Subj: Gay folk on the Bridge
95-06-10 06:38:32 EDT
From: McCoy LH

"Bigot ship moving to attack position, sir."

A volley of torpedoes hit the Enterprise.

"Try to disable their weapons and engines," Picard ordered. "Fire at will."

"Aye, sir."

Troi faced the captain. "I sense the minds of Christian fundamentalist extremists. There's so much hate coming from them. They're attacking us because one of our botanists is gay, and they don't believe in his lifestyle."

Riker fumed. "How did they get here from the twentieth century? A sleeper ship?"

"That is a possibility," Data offered. "When people of earth became tired of violence and hatred in the religious right -- including many people of those religions who are practicing a more positive dogma today- there was a faction obsessed with the survival of their bigotry above all else. Sleeper ships were in existence at that time -- they could have been discovered by the Olympia and taken over."

Picard's eyes narrowed. "It will be a cold day in Hades before I allow a starfleet vessel to be instrumental in the perpetuation of ritual hatred."

The Bigot ship moved closer, overwhelming Troi's senses with it's stench of stagnant and rigid dogmas. Deanna wondered how anybody could twist spirituality into such a negative experience.

To be continued...

Subj: Installment
Date: 95-06-11 08:47:05 EDT
From: Cath Marc

The air was suddenly filled with the sound of high-pitched screeching. "What the devil is that?" Picard demanded.

From the comm console, Worf shook his head. "It is coming from the alien ship, Captain."

"They're hailing us? Turn on the universal translator!"

The Klingon glared. "This *is* the translated rendering of their language, Captain. Aside from a very few recognizable words -- purple, dinosaur..." Worf shook his head at the readout. "It contains no meaning, and is set a pitch intended for maximum insult to the human eardrum."

"You're saying their *language* is a sort of *weapon*?" Picard consciously eliminated the incredulous look from his face. "Naturally. Well, then, turn the blasted thing off. Can't have a situation briefing with that racket going on."

Several people sighed in relief as Worf complied.

"Recommend we set course out of this system, warp three, Sir," Riker contributed. "Our botanist Ensign Clark, and for that matter the Enterprise, has other places to be."

"You recommend *retreat*?" Worf was appalled. "I do not concur."

"Nor do I," Troi said. She pointed to the view screen, where the image of the alien ship lurked. "Those people out there are in trouble. They do not know it, but I sense very serious disturbances among their crew. They have a deep fear of something. Violence simmers beneath the surface there."

"Not to mention," Geordi put in, "that ship of theirs. It's a relic, and its guidance systems -- never much to write home about to begin with -- are shot. That thing's gonna crash and burn, Commander."

"And the crew will not survive that," Deanna agreed. "Even if it does survive the deep fear and self-loathing I sense from them. They have a very strong psychological need to attack; I do not know what will become of them if that need is unfulfilled."

"Counselor," Picard asked in concern. "Do you seriously believe the aliens are capable of hurting *themselves*, if they're denied a target?" She nodded painfully.

Riker, his eyes glinting happily, shrugged. "Works for me," he announced. "Maybe with luck the ship will blow up too."

Worf, for once softening his opposition to the retreat idea, grunted consent. "An explosion would be very nice," he admitted.

"Will," Picard warned. "Mister Worf."

The doors to the bridge hissed open and Beverly Crusher emerged. She walked slowly to stand beside Deanna and stare at the view of the alien ship.

"Those poor people," she said with wistful sigh. She did not seem to notice the disappointed exchange of frowns between the first officer and security chief ...

TBC...

Subj: Meanwhile...
95-06-11 18:52:24 EDT
From: Answr 42

Elsewhere in the Milky Way...

"So why did you humans name the galaxy after a 20th century candy bar anyway?" Kira wondered.

"It was short and sweet -easier to remember than some long series of roman numerals like they used on the Star Trek movies I-VII."

"Something's coming through the wormhole," Odo huffed, getting himself together after nearly going to pieces of boredom.

Ben Sisko looked out the Ops viewports. The Bajoran Wormhole flowered in the darkness.

Dax knit her brows. "Receiving a priority communiquŽ from Starfleet Command. Reporting hostile vessels appearing from nowhere and attacking... civilian craft, Federation ships, the Klingons, the Romulans, the Cardassians, even the USS Purple Barney!"

"What?" Sisko couldn't believe his ears. "Who would *do* such a thing to the ship of such a *nice* dinosaur?"

Dax watched a ship appear from the wormhole. It matched the reported configuration of the aggressors. "Horrible ship. Pretty cross... Is that gold-pressed latinum?"

It was then that the face of an obsessed human male appeared on Ops' main viewer. He considered Dax coldly, nose raised with haughty disdain so that she could see the boogers inside. He spoke with a wrathful voice of fire and brimstone. "Heathen space station, we have come for Garek and Dax. Give them to us, and we will leave you in peace -- with this nice set of leather-bound bibles and concordances."

Sisko glared. "And just *who* are *you*?"

"Clark Shiela of the Holy Bigot Brigade. I have no quarrel with you. It is Garek -- he must be neutralized. His homosexual existence is a blasphemy to God. And the suit he made for me last month has a run in it."

"Blasphemy to God? And which 'God' would that be?" Dax asked.

"I won't even dignify that with an answer, heathen," Shiela spat, and it started oozing down the viewer. "You're even worse than the homosexuals -- defiling bodies of both sexes with you perverted little life -- and right under your maker's nose."

"Really?" Dax challenged, "If His pierced-nosed holiness is so vehement about me, then why did He make me in the first place?"

"How did you know He has a pierced nose?" one of Shiela's cohorts piped up from behind their fearless leader. Shiela silenced his faithful follower with a glare of his beady eyes.

Cont. next post

Subj: And then...
95-06-11 18:53:23 EDT
From: Answr 42

"O ye of sexual perversion," Sheila began, "Resistance is futile. You, too, will be assimilated. No constitutions or prime directives can save you from our holier-than-thou clutches! Ha-haha-haha!!!"

Kira stabbed a control, cutting audio. She shook her head. "This is insane! Just who the heck do they think they are?!"

"The Holy Bigot Brigade," Sisko said matter of fact. "And they *just* stepped on my toes *too hard*."

"Permission to blow the poor sobs to Hades?"

"Wait!" Bashir ran from the lift, interrupting O'Brien. "If we do that, we're *no better* than them."

"How can you let them get away with that?!" Kira asked, infuriated.

"I don't suggest we do, Major," Bashir answered. He had a tribble and a smile. "It's well documented that Extreme Christian Fundamentalists hate tribbles even more than Klingons do."

Bashir exchanged a wiley grin with O'Brien, and started for the transporter pad.

"Oh, Julian," Dax protested. "How could you do such a thing to the poor tribble?"

Will the evil -- oops, scratch that -- Will the *misguided* Bigot Brigade succeed in their mission against the Federation? Will His Holy Pierced-nosedness make a guest appearance in the next installment to up ratings? Will poor little tribble fall victim to yet another misguided religious crusade? Will James T. Kirk's ghost appear and steal the scenes? Stay tuned -- same space-time, same space-channel! (And remember, the best time to grab a refreshing glass of Gay-teraid is during the commercial break!)

Subj: Back on the Enterprise
95-06-11 21:28:43 EDT
From: Cath Marc

"Those poor people," Beverly said again, her blue eyes misting over with sympathy.

"You aren't thinking ..." Picard began in muted horror.

"That the individuals on that ship are part of human history, and by extension members of the Federation?" Beverly asked intensely. "Or that they deserve medical and psychiatric care? Why, Captain?"

"Doctor, I will *not* have one of ..." Picard found that words failed him. "Of those, poisoning this ship."

"They are no threat to us," Troi said. "And they do need our help. Captain, it is not their fault that they have so much difficulty with this century. They didn't volunteer for the cryogenic storage procedure or the interstellar voyage which brought them here."

"Somebody hit them on the head, forcibly froze them all, then shot them together into space and three hundred years out of the way," Riker summarized. "Just to shut them up. To me, that says they were having trouble with the *twentieth* century, and it had to be damned well their own fault."

"You're so negative," Troi said.

"Jean-Luc," Beverly insisted softly, "Let me examine and treat the leader, at least."

"Even if they could be said to have one, there is the simple matter of the Prime Directive," Picard pointed out. "The bloody-minded single-purposed alliance of people within this -- brigade -- can roughly be defined as a culture. One on the decline, thank heaven, but one whose progress toward hell in a hand basket I am honor-bound to stay out of."

"And *I* am bound by the Hippocratic Oath," Beverly responded in kind, "which can be viewed if you like as a sort of Prime Directive in reverse: Thou Shalt Interfere Even When the Stupid Bastard Had it Coming. Thus, there is such a thing as an "attempted" suicide, and we do administer treatment for injuries that well could have been prevented with nothing more than a little foresight and common sense on the part of, say, reckless starship captains."

It was Picard's turn to sigh.

"Shall I give a more specific example, Captain?" the doctor asked sweetly.

"Unnecessary. Mister Worf, hail the alien ship." Picard sat down heavily. "Suggest an 'exchange of ideas', a diplomatic first contact, or something of that sort. Make nice. And have security prepare to meet a --patient -- beamed directly into Sickbay, the instant they agree or their shields are lowered, whichever comes first."

"Unable to make nice, Captain, " the Klingon announced a few minutes later. "The aliens are engaged in some sort of chant and are not responding to repeated hails."

"A chant?" Picard looked up in interest. "My, this *is* a primitive culture."

"They're singing to a -- Barney, something." Worf pulled his head back in distaste. "This seems to be the name of a god."

"I thought these people worshipped *themselves*," Geordi said in a puzzled voice. "Who the heck is Barney?"

Data cocked his head to one side. "Accessing." His eyes darted back and forth rapidly for a few seconds, and he nodded. "Ah. Congressman Barney Frank, of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, North American United States, late twentieth century. A gay man, reported to be quite comfortable with and honest about his sexuality, as well as an able and very intelligent legislator. Snappy dresser."

"In other words," Counselor Troi said slowly and knowingly, "Everything the aliens are not."

Picard stood and rose to face the Betazed. "Counselor, are you suggesting that these aliens are obsessed with the name of a person who embodies what they idealize -- and at the same time, *claim to hate*? Someone both gay and powerful, from their own time?"

Troi considered this. "It is psychologically valid," she concluded.

"Fascinating!" Picard's eyes lit up with anthropological joy ....

TBC....

Subj: At DS-9...
95-06-12 08:36:03 EDT
From: Answr 42

"They've dinosaur-napped Captain Barney!"

"Is he still alive, Lieutenant?"

Dax watched the steady income of new data. "Starfleet thinks so." A look of bemusement crossed her face. "It would seem that these people are outcasts from the late 20th and early 21st centuries of Earth. Initially, when your people were first heading out to the stars, some of the more 'fervent' fundamentalist believers aquired some stasis ships and went out to spread and preserve their faith. Later, when homosexuality was scientifically proven to be a genetic predisposition, many of the governments of Earth forced anyone openly practicing bigotry into ships they shot off into deep space."

Odo shook his head, forming a zit and popping it. "Apparently most humans did have good sense then."

"Stop right there," Bashir interjected. "I don't approve of bigotry at all myself, but to banish people from their homeworld forever -- I'm not sure I could even do that even to them. After all, if the common belief had been that homosexuals were the instigators, it could have been them forced out into space."

Sisko looked thoughtful. "What are you suggesting, Doctor?"

"As a medical doctor, it's my obligation to cure them. I could alter or just delete the offending brainwave patterns, and they could re-enter society, rehabilitated."

Sisko nodded to the transporter pad. "What about the tribble?"

"Oh, well..." The doctor picked it up, stroking it. "Actually, it probably was a cruel idea. Besides, it's hard to find a good tribble these days."

Dax stood up and paced, troubled. "I can't go along with this."

"What do you mean, Dax?" Bashir asked, not seeing her problem.

"What you're proposing is brain-washing, nothing less," Dax explained. "This sort of forced endoctrination is exactly what created this whole situation in the first place. People bent on a mistaken viewpoint, teaching their children and friends that viewpoint -- reinforcing it with rewards and punishments -hate and bigotry was passed down over many generations. I don't think we have the right to "play God" and alter their genetics or brainwaves any more than they would have the right to alter the genetic code of a homosexual to suit their own fancy."

"There were some initial attempts where the fundamentalist extremists tried just that, old man. Operating on homosexuals to try altering their sexual predisposition -- and they 'justified' it by saying that 'they weren't playing God, but fulfilling God's will'.

Kira fumed, Odo plugged his nose. "And what about those people who didn't share their belief in their 'god'?! Anything can be done in the name of any deity and be considered 'justified', including rape and mass-murder!"

"Convenient that the gods are never around for questioning," Odo warbled (only a shapechanger can warble -- it has something to do with reforming your vocal chords as you talk -- makes you sound like an old 45 record, or a gargling mouse on steroids hosting a talk-show... gee, that explains Riki Lake, doesn't it?)

Subj: O'Brien speaks...
95-06-12 08:36:50 EDT
From: Answr 42

"Well if you ask me," started O'Brien, "since these bloody bigot people are living in a fantisy world anyway, why not just beam the whole kit'n'kaboodle into a holodeck programmed to keep them happy until somewhere down the line their descendants forsake endoctrine-imposed ignorance and trade it for a real *life*?"

"I'll present our idea to Starfleet Command," Sisko answered. "In the meantime, what do you suggest we do about the hostages?"

"I'm not sure they're *hostages*, Benjamin. It seems that this Holy Bigot Brigade is going around the galaxy kidnapping only purple dinosaurs and congressmen with 'Barney' in their names."

"You have to be joking."

"No, Benjamin. We just recieved a priority signal from the Enterprise. The Holy Bigot Brigade is a group of uptite, anal retentative closet-homosexuals who cling to a religous viewpoint that homosexuality is immoral, while at the same time secretly worshipping Congressman Barney Frank -- a late twentieth century openly gay human from the Commonwealth of Massachusetts in the North American United States. Oh, he's a snappy dresser, too."

"How does Barney the Dinosaur fit into all of this?" O'Brien asked.

Jadzia shook her head with disbelief. "Apparently they use the purple dinosaur as a public statement of how absurd homosexuals are, but privately they use Barney as a concubine. They say he has a big ---"

"For the Prophets' sake, Dax, don't say it!" Kira exclaimed. "This is a public posting board!"

"--- tail."

"Sir! The bigots have opened fire on us! They couldn't deal with so much blatant truth!"

Will DS-9 be blown to the after-life? Is there an afterlife to be blown to? Why does Rush Limbaugh get paid to talk a lot and stay fat eating Pizza Hut pizzas crust first? All this and more when Riki Lake hosts her talk-show broadcast from DS-9's promenade.

Subj: In the transporter room
95-06-12 10:14:52 EDT
From: Cath Marc

Arranging a meeting with the leader of the alien ship had been, to say the least, problematic. Besides the obvious language barrier and cultural communication differences in style, which had required the captain and his addressee to begin every sentence with creative variations on the words "you idiot", "you pansy", "you ignoramus", or -- he still could not understand this one even after a three-minute discourse from Data on the words -- "you twinkie", there had been the very delicate and confounding matter of to *whom* these endearments should be addressed.

Evidently, one of the founding tenents of the bigot movement -- or as Geordi was now more accurately calling it, the bigot standing-still-ment -- had been the strongly-held and ardently stated conviction that incumbency and seniority in any office or leadership position was a bad and destabilizing thing. It was revealed that the aliens changed captains no less than every ten minutes as a matter of principle, and that they were, to a man, fiercely loyal to each new leader in turn, declaring him to be great and apostolistic and undeniably, heroically, heterosexual. Six times an hour, speeches about new days dawning and winds of change blowing had to made, recorded for posterity, and applauded on the deck of the alien vessel. The interminable delays and transitions in the negotiations which resulted were only slightly more annoying to the captain than the tiresome metaphors.

As Picard waited in the transporter room with his officers, he reflected on this unique development as a fascinating aspect of the aliens' sub-culture. The yellow beam of the transporter sang and danced into place just as he decided that, on the whole, it was a fascination his day might have been better off without.

The current commander of the alien ship, a Mister Bart Brat, was in full warrior garb, from the peaks of lacquered helmet which topped his head, to the reticulated armor which covered his shoulders and chest, down to the leather straps which hung about his thick waist, and the brass-pointed tips on his boots. His elaborate jewelry of projectile weapon ammunition clicked like poker chips to keep time against the shaft of his bayonet. It seemed to Worf that Brat wore a good deal more gear than a warrior should need, but he did not mention this. The aliens most likely most likely enjoyed dressing up as much as they enjoyed berating women and members of their lower classes.

"Lets get this over with," Brat said to Picard, "You mentioned something about lending me one of your newfangled vr things. A hollowdeck, I think. So, I'm late for a hunting trip."

Typical, Worf thought, to be impatient to begin a weekend of killing small defenseless things.

TBC....

Subj: In the transporter room II
95-06-12 10:18:12 EDT
From: Cath Marc

"The sooner the better," Picard declared. "But if your people are experiencing some sort of armed conflict, you must understand: our laws forbid our participation."

Brat made a noise like a growl. "You talking about the last mutiny? The fools who call that a war misunderstand our customs."

"Federation reports --" Data began.

"Your brainless scholars report a simple debate as warfare," Brat interrupted. He waved a hand dismissively.

"Federation reports," Picard re-asserted tightly, "show that key members of each of your councils have been assassinated over a period of only one four year period, and your political system is now considered to be highly unstable. Any interference in your culture, at this tenuous point in your development, could be sufficiently influential to change your people's future development."

The alien let out a roar of sharp laughter. "Picard, you have been misled.We were simply having fun."

"You're telling us that you knock each other off? For sport?" Commander Riker was not quite successful at keeping the revulsion from his voice.

"To prove the fitness of our rulers," Brat replied calmly. "By our own laws, the tribes are ruled by the cunning, the swift, the wealthy and well-armed, or the strong. Simply put, we aren't for sissies. Surely, your Federation has other worlds in which this is true."

"Not that way. Not, for entertainment," Riker declared.

Brat shrugged. "We have a local saying. Fighting about sex is more pleasurable than sex itself." He sneered at Worf, and added, "Ask your wolfman, there, what that means."

All this, and a racist too. "I am my *own* wolfman," Worf replied without moving. "And I believe, that means you are doing at least one of them incorrectly."

Picard mercifully allowed that to be the last word for the time being. "Gentlemen," he said, pointing toward the corridor. "To Sickbay, first."

TBC....

Subj: The End of A Long Day
Date: 95-06-12 22:37:47 EDT
From: Cath Marc

"I am intrigued by the Captain's suggestion that we resume our interaction with the alien, here in 10-Forward," Data said. "The male bonding ritual of the late twentieth century often involved consuming copius amounts of liquor. According to the ancient customs, Geordi, you and I will be much better friends if we can simultaneously reach a blood alcohol content of greater than .17 " He blinked to punctuate. "And afterward, I would like to vomit on your shoes."

"*Charm*-ing, prospect," Geordi said. "And you're telling me *this* was okay, but men who made *love* to other men were considered perverted?"

"I do not claim to understand the emotions. Only to be interested in the customs."

"Yeah, like Brat, over there, keeps saying he isn't religious. He just knows all the rules."

"NOT the rules of grammar and standard English. He will not speak plainly," Worf sulked over his glass of prune juice.

"I can see you're still miffed about that little miscommunication in the briefing room," Geordi said. "Nobody blames you, Worf. How were you to know that 'bite me' wasn't a literal command?"

Data nodded sympathetically. "And I have yet to get a satisfactory answer to the question of why, in his of all cultures, 'man's man' is considered a compliment."

"That one beats me, too. I'm a little upset that Beverly's medical exam didn't reveal a *congenital* reason for him being so ornery and hard to get through to." The chief engineer grimaced. "That guy."

"That 'guy'," Data frowned, "is part of your history as a human being. Does that fact cause you distress?"

"Shouldn't it? I'd rather be related to an immunillogical virus."

"On the contrary," the android said. "I should think that, in contrast to Brat and his crew, the progress you have made in so short a time would cause humans great pride and a sense of accomplishment."

"Yeah, I guess. *I'm* only blind in the literal sense, and not by choice at that. Still ..."

"Still," Commander Riker said to Beverly and Troi for the third time, "I wish to hell, Doctor, that you'd feel altruistically and medically obligated to something *harmless*, just once. I'd love to deck him."

"That's because he's an insult to your masculinity," Troi also repeated. "You're the alpha male."

"The what?" Riker looked at her warily. "You aren't gonna get Freudian on me again, are you?"

"The Primate in Charge," Troi sighed. "You've just encountered someone who not only wants to attack a member of the crew , *your* crew, but wants to do it in a posturing, aggressive way which *you* take as a challenge to your authority and strength."

"There's another theory," Riker grinned.

"And that is?"

"That I just flat-out hate the little creep."

"That's plausible, too," Deanna sighed.

Subj: .... Gets Even Longer
Date: 95-06-12 22:44:41 EDT
From: Cath Marc

Picard sighed. "You see," he concluded. "It's simply not plausible. The evidence would strongly suggest that a deity or omnipotent being, your God, if you will, would not behave in that manner even before the cure was developed. The Enterprise-D and its predecessors have encountered omnipotent and semi-omnipotent beings in many forms and in many parts of the galaxy over the years, and if there is one thing, rather two things, that we know about the quality of God, it is that he is not ... inefficient, and he is not -- cruel. Mischevious, at times, damned annoying and certain of himself, to be sure, and a positive nuisance, yes, absolutely infuriating ..."

With effort, he stopped thinking about Q and got a theological grip on himself. He wished to hell he could be utterly fascinated by something *harmless*, just once. "But not inefficient, and not cruel. To design a 'plague' as you call it, on homosexuality , which leaves female homosexuals unharmed and kills many, many non-homosexuals at the same time, would be both. You see that, don't you?" He smiled hopefully.

Brat looked at him numbly. "They're *right* about You People," he decided aloud. "You *can* nitpick any-damn-body's story ideas to death. Even God himself's. A real piece of work, you Starfleet people. Hey!" he yelled as an afterthought. "How come this here drink hasn't even given me a buzz yet?"

"A -- buzz?"

"Or a headache, either. This some kind of wine spritzer or Zima-thing?"

"Aaah," Picard smiled, having no idea. Was the man so paranoid that he thought the Enterprise crew would try to *poison* him? The thought did have its merits ... He shook his head. "That's because it's synthehol. Invention of this century. The taste of alcohol with no negative aftereffects."

"NO HANGOVER?" Brat was suddenly enraged . "WHAT DO YOU MEAN, NO HANGOVER? FIRST YOU TELL ME YOU THINK YOU CAN HAVE SEX AND NOT HURT ANYBODY AND NOW THIS???? YOU CAN DRINK AND NOT GET HUNGOVER? DONT YOU EVER PAY FOR FEELING PLEASURE? ARENT THERE ANY CONSEQUENCES OF EXCESS AND BAD BEHAVIOR IN THIS FREAKING CENTURY? IS EVERYBODY IN HERE A HEDONIST OR A HEATHEN WITH NO MORAL CODE? DONT YOU BELIEVE IN DEVINE REPRISAL? NEXT YOU'RE GONNA BE TELLING ME YOU CAN'T GO BROKE! WHAT THE HELL IS THE MATT ---"

He probably finished asking what the matter was with everybody else, that being one of his most frequent laments. But the assembled never knew for sure, because at that moment, Guinan, turning deftly from the next table, walloped the alien commander with the edge of a fully-loaded dinner tray.

Blessed with Starfleet defensive training and sharp reflexes, Picard was just able to duck out of her way before the tray impacted at astounding speed with Brat's nose. It made a satisfying whump! sound as it sent the alien, unappeased outrage and all, floundering to the deck amongst shattered glass and meal detritus.

"How's that?" Guinan asked smoothly, standing over him. "Painful enough to satisfy your moral code? Or should I fracture something and make you downright righteous?"

"Hey!" Riker objected. "I'M the alpha male, here, dammit!"

An annoying chirping from his comm-badge spared Picard the indignity of either's reply:

"This is the bridge, Sir. We've just picked up a distress call from DS9. They're under attack, AGAIN."

Subj: On the bridge
Date: 95-06-13 11:23:48 EDT
From: McCoy LH

Picard entered the bridge, Riker, Troi, and Data right behind. Worf and Data had already exited the other turbolift and were at their stations.

Picard too the center seat. "Report."

"According to the station commander, Deep Space Nine is under attack by one of the Holy Bigot Brigade vessels and a captured Borg ship. It seems that when the Bigots met the Borg it was love at first sight. They were impressed with the Borg's complete lack for respect of the individual, and found the Borg's test-tube reproduction to be something to strive toward to abolish sex forever. The Borg admired the single-mindedness of the Brigade and their unwillingness to assimulate individualism. They have joined forces and renamed themselves the Bigot Collective -- or BC for short."

"Positively archaic." Picard's communicator chirped. "Captain, this is Guinan. I thought you should know that Mr. Congeniality just beamed out of here and took Ensign Clark with him."

"Sir," Worf interrupted, "Another ship is approaching from aft."

"It is the USS Olympia," Data announced. "The vessel that the BC managed to capture."

The USS Olympia advanced on the Enterprise, torpedo bays glowing with ill-intent.

"There must be some way we can regain control of the Olympia. These 20th century people are obviously not aware of how much power they wield -- and how much damage it can do."

"You're wrong, Captain," Troi's face had gone ashen. "They *do* know, and they intend to use it against us."

"They are *arming* torpedoes!" Worf growled.

"Shields!" Riker ordered.

"Incoming," Data announced as a volley of photon torpedoes flashed toward them.

"Evasive maneuvers!" Picard ordered, thinking, So much for 20th century diplomacy.

One of the torpedoes grazed the Enterprise's shields rocking the ship, the others flying far afield. Riker steadied himself in his seat. "It's amazing the human race ever made it out of the 20th century -- these people are self-righteous brutes!"

Troi couldn't help a faint smile -- she knew a part of Riker that -- while not taken to this extreme -- wasn't so different, though the Commander had the good sense to keep it in check most of the time. After all, she thought, all humans have their irrational fears and prejudices -- but the difference between a bigot and a well-adjusted person is the difference between not challenging and challenging the irrational impulses of one's own mind. The human species had made great progress over the centuries in learning to question what often times amounted to no more than the habit of ritual bigotry.

"I have successfully gained remote access the Olympia's logs. Ship control will take significantly longer," Data reported.

"What have you got, Mr. Data?"

>>> continued next post >>>

Subj: Bridge II
Date: 95-06-13 11:26:08 EDT
From: McCoy LH

"The Olympia's initial contact with the Bigot vessel occurred twenty three hours ago. Captain J. T. Bug received a distress signal prior to contact, and upon arrival beamed the vessel's inhabitants directly to sickbay in good faith. After further investigation, it was established that hundreds of such vessels were sent into space along with this one -- all programmed to awaken their sleeping crews in the 24th century, where they would begin preaching their bigotry anew."

"Talk about *commitment*," Crusher commented.

"They should be committed." Riker.

"They certainly can't be allowed to wander free in our time," Picard gave Riker that much. "They're as much a danger to themselves as they are to others. I would not want to be the one to suggest to a gay Klingon or Cardassian that she or he is immoral."

"That would *definitely* be a dead-end conversation," Riker agreed. "Literally, more likely than not."

"How did they gain control of the Olympia, Mr. Data? *Surely* Captain Bug took the necessary *precautions* -- he's no slouch."

"In fact he did, sir. However, the security teams could not have foreseen the danger. The self-righteous debating voice of the Bigots set at maximum offense was no match for a phaser set at heavy stun."

"They are coming around for another pass, Captain," Worf informed.

"How can we possibly *reason* with someone possessing such a closed mind that they are offended by the very existence of those who live a different lifestyle?"

"I'm not sure we can," Troi stated, her voice all worry, sadness daunting her elegant features.

Subj: Back at DS-9...
Date: 95-06-13 13:30:22 EDT
From: Answr 42

Back at the Space Station...

"Who the devil are you?" Bashir asked the appirition that appeared floating in the air next to him.

"**I'm--Captain--James-T.-Kirk**, and I'm here to help."

"Good Lord, not *the* James T. Kirk?" O'Brien asked.

"I-**know**, I-**know**, I'm-*supposed*-to--be--DEAD. But you know how the trek writers *are* these days, and I *could--NOT--pass--up--the--MONEY*. So consider this an extended passing--of--THE--BATON. Now move over kids, and I'll show you how to handle these freaks."

Shiela's face appeared on screen. "What the heck is that apparition of the Enterprise with no bloody alphabet suffixes on the 1701 doing hovering parked through your space station? TELL IT TO GO AWAY -- IT'S MESSING UP OUR AIM!!"

"With all due respect, this is *my* station," Sisko stood up to Kirk.

"Here, home-boy, suck on *this*" Kirk said. With a twist of his nose and a quick belly giggle, he materialized a lemon lollipop in Sisko's mouth. Dismissing the enraged Sisko, Kirk turned on the viewscreen. "O-K, you snivelling, hate-spewing *space maggot*, what is the answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, The Universe, and Everything?"

Shiela smiled so broadly that his dentures nearly fell out. "42."

Kirk continued unperturbed. Sisko on the other hand was very perturbed, but couldn't say so with the lollipop stuck in his mouth. "O-KAY, *mister*, if you-re *so--smart*, then what's the Ultimate Question to the Ultimate Answer?"

This time when Shiela smiled, his dentures *did* fall to the deck with a sharp clatter. "The mice never figured it out. We've read that book, too, Kirk."

"Yes, BUT," Kirk continued, "what you don't know is that I've brought the author of the Hitchhiker's Guide trilogy to the future *with me*, and he has just written the Question."

Shiela's face fell. One of his comrades stooped, picked it up and re-attached it, adjusting the Borg wires to fit back under his dripping nostrils again.

"I'll have you know I resent being here," Douglas Adams stated. "I didn't write this series, and I *resent* being here."

Kirk snatched a paper from the man, and flourished it flamboyantly. "You BC people *have-to-know* that I'm not at all happy with what you propose to *do* with *sex*. *God created it for a reason*. So that people could cruise on another and have *meaningful* relationships with green-skinned Orion women -- and a few men, too, I think (or maybe the Orion women just hadn't shaved that day)"

"YOU WOULD HAVE SEX WITH ANYTHING THAT BREATHS???!!!" Shiela exclaimed.

"And a *few* things that--don't," Kirk replied securely. "What's your point?"

"YOU *ARE* AN IMMORAL, UNPRINCIPLED TYRANT WITH DELUSIONS OF GODHOOD."

"So what's your point?" Kirk asked again.

"You are immoral because you have sex with multiple women and are not shackled in the cuffs of marriage."

"Jealous?"

Shiela thought for a moment. Jeopardy music played from somewhere over DS-9's commsystem. "ABSOLUTELY NOT. And I'll tell you what makes you REALLY IMMORAL! That you *may* have had SEX with other males, instead of killing them like a good soldier."

"Paint me disappointed. I may be loose, but if I'm immoral it's not because I've slept with a man (if in fact any of them were men -- I had a blood alcohol content of greater than .17 at the time, so it was hard to tell), it's because I--was--a **womanizer and sex maniac**. Now that I'm dead, I see the **error** of my ways. If only I had just settled down with that green haired chick with the little moustache (or was that a dude in a wig -- well, doesn't matter)

Subj: Back at DS-9 II...
Date: 95-06-13 13:32:22 EDT
From: Answr 42

"YOU ARE WICKED, KIRK!!"

"That's enough, *mister*. Now, go back through the wormhole or I'm gonna have to do something you might regret." The rug on Kirk's head started screeching uncontrollably.

"Oh, so now you're going to kill the innocent women and children we have on our ship? Typical, you anarchist."

"Who said anything about **killing** **innocent women and children**?" Kirk asked. "Just because you and your religious crusades down through the ages have gone about **killing innocent women and children** is no reason for me to start doing it too."

"HOW DARE YOU CONFRONT US WITH TRUTHFUL WORDS!!! GOD WILL PUNISH YOU FOR THIS, KIRK. HE WILL NOT REST UNTIL YOU ARE PUNISHED, YOU PHOO-PHOO HEAD."

"Believe me, he's punished us all with the likes of you, *old friend*" Kirk snarled. "Now prepare to meet justice. I've traveled back and forth through time enough to make a Vulcan vomit. Believe me, I know -- one of my best and *closest* friends was Vulcan. He had the cutest little points on his ears that I used to take and..."

"ENOUGH OF THIS FOOLISHNESS, KIRK!!"

"You're right, I'm getting side-tracked. It happens to us original cast members sometimes -- we're not as *young* as we used to be, you know."

"That's a tribble on his head," Dax realized, watching the quivering hair on top of Kirk's head.

"Hey, no talking while I'm here," Kirk snapped. "Consider yourself set-dressing for the time being."

"What about my Ultimate Question?" Adams asked.

"I'm getting to that," Kirk told the man. "Now, as I was saying, I've traveled through time so much it's temporally charged my pet hair-piece. One bite, and it's back to the 20th century for you. But first, the Question to the Ultimate Answer of 42; 'How many women on Mars have filed sexual harrassment suits against me?'" Kirk frowned at the paper he'd just read the Ultimate Question to the Ultimate Answer from, then frowned at the man who wrote the Ultimate Question. "Regular *comedian*, aren't you?"

"Not unless you find the truth funny," Adams replied. "I looked it up before we got here."

Kirk looked at the question again and whistled. "42, huh? Glad I'm dead."

"And so will you all be shortly," Sheila hissed. He issued an order to someone off camera. "Fire the agonizers."

"What about the innocent women and children on this station?" Kira asked, barely containing her rage.

"We don't really care about them," Clark Shiela confessed. "We only mention them when it helps in our fight against homosexuals and deviants such as you and your mirror self . And you should stop frowning like that little lady, or those wrinkles on your nose might freeze there and stay that way."

The agonizers fired, Kirk shook his belly again, and the distructive beams vanished. He shot his finger out at the viewscreen, shouting an order to his hair. "SIC 'EM, BOY!"

Subj: Back at DS-9 III...
Date: 95-06-13 13:33:29 EDT
From: Answr 42

Kirk's hairpiece was gone in a flash, leaving a bald head that hadn't seen the light of day since the tribble had taken fond to the old Starfleet captain. There was a flash, a lot of loud noises that can only come from a really P.O.ed tribble, and then the Bigot Continuum vessel and Brigade vessel both vanished.

POP!

The lollipop dropped to the deck, and Sisko's fist connected with Kirk's jaw, sending Kirk reeling through the deck. His head popped back up through the unbroken deck plates. "I think I like you, Sisko. You really know how to male-bond."

"Oh, and thanks for the help, Kirk," Sisko said stiffly. The rumors were right -- Kirk was a scene-stealer.

"It's been fun, kids," Kirk grinned. "But now I gotta go -- doing the lunch thing with some guy I met named Q -- and I'm **already late**."

"Are you ever any other way?" Dax asked, but Kirk had already vanished in thin air.

"Now all we have to do is deal with the rest of the BC fleet."

"Piece of cake?"

"Don't underestimate them," Sisko warned. "Bigotry is like a rock rolling down a hill, building up momentum as it goes. It takes the ignorant and simple-minded with it, and when it hits bottom there's always hell to pay."

"I mean would you *like a piece of cake*, Commander," Kira explained, offering him some Bajoran prophet cake. "Beral gave it to me for my birthday this morning."

"I'll have some," Douglas Adams spoke up from the corner. "Can anybody get me a spot of tea?"

Will Starfleet be able to round up the rest of the Bigot Collective before more damage is done? Will bigots ever learn to lead their own lives instead of trying to tend to other peoples' lives? Will Bart Brat's father forever be working for the evil Mr. Burns, or did they really kill off Mr. Burns in the season finally of the Simpsons?

Don't ask me ;-)

Subj: On the Olympia
Date: 95-06-14 10:07:07 EDT
From: Cath Marc

Captain JT Bug, of the Starship Olympia, stopped pacing and slid into his place at the head of the table in the Captain's ready room. The room was large by normal standards, and certainly enormous for Bug and its only other occupant, who seemed to be growing smaller by the moment.

A gift from the New Republics of the Federation, with whom Bug had successfully negotiated a widely-renowned membership contract, the table was constructed from part of the hull of an Orion ship. The late captain of that ship had enjoyed the tremendous and final misfortune of exploiting, cheating, raiding, and generally pissing off an overwhelming majority of the colony governments. With his naturally nasty attitude and his piracy, that gone-and-not-missed captain had unintentionally helped Bug accomplish what no one else had ever been able to manage. Namely, he had unified the string of New Republic planets throughout the e1151 quadrant with a common enemy and purpose. An historical testament to the NRs first agreement, (namely, that the little green bastard had to go), as well as to the NR's particularly cannibalistic version of politics, it occupied a full two-thirds of the room.

The remaining space was taken up by a gift of a more personal nature, a grand swivel chair of soft Tellarite swineleather.

As far as Bug was concerned, it would have been just as nice to have a chair like everybody else's, but a food synth panel which was capable, just once in a godamned while, of actually producing a decent cup of coffee.

"I expect you've had a rotten day," he admitted around a steaming mouthful of something called a cup-o-cheeno. "I wouldn't even place it in my top ten, personally, either, what with my ship being lousy with bigots and my ready room being turned into a brig. But let's try to look on the bright side for a minute." He smiled disarmingly. "Think we can do that?"

The Enterprise's Ensign Jeff Clark, who Bug was subconsiously beginning to call "The Kid", was the most abjectly miserable thing Bug had seen in twenty-four hours. "Bright side," The Kid said doubtfully. His face asked if Bug was out of his mind.

In fact, Bug was. With boredom. "Eternally optimistic, that's me," he grinned. "Can I ask you a personal question?"

Shrug. "Shoot."

"How long have you known that you're .... you know ...."

The Kid looked up expectantly.

"... Starfleet material?" Bug grinned again.

The Kid, sufficiently convinced that he'd at least been locked up with a *friendly* lunatic, this time, grinned back. "All my life, I guess. I'm pretty sure I was born like this."

Subj: On the Olympia II
Date: 95-06-14 10:10:43 EDT
From: Cath Marc

"Want to know a secret? They made a little mistake," Bug confessed in a whisper.

"Huh?"

The captain tilted his head toward the desk. "They left me ... a computer. I LOVE computers, do you know that? They absolutely fascinate me, especially the old style ones; it's a hobby of mine. Runs in the family -- one of my ancestors was a computer systems director and what they used to call a 'hack', back in the 20th century."

"Well, surely," Clark said, "they locked out the main system commands?"

"Yeah, they did. Turns out they aren't completely stupid," Bug shrugged. "But they're still bush league. They're running this place like they would a 20th century vessel, but with more power."

"And that's not what it is, now?"

Bug slammed his hand down on the table triumphantly. "Wrong! That's PRECISELY what it is! They've mucked up the command codes in the most, utterly, pathetically, predictably, 20th century way possible! That's our secret weapon, and THAT's what we're going to use against them." He chuckled.

"I don't get it," The Kid said, watching Bug rub his hands together gleefully. "Why didn't you come up with any of this *before* I got kidnapped and brought over here?"

No doubt about it, this ruined the captain's mood. "What," Bug asked peevishly, "I would like to know, is the POINT of being clever if nobody SEEs you doing it?"

"O -- kay," The Kid allowed. "But, I still don't know, WHAT secret weapon from the 20th century?"

Bug seated himself in front of the computer, rolled up his uniform sleeves, and cracked his knuckles elaborately. "I believe," he said, "that it was called ...'red tape'."

Subj: The Conference
Date: 95-06-14 21:10:16 EDT
From: Cath Marc

While Our Hero was at work aboard the Olympia....

"So," Sisko glowered to Picard. "Now, they've got a hostage AND a Starfleet vessel."

"Temporarily in our favor. As long as they have our ensign, the Olympia seems to have no quarrel with us. I do not expect that situation to maintain, however. It would not be unlike the BC to attack a completely heterosexual crew in a fit of pique. It seems to be their idea of whimsy. We're still attempting to regain control of the Olympia. And I would not underestimate Captain Bug, who is by now bored and dangerous. Do *you* still require assistance?"

"That crisis has been ... resolved. But I, also, expect them to be back, in force. They're everywhere by now. If the BC can't be cured of their attitude problem medically, and they can't be reasoned with --"

"I assure you," Picard said securely, "that they can't. Oh, how they can't. Tellarites on PCP, by comparison, are pussycats. Commander -- about the attack which prompted your distress call? What, *exactly*, again, should I put in my report?"

Sisko scowled. "That one James T Kirk saved the quadrant. Possibly the galaxy."

"Speaking of everywhere," Riker said from beside Picard.

"Yes," the captain said. "One wonders he doesn't get tired of that."

"If it's a comfort," Sisko said, "his heart wasn't in it as much as I thought it would be. Being dead seems to have taken its toll on him. He didn't even stay for the hero's parade this time -- mentioned lunching with a Q."

"How did I guess he'd come into this? And I believed this day couldn't possibly get any worse," Picard said. He swore, then smiled at Troi. "Pardon my French."

She shrugged. "I never understood your accent anyway."

"Well, Prophets' FEET," Kira barged in. "Don't we have ANY advantages, here?"

"I told you. Captain Bug. And, fear, I suppose," Picard said. "According to Counselor Troi's empathic readings, they're terrified into desperation at the prospect of a universe and century which they cannot dominate...What piteous creatures we all are, when we are frightened and defensive!"

Sisko rubbed his forehead. "Captain, that music is starting to play again. And, I don't mean to be rude, but with the attempted takeover of my station by the enemy and then the actual takeover by that Kirk guy, I have SUCH a headache."

"Sorry. As I was saying, fear. And arrogance."

"Could lead them into taking unnecessary shots," Sisko considered. "Wasting energy reserves, that sort of thing."

"Indeed. They've been battering at the Enterprise from their original vessel -- it doesn't have a name, or rather it has such a variable name, as they christen it almost as often as their religion changes saints -- for hours now. Doesn't seem to at all concern them that the, er,"

"USS Robertson," Geordi filled in. He looked at a console. "Excuse me. The USS Reed. Gosh, is it twenty-three hundred hours already?"

"-- thank you, Mister LaForge. The USS, Whatever, has a weapons system as outmoded as their dogma. We could, and quite literally may, take this all night."

"That language-weapon of theirs?"

"And you thought *you* had a headache. They're particularly fond of a volley called 'sexually confused'. They don't yet realize that our shields are perfectly modulated against it."

"Whatever else they have," Odo said, "you have to give them credit for a certain sticktoitiveness."

"And, maybe, overconfidence," Dax said, looking up from the ops comm panel. "Starfleet's now reporting that the BC last seen heading toward the Sol system *claim* to have 'assimilated' all heterosexual Terran-born males between the ages of 18 and 45."

Kira looked pointedly at Bashir and snorted. "How hard could THAT be? And what possible GOOD could it do them?"

"Captain!" Worf shouted. "The Olympia is powering up weapons systems!" Abruptly, Picard disappeared from the DS9 viewscreen.

END OF INSTALLMENT ONE

Future installments to be posted as USSHM/PS/VVP volunteer staff complete HTML coding. The concatenated version of this story will be made available in one master file for downloading via FTP sometime after all installments of the current version have been posted at this website.

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