Danny Amor's Online Library/Danny Amor's Online Library - Volume 1.iso/html/startrek/old-incomplete/dwarftrek.p1-3

Text File | 1995-08-20 | 64KB | 1,204 lines

Some of you who have been around since last year might remember my DwarfTrek
story, which was a crossover between TNG and Red Dwarf. I got several
favourable mails back regarding it, but for reasons beyond my control
(ie. I couldn't be bothered!) it was never finished beyond part two.

However, I have now decided to finish the bloody thing and will probably
have part three ready for posting on Monday. So, in the meantime, here's
parts one and two for you, for all those people who haven't seen them
before, and all those who saw them many eons ago but can't remember what
the smeg is going on...

Enjoy...

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

DWARFTREK - the beginning...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Captain's Log, stardate 44182.7

We are proceeding at Warp 9 to the Kugos VI scientific colony where
research is taking place in regards to the creation of artifical worm-holes.
Starfleet Command recieved a garbled transmission from Dr. Shane Athem, the
otherseer of the colony, approximately an hour ago. He managed to establish
that the colony was under attack; unfortunately, contact was lost before we
could establish by whom. Since then no further communications have been
recieved with the colony, and the only tranmissions from this area have been
a strange series of audio tones. It is suspected that the Borg are involved;
a Ferengi transmission was intercepted by a listening post on the Federation
border, describing a group of cube-shaped ships passing through the nearby
Genetia sector and advising ships to avoid the area.
    This information, like any intercepted from Ferengi space would usually
be taken with a pinch of salt at best, but the Borg are never to be taken
lightly. The use of the phrase "cube-shaped ships", plural, disturbs me
especially.
    Mr LaForge and Mr Data have made extensive modifications to our weapons
since our previous communication with the Borg, but their improvements
remain untested and neither of them can guarantee that they will have any
effect on the Borg. Mr Data has also written a program that uses the
Enterprise's communication channels to transmit random pulses over the same
subspace domain that the Borg use to communicate, theoretically cutting off
the Borg's collective consciousness. The operative word is "theoretically";
as before, nothing is certain.
    It may be that Kugos VI remains unharmed and that the loss of
communications is a mere technical malfunction. However, if the Borg are
involved, I fear the worst.

***

"Mr. Worf, any changes?"
    "Negative, sir. We are continuing to recieve the same set of audio
tones from the vicinity of the colony, but no coherent transmissions."
    "Analysis of the tones, Mr. Data?"
    "Inconclusive," answered the android. "An unknown source could be
jamming the colony's communications, but if this is correct, they are
using an unknown technique."
    "Mr LaForge, report your status."
    Geordi's voice came up from Engineering.
    "Everything's ready, Captain. The warp engines are ready to transfer
power to the phasers, but I still can't ensure that the capacitors will
be able to take that much power. If it is the Borg, we'll have to take
the risk."
    "The shields?"
    "I can give you a solid energy barrier for around thirty seconds using
Data's new software, but I can't predict how much power I'll need. We could
find ourselves a sitting duck after we've used it."
    "Like you said, Mr LaForge, we'll have to take the risk. Bridge out."
    Picard sat back in the command chair, feeling his apprehension grow
more acute by the second.

***

Athem burst in as the floor quaked under the Borg assault.
    "We've got to get the out of here!" He looked closer at Drassum.
"What the hell are you doing?" he said. "You've started the tachyon chamber!"
He swerved quickly to avoid a piece of falling debris, tripping over the
wreckage of a computer console as he did so.
    Drassum looked up for a second to glance at Athem. He continued to
punch buttons on his console as the attack intensified. As he did so, a
melodic hum began to fill the room, drowning out the sounds of explosions
and weapons fire.
    Athem staggered over to Drassum and peered at the flickering text on
the computer screen. His expression changed to one of horror. "Are you mad?"
he cried. "You'll kill us all!"
    Drassum pushed Athem away from him. "You don't understand! This is all
I've ever been able to get to work all my life! All my life I've worked on
this, and after years of failed experiments and miscalculated formulae I
finally perfect it, and this happens! Well nobody's going to stop me now!
Not you, not Starfleet, not even the Borg!"
    Athem flew at Drassum, trying to tear him away from the controls.
"Don't you get it?" he screamed at Drassum's face. "Everybody will die!
You'll wipe out everything from here to the Neutral Zone! Don't do it!
We'll all die!"
    "It'll work now, I know it will! This time I've got it right!"
    "Don't be a fool! It's never worked before, why should it now? I'm
telling you, that equation will start a catastrophic chain reaction! Look
at those figures! For once in your life do something right!"
    Drassum pulled away and punched in the final sequence. "That's it!" he
yelled triumphantly. "They'll see! They'll all see now! Mock my research,
did they? I'll show them!"
    The console started to spark and the melodic hum which had been rising
to unbearable levels became a dischordant screeching. Drassum looked on in
amazment.
    "No! It can't be! I did everything right! There's nothing wrong! Why?
Oh, God, WHY?!!"
    He collapsed into a hunched up shape on the floor, sobbing.
    Athem looked aghast as the containment chamber started to vibrate.
The metal was glowing red hot due the intense heat behind it.
    Drassum got up and walked over to the console. He hit it hard, making
a visible dent.
    "Why can't I ever get anything to work?" He punctuated his words with
another thump on the console. "Why won't it work?" Thump. "Oh, please,
make it work!" Thump. Thump. Thump!
    Athem looked at the man in disgust. He stomped towards Drassum, landed a
swift uppercut on his chin and ran out of the room.
    The quivering mass that was Drassum remained where it fell.

***

"Captain! Single Borg vessel, firing at the colony!"
    "Visuals." The familiar cube shape appeared on the screen.
    "Mr. LaForge, are you ready yet?"
    "Sorry, Captain," said Geordi. "You'll have to wait a few more minutes,
I'm having trouble recalibrating the shield and phaser neutonals to
compensate for the power increases..."
    Worf interrupted.
    "Borg vessel has changed the direction of its attack. Now firing at...
Captain, the Borg are firing on a convoy of shuttlecraft!"
    "Hurry it up, Mr. LaForge!" Picard looked at Riker.
    "Let's give them something to shoot at that fights back," said Riker.
    "Agreed, Number One. Helm, take us past them at full impulse, then hit
them with full photon torpedo and antimatter spreads."
    The Enterprise shot past the Borg and let fly with everything it had.
The fireworks that occurred looked very impressive, but the Borg took it
in their stride, and retaliated by unleashing their cutting beam. Picard
was ready.
    "Evasive!" he barked.
    The Enterprise dived sideways, flinging itself clear of the Borg
weapon with mere feet to spare.
    "Missed!" crowed Riker. The Borg cutting beam re-targetted, proving
Riker wrong even as he uttered the word. Picard was almost thrown from
his seat at the Enterprise shook violently. The beam tore right through
the shields and carved a huge gash in the secondary hull.
    "Shields have failed," reported Worf.
    "Geordi, where's that extra phaser power?" asked Riker.
    "It's coming! I'm channelling warp power to the phaser banks... now!"
    Worf watched his console in amazment as the phaser levels climbed to
impossible levels. He stabbed the controls; a wide beam of energy flickered
into being between the Borg ship and the Enterprise, engulfing the cube
shaped vessel in a crackling sphere of energy. The Borg ship shuddered
visibly.
    "We have breached the Borg's subspace field," reported Data.
    "Hit them again," ordered Picard. "Let's see if we can do some damage."
    Data was just executing the command when the lighting on the bridge
increased to an unbearable insensity. All the controls went dead.
    Then everything went black...

***

At about this time, Kryten was hoping that Starbug's controls would go dead;
after all, a ship with no controls had to be safer than one with Rimmer as
its pilot.
    "Look Kryten, that asteroid shouldn't have been there, that's all there
is to it. You just can't face being wrong, admit it."
    Kryten considered telling Rimmer exactly what he thought of him, but
decided against in. Mechanoids who use that sort of language never get
into Silicon Heaven, he thought. He sure was regretting offering to give
Rimmer flying lessons. It had turned out that Rimmer had never actually
passed his shuttle piloting test. Upon close examination a large blob
of Tippex was apparent on Rimmer's Pilot's License, and when this had been
dissolved it was clear that the word that had been obscured was
"provisional".
    After a month or so of piss-taking by Lister and the Cat, Kryten had
taken pity on Rimmer and offered to give him lessons. One set of holographic
controls later and Rimmer was in business.
    Or rather, he wasn't. Kryten had actually lost count - no mean feat for
a mechanoid - of how many near misses Starbug had endured with Rimmer at its
holo-controls. He could remember Rimmer narrowly avoiding Red Dwarf itself,
several gas giants, three stars, two asteroids (this was the third), a
two mile long Coke can, and a small statue of Elvis Presley, (Rimmer managed
to find potential targets to collide with that defied sanity) but after this
lot the other mishaps all sort of dissolved into one. Kryten was gradually
losing his patience; another mean feat for a mechanoid.
    "Mr Rimmer, sir, perhaps it would be better if we packed up for today
and continued another time. Mr Lister will be getting worried."
    "Lister getting worried? He wasn't even out of bed when we left."
    "Well, we did leave at 5 am. I think that's just a teeny bit early."
    "Time waits for no man." Kryten looked confused. "Julius Caesar said
that, Kryten."
    Kryten was sure he didn't, but failed to see the point in arguing.
Rimmer took his silence as a cue to perform a loop-the-loop, which he
fluffed up miserably, almost smashing into the same asteroid again.
    "Sir, I really must ask you to be more careful!" said Kryten, his face
full of worry.
    "I'm always careful Kryten, you should know that by now."
    "Well, you're doing well for a beginner," said Kryten, not wanting to
hurt Rimmer's feelings, "but if you can't avoid asteroids on your test then
in all likelihood the examiner will fail you."
    "I didn't see it. Anyone can not notice a little bitty asteroid on a
screen. How was I supposed to notice it?"
    "Well sir, how about me shouting 'Mind the asteroid' in your left ear?
Didn't that suggest to you that all was not well?"
    "I didn't hear you."
    "Well, the flashing red alert lights?"
    "What flashing red alart lights?"
    "The loud siren noise and Starbug's navigation system shouting 'alert'?"
    Rimmer looked at the mechanoid through narrowed eyelids. "You're
jealous!" he exclaimed.
    "I'm sorry, Mr Rimmer?"
    "You're jealous because I'm a better pilot than you are after just three
lessons."
    Kryten was somewhat taken aback by this. "I don't think that's quite the
case," he spluttered. Not only was Rimmer a slightly worse pilot than Dan
Quayle's grandmother, but they had actually been on 623 lessons. Kryten's
programming was kicking in now; "don't offend the human, don't offend the
human," it droned. Kryten wanted to call Rimmer a smeg at unfeasibly loud
volumes, but that probably came under the category of 'offending the human'.
"I can't be jealous," he said. "After all, I'm a mechanoid."
    "Well Lister's being teaching you how to lie, so how do I know you're
telling the truth?"
    Kryten stuttered incoherently. "Well, sir, er... sir... um... er, sir,"
he declared.
    "What's wrong, Kryten? Got hiccups?" said Rimmer sarcastically, as he
went back to the controls. Kryten knew that Rimmer had returned to his flying
without even looking over at him because Starbug started to shudder violently.
Kryten sat back down, and started to practice saying "smeg". Lister had told
him to keep practicing, especially when he was with Rimmer. Despite putting in
many hours' worth of work he still couldn't get it right.
    Starbug started to shake from side to side, meaning that Rimmer was
actually trying to steer the ship in a course other than a straight line.

***

    The lights returned at half strength but only a small number of the
computer displays came back on. The main viewscreen remained black.
    "Damage report, Mr. Data?"
    "Uncertain, Captain. We appear to have been attacked with a precisely
focused subspace pulse, which has neutralised our main computer system.
I am attempting to compensate using the backup systems."
    "Any other damage, Data?" asked Riker.
    "This is also uncertain, Commander. At the moment I cannot obtain any
accurate data from the computer."
    "What about the Borg? Did they generate the pulse?"
    "Unlikely, sir. They appear to be suffering similar effects to their
systems."
    Data's fingers danced over the controls and the main viewscreen flickered
back into life. The picture was full of static, but it was plain to see that
the Borg were having even more difficulties than the Enterprise. The Borg
vessel was spinning towards the surface of the planet, hopelessly out of
control.
    "I would hypothesize that the Borg place far more dependence on their
computers than we do; this would explain why they appear to have been
affected more adversely than we have."
    Data's words went unheard as the rest of the bridge looked on in
amazment, watching the Borg spiral ever more out of control.
    "Borg vessel will enter Kugos atmosphere in exactly ten seconds,"
announced Data.
    Before it hit the atmosphere, a strange distortion appeared in the
Borg's path. It crackled with energy, flashing a cascade of swirling colours.
    The Borg vessel span straight into the centre of the distortion. To the
eye, it shrank slowly, then it quickly compressed into a single point,
vanishing unexpectedly in a burst of blinding light.
    The Enterprise crew maintained an amazed silence for several minutes. It
was Data who, once again, finally broke the silence.
    "Captain, I have achieved limited access to the sensor controls. The
distortion appears to be a worm-hole of some kind, but it is unlike any we
have previously encountered."
    "Have they done it?" asked Riker. "Have the Kugos team actually created
a stable worm-hole?"
    Riker and Picard looked at each other. Both of them remembered at
exactly the same time.
    "The shuttles!" they exclaimed. Riker looked at Data.  "Have you
got them?"
    "I cannot find the shuttles on any of our operational sensors."
    "Wait!" called out Worf, pointing at the screen. "What's that?!"

***

    "You're not watching, Kryten. You're supposed to tell me my mistakes."
    "Smeeeee... smeeeeeeeeeggggg, smeeeee! Oh, it's no use, I just can't
get it right!"
    "What ARE you talking about? Are you watching me or not?"
    Kryten was lost in concentration and wasn't listening. His whole face
screwed up with the sheer effort he was putting into his work.
    Rimmer quickly swerved to miss a white giant star. Good job Kryten
hadn't seen that, he thought. I can avoid things, if I try!
    In his jubliation at his first major solo success Rimmer completely
failed to miss the big wobbly temporal distortion thingy that had suddenly
appeared and flew smack bang into the middle of it.
    "Er, Kryten?"
    "Smeee, smeeeee.... what have you hit now, sir?"
    "Well... I haven't actually hit it."
    Kryten looked up. He looked at what was going on outside. He looked
over at Rimmer.
    "Well you can't hit something that isn't solid," explained Rimmer.
    "SMEEEEEEEGGGGGG!!!!"
    Suddenly they entered the heart of the big wobbly temporal distortion
thingy and felt the universe come apart around them and their feet leak out
of their nostrils.
    Starbug vanished amidst a dazzling array of special effects which would
have been utterly beyond the BBC's budget.

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DwarfTrek Part II - Fashion is Irrelevent
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lister knocked on the door.
    Silence.
    He opened the door slightly. "Cat?" he called.
    Still no answer.
    Lister opened the door wide and walked into the room. The Cat sat in a
trance, unblinking, looking at something with a rapt expression on his face.
Lister followed the Cat's gaze.
    The Cat was staring at a full-size holographic image of himself.
    "Cat?" asked Lister again.
    The Cat remained entranced by himself.
    Lister tapped Cat on the shoulder.
    Not a peep. Not a single twitch.
    Lister reached down and pulled the mains plug of the holographic mirror
out of its socket.
    The Cat yowled and jumped five foot into the air. He whirled round to
face Lister.
    "Don't ever do that again!" shrieked the Cat. "I've never been so
scared in all my life!"
    "What are you going on about? I only turned your holographic mirror off.
Something's come up."
    "Worth interrupting a mirror session for?" asked the Cat. "Didn't you
consider the trauma that'd put me through?"
    "But Starbug's disappeared from our scopes," said a confused Lister.
    "So?! I'll have nightmares for a month now! Sheesh, some people have
got NO consideration!" grumbled Cat. "If I don't get at least three hours'
self-admiration time a day, I get all stressed out and panicky!"

***

    Meanwhile, Rimmer had found himself abruptly transferred to the
holographic generation chamber aboard Red Dwarf. Where moments before he
had been piloting Starbug, he had suddenly found himself here.
    He sat on the step for a while, considering the events leading up to
this. The piloting lesson with Kryten. The narrow miss with the asteroid.
The second narrow miss with the SAME asteroid. The utter non-miss with the
big temporal wobbly thingy. And he had to admit, as non-misses went, it was
a biggie. It was a whopper. A giant flame-grilled whopper of a non-miss.
In fact, it was such a gigantic non-miss even Rimmer begrudgingly had to
class it as a hit.
    Eventually, Rimmer came to a conclusion.
    "Oops," he declared.
    This just about summed things up nicely.
    He looked around the chamber once more. "Oops," he confirmed.
    Rimmer got up and toyed with the holograph controls. This was a real
control panel with a holographic projection of itself superimposed over
it, which allowed holographic crew members to use the console. Despite
actually being a hologram, Rimmer knew rather less about holographic
hardware than he did about, say, the Norwegian leather industry. He could
name every single recipient of the Hammond Organ Player of the Year Award
since 1926, but did not really know what "Temporal location of alternative
holographic generator identified - translating data for remote execution"
meant. This would have been a rather handy thing to have known at this
time, because this is exactly what had just appeared on the screen.

***

    "Sensors indicate that it is a ship of some kind." said Data. "I cannot
identify its design, as the computers are still inoperative. However, I do
not personally recall having encountered a vessel of this type."
    The small green wasp-shaped vessel continued to drift closer.
    "Is it anything to do with the Borg, Data?" asked Riker.
    "Unlikely, sir. The level of technology is too primitive."
    "Any lifesigns?"
    "I cannot obtain accurate readings. However, there is an Earth-normal
atmosphere aboard the vessel."
    "Number One, prepare an away team," said Picard. "Make sure they're
armed; we don't know what we're dealing with here. Best take Dr. Crusher
as well; there may be casualties."

***

The idea of asking Holly for help had crossed Rimmer's mind, but
that would have been embarassing. A hologram having to ask a senile
computer about holograms? No way, thought Rimmer. He was sure that
he could figure out what "Translation routine complete - ready to
transfer RIMMER.EXE to external system" meant. Arnold Rimmer, BSC
(Bronze Swimming Certificate) could deceipher a sentence of computer
jargon, surely?
    A largish button marked "Transmit" on the control panel started
flashing and Rimmer hesitated with his finger over it. Then another
button caught his eye; it was labelled "Help".
    Great, thought Rimmer, and pressed it.
    "An alternative holograph generator has been located closer to
the intended potential temporal location of RIMMER.EXE than the
current actual temporal location of RIMMER.EXE," explained the computer.
"Press Transmit to transfer control of RIMMER.EXE to the potential site.
Press Cancel to return control to the default holograph execution system."
    Well that certainly clarified things.
    He noticed that the legend next to the button he had just pressed now
said "Help on Help". He pressed it.
    "Press Help to get help," elaborated the computer.
    "Ah," said Rimmer.
    He bent over the controls, unable to decide what to do.

***

"What the smeg is it?"
    "I'll tell you what that is," said Cat. "That is the most uncool
spaceship in the galaxy!" Having delivered these words of wisdom, the
Cat went back to doing his fingernails.
    "Any lifesigns, Hol?" asked Lister. Holly's face appeared on one
of the screens.
    "I can't tell," said the computer. "The time distortion's blocking
my signals."
    "Where's the two heads?" inquired the Cat, not taking his eyes from
his nail file.
    "What? What heads?"
    "Novelty condom head and Bonehead? Where are they? Are they on board
that flying Rubik's Cube?"
    "Rimmer's in the holographic generation chamber," announced Holly. "I
think he must have snapped back here when Starbug disappeared."
    This was news to Lister. "Rimmer's where?" he spluttered.
    "He's in the holographic generation chamber," repeated Holly.
    "Stay there, Cat!" said Lister. "Keep your eyes on that ship". He
sprinted towards the Hologram Chamber.
    "Sure thing," said the Cat, once Lister had gone. Then he strolled
nonchalantly back to his room and turned his holographic mirror back on.

***

Rimmer was going to flip for it.
    He had got Holly to generate a holographic coin. Heads for "Transmit",
tails for "cancel". He flipped the coin.
    Tails. Cancel.
    Come to think of it, thought Rimmer, that was probably the most prudent
thing to do. Cancel usually means don't do something, and when you don't
know what the something is, doing it isn't really a great idea.
    His finger stopped a millimetre away from the cancel button.
    What if cancel meant cancel program. ie, cancel him!
    Best of three, thought Rimmer and flipped the coin again.
    Tails. Cancel. Still.
    Oh, what the hell, thought Rimmer, and made to press the button.
    Suddenly Lister burst in.
    "What the smegging hell is going on here?"
    Rimmer whirled round to face Lister and in doing so, nudged the
transmit button.
    Rimmer had approximately 0.02 seconds to realise what he had done
before his holographic image shimmered, flickered wildly and vanished in
front of Lister's eyes.

***

The away team materialised into a cramped control room. There was not
a single panel that was undamaged; even the chairs that the pilots would
sit on had been torn from the floor and twisted out of shape, almost
beyond recognition. The display screens were all smashed, and the controls
were buried beneath a massive chunk of metal that had fallen through the
top of the craft.
    Riker looked round slowly. He whistled.
    "My thoughts exactly," said Dr. Crusher. "It's a wonder they're still
maintaining an atmosphere."
    Riker looked at Crusher. "Any lifesigns?" he asked.
    She looked up from her tricorder. "Yes... and no. It's not quite
registering as a lifesign, but definitely has organic components."
    "Where?"
    "Through there," she replied, pointing towards a doorway.
    Riker made to walk through, but Worf held him back.
    "Let me go and check first," said the Klingon. "As the Captain stated,
we do not know what exactly is out there." Riker considered, then nodded.
    Worf walked through the door.
    A pause.
    Then an inordinately polite voice said, "Excuse me sir, I'm terribly
sorry to bother you, but would you be so kind as to remove this control
panel from my head?"

***

"What the smegging hell is going on here?" repeated Lister. He walked over
to the hologram controls and looked at the display. Unlike Rimmer, he had
no qualms about asking Holly for help.
    "Hol, what's this going on about?"
    "Rimmer's program's been transferred to an alternate holographic
generator," answered Holly.
    "Why?"
    "Well, because he told it to!"
    "What a prat!" But then, Rimmer's claim to prathood was one that was
firmly established, and this statement was therefore nothing new.
    "Can't we just get him back from here?" asked Lister.
    "No, you've got to send him back from the alternate site."
    "Alternate site...? We've only got the one hologram chamber, so where's
Rimmer gone?"
    "How should I know?"
    Lister considered, then suddenly it hit him.
    "The flying brick! It must be on board that!"
    Lister started to sprint back to the control room, realised that he
was actually EXERCISING by running, and adopted a more leisurely pace.
    When the ship started shaking he started to walk briskly. It was not
until the sound of distant explosions reached his ears that he started
to run again.

***

Kryten looked up into what was positively the worst case of space mumps he
had ever seen.
    "I am Lieutenant Worf of the starship Enterprise."
    "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Worf. I know a good cure for space mumps."
    Riker and Crusher walked in and gave Kryten curious looks. Kryten looked
over at Riker.
    "Are you this man's commanding officer? Shame on you! He shouldn't be
working, he should be resting! Can't you see he's ill?"
    Riker looked at Kryten with his mouth wide open.
    Worf spoke up. "I am a Klingon," he explained.
    Kryten looked horrified. "You really mustn't put yourself down like
that!" He glared at Riker. "What have you been doing to this poor man to
break his spirit like that?"
    Riker's chin dropped down another two notches.
    "Worf isn't ill!" said Crusher. "He always looks like that."
    "Why?" asked Kryten. "Were you involved in some horrific accident?
Have you ever thought about corrective surgery?"
    Worf's head filled with visions of pounding this person's strange
shaped head against the floor, but decided that it wouldn't really go down
well with Riker.
    "No, that's what he's SUPPOSED to look like. He's a Klingon, not a
human." Crusher considered the most tactful line of approach, then went on.
"We're a bit confused about how you look, though. What exactly ARE you?"
    Kryten had always thought that the Infomax Data Corporation was so
massive that even the few primitives left untouched by civilisation
in the South American rainforests would have recieved at least one
piece of junk mail from them during their lifetime, so was surprised at
the question. Rather than answer it, he asked another question.
    "Could you please pass my left leg, sirs?" He motioned towards the
limb in question.
    Dr Crusher looked at the leg, picked it up and scrutinised it closely.
She ran her tricorder sensor over it.
    "This is extraordinary," she murmured. "Commander, this ...person... is
a mechanism!"

***

The Cat looked at the apparition of beauty that was himself.
    The ship shook around him, but nothing distracted him from his task.
He had three hours of self-admiration to get through and nothing was going
to stop him. You'd have to drag him kicking and screaming to get him away.
    Without warning, someone materialised in front of his holographic
mirror.
    "Hey! Get out my way!" burst out the Cat in surprise. "Do your unexpected
materialisations someplace else!"
    The Cat looked at the newcomer closely.
    "Hey man, have you any idea how uncool you look in all that metal?"
    The newcomer did look severely unfashionable. He could beat Rimmer at
being the most unfashionable prat in the known universe, thought Cat. If
he was trying to achieve a futuristic look, he'd arsed it up no end. It
looked as if the guy had just stuck metal and electrical components all over
his body in complete disregard to all fashion considerations.
    "Cool is irrevelent," said the newcomer.
    Cat couldn't believe his ears. He couldn't allow that to go unpunished.
He retaliated. "You're so unfashionable, it hurts my eyes to look at you!"
    He turned to face Cat. Then he said it. The phrase the Cat would have
nightmares about.
    "Fashion is irrelevent."
    "BLASPHEMY!" yelled the Cat in a religous frenzy, and launched himself
at the Borg.
    The Borg swatted him away as if he was no heavier than a feather; he
landed in a heap in the corner. The Borg made towards him. Cat started
to grovel.
    "Okay man, I take it back. You're slick, man! You're cool! You're
positively chilly! Man, is that a fashion statement or what? Where can I
get one of those outfits?"
    The Borg drew nearer. He still looked utterly uncool, it was just
now he looked extremely menacing as well.

***

Picard had seen many strange variations on the humanoid form during his
travels, but this one had to be one of the strangest. The man's head
looked as if all the curves had been removed and replaced with right
angles.
    He struggled to keep his surprise at the man's appearance from showing.
    "I'm Captain Jean-Luc Picard. Welcome aboard the Enterprise." He held
out his hand for Kryten to shake.
    "Have you ever thought about wearing a wig, sir?" asked Kryten. "Wait a
moment... I think I have one in here." He released a catch on his side and
his stomach compartment opened. Then he put his hand in, withdrew something
that looked like an old English sheepdog and plonked it on Picard's
head.
    Kryten stood back to admire his work. He smiled at Picard. Picard stood
there, flabbergasted, with his hand still extended.
    "That's much better," said Kryten. "No-one would ever know that was a
wig." Picard made to speak. "Oh, there's no need to thank me," admonished
Kryten. "I'm just doing what a mechanoid should, serving humans." He
flipped his stomach shut.
    The Enterprise personnel all did perfectly serviceable impressions of
guppy fish at feeding time. Then Picard came to his senses.
    "Mr Worf!" he barked.
    Worf was oblivious to Picard. He was still in a daze.
    "Worf!"
    Worf stiffened. "Sir?"
    "Take this... individual... to the brig!"
    Worf grabbed Kryten's arm and frogmarched him away. Kryten was still
beaming from ear to ear.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Part three should be ready by Monday at the latest... barring disasters!

..PN

Email (INTERNET): [e-mail]
-------------------------------------+----------------------------------
This post is shareware. If you read  | "We have no need of weapons,
it and like it you are required to   | brother; we wear protective
send me 5 pounds registration fee.   | herbs."  - Rimmer's "higher" self
-------------------------------------+----------------------------------
                                     Paul "Insanity is an art form" Neve

Path: newserv.ksu.ksu.edu!moe.ksu.ksu.edu!vixen.cso.uiuc.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!pipex!warwick!kinguni!cs_d637
From: [e-mail] (Paul Neve)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: AND NOW.... DWARFTREK part 3!!!
Date: 26 Oct 1993 13:10:10 GMT
Organization: Kingston University, Kingston-upon-Thames
Lines: 581
Message-ID: <2aj7ji$[e-mail]>
NNTP-Posting-Host: ceres.kingston.ac.uk
X-Newsreader: TIN [version 1.2 PL0]



Prologue/Introduction/Author's Note/What-smegging-ever!:

Paul Neve sat glued to his computer screen, hammering away at the keyboard.
This was by far and away the best thing he had ever written; a Star Trek
story of epic proportions, the story of the Borg invasion, set 50 years
after TNG. He had missed one of the legendary SFX lager and curry nights
for this, and his decision had proven to be the right one. The quality of
the story amazed even himself; if he could maintain this quality, then
perhaps it might be time to start that novel he had been threatening himself
with for years.
    He continued to type feverishly, not noticing the aches and pains in his
fingertips. He had been at it now solidly for over four hours, stopping only
to consider the phrasing of a sentence or to read over what he had written.
He was so engrossed in his work he did not notice the flash of light behind
him, and carried on working until he heard the sound of someone clearing
their throat behind him. He whirled round. When he saw who the someone was
he had trouble persuading his mouth to obey his commands. He eventually
managed to stutter, "Q!". Considering that his sentence consisted of a single
letter, the fact that he had to stutter it out was a testament to his shock.
Q looked at Paul with a smarmy grin on his face.
    "Oh, you _can_ speak; how nice!" remarked Q.
    Paul gaped at him. "But you're fictional!"
    "One universe's fiction is another's fact; you as a sci-fi fanatic should
appreciate that. And as an omnipotent being, I can step between universes
slightly more easily than you walk down a flight of stairs."
    Paul looked at the can of Fosters by his computer and sniffed it
dubiously.
    "Oh, I'm quite real," said Q, "At least, I'm as real as your pitiful
little concept of reality allows. Come to think of it," he said, motioning
towards the lager, "that stuff probably gives you humans a better grip on
reality. You should drink more of it."
    "But what do you want?" asked Paul, beginning to recover his stride and
considering possibilities as to who was responsible for this somewhat
convincing practical joke.
    "I'm here to liven up your irrepressably drab and awful universe. Call
it my good deed for the millenium. I'm here to make you finish DwarfTrek!"
    Paul blinked. This was not what he had expected.
    "DwarfTrek? But I gave that up a year ago!"
    "Yes," said Q, "but just consider all those thousands, well hundreds,
well four people whose lives will be made better if you put them out of
their misery and tell them what happens next!"
    "Suspense makes life more interesting," retorted Paul. "Besides, I've had
much better ideas since then. This one I'm writing now, for instance."
    "Oh, yes. Tell me about it. I'm sure it's positively fascinating!" Q's
voice oozed with sarcasm. Paul either didn't hear it or chose to ignore
it.
    "It's brilliant! It's the story of a Borg invasion set 50 years after
TNG and..."
    "Oh, that won't do!" interrupted Q. "We can't have you mapping out the
future for my little Jean-Luc. Such an unpleasant future at that!"
    "But it's my best story ever! I've got to finish it!"
    Q pondered for a while. "Hmmm, you do have a dilemma. Well, we can
easily solve that." He waved his hand, there was a flash of light and the
two of them abruptly appeared in the terminal room at Kingston University.
"Right," said Q. "Log on, load up your news program and go into
alt.startrek.creative."
    Paul looked bemused but obeyed. He looked at the list of news items;
nothing out of the ordinary. He turned to Q. "What?" he demanded.
    Q waved his hands and there was a tiny little pinprick of a Q-flash.
"Look again," gloated Q, pointing to an article that had just appeared out
of nowhere.
    Paul looked at the item. It was a story, "I, Locutus".
    "You'll find it quite different to yours, but close enough to ensure
you can never post your story without being accused of ripping this bloke
off. And to add insult to injury, it's good. Damn good. In fact, possibly
the best story that has or ever will appear on this news group. And just to
be doubly sure, so you can't accuse this guy of breaking into your house
and reading the only copy of your story in existance, the author comes
from South Africa."
    Paul gaped for a bit. Q waved his hands and they both vanished in a
Q-flash, to reappear back where they started.
    "Well, I must be off now, I can't hang around here all day yakking to
you, I've got places to go, people to torment, planets to wreck. Have fun!"
    Q vanished in the customary flash of light.
    Paul sat still for five solid minutes, looking at the area of space where
Q had been. Eventually he pulled himself out of the daze, and noticed the
still unfinished can of lager. He downed it in one, took another from the
sixpack and downed that too. Then he turned to his keyboard and began to
type......



DWARFTREK part III
------------------
"Attack of the BorgTribbles"


Catutus of Borg rose from the bed and closely scrutinised his new body.
It was much like any other Borg's; humanoid - just, covered in metal and
cybernetic implants. A wave of emotion swept over him which was quickly
stifled by the collective; after all, emotion was _very_ irrelevent.
    He felt a command form in his mind and before he was even consciously
aware of it, found his body moving to obey it. Beside the bed was a pile of
clothes. He found himself picking them up and moving off towards a waste
disposal unit. Catutus opened the waste chute, started to put the clothes
in it, then stopped.
    It was that emotion again, and the collective started to clamp down on
it again. However, this time it was too intense, and instead of being wiped
from Catutus' mind entirely, its form was subtly changed. This failure on
the part of the collective left the Borg neural net wide open, and
Catutus' found the rogue emotion expanding to fill the gap. The emotion
rapidly became part of every Borg's mindset, effectively worming its way onto
the Borg's list of "non-irrelevent" things. This was not a big list. In
fact, the only thing on this list up until now had been the Borg themselves.
The list had now effectively doubled in length.
    All this had taken mere milliseconds to occur, and Catutus looked down
on his new body once again. What he saw was not pleasing, neither to him,
nor the Borg collective.
    Prior to Catutus' assimilation, the Borg had been assimilating this
culture, assimilating that, destroying that, without really having a goal
in mind. The only goal was the means; the assimilation of one culture made
the assimilation of another that much easier. Catutus had supplied the Borg
with a goal, one which many people might have found trite or unimportant.
Trite was irrelevent. Unimportant was irrelevent. All other races would
be assimilated.
    But first, the Borg had a problem to sort out.
    Catutus started to make his way to his rightful place; the control area,
the only vaguely individual area on the ship. Before the aquisition of
Catutus, Locutus, formerly Picard of the Federation, had stood in the
control area. However, before the aquisition of Catutus, the Borg had not
been aware of the overwhelming importance of looking unfeasibly cool; they
had not seen the necessity of looking good enough to eat lunch off of. They
were not aware of the sacred nature of snazzy silk garments, and were
dismayed to learn that, as a fashion statement, an all-over metal body-suit
with optional eye laser was not really a show stopper.
    The Borg ship moved away from Red Dwarf. They had learned all they had
needed to know about it from Catutus himself. Most of it was irrelevent,
and Catutus quickly ensured that the non-irrelevent parts of it (ie, the
being known as Cat's wardrobe) had been transported aboard.
    Then the Borg vessel stretched infinitely into warp speed and was gone.
A Borg ship with a mission - to boldly go and find drop-dead fashionable
clothes that no-one had worn before!

***

Lister was somewhat pleased when the flying Rubik's cube decided that it
had had enough of tearing Red Dwarf into shreds, as it meant he could
proceed to the drive room without having lumps of spaceship fall on his
head. When he got there, the Cat was nowhere to be seen.
    "Where's the Cat?" he asked Holly.
    "Dunno. He's not on the ship."
    "You what? So I'm the only one left?! Has everything gone smeggin'
mad?!"
    "Nope, everything's _always_ been smegging mad, you know that!"
replied Holly. "Hang on a minute... I've got ships on my scanner. Unknown
configuration."
    "Unknown configuration? So what's new?"

***

Shane Athem guided in the shuttlecraft closer to the vessel. The red ship
was gigantic; a positive leviathan. It dwarfed even Borg vessels, which
was saying something. As he moved closer, his fingers flew over the controls,
trying to squeeze as much as he could out of the shuttle's limited sensors.
    He blinked. That wasn't right.
    He keyed in the command again and got the same results. He blinked
again.
    On a ship that size, there was only one lifeform. Human.
    Athem had not been expecting to live through the passage through
Drassum's creation and had definitely not expected to find a human being
on the other side. By Athem's calculations, Drassum's wormhole would
create a rip in time and space that traversed around three million years.
This would be quite an achievement (albeit not what the intention originally
was) if that was all there was to it. However, the rip was not stable and
would continue to grow at an exponential rate. Athem didn't have a clue
what this would eventually mean but didn't think it would be very nice,
whatever it was. But to find a human on the other side kind of negated
these suspicions. Athem had great faith in mankind and in the Federation,
but to last three million years unchanged? He doubted it.
    He flew in closer to the ship's surface, close enough to make out the
white lettering on the side. Red something, it said. "Red Dwarf". A
misnomer if ever there was one.
    The little blob that represented the Red Dwarf's one and only crew-
member continued to blatantly exist, much to Athem's surprise.
    That was a man with a lot of answers. Athem made his way to the
shuttle's emergency transporter and beamed himself aboard the Dwarf.

***

Rimmer felt himself coalesce back in existance but kept his eyes firmly
shut. He didn't want to know.
    He thought about this. Come to think of it, he didn't _really_ not
want to know, he was just scared stupid to know.
    Come on, Big Man, he said to himself. What would Julius Caesar do?
Something Roman, probably, and then get stabbed by Brutus. Not really the
greatest of help.
    Perhaps if he just opened his eyes, just a crack, then if it was that
bad he could close them again.
    He attempted this but his eyes insisted; they were not open for business
at this time, and furthermore were not likely to be for the foreseeable
future. Not that there was a foreseeable future, as Rimmer found it very
difficult to see anything with his eyes shut.
    One eye? Just a teensy peek?
    This he managed, and it wasn't so bad after all. He opened his eyes
fully.
    He closed them again.
    Didn't help. When he re-opened them it was still the same scene.
    He was surrounded by a yellow grid on a black border. There was no
exits; indeed, it was almost impossible to see where the floor ended and
the wall began. He started to walk, picking a direction at random in an
attempt to find the limits of this room. Eventually he would have to hit
a wall of some kind.
    After 15 minutes he was still walking.
    This was getting to Rimmer. "Help!" he screamed. "Let me out of here!"
    A female voice abruptly said, "Unable to comply. Holodeck entities may
not give level one commands."
    Rimmer whirled round. "What? Who said that?"
    "Holodeck computer, version 5.3, copyright Microsoft Corp, stardate
40121.3. Waiting for coherent command."
    "Holodeck? What's that?"
    "Holodeck: Device for simulation of event using holographic and
replicator technology," explained the computer. "Still waiting for
coherent command."
    "Command? How about, 'let me out of here'?"
    "Holodeck entities may not give level one commands," repeated the
computer.
    "Oh, typical. The command that lets me out is off limits to me.
Wonderful. So, what can I do?"
    "A full list of non-level one commands would take over twelve hours to
list. Do you wish to continue?"
    "Hang on, hang on! If I get you right, I can simulate anything or
anyone... and if it takes that long to list _what_ I can do, I must be able
to do practically anything! Computer, show me a hammond organ!"
    Cue the appearance of one hammond organ. Rimmer walked over it it and
gingerly prodded it. Not only was it solid, but so was Rimmer!
    "I can touch!" he shouted gleefully, and started to bash the keys.
Rimmer loved hammond organ music but could actually play one slightly less
than Lister could play guitar. In fact, Rimmer playing the hammond organ
was a considerably worse prospect than Lister and his guitar, as not
only was hammond organ music itself enough to make you vomit, but Rimmer's
playing was such that it made you want to vomit your own intestines.
Rimmer stopped playing at this point, which was lucky for the Enterprise, as
had he continued he would have undoubtedly crashed the ship's computer,
which would have disabled the life support systems and killed everyone on
board.
    Rimmer decided to try something a little more complex. "Computer, show
me Julius Caesar, Napoleon, Genghis Khan, and a Risk board with the pieces
set up. Oh, and I've got to win."
    The computer complied.
    Then it hit him. Sod Risk, he could always come back to that...
    "Hang on, forget that! Computer, show me a woman."
    "Specify."
    "Erm... beautiful. Use your imagination!"
    "Running program Barclay-3," responded the computer.
    A studdingly beautiful woman appeared on top of the hammond organ in a
Starfleet uniform, bearing a not unremarkable resemblence to a certain
councillor that most Enterprise crewmembers were familiar with.
    "Computer," said Rimmer, looking over his shoulder in case someone was
watching him, "lose the clothes."
    The computer obeyed. Rimmer dribbled at her for a bit, then moved
towards her. He glanced over his shoulder one last time. Nobody. He
couldn't believe his luck.
    Rimmer had realised the more erotic ramifications of the holodeck and
you couldn't have got him out of there even by attaching his testicles to
the Enterprise's left warp nacelle and going to warp 9.9!

***

Picard strode onto the bridge, closely followed by Riker. "Report," he
barked.
    "Shields and weapons systems still down, warp drive on minimal power,
speeds up to warp two available," replied Data. "We were able to compensate
for the effects of the rift on our computer systems, but the rift's unstable
nature means that it is impossible to predict the subspace pulses it
generates. We could find our systems disabled without a moment's warning."
    "The Borg?" asked Riker.
    "No sign of them, sir. The indications are that they have entered the
temporal rift. It is also likely that the convoy of shuttlecraft have done
the same."
    "We can't leave our people on the other side of that," said Riker.
    Picard nodded his head. "Mr Data, what would be the effect on the
Enterprise if we were to go through that rift?"
    "Through? Impossible to say, sir."
    "Could we remedy any adverse effects once we were on the other side?"
    "There is no way of knowing, Captain."
    Picard looked at Riker. "Then until we know more, going through the
rift is an unacceptable risk. What about the planet?"
    "There appears to be no lifesigns on the majority of the surface.
The scientific complex is badly damaged and is emitting subspace pulses
that are interfering with our sensors. However, there _could_ be life down
there."
    "Number One, form an away team. Go down there and see what you can find
out. Someone had to have started this; perhaps you can find out precisely
what it is that's _been_ started."
    Riker looked at Data and motioned with his head.
    "Not you, Data," said Picard. "I need you to look into something else
that's cropped up. Report to the brig."
    "The _brig_, sir?"
    "That was the order, Commander, the brig."

***

Data was perplexed. He was not aware of any action of his that might have
caused Captain Picard dissatisfaction; especially one that would cause
the captain to remove him from an away mission and send him to the brig.
Could it have been his failure to supply specific details regarding
the temporal rift? Or some kind of problem with his command of the
ship when the captain had been in the transporter room? The captain
did appear somewhat agitated, but he was at a loss to figure out what
he had done.
    Data walked into the brig, took a look at the occupant and whipped out
his tricorder. He inclined his head. Before he could say anything, the
occupant's face - such as it was - lit up.
    "What an excellent design! What are you, the 10,000 series? Did they
get around the design flaw in the 9,000 where when faced with certain
death, the cognition circuits get caught in a loop? Where's your serial
port?" It peered closely at Data's face. "Shame they messed up the skin
colour... was your retail price reduced because of it?"
    Data experienced something utterly new to him. Speechlessness.
    "Ah, they've messed up your speech circuits too, have they?"
    "All systems are operating within normal parameters," replied Data.
He moved closer to the newcomer, staring into his tricorder. "You are also
an android," he added, stating the obvious.
    "A 9000 mechanoid, actually," corrected the mechanoid. "My name is
Kryten."
    There was an uncomfortable silence. Kryten had never been comfortable
around other mechanoids, especially not after Lister had added lying,
being insulting and a number of other important human traits into his
programming. Data had not had much experience with other mechanical beings.
There was his "brother", Lore, and his "daughter", Lal; both incidents had
ended unhappily. He was getting used to human behaviour and was not sure
how another android - or mechanoid, as this Kryten seemed to prefer - was
going to react. Data decided to attempt to break the ice.
    "How are you able to emulate human vocal behaviour so closely?" he asked.
"I have been trying for many years, but have not even begun to break the
surface. You, on the other hand, despite your strange appearance, seem
to have mastered it. You use contractions, and you make little sense when
you speak. I have found these both to be important aspects of sounding
human."
    "Why would you want to sound human?" replied Kryten, pretending to
take the strict mechanoid viewpoint.
    "It is my ambition. I have striven all my life to become as human as
possible."
    Kryten's eyes widened. "It's overrated. I was human for a little while.
It's crap. Their nipples don't work. Look, I'm an old clapped out series
9000, but my nipples can pick up Kiss FM easily. When I was human I couldn't
even get Radio 4 out of them!"
    Data inclined his head. This was going to take some time.

***

Riker felt the familiar sensation of transporter rematerialisation die away
and cast his eyes around, taking in the surroundings. He whistled, then
tapped his combadge.
    "Riker to Enterprise."
    "Go ahead, Number One."
    "It's a mess down here, sir. I don't think we'll learn anything
from the lab; there's not that much left of it. Just about every piece of
equipment is either burnt out or smashed."
    "Do you want Commander LaForge to come down and assist?"
    "I don't think there's much point; nothing here looks very
salvagable." Riker noticed Worf trying to get his attention. "Hold on, sir."
He looked at Worf. "What is it?"
    "I am picking up lifesigns." He motioned towards one of the less
damaged computer panels. "Behind there."
    "Stand by, Captain." Riker motioned to Worf and between them they
managed to rip the panel away from the wall. Behind it was a man, huddled
up in a foetal ball, whimpering to himself. The man's ID badge read Doctor
P. Drassum.
    "It's alright," said Riker. "We're from the Enterprise. What
happened here?"
    "It's not my fault!" whimpered Drassum. "It was that Athem; it was
his fault! He distracted me, right at a crucial point! He's jealous of me!"
    Worf looked at Riker and frowned. It was not a pretty sight.
    Drassum continued to whine to himself. "Nothing ever works for me!
Why won't it ever work. I didn't do anything wrong, and it still didn't
work!" He was getting increasingly hysterical. Riker slapped him around the
face. He carried on whimpering. Worf hesitated, nudged Riker out of the way
and slapped Drassum - Klingon style. The sound of the slap resounded
throughout the room. Drassum's eyes went glassy and he felt onto the floor
in a heap.
    Riker glared at Worf. "Riker to Enterprise; three to beam directly
to sickbay."
    Worf shrugged in a very human-like manner. "It was for his own good,"
he explained.

***

Reg Barclay had just come off duty and decided to make some use of the
Holodeck. He had avoided it recently, especially after all the trouble he'd
had with it in recent months. Seeing as how he'd accumulated quite a lot
of time in hand, he decided to make use of it. Nothing special, nothing...
offensive, just a bit of harmless... recreation. He'd learnt his lesson at
least regarding Enterprise crewmembers, and actually suspected that Geordi
had put a lock on the Holodeck computer that recorded any simulations of
actual crewmembers. He wasn't going to take the risk.
    Barclay tapped the Holodeck controls. "Computer, run program
Barlcay-12."
    "Program Barclay-3 already executing. Do you wish to abort?" replied
the computer.
    That couldn't be right. He hadn't used the Holodeck in weeks, and
nobody would have run one of his programs. Number three? Wasn't that...?
    He racked his memory. It was. But who on Earth would have run such
a thing?
    "Computer, who is in Holodeck four?"
    "No crewmember is currently in Holodeck four."
    Barclay frowned. Then who the hell had started up the program? Perhaps
it was just a glitch in the Holodeck software. Perhaps a random power
fluctuation had fouled up the memory and caused the value of the execution
address to point to his program.
    Sure. And Captain Picard had a full head of hair.
    "Computer, who started program Barclay-3?"
    "Reason for program execution unknown."
    That did it. He couldn't afford the risk of letting the program
continue, anyway. It might have shown up on the logs and he couldn't exactly
say it ran by itself, even if it did!
    "Computer: Terminate program Barclay-3."
    "Program terminated."
    "Now run program Barclay-12."
    "Program complete. Enter when ready."
    Barclay grinned, rubbed his hands together and walked into the
Holodeck.

***

"Let me get this straight," said Riker. "You were experimenting with highly
dangerous equipment; you told Shane Athem, the foremost authority in
his field, the man with six Nobel Prizes and the Vulcan Science Institute's
first non-Vulcan member to go to hell; you tried to prove a theorem that even
I as a complete physics novice could see was fundamentally flawed; and now
you're blaming Doctor Athem for it all?"
    "Of course!" said Drassum, pleased that Riker could see it his way.
"That's exactly it!"
    "You are aware that Doctor Athem is nowhere to be found?"
    "That's not my fault!" explained Drassum.
    "And the indications are that he's been sucked into the rift?"
    "That's not my fault!" repeated Drassum.
    "And he could be injured, or even dead?!"
    "That's not my fault!" said Drassum, not being one for originality.
    "And the rift itself is unstable and is growing at an exponential
rate?"
    Drassum's face went red and his eyes began to leak tears. "Nothing
ever works for me! It's not my fault that things go wrong! The universe
doesn't like me!" He hit the table and started to blubber uncontrollably.
Doctor Crusher glided over with a hypospray and quickly jabbed Drassum in
the arm. He slumped onto the bed with his thumb in his mouth.
    "He's got a slight concussion, no thanks to Worf, and he's in
shock, but there's no permanent damage," announced Crusher.
    "I can't say I'm overjoyed," said Riker dryly.
    "You were a bit harsh with him, Will."
    "_I_ was harsh? I was positively fuming! I've got no patience with
fools, especially those fools whose mess we have to clear up!" He stormed
out of sickbay, Worf in tow.
    Riker turned to Worf. "You were right. It was for his own good."
    "And for ours," added Worf.

***

Rimmer was having such a good time that he didn't notice that he'd ceased to
exist. Naturally, when he noticed he was rather shocked and wasn't very
pleased.
    <Help!> he shouted, except he didn't, because he didn't have a
mouth, or vocal chords, or lungs, or anything for that matter, holographic
or otherwise.
    He looked around. It wasn't dark, it wasn't light, it wasn't quiet,
it wasn't noisy. It just *was*.
    Rimmer probed outwards; with what he didn't know. It seemed as if
his consciousness was an expanding sphere. He had no words to explain the
sensation, but he seemed to be encountering other... fragments, and
incorporating them into himself. With each fragment, his awareness of his
environment grew. He felt extensions to himself forming with every second;
weapons, propulsion systems, and the knowledge to use them. As his control
grew, so did the natural resistance of whatever system he was in. There was
nothing he could do to stop his advance now, even if he'd wanted to; the
expansion process had become an involuntary one. And why should he want to?
This was power beyond his wildest dreams; what he had always wanted. Command
and authority, and the power to back it up.
    Rimmer hesitated for a moment. Whenever he tried wielding power of
any kind it invariably ended in tears. Should he continue?
    He didn't have a choice in the end, as the last vestiges of
resistance died away. He was in complete control. His consciousness filled
every available area of this environment.
    It was time to show them what Captain Arnold Judas Rimmer, Space
Adventurer could do!

***

Ensign Nowan looked up from the helm controls. "Did you request a course
correction, sir?" she asked.
    Picard looked at Riker. Riker shrugged.
    "Why?" said Picard.
    "We're moving towards the temporal rift."
    "What the hell?" said Riker.
    Picard kept his composure. "Abort course change, Ensign," he ordered.
    Nowan's fingers jabbed at the controls. "I can't!" she said. "I'm
locked out!"
    "Riker to Engineering! Geordi, are you doing anything down there?"
    "I'm a bit busy at the moment, Commander, we've got a rogue program
running riot through the computer systems! I'll get back to you!"
    "_You're_ a bit busy?" yelled Riker. "We're heading into the rift
here and there's not a thing we can do about it! Forget the computer and
make sure we get through in one piece!"
    "Commander, without computer control there's not a thing we can do
about anything! We've got to get the computer back or we don't stand a chance
of making it through!"
    "You're saying you've got _no_ control over anything?"
    "I'm saying _no-one's_ got control over anything!"
    Ensign Nowan whirled round. "Captain! Helm controls going off-line!
Interference from the rift!"
    "Tactical also off-line," reported Worf.
    "Does anything work round here?!" yelled Riker.
    The Enterprise teetered on the brink of the rift, there was a flash
of light and then it was gone.

***

Athem's shuttle crept up behind the Borg ship. The huge cube hung motionless
over a planet, emitting green beams of energy that ripped great chunks out
of the surface and flung them towards the Borg ship. Lister and Athem looked
on in horror.
    "It's a class-M planet. 20 million inhabitants, low level of
technology, simple farmers."
    Lister looked aghast. "You say the Cat's responsible for _that_ ?"
    "Not responsible," replied Athem. "He doesn't have any control over
his actions any more. He's operating on behalf of their collective." Athem
went over to the control panel and fiddled with it. "Wait a minute. This
can't be right."
    "What?"
    "According to these sensors, the Borg are leaving the people alone.
Their tractor beams are removing all... clothes! They're not taking anything
except clothes! Since when do the Borg care about clothes?"
    "Erm... that sounds exactly right. Since when do the Borg care
about clothes? Since they grabbed the Cat. We've got to get him back."
    Athem looked at Lister as if he'd just offered him an elephant in
a bun. "Get him back! You're joking! You can't just waltz onto the Borg
ship, grab your friend and walk off!"
    "Watch me! How do you use this transporter thingy of yours?" Lister
started hammering the controls.
    "Hang on! You're going to break it!" Lister studied Athem impassively.
"I'm going to regret this, but..." He went to a drawer and took out two
phasers. "If we're going to go, let's go prepared!"

***

They materialised right in the guts of the Borg vessel. Athem was familiar
with the sight; there was not a person in the Federation that had not seen a
picture of it. Pictures did little to prepare you for the actual sight itself.
The whole environment appeared geared to the suppression of individuality.
You were forced to feel small and insignificant; your sense of self was
dwarfed by the never-ending array of machinery around you. And all this went
on as far as the eye could see, and you stood there in the middle of it all,
feeling smaller and smaller by the minute.
    It was Lister who broke into Athem's daze.
    "Come on you stupid git, let's get moving!"
    Well, thought Athem, I'll say this for him; he speaks his mind. He
took out his tricorder and waved it around. "This way," he said. "There's a
lifesign this way. Borg don't usually register as lifesigns, so perhaps your
friend is still intact."
    Lister followed Athem's lead. They walked for some time along
the never changing corridor. Suddenly Athem stopped and looked up from
his tricorder.
    "What's wrong?" asked Lister.
    "That lifesign. It's not registering as just a single being any
more."
    "You what? So what does that mean?"
    "It means that there could be trouble around this next corner."
    "Trouble is my middle name," announced Lister, and promptly turned
the corner. There was a pause, and then a scream.
    Athem darted around the corner. It was a moment before his brain
could decypher what was going on.
    Lister was under attack by a collection of furry balls with lumps
of metal hanging off them. Tribbles! Not just your regular tribbles, either.
These were... BorgTribbles. And they did not look very pleased to see them.
    Athem backed off as some of the tribbles turned their attention away
from Lister and to him. They began to advance towards him...

[cue dramatic Best of Both Worlds-style music...]

TO BE CONTINUED...


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This post is shareware. If you read  | "Hold on... you're telling me
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                                     Paul "Insanity is an art form" Neve