Hi, kids! Queen of Swords, here! Well, after last week’s episode, there were some pretty hard feelings. I mean, those kids were hittin’ below the belt far beyond what I’d put in the script, so I figured it was time we had a little team building exercise. Toward that end, I rented a big screen TV and a generator, popped a buttload of popcorn, stocked up on beer and soda, and we had ourselves a Star Trek marathon! Not that goodie two-shoes, holier far than thou, Next Generation stuff, either, no siree! I’m talking STAR TREK! The real schmeel! Cheezy rubber monsters, over acting from Bill Shatner, and all! The good stuff! So that’s what we did for about ten hours straight: Watched Star Trek, ate popcorn (and pizza and nachos when dinner time came around) and bonded in a really big way. Also, we wore ourselves out, so when the party was over and the crew and I had cleaned everything up, the Castaways retreated to their huts: The girls to theirs, the boys to theirs, and Martina and Zangulus to that hut the other Castaways built for them. They curled up in their hammocks and went to sleep, and while they slept, they dreamed…

Rezo: Captain’s log, stardate 2250.04. We’ve just left the planet of plastic chested bimbos after a terrible brush with castration. But we triumphed, except for those extra away team members, but being killed is their destiny. That’s why they’re in the script. Our next mission will make that one look like a cake walk: Starfleet has ordered us beyond the Neutral Zone, into Romulan space. The Romulans…so like and yet unlike the peaceful, logic-loving Vulcans…yet having the same bad hair. Go…figure.

Rezo signs off on some nit picky thing on a clipboard a disposable crew member hands him, then hands the clipboard back. The Bridge makes lots of happy, busy starship noises, beeping and chirping and humming. It makes him feel so…so…Captiany! He presses a button and opens a comlink to Engineering, though the navigation guy is sitting right across the bridge from him.

Rezo: Mr. Zangulus! What’s our e.t.a. to the Neutral Zone?

Zangulus: Jes’ a few more ho’rz, Cap’n! Why dunna ya ask th’ navigay-shun guyz, sahr? They’re jez a-sittin’ right there!

Rezo: I’m the Captain, you nitwit! If I wanna ask you, I’ll ask you! You got a problem with that?

Zangulus: Well…I wuz a-tryin’ ta get it on with me wife, sahr…

Rezo: Do it on your own time, not when you’re on duty!

Zangulus: Yez, sa—sa—OH YES! YES! *ahem* Yez, sahr. Right aftah I finish this cigarette!

Rezo clicks off the com, wishing he’d just asked the navigation guys in the first place, but they give him the creeps. Especially the one with the green hair and the horn in the middle of his head. Never wears the shirt to his uniform—a disgrace to Starfleet! And that other one…the one with all the fur…she was a scary one, to be sure! And dangerous, mighty dangerous! Why Starfleet thought it was a good idea to let creatures from the Mozoku worlds into the Fleet was beyond him! And a Dark Lord, fer cryin’ out loud! Couldn’t enlist a lesser, safer demon, oh no! Gotta always be P.C., Starfleet did. Prime #$@!* Directive! Fooey!

Zelgadis: Captain. I’m getting strange readings from my science console. I believe there might be a cloaked Romulan ship nearby.

Rezo: On screen!

The furry navigation Dark Lord brings up what Zelgadis is looking at, but all they see is a blurry sea of stars.

Rezo: What ship? Where?

Zelgadis: Did I mention it’s cloaked, Captain?

Rezo turns red and bites his lip. This is what he gets for hiring relatives into his crew! Damn Vulcan-chimera! Should’ve mixed him with a Klingon!

Rezo: Cloaked. Right. So where is it?

Zelgadis: Approximately ten light years from our current position and closing. At the current rate of approach, we should collide with each other and blow ourselves to oblivion in roughly five minutes.

Everybody says "COOL!"

Rezo: Not cool! Very not cool! Death is not cool when it’s us dying! I am surrounded by idiots!

Valgarv: Hey, Captain? Aren’t you blind?

Rezo: What’s your point, Mister?

Valgarv: So why do we even put things on screen for you if you can’t see them anyway?

Rezo: Dammit! It’s my ship and my dream! I can see in my dreams, ok?! For instance, I can see that you are once again not wearing the shirt to your uniform, Mister Valgarv! Who are you supposed to be? Rambo? Your chest isn’t that great! Go put your shirt on right now!

Valgarv: Yes, Captain.

Valgarv slinks off the Bridge and into the lift, allegedly to go put his shirt on. He is replaced by a nameless crew member, who might die on the next away mission. If not that one, a future one. Anyway, he’s doomed.

Rezo: Lt. Amelia! Open a channel to the Romulan ship!

Amelia: Aye, Captain!

Rezo: Will you people knock it off with the eye references, already? I can see in my dreams! Really!

Amelia: Uh…you need to relax, Sir. Should I have Dr. Gabriev bring you a sedative?

Rezo: No, you shouldn’t have Dr. Gabriev bring me a sedative! Just open the channel!

Amelia: Yes, Sir.

Rezo gets up and paces dramatically to the middle of the bridge and tries out some cool Shatner poses while he waits for Amelia to open the channel. While he’s in the middle of a rather silly, ballerina-like pose, the stars on the screen are replaced by the head and shoulders of Xellos in a Romulan uniform and sporting a Romulan hair cut. To his left is Lina Inverse in Romulan gear and ‘do. To his right is Naga with the same look, only her uniform is low-cut and way too tight.

Xellos: So, Captain Rezo, did you think you could sneak into the Neutral Zone without the eyes of the Romulan empire seeing you?

Rezo: Again with the eyes! I told you people, I can see in my dreams!

Xellos: It’s just a metaphor, relax.

Rezo: I AM RELAXED!

The Bridge gets reeeeaaalllyyy quiet while Rezo huffs and puffs and turns fun shades of red. Very quietly, Lt. Amelia opens a channel to sick bay and asks Dr. Gabriev to bring the Captain a nice sedative. Fast.

Xellos: Well, Captain Rezo, here we are. You on your side of the Neutral Zone, and I on mine. Each of us with our super-powerful starships capable of blowing each other to oblivion. I suggest you turn your ship around and leave the way you came, otherwise I will be forced to destroy you for breaking the treaty.

Rezo: Treaty this! Thhbbbfffsss! Who does your hair? Hey, Lina! You’re just as flat-chested as a Romulan as you are as a Human! Neener-neener-neener! Nyeh!

Rezo dances around, sticking his tongue out at the Romulans on the screen, his thumbs in his ears and twiddling his fingers. Xellos exchanges looks with Lina and Naga. They nod. He pushes a button on his console and blows the Enterprise to space dust.

Rezo rolls over in his hammock, rubbing his tummy in his sleep. Too much jalapeņo dip for Red Boy. Meanwhile, Zelgadis is having similar dreams…

Zelgadis: Captain’s Log, Stardate 2215.07. The search for my cure continues, the planet of plastic women having proved a waste of time, though incredibly entertaining. The men are grateful…the female crew, on the other hand, want a piece of my hide. Too bad. I’m the Captain. They just have to deal with it. Maybe we’ll visit that Chippendales planet to make up for it.

He signs that clipboard thing, though no one really seems to know what the deal is with that, then goes back to watching the stars zip by in hyperspace.

Zelgadis: Mr. Zangulus, what’s our current speed?

Zangulus: Warp 5, Captain.

Zelgadis: I can run faster than that! Warp 9, Mr. Zangulus! Step on it!

Lina: Captain, I’m picking up a bizarre anomaly approximately eight light years from our current position and closing.

Zelgadis: Any guesses as to what it might be, Mr. Inverse?

Lina looks up from her Viewmaster thingy and gives him a dirty look.

Lina: Do I look like a "mister" to you, Captain?

Zelgadis: Relax, it’s just Starfleet’s way of being P.C., it’s nothing personal. Now what’re you seeing?

Lina: A chimera who should prepare to die!

Zelgadis: I told you: It’s not me! It’s Starfleet regu—

Lina: FIRE—BAAAAALL!

Zelgadis moans in his sleep, wishing he’d quit after the first six pack. Last time he tries to keep up with Naga! Meanwhile, in the girls’ hut…

Lina: Captain’s Log, stardate 2402.27. We’ve just left the planet Buff Guys, still searching for a way to pump up my chest without inserting foreign objects into my body or my bra. Buff Guys was a nice little break in the action for the girls and me. Now it’s back to business. Starfleet has ordered us to the Neutral Zone and Klingon space. The Klingons… Earth’s arch enemy… a bunch of testosterone overdoses with wrinkly foreheads and a thing for shedding blood. Our orders are to get into Klingon space, infect their computers with feminist propaganda and get out alive. Piece of cake.

Amelia: Captain! We’ll arrive at the Neutral Zone in one hour!

Lina: Right! Ms. Firia—anything yet?

Firia: No, Captain, so far we are undetected.

Lina: Ha! Probably got their noses in Guns ‘n’ Ammo! Or Playboy! This’ll be a cinch! Ms. Sylfiel! Prepare the Fonda Virus!

Sylfiel: Aye, Captain! Fonda Virus locked and loaded!

Lina opens a channel to sick bay.

Lina: Dr. Martina! Have you completed your study of the subject we captured on Beergut One?

Martina: Aye, Captain! I’ve found something really exciting! I think you should come down here and have a look!

Lina: I’ll be right down. Ms. Firia? You have the com.

Lina spins out of her chair and takes the lift to sick bay where Dr. Martina is examining a Klingon they captured on Beergut One. A skinny specimen, but he put up a good fight until Firia took him out with a Dragon Neck Pinch. Martina has him naked and strapped down to an examination table. She’s running a tricorder over his chest.

Lina: What is it, Doctor?

Martina: Come look at this, Captain. I don’t believe it!

Lina: What?

Lina comes around the table to look at the tricorder readings with Martina.

Lina: He…he has a heart?! But that’s not possible! What’s below the belt? Is that intact?

Martina: That’s what’s so puzzling, Captain! He’s fully intact and yet still has a warm, beating heart! In fact, he regained consciousness a few minutes ago and…

Lina: What? And what, Doctor?

Martina: He…well, he told me I’m pretty and asked if he could buy me dinner some time. I sedated him immediately.

Lina: A familiar tactic! Trying to get you to lower your guard, so he can escape! But this heart thing… hmmm… you’re right. It is puzzling. Keep working on it, Doctor, and report to me if you find anything more!

Martina: Aye, Captain!

The ship is rocked by an explosion, just as Lina steps into the lift. It lets her out onto a bridge that’s aflame. Lina runs around trying to determine who’s alive and who’s not. No one! She alone survives! On the screen is a big, blonde-haired Klingon with a really huge sword in his hand. To his right is a tall Klingon in red robes and a shorter, dark-haired one with a staff. To his left is a Klingon who appears to have stone skin. They’re leering at her.

Gourrigan: Return our comrade, Captain Inverse, and you and your ship will be spared! Otherwise, we blow you to bits and force you to marry us, bear our young and bring us brewski while we watch Monday Night Football!

Lina: You monsters! I’ll never surrender to you! You won’t take me alive!

Gourrigan: Lt. Zelgadis: Beam her up.

Lina: NOOOOOO!

Lina wakes up with a start, her nightie soaked with sweat. Damn! What did the Queen put in those nachos, anyway? She rolls out of her hammock and goes to get a drink of water from the rain barrel just outside her hut. As she dips the coconut shell dipper into the water and lifts it to her lips, she gets a funny feeling in her gut. The feeling quickly spreads through the rest of her body, then she doesn’t feel anything, then the funny feeling comes back. When it stops, she’s standing on a platform in her sweaty nightie, holding a cup of water to her lips and staring at a couple of startled looking guys at a console across from her.

Kirk: Who is she, Scotty?

Scotty: Oops! I dunno wha’ happen’d, Cap’n!

Kirk: Can you send her back, Mr. Scott?

Scotty: I’ll try, Cap’n, but I canna make any guarantees!

He pushes up some levers on the console. Lina gets that funny feeling, then the nothing feeling, then the funny feeling again. Then she’s standing by the rain barrel again. She drops the ladle into the water and looks very cautiously up at the stars. One of them zips across the heavens and disappears. Lina shakes her head and returns to her hammock.

Lina: I am never eating that woman’s cooking again as long as I live.

Lina awakes with a start in her hut, that thing with the transporter just a dream. She wipes the sweat from her brow with a relieved hand. Firia, Amelia and Sylfiel are sleeping soundly in their hammocks. All is well. Lina smiles and goes back to sleep.

Data: Amazing, Captain. They don’t seem to realize they are no longer on their island.

Picard: And yet, Mr. Data, they show no signs of having been assimilated.

Crusher: Can it be that the Borg have developed a new tactic? Perhaps they’re studying us now, trying to gather more information?

Picard: No, no. The Borg fail to see the point of studying a species! What they need to know they acquire when they assimilate them!

Crusher: Well, they show no signs of Borg technology in their bodies. I suppose we should let them out of the Holodeck—

Picard: No! Not yet. We should do this slowly, Dr. Crusher. We don’t want to damage their minds by bringing them into our world too suddenly. I think Deanna’s method is best. Assume the identity of someone familiar to them and gain their trust that way. Counselor? Are you ready for another session with our guests?

Deanna Troi steps onto the Holodeck.

Deanna: Yes, Captain. I’ll be there for them when they wake up.

She says to the Holodeck:

Deanna: Computer: Queen of Swords of program, new session, begin recording. Generate sunrise…now.

Computer: Confirmed. You may proceed.

The Queen of Swords wakes up with a terrified shout.

QOS: GAH! Not Counselor Troi! Anybody but Troi! AHHH! No more nachos! No more nachos! No more nachos! Whew! Could’ve at least dreamed I was a Klingon! Not Miss Buttinkski Troi! Yeesh! Data, even, but not Troi! Oh, man, I need an antacid.

The Queen rolls out of bed, trips over her sandals, which she’d just sort of walked out off, being too zonked to actually put them away. Then she bonks her head against the door jamb, stumbles into the wall, finally finds the bathroom, trips over the throw rug and just barely manages to catch herself on the towel rack, which gives under her weight (HEY!), and down she goes—onto something warm and soft that grabs her.

QOS: EEK!

Riker: Hi, there.

QOS: EEK! Get out my bathroom, you lecher!

Riker: You would prefer a Klingon, perhaps?

QOS: Yes! A Klingon! Bring me Worf! Ahhh! Let go of me!

Riker: I am Lecher of Borg. Resistance is futile.

The light flicks on, the Queen wakes up and wonders what the bloody hell she’s doing on her bathroom floor. She rolls over and looks up and up and up at the nice, monocled man standing in the doorway.

QOS: Hello.

Borg: Resistance is futile. You will be assimilated.

QOS: AHHHHH!

She wakes up on Gourrigan’s Island, in the girl’s hut, on a mat on the floor, kicking and screaming. The other girls wake up. They have been assimilated. The guys show up. They, too, have been assimilated. There’s a reason we watched the old Star Trek, but fat lot of good it did us, huh? Then Hotohori, the hottie babe of the Queen’s existence shows up, does battle with the Borg, wins, scoops up the Queen and carries her off to someplace with lots of cherry blossoms. Just as he’s about to kiss her, her alarm clock goes off and she wakes up with a growl. 6:30am, time to get ready for work. She rolls over and hits the snooze button.

QOS: Groan! I’d rather be assimilated!