Cracks 09 Kathryn Janeway's Flying Circus

by PT Collective

  The Star Trek: Voyager premise and its characters belong to Paramount Studios, a Viacom company. No infringement on Paramount's or Viacom's rights is intended. This round robin story was written by fans for fans for fun. We hope you enjoy it! Other stories in our "canon" series: Cracks in the Wall Clear as Mud Test of Faith Echo of a Nightmare Flight of Memory Inheritance Whither Are They Vanished? The Judgment of Karis With Murderous Intent Other stories by the Collective Mind Games Poised Women Warriors at the River of Blood Echo of a Nightmare Plasma Chills

  "Kathryn Janeway's Flying Circus"

  By the PT Collective

  Lieutenant Commander Tuvok stared straight ahead as the captain continued. "Tuvok, my mind is made up. Despite the fact you were under the influence of a sub-sentient virus, you still attempted to harm several of the crew, myself included. You nearly destroyed Voyager! This cannot go unpunished." "Most assuredly not, Captain," Tuvok replied. "I am not seeking to avoid punishment. But I sincerely believe this is too harsh a measure," he said dourly. "I have already completed all the disciplinary tasks you set for me, as well as personally making a complete overhaul of the entire security system so that such a breach cannot again occur." "It's not like you to whine, Tuvok," said the captain, barely suppressing a smile. "I thought Vulcans were more stoic than this." "I am not 'whining,' Captain. I am merely stating an obvious fact. This is cruel and unusual punishment. You would not inflict it on anyone on board save myself. I am being unfairly singled out." "You're wrong, Tuvok." "Wrong that I am being singled out?" "Wrong that you're not whining." Tuvok spared the captain a glance, then returned to staring straight ahead. Captain Janeway rose and came from behind her desk to lean against the front of it. "We know from the Garn that Voyager has before it a vast open empty space. It will be at least fifteen days before we reach the next known system. The Garn saw to it that we have all the supplies we need. It's going to get rather boring for all of us, Tuvok. This will help keep the crew occupied, and I'm putting you in charge. It will help you begin to make it up to them." "Captain, I have no experience at all in this area." "I know you'll do a fine job. Look how well your holonovel went over. It was a smash hit!" "Captain, I am a chief of security, not a cruise director. I-- " "Enough, Commander. The crew of Voyager is going to put on a show and you're in charge. Those are my orders. Now, how about we brainstorm a little bit? What shall it be? A play? An operetta, perhaps? Or a musical review? It must be something that involves everyone equally. I want every crewmember on board involved in some way. Everyone must be given a chance to participate." "You mean, perhaps, an exhibition known on your world as a 'talent show.'" "A talent show! Excellent idea, Tuvok. You see? You're a natural at this. A talent show, with various acts, perhaps even prizes! You can be the emcee. You'll need an assistant, of course, maybe even two, but I'll leave that up to you. You have my permission to use any resources or personnel you need. I expect regular reports on this, Tuvok. Dismissed." * * * * * "How did you get us into this?" muttered Ensign Janine Lamont under her breath as she and her special friend, security officer Ethan Simms, sat in the mess hall waiting unwillingly for Neelix to return with some kind of new concoction. "I thought he said 'deal' not 'meal,'" replied Ethan, wishing he had just stayed in his quarters and replicated lunch. The look Janine kept giving him was second only to Captain Janeway's and Medusa's. The unwanted image of Janine with snakes in her hair turning people into stone as she walked along a corridor appeared in his mind, and Ethan tried to repress the chuckle he knew was bubbling up inside. Tried, but didn't succeed. Janine's gaze, if possible, grew sharper. "What's so funny?" she demanded, darting glances at the doors as if trying to plot her escape. "Nothing about Neelix' food is funny, if you're the one eating it. Don't you remember that Rodeo Red something-or-other Chili?" Ethan, about to reply, noticed Commander Tuvok entering. Nothing about that was particularly unusual. *Even Vulcans have to eat, obviously,* he thought. *But Tuvok is actually heading INTO Neelix' laboratory -- er, kitchen, rather. And NO ONE ever goes in there, especially not Tuvok.* As illogical as it seemed, the Vulcan took great pains to avoid the bubbly Talaxian. Simms continued his line of thought, *What I wouldn't give to be a fly on that wall!* * * * * * "You'd like me to be your assistant?" Neelix repeated with astonishment. "Yes," Tuvok answered. "Will you accept my offer to help me plan this . . .'talent show?'" "Of course, Mr. Vulcan! Of course!" Neelix smiled triumphantly. "This is a perfect morale booster. I could hug you!" "I'd rather you didn't, Mr. Neelix. Carry on with your duties. I will contact you when I come off duty to begin to formulate ideas for this production." Tuvok gave a nod of acknowledgment and left Neelix's kitchen with maybe a little more haste than was really necessary. * * * * * "Neelix!" Tom interrupted. "You've been making suggestions for the talent show for 20 minutes. All of your ideas sound great, but Tuvok's the one running the whole thing -- not me." Neelix looked confused. "But you said you were on your way to meet Tuvok to make preparations." Tom sighed. "Yes, I am. Preparations for the surprise senior staff drill next week." "Oh," Neelix said, looking abashed. "Well then, I'm sorry to have held you up, Lieutenant. But -- " here he looked at Tom hopefully -- "since you've heard my ideas, can you tell me what you think? I mean, you know what the crew will like. Is there anything that I should change, or forget, or think of? I mean -- " "Neelix, relax. Everything that you've come up with is fine. Whatever you decide to do, the crew will love it -- it's not like there's a lot of entertainment options out here," Tom reassured his friend. "Tuvok is lucky to have you helping him and frankly, so are the rest of us. A talent show run entirely by a Vulcan does NOT a fun evening make. Fortunately, Tuvok knows his limitations." "Thanks, Tom," replied Neelix. "Let's hope Commander Tuvok feels the same way." Just then Neelix' aide (ordered to be so after being caught in a compromising position while on duty) came into the kitchen to start his "volunteer" work. Neelix started to leave, then turned back around. "Lieutenant, don't Captain Janeway and Commander Chakotay usually plan the drills?" Tom grinned. "Yes, but Tuvok decided that it would be a prudent measure to give the captain and Chakotay an unexpected drill for once. And, according to regulations, the third and fourth in command organize those drills." "Ah. I take it the rest of the senior staff will also be surprised?" "Yup. But for once I won't have to rush out of bed and throw on a uniform in the middle of the night. Since I get to help plan it, I also know what time the drill will be, so I'll be ready," Tom explained with a self-satisfied grin. He started to leave the kitchen. "Well, Neelix, I'd better be going. Tuvok's expecting me." * * * * * Commander Tuvok looked up from his padd as Lieutenant Paris walked into his quarters. "Lieutenant Paris," he began in his usual Vulcan fashion, "you are 17.24 minutes late. I hope you have a good reason for such negligence." Tom grinned as he came to a stop across from Tuvok. "Yes, sir," he replied, at attention. "I was in the mess hall with Neelix, who was busy giving me a very long message to give to you regarding the talent show." Tuvok's brows furrowed. Ever since he'd asked for Neelix' help he'd been pestered by the enthusiastic man's . . . well, enthusiasm. "At ease, Lieutenant," he replied. Tom sat down on the chair he'd been standing behind and placed the padd in his hands on his lap. "Would you like me to recite what I can recall of the message from Neelix, sir?" Tom asked, voice and face innocent. Tuvok gave him his version of the Janeway Look and looked back at the padd in his hand. "That will not be necessary. Now, Mr. Paris, shall we commence with our plans for the drill?" * * * * * Hours later Tuvok scanned the last of the day's security reports. He was preparing to sign off the final report when his door chime beeped. "Enter." "Mr. Tuvok!" Neelix strode in, greeting the Vulcan with his customary good humor. "Did you speak with Lieutenant Paris abou
t the talent show?" "I spoke with Lieutenant Paris for some time," Tuvok said. "However, our conversation centered on the official ship matters which take precedence over leisure activities such as the talent show." "Of course, of course," Neelix agreed wholeheartedly. He dropped into the chair next to Tuvok's desk, bouncing slightly on the edge. "That is exactly why I'm here. I know what a busy man you are and I think I've come up with the perfect arrangement for the talent show." Tuvok merely raised an eyebrow. From experience he knew he would have time for little else before Neelix drew a rushed breath and rambled on. "Lieutenant Paris gave me the idea actually, in a roundabout way. He mentioned that while the last evening of crew entertainment was enjoyable in its way, there were too many solo renditions of dramatic readings and poetry." Neelix paused, and shook his head apologetically. "Though I'm sure that Lieutenant Paris didn't mean to imply that there is anything wrong with poetry, of course -- " "Of course." "But he did mention that there was not enough conviviality -- " "Lieutenant Paris is no doubt an expert on conviviality." "He does seem to embrace the concept," Neelix agreed, oblivious to Tuvok's dry tone. "He said he once attended something called "Future Stars of the Galaxy Revue and Variety Extravaganza" on Risa -- at least I think it was called something like that -- " "Mr. Neelix, the point, please." "The acts were performed by pairs or groups -- no solos. Because of this the acts were usually musical numbers or theatrical sketches, which, according to Mr. Paris, were far more entertaining than -- that is, quite entertaining for the audience." "I see." "Not only that, Mr. Tuvok, but apparently the participants had a much greater level of enjoyment performing together, and since we have quite a few crew members who want to be in the show, this will allow the maximum number to participate." Tuvok steepled his hands under his chin and studied Neelix for a moment. "I have no objection to this plan, Mr. Neelix." "Good! Wonderful!" Neelix interpreted Tuvok's dispassionate response as enthusiastic support. He positioned the padd he was carrying on the desk so that Tuvok could see the display as he scrolled through the list. "I spent most of the evening talking to various crew members. As you can see, there's been a lot of enthusiasm for the show. I have groups from Engineering, Sciences, Security, Medical, Services -- in fact from every department of the ship -- who all want to perform." Tuvok read the list as it scrolled by. "You have been quite thorough, Mr. Neelix." Tuvok immediately noted the one exception. "None of the senior officers are listed." "True," Neelix agreed simply, with an almost delighted grin. "But they don't need to volunteer." "Indeed, it would be undignified -- " "Since there's no question that the senior officers will participate," Neelix continued brightly, right over Tuvok's voice. "After all, nothing will increase crew morale more than seeing the senior officers willing to be good sports and "let their hair down" and have fun. I believe the phrase Lieutenant Paris likes to use fits the situation." "Lieutenant Paris," Tuvok muttered. "And I believe the captain did say the whole crew should get involved. So I took the liberty of pairing off the senior officers." Tuvok's eyebrow rose again. "'Pairing off?'" "Yes," Neelix pressed a finger to the padd and the screen changed. "That will give rest of the crew several different acts to enjoy. And since most of the senior officers were busy this evening I simply had the computer randomly pair them up." Tuvok stared at the screen. "This is a random selection?" "Of course. Is there something wrong?" "Interesting," was Tuvok's only comment. He wondered briefly what Commander Chakotay and Ensign Kim would find to perform together. And while he supposed Lieutenant Paris would have no objection to performing with Seven of Nine, he suspected Lieutenant Torres might have a very definite objection. But the chief engineer would no doubt be occupied with the demands of her own partner, the doctor. "I didn't include you, Mr. Tuvok, because you will be the Master of Ceremonies. But I did include myself, even though my position as a "senior officer" is somewhat honorary." "As is Seven of Nine's," Tuvok pointed out. "This is your show, Mr. Tuvok, so if you want to make any changes . . . ." Tuvok looked at the final pairing. Neelix and Captain Janeway. "That will not be necessary. I believe this arrangement will be . . . suitable." Neelix beamed and picked up the padd. "Then first thing in the morning I will post the final list on the computer news flash so that everyone can begin to prepare their acts." "That will be acceptable." "And since this will be a contest, we should decide what the prizes should be. Holodeck time, extra rations -- " "We need not finalize everything at once, Mr. Neelix. Tomorrow is soon enough." Neelix nodded. "Tomorrow then." He rose and bounded toward the door, then turned back to Tuvok. "Ah, I almost forgot. I've been researching the duties of a Master of Ceremonies and I can probably help you with that. I found a wonderful list of monologues used on Earth over the centuries. Some of them are very funny!" "Mr. Neelix, you have already done more than enough. I will not require your assistance in that area." "Ah," Neelix nodded sagely. "Of course. I forgot about the holodeck scenarios. Since you have a talent for writing you would probably prefer to write your own routine." Tuvok sighed. "Indeed. Good night, Mr. Neelix." "Good night, Mr. Tuvok. And don't worry, even though I'll be putting together my act with the captain, I'll still be available as your assistant should you need me. I know this is going to be fun!" Tuvok watched the door slide closed after Neelix rushed out. Fun. A decidedly human concept that he had little experience with, and little desire to experience. But as a loyal Starfleet officer, he was honor bound to do as his captain ordered to the best of his ability. To set up this talent show for the crew, and to make sure that everyone had . . . fun. Was that not what the captain ordered? * * * * * The poor ensign would probably never recover. He was simply going about his duties, following his appointed rounds. It had seemed to be such a simple task. All he had to do was find the captain and give her Engineering's latest status report. She had asked that they give her an update as soon as they finished running the day's diagnostics. He had asked the computer where she was, and he learned that she was on the holodeck. So to the holodeck he went. There was no privacy lock set, so he had just walked right in . . . and found himself in a cartoon-like garden. Curious as to why the captain would be in such a locale, he walked around the garden wall . . . and found the captain and Neelix in blue bunny suits. "Neelix, I will not wear this costume." "Ah, but Captain, it is such a lovely shade of blue! And besides, it is quite a complement to the piece." "Neelix, I am not standing up to recite 'Here Comes Peter Cottontail' in front of my crew! That would not be good for -- " It was at this moment that the unfortunate ensign's day became worse. He was spotted by Neelix. "Ah, Ensign, come in! Perhaps you could give us another opinion. Don't you think the costumes would be quite effective for 'Here Comes Peter Cottontail?'" The ensign, having never read the aforementioned piece of Earth literature, said the first thing that came to his mind: "Well, Captain, blue is definitely your color." He doubted that he would ever forget the look on the captain's face. "Ensign, is that a report in your hand?" "Uh, yes ma'am, I mean sir. I mean, Captain. Ma'am," replied the unlucky ensign. "Then I advise that you hand me the report and then leave. Oh, and if you tell anyone about what you've seen . . . let's just say the Jeffries tubes could use a good cleaning." * * * * * Whatever his faults the ensign was at least very quick in obeying orders. He handed the report to the captain, and ran out of there as fast as he could. So fast, in fact, that he didn't see the commander approach. "Ensign, is there an emergency?" "Um, no sir. No emergency." "Then is there another reason why you should be running in the corridors?" "Um, yes, I mean, no, sir. Understood, sir." "Dismissed, then. Slowly." As Chakotay watched the decidedly pale ensign back away, he wondered what on earth could have happened to the poor boy to shock him so badly. *Hmm, he was coming out of the holodeck. Wonder what's going on in there?* Seeing that the privacy lock was not engaged, he decided to investigate. The first thing Chakotay saw was a very large flower at least half as tall as he was. And it was pastel. Bright pastel. The stem and leaves were an almost blinding shade of green, and the flower itself was bright purple with a glowing yellow center. He resisted the urge to shield hi
s eyes as he continued to look around the . . . place. *I wonder whose program this is? Maybe I should talk to the captain about evaluating the crew's mental condition. Make sure that no one is starting to suffer from space sickness.* As Chakotay passed a very large blue tree, he saw something that made him stop dead in his tracks. Standing no more than five meters away from him was his captain, the woman who issued orders to the entire crew and made decisions that affected the entire quadrant every day. She was wearing a blue bunny suit complete with big, floppy ears. Beside her stood Neelix, who was wearing a bright yellow and orange bunny suit. "Kathryn?" Chakotay asked in amazement, after he regained his voice. * * * * * B'Elanna charged out of the doctor's office holding the bright red dress in her arms. She barked at the doc, "Spaghetti straps?! I don't THINK so!" "But Lieutenant, disco is eternal!" "Disco is -- was -- a total and complete aberration of twentieth century history. I will have nothing to do with it!" "But Lieutenant! I've been studying most carefully! I have moves not even found in the films of that era!" B'Elanna iced over. "Doctor," she said sweetly, "exactly what were you thinking when you programmed a slit up the side to the waist?" The doctor looked at her thoughtfully and responded questioningly, "I was thinking what a hit it would be with Mr. Paris?" "ARGH!! Take this, this, THING and shoot it out an airlock, or I will shoot YOU out an airlock!" "I take it this means you'd rather I choose a different dance," the doctor said serenely. "I would. Preferably one I don't have to spend hours and hours learning." "I see. In that case, the perfect choice is the Tango." B'Elanna looked at him incredulously, repeating slowly, "The Tango." The doctor regarded her with a patronizing air. "Of course," he said dryly. She paused. "I have no idea how to do the Tango." The doc zeroed in on her slight change of heart. "It's easy. I can show you, and you can show . . . whomever you wish. I'll even replicate you a new costume." "I haven't agreed yet!" The doc tried a change of strategy. "Instead of dance, how about Klingon opera?" She glared at him. "Tango. And *I* replicate my OWN costume." "Done." * * * * * Seven narrowed her eyes and regarded Tom suspiciously. "A magic show," she repeated slowly. "Yep! A bona-fide, old-fashioned, saw-the-girl-in-half magic show. What do you say?" "Magic is . . . irrelevant." "It's perfect! All you have to do is smile and look pretty. Oh, and get in boxes and stuff. You used to live in a cube. You'll be a natural." "I have no idea at all what is involved in a 'magic show.' Shall I assume 'the girl' is not actually sawed in half?" Tom snorted. "Well, of course not. Nobody would want the job if they did, now would they? C'mon, this will be terrific. Me and you. The Amazing Parissimo and his mysterious assistant Sixplusone. I'll even replicate your costume for you." She paused. "It is acceptable." * * * * * Captain Kathryn Janeway was in uniform. She didn't look at Chakotay when she entered the bridge. In fact, she didn't even acknowledge his presence; she walked straight to her ready room, head held high. When she walked in the doors, she saw it. A blue bunny, complete with floppy ears and a combadge. She had no doubt as to who the culprit was. Well, two could play at this little game. "Ensign Bridges to my ready room, now." * * * * * The ensign had a bad feeling from the moment he stepped into the captain's ready room. "Ensign, take a seat." He immediately complied. "I . . . well, I seem to have a problem on my hands," she began, pointing to the blue bunny. "I see," he said. "The commander?" "Yes. Now, I obviously can't let him go on with this kind of behavior." "Of course not." *But what on earth does this have to do with me?* he wondered. He soon found out. "Ensign, I have a mission for you." *Uh-oh, here it comes.* "I want to know what Chakotay is doing for the talent show, and I want to know now." "And you want me to find out? Why not use Paris or someone like that? He would be better at this kind of thing than me." "I am not telling Paris that I was on the holodeck with Neelix in a blue bunny suit. Besides, you are already . . . connected to the situation. You are, as Tuvok would undoubtedly say, the logical choice." "Undoubtedly." "Well, you have no further orders. Dismissed." The captain smiled devilishly as he left the room. She would make Chakotay pay somehow. * * * * * "You're doing WHAT!" "B'Elanna, calm down. It's just a magic act. It's not like we're doing the Tango or anything." Tom ignored the glare that she sent him. "Besides, you will get to see Seven being sawed in half." "As enjoyable as that will be, does she have to wear THAT?" B'Elanna said furiously, pointing to the picture. "B'Elanna, this is an authentic replica photograph of a costume worn by an assistant to the famous twentieth-century magician David Copperfield. It's a classic!" "I don't care what it is, or who wore it! You are not going to share the stage with that . . . *Borg* dressed in that . . . *thing!* I won't allow it!" "Well, how do think I feel about you doing the Tango with the doctor?" "It's just a dance, how bad could it be?" "You don't know what the Tango is?" "It's not generally a staple in Klingon culture." "Well, I guess you'll find out soon enough. Anyway, what are you going to wear?" "Whatever it is, it can't be nearly as bad as . . . as that thing!" B'Elanna spat, pointing to the picture of a rather skimpy piece of female clothing in Tom's hand. *My underwear probably uses more cloth than that thing,* she thought idly. "What exactly is it, B'Elanna? I'm betting you've never seen any of the popular dresses that women who Tangoed wore." At a loss, B'Elanna decided to make him sweat it out. "I guess you'll have to wait with everyone else to see it, won't you?" she said with a slight smirk. * * * * * "Computer, locate Commander Chakotay." "Commander Chakotay is in Holodeck2," the computer replied in monotone. *Hmmm.* "Computer, locate Ensign Kim." "Ensign Kim is in Holodeck2." "Are they alone?" "Please restate the question." *Stupid computer!* "Computer, how many people are in Holodeck2?" "There are two people currently in Holodeck2." *Yes!* Walter Bridges thought triumphantly. He rushed out of his quarters in the direction of Holodeck2. *Now, how to take a peek in there without alerting them.* Walter pondered this new challenge. Then he remembered the time that he'd seen Lieutenant Torres call up an image of what was happening inside the holodeck on the console beside the door during a holodeck malfunction. He'd been on his way to meet his girlfriend in the mess hall when he'd overheard the chief engineer mumbling to herself. She hadn't noticed him as he'd neared her, and just as he'd passed her, he'd seen an image of Risa pop up on the console. *What did she say?!* Then it came to him. "Computer, display the program currently running on this console." "That command requires a level three authorization code." *Oh geez. Well, the captain did say that she didn't care how I did it.* Quickly, before he could ponder what he was about to do any further, he said what he remembered hearing Lieutenant Torres say. "Authorization beta-six-eight." *Good thing that was a general code and not a personal authorization,* he thought, *since my voice never would have matched the chief's voice patterns.* An image of a stage popped up in front of him. Ensign Kim was standing on the right side of the stage playing a piece on his clarinet. *But where's the commander?* Bridges wondered. Then he saw him. Voyager's first officer leaped out onto the stage from the left wing, wearing only a pink tutu, pink tights, and pink ballet slippers. * * * * * Ensign Harry Kim had seen many intriguing sights during Voyager's trip through the Delta Quadrant, but he didn't think he'd ever see anything more absurd or ridiculous than Commander Chakotay wearing a ballet outfit. He didn't realize he had spoken his thoughts aloud until he heard the commander say, "You haven't seen the captain's outfit if you think this is ridiculous." Chakotay grinned widely. "I think this should have fooled who ever she sent to track us." Harry was confused. Who was 'she?' What *was* the captain's outfit? Why would anyone want to track them? And what did any of that have to do with Chakotay's get-up? Trying to get his bearings he asked, "You're not really going to wear that, are you?" He tried not to sound panicked, but what if the commander asked *him* to wear a tutu so they could both go prancing around the stage making a fool of themselves to everyone on board Voyager? Tom would never let him live it down. And Seven . . . how in the world would he explain that to her? Chakotay laughed. "No, Harry, no ballet for us. This is just to throw off whomever the captain sent to figure out what we're doing." "Why would the captain do that?" "I'd tell you, but
then I'd have to kill you," replied Chakotay solemnly. "It's best that information stay with me. Now," he rubbed his hands together and sat down at the edge of the stage. "You had ideas you wanted to discuss?" * * * * * Chakotay left the holodeck with a satisfied expression on his face, one that he quickly hid as soon as he saw Captain Janeway coming down the corridor. Donning his best poker face he greeted the captain as innocently as he possibly could, considering the circumstances. Captain Janeway had to hide a smile of her own the minute she spotted her first officer outside the holodeck. *He doesn't even have a clue,* she thought as she hurried to catch up with him. "Captain," said Chakotay with a courteous nod. *I still can't believe I saw her in a bunny suit!* "Commander," answered Kathryn with equal politeness. *I can't believe he could actually wear a pink tutu!* "I got your little *present* earlier." "I hope I didn't offend you." "Not at all. I can take a joke, Commander." *I can afford to now that I know your secret passion is ballet!* "Where are you going?" Kathryn asked when they reached the turbolift. "To my quarters -- I had quite an exercise on the holodeck, and I need to take a shower." *Let's see how she reacts to that!* Kathryn hid a smile. "I see." *I'm sure you did, with all that dancing!* They walked into the turbolift. "Bridge." "And Deck 3," Chakotay ordered. He started to say something else, but before he could open his mouth, the turbolift stopped and the doors opened again. Realizing that they weren't on Deck 3 yet, he stepped closer to Kathryn to make room for whomever was about to enter. Tom smiled at the captain and commander. "Deck 6. I'm meeting B'Elanna for dinner." He explained at Chakotay's questioning glance. "Ah," Chakotay nodded. The turbolift stopped again, this time at Deck 6. * * * * * "Have a good evening, you two," Tom said as he exited the turbolift. Walking towards the mess hall, he started planning a few new ways to get information out of B'Elanna. *I wonder what she's wearing for her number with the doctor...it must be good if she won't tell me!* When he reached the mess hall, Tom reached for the least toxic-looking of Neelix' dishes, then looked around for B'Elanna. Seeing her at a table for two in the far corner, he headed over and set his tray down a bit noisily to attract her attention. She glanced up, smiling when she saw who it was. "Tom," she greeted. Tom sat down opposite B'Elanna, smiling as he did. "What're you up to?" he asked nonchalantly, tilting his head slightly toward the padd beside her tray. "Just going over some engineering reports," B'Elanna replied. Tom frowned slightly. B'Elanna's voice sounded a bit tired, but before he could say anything B'Elanna shot him a look. He snapped his mouth shut and looked away for a moment, regathering his thoughts. When he looked back at B'Elanna he found her still gazing at him, seemingly more alert then she had been. He snatched a fry off her tray before asking, "Gotten any practicing in?" Sitting back in her chair, B'Elanna shot him a smirk. "Wouldn't you just love to know." "I was just trying to take an interest in what you're doing," Tom defended. "Sure," B'Elanna replied, not buying his excuse. "How are you and that Borg doing?" "She has a name, B'Elanna," Tom chided gently, knowing he was setting himself up, but wishing B'Elanna could see how alike the two really were. B'Elanna bit her tongue, not wishing start in on Tom. She rolled her eyes in warning, but didn't comment. Tom took the hint, replying, "She was busy doing some project or another with Harry." "Has she seen her costume yet?" B'Elanna asked, barely masking her distaste. "Now that you mention it, no. Has the doctor seen yours yet?" "No," B'Elanna replied. It was true. The fact that she hadn't even replicated it yet was beside the point. "When is he going to see it?" Tom pressed, trying his best to remain indifferent. "When everyone else does." "You're not going to get his advice?" Tom asked, slightly incredulous. "Since when have I needed his advice on anything?" B'Elanna snapped, trying to hide the fact she was completely ignorant of what she should wear. She'd never been good at depending on others, asking for, or even simply accepting, help. "B'Elanna . . . " Tom began. "Well, if it isn't two of my favorite lieutenants!" Neelix bubbled, walking over, cutting Tom off mid-sentence. "I certainly hope you're enjoying your meal this evening. Are you looking forward to the talent show? I hope you've been working hard on your acts. The pairings should be rather interesting, don't you think? Personally, I -- " "Take it easy, Neelix!" Tom interrupted him. "I'm sorry, Mr. Paris," Neelix continued to bubble. "I just get so excited over these things and I can't seem to help myself." As Neelix continued to ramble on, Tom and B'Elanna locked eyes across the table, smiling at their shared plight. Tom glanced warily at the glass in Neelix' hand. "Does this pink and white concoction have anything to do with your enthusiasm?" "Oh, no. Well, maybe yes. Actually, I was wondering if one of you could do me a small favor." B'Elanna, in the mood to be agreeable, nodded. "Sure, Neelix. What do you need?" Besides, the Talaxian *had* been pretty helpful recently. Neelix beamed. "Try this, and tell me what you think," he requested, thrusting the glass towards B'Elanna. B'Elanna was beginning to regret her offer. "Uh -- what is it?" she asked, stalling. "Just try it!" he said insistently. Taking a deep breath, B'Elanna reached for the glass and before she could change her mind, brought it to her lips and took a sip. She immediately wished she hadn't. *What the hell is this?!* she thought, trying not to cough. She was extremely grateful for her second Klingon stomach. After she forced whatever it was down, she looked up at Neelix, striving for a neutral expression. "Neelix? What was that?" Neelix smiled proudly. "A crab meat daiquiris." B'Elanna's eyes met Tom's in shock. Neelix continued, "I read about Terran crabs in the database, and daiquiris are ordered quite often from the replicators. Did you like it?" Tom, looking up from his food once again had difficulty restraining himself at the look on B'Elanna's face. * * * * * "I can't believe I let you talk me into doing this!" Mikel Hudson repeated again. "Mik, I know you're not too thrilled with the costume," Ethan Simms said. "'Not too thrilled?' I'm more than just 'not too thrilled,'" Mikel trailed off and sighed. "How on Earth did I ever let you persuade me to wear this . . . this . . ." "Costume?" Ethan said helpfully. Mikel grimaced, "More like torture device. Do you have any idea know how hot it gets inside this . . ." he wrinkled his nose in disgust, "'costume?!'" Ethan shrugged, "Actually I don't think it's too bad. What do you think, Janine?" Janine Lamont tried to keep from giggling. "Well, it'll certainly keep the audience's attention." Mikel rolled his eyes, "Yeah, but honestly, Ethe, couldn't we do an act for the show were I kept some shred of dignity?" Ethan laughed. "Well, I don't know about shreds of dignity, but that costume is going to be in shreds soon if you don't quit pulling at it and put it in a storage compartment," he said, changing the subject. Mikel grimaced, "Okay, okay." He opened the door of the storage compartment marked Simms/Lamont/Hudson, and ungraciously shoved the costume inside. "But I still think -- " The impatient chiming that suddenly rang out near the entrance to the holodeck interrupted him. Ethan quickly struggled out of his costume, "That's probably the next act waiting for us to clear out so they can rehearse. Mik, I know you're not happy about the costume, but humor me, okay?" "Whatever," grumbled Mikel as he watched Janine and Ethan put their costume into the storage locker also. Seven, standing outside the holodeck, decided that waiting further would be inefficient. She spoke into the communications system on the wall. "I request permission to enter the holodeck. I believe that I was scheduled to utilize this facility for a period of time commencing ten minutes ago." Ethan closed the storage locker and called, "You can come in now!" Seven strode purposefully into the holodeck and surveyed the stage Tuvok had programmed for the show. "Sorry about that, Seven," Janine said. "We must have lost track of time while practicing. Are you participating in the talent show too?" "Yes, I have been assigned to participate," Seven replied. An uncomfortable silence hung in the holodeck. "Uh, what act are you going to be doing for the show then?" Mikel prompted. "I do not believe that my 'partner' would wish me to reveal that at this time," Seven said stiffly. "This social exchange is inefficient and irrelevant. Please vacate the holodeck." "Okay . . . " Mikel muttered while heading for the door. "Sorry I asked." Once the trio exited the holodeck, Ethan turned to his companions, "Well, that was rude. I wo
nder what's bothering her?" "Yeah, I know," chimed in Janine, "Even Seven normally isn't that bad." "Maybe she has to wear a horrible costume for the talent show like I do," smirked Mikel as the three headed for the mess hall. Inside the holodeck, Seven, having conducted an industrious search of the holographic stage and backstage area, was unable to locate Lieutenant Paris. She activated her combadge. "Seven of Nine to Lieutenant Paris." "Paris here." "We were scheduled to rehearse our 'act' for the talent show being organized by Lieutenant Tuvok at this time, Lieutenant." "Oh yeah, that's right, huh? Sorry, Seven, I forgot all about it!" "Obviously." If the former Borg were in the habit of showing her frustration she would have sighed about now. "Do you wish to rehearse the remaining time or cancel the rehearsal, Lieutenant?" "No, I'll be right there. See you in a few minutes. Paris out." Tom sighed and looked over at B'Elanna, who had been growling at the padd for its selection of Tango costumes. Now she looked over at him. Tom sighed again. "Sorry, B'Elanna, I forgot all about the rehearsal." B'Elanna smiled tiredly. "That's okay. I'll just do a little bit more . . ." she stifled a growl, ". . . research." Tom smiled back. "Okay, see you later." * * * * * Seven didn't look up when Tom entered the holodeck. "Lieutenant." "Hi, Seven. Give me a minute while I change into my costume," Tom said. "I suppose I will be required to wear a costume as well?" Seven inquired somewhat rhetorically. "Yeah, I put one in the storage compartment," Tom replied, pulling his magician's costume out of the case he had been carrying with him. "It's marked with our names." He ducked into the changing room section of the backstage area. Seven strode over to the storage compartment area where the participants of the talent show stored their costumes. Briefly scanning the names, she identified her designated compartment and pulled out her costume, which was yellow . . . with feathers. She raised an eyebrow at the costume but put it on without protest. Tom emerged from backstage upon the sound of the holodeck doors opening. "Naomi? What are you doing up this late?" Naomi Wildman flounced into the stage with her mother trailing behind her. "Hi Tom," Samantha Wildman said. "Sorry to be interrupting, but I think Naomi left Fred in here when I was rehearsing earlier." "Fred?" Tom asked. "Oh, you know, her stuffed animal. Naomi refuses to go to sleep without it." Sam sighed but smiled slightly. As Naomi began her hunt for Fred, Seven emerged from the dressing room. Stunned looks immediately appeared on the faces of Tom and Sam. They both stared for a few seconds, then began to laugh uproariously. Naomi turned from her search and looked quizzically at Seven and then back at the two laughing adults. "Mommy?" she questioned. "Why is Seven dressed like Big Bird?" Seven, dressed in a yellow-feathered Big Bird costume, headed toward the stage where Tom stood. The slightly oversized costume flopped about, causing her movements to create a peculiar shuffling sound as she walked. With a valiant effort Tom managed to stop laughing. "Seven," he said desperately trying to compose himself, "why are you wearing a Big Bird costume?" Tom's question set off Samantha Wildman into another fit of laughter. Even Naomi, who didn't quite catch what was going on, was giggling. "This is not the costume I was intended to wear?" Seven asked perplexed. "Then explain why was it in my storage compartment." "I don't know!" Tom said. "I remember putting your costume into our designated storage compartment, and that," he gestured to the feathered costume she wore, "is not the one I put in there!" Seven frowned slightly, "Then how did this costume come to be in my storage compartment instead of the one intended, Lieutenant?" "Uh, it got up and walked in there?" Tom shrugged. "Are you sure you checked the right compartment, Seven?" "I am certain. I do not make mistakes," Seven replied. * * * * * Kathryn Janeway poured herself a cup of coffee as she reviewed the latest report from Engineering. Her lips quirked with unrestrained amusement as she brought the cup to her lips. *Chakotay will never live it down* she thought with satisfaction. *I won't let him.* The door chime chose that moment to interrupt. "Come," called Kathryn, setting down her lucky tea cup. Neelix entered, carrying a large padd in both hands. "I hope I'm not interrupting, Captain." "No, not at all, Neelix. Come on in." The Talaxian seated himself in the guest chair and smiled. "Captain, I know you didn't approve of Peter Cottontail, so I took the liberty of researching some more in hopes of coming up with something suitable." "What did you find?" Kathryn asked, trying not to sound too suspicious. Neelix sat up a little straighter. Whatever he had discovered, he was obviously very proud of it. "When we got stuck in 1996, Kes and I discovered a form of art known on your world as 'television.'" "I've heard of it, although I don't know much about it," admitted Janeway, steepling her hands together. "Yes, well, apparently, for entertainment they used their television like we do the holodecks, except that they couldn't participate in the scenarios like we can with holo- programs. Nonetheless, they were quite engaging. Every week a new installment would be 'aired,' adding to the plot line. I thought we could act out a small scene from one of the more popular programs of the era." That sounded reasonable enough. "What did you have in mind?" Janeway reached over to take the padd Neelix was holding out. "There's quite a list here, Neelix," she said, reading down the list, "'As the World Turns,' 'Another World,' 'Bold and the Beautiful,' Days of Our Lives,' 'Melrose Place,' 'Sesame Street,' 'I Love Lucy . . . ." Janeway stopped and read the short synopsis for 'I Love Lucy.' "This program sounds interesting." "Whatever you choose, Captain. I scheduled the holodeck during your off-duty time so we can actually see whichever program you select." Kathryn handed the padd back. "I'll be there." * * * * * Kathryn looked down at her uniform -- not her regular one, but her uniform for "work." Lucy's work. "Captain, you made an excellent decision! This was one of the most popular scenes back then. There was even a show in some theme park that had this scene in it! Now, I'm not so sure about playing a female. Ethel? Do I have to wear this? It's . . . uncomfortable." "Neelix, look at it this way. If we're going to make this good, you'll have to play Ethel. The crew will love it . . ." she trailed off, trying to get him to agree. "But still. Why can't I be the manager?" Now she was getting a tad fed up. "Neelix, this scene needs Ethel. Besides, this will all be very good for morale." "Fine. I'll do it for the crew," he finally agreed, although his heart didn't seem in it. "Great. All we have to do is wrap up the chocolates and when the conveyor belt gets faster we have to get rid of them. Eat them, shove them off, shove them down your top, put them in your hat, anything. Come on, this will be easy and we can get back to work. Let's just go through it once." * * * * * "Tom! Why didn't you warn me? I didn't see a single thing in the whole entire file that I'd wear in front of the crew!" B'Elanna had worked herself into a rage over the costume selections. "Maybe *I* wanted you to perform for me in one of those outfits, but you're working with the doctor," he frowned. "You could always opt to perform in uniform. Not that it would help morale as much." A pillow hit him in the head, and he looked up and saw B'Elanna armed with another one. For his own defense, he picked up one of the cushions on the sofa and held it up as hers came crashing down on his head. After a particularly invigorating pillow fight (and their subsequent make-up), Tom sat down in the mess hall alone to catch a snack. He couldn't help remembering the expression on Seven's face when she'd said, sounding quite sure of herself, 'I am certain. I do not make mistakes.' She'd been right -- she hadn't made a mistake. He smiled as he remembered the ensuing events. * * * * * "I am certain. I do not make mistakes." Tom looked directly at Seven. He knew if he looked at Sam's smirking face or Naomi's innocent one he would start laughing again. Seven, meanwhile, was standing unabashed in the Big Bird costume. "Lieutenant, how should we go about finding out to whom this costume belongs?" Tom sighed. He knew that he shouldn't go through every storage locker to find one that was empty, but how else would they know who the Big Bird suit belonged to? Then he got an idea. "Computer, are there any empty storage lockers here besides mine?" "Yes." Tom sighed again, frustrated. The computer had a habit of making him pry information out rather than giving it to him easily. "Whose storage locker is it?" "The empty storage locker is loaned out to Ensigns Ethan Simms, Janine Lamont, and Mikel Hudson." Tom smirked
. He could only imagine. But wait. Where were the other two costumes? And where was Seven's costume? "Seven, was there anything else in your storage locker?" "Yes. There were several bags, which I assumed contained props for our show." Tom went over to Seven's locker and pulled out the other three bags. He opened the top one, hoping to find Seven's costume. Instead, he found a costume that looked like a cartoon or a puppet. Digging inside to find the tag, he noted that it was a 'Bert' costume. *Interesting,* he thought. In the second bag, he found another puppet-like costume. The tag read 'Ernie.' *What in the world are they doing?* In the third and final bag, he found Seven's costume. "Here's your real costume," he said, holding it out to Seven. Sam Wildman's eyes widened. With barely a second glance, Seven took the outfit, what there was of it, from Tom and walked off to change. Sam looked at Tom. "You're not really going to have her wear that, are you?" She asked, disbelieving. "Why not?" Tom asked, his voice innocent. "I doubt B'Elanna will approve for one, and for two, do you honestly expect any of the male populous on this ship to watch the show with her in that . . . that . . . costume?" "She didn't seem to mind, and B'Elanna already knows." Sam still doubted the wisdom in Tom's idea, but chose not to argue the matter further. Tom was the sort who was impossible to argue with. "Come on, Naomi. Bedtime." Naomi obediently walked over, Fred in tow. "I wanna see the show," she argued. Tom knelt beside her. "If you see the show now, it won't be as special when we perform for the crew. Don't you like surprises?" Naomi nodded. "It wouldn't be a surprise if you saw it now, would it?" Tom continued gently. Naomi shook her head, reluctantly taking her mother's hand as a symbol of acquiescence. Tom stood with a smile. "Night," he directed at them both. "Night," Sam replied as she and Naomi walked out the door. Tom had always been good with Naomi. Sam often wondered if he'd ever have a child of his own to take care of. *Perhaps one with a bit of Klingon in her,* Sam mused. * * * * * Tom smiled to himself as he bit into a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Sam had been surprised at the costume, but it was authentic, and that was what he was striving for. Besides, it was just a costume. How much trouble could it cause? * * * * * "Lieutenant, a costume is a costume. It is too late to change our talent now," protested the doctor. B'Elanna ground her teeth together. "Doctor, I refuse to wear one of those Tango costumes in front of the entire ship!" It was bad enough Hudson and Simms had seen her close to naked months ago when they'd been trapped on the malfunctioning holodeck, but she knew they wouldn't talk. Not if they liked their noses in one piece. But to actually parade around on a STAGE in front of EVERYONE. No way. Even the doctor couldn't persuade her into doing something as ridiculous as that. "Lieutenant Torres, first you said no to disco, now the Tango. If you don't decide soon, the talent show will be over!" B'Elanna folded her arms defiantly across her chest. "All the better." "B'Elanna, you're acting like a petulant child! A dance is a dance. I've been working on some new algorithms that will give me the smoothest moves this side of Risa." "Joy," muttered Torres. The doctor straightened primly. "How about we try it out right now. We'll go to the holodeck, work on the Tango, and then if you really, truly, still despise the whole idea, we'll find something else." B'Elanna considered this idea. "Fine, I'll give it ONE chance, but that's it." * * * * * Wide shafts of late afternoon sunlight lit up the dark wood floor. Crimson draperies lined the row of glass doors that opened into a colorful garden. The air was pleasantly warm and thick with . . . aggravation. "It clings," B'Elanna complained, emerging from a small dressing room. Admittedly, the bright red dress did cling, all the way down to her hips where it flared. She wasn't sure which half she despised more -- the form-fitting bodice or the flouncy hem. "Would you prefer the chafing of armor?" inquired the doctor, attired in a traditional tuxedo. "Because I still have 'The Fighters of the House of K'Talgh' available. It is THE classic Klingon operetta -- " "No!" B'Elanna interjected hastily. "I said I'd try it." "Indeed you did. Besides, don't think that there aren't others of us experiencing discomfort," the doctor retorted, tugging at his black bow tie. "I don't know who came up with the idea of a fashion article which seems specifically designed for strangulation." "You don't feel discomfort, you're a hologram," she reminded him. "And at least you *have* something around your collar," she added, gesturing to her bare shoulders. "I thought disco to Tango was supposed to be an improvement." "Disco," the doctor said disdainfully with a thick and unidentifiable accent, "iz child's play compared to Ze Tango, ze dunce ov love." "How about the dance of 'let's get this over with before I remove all knowledge of fine arts from your matrix?'" "Vatever ze senorita wishes." "And while we're at it, you sound like a drunk Bolian. I might as well take out your vocal subroutines. You can just signal us -- " "All right, all right. There's no need to be belligerent," the doctor said, reverting to his normal tone of voice. B'Elanna had never thought she would so appreciate his irritating tonal inflections. "Fine. How do we do this?" "Well, your hand goes here," the doctor explained, taking her right hand and placing on his shoulder. "And then I loop one arm around your waist." She grimaced as he pulled her closer. He began humming the first movement of 'The Fighters of the House of K'Talgh' and she smiled with saccharine venom. He continued, "Computer, play Gardel's 'El D'a Que Me Quieras.'" The air resonated with piano, violin, and some other instruments that B'Elanna couldn't identify. "It's pretty. 'El d'a' is 'the day'. I can't translate the rest." "It means 'the day that you love me.' Gardel was a prominent twentieth-century Tango composer." "Sometimes I wish I had the chance to learn more Spanish. It's very different from Klingon." "Why not take it up?" the doctor suggested. "Klingon is still in use. Spanish is basically a dead language. Unless you're a Tango dancer. Which seems to me to be a pretty masochistic profession. The outfits are garish, the shoes are painful -- " At this point, B'Elanna looked down at her feet and felt very nauseous. Her red high heels were striding alongside the doctor's shiny dark shoes, apparently without her control. "Hey, what're -- " "Congratulations, Lieutenant, you've learned to Tango." "You tricked me!" "Nonsense," the doctor said, and flicked his arm so that she did a quick spin. "I merely took advantage of the conversation." "Well, keep talking. I think if you stop, I might lose my concentration, and then -- " " -- of course. I assure you -- step, step -- my conversational skills will be -- and dip -- at their usual high standards -- and spin." Wide shafts of late afternoon sunlight faded and the chandeliers automatically compensated to fill the room with a warm glow. Crimson draperies lined the row of glass doors that opened into a shady garden bathed in moonlight. The air was pleasantly cool and thick with the passion of the dance. Not to mention the occasional curse -- Klingon as well as Spanish -- when a toe was inadvertently squashed. * * * * * Tom Paris was finishing off the rest of his sandwich in the deserted mess hall when he suddenly remembered something. He shot a hasty glance at the chronometer and mentally cursed. *It's almost time.* He bolted out of the room, wiping his soiled fingers on his pant leg. *This time I actually helped plan it, and I'm still not prepared!* * * * * * B'Elanna whirled around the room, her red dress flouncing around her ankles. She had to admit, this wasn't half bad. Once she had gotten past the costume, and that fact that she was dancing cheek to cheek with the doctor, she had started enjoying herself. Since they'd been dancing for a while, all the mutual toe-squashing had ceased and they had both relaxed. "See, Lieutenant, I told you the Tango was -- " The doctor was cut off by one of the most familiar, yet dreaded sounds on any starship. "Red alert, all hands to battle stations! Red alert, all hands to battle stations!" boomed the computer's voice through the com system, a harsh contrast to 'El D'a Que Me Quieras.' All thoughts of dancing vanished as B'Elanna ran out of the holodeck trying not to trip over the hem of her dress. The doctor had his program transferred back to Sickbay to get ready for any incoming casualties. * * * * * Harry Kim glared at his costume and stuffed it into the back of his closet, wishing a black hole would develop and swallow up the ostentatious costume before he had to wear it again. "How I let Chakotay talk me into this," Harry sighed, settling himself in front of his clarinet
for some long overdue practice. *Oh well. At least I won't have to think about it -- or talk about it, for a while.* He positioned his hands on the clarinet, his fingers sliding over the holes with practiced ease, getting ready to blow the first notes of Bartok's 'The Weary Traveler' when the red alert klaxons began to sound. Knocking over his music stand in his hurry to stand up, Harry raced out of the room, still clutching his clarinet. * * * * * B'Elanna Torres barged into Engineering, snapping orders right and left. Her staff kept giving her strange looks. She didn't understand why, until she was halfway to her station and she twisted her ankle on her high heels. At that moment, if looks could kill, the doctor would have been a smoldering collection of atoms. * * * * * Kathryn Janeway jerked her head up as the klaxons began to sound. *What the -- ?* She threw down the report she was reading and rushed to her door before she realized what she was wearing. She was relaxing in her quarters after her shift, and was wearing only a very short pair of shorts, which were made out of gray sweat-suit material, and a peach sleeveless silk shirt with spaghetti straps. She hadn't been planning on going anywhere. She briefly debated on whether or not to get into her uniform, then decided not to. If it hadn't been a red alert, she would have, but this was an emergency. She rushed out her door and headed towards the turbolift. Just as the doors were closing, they opened again, and Chakotay stepped inside. He was wearing regular civilian clothes, and did a double take when he realized what she was - or wasn't - wearing. He gave her an appreciative up and down before saying, "Bridge." "Kathryn?" he asked after a moment of silence. "Yes?" "Why are you wearing that?" "I'm off-duty, and I wasn't planning on leaving my quarters again." Refusing to look Chakotay in the eye she concentrated on not blushing. He grinned. "It's a good thing that isn't the standard uniform for female crew members. No one would get any work done. You --" He stopped when the lift deposited them on the bridge. "Report," she ordered, ignoring the curious looks from her bridge staff. Before anyone could respond, Tom Paris strode on to the bridge with Tuvok at his side. All attention on the bridge was directed at these two crewmembers, who were not only late, but a little too calm for a red alert. "Gentlemen, I would thank you to get to your battle stations in a timely manner and to show a little concern where it is due!" Janeway spouted, still a little testy about her current ensemble situation. "Please take your posts!" Turning to Kim, she fairly barked, "Mr. Kim, report!" "Well, Captain," the ensign began, but before he could get farther, he was interrupted. "Tuvok to all hands," stated the Vulcan, activating the ship-wide intercom. Janeway turned toward him, eyes wide. "Tuvok, what do you think you're doing?" He held up a hand to stop her rant. "Tuvok to all hands. This was a drill. I am pleased to report that all stations responded in a quick, efficient manner. Continue the good work. You may now stand down from red alert." At that, the klaxons faded and the lights returned to full power. There was a silence for a moment before the captain's voice cut sharply, "This was a *drill?*" Tuvok responded calmly. "Yes, Captain. It is wise to have drills that the top officers are not aware of to make sure of their battle readiness. This is one such time. Lieutenant Paris and I took the liberty of planning this drill." The captain stared at them agape, then glanced down at her attire. Her mouth working, she attempted to say something but discovered her mouth wasn't in working order. She gestured vaguely at Chakotay and stomped off to the turbolift with a mixture of annoyance, anger, and embarrassment gracing her features. "Well," Tom said, humor gracing his voice, "I think that went rather well." The rest of the bridge crew fixed him with a piercing glare, knowing that for the next few shifts they would most likely bear the brunt of the captain's bad mood. They had just found their scapegoat. "What?" Tom exclaimed. * * * * * Neelix hummed happily as he finished dictating his message to the computer. With a proud smile, he said, "Computer, send to all crew members." "Acknowledged." * * * * * B'Elanna stomped into her room. She couldn't believe that she'd gone to engineering in a red dress and heels. And it was all Tom's fault. She angrily threw the dress onto the floor, then thought better of it and hung it up. No point having to press it later. She put on her blue and white stripped pajamas, her favorite pair when she was in a bad mood. Tom hadn't even bothered to *warn* her about the drill -- he could have given her a subtle hint, just so she didn't humiliate herself in front of her staff. Climbing into bed, she ordered the lights off. The computer wasn't in the mood to comply. "You have a message waiting. Would you like to read it before de-activating lights?" B'Elanna sighed. "Sure, whatever." "Please restate the answer." "*Yes,*" she growled. Getting up, she marched over to her computer console. *A message from Neelix?* She'd figured -- hoped -- that it would be from Tom, apologizing. She frowned as she read the header: 'To: All Crew Members Subject: Talent Show' *That again?* She was hoping that Neelix had somehow forgotten about it. Just because she'd discovered that she *could* Tango didn't mean that she wanted to do it for the entire ship. With a resigned sigh, she read the rest of the message. 'Commander Tuvok and I have decided to hold the talent show five days from now, on stardate 51036.5. We request that all performers report to Holodeck2 at 1700 hours, and attending crewmembers be at the holodeck at 1800 hours. Dinner will be served promptly at 1830, and the program will begin at 1900. Formal dress is requested. Moral Officer and Talent Show co- MC, Neelix' B'Elanna erased the message with a not-so-soft tap on the computer console, then turned and was about to return to bed when she heard the door chime. Trying to make her tone more cheerful than she felt, she called, "Who is it?" "B'Elanna, it's me," came the muffled reply. "Tom!" B'Elanna growled. "You have some nerve! Having a surprise drill like that and not even dropping a hint about it!" "Well, if I did it wouldn't have been a surprise," Tom replied dryly. "Now are you going to let me in or are you going to make me stand in the corridor all night?" B'Elanna sighed. "Come in, then, Tom." The doors slid smoothly open to admit a smiling Tom Paris, complete with roses. "Seriously, I'm really sorry about that, B'Elanna. I know I should have told you, but drills are supposed to test how you'd act in an emergency." He offered her the flowers with an irresistible loving smile that reached all the way to his wonderful blue eyes. "For you." B'Elanna shook her head. "I hate it when you do that." "Do what?" Tom asked confused. "Do that." She gestured to the flowers he held. "I can never seem to stay mad at you." Tom grinned, then surveyed B'Elanna's pajamas. "Isn't it a bit early to be calling it a night, B'Elanna?" B'Elanna shrugged. "I was kind of tired, and to be honest a little upset." She laughed. "You should've seen the looks on my crew's faces when I walked into Engineering in my Tango costume!" she smiled, mentally adding, *there is just something about being with Tom that makes things like this funny. Even if he didn't warn me about that drill, he's wonderful. No . . . that's not enough. He's Tom.* Tom chuckled. "Ouch! That must've been embarrassing, but I certainly don't pity the engineering crew," he added, giving her a suggestive look. "Tom!" she playfully smacked him on the arm. "I looked ridiculous!" "Nah," Tom said. "You never do, B'Elanna. Now if you want ridiculous, did I ever tell you how my rehearsal with Seven went?" "No, you didn't. Why? What happened?" "Well, you remember that costume I showed you?" Tom asked, with a smirk on his face. B'Elanna rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I remember. Couldn't you have found one less revealing, Tom? Everyone is going to be watching her in that, that, *outfit* instead of the magic tricks!" Tom sighed. "Didn't we already argue about this, B'Elanna?" "Maybe." "B'Elanna . . ." "Okay, fine. So what about Seven's costume?" "So, when she came out after changing into her costume," Tom smirked, "guess what she was actually wearing?" B'Elanna sighed. "Do I want to know?" Tom laughed. "She came out of the dressing room in a Big Bird costume!" "Big Bird?" B'Elanna asked confused. Tom looked at her in disbelief. "You don't know who Big Bird is, B'Elanna?" She shrugged, "Let me guess. Some sort of 20th century thing, right?" Tom laughed again. "You have me all figured out, don't you?" B'Elanna grinned. "Actually, I think I'd rather have some things about you remain a bit . . . mysterious," she smirked. "But really, who is Big Bird?" "Big Bird was a character in a popular children's sh
ow during the late 20th and early 21st century," Tom replied. "What's so funny about that?" "Well let's just say that Big Bird was just that. A big, yellow bird." B'Elanna chuckled, "And you mean to tell me that Seven thought her costume was supposed to be like that?" "Yup," Tom grinned. B'Elanna laughed. "Okay, that does make me feel better." Tom smiled. "Well, in that case, would you come to the holodeck with me?" "The holodeck? And do what?" "Well, how about Paris or Venice for dinner?" Tom asked, smiling. "I think I'd prefer Paris for dessert," B'Elanna smirked. "So how about Venice?" "The canals, huh?" Tom said. "Well, let's go then." "Now?" "Yes, now. What did you think I meant? Tomorrow?" Tom asked. B'Elanna gestured to her pajamas, "I'm not exactly in the proper attire, Tom, and besides I already had dinner." Tom shrugged, "Well, then we can just go for a walk in Venice." "In my pajamas?" "So change then," Tom said, leaning against the wall of her quarters, arms folded. "Outside," she said. Tom sighed but smiled, "You're no fun." B'Elanna smirked, "I can be fun later. Now, outside!" Tom grinned. "Yes, ma'am." He left her quarters, smiling. **** Feeling a bit foolish, Tom began to pace the corridor outside B'Elanna's quarters while waiting for her. "Trying to get up the courage to face B'Elanna?" Tom turned and found himself facing Harry. "Actually, I'm just waiting for her while she changes." "Ahhh." "Where are you off to?" "Down to the mess hall to grab something to eat. How about you?" "We're just going for a walk on the holodeck." "Okay, well, have fun then." "Bye Two-Of-Ten," Tom called as Harry continued down the hall. "I told you to quit calling me that!" Harry called back. Tom was still snickering softly when B'Elanna emerged. "What's so funny?" she asked as the two started hand in hand down the hall. "You just missed Harry," Tom explained. B'Elanna shook her head, but didn't comment. She knew how those two were when they got together. "Do you have any idea what he's doing for the talent show?" "Not a clue. I know he's working with Chakotay. Has he told you anything?" B'Elanna shook her head. "I haven't seen much of him lately. I've been too busy." Tom paused while he keyed in the program. "After you, my lady." B'Elanna rolled her eyes but preceded Tom into the holodeck. "He's been spending a lot of time with the captain, lately," she commented. Tom shrugged. "Even captains get lonely sometimes." "And what about hotshot pilots?" B'Elanna asked, grinning seductively up at Tom. "Oh, we have our moments," Tom replied vaguely, looking down at her. "And what about disarmingly beautiful chief engineers?" "Not anymore," B'Elanna replied quietly. * * * * * "Lights, full illumination," she ordered as she walked deeper into the room. She hadn't come here with a specific plan in mind, which was unusual for her. She rarely tended to wing it. She stood in the center of the room for a moment, hands on hips, before walking towards Chakotay's dresser. She began to go through the drawers, even as she told herself she really shouldn't be being this nosy. As she came to the last drawer she found herself disappointed. All she'd learned was that Chakotay was an extremely neat person. Sighing, she walked to the last place she hadn't looked -- his closet. She opened the door and a flash of pink at the very back caught her eye. Pulling it out she found that infamous tutu and wondered briefly how Chakotay had managed to fit into it. Kathryn knew this wasn't what he was going to be wearing in the talent show, but she didn't think he realized she knew that yet. So she quickly replicated a pair of scissors, and proceeded to make a few alterations. "Kathryn." Kathryn, who had just finished putting the tutu away, whirled around, and found herself almost pressed against Chakotay. She was at first too startled to speak. "Looking for something?" Chakotay asked, his voice low, almost seductive. Kathryn managed to recover herself slightly, though she was still irritated at herself for being caught. "Actually, Commander, I was looking for that report on our most recent drill you owe me." "In the closet?" Chakotay asked calmly. "Well, seeing as how messy you are, it could have been anywhere." Chakotay was quiet a moment, trying very hard to repress a grin, and only barely succeeding. "Obviously," he finally agreed. Kathryn almost glared at him, but suppressed the urge, knowing she was fighting an uphill battle here. And worst of all he was enjoying seeing her squirm -- or as close as she would ever come to it. "So, have you even finished the report yet?" "Of course, Captain," Chakotay replied, handing it to her. Accepting it, Kathryn walked out of the room, saying nothing further. She may have lost this battle, but she'd be damned if she'd lose the war. As the doors closed behind his captain, Chakotay broke into a wide smile. Shaking his head, he reached in and pulled the mutilated tutu out of the closet. Chuckling softly to himself he muttered, "What am I going to do with you, Kathryn?" Carefully replacing the outfit, he began to ponder just what he was going to do next. After all, if Kathryn wanted to see him with big holes in his pants, who was he to stop her? * * * * * "Harry!" Chakotay ran to catch up with Harry before the turbolift doors closed. "Yes, Commander?" Harry responded, holding the turbolift doors. "Thanks," Chakotay breathed as he stepped into the lift. "Do you remember that routine we're doing for the talent show?" "Of course. We've been practicing for days," Harry responded. "How'd you like to change it?" "What? Why? Change it to what?" "Do you remember that ballet routine we faked out the captain with?" Harry smirked. "Of course. You wore that ridiculous tutu." "How'd you like to do that one for the talent show?" "You actually want to wear a tutu for the entire crew?" "Well, I only *want* to wear it for one person, really. But yeah, I'd wear it for everyone to see." Harry shook his head in amusement. "Whatever you want to do, Commander. I'm not the one making a fool -- er, embarrassing myself." Harry corrected himself hastily. "I could probably find a really nice piece of music to play on my clarinet. Mozart, or Tchaikovsky. I'd love to try his 'Waltz of the Flowers' from 'The Nutcracker,' or the 'Dance of the Swans' from 'Swan Lake.'" Chakotay smiled. "Great. Thanks, Harry." * * * * * B'Elanna gasped for air as she pulled away from Tom. "Tom, if we don't stop soon, our food's going to get cold," she said gently, climbing out of his lap and going back to her side of the intimate table for two. Tom sighed reluctantly. "I suppose you're right." "This is lovely," B'Elanna sighed, looking up at the holographic moon. "Although I can't believe I let you talk me into a second dinner. This, contrary to my first thought, actually WAS worth getting out of my pajamas for." "Oh yeah? Well, I know of other things that are even more worth getting out of pajamas-- OW!" "Oh, I'm sorry," said B'Elanna sweetly. "Was that your knee? I thought it was just the table leg." "Very funny." Tom sipped his wine and leaned back to gaze at the moon himself. "So, how are things going with the doctor?" "The doctor is the most annoying, arrogant, infuriating piece of programming I could ever imagine." "If he's arrogant, then I suppose that means he's fairly decent with the Tango." B'Elanna rolled her eyes and conceded the point. "I guess. I -- " She got no further. "Captain to Paris and Torres." "Go ahead, Captain," responded Tom. "Tuvok has detected a ship on long-range scanners. Report to your stations." * * * * * As Tom came through the turbolift door onto the bridge, he heard Kim say, "I have them now on short range scanners, Captain. It's a large ship, approximately twice the size of Voyager. Crew complement of over 300." "Tuvok, scan their weapons." "I have already done so, Captain. They are easily our match in firepower." "Well, they can't be our match in maneuverability," said Tom, relieving Hamilton and taking his seat. "NO ONE is our match for maneuverability when I'M at the conn." "I'll keep that in mind, Mr. Paris," said the captain. "Captain, we are being hailed," said Kim. "Let's hear it, Harry." A figure blinked onto the viewscreen, quite humanoid with craggy features but with a very long, slightly elongated nose and teeth, almost like a snout, making the captain think immediately of a wolf. The effect was heightened by the man's bright yellow eyes and long thick gray hair, bound by a thong. The man and the bridge crew behind him were dressed in black and silver uniforms. "I am Xiat, Captain of the Ulex. You are the starship Voyager." He rolled his r's and spoke in a low voice that was not unpleasant. "We are. I am Captain Kathryn Janeway. How do you know of us?" "We are traders and explorers. We know many things. We welcome this opportunity to meet a new species. We have been in deep space a long time. And you? You are not of this space, we are t
old." *Well,* thought the captain. *Someone's been talking, haven't they? Trouble is, were they friend or foe?* "Yes," replied Janeway after a moment, "we're from a sector 60 years travel from here." "So we've heard." "From whom?" she asked. "From many whose paths have crossed yours. We also know that you are frequently in need of supplies. Could we interest you in trade?" "Perhaps," Janeway answered carefully. "Trade of what type?" "We are in need of medical supplies," Xiat replied. "Bicaridine, kayolane and acetyline. In exchange we can supply you with star charts of the next sector, or whatever else you may need." "I'm sure we can come to some sort of agreement," said Janeway diplomatically, "but I would prefer to negotiate aboard my ship. Would that be acceptable to you?" "It would. And will you use this 'beaming' technology we have heard of to transport us to your vessel?" "Yes," Janeway haltingly replied. "We'll beam you aboard in 15 minutes. Janeway out." The viewscreen changed back to its normal view of space as the communication was ended. Chakotay turned to Janeway. "This Captain Xiat sure does know a lot about us." "Yes, and considering the experiences we've had, I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing." Chakotay looked at her and lowered his voice. "Don't let our experience with Arturis get you down. Xiat probably has nothing but good intentions." Janeway sighed, "I hope you're right, Chakotay." * * * * * In a shimmer of light and energy, the captain of the Ulex along with two other members from his crew were beamed aboard Voyager. Yellow eyes gazed around the transporter room until finally resting upon Janeway, Chakotay, and Tuvok. "Captain Janeway!" grinned Xiat, showing his slightly elongated teeth. "Such wonderful technology you have on your ship." Janeway smiled slightly, "Thank you and welcome aboard Voyager. This is my first officer, Chakotay, and my chief of security, Tuvok." Xiat bowed slightly to each person as Janeway introduced them, then turned to his companions, "This is my first in charge, Xetio, and my wife Isthill." "Thank you for receiving us, Captain," said Isthill, her voice soft and dulcet. "We have heard many tales of Voyager's adventures. We are pleased to finally meet her crew." Janeway nodded as she escorted the guests through the corridors of Voyager to the conference room. "Yes, our journey home has been quite eventful." "So we've heard," rumbled Xetio, speaking up for the first time. "It must be difficult, being so far from all things familiar to you; far from home." "It is," Chakotay replied ruefully, "but we manage and continue on." "No doubt." "We are like you and your crew, Captain," said Xiat, "we are also far from our home during the course of our travels. It has been many years since we have visited our home world, Xanthoni. My daughter, Inyda, has never set foot on the planet." They entered the conference room and sat down as Janeway replied, "Indeed, it would appear that we have much in common. Now about those supplies . . . ." * * * * * " . . . and so Xetio managed to get us across the whole Udleiia expanse! Xetio also kept the Bajir birds, all 47 of them!" concluded Xiat, chuckling at the memory. Chakotay grinned, "You have such interesting stories of your travels," he said. "Storytelling is part of our culture," replied Isthill. "Our travels are long, with little entertainment or diversions along the way." Janeway nodded. "Voyager has the same problem but we generally arrange social functions for the crew to relax. In fact, Commander Tuvok here is arranging a talent show on stardate 51036.5. Perhaps you and some of your crew would like to attend?" Xiat smiled. "We would be honored, Captain." * * * * * "How about Tchaikovsky's Doll's Funeral?" suggested Harry as he rifled through a series of padds. He located the correct one and tossed it to Tom. Tom caught the flying padd easily and held it in his hand as he asked, "Now, why are you asking me this again when it has to do with your portion of the talent show?" His long frame was stretched out across the sofa in Harry's quarters. He glanced down at the padd. "I'm asking you because the commander is on duty and I needed a second opinion." Harry hummed a few bars of Beethoven's 'Fur Elise' to himself and shook his head. "No, I don't think you can really -- " Harry swallowed the word "dance" before he let it slip out of his mouth. Chakotay would probably assign him to cleaning the warp plasma manifold if he let slip what they were doing for the talent show. " -- really do what we're doing with Beethoven," he finished awkwardly. "You know," Tom said with an impish grin, "I don't think I can really give you a good opinion. I think you should ask Seven." Harry Kim rolled his eyes. "And have to listen to another 'talent shows are irrelevant', 'magic shows are irrelevant' and basically everything that we enjoy is irrelevant spiel from our friendly former Borg? No thanks." "You're not getting frustrated with her, are you? Or is B'Elanna rubbing off on you?" "I asked you over so we can discuss music, not Seven! What do you think of the 'Doll's Funeral?'" "I've never heard it, but after what we went through with Tuvok trying to kill the captain thanks to that Enkema3 virus, I don't think anything having to do with death is going to be appreciated." "Good point." * * * * * B'Elanna pointed the tricorder at the doctor. "I will not, shall not, and can not perform a Tango in front of strangers. I have sprained my ankle or my back -- your pick -- BUT I am not Tangoing for anybody." She stepped toward the poor EMH who stepped backwards. "Lieutenant, it would be letting the . . . ." He shut his mouth as she stepped toward the computer. The look in her eyes would kill a targ. "Very good. I see you understand. We dance, and your program will-- " She didn't need to complete her thought. The doctor understood completely. He watched her leave and sighed. He now had to think of something quickly. * * * * * Tom sat on the couch in his quarters, reading a padd. He glanced up when he heard the doors open, sitting quietly as B'Elanna stormed in, thudding heavily onto the couch beside him. "Bad day?" Tom asked, using his gift for understatement. Judging from the way she looked he was surprised everyone in Engineering was still alive. That is, at least as far as he knew. B'Elanna shot him a look. "I don't want to talk about it." "All right," Tom agreed carefully. "Harry asked me to help him pick some music for his act. I wonder what he and Chakotay are doing?" "What does the talent show have to do with anything?" B'Elanna snapped. Tom gave her a curious glance. "I was just making a comment," he replied calmly. "What's wrong with you?" "I said I don't want to talk about it." B'Elanna looked away. Knowing she couldn't see, Tom rolled his eyes slightly. "B'Elanna, talk to me." "Look, I just don't want to do the show, all right?" Tom was taken aback slightly. "Why not? It's going to be fun." "For you, maybe. I have no intention of getting up in front of the entire crew in that non-existent dress and making a fool of myself!" "Is that all you're worried about?" "Is that all? How would I show my face again after this?" "B'Elanna, I know it's hard to perform in front of such a big group, but I really think you'll enjoy it if you just give it a try. Besides, how could you even think of denying me that view of your legs?" "You pig!" B'Elanna cried, before realizing Tom had been deliberately baiting her. She sat back on the couch again, sulking. Tom ran a hand across her check. "If you really don't want to do it, don't, but I think you should give it a chance. At least think about it, okay?" B'Elanna could never resist Tom's lost puppy look. She smiled in spite of herself. "All right," she conceded. Tom smiled in return and leaned down, pressing his lips against hers. * * * * * "Hey, Jenny!" Freddie Bristow called out across the holodeck. "Can you help me redefine the parameters for these lights? I think the performers are going to be blinded." "Sure!" Jenny Delaney replied as she made her way across the room towards him. Freddie wiped his brow with his arm. "I don't believe how much we still have to do. We've been at this for seven hours! There's only three hours left before the performers start arriving." Jenny sighed. "Tell me about it. We have to finish the lighting, get the food in here, rehearse with the talent, and then adjust the lighting as necessary." "We'd better hurry." * * * * * "Do you mean to tell me that you haven't even gotten a monologue yet?!?!" Neelix stared at Tuvok in flustered disbelief. "Talk about procrastination!" "I am NOT procrastinating," Tuvok replied in his usual unflappable calm. "I will have a monologue prepared." "You'd better! But where are you going to get it from?" Tuvok looked quizzically at the Talaxian. "I will not 'get one' from anywhere. I will write one." "Oh," said Neelix, grinning. "In that case, do you want my he
lp? I'm sure we could whip up a great opening course in no time." "Thank you for your offer, Neelix," Tuvok replied just a bit too quickly, ignoring the cooking metaphor, "but I am capable of writing a monologue on my own." Neelix resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "You don't have much time, Tuvok. Besides, the opening monologue by the emcee is important. Are you sure you don't need my help? I can at least help you look up some examples to use when you write one, because, quite frankly, you Vulcans don't really have that much of a sense of humor." Tuvok just arched an eyebrow. "I'm serious! We have -- " Neelix checked the chronometer, " -- one hour until the performers arrive! You need a monologue now!" "There is no need to over-excite yourself, Mr. Neelix." "'There is no need to overexcite myself'?! I'd say there's a need when the performers are arriving in an hour and you don't have a monologue!" exclaimed Neelix exasperated. "I will have a monologue in time," Tuvok said firmly. "But -- " * * * * * "Honestly, B'Elanna, you look great in that dress." "You're just saying that, Tom," she growled as she tugged on the hem of her Tango dress for what seemed like the millionth time since she had put it on in preparation for the show. "I don't know why I agreed to participate in this stupid talent show." "B'Elanna," Tom exclaimed exasperated, "let's not start again, okay?" "What's the matter?" B'Elanna taunted. "Afraid you'll lose the argument?" "No," Tom said defensively. "I just don't want to get into another argument with you." B'Elanna smiled, "Good." "'Good?'" Tom echoed, then frowned. "You know I just realized something." "HMO?" "I've been domesticated!" Tom shook his head in disbelief. "Lately I let you win all the arguments!" "And that's a bad thing?" B'Elanna smirked as she turned back to the mirror. "You actually think I look GOOD in this?" Tom sighed. "I think you look wonderful in anything, B'Elanna. How many times do I have to tell you until you believe me?" He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. "Seriously, you look great." "Well, thank you." B'Elanna turned her head to kiss him lightly. "I guess maybe the talent show won't be so bad after all." "Oh really?" "Yeah," she grinned. "After all, I get to see you saw Seven in half. What could be better than that?" Tom chuckled. "Come on, B'Elanna, she's not THAT bad." B'Elanna looked at him incredulously. "'Not THAT bad?' Are we talking about the same Seven here?" Tom sighed. "Okay, so maybe she is a little annoying." "A LITTLE?" "Okay, you're right, more than a little," Tom admitted. B'Elanna smiled smugly. "That's more like it." Tom shook his head again, "Whoa, I really HAVE been domesticated! When did this happen?" B'Elanna's smug smile remained in place. "I've been plotting this all along," she joked. "You are a wicked woman," Tom teased, "but I love you anyway." He adjusted his bow- tie, and presented himself to B'Elanna with a disarming smile. "What do you think?" "Perfect. Now let's go." B'Elanna started toward the door, and Tom hurried after her. * * * * * In her quarters, Kathryn Janeway smoothed down the front of her dress and patted her hair. She'd changed the auburn color to a more flaming bright red in order to fit her character's role as a screwball redhead. As she gave her appearance a last once over in the mirror, an unexpected smile spread over her face as she thought of her first officer. "Ballet, indeed," she mumbled to herself. It was certainly going to be an unforgettable night. * * * * * In his quarters, Ensign Harry Kim stared in horror at the costume Chakotay had just handed to him. "This wasn't part of the deal, Commander! You said I'd just have to play the clarinet, and that was it!" "It was my prerogative," Chakotay answered calmly. "I decided that the opera 'Orpheus in the Underworld' didn't sound as good with just the clarinet and pulled up a recording of it instead from the databanks. And since you have to participate, by orders of our morale officer, you'll just have to get up on stage with me." "But . . . The Can-Can! I don't know how to do the Can-Can!" Harry protested, his voice rising despite his best efforts. "I don't know about you commander, but after having to wear one of Kes' dresses when I got stuck in the captain's quarters with you and the captain, I'm not too fond of them!" "You've been watching me practice," pointed out the first officer reasonably. Chakotay remained unflappably calm. He'd been prepared for the ensign's protests. "And it's a very simple routine. You'll pick it up in no time. All you have to do is follow my lead." Harry opened his mouth to voice another protest, then closed it. There was nothing else he could say. Snatching the ruffled red garment -- he detested it already -- out of Chakotay's hand, he marched to the bathroom to change. *I am never going to live this down!* * * * * * "Jen! Is Tuvok ready?" "I think so. Hey, Tuvok!" Jenny yelled. "Yes, Lieutenant Delaney?" "Ready to go?" "I believe that I am adequately prepared." Jenny rolled her eyes. "Great. Ready Freddie?" Freddie smiled broadly as he dimmed the lights, raised the curtains, and gestured for Tuvok to go out on stage. * * * * * <<<< The story of the Ulex, as kept by her commanding officer, I, Xiat of the Ulex, who does affix to these statements the honor of my family, reporting to the high co-commander of the Xlliarra: In other words, Dear Xip, How are you, you old tree stump? Still chasing after women half your age? They should throw you out of the pack just because you're so ugly. Have I told you that recently? Xip, I know at the last Gathering it was suggested that I should capture the ship known as Voyager, kill off the crew, plunder all those supplies the Garn loaded them down with and bring the ship back to Xlliar, but, well, to make matters short, we did not. They invited us to visit their ship just as our intelligence agents had said they would. The trust they showed in us was most unsettling, and the officers I brought on board with me were very unnerved. True, we were at all times shadowed by a few security personnel, but they were courteous and polite, and only very lightly armed. That put us on our guard at once. Xip, we padded around that ship expecting ambush at every turn; waiting for the pounce that did not come. The oddest of all was this absurd "show" they invited us to watch. Isthill and I are in disagreement about it. She believes these people have surely been in deep space too long; that their encounter with this Borg race we have heard rumors of must have affected their minds. She was adamant, saying that to war with the sick is beneath the Xlliarra. Xetio worried that the malady might be contagious; he favored a quick retreat and annihilation of Voyager from the safety of the Ulex. He will make a fine leader someday, Xip, but he is young and his heart has yet to learn the art of the stalk. He was very jumpy and nearly lost control of himself several times. The first "act" as they called them, featured none other than the captain herself. We did not understand at all her and her partner's actions. The Voyager crew seemed to enjoy it immensely, making loud coughing noises that nearly sent Xetio into a spasm. Some even seemed to anticipate the action, so I assume the "rolling belt" is some sort of bizarre human ritual involving small brown bits of -- yes, I know what you're thinking -- but the stuff turned out to be a special edible treat of some sort and was boxed and served later at the banquet following. I could not touch the stuff, Xip. I mean, at one point the captain was actually stuffing these bits into her uniform. Have you ever heard of something so outrageous? The second "act" was the second in command and another senior officer who put on long red robes and covered their legs with fish nets, then displayed their kicking prowess while making "yipping" noises like pups. I must admit I enjoyed this enormously myself, though I do not understand why they finished by pointing their posteriors in the air. Another human tradition, I suppose. The next two "acts" certainly got Xetio's attention. Their chief engineer and their medical officer -- who, we all agreed, most mysteriously had absolutely no scent -- danced "The Corrindi" as our brothers on Ulopt do on the day of their marriage. They called it the Tango. Some variations, of course. I can tell you, I should not allow any daughter of mine to be seen in such a gown. Obviously a mated pair, although she did seem quite upset with him. "Act Four" gave us the man introduced to me as the pilot in some sort of slight-of-hand shenanigan which I did not understand at all. He and a crewwoman in a state of undress engaged in various activities with boxes and swords and what-not. I admit it was very clever, but I did not care for it, except for the part when the man rearranged the woman's anatomy. And then only because she looked so annoyed when he termed it "dis
assimilation." The crew, however, responded even more favorably to these acts than they had to those of their most senior officers. Go figure. I only hope the man pilots ships better than he does "magic." The Great Parissimo. Whatever. It went on and on, Xip, and when an enormous yellow bird-like object appeared, Isthill whispered to me that in her opinion we must call off the raid. I myself was undecided until the very end. Then their security officer, a very formidable man, asked for quiet. He began to sing a simple tune, almost a chant, with just the music of a harp-like object. It was like old times, Xip. Like when you and I were pups before we took wives and left for deep space. Sitting around the fire and singing of the great deeds of the ancestors. Remember? The man sang of many, many things. It was a musical history of what the ship and her crew has been through. Battles. Death. Destruction. Rebirth. Imprisonment. Sickness. Yet through it all they have remained loyal to their officers. I was moved. These are not the soft creatures we were told to expect. Neither are they demented like Isthill (still) maintains. They are warriors like us, cunning and resourceful. I gave Xetio the "kill plan" signal and when the singing was complete we feasted WITH them, not ON them. They treated us to something exotic called "leola root." Seldom have I tasted such a delicacy. Before we left, "The Great Parissimo" managed to smuggle quite a large quantity of it to our cargo hold, a gesture I found most generous. Well, old friend, the hour grows late and Isthill reminds me that I must relieve Xetio on the control deck in only a few hours. Put the word out to our people that on my command if they should meet with Voyager to treat her as a friendly ship, one with whom honest trade is indicated. I hope to meet with you and your lady-wife at the next Gathering. Until then, as the Voyagers said, "Live long and Prosper." Xiat of the Ulex <<