Title: Unimatrix Odon

Author: Odon

Fandom: Star Trek Voyager.

Pairing: Various

Rated: R.


Summary: A compilation of comedy shorts.

What really happened after Unimatrix Zero, the truth about those Klingon foreheads, Star Trek Voyager meets Reservoir Dogs, Tuvok's solution to the pon farr problem, Voyager vs The Prisoner, the T/7 writer's theme song, Vulcan olfactory problems, the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Universal Translator, Ishmael Reloaded, Enterprise: A Porn Review, Odo's theme and the origin of the Vulcan Nerve Pinch.

Disclaimer: No profit is intended in the writing of this story.  Star Trek: Voyager and its characters are the property of Paramount and Viacom.

Feedback to odon05@hotmail.com.  Archiving is welcome, but please try and contact me first.  Thanks to Meagan for her beta work.


The first thing Captain Janeway saw when she woke up in Voyager's sickbay was the smiling face of the Emergency Medical Hologram.

"Captain," said the Doctor, pleased that his medical brilliance had once again produced a last-minute solution to a crisis.  "I have successfully removed most of the Borg implants from yourself, Commander Tuvok and Lieutenant Torres.  I anticipate no long-term effects, and your neural suppressant has prevented any of the psychological damage we've seen in other former drones."

"The mission?" croaked Janeway, sitting up on the biobed.  Her scalp itched and she had an incredible craving for a nice hot mug of coffee.  This was the last time she was going to let herself be assimilated by the Borg!  Apparently 'liquid supplements' were irrelevant.  Picard was right; the Borg truly were the essence of evil.

"Commander Chakotay informs me that the individuality virus has been spread throughout the Borg Collective.  He instructed me to tell you not to worry, he can handle Voyager for a few days."  Janeway swung her legs off the biobed and Doc added significantly.  "So I suggest you get some rest."

"I'm quite fine, Doctor," said Janeway, striding for the door and promptly stumbling in her unfamiliar shoes.  She looked down...and screamed in sheer horror.


The Doctor was so startled he dropped his tricorder.  "Captain?"


"The biosuit works as a dermaplastic graft," replied the Doctor soothingly.  "It's to help your skin regenerate.  As for the boots well, fashion is hardly my forte but__"

"For God's sake, you can tell my butt size in this!  I'm not having every horny crewman on Voyager checking out my physical dimensions!"  Janeway looked in a mirror and screamed again.  "And what happened to my hair?  I'm BALD!"

"Well don't blame ME," said a miffed EMH.  "The Borg were responsible for that!  I didn't see the need to change it.  After all, some of Starfleet's greatest leaders have been bald.  Kirk, Picard, Sisko, and myself of course."

"I want my hair follicles regenerated IMMEDIATELY!  And I want this biosuit removed AT ONCE!" Janeway shouted, cranking her Glare of Death up to full power.

"We can't do that yet," protested the Doctor, as he prepared a hypospray of caffeine in a desperate attempt to placate the frantic captain.  "The transporters are off line, and the only way to remove you from that biosuit is to beam you out of it."

"BEAM me out of it?"

"Yes, and then I'd just have to spraypaint it on again afterwards.  Those grafts shouldn't be removed until your skin has regenerated, and that can take some time.  Seven of Nine is still wearing hers after three years!  Mind you she does have an awful lot of skin to regenerate.  Especially around her...uhm...chest region."

The sickbay doors hissed open and Tuvok minced through them in his high-heeled boots.  "Captain, I fail to see the logic in wearing this ridiculous form of footwear.  Furthermore, this biosuit is cutting off the circulation to my genitalia."

"Oh Tuvok," said Janeway.  "If I ever let on that it was easy for Seven of Nine, remind me of today."  To the Doctor's alarm the captain reached out to embrace her long-time friend and companion.



The next time Captain Janeway woke up it was Chakotay's concerned face staring down at her.

"Commander Chakotay," Janeway said whoozily.  "I see the way your pupils dilate when you look at my body.  Do you wish to copulate?"

"She's coming around Doctor," said Chakotay.  "What happened?"

"Two words," replied the Doctor.  "Static discharge."


"It was a time long ago, the darkest days of the Klingon Empire," said Worf, leaning in so close over the fire that his beard started to smoulder.  "It was called the time of nOmacH uP."

Alexander listened raptly, his eyes wide.

"The Klingon Gods, the Pau R's ThatB, controlled all.  They refused to allow sufficient funds so that the Klingons could undergo their sacred macH uP ceremony, in which the warrior gains his mighty ridges.  Our proud warriors had to face the evil Captain Kirk and his minions with smooth foreheads.  The shame so overwhelmed them they lost in every encounter they had with this human petaQ!"  Worf's eyes shone with fire reflected from his burning beard.  "One day it became too much.  The mighty Kahless, the only warrior whose forehead was not smooth, rose up and destroyed the Gods."

Worf leaned back in satisfaction.  "They were more trouble than they were worth."

"The moral of this story is: Do not let any greater Pau R's interfere with who you are.  If so they will turn you into a bumbling pu-cha!"  The Klingon smiled in satisfaction over the intense way Alexander was staring at him.  It appeared the boy was interested in the old tales after all.  That was good.  They contained valuable lessons which he could use in life...

"Father," cried Alexander.  "Your beard is on fire!"

"My forehead macH uP!" shouted Worf, leaping to his feet in alarm.  "It's melting!"

And so ended another fire tale.

DELTA QUADRANT TARGS (A Reservoir Dogs crossover)

"Oh $%^#!" screamed Seven of Nine as she clutched her phaser-burned guts.  "She killed me!  The #^&%ing bitch killed me!  I can't %$#ing believe I was so %$#ing inefficient!  I'm going to &#%ing die!"

"No you're not!" yelled B'Elanna, holding Seven's hand as she flew the stolen shuttle.  "You're not going to &#%ing die!  Say after me, you're not going to &#%ing die!"

"I'm...not...going to &#%ing die," gasped Seven before she passed out from the pain.

*  *  *  *

B'Elanna Torres staggered into Voyager's sickbay with the wounded Seven of Nine in her arms.  "Activate Mr Grouchy!"

The hologram known to her only as Mr Grouchy materialised.  "Please state what the #%@ is going on."

"Mr Efficient here was gutshot by the Borg Queen during our attempt to steal the transwarp coil.  Mr Flyboy was killed in the escape.  It looks like it was a set-up.  One of us...is a Borg."

"That's a load of #%#!" grouched Mr Grouchy, running a tricorder over Mr Efficient.  "Why is it so #(%ing dark in here?  How am I supposed to diagnose a ^#&* patient in these conditions?"

"Take off those dark glasses you stupid #%#," growled B'Elanna as she paced up and down.  "There was no %@)ing way those tactical cubes could have got there so fast.  I know we were set up.  One of us is a #%*ing drone."

"I'm not surprised she's passed out," said Mr Grouchy, snapping shut his tricorder.  "That wound must hurt like $^#$!  Look Temper, it's all the fault of Mr Coffee.  She went nuts and started phasering everybody."

"Are you referring to me?"  They looked up to see a short redhead leaning against the sickbay doors, calmly sipping from a mug of coffee.  Her jacket was open to reveal a shoulder-holstered phaser.

"Coffee, you #@% psycho!" yelled B'Elanna.  "Why did you have to start shooting those #%#ing drones?"

"You going to bark little doggie, or are you going to bite my cheek?" sneered Mr Coffee.  "I've got a drone in the trunk of the Delta Flyer who'll answer all our questions.  The two of you, go get Mr Tattoo and the others."

"We do not know of any set-up," protested Icheb, as he was tied to a biobed by Mr Coffee.  The subspace radio was playing "Stuck in the Delta Quadrant with you."

"I don't give a #$!^ what you know," Mr Coffee purred as she poured scalding hot coffee over the drone.  "I'm going to torture you anyway."  With a laser scalpel she cut off his auditory node.

Suddenly Mr Coffee went flying backwards as Mr Efficient emptied her phaser into the maniacal redhead.

"Why did you wait so @$%ing long, Seven?" yelled Icheb.  "The Species 5618 bitch cut off our auditory node!  Now we are inefficient!"

"Your node...is irrelevant," gasped Seven.  "We must...wait until the other...Voyager crewmembers...arrive so we can assss...ssimilate them."

The doors hissed open and the other Voyager crewmembers rushed in.  Mr Tattoo stared shocked at the dead body of his friend Mr Coffee.  "What the #$%^ happened here?"

"She went nuts and was going to kill the drone," gasped Seven of Nine.

"What, like this?" said Mr Tattoo furiously, as he disintegrated Icheb with his phaser.  "It looks like Mr Temper was right.  We were set up.  Mr Efficient is a Borg!  I'm going to waste her right now."

"No, you're wrong!  She's a good kid," said B'Elanna, jumping in between Seven and their tattooed commander.  "What proof do you have?"

"To accuse someone without proof is not $#%ing logical," agreed Mr Ears.

"You don't need logic when you've got instinct, Mr Coffee always used to say," said Tattoo, glaring at the Vulcan.  "I never wanted this ##!*ing bimbo on board in the first place.  Now get out of my way, Temper!"  He aimed his phaser at the tempestuous half-Klingon.

"@^% you, you $#%ing #%@!" yelled B'Elanna, pointing her own phaser back.  They both fired, wounding each other fatally.

The sickbay doors burst open and Borg drones poured in, intoning: "You will be assimilated!  Resistance is futile!"

The dying B'Elanna clutched Seven of Nine in her arms, stroking her beautiful blonde hair.  Seven knew that this woman had given her life to save one insignificant drone - she couldn't lie to her any longer.  "I'm a Borg.  We are Borg!"

"NOOOO!!!!" wailed B'Elanna, putting her phaser to Seven's head.

"Drop the $%^ing weapon!  Resistance is @!#ing futile!" the Borg drone's droned, waving their assimilation tubules in B'Elanna's face.

B'Elanna fired, turning this into an angst fic.


Ensign Vorik could not believe his pointed ears.

"The act that you propose," he said, raising an eyebrow, "is not logical."

"It is entirely logical Ensign," said Lieutenant Commander Tuvok, his own eyebrows flowing sensuously up and down like great hairy waves.  "You are the only other Vulcan in 40,000 light years."

Vorik's eyebrows fluttered like butterfly wings as he tried desperately to think his way out of this predicament.  He could see his superior's eyes glowing red from the pon farr wraith.  "May I suggest instead the solution I used to resolve the pon farr.  Lieutenant Torres would, I'm sure, be glad to inflict a severe beating on your person.  Her husband assures me that such activities can in fact be highly pleasurable."

Tuvok twitched a brow in rollicking hilarity over Vorik's preposterously illogical suggestion.  He reached into one of Neelix's bowls and brought out a long, knobbly vegetable.

Vorik's eyebrows shot up to the roof in extreme disconcertment.

"I suggest we start with the first stage of the process.  The 'leola root'."  Tuvok's eyebrows arched in sexual hunger and he uttered the words Vorik had most feared from his days at Starfleet Academy.

"Vorik, bend over."

If you're not familiar with the 1960's British sci-fi/espionage series "The Prisoner" you might not get this.  Don't worry.  Most people who saw "The Prisoner" didn't get it either.


The tall blonde female walks through endless grey-metal corridors, all of which look exactly the same.  The entire ship has a surreal atmosphere to it.  Doors open automatically without her touching them.  Men and woman in brightly coloured pyjama-like uniforms stride the decks, but do not speak to each other.  The blonde is dressed in a highly unusual manner herself, a skin-tight silver outfit that covers her from the neck down.

Going through one door, she finds herself in an enormous room filled with row upon row of shuttlecraft.  Another room contains hundreds of stasis tubes, full of expendable ensigns.

Entering a small circular room, she finds herself exiting in a completely different place.  Like every other place on the ship it is spotlessly clean.  Sitting across from her is a short redhead with four pips on her collar, sipping from a mug of coffee.

"I am Number Two," says the redhead.

The blonde raises an eyebrow.  "Who's Number One?"

Number Two smirks and flicks a glance into the corner, where sits a Native American totem pole, a carved wooden man with a bizarre tattoo marking his intriguing facial structure.  "There can be only one Number One on MY ship!"

"And what ship is that?"


"Whose side are you on?  Are you on the side of Roddenberry...or the Ratings?"

"That would be telling," replies the auburn-haired female, her lip curling up in a smirk.  "I want obedience...obedience...obedience..."

Her blonde captive raises her chin in defiance.  "Well you won't get it!"

"By Berman or by Braga we will."  She smiles with an amiability that the blonde doesn't believe for a second.  "Now let's be practical.  Your only chance to get out is to give me what I want...and if you don't give it, I'll take it.  It's up to you; think about it.  Good day, Seven."

"What?" asks the blonde, frowning in puzzlement.

"For official purposes, everyone has a number.  Yours is Number Seven of Nine."

"I am not a number," says the blonde in an icy tone.  "I am an individual."

On exciting the corridor, she observes a large white ball approaching her.  "What's that?"

"That's Rover," says a non-descript ensign.  "But we call him Doc."

To the blonde's horror, the non-descript ensign is dead moments after he has spoken, killed by a rampaging Alien of the Week.

As the white object comes closer, she sees it is actually the bald head of a man dressed in the uniform of a Chief Medical Officer.  "Be seeing you," he says in greeting.  "Probably in every second episode from now on.  You'll find there's a lot we can offer you here.  Opera, lessons in interpersonal skills, and my skin-tight outfits will ensure that you have the complete and undivided attention of every man on board the ship."

The blonde turns and flees in panic through the door from which she came.  The redhead looks up at her from the padd she is reading.

"I am the new Number Two," she says coldly.  "What can I do for you?"

The blonde gapes in surprise.  The person sitting in the captain's chair looks the same, but has a completely different personality and hairstyle.

"What am I doing here?" the young woman blurts out.

"Well that's the question isn't it?  A lot of people have been asking that.  Some say it's merely a question of ratings."  Number Two studies the blonde in a questioning manner.  She remains tight-lipped.

"Of course, all this could be ended if you answered one simple question..."

The blonde shivers as Number Two asks her the one question she'd sworn never to answer.

"Why did Kes resign?"

I was watching my favourite scene in Star Trek: Insurrection, the one where Picard and Worf lock onto Data's shuttle while singing a duet from HMS Pinafore, when I was inspired to write this theme song for the T/7 group Voq Je Bang.  All together now...


Sung to the music of "A British Tar" by Gilbert and Sullivan (preferably in a Patrick Stewart-type voice).

A slash writer is a soaring soul
A soul that's 7 slash T
Her mailing list
Should be ready to resist
The evil Powers That Be

Her cheeks should blush
And her fingers should type
Her e-mails should flame
And her stories should hype
Her heart should pound
And her screen should glow
And her fanfic should give Paramount a knock-down blow.

Her websites should use Flash with an inborn fire
C/7 with scorn be flung
She should never bow down
To a P/T'ers frown
Or a Paramount lawyer's tongue.

Her Seven should pant
And B'Elanna should growl
Paris must be dumped
And Chakotay should scowl
She should violate canon
And not fear being sued
And this should be her customary attitude.


"And now," said Neelix in his annoyingly cheerful fashion.  "I'm told that Mr Vulcan has a few words he wants to say to everyone."

The crew of Voyager waited expectantly as Lieutenant Commander Tuvok stepped from the corner of the mess hall where, as usual, he was avoiding mixing with his fellow party-goers.

"I have an announcement to make," he said, his gaze moving around the assembled company.  "I have served with humans for years, some longer than others..."  His gaze alighted on Captain Janeway, who responded with her usual 'Big Gooey Look'.

"I consider you to be my friends and valued comrades-in-arms.  I have always admired your tenacity and resourcefulness in adapting to these trying circumstances in which we find ourselves, stranded many light years from home.  Nevertheless after seven years cooped up in the same ship with you, there is a matter I can no longer keep to myself."

"You all stink!"


The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy has the following to say about the universal translator.

The universal translator (as seen in the TOS episode 'Metamorphosis') has the size and appearance of a long silver dildo, and is probably the most implausible thing in the universe.  In DS9's 'Little Green Men' it was apparently small enough to fit inside a Ferengi's ear, but this would not necessarily require a reduction in size.  It is not known in what part of their body Starfleet officers conceal their universal translators.

The universal translator works by instantly converting all languages into English (except certain words in the Klingon vocabulary), while at the same time refracting the visual aspect of the universe in order to make the communicator's mouth appear to be forming those very same words.

Now it is so bizarrely improbable that anything so mind-bogglingly useful could ever be invented that The Powers That Be have chosen to use this as final and clinching proof of the total irrelevance of continuity.

The argument goes something like this.

"It is impossible for Voyager to constantly prevail against the Borg Collective," says Rabid Star Trek Fan.  "When a single cube was enough to wipe out the entire Starfleet armada at Wolf 359."

"But," says Brannon Braga, "one of the core premises of Star Trek is the existence of the universal translator.  If you accept that, you have to accept that nothing makes sense in the Star Trek universe anyway, and therefore I can write whatever the hell I want.  QED."

"Oh, I hadn't thought of that!" says Rabid Star Trek Fan, and promptly vanishes to write some more fanfiction.

"Oh that was easy," says Braga, and goes off to have sex with Jeri Ryan while the rest of us gnash our teeth in envy.

Some people have said this argument is a load of phage-ridden Vidiian kidneys, but that has not stopped Braga from wiping out what little continuity is left in 'Enterprise'.

Meanwhile the Universal Translator, by effectively removing all barriers to communication between different races and cultures, will be responsible for putting Women's Lib back several hundred years, as then the only purpose of T'Pol and Hoshi would be to cover each other in decontamination gel while being leered at by the rest of the crew.


In the Enterprise episode 'The Xindi' Dr Phlox recommends Vulcan neuropressure as a cure for Trip Tucker's insomnia.  Trip (shortly after he's escaped death and his unconscious mating drive is therefore particularly strong) is sent to T'Pol's quarters, where the attractive Vulcan takes off her top and encourages him to place his hands on her very sexy body.

How this is supposed to help the man relax I have no idea.

Anyway, was I the only one who thought this scene ended rather abruptly?  It just stops the moment Trip removes his shirt and turns his back on T'Pol.  Where's the significant character interaction, the moment of revealing insight?  It's almost as if a gratuitous chance to see T'Pol's tits has been inserted into the episode, but would The Powers That Be ever do such a thing?

My theory is that as we've seen the origin of other Trek staples in Enterprise (mind melds in 'Fusion', forcefields in 'Vox Sola', photon torpedoes in 'The Expanse', etc) the scene contained something similar, but had to be cut for time.

For example...

T'Pol expertly works her fingers over Trip's firm muscular body, but the human shows no sign of experiencing the intense inter-species orgasm she'd felt at his hands.

T'POL: I am uncertain as to the practicality of this exercise.  The differences between human and Vulcan physiology could mean that Swedish full body massage...I mean Vulcan neuropressure has no effect on your species.

TRIP: Well it certainly seems effective from where ah'm sitting.  Oh yeah, that's it...work your fingers along my shoulder.  Ow!  That really pinches...UGH!

Trip's eyes roll up and he slumps to the floor.

T'POL: Fascinating.

T'Pol moves to the com.

T'POL: T'Pol to Dr Phlox, it appears you were correct regarding the effectiveness of Vulcan neuropressure.  Commander Tucker is now uncon...asleep.

PHLOX: Excellent Sub-Commander!  Perhaps you can assist me with some other medical problems.  I'm sure neuropressure would be highly effective in curing Lieutenant Reed's Freudian-based depression over the MACO's having more powerful weapons than he does.

T'POL: I see.

PHLOX: I've also discovered that every attractive female on this ship has somehow been infected with the notorious Braga virus.  The recommended treatment is to spend once a week in decontamination rubbing antiseptic gel all over your lithe naked bodies.

T'POL: What a coincidence.

PHLOX: And I've just got the results of the latest crew psychology assessment.  Apparently your new cleavage-revealing catsuit has improved morale no end.  So I'm now redesigning the female Starfleet uniform into a miniskirt and knee-high boots.

T'POL: Dr Phlox, before you implement these ideas, I wish to test out a new medical technique I have just developed.  I call it, err...the Vulcan Nerve Pinch.

PHLOX: Sounds intriguing.  I can't wait to try it.

T'POL: Neither can I.

ISHMAEL RELOADED (with apologies to Herman Melville)

Call me Email.  Some years ago, never mind how long precisely, having unlimited internet access and nothing particular to interest me in my social life, I thought I would surf about a little and see the World Wide Web.  Whenever I feel like overdosing on cheap pornography and lunatic conspiracy theories, whenever I have the urge to read awful fanfiction and spammed advertisements offering me a larger penis or the opportunity to invest in dodgy Nigerian businesses; and especially whenever the urge to jab hypos into my veins get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the nearest post office with a couple of Glock 9mm's and methodically knocking people off - then I account it high time to get connected as soon as I can.  This is my substitute for balls.  With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon Inspector Clouseau; I quietly take to the Net.  There is nothing surprising in this.  If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the Internet with me.


Legendary cocksman Brannon Braga returns to boldly f**k the fans with his latest Trek series Enterprise.  Despite a promising start in which hunky Connor Trinneer (as 'Trip' Tucker) and juicy Jolene Blalock (as Vulcan babe T'Pol) rub decon gel on each other's hot bodies, the first two seasons are just the standard blow-job by the Big B.  Jolene is a disappointment despite her catsuit which shows off some great T&A, while Anthony Montgomery as Ensign Mayweather gets surprisingly few oral opportunities.  Asian hottie Linda Park (as Hoshi Sato) moans a lot and puts her skilled tongue to good use, and there's an all-too-brief topless scene with Dominic Keating, but frankly more girl/girl action between her and Jolene wouldn't hurt.  As usual the male/male sex is zilch, but if you're into B&D then Scott Bakula delivers plenty as Captain Archer, who makes first contact with the fists of several alien species (don't miss the bondage scene in Shadows of P'Jem when the good captain gets a faceful of Jolene's amazing tits!).  Continuity is screwed in Acquisition, black holes are explored in Singularity (see Hoshi go crazy over carrots and Trip design the ultimate receptacle for the captain's rear), while T'Pol is shafted by Vulcan doctors in Stigma and acts like a randy slut in Bound.  John Billingsley lets all 16-inches hang out in A Night in Sickbay (plus there's more gratuitous decon with Blalock and Bakula) as well as getting some interspecies loving in Dear Doctor, but things don't start hotting up until Season 3 when Florida is buggered by a Xindi spaceball!  Archer gets a lot harder, there's the macho MACO's and their big guns, more hot loving between Trip and T'Pol, some lewd sexpionage with alien whore Rajiin, and enough bangs to satisfy all!  In the last season Trek comes full circle with Orion slave-sluts from the Original Series, Archer and Trip both have Vulcan head jobs, Hoshi humps her way to the top in the mirror universe while Mayweather gets some long-awaited interracial sex in Demons.  Unfortunately (despite the presence of Marina Sirtis' impressive knockers) it all ends with a disappointing handjob in These Are The Voyages.  All in all, I rate Star Trek: Enterprise at three and a half porn stars.


(sung to the theme from 'The Misadventures of Sheriff Lobo')

There is a man the Prophets tell, who morphs all through the night.
But while he slurps he never shirks, or slithers from a fight.
He is Constable Odo, mighty morphin' Odo.  Heart of Latinum, Odo.  Watch out Quark!
He has no peer, but sheds no tear; in truth he is alone.
He could be near, as cup or chair, or even as your phone!
From the promenade he's never barred; he's always standing tall.
Ferengi's bribe or Klingon's roar, he dares to scorn them all.
He is Constable Odo, mighty morphin' Odo.  Heart of Latinum, Odo.  Watch out Quark.

ODO: "Move 'em out!"

Watch out Quark.  Watch out Quark.  Watch out Quark.  Watch out Quark...

(A dozen runabouts launch from Deep Space Nine, only to crash into each other due to their cheap Ferengi navigation systems).

ODO: "Quaaaarrrrrk!"


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