MiSTing: "Hail to the Queen" [PG, STNG, Marrissa] (7/9]

[Matthew R Blackwell]

> Chapter 8
>
> From the incredulous stares that bombarded him from
>every corner of Engineering, Jay knew he'd have to explain
>himself.

Tom: But instead he stonewalled, hoping he could keep that up
until the end of his term.

> "All right listen," Jay began, "we've got a situation just
>like the one on the Enterprise-E. Back then, it was pointless
>to try and fight them aboard the ship.

Mike: Even though Picard seems to have iced all the ones that
he came across, and he's such a good fighter...

> In the end, Admiral
>Picard had to go in there and take them out on his own. Do
>you know how he did it?

Mike: Well, he convinced the Borg to drastically increase their
fat intake. They then dropped dead from heart attacks
forty years later.

> He cut off the snake's head. He killed
>the Queen.

Crow: To do so, he had to use the magic reflective shield that
the gods had given him to avoid being turned to stone.

> Now if we can do the same thing here, I bet we can
>win," Jay looked around the room and saw many people nodding
>their heads in agreement.

Tom: A chance to kill Marrissa? Sure!
Crow: It's the dream of every citizen of the Federation, after
all.

> "Computer, activate Kid's Crew,"

All: AHHHH!!!
Mike: No! The nightmare continues!

> Jay announced, as the
>volunteers stepped forward to go along with Jay's senior
>staff.

All: OH NO!!!!
Mike: That's it, they're doomed.
Crow: Who, the command crew?
Mike: No. The Borg.

> "Transfer of Command confirmed. As of this Stardate,
>Ensign Jacqueline Picard now commanding U.S.S. Enterprise NCC-
>1701-F," the computer announced in its calm, feminine voice.

Tom: Which belied its feelings of sheer terror at even having
to say the words.

>The entire ship, or what was left of it, was now in the hands
>of Jay's sister-in-law.

Mike: Yep, 23rd century. We've gotten over racism, sexism, and
poverty, but not nepotism.
Crow: Since it's Marrissa's sister, she'll be slaughtering
Romulans by the dozens in a matter of minutes.

> Satisfied his ship was in good hands,

Mike: After getting insured by Allstate.

> the security team
>and senior staff went to the nearby armoury. Inside, the
>group stocked up on fresh EMP Rifles, frequency-shifting hand
>phasers, and bandoleers of photon grenades. Satisfied his
>people were loaded for large, rabid bears,

Mike: Large, drunk, rabid bears.
Crow: Large, drunk, rabid bears with big, sharp, pointy teeth.
Tom: Large, drunk, rabid bears with big, sharp, pointy teeth
who's families have just been killed by corrupt Starfleet
officers and now they're out for blood!

> Jay led his people
>to the Transporter Room.

Tom: We also haven't gotten over macho posturing.
Mike: Ironically, upon reaching the Transporter, they were all
killed by a small, healthy bear.

> It took Clara a moment to set the sensors to find
>gaps in the magnetic shields, but when she did, the whole cube
>became a massive chunk of Swiss cheese.

Crow: Or bad metaphors.

> The seven person security unit stepped
>onto the platform and gave the signal.

Mike: The signal being, "There are only six pads!"
Tom: Mike, it's Star Trek. The line should be "There! Are! Six!
Pads!"

> Clara took a few more
>seconds to find a suitable gap, then engaged the transporter.
>

Mike: Clara marries piece of matter-transmission technology,
film at eleven.

> A dark, stuffy corridor on the Borg ship was
>temporarily illuminated by the silvery sparkles given off by
>the transport process. The boarding party made a quick scan
>of the area both visually and with the tricorders they had.
>The corridor was clear of everything but a few wayward gasses.

Mike: Borg must've had boiled cabbage for supper.

> The nearby alcoves that normally held drones were
>empty. Thinking for a moment,

Tom: There's a change of pace. . .

> the officer concluded they were
>probably over on the Enterprise. Satisfied that the area was
>secure, the Lieutenant touched his combadge to indicate
>everything was clear.

Mike: When things are clear I touch myself . . .

>Moments later, the same silvery sparkle shone through the
>corridor. As the protection of the transporter beam faded
>away, Jay almost threw up when he materialised on the Borg
>ship.

Mike: Oh, c'mon - it may be a little tacky, but it has a
certain post-neo-modern simplicity.

> The acidic taste of the air, the stench of decades of
>accumulated sweat,

Tom: Oh, he's in the Packers' locker room.

> and the odd mechanical sounds that were like
>a mix between a stomach churning, fingernails on a chalkboard,
>and an antique clock all mixed together in a techno-organic
>concert.

Crow: But enough about Nine Inch Nails...
Tom: Well, if he's talking about "The Legacy Concert" I'm
leaving right now.

> Composing himself, Jay took a look around. The dark
>corridor was barely illuminated by the odd green-lightning
>disks above the Borg recharging stations, which were lined up
>and down the hallway.

Mike: They've beamed into an X-Files episode.

> Checking with Clara to ensure they were
>going in the right direction,

Mike: Moss always grows on the north side of a green-lightning
disk, doesn't it?

> the team moved down the hall.

Crow: It's the team in the hall, a fresh new Federation comedy
group!

> The destination of the group was the direct centre
>of the cube.

Tom: Well, at least someone is getting some use for their High
School Geometry.

> Clara had deduced this to be the chamber where
>Marrissa was, since the area was consuming more energy than
>the other systems on the ship.

Mike: She was using that tanning bed again.
Crow: [Sigh] That's so like Marrissa...take take take.

> The centre of the ship would
>also be the most likely area for a command room, since it
>would take a considerable amount of firepower to get to it.

Mike: But if you're Kids' Crew, you can just waltz right in.
Crow: One of the many advantages of having the writer on your
side.

> The Borg recharging stations were mostly empty, except
>for an occasional drone in poor shape.

Crow: [drone] Well, I keep meaning to exercise, but then
"Voyager" came on...

> Jay thought that they
>were probably on the Enterprise.

Mike: [mumbling] Sure, I came up with that theory two
paragraphs ago, but of course the Captain takes all the
credit...

> The other members must have
>noticed it too, since they all sped up a tiny amount.

Tom: This away team has been time-altered to fit this slot.

> Their facial features became locked in grim
>determination to succeed with the mission. An Ensign who was
>supposed to be up front walked up to Jay.

Mike: Jay then shot him for abandoning his post.

> "Sir, there's a large open area up ahead. Should we
>go around? It might be a trap," the Ensign stated, a small
>quiver in his voice.

Tom: Only held about a score of arrows.
Crow: A hundred and forty-four arrows? That's a mighty big
quiver!
Tom: No, a score, not a gross.
Crow: [clearly not getting it] Right.

> Jay considered for a moment before replying. "No, keep on
>going. If the Borg were going to ambush us, they would have
>done so by now."

Crow: Unless, of course, they're trying to attack us when we
don't expect it.

> The pack moved into the open area.

Crow: Power Pack?
Tom: Oh, please, no!

> It was a square room,
>about ten meters by ten meters.

Mike: "You enter a ten-by-ten room. There is a treasure chest
guarded by a Borg and a large blue dragon"
Tom: I ready my +12 Hackmaster. . .
Crow: Isn't it usually ten feet by ten feet?
Mike: Well, Canada, metric system.
Tom: Actually, that's "Moetric" system.

> The ceiling was almost three
>meters above the floor.

Crow: So how come it's "litre" but not "metre?"

> The area was devoid of any recharging stations, but
>branched into three corridors lined with them.

Mike: Sounds like they could use a visit from Home Interiors.

> The security
>detail formed a ring around the commanding officers.

Tom: o/~ ...pockets full of rye... o/~

> Jay
>noticed at the end of the right hallway a drone was milling
>about a console.

Crow: We grind our own coffee fresh every day!

> It took no notice of them, save for a minor
>glance in their direction.

Tom: [Borg] I refuse to acknowledge your existence and spoil
the plot.

> Jay signalled the young ensign on
>point, who moved to the entrance of the hallway. As the woman
>reached the bulkhead, a high energy hum sounded and she was
>bounced in the opposite direction by a force field.

Crow: Looks like she hit the glass ceiling.

>Collecting herself, the ensign got to her feet and grabbed her
>rifle.

Mike: [Ensign] Well, I'm a nameless ensign in a Trek fic, so
I clearly have a lifespan shorter than most synthetic
elements, but I might as well go for the gusto.

> A small flashing light on some sort of box beside the
>doorway caught her attention.

Mike: Ah, Ensign Easily-Distracted!
Crow: [Ensign] Captain, captain! There's a whole platoon of
Borg at - oooh, shiny metal!

> The box looked like a power
>generator for the force field.

Tom: Ya think?

> Taking careful time to aim
>the weapon so she wouldn't fry any other circuits, the ensign
>fired the rifle.
> One of the main problems with Borg technology, is its
>complexity.

Tom: And one of the major selling points of the Hitchhiker's
Guide to the Galaxy are the words "Don't Panic" written on
the front in big friendly red letters.

> A highly qualified Engineer would require a day or
>so to piece together a Borg operating system.

Crow: Or Wesley could do it over the space of a commercial
break.

> However to an
>engineering-illiterate ensign,

Mike: So, she majored in liberal arts then?

> one chunk of circuitry looks
>just like another. The unfortunate ensign didn't even know
>she had destroyed a data relay node, until drones from unseen
>areas began to enter the region.

Mike: Boy, must've rolled high on the ol' wandering monster
charts.

> As the bionic zombies staggered towards the team,

[All snicker]
Tom: "Bionic Zombies"?!? You have *got* to be kidding me!
Mike: "Bionic Zombie Nightmare", starring Tia Carrere as
Lindsay Wagner!
Crow: [$6,000,000 Man Intro] We can make him better than he was
- better,stronger, undeader.

>several were subjected to an electronic barbecue

Tom: Hot and saucy, Texas-style!!

> as the EMP
>bursts dropped drones across the deck. The stench of burning
>wire insulation, overloading of circuitry, and the searing of
>nearby flesh wafted into the nostrils of everyone present.

Mike: Lt. Colonel Kilgore enjoyed the smell of searing flesh in
the morning though.

> Everyone on the team was doing their part, Jay
>noticed with a large amount of pride in his crew.

Crow: Pride, shmide - it's that or become a "bionic zombie"!

> The security
>team covered the command staff,

Tom: [sonorous] As is meet and proper...redshirts giving their
lives so that others might live.

> while aiding each other as
>necessary,

Crow: We're just lowly peons. Our lives are meaningless
compared to those of the command staff.

> Clara occasionally looked at the nearby wall as if
>she was trying to think of a way past the invisible wall.

Crow: [Clara] We could climb it - no, we could get a bulldozer
and - nono, I could just wave my hands and...

> At the
>same time Alex, Kathy, and Shayna were helping where they
>could.

Mike: Mainly by cowering and whimpering a lot. It wasn't much,
but...

> Shayna would occasionally manage to lob a photon
>grenade behind the incoming masses, causing a symphony of
>destruction that rang Jay's ears.

Tom: o/~ It's just a bittersweet - symphony! o/~

> Suddenly the idea hit him.

Mike: [Jay] No, wait. That's just shrapnel. Medic!

>Moving over to the blocked bulkhead, Jay unstrapped his
>bandoleer of photon grenades.

[All snicker]
Tom: For this scene, the part of Jay Gordon will be played by
Topper Harley.

> Placing the small bombs against
>the frame of the door, Jay set the timer for a minute. The
>security wheel seemed to collapse as the men and women ran
>back into the hall they came from.
> A minute later, a minor nuclear apocalypse

Crow: How can you call an apocalypse minor!?

> rocked the
>deck, sending Starfleet and Borg alike hurling to the floor.
>Shuffling cautiously back towards the room, Jay felt like he
>was ten again.

Mike: Which means in the Ratliff verse, he'd be more competent.
Crow: He's what, eleven now?

> The sheer child-like joy of destruction, the
>eagerness to survey his handiwork, and if necessary do it
>again.

Tom: Marrissa was certainly rubbing off on him.

> The area had become a blackened, charred home for
>death.

Crow: Mm-mm! Pan fried, blackened death, Cajun-style!

> The former portal that could admit an eight foot tall
>person,

Crow: Well, that'd be handy if Mr. Homm was on the away team.

> and was protected by a force field was now a twenty
>foot crater of destruction.

Mike: An official spokesborg blamed this on the effects of El
Nino.

> The blast had made the area
>unstable, and left a gaping hole in floor. Yet despite this
>the room was overflowing with Borg drones heading towards the
>group.

Mike: ...where, displaying the same brilliant planning they've
shown so far, they all fell into the hole.

> The security officers pushed Jay back from the Borg's
>questing nanite injectors. The injectors found prey however
>and began pumping in millilitres of nanoprobes. Inside the
>team's bodies, a war was being raged.

Tom: Diarrhea is like a war raging inside you...

> Nanoprobes would set down on the blood cells, only to
>find them as disguised nanites sucking in the microscopical
>assimilating machines.

[All make slurping noises]

> However, the Borg had soon adjusted to
>the disguises of the nanites, and became able to reprogram
>them for their own purposes.

Mike: The AMA will hear of this!
Crow: Well, *that* didn't last long.

> Outside the tissues and organs, Jay watched

Crow: Oh, good - for a minute I was worried he was watching
from inside the tissues and organs!

> in horror and
>surprise and the blood vessels of a crewman became an
>unhealthy grey. The nanites must have failed, soon the Borg
>would assimilate them. Jay mentally steeled himself, and
>brought up his hand phaser. Setting it for level 12, the
>vaporisation setting,

Mike: Level 11 was the "sic a bunch of lawyers on the
target" setting.

> then pointing at each of the security
>members.

Crow: [Jay] Thanks for protecting us - hope you don't mind me
frying you!
Tom: But he forgot to pull the trigger, and instead just made
"ZZZZZAP!" noises.

> A blood red beam connected the weapon to the bodies,
>just before they became wayward gas molecules. It was cold-
>hearted, ruthless, and robbed him of every moral fibre of his
>being,

Mike: So he ran back home and had a hearty bowl of Cracklin'
Holy Oat Bran.

> but damn it

Mike: ...he was determined to fill Marrissa's shoes.

> it was necessary. If any member of the unit
>were to be assimilated then

Tom: ...the Secretary would disavow any knowledge of their
actions.

> the Borg would know what they were
>doing and would devise a way to stop him. Right now the only
>advantage, was the Borg thought they had removed the threat.
>Jay and the other command crew hadn't moved a muscle against
>the Borg since the security pack's glory charge.

Mike: Remember, ship's security is now available in the handy
6-pack!
Crow: Easy and convenient for killing your redshirts in droves.

> They were no
>longer a threat in the Borg's eyes.
>
> The Collective watched the five invaders pick
>themselves up

Tom: o/~ You ain't never going to keep them down! o/~

> through the eyes of a drone. They could have
>assimilated them right then and there, but they chose not to.

Mike: Y'know, this plan has never worked for anyone.

> The remaining drones would be cut down by those weapons
>with little effort from the humans, then the ship would be
>unable to complete its mission. In a risky manoeuvre,

Crow: Accomplished with the help of a Deux ex Machina...

> the
>Collective moved the drones back to their assigned tasks. A
>minor tactical withdrawal would put the pathetic individuals
>off guard, then allow them to be caught by surprise.
>

Mike: Nope. Total goners.

> With guilt over the deaths of his crewmates weighing
on his shoulder,

Crow: [British] It's a Mr. Death, from the village. He says
he's a reaper.
Mike: Shoulder? Just one?
Tom: Well, he's not *that* guilty.

>Jay walked into the point position.

Crow: [Jay] SHOTGUN!

> Shayna and Alex were about
>to argue, until they saw the grim determination in their
>friend's eyes. They moved along to the core room, which shone
>in the distance like a light at the end of the proverbial
>tunnel.

Tom: [Falsetto] Move towards the light!

> About thirty meters from the core room, they reached
>the light. A breath-taking site unfolded before them. The
>hall had led them to a massive cavity inside the Borg ship.

Mike: Sounds like they need to assimilate some fluoride.

>The cavity was square in shape, and different than the rest of
>the ship. Where the ship was a menagerie of parts, cables and
>circuits, the cavity was smooth.

Crow: Before you assimilate - Caress c!

> While the ship was dark,
>dank, cramped, and foul smelling, the cavity was well lit,
>spacious, and pleasantly dry, while the smell lingered.

Tom: The ship only had basic cable, but the cavity had a
satellite dish.
Mike: The ship was covered in peeling wallpaper, while the
cavity was painted in tastefully muted pastels.
Crow: The ship only had 8-year old copies of "Good
Housekeeping", whereas the cavity had the latest
bestsellers from Tom Clancy, Clive Cussler and Jude
Devareaux.

> Below the portal where the team stood a massive airlock,
>almost the size of a Galaxy-class Cruiser was about where the
>wall of the vessel was.

Tom: [tilts to the side] No way in heck will *that* sentence
parse!

> Bring in the core of the ship,

Tom: o/~ Bringing in the core, we shall come rejoicing,
bringing in the core. o/~

> looking
>out across this great distance not only made you feel
>insignificant, but made you realise how big these ships were.

Mike: The Borg apparently have perfected their "awe" ray.

> The ceiling was much closer than the floor, only about a
>quarter mile up. In the middle of the ceiling, was a large
>cubic object with a dark doorway in the side of it.

Tom: Apparently at some point, the Borg assimilated M.C. Escher
and Salvadore Dali.
Mike: Timothy Leary, too.

>Connecting the portal with the door was a long, narrow bridge
>that was thirty meters long and only sixty centimetres wide.

Mike: Uh-oh. I feel a story problem coming.

>Crossing the precarious bridge went slowly, as the crewmates

Tom: ...were accosted by an old man asking them questions
three.

>took cautious steps towards their goal. Making sure that each
>foot landed safely on the platform was a small chore,

Mike: [muttering] Jay's starting to be a small chore...

>intensified by the lack of a hand railing.

Crow: Did I miss something, or did we just suddenly switch to
"Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade"?

>
> The Collective watched as the individuals began to cross
>the bridge towards the Queen's room. Even at this point, they
>were not positive the Queen was in danger.

Tom: [Borg] We are the Borg. Danger, Will Robinson.

> The Collective put
>its plan into action, and two drones disappeared in a green
>flash.
>

Mike: Making two drones disappear - what a clever maneuver!
Tom: Manoeuvre.
Mike: Whatever.

> Kathy's scream echoed throughout the cavity. Whipping
>their heads around, they were able to see a drone with its
>nanite injectors implanted into Kathy's neck.

[More balloons descend from the ceiling.]
Tom: [Kathy] Like, don't leave a hickey, Todd - dad'll, like,
kill me!

> Already blood
>arteries were clouding into a greyness,

Crow: Y'know, if your "blood arteries" are visible I think
you've got other problems.

> and soon she would be a
>part of the Collective.

Tom: That would be a loss...if I could remember who Kathy is.
[Pause]
Mike: I'm sure she's appeared before. She must've.
Crow: Not Ratliff's most memorable creation, I guess.

> Another drone beamed in front of Jay,
>who was still at the front of the group, and tried the same
>tactic.

Crow: But Jay screamed like a girl and dove off the platform
first.

> Jay weaved as much as he could without losing his
>balance, and managed to use his rifle as a club.

Mike: Coming up, Jay vs. Nitro on American Gladiators!

> The drone
>hit the hull of the far-away airlock with a barely audible
>thud.

Crow: I know how he feels.
Tom: Say, when are you gonna make another mile-high meringue?
Crow: Soon. First I've got a recipe for chocolate-mayonnaise
cake I want to try.

> Shayna had managed to fire an EMP burst into the drone
>that assimilated Kathy, who was still in shock with a dazed
>expression on her face. Her mind opened to the Collective
>like a book,

Crow: A Little Golden Book, actually.

> and they saw the plan.

Tom: [Shayna] Oh, *good* one, Kathy.

> At the other end of the
>bridge, drones swarmed onto the plank chasing the invading
>Starfleet officers.

Crow: [Borg] We are the Borg. Time to walk the plank, matey.
Arrh.

> Two pieces of titanium alloy emerged from
>the top and bottom of the black portal and slowly began to
>inch shut.

Crow: No! They've only got four hours to get there before it
closes!

> Jay noticed the action and screamed in defiance.

Tom: Maybe he was screaming for NEEEEL! NEEEL!! NEEEEL!!
Mike: Probably not.
Tom: Or maybe for VAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNCCCCCCCCCCE!
Crow: Unlikely.
Tom: Or maybe...
Mike: Tom, please don't -
Tom: For JEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEED!

>With a burst of adrenaline,

Crow: Speaking of which...
Mike: You done?
Tom: For now, Mike - for now!

> he rushed across the remaining
>distance and jumped through the portal.

Tom: "Sliders", starring Jay Alan Gordon.

> His friends barely
>managed to make it after him, with Shayna executing a diving
>roll to clear the door before it shut.

Crow: This must be some new definition of "slowly inching
shut."

> Jay and Alex took the
>time to use their EMP Rifles to fry the door's circuitry,

Crow: Actually, you get a lot less fat if you *bake* the
circuitry instead.

>while Clara scanned the area.

Mike: [Clara] BABYLON...PSYCHIC...SCAN!
Crow: Oh, joy.
Tom: "Sailor Babylon." Now appearing in finer archives near
you!

> The drones were not happy at
>the thought of being locked out, and began pounding on the
>door.

Mike: [Borg] We just want to talk to you about HerbalLife!

> Taking a survey of the area, it was your standard sized
>room with four walls.

Crow: As opposed to your non-standard sized room with eleven
walls, two floors, five ceilings and a henway.
Tom: Are you gonna fall for that?
Mike: Nope. It's probably just another 10' x 10' room.
Crow: Fine, spoil my little joke - see if I care!

>One of them however had been replaced with a viewscreen
>looking out at the Enterprise.

Mike: Hey, HBO's running "First Contact" again.

> Towards the middle of the
>room, some sort of structure seemed to grow from the floor.
>Immersed in an eerie red light,

Tom: The Borg have a red light district?

> there seemed to be a figure
>inside it.

Crow: [hums the music from "Close Encounters"]
Mike: It was to be a gift to your President...

> Getting closer to the configuration, the jaws of the
>hardened Starfleet Officers slackened. They began to
>recognise the figure in the centre of the monument.

All: ABRAHAM LINCOLN OF BORG?!?!?

> It was Marrissa.
>

Crow: Oh, *her*.
[The Text abruptly stops.]
Mike: Hey!
[A voice calls out from outside the theater.]
Voice: What?
Mike: What happened to the story?
Voice: I stopped it.
Crow: I'll regret asking this but, why?
Voice: I'm on break.
Tom: Well, I guess we should leave then.
Crow: [mumbling] Blasted union help...

[The trio leaves.]