"Look, Commander Kenigsberg," said the admiral patiently. "You simply cannot run around my office breaking all of my possessions." Matani winced as the commander shattered her full-length mirror. "I've been reasonable," she pointed out. "Now you simply must cease these destructive activities."

Kenigsberg continued to dash about the small room. His only response was a high-pitched hoot.

Admiral Matani scowled and leaned over her desk, placing her palms flat on the lacquered desktop. "Commander Kenigsberg," she yelled over the noise of water spilling out of a tipped-over fishtank. "I order you to desist immediately!"

The commander paused. For a moment, it appeared as though he was contemplating the destruction of the admiral's stone desk. Finally, he walked calmly over to where the admiral was standing, and endeavored to catch his breath. Sweat dripped down onto the desktop as Kenigsberg straightened his uniform and directed a challenging glare directly into Matani's eye.

A look of displeasure crossed the admiral's face. "Did you ever consider deodorant, Commander?"

"Did you ever consider liposuction, Admiral?" retorted Kenigsberg as he continued to drip sweat onto Matani's desk.

Matani narrowed her eyes as she took in Kenigsberg. The commander, a bit unnerved at this calculating appraisal, began to widen his eyes. Suddenly the admiral shot a hand toward the commander's face. She ran her nails quickly over Kenigsberg's face, leaving bloody gashes.

"Aaaaaarrrrrggggghhhhh!" shrieked Kenigsberg. "That's it, you stupid... you stupid..." Frustrated at being unable to complete his sentence, the commander drew his phaser. "This is for all the vases you didn't let me smash," he snarled as he leveled the weapon at the admiral, who began to shake violently.

There was a hissing sound, and Fleet Admiral Burd strode imperiously into Admiral Matani's office. From the way Kenigsberg was pointing his phaser menacingly at Matani, Burd immediately deduced the situation. "What is the meaning of this?" he bellowed.

"Shut up, you stupid bureaucratic worm," muttered Commander Kenigsberg, never taking his eyes off of his target. His finger began to tighten around the phaser's trigger.

Matani established eye contact with Burd. "Help me, sir," she whined.

Before Kenigsberg could completely depress his phaser's firing trigger, Fleet Admiral Burd, "the fastest draw in the quadrant," drew his own weapon and fired in the commander's general direction. The orange beam whistled past Kenigsberg's face, missing it by a centimeter.

"Bleeeaaaaah!" screeched Kenigsberg, and jumped out the open window.

Matani sighed and ran a trembling hand through her hair. "Now we're alone," she told Burd, and smiled. Burd dropped his phaser weapon. "Computer," he addressed the air, "lock the door."

Matani's smile widened as she began to take off her black uniform boots. Fleet Admiral Burd walked toward her, instructing the computer to "Dim the lights and play some sultry music."

Kenigsberg staggered toward the entrance of Starfleet Headquarters, trying to rub the last of the wet cement from his eyes. After falling ninety-six stories from Admiral Matani's office window, he had landed in a cement mixer.

Blinking furiously, the commander arrived at Starfleet Headquarters' main revolving door. He still couldn't see clearly, and thus couldn't really direct himself properly toward the door. "Aaaa haaaaaaa!" he cried as the moving doors crushed his right arm. Frustrated by his inability to use the door properly, Kenigsberg simply created his own entrance by smashing through the picture window next to the door.

As Kenigsberg walked into the lobby, still blinking, an ensign at the main desk, who had noticed the commander's entrance, ran over. Taking in Kenigsberg's cement-sodden uniform, the prissy ensign began to speak. "Commander," he said clippily, noticing the three cement-covered rank pins on Kenigsberg's collar, "I'm afraid that you have damaged Starfleet property. I will have to deduct the cost of that window" -- the ensign extended his data pad toward the shattered glass pane -- "from your salary."

Kenigsberg stopped walking, squinted, and tried to focus on the ensign, but still couldn't see clearly. He tried to lift his right arm, so he could pinpoint the ensign within his field of vision, but he couldn't. Apparently the revolving door, upon crushing his arm, had severed some nerve endings.

"Commander!" insisted the ensign, placing his face directly in front of the commander's.

Kenigsberg, annoyed, reached for his phaser with his left hand. He found the holster, clipped to his waist -- empty. Oh, yeah; it was on the floor somewhere in Admiral Matani's office. The commander looked up. He was still a bit bleary-eyed, but, because the ensign's pinched face was within ten centimeters of his own, could now see the insistent young officer clearly. "Look, you prissy little turd," said Kenigsberg condescendingly. The ensign gaped. "I am Commander Kenigsberg. A commander -- see?" he asked, pointing toward his three rank pins. "You, on the other hand," he continued, rubbing his eyes, "are an ensign. You are far below me. You are nothing. Now get out of my face," Kenigsberg finished, pushing the skinny blue-shirt away from him.

As the commander began to walk toward the turbolifts, the uncoordinated ensign toppled backward and landed on his derriere. "Wha...wha..." he sputtered, unable to believe that the commander had knocked him over. As he watched Kenigsberg enter a turbolift, the humiliated ensign became determined to avenge his embarrassment. Slowly he got to his feet, and straightened his blue uniform. "Computer," he said, walking back toward the main desk. "To what floor did Commander" -- and here he tried to remember Kenigsberg's name -- "Kermars just travel?"

"Working," replied the computer. "Level 57. Officer's messroom."

"Thank you, computer," said the ensign, chuckling evilly as he thought about the revenge he would exact upon the commander. He tapped his communicator badge. "Ensign Schanker to Level 57 security," he said crisply.

"I hate Ultra Slim-fast," muttered Commander Kumar as he took another long draught of it. Why me? he wondered as he swallowed the putrid-tasting shake. I'm only 15 kilos overweight. Another few weeks on this plan and...

Kumar's thoughts were interrupted as a brigade of gold-shirted Starfleet security entered the officers' mess. Before he could even open his mouth to ask a question, he was surrounded by ten menacing-looking guards, all of whom had pulled their phasers. One of the guards reached down and grabbed Kumar's Slim-Fast shake away from him. "Hey!" protested Kumar as the guard tossed the shake into a potted rhododendron.

As the rhododendron slowly began to wilt, the crowd of security men parted to allow a blue-shirt through. "You thought you outwitted me, didn't you, Commander?" came a young man's voice. "Well, we'll see who has the last laugh now, won't we? I'm arresting you on a charge of destruction of Starfleet property! Ha ha ha!"

Kumar tried to crane his neck in order to get a view of the blue-shirt's face, but one of the security guards slammed him down in his seat, saying "Sit down, you criminal."

Suddenly the blue-shirt broke through the crowd of security men, which had swelled to at least fifty. Commander Kumar and Ensign Schanker established eye contact.

The confident expression which had dominated Schanker's face just moments before disappeared. "Oh, God," he whispered, so softly that he thought the commander wouldn't hear.

"What the hell is the meaning of all of this?" demanded Kumar, who got to his feet.

"Ah, ah, ah... you're not... you're not," stuttered Schanker, who began to shiver.

Kumar rested his arms on his ample girth. "Ensign," he said angrily, "if you don't get out of here with your brigade of mindless goldshirts" -- Kumar directed a pointed glare at the security man who had slammed him back into his seat -- "I am going to kill you. Is that clear?"

Schanker, petrified, was unable to respond. Tears began to stream down his face and his teeth began to chatter.

Very slowly, Commander Kumar drew his phaser, and put it to Ensign Schanker's head. "Go... away," he boomed.

"Yes, Commander," Schanker was able to gasp. With a visible effort, the horrified ensign was able to start moving his legs, which seemed to have gone numb. The group of security men followed him, holstering their phasers as they exited.

Fools, thought Kumar as the security contingent disappeared. The commander plodded over to the food dispenser mounted on the wall. "One Ultra Slim-Fast, strawberry," he sighed into the computer's ordering microphone.

Commander Kenigsberg, unaware of the messroom/name difficulties on Level 57 involving one Commander Kumar, had gotten off the turbolift at Level 112, Main Transporter Room, and was waiting in line to be transported back to his starship, the Jorge E. Schneider, where he served as first officer.

There was a large crowd of officers in the transporter room, most of whom were beaming back to their respective ships after some shore leave on Earth. Kenigsberg had noticed, however, that there were no officers from the Schneider waiting to be transported up.

"Commander, you're holding the line up," said the transporter operator, interrupting Kenigsberg's thoughts. "It's your turn now."

The commander stepped up to the platform. "Energize," he ordered.

"Belay that order, Lieutenant," came a female voice. Kenigsberg turned his head toward the transporter room door. Admiral Matani had just entered. She appeared to be somewhat sweaty and her hair was in disarray. "Come here, Commander Kenigsberg," she directed.

Kenigsberg stepped off of the platform and walked over to Matani. "Walk with me, Commander," she said, and left the room. Kenigsberg shrugged. "Hold my place in line, Lieutenant," he told the transporter operator, and followed Matani out of the room.

The two officers walked side by side through the corridor adjacent to the transporter room. "Look, Mr. Kenigsberg," said Matani apologetically, "I'm sorry. But I simply cannot grant your request for a promotion. The Schneider already has a captain -- a very fine one. And no, he is not senile, so we don't have to worry about firing him. He is one of the most capable officers in Starfleet. And you are privileged to be his first officer. Isn't that enough?"

Commander Kenigsberg had found a pebble in the corridor and kicked it along as he continued walking. "It's not that I'm dissatisfied with my position aboard ship, Admiral," he explained. "It's just that I think the captain is too old to do his job. He's senile. I should replace him."

Matani stopped walking to face Kenigsberg. The commander's pebble rolled away. "Look," she said. "There will be no promotion. There will be no removal of the Schneider's current commanding officer. That will be all." She began to walk away, toward the turbolift, looking back only to tell Kenigsberg, "Next time a request of yours is denied, Mr. Kenigsberg, I would appreciate if you didn't run amok in my office."

Kenigsberg saw Matani get into a turbolift. He stood there for a moment, and then returned to the transporter room, where the transporter operator was about to beam a fat commander up to his ship. "Hold it right there, Lieutenant," said Kenigsberg, raising his uninjured left arm. "Beam me up immediately. I've waited long enough."

"But, sir," protested the transporter man, "it's Commander Kumar's turn now. He's been waiting ever since you walked out with the admiral. Now, if you please..."

"I please not!" shouted Kenigsberg, who ran up to the platform. "Get the hell off of my platform!" Kenigsberg yelled to Kumar. When Kumar didn't move, Kenigsberg elbowed him in the gut. Kumar toppled off, groaning like a felled elephant. "Beam me up!" roared Kenigsberg.

Commander Kenigsberg materialized on the main transporter platform of the U.S.S. Jorge E. Schneider. The transporter operator looked a bit confused, and verbalized it: "Commander Kenigsberg, are you all right?" It was then that Kenigsberg realized that not only was he still covered in half-dried cement, but the gashes Admiral Matani inflicted upon him were still dripping blood. "I'm fine, Ensign," Kenigsberg said, and proceeded directly to sick bay.

"Good morning, Commander Kenigsberg," Dr. Silver greeted him. "Oh, those are some nasty gashes on your face. Shall I fix them up for you?"

"Please," Kenigsberg said.

"Smashing, then," said Silver, clapping her hands delightedly. "Here, Commander," she said, steering Kenigsberg toward a diagnostic table. "Now lie down here." From her lab coat pocket, she produced a medical tricorder, which began to beep and flash.

"Hold it right there, Doctor," interrupted Kenigsberg. He tried to get up, but Silver's firm hand pushed him back down. Finally, Kenigsberg stopped trying to push her tricorder away. "What is all this for?"

"You'll need a complete medical examination," said Silver happily, pushing buttons on her tricorder. "Oh, look," she observed. "There is an aberration in your facial blood flow. I'll have to dissect your eyes immediately."

At that, Kenigsberg jumped off of the table, and Silver was unable to restrain him. "Dr. Silver," he growled. "Is it not possible that my anomalous facial blood flow readings could be explained by the fact that I have huge gashes in my cheek?"

The doctor folded her tricorder and put it back in her coat pocket. "Perhaps," she said, as though trying the word out for the first time. "Nevertheless, I think an eye dissection would reveal important abnormalities in..."

"Just fix my face, please, Doctor," ordered Commander Kenigsberg.

Silver shrugged. "Whatever you want. Nurse Koff!" she addressed the air.

"Yes, Doctor?" came a faint male voice from the operating room.

"Get me the anabolic protoplaser -- stat!"

"Yes, Doctor," replied Koff. There was a brief scuffling in the operating room, but Koff finally appeared, holding aloft an anabolic protoplaser. It appeared to be somewhat bloody.

"Thank you, Nurse," acknowledged Silver, taking the protoplaser. "What was all the commotion in there?" she added, chucking a finger toward the operating room.

"Yes, Doctor," answered Koff, and trotted back to the operating room.

Silver had raised an eyebrow at Koff's unexpected departure, but turned back to Kenigsberg. "Strange nurse, that Koff," she commented, turning on the protoplaser and applying it to the commander's face.

Kenigsberg had all but tuned out everything happening in sick bay, so it took Silver three tries to finally inform the commander that she had finished healing his facial gashes. As Kenigsberg strode out of sick bay, making sure that there were no scars, Silver called, "Just remember, Commander -- anytime you're not feeling up to par, an eye dissection will really help!"