO: Great.  And you're on patrol.  Well, I'll tell you what I see.
STARBUCK: Do that.
APOLLO: There's an area of swirling colors and strange, whorling patterns.
STARBUCK: Oh, so you DID try some of that drink in the rec room?
APOLLO: NO, there's something out here!  Look at your sensors!
STARBUCK: Sensors... right.  Squarish screen, lower middle of the panel,
 right?
APOLLO: Arggh.  We've got to get back and warn the fleet.  C'mon!
STARBUCK:  Right.  I'll follow your vapor trail.  At least I can see that...

Shortly, Apollo and a slightly woozy Starbuck report to Commander Adama, on
the bridge of the Galactica.

APOLLO: Commander, sir, pilots Apollo and Starbuck to report.
ADAMA: I'll have no such familiarity on this bridge.
APOLLO: Sorry, daddy. Listen, pop, while I was out in the Viper...
ADAMA: You didn't hit anything, did you?
APOLLO: No, dad, listen--
ADAMA: You got a ticket?
APOLLO: NO, we just--
ADAMA: Well, what did you do this time?
APOLLO: We saw this area of swirling lights and flowing colors.
ADAMA: That does it.  How many times have I told you not to fly right after a
 party.  You're in big trouble now mister.
APOLLO: But, I wasn't...
ADAMA: Starbuck, you I can trust.  What really happened out there?
STARBUCK: Oh.  Well, uh, we... what was it?
APOLLO: Flashing colors.
STARBUCK: Yeah, flashing colors, we saw flashing colors, and what was that
 other thing?
APOLLO: Swirling lights.
STARBUCK: Yeah, that was it, swirling lights, man you shoulda seen those
 swirling lights.
ADAMA: Where?
APOLLO: Sector 6.02x10^23.
ADAMA: Whatzat?
APOLLO: The area in front of us.
ADAMA: So we're headed for some strange spatial phenomenon, then?
APOLLO: Uh, yes sir.  We should be picking it up on the forward sensors in a
 few centons.
TIGH: Commander Alpo-- I mean, Adama, we're actually picking up some sort of
 sensor disturbance right now.
ADAMA: Put it on some screens.
TIGH: Which ones, sir?
ADAMA: Umm... pre-empt MTV for this.
TIGH: Yes sir.  Image is ready... now.
ADAMA: Hmmm... Colonel Tigh, I thought I told you to pre-empt MTV.
TIGH: I did, sir.  That IS the sensor image.
ADAMA: Oh.  Very strange.  It's growing to encompass us, too, isn't it?
TIGH: Well, yes, sir, it is.
ADAMA: Can we outrun it?
TIGH: Let me see... yes, we could, but we'd have to leave our fleet behind.
ADAMA: Where is the Council of the Twelve now?
TIGH: Here, on board the Galactica.
ADAMA: Oh well, no point in abandoning the fleet then.  Hold position here,
 and let's see what is facing us...

There is a tense moment for everyone but Starbuck, who is attempting to
seduce one of the console technicians while Athena isn't looking.  Then the
colors wash over the fleet, the bridge rocks a little bit, and the screens
suddenly clear to a whole new star pattern, somehow brighter and fuller.  And
five gazillion alarms all go off at the same time.

TIGH: Sir! We have a ship dead ahead!
ATHENA: Make that two ships!  One just appeared in our sensor scan!
STARBUCK: Well, maybe AFTER the crisis we could get together in my cabin for
 a friendly drink or two?
ADAMA: What are they?  Is it Cylons?
TIGH: Don't know, but they're firing!

A blast rocks the Galactica's cameras.  Those red lights go on that make
everything ten times harder to see.  Smoke drifts in the air, but it's mostly
coming from Starbuck's flight helmet.

TIGH: Some sort of pulse energy weapon, sir.  Moving at substantially sub-
 light velocity.  But it packs quite a wallop.
ADAMA: What's our damage?
ATHENA: We seem to have suffered no structural damage, although I don't know
 why.  We have reports of minor injuries all over the ship.  I have the
 Council of the Twelve on hold on lines three through fourteen.
ADAMA: What's the other ship doing?
TIGH: Moving off, it seems.  That ship... appears to have a bird painted on
 it.  I don't believe these are Cylon vessels.
ADAMA: No, but whatever they are, they have attacked our fleet.  Apollo!
 Starbuck!
APOLLO: Sir!
STARBUCK: Look, one drink won't make you lose any control of... uh, what?
ADAMA: Assemble blue squadron!  Get clear of the Galactica, take up defensive
 posture around the fleet, and await my orders!
APOLLO: Right!
STARBUCK: Errmm... right!
ADAMA: Colonel Tigh, open fire on the hostile vessel when ready.  Keep spare
 batteries trained on that other ship; we don't know WHAT we've gotten into
 here...

Of course, the hostile vessel is the Enterprise, whose last shot intended for
the Romulan Bird of Prey went wild and smacked the Galactica a good one.  Also
of course, Worf will never admit that he did any such thing.

PICARD: What happened?  Did we just fire at that ship?
WORF: I didn't do anything, sir.
RIKER: I didn't see anything either.  Sensors were all a jumble there for a
 second... where are we, anyway?
DATA: Attempting to get a fix on the star positions now, sir.  So far, nothing
 correlates within a reasonable radius.  Increasing the search.
PICARD: What is that ship?
DATA: Also unknown, sir.
RIKER: It could be Romulan.  They may be behind this all.  Let's blast it.
PICARD: No, I'd like to know what they're up to.
WORF: They are firing energy cannons at us, sir.
PICARD: Okay, now I know.  Red alert!
WESLEY: May I save the ship now?
PICARD: Permission denied.  Sit down and shut up.  Don't you have homework to
 do?
WESLEY: You wouldn't treat me like that if I were older.
PICARD: You wouldn't whine like that either.  Do as you're told.  Worf,
 return fire, but aim to damage, not destroy.
WORF: Damage, as in screaming pain?
PICARD: Uh... no, damage as in, cannons inoperable.
WORF: Damn.
TROI: Captain, I sense a great many beings with conflicting emotions.
PICARD: Well, there are three ships in a tight area here.
GEORDI: Four, Captain.  Another ship just appeared on the periphery.  It
 appears to be a Klingon vessel.
PICARD: What do you make of that, Worf?
WORF: I'm busy destroying that ship, sir.
PICARD: Yes, well, that's the fifth shot you've taken that hasn't made a dent
 in them so knock it off.
DATA: Actually, apart from heavy shaking, we appear to be undamaged as well.
RIKER: Data, have you found our location yet?
DATA: Well, not yet, sir.  I am still working on that as well.
RIKER: Well work on it more, and stop giving us this "undamaged" stuff.  We're
 at war here, and I don't want anything distracting us from that.
WORF: That's a Klingon ship all right, but not a recent design.
PICARD: How can you tell?
WORF: It's nowhere near as ugly as the way we make them now.  Look, it's
 mostly smooth.
PICARD: Well, how did it get here?
GEORDI: How did ANY of us get here?
WESLEY: When do I get to save the ship?
EVERYONE: Shut up, Wesley!!
DATA: Another vessel just appeared on the scanners, sir.  Once again, unable
 to identify.
PICARD: Is there a pattern to these appearances?
DATA: Yes, sir.  So far, no object has appeared inside another.
RIKER: Find our position yet?
DATA: Working on it.  So far I've ruled out the entire galaxy.
PICARD: Why is that ship still firing at us?
GEORDI: Actually, it seems that the large ship with all the cannons is
 shielding a number of smaller ships, all of varying but unfamiliar
 configuration.  At least, I don't recognize them.  We could ask Data, but it
 looks like Commander Riker would hurt him.
PICARD: So they may actually be taking a defensive posture?
WORF: Sir! Klingon honor demands that we not consider such possibilities!  We
 must take steps to destroy them!
PICARD: You tried phasers, you tried photon torpedoes, and I even heard you try
 one or two Klingon curses under your breath; none of these have done a thing.
 What do you suggest?
WORF: The Romulan ship.  We haven't tried blasting them yet.
PICARD: They haven't fired on us.
WORF: But they could.  We should try this, just to see if this new vessel is
 of Romulan design.
PICARD: How would we know that?
WORF: If our shots just bounce off, we know that both ships employ the same
 technology.  If the Romulan vessel gets trashed, however, we'll know that it
 was a mistake.
PICARD: What do you think, Will?
RIKER: I agree with Worf completely, sir.
PICARD: Good.  We will do no such thing.  Geordi, Data, I'd like you two to
 compile as much information as possible on the technology of that vessel
 blasting away at us.  What can we learn from them?  Worf, I authorize return
 fire on any vessel that fires upon us, but you will break off combat at any
 time that it appears pointless.  Deanna, see if you can sort out those
 emotions to specific sources.  And Wesley, it's your turn to take out the
 trash.
RIKER: What's my function?
PICARD: I've been wondering that since the show started.
DATA: About our position, sir... I've ruled out every known and extrapolated
 point in the known universe.  We are either thoroughly removed from any area
 known to be previously visited by man... or in another universe altogether.
RIKER: Don't be so Sappish.
PICARD: Would you care to explain that statement, Mr. Data?
DATA: I have no explanation.  It's merely a sort of foreshadowing, to keep
 this story from bogging down with all these ships that keep popping up.
GEORDI: Like that last one?  It's very small.  A comprehensive pattern search
 through the computers suggests that it may in fact be a 1987 Ford Escort.
DATA: Intriguing.  Sensors indicate that a major structural element of that
 vehicle is black sticky tape.
PICARD: A Ford Escort?
DATA: Yes sir.  An automobile, from the late twentieth century.  It is not a
 spacecraft at all.  The curious part is, there is a life form on board.  How
 anyone could be alive there escapes me.
PICARD: This is weirder all the time, but I want us to focus on that large
 ship.  All this shooting doesn't appear to be hurting us, but our shields
 can't last forever.
GEORDI: Actually, shields haven't suffered one bit.
PICARD: Oh.  Well... my feet can't take this vibration for much longer.  I'm
 not as young as I once was.
RIKER: Nor have you been for some time.
PICARD: So get cracking on that report.
GEORDI: Okay, but should it include that squadron of small fighters which is
 now attacking us as well?
PICARD: Sure, why not.
WORF: I can blast them, right?
PICARD: We can try...

The new attackers are, of course, Blue Squadron, named after the color the
pilots would become after sitting in a cold dark spaceship for long patrols.
But this is a very active mission now.  Everyone is blasting away like mad at
the Enterprise, which continues not to look like it cares overmuch.

STARBUCK: That ship doesn't look like it cares overmuch that we're blasting
 it!
APOLLO: Possibly because we have yet to do any perceptible damage.  Let's keep
 getting closer.  And look alive; just because they're not firing now doesn't
 mean that they won't.
STARBUCK: Whoops, they just did start.  Yow!
APOLLO: Any damage?
STARBUCK: Uh... no.  But that light beam nailed me good.  I thought I was
 maneuvering better than that.
APOLLO: Maybe their computers are better than our maneuvers.  But as long as
 their weapons aren't hurting us...
EXPENDABLE PILOT: eeeyyyAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHGH!
STARBUCK: No, no, a battle cry is more triumphant than... oh.  Hey Apollo,
 we just lost What's-his-face.
APOLLO: What happened?
STARBUCK: They fired one of those torpedo things.  I don't think the weapon
 itself did any damage, but the shaking seems to have knocked the ship right
 apart.  You know our ships aren't what they used to be.
ANOTHER EXPENDABLE PILOT: aaauuuhhhhRRRRGGGGGGG!
APOLLO: I see that.  Starbuck, get back with the rest of the pilots and return
 to that defensive formation around the fleet.  I'm gonna try something.
STARBUCK: What are you doing?
APOLLO: I think they've only got those couple of torpedo launchers, I'm trying
 to get in close where they can't get me and see just how solid that surface
 REALLY is.
STARBUCK: Sounds risky, pal.  Glad it's YOU doing this.
APOLLO: So far so good, I'm in real close, coming up on the surface-- AaaaHHH!
STARBUCK: What?  What's happening?
APOLLO: Some sort of shielding, I think!  My ship is breaking up on me!
STARBUCK: Eject!  Eject!
APOLLO: What do you think this is, lower atmosphere?  Think!
STARBUCK: Pray!  Pray!
APOLLO: I think that's about it; my ship is blowing--

A large explosion which again fails to in any way affect the Enterprise pretty
well puts an end to that line of thought.

STARBUCK: Well doesn't that really stink.

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Did Apollo really die?  Who will win this battle?  How many of us really care?
How many of us are already so annoyed by just this first chapter to jot off
some quick hate mail right now?