****  

Part 4

As Chakotay picked up the scroll, he could have sworn that it tried to jump out of his grasp.  He paused for a moment to meditate upon this.  Tom took the opportunity to replicate a quill.

“Hey, could you give the scroll to me for a minute?  I wanna try something out.”

There was no response from the hat stand.  Oh wait, that’s not a hat stand.  My bad.

There was no response from Chakotay, so Tom slid the scroll out from his hand and unrolled it.  From out of nowhere, somebody’s runaway muse barreled into him, and Tom suddenly had a spark of inspiration.  He began to write…

/Some dancing women would be nice:

B’elanna maybe – or the Queen of Ice.

I think that I should make it

So that they’re both naked…

Some naked dancing bodies, thrice!/

Suddenly, raunchy music filled the room and three naked Sevens skipped into the room, holding each others’ hands.  Hot on their very naked heels were three naked B’Elannas, who were also naked.  Have I mentioned yet, that they were all naked? 

Ahem, right. 

Moving on.

So they were all naked.  However, Chakotay couldn’t see them because he’d fallen into a deep coma while meditating.  Tom managed to catch a glimpse of one naked foot before passing out in a dead faint.  Call it divine interference, if you will.  The real reason behind it, however, is actually a very tragic tale. 

Somewhere, a long time ago, someone had prophesied that if a man named Tom Paris ever saw three naked B’Elannas and three naked Sevens, together, at the same time, naked, the Universe (as we know it) would end.  Now, this particular prophet was rated 99.79 on the IGSAP (InterGalactic Scale of Accurate Prophesying) so, understandably, his entire race was very alarmed and decided to dedicate their existence to saving the universe by preventing Tom Paris from ever seeing three naked B’Elannas and three naked Sevens, all of whom would be very naked, together. 

They succeeded but at a heavy price. Alas, the noble race slowly fell into decline and was unable to bake the universe-renown cookies that they were once so famous for.  Without cookies, their men were unable to keep the womenfolk at home and all the women left to became pirates who would sail and plunder the high seas of countless worlds.  And so their population began to dwindle… and dwindle… and dwindle… and it kept on dwindling, until finally, only one man was left on the planet – the one who had first made the prophecy about Tom Paris.  He fell to his knees in anguish, shook his fist at the sky and cursed “Damn you, Tom!  Damn you!” before falling prostrate to the ground, dead as a doorknob.

A tragic tale, indeed.

Nobody on Voyager knew of this, however.  Nor did they know just how close the Universe came to ending that day, and so they proceeded with their daily lives in blissful ignorance.  Proceeded, that is, until three naked B’Elannas and three naked Sevens burst out of the conference room and began skipping down Voyager’s surprised corridors.   

****

Q found B’Elanna in Cargo Bay 2, after checking both Engineering and the mess hall first.  B’Elanna was looking at Seven’s alcove with a sad expression on her face, deep in thought.  She turned upon hearing Q’s approach. 

“Hey,” B’Elanna greeted the rather disheveled looking woman.

“Hi,” Q smiled, “y’alriiigh?”

B’elanna blinked, “what?”

“Y’alriiigh?”

B’Elanna stared at Q in incomprehension.

Q sighed.  “Sorry, the author likes playing with accents a little too much, if you ask me.  Immature, really.  Anyway, I was saying ‘are you all right?’… I thought I’d check up on you.  You looked upset when you left.”

“Oh, right,” said B’Elanna, “Yeah, I’m fine.  It’s just that… I’m worried about Seven.”  She sighed.  “What if we never find her?”  Then a thought struck her.  “Kahless!  What if she dies from not being able to regenerate and we have to read through all of chapter 8, 9 and 10 of Lishesque’s ‘Fallen Star’ again??”

Even Q looked slightly ill at the thought of that, but before she could comment, they were interrupted by an out-of-breath ensign who looked very flushed.

“Lieutenant!  There’s um… there… uh… well…”

“Well?”

The ensign paused to catch her breath before bravely pulling herself together and blurting out, “Lieutenant, there are six naked women running around Voyager, ma’am, and they’re completely naked… and dear God, they’re naked...”  The ensign swooned.

“Wait, you’re not part of Voyager’s crew,” said B’Elanna suspiciously, “who are you?”

“I’m Ensign Rachel.”

“Oh!  I remember you,” B’Elanna exclaimed, “I’ve seen you before, in a turbolift, right?”

Rachel blushed and mumbled something about Gizzmo, a VJB spoof and a turbolift.  Before B’Elanna could ask her to explain, she hurried on with that was she was going to report, before she had been interrupted.  “You were naked!  There were three of you, and wow… you were um, yeah, naked, and yeah and Seven too.  She was naked as well.”

“What?!”

“Look for yourself,” The ensign pointed in the direction she had come in.  Her eyes widened upon seeing the expression forming on the Klingon’s face and she wisely ducked out of sight and story.

***

Tom woke up in a cold sweat, feeling very, very afraid.  His heart was beating so hard in his chest that he thought his rib cage would explode.  But… what if it wasn’t just his heart?  He rolled over to find the crab-like carcass thingy of the alien that had just impregnated him.

“Aaaaarrrrrrrgghhhhh!”

Tom’s bloodcurdling scream roused Chakotay from his coma.  He looked at Tom in confusion.

Gibbering in terror, Tom pointed frantically at the alien.

“Oh, don’t worry about that.  It’s just my new spirit guide,” said Chakotay, calmly.  “A native of the Delta Quadrant… perfectly harmless, I assure you.”

“This is Star Trek Voyager.  /Not/ Alien Resurrection.  This is Star Trek Voyager.  /Not/ Alien Resurrection.  This is Star Trek Voyager…” 

Tom’s mantra seemed to calm him somewhat.  Yet he couldn’t shake away the feeling that he was in mortal danger.  If a baby alien wasn’t about to burst forth from his chest, then what could possibly be the matter?

The drums that had been beating softly in the background began to increase their tempo. 

Badoom.  Badoom.  Badoom.

The pounding grew louder and louder, culminating in a loud crash as the door to the conference room was ripped open.

“Hello!  My name is Inigo Montoya.  You killed my father.  Prepare to die!”

Tom (who had been expecting B’Elanna, or at least Seven) blinked.  “Uh… what?” 

“You heard me,” the strange man growled, and drew his sword.  Then he paused.  “Why, may I ask, is your face green and spotty?”

Before Tom had time to answer, the man was shoved out of the doorway by a blonde in a yellow tracksuit who was wielding a very deadly-looking katana.

“Bill,” was all she said, and advanced upon a poor, confused-looking Tom.

Luckily for Tom, before the blonde could take his head off, B’Elanna burst into the room and shoved both newcomers out of the way.

“Get rid of those naked women,” B’Elanna growled.  “Now!”

Tom, who hadn’t actually seen the naked posse, was about to ask “what naked women?” when a very naked foot caught his eye.  The conference room was immediately and thoroughly plunged into chaos as the three naked B’Elannas and three naked Sevens pranced into the room, holding hands.  The unfortunate helmsman promptly fainted again (phew, that was a close one).  At the same time, both the strange man and the blonde in yellow dived for the scroll which was now lying on the floor besides Tom’s head.

“Quick Inigo! Get the scroll so we can end this insanity!”

The man quickly threw the scroll to the blonde but missed and it hit her head instead.  It knocked off her hair, exposing her to be the wig-wearing Puerto Rican imposter that she really was.

At this point, the author threw up her hands in exasperation.  “Lyan!” she exclaimed at her girlfriend, with a force ten glare thrown in for good measure, “How am I supposed to write this story if you all just barge in and start creating havoc like doom-bunnies in heat?”

The pair of newcomers shrugged and grinned unapologetically.

“This is it,” the author stated firmly, “I’m done with this story.  Finished.  Not writing a single word more.” 

And with that, the holy-looking light that had been shining down, along with the reverberating, echo-y voice both stomped away in a huff.

Everybody looked to each other.  What would they do now?   

The wig-wearing Puerto Rican wandered over to Chakotay, who was once again in a deep trance, where she proceeded to poke him repeatedly, making him wobble like a weeble. 

Inigo strutted towards Tuvok and promptly began to flirt with him. 

Chaos reigned.

A few minutes later, the author, who was now pouting mightily and looking terribly petulant came stomping back into the room and announced, “I have written myself into a corner.”  She looked around hopefully.  “Anybody wanna help get me out of this… er… rut?”

Tom would have offered but he was out cold on the floor.  Chakotay would have offered but he was too busy teetering back and forth disturbingly.  As for Tuvok and Inigo, they were nowhere to be seen, although months later, an ensign would claim that he saw Tuvok and Inigo shagging loudly and passionately in a turbolift.  Nobody would ever believe him though, because everyone knows that Tuvok Never Gets Any.

After several months of procrastinating and a lusty catfight with her muse, /still/ no offer had come so the sulking author finally agreed to finish the already much-too-long story.

Suddenly, the doors burst open and Inigo came running in at top speed for some unknown reason.  He skidded to a stop before the Puerto Rican hottie.

“C’mon Lyan, we have to stop her from writing more of this story!”

In agreement, the Puerto Rican hottie grabbed the scroll and they both bolted for the exit.  Seeing the danger in losing the scroll yet again, our feisty half-Klingon tried to tackle the intruders and would have succeeded were it not for the three prancing Sevens, who grabbed her all of a sudden, and began twirling her around the room.  Despite her sturdy Klingon constitution, B’Elanna began to feel very woozy – it has yet to be determined whether the woozyness was from being spun around at high speed by three naked women, or whether it was the effect of the three naked women themselves.

Just as it seemed the two intruders would get away with the scroll and foil the author’s grand T/7 plans, Q vroomed in, resplendent in shiny leather pants and riding her dented bike.  She snatched the scroll from Lyan and tossed it to B’Elanna, who dizzily staggered away with it.  Chasing after B’Elanna were three naked Sevens; skipping (yes, skipping) after the three naked Sevens were the three naked B’Elannas; and swiftly following the six naked women was Lyan with Inigo in tow.  Q brought up the rear with the Doctor riding on her bike behind her.

B’Elanna glanced behind her, her eyes widening as she saw the long procession all pursuing her through Voyager’s corridors.  To top it all off, the five Borg drones had apparently woken up from their enchanted sleep and were now chasing after her as well.  Hurriedly, she scribbled on the scroll while running at full speed: “The Puerto Rican hottie, Inigo, the three naked Sevens, the three naked B’Elannas and the five Borg drones all went to a cave and fell into a deep, deep sleep.”

Quiet descended on Voyager, once again.

B’Elanna leaned against a wall, panting for breath.  Besides her was Q, the Doctor and Tom, all of whom had caught up to her.  Tom looked as confused as ever, having just missed the entire chase and of course, the six naked women.  All he knew was that B’Elanna looked tired and very miserable.

“Hey c’mon Lanna, don’t look so gloomy,” he kind heartedly tried to cheer her up, “I’m sure we’ll find a way out of this mess.”

“I just wish it didn’t have to be Seven that disappeared, you know?”  B’Elanna sighed.  “I bet she would have figured out how to end this craziness by now.”  She looked down at the floor.  “Now I might never see her again, and I just keep thinking… we never really got to know each other.”

The others were silent, all lost in their own guilt and wishing that they had not played their part in the making of this drama.  All except Tom, that is.  He was busy staring down at Q’s leather clad cleavage, all the while pretending to check out her bike.

The somber silence was unexpectedly shattered by the wailing siren of a red alert.

Despite her distress, the Lieutenant was instantly ready for action.  She slapped her comm badge.  “Harry, what’s going on?”

“You’d better come to the bridge, B’Elanna,” was his reply.  “I think we may have located Seven of Nine.”

Continued in part 5