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From: [e-mail] (THE TREKNOLOGIST)
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Subject: THE WEASEL SAGA, Episode Six
Date: 7 Feb 95 11:41:47 CST
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                 THE              .___.
                 \        /      /
                  \  /\  /       '---.
                   \/  \/EASEL  .___/AGA

            Episode Six, The Unexploited Country
                  by Clifford Hall

                    ACT I

Captain's Log:  Stardate 48742 point 9, U.S.S. Lotusior, Wesley Crusher
Commanding.  I have gained command of this my first starship after convincing
Admiral Necheyev I'd be a "good boy" and promising to do her the favor of
charting all gaseous anomalies in Betamax quadrant.  The crew is beginning to
learn to respect me as master of this my vessel.

    Wes relaxed contentedly in his comfortable red velvet center command
chair and sipped his steaming Earl Grey tea, a taste for which he genetically
inherited.  The rest of the bridge crew also sipped on the tea of their choice.
    Wesley's world of serenity was shattered suddenly by the ship's
shuddering.  It shook so violently, Wes spilled his scalding tea in his lap.  He
gasped unable to scream.  The bridge crew all looked around at each other,
shrugged their shoulders, nonchalantly tossed their tea at his lap as well.
    Wes stood up.  "My, that's hot tea!" he exclaimed.  "Methane, report!"
    "Gaseous shock wave bearing 140 mark 20, sir."
    "Hot dog!  Our first gaseous anomaly.  Put it on screen."  Wesley got a
look at the approaching juggernaut.  "Jehoshaphat!  Put up the shields!"
    The brunt of the wave hit the Lotusior with a loud splat which sent the
ship careening off end over end into the next sector.  Wesley's carcass was
flung across the bridge back in forth as they rode out the wave.  Finally, the
storm was over and the ship steadied.
    Wes regained his composure.  "That was no solar wind!"
    "Negatory.  Rather butt wind.  That wave originated from the Klingon
moon Milagro."
    "Milagro is their key _bean_ production facility," Wesley contemplated.
He turned to Lieutenant Bland, the communications officer.  "Send to Klingon
Agricultural Command:  This is the Federation vessel Lotusior.  We have
experienced quite a large explosion in your sector.  Do you require assistance?
Mr. Methane, any more data?"
    "On screen, sir."
    "Milagro?"  Wes asked looking at what was left of the moon.  The once
double-lobed moon in orbit of Qo'nos was now only composed of a single sphere.
    "Something blew the whole thing apart," added helmsman Propane.
    "Receiving transmission from Milagro, captain," reported Bland.
    The viewscreen changed to show hordes of Klingons running everywhere
some with their noses plugged, others with gas masks.  Someone shouted, "Get
that beano back on line!"  Another, "Fire suppression needed in sector 7-G!!"
    The transmission was cut off by the Klingon Ag Command as flames
engulfed the room and replaced by a Klingon spokeswarrior.  "This is Bombardier
Curly, speaking on behalf of the Klingon Agricultural Command.  There has BEAN
indigestion on Milagro.  However it isn't anything Klingon strength beano can't
take care of.  We are in no need of assistance.  This transmission
ends...Uhhhh...now."
    "Indigestion?"
    "Should we report this, sir?" asked Bland.
    "I hope you're kidding."

    In a dark and ominous conference at Starfleet Command the Starfleet
general staff assembled with the senior officers of the U.S.S. Enterprise.
    Captain Picard realized something was out of place.  "Where's Wesley?"
He asked Beverly.
    "Why?  Do you miss him?"  She smiled with sarcasm.  "Wes got his own
command: The Lotusior."
    "So, you mean he won't be joining us?" Picard queried with enthusiasm.
    Bev nodded positively.  Picard jumped up in the air clicking his heels
twice.  Bev laughed in response.
    Soon, everyone settled down and took their seats.  Yet stood up
momentarily when some chick announced "Everyone, The commander in chief, Admiral
Quinn."
    Quinn bumbled up to the podium and began.  "I know most of you believe
me to be senile in my years.  So, I'm turning this briefing over to our special
envoy.  Let's face it.  I'm no spring chicken choker...  What!?  Who wrote up
these note cards.  I'm holding them personally responsible!"  Quinn stomped
around to the other end of the conference room where most of the Enterprise
personnel sat.  "Data!  It was you.  Wasn't it?"
    Data put on a perfect poker face.  "No, sir."
    "Well, who then?!"
    "Uh, it was other officers or something."
    "That'll be enough, Admiral Quinn," said the one and only Ambassador
Spock walking in and physically prodding Quinn to take his seat.
    Geordi and Data exchanged hand slaps known as "low fives" congratulating
each other.  Worf, who sported sunglasses, also slapped Geordi's hand with a "My
man!"
    Spock addressed the officers.  "Last week, an explosion originating from
the Klingon moon Milagro was felt as far away as Earth.  A Federation starship,
the Lotusior, was near the explosion at the time and has since been missing.  It
has been presumed destroyed with all hands."
    "Oh, darn,"  Picard said under his breath with a hint of sarcasm.  Bev
put a hand to his thigh.  Both knew full well they weren't going to be rid of
the Weasel so easily.
    Spock continued.  "The explosion was of a gastric nature and was
believed to be caused by an uncontrolled metabolism and insufficient safety
antacids.  It is well known, that the loss of bean production is virtually
crippling to the Klingon Empire.  As cotton was to the southern states with the
saying "Cotton is king," to the Klingons "Bean is keen."  At the behest of the
Romulan Ambassador, namely myself, I have opened diplomatic discussions with
Garbonzo, chancellor of the Klingon Agricultural Command.  You, Captain Picard,
are to be our first "bean" branch.  You are to rendezvous with the chancellor
and escort him to Earth."
    "Does this mean moth ball-ing Starfleet?" questioned Picard.
    "You mean blue balling?" sobbed Worf touched by painful memories past.
    Quinn stood up.  "Absolutely NOT!  We have an opportunity here to bring
those treacherous Klingons to their knees just like we did back in 'aught six!"
    Spock was not amused.  "Admiral Quinn, would you please sit down and
shut up!  There has been peace between the Klingon Empire and the Federation
for well nigh eighty years, and that isn't about to change any time in the
near future.  Apparently Chancellor Garbonzo feels that his people need to
expand their agricultural techniques by sharing knowledge with the Federation
before they fall to far behind in the bean race.  Both parties could greatly
benefit from this pooling."
    "I still don't like it," dissented Admiral Cartwheel who evilly sat in
the shadows of the corner of the room.
    "May I ask why?" asked Spock.
    Cartwheel just shrugged his shoulders.  "I dunno."
    "If that is all then this meeting is adjourned," Spock motioned.  "I
believe there are some complimentary tacos and nachos in the hallway."
    At that everyone got up and vacated the room except for Picard and
Spock.
    "Captain Picard, don't you like tacos or nachos?" pried Spock.
    Picard still sat in his seat.  "Well, you know how tight these uniforms
are, and I was paying a little too much attention to Dr. Crusher."
    "Captain, there is an old Vulcan saying: 'Only Carter could go to
Haiti.'"
    "Ahh.  That's better."  Picard stood up.  "Spock, you know I don't
really care for Klingon beans.  They're animals!"
    "Actually captain, they're vegetables."
    "Don't eat them.  Don't believe in them."
    "Jean-Luc, They're satisfying."
    "Let them satisfy."
    "Oh, try them, try them in a ship."
    "I will not try them in ship.  I will not try them with some dip.  I
would not eat them with a shrimp.  I would not buy them from a pimp.  I won't
partake of Klingon beanstalk!  I don't like them, Mister Spock!"
    The Old Vulcan was taken aback by Picard's bold yet immature retorts.
He was dumbstruck.  Picard felt a little embarrassed by how stupid his
argument was and started to leave for his ship turning a little red in the
face.  He mumbled a farewell to Spock as he left the room.

    Picard stepped out onto his bridge where his senior staff awaited him
and was immediately greeted with a "CAPTAIN ON THE BRIDGE!" spoken by a new
young female helmsman.  Some of the bridge crew had risen on Picard's account.
Some on her account.  Even Worf had to prop his sunglasses up on one of his
forehead ridges to get a better view.
    "As you were," Picard ordered.  "Ensign...Uh, Ensign..."
    "Voluptuous, sir."
    "I'll say," replied Riker who received an elbow in the ribs from Troi.
    "Voluptuous was the first bimbo to be graduated at the head of her class
at the Academy," noted Data.  "I was her, uh, sponsor."
    "And who was the valedictorian?" asked Riker which got a weird reaction
from Deanna.
    "Wesley Crusher, sir," answered Voluptuous.
    "I thought he was salutatorian," recalled Picard.
    "Although Mr. Crusher did receive poor marks in Professor Doomie's
Stamina course, they were not low enough to be of any consequence.  He remained
at the top of his class," explained Data.
    "Then his insanity was in vane," realized Picard.
    Troi was completely confused as well as insanely jealous.  "I thought
you said Voluptuous here graduated at the head of her class."
    "At the head of her class?  I meant, 'to give head to the head of the
class,'" Data replied.
    Deanna explained her confusion.  "Oooohhhh, I thought you meant she had
a bad case of the runs during the commencement ceremonies.  You know the feeling
when you think your gonna get caught short on your way to the head."  She added
to try to embarrass the new ensign.
    After a long pause, "It's a real shame he went mad," contemplated
Geordi.
    "Huh, huh...  Head," chuckled Worf.
    "Yes, the triple entendre was quite comedic, wasn't Worf?" chirped Data.
    Picard decided it was time to take some initiative.  "Well, let's get
underway."  Everyone took to their stations.  "Ensign, take us out.  We'll delay
departure time for another day or so."  Everyone then left for their quarters.
    "Aye, sir.  I hope the thrusters are full on a head," she said giggling.

    A week later and a thousand lightyears from Earth...
Captain's Log: Stardate 48756.2.  I've never trusted Klingon beans and I never
will.  I could never forgive them for the birth my son.  A failed Klingon
contraceptive certainly caused a lot of trouble for the galaxy.  If Wes meets
his demise in this episode it will be an historic occasion.  But how on earth
can history get past people like me?
    "May I go now captain," Voluptuous startled Picard.
    "Oh, I'm sorry.  I forgot you we're under there."  Voluptuous got to her
feet.  "You're excused, ensign."
    "Thank you, sir."
    "No, thank you."  Voluptuous walked to the door of Picard's cabin to
leave where the door opened for her.  "Volup, my trollop," Picard called out.
Voluptuous stopped and turned.  "That was some fancy piloting out of dock back
there."
    "You're the man, Jean-Luc."
    "No, you're the man...  No, wait, you were right."

    "You've done well, Voluptuous," congratulated Data in his quarters.  "As
your... ah-hem... sponsor, I have followed your career with satisfaction.
Someday when I leave this ship, you will be my replacement."
    "I could only suck...ceed, succeed you, sir."
    "KLINGON CRUISER APPROACHING OFF THE PORT BOW.  ALL SENIOR OFFICERS TO
THE BRIDGE," announced the communications officer throughout the ship.
    "All things must come to an end," noted Data as he and Voluptuous
complied with the order.

    "Open a channel...  This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard commander of the
Federation starship Enterprise."
    A proud aristocratic Klingon starred back at him through the
viewscreen.  He wore denim overalls, a straw hat and had a long strait piece
of green straw hanging out of his mouth.  "This is Qo'nos Son.  I am Chancellor
Garbonzo.  How y'all doin'?"  He spoke with a southern accent.
    "Chancellor, I am under orders to escort you and your ship through
Federation space to Earth for the 4-H bean symposium."
    "Why thank you kindly, cap'n."
    "Would you and your party care to sup with me and my senior staff this
evening on board the Enterprise as guests of the United Federation of Planets?"
Picard noticed Garbonzo was hesitant.  "We would watch United Federation of
Wrestling afterward," he added.
    "Would ya'll be havin' grits?"
    "No.  But we will be serving fried chicken though.  The Colonel's
original recipe."
    "In that case, Cap'n, we'd be obliged."
    "Very well.  We'll have you 'beaned' aboard at 1800 hours."
    "I'll be lookin' forward to tonight," he replied closing the channel.
    "How rude," Picard commented.  "He hung up without a goodbye."  He
walked toward his ready room.
    "Captain," Voluptuous called to him.  "We still have a large supply of
Bud Light on board from gunner Galakeiwicz's stay.  It would help the meal to
pass more smoothly."
    "And at my age, I think metamucil would do a better job," he replied.
    "Guess who's going to be dinner," said Worf eyeing Voluptuous.

    Garbonzo stood on the transporter pad among his consorts using a rather
larger bone as a cane to support himself.  "This here's my daughter and my
sister's kid: Cocklebur," he introduced.  She had to be the ugliest female of
any race Picard had ever seen.
    Cocklebur presented Picard with a gift.  "I made a three bean salad:
Lusitania, Valdez and Dukakis.  The tastiest varieties the Homeworld has to
offer," she said smiling.
    "I'm not sure how to take that."
    "Sincerely, Picard," answered Garbonzo.
    "From one gardener to another," added Cocklebur.
    "Right," he replied sarcastically taking the concoction.  He looked down
into it to see green bubbles forming spewing foul gasses.  He turned to the
transporter's mate and whispered.  "Have this disintegrated," he ordered handing
it to him.  The mate nodded in acknowledgment.
    Garbonzo continued introductions.  "My chef (sic) of staff: General Wang
Chung," a hairless and nearly naked Klingon who wore but two bandoleers, a
titanium cup with a canvas supporter, and a leather patch riveted over his butt
crack (specifically his anus).
    "Call me Wang, Madame," he said going over to Troi and kissing her hand.
    "My astrological and agronomical advisor, Bombardier Curly," a Jack
Palance kind of guy with an even bigger ego problem.
    Curly spotted Voluptuous and strolled over to her.  "Stench is very
sexy.  Don't you think?"  He apparently had dabbed on some Klingon hunting
stench prior to beaming.  Volup nearly gagged but did not at the risk of
hurting Curly's feelings.  "And they said thar warn't a mawket fer it fer
Klingons," he laughed.

    "A toast...  to the Unexploited Country!"  announced Garbonzo to the
everyone assembled in the dinning room.  Confused expressions was all he got in
return.  "The name of this parody!" he clarified.
    "To the parody," everyone replied smashing their beer cans together
causing Bud Light to splash everywhere.
    Under his breath while every one was settling down, Troi made a rather
prejudiced remark to Riker.  "Should have been 'The Un-Exploded Country'
considering the long term effects of Klingon bean farming."
    "Unexploded Country perfectly describes what's left of Klingon
farmland.  It's all just a time bomb waiting to go off," Riker returned.
    "It's no wonder they call them the Killing Fields," added Geordi.
    "You cannot truly appreciate the Weasel Saga until you have read it in
its original Klingon!" Chung mused.  He turned to Picard.  "Tell me captain,
what's your favorite all time film?"
    "I'd have to say Peter Seller's little known work 'Bean (sick) There.'"
    "You know, Voluptuous, back on Qo'nos, I have been known to star in a
few films of my own," bragged Curly.
    "Oh, really," she grimaced trying to look interested.
    "Would you ever have any desire to be in one with me, I'm sure something
could be arranged."
    "Well, I just might have to take you up on that offer."  She turned to
Data who was sitting on the other side of her and got him to trade seats.
    "Chancellor," inquired Picard.  "What would your favorite novel be?"
    "Well, Lord knows I'm not to up on book learnin', but I remember one
book by Faulkner...  The Bean (really sick)."
    "I should have known!"
    As everyone was finishing their meals and after dinner drinks, Garbonzo
made a confession.  "You know, after an evening meal, I always likes to chew a
bit a chaw," he said taking out brown burlap pouch from his pocket containing a
flaky black substance  "Would anyone care to have some?"
    "Most intriguing," remarked Data.  "May I?" he asked reaching for a
pinch of the stuff.  He placed some in his mouth.  "Hmm, remarkably similar in
taste to tobacco and hog flesh."  He swallowed and frowned.
    Garbonzo laughed.  "Mr. Data, you shouldn't swallow the chaw.  Why half
the fun is in the spittin'.  You choose a target, work up a good lather in yer
mouth, and let that loogie fly.  Lemme show you."  He hacked up some phlem,
reeled back his head, and shot a dark wad out of the left corner of his mouth
toward a pot a tree by the door was planted in where it landed squarely on the
mark.  Everyone applauded the marksmanship.
    "Well done, Chancellor," congratulated Data.  "May I have another
attempt?"  Garbonzo held out some more chaw for him which he took.  Data
followed Garbonzo's example perfectly and repeated the Chancellor's performance
exactly to which everyone applauded again.  All except Cocklebur.
    Because not even Riker had hit on her during dinner, she stood up in
heat of passion and said indignantly, "The Federation is no more than a
'homosexuals only' club!"
    "Present company excepted, of course," added Curly to which Worf curtly
nodded.
    "Well, That's not true!" shot back Riker.
    "No?"
    "No!  Faggots are strictly excluded from Starfleet!"
    Picard had to step in.  "Far be it from me to dispute my first officer,
but Starfleet has always been..."
    Wang interrupted.  "No need to explain, Picard.  We understand.  In
space, all warriors are closet warriors."
    Picard turned red and bowed his head hiding his face in embarrassment.
    "To bean or not to bean?  That is the question which preoccupies our
people.  We need breeding room!" lamented Chung.
    "Earth, Jolly Green Giant, 1968," Picard struck back silencing everyone.
    "I beg your pardon."

    "I'm sorry things didn't go so well," Garbonzo admitted to Picard in the
transporter room.  "I think now is a good time to leave."  The chancellor got on
the pad.  "Farewell, Jean-Luc."
    "Ah, Chancellor.  You forgot your bone," Picard said going to retrieve
it from the closet.  The Klingons got onto the transporter pad.
    "It's a good thing you remembered.  That bone is a memento from my first
hunt I went on with my father.  You know, now that I think of it, I don't recall
ever seeing any beast, but my dad went on and on about some monster he claimed
knocked me unconscious and rendered by rectum sore....hmph.  It wasn't long
after that I decided to take up farming."
    He finished up as Picard returned and handed him the bone.
    "Have we not heard the chimes at midnight?" asked Wang rhetorically.
    After the last Klingon molecule dematerialized...
    "Hallelujah!"  shouted Geordi.
    "Bean eaters..." muttered Riker literally ripping off his tunic
forgetting it wasn't a movie style uniform.  "Am I so drunk...?"
    "I'm going to find a pot of black coffee," announced Doctor Crusher.
    "You do realize that coffee is a bean product, Doctor."
    "Shut up, Data," she retorted.
    "Let me join you," said Troi to Bev.
    Data raised an eyebrow in return.
    The crew cleared out except for Voluptuous and two transporter's mates.
The mates kept going on about beans in general, making farting noises and
laughing among themselves.
    "You men have work?" Voluptuous asked them silencing them.
    They nodded.
    "Well, then... Hop to it," she ordered.
    The two of them then suddenly jumped up on top of her.

    Picard stared carefully at the 5" by 8" black and white glossy of Wesley
on the wall of his quarters and threw a dart directly at the left pupil.  He
finished up his log entry before retiring.  "...Note to the galley: antacids to
be served at future diplomatic functions."
    Around midnight, He was awakened by his communicator.  It chimed and
then emitted a burst of flatulence.  "Ugh, what is it?"
    "Data here.  Sorry to disturb you, sir.  But would you please join me on
the bridge?"
    "I'm on my way."

    "What is it Data?  I'm very tired."
    Data flatulated again and spit some juice into a makeshift spittoon.
"Captain, as I am detecting a bean radiation surge or transmission affecting my
servo bowels apparently emanating from ourselves; however, no audio." updated
Data.
    "S.B.D, class three" said Worf in reply.
    "Huh."  He tapped his com badge.  "Geordi, do you know anything about a
bean radiation surge?"
    "Only the size of my gut," La Forge replied flippantly.
    "I know what you mean.  Picard out.  Troi?  Nevermind."
    A red flash from the viewscreen lit up the somewhat darkened bridge
catching everyone's attention.  Picard looked up to see the Qo'nos Son partially
engulfed in flames.  In shock, the bridge crew stared dumbfoundedly as a second
photon torpedo hurled toward the Qo'nos Son and exploded on its shields
collapsing them.
    Picard came to his senses.  "Mr. Worf, who is responsible for this?"
    "We are.  We have fired on their vessel!" answered Worf.
    "Shut down all power to the weapons systems and raise the shields!  I'm
going down to the torpedo bay, have a security team report their.  Worf, follow
me,"  Picard went to the turbolift when the lift doors opened to reveal...
    "Soopraz, Soopraz, Soooopraz!" The Weasel said in a Gomer Pile manner.
    Picard had to take a few steps back.  "Weeeeesleyyyyyy?!"
    "Yes, sir.  It's me," he answered spreading out his arms.
    "Why you little..."  He began squeezing Wesley's neck tighter than a
primordial virgin superstring while the Weaz made choking sounds.
    "Captain, the Qo'nos Son is hailing us..."  Picard released his grasp
while General Chung shouted at him.
    "Have you not a shred of decency in you?  We came to you with peas!  And
you blatantly defile those peas!  For that I shall blow you!"  Picard made a
sickened expression.  "...out of the stars!!  It's understood," Wang ranted.
    "They were beans, not peas," Picard coolly yet sternly replied.
    "You dare to feign ignorance!  I said, 'beans!'"
    "Captain, there's something going on over there...weapons firing..."
reported Worf.
    "Chung, I'm beaming over.  I'll deal with you later, weasbag," he said
dropping the Weas in a heap.  "Use your own discretion on him, Number One."

    Picard materialized with Beverly in the Klingon transporter room.  Curly
met them.  "Come with me."
    Walking down the corridor, they passed by several Klingon corpses which
.had been killed by something unspeakable.  It looked as if each one had simply
.exploded.  They entered the Chancellor's chamber.  Garbonzo lay on the floor
.with his abdomen clearly bloated beyond normality.  His personal physician was
attending him.
    "I'm afraid I haven't seen swelling of this nature before.  I'm gonna
have to lance his belly," the old country doctor said to Wang who was
overlooking the body.  "Let me fetch my medical bat'tleh," he said leaving the
room.
    Wang looked at Curly who shrugged his shoulders.  "Well, the bat'tleh
didn't work for any of the others," he said looking back at the bodies in the
corridor.  "Go ahead."
    Bev started scanning with her tricorder to no avail.  "Dammit, I don't
know anything about these southerners.  They can't read, go barefoot, and screw
their sisters."
    "Hey, we do wear shoes!"  Curly remarked.
    Beverly kneeled down by the body.  "Let me help," she asked Wang.
    Beverly's scans were all far from optimistic.  "It's as if his essence
is draining from his body."
    "Is that what that smell is?" asked Picard.
    "Believe it, hahhhh (inhaling), or not, hehhhh (exhaling)," Curly added.
    Beverly closed up her tricorder and sat on top of him.  "He's gone into
some damned arrest!"  With all her might she began slamming her fists into his
chest repeated times.  Then she kissed him full of the lips.
    Picard felt uneasy. "Uh, Bev, do you really think now is a good time..."
    The Chancellor gained momentary consciousness.  He reached up and
softly caressed her auburn mop of indefatigable fire.  "Don't let it end..."  He
gently spoke to her and wiped away her tears with his thumbs before finally
buying it.
    "The Chancellor is dead."
    "You know if Troi was here, she'd say the same," Picard noted.
    "Believe it, hahhhh (inhaling), or not, hehhhh (exhaling)," Curly added.
    Wang put shackles on both Picard and Beverly.  "By your own interstellar
law, you both hereby under arrest for accessory to the murder of a chancellor of
agriculture.  A crime punishable by at least a couple days in a musty cell."
    "Believe it, hahhhh (inhaling), or not, hehhhh (exhaling)," Curly added.
    "Do you need a cigarette or something?" offered Beverly.
    "Well, believe me there is no need for the shackles, Bombardier Chung.
You have my word," Picard sternly told him.
    "Oh, I thought you liked the feel of designer Gucci shackles.  Sorry."
    "These are Gucci?  I can barely feel them.  The silk leather lining is
so soft."  He turned to Beverly.  "We'll have to pick up a pair next time we're
there," he told her under his breath.  She nodded ever so slightly.  "Let me
call my lawyer..." he told Wang.

    "They've been arrested," Worf reported shockingly after reading it.
"And the captain wants me to pose as his lawyer."
    Riker stood up.  "As of now, I assume command of this ship.  Worf,
Inform Starfleet as to what has happened and request instructions."
    Weasley started whining.  "We cannot let my mom and dad be taken back
to the Klingon homeworld as prisoners!"
    "Mr. Worf," Riker directed him.  Worf grabbed Wesley's arms twisting
them behind his back.  "Opening fire will gain nothing.  However, we will be
able to follow the Captain's various movements.  Especially his bladder and
bowel."
    "Golly, how'd you manage that?"  Weas asked as curious as hell.
    "With a little musical fruit.  But first, we must try to figure out
what the hell has happened here tonight."
    "And if we can't peas things together, what then?"  begged Wesley.
    "Would you please knock it off with the peas jokes!  This is an episode
dedicated to beans.  Save all pea comments for the pea parody."  Riker regained
his composure.  "According to the weapons log, we fired twice on their ship.
And according to the galley there are two bean burritos missing."
    "No way!" whined Wesley.
    He smacked Wesley as hard as he could across his face.  "If we cannot
find evidence to extradite the Captain, then his release lies in the hands of
the diplomats."
    "Uh, Commander," spoke up Worf.  "I-I ate the burritos...  They were
left over and I really didn't get much at dinner."
    Slowly the rest of the bridge crew backed away from him.
    Riker sniffed the air and hit upon an idea.  "Worf, why don't you
handcuff Captain Crusher to you rather than throwing him in the brig.  Now,
that's an order."
    "Oh, very well," Worf replied grudgingly accepting the order.
    "Mr. Worf, you have the bridge."
    As the rest of the crew cleared the bridge, Weas began shouting.  "I'm
a Starfleet captain I have rights!  You can't do this to me!!!..."  But
everyone else left just before Worf dropped the first of many bombs.  The
screams could be heard from within the turbolifts many a decks down.

    "The Chancellor of Agriculture is dead!" ranted Ambassador Kwirk who
had it out for Picard for quite a while now.
    The President sat back in his chair and thought for a moment.  "That's
exactly what Counselor Troi would say at a time like this."
    Deanna Troi happened to enter the President's office at that moment and
march right up to him. "The Chancellor of Agriculture is dead!"  She spoke and
quickly marched off.
    "I had a feeling..." remarked the President.
    Kwirk continued.  "This is the result of an unprovoked attack while he
traveled to see you under a flag of truce on a mission of peas, ub, ub, BEANS!"
    "I have ordered a full scale investigation of my mustache," the
President said stroking his long Manchu whiskers that had whitened with age.
    Kwirk was not pleased with the response.  "In the mean time, could you
see to it that Picard has the book thrown at him.  That book being the codes of
interstellar law which YOU claim to cherish."
    "What?  I've always hated those silly rules.  I thought you liked 'em."
    "I thought it was you!"
    "Well, I guess this whole thing has been a misunderstanding."
    "Quite right.  Now, we can put this foolish bickering behind both of
us," Kwirk answered extending his hand.
    The President shook on it.  "It's only a matter of handing over Picard."
    "Forget it!" shouted Kwirk.
    "Ambassador Spock, there must be some means to extradite Picard."
    "'Fraid not."
    "Ambassador Nautilus, what is the position of the Romulan government?"
    "Sixty-nine as usual."
    "Hmph.  I guess Picard 'll rot!"

                 THE              .___.
                 \        /      /
                  \  /\  /       '---.
                   \/  \/EASEL  .___/AGA

            Episode Six, The Unexploited Country
                  by Clifford Hall

                             ACT II

    Worf was distressed from the messages he was getting from Starfleet.
"Commander, Starfleet is demanding we report back immediately."
    Wesley piped up.  "Five hundred years ago back on Earth when workers
felt their livelihood threatened by the advent of automation, they flung their
wooden shoes, called 'sabeau,' into the machinery.  Hence the term, 'Sabotage.'"
    Riker and Worf looked at each other and then smiled at Wesley.
    Minutes later in the port nacelle...
    "Ready, Worf.  1, 2, 3, Heave!"  Riker and Worf tossed a flailing Wesley
into the primary plasma stream and watched him disintegrate.  Riker hit his
communicator.  "How's engine efficiency now, Mr. La Forge."
    "Huh, I don't know, Commander.  It seems that the port drive has
developed a whine.  One could say there's a weasel in the machine."
    Worf and Riker nodded with satisfaction.  "I'll be leaving now for
Qo'nos, Commander."  Riker continued to nod.

    "Mister President, I have been name chancellor in my father's place,"
announced Cocklebur over subspace transmission.
    "I suppose it wasn't too hard for you to get the job, Madame
Chancellor," replied the President trying to flatter her as best he could.
    "Funny you should put it that way.  Actually, the job was very hard.  At
least, for me.  Certainly not for the head of the rival house.  Anyway, I have
decided to go forward with the bean symposium provided the prisoners are not
extradited and no military operation is attempted to rescue them."
    "Done.  We await your arrival on Earth."
    "I have also decided to move the symposium to a neutral site.  And in
the interest of security, you'll forgive me if I don't say just where."
    "Ah c'mon, you can tell me," he said batting his eyes.
    "All right.  I've chosen Detroit where Federation and Klingon officials
alike will be on equal ground in regards to personal security.  No one's safe in
motor city.  We'll also have some great musical entertainment... Diana Ross...
James Brown..."
    "Isn't he dead?"

    A crowd chanted "'Card! 'Card! 'Card!" as Picard and Crusher stood
before the magistrate, Cockleburr, and a jury of 144.  Wang as well as Worf,
who went incognito by wearing a pair of black thick-rimmed glasses, were also
present.  Beverly and Jean-Luc were handed handheld transistor radios which
they held up to their ears for entertainment during the recesses.
    The chanting could be heard on the bridge of the Enterprise where the
crew watched on the big screen.  They all sat back with giant tubs of buttered
popcorn and Bud Light.
    The joint chiefs, the President, and other officials also watched TV
from the President's office.  Admiral Quinn came stomping in and looked at the
screen.  "Turn off O.J. for once and tune to the Picard trial for gosh sakes."
    The chanting was silenced mostly out of sympathy for and by the slamming
together of the magistrate's grapefruit-sized flint and steel balls from which
sparks flew.  Many "Oooo"'s could also be heard from the crowd.
    Wang Chung stepped forward and began the prosecution's opening
statement.  "Nosh-Bach-Khack-Talch, soch bakt acht heeeeeeecht,
haaaaaaaaaaact..."  Word went over to him and slammed him hard on the back
causing a chunk of day old crusty cud to fly out of his mouth and across the
court room clearing his throat.  Wang continued.  "Thank you.  It is my
intention to show without a doubt that the Enterprise fired upon the Qo'nos Son
without provocation and that it is none other than Captain Picard who is
responsible for this act.  If that wasn't enough, Picard had the gall to lull
us into a false sense of security by inviting us to a dinner aboard his ship
that same night and serve rancid beans!  Moreover, he had to insure that those
he had poisoned were killed by beaming over two of his officers with flame
throwers.  I call my first witness..."
    "After we had returned from dinner, many of us found our back teeth
floating, ourselves bloated and unable to perform certain bodily functions.  I
tried reaching for a Maalox, but was stopped when two Starfleet officers in
gasmasks approached me and pointed their phasers set to flame at my butt.
Suddenly, I couldn't help myself and let one rip."
    Worf interrupted him.  "But perhaps they merely wore Starfleet issue
gasmasks."
    "Yeah.  And perhaps they we're merely human too!  Perhaps, you're only
pretending to defend your client!  Sit your ass down," suggested Wang.
    Worf shot back.  "If your back teeth were floating, how could these men
be walking?"
    "They wore fuzzy pink bunny slippers with suction cups..." replied the
witness.

    "Fuzzy pink bunny slippers," repeated Data back on the Enterprise.

    "...and they were far from being men," continued the witness.  "They
were humanoid; however, they looked to be genetically identical twins each
having very weasel-like characteristics, the very antithesis of Klingon
warriorhood.  Klingons would never wear fuzzy pink bunny slippers."
    'Wesley, he's behind all of this,' thought Picard.  He spoke instead,
"Neither would Starfleet officers!" as adamant as hell.
    "Oh, yeah?  Frenchie?" replied Wang.  "Thank you, witness.  Doctor
Beverly Crusher, would you mind telling me your current medical status?"
    Beverly cleared her throat.  "Aside from a little water retention and
PMS, I'd say pretty bitchin'."  The crowd roared with canned laughter.
    Wang was not amused.  "You are a singular twit.  Aren't you, doctor?"
    "I served on board the Enterprise for all but one season.  I signed all
the contracts guaranteeing me work for at least another twenty years.  I'm now
also on UPN's 'Marker.'"
    "You know, I believe you consumed generous amounts of Bud Light on the
night in question.  Am I right, Doctor?"
    "We all did!  Why, you we're so piss drunk you hit on Cocklebur."
    "Was Chancellor Garbonzo alive when you first examined him?"
    "Barely."
    "How about at dinner?"
    "Theoretically."
    "And now?"
    "No."
    "Ah, Ha!!!  May I ask do your hands shake?"
    Beverly held out her right hand.  It was as steady as a rock.
    "Might we see the hand you cut with?"
    She tentatively then held out left hand which vibrated up and down
around  20 Hertz.

    "They're screwed, and Worf hasn't even taken a first year law class!"
said Riker aloud.

    Wang smiled and shook his head.  "You may step down, Doctor."  He
strolled over to Picard.  "And now we come to the architect of this tragic-
comedic affair, Jean-Luc..."  He cut the cheese in mid-sentence.  "...Picard.
What would your favorite author say, Captain?  Something about 'Let us sit upon
the ground and tell sad stories of the death of QUEEN'?  Well, never mind that.
Tell us that you planned to take revenge for the birth of your son."
    "That's not true," replied Picard.  "My favorite author, Danielle St..."
    "Objection," interrupted Worf.  "Captain Picard has not YET been
identified as the assassin!"
    "Just give me a minute, will ya?" pleaded Wang.  Worf subsided.  Wang
continued.  "I now enter into the record this excerpt from the Captain's very
personal log."
    Picard was stunned at the sound of his voice speaking words he hadn't
heard since college.  "...I've always wanted to have babies...and I always
have..."
    The crowd went into an uproar.  Back on Earth, the President of the
Federation suddenly threw down the handkerchief he was holding in disgust
realizing it had the initials JLP.
    "Are those your words?"
    "Those words were spoken by me."
    "I'll take that as a yes."
    "Objection," interrupted Worf again.  "My client's sexual preference is
not on trial here!"
    "On the contrary, Picard's orientation is at the very heart of the
matter.  This officer's record shows him to be quite passive in hostile
conflicts, always wanting to talk things out rather than fight, and he has a
history of rarely having a female Friday night date!"
    "Continue," drooled the magistrate eyeing Picard.
    "His first name used to be Bruce.  He had it changed to Jean with a
'J,'" Wang continued pronouncing "Jean" as Gene.  "He has the strange history of
subordination with his first officer which he often if not always refers to as
'Number One.'  Do you deny these charges?  Answer me now!"
    "Can't I wait for the translation?"
    "No."
    "I've never trusted Klingon beans and I never will.  I could never
forgive them for the birth my son, because it is he who is responsible for
this!"
    "Quit giving me the run-around, Picard.  So it was you who attempted
the insemination."
    "Yes," he said calmly.  "Sometimes even against doctor's orders."
    "And were you obeying or disobeying orders when you arranged for the
insemination of Beverly Crusher?"
    Picard realized that blaming this on Wesley has only gotten him in
bigger trouble.  "I wasn't aware of the insemination.  Least not for a week."
    "Do you still deny that your missile fired on the Enterprise?"
    "Well..."
    "YOUR HONORS, PLEASE!!!" shouted Worf.
    "Do you deny that your offspring, namely the Weasel-like humanoids,
beamed aboard the Qo'nos Son and attempted to explode the Chancellor?"
    "I cannot deny what actions I did not witness."
    "Captain Picard, are you not aware that you are responsible for the
consequences of your decisions?"
    "That's news to me."
    "And if it should be proved that your member did in fact carry out such
an insemination?"
    Beverly cried out.  "Jean-Luc, they're setting us up!"
    "DO NOT ANSWER!!!" shouted Worf.
    The magistrate continued his drooling.  "Captain Picard, you will answer
the question."
    "I didn't have the proper anatomy!"
    "No.  You were invirile!  Whether deliberately or with age combined with
drink.  However, at conception, you were obviously fully capable."
    "That I cannot deny."  His head hung.  It had finally caught up to him.
    "Your honors, the state rests."

    Thousands of light years away Captain Crusher gave an order to
Lieutenant Bland.  "Send to command of Enterprise:  We stand ready to assist
you.  Captain Crusher, U.S.S. Lotusior.  Aw, hell.  Belay that transmission."

    The magistrate delivered.  "The jury has just told me that the prisoners
are guilty not as charged but with procreating a far more dangerous threat to
the Klingon Empire: Wesley Crusher.  But in the interest of the forthcoming
bean festival, that the sentence of castration is commuted.  It is the judgment
of this court that you are to spend the rest of your natural lives on the bean
fields of Rua-Pinto, where I'm sure, Picard, you will enjoy the showers."
    "I am not gay!"  returned Picard relentlessly but futilely.  The court
just laughed while the magistrate continued to repeatedly smashing his balls
together.

    Riker took charge on the Enterprise.  "Okay, okay, so the Captain and
Doctor Crusher are in trouble, and whoever framed them is still at large.  Now,
either that someone is on board and fired the torpedoes or they are on board and
altered the sensor logs.  So what does that mean?"  Geordi raised his hand eager
to field that question.  "Yes, La Forge?"
    "Whatever the case, whoever done it is on board," he said with a smile.
    "Right.  Good for you, Geordi!"  Riker praised him -- tossing him a
piece of hard candy.  "But what are we looking for?"
    "I can answer that," somebody whimpered from the back of the bridge.
Everyone's head turned to see Wesley still alive and kickin'.  "Two pairs of
fuzzy pink bunny slippers with suction cup soles."
    "How the hell?"
    "Nevermind.  I always took first place at the annual Academy Easter egg
hunt, and
I'd be more than happy to lend a hand."
    "Very well.  We'll begin the search immediately.  However, there is
still the matter of who fired the torpedoes.  I think it could have been a Bird
of Prey."
    Data was sick of the topic.  He spit another loogie into his makeshift
spitoon.  "We've been through this before, Commander.  And Goddammit, for the
last time, a Bird of Prey can't fire when she's cloaked!"
    "Would you believe a Bean of Prey?" asked Wesley.  He only got looks of
disgust.
    "Hey, check it out!  A gravity boot!" shouted Geordi pointing to one
near the door he noticed for the first time.  He picked it up and stuck the
sole to the wall.
    Data spun around as a delayed reflex, "No, Geordi!"  But it was too
late. The boot Data had been using as a spittoon expelled it's contents onto La
Forge's head.  "Ha, Ha," laughed Wesley.  Geordi fumed.  Data hit upon an idea.

    "This is the goulash, Rua-Pinto," welcomed the aged Klingon warden
greeted them in the middle of a sea of green.  "There is no [bean] stalk-ade.
There are no Rolaids.  No guard tower.  No private shower.  No electronic
frontier.  No electronic posterior for that matter.  Only a magnetic shield
prevents beaming.  Punishment means beaning."
    Two guards threw out what looked like Wesley Crusher and preceded to
throw handfulls of beans at him.  The Weasel writhed in pain with each stinging
volley.  Picard was shocked at first but eventually began enjoying the site.
    The warden continued.  "Weekly showers are mandatory.  Report to the end
of the main hall where you can also pick up your soap off the floor."
    Picard frowned, but then he saw Wesley unconscious on the ground and
smiled.  Wesley opened his eyes a crack and upon spying Picard smiled himself.
That made Picard frown again.
    "Work badly and you will die.  Work well and you will die."

    Picard and Beverly waded through the mass of fellow inmates in the
subterranean encampment that constituted the prison.  They relied on each other
for emotional and physical protection.  Suddenly Picard's path was obstructed by
a nine foot tall Goliath.
    "Oh, God," Picard said to himself.  "Not already."  The beast babbled in
hostilely, poked and prodded at him, and finally started sniffing him.
    "He's definitely turned on about something, Jean-Luc," noticed Bev.
    The big ape picked up Picard and started petting and squeezing him.
    "He wants your beans," said Wesley Crusher from out of nowhere.
    "He's got them!" replied Picard.
    "And you."
    "I'm afraid not.  Besides, it wouldn't fit."
    Wes gave an order for the beast to drop Picard, which he did.  He then
gave the behemoth a good swift kick in the rear to get going.  When Picard got
to his feet, He resumed the choking job he started back on the Enterprise.
    "Wait, wait," squeaked out Wesley.  "I'm... here... to help you...
escape.  Stop...Please..."
    "I think you better let go of him, Jean-Luc.  He's our only hope, and he
did just save you from some em-bare ass-ment," Beverly suggested.
    Picard let him go.  "He's also responsible for all of this happening!"
    "You can't really believe that, Jean-Luc," Beverly said to calm him.
    "I'm here to rescue both of you.  Some Klingons picked me up in a nearby
sector on soliciting charges.  I'm on a secret mission to infiltrate the prison
to get you guys out.  Can't talk now.  Later...  Tonight..."

    "Find anything?" Riker asked Worf who had his head stuck inside the
refrigerator of the galley.
    "Just more burritos.  And this bean salad," Worf said pulling out the
large bowl that contained it.
    "That's Cocklebur's salad we never had.  Captain Picard wanted it
destroyed."
    Worf set it on the countertop and pulled out his phaser and took aim.
    "Commander Riker!" called Wesley from behind Worf as he stepped around
the corner and into the room.  Worf's lightning reflexes went into action.  He
instantaneously whipped around, lowered his phaser and fired at his Wesley's
chest disintegrating his uniform right off of him and setting off the ship's
alarms.  Worf went to shut off the alarm.
    "Well, at least we know they couldn't have disposed of the slippers that
way," said Riker as Wesley ran out crying, giving everyone a flash of his pasty
white ass and wailing "Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"
    Data stormed in with his tricorder and pointed it at the salad.  "It is
a strong source of bean radiation," he reported.
    "Could that be what caused the surge before?" asked Riker.
    Data shook his head.  "There is not nearly enough present, however the
beans in the salad definitely originated from a very strong radiation source,
possibly Milagro.  The Milagro explosion probably irradiated all beans in the
Klingon system, so this radiation could be characteristic of all Klingon beans."

    Beverly and Jean-Luc huddled together for warmth in their bunks.
    "We're finished," Beverly complained.  "One day, one _night_, then
pow...  Wesley."
    "Bev, are you afraid of the future?"
    "I believe that's the general idea I was trying to convey."
    "I don't mean this future...  Some people are afraid of what might
happen.  I was terrified."
    "What terrified you...  Specifically?"
    "Being neutered.  Going through with the vasectomy.  When I found out
how weaselly Wes turned out, I panicked.  I didn't want fingers pointed at me.
You'd have to be retarded to think you and I didn't have a relationship at one
time if not now.  I did all I could to try to show that was impossible -- that
I  couldn't be the father.  Then it turned out I really was his father.  I
blamed this all on him.  I was so used to hating Wesley."
    "Don't be too hard on yourself.  We all felt exactly the same."
    "No.  Somebody felt a lot worse.  I'm beginning to understand why.  But
Lord knows, Wesley could be the only who hates this parody that much."
    "Well, if you got any more bright ideas...  This is the parody."
    "Time's a problem.  This parody was supposed to be out months ago.  You
and I are nothing.  But you heard da judge...  The bean fest is still on.
Whoever framed us and Wesley is bound to attempt another insemination.  Unless
we can get out of here."
    The sound of somebody approaching silenced them.  Picard quickly grabbed
for a rock under his bed before he and Beverly pretended to be asleep.
    "It's me, Wesley," he whispered near his face kneeling at his bedside.
    Picard bashed his skull with the rock.  "Ow!!" Wesley shouted.
    "If you try to kiss me, I'll do it again," Picard scolded him.
    "Alright, alright, no kissing.  Listen.  I know how to get out of here,
but I need you to get us off of this rock.  Meet me in the fields at 0700
tomorrow morning."

    Captain Crusher was awaken from his slumber by his door chime.  "Who is
it?" he mumbled.  The door opened and the light from the corridor temporarily
blinded him, but he could still make out the form of a shadowy female figure.
    "Sir, Starfleet is desperately requesting we return to Earth," she said.
    He turned the lights up a bit.  "Winona Rider!  Isn't this a
coincidence?!"
    "Slater couldn't make it."
    "Well, as long as you're here we might as well, uh, huh-huh-huh..."  She
leaped into his bed.  He looked into the camera.  "It's good to be the Weasel."

    Data made a new development when he was scanning a transporter room when
he found a single squished bean on the transporter pad, a Klingon bean, highly
radioactive.  The search was expanded to look for contaminated uniforms as well
as the slippers.  Every nook and cranny of Enterprise was being turned inside
out.
    In the crewmen's quarters where Wesley was, a female yeoman called out
to him.  He turned to see her holding a fuzzy pink bunny slipper.  He raced to
her and took the slipper.  To test the suction cups, he tried to mount the sole
toe pointing up to the wall above his head.  It stuck!  He turned around and
beamed moments before he found himself covered in sand and an assortment of
cat turds.
    Ensign Ferrigno, the owner of the locker in which the slipper was found,
was hauled into the room where all the senior officers had gathered.  Ferrigno
stood over two meters tall and was built like a Mack Truck.  Each of his arms
were the size of Wesley.  His skin seemed to have a strange green hue to it.
Hew may have been part Orion.  "Is there a problem, sir?" he asked.
    Wesley walked right up to him still sore about the cat turds.  "You've
taken me to the end of my rope, Mister Ferrigno.  What the hell were you doing
with this slipper, you fairy?  You mind if I search your wardrobe for some of
you mother's old dresses, you wee girl?  Perhaps you can inform me about your
tastes in bras?"
    Ferrigno reeled back his left fist and connected it with Wesley's face.
Wesley hit the floor 0.4 seconds later in a pool of blood.

    A long sounding "toot" sounded the beginning of the day shift for the
bean walkers.  Picard and Beverly met up with Wesley just outside the compound.
They walked nonchalantly passed guards to where they were supposed to begin
their bean walking.  They put a group of prisoners singing a work song between
them and the guards.  The song: "You met another and (FART) she was gone!..."
drowned out their scheming.
    "Shh, we don't have a lot of time," Wesley told them as he actually
transmuted his form into a small furry mammal -- a weasel.  He then disappeared
down a fist-sized hole in the ground and reemerged pulling two cornstalks
out with him.  "Hold these up," he told them.  They complied and became
virtually invisible to the guards.  "Okay.  Start walking... Slowly."  Wes
returned to his more weaselly form and pretended to tend to the beans.
    Picard and Bev had gotten a few hundred meters ahead of Wes when a guard
called to him.  "Ay, you!  Get that corn, boy!"  The Klingons like all good bean
farmers everywhere especially hated transient corn in their bean fields.  Wes
pretended to grumble and went after the corn, but the cornstalks continued to
move slowly away from him and toward the edge of the beaming shield.

    "Now reading Picard's musical fruit signature on Rua-Pinto!  He has
emerged from the shield!"  announced Worf monitoring his bridge station.
    "Excellent.  Set course for Rua-Pinto.  Warp Eight.  Engage."
    "Commander, Rua-Pinto is deep in Klingon space.  If we are caught..."
whined Wesley.
    Data answered so Riker wouldn't waste his time.  "That's why we're
going via a port of entry.  What is required now is a feat of linguistic
ledger domain and a degree of stupidity."

    The Enterprise stopped at Klingon customs, a small rectangular building
that hovered on the boarder of Klingon space.  A rather long stop arm had
lowered in front of the ship.  A drunken officer on duty hailed the Enterprise.
Another Klingon sat in the background.  "This is Klingon space, eh.  Do you
have anything to declare?"
    "This is Commander Riker of the Starship Enterprise.  Customs officer,
we have 50 cases of brew for you to let us pass."
    "That better not be any of that light shit, eh."
    "We'll make it a hundred then."
    "No way, you knob!  Five hundred."
    "How about 250 and a thousand dozen assorted day-old doughnuts?"
    "Oh, I don't know.  Let me talk this over with my boss."  The officer
conferred and argued in whispers for a few seconds with the other Klingon.
"That includes jellies, right?"
    "Yes, of course."
    "Okay, that takes care of the customs duties.  Now there's the matter
of the toll."
    Riker couldn't believe his ears.  "What?"
    "You can't use your warp drive in our space without paying the toll,
you hoser.  That'll be a buck per nacelle.  Now pay up, or do I have to get
nasty?"

    Wesley took a large green bean and snapped it in half causing it to
illuminate their encampment outside the field.  Picard and Beverly basked in
its warm glow.
    Beverly had to satisfy her curiosity.  "Would you mind explaining that
little trick you did?" she asked Wes.
    "I'm a weaseloid."
    "I heard about you.  Shape-shitters, nerds so goddamn weaselly that
their defecation comes out in the shape of the function of their choice."
    "Do we have any way of knowing if this is the real you?"  asked Bev.
    "I thought I would assume an annoying shape," he replied smugly.
    Picard got up and walked over to Wes.  "Now, cut the goddamn crap!" he
said striking him to the ground.  "Where the hell did you get those convenient
cornstalks?  And don't tell me that glowing bean is standard prison issue.
It's to let them know where we are," he said picking it up and crushing it with
his hands.  Suddenly, he hunched over in pain.  Wes and Bev got up to go to his
side.  "Acht...  I'm transforming."  When he turned around, he looked like the
spitting image of Wesley.  Bev and Wesley looked shocked as tarnation.  Picard
looked at his hands and feet and then at Wesley.  "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"  Picard
wanted blood.  He wanted to tear Wesley's flesh apart with his bare hands.  He
pounced at him knocking him to the ground again.  The two rolled around on the
ground like a pair of queer weasbags and only stopped when a division of prison
watchguards and the warden arrived.  The saber-toothed guard targ broke wind.
    "Oh, geeze," they both said getting to their feet.
    "Well, well, well," said the warden.  "Couldn't wait for the Sunday
showers, eh?  As if one weasel wasn't annoying enough?"  He cocked his gun and
pointed it a Wes.
    "Please kill me," begged Picard in a weaselly voice he couldn't help.
    "Yeah.  Kill him.  He's the one," Wes weaseled.
    The warden just laughed.  "Suffer Picard.  The beans cry vengeance."
He pointed his disruptor at Wesley.
    "Not me, you idiot.  Him!" Wes yelled before being disrupted.
    "Noooo!  Kill me!  Kill me too!"  whimpered Picard on the ground.
    The warden looked down at Picard groveling at his feet.  The site
sickened him.  He cocked his gun again and fired at Picard just as Picard and
Beverly began to be beamed away.
    "Nooooooooooooh!" Picard cried in a high-pitched weasel tone, shutting
his eyes during the transport.  He continued screaming like Wesley after he
materialized as his normal self, "Nooooooooh!"  He opened his eyes and looked
at his hands and feet and realized he was back to normal.  He cleared his
throat.  "I mean, Noooooooo," he said in his normal tone of voice.
    The senior officers gathered in the transporter room just raised their
eyebrows and looked at each other.

    Captain Crusher received the news of the escape from Rua-Pinto off one
of the sub-space news bulletins.  "Mister Propane, set course to intercept
Enterprise.  Bland, open a channel when we're in range."

    Riker debriefed Picard on the way to the bridge.  "I would say that the
Klingons have a bird of prey that can fire when she's cloaked, but we have no
evidence supporting that, and Data is convinced that is impossible, that there
couldn't have been a third ship.  The Chancellor's assassins must have beamed
over from the Enterprise and are still aboard.  We have been searching for
contaminated uniforms, but no leads yet."
    "What about fuzzy pink bunny slippers?"
    "The one we did find, Data produced with the replicator and planted it
for Wesley to find.  But not before letting Spot use it as a litter box."
    "Ah, ha, ha.  I wish I could've been here for that."
    La Forge happened to pass by just then.  "Geordi, you haven't
discovered any uniforms stuffed in a ventilation shaft.  Have you?"
    "No, sir."
    "Just asking," he said waving Geordi on.
    "Has the bean conference begun yet?" asked Picard.
    "Who knows?  The location has been kept a secret."
    "Well, at least Wesley has been gotten rid of.  The warden of Rua-Pinto
killed him."  Picard noted optimistically.
    "Don't count on it.  Worf and I saw him incinerated in a plasma stream,
but he later reappeared and is still alive on board."
    Data joined them.  Picard suggested an explanation.  "He may be still
up to a trick he could have learned from the traveler: multiplexing his
position to several different points in time and space simultaneously."
    "That would be true, however we have collectively witnessed him die two
different ways.  Even a being with spatial-temporal multiplexing capabilities
has a singular mortality.  It would be more likely that the Wesleys we saw were
either holographic or hallucinations," Data rebutted.
    "But that case could be checked with ship's sensors.  Computer,
location of Wesley Crusher," Picard offered as a test.
    "Wesley Crusher is on the main bridge," the computer replied.
    "So, either that really is Wesley up there, or someone who can fool the
computer into thinking he is Wesley," Picard concluded.
    "It has to be Wesley.  Of all the beings with that power, he is the
only one who would ever wished to be passed off as Wesley," Data added.
    "He managed to transform me into a clone of himself back on Rua-Pinto.
That could be another clone on the bridge."
    "There's one more test to be sure."

    Worf gave the following announcement over the ship's speakers:  "Wil
Wheaton now signing autographs at the Star Trek convention in the Ten Forward
Lounge.  Repeat.  Wil Wheaton now signing..."

    A weaselly figure entered the darkened and apparently deserted Ten
Forward cautiously.  "Mister Wheaton?" he called out a form sitting on the
other side of the bar.  He approached the bar in the dark, and got within two
meters when the form tapped a button illuminating the room.  There sat what
looked like Wil Wheaton for a second until Picard pulled off his mask revealing
his true identity.  Wes was petrified.
    "Give daddy a hug," Picard suggested with a smirk and extending his
arms.
    Beverly stood up from behind the bar with a phaser trained on Wes.  "I
just as soon you didn't."

    "I didn't ask for an autograph.  You can't prove anything," Wes said
like a real smartass in the front of the bridge, in front of everyone.
    Picard struck back.  "Yes, I can.  At my trial, my personal log..."
    "Yes?" coaxed Wesley.
    "Nevermind," said Picard sheepishly not wanting to bring up an
embarrassing topic again that he didn't see to be of much relevance.
    "How long did you wait inside my womb before I noticed you?" Bev asked
Wes.  Wes didn't answer her.  Beverly turned to Picard.  "I tried to warn you,
but you would not listen."
    Picard put his hand over his face with an "oh, gawd."
    "Neither of you were listening too well that night.  There were things
I tried to tell both of you.  About having faith... in prophylactics."
    "You weren't even conceived yet, weasel!" Picard snapped.
    "You have betrayed the Federation.  All of you," Wes refuted.
    "And just what the hell do you think you've been doing?"
    "Saving Starfleet!  Klingon beans cannot be trusted.  You said so
yourself.  They birthed your son.  Let them fry, you said.  Did I misinterpret
you?  You were right.  They conspired to produce me.  How trustworthy can they
be?"
    "Klingon beans and Federation _members_ conspiring together?" Geordi
asked himself.
    "It was us," Picard said looking at Beverly drawing her closer.
    "Everyone who stands to lose from peas," Wes clarified.
    "BEANS!!!" everyone shouted.
    "Names?" demanded Picard.
    "I do not remember," Wes said with his nose in the air.
    "I should have paid for your abortion," Picard insulted him.
    "My life?" Wes contemplated.
    "A choice," Picard replied making Wes swallow hard.
    Beverly marched over to him and pulled him up by the ear.  "Now you
fess up, young man!"
    "Ow, ow, ow, okay.  It's a ship of Wesley clones known as the Tofu.
The Klingon bean bureau is behind it!"
    "Where is the peace conference," Beverly asked pulling even harder.
    "Ow, ow, ow, it's at a Taco Bell near the Romulan Boarder."
    "Where?"
    "Ow!!  I don't know, alright?"  Wes trembled creating a pool of liquid
at his feet.  Bev released his ear and kicked him to the floor.
    "He's telling the truth."
    "Then we're dead," Riker noted.
    "Not if we used FedEx with overnight tracking," added Geordi grimly.
    "We're being hailed by the Lotusior!" Worf reported excitedly.
    "On screen," Picard ordered.
    Captain Wesley Eugene Crusher sat alone in his center chair with his
crew neatly out of sight.  "Standing by, Captain Picard."
    "Captain," Picard choked on the word, "Crusher, do you realize that by
even talking to you, I'm committing treason?"
    "Your transmission is breaking wind, sir."
    "Bless, you."  Picard choked again.  "Where is the bean conference?
They're going to attempt another insemination."
    "Detroit, at noon today."
    "Thank you, Captain Crusher."
    "Don't mention it, Captain Picard."
    "Believe me, I won't," he said closing the channel.

    Meanwhile in downtown motown...
    The President made the opening remarks.  "Madame Chancellor, _members_
of the diplomatic core, honored guests:  The United Federation of Planets
welcomes you to Detroit."
    One guy way in the back started to applause before he was shot.

    The Enterprise approached Earth at warp speeds.  Picard had a Wesley
clone strapped down to an extra chair on the bridge.  "She's out there,
somewhere, beneath..."  Picard pondered.
    "But If she's cloaked, then all we got is a bean radiation surge," Data
supposed.
    "Data, are we close enough to beam down?"
    "Not yet, in two minutes."
    "Go to impulse power for orbit," Picard ordered the helmsman.
    "Aw, hell, you just messed up my timing," complained Data.
    Suddenly Wesley's voice came over the speakers.  "I can see you,
Picard.  I had the Lotusior fitted with a cloaking device."
    "I knew that _bean_ of prey idea was half-baked," Picard said to
himself.
    "Can you see me?  Oh, now be honest, Captain.  Father and Son.  You do
prefer it this way don't you?  As it was meant to be.  No peas in our time.
Once more unto the breach birth, dear friends.  To bean or not to bean."
    A photon torpedo suddenly appeared out of nowhere and hit the
Enterprise's shields.  The ship shook as usual.
    "This is fun," said the Wes clone enjoying the vibrations.

    "Yes, Jean-Luc, it was me all along."  He fired another torpedo shaking
up Enterprise some more.  "When the Lotusior entered the wake of the Milagro
explosion, the powerful bean radiation effected me such that it awakened my
latent bean genes..."

    "No wonder you're such a beaner," Picard said snidely.  A third torpedo
knocked out the main and auxiliary power.  Consoles exploded.  Smoke filled the
bridge.

    "I recalled that I was the result of a failed prophylactic, a Klingon
pill bean.  And that perhaps some of the bean's DNA seeped into the fertilized
egg that became me.  Such a thing is not impossible to imagine..."

    Data sniffed the ionized air of the bridge.  "Gas.  Gas, captain.
Anyone who eats beans must emit gas.  We call it 'tooting,' but whatever the
more sophisticated weasel designation, it is merely a pungent foul stench."
    "Wesley," Picard spoke to the clone.  "You can detect that gas better
than any of us.  And if I don't miss my guess, you have a curious attraction to
it and an insatiable desire for it.  Mister Data, take him down to the torpedo
bay, will you?"
    Data smiled and shook his head as a fourth torpedo rattled the ship.

    Back at the conference, Admiral Cartwheel, a big fan of James Brown,
gave a friendly nod to a James Brown imitator who was intended to be the
evening's entertainment.  The nod was misinterpreted by the imitator as the
signal to cut a hole in a frosted window over looking the President which he
did.

    "Captain, I'm packing quite a wallop!"  yelled Riker as he continually
slammed his fists into Wes just for fun.

    Captain Crusher kept on with his monologue.  "I started emitting my own
radiation after the Milagro explosion.  I found the radiation could be stored
in beans and was actually an encryption of my own DNA patterns.  Anyone who
became irradiated mutated into a perfect clone of myself..."

    "So that's why Voluptuous suddenly disappeared from this parody," Data
reflected.  He went down to the torpedo room with Worf restraining Wesley.  He
pulled a torpedo off the rack and set it on the firing track.  He opened up the
casing.  "Worf, Put him in."
    "Gladly," the Klingon smiled.

    Crusher fired again.  "With time anyone who became a clone of me began
to act like me, began to think like me, began to actually believe they were me.
I knew that beans meant power.  You have probably already seen this
demonstrated on members of your own crew -- possibly even on your own self.
However, I had to attempt another insemination to create an even more perfect
weasel.  So...  Cry havoc!  And let slip the weasels of war!"  He began
singing, "I WANT A FEAST!  I WANT A BEAN FEAST!!" and dancing about his bridge
tossing handful of beans all around.

    The James Brown look alike disassembled the cordless microphone he was
carrying and reassembled it into a directed energy weapon.  He began aiming it
at the President through the hole he had cut.

    "The steering controls are right there at the end of the tube, Wesley.
Alright?  Now watch your head," Data said slamming the casing shut on Wes's
fingers.  "Ready, Captain.  Lock and load!"  Data and Worf slid the torpedo
into the firing chamber and sealed it.  Worf ran back to the turbolift.
    "Fire!" shouted Picard.

    Captain Crusher couldn't believe his eyes.  The Enterprise had fired
and the torpedo coming strait at him.  He knew evasive maneuvers would be
futile.  "To bean or not to bean..." was all he was able to say before his own
bridge burst into flames.

    "Target that explosion and... FIRE!!!" ordered Picard.  Worf raced up
to the bridge in time to comply so he wouldn't be robbed of his sweetest dream.
He launched everything the Enterprise had left in the torpedo bay including
many of the scientific probes to document this historic event.

    The resulting shockwave put the nuclear holocausts of all time to shame.

    Picard, et al. materialized in the rear of the conference hall in
Detroit.  Geordi with his acute vision was able to notice the tip of a weapon
trained on the President from a balcony window.  He went upstairs to confront
the assassin.  The rest went after the President, but no one took too kindly to
the crew brandishing weapons and shouting incoherently.  Picard managed to get
to the President in time and push him to the ground just as the bean radiation
weapon loaded with the Weas's DNA went off."
    "Get off of me, you fag," was all the ungrateful President could say.
    Picard was taken aback.  "I just saved your life as you know it!"
    "Whatever."
    "He did!" Beverly said backing him up.  "And we would have proof except
we stupidly killed all of the witnesses," she added frustratedly.
    "Wait!  What about the gunman?"  Picard realized Geordi went after him.
"La Forge, don't fire!  We need a witness," he yelled hoping he would here.
    Just then someone yelled out, "HIT ME," jumped through a balcony window
and tried to use his cape to land softly on the floor below.  Apparently, the
landing was not soft enough.  Sure enough, it was the James Brown look alike.
Geordi gave a big okay hand sign and flashed his pearly whites from the now
broken window.
    Beverly went over to the body.  Blood oozed out of his head.  "Wait a
minute.  That's not human blood."  She pulled off the mask that made him look
like James Brown.  The face of Wesley was underneath.  "I knew it!  Wake up
young, man!  You can't play dead with me."
    Wes regain consciousness.  "Uh, what happened?"
    "Careful, Doctor," Picard warned Beverly who perhaps began scanning him
a little too closely.
    "It's all right.  There's no radiation.  However, there isn't any trace
of DNA other than that of Wesley's.  He must be the original!"
    Picard gloated.  "You thought you had us fooled, young weasel.  Well,
now you're going to do hard time!  Better take all your showers ahead of time."
    Beverly's head drooped.  "I'm afraid he won't even be able to testify
on our behalf.  He's also got acute amnesia."
    "We still have the weapon, though," Picard said picking up the rifle.
That's proof enough.  Examination of this weapon should prove what we've been
saying.  Data, take the weapon into custody.  Madame Chancellor, your father
called this parody 'The Unexploited Country.'  Although we may never know what
he meant by that, he was a pretty swell guy."
    "You've restored my father's faith in the power of beans."
    "And, you've destroyed my son's," Picard responded.
    Everyone else there applauded like a bunch of idiots.

    Afterwards, back on the Enterprise...
    "Once again we kicked weasel ass!" Picard cheered.
    "And the good news is they're finally going to prosecute him," Bev said
triumphantly.
    Data gave a solemn announcement to the bridge crew.  "Starfleet
requests we return to base for debriefing,"
    "If I was human, I would say 'No, Thank you very much indeed.'" Worf
retorted rudely.  Everyone glared at him wondering in awe if a Klingon really
could learn manners.  Worf realized everyone was looking at him.  "That's if I
were human!"  With that, everyone laughed with uneasy relief.
    "You know, if I was human, I'd just say 'Screw You,'" Data said.
    "If I were fully human, I'd say 'No' once in a while," Deanna said.
    "I'd have the sense not to say anything," began Geordi.
    "But, Geordi, you are human," Riker told him.
    "Oh, yeeeaah."  Geordi smiled.  "I'm so used to thinking of myself as a
freak."
    Picard gave the orders to get underway.

Captain's Log: Stardate 48764 point eight.
That was the final bruising given to Wesley Crusher under my command.  His shit
and its progeny will shortly become the care of the inmates of Starfleet
Military Prison.  To them and their posteriors do we commit our future.  We
will continue the voyages we have begun, boldly going to all the unexploited
countries where, no one, no _bean_ has gone before.

                THE END

        Coming Soon:  EPISODE SEVEN, TERMINATIONS


            From the Author's Notes
            THE WEASEL SAGA OUTTAKES

"Four hundred years ago when rappers felt threatened by the advent of compact
discs, D.J.'s began buying up as many vinyl discs production facilities as
possible to keep 'scratchin'' as a viable way of life.  Hence the Beastie Boys'
hit single, 'Sabotage.'"

"Beverly, I've been thinking.  The Klingons had always been bean competitors
before.  With Klingon bean production down and without Federation aid, the
Klingons are at the mercy of the Federation monopoly.  That was a big change.
It never even occurred to me to take Garbonzo at his word."

"If the Weasel ever visits the homeworld, he'd better bring along some
bodyguards."

"Oh, my, God!  It's Colonel North!"
"Don't you mean Governor North?"
"I thought he was President North."