The BLTS Archive- The Apple
by Blue Champage (rowan-shults@sbcglobal.net)
and Liz Griffin

---

Hi. Blue Champagne and LizGriffin here. This story was created in six
wild-eyed, brain-fevered hours, and despite the title, is not a rehash
of that old TOS, bad-hair-having, David-Soul-featuring,
body-paint-by-fire-extiguisher, big-rock-eating-snake-head,
overdone-plot-idea, blatantly-prime-directive-ignoring excuse for a
lousy episode of what's supposed to be one of the best shows ever on
TV. This is a Voyager spoof. We tell you this because we ourselves,
earlier in our careers, wrote stuff that was even worse than this, and
called it serious fanfic. We just want you to know that we intended to
bite the big one and make fun, here--primarily of ourselves.

Feed back--and some of you will, don't deny it.

AS IF anyone cares, we don't own these characters, except the ones we
obviously made up, but we don't own Starfleet or Trek or anything.
Paramount does. Yahoo and let's get on with it.

Dedications: First, to Helmboy, for inspiring us to the point that we
laughed so hard our brains leaked mostly out, which explains a lot of
this story.

Also to:

Kate "Damn it, Garret, I don't sound ANYTHING like that" Mulgrew;

Tim "Tim, you're a Dead Man" Russ;

Garret "She'll kill me. Kate's gonna kill me" Wang;

Ethan "Hedgehog" Phillips;

Robert "We have a saying in myMMMPH!" Beltran;

Roxanne "God let me dump this payload soon" Dawson;

John "So, dinner at my place after the last shoot of the episode,
Kate? You bring the wine" DeLancie;

Robert Duncan "It is NOT a hairpiece!" MacNeil;

Jennifer "Damn it, put me *down*!" Lien;

Jeri "Thanks, grew 'em myself" Ryan;

Robert "If I were any more supercilious I'd be Neelix" Picardo;

And to the guy who plays Vorik, whoever he may be; we love you, man.

Oh, and another thing. To you Neelix fans: We apologize for one of the
story's primary plot developments, but B.C. blurted the line and it
refused to die. Liz had a much more mature idea.

---

Suddenly, Neelix exploded.

Janeway blinked. "Well," she said, staring at her
now-even-less-appetizing tray. She looked over at Chakotay. "Damage
control."

"Why me?" He dropped his tray in revulsion.

"I don't mean the, um, remains, I mean think of something to tell the
crew. Tell them he died in a tragic and bizarre accident involving a
potato peeler."

"The...remains?"

"What would you rather I called this carnage, the dear departed?"

"But don't we want to find out why he blew up?"

"The universe has offered us a second chance, Chakotay. Time to make
the call and I'm making it. Let's just be grateful." She took his arm
as they left the mess hall, trying to avoid stepping on stray Talaxian
organs. Janeway stopped briefly and called B'Elanna to come collect
the "remains", her being one of the few people on board who could
handle the job. Fortunately, the Captain and Chakotay were the only
ones in the mess hall. As contiguous units, at least.

"You know," Chakotay began, "we have a saying in my tribe--"

Janeway rolled her eyes.

"Once upon a time," Chakotay said, and B'Elanna, coming up the hall
the otherway, punched him in the head.

"Thank you, B'Elanna," Janeway nodded, patting the half-Klingon's ass
and stepping into the turbolift. The Commander staggered in after her.

Janeway stepped out onto the bridge. "Tuvok? Report." She headed for
her chair, Chakotay stumbling along in her wake.

"While you and Rollo the Dancing Bear were at lunch, Captain, we
detected an explosion in the mess hall. Are you all right?" He eyed
Chakotay.

"We're fine."

"Captain," said Seven, stepping onto the bridge with two black eyes,
"I have completed making the adjustments to the circuitry in the
variable-gravity gymnasium."

"None too soon, it looks like."

"And I believe I have an explanation for the sudden combustion of
Mister Neelix."

"Yeeees?"

"While I was completing my assigned task at the mess hall replicators
this morning, I realized I had inadvertantly handed Mister Neelix a
kitchen implement which was exposed to some of my Borg nanoprobes when
I cut my hand; evidently, rather than assimilate Mister Neelix, they
committed mass suicide."

Janeway looked at Chakotay. In unison, they said firmly "Potato
peeler."

"I'll inform the crew," Janeway said briskly, taking her seat. "I
always enjoy giving good news. All hands, this is the Captain.
Sadly--"

Everybody looked at her.

"--we have lost Mister Neelix--"

"--after so many INTERMINABLE yearmmmgh," Harry muttered from under
the conn as Tom shoved Harry's head back down.

"--to a mysterious accident believed to be related to the misuse of a
kitchen implement." She muttered inaudibly "Let 'em wonder at that
one." Raising her voice again, she continued, in a burst of
inspiration, "A combination memorial service and barbecue will be held
on holodeck two at nineteen hundred hours. Attendance is compulsory
for those not on duty at that time. For those on duty, we will be
providing take-out service. That is all."

"You know," said Chakotay, "we have a--"

Janeway casually backhanded him with her coffee cup. "Tom? Conn
report."

"Oh *God*," Tom panted with difficulty.

"Harry," Janeway asided, tilting her head to peer under the conn, "let
go for a moment."

"Oh. Sorry, Captain."

"Shit, Captain, don't DO that!" Tom whined.

She repeated "I need a conn report, Mister. The sooner I get it the
sooner Harry can return to--" she delicately cleared her throat,
"--operations. I realize we can't stop you two for long, it would
annoy the P/K fans too much. Bad for morale."

"Hey," Chakotay complained, "what about the J/C--"

Janeway backhanded him less casually this time, her gaze still focused
on Paris, whose color was slowly returning to normal. "Continue,
Mister Paris."

"Uhhhm," Tom began, reminding Janeway strangely of a snaggletoothed
Ferengi, "we're, uh, on course for the Alpha quadrant. What the hell
did you think?"

Tuvok, with a vicious overhand twist and snap, rifled his type-two
phaser at the back of Tom's head, where it rebounded like a rubber
ball from the hairpiece before coming to rest at Janeway's feet. She
picked it up and tossed it back to Tuvok, waited for the gonging sound
effect emanating from Paris's head to quiet, and said "Thank you,
Tuvok. The reason I ask, Mister Paris, is because last time we were up
here you were flying us in circles. Hazards that go with keeping the
P/K fans happy, I suppose."

"No shit," came the voice of the nameless Ensign at the science
station to her right. "Orbiting that fast makes me hurl."

Janeway favored her with the Icy Stare. "Mister Tuvok, this person is
being tranferred to your section. Give her an ugly mustard-orange
uniform and station her by that console that blows up whenever anyone
breaks wind."

"Aye, Captain."

"No!" screamed the Ensign, as Tuvok dragged her off the bridge by her
bad wig.

"Don't know what I'd do without him," Janeway said, raising her coffee
cup to him in satisfaction. "Here's to Vulcan stability." She glanced
over her shoulder, then took a sip of coffee. "And a good Vulcan grip.
Mister Kim, you may resume."

"Thanks, Captain. He gets so pissy every time we get interrupted. For
breath, even."

Chakotay, apparently feeling he was missing out on something he had a
right to, opened his mouth and inhaled to speak, looking cross.
Without glancing toward him, Janeway reached down to the phaser
atattched to her chair and turned the setting up to "Slow Broil."
"Yes, Commander?"

A small noise came out of his chest, but he said nothing else.

"I didn't think so," she muttered, returning the phaser to its former
position. "Mister Kim, what is our ETA for the Umpqua homeworld?"

A hand emerged from beneath the conn, bearing a padd. She took a look
at it and said "Ah, right on schedule."

"Vorik to bridge," came a lethargic voice over the comm.

"Janeway here. Mr. Vorik, why are you calling the bridge?"

"I've been given to understand that I have an important gag line later
in the story, and I was requested to establish my presence."

Janeway thought a moment. The P/Kers? The J/Cers? The P/Ters? Who was
it this time? "Who made this request, Mr. Vorik?"

"The BVDs, captain."

"The WHO?"

"B'Elanna/Vorik/Doctor. I understand they're a rather small group."

"I can only imagine," Janeway muttered, "and I wish I couldn't. Tuvok?
Trace that transmission to its source."

Tuvok abruptly materialized at his console. "Yes, Captain."

"Oops. Sorry, Tuvok."

"Think nothing of it, Captain. If that is the worst thing to befall me
during this story, I will be better off than most of you. The
transmission originates in sickbay. Specifically, over the EMH
channel."

"Oh, good Lord," Janeway sighed. "The doctor's been making additions
to his program again. Bridge to Torres."

"Torres here, Captain. Business or personal?"

"Um, both. Please go to sickbay and inform the doctor that as far as
I'm concerned, he can have Vorik, he can have your brain, he can even, 
on occasion, have the use of your hands--but your ass is mine. Got 
that?"

A low growl purred from the comm speakers.

"Later," Janeway whispered voluably.

"YES!" Tom screamed.

"We would appear to have our Ops officer back," Janeway noted with
satisfaction.

Clearing his throat, Harry finished crawling out from under Tom and
got to his feet. "Ready for duty, Captain," he rasped, hands crossed
firmly amidships. He hurried updeck and behind his console, but not
before Janeway managed to procure a serious eyeful. She rose from her
chair and smoothly followed him up, then leaned over his board with a
hand on his shoulder.

"Satisfactory?" she whispered conspiratorially into his ear.

"Not exactly, ma'am," Harry answered her, blushing furiously.

Janeway raised her eyebrows. "Ah. Crunch time?"

"Definitely."

"You are relieved. Report to the astrometrics lab on the double. 38 of
D--I mean, Seven of Nine--accompany him, please."

As the two raced to the turbolift, Chakotay looked up at Janeway. "In
my tribe--"

Janeway shot him the Death Glare and he collapsed unconscious. A
stagehand ran out with a can of Nestle's Streaks and Tips Iron Grey,
applied some more to Chakotay's head, and scurried away again.

"Nice shooting, Captain," Tuvok nodded with approval.

"Thank you. It means a lot coming from you."

"Captain!" Tom shouted with sudden urgency.

"Oh, Tom, again already with that?" Janeway groused, regaining her
seat.
"We can't be under attack by the J/P fans, too?"

"No, no. I mean, there's an Umpqua ship hailing us. They're probably
here to escort us."

"We'll hope so. Answer the hail, nameless Ensign who took over Harry's
position. Sorry I forgot to mention you."

"It's okay. Nobody ever does on the show anyway. Answering the hail,
Captain."

A misbegotten blend of a Tac-Tac and an apparently gouty Hirogen
appeared on the screen. The creature nodded benignly to her as she
surruptitiously shoved Chakotay out of pickup range onto the floor. It
began, "My people have a saying--"

The entire bridge crew, with the exception of Chakotay, erupted into
panicked screams, covering their ears and trying to drown the voice
out. Janeway leaped to her feet and strode to the rail behind Tom,
eyes gleaming with the Feral Look. "Tuvok!" she shouted, ramming her
hands down onto her hips and planting both feet firmly, "screw their
weapons and sheilds! Target their bridge and throw everything we've
got at them!"

From behind her, a rubber chicken, followed by an anatomically correct
inflatable sheep, sailed past and bounced off the viewscreen. Tom said
"Hey! Where'd Tuvok get his hands on one of those?"

Janeway, uninterested in which object Tom was referring to, yelled
"Well all right, everything ELSE, damn it! And stuff the entire leola
root supply into a tube ahead of a torpedo!"

"At once, Captain!"

Janeway observed as the alien ship erupted into a cloud of latex head
appliances and leola root. "Go back to hell," she hissed dramatically,
"fable-prating, terra-cotta-toothed, no-life-having, leola-eating,
baboon-assed excuse for a bad plot device!"

There was a flash of light and a cheap sound effect in the front of
the bridge. A tall, petulant-mouthed, bitchy-looking alien appeared
before the viewscreen.

"Q," Janeway groaned, "Jesus H. Christ on the old rugged butt
plug."

"Not quite. Feeling especially articulate today, Madame Captain?"

"What do you want this time? Once and for all, I am NOT going to bear
your half-Queeg, purple-lipsticked, schmancy-pancy,
love-me-love-my-aetheric-dog transporter-accident brats. Get used to
it. Dinner after the shoot, and that's it. And this time we bring your
wife."

B'Elanna appeared at a snap from Q's fingers, looking dazed. "But you
*will* with this Klingon slut?" Q said in wonder.

"Hey!" B'Elanna protested.

"It's the ridges," Q accused Janeway, "isn't it? Because if it
is--" his head instantly swelled to the size of William Shatner's,
"MINE are BIGGER!"

"Cut it out, Q. You look utterly ridiculous," Janeway complained in
disgust. "And send B'Elanna back to Engineering. Unlike you, she
serves a purpose here."

"I'll just BET," Tom grumbled from the conn. Just once, he'd wanted to
knock boots with his dad's aide, just to be able to say it to him, but
no...

"Shut up, flyboy," B'Elanna snarled, yanking off his
hairpiece--drawing a scream from Paris and blood from his scalp in the
process--and drop-kicking it across the bridge; it ricocheted until it
hit Chakotay's face and was intercepted by the alert nameless Ensign,
who undertook to subdue it, stomping repeatedly on it--and
incidentally on Chakotay's inconstant tattoo.

Q went to Tom. "What's it like, Tommy boy, letting them staple that
kitchen tuffy to your head every morning in makeup?"

"Yours is just as bad!"

"Is not."

"Is too!"

"Damn if I'm letting those barbarians near MY head again," Janeway
muttered. "I look like an old bat soccer mom lately. Next I'll be in
command of a late-model Plymouth Voyager minivan. A beige one." Her
eyes began to reclaim the Feral Look. "If I could get Berman alone for
just two minutes..."

"Berman!" B'Elanna yelled. "What about Jeri frigging Taylor? What
about--"

Janeway stepped next to her, patting her ass again. "Later," she
whispered insistently.

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry. We've got a Q problem at the moment."

"Not for long," Kes smiled, appearing on the other side of the bridge.

"KES!" everybody yelled, and Janeway's formidible jaw dropped.

"Didn't you mutate into a higher life form or something?" Tom stared.

"Yeah. Right. Whatever," Kes muttered, yanking a shuttlecraft nacelle
out of her elaborate hairdo. "Do you have any idea how long I've been
picking bits of that damn shuttle out of my ass?"

"Too long, I'd wager," Janeway said in sympathy. Her last holodeck
experience with B'Elanna had taught her a few things.

"And just WHO would YOU be?" Q wondered airily. "I DON'T recognize you
from the continuum."

"I'm not a Q, for which the universe--and Tuvok--sing hymns of
thanksgiving every Sunday."

"They are not 'hymns'," Tuvok muttered. "They are meditative
chants."

"You forget, Tuvok, I've grown a little, here. Now I know what was
going on in your head during all those 'telepathy instruction'
sessions. And what went on after I left."

Tuvok blanched.

"Don't worry," Kes said with a beatific smile. "I never get offended
by anything, remember? Not even the Doctor."

"Very true," Tuvok nodded, "which is a remarkable feat."

Q stamped his foot, opened his mouth, and appeared at a loss.
Everybody waited.

Janeway raised knowing eyebrows at him. "Well, John?"

"Damn it, Kate, you know I can't remember a line longer than six
minutes!"

Janeway sighed. "Line, please!"

From out of the shot, a woman's voice called "No one is paying any
attention to me."

"No one is paying any attention to MEEEE!" Q instantly whined. "Do you
want me turning you all into a christmas tree ornament again?"

"Too late. Hallmark," Paris told him.

"I'll pay attention to you, Q," Kes said, smiling sweetly. "Just hold
still..."

"Wait a minute," Q began suspiciously, but he disappeared before he
could get any more of the sentence out.

"He'll just come back, Kes," B'Elanna sighed.

"No he won't," Kes said with a wink. "Not if you do that *right*."

"My lord, you've grown powerful enough to kill a Q?"

"Oh, I didn't kill him. I'm always nice. Except in certain cases."

Brief segue to the original Enterprise, where Q has arrived with a bad
haircut and worse clothes. He is in a red shirt and has no rank
insignia. "Shit," he mutters, "I'd better stay the hell out of the
landing parties." At this point, William Shatner walks by, adjusting
his girdle, with several crew members who have braid on their sleeves
and actual names. "You," he gestured to Q imperiously. "Join us. On.
The planet's. Surface."

"Oh SHIT! KES, you little bottle-blond bitch!"

Kes's disembodied voice is heard in a cheesy echo-chamber effect.
"It's a wig like everyone else's, you moron." 
{moronmoronmoronmoron.....}

"Can't tell me," Q grumbled, stomping down some very expensive
sections of corridor toward the transporter room that seemed to exist
in a spacetime that allowed its presence wherever it was cheapest,
"that that stuff they glue all over the front of Tim Russ's head is a
WIG. The man looks like a burnt Q-tip."

Back on the bridge of Voyager, Janeway was hauling determinedly on a
tactical console that was lodged in Kes's now-ample cleavage--she was
wearing, for some reason, a shiny blue dress with shoulder pads, a
full skirt, and leggings over her boots.

"Here," Janway grunted, bracing one boot against Kes's hip and lunging
backwards, "grab hold of Chakotay. Nothing'll move him." Kes laid hold
of the unconscious first officer, who'd been stomped into fresh
unconsciousness by the efforts of the toupee-subduing unnamed Ensign.
With a feirce tug, the console came free and fell to
the floor in a shower of spare parts.

"Oh, thank you, Captain," Kes sighed with relief. "That thing was
getting pretty damned uncomfortable."

Janeway smiled fondly at her. "I haven't heard that since your last
visit to my quarters."

Behind them, B'Elanna growled.

Janeway spun. "LATER, damn it!" she hissed. "And don't put a paw on
Kes. You remember the whole thing with my frustrated maternal streak,
don't you? Nobody lays a hand on her. Or on Seven. Or Harry."

"Christ," muttered Tom. "Whoever she isn't mothering, she's
boffing."

Janeway stared down at him. "I don't recall doing either one with
*you*, Mister Paris."

Knowing full well Chakotay had called him Janeway's personal
reclamation project once, Tom whispered "Bitch," and curled into a
spineless pussy-whipped jellyfish.

B'Elanna leaned down over him to whisper "You *do* know the difference
between a bitch and a slut, don't you?"

Janeway covered Kes's ears. "I said LATER!"

CUT TO

The barbecue (or: Well, Almost Anything) where Neelix's various
remaining organs are piled around a centerpiece, with an apple stuffed
in the head. Or the ass. It was hard to tell.

"Will you do the honors, Captain?" B'Elanna said, handing Janeway a
big,
ugly, scarey-looking, double-bladed, four-on-the-floor, dual Holley
carbs, small-block 400 Klingon knife. She was salivating.

"I SAID save it for later, B'Elanna," Janeway whispered again, taking
the knife and turning to the table. At the sight of the apple, she
turned back to B'Elanna. "I think I'll leave this one to Seven."

The ex-Borg, tugging her catsuit back down out of her ass and
adjusting her implants for continuity, stepped up to the table and
took the knife. She raised it high overhead, where it gleamed in the
light from the tiki-torches as the music from Psycho started playing
over the comm, and plunged it downward. A huge cheer went up. She
began to carve. (Don't worry. We aren't going much farther with this.)

Janeway took a filled plate to Chakotay with a gleam in her eye
reserved just for him. "Have some, Commander?"

He turned a deep flourescent green. "Vegetarian," he managed to gag.

She brought another plate from behind her back. "I remember," she
smiled. "I saved you the apple."

Chakotay fainted dead away with a palpable thud. B'Elanna walked up
grinning. "Bet his damn tribe ain't got no damn story for THAT," she
laughed. Janeway grinned back at her.

"Hey. LATER!"

"It IS later. What am I gonna, have to wait forever?"

"Just maybe, with that attitude."

B'Elanna growled. "It's not Kes, is it?"

"Don't be gauche, B'Elanna. She's my surrogate child."

"Yeah. Right. Whatever." B'Elanna copped a quick but substantial feel.
Janeway dropped both plates.

"Well," Janeway reconsidered, "it wouldn't be the first decision I've
reversed as Captain..." they lunged behind the bushes and disappeared.

Bump.

"OW!"

"What?"

"It's the ridges."

"You like them, remember?"

"Yeah. Right. Whatever."

GLOM

"Mmm...."

"OH yeah..."

Unspecified and undifferentiated sounds of the horizontal boogie for
about twenty minutes...

"TWENTY MINUTES? She's NEVER lasted twenty minutes!"

(Sorry. Make it ten.)

"Well, thanks. Sheesh."

(Five?)

"WHHOOOOOAAA GODDDD!"

(Okay. One.)

As if on cue, Vorik suddenly materialized in the bushes with them.

"You are MY mate! MINE! Not hers!"

(Note: Superfluous plug for author's other fanfic follows)

"Janeway to sickbay. Doctor, fill a hypo with whatever B.C. was going
to have Julian shoot Miles full of in "There Are Always Alternatives"
and bring it to holodeck two."

(Thank you. We now return you to our regularly scheduled spoof.)

Vorik considered. "Hm. My tuckas would appear to be topsoil."

(rim shot) Vorik dematerializes

B'Elanna and Janeway rolled over several times, locked in a fierce
embrace, and accidentally squashed Paris and Kim, who had hit the
bushes almost as soon as they walked in.

"Ouch! Damn it!"

"Oops. Sorry, Starfleet, but really, you shouldn't let him be on top
so often."

"Schist, Captain--!"

"Good Lord, Mister Paris, get that thing OUT of there!"

"I'm trying! I'm trying! B'Elanna, grab my free hand, will you?"

"Okay--PULL!"

"*Don't* yell *that* in the holodeck or we'll all be in the air like a
giant naked clay pigeon! There. Ooh, that smarted," Harry muttered.

"Can I kiss it better?"

"CAPTAIN!" This from several throats.

"Sorry. I got carried away. My frustrated maternal instincts again.
Um, there seems to be a free spot up that tree, B'Elanna...we'll see
you boys later."

"You just bet you will," Tom growled. "Those P/K fans are
insatiable."

"Not to mention the J/Ps," muttered Kathryn. "You know," she
continued as they ascended, "there are more people in these bushes
than there are...bushes. If you follow me."

"I'm trying to. Move your foot."

"Oh hell--Krycek and Mulder are in the best crotch branch up here.
Will you two get the hell off my ship? You've got your own venues, you
know."

Both men quickly descended the tree and scurried away, Mulder whining
"Scully keeps walking in on us with a Polaroid!"

"Tell it to someone who cares, you shot-up, neurotic, UFO-seeing,
no-life-having, weird-butt, gun-and-cellphone-losing,
basement-dwelling, bad-Armani-suit-wearing, Ratboy-screwing excuse for
a bad FBI agent! Come here, B'Elanna."

"Aye, Captain--I love it when you're forceful."

Over by the lakeside, Kes was eyeing Tuvok, since neither of them
would go near the table on the patio.

Tuvok eyed her in return. "Kes...I was under the impression you would
have transcended such things by this stage in your evolution."

"Yeah. Right. Whatever." She pulled a stray bulkhead out from under
her skirt and, flipping it into the lake, said "You know, we DO have
our own fanfic following..."

"I was made aware of this development, yes," he sighed in resignation.

"Which means..."

Tuvok forwent comment, picked Kes up and headed for the bushes. Kes's
voice floated behind them in the night air. "Well, we do have to keep
the customer satisfied, you know..."

"Kes--"

"Yes?"

"There is something I've always wanted to tell you."

"What is it, Tuvok?"

They hit the loam; he fell on top of her. Her eyes bugged to the size
of blue grapefruits. "About those telepathy training sessions..."
Tuvok continued significantly.

"Yes?" Kes asked, managing to sound even more sultry than usual,
shrinking her eyeballs back into her head with an act of sheer will.

"We had no time to reach the...more esoteric material in the
curriculum." He initiated the telepathic bond with both hands. Kes's
freshly-shrunk eyes rolled back in her head. She froze, then groaned.
"OH my GOD, Tuvok, that's FANTASTIC..."

From overhead came Seven's voice. "Hm. Resistance, it appears, is
futile even for you, Kes. Hello, Doctor."

"Doctor!" Kes twisted out from under Tuvok and jumped to her feet. Her
wig hit a branch and a replicator mechanism fell out. She tugged the
wig loose.

Tuvok rolled up on one elbow and gave her his famous one-eyebrow droll
look. "This WAS your idea, I believe, Kes."

"Tuvok, go back to being imperturbable. Um, hello, Doctor, long time
no see." Kes was frantically straightening her dress; a small control
panel slipped down her legging and out over her boot.

"Kes. I am pleased to see you, even..." he glanced down at the
glowering Tuvok, "...under such unprofessional circumstances. I was 
called herewith a hypospray full of saltpeter. Can you direct me to 
the individual for whom the captain intended it?"

"Um. I sort of dematerialized him. He's back in Engineering. He only
had the one line we needed him for, and he delivered it. No problem
now."

"I see. Once again, I am disturbed from my researches for frivolous
excuses. Kes, would you accompany me to sickbay? I could use your help
catching up."

"I can do that from here now, Doctor, but sure. Old home week. Later,
Tuvok." She leaned down to pat the Vulcan's nicely rounded ass and
linked arms with the doctor, proceeding up the beach and out the arch
with him.

CUT TO

The bridge. (Or: Heaven and Hell; Day 1,458.) Everyone who's up is
walking a little strangely. Kes is sitting in Janeway's lap having her
hair brushed. Bits of shuttle insulation are raining to the floor
around the command chair.)

(B.C.'s note: this is the last time we will use this running Chakotay
gag)

(Liz's note: don't count on it, babe)

Chakotay observed the steady fall of debris from Kes's big blonde wig
and began "You know, in my--"

Janeway pulled the other nacelle from Kes's sleeve and whacked him a
good one across the face with it. "Thank you, dear."

"Don't mention it, Captain."

The turbolift doors open suddenly to reveal Miles O'Brien and Julian
Bashir making out like frantic weasels. Their uniforms are shredded in
places, revealing foam padding around the shoulders.

(All right, hold it. B.C., you're out of control. Go take a cold
shower and grab that hypo you were talking about.)

(Am not.)

(Are too. Like *weasels*? Damn, B.C., who the hell uses that
expression besides you?)

(Keiko. "The Eighth Alternative". Nyah. And besides, what about *your*
ending line in, what was it--"Assumptions" or "Respect"? "They were
both inexcusably late for duty the next morning." Gag! Like Kathryn 
Janeway could ever be late for duty! And what is it with you and these
one-word titles?)

Lost a bet. Shut up.)

Tom Paris looked up, overhead, at the preceeding lines of print. "Who
the hell are they?"

(We're the authors. Don't piss us off.)

He smirked. "Or you'll do what?"

Suddenly, the conn console exploded, thoroughly erasing the
supposedly-godlike-in-its-beauty face of Thomas Eugene Paris.

"Ooh. I see their point," Janeway said, uncovering Kes's head, which
she was protecting with both arms. "Can we have Tom back now? Or at
least the conn console. We'll need it."

(Let us think about it. Fly the ship from tactical.)

Janeway looked over her shoulder at the wide-eyed Tuvok, who was
backpedaling away from his station. "Can we *do* that?" she asked him.

(Kath, this is fanfic. We can do anything.)

"I'll, um, keep that in mind. Now, about my relationship with
B'Elanna--the off-hours part, I mean--"

(B.C. dives for the underbrush That's not my department. I do
on-droning and eventually batshit-boring but halfway accurate science.
Talk to Liz. She does the blatant sex.)

(Now wait just a damn minute--I seem to recall a certain scene between
Miles, Julian AND Keiko that went on for--)

(At least it wasn't three days, like yours. Nyah again.)

(YOU couldn't HANDLE three days worth of Kathryn Janeway. We won't
even talk about B'Elanna.)

(I'M out of control? What the hell happened to the story? We've got
some nervous characters, here. I don't like to torture mine like you
do.)

(OOOOHHHHH no no no no no...who kept blowing Bashir's narrow ass
up--what, three times in one story?)

(He caused three explosions, but HE only bought it once. But we
digress...)

(Yeah. Right. Whatever. Back to the story, damn it.)

(Right.)

(long silence)

(Now what?)

(I was about to ask you that.)

(Well, when all else fails...ask the characters. Um, wait a
minute--B.C., I think Miles and Julian are still making out in the
turbolift.)

(B.C. emerges from the underbrush> My God, are they ever. Hey! You
two! Cool it and get back to your own series. I've written you two of
the damn things.)

Julian pulled his lips off Miles and complained in a pronounced
London/greater LA area accent "But you only let us do this more than
once in *one* of them so far. The other's an angst piece."

(Liz smirks)

(B.C. throws her hands in the air> Will you two just shut up and
go? We've gotta get back in control of this thing! And I've got a hypo
neither of you wants to know about, remember?)

Both men's hands slammed against the door control, and the turbolift
doors closed over Miles and Julian's frustrated countenances.

('Countenances'? B.C...)

(Lost a bet. Shut up.)

Kathryn sighed "Well. I'm glad *that's* over with. I can't stand those
two. I wish they'd just fall off another sofa and....never mind. Now,
ladies, about those suggestions from the characters...?"

(Liz crosses her arms and leans against the bulkhead> I'm
listening.)

(Liz, stop impersonating her. You're making me sick.)

Kathryn set Kes down on Chakotay and stood up. "Ladies. Please."

(I make *you* sick? Who can't shut up about someone in a
silver-and-white tennis outfit?)

(Shut UP! Just SHUT UP, LIZ! KATHRYN! TELL US! QUICK!)

(You can't make me shut up. I'm writing Kath's lines.)

(B.C. slumps in defeat. Shit.)

(Liz smirks again. But you can have Chakotay! And B'Elanna!)

(I only want KES, damn it!)

Kes's brows drew together. "Want me for what?"

Kathryn sighed. "Kes, Kes, Kes...you don't want to know. Trust me.
It's just that...she's warm for your form."

(Kathryn WOULD NOT SAY THAT!)

Kathryn lowered her hand. "All right. That's it. This is hell. I am in
hell."

(B.C! That's a line from one of MY stories! And what are you doing
writing Kath's lines?)

(I'm desperate, all right?)

(Liz makes no comment)

(We've gotta get back on track.)

(Right. We're two responsible adults--)

Kathryn's voice dropped to a dangerously low register. "I. Said. Shut.
UP."

a sudden chill drops over the room

(uuuuhhhhmmm...B.C.?)

(...yeah?)

(Are *you* writing this?)

(...no...)

(long silence)

"Does this mean I have my ship back?" Kathryn demanded. Quietly. Too
quietly.

(dead silence)

"Now, I want the conn first, then Tom. *Now*."

(frightened silence)

Kes sighed. "We're gonna be here all day." With an obscene gesture at
the authors, picked up from Quinn, whom she had resurrected last week,
Kes waved her arm and the conn reassembled itself. Then Paris did.

"I feel...SO bad..."

Suddenly, the ship rocked and all the red alert signals started
flashing, sirens whooping, and general doomsday-atmosphere commencing.

"Thank GOD," Kathryn groaned, collapsing to the command chair,
unfortunately on top of Kes, who hadn't stayed on Chakotay for longer
than it took to leap back off.

"Ow!"

"Sorry, dear, here. There now. All right--Tom, who's shooting at us?
On screen!"

The screen came up blue.

"NOW what!" Kathryn raged.

(We're still working on the attacking aliens. Hold on.)

"No! I demand my viewscreen, damn it! Get that blue scrim off!"

Paris argued with his console, and the screen bloomed with blackness,
stars and the terrifying visage of Howdy Doody, with a fake pistol in
each hand.

Kathryn went elegantly apoplectic. "GET ME a REAL alien ship, dammit,
or I'll never say another word to either of you!"

(Sorry. You rushed us.)

"Liz. If you EVER want to see me naked again--"

Suddenly, the giant puppet metamorphosed into a fleet of Umpqua ships.

"Oh lord spare us. Not them again."

"I'm afraid so, Captain," Paris sighed. He was still smarting from
getting blown to bits.

Harry looked up alertly from Ops. "Can I kiss it and make it better,
Tom?"

"Harry! Not while we're under attack!"

"Oops. Sorry."

"Yeah. Right. Whatever."

"At least we know what their problem probably is," Janeway muttered.
"They'd almost certainly want to know what happened to the escort ship
they sent us."

"Judging by the looks of things," Paris opined as the ship rocked
again, "I'd say they already know. There's still some leola root 
floating around this region of space."

Chakotay sat up groggily, clutching his face. "Um...Captain?"

"No sayings, Chakotay."

"No, I just wanna know what the hell kind of thrill these two sick
bitches get pounding the crap out of me."

"The same one I'm getting, I would imagine. Kes, smite him one for me,
would you, dear?"

"No! I'll shut up!"

"That's an acceptable compromise."

"Captain," Harry choked out from behind Ops, "we're being hailed."

"Put them onscreen, Harry--but leave the sound down."

"Right, Captain."

A glowering Umpquan captain appeared on the screen, got one look at
Kes, widened his eyes, wet his pants, and ceased transmission. All the
Umpquan ships began a bold and strategic retreat.

"Damn it," B'Elanna muttered from the engineering station. "I was
looking forward to watching Kathryn take off her shirt and run around
the ship all buff and sweaty."

"Later," Kathryn sighed in a long-suffering fashion. "Kes? What did
you do to the Umpqua?"

"I sent them that other Q. You know, the big redhead who married Worf
and got killed by Duras. She also did Selar. I mean, she *played*
Selar. I also sent them a little collection of commander Chakotay's
stories, with my personal promise that if they met up with me, on this
ship, they'd get to hear more."

"Fine work, Kes."

Chakotay nodded. "My people would say MMMPH!" Both his hands flew
involuntarily to his mouth at a tiny gesture from Kes. Janeway looked
back at Tuvok. "Commander Tuvok? I'm quite tired of this. If he does
it again..."

"Can I smite him? Can I can I?" Kes breathed in high excitement,
bouncing in Janeway's lap.

"Shall I have him flogged as well?" Tuvok wondered idly.

"LATER! Oop, sorry. Reflex." Janeway turned back to the screen. "Mr.
Paris, get us back on course for the Alpha Quadrant."

"Aye, Captain. Oh, wait a second. I haven't even been near Harry this
whole scene."

Janeway nodded briskly. "Right you are, Mister Paris. Harry?"

"Right away, Captain!" Harry bounded down toward the conn. And
down...well, just down.

---

The End