Fandom: Star Trek Voyager uber parody
Summary: Sensual astrometrix Anna Seven, aided by the savage and passionate B’Elannarella, must save the universe from the evil Doctor’s Photonic Cannon. Any resemblance to the 1968 film “Barbarella” staring Jane Fonda is purely intentional.
Warning: This story contains coarse language and primitive second millennium-type sex between women.
Disclaimer: No profit is intended in the writing of this story. Star Trek: Voyager and Barbarella are both the property of Paramount, I believe.
Feedback should be sent to firstname.lastname@example.org. Archiving and downloading is welcome as long as you credit the author. Many thanks to Meagan for beta-ing this.
Anna Seven, Astrometrix First Class, always believed that undressing was as much a work of artistry as a necessary part of her daily routine. Why go to the Hallucinogenic Experience Theatre in order to witness radiant displays of body and motion, she’d always argued to her friends, when you could achieve such visual perfection in your everyday life?
It was, therefore, to the stirring chords of La Passion d'une Langue Etrangère by Testamano Three that the beautiful astronaut took off her spacesuit. Floating in zero gravity above the floor of her cabin she first removed her gloves, freeing long, slim fingers that danced across the seals of her magnetic boots. With slow, languid movements she kicked them off her feet, calculating their trajectory with precision so they would arc towards her footlocker. A robot arm neatly snatched the boots out of the air.
“Thank you Harry,” Anna said huskily to the servant drone. The robot beeped in happiness, a shiver of ecstasy running through its mechanical components.
Anna’s spacesuit pants were next. Rolling onto her back, she slid out one smooth, sensual leg, then the other, extending each in urbane stretches as if to celebrate their liberty from confinement. Next she removed her helmet, shaking loose her hair from its tight French pleat. The blonde locks drifted across her face, framing blue-grey eyes and silvery facial implants. Unzipping the front of her bodysuit, Anna let her large breasts burst from their constraints to bob effortlessly in the zero-G. As the music built to a crescendo the beautiful astrometrix peeled off her underclothes, exposing her svelte naked form to the cabin’s atmosphere. Anna shivered in pleasure as the ultrasonics created sympathetic vibrations throughout her body in exquisite harmony with the music.
It was unfortunate therefore that a piercing tone interrupted her display. Disappointed, Harry activated the artificial gravity field and dropped her gently to the floor.
“What is it, Tom?” she asked her ship.
“The President of Earth, Rotating Leader of the Solar System, Doctor of Artificial Intelligence, Renowned Author of Best-Selling Holographic Novels, and General All-Round Genius wishes to speak with you.”
“Put him on the visualiser immediately!”
A blare of ostentatious music heralded the appearance of the noble bald-headed features of the 50,678th President of Earth, Emh One. He smiled fondly at the naked astrometrix, giving the hail that dated all the way back to the days of the First Copulation. “Long Love.”
“And Perfection,” Anna finished. “I apologise for my appearance, Mr President. I’ll just spray on some clothes.”
The President raised an imperious hand. “There is no need, Anna. This is an urgent matter of state.” He knew that for some unaccountable reason his young protégé had always been embarrassed over her body. It was true that her voluptuous form was a genetic throwback to the time of the second millennium, but she of all people should know that it was the soul, not the body, that was important. “I have a mission for you that is essential for the ongoing harmony of the universe. A General All-Round Genius has disappeared into the Galactic Centre and we want you find him.”
“State the name and description of this individual.”
An image of the President of Earth appeared on the visualiser, his jaw clenched, brow furrowed into an evil scowl. “But that’s you!”
“No, Anna, that’s my hologram. Naturally a person of my enormous brilliance and charisma is in great demand throughout the galaxy. I hardly have any time of my own. So several years ago I used my brainwave patterns to create a holographic copy of myself to take on the public relations workload. We nicknamed it ‘The Doctor’, as in ‘spin doctor’. It doesn’t have a name of its own, of course, because it wasn’t supposed to be a separate individual, but me, you see?”
“I see,” replied Anna, though she didn’t.
“Unfortunately, over the past few months this hologram exhibited signs of evolving its own divergent personality. It was harmless at first, just some hobbies I wouldn’t normally be interested in - opera, holophotography, medicine, that sort of thing. But then during a routine check of its electrofantasies we discovered that The Doctor had been working on the development of a weapon. Something called ‘The Photonic Cannon’.”
“A weapon?” If Anna’s species hadn’t evolved beyond their previous state of neurotic imperfection she would have gasped in shock. As it was, her implant-framed left eyebrow shot up in extreme emotional discomposure. “But weapons are irrelevant. The galaxy has been in a state of Collective Harmony for the past ten thousand years. Surely no-one would want such a device.”
“Unfortunately we cannot take the risk. We know very little of the beings who live in the Galactic Centre. They may well be in a primitive state of neuro-cortical evolution. If they should get their hands on this weapon, it could mean war!”
“War?” Anna frowned, her mind struggling to grasp the unfamiliar concept. “You mean, a lapse into archaic inefficiency? An increase in selfish inter-species competition?”
“I mean war – bloody intergalactic conflict between sentient beings!”
It was then that the young astrometrix did gasp in horror. Anna knew that in the third millennium her ancestors had routinely engaged in such archaic irresponsibility. The United Federation of Planets, which was based on Universal Love, and the Borg Collective, which sought Perfection, had clashed in endless centuries of conflict. Only when the two sides realised that by coming together in the First Copulation they could finally achieve their joint goals was harmony created throughout the universe. “But why are you sending me?”
“Who else can I send?” asked the President. “We no longer have armies or police or Intrepid-class starships – such things are no longer relevant in our society. You on the other hand are an Astrometrix First Class and my personal protégé. If anyone can find The Doctor, it is you.”
Anna’s back straightened, her second millennium breasts swelling with what a primitive neurotic of that era would have called arrogant pride. It was, however, merely self-acknowledgement of her eminent suitability for the task at hand. “I will comply, Mr President.”
“Excellent. I want you to set your atomic transporter to a setting of Zero Three Five.”
“Harry?” said Anna over her shoulder. The drone hastened to obey. Anna saw Emh One placing several unusual devices under a transparent dome. He closed the lid and in seconds they had materialised in her transporter. She picked one up. It was a curved piece of equipment, with a nozzle at one end and flat, square buttons on top. Buttons! How primitive!
“These devices were standard instruments of exploration in the days of the old Federation. The one you’re holding is a weapon called a ‘phaser’. I got it from the Museum of Neurotic Irresponsibility on the Klingon HappyWorld. You might need it in this place you’re going to. I know I can count on you. Long Love and Perfection, Anna.”
“Long Love and Perfection,” replied the beautiful astrometrix. The President’s image disappeared from the visualiser, to be replaced by a diagram of the Omega Molecule, symbol of the Harmonious Collective.
“Tom, set a course for the Galactic Centre.” Anna stepped into her dressing chamber, coming out seconds later in her favourite plum-coloured bodysuit. “How long will it take us to get there?”
“It will take 150 Standard Earth Hours,” her ship replied. “Do you wish me to play a movie to pass the time?”
Anna raised a cautious eyebrow. “Not more ‘Captain Proton’, I hope?”
“Oh no!” said the computer cheerfully. “I was searching through some ancient databases on Earth and I came across this television series called ‘Star Trek’. Apparently there was an entire religious cult based around it, known as ‘Trekkies’.”
“Oh Tom,” Anna sighed in exasperation. “What am I going to do with you? You’re so . . . second millennium!”
* * * * * *
Anna Seven, Astrometrix First Class, was woken by the warbling sound of a space alarm. The entire vessel was shuddering and strange multispectral lights were swirling across the viewscreen.
“Warning, we have been caught by a magnetic hurricane and are in an uncontrolled descent towards the nearest planetary body. Space-time compass no longer functioning. Stablisers off line. Present possibility of non-destruction is O point O-O-O-Oh bugger it, we’re screwed.”
It was for moments like this that Anna had spent endless minutes strapped into Brain chairs at the Space Academy. She leapt to her feet. “Adjust the interspacial temporal effectance frequency to a non-covariant ratio immediately! Set the port parallel thrusters to interlinked harmonistic bursts! Broadcast our space/time index on a rotating subspace transmodulation! Dump the linear convection fluid from the hyper-xoduliser’s primary core! Bring the secondary astrogation sensors out of their cryogenic storage tubes and deploy them to a quasametric spread! Raise the gravity repellence shields to a nonuple setting of 9.7835 megacomputations!”
Tom was still trying to decypher all this garbage when they slammed into the planet’s surface.
* * * * * *
Anna Seven dressed for her mission as if she was going to engage in a War of Neurotic Irresponsibility. Pushing her way through the soft bubbles of shock-absorbing foam that had cushioned their landing, she entered the dressing chamber, coming out in pair of knee-high boots, tight silver space pants, and a transparent bodyvest of light plasti-armour. Anna would normally be extremely reluctant to wear an outfit that revealed her overly large second millennium-type breasts, but she had read in the database that species in a state of neuro-cortical immaturity were very impressed by such things. In case they weren’t, she attached the ancient phaser to her belt as well.
“Watch your dix, Caboose,” said Tom in concern. “It’ll be a while before Harry and I can repair all this damage. Fortunately while I was on Earth I discovered an antique copy of B’Elanna Torres’ Guide to Shuttlecraft Regeneration, so that should speed things up a bit.”
Stepping into the ship’s excretory orifice, Anna was spewed out onto the planet’s surface, a cold frozen lake of purple water surrounded by tall pillars of ice hundreds of metres high. Meteorites arced their fire trails across the dark-red sky; twin full moons reflected so much light that one could see for miles around. It was therefore not surprising that the young astrometrix could clearly make out every hideous detail of the creature slithering towards her, from its multiple slimy tentacles to its twenty-three eyes and armour-shelled back covered in numerous poison-tipped dorsal spines.
“Long Love and Perfection,” Anna said, raising her middle finger in the Old Earth greeting. Just because an alien looked different from oneself didn’t mean it was hostile. Only species in a state of neuro-cortical immaturity believed such things. Of course, there was nothing to say that this particular alien wasn’t itself in such a primitive state of emotional development, which was probably why it was opening its mouth, revealing fifteen-inch razor-sharp fangs ready to devour her crotch creating an irresistible urge in the astrometrix to lapse into second millennium behaviour and scream her bloody head off.
A jagged beam of electricity lanced across Anna’s field of vision and enveloped the creature, making it howl in pain. It turned and scuttled frantically in the opposite direction, only to be hit by a second jolt fired right up the centre of its three rectal orifices. Its tentacles flailed one last time as if in impotent fury, then the creature slumped unconscious onto the ice.
Anna turned to see a burly man running towards her, shouting in an incomprehensible language. He looked rather first millennium, she thought, dressed as he was in heavy furs with a strange tattoo marking his forehead, but with an intriguing facial structure. A wicked-looking electrocannon was cradled in his hands, belying the concerned expression on his face. “Molecular variance residuals, temporal gamma flux neutronium particle increase?” he asked.
“I’m sorry?” said Anna. “Do you speak the Universal Harmonious Language? Tom, what’s this man saying?”
“Dilithium matrix? Warp coil isolation reflux chamber?”
“It’s an obscure language from the Old Federation known as technobabble,” Tom replied over the star-shaped comm unit beneath her right ear. “Use your tongue box – I’m downloading the translation now.”
Anna fiddled with her box as the man said, “Chakarma Sutray.”
“Oh Imperfection,” she cursed. “It’s not working.”
“What are you talking about?” said her handsome rescuer. “That is my name - Chakarma Sutray, Appointed Catchman of the Great Tyrant. But who are you?”
“Anna Seven, Astrometrix First Class, Citizen of Earth, member of the Universal Collective Harmony, Genetic Birth Batch 709-3A-U01. What was that creature?”
“A Horrible Slibberdorph - extremely deadly. It is my job to capture such creatures for the Royal Menagerie.” Chakarma pointed to where two men wearing red shirts and armoured gauntlets were carefully wrapping the slibberdorph’s poisoned spines in thick cloth and binding its tentacles. A robot drone slid up on skis and began to attach a towing rope to the alien’s horny carapace. “But what purpose brings you to the Ice Forest of Wier?” he asked, his appealing brown eyes dropping to study her transparent bodyvest in veneration.
“Well nothing, actually. My ship crash-landed on this planet. I’m actually seeking a holographic artificial intelligence known as ‘The Doctor’. Have you heard of anyone like that?”
“I know nothing of such things,” Chakarma said to her cleavage – perhaps he thought her vocal interface was located there. “But if you are looking for someone, the best place to start is the city of Sogo. I would be happy to take you across the ice lake in my craft.”
Chakarma’s icecraft was a large wooden vehicle, twenty-foot in length and mounted on skis. An enormous rotating fan created thrust, while large sails of gauzy material captured the wind when fuel was low. Anna was surprised to find that its cabin was quite warm. Her plasti-armour fogged up immediately, much to her rescuer’s disappointment. In order to satisfy him Anna turned down the thermal setting on her bodyvest. Chakarma opened up his furs to reveal broad hairy pectorals. Taking her cue from the Catchman’s behaviour, Anna stared politely at his chest.
“I really am most grateful,” said Anna to Chakarma’s nipples. “I’m positive I can get you some kind of financial recompense from my government. In fact, if there’s anything I can do for you, anything at all, I’d be more than willing to do it.”
Chakarma raised his forehead tattoo at this statement. “Well in that case, you could . . . let me make love to you.”
Anna’s blue-grey eyes widened in surprise. “But . . . you’re an alien! How do we know if our psycho-cardiograms are in confluence?”
“Psycho . . . what?” said the Catchman, frowning at his latest catch. “I know nothing of such things.”
“On Earth people don’t make love unless their psycho-cardiograms are in perfect harmony. It avoids all the interpersonal and physical compatibility problems suffered by mating couples throughout the early millenniums.”
“But my dear, it would be a great error, a terrible, tragic, all-too-human error, if I let such an incredible beauty pass through my hands without making love to her!”
“Well, OK then,” said Anna reluctantly. “But I don’t see what good it will do.”
The stunning Earthwoman closed her eyes and stretched out her left hand towards Chakarma. It was interlaced by strips of thin metal, he noticed, melded into the flesh. “What are you doing?”
“On Earth we ‘make love’ as you call it, by touching our cybernetic implants creating an Exaltation Transference Link between the pleasure centres of our minds. You hold for one minute or until full rapture is achieved.”
“Only one minute!” Chakarma exclaimed. “But when I made love to the beautiful Siamese Delaney Twins of Stella Five, the foreplay alone lasted for three days! Why don’t you just take off your clothes and lie down on that bed?”
Anna’s eyes shot open to the size of Mutara-class nebulas. “But . . . no-one’s done it that way in centuries!”
“Why ever not?!”
“Because it was proven to be distracting!” she cried. “And a danger to maximum efficiency, and because it was pointless to continue when other substitutes for ego-support and self-esteem were available!”
But her hairy rescuer was not to be denied, so the young astrometrix reluctantly exposed her imperfectly voluptuous second millennium-type body. She could really do with a zero-gravity field about now, Anna thought. There was simply no artistry in the way her large breasts jiggled as she pulled down her skintight spacepants, or her hair tumbled in heavy golden locks around her shoulders. “It’s not much to look at, I’m afraid,” said Anna as she spread her infinitely long legs on the fur-covered mattress. “Are you sure you don’t want financial recompense instead?”
“But you are the most beautiful, the most sexy alien I have ever seen,” gasped Chakarma, trying in vain to work his trousers down past an enormous erection. Temporarily abandoning his efforts, he picked up a shiny metal tray and held it in front of Anna’s face. The young astrometrix stared at her reflection. “Look at yourself. Those full sensuous lips, created by the Gods of the Universe for embracing the firm flesh of a man’s Tower of Love. Your legs, long and smooth like ice trees in the Forest of Wier. Those firm, tight buttocks, like the luscious tasting double-fruits of Reharni Prime. And most of all, your magnificent breasts.” He reached out and seized them in his eager hands. “Like the__”
With a deafening crash, Anna brought the tray down on Chakarma’s head.
* * * * * *
Chakarma Sutray, Appointed Catchman of the Great Tyrant, woke up with his head aching as if the Great Rhyder Birds of Yini II were trying to peck their way through his skull. Groaning in pain, he rolled over onto his side and clutched at the nearest dispenser for a revitalisation pill. The lack of motion of his ice-craft and the frozen pillars he could see through the portal told him that he was parked on the shores of the ice lake. There was no sign of the exquisite Earthwoman he had picked up.
A small white cube had been left on the fur-covered bed. Chakarma picked it up, jumping in surprise when a hologram of the beautiful Anna Seven leaped into existence in front of him.
“I’m so very sorry, I should have warned you. The region of my body on which you placed your hands is extremely sensitive. If it gets touched for any length of time I start acting in a highly inefficient manner. My body fluids are redirected to my extremities, my heart rate increases dramatically and I have these overpowering urges to lapse into primitive second millennium behaviour. Thank you so much for saving my life. As I stated earlier, I’d be happy to arrange financial recompense from my government.”
“Mad alien chicks,” moaned Chakarma, clutching his head. He groped his way across the cabin to the visualiser, punching at a series of brightly coloured buttons. The screen hissed with static, then resolved into the image of a short, auburn-haired female, dressed in a militaristic red-shouldered uniform. She reclined on a mighty ornate throne that would have further reduced her apparent stature were it not for a steely gaze that sliced into the Catchman.
“What is it, Sutray?” she said in a tone colder than the Ice Forests of Wier. “Have you captured the insolent B’Elannarella yet?”
“Oh Great Tyrant!” groveled Chakarma. “I have discovered a far greater prize. A beautiful virgin female from the planet Earth!” He knew his queen had a preference for females, or at least he believed she did. Certainly in the seven years in which Chakarma had been her bodyservant she had never made love to him.
The queen sat bolt upright in her throne. “A virgin? Such creatures still exist?”
“Her Lips of Heaven have not felt the exquisite penetration of Mankind’s Probe of Pleasure. Apparently on her world they do not make love as we do!”
“Yes,” purred the Tyrant. “So The Doctor informs me. A virgin! A blank slate on which I can write my most perverted desires. I shall mold her in my image, teach her the true meaning of humanity.” Suddenly she fixed her infamous Death Glare upon Chakarma, making him shiver in fear. “And just how come this woman is still in such a state of purity? Did you not try and force your own carnal desires upon her?”
“I tried, but she resisted me most vigorously! She is now on her way to your city, my Queen!”
“Excellent,” said the queen, stretching languidly on her throne. “It shows spirit. But I think she will find that in my case, resistance . . . is futile.” The Tyrant threw back her head and gave a great peal of evil laughter.
* * * * * *
The city of Sogo had been carved from a mountain of pure black crystal, a dark gleaming spire that thrust its way out of the folds and valleys of the notorious Crimson Regions. Its slopes were marked by endless twisting lines, as if someone had cut a great labyrinth into the ground.
Anna Seven, Astrometrix First Class, studied the distant city with a determined gaze. There must be some way of approaching the city. Anyone living in this region would know. She removed an antique Federation tricorder from her belt and set it to scan for lifesigns.
Whether or not the primitive device worked she had no idea, but after fifteen minutes of the device whirring, beeping and flashing incomprehensible lights at her, someone turned up to see what all the noise was about. He was a short, bearded alien with six toes on each foot, a great mane of hair and numerous spots on his hands and face.
“Well hello, my young sweeting. My name is Knoluk - scavenger, trader, guide, storyteller and chef extraordinaire. Could I possibly be of assistance?”
“Yes, I wish to know how to get to the city of Sogo.”
Knoluk raised his big hairy eyebrows. “Are you . . . sure you want to go there? It’s not a very nice place you know. To be honest I tend to avoid it myself.”
“Yes, I’m looking for a sentient hologram known as ‘The Doctor’, it’s very important that I find him. Would you guide me there? I’d be happy to arrange financial recompense from my government.”
“Certainly, guiding is one of the many tasks at which I am highly qualified. Err . . . which government are you talking about, by the way?”
“I’m from the planet Earth. It’s on the far edge of the Galaxy.”
Knoluk rolled his eyes. “No offence, Miss Earth__”
“I was Miss Universe actually, three times running.”
“Sorry, Miss Universe, but while one of my distant ancestors is rumored to have traveled from one side of the galaxy to the other simply because a short-arsed starship captain from Earth wanted a lousy cook and some comic relief, there’s no way I’m traveling all the way there just to get paid. Haven’t you got anything you can barter here and now?”
“Well there’s this,” Anna said, holding out her tricorder. “But it’s obsolete by about ten thousand years.”
“Mmm,” pondered the short alien. He pointed at Anna’s chest. “What about that?”
“You don’t want to fondle my mammary glands too, do you?” Anna cried.
Knoluk laughed. “No offence Miss Universe, but I prefer my women shorter and a lot younger, say about one or two years old, with cute pointed ears. No, I was referring to your plasti-armour vest.”
So Anna removed her transparent bodysuit, her nipples hardening instantly in the cold, pointing the way like twin multispatial probes. She followed Knoluk into the dark confines of the labyrinth, his constant chatter echoing and reechoing until it sounded as if an army of jabbering pilgrims was guiding her.
“And THEN I said to that phage-ridden parasite, “Look you ugly bastard, I’ll hand over one of my lungs before I let you get your flaky hands on my prize Ghafaji roast!” Well you know what they say, be careful what you wish for, ‘cause it was then that he pointed this hand-held organ transporter at my chest and__”
A knife whistled through the air, piercing Knoluk’s hairdo and missing Anna’s neck by millimetres.
The two of them spun round, the momentum of Anna’s freely-swinging breasts almost pulling her off balance. Standing astride the rocks above like an Amazonian colossus stood a dusky alien woman, her scowl emphasised by the curving ridges of her forehead. She wore a tattered, skimpy toga that exposed her taut, muscular body and firm round breasts, their nipples standing proudly in the cold. A thick leather belt crossed between them, laced with five throwing blades. A lethal-looking disrupter was cradled in her arms, pointed in their direction.
“Who is this woman who dares to challenge me by exposing her breasts?” she snarled, her dark eyes flashing in fury.
Knoluk stepped forward, farting loudly in the ancient greeting of his people. “Good morning, B’Elannarella! You’re looking especially lovely today, if I may say so. I’m just taking my cousin here to visit a poor, ailing little boy. He’s the 500-kilo baby of a Ropondian mega-elephant, so as you can imagine he requires an awful lot of breast-feeding__” B’Elannarella’s hand flashed and Knoluk ducked just in time to avoid being skewered. The knife clattered off the rocks behind him.
“Don’t bullshit me you polka-dotted lavatory brush! The days when the culinary techniques of your species were feared throughout the quadrant are long gone. Has this female come to battle me in bare-chested combat?”
“Your reasoning is flawed,” said Anna. “I am merely attempting to gain entry to the city of Sogo.” She saw Knoluk wince as if in sudden pain.
“SOGO?” roared the savage female. “The City of Darkest Night? The Lair of the Great Tyrant? The Dunghill of Humanity? The Black Force That Sucks The Freedom From Our Land Like a Parasitic Leech? That Vomit Drenched Open Cesspit of Evil?”
“Yes Sogo!” yelled Knoluk, holding Anna’s plasti-armour in front of him to stop from being impaled. “And if you’ll stop chucking knives for one second, you’ll find I’m willing to exchange this exquisitely shaped piece of body armour, that I had especially brought all the way from Earth, in exchange for 600 dymets of leola root and safe passage through your realm!”
Without pause B’Elannarella aimed her disrupter at him and squeezed the trigger. A blinding ray of incandescent light struck the plasti-armour, making it glow white-hot. Knoluk gave an almighty howl and rolled backwards along the ground, blowing on his scorched fingers.
“Seems to work well enough,” said B’Elannarella in approval. “Make it 520 dymets and it’s a deal.” She clambered down off the rocks, striding up to the tall alien female. “And just who are you?”
“Anna Seven, Astrometrix First Class, Citizen of Earth, member of the Universal Collective Harmony, Genetic Birth Batch 709-3A-U01.”
B’Elannarella snorted. “Is that a name or a telephone number? I’m B’Elannarella the Torrid, leader of the Forces of Freedom.” She leaned forward to bite Anna’s cheek in the traditional greeting of her people.
Anna quickly stepped backwards. “I’m here on a very important mission, a matter which could affect the loving union of the universe, at the express orders of the President of Earth, Rotating Leader of the Solar System, Doctor of Artificial Intelligence, Renowned Author of Best-Selling Holographic Novels, and General All-Round__”
“Yeah alright, he’s important! Great Klueless of the Klingon HappyWorld, you chatter more than Knoluk here.” B’Elannarella picked up her thrown knives, tucking them back in her belt. “What is it you want in Sogo? ‘Cause unless it’s a slow and extremely painful death, you might well be disappointed.”
“I’m seeking a holographic artificial intelligence known as The Doctor.”
B’Elannarella spun round. “WHAT? YOU MEAN THAT LECHEROUS, SADISTIC, BALD-HEADED, EGOTISTICAL, OPERA-SINGING, PAPPARAZZI PERVERT?”
“I’m sure he has his good points,” Knoluk quipped, promptly jumping to one side as another knife flew at his head.
Anna raised her hand, palm uppermost. On in rested a small white cube that projected a solidogram of the holographic Doctor. A knife blade immediately pierced his evil furrowed brow.
“Yes, that’s him all right,” grunted B’Elannarella. “I was Chief Engineer of Sogo, Personal Bodyservant of the Great Tyrant, and Recipient of the Royal Tongue before this know-it-all bastard came along. He usurped my position, and I was cast out into the Labyrinth with all the other morons who decided to take up the dangerous hobby of politics.” She pointed with her chin past Anna’s shoulder. The astrometrix turned around, starting as she found herself face to face with a scruffy band of men and women dressed in brightly coloured pyjamas, the traditional uniform of freedom amongst the Old Federation.
“We have all suffered the injustices of the Great Tyrant,” said an ebony-skinned alien with ears that came up to sharp points. “I am Toostuk-in-the-Mud. Once I was the Queen’s closest advisor, but I criticised the logic of her position too often. As punishment I was hung up by my ears for three months before being expelled to the Labyrinth. You can see the results.”
“I think they look wonderful,” Knoluk sighed, gazing lovingly at the pointed pinnaes.
B’Elannarella gestured to a man with young Asian features and old eyes. “And Havent Kum here was the Tyrant’s foremost ensign in her Royal Redshirted Guards. But when he had an unauthorised piece of tail__”
“Tal, her name was Tal!” snapped the former foremost ensign.
“Sorry. Well suffice to say the chick was so hot he was positively glowing afterwards. But the Great Rant doesn’t like anyone to have any fun, lest it’s with herself of course. So she got the Doctor to trap Havent in a permanent state of temporal paralysis. Doesn’t look any different, but his personality has been immobilised for the rest of eternity. He can’t change no matter what happens to him, which is a major problem when you’re as big a bumbler as he is.”
“And let’s not forget what she did to her chief pilot,” chimed in Knoluk. “The one whose DNA was mutated to turn him into a salamander, all ‘cause the Tyrant wanted some perverted sex, or that First Officer she placed a curse on so he can only say ‘yes, ma’am’ all the time!”
“Yes ma’am,” said a tattooed man with commander’s insignia, nodding in agreement.
“She’s gone completely nuts since the Doctor arrived. With his invention, the terrible Photonic Cannon, the Tyrant considers her position unassailable, thinks she can run the ship without our help. Well she’s wrong there, isn’t she people?!” roared B’Elannarella to her men.
The Forces of Freedom gave a lukewarm murmur in response.
B’Elannarella’s right hand wrapped around the handle of one of her knives.
“DEATH TO THE GREAT TYRANT!” they quickly shouted. She grunted in approval.
“Perhaps we can be of assistance to each other,” said Anna Seven. “If you help me infiltrate the city of Sogo, I can both remove the Doctor and destroy his deadly device.”
B’Elannarella snorted in contempt. “And what makes you think we haven’t tried that already? The Doctor is impervious to all blades and energy beams; they just pass through him. What makes you think that you can succeed where so many have failed?”
“Your previous attempts have clearly been inefficient,” replied Anna (B’Elannarella, primitive neurotic that she was, bristled at what she assumed was arrogance rather than mere self-acknowledgement of Anna’s eminent suitability for the task at hand). “I am an Astrometrix First Class, Graduate of the Space Academy, XXX-rated personal protégé of the 50,678th President of Earth and Rotating Leader of the Solar System, Emh One who, I should also point out, is a Doctor of Artificial Intelligence, Renowned Author of Best-Selling Holographic Novels, and General All-Round__”
“Bullshit artist!” roared B’Elannarella. “Well that might be an impressive résumé back on Earth, but out here in the Galactic Centre we judge people according to how they handle themselves in a scrap! Before we trust you, you’ll have to prove you’ve got what it takes. I challenge you to butt-naked bed-wrestling according to the ancient tradition of my people!” B’Elannarella grinned at the voluptuous astrometrix with what Anna, if she had been a primitive neurotic, would have assumed was pure naked lust.
“Bed-wrestling?” said Knoluk, frowning in bewilderment. “But that’s not an ancient tradition of__” He quickly shut up as B’Elannarella’s hand flashed to her knife belt again.
* * * * * *
“The rules are simple,” said Toostuk-in-the-Mud. “No scratching, clawing, hair-pulling or . . . ” he gave B’Elannarella a significant look. “Biting. The winner is the first one to immobilise their opponent and force her surrender.”
Anna Seven and B’Elannarella the Torrid faced each other across the Bed of Blood, an enormous four-poster waterbed covered in red satin sheets. They balanced awkwardly on the undulating surface, their hands raised in attack postures, bodies glistening with oil. The Forces of Freedom were clustered around them, cheering and catcalling. Knoluk was taking bets on the winner.
“I should warn you,” said Anna. “I am a student of the ancient French martial art of Sioxante Neuf.”
“And I was holder of the Queen’s Black Dildo for three years running,” snarled B’Elannarella, throwing herself on top of the Earthwoman.
At first it appeared as if the two women were evenly matched. Desperately they rolled around on the bed, clutching and groping at each other’s slippery, naked bodies. Unable to gain a hold on Anna’s slim form, B’Elannarella seized the biggest target she could get hold of, the Earthwoman’s formidable breasts, squeezing and kneading them with strong, greedy hands. But Anna skillfully countered by shoving B’Elannarella’s head into her cleavage and holding it there until she started to pant urgently. It was then that the young astrometrix made a mistake. Thinking that B’Elannarella’s heavy breathing was due to a desperate need for oxygen, Anna released her too early and quickly found herself bent over forwards, leaving her buttocks exposed to a vigorous spanking attack. She yelped and squealed helplessly as the flat of a hand smacked down on her arse again and again. But just when she thought she couldn’t stand it any longer, B’Elannarella ceased her savage assault. Puzzled, Anna tried to analyse her adversary’s moves. It was clear from the way in which B’Elannarella had her bent over that she’d been trained in a Doggie Style of martial arts, but it wasn’t until the astrometrix felt gentle fingers probing between her legs, stroking the delicate petals of her pussy, that she realised the devious nature of her opponent. B’Elannarella was clearly trying to divert blood from her heart and arteries to non-essential regions of her body! Her analysis was confirmed when she felt warm lips sucking on her clit, causing Anna to moan with pleasure. Her situation was desperate - she had to act quickly before she became totally inefficient!
Flipping B’Elannarella with the assover-tit move taught by her instructors at the Space Academy, Anna shoved her head between B’Elannarella legs and thrust the full length of her tongue up her vagina. Without mercy she worked it back and forth, licking and sucking on that steaming slit. In what was obviously a desperate attempt to throw her off, B’Elannarella was bucking and grinding her pelvis against her, but all in vain. She would not be deterred!
It was then however that Anna felt her buttocks parting under the relentless insertion of a slick invader. ‘The Athenian Attack!’ she thought in fear. Yanking out her tongue Anna sprang backwards, trying to break her fall with her hands. But her palms slipped on the smooth satin sheets and she landed right on her arse, eyes shooting wide open as a five-inch anal screw rammed itself up her rear end. B’Elannarella snarled in triumph, snatching up a long, black vibrator and switching it on. The second the sex device detected the heat emanating from a female vagina it immediately began squirting aphrodisiacal lubricants over its smooth surface. Multiphasic laser scanners measured the width and depth of Anna’s pussy and shapeshifted its size accordingly for ease of insertion and maximum pleasure. The balls on its rotating sleeve head whirred into action. G-spot detectors and clitoral probes readied themselves for deployment.
“I’m finished!” gasped Anna, staring in abject terror as B’Elannarella prepared to thrust the dreaded Black Dildo into her virgin pussy.
Suddenly half the watching onlookers screamed in pain as they were enveloped in a blinding flash of electricity. Caught with their pants down, in many cases around their ankles, the Forces of Freedom milled about in disorganised confusion as from out of the tunnels of the labyrinth charged a horde of redshirted soldiers, led by an all-too-familiar man in furs, clutching his mighty weapon.
“There they are!” the Catchman shouted, pointing at the two women on the bed. “Remember, the Great Tyrant wants them alive!”
“Sutray, you tattooed petaQ!” roared B’Elannarella. She tossed her vibrator to Anna. “Defend yourself!” B’Elannarella knew their situation was desperate. The Tyrant’s Redshirts were nameless, faceless men whose sole reason for existence was to die at her command.
Wielding the sex toy like a rapier, Anna leapt off the waterbed and charged at the nearest redshirt. Quickly the ensign raised a large calibre handcannon and fired it at the astrometrix’s chest. Anna was knocked flying backwards as a thick rubber dildo smacked with bone-numbing force between her tits. Snarling with rage, B’Elannarella hurled herself on top of the ensign and tried to shove an enormous butt plug up his rear end, only to be enveloped by a horde of redshirts throwing themselves on top of her in their eagerness to gain the Tyrant’s favour. By the time Chakarma had hauled them off, the ensign had suffocated under the mass of bodies.
“He gave his life in the noble service of the Great Tyrant,” pronounced the Catchman, looking down with pride at the now blue-faced redshirt. “What was his name?”
“Beats me,” grunted another anonymous redshirt. “Didn’t know he had one.”
“You’ll pay for this, Sutray!” growled B’Elannarella, as her hands and feet were bound in black leather S&M gear. “The Forces of Freedom will never submit to tyranny!”
“Take them to the Tyrant,” ordered Chakarma. “They shall suffer the fate of all traitors. Let them feel the sharp-edged fury of her Majesty’s tongue!”
* * * * * *
Throughout recorded history, humanity had suffered under the tyranny of short people.
Napoleon Bonaparte, who subjugated Europe and drastically reduced the stature of his Grand Army in the ill-fated invasion of Russia. Benito Mussolini, the fascist dictator who brought Italy to ruin and made his country a mere stunted vassal of Hitler’s Germany. But all of them paled in sheer wickedness and depravity compared to the Great Tyrant.
“Well hello, my pretty pretty,” she purred, as Anna Seven, Astrometrix First Class, and B’Elannarella the Torrid were tossed to the ground before her.
“Uughk ou ou e-urghk!” grunted B’Elannarella. She’d been forced to wear a bondage gag ball after repeatedly trying to bite one of the redshirts.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t get that,” smirked the evil queen. She turned her cold grey eyes on Chakarma. “What have you done with the others?”
“They have been thrown to the lesbians, your Majesty.”
“Excellent.” The Tyrant rose from her throne and stalked towards the young astrometrix like a panther, her pupils dilated from the caffeine drugs she had taken. “So my pretty pretty . . . you must be the beautiful Earth virgin.” She stroked her fingers along the edge of Anna’s jawline.
“My designation is Anna Seven, Astrometrix First Class, Citizen of Earth, member of the Universal Collective Harmony, Genetic Birth Batch 709-3A-U01,” Anna replied coldly. “Do not engage us in superficial attempts at seduction.”
“Oh yes, the great ‘Collective Harmony’,” sneered the Tyrant. “A vast consciousness, billions of minds living and working in a concord of love and perfection. No indecisions, no doubts, no excitement, no . . . evil. The security and strength of a unified dullness. How boring.”
“You are small,” Anna replied, looking down in contempt at the short queen. “You are a primitive neurotic and think in small ways. You lack harmony, order, greatness. You do not understand what it is to be Bored!”
“And do you understand what it is to be . . . excited?” asked the Tyrant, caressing the small of Anna’s back. The young astrometrix was unable to suppress an involuntary shiver of arousal. “Activate the Doctor!” snapped the queen in her command tone.
The Official Sentient Hologram of the President of Earth, Rotating Leader of the Solar System, Doctor of Artificial Intelligence, Renowned Author of Best-Selling Holographic Novels, and General All-Round Genius (that lecherous, sadistic, bald-headed, egotistical, opera-singing, paparazzi pervert) materialised in the middle of the throne room. “Please state the nature of humanity.”
“Evil!” answered the Great Tyrant. “Doctor, I have a subject for your unique talents. Remember, her virginity must be kept intact. I want her for myself.”
“Yes, my liege,” said the Doctor, surveying Anna with a sinister expression. “Ah, yes! The President’s prize protégé. I thought that ugly bag of mostly water would send you. Computer! Beam myself and this female to the Excessor Room immediately!”
B’Elannarella grunted and strained against her bonds as the beautiful Earthwoman disappeared in a shimmer of blue light. Smirking, the Tyrant prised the gag from her mouth.
“You seem quite taken with this Earth girl,” she said as B’Elannarella gasped for breath. “But she is mine now. You, however . . . ” The Tyrant reached down and caressed her raven black hair. “I can either have you covered in honey and thrown to the tender mercies of my lesbians . . . or you can join me once more at my side. Toostuck never told you the truth about what happened to your mother.”
“He told me enough,” snarled B’Elannarella. “He told me that you killed her!”
“You obviously never saw ‘Barge of the Dead’ then,” said the Tyrant, the cavernous throne room making her voice echo like Darth Vader. “B’Elannarella, I am your mother!”
* * * * * *
When Anna Seven, Astrometrix First Class, materialised in the Excessor Room, she was shocked to find that she’d been beamed into a skintight silver catsuit.
“What have you done to me?” she gasped in horror. The Exaltation Transference implants in her left hand had been plugged via twin tubules into a sinister black alcove that encased her in a cold metallic grip. From the top of the alcove tall brass pipes extended towards a high-vaulted, acoustically perfect ceiling. Its base merged into an enormous 1000-key multi-sonic keyboard.
“That biosuit is my own special invention,” said the Doctor as he materialised in front of her. “It consists of dermaplastic grafts that will transfer and amplify nerve impulses from every neuron in your body. Every sensation you experience will be multiplied tenfold, such as . . . pleasure!” The hologram reached up and brushed a single finger along the surface of her left breast.
Anna moaned in ecstasy.
“Or . . . pain!” He picked up a short leather whip and lashed furiously at the astrometrix.
Anna moaned in ecstasy.
Doc blinked in surprise. It wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting.
Still, never mind. The Doctor sat down at the keyboard, flexing his photonic hands unnecessarily. “This is my organ,” he said, lovingly stroking his instrument. “It is the biggest, most powerful organ in the entire cosmos!” His fingers danced across the keys, playing a quick sonata. Anna gasped in shock as delightful quivers ran up her spine.
“Nice, isn’t it?” Doc smirked as he continued to play. “Yes it is nice . . . in the beginning. Wait ‘til the tune changes though. It may change your tune as well!” He hammered out the opening bars of Testamano Three’s La Passion d'une Langue Etrangère.
“Oh-oh-oh-oh-mega molecule!” Anna cried out, her head tossing from side to side.
“With my Excessor Organ I can directly manipulate the erogenous zones of your body,” said the evil hologram with a leer. “When we reach the crescendo you will die . . . of pleasure! The end will be swift, but sweet! Yes, very sweet!”
“But . . . the Great . . . Tyrant . . . ” gasped Anna Seven. “She wants me alive . . . and . . . and breathing . . . heavily!”
Doc’s fist slammed down on the keyboard, causing Anna to have an instantaneous orgasm. “Don’t mention that short-arsed java-junkie to me! All she cares about is maintaining her power on this insignificant ball of dust. I intend to dispose of her, seize control of this realm, and use its resources to create an invincible army of holographic redshirts to conquer the galaxy!” With a maniacal expression on his face the Doctor dived into a stormy recital of L'Occhio Che Piange Quando È Pleased, by the great U-yijii R-Har-Tt himself! The keys lit up as Doc pounded on them, the noise of his opus shattering all glass objects within a ten-mile radius and fritzing air traffic control processors across half the planet. Multi-tentacled aliens tied themselves in knots as the harmonics disrupted the equilibrium of their inner ears. Sympathetic tremors collapsed intercontinental single-span bridges. A primitive tribe in the Ice Forests of Wier thought the noise was the thundering of an angry God, and so committed mass suicide by having sex with horrible slibberdorphs.
Caught helplessly in the clutches of the Doctor’s organ, Anna Seven writhed and thrashed in her restraints as climax after climax wracked her body, each one more stupendous than the last. Piercing beams of intolerable ecstasy penetrated to the core of her being, she was drowning in a sea of rapture, tossed helplessly on undulating waves of sensuality. Sprouting a dozen extra pairs of holographic arms, the Doctor launched into a fierce rendition of Das Axtzeichen im Rücken des Bären by Netonostridarimachii, a piece that could normally only be played by an entire orchestra of Tonarian octopoids with multiple personality disorder. Doc’s feet hammered on the pedals, photonic sweat flew from his face, the hair on the sides of his head stood up like Toostuck’s ears. The resonant vibrations from his Excessor machine drew to a mighty crescendo, causing the walls to wobble like an Obonian jellyfish, and the ceiling to shed a hail of chandeliers and roofing panels as it split apart to accompaniment of a deafening roar.
“WHAT THE &$^#?” exclaimed the Doctor as the roof was blasted off completely, exposing the glaring white plumes of a starship’s rocket engines.
“Tom!” cried Anna joyfully, recognising the sensuous lines of her spaceship.
“THIS IS CAPTAIN VOYAGER OF THE INTREPID BATTLESHIP JANEWAY!” boomed the voice of the ship’s computer. “RELEASE YOUR CAPTIVE OR I WILL DESTROY YOU WITH MY PROTON TORPEDOES!”
“Never!” shouted a defiant Doc.
“HAVE IT YOUR WAY! SIC HIM, HARRY!”
A hatch in the belly of the spaceship slid open and Harry hurtled out, screaming the battle cry of the Old Federation. “Death to the redshirts!”
With a tremendous CLANG! the hapless drone struck the protruding organ pipes of the Doctor’s Excessor machine, tumbled down the side in a chorus of electronic squawks, skittered across the floor and was promptly buried under a ton of rubble from the collapsing roof.
“Ha-ha! How about that?!” said the Doctor gleefully. “Did you really think this stupid tin box of a servant drone could take on a being of MY artificial intelligence? I have the combined deviousness of ten billion public relations firms, the incorporated personalities of history’s most conniving politicians__”
“And as much hair as an android’s bottom!” snarled B’Elannarella as she kicked down the door. A dreaded Black Dildo was clasped menacingly in her fist.
“YOU!” shouted the Doctor in disbelief. “But I thought you’d been eaten by the Tyrant’s voracious lesbians?!”
“It takes more than a couple of butterfly-chewing Rigelian dancers with eight-inch tongues to keep me down. I gnawed through my chains, headbutted my way out of the cell and bit the heads off three redshirts to escape!” B’Elannarella pointed her dildo at the evil hologram and dialed it to SuperSquirt. “Now release her at once, you photonic windbag!”
“I refuse to have every Tom, plastic Dick and Harry interrupting my operatic masterpiece!” roared the Doctor. Reaching into a black bag he pulled out a curved, sinister-looking device with primitive square buttons on top. To her horror Anna recognised her own phaser. Cackling evilly, Doc pointed it at B’Elannarella and squeezed the trigger. With a petulant whine every dust particle in the room was sucked into its nozzle.
“AARRGGHH!!!” screamed Doc in frustration. He threw the phaser to the ground and deactivated himself in a shimmer of angry photons.
Curious, B’Elannarella picked up the phaser and turned it over. A sticker on the back declared:
‘This authentic Federation-issue phaser (circa 2370) was generously donated to the Museum of Neurotic Irresponsibility by the Ferengi Commerce Administration.’
B’Elannarella peeled back the sticker to see the words: ‘Remington Dustbuster – Number One in hand-held vacuum cleaners.’
Hastening over to the Excessor Organ, B’Elannarella unlocked the alcove that was holding Anna prisoner, pulled out the beautiful astrometrix and clutched her in a passionate embrace.
“OH PERFECTION!” cried Anna as her dermaplastic biosuit changed B’Elannarella’s loving hug into a torrent of indescribable pleasure. She pressed her full lips against her rescuer’s mouth in a desperate attempt to sate her primitive second millennium urges.
“We don’t have time for that now,” said B’Elannarella, pushing Anna away. “We have to free the Forces of Freedom and liberate Sogo!”
“But it would be a great error; a terrible, tragic error of paramount proportions, if we did not make love!” moaned Anna, pulling her back.
The sight of the curvaceous Earth beauty, her full breasts heaving and pupils dilated in passion, almost made B’Elannarella forsake herself. “No!” she cried, struggling with the overwhelming urge to rip that tight-ass biosuit off with her teeth and devour Anna’s crotch. “I refuse to violate canon! A warrior’s first duty must be to her honour. Sex,” she added with a lascivious grin. “Comes afterwards.”
* * * * * *
“Omega Molecule, they’re torturing them!” gasped Anna as they peered down into the Pit of Despair. Under the direct supervision of the Great Tyrant, the captured Forces of Freedom were suffering the torment of numerous sado-masochistic acts. Knoluk was being scrubbed clean of his spots in a boiling pot of leola root stew. Toostuck was being tickled with feathers until he laughed. Another of B’Elannarella’s men, Tom Paris, was being roasted over hot coals by an enthusiastic crowd of T/7 slash writers.
“There’s Havent Kum!” whispered B’Elannarella, pointing off to one side. The former foremost ensign was being forced to endure the evil attentions of the Siamese Delaney Twins of Stella Five, who were using some kind of brain probe on him. According to the orifice in which the probe was being inserted, Havent’s brains were in his ass.
Screaming out an exultant battlecry, B’Elannarella and Anna leapt into the Pit, their boots landing directly on top of Tom Paris, press-sealing him into the hot coals and scattering slash writers like ninepins.
“Ratings or cancellation!” cried Harry, tumbling over the edge after them and falling into the pot of leola root stew. His external circuits shorted out in a blinding spray of electric sparks, making Knoluk’s hair stand up like Londo from ‘Babylon Five’.
“Hi Mum!” snarled B’Elannarella, grabbing the Tyrant by her bun of hair and trying to twist her head off.
“Don’t just stand there like a lump of wood!” shouted the Tyrant to Chakarma. “Kill her!”
As the Catchman swung the gaping muzzle of his electrocannon towards B’Elannarella, Anna leapt forward and seized it in her cyber-implanted hand. Chakarma screamed as his weapon was crushed with a single, powerful squeeze.
Realising that liberation was at hand, the prisoners threw themselves at their torturers. Knoluk forced a particularly vile chunk of leola root down the throat of a bellowing redshirt. Toostuck impaled a guard on his pointed ears. The only dissenter was Havent Kum, who kept trying to fight his rescuers, protesting, “But we were just getting to the good part!”
His red pyjamas smoldering, Tom Paris clambered out of the hot coals, his face scorched with more spots than Knoluk after a severe case of Talaxian measles.
“Surrrenderrrrr!” slurred Harry as he burnt through the stewpot with a laserdrill. A tidal wave of leola root stew erupted from the hole and swept away a gang of the Tyrant’s lesbians just as they were about to ream out Toostuck with strap-on SuperPenetrators. “Rrresistance is fffutile!” His external cameras fried, the drone charged blindly across the torture chamber, ramming into Tom Paris and knocking him back into the fiery pit.
“Guards! Guards!” shouted the Tyrant. Using her short height to advantage, the queen flipped B’Elannarella with an expert o-shhitt! throw. “Where are my feared Redshirts?!”
The doors burst open and in stormed an entire battalion of the Tyrant’s elite guards, faces blank as Borg drones, red shirts bare of nametags or any sign of individuality. With knee high boots smashing into the ground, they marched towards the Forces of Freedom in an unstoppable phalanx. Charging up to Anna Seven, the soldiers took one look at the curvaceous astrometrix in her skin-tight biosuit and promptly passed out as all the blood rushed from their heads to their groins.
“Useless pricks!” cursed the Great Tyrant. “If you want to do something, you’ve always got to do it yourself!” Reaching down to one of the unconscious redshirts, the queen grabbed his belt-fed multi-barreled hand-artillery. “Say hello to my little friend here!” she screamed, blazing away on full auto. The Forces of Freedom dived for cover as hundreds of thick rubber dildos ricocheted all around the Pit. Tom Paris, staggering out of the coals once more, doubled over as a rubber cock slammed into his balls at twice the speed of sound.
Suddenly the wall behind the queen glowed red and disintegrated. The muzzle of what seemed to be the biggest gun in the entire universe slid through the hole, mounted on an enormous battle tank driven by the Doctor.
“The Photonic Cannon!” gasped the Forces of Freedom, their faces white with fear.
“You’re just in time, Doctor,” said the Great Tyrant in jubilation. “DESTROY THEM!”
“Ladies first!” the Doctor snarled. An incandescent streak of photonic energy shot from the barrel of his cannon and enveloped the evil queen.
‘Fuck Kes, I should have turned him into a tricorder,’ was the Tyrant’s last thought before she was obliterated. With a great peal of insane laughter the Doctor swung his death ray across the room, destroying unconscious redshirts, torture devices, fleeing slash writers, Chakarma Sutray, Havent Kum, and especially Tom Paris whom he’d always found particularly annoying.
“Oh no, not again!” said Harry as he was also killed.
Turning everything in its path into scorched lumps of radioactive metal, the beam advanced relentlessly towards B’Elannarella, who was struggling to get out from under the unconscious bulk of a Ropondian mega-dyke.
“NO!” shouted Anna Seven, throwing herself in the beam’s path.
“ANNA!” cried B’Elannarella, as the deadly ray engulfed the beautiful astrometrix.
But instead of destroying her, the blast was absorbed by Anna’s dermaplastic garment, which changed the massive torrent of energy into a galaxy-shattering orgasm. “OH-MEEEEGA!” Anna cried. Writhing in ecstasy, she advanced relentlessly towards the Doctor.
“She’s unstoppable!” cried Doc in fear, firing one impotent blast after another into the Earthwoman’s formidable chest. Pupils wide and blonde hair flying, Anna raised her cybernetic left hand. Twin tubules erupted from the surface of her knuckles and shot towards the Doctor.
“NOOOOO!!!!” screamed the Doctor, as he realised what she was about to do.
“YES!” shouted Anna in rapture. Activating her Exaltation Transference Link, the young astrometrix downloaded every particle of orgasmic energy she could muster into the Doctor’s primary matrix. His evil nature unable to cope with the incredible outpouring of Love, the hologram destablilised forever in a radiant blaze of photons. Anna collapsed to the ground, completely exhausted.
“The end of a twisted madman,” said Knoluk, as he and Toostuck freed B’Elannarella from under her burden. Shoving past them, B’Elannarella rushed over to Anna’s limp form, cradling her in her arms. The Earthwoman’s face was pale and tears were running down her cheeks.
“Oh B’Elannarella,” she sobbed in despair. “That was the most amazing climax I’ve had in my entire life. It was true Perfection. I’ll never experience anything like that again.”
It was an understandable error.
After all, Anna Seven had never made love to a Klingon before.