
DISCLAIMER: I am not the secret illegitimate child of an
eccentric billionaire (but if anyone wants to give me a few
million bucks anyway, I'm willing to entertain the
possibility).

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Babysitter's Blues Part 5
(Section 1 of the Project: Voyager trilogy)
by Jack Staik

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"Chief Medical Officer's Log: Supplemental

"Since the transformation of our Intrepid-class Voyager into
her Constitution-class namesake thirty-one hours ago, the
crew has shown a marked increase in stress levels. Minor
incidents, resulting in minor injuries, are occuring at
approximately one every thirty minutes. While many of these
are from accidents caused by operating with unfamiliar
technology, an increasing number are from brawls.

"While it is a relief to have all the radiation sickness
cases cured, these minor lacerations and bruisings are
hindering my efforts to get the Sick Bay operational again.
As an old Terran saying puts it, I am being nibbled to death
by ducks.

"Of rather more serious nature is the condition of Messers
Paris and Tuvok. While Mr Paris' injuries are not life-
threatening, he will be unable to speak above a whisper for
some time.

"Mr Tuvok has shown, in preliminary scans, hormonal levels
consistent with a Vulcan male in early adolescense. He has
also shown a tendency to outbursts of emotion
uncharacteristic of adult Vulcans. I have recommended, and
the Captain agrees - for once - to keep him confined to his
quarters for now."

The Doctor turned back to his stress-filled, bruised-and-
battered patients. An alleged accident (apparently the two
crewmen had accidentally run into each other's fists several
times each), the two men were bruising nicely about the face
and abdomen, as well as one man's hand swelling from a
cracked bone. Boy were they in for a shock.

The Doctor put bandages on their nastier wounds, put a cast
on one hand, and then said, "All done, you can go."

"WHAT?" they said in unison

"But Doc, my hand still hurts!" one said.

"That's because of the cracked bone. try to avoid using it
for the next few weeks."

"Weeks?! Don't you have a bone regenerator in here?"

"No I don't. Nor do I have a tissue regenerator. Your
bruises and injuries will have to heal on their own."

The two men hobbled out of the Sick Bay, leaving behind a
smug-looking hologram.

Of course, he could have used one of the anabolic
protoplasers (an early prototype of the tissue regenerator)
to heal their bruisings, but this way was better in the long
run. Let that story get around, that the miraculous Doctor
was hobbled by the primitive technology and couldn't heal
their "owies" for then, and the number of incidents should
drop noticably.

He was quite proud of himself for having thought of it.


Janeway made her way back to her quarters, an unfamiliar sea
of calm in an unfamiliar ship of chaos. A cup of coffee,
perhaps a few minutes using a certain device -

"Captain," a crisp, efficient female voice said nearby.

At first glance Seven of Nine appeared to be nude, but she
was merely wearing a peach-colored leotard. She had gotten
her hair back into it's accustomed shape, and had dispensed
with the flimsy semi-transparent coverings which were part
and parcel of twenty-third century civilian female fashion.

"What is it, Seven? I'm trying to get to quarters to -" she
gave brief snort "- to regenerate."

Seven digested this. "Oh, an attempt at familiarity through
mild humor." She dismissed the notion. "Lieutenant Torres
and I have gone over the modules Borg data modules in my
alcove, particularly the ones on technology adaptation, and
we believe that we can convert one of the main transporters
into an industrial replicator. This operation should take
approximately twenty-three days. Then we can manufacture the
parts for a warp drive, new food replicators, and modern
weapons systems. According to projections, allowing extra
time to create miscellaneous items, we should be warp-
capable within five months, and back to twenty-fourth
century operational performance within one year."

This was the first bit of good news Janeway had heard in a
long time. "Excellent work, Seven! Begin the procedues as
soon as possible." Then a thought hit her fatigue-dulled
brain. "Why didn't Lieutenant Torres make the report?"

"She is tending to Ensign Paris' injuries."

"Oh." Janeway noticed Seven was uncomfortable. "Anything
else?"

"No." she said just a bit too quickly.

"What is it, Seven?"

Seven looked extremely embarassed. "It's - Q."

"What has he done now?" Janeway sighed, rubbing the bridge
of her nose to chase off the incipent headache her
experience told her was about to strike.

"He's been following me. He sings me romantic songs. he
materializes gifts for me. It's been interfering with my
work."

Now Janeway was worried. This was moving from a cute boyhood
crush into a stalking. A stalking compounded by the fact
that the alleged stalker had vast cosmic powers. "Q!" she
said sharply.

A flare of light, and young Q appeared. "What is it, Auntie
Kathy?" he said with a casual grin.

"You've been bothering Seven at her work."

Q looked embarrased. "Well, yeah, but -"

"It stops. Now. Don't bother her at work. Don't go near her
quarters without an invitation. Stop scaring her."

Q's eyes teared up. Oh god, here we go again.

"WAAAAAHHHHH!! I DIDN'T WANT TO SCARE HER!! I JUST WANT HER
TO LIKE ME!! NOW SHE HATES ME!! WAAAAHHHHHH!!"

Seven went over to a nearby hatch and removed a manual fire
extinguisher (standard equipment on a twenty-third century
Starfleet vessel), then used it liberally on young Q. Soon,
the youngster was no longer crying, just sitting in the
corridor with a surprised expression and fire-retardent foam
all over him.

"What'd you do that for?" he asked angrily.

"To get your attention." Seven stated crisply. "Now that I
have it, you will listen.

"I do not hate you. I am annoyed by you. You express
yourself badly because you have very poorly-developed social
skills."

Janeway managed not to laugh. Seven criticizing someone
else's social skills!

"In any event," Seven continued. "I do not seek a romantic
relationship at this time."

Q looked up at her, then; "WAAAAAHHHHHH!!!" He vanished.

"If he tries anything, you're to inform me immediately."
Janeway ordered the tall blonde. "Last thing we need is a
hormone-crazed adolescent sneaking up on our female crew."

"Yes, Captain." Seven replied. "And ... thank you."

Janeway smiled, then went to her quarters.

Inside, the smell of Vulcan incense, and the computer was
playing a Terran violin piece. "Welcome, Kathryn. I've been
waiting for you, my sweet."

Janeway's shoulders sagged. "Bloody hell."


Harry was getting the hang of these old systems. It was
tricky, working without labeled controls, but he was finally
getting the feel of the thing. The only problem was that
instead of one Operations board, the necessary controls were
scattered in three places on the Bridge, and the controls
couldn't just be reconfigured. No wonder these things were
so extensively redesigned.

A flash of light heralded the arrival of their young guest,
Q. Harry could almost feel bad luck tap on his shoulder.

Uh - Chakotay?" he said.

Chakotay turned around in his Command Chair. Oh great, he
thought. "Hello, Q. Can we help you?"

"I wanted to ask some questions - about girls."

"Like Seven?" Kim asked, a lilt of humor in his voice.

Q blushed.

"You're not ready for that league, kiddo." Chakotay
remarked, a small smile on his face. "Try something easier,
more in your range. BAAAA!"

Turning from the sheep in the Command Chair, Q looked
daggers at Ensign Kim. "Gonna say something?"

"Well -" Kim thought hastily, "Why do you think she's not
interested in you?" A good avoidance tactic, asking a
question like that.

"I don't know! I give her presents - I do things for her - I
say nice things to her - and she says I have 'poorly
developed social skills'!"

Chuckles were heard from various quarters, but no source
could be pinpointed.

"Perhaps she likes men with better social skills?" he
commented.

"THAT'S IT!!" he shouted. "SHE LIKES SOMEONE ELSE!! SOME
SMOOTH-TALKING BASTARD HAS PUT HIS HOOKS INTO MY DARLING!!
I'LL HUNT HIM DOWN AND AMOEBA-IZE HIM!!" He then vanished in
a flare of righteous wrath.

"Baaaa!!" Chakotay commented, and trotted around the Bridge.


The Doctor was treating Tuvok for a concussion when Janeway
looked in on them. "Is he alright, Doctor?"

The Doctor nodded. "He should make a full recovery. You
didn't damage him too badly."

Janeway looked embarassed. "I hadn't actually had to use
that maneuver since I was sixteen. I wasn't sure I didn't
overdo it."

"You did." he commented casually. "But his Vulcan physique
protected him from the worst effects."

"Well, I never had to deal with an overly-amorous Vulcan
before."

"If it's any consolation, Lieutenant Torres treated Ensign
Vorik much worse."

The intercom whee-oop'ed. "Bridge to Captain Janeway."

She sighed. "What now?"

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To be continued
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