Star Trek is the property of Paramount Pictures, which is the property of Viacom, which is the property of 
who the hell gives a rat's ass.  Star Traks is the property of the illustrious TPTB, Allen Decker.  Star Trek: 
Weird Universes is the property of ME!  Me!  It's gotta be ME!  (Captain Picard promptly walks into 
Jason Vines's computer room and knocks him out.  "Shut up, you retarted jerk!"  He slaps his commbadge.  
"Beam me up, wrinkly-forehead freak!)					

STAR TRAKS: WEIRD UNIVERSES
	PRESENTING STAR TREK: THE NEXT GENERATION
		"THE DOOMED NIGHT"
			By JASON VINES

	Captain Jean-Luc Picard strode through the corridors of the Starship Enterprise.  It was late at 
night, and he was eager to get to his quarters.  However, as he walked, some children ran into him.
	"You ignorant ingraits!" Picard shouted.  Normally he wouldn't have said this, but he was tired 
and cranky, and these kids had no right to stop him.
	One little boy's lip quivered.  He swallowed.  "We're sorry, Captain Picard..."
	"You should be!" Picard snapped.  "Now get to bed!  That's an order!"
	The children looked like they were on the verge of crying, but nonetheless obeyed Picard's wishes 
and left him.
	"Now, to bed," Picard muttered to himself.  Not a minute after he had started for his quarters 
again he ran into Lieutenant Worf, who was tapping instructions into the holodeck control panel.
	"It is a pleasure to see you, Captain," Wof said in his baritone voice.
	"What are you trying to do, Klingon?" Picard asked impatiently.
	"I am trying to get the holodeck to start my DOOM program, sir," Worf responded.
	"If you knew a banana from a banana, Lieutenant, you'd just walk into the holodeck and tell the 
computer to start the DOOM program."
	"Thank you, Captain."  Worf turned to enter the holodeck, but then stopped.  "Would you like to 
join me in a game of DOOM DeathMatch, sir?"
	"I'd rather go to bed with the Borg Queen, you stupid P'Tak."  Picard began running away before 
Worf could do anything in response.

	When Picard began to lie down in his bed, his commbadge beeped urgently.  "Riker to Picard."
	Picard slapped his badge with annoyance.  "Picard here.  This had better be good, Number One."
	"It is, Captain.  Sensors detect a Borg cube heading to intercept us."
	"Dammit!" said Picard angrily.  "Red alert, all hands to battle stations.  I'm coming up to the 
bridge!"
	"Good idea, sir.  Riker out."
	Picard rose out of his bed and exited his quarters.  He rushed towards the nearest turbolift, and 
once inside he barked, "Bridge!"  The turbolift was sent on its way.
	May God help me, Picard thought as the turbolift crawled towards its destination.  First children, 
then Worf, and now BORG.  Couldn't this night ever go right?
	The turbolift came to a halt and the doors slid open.  Picard stepped out of the turbolift and 
scowled at what he saw.  Commander Riker was making out with Counselor Troi in the command chair.
	"The Borg cube is within one light-year," Worf reported from tactical.  "They have charged their 
weapons."
	Picard nodded an acknowledgement and stormed down to the command section.  "Quit it, you 
sluts!  This is the flagship of Starfleet, not Time's Square!"
	"I sense anger coming from you, Captain," Troi said, taking her normal seat.  "Do you want me 
to relax you?"
	"The hell I do!" Picard raged.  He gave Riker, who was still sitting in the command chair, a look 
of bloody murder.  "Commander, get out of my chair.  Now!"
	"I always wanted to sit here one day..." Riker answered, unconcered.
	Picard fumed.  How dare his first officer disobey a direct order?  There was only one course of 
action.  "Commander Riker," he said slowly, "you will relinquish the command chair, or I will put you in 
confinement with Wesley Crusher."
	"NOOOO!!!" Riker wailed.  He immediately stood up and sat in the first officer's seat.  "Is that 
better?"
	"Much," Picard mumbled sarcastically.  He sat down in the command chair.  "Status of the 
Borg?"
	"They are within nine hundred thousand kilometers and they are fully functional, sir," Lieutenant 
Commander Data reported.
	"Let's show them how fully functional we are.  Bonehead, lock on all weapons and prepare to fire 
on my command."
	"Weapons ready, Romulan seductress," Worf replied.
	"Good.  Hail them."
	The voice of the Borg Collective sounds from the speakers.  "WE ARE THE BORG.  LOWER 
YOUR SHIELDS AND SURRENDER YOUR SHIP.  IF YOU CHOOSE TO FIGHT, WE HAVE 
NUMEROUS CLONES OF A TALAXIAN NAMED NEELIX AT OUR DISPOSAL.  RESISTANCE IS 
FUTILE."  The Borg cut the transmission.
	Even thought Picard didn't know what a Talaxian was or who Neelix was, he had some deep 
feeling of fright.  Judging from the expressions of everyone else, they weren't doing much better.
	"Captain, I'd suggest a retreat," Data said.
	"We can't outrun them!" Riker snapped.  "We must fight!"
	"That's total crap, Commander."
	Picard thought it over.  "We must fight!" he decided.  "Helm, evasive maneuvers.  Big dufas, fire 
at will."
	"Aye, tribble," replied Worf.  The Enterprise weaved around the Borg vessel while Worf fired a 
phaser blast.  "No damage to the enemy ship."
	"You can fire more than one phaser blast!" Picard roared.  "Make it so!"
	The Enterprise's phasers blasted fiercely.  All but four shots hit the cube.
	"You damned incompetent screw-ball!  Data, take over tactical functions!"
	"Honor says otherwise," Worf protested.  "A Klingon warrior cannot be removed from battle!"
	"Oh, screw the Klingons," Picard muttered.  He pressed a button on his right arm rest, and Worf 
was beamed into space.  "Data?"
	"Every shot is hitting the target, but they still remain undamaged," Data replied.  
	The Enterprise shook under numerous Borg torpedoes hit.
	"Report!" Riker yelled.
	"Everything is down, except, conveniently, the artificial gravity and the lighting."
	Troi looked at Picard.  "Sir, we must use Treknobabble."
	Picard frowned.  "Oh no we're not!  NOOO!!!  It confuses our minds, and we fall back.  It lowers 
our ratings, and we fall back.  Not again!  THE LINE MUST BE DRAWN HERE!"
	Data turned to face the captain.  "It's the only way to escape the Borg, sir."  He turned to the Ops 
console.  "I believe we can initiate a transverse fluxing interplexing radioactive repeating plasma pulse 
wave using the phased antimatter particles from our warp nacelles."
	Riker looked at Data in alarm.  "That violates Starfleet regulation one two three beta gamma 
hydra section nine hundred forty-seven subsection twenty-three chapter eight verse twelve line nine."
	"It is the only way to escape assimilation."
	Picard considered Data's proposal.  "Make it so."
	"I'm doing so now, sir," Data said.  Ten minutes later (the Borg decided to just sit there), he was 
ready.
	"Do it!"
	This time, the computer had to butt in.  "That procedure is not recommended."
	"Shut up you goddamned mother-" Picard quipped.
	"I have overridden the computer," Data reported.  "Activating pulse."
	On the viewscreen, the Borg cube explodes in an impressive array of light and colors, leaving no 
debris behind.
	"We did it!" Troi shouted.
	Data looked back at Picard.  "Sir, due to some anti-graviton oxygen pocket caused by the 
ionization of our weapons fire, Worf is still alive, floating in space."
	"Beam him into a holographic representation of the Tribble Homeworld," Picard ordered with 
satisfaction.
	"Done, sir."

	CAPTAIN'S LOG, STARDATE WHO THE HELL GIVES A DAMN?  OUR BATTLE WITH 
THE BORG WAS WON BY THE ENTERPRISE; HOWEVER, STARFLEET COMMAND HAS STILL 
MANAGED TO FIND SOMETHING WRONG WITH OUR TACTICS.  WE HAVE BEEN ORDERED 
TO PROCEED TO STARBASE 375, SO I CAN TALK TO ADMIRAL ROSS.

	"Have a seat," Ross said, indicating a chair.
	Picard remained standing.  "Admiral, I did nothing wrong."
	"I know that."
	"Then why the hell am I here?"
	"Standard Starfleet policy.  We have to intrude and interfere with everyone else's business and 
mess up everything."  Ross stood up.  "I'm sorry, Captain.  I wish it didn't have to come to this.  As of 
right now, you have an official reprimand on your record."
	"With all due respect, **** you, sir."
	"That will be all.  Dismissed."

						THE END