All right, here's the legal stuff. Star Traks, Waystation, Rydell, Beck & Co. and (I think) a computer all belong to Alan Decker. Star Traks: The Vexed Generation, the Aerostar, the Explorer, the Escort and a really messed up brain all belong to Anthony Butler. This story, all of the words in it, and some comfortable pairs of boxer shorts belong to me, Daniel McNickle. If you're offended by mildly disturbing language, situations, and the utter disregard of some of Star Trek's greatest premises, better hit the "Back" button on your browser right now. If not, welcome aboard!

Author: Daniel McNickle
Copyright: 1998

Captain’s Log,

Stardate 52730. We’ve been stuck in the edge of the Beta Quadrant for the past six weeks cataloging stupid planets at the edge of known space. Waaaaaaaaaaaah!!! I’m bored!!! I mean, Kelly and I have done it every way possible! There’s nothing left to do! Arrrrrghhh! I think I’m going insane! The only location we haven’t done it is inside the freaking warp core!

Counselor’s Log,

Stardate 52735. I have to talk to Admiral McGrath about this assignment. Andy is growing more insane than usual, and I think J’hana is about to kill Ford very slowly and painfully over a period of a few days. We need something to stop the boredom of just doing nothing, over and over.

Chief Securiy Officer’s Log,

Stardate 52735. By the Hive Mother! That fwarking arrogant bastard Lt. Ford is going to drive me to kill him! He has made a pass at me every day for the past month! We have to get some shore leave so that I can kick his arrogant ass through the fwarking ground! Rrrrrrrrggggghhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!

Second Officer’s Log,

Stardate 52735. I believe that the crew of the Explorer is showing signs of adverse effects from the long assignment we are currently carrying out. I see no reason to be upset. There are many things to do on board the explorer. Just the other day I downloaded sixty card games from the main computer into my positronic net. I have been working on discovering strategies for winning all of the time. I also have been working on playing as many as possible at the same time. I am up to thirty-seven, while piloting the ship. I have also begun a penguin sculpture. I intend to finish it by the end of this assignment.

First Officer’s Log,

Stardate 52735. The entire crew (with the possible exception of Larkin) is being bored out of their skulls with this tedious, useless assignment. I would be too, except for the fact that I have discovered a new way to make coffee that gives twice the flavor and caffeine, while letting me go to the bathroom only half as often! It’s wonderful! Plus, it’s naturally sweet, so I only have to add one sugar to get the huge sugar rush! Yahoo! I almost, nah, I couldn’t be happy.

Chief Medical Officer’s Log,

Stardate 52735. I must say, I don’t see what the crew’s problem is. I mean, we’ve got plenty of food, and with food, who could be bored? Not me. That’s for sure. Anyway, I’ve been thinking about the wedding, and I can’t decide whether I want Chris to make the sculpture out of chopped liver, or hamburger meat. If he does it with hamburger meat, we can have J’hana cook it for us with her phaser. Then, we don’t have to worry about a caterer. But, hamburgers are not really wedding food…

Chief Science Officer’s Log,

Stardate 52735. Lately, the science department has just been swamped with work that means absolutely nothing. To add to that, the crew is going stir crazy, and I can’t shut it out! I’m going insane! MWHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA!!!!!!!

Chief Transporter Officer’s Log,

Stardate 52735. I’ve been catching up on my reading (i.e. the senior officer’s personal logs) and have discovered a rather interesting fact. The entire crew is bored. Totally so. I have a solution. A solution that will teach the entire command crew to finally respect me. Well, maybe. Either way, it’s gonna be fun. Yay!

Captain Andy Baxter was bored. Really bored. Not like bored in social studies class. Really, totally bored. Like, bored. As in so bored he wanted someone to drill a hole in his head to let the boredom out. Bored like that, except maybe more so.

He was sitting in his chair, on the bridge of the Explorer, looking out at the viewscreen. On the viewscreen, was nothing. A great, big nothing. The expanse of nothing at the edge of the Beta Quadrant was enough to drive anyone insane. Except maybe some people in his crew who were already there.

“So, J’hana, what are you doing Friday night at eighteen hundred hours?” asked Lieutennant Zack Ford. “Cause if you’re not doing anything…”

Baxter was again amazed. Well, sort of. Ever since his encounter with the Starshine Kids, he had been a changed man. But this assignment had brought out the old Ford.

J’hana screamed. “Aaaaaarrrrrggggghhhhh!!!!! Captain! May I please have permission to shoot him??? Pleeeease??”

Ford turned around, supremely confident. He knew that Baxter would never allow J’hana to shoot another member of the crew. Right?

“I know what you’re thinking, Mr. Ford, and you’re wrong,” said Baxter, smiling. “You’ve been annoying everyone. J’hana, maximum stun.”

Ford gaped at Baxter, then J’hana. “Yes SIR,” agreed J’hana. “May you have nightmares of horrible pain and suffering!!!” she screamed as she shot him three times in the chest, twice in the head, and once in the crotch. The bridge crew applauded.

“J’hana! I said you could shoot him, but not like that! Once would have been enough.”

“Yes captain. But you must admit, he deserved it. And I wanted him to remember it. For a long time,” she said. The crew applauded again.

“Captain,” said Conway from Baxter’s right. “Might I broadcast the good news to the ship?” More applause.

Baxter sighed. “All right. J’hana, no good deed goes unpunished, though.” J’hana groaned. “You have to take Ford to sickbay. Tilleran, call up a replacement for J’hana until she gets back. Now hop to it!” The crew groaned at the use of Baxter’s would-be catch phrase. “What? Get going! And Larkin, please pay attention to the helm.”

“Always captain. I actually am diverting a full five percent of my total processing power to the helm, which is still ten times that of a normal human brain.”

“And what, might I ask, are you doing with the other–” Baxter paused a moment as he consulted his terminal. “–ninety-five percent of your brain? Card games?”

Larkin nodded. “Yes captain. I downloaded sixty card games into my brain from the computer and have been working on learning and mastering them. I hope to possibly hold a tournament of gin rummy.”

Baxter shifted in his seat as he imagined the crew of the Explorer in the auditorium, all playing gin rummy according to different rules, starting fights…it was too horrible to contemplate. “Maybe that’s not such a good idea,” he said.

Larkin just nodded.

Janice Browning was just finishing her mid-morning post-breakfast pre pre-lunch snack of an omlette. She was chewing the last bits of the mushroom and cheese omlette when J’hana walked in, casually dragging a rope behind her. Attached to the other end of the rope by his ankles was Lt. Ford. He was unconscious, and his uniform was phaser burned in many places. Including, the doctor noticed with a wince, the groin.

J’hana finished dragging Ford into sickbay. The doors closed, and she grabbed Ford by the hair and hauled him onto the main biobed. “He’s all yours, Doctor.”

Nurse Holly Carter walked in from the lab, Crewman Dean Wilcox close behind. She saw Ford and ran over to him. “Oh my god! This man has six severe phaser burns! He’s going into shock! Doctor Browning, I need a hand!”

Wilcox walked over to Ford, pointed to his chest and said happily, “Faze ur? Faze ur! Fazeur, Humma! Weeeeeeeee!”

“Yes, Dean,” said Carter. “Phaser. It’s not funny, though.”

“Phaser fun Humma! Woohoo!”

Browning walked over to Ford and scanned him with a tricorder. J’hana, what happened to him? He’s got third degree burns all over his body! From what this thing says,” she said, pointing at the tricorder, “his wounds were caused by a Starfleet standard issue type one phaser, of the kind you keep concealed in your pocket. Did you shoot him?”

J’hana looked at the ground in mock shame as she replied. “Well, he was hitting on me, again, and I just got fed up and asked the captain if I could shoot him, and the captain said yes. So I did. Didn’t you hear the announcement?”

At that moment, Commander Conway’s voice came over the ship’s comm system. “This is Commander Conway. I would just like you all to know that J’hana has shot Lt. Ford for being an asshole.” A deafening cheer rocked the ship off course. “Unfortunately, he was not killed, or severely injured. Only stunned.” At this, the entire ship groaned. “But you will be happy to know that he is in sickbay recovering if any of the crew should wish to taunt him. He will be under a restraint forcefield for the remainder of this mission because he is an asshole, and due to that fact, will not be able to hurt you for teasing him.” More cheers. “That is all. Have a nice day.”

Browning giggled. “All right, Holly, you patch him up. I’m going to go get the forcefield ready.”

J’hana left sickbay smiling.

Maniacal laughter echoed through Holodeck 4 as Megan Hartley continued to write a holodeck program that would end all this boredom. She giggled as she decided to move the obstacle course to the other side of the large blue-and-white tiled room she had created. Yes, she thought, giggling happily. That would go there perfectly over there with the dunk tanks. She collapsed in a fit of laughter.

She decided that she needed to confide in someone about her plans. She wouldn’t be able to finish this alone. She was running out of ideas. She needed someone creative, who had a lot of time on their hands. She giggled again. She knew. “Computer {giggle} save {giggle} program {giggle giggle giggle giggle} and exit!” she finished as she collapsed in another fit of laughter. It would be such fun!

The Constellation Cafe was empty. Mirk sat behind the bar, aimlessly watching as two water glasses flew around in circles around each other. He was utterly bored. Nobody had come to the Cafe in days. And the holodecks were constantly full, and booked for weeks. He had no idea of what to do except use his powers to hurl stuff around the room. Megan Hartley walked through the doors, and the two glasses promptly collided in midair, shattering.

Hartley was giggling uncontrollably as she sat down at the bar. “Hey Mirk. How ‘bout a drink?” she asked, giggling.

“Sure, Megan. What’ll it be? How about something to calm you down? A little Bajoran root tea, maybe?”

“Perfect.” She sipped the hot drink, and slowly her giggles diminished. She drained the cup and adressed Mirk seriously.

“Thanks a lot. I’ve come to ask if you would want to, um, help me with something. Something to alleviate boredom. Want to try?”

“Anything to get out of this ghost town. Computer: Activate Emergency Bartender Hologram.”

The balding man wearing an old style starfleet uniform did not appear, much to their surprise. Instead, a young man with blond hair and a rather chipper demeanor appeared. “Hello! I am the new Emergency Bartender Hologram, mark II. So. Who needs a drink?”

“Um, could you just stay here and watch the bar for me? I’ll be back later. Thanks,” tossed back Mirk as he walked out the door.

The EBH looked around, and sat down. He noticed some broken glass in the dining room. “Humph. I wonder where that came from. Better clean it up.”

Hartley and Mirk walked toward the turbolift. The doors opened and Conway stepped out. “Going somewhere?” he asked.

“Oh, just to the arboretum. Mirk wanted to show me a plant he saw there last night. Right Mirk?” She elbowed him in the chest.

“Uh, ow, right. Yeah, I saw a nice plant that I wanted to show Megan. We were just going there now. Heh, heh.” Mirk shifted uneasily.

Conway gulped some of his coffee. “Whatever. Aaaaaaaiiiiiieeeeeeeeeee!!!! Ow, f***!!!” he screeched, hopping down the corridor as Hartley giggled, having “accidently” knocked his coffee into his crotch. Mirk almost felt sorry for him.

Mirk and Hartley walked into the turbolift. “Computer; lock doors and halt lift. Now Mirk, there’s one more thing I have to do. You go to Holodeck Four and wait there. I’ll be down in a few minutes. Computer; unlock doors. Deck seven, deck one.”

Two minutes later, Megan walked out onto the bridge. She walked over to Tilleran. “Hey Ariel. Busy?”

Tilleran looked up. “Me? Busy? At a time like this?” Her voice was drenched in sarcasm. “Not really. What do you want?”

“Well, I was wondering if the captain would let you take the rest of the shift off.”

She shook her head. “Well, Megan, who do you ask for that? Me? Duh! Talk to the captain.”

Hartley walked over to Baxter. “Captain, would you possibly let me borrow Lt. Tilleran for a little while? I have a project that might make everybody feel a bit better.” She giggled. Mirk’s tea was wearing off.

Baxter looked around. “Well Hartley, it doesn’t look like we have much to do here. Take good care of her. Have fun!” With that, Baxter fell asleep in his chair. Peterman yawned.

On the Holodeck, Mirk turned around as the doors parted to admit Tilleran and Hartley. Hartley went to the control panel and tapped away while Mirk and Ariel talked.

“What do you think is going on here?” whispered Mirk to Tilleran.

“How should I know?”

“You’re the telepath.”

“Oh. Yeah, right. Um, I’m getting a lot. She’s planning something, she’s insane, she’s–”

“Did you say INSANE??? By the Directors!” Mirk practically shouted at Tilleran.

“Shut up!” said Tilleran in the loudest whisper she could muster. “She’ll hear!”

“Too late! I already did!” said Hartley, turning from the panel. I’m insane? Oh well. {giggle} I’ve got the idea that will get rid of all this boredom! We’re gonna pit the command crew against each other in a three on three battle to the–”

“Death?” suggested Mirk.

“No, silly!” laughed Hartley. “Computer; Activate program Hartley omega seven. Lady and gentleman, I present some twentieth century game show whose name I don’t remember!” Suddenly the trio was in a large blue and white tiled room. All around the room were strange looking things and/or machines, many of which had some goopy looking substance suspended over some platform. “I propose to lock the crew in here, with one objective: to score as many points as possible by completing events before the other team!”

“Hartley, you are insane. But it might be entertaining. Let me guess; at some point, that goopy stuff comes pouring down on one of the command crew?”

“Yeah! Isn’t it great? And we can broadcast it to the whole crew! What a laugh! Now, I think its a little sparse. What else do you think we should do? Here,” she said, handing them each a padd. “These are the obstacles and their objectives. Can you come up with anything new?”

Mirk laughed. “Are you kidding?”

The three spent the rest of the week planning the “surprise” for the command crew.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT’S BORING?????” screamed Kelly Peterman as she beat Baxter with her pillow.

“Weww,” he said, spitting out feathers, “Ith juf tha weef dunn ith in efry way I can fink off…juf a thecond.” He spit out the remaining feathers and confiscated the pillow. “I mean, we’ve done it all the possible ways, and some of the impossible ones…We need something new. Take a bath?”


“Go swimming?”

“Holodecks are booked for six months.”

“Even for the captain?”

“It’s in the rules. You can’t change other people’s holodeck appointmentsjust because you’re the captain. It’s not fair to the crew.”

“Then Kelly, there’s only one thing left…”

Chris Richards finished lacing up his bowling shoes and stood up. He fell down. After a few tries, he managed to stay upright. Janice, he noticed, was perfectly stable. With high heels. Wow, he thought. No wonder I’m marrying her.

Andy Baxter wasn’t doing much better. He was halfway down the lane, slipping and sliding on the waxed floor. Kelly ran after him, utterly stable. She caught him and dragged him back, growling. “I don’t see why we had to do this. I hate bowling. I think it’s a really stupid sport. It has no point.”

Baxter looked up at Richards with a look that said “Please help me. I’m going to be chewed into pieces and spit out by my girlfriend.”

Halfway through the game, Peterman and Baxter were still fighting.

“What do you mean, a 7-10 split is different from an 8-10 split? They’re the exact same shot, except for the fact that one pin is slightly to the left on the first one. Why didn’t you get that?”

“Because I suck at bowling and I should never have let you talk me into this!” And with that she stormed out of the bowling alley.

“She’s acting like such a bitch. All I wanted was to have a little fun and she f***s it all up. Just great. I’m outta here.” And Chris and Janice were alone.

“Hey, Chris,” said Janice as she tossed the ball effortlessly down the lane. It rolled to a halt halfway down. “Oops. Guess I need to work on my bowling, huh. Anyway, I was thinking. Maybe if we made that sculpture that we were talking about out of hamburger meat, J’hana could zap it with her phaser and we could have hamburgers for the wedding dinner. Or do you think that hamburgers are too informal?”

“SHUT UP JANICE!!! YOU JUST F***ED UP MY STRIKE! NOW MY SCORE JUST DROPPED FIFTEEN POINTS!! AND NO THAT’S A STUPID IDEA!” screamed Richards. He was rather pissed. Browning couldn’t figure out why.

“What do you mean a ‘stupid idea’? Huh? Are you insulting me?”

“Yeah! With you it’s always food this and food that! I hate it. I’m calling off the wedding until further notice!”





And with that, they both stormed out of the alley.

Hartley grinned as Tilleran told her the news. “Perfect!” she giggled, as she finished off the game. “Now the couples are fighting, so this will be even better. And J’hana and Conway are always pissed at each other, so it’s already good there. Now to get them down here…”

Tilleran tapped her comm badge and said “Computer; Please summon Captain Baxter, Counselor Peterman, Doctor Browning, Chief Richards, Chief J’hana and Commander Conway to Holodeck Four. Anonymous message, please.”

The computer beeped obligingly. “Now all we have to do is get out of here,” giggled Hartley. The trio bolted from the Holodeck, straight for the Arboretum, where Hartley had a couch, viewer and replicator set up.

As soon as the last person who happened to be Browning walked in, just finishing a meatball hero, the doors closed behind her and the blue-and-white tiled room appeared. A face appeared in midair. It was…yellow?

“Hello everybody!” said the face, cheerily, but with a queer accent.

“Hi…Dr. Nick,” responded Baxter, reading the name tag under the face.

“You’re all probably wondering why you’re here. Due to the temporary insanity of one of your crew members, you’re stuck here until one of you completes these obstacles! Isn’t that great?” Suddenly the obstacles appeared all over the room. “You will be divided into two teams, the guys versus the girls. Whoever gets the most points, wins!”

“And what does the winner get?” growled J’hana.

“The winning team gets to torture the losing team, and since you all hate each other right now, you’ll love it!”

“And what if we don’t want to participate?” asked Conway.

“Then the program will change to a room filled with angry Borg, each of whom is trying to rip off your head and stuff it full of nanoprobes! And I’ll turn off the safeties! But don’t worry, I’m a doctor.”

Conway thought he recognized the face from some 20th century television show, nah. It couldn’t be. Nobody had watched The Simpsons in over three hundred years.

“When can we leave?” asked Baxter.

“When you finish. Not before,” replied Dr. Nick.

“Are you really a doctor?” asked Browning.

“Shut up Janice,” said Richards through gritted teeth.

“Fine, fine.”

“So, do we do it Captain?” asked Peterman, making faces at Baxter.

Baxter sighed, realizing that this WOULD be interesting, to say the least…

“Yes,” interjected Conway. “Prepare to die, ladies.”

J’hana growled. Peterman growled. Browning giggled. All three men growled.

“All right,” said Dr. Nick. “The first event is: The Dunk Tanks. Two people from each team go up. The object is to dunk the two people from the opposing team by throwing these balls at that target.” He indicated two large baskets of baseballs. “Whichever team gets dunked first gets covered in rice pudding and loses the match. Isn’t that fun? Oh, and if nobody has been dunked in thirty seconds, you all lose!

The teams huddled and decided that J’hana and Richards would throw. Conway and Baxter sat above the pudding,unable to look down. “Do you think he’ll do it?” whispered Conway, indicating Richards preparing to try and dunk his girlfriend.

“I hope so. Otherwise, it’s our asses,” replied Baxter. “And when I find out who did this, it’ll be their ass too.”

“Are we all ready?” asked Dr. Nick. Upon acknowledgement, he counted down. “Three, two, one, go!”

And the terror began.

On the bridge, Larkin and the newly recovered Ford watched the spectacle unfolding on the viewscreen. Larkin watched impassively, as always. Ford, on the other hand…

“Hahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!! They’re gonna get dunked! Conway and Baxter have no chance!! Hahahahahaha!!!”

In sickbay, Nurse Holly Carter and Crewman Dean Wilcox were watching as well. In fact the whole ship was watching. Dean was not getting it. “Wha go on, Humma?”

Holly was amazed at his progress. He was almost forming coherent sentences. He did have the intellect of an eighteen month old baby, but she had read about eighteen month old babies who could speak and read quite well. She proceeded to explain to Dean everything she could discern about what was going on. In between laughing histerically and making fun of the command crew.

In the Arboretum, Tilleran, Mirk and Hartley were laughing uncontrollably. Peterman was hurling insults at Richards and elbowing Browning to do the same. Baxter and Conway were another story. The two looked about ready to wet their pants. Baxter had his eyes close most of the way, concentrating on the clock ticking down his seconds left to be clean (if J’hana didn’t deprive him of that sooner) and looked as if he was praying for Richards. Conway was just sitting there, eyes wide open with fright, staring at J’hana hurling balls at the target. The trio was sent into another wave of laughter.

Commander David Conway was terrified. He was about to be dunked in a vat of rice pudding and it was all Baxter’s fault. He didn’t know why, it just was. It consoled him, however little, to know that Baxter was even worse. Then he looked over at Peterman and Browning. They were completely unafraid, and hurling insults and taunts at Richards. Richards threw—and missed. By about six feet. Conway shuddered.

Peterman was totally unafraid, and inwardly laughing at her commanding officers over the other dunk tank. But outwardly, she concentrated on insulting Richards for all she was worth. It was working. He was faltering. They would survive this round.

J’hana decided that she had toyed with Conway and Baxter enough. She threw the ball straight and true, and with two seconds left, plunged them into rice pudding. Score one for the girls.

Baxter was concentrating on the clock when he saw J’hana pause for a moment. He looked at her. That was a mistake. Because he saw it coming. She threw and time slowed to a stop. The ball flew slowly through the air, straight and true to the target. Baxter emitted a brief scream before being plunged into thick, goopy rice pudding. And this was a new uniform, too. Damn.

Peterman and Browning and J’hana all did a little victory dance and laughed as Baxter and Conway climbed out of the vat of pudding. They were both dripping globs of it as the walked over to Richards and hurled the stuff at him. Poor guy.

“All right everybody! Wasn’t that fun?” asked the disembodied Dr. Nick, to the grumbles of the men. “All right, whatever. Next up, a chance for revenge! One on one pie wrestling! The contestants are,” and a drumroll sounded in the background “Richards and Browning! Now it’s your turn to get dirty!”

Browning was confused. “Hey, Dr. Nick. What’s pie wrestling?”

“Well, it’s just like mud wrestling, except you do it in a giant pie. I believe today’s selection is blueberry with whipped cream.”

“Yummy!” screamed Browning as she ran off to the giant pie. The rest of the group followed.

“Now,” said Dr. Nick, “You know the rules, I think, because if I’m not mistaken you had a bout with it last year sometime…”

“Hey, mister, that was me. And it wasn’t my fault!”

In the Arboretum, Mirk threw popcorn at the screen. “Oh yeah? It was your idea you show stealing bitch!!!”

“Shhh, Mirk, we’re trying to watch,” giggled Hartley.

Back in the Holodeck, Richards stepped gingerly into the pie, having decided not to remove his uniform. Browning followed suit, and him into the pie.

Dr. Nick explained the rules. “You have two minutes to pin your opponent. When they are pinned for a count of three, you win. Any questions?”

Richards raised his hand. “Yeah, one. What happens after two minutes? And what if I don’t want to pin my girlfriend in a blueberry pie? And why do we have to do it in a blueberry pie? Why not just plain wrestling?”

The entire crew laughed at Richards. On the bridge, Larkin imitated Ford and threw popcorn at the screen. “What a wuss,” taunted Ford.

Doctor Nick just smiled. “Well, for starters, that’s three questions. Second, you both lose and nobody gets the point. Third, too bad. And lastly, because it’s funnier.”

“Funnier to who?” asked all six combatants in unison.

“Why, don’t you know whose gift to you this is? Lieutennant Megan Hartley programmed this, along with Mr. Mirk and Lieutennant Ariel Tilleran. Don’t you like it? It’s a cure for boredom!”

In the arboretum, Tilleran and Mirk both dumped their drinks on Hartley’s head. “Why did you program that into it??? Now they’re gonna kill us all!!!” screamed Tilleran.

“Easy, guys. They’re not gonna kill us. We’ve done the crew a {giggle} favor! I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?”

Richards and Browning circled around the pie. Richards attacked first, coming in fast. He grabbed her arm and attempted a judo-style flip, but Browning anticipated it and used his own momentum to hurl him facedown in the pie. Now Richards was half coated with bluberries and whipped cream, while Browning merely had dirtied her boots and pants legs. Richards decided to change that. He circled, came in backwards and pulled Browning forward. She had not expected this and pitched forward. She took Richards with her and they went down in a tangle of arms and legs and pie. They rolled, grappling for the upper hand, but the best they could get was on the side. Browning punched Richards in the face. He punched her in the stomach. Knee in his groin. Kick in her shins. After about a minute and a half of tussling, Richards finally managed to pin Browning and score a point for the guys. Now all three were dripping stuff to the ground, and creating quite a puddle.

“Ready for your next one?” asked Dr. Nick.

“Already?” said Richards, spitting out a blueberry.

“Yes, already. Next is a trivia contest. Of course, there is a victim. For the girls, Peterman. For the guys, Baxter. You two go stand in those bowls over there,” he said, indicating a pair of bowls next to each other with a pair of podiums facing them. “Now the remaining members” he continued “of each team will stand at the podium facing your teammate. It’s simple. I ask a question. Whoever answers correctly first gets a point and the satisfaction of watching your opponent being drenched with chocolate sauce. At the end, whoever has the most points, wins. And of course, if you both get it wrong, both your teammates get it and nobody gets a point. In the event of a tie, whichever team member looks more forlorn covered in chocolate gets the point. Let’s go!”

Baxter and Peterman groaned as they walked over to the oversized bowls. Peterman sat down and started making obscene gestures at Baxter. He just sighed.

In the Arboretum, Hartley thought evil messy thoughts. Tilleran shared them. Mirk just laughed.

On the bridge, Ford was on the floor convulsing with laughter. Larkin was attempting to beat a particulary tricky game of canasta while piloting the ship and attempting to break open the holodeck. Gellar had arrived on the bridge a few minutes ago, partially for the bigger screen, partially to try and find out who had written the program. In between keystrokes he alternated between laughing at Ford and the command crew.

On the Holodeck, Richards and Conway were dying.

“Exactly right, Counselor. The score is: Girls, seven, boys, zero.” Dr. Nick smiled. “Next question: For how many hours is the sauce for Smothered Nerflat simmered?”

J’hana thought for a split second, and viciously slammed her hand on the buzzer. “It is a trick question!” she screamed. “There is no such dish as Smothered Nerflat! Ha! We win!!!”

Dr. Nick confirmed her answer. Richards sighed. Conway giggled. Baxter whimpered, then smiled as yet another wave of chocolate sauce came crashing down.

In engineering, the entire staff was staring at the master systems display. Normally displaying a cutaway schematic of the ship, it had been reconfigured to show the scene unfolding on the holodeck. Saral was passing through at the moment Peterman and Baxter were climbing into the bowls. She looked at the screen for a moment, wondered why the crew was so interested, and then realized when a wave of chocolate sauce hit Baxter. The expression on his face was barely visible, and it was one of mild amusement. (?) She decided to stay and watch, and set out in search of a chair.

Captain Baxter was practically laughing out loud. His team had not answered one question correctly. He had to get Richards and Conway to study trivia. On the other hand, Browning knew the answers to almost all the questions. Richards was gaping at her and Conway was erupting in peals of laughter after every single question. Baxter reminded himself to delete some of Conway’s coffee recipies when he got out–another wave of chocolate. Baxter smiled. At least it tasted good.

Dr. Nick would have laughed had he not been an emotionless computer program. As it was, he continued. “All right! We’ve got three more questions. One: Who won the 2009 Daytona–”

Conway rang in before Dr. Nick finished. “Ooooh! I know this!! It was Csaba Csere, the editor of Car and Driver. That year the race was journalists only because they had no money. It was a publicity stunt!! Ha!! Yes, I’ve got it!!! WOOHOO ALL RIGHT YEAH!!!!!!”

”–Ohio cornhusking contest?” finished Dr. Nick.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!” came the scream of anguish from Conway.

Browning giggled and calmly pressed her signal button. “The winner of the 2009 Daytona, Ohio cornhusking contest was Carol Browning, my very distantly related grandmother. Right?” Dr. Nick nodded. “Yippee!!!”

Baxter laughed again. Peterman was insulting his mother (again?) and Richards was crying. Conway seemed to be undecided and was alternately sobbing and laughing at Baxter. They were indeed a sorry bunch.

“Well everybody, it’s over. And the winner is…The ladies! Doctor, do you know every trivia question in the database?”

Browning blushed under the blueberry sauce. “Well, I do like to, um, brush up every once in a while…”

Dr. Nick shook his disembodied head. “Well anyway, the score is girls two, boys one. Next event!” Everybody on the holodeck groaned. The ship cheered. “Now, we’ll have a simple contest. Whoever can hit Counselor Peterman the most times with pies wins!”

“What the f***?!? Why me?” screeched Peterman. “What about J’hana? Huh? Why not one of the guys? Waaaaaaaaaa!” she wailed as two holographic security officers materialized and dragged her to a chair with a target painted behind where Peterman’s head would go. They strapped her down and immobilized her head. Baxter chuckled as a table appeared eight feet from Peterman.

“So, Counselor,” asked Dr. Nick. “What kind of pies would you like to be slathered with? Hmmmmm?”

In the Arboretum, Lt. Hartley giggled and tapped in some instructions on a padd. Tilleran and Mirk looked over her shoulder and laughed. On the screen, Peterman whimpered.

On the table, five groups of pies appeared. “Okay, you all get two throws at a time, and you each get two turns. You have to stand behind this line,” and he indicated a line drawn on the floor about six feet in front of Peterman, who whimpered again. “You have your choice of pies, now that the programmer has indicated to me to not allow Peterman to choose. Captain Baxter, you may begin. The object is to hit her. You get one point for a hit, and two for a bull’s eye, meaning right in the face. Good luck.” Baxter walked over to the table of pies and appraised the available armaments. He saw chocolate cream, lemon merangue, banana cream, plain whipped cream and strawberry-rhubarb. He considered his choices very carefully, then selected a lemon-merangue and a strawberry-rhubarb. He stepped up to the line, looked at Peterman with an ‘I’m so sorry’ look in his eyes, and threw. The strawberry-rhubarb missed her head, splatting against her left leg. She moaned as she felt the pie ooze down her leg. Baxter groaned and threw. This time it impacted her right shoulder.

“Next up, J’hana!” cried Dr. Nick. The crew was in uproars. J’hana selected two chocolate cream pies, and threw. The first was a clean miss. “Fwark these damn inaccurate pies!” she yelled as she hurled the second directly at Peterman’s stomach. Clean hit.

Richards came up next. He selected a plain whipped cream and a strawberry-rhubarb. The strawberry-rhubarb missed, but the whipped cream was a bull’s eye. Peterman whimpered yet again as she licked the whipped cream from around her mouth.

In the Arboretum, Hartley, Tilleran and Mirk were on the floor laughing. Tilleran was laughing the hardest, because she knew what was going on in Peterman’s mind. She was ENJOYING herself, for gods’ sake. Tilleran thought this was hillarious, and shared the knowledge. They laughed harder.

On the bridge, Gellar had abandoned his efforts to find the perpetrator of the program, and had joined Ford rolling on the floor laughing. Larkin mentally shook her head and continued trying passwords to the holodeck. She also changed course to avoid an asteroid that had gone astray from it’s normal course and won the pesky game of canasta.

On the holodeck, Richards finished throwing pies. “All right,” said Dr. Nick, “The score is as follows: Boys: four, Girls, one. Next up, Doctor Browning!”

Browning selected two plain whipped cream pies, hoping that Richards’ success with the same type of pie would carry through. It did. The crew cheered as Browning hit Peterman directly in the face with two pies. Peterman giggled, then whimpered when the pies fell off her face. She didn’t want the crew to realize the fact that she was {gasp} enjoying herself. God, she thought, I don’t get it. This should be unpleasant, but I like it. I wonder what Andy’s thinking…

“And last, we have Commander Conway. You’re behind by one! Good luck!”

The crew collectively hurled popcorn at their screens and booed Conway. On the bridge, Larkin brushed popcorn off her console and continued working. And the band played on… ________________________ -Author’s note: That last line was unintended, and unremovable. I -apologize for any inconvinience it may have caused. Good night. And may -you never find a live tribble in your soup. Unless you’re having live -tribble soup. In which case, may you find living and tasty tribbles all -over. Thank you. ________________________

Back on the holodeck, Commander Conway steadied his shaking lemon merangue pie. He breathed deeply, stopping twice to choke from bits of rice pudding that remained on his face and uniform. He said to himself, “Come on, David. You can do it. Just hit her in the face. You hate the dog, just imagine it just bit you. That’s it.” He threw.

Peterman laughed. “You suck Conway!!! You couldn’t hit a f***ing barn door! Hahahaha!!! You couldn’t hit Ford in the ass if he was two feet away from

you! F*** you and your f***ing pies! Hahahahaha!!–”

Peterman’s laughing was cut short by an adeptly thrown whipped cream pie in the face. Conway bowed. The crew booed. Peterman was released, covered in pies. She walked over to the table, selected a bananna cream pie and creamed Conway. “Take that, f***er!” she cried, and ran over to her group.

“Well well, a nice comeback by the boys,” said Dr. Nick. The crew booed some more. “One more event and you’re done. What to pick, what to pick. I think that you guys will brave the Obstacle course of Doom!!! Buwhahahahahaha!!!! But first, you get a five minute break. Ta!” and with that he was gone.

“Well ladies,” Baxter said cockily. “It seems that the scent of defeat looms before you. Are you ready to surrender or will you take this to the end?” Conway chuckled.

Surprisingly, Browning answered. “Surrender? Never! We’ll never admit defeat to you insensitive male jerks! I’m hungry. When do we eat?”

On the bridge, Larkin came across something interesting. There was a deeply buried signature in the program. She went after it. Gellar and Ford continued rolling around on the floor.

In engineering, the whole crew was in an uproar. Everyone had dispersed to smaller monitors, so as to have more room to roll on the floor laughing. Saral was on the verge of losing her control and laughing out loud, but strangely enough, she could not pull herself away.

In sickbay, Nurse Carter and Crewman Wilcox were watching and laughing too. Dean laughed and pointed at Peterman. “Humma, look! Kelly get pie! Funny! Funny like phaser! Phaser, weeeeeee!!!”

Carter laughed and agreed. “Yeah, it’s a riot!” With that, she collapsed, laughing.



Captain Dean Wilcox was very bored. Counselor Claire Webber was also bored. Doctor Ian Woodall was having erotic sex with his chief nurse, Ensign J’hana in the middle of a large blueberry pie on the holodeck as Transporter Chief David Conway looked on, for no apparent reason.

Chief Engineer Megan Hartley looked at the schematic handed to her by her assistant, Janice Browning. Actually, she looked at Browning’s reflection in the padd, and wondered if Browning was gay too, and if so, would she like to go out sometime? Nah, she thought. Probably not. But she’s sooooooo fine…

In the Arboretum, Chief Inventory Officer Jean-Luc Picard struggled to pick up a large potted plant to look at the tag on the bottom. Next door in the science lab, Chief Science Officer Kris Larkin studied a culture of bacteria while wondering aimlessly if pilot Chris Richards’ story about an android he built in her image was true. She also contemplated asking him out.

Admiral Zack Ford slept quietly in his VIP quarters, dreaming wonderful dreams about having sex with the chief engineer. In his sleep, he decided to make a pass at her the next time he got the chance.

Bartender Chris Richards fielded a drink order from Mirk, the chief of Stellar Cartography. A huge slimy slug by the name of Shar Lana sat in the corner. He (it?) looked very depressed. Richards walked over. “What’s wrong, Shar?”

“Well, Chris, I’m kinda depressed. I mean, how would you feel if every eighty years you had to have an operation to put a new Trill inside of you? I mean, what’s the point if you have a beautiful woman inside you, who is vital to your life, but you can’t even have sex with her? I’m off to find an airlock.”

Boy, thought Richards. That symbiont needs a vacation.

Lieutennant Commander Saral sat at her post at ops on the bridge, and stared at the viewscreen. She promptly died of boredom.

And on Holodeck four, Crewman Andy Baxter quietly giggled as he programmed a blue and white tiled room…


“So here’s the deal,” said Dr. Nick. “You go through the course in tag-team style, each team running to complete the course before their opponents. In each obstacle, you have to find a red flag. When you do, you tag your teammate and head to the next obstacle to await your teammate. You each get to go twice. Lt. J’hana and Commander Conway will start for their respective teams. Ready, set, go!”

Conway looked at his first obstacle. It seemed simple enough. A large metal box with a cord coming out of it and an X on the ground. He stood on the X and pulled the cord. A cascade of green slimy stuff came pouring down and…

…J’hana cursed as the wave of green crap came pouring down on her nice crisp uniform. She searched frantically through the puddle coming up with nothing. Then she saw Conway racing on to the next obstacle, slipping and sliding all over the place. She realized where the flag was…

…as Conway ripped the flag off the door to the compartment that had held the slime he noticed that J’hana was floundering in the pool of green stuff. He chuckled, and slipped. He managed to get to his feet and tag Richards just…

…as J’hana tagged Browning. She bolted up the ramp to the next obstacle, only to slip and slide down. From the look of the stuff on her uniform, there was some type of thick goopy desert on the ramp, and the only way to get up would be…

…to climb up the edges, realized Richards. He climbed up the ramp as fast as he could, and slid down the slide on the other end. He felt slimy goo on his ass as he slid down and moaned as he reached the bottom and…

…hit a pile of cold, milky, clinging, but thankfully not goopy stuff. Browning instantly recognized it as ice cream and realized that the flag must be somewhere inside this mound of melting ice cream. She started digging as…

…Larkin found the signature embedded deep within the program. She was not entirely suprised to find that it belonged to Lt. Hartley. She located Hartley, and left the bridge as…

…Richards found the flag and pulled himself out of the fudge swirl ice cream, shivering. He ran to Baxter who was impatiently waiting. Richards tagged him, and Baxter bolted headlong into a pool of butterscotch pudding…

…as Peterman followed quickly. She was a bit smaller and quite a bit more agile, and thus made it to the other side of the pool in a few seconds less than her boyfriend. She grabbed the flag hanging in plain sight and clambered out of the butterscotch…

…as Larkin pulled open the doors to the turbolift. Someone had been trying to stop her from getting to them, and Larkin knew exactly who it was. She entered the nearest Jeffries tube as…

…Commander Conway ran as fast as he could, huffing and puffing all the way to a–a huge peanut-butter and jelly sandwich? Oh, well, he thought, as he dove in. A few seconds later he found the flag, and bolted for Richards…

…while J’hana struggled to move while covered in peanut butter. Damn, she thought, why did this fwarking stuff have to be so sticky?! as she tagged Browning. Browning ran for the next obstacle. It was a collection of pedals. She stepped on one, and was promptly coated in warm butter. Another, molasses…

…the next one, cream, Coke, Bingo! Richards grabbed the flag from the still dripping Coke nozzle and ran for Baxter. He saw Browning right behind him…

…as Larkin arrived in the arboretum. She followed the sound of maniacal laughing to Mirk, Tilleran and Hartley, all rolling over each other laughing at the command crew on the screen, now coated in crud. Larkin frowned disapprovingly at them, and ordered Hartley to let the crew out. She just giggled…

…and Captain Baxter ran for all he was worth to the final obstacle. It was…a huge red plastic bowl, with the name Charlie on the side…oh, God. It was full of dog food. Baxter gulped, and gingerly jumped in. Meanwhile…

…Peterman shrieked with glee! At last, something she could relate to! She dove in, and was overcome by the repulsive smell and taste of the dog food. She needed to remember to feed Charlie something a bit more appetizing next time. After floundering for a few seconds, she found the flag and bolted for the finish line…

…at the exact moment that Baxter did.

And the finish was a tie.

All over the ship, the people groaned. Including in the Arboretum, where the trio of (former) outlaws of Mirk, Tilleran, and Hartley were. Larkin dragged Hartley out of the Arboretum by her arm, all the way to Holodeck four. On the monitor…

…Dr. Nick had reappeared and was congratulating the teams. “Well, you did your best, but your best was apparently not enough to win. So, you all lose and will be pummeled with pies for the next ten minutes. J’hana cursed. Conway collapsed. Browning and Richards, for some reason, had seemed to have forgotten about the fact that they hated each other, and were kissing passionately. And Peterman and Baxter walked toward each other, Peterman dripping whipped cream, butterscotch pudding and dog food, Baxter dripping rice pudding, chocolate sauce, butterscotch and dog food. Peterman giggled. Baxter laughed.

“I’m really sorry I blew up on you, Andy,” said Peterman, looking down. “I mean, I know you only wanted to have a little fun…”

“No, Kelly, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken you bowling. I mean, where’s the fun in that? We should have thought of something else. I forgive you, honeybunches. Do you forgive me? Pleease? Pretty-please-with-sugar-on-top-and-a- cherry?”

Peterman laughed. “Okay, I forgive you. Now does my little Andy-wandy want to go have fun? I’ve got an idea!”

Baxter smiled. He had an idea too. “I bet I’ve got the same idea you do. Race you to the dunk tanks!” and within seconds, the two were having passionate sex in a vat of rice pudding.

Outside, Larkin had finally convinced Hartley to let the officers out. “Computer, open Holodeck four, authorization Hartley Omega Pi Zeta Epsilon Sigma four. Password: Mr. Poopy-tushie.”

“An interesting choice in passwords, Lieutennant. Are you feeling all right?”

“As a matter of fact, Larkin, I’m not,” and Hartley fainted into Larkin’s arms. Larkin let her down gently and entered the holodeck to find J’hana strapped down in a chair having pies thrown at her by holographic representations of Ford and Gellar. Conway had collapsed on the floor, and Browning and Richards were making passionate love in a rather oversized blueberry pie. Peterman and Baxter were not visible, no, wait, there they were. They appeared to be having sex in a vat of rice pudding. Larkin decided to give the senior officers some more time, and was already formulating a punishment for the three who had written the program.

A week later, the bridge crew laughed as Tilleran and Mirk threw pies at Hartley. Both of them were dripping rice pudding. And Dr. Nick was next to them, calling out encouragements. Mirk hit a bull’s eye. The crew erupted into cheers. Hartley cursed, having been restored to normal by a now clean Dr. Browning. “So, Andy, how long are we going to keep them in there?” asked Peterman as Tilleran hit Hartley in the stomach with a strawberry-rhubarb.

“I don’t know, Kelly,” he said as Mirk searched through a puddle of green stuff for the flag. “But not too long. Because, you know, we haven’t done the butterscotch yet…”

Tags: vexed