[1. . . 2. . . 3 . . .4 . . . 5. . . 6 . . .] [The trio returns from the theater. The union members are nowhere to be seen. Babe stands alone at the console, standing at attention.] Mike: Oh, hi Babe. Babe: Hello, Mr. Nelson. Have you made any progress on returning this unit to the collective? Mike: Well, we still don't know where the collective is. . . Tom: I do. Mike: [aside] Shut up Tom. Babe: Well, this unit will continue its exploration of what it means to be human. By the way, is it customary for one to leave their undergarments lying around on the floor? Mike: [sheepishly] Sorry. Those are mine. I'm afraid that it's been a long time since there were any other humans aboard. I'll take those. Crow: We wouldn't mind if you left *your* underwear lying around though. Mike: [aside] Shut up Crow! Babe: This unit has already discovered the feelings of "disgust." Perhaps this unit should investigate the human means of reproduction. [Mike blushes deeply while the bots make "bucka-wow" noises.] Babe: I'll need a test subject. . . Mike: Well, I guess that I can help you with that. . . Tom: [snicker] Oh, this ought to be entertaining. Crow: [snicker] Don't do anything that I wouldn't do Mike. Babe: You! Gold One! You will assist me! [Babe grabs Crow and drags him offscreen. Crow gives a shriek of alarm as he's dragged off stage.] [Mike stands beside Tom, stunned. Tom looks at Mike for a moment.] Tom: Boy Mike, just when you thought that your self esteem couldn't get any lower, the only human female around for parsecs chooses . . . Mike: Tom, if you value your existence, shut up. Tom: Yes, sir. [Noises occur offscreen. We hear shouts of joy from Babe, various crashing sounds, Crow yelling in terror, and a cuckoo clock. Mike and Tom continue staring off screen towards where Crow and Babe left the Bridge.] Tom: That must have hurt. Mike: Yep. [A few moments pass. More things crash.] Tom: Say, could you do that? Mike: My joints don't bend that way. [More crashes. Crow screams in terror again.] Mike: Hmm. That'll leave a mark. Tom: Yeah. [Babe yells.] Mike: Ooooh. Tom: Ahhhh. [A furious crescendo of noise erupts from offstage. When the noise ends, Mike begins to clap loudly while Tom raises a lighter into the air. Moments later, Babe walks back into view with a towel wrapped around her shoulders and a smile on her face.] Babe: Well that was refreshing. [Babe walks off screen. Crow wanders back into view, visibly dazed.] Crow: [Dazedly, but in a much deeper voice than normal.] So, that's what it's like to ,um. . . Tom: Engage in shuttlecraft operations? Crow: Yeah, that euphemism will work. Mike: Crow, I hate to break it to you, but that wasn't sex. Crow: What? Mike: That wasn't sex Crow. She was mostly pounding your head against a wall. Crow: Are you sure? Mike: Believe me, there is a subtle difference between the two experiences. Crow: Bummer. [Pause] So, maybe on our second date? [The fan-fic sign begins to flash.] Mike: Darn. I guess I won't have time to answer, because we've got fan-fic sign! [The usual antics ensue. The door sequence begins.] [6. . . 5. . .4. . . 3 . . .2. . . 1. . .] [Mike and the Bots enter and sit.] Crow: On the third date? Mike: Crow, she nearly dismembered you. Crow: Oh. The fourth date then? Mike: Tom, talk to him. > >--------------2775F4753112E659C8F739D3-- > > >From rtonts@direct.ca Fri Jan 09 14:01:33 1998 >Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative >Subject: NEW Hail to the Queen 3/4 [PG] (TNG, Marrissa >Stories) >From: Ron Tonts >Date: Fri, 09 Jan 1998 20:01:33 +0000 > > >--------------C805BE2003FDFFEB827CF1D5 >Content-Type: text/plain; charset=iso-8859-1; x-mac- type="54455854"; x-mac-creator="4D4F5353" >Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit > Crow: Shave-And-A-Haircut: 2bits. > Chapter 6 > > Jay watched as the USS James T. Kirk was reduced to >wayward particles of matter by the final Borg cube. Mike: The horror was over! > The stream >of Quantum torpedoes impacted the surface along side the port, >making the hull glow red hot. The torpedoes didn't actually >make it through, but it did the next best thing. Tom: They - or it! - managed to escape the fanfic. All: Hooray! > The port >opening was now larger, and it would be easier to slip a >torpedo down its gullet. Mike: And, again, the Borg aren't the teensiest bit clued in to the plan. > Numbness spread through Jay's body as he spotted the >weak area. Crow: [chanting] Launch it, launch it, blow her up... > He could save the Federation from certain >destruction with a single torpedo. Tom & Crow: [Chanting] Launch it, launch it, blow her up... > But the cost, Marrissa, his >soulmate, All: [chanting] Launch it. . . > his best friend, All: [Chanting] Launch it. . . > the mother of his child, All: [Chanting] Blow her up... > and lastly >his commanding officer. Mike: And the problem is...? Tom: If this was the mirror universe, then Jay would be in charge by now. Crow: If this was the mirror universe, Ensign Throwaway would have killed everyone by now. He's a knife man, you know. > It was too high, he couldn't give the >order. Crow: The ending of Wrath of Khan, this isn't. Mike: And Rob's seen "City on the Edge of Forever", too. > "Admiral, I have the torpedoes locked on to the opening. >Awaiting your orders, sir," Shayna announced from behind him. Tom: [Jay] If you were m-- Mike: [Shayna, quickly] I'd ice the bitch, sir. > Jay's mind exploded Crow: Cool! Just like _Scanners_! > into conflict Crow: Damn. > over his two ideals, the >Federation and his love for Marrissa. Mike: [Jay] Federation...emasculating ice queen. Federation... emasculating ice queen. That's a poser, all right. > Logic finally prevailed >and said that his wife may as well be dead. Tom: Yes-s-s-s!!! We've finally won the rest of the Kids' Crew over to our side! > "Shayna," Jay announced, "fire at will." Mike: Ah, we've already done that riff. > His voice was >clear of the excitement and rage it had held earlier. There >was only a hint of resignation under the cold visage. Shayna >was also internally torn over her friendship for Marrissa and >her duty to her uniform, but reached for the button anyways. Crow: Then she shrugged. "What the hell. I've killed her once already." Mike: Torn for almost .68 seconds. For a Kids Crew member that's nearly an eternity. > Like a silver bullet streaking for a werewolf's >heart, the torpedo crossed the vacuum of space and entered the >expanded port. Crow: And now, the award for "Most Freudian Image In A Fanfic..." > Embedding itself in the waste jettison unit, the >warhead detonated. Tom: Must be out of those slow models. > Expecting a ball of fire similar to the last >one, the Enterprise veered away from the cube. Instead of the >armageddon that was expected, a single tongue of fire >raspberried the remaining member of the Earth Defence Fleet. Tom: [as Borg] NYeeeeeah! Mike: I'd like you to meet my aunt...Rob Tonts, this is Auntie Climax. >The only explanation was that the Borg had expelled all their >waste gasses before the explosion. Bots: Ah-- Mike: Let it pass. > "Helm turn us about. Shayna, fire all the weapons." >Jay ordered, determined to go down fighting. The subsequent >burst of weaponry was capable of laying waste to several large >starbases, Crow: Apparently, Jay goes around taking out random starbases for fun. > yet did little to injure the Borg. Some sort of >energy projectile shorted out the Enterprise's external >systems, Mike: What was it? Even the writer doesn't know. > deactivating the engines, and weapons. Sensors were >still fully operational, and allowed Shayna to notice the >Borg lowering their magnetic shields. Tom: Too bad she was busy surfing the web for Matt Damon sites. > "Sir," Shayna started to get Jay's attention, "call >all the decks. Were going to have some visitors." Mike: Okay. I'll get some extra chairs. Shayna, go put on some CDs. Alexander, make some dip for the chips. Patterson! Act androgynous! > Chapter 7 > > The branch of the Collective unaffected by Marrissa's >revisions took matters into its own hands. Mike: Revisions? > Warring with >Marrissa to destroy her former comrades didn't accomplish >anything. Despite being added to the group mind, her >constitution was still as strong as ever. Tom: But her Strength and Integrity had been reduced to 5, and her Cunning was only 7. Crow: So what's her Yuta number now? > Seeking an >alternative solution, Tom: The Borg decided to wait for the sanctions to work. > Borg Drones began to beam over to the >Enterprise. They could seek out and destroy the aspects of >their Queen's former life. Crow: Yeah, taking away everything she ever cared about will make her well-adjusted. > If the Queen wanted to know what was happening, they >could say they were assimilating one of Starfleets most >advanced starships. The Collective waited and guided at the >same time. > Tom: And Marrissa, secure people will always obey her, didn't notice. > "Jay," Shayna called, "the Borg are beaming aboard. >Sensors place them on decks 1, 5, 21, 30, and 68." Crow: Bingo! > The numbers were understandable: Crow: They average out to 25, and since 2+5 is 7, and there are 7 letters in the name "Clinton", this *proves* the Borg are controlled by the Tri-Lateral Commission! Mike: What was *that* all about? Crow: Just practicing up for the net.kook competition. > deck one was directly >below the bridge, Mike: So, the bridge is on the hull? > decks twenty-one through thirty were crew >quarters, while deck sixty-eight was home to Engineering. >Jay's face contorted with worry when he realized that his >quarters, and his baby, were on level twenty-one. Tom: Kinda slow paternal reactions there, Jay. Mike: [Jay] No! Not my STUFF! [beat] Oh, and my kid, too. > "Shayna, stop all the turbolifts and place >forcefields on all decks. That should slow them down. Crow: [Shayna] Us, too. Mike: [Jay] Hey, there's drones going through my underwear. You try thinking straight. Uh, password protect it. The password is "nougat." Tom: The Canadian spelling would be "Nouegat." > Alex, >encode the main computer. Everyone else, grab an EMP Rifle >and start securing the bridge," Jay ordered. Crow: Cover my ass since my screw-ups got us here! > While the crew moved about at their tasks, Jay pulled back >the bridge carpeting behind tactical to reveal a floor access >panel leading from the bridge to deck one. Crow: Huh? I thought the bridge *was* deck one! Tom: American-built ships have "Bridge", decks 2, 3, etc. British-built ships start with "Bridge", *then* deck 1, then 2, 3, etc. Mike: But neither has a deck 13. > Seeing that no >drones were waiting underneath, Jay looked back to the people >in the bridge and got them to file through one at a time. Mike: And now, a replay of "Star Trek: First Contact". >Once on deck one, Shayna popped open an access port to a >Jefferies tube. Everyone climbed into the tube and began a >decent towards Engineering. Mike: Well, that's an improvement. Everyone's moral was low, but now they're decent again. > On the way down, Jay took count of >the deck numbers. Tom: Looking for Gray 17? > He knew he was the leader and that he rest >of the crew depended on him, Tom: So they're pretty much doomed then. Mike: Yep, pretty much. > and that he could even send a >team of ensigns to get her, Mike: ...somehow sending no-name cannon fodder after his kid struck him as a bad idea. > but concern for his child's well- >being and the responsibility he felt made him decide to get >her. Mike: See, that refusal to send anonymous underlings to vicious and pointless deaths is what's holding Jay's career back. Tom: Yeah, how can you get to be a captain without killing off your excess ensigns? > At deck 21, Jay held back Shayna and Alex. Crow: Yep, again, future of all the galaxy in your hands, save one baby. Mike: Maybe it's a STNG/Willow crossover ? > "Shayna, Alex, this is our stop. Mike: Get your cross-town transfers ready. > We're getting out >and going after Sarah and then Alexis. Crow: Didn't they leave the kids with daycare or something? Mike: And why can't they just use the transporters? > Patterson, get everyone >else down to Engineering and tell Clara what's happening. Crow: And while you're at it, find out which gender you are this week. >Well let's go," Jay commanded. As ordered, the crew crawled >off down the tube, while Jay and Shayna opened the access port >to deck twenty-one. Tom: [Flash Spazbo] H-hello? Mister Borg-thing-person, is th- there, h-hello? > The once beautifully designed, navy blue and tan >corridor looked as if it had a fatal infection. Tom: Uh-oh, wallpaper herpes! > Black tubing >and wiring sprouted from the walls and ceiling like some type >of fungus. All: Among us. > There were no drones nearby, but a close inspection >of the area showed fried circuitry and phaser burn marks. >There was obviously a fight in the area. Tom: Good heavens, Holmes! This is astounding! Mike: What's more, I deduce from the state of the floor that carpet-layers have been aboard at some point. Tom: Amazing! > Taking note of the >section they were in, Mike: Okay, we're in "Morn 47." Everyone remember that. > the trio moved off in the direction of >Jay's Quarters. Mike: All of this just to save a coin collection. > Progress was remarkably quick, since the >force fields that were supposed to be in place had been >shorted out or broken down. Crow: Looks like those really helped. Mike: [Jay] Nougat! Nougat! Look how fast this is! Whoosh! Tom: Nouegat, Mike. Nouegat. >The last hallway to his room was untouched by the implants, >and still had the forcefield in place. After fiddling with >the shut down code, Mike: [Jay] Whaddaya mean "Control-Alt-Delete" won't work?!? > the field dropped and Jay rushed into his >nursery. > Everything was in perfect order, and Sarah was found >napping peacefully in her crib. Crow: Sarah could probably sleep through a war! Oh wait, she already did... > Grabbing an anti-gravity >stroller from nearby, Mike: An anti-gravity stroller? Crow: Do you think that the shopping carts in the 24th century have a malfunctioning front anti-gravity unit, so that the cart will wobble? > Jay scooped up his child and moved back to >the hallway. Crow: It's Lone Wimp and Cub! Tom: Unfortunately, he had the controls set too high and flattened Sarah against the ceiling. > In the mean time, Shayna and Alex were across the >hall, looking for Jackie and Lynn. The only clue to their >whereabouts was a note saying they went down to Engineering. Tom: Although as clues go that's a pretty good one. Mike: "Have gone to Engineering, will be back after while. Leave implants on doorstep, we will assimilate ourselves when we return. Love, J&L" > After meeting back in the hall, the group >once again climbed into the Jefferies tubes and headed for >deck 30. Mike: I'm real worried we were going to see a scene from the Untouchables. Tom: This IS untouchable, Mike. > Deck 30 was in even worse of a condition than the last >couple of decks. Borg electronics were covering the walls, >obscuring any trace of its former identity, Crow: The Bulkhead Formerly Known As "Prince." > and blocking out the >lights on the ceiling. Tom: [Borg] Light is irrelevant. *thump* Ow! > The environmental controls were also >assimilated as well. Tom: [Borg] I am Carrier of Borg. You will assimilate warmth in the winter and cool air in the summer for only pennies a day. > The normally soothing, moderate >temperature had been altered to the extreme. Tom: [auto show announcer voice] Borg EXTREEEEEEEEEME! Crow: We've taken your environmental settings and SPUN them INTO THE EIGHTH DIMENSION! Tom: Borg EXTREEEEEEEEEME! Crow: This SATURDAY! Tom: SATURDAY! Bots: SATURDAY! Mike: I thought you guys had gotten over that. > It was as if an >acidic tasting fog Tom: Yum! Lemon zesty! > had settled throughout the deck, and the >heat was unbearable. Mike: Why is setting the environmental controls to "L.A." going to help? > The team broke into a sweat just after >setting foot on the deck. Tom: [Jay] *huffhuff* Boy, guys, *wheeeeze* we're really, _really_ out of shape! *GASSSP!* > Making their way along the >corridor, the team occasionally passed a drone or two, who >paid little, if any, attention to them. Crow: They were THAT boring. Mike: [Borg] You just see someone? Tom: [Borg] Nah. > Upon reaching Alex's Quarters, they found Alexis >crying and squirming. Crow: She's never gotten over Blake marrying Krystle. Mike: [Alexis] Father...you abandoned me in my hour of need...*ack* I reject you and your values! Tom: Like father...like daughter...think about it, won't you? > Placing her in the stroller, the group >made its way towards the nearest Jefferies tube. A horrific >scream pierced the silence, Mike: [Jay] You just hear a scream? Tom: [Alex] Nah. Crow: [Shayna] Nah. > provoking a response from the >adults in the group. Mike: But enough about Marilyn Manson... > After telling the positronic brain inside >the stroller to head to Engineering, Crow: Hey! Where the kid go? I'm sure I put it in here. . . > the trio ran off towards >the scream, while the stroller dutifully lowered itself into >the tube. Mike: Then the stroller, tired of being enslaved, sold out to the Borg. > Reaching the source of the noise, the group found >themselves outside sickbay, confronted with three drones >surrounding a lone individual. Tom: They'd spaced themselves at even 120-degree angles. The Borg are like that. >The man was doing an odd little jig, Crow: The Borg are assimilating the Lord of the Dance! Mike: Good! Crow: But that means once they've added his distinctiveness to their own, there'll be trillions of Borg faux-Irish dancing their way across the galaxy, all naked from the chest up! Tom: Yeah, but the infusion of ego will tear the collective apart. > as the Borg nanoprobe >injectors continuously snaked out into his neck. Tom: Ah. The Trek equivalent of the tentacle scene. Crow: I see Marrissa taught them sadism as well. > Taking aim >with their Rifles, the three Borg dropped helplessly to the >ground. Mike: Wha-huh? Tom: Did the Borg just shoot themselves? Crow: Not the most effective shock troops, eh? Mike: Crow, don't you start acting Canadian too. > Only then did the victim take note of his rescuers. Crow: Well, I'm glad that's ovYAAAAAAH!!! Don't sneak up on me like that!! >Immediately, Doctor Jackson Johnson tried to compose himself >in front of his crewmates. Mike: Myself. A composition by Jackson Johnson, the man with Action Traction. > "Doc, that was incredible. How did you prevent the >assimilation?" Jay inquired incredulously. Tom: And why didn't you TELL us you could do it? Crow: I practiced safe Trek, and made sure all the implants wore protection. > "With this," the Doctor replied while holding up a >hypospray, Mike: I call it a "sonic screwdriver." Jelly baby, anyone? > "I got the idea from the nanoprobes the Borg have >been using. With some modifications, I enabled them to put >out a profile that tricks the Borg probes into thinking its >blood. Tom: Hey probe! Your blood! Crow: [probe] What about it? Tom: Think about it...always rushing through your veins at hundreds of miles an hour... Crow: [probe] Yikes! > Then, when they try to assimilate it, the probe holds on >to the Borg probe, preventing assimilation. One of my probes >can hold about ten of the Borg probes, so it should be >adequate protection." Mike: Other anti-assimilation measures work on the principle of tricking the body into thinking it's been assimilated, physically preventing the probes from entering the body, or just applying lots of probicide. Some people try the Rhythm method to avoid assimilation too. > While he droned on, Tom: Get it?!? 'Cuz it's Borg, see, and he's "drone"-ing on, and, and, and - it's just FUNNY, is all!! LAUGH!!! LAUGH!!!!!!!! > Dr. Johnson injected >the probes into the trio. Crow: Dr. Johnson actually got the idea from the alien race called the Plahts. Mike: You mean? Crow: Yes. [Brief pause] They're shooting themselves up with Plaht Devices. Tom: Mike, hit him. Hit him hard. > "We should wait here a while longer, so I can whip up >more probes for everyone else," stated Jackson, ushering the >trio into sickbay. > Tom: Oh, and I cured cancer, extended the human lifespan and found ways to double our intelligence. Sorry, forgot to tell you. > The one who would not assimilate was rescued, Crow: That's my favorite bedtime story. Mike: What? Crow: "The Borg Who Wouldn't Assimilate." In the end he learns to assimilate and the Borg Queen tells him how much she loves him. > thought >the Collective. Clearly it was the Queen's former friends who >did this. All across deck 30, Borg stopped what they were >doing, and lurched off in the direction of Sickbay. > Crow: Whoops. The Borg must have assimilated some of Neelix's food. Tom: Wrong show. Crow: Who cares? > A loud rapping came on the door of sickbay, Mike: Avon calling! > just as Dr. >Johnson had finished replicating the anti-Borg nanites and >placed them in a duffel for easy carrying. Mike: Of course, they all just fell through the weave because they're MICROSCOPIC, but it's the thought that counts. > From the large >dents left in the door, it was apparent that it wasn't some >crewman with a sprained joint. Tom: Unless it was Lieutenant Bruce Banner. > The doors gave and the first >ave of drones were met with the invisible streams of magnetic >pulse, dropping them to the floor. The next wave was a bit >more discrete than the last, Tom: Meaning that they were easier to tell apart. [begins to hyperventilate] Mike: Now, now, Tom. Tom: I'm sorry, Mike, but they can't bounce off my Teflon coating forever. > and broke through the door to the >Chief Medical officer's office. Crow: Where they slipped on half-eaten cheese sandwiches and piles of porno mags! > They too, were felled with >little effort. The signal the tides had turned, was in the >form of a phaser bolt lancing into Dr. Johnson's left >shoulder. Tom: Damn! It's Dr. Pulaski! She's after your job, Jimjamjingalong! > The source was an former crew man who had met the >Borg. His uniform was in untouched form, and he could have >passed for any other Ensign, if it was not for the large >chunk of metal protruding from the left side of his head. Crow: It was shinier than most metal chunks lodged in the heads of enlisted personnel. Mike: Actually, the makeup department just ran out of latex. > The plate had a small cord running from it down to the phaser >rifle in the drone's right hand, probably to relay targeting >information to the Collective. Mike: Maybe it was just brake fluid. Crow: Nope, just the 110 volt adapter. > Jay's guard dropped as he rushed >to help Jackson, but couldn't get past the phaser beam that >continuously landed in front of him. Shayna continued to hold >the horde as much as she could, Mike: I will love him and hold him and squeeze him and stroke him and call him 'Borg.' > while Alex opened a nearby >Jefferies tube. Crow: [Alex] Okay, line up the little arrows and - d'oh! C'mon, you... > Jay had managed to fake out the drone Tom: [football announcer] And Gordon fakes to left...he weaves right... > and >began dragging the Doctor to the port, Tom: ...suddenly he makes a break to the left, with Johnson in tow! > when the drone shot at >full power. Tom: But it's no good! The drone fires a pass! It's not looking good for the Federation! > The crimson red beam hit square in the chest, and >vaporised Doctor Johnson. [Balloons fall from the ceiling again.] Tom: Hey, he killed a Kids' Crew member! Crow: First Dark Marrissa, now the Borg. Guess no one could stand that accent. Mike: Wow, we're getting *really* bloodthirsty! Crow: [sniffling] Goodbye, Dr. Jackson Jones Jimmy Joe Jerry Johnson - you were loved! >The duffel bag he carried dropped to the ground, and Jay >stooped to pick it up. The phaser-toting drone was taken out >by a discrete Tom: AUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGH! Crow: Hey, at least he's consistent. Tom: Oh, you'll get yours someday, Crow. Crow: Hey, man, you may be Teflon, but I'm Kevlar. Nothing gets to me. Tom: Shari Lewis! Crow: Yipe! [dives beneath the seat] > blast to the head Tom: *Blast to the Head!* Mike: Maybe it's just me, but I've somehow always considered the terms "discrete" and "blast to the head" mutually exclusive. > causing a miniature fire >works display, [Crow re-emerges. All hum a quick snatch of "The Stars And Stripes Forever."] > courtesy of Shayna. Alex was well into the >vent, with Jay close behind. As Shayna entered the tube, she >pulled out a photon grenade she kept with her for special >occasions. Mike: Birthdays, Bar Mitzvahs, weddings...yes, friends, nothing says "I love you" like a lethal blast of photon radiation! > Leaving the armed grenade behind, and shutting the >access port, she retreated down the tunnel with a gratifying >explosion ringing in her ears. All: Whew! Mike: That was one long and boring paragraph. > Getting to Engineering was a simple task compared to >what the trio had been through. Opening the doors to >Engineering was Crow: ...a task beyond nine out of ten ensigns, but not our intrepid heroes. > met with the muzzles of several EMP and phaser >rifles pointed in their direction. Tom: [Ace Ventura] I'm looking for Ray Finkle - and a clean pair of shorts! > Jay could see Clara >attending to an anti-gravity stroller nearby, and felt an >amazing amount of relief knowing his child was safe. Tom: Amazing? Wow, really sensitive guy. Crow: Yeah. "Whoa, I'm even more gratified than I expected to see my offspring alive." > "Clara, what's been happening?" Jay questioned. Tom: Yeah. What's the buzz? Tell him what's happening. > "We beat off the Borg on this deck, deck one and deck >five. Crow: [nervously] They b--hm. So...how 'bout those Dodgers? Tom: That's it, Crow. *Sweat*. > But there's still fighting on the twenties. Mike: There's dead flappers and bootleggers everywhere! > The Borg may >have over run them all by now." > Jay nodded in acknowledgement, and extended the >hypospray bag. > "Distribute these to all the members of the crew. Mike: Most of them are anti-Borg spray, but a few have Dr. Johnson's "special blend." You'll still be assimilated, but you'll feel like you're french-kissing Saint Peter while they drill into your eyes and tear out chunks of your brain. >It'll help protect them against assimilation." Mike: Like the guy in engineering? > Looking around >Engineering, Jay called over the nearest Vulcan. Crow: One of the selling points of the Enterprise-F is its convenient "Vulcan in every room" feature. > "What are the odds that we can repel this attack at our >present rate." Jay wondered. Mike: Never tell me the odds. Tom: [whimpering] Please no more Star Wars, please. . . > "Approximately 1349.264 to 1, sir" the Vulcan replied >after a moment of calculation. Mike: [Jay] Darn it, man, don't give me these generalities, I need cold hard numbers! > "In other words, not good. Crow: Still, it's better odds than you'll get at most casinos. > Shayna, you said earlier that the >Borg were creating gaps in their magnetic field to beam over >the drones. Could beam over through one of the gaps?" Jay >continued. [Pause] Mike: I guess we don't get to find out what he said when he continued. Rats. > "Maybe sir," Shayna confirmed. Mike: I may not have done well in English, but that was not a "confirmed." > "All right; Kathy, Clara, Shayna, and Alex. Crow: [Jay] Under Anime Five-Character Theory, I'm the hero, Alex is the big guy, Kathy is the chick, Clara is the other guy and Shayna is the pet. Any objections? > Get a Security >team of volunteers together. Mike: Okay. Set a course for Nashville. > From there, we're going to stop at >the weaponry and pick up some goodies," Jay paused and looked >into the eyes of everyone gathered, "We're beaming over to the >Borg ship." > Chapter 8 > > From the incredulous stares that bombarded him from >every corner of Engineering, Jay knew he'd have to explain >himself. Tom: But instead he stonewalled, hoping he could keep that up until the end of his term. > "All right listen," Jay began, "we've got a situation just >like the one on the Enterprise-E. Back then, it was pointless >to try and fight them aboard the ship. Mike: Even though Picard seems to have iced all the ones that he came across, and he's such a good fighter... > In the end, Admiral >Picard had to go in there and take them out on his own. Do >you know how he did it? Mike: Well, he convinced the Borg to drastically increase their fat intake. They then dropped dead from heart attacks forty years later. > He cut off the snake's head. He killed >the Queen. Crow: To do so, he had to use the magic reflective shield that the gods had given him to avoid being turned to stone. > Now if we can do the same thing here, I bet we can >win," Jay looked around the room and saw many people nodding >their heads in agreement. Tom: A chance to kill Marrissa? Sure! Crow: It's the dream of every citizen of the Federation, after all. > "Computer, activate Kid's Crew," All: AHHHH!!! Mike: No! The nightmare continues! > Jay announced, as the >volunteers stepped forward to go along with Jay's senior >staff. All: OH NO!!!! Mike: That's it, they're doomed. Crow: Who, the command crew? Mike: No. The Borg. > "Transfer of Command confirmed. As of this Stardate, >Ensign Jacqueline Picard now commanding U.S.S. Enterprise NCC- >1701-F," the computer announced in its calm, feminine voice. Tom: Which belied its feelings of sheer terror at even having to say the words. >The entire ship, or what was left of it, was now in the hands >of Jay's sister-in-law. Mike: Yep, 23rd century. We've gotten over racism, sexism, and poverty, but not nepotism. Crow: Since it's Marrissa's sister, she'll be slaughtering Romulans by the dozens in a matter of minutes. > Satisfied his ship was in good hands, Mike: After getting insured by Allstate. > the security team >and senior staff went to the nearby armoury. Inside, the >group stocked up on fresh EMP Rifles, frequency-shifting hand >phasers, and bandoleers of photon grenades. Satisfied his >people were loaded for large, rabid bears, Mike: Large, drunk, rabid bears. Crow: Large, drunk, rabid bears with big, sharp, pointy teeth. Tom: Large, drunk, rabid bears with big, sharp, pointy teeth who's families have just been killed by corrupt Starfleet officers and now they're out for blood! > Jay led his people >to the Transporter Room. Tom: We also haven't gotten over macho posturing. Mike: Ironically, upon reaching the Transporter, they were all killed by a small, healthy bear. > It took Clara a moment to set the sensors to find >gaps in the magnetic shields, but when she did, the whole cube >became a massive chunk of Swiss cheese. Crow: Or bad metaphors. > The seven person security unit stepped >onto the platform and gave the signal. Mike: The signal being, "There are only six pads!" Tom: Mike, it's Star Trek. The line should be "There! Are! Six! Pads!" > Clara took a few more >seconds to find a suitable gap, then engaged the transporter. > Mike: Clara marries piece of matter-transmission technology, film at eleven. > A dark, stuffy corridor on the Borg ship was >temporarily illuminated by the silvery sparkles given off by >the transport process. The boarding party made a quick scan >of the area both visually and with the tricorders they had. >The corridor was clear of everything but a few wayward gasses. Mike: Borg must've had boiled cabbage for supper. > The nearby alcoves that normally held drones were >empty. Thinking for a moment, Tom: There's a change of pace. . . > the officer concluded they were >probably over on the Enterprise. Satisfied that the area was >secure, the Lieutenant touched his combadge to indicate >everything was clear. Mike: When things are clear I touch myself . . . >Moments later, the same silvery sparkle shone through the >corridor. As the protection of the transporter beam faded >away, Jay almost threw up when he materialised on the Borg >ship. Mike: Oh, c'mon - it may be a little tacky, but it has a certain post-neo-modern simplicity. > The acidic taste of the air, the stench of decades of >accumulated sweat, Tom: Oh, he's in the Packers' locker room. > and the odd mechanical sounds that were like >a mix between a stomach churning, fingernails on a chalkboard, >and an antique clock all mixed together in a techno-organic >concert. Crow: But enough about Nine Inch Nails... Tom: Well, if he's talking about "The Legacy Concert" I'm leaving right now. > Composing himself, Jay took a look around. The dark >corridor was barely illuminated by the odd green-lightning >disks above the Borg recharging stations, which were lined up >and down the hallway. Mike: They've beamed into an X-Files episode. > Checking with Clara to ensure they were >going in the right direction, Mike: Moss always grows on the north side of a green-lightning disk, doesn't it? > the team moved down the hall. Crow: It's the team in the hall, a fresh new Federation comedy group! > The destination of the group was the direct centre >of the cube. Tom: Well, at least someone is getting some use for their High School Geometry. > Clara had deduced this to be the chamber where >Marrissa was, since the area was consuming more energy than >the other systems on the ship. Mike: She was using that tanning bed again. Crow: [Sigh] That's so like Marrissa...take take take. > The centre of the ship would >also be the most likely area for a command room, since it >would take a considerable amount of firepower to get to it. Mike: But if you're Kids' Crew, you can just waltz right in. Crow: One of the many advantages of having the writer on your side. > The Borg recharging stations were mostly empty, except >for an occasional drone in poor shape. Crow: [drone] Well, I keep meaning to exercise, but then "Voyager" came on... > Jay thought that they >were probably on the Enterprise. Mike: [mumbling] Sure, I came up with that theory two paragraphs ago, but of course the Captain takes all the credit... > The other members must have >noticed it too, since they all sped up a tiny amount. Tom: This away team has been time-altered to fit this slot. > Their facial features became locked in grim >determination to succeed with the mission. An Ensign who was >supposed to be up front walked up to Jay. Mike: Jay then shot him for abandoning his post. > "Sir, there's a large open area up ahead. Should we >go around? It might be a trap," the Ensign stated, a small >quiver in his voice. Tom: Only held about a score of arrows. Crow: A hundred and forty-four arrows? That's a mighty big quiver! Tom: No, a score, not a gross. Crow: [clearly not getting it] Right. > Jay considered for a moment before replying. "No, keep on >going. If the Borg were going to ambush us, they would have >done so by now." Crow: Unless, of course, they're trying to attack us when we don't expect it. > The pack moved into the open area. Crow: Power Pack? Tom: Oh, please, no! > It was a square room, >about ten meters by ten meters. Mike: "You enter a ten-by-ten room. There is a treasure chest guarded by a Borg and a large blue dragon" Tom: I ready my +12 Hackmaster. . . Crow: Isn't it usually ten feet by ten feet? Mike: Well, Canada, metric system. Tom: Actually, that's "Moetric" system. > The ceiling was almost three >meters above the floor. Crow: So how come it's "litre" but not "metre?" > The area was devoid of any recharging stations, but >branched into three corridors lined with them. Mike: Sounds like they could use a visit from Home Interiors. > The security >detail formed a ring around the commanding officers. Tom: o/~ ...pockets full of rye... o/~ > Jay >noticed at the end of the right hallway a drone was milling >about a console. Crow: We grind our own coffee fresh every day! > It took no notice of them, save for a minor >glance in their direction. Tom: [Borg] I refuse to acknowledge your existence and spoil the plot. > Jay signalled the young ensign on >point, who moved to the entrance of the hallway. As the woman >reached the bulkhead, a high energy hum sounded and she was >bounced in the opposite direction by a force field. Crow: Looks like she hit the glass ceiling. >Collecting herself, the ensign got to her feet and grabbed her >rifle. Mike: [Ensign] Well, I'm a nameless ensign in a Trek fic, so I clearly have a lifespan shorter than most synthetic elements, but I might as well go for the gusto. > A small flashing light on some sort of box beside the >doorway caught her attention. Mike: Ah, Ensign Easily-Distracted! Crow: [Ensign] Captain, captain! There's a whole platoon of Borg at - oooh, shiny metal! > The box looked like a power >generator for the force field. Tom: Ya think? > Taking careful time to aim >the weapon so she wouldn't fry any other circuits, the ensign >fired the rifle. > One of the main problems with Borg technology, is its >complexity. Tom: And one of the major selling points of the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy are the words "Don't Panic" written on the front in big friendly red letters. > A highly qualified Engineer would require a day or >so to piece together a Borg operating system. Crow: Or Wesley could do it over the space of a commercial break. > However to an >engineering-illiterate ensign, Mike: So, she majored in liberal arts then? > one chunk of circuitry looks >just like another. The unfortunate ensign didn't even know >she had destroyed a data relay node, until drones from unseen >areas began to enter the region. Mike: Boy, must've rolled high on the ol' wandering monster charts. > As the bionic zombies staggered towards the team, [All snicker] Tom: "Bionic Zombies"?!? You have *got* to be kidding me! Mike: "Bionic Zombie Nightmare", starring Tia Carrere as Lindsay Wagner! Crow: [$6,000,000 Man Intro] We can make him better than he was - better,stronger, undeader. >several were subjected to an electronic barbecue Tom: Hot and saucy, Texas-style!! > as the EMP >bursts dropped drones across the deck. The stench of burning >wire insulation, overloading of circuitry, and the searing of >nearby flesh wafted into the nostrils of everyone present. Mike: Lt. Colonel Kilgore enjoyed the smell of searing flesh in the morning though. > Everyone on the team was doing their part, Jay >noticed with a large amount of pride in his crew. Crow: Pride, shmide - it's that or become a "bionic zombie"! > The security >team covered the command staff, Tom: [sonorous] As is meet and proper...redshirts giving their lives so that others might live. > while aiding each other as >necessary, Crow: We're just lowly peons. Our lives are meaningless compared to those of the command staff. > Clara occasionally looked at the nearby wall as if >she was trying to think of a way past the invisible wall. Crow: [Clara] We could climb it - no, we could get a bulldozer and - nono, I could just wave my hands and... > At the >same time Alex, Kathy, and Shayna were helping where they >could. Mike: Mainly by cowering and whimpering a lot. It wasn't much, but... > Shayna would occasionally manage to lob a photon >grenade behind the incoming masses, causing a symphony of >destruction that rang Jay's ears. Tom: o/~ It's just a bittersweet - symphony! o/~ > Suddenly the idea hit him. Mike: [Jay] No, wait. That's just shrapnel. Medic! >Moving over to the blocked bulkhead, Jay unstrapped his >bandoleer of photon grenades. [All snicker] Tom: For this scene, the part of Jay Gordon will be played by Topper Harley. > Placing the small bombs against >the frame of the door, Jay set the timer for a minute. The >security wheel seemed to collapse as the men and women ran >back into the hall they came from. > A minute later, a minor nuclear apocalypse Crow: How can you call an apocalypse minor!? > rocked the >deck, sending Starfleet and Borg alike hurling to the floor. >Shuffling cautiously back towards the room, Jay felt like he >was ten again. Mike: Which means in the Ratliff verse, he'd be more competent. Crow: He's what, eleven now? > The sheer child-like joy of destruction, the >eagerness to survey his handiwork, and if necessary do it >again. Tom: Marrissa was certainly rubbing off on him. > The area had become a blackened, charred home for >death. Crow: Mm-mm! Pan fried, blackened death, Cajun-style! > The former portal that could admit an eight foot tall >person, Crow: Well, that'd be handy if Mr. Homm was on the away team. > and was protected by a force field was now a twenty >foot crater of destruction. Mike: An official spokesborg blamed this on the effects of El Nino. > The blast had made the area >unstable, and left a gaping hole in floor. Yet despite this >the room was overflowing with Borg drones heading towards the >group. Mike: ...where, displaying the same brilliant planning they've shown so far, they all fell into the hole. > The security officers pushed Jay back from the Borg's >questing nanite injectors. The injectors found prey however >and began pumping in millilitres of nanoprobes. Inside the >team's bodies, a war was being raged. Tom: Diarrhea is like a war raging inside you... > Nanoprobes would set down on the blood cells, only to >find them as disguised nanites sucking in the microscopical >assimilating machines. [All make slurping noises] > However, the Borg had soon adjusted to >the disguises of the nanites, and became able to reprogram >them for their own purposes. Mike: The AMA will hear of this! Crow: Well, *that* didn't last long. > Outside the tissues and organs, Jay watched Crow: Oh, good - for a minute I was worried he was watching from inside the tissues and organs! > in horror and >surprise and the blood vessels of a crewman became an >unhealthy grey. The nanites must have failed, soon the Borg >would assimilate them. Jay mentally steeled himself, and >brought up his hand phaser. Setting it for level 12, the >vaporisation setting, Mike: Level 11 was the "sic a bunch of lawyers on the target" setting. > then pointing at each of the security >members. Crow: [Jay] Thanks for protecting us - hope you don't mind me frying you! Tom: But he forgot to pull the trigger, and instead just made "ZZZZZAP!" noises. > A blood red beam connected the weapon to the bodies, >just before they became wayward gas molecules. It was cold- >hearted, ruthless, and robbed him of every moral fibre of his >being, Mike: So he ran back home and had a hearty bowl of Cracklin' Holy Oat Bran. > but damn it Mike: ...he was determined to fill Marrissa's shoes. > it was necessary. If any member of the unit >were to be assimilated then Tom: ...the Secretary would disavow any knowledge of their actions. > the Borg would know what they were >doing and would devise a way to stop him. Right now the only >advantage, was the Borg thought they had removed the threat. >Jay and the other command crew hadn't moved a muscle against >the Borg since the security pack's glory charge. Mike: Remember, ship's security is now available in the handy 6-pack! Crow: Easy and convenient for killing your redshirts in droves. > They were no >longer a threat in the Borg's eyes. > > The Collective watched the five invaders pick >themselves up Tom: o/~ You ain't never going to keep them down! o/~ > through the eyes of a drone. They could have >assimilated them right then and there, but they chose not to. Mike: Y'know, this plan has never worked for anyone. > The remaining drones would be cut down by those weapons >with little effort from the humans, then the ship would be >unable to complete its mission. In a risky manoeuvre, Crow: Accomplished with the help of a Deux ex Machina... > the >Collective moved the drones back to their assigned tasks. A >minor tactical withdrawal would put the pathetic individuals >off guard, then allow them to be caught by surprise. > Mike: Nope. Total goners. > With guilt over the deaths of his crewmates weighing on his shoulder, Crow: [British] It's a Mr. Death, from the village. He says he's a reaper. Mike: Shoulder? Just one? Tom: Well, he's not *that* guilty. >Jay walked into the point position. Crow: [Jay] SHOTGUN! > Shayna and Alex were about >to argue, until they saw the grim determination in their >friend's eyes. They moved along to the core room, which shone >in the distance like a light at the end of the proverbial >tunnel. Tom: [Falsetto] Move towards the light! > About thirty meters from the core room, they reached >the light. A breath-taking site unfolded before them. The >hall had led them to a massive cavity inside the Borg ship. Mike: Sounds like they need to assimilate some fluoride. >The cavity was square in shape, and different than the rest of >the ship. Where the ship was a menagerie of parts, cables and >circuits, the cavity was smooth. Crow: Before you assimilate - Caress! > While the ship was dark, >dank, cramped, and foul smelling, the cavity was well lit, >spacious, and pleasantly dry, while the smell lingered. Tom: The ship only had basic cable, but the cavity had a satellite dish. Mike: The ship was covered in peeling wallpaper, while the cavity was painted in tastefully muted pastels. Crow: The ship only had 8-year old copies of "Good Housekeeping", whereas the cavity had the latest bestsellers from Tom Clancy, Clive Cussler and Jude Devareaux. > Below the portal where the team stood a massive airlock, >almost the size of a Galaxy-class Cruiser was about where the >wall of the vessel was. Tom: [tilts to the side] No way in heck will *that* sentence parse! > Bring in the core of the ship, Tom: o/~ Bringing in the core, we shall come rejoicing, bringing in the core. o/~ > looking >out across this great distance not only made you feel >insignificant, but made you realise how big these ships were. Mike: The Borg apparently have perfected their "awe" ray. > The ceiling was much closer than the floor, only about a >quarter mile up. In the middle of the ceiling, was a large >cubic object with a dark doorway in the side of it. Tom: Apparently at some point, the Borg assimilated M.C. Escher and Salvadore Dali. Mike: Timothy Leary, too. >Connecting the portal with the door was a long, narrow bridge >that was thirty meters long and only sixty centimetres wide. Mike: Uh-oh. I feel a story problem coming. >Crossing the precarious bridge went slowly, as the crewmates Tom: ...were accosted by an old man asking them questions three. >took cautious steps towards their goal. Making sure that each >foot landed safely on the platform was a small chore, Mike: [muttering] Jay's starting to be a small chore... >intensified by the lack of a hand railing. Crow: Did I miss something, or did we just suddenly switch to "Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade"? > > The Collective watched as the individuals began to cross >the bridge towards the Queen's room. Even at this point, they >were not positive the Queen was in danger. Tom: [Borg] We are the Borg. Danger, Will Robinson. > The Collective put >its plan into action, and two drones disappeared in a green >flash. > Mike: Making two drones disappear - what a clever maneuver! Tom: Manoeuvre. Mike: Whatever. > Kathy's scream echoed throughout the cavity. Whipping >their heads around, they were able to see a drone with its >nanite injectors implanted into Kathy's neck. [More balloons descend from the ceiling.] Tom: [Kathy] Like, don't leave a hickey, Todd - dad'll, like, kill me! > Already blood >arteries were clouding into a greyness, Crow: Y'know, if your "blood arteries" are visible I think you've got other problems. > and soon she would be a >part of the Collective. Tom: That would be a loss...if I could remember who Kathy is. [Pause] Mike: I'm sure she's appeared before. She must've. Crow: Not Ratliff's most memorable creation, I guess. > Another drone beamed in front of Jay, >who was still at the front of the group, and tried the same >tactic. Crow: But Jay screamed like a girl and dove off the platform first. > Jay weaved as much as he could without losing his >balance, and managed to use his rifle as a club. Mike: Coming up, Jay vs. Nitro on American Gladiators! > The drone >hit the hull of the far-away airlock with a barely audible >thud. Crow: I know how he feels. Tom: Say, when are you gonna make another mile-high meringue? Crow: Soon. First I've got a recipe for chocolate-mayonnaise cake I want to try. > Shayna had managed to fire an EMP burst into the drone >that assimilated Kathy, who was still in shock with a dazed >expression on her face. Her mind opened to the Collective >like a book, Crow: A Little Golden Book, actually. > and they saw the plan. Tom: [Shayna] Oh, *good* one, Kathy. > At the other end of the >bridge, drones swarmed onto the plank chasing the invading >Starfleet officers. Crow: [Borg] We are the Borg. Time to walk the plank, matey. Arrh. > Two pieces of titanium alloy emerged from >the top and bottom of the black portal and slowly began to >inch shut. Crow: No! They've only got four hours to get there before it closes! > Jay noticed the action and screamed in defiance. Tom: Maybe he was screaming for NEEEEL! NEEEL!! NEEEEL!! Mike: Probably not. Tom: Or maybe for VAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNCCCCCCCCCCE! Crow: Unlikely. Tom: Or maybe... Mike: Tom, please don't - Tom: For JEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEED! >With a burst of adrenaline, Crow: Speaking of which... Mike: You done? Tom: For now, Mike - for now! > he rushed across the remaining >distance and jumped through the portal. Tom: "Sliders", starring Jay Alan Gordon. > His friends barely >managed to make it after him, with Shayna executing a diving >roll to clear the door before it shut. Crow: This must be some new definition of "slowly inching shut." > Jay and Alex took the >time to use their EMP Rifles to fry the door's circuitry, Crow: Actually, you get a lot less fat if you *bake* the circuitry instead. >while Clara scanned the area. Mike: [Clara] BABYLON...PSYCHIC...SCAN! Crow: Oh, joy. Tom: "Sailor Babylon." Now appearing in finer archives near you! > The drones were not happy at >the thought of being locked out, and began pounding on the >door. Mike: [Borg] We just want to talk to you about HerbalLife! > Taking a survey of the area, it was your standard sized >room with four walls. Crow: As opposed to your non-standard sized room with eleven walls, two floors, five ceilings and a henway. Tom: Are you gonna fall for that? Mike: Nope. It's probably just another 10' x 10' room. Crow: Fine, spoil my little joke - see if I care! >One of them however had been replaced with a viewscreen >looking out at the Enterprise. Mike: Hey, HBO's running "First Contact" again. > Towards the middle of the >room, some sort of structure seemed to grow from the floor. >Immersed in an eerie red light, Tom: The Borg have a red light district? > there seemed to be a figure >inside it. Crow: [hums the music from "Close Encounters"] Mike: It was to be a gift to your President... > Getting closer to the configuration, the jaws of the >hardened Starfleet Officers slackened. They began to >recognise the figure in the centre of the monument. All: ABRAHAM LINCOLN OF BORG?!?!? > It was Marrissa. > Crow: Oh, *her*. [The Text abruptly stops.] Mike: Hey! [A voice calls out from outside the theater.] Voice: What? Mike: What happened to the story? Voice: I stopped it. Crow: I'll regret asking this but, why? Voice: I'm on break. Tom: Well, I guess we should leave then. Crow: [mumbling] Blasted union help... [The trio leaves.] [1. . . 2. . . 3. . . 4. . . 5. . . 6 . . . ]