From: eisimps@cie.uoregon.edu (Eileen Simpson)
Subject: The Great American Star Trek Novel, Ch. 1
Summary:  The Next Generation Gap
Organization: University of Oregon Campus Information Exchange
Date: Sat, 29 Aug 92 01:11:57 GMT



    The Great American Star Trek Novel-"Where No *Man* Has Gone Before"
Being an Account of the Last Voyage of Exploration of Capt. James T. Kirk.

A Society of Feminist Trekkies (S.O.F.T.) Presentation.
Copyright, 1989 by E.G.Simpson as to all original characters and content.
Not intended to conflict with copyright of Paramount as to Star Trek.


                               CHAPTER ONE

                            *****************
  Laughter and music. That was how they began. 
  They were the joy that filled the creation. In some places, stronger. In 
others, weaker. But always, they were there.  
  The great, throbbing heart of the Milky Way could not overwhelm their 
influence: what they could not go through, they went around. . . 
over. . . like a liquid spilling through the galaxy, until everything 
within it had been touched with at least some sense of them.
  They loved stretching playfully among the stars, being one with all
they touched. Where they were strongest, and experienced directly, life
was different: gentler, informed by their immediate presence.  
  Where they were weaker, experienced indirectly, after many reflections and
refractions of their energy, life was more difficult, differences more
distinct, other forces more sinister. They were less known by such
life, and such life was less known to them.
  And it fascinated them, this life that was so barely known. So when 
it peeked around the core of the Milky Way, so fragile, so vulnerable, 
they touched it with the full, pure power of their song...

                            *****************

  Chief Medical Officer Leonard H. McCoy had never been so happy to be
called away from his supper in his life. It had been the worst mealtime
conversation he had ever endured. Worse than the cadaver discussions
during medical school. Worse than the time Scotty had related the dining 
rituals of the arachnids of Omicrom Theta II in lurid and profuse detail.
  Yes, he assured himself, it was worse than any of the dozens of candidates 
he had acquired over the years for the coveted title of: Things I Have 
Almost Lost My Lunch Over.  
  He had spent the meal period with a contingent of Enterprise's junior 
officers listening to them discuss, in righteous and all-knowing tones, 
"The True Meaning of Starfleet Officerhood, and the Proper Expression Thereof."
  "Sit down to have a quiet meal with the peasants, just to be polite, and 
look what happens!," he fumed. "Why, I've had more fun in a room full of 
recent religious converts than I had with that bunch!  
  "Hell!," he sputtered angrily as he headed for the
transporter room, "The religious fanatics were lots more relaxed and
easy going!" 
  McCoy sighed moodily. It was going to be a long trip.
  Luckily, (or not, depending on your point of view), the transporter
room was relatively close to the dining area he'd chosen. It allowed
McCoy to arrive at the transporter station before Spock, who had also
been summoned and was coming from the more distant Science Section, and just
after Jim Kirk, who, Bones observed once again, could appear instantly at
any location on the ship, regardless of its relative distance from his last
position.  It drove the junior officers nuts.
  "Good," thought McCoy.
  Kirk could tell something was eating McCoy from the energy of his walk
and the irritated expression on his face as the latter came into the
room. He wondered if Bones was still upset about the briefing this
morning and the teasing he'd taken about this assignment.  Whatever it was
Kirk figured he was sure to hear about it--unless he cut McCoy off first.
  There was really no reason to do that, Kirk told himself in the nanosecond 
he had to think before the doctor began venting his frustrations.  
  "Is it just me, Jim, or have you noticed that lately every young officer 
we meet seems to have a stick up his ass?," McCoy demanded.  
  "There you go again, Bones--mincing words," Kirk thought. He glanced 
quickly around the transporter room to confirm they were alone, then looked 
carefully at McCoy and said, "You want to run that by me again?" 
  McCoy would not be put off. "I mean it, Jim. I tell you, this fleet is 
changing--and not for the better. I just listened to almost an hour of 
conversation from the most wooden, self-righteous, pompous bunch of officers 
I have ever had the misfortune to encounter.  Ruined my meal--and you know
that's especially hard to take just now."
  Kirk ignored the dig.  So McCoy _was_ still bugged about this assignment. 
Kirk stood silently as McCoy continued to mutter and fume.  
  "Arrogant twerps!," McCoy grouched.  Kirk raised his eyebrows and tried 
not to smile. "These guys have all the answers, and they don't let the fact 
that they haven't even encountered the questions stand in the way of 
announcing it!" 
  This time Kirk not only smiled, he chuckled softly.  
  "Come on, Bones," he laughed gently. "It's just the hazards of being 
young. I can vaguely recall being somewhat serious, if not to say grim, in 
some distant past of my own.  Lighten up. You're just getting older, that's 
all." 
  "Bah! It's not age, it's attitude. Something is changed in these people, 
Jim.  You were at least on your way to becoming a real human being by the 
time you were a full Lieutenant..." 
  "Why, thank you, " Kirk thought.  
  "These guys," continued McCoy, "think that's an unnecessary and 
unprofessional goal."
  McCoy misinterpreted the source of Kirk's expression and continued.
  "I'm not kidding about this. I just listened to Mister-Full-Lieutenant,
third-in-his-class Karl Murphy share his personal goal of being the
perfect Starfleet officer, which includes, among other inane things,
the intention that he perform his duties with the minimum of personal
expression and individuality.  Only to the extent it's necessary for the 
performance of the task at hand.  Forget the idea that you can be yourself
to the extent that it doesn't get in the way of the mission."  McCoy
assumed an exaggerated pose and began to imitate Murphy.  "'An officer who
unnecessarily diisplays his or her personality in the execution of his
duties is an unprofessional officer'," quoted McCoy.
  "Sounds a little extreme," Kirk agreed. "Maybe he just got carried 
away." 
  "Obviously you have not spent much time with Lt. Murphy," McCoy growled. 
"I'd be delighted if he'd get carried away. If not emotionally, then literally.
Murphy is one over-controlled, cold tin-soldier who operates like a
machine.  He not only doesn't think he has a problem, he actually sees
himself as a model officer, and what's scary is that Fleet does too.  They
even give him high marks in 'understanding human behavior!'  Hell, Jim!
I've never actually seen a full range of human behavior from this guy!  All
he does is recite some damn principle he's memorized!"
  McCoy shook his head in disgust.  "Murphy is what the Fleet thinks of 
as a self-aware young officer! And--God help us--they're all like that! 
What the hell is going on?" 
  A soft swoosh! signaled the opening of the transporter room doors. A
moment later, Science Captain Spock stepped into the room. McCoy turned
toward him, then lowered his brows in sudden suspicion. He gave Spock a
long, hard glare.  
  "That's it," he snarled. "I should have known! It's the damn Vulcans! 
Probably proselytizing among the young!" 
  Spock turned from McCoy to Kirk, his innocent, "Who, me?" look upon his 
face.  
  Kirk gave him the resigned, "Don't ask" look in response as the doors 
opened again to admit Captain of Engineering, Montgomery Scott. McCoy
recognized that the conversation was effectively terminated by these
arrivals, but leaned towards Kirk for one final muttered aside.
  "Mark my words, Jim. It's the creeping Vulcanization of the galaxy 
we're seeing here." 
  One eyebrow went up on the Vulcan's face. Kirk searched for an inoffensive
response and wound up grunting noncommittally.  
  McCoy didn't notice. He was fascinated by his own remarks.  
  Creeping Vulcanization.  McCoy liked the sound of that.  
  "Creeping Vulcanization," he repeated to himself. "That's exactly what it 
is, Jimmy-boy, and you'd better believe it! Guys like us are an endangered 
species in this fleet!" 
  Kirk turned toward his Chief Engineer, smiling brightly, grateful for the
chance to make conversation on another topic.  
  "So, Scotty, to what do we owe the honor of having our Captain of 
Engineering handle a simple, sublight beam-down?" 
  It was the wrong question to ask if he wanted to distract McCoy from his 
mood.  
  "I thought the least I could do was to see our two adventurers off, sir. 
Especially in view of the enthusiasm with which this assignment was greeted 
in certain quarters this morning," the Scot said cheerily, with a nod in 
McCoy's direction.
  Kirk winced as the doctor stiffened. Jim knew Scotty's presence was his
way of offering peace for his part in the teasing Bones had received,
but it wasn't being taken that way.  The doctor *harumphed!* loudly, then 
turned his back on them, obviously cursing his fate.
  Kirk moved to Spock, leaving McCoy to work out his own problem. The two 
friends, human and Vulcan, were soon engaged in an animated discussion of 
the upcoming mission.
  For Captain James Kirk, everything was going _so_ smoothly.  It was hard
for him to believe he had ever even considered retiring--a momentary
aberration of thought that he chalked up to spending too much time
around Headquarters in the months preceeding the Klingon peace initiative.
Desks had always distorted his thinking, he thought.  But since Star Fleet
had no mandatory retirement age, there was nothing and no one forcing him
to go through with his decommissioning when he changed his mind after the
Kittomer Conference.
  His resistance to retirement grew even stronger when he discovered Star
Fleet intended to refit NCC-1701A and send her on the biggest manned 
exploratory mission *ever*.  When the time came for Fleet to select the 
mission's Captain, it seemed a shame to waste all the goodwill and
political stock he'd acquired from the Klingon peace adventure, and Kirk
had skillfully parlayed these factors, plus his experience, into the job.
  Seven years of deep space exploration!  
  James T. Kirk was like a man reborn.  There was no doubt in his mind 
that the months he had spent in command of NCC-1701A on this mission were 
among the best in his life.  He felt relaxed, confident, and rejuvenated--
and it showed. He'd taken off years as well as pounds.  Everyone told him
he looked at least 5 years younger.  Looking at himself in the mirror that
morning, Kirk was pleased to find he agreed with the flattery.
  Not that he still considered age such a bad thing.  No, with his deep 
space command restored, age seemed to Kirk to be a prerequisite for 
experience, and Kirk enjoyed the little daily reminders of his experience 
with starship command. His knowledge of starships and his experience with
life itself, were making this assignment a pure pleasure.  The fact that he
had not only maneuvered himself into this prized assignment, but had also
been able to hand-pick his top people, was a dream come true.
  Who said you can't go home again?  
  Well, of course there were some changes from the old days. This beam-down 
for example. While he'd been desk-bound, Starfleet had established a 
regulation which was known in some quarters as the "James Kirk memorial
no-Captain-in-the-landing-party" rule. Kirk was not amused.  Aside from
unnecessarily cramping his style, "memorials" were for the dead, dammit.
  It was also true that although he was farther out than on his first 
five-year mission, Kirk was disappointed to find that he often had less 
sense of being on the frontier. Improved starship technology and sub-space 
communication had taken away some of the excitement--and independence--of
deep space exploration.  Some people had even started comparing the safety
and ease of starship service to "riding a bus."
  Kirk secretly hoped to someday have some of those people under his command.  
A long way from Earth.  
  But for now, Kirk was letting himself enjoy the mission.  Still, at some 
level, and in spite of his present happiness and ease, he knew change was 
closing in on him.  There was just no way around it: the formidable threesome 
which had seen his first Enterprise through her journeys was coming to an
end.
  He'd managed to lure all his friends away with him one more time--but only 
for part of the mission.  Heck, if he was honest, Kirk had to admit that Sulu 
wasn't really part of the team at all.  He was aboard only because Excelcior 
had lost her most recent Captain to illness, and Enterprise was part of the
long line of ships shuttling Sulu out to assume that command for the
duration of Excelcior's mission.  He'd be gone in a matter of weeks, Kirk
thought.  And eventually he'd take Spock and McCoy with him.
  Spock was aboard as a special case, too.  He had made it clear when he
signed on that he would handle the scientific analysis of the strange
nutrino emissions from this sector, but would return to Vulcan with his
team when that project was completed.  Kirk had the feeling Spock's
interest in getting home was based on more than the desire to follow up on
his scientific work, but, as usual, his friend was closed-mouthed about his
personal interests and plans.
  As for McCoy...Kirk had to admit that talking the doctor into one last trip 
for old time's sake had been one of the best selling jobs of his life, but 
the doctor was obviously ready--and willing--to retire.  It was a step McCoy 
loudly insisted he was irrevocably committed to take when the rendevous
came for Spock and his special scientific team.  That was unless, as the
good doctor was prone to snap, Kirk managed to strand him on some
godforsaken iceburg or hell-hole before then.
  Absent such a disaster, the next time he saw Excelcior and Sulu 18 months 
from now, would be the last time he was likely to work with either Spock 
or McCoy.  Kirk's two friends would move on to the next phase of their lives.  
Kirk would go on with the rest of the mission alone--on what he knew had to
be his last exploratory command.
  He was 61 years old.  When this mission ended he'd be almost 69.  Regula-
tions required a mandatory 5-year minimum layoff between long-range 
explorations of 4 or more years duration.  No matter how Kirk did the math, 
the numbers kept coming up the same:  he'd be almost 75 before his name 
even got back on the eligiblity list for exploratory missions. Even in the 
23rd century, that was considered "too old" for another deep space mission.
Oh, he could finagle another command, Kirk knew, but it would be one that
stayed inside Federation territory and known space.  A milk run, he'd
always called those assignments.
 That was how he was likely to end his days, Kirk thought:  on some Milk Run, 
while Spock probably started a family and McCoy finally got the quiet 
retirement Kirk had always managed to yank away.  They had a little over a 
year left together, Kirk told himself.  Then he pushed all thoughts of the 
future from his conscious mind.  
  Thus far, the six month old mission had been remarkably successful.  
Enterprise had already taken the first long range scans of a large
portion of the Milky Way that was usually obscured from observation by
the intense radiation of the galactic core. It was important work,
especially since the discovery of the hostile life-form imprisoned within
the core meant there would be no short-cuts to the "other side."
  Galactic exploration was going to be a long process of going around the 
core, not through it, Kirk thought as he and Spock discussed their immediate
concerns.  Kirk meant to be sure they all got through it in one piece.
  "I want you to be careful down there, Spock," Kirk said firmly, as he
and Spock went over the upcoming mission.  "It's obvious the Menata
didn't expect anyone to find that probe, and they weren't particularly
thrilled when we did and stopped to say, 'hi'," Kirk reminded his old
friend.
  Spock's brow furrowed as he considered Kirk's concerns.  
  "I agree that the Menata would have strongly prefered to remain anonymous, 
Captain.  Nevertheless, they did agree to this meeting.  For a race as 
concerned with biological contamination as the Menata, such contact is a 
major concession. Their response to our efforts to establish contact
indicates they are responsive to the arguments of science and logic," Spock
explained.  "That being the case, Dr. McCoy and I should be able to
overcome their concerns and satisfy them that face-to-face interaction can
occur in safety."
  "All the same," Kirk repeated, "I want you to be careful.  This is the 
touchiest bunch I've ever dealt with, Spock.  Don't take any unnecessary 
risks," Kirk ordered.  Spock reluctantly indicated assent.  
  Both men knew the negotiations with the Menata had been difficult and 
complex.  The difference between them was that Spock attributed the 
successful negotiation of their meeting to the Menata's deference to 
logic, while Kirk was convinced the result was directly attributable to the
quality of the team he had assembled.
  The lure of another deep space mission had proven irresistable to his old
compatriots, and Kirk had gone out of his way to figure  out how to get
all his veterans back, though not necessarily at their original
assignments.  Lengthy, manned, deep space missions had become so rare that
Star Fleet had accepted his argumeents that the veterans were needed to
develop a new generation of explorers, and acquiesced to his personnel
requests with surprising ease.  Scotty had given up his boat to handle
engineering; Chekov was First Officer; and last, but not least, there was
Uhura.
  Uhura. Kirk had really had to fight to get her aboard. No one at Fleet 
believed the mission required a full Commander of Communications. After 
all, the technology was so reliable now that within 15 years, the 
Communications specialty was expected to undergo major restructuring, if
not complete obsolescence except in its technical design aspect.
  Neither Kirk nor Uhura was supporting the plan to split the technical 
and the cultural/psychological aspects of the Communications job. They 
waged an endless battle against the new thinking, in spite of the clear 
indications that they were going to lose. 
  "Look," they'd said, "with an unknown life-form, machines can
only _translate_, they can't _interpret_. You'll never get a machine that
can automatically analyze all the subtle nuances of a particular
culture's or psychology's communication style--without an officer's
assistance--AND produce an accurate interpretation of the communication,"
they'd said.  "It requires subtle judgments that machines just can't
make."
  "Sure they can, " Starfleet had said. "Even if they can't, we've got it 
covered, because we're training aliens with highly developed senses to tell 
the Captain their impressions of the alien's intentions," Fleet said.
  "This is crazy," Kirk and Uhura'd said. "A good communications officer
makes the adjustments on the equipment that produce an accurate
interpretation so the Captain can draw _his own_ conclusions about that!"
  "Listen," Fleet had said, "Do you know what this means to our budget?
It takes years to train people to make those kinds of creative
decisions AND operate complex technical equipment at the same time! Do
you know what we have to pay for that level of training and expertise?
These new people cost a lot less to train because they're born with the
'skills,' which means they're qualified without a lot of degrees, which
means we can carry a lot more of them on our budget at less cost.  You'll
love them," Fleet said.
  "Oh," Kirk and Uhura had said.  
  The Admiralty had offered Kirk the pick of the first crop of
'Interpreters', but the fellow seemed to moan a lot, and after McCoy
had threatened to "Get some resolution around some bottled up feelings"
if the "little whiner" butted into his business one more time, Kirk had
convinced them to let someone else have the honor of being the first to
employ that particular innovation.
  Kirk had fought for Uhura, and he'd finally gotten her. She'd been worth 
her weight in gold with the Menata. The lady knew a lot about communication 
that wasn't found on a circuit board.  
  Kirk thought about his senior officers fondly, as he waited for the ship 
to enter the Menatan system and drop sublight. All of them had done out-
standing work with the Menata, and Kirk was proud of the team. Still, Kirk 
recalled, glancing at McCoy as the latter checked his medical pack before
the beam-down, everybody wasn't coompletely thrilled with the success of
the effort to establish contact.
  Going through his medical kit one more time, just for something to do, 
Leonard McCoy was far from ecstatic. His disappointing discovery of the 
Starfleet generation gap during dinner had merely been the latest in a 
series of incidents which had steadily soured his day.  As he listened to
Kirk and Spock discuss some aspect of the Menatan concern about biological
contamination, McCoy ruminated on why he'd felt so particularly peeved all
day.
  It wasn't bad enough that he'd gotten shanghied aboard by forgetting that 
Kirk was a firehorse who, at the sound of the 'deep space exploration' bell, 
would take off like a phaser-shot.  He had to put up with the bunch of kids
that comprised most of the crew too!
  The whole damn conversation about Starfleet values had been started by 
one of his passing remarks about the Menata. What really got to him was 
the younger crowd's apparent immunity to what they called 'cultural bias 
and prejudice', and what he called a normal human esthetic response:  as
far as McCoy was concerned, the Menata looked vaguely like a cross between
a large fly (a VERY large fly), and a rat.
  Except that neither flies nor rats were slimy. The Menata were. The 
ship's Chief Medical Officer had nothing against flies, rats,
or slimy things, but he didn't particularly want to hang out with them,
either.  
  Naturally, when Menatan worries about biological contamination from 
contact with Starfleet emerged early in negotiations, Kirk had responded 
by offering a special, pre-delegation visit by his top specialists to 
allay the Menatans' concerns.  Upon hearing this, McCoy had felt he could take 
a pretty good guess who Kirk had in mind for the job, and had set about
developing his own plan for helping the Menata.  By the time he'd gone into
the meeting that morning, McCoy had believed he was ready to finesse his
way out of this asssignment.
  As he reviewed the events of the briefing, McCoy found that, once again, he
was suffering from total recall. Why was it he had always been able to
remember embarrassing events in their entirety, he asked himself, while
pleasant memories seemed to fade too quickly from view?
  Then he remembered:  because he planned to get revenge on each and 
every person who had shanghaied him into this job--particularly, Jim Kirk.  
  McCoy's mind played back the events of the briefing.  Things had been going 
along smoothly, all according to plan...

  "...we will, of course, adjust to this concern by having our advance
team consist of two specialists who will explain our standard
bio-contamination control measures, Captain," Spock stated in his
precise, even way. "I will join the team as Captain of our Science Unit,
both to provide technical information to the Menata, and to impress them
with the seriousness with which we view their concerns."  Spock turned
innocently towards the doctor.  "I believe Dr. McCoy is best qualified  to
discuss the specific content of the medical material we plan to present."
  McCoy shot Spock a suspicious glance.  He wondered if he was being led 
into a trap.  With Spock, you could never tell if you were being set up or 
not until it was too late.  
  Kirk turned to McCoy with a look that told him to pick up the presenta-
tion, and the doctor felt the others' eyes upon him as he entered the most 
critical stage of his plan.  He assumed his most casual air and reminded 
himself to deliver his next remarks as if he were saying the most natural 
thing in the galaxy.
  "Thank you, Spock. The actual presentation to the Menata of the
material I'm about to cover, will be handled by Dr. Christine Chapel..." 
  McCoy's remarks were interrupted by an explosion of snorts from Engineer 
Scott.  Sulu bit the corners of his lips, and Chekov and Uhura exchanged 
glances then quickly lowered their heads.  
  Kirk looked at him coolly, levelly.  McCoy's face burned.  
  "Now just one darned minute," he sputtered. "This is a perfectly legitimate 
point I'm making here!," he protested.  
  The others' reactions became more open.  Kirk simply stared back at him 
with ever-increasing innocence.  
  "Nice try, laddie," Scotty remarked to the doctor out of the corner of 
his mouth, "but I dinna think it's gonna get off the ground." 
  Kirk took a deep breath and looked straight into McCoy's eyes. As they 
went eye-ball to eye-ball, McCoy saw the wicked twinkle Kirk always got 
when Kirk knew he was going to nail somebody, and McCoy knew he was done-for.
Still, the doctor refused to give up without a fight.
  Kirk spoke to McCoy in the quiet tones he always used when he knew the 
other party had no hope of escape.  
  "I had the feeling you might see it that way, but in my opinion, doctor, 
this matter warrants the personal attention of our Chief Medical Officer."
  McCoy lowered his head and tried to take the snarl out of his voice.
  "I don't know what some of you people think is going on...," there was
a genuine risk that some of the observers were going to erupt in actual
laughter, "but everyone in this room has consistently received negative
feedback for failing to delegate more responsibility to subordinates.  I
see this as the perfect opportunity to address that criticism by giving
Chris Chapel the chance she deserves to demonstrate her ability to handle a
medical-diplomatic situation."  He looked around the room and summoned his
dignity.  "I simply believe in sharing these opportunities with my staff."
  "Of course you do, doctor," Kirk soothed, "and we appreciate you for it. 
However, I have already advised the Menata that, in view of their high 
degree of concern on this topic, we will be sending our top medical and 
scientific specialists down as our advance team."  Kirk paused briefly to
let the message sink in and to let McCoy collect himself.  "Now, as you
were saying doctor, you will be covering..." 

  The sound of Uhura announcing over the intercom that they were dropping 
sublight and would be in transporter range of the Menatan system in one 
minute, brought McCoy back to the present.  He gathered his things in a huff.
It was time to see what new torture Kirk and Star Fleet had in store for
him this time.
  Spock and McCoy moved to their positions on the transporter pad, as 
Kirk acknowledged the report.  
  "It's beginning," Kirk thought.  The endless adventure of new contact 
was about to start again. He was ready.  
  McCoy saw the pleasure and excitement in Kirk's face. "He really loves 
this stuff!," McCoy thought, with irrational annoyance.
  They dropped sublight. Scotty adjusted his transporter controls. Spock
stood beside McCoy on the pad, awaiting the opportunity to contact the
Menata in his own, unique, Vulcan form of eagerness.  
  "Ready, gentlemen?," Kirk asked, the crispness in his voice carrying his
anticipation.  
  "For retirement!," McCoy shot back, unwilling to surrender his ill-humor.  
Kirk smiled at the doctor pleasantly, unaffected by his complaints.  
  "Normal people do that, you know?," the doctor barked at him.  "Retire. 
They don't spend their lives zooming around the galaxy, spreading their 
atoms from here to heaven-knows-where, dropping in on every Tom, Dick, and 
Harry who comes along!" 
  Kirk grinned back more broadly. Scotty checked his instruments and 
adjusted the transporter controls. It would be just a moment now.
  McCoy resolved he'd have some effect on Kirk's mood.  "Have you given
any thought to _your_ retirement plans? Eventually, you'll have to, you
know!" 
  Kirk's state wavered momentarily, then recovered.  "Don't worry about me, 
doctor," he replied crisply.  "Whatever I do, I won't be feeding peanuts 
to pigeons in Golden Gate Park." 
  He signalled Scotty to energize, and the familiar screetch! filled the room.
  From his position on the pad, McCoy saw them start to fade, felt the familiar
sickness wash over him. Then, suddenly, he felt sharply worse.  
  "Oh, God," he thought, "it's even worse than I remembered!" 
  The room exploded around him in a shower of multi-colored stars and an
earsplitting hum.  
  And then there was nothing.

END CHAPTER ONE.      (to be continued...)