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Babysitter's Blues Part 4
(Section 1 of the Project: Voyager trilogy)
by Jack Staik

-----------------------

Harry Kim sat at the Communications Console, trying to get
everyone who needed to talk to someone talking to the proper
people.

But he was not knowledgable about 23rd century systems. Even
with Tuvok's crash course in Constitution-class starship
systems, he was still lost at least half of the time. Ever
since the Voyager's transformation yesterday, the crew had
been trying to adapt, but from what he could hear through
his earpiece it didn't sound like they were doing a very
good job.

"What's this wire for <ZAP!!>"

"Everything's all cross-circuted - where does it even
start??"

"Why aren't any of these fardling controls labeled?!?"

"Look up my skirt one more time, you p'taQ, and I'll tear
you a new -"

"Report, Mr. Kim." Janeway's voice cut through Harry's semi-
daze.

"Umm ... everyone's - adapting, Captain." he said non-
commitally.

Janeway looked over at Harry Kim. That was the most evasive
non-answer she had heard in years.

That tight-fitting red top did suit him, though. He was in
excellent shape -

Janeway stomped on that line of thought immediately. She
didn't know where that thought had come from, but she was in
the middle of a crisis now. She didn't have time to think
about golden-skinned ensigns with superb muscle definition.

Tom Paris and Tuvok stepped off the turbo-lift. "Reporting
as ordered, captain."

"Yes, Mr Paris, Tuvok." Janeway said quickly, grateful for
the distraction. "How's our <ahem>? guest doing?"

"Fine, Captain. We've got Neelix and Naomi watching him."
Tom chuckled briefly. "Neelix is in a fit. Seems his entire
wardrobe has reverted to Talaxian styles of the last
century."

"Oh my. I'm afraid to ask."

"One-piece slate gray jumpsuits. Not a splash of color or
small accessory anywhere to be found."

"Oh the poor dear." she commented sarcastically. Neelix's
atrocious wardrobe gone with the stellar wind - an
unexpected bonus. "And the Doctor?"

"Except for his mobile emitter being the size of a dinner
plate, he seems unaffected. But since no other holographic
systems of his type are on board, he's stuck in it."

Janeway noticed Tuvok was oddly quiet. She glanced at his
face, and saw something there she had never seen before.

Kathryn had seen many things on Tuvok's face. A Mask of
Calm, an Expression of Mild Distaste, a Mein of Imposing
Authority. She didn't think he had a "Goofy Grin" in his
repitoire. But there it was, plastered all over his face
like mud on Ferenginar.

Janeway stood up and stepped toward Tuvok. "Tuvok? Are you
all right?"

"Sure, sweetie. How are you?"

Jaeway gestured at Mr Paris, who, without a word spoken,
hustled Tuvok to the turbo-lift. Inside, Paris turned the
handle and called out in a worried voice, "Sick Bay! And
hurry!"


In Main Engineering, Torres was still trying to adjust to
unlabeled controls, to duotronic systems, to male crewmen
looking up her short red skirt everytime she went up or down
that idiotic ladder. She still hadn't figured out what that
big brown board with the lines and the blinking lights by
the door was supposed to do.

She needed to vent.

"Crewman!" she snapped. "Where's that report on the flow
regulators?!"

The unfortunate crewman felt a breeze as persons standing
near him suddenly had to be elsewhere. He looked around. No
place to hide. His commanding officer strode over to him, a
glare of slow-burning anger on her face. No escape.

Oh well, if he was going to die, he might at least make
himself comfortable. He spent the next several seconds
admiring how the tight red minidress made the Lieutenant's
breasts look rounder and larger. At least his last thought
would be a happy one.

"Lieutenant Torres," called out a familiar Borg-like voice.
As Torres turned, the crewman thanked his gods and went
elsewhere.

B'Ellana couldn't help but stare at the pastel-colored
vision before her, with the whispy diaphronous cloak
covering a tight bodysuit, and her hair done up with an
idiotic loop on top. She couldn't help chortling, then
giggling, then guffawing.

"What is so amusing?" Seven of Nine asked.

"S-sorry, Seven." B'Ellana managed to choke back down her
amusement. "It's just that you look like a historical tape.
My grandmother used to wear her hair just like that."

"Hair is irrelevant." Seven stated simply. "I am seeking my
alcove. Have you or any of your crew seen it?"

"Well, you could ask your boyfriend -"

"He is NOT my boyfriend!" Seven stated sharply. "Q is simply
- enamored of me. An illogical affliction of emotion caused
by his human body's adolescent hormonal balance. It should
fade quickly."

"And if not," the dusky Engineer continued, "you could get
an alcove built for two -"

"I am not interested in males in that fashion." the blonde
stated simply.

B'Ellana thought about that. Did this mean that those rumors
about Seven and the Captain - ?

"Nor am I interested in females, contrary to rumor."

"Uh - what rumors?" B'Ellana asked, her face a mask of
unconvincing innocence. "Did you hear something?"

"Cybernetically enhanced ears allow me to hear a great
deal." she replied. Then, looking straight at Torres, she
added, "- Cowgirl."

B'Ellana's eyes widened in shock.

"Yee-hah," Seven stated calmly.

Blushing furiously, B'Ellana Torres departed, stage right.


As the turbo-lift made its way to Sick Bay, Tom Paris went
over in his mind exactly what happened. What could have
happened to Tuvok?

Then it hit him

Noss.

Oh my.

"Um, Tuvok, do you remember when you told me about the
ambassador's daughter?"

"Yes," he commented "I recall."

"That was about a hundred years ago, wasn't it?"

"Ninety-six. And your point?"

"Well, this ship is exactly like the Voyager of one hundred
years ago. Our uniforms are like the uniforms or one hundred
years ago. Even the Doc's holoemitter seems to have
regressed by about a century."

"And?"

"The Tuvok of one hundred years ago was an emotional
teenager who got crushes on aloof girls."

Tuvok took one step toward Paris. "Meaning?" he said in a
low, cold voice.

"You've been openly staring at Janeway's legs. You called
her 'sweetie'."

"I did not!"

"Yes you did. On the Bridge, In front of witnesses."

Tuvok looked uncomfortable. "So?"

Paris sighed in exasperation. "Don't you think that this is
somewhat odd? AKKK!"

Tuvok held Paris several centimeters above the floor, the
steel-hard fingers of one hand around the Ensign's throat.
"I don't think anything of the kind. Now you got a problem
with that, helm-boy?"

"Urrk-" Paris replied.

"Besides, anyone who plays 'Rustler and the Cowgirl' in the
Jeffries tubes during Gamma shift has no call complaining
about other people's behavior."


Janeway walked into the Mess Hall, a windowless gray room
(god, how did they keep people from cracking up on these old
ships?). Q and Naomi were playing three-dimensional chess,
while Neelix was dressed in slate gray, and looking
miserable.

"Well, Q - Naomi, how's the game going?"

"This is a stupid game." said Q.

"Q's four moves from checkmate." Naomi said smugly. Then she
gave out a muffled squeal as she was encased in whipped
cream.

"Q! Remove that whipped cream!" Janeway said sternly. "Now!"

Q smirked up at the Captain, wiggled his fingers at her -

- and nothing happened.

He tried again. And again. And again.

"Wh-what happened?" he asked nervously.

Janeway had a hunch about that. "I'm the baby-sitter,
remember? You can't hurt me. And I can - and will - hurt
you."

Q looked up nervously. "Uh-oh."

The whipped cream surrounding Naomi vanished.

"Now," Janeway said calmly, "you can put the ship back."

"Uh -" Q looked around nervously.

"Well?"

Young Q's lower lip quivered, tears began to flow.

"I CAN'T!! I DON'T KNOW HOW I DID IT AND I CAN'T PUT IT
BACK!! WAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!"

Again, Janeway found herself comforting the young meta-
being.

This day really can't get any worse, she thought.

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To be continued

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