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Man of Wood
by Odon
It was one of those lucid dreams where you knew you were dreaming. Chakotay was sliding an anachronistic shaving tool across his chin, scraping and scraping to no avail. It was as if his face had been carved from a solid block of wood.
Steam fogged the mirror so he reached up to clear it. On the opposite side of the glass a huge green finger followed the path of his hand, wiping away the condensation. Chakotay stared in horror at what was revealed: a hulkish, green-skinned Captain Janeway, glaring at him like an Orion slave girl on steroids. Before he could react, before he could even scream a massive green fist smashed through the glass, seizing Chakotay by the throat.
"PUNY HUMAN!" bellowed Janeway. "WHERE'S MY COFFEE?"
"ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHH!"
Chakotay snapped out of his trance, the cry of terror fading in his throat. He sat cross-legged on the floor of his quarters, the lights dimmed to half power. Laid out before him was his medicine bundle — a collection of objects that defined his being. The stone that symbolised his stony features. A blackbird's wing to represent his career, which had plummeted like a bird with its wing ripped off. Most important was the akoonah, a device that simulated the effects of the psychoactive herbs used by his ancestors in their vision quests (they'd been forced to halt such practices during the ancient conflict known as The War on Drugs).
"A-koo-chee-moya," intoned Chakotay. "I pray on this day of memories to speak to my father, the one whom the wind called Kolopak."
"Chakoootaaaay," came a faint whisper, carried on the subtle currents of the environmental system.
"Father? Is that you?"
"Chakotay...my son...long ago your ancestors hunted the beasts and honoured the Sky Spirits. The blood of countless warriors flows through your veins. And now those ancestors have a question for you."
"What is their question, Father?"
"Why do you let yourself be bossed about by that pale-face woman?"
Chakotay's immobile features became even stiffer than usual. His face went so red it blotched out his tattoo.
"WHAT?"
"You heard me, Son. Where once strode the mighty bear, now squats a sad-eyed lapdog."
"Father, we're stuck on a starship 70,000 light years from Earth! I can't act like a rebellious Maquis commander just to maintain some Trekkie's idea of continuity. There's only room for one captain on Voyager, and that's Janeway!"
"I remember when *you* were captain of a starship, but that bitch made you fly it into a Kazon cruiser. Why haven't you scalped Janeway for this perfidy?"
Chakotay rolled his eyes. "Father, we're in the 24th century. We don't go round scalping people!"
"Then how do you explain Captain Picard?"
"Picard's head was shaved by Romulans to create an evil clone (it was a good thing they could only find one hair!)"
"What about Captain Sisko then?"
"The Bajorans declared that Sisko's head was a sacred Orb of the Prophets. He was required to respect their cultural values."
"Captain Kirk?"
"Kirk lost his hair to the Phalacrosians on Alopecia IV. Many redshirts were shorn on that day..."
A crash of thunder a trillion miles from the nearest weather system shook the room. "DON'T TRY SLIDING OUT OF THIS, YOU POKER-FACED PUNK! I've seen totem poles with more expressions than you! Where is your warrior's rage, your manly spirit?"
"Where's your corporeal body, Dad? I didn't listen to you while you were alive, why should I now you're dead? Did you ever listen to *your* father?"
"That's not fair, Son. You know perfectly well your grandad was a fruitcake."
"Well, give my regards to the Rubber Band People..."
"That's Rubber Tree People, you insolent pup!"
Chakotay grabbed the akoonah.
"Son, don't you dare get stoned when I'm talking to you!"
He activated the device and the bulkheads of reality shook like Seven's breasts in an ion storm...
Chakotay was in Sickbay, squinting into the glare off the Doctor's head. Had the Phalacrosians scalped him too?
"There's nothing more I can do, Commander," said the hologram. "The alien virus has changed all the DNA in your face into wood fibre."
"This can't be happening," muttered Chakotay. "I'm having another lucid dream. I know I'm dreaming because I can see the moon." For Seven of Nine was bent over in front of him, presenting an excellent view of her buttocks. It wasn't just his face that was becoming stiff.
"Seven, what *are* you doing?" asked the Doctor.
"Providing another light source," said the tight-buttocked Borg. "Lieutenant Torres has stated on numerous occasions that the sun shines out of my ass."
"Err, I see. Anyway Commander, you'll find there are unfortunate side-effects of having a wooden face. You'll find it difficult to form words, so try keeping your dialogue short. Stick to 'Yes, Captain' and 'Shields down to 20%', things like that." The Doctor twirled a pencil in his hand. "On the bright side, I've been practicing my sketching. Do you want me to redo your tattoo, or just write 'Keep Off The Head'?"
"This is outrageous!" cried Chakotay, as he struggled to form an expression. "They can't do this to me! I'm not Ensign Nondescript; I walk in the footsteps of William Riker!"
"Your comparison is inaccurate," said Seven of Nine. "Twice we were stranded alone with each other, yet you made no attempt to get into my catsuit."
"I know what Captain Kirk would have done, heh heh."
"Shut up, Father!"
"Well what did you expect, Commander?" said a smirking Doc. "I've developed MY personality, but ever since you and the Captain beamed down to the planet Stepford it's been 'Yes Ma'am' all the time."
From deep within his urbane exterior, Chakotay felt a dark volcanic fury bubbling forth. His vision became obscured by a jade haze. There was a sound of tearing cloth, like an actor bursting free of a straitjacketed role to which he'd been confined. Chakotay's uniform split down the back, his sleeves became mere rags, his body turned dark green and swelled enormously yet his underpants stayed intact, exerting a terrible pressure on his privates that only fuelled his excessive rage. An animal howl erupted from his throat; massive fists sent medical instruments flying. And moments before he crashed through the door to rampage throughout Voyager, smashing bulkheads and stomping nondescript ensigns, Chakotay had of glimpse in a mirror of what he'd become: a 30-foot roaring, hulking...Thunderbirds puppet!
"ALL RIGHT! ALL RIGHT!" shouted Chakotay, waking in his quarters once more. "I get the point: I'm Janeway's Jellyfish, the Maquis Mouse, the Woodfaced Wonder of the Delta Quadrant!"
"You certainly are, Son. But don't worry; I'm going to solve everything. Our first priority is to get you some long-delayed nookie. It's time to chamozi with the Borg floozie instead of pining after that frigid captain of yours. I want you to go to Cargo Bay Two, unplug Miss Catsuit and invite her out for a picnic."
"A picnic with the Borg Ice Queen? What makes you think she'll even be interested?"
"Because I'll make sure that she is."
"How? You're a non-corporeal representation of my belief system. The only influence you've got on the physical world is what people like myself allow you to have!"
"Well Son, I'm afraid I'm not who you think I am. The reason I can control events in your universe is because...I'm God."
"God? What do you mean: God?" A terrifying thought struck Chakotay. "No...that's impossible...it can't be true!"
"That's right, Son. I'm Rick Berman."
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
"Yes, Chakotay. I AM YOUR FATHER!"
THE END.