Disclaimer:
The Star Trek universe is the copyrighted property of Paramount, and 
borrowed solely for the use of this story. The story is copyright 1997 
by Ariana (ariana@ndirect.co.uk). All rights reserved. Do not distribute
without the present header and the author's written permission. Please
contact the author if you wish to include this story in an archive.
Archived at:  http://www.alpha.ndirect.co.uk/trek/
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =


                      The Borg who say Ni
                     = = = = = = = = = = =
                by Ariana (ariana@ndirect.co.uk)
                      = = = = = = = = = =


   "We are the Borg who say Ni. You will be assimilated."
                      Someone on the Internet


   It was just another day on the starship Enterprise-E. Just like the 
day before, and the day before that, and the day... well, basically 
like every day since they had returned to their time after enjoying an 
adventure holiday on 21st century Earth, blasting Borg and messing 
around with timelines... the usual old stuff.
   Things had been very calm since then, and the Enterprise-E bridge 
staff were settled in their usual routine on the little bridge. Data 
was playing Doom with Ensign Ethnic, who was at the helm, Riker was 
trying to trim the grey out of his beard before he started looking 
like Father Christmas, Troi was knocking it back, and Picard's snoring 
was competing with the warpcoil to see which would produce the most 
background noise.
   Riker looked at himself in the mirror and briefly pondered whether 
he should dye his beard and give up on the trimming when a deep and 
profound thought (as opposed to a deep and shallow one...) occurred to 
him.
   "I'm bored," he declared.
   Picard woke up with a start and pulled out his phaser. "Humph? 
Borg?! Where? Where?" he yelled as he shot around him. Everyone ducked 
until he had calmed down.
   Data had just taken this opportunity to shoot Ensign Ethnic, so he 
swivelled around in his play-pen to look at the captain.
   "I believe Commander Riker was merely stating that he is tired of 
doing nothing," he explained, making a brave effort to hide the grin 
that was creeping up on him.
   "Oh, ah, I see. Well, er, carry on," said the captain, all 
flustered and tugging on his uniform to make himself look more 
captainly.
   "I agree interelely with Will, captain," declared Troi, waving her 
bottle of Tequila at Picard to prove her point. "We haven't had 
anything to do in agesh! <hic>"
   "Sir, am I right in assuming you were asleep just now?" said Data 
with what was definitely a smirk on his face.
   "No, of course not! What do you think I am? A doddering old fool?"
   The staff all exchanged significant glances. Data grinned even more 
widely and would have rolled around on the floor, but for the fact he 
was trapped inside his console.
   "Anyway, the point is that we're all bored to cracks here," said 
Riker, blowing particles of beard into the room.
   <Atchoo> said Ensign Ethnic, who wasn't quite dead in spite of 
being shot by Data.
   "We haven't had anything to do since we met the Borg," continued 
Riker.
   "Borg?! Where? Where?" exclaimed the captain, pulling out his 
phaser and taking random shots at passing Okudagrams. Everyone ducked, 
and Data laughed, so Picard blushed, and looked embarrassed, and 
decided to do something captainly again. So he stood up, tugged on his 
uniform, took a step forward, and fell off his podium.
   "That'sh shtrange," said Troi, as the captain fell in an 
undignified heap at her feet. "I feel intenshe pain!"
   "I'LL MAKE YOU FEEL INTENSE PAIN, YOU DRUNKEN COW!" roared the 
captain from the floor.
   "Really, captain," said the counsellor, cradling her bottle. "I 
have told you before, you musht really learn to control that temper of 
yours. I don't think my counselling techniques are working... 
beshides, I'm *not* drunk."
   "Yes, you are," said Picard, pulling himself off the ground with 
one finger, just like he'd seen some Belgian do in an old movie. 
Anything the Belgians do, the French do better, as everyone knows.
   "No, I'm not!" protested Troi.
   "Yes you are," said the captain, sitting in his high chair again.
   "No, I'm not!"
   This could have gone on for some time, except that the Turbolift 
doors opened at that moment, and Doctor Crusher came waltzing in with 
the holodoc.
   "Oh, doc, you're a wonderful dancer," she cooed appreciatively. 
"It's even better than your singing."
   "But don't forget that I'm a doctor, not a..." he managed to say 
before vanishing into thin air on the grounds that he was a hologram.
   "So, what seems to be the problem," said Crusher, waving her 
tricorder around to see if it could pick up Radio 4.
   "Who called you?" asked Riker, just for the sake of it.
   "Oh, no one," she said airily, looking for something to do. "I was 
just a bit bored. I mean, the holodoc is good, but where's a real man 
when you want one?"
   Picard promptly started flexing his muscles in the hope that she 
would notice him. It was his lifetime regret that the cameras in 
Engineering weren't working when he and Data finally defeated the Borg 
Queen. He was sure the sight of him swinging from Borg conduits in his 
tank-top would have made her drop into his arms immediately.
   However, the call of duty was even more muscular than the 
captain... or stronger, at any rate.
   "Oh dear," said Crusher with all the emotion of a wooden plank. 
"Ensign Ethnic appears to be dead."
   "Yes, I shot him," said Data.
   "I see. He didn't have any lines, though, did he?"
   "No, but he did sneeze," volunteered Riker.
   "So it doesn't matter," concluded the doctor, snapping her 
tricorder shut.
   "He was an excellent Doom player, however," said Data. "I had to 
shoot him in order to win."
   "I'll remember that for his obituary," said Picard.
   They all sat or stood around in silence waiting for something to 
happen. Nothing happened, however, not even a commercial break.
   "Er, shouldn't someone replace him at the helm or something," 
suggested Crusher.
   "What for? It's not as if we're going anywhere," Riker pointed out.
   "Oh... I suppose I should go back to Sickbay, then," said Crusher 
without moving.
   Picard cleared his throat discretely, which attracted Data's 
attention, if not the doctor's.
   "Doctor, I do believe you should do a check-up on Captain Picard. 
He took a fall just now," said the android, who always kept an eye on 
the captain in case he got a chance to save his life, which would mean 
he would no longer be in debt to him, and would be able to save up to 
buy that little condo with swimming-pool on Celtrus III... but I 
digress.
   "I *did* not..." started the captain, but then he grinned. "Ah yes, 
doctor, I could do with a check-up."
   Crusher came over cautiously, waving her tricorder before her to 
fend off his irresistible masculine charm. It wasn't that she didn't 
like the captain, but she didn't want her colleagues to find out she 
had washed her pants with her Starfleet uniform and they were now a 
mottled grey. The truth be told, the fact she always forgot to wash 
her whites separately was one of the reasons her love life was so 
empty. She was always too embarrassed to undress. (Of course, the 
Trill wear grey underwear anyway, so Odan didn't mind.)
   Right now, the doctor wished she had listened to her grandmother, 
who told her she should always wear clean underwear in case she got 
knocked over by a captain.
   "Oh Beverly," said the captain as she leant over him. He didn't 
have any tricorder to protect him from her deadly blonde looks.
   "Oh, Jean-Luc," she murmured, chucking away the tricorder and any 
worries about underwear.
   Everyone else on the Bridge looked away politely and started 
whistling different tunes at the same time, all except Data, who had 
recently discovered that whistling in public engendered emotion #345 - 
Acute embarrassment. In the midst of all the cacophony, and just as 
Jean-Luc was showing Beverly his entry form for the Mister Universe 
2374 contest, Troi finished her bottle and collapsed onto the pile of 
empties beside her chair.
   This reminded Riker of his important discovery.
   "Anyway, Data, I'm still bored."
   "I am not, sir," said the android cheerfully. "I am currently 
watching our on-bridge monitor, so that, in the event that Captain 
Picard and Doctor Crusher do get naked..."
   "Wait a minute, Data... Isn't there someone missing on the Bridge?"
   They both looked around to try and remember who it could possibly 
be. They ended up looking at Crusher's grey panties for a minute or 
so, and then looked at each other.
   "Do you suppose she washed them with her uniform, sir?" enquired 
the android.
   "Yes. I do that all the time, too. You should see the colour of my 
girdle... uh, I mean, my briefs..."
   "Yes, sir."
   They were silent then, having forgotten what they were talking 
about before. So they watched the captain and the doctor making up for 
lost time for a moment longer, and then both looked down at Troi lying 
in her pile of bottles. And then they decided that would be unethical 
and potentially dangerous because of the bottles. Admittedly, Data 
wasn't so worried about the bottles, but he was also aware that he was 
still fastened into his Ops-pen. Bloody Starfleet designers.
   "Oh yes! Jean-Luc, yes!" said the doctor.
   "Humph," said the captain. "Umph. <gasp>. Oh oui, t'aime &ccedil;a, hein? 
Tu la sens, salope, tu jouis, hein?"
   "Oh yeeees!"
   "Oh ouuiii!
   "Oh, that was great Jean-Luc."
   "Hmmm..."
   "Jean-Luc?"
   "Zzzz."
   <sigh>
   Doctor Crusher looked around at the titchy Bridge and noted with 
satisfaction that Riker and Data had their eyes firmly fixed on the 
brown wall in front of them and that Troi was nowhere to be seen... 
no, closer inspection revealed that Troi had passed out on the floor. 
The doctor sighed with contentment. Evidently, no one had noticed what 
just happened, and more importantly, that her pants were grey. Still, 
it was worth it. She didn't have to envy Data for getting some every 
eight years anymore.
   Riker let out a long sigh, and, finding that, thanks to thinking 
about cold showers and Data having it off with the Borg Queen, he was 
now able to walk, he got up and walked over to talk to Data. He 
couldn't get very near, since he didn't fit in any of the areas around 
Data's pen, so he stood in front of Troi's chair, placing his feet 
carefully to avoid stepping on Betazoids or bottles.
   "Is it my imagination, sir," whispered Data without turning around, 
"or was that quite short?"
   "Come on, Data, the man's seventy!" said the first officer.
   "Actually sixty-eight years, ten months, fifteen days, seven hours, 
nine minutes, and eighteen seconds old... no, nineteen seconds... er, 
twenty..."
   "Yes, Data. Anyway, you know what I mean."
   "You mean he's getting old."
   "Exactly. Any day now might be my lucky day. If only he didn't have 
an artificial heart..." But Riker allowed himself a little diabolical 
laughter anyway. His cackling was cut short by the feeling someone was 
pulling themselves up by his trousers.
   "Deanna, cut it out," he said, flicking her off into her bottles.
   She scrambled back into her seat and looked around to see if 
anything had changed since she passed out. Aside from the fact the 
doctor was now sitting on the captain's knee, everything seemed 
normal.
   "I had a great dream while I was out," she declared. "I was sensing 
a lot of erotic emotions."
   "No kiddin'," muttered Data.
   Troi found an unopened bottle and broke its seal.
   "I'm bored," said Riker as he sat down again.
   "Why don't we invite Geordi up, and then we can all be bored 
together," said Troi.
   "Geordi! Of course, that is who is missing," exclaimed Data. 
"...'That is who is missing'? That sounds terrible. Boy, will I be 
glad when I can finally get my tongue around contractions."
   "I wish someone would get their tongue around my contractions," 
moaned Troi.
   They all pretended they hadn't heard that.
   "Geordi could replace Ensign Ethnic at the helm," remarked Crusher.
   "I will call him," said Data.
   "Perhaps we can have group therapy, or group hugging, or group sex, 
or something," suggested the counsellor.
   "I vote for the something," said Riker.
   "Data to La Forge."
   >>Humph? <snort> Huh? Wha?<<
   "Geordi, come and join us on the bridge. You can replace Ensign 
Ethnic at the helm, and we can play Doom just like the good old days."
   >>Data, we were doing that this morning.<<
   "Exactly, you would not want to lose your hand, would you?"
   >>Righty-ho. <yawn> I guess it beats napping in a Jeffrey's tube.<<
   It wasn't long before Geordi arrived, and, Ensign Ethnic having 
been dumped into the nearest recycling unit following a few heart-felt 
words from the captain (and in spite of cries of "I'm not dead yet!"), 
everyone settled down for group boredom.
   With the doctor on his knee, the captain felt twenty years younger, 
which meant he was still older than everyone on the ship (except 
Beverly, but it was only a matter of months). Having spent fifty years 
(thirty if you count out the twenty he had just lost and adjust for 
seasonal variations) solving mysteries, especially on the holodeck 
where he got to wear a nifty hat, he decided to investigate their 
collective boredom. He was, after all, a specialist on collectives.
   "Right, listen up crew," he said, trying to be captainly even 
though he couldn't tug on his uniform. Crusher did it for him. "Ooh... 
Er, right. Everyone has been complaining about being bored. I think 
it's about time we did something about it. La Forge, activate the 
viewscreen. Riker, lay in coordinates for somewhere that looks nice. 
Data, work on finding a reason for our boredom. Doctor, you keep right 
on doing what you're doing. Troi... er, never mind."
   There was a cacophony of beeps as everyone started playing Simple 
Simon on their consoles. Then the viewscreen appeared and showed them 
a nice view of a pink nebula. Of course, nebulae aren't supposed to be 
pink, but the Cat in the Hat had been there earlier.
   Data turned around in his pen.
   "Sir, I believe I have pinpointed the reason for our boredom."
   "Yes, Mr Data?"
   "It appears it is because we have nothing to do, sir."
   "How insightful. Next time, I'll ask Troi."
   "However," continued the android, unfazed. "I have been able to 
draw up a conjectural analysis of the situation. Our current situation 
is similar to the one we experienced after the crash of the 
Enterprise-D."
   "Yes, but the reason we had nothing to do then was that we didn't 
have a ship," pointed out Crusher.
   "Actually, we did not have anything to do for a whole year after we 
received this ship," said Data.
   "Hey, you're right, Data my buddy," drawled La Forge 
enthusiastically. "We were all bored stiff then, too."
   "That might even explain some of our mistakes during the Borg 
incident," said Riker with his usual tact.
   Picard started shooting around him. "Borg?! Where? Where?"
   Meanwhile, Data decided whistling in public wasn't so bad after 
all. Just as long as it kept anyone from making comments about him 
sleeping with the enemy and such.
   "I, uh, I meant we might have, I mean... oh shit, forget I said 
anything," said Riker as he got up when Picard stopped shooting.
   Data stopped whistling, much to everyone's relief, and played some 
rounds of Tetris on his console. This apparently revealed some 
interesting information.
   "Sir, I have found some interesting information," he said for want 
of a better description. "It appears that, from now on, something 
interesting will happen to the Enterprise only every two or three 
years."
   Everyone gasped.
   "But that's terrible. We'll die of boredom," said Riker.
   "Is this Starfleet's official plan?" asked Picard.
   "Yes, sir. That is also why we have a smaller ship."
   "So that's it!" exclaimed Picard gloomily. "I was wondering why 
this ship only had 24 decks."
   "26, sir," said Riker.
   "Yes, 26, of course. Who is defending the Federation, exploring new 
worlds, all that, then?"
   "It appears most of Starfleet's top priority assignments go to Deep 
Space Nine."
   "Wah," wailed Troi. "That's where my own true love is living it up 
with some Trill floozy."
   "The Trill are very nice people," remarked Crusher. She caught 
Riker's eye and blushed.
   "The second-class assignments get sent to an undefined area in the 
Delta Quadrant," continued Data.
   "The Delta Quadrant? Isn't that where the Borg come from?" said La 
Forge before anyone could stop him.
   "Borg?! Where? Where?" said the captain, phasering a hole in La 
Forge's console.
   "Picard, the fire-horse of the Federation," muttered Riker in his 
beard.
   "There, there, it's all right," said the doctor, patting Picard's 
head soothingly. "Mommy kiss it better."
   "Maman..." he murmured.
   Meanwhile, Data continued to investigate the data on his console -- 
mainly the names of all the Enterprise's designers and their families. 
It gave him some more interesting information.
   "I do not believe it has anything to do with the you-know-whats," 
he said, lowering his voice a little. "There appears to be a 
Federation ship going around in circles out there. There are mixed 
feelings as to whether they are worth the effort. Some in the 
Federation are arguing they should be abandoned to their fate. Though 
I gather this does explain why we have not been seeing Q lately. He 
has apparently set up residence in that area with his family."
   "Q? What's he doing way out there?" asked Picard.
   "According to this, chatting up the female staff, insulting the 
regular characters, and giving the ship and crew a guided tour of the 
Continuum."
   "The two-timing bastard! He never took *me* to the Continuum!" 
exclaimed Picard. "If that isn't just typical. Entities... they come 
into your life, put you on trial, kidnap you, sexually-harass you, 
make you dress up in tights, save your life and that of your species 
and then bugger off without so much as a by-your-leave. "
   Troi raised a shaky finger and turned towards him. "Not to mention 
that he introduced us to the..." With a spectacular leap that belied 
his physical condition, Riker managed to slap his hand on her mouth 
before she said the fateful word.
   "Oh Will, I knew you still cared! Oh, take me now, Imzadi!" she 
spittled on him.
   "Uh, well, actually, I..." he tried to say, before she pushed him 
down amongst her bottles.
   "I know why Q had left me," said Picard, as oblivious to Riker's 
pleas for help as he was to Crusher's growing jealousy. "This ship is 
too small. Why would an omnipotent entity be interested in a ship with 
only 24 decks?"
   "Er, 26, sir," said La Forge.
   "Yes, very good, M. La Forge, carry on," said Picard.
   "Actually," said Data, "rumour has it that Q might be part of our 
next adventure.
   "Oh, jolly good... Ow, Beverly, that hurts!"
   The doctor went to sit on Riker's chair, arms crossed and obviously 
sulking.
   "The rest of the information I'm getting seems to be junk, sir," 
continued Data. "It seems the Federation's top priorities include 
crucifying everyone at Starfleet Command for shutting down nine 
amateur relay stations, and determining whether the Enterprise would 
be able to defeat the Defiant. Wow, try saying that ten times in a 
row!"
   "I'm sure this baby would wipe the floor with the Defiant," said La 
Forge confidently.
   "Not if we only get work every two or three years," remarked Data. 
"The Defiant's crew would be better trained. After all, there is a 
steady flow of assignments for Deep Space Nine."
   "Wah, my own true love," came a muffled wail from the floor.
   "That bloody Klingon!" came another mutter from roughly the same 
area.
   Picard sighed, and looked over at Crusher.
   "Oh well, I guess this is our chance to settle down and raise 
families."
   He went and knelt in front of the first officer's chair.
   "Please, my darling Beverly, will you marry me?"
   She thought about that and finally said yes.
   "Oh my darling. Oh my darling," he said. Everyone held their 
breaths in mortal fear that he would start to sing My Darling Beverly. 
Fortunately, being French, he didn't know that song, and he had 
forgotten the words to Auprès de ma blonde, a song more appropriate to 
the occasion. Anyway, he didn't sing anything at all, much to 
everyone's relief.
   Meanwhile, the doctor checked out the information on Riker's 
terminal.
   "Oh, there's also a great deal of interest at Starfleet for Monty 
Python jokes adapted to assimilation and the..."

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =