TOUCHING
by Ron Richard
(Part 1 of 2)
The shuttlecock slowly descended from its high arc. This would be an easy return. That is, except for the unexpected and hastily uttered command from the doctor.
�Computer increase wind speed to sixty kph.� The sudden gust veered the feathered birdie off course enough to force Jean-Luc into a dive. He grunted with the strain as he impacted the sod half a meter short of where the shuttlecock landed. Spitting out a piece of holographic grass, he glared up at Beverly�s smug face.
�Now that was hardly fair, was it?�
�I�m behind by six points. How else do you expect me to win?�
�Certainly not with underhanded tricks. You force me to stop giving you chances.� Jean-Luc retrieved his racket and wiped the green grass stain off his chin. He started to approach the net, but the rest of the game was interrupted by the familiar voice of the computer.
�Warning; warp signature detected. Unidentified vessel bearing four seven, mark two one.�
�On an intercept course?�
�Negative.�
The computer�s unemotional reply produced the emotion of relief in the two partners as they glanced at each other. Jean-Luc addressed the ceiling, �Computer, end program and exit.� The badminton court disappeared and was replaced by the small holosuite on board the Mistral. The doors opened and the two travelers headed to the command cabin. The stars streaked by at warp 9 in their rainbow patterns. Beverly took the right hand seat and worked the console, calling up a sensor display.
�It�s a ship, alright. Traveling at low warp off our starboard bow; distance two point two light years.�
�Tactical analysis?�
Beverly fined tuned the display. �No weapons detected; no shields; traveling at warp one point eight five; on course three one two, mark six seven.�
�Life form readings?�
She adjusted again, �Negative, but I�m picking up some subspace signals emitting from the ship.�
Jean-Luc reprogrammed his own navigational console and consulted the sensor data. �I see it. Computer, analyze subspace signals and report.�
The computer easily and almost immediately responded, �Omni-directional binary first-generation subspace transmission. Translation available.�
�Play translation.�
The computer�s pleasant female voice was replaced by an oddly pitched repeating voice, �Greetings from the inhabitants of the Planet Kiyaad. We seek communication and cultural exchange with all other space-faring beings . . . Greetings from the inhabitants of the Planet Kiyaad. We seek communication and cultural . . .
Jean-Luc glanced at Beverly and she gave the curtest of nods. He activated the com. �Opening hailing frequencies . . . no response. I�m opening a channel.� He activated the transmitter. �This is the Federation Ship Mistral, respond please.� Silence. Jean-Luc hated unresponsive strangers. His hands played over the console, which had the effect of altering the warp-distorted stars passing all around the transparent cockpit. He had changed course to intercept the vessel. He would never think of making decisions like these without consultation from his partner. They had been together long enough now that even a glance was sufficient. Each one was as curious as the other and they both knew it. This tiny, primitive vessel with its plea to fellow beings in the universe aroused the spirit of space exploration within both of them. This was exactly why both had joined Starfleet.
They did have to learn to be cautious, however. The Mistral was a fine vessel, with wonderful defensive capabilities, but she was not a fully crewed and equipped starship. Jean-Luc and Beverly had no support from Starfleet or anyone else. They were on their own on this journey back to Federation space.
Beverly consulted the sensors, �It�s only about thirty meters long . . . two clunky nacelles on long pylons . . . You know what it reminds me of?�
Jean-Luc�s eyes filled with fond memories. �The Phoenix. Although, this one doesn�t seem to be tinkered together out of a ballistic missile. Computer, time to intercept at current speed?�
�Seventeen hours, four minutes.�
�Is there any change in the vessel�s status?�
�Negative.�
Jean-Luc swung the pilot�s seat around to face Beverly. The excitement of this possible new encounter had given her a lovely glow and he felt a wave of affection for his beautiful partner. �What shall we do in the meantime?�
* * * * * * * * *
Sla-Aani, Coordinator of The Amity Project was having difficulty concentrating today. The telemetry from sixteen probes waited for his attention along with Dil-Koman, his assistant, who was trying to present an unexpected schedule change in today�s itinerary. Aside from those pressing items, there was the hindrance of the work party who was in the building updating the data distribution web. Several rooms in the building were without power as they were being fitted with new conduits. All in all, this was typical, but Sla-Aani�s mind simply was not on the job this day.
It hadn�t occurred for years. He had regretfully convinced himself that it wasn�t ever going to happen again. There were never any measurable symptoms, nothing that would, nothing that had ever shown up on any kind of medical monitor, but the Kiyaadi could tell. Sla-Aani could tell. He thought he could tell. He wasn�t sure, but this was a wonderful feeling and the reason he couldn�t concentrate. If he were correct, it might be days, or even weeks away.
It was known as The Ribaul, and Sla-Aani hadn�t experienced it in over nine years. If it was true, if it was really happening and not just a false alarm, he would need a location. Fortunately, late-life Ribaul took longer to manifest itself. Sla-Aani reminisced about his first time. Back then The Ribaul had all but erupted in a matter of minutes. His schoolmates had been so proud as he bolted from the classroom. This time, there would be time to plan, time to pick just the right locale . . .
�. . . and then the Resources and Distribution meeting can move to the downstairs conference room in the afternoon . . . Coordinator?�
Sla-Aani realized, with an orange flush of embarrassment, that Dil-Koman had been talking to him for an unknown time. What he had said was completely unknown.
�My respect, friend. My focus was elsewhere. What were you saying?�
Dil-Koman regarded his fellow worker. There was an unusual combination of hues about him today. That, combined with his almost unheard of distraction led Dil-Koman to a pleasant conclusion. He bronzed happily as he answered, �Nothing that won�t wait until after your Ribaul. All the World Sings With Thee, Coordinator.�
�Do you really think so? I was not sure, but . . .?� Sla-Aani looked at his assistant inquiringly. Dil-Koman puffed out his throat yes.
�I must say it comes as a very pleasant surprise.�
�Do you know where you will go?�
Sla-Aani felt thirty years younger from the giddy excitement. �I have always been fond of the Teruscan pools near Gamelindi Floe. There is a beautiful view of the southern aurora and the cold air makes the warm water all the more stimulating.�
Dil-Koman was thrilled. �What a wonderful choice! Alas it is too distant for me to make it on my next Ribaul, else I might choose that location myself.�
Sla-Aani regarded his assistant fondly, �That, my young friend is the benefit of a late-life Ribaul. I have no doubt you will be just as fortunate in your elder years.� Duty tapped him gently on the shoulder. �Another benefit is some time to tie up details before embarking. Now please tell me again about the meeting . . .�
* * * * * * * * *
Mistral hung motionless in space a hundred meters from the still unresponsive vessel; motionless except for the fact that both ships were traveling together at several times the speed of light. Jean-Luc and Beverly scrutinized her from the cockpit.
Beverly pointed, �Look at the size of those intercoolers. They make up half the engine nacelle itself.�
Jean-Luc nodded. That would seem to indicate the warp matrix is controlled without dilithium; another similarity to Phoenix.�
Beverly read from her console, �The computer has analyzed the signals. The language is comprised of a series of mathematical and physical constants, basically similar to Federation Linguacode. That�s why the computer could translate it from so short a message. It�s clearly meant to be understood.
At this close proximity, the sensors were able to dissect the unshielded vessel down to its tiniest components. Jean-Luc consulted a detailed schematic.
�Here�s where the similarity to Phoenix ends. There doesn�t seem to be a crew compartment or life support system of any kind. There isn�t even an inertial dampening system. It was designed to be unmanned. Also, there is no sign of a large lifting engine. It seems to have been assembled in space as opposed to being launched into orbit from a planetary surface. There are no antigrav devices or impulse engines. The ship is nothing but warp engines, maneuvering thrusters and a subspace transmitter.�
�So it�s a probe. Hopefully it won�t return home in a few hundred years enormously powerful and looking for its mommy like so many Earth probes did.�
Jean-Luc smiled at Beverly�s joke, �If so, it still has far to go. The deuterium consumption rate shows that the ship has only been in flight for about two years.�
Beverly craned her neck as she peered out of the cockpit windows. �Can you bring us around to the other side? I think there is some kind of markings.�
�Changing course.�
Jean-Luc maneuvered the agile sloop below the alien vessel and around to the port side of her. As he brought Mistral in close, there was a sudden and unexpected reaction from the probe. The stranger�s warp field fluctuated and her maneuvering thrusters were engaged, changing the vessel�s course slightly. Jean-Luc pulled back on the controls and maintained their distance when he saw the reaction. After a minute, the probe altered its heading again and resumed her original course. Jean-Luc approached again, slower this time. Again, the vessel moved to avoid them.
Beverly said, �That was interesting. I guess it knows we�re here. It obviously has some kind of proximity avoidance system.� She checked her data again. �There has been an addition to the subspace signals, a single string of numbers repeating in between the greeting.�
Jean-Luc replied, �Possibly it is a signal back to its point of origin, reporting on our close pass. It seems that it tries to avoid anything that gets within about eighty meters. There are your markings. Hmm . . . only a single symbol.�
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�It could mean anything from the name of their planet to �Private Property, Hands Off.� There�s no way to trace where their omni directional signal was meant for. I�m going to see if I can backtrack its warp trail.� Beverly started her computations while Jean-Luc continued to study the sensor data.
�Beverly, look at this.� Jean-Luc pointed to a component on the display. �I�ve located the vessel�s main computer and linked to its programming. It seems the ship�s basic mission is to attract the attention of other space-faring species, but not to come into physical contact with them. The avoidance system you mentioned is of paramount importance. It takes priority over all other protocols.�
�I guess they don�t want anyone touching their ship.�
�They sent it out with a message seeking contact. That wouldn�t seem to make much sense.�
Beverly corrected him, �No the message didn�t say contact. It said, �communication.� I�ve traced its course. It came from a star cluster about twelve light years away.�
�If it�s communication they want, we could direct a subspace signal toward those coordinates.�
Beverly nodded, �We could match the frequency and language of the probe and send a mono-directional signal back. That would be better than letting everyone in the neighborhood know who we are. But we should get a little more information first.�
�Agreed. We�re beyond scanner range, though.�
�Then let�s get closer.�
* * * * * * * * *
Sla-Aani humbly prided himself in his efficiency when pressed for time. This day he had outdone himself. The knowledge of his upcoming Ribaul spurred him to tie up an enormous amount of his business before it arrived in full. Despite constantly thinking about sex, he performed a full day�s work in just under five hours. He had just finished collating the last of the day�s reception logs, which would have allowed him to leave the office in the hands of Dil-Koman without unduly overloading his already numerous duties. A final neatening of his desk was interrupted by a gentle, but insistent tone from one of the monitor consoles in the Amity Project Coordination Center. The flashing blue lights accompanying the sound indicated one of the probes reporting in unexpectedly. It was an uncommon enough occurrence to bring Sla-Aani�s thoughts away from Ribaul and back to business.
Dil-Koman was responding to the alarm, also. The two Kiyaadi strode forward on their wide, webbed feet; their dorsal badges glowing with the fluorescence of excitement. They moved toward the same console, both instinctively staying at least three meters apart.
�Probe Eleven is reporting a Second Level Avoidance;� Dil-Koman�s exhilaration caused his thighs to blacken and his voice to chirp, �Consequence Factor Three.�
Sla-Aani was just as intrigued, �Any signal change?�
�No sir, background noise is at normal levels.�
�Prepare a query packet with standard tests and send it off to the probe.�
Dil-Koman called up the needed macros and compressed filed them into a subspace data transfer format. He sent the packet to the buffer and activated the transmitter.
Sla-Aani was torn between his desire to splash into a shallow pool with a female and to learn the status of Probe Eleven. After a minute of quivering his dewlap to help his decision making process, he chose the latter.
�Now we wait.�
* * * * * * * * *
�I think we�ve waited long enough.�
Mistral drifted peacefully in the outer Kuiper Belt of the system. She was alone except for the occasional asteroid or comet. It was a splendid spot to discreetly observe this civilization.
Beverly rechecked her sensors for the third time. �I�m not picking up any sensors as we know them. The only way they could know we�re here is if they accidentally bounce one of their radar beams off our hull. I don�t think they even possess antigrav technology.�
Jean-Luc nodded, �Agreed. Everything we�ve seen at that planet seems to indicate a recently warp-capable species.� He consulted the console. �The computer has completed the tactical and technological survey. There seems to be a refreshing lack of weapons signatures or fortifications anywhere in the system. What do you say to a First Contact?�
Beverly looked like a kid at Christmas. �I thought you�d never ask.�
* * * * * * * * *
The most bizarre thoughts entered one�s mind during The Ribaul. For the last two hours, the mental image of reaching out and actually rubbing a female�s egg sac was prominent. That is, of course what The Ribaul is all about, but when not undergoing it such thoughts are so . . . murderous. But society found it praiseworthy, even when it resulted in death. Sla-Aani slowly went a soft azure as he considered the irony . . .
An urgent tone, one not heard outside of tests and drills, emitted from the wall speakers. Every Kiyaadi in the room shifted hues in their own way, showing their sudden excitement. Dil-Koman was the first to find his voice.
�Incoming transmission. The signal is unbelievably strong and perfectly modulated. It�s like it originated in the next room.�
Sla-Aani tried to stay calm; at least on the outside. �See if the frequency matches any of our records.� He moved to the console next to his assistant. �You�re right, friend. This is the purest subspace signal I�ve ever seen. The power required would be astronomical. I wouldn�t think it were even possible . . .�
Dil-Koman interrupted, �Record located; the computer says a ninety-two percent chance of a match.� He called up more information. �It�s one of our earliest recorded signals; from more than forty years ago.�
Sla-Aani had not had such a day as this in his whole life. First, there was the happy news of his upcoming Ribaul, and now the realization of his life�s work was possibly at hand. He had been a child in elementary school when subspace had been discovered and the first alien signals detected. He had known even then that he wanted to be the first to meet them. The realization that the Kiyaadi were not alone in the universe spurred the development of subspace communication and warp drive. No aliens had yet replied to the signals sent out from the planet, so a fleet of warp transmitter probes were sent out in all directions to extend their range.
Sla-Aani looked at the incoming signal being graphically displayed on monitor six. �The message seems to be written in our own Omnicipher. I�m converting it to Kiyaa and sending it to all stations.� Sla-Aani went gray and turquoise when he announced, �There�s also an audio component. I�ll put it on the speakers.�
A strange voice, one so deep in tone as to be almost below the hearing threshold of the Kiyaadi, emanated from the walls.
�To the inhabitants of the Planet Kiyaad. This is Ambassador Jean-Luc Picard of the Federation Ship Mistral responding to your request for communication. We come in peace on behalf of the United Federation of Planets.
* * * * * * * * *
�I would definitely say they received the message. It was rebroadcast immediately throughout the system.�
Jean-Luc raised his eyebrows at Beverly�s statement. �That�s unusual. In most First Contact situations, the general populace is not immediately notified by the governments. It�s a kind of paranoia that seems prevalent among even enlightened civilizations.�
�It would be understandable. Much of the population would panic or overreact at the idea of alien visitors.�
His love of discussion spurred Jean-Luc, �Unfortunately, fear of the unknown has been a universal constant among the cultures we�ve seen.�
�So far, anyway;� Beverly mused, �Maybe there�s a first time for everything.�
�Perhaps; but I would suspect . . .�
A musical tone followed by the computer�s voice interrupted, �Incoming subspace message.�
The crackle of interference from the primitive transmission filled the cabin. A high-pitched voice, accented with chirps and pops, accompanied, �This is Coordinator Sla-Aani of the Planet Kiyaad. On behalf of all the people of our world, I greet you. Your communication is most welcome.�
* * * * * * * * *
Mistral was just settling into a comfortable parking orbit over the Planet Kiyaad. In their years in Starfleet, Beverly and Jean-Luc had together seen hundreds of worlds from orbit, habitable and otherwise. They both agreed this one had its own unique beauty. Over ninety-three percent of the planet�s surface was covered with a shallow ocean. There were only two major land masses and these were not much larger than Madagascar. The remaining dry land was comprised of hundreds of thousands of islands peppered across the face of the globe. They ranged in size from mere sandbars to several hundred square kilometers. The shallow oceans reflected the yellow sunlight back in lovely shades of green. There were occasional isolated areas with few islands that caused striking blue eyes of depth peering out from the green seas surrounding them.
Mistral�s orbital scanners showed an elegant system of coastal cities, most connected by bridges and underwater tunnels. There were even many large towns built on great, floating platforms that dotted the surface like enormous lily pads. While there was plenty of air traffic, the Kiyaadi evidently made extensive use of waterways, as well. Elaborate traffic patterns of boats and ships of all sizes and types radiated from every city. There were just as many submersible craft traveling the waters as surface vessels. There were one-man sailboats and antimatter-powered super cargo transports. There were enormous cruise liners and tiny personal submarines. The only thing missing was warships. Nowhere on this planet was there evidence of a military. There were no planetary defenses or weapons emplacements of any kind. According to the tactical scanners, the Kiyaadi possessed particle beam emitters much like primitive phase cannons, but these were used only in industrial applications, like constructing tunnels. All in all, a totally peaceful world.
It had taken several hours of subspace communication between sloop and planet before Mistral entered orbit. Selected sections of the Federation Database were sent to the Kiyaadi for inspection. It was the standard First Introduction Package to familiarize new species with the Federation and its philosophy. The Kiyaadi likewise sent a similar overview of their society. Normally this information could have been flash fed in seconds, but the relatively primitive technology on one end limited the exchange. �When in Rome . . .� Jean-Luc thought.
Beverly was immersing herself in the biological database, studying local physiology. She was making little inaudible remarks to the screen as she read the files. Jean-Luc had learned that this meant she was absorbed in what she was studying and didn�t want to be interrupted, so he didn�t. She was the one to break her concentration. �Oh my,� she uttered clearly and sat back. Jean-Luc knew this was his cue to ask.
�What is it?�
Beverly indicated a column of figures and chemical formulae on her monitor. It may as well have been written in Tholian for as much as Jean-Luc understood it.
�This is a breakdown of the Kiyaadis� physiology. It seems that this species evolved from amphibians rather than mammalian primates.�
Jean-Luc nodded, �We�ve seen that before. It�s unusual but not unheard of.�
�What�s unusual is the chemistry of individual Kiyaadi. Each one produces a unique kind of protective skin oil with . . . apparently defensive properties.�
�What kind of properties?�
Beverly looked back with wide eyes, �Jean-Luc, the Kiyaadi are deadly poisonous, even to each other.�
* * * * * * * * *
Even though Mistral was atmospheric capable, it was decided to leave her in a high orbit and beam to the surface. This looked to be a welcoming and harmless culture, but it was the wise move. It was unlikely anyone from this system would be able to board the ship through its shield technology. Finally, just as a precaution, Beverly had implanted subcutaneous recall transponders in their wrists. An emergency transport was a mere touch away.
* * * * * * * * *
Sla-Aani was having difficulty. His breathing was erratic, his heart rate was racing and he was oiling heavily, causing his current streaked skin pattern of reds and yellows to glisten in the sun. He glanced around at the gathering crowd and realized he wasn�t the only one. The excitement of the impending visitors� arrival was planet-wide. It was bringing on quite a few mating urges. As happy as he was about his own upcoming Ribaul, he could have wished it to occur at a more convenient time. As if on cue, his pubic sphincter quivered slightly. He had not felt it this loose in . . . well, nine years or so. He gave it a good itching to calm it down temporarily. Several Kiyaadi standing nearby saw what he was doing and croaked in congratulations. He thanked them appreciatively. That tidal pool over there was starting to look very appealing . . .
A murmur from the crowd switched his thoughts from the ocean to the sky. As arranged, a platform near the shore stood isolated and kept clear of onlookers. A strange whine filled the salty air and two glittering showers of light appeared on the platform. The light coalesced into the strangest looking beings Sla-Aani or any Kiyaadi had ever seen. The crowd reacted with delight and curiosity at the sight of the two aliens. They were rather short, bipedal with tiny legs and feet. At first glance, their skin coloring seemed very static. The hues were sharply contrasted and unchanging. It was after a moment of close examination that the Kiyaadi realized that these aliens had some sort of . . . shaped fabric covering their limbs and torsos. The only actual skin that could be seen was on the strangers� heads and hands. The alien wearing the bizarre orange headpiece had a triangular patch of exposed skin below its neck. The color was a uniform (and rather bland) light pinkish-tan.
* * * * * * * * *
The transporter effect dissipated and Jean-Luc and Beverly stood on the platform looking out at the colorful sea of faces. They had known what to expect from studying the Kiyaadi database, but nothing could compare with the actual sight of thousands of what could be described as bipedal frogs. The crowd was immense, extending out in three directions from where they were. As large an area as they occupied, it was a thin crowd. No Kiyaadi got within two or three meters of each other.
A salty, refreshing breeze blew in from the ocean at their backs. The platform on which they stood had been quickly erected on the outskirts of a large city on an island. A beautiful white sand beach extended as far as the eye could see. The high tide line was clearly marked by an unending olive drab stripe of some substance washing up on the shore.
The Kiyaadi wore no clothing and yet no two appeared the same. Each one had his or her (the humans couldn�t discern sex) own variety of changing colors and patterns. Their skin pigments had remarkable chromatic versatility. The hues shifted and merged, creating new colors and contrasts. There didn�t seem to be any kind of consistency in the way they shifted from stripes and blotches to dots and crisscross patterns and back again. There were two parts of Kiyaadi anatomy that didn�t seem to change color. One was the large, bulbous, blood red eyes that protruded out from the skull and moved independently from one another. The other was a fluorescent green pattern that every Kiyaadi sported on its back.
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These markings appeared to literally glow on some Kiyaadi. Evidently there was some kind of bioluminescence at work. An individual was approaching the platform. This particular one was, at the moment, mostly a bright scarlet with yellow lightning bolts across his belly. As he got closer, Beverly could see the oil sheen on his skin. She was well aware of its lethal potential and her hand moved surreptitiously toward her wrist.
The red frog stopped at the base of the platform and spoke, �You are most welcome to our world. I am Coordinator Sla-Aani.�
�Thank you. My name is Ambassador Jean-Luc Picard of the United Federation of Planets. This is my partner, Doctor Beverly Crusher.�
As he introduced Beverly, Jean-Luc had unconsciously reached out and lightly touched her elbow. A wave of curious popping sounds rippled through the crowd and the suddenly changing hues of three thousand frogs created a strange kaleidoscope effect. Sla-Aani reacted in kind. His dewlap sucked up into his neck hollow as he gasped at what he saw. Jean-Luc was confused at the reaction. For one thing, he did not know what popping one�s throat meant on this world. He also did not know what had caused this reaction until Beverly�s quiet whisper.
�The Kiyaadi don�t touch each other. They can�t.�
�Noted.�
The rest of the official greetings and introductions went off without a hitch. Jean-Luc had recovered swiftly from his initial awkward move and his natural charm soon won over the Kiyaadi. The humans� non-lethal nature was explained to them and they accepted it with delight. They were the most agreeable and non-threatening species he had ever met. His inner anthropologist (or would it be amphibologist?) wondered if this behavior evolved as the result of their inherent deadly nature.
Coordinator Sla-Aani was their tour guide. He showed them to a large, comfortable, open top ground car in which they were driven through the city and shown the sights. The currently fuchsia/black/brown spotted Kiyaadi known as Dil-Koman operated the vehicle. Everywhere they went, the humans were greeted by friendly frogs, cheering and croaking as they drove past. The first stop they made was at the Museum of Exploration, which caught both the humans� eyes right away. Sla-Aani indicated there was something that might be of extreme interest. They proceeded through the exhibits, which mostly featured the Kiyaadis� efforts to explore space and to search out and understand the mysterious subspace transmissions that they had picked up over the last few decades. Jean-Luc was fascinated by the displays of primitive rocket engines, space capsules and histories of the Kiyaadi expansion into their solar system. �How very similar to early human efforts,� he thought, �These vehicles could just as easily have been flown by Neil Armstrong or Zephram Cochran.� Sla-Aani showed them one particular exhibit that one could listen to several recorded transmissions with audio components.
�When we first received your greeting, we searched our records to see if your signal matched any others we have received. The signature was a near match of the recording you are about to hear. We assume this is a momentous greeting of good will from your world, or possibly heralding your eventual arrival, although we have never been able to translate what was said. Perhaps you or your marvelous UT could enlighten us.�
Beverly and Jean-Luc both looked surprised, knowing how far away the Federation was. Sla-Aani activated a control and a barely discernible, but obviously Human voice spoke.
TWELVE, RIGEL TWELVE-static-WELL THIS ISN�T EXA-static-THE ENT-static-AME IS HARRY MU-static-O WHOM-static-LEASURE OF SPEAKING-static-I HAV-static-ITION FOR YOU, MISTER CHILDRESS THAT I THI-three minutes, seventeen seconds of static-I MIGHT ADD, THE ONE NAMED MAGDA GI-static-EST BLOWJOB I�VE EV-one minute, three seconds of static-O WHAT DO YOU SAY MIS-static-O WE HAVE A DEAL---END OF TRANSMISSION.
(This story continues in one more part.)