A/N: I don't own "Star Trek: Voyager."
"Come on Seven, let me see."
From the bathroom, his wife's voice echoed, "I've changed my mind, I cannot undergo this activity."
Chakotay leaned towards the locked bathroom door, hands on his hips. "You spent four years walking around Voyager in biosuits so tight, you couldn't stick a combadge under there without being able to see what edition it is."
"That was when I was in my twenties and had an hourglass figure."
"That was five years ago Seven, you're thirty-three! You don't look any different!"
He heard her unleash a breath. "Tight fabric is one thing. Exposing flesh and accentuating it is another. I look like an Orion dancing girl!"
Chakotay sighed. "That's the point. We're supposed to look as promiscuous and absurd as possible. Have you seen what I look like yet?"
"I'm afraid to."
He made a face. "Guess all these tattoos will just have to go to waste."
He repressed a grin as the bathroom door hissed opened. He knew that would get her out.
Seven stood before him, in a variation of her blue biosuit from Voyager. Actually, it was a two-piece. The upper half had no sleeves and a plunging neckline, to make room for the elaborate "Borg jewelry" she'd replicated. In addition to her real cybernetic implants, Seven now wore a duplicate of Three of Eight's "necklace" implant, complete with the blinking feature, and she'd added Borg "stars" dangling from it at intervals and a Borg sphere at the peak. Across her forehead ran a sort of Borg tiara, with the same blue and green lights blinking through it, ending in a miniature regeneration disk flashing between her eyes.
Chakotay's eyes eagerly traveled his wife's face and body. There was so much to look at! Her human eyebrow was adorned with two tiny lights that blinked red and blue interchangeably, mimicking a crude eyebrow piercing. Where There of Eight wore a small round "earring" implant, Seven had designed a sort of Borg Bajoran earring (a subtle joke linking her to Chakotay's character), with a small segmented tube serving as the "chain" and colorful blinking lights on the clasps, a glowing green borg "diamond" dangling from the lobe. From the other ear dangled a tiny Borg cube, hanging at an angle from one corner. On one upper arm, she'd attached to her genuine web of implants a black, Borg-like tube, curling around like an Egyptian arm bracelet. On the other was a more traditional arm bracelet, with a grid-like feature that flashed green like the bridges of a Borg transwarp hub. Her "human" wrist sported an elaborate bracelet of Borg stars, to which she'd attached a hand ornament composed of three small blinking lights that ended in a ring on her middle finger. Her exposed midriff sported one of the most elaborate pieces of all—a dangling naval ring ending in a glowing green diamond, with tiny blue lights running down the short chain.
Glancing down at herself, Seven admitted, "I should look appropriately dreadful for this activity."
His mouth dry, Chakotay gaped, "Yeah…dreadful."
Seven's blue eyes were traveling his body. "You look…enticing."
Chakotay hadn't bothered with any Bajoran nose or earring, but he had pulled his now shoulder-length hair into a ponytail. And he had Katanay's Bajoran dragon tattoo, in addition to the real one over his eye. Chakotay was covered in body art, shown off by a loose vest opened at the chest. The colorful temporary tattoos he'd stamped onto himself were easily distinguishable from the few real ones he had (the one on his forehead, the Maquis symbol on his shoulder, the tribal snake on his inner forearm).
Across his chest ran a top view of a starship identical to Voyager, with U.S.S. VORTEX written across its dish. The rest of his visible body was covered with alien emblems and familiar logos. The Klingon symbol adorned his other cheek, in bright red. The normally tattoo-less portion of his forehead was now covered with the Trill emblem, which curved down around his eye. The electric-blue circles of the Andorian Empire dipped over his collarbone like a necklace. Scattered around his neck and arms were the symbols of a dozen other planets, several from the Delta Quadrant. Every combadge design in Starfleet history was hidden somewhere on Chakotay's upper body. He'd also found room for a few nostalgic reminders of the fun times on Voyager: down one forearm ran the elegant script of Chez Sandrine's bar, and up the other blasted Captain Proton's rocket. Seven seemed particularly amused by the Kadis-kot arrangement and Velocity disk among the pictograms framing the Vortex.
When Seven finally finished her visual feast, she came up to take a hold of his loose orange shirt, looking at the artwork on his chest. "Why the shirt? I thought you were encouraging promiscuity."
He licked his lips, searching for an excuse, knowing that she knew full well the real answer. "I'm not asking you to expose your chest, am I?"
Seven made a face. "I still don't understand this Western fear of exposing any body part that's convex." She left to go to the cradles, where their twins, Kolopak and Erin Honovi, slept. "Will they be alright with Sekaya?"
"Seky's got plenty of experience with kids. Including babies."
Seven reached over to stroke their son Kolopak's dark hair. Both babies were black-haired, with minimal Borg implants. From the angles they slept at, one could see the Borg web running along the back of Kol's neck, and the double-stars on Erin Honovi's cheek. Seven wondered if they would be startled by the sights of their parents, should they wake up right now. Kol stirred, his black eyes opening partially. He took notice of the exotic hand-ornament his mother wore, seized it, and began attempting to put it in his mouth. Seven gently but firmly removed his fingers from her bracelet, and took her decorated hand out of the crib.
The door chimed, and they answered. Chakotay's sister looked hilariously mundane next to them.
"Oh Seven, you look gorgeous!" Sekaya complimented her sister-in-law.
"How do I look?" Chakotay asked.
His sister's dark eyes moved traveled his body art. Finally she answered, "Quit dying your hair. You're not fooling anyone."
Chakotay grimaced while Seven reacted with an agreeing eyebrow.
Sekaya strode over to the cradle. "They're so adorable," she complimented. "You two'd better get going, you're gonna be late. Take pictures!"
"Will do," Chakotay promised.
"You two are gonna be quite a sight."
"I wonder if anyone at the party will be able to outdo us," Seven mused.
"Kathryn just might," Chakotay said. "She wouldn't tell me what she had planned, but like us, she's doing a 'variation' of her character. She mentioned Tom giving her 'historical advice.'"
Seven's human eyebrow arched upward, and Chakotay could swear he saw the blinking on the "piercing" speed up. "I'm curious to see it."
"Then we better get going."
The lobby of the holosuite resembled that of a fancy hotel. Former Voyager crewmembers and their families continued to flood in and scatter around the wide room, and up the staircase to the balcony-like second floor. Round tables were placed at intervals around the lobby, and large screens dominated various walls, where the program would be shown live as a few select players moved through it.
Chakotay was relieved to see that he and Seven were far from the most ridiculous looking party-goers, though they were certainly among the most elaborate. Maybe half of the former Voyager crew had come in costume. Some were dressed as straightforward versions of characters from "Photons be Free." Others, like Seven and Chakotay, had done "variations"—more extravagant versions of characters' outfits, historical re-imaginings, "gender-benders," and so forth. The rest of their former shipmates were simply "theme dressed," with accessories like "Borg jewelry" or "mobile emitters" worn over civilian clothing. Most had heeded Tom's warnings not to wear anything too fancy to this rowdy event. Cross-dressing seemed popular tonight. Scanning the crowed, Chakotay was slightly disturbed by the amount of Three of Eights and Captain Jenkins that were male.
Chell, a Bolian from Chakotay's old Maquis crew, hurried over to greet them, wearing a perfect replica of Three of Eight's plum-colored biosuit and Borg jewelry. He even had a red wig perched on his blue head.
"Oh my," the Bolian drummed his blue fingers together, eyeing up Seven. "I don't think I'm going to win the Three of Eight contest!"
"You may win for accuracy, as mine is a variation." Seven's eyes traveled the cross-dressing Bolian, from the blinking Borg collar around his thick neck to his high heels. "That shade of burgundy compliments your complexion infinitely better than it did mine."
"Well, I may not have your hour-glass figure Seven, but I certainly have the bust." Chell lifted his man-boobs lustfully, as if anyone wanted proof.
"Hmm," Chakotay nodded, vaguely nauseated.
"Hey!" Tom Paris pushed his way through the crowd, wearing a purple paisley robe and holding a prop pipe. "You finally made it! Oh wow, love the outfits." Tom raised his eyebrows at Seven's getup. "I think I know who's gonna win the costume contest!"
"Are you the Narrator?" Chakotay asked Tom. "Why didn't you shave your head?"
"Well, your costumes aren't dead-accurate either." Tom leaned in, as if sharing a deep secret. "Actually, this is kind of an inside joke. Ask the Doc." He stuck his prop pipe between his teeth proudly.
"Is B'Elanna here?" Chakotay asked.
Tom pointed her out with his pipe. "She and the kids are over by the snack bar."
B'Elanna looked almost no different than her time on Voyager, her brunette hair perhaps a little longer. Her costume, apparently, was the protagonist of the story. She wore the Doctor's green science uniform, and from this front-on angle, seemed to be wearing the ludicrously large mobile emitter on her back as well. Little Miral stood next to her mother, in a suit of tawny fur, and holding a strange contraption.
"Seven, I love it!" B'Elanna complimented when they caught up to her. "What are you, a Borg belly-dancer?"
"I am an upgrade of Three of Eight." Seven turned to her husband. "And Chakotay is determined to out-do Katanay, as you can see."
"I'd say you've succeeded," B'Elanna's eyes traveled Chakotay's tattoos. "Is that the symbol of the Empire on your cheek?"
Chakotay nodded. "So you're the Doctor? You look fantastic in green, by the way."
"Thanks. I am the Doctor," B'Elanna turned around. "And Robbie here is my mobile emitter." On her back hung her baby son, secured in a child-carrier designed after the mobile emitter from the program. The baby bounced enthusiastically in the carrier, apparently excited by the environment, riding his mother's back, or both.
As the adults conversed, five-year-old Miral was staring up at Seven, her big brown eyes wandering her Borg jewelry. Seven and Chakotay still couldn't figure out the child's costume, a suit of tawny fur with a matching cap, half-covering her Klingon ridges. Seven's eyes went down to the contraption in her hands. It looked like an old hyperspanner, with the dish of some starship model attached to the top, spinning slowly and blinking a rainbow of colors.
"What's that?" Seven asked gently.
"My mobile emitter." Miral replied.
"You made that yourself?" Chakotay was impressed.
"She's the daughter of the greatest engineer in the galaxy," B'Elanna boasted.
"Mom helped." Miral confessed.
"And what's your costume?" Seven asked.
B'Elanna gave her daughter an encouraging glance.
"I'm Luten' Mar-silly's mustache," the girl replied shyly.
"It was her idea," B'Elanna defended. "Well actually it was Tom's, but he was joking. But as soon as Miral heard it, she insisted."
"Seven!" a young female voice called.
Naomi Wildman hurried down a nearby staircase, followed by Icheb. At age nine, the half-Ktarian looked closer to nineteen. Both she and Icheb wore old Voyager uniforms, Naomi's red and Icheb's gold. Naomi's hair was hidden beneath an unconvincing black wig, pulled back into a massive bun. All over her body were slung exotic guns from Earth's history—a rifle over one shoulder, pistols strapped to her thighs, early-era phasers dangling from her belt. The props made the hug she exchanged with Seven a bit awkward.
"You're Captain Jenkins," Seven observed, as they broke apart. "Your cranial horns are quite fitting for this costume."
"Aren't they?" Naomi grinned, adjusting a 20th-century pea-shooter strapped to her upper arm. "It's too bad the Doctor didn't think to make Captain Jenkins my species. Don't the horns make me look so much more menacing?" She glanced at her other Borg friend. "Icheb, you gonna tell them who you are?"
"I think I'll let them guess," Icheb replied.
His gold uniform had been ripped and dotted with black powder in several places, mimicking that of a crewman who'd just come out of a battle. Or, as Chakotay and Seven realized, one who hadn't come out of the battle; the chest of his uniform was tinted black and red, in a cartoonish imitation of a phaser blast injury.
"Oh my god," B'Elanna snickered, "Are you the crewman who Captain Jenkins phasered?"
"I am. My friends at the Academy told me I could play a dead body more convincingly than anyone."
While everyone laughed at Icheb's expense (including Icheb), Chakotay placed a tattooed hand on the boy's shoulder. "I'm a 'monotone' too, Icheb. The junior officers used to call me 'the Indian totem pole' when they thought I wasn't listening."
Icheb's eyes traveled from the hand on his shoulder up Chakotay's arm. "Intriguing body art. Though," he eyed one of the pictograms framing the Vortex on his chest, "that Kadis-kot arrangement would not win under any circumstances."
"I'll keep that in mind." Turning to Naomi, Chakotay asked, "Is your mom here?"
"Not yet," the young woman replied. "She and Dad won't tell me their costumes, they wanna surprise everyone."
"I wanna know what the Admiral's gonna be wearing!" B'Elanna said. "And when is the Doctor going to show up?"
"Admiral Janeway and the Doctor are coming together," Tom answered, "I just got a call from them. They're running a little late. But all the better for her to make a dramatic entrance."
"I just love all the costumes," Naomi's eyes scanned the lobby. "Especially the cross-dressers."
"Did you see the Delaney sisters?" Tom pointed with his pipe.
Megan and Jenny Delaney wore identical costumes that looked like some odd mix between their "Captain Proton" characters (the Twin Mistresses of Evil) and old Voyager-era uniforms. The outfit was a shimmering black gown with wide triangular lapels, Megan's gold and Jenny's ruby red. On the left side of the collar, they each wore a large pendant modeled after a combadge. Their curly brown hair was pulled behind pointed headdresses made from a thin black metal, and covered in swirling designs of gold or red.
"I don't understand," Seven said.
Tom explained, "They're Lt. Marseille's mistresses, with a 'Captain Proton' twist."
"Mistresses?" Chakotay said. "I only remember him kissing one other woman besides his wife."
"Okay," Tom explained, "Remember the part where a crewwoman comes into Sickbay for her 'physical,' but it's really so she and I—I'm sorry, Lt. Marseilles—can make out behind his wife's back?"
"Vaguely," Seven said.
"I remember," B'Elanna sighed.
Tom pressed, "Do you remember the next girl that comes in?" Seven and Chakotay shook their heads. "Well after the Doctor discovers us and I threaten to delete his program, another girl enters and says," Tom put on a high girlish voice, "'I'm here for my physical?' And she looks identical to the one I was just smooching. No one's sure if they're supposed to be the Delaney twins, or if the Doc just got lazy with his stock holograms."
"A perfect costume for Meg and Jenny then," Seven observed.
"Harry did the same thing. Where is he—there, by the lavatories."
They all craned their necks to look at Harry, who was talking to some other shipmates. He was a "Captain Proton" version of the Doctor, with the green science band over a black leather jacket and cargo shirt. Over his eyes were matching goggles, with a black frame and science-green lens. His mobile emitter was a black version of the "Captain Proton" jetpack, painted with the thin blue and aqua lights of the emitter from the program.
Seven, Chakotay, Naomi and Icheb spent the next half an hour wandering the lobby, catching up with old friends and admiring their outfits. Vorik, like Chell, was cross-dressing, his black hair swept up into Captain Jenkins' bun. Tal Celes had come as a female version of Kananay, with makeup that matched the colors of her "tattoo." Her husband, Billy Telfer, was the injured Lt. Marseilles, grinning nervously behind a fake mustache and "bleeding" head wounds drawn on with Tal's lipstick. Bolian Ensign Golwat and her wife both received many compliments on how beautifully the Narrator's purple robe and Captain Jenkins' black hair went with their blue complexion. Liat Tabor and Marina Jor (a Bajoran and a human/Betazoid hybrid from Chakotay's old Maquis crew) had come as high-fantasy versions of the Narrator and Three of Eight, working designs and props from human, Betazoid and Bajoran mythology into their costumes. Somewhere in the crowd, Chakotay saw another Bajoran crewmember dressed as a medieval version of Katanay, with the tattoo design on her shield.
On the other hand, plenty of people, like Mariah Henley, weren't in any costume, but had dressed "themed." Henley sported cheaply made Borg jewelry over civilian clothes, her favorite red headband now adorned with scrap metal and blinkers. Kenneth Dalby looked completely ordinary in his civilian outfit, but as he pointed out, the logo on his shirt was appropriately a vortex. T'Vora looked almost normal in her casual Vulcan bodysuit, but for the Borg necklace, Bajoran tattoo, and false mustache. Many others had simply worn their old uniforms from Voyager.
Tuvok and his wife T'Pel, from afar, didn't seem to be in costume, wearing long Vulcan robes. But up close, one saw that they were indeed supposed to be something. Long, gray vests were worn opened over black gowns, covered in designs that resembled the displays one might see on a starship wall panel. From T'Pel's pointed ears hung curious earrings, made out of Kadis-kot chips.
"Oh my god," Naomi practically squealed, "You're the Bolian pudding ingredients and the Kadis-kot rules!"
"I thought Vulcans were opposed to irony," Icheb asked.
"We do not partake in 'humor,'" T'Pel corrected him. "However, irony a perfectly acceptable test of one's intellect. In any case, we are dressing for the event, as we would if attending a Klingon wedding or a Bajoran ritual."
Tuvok added, "I would rather not appear with the erratic facial hair the Doctor programmed for 'Mr. Tulak.'"
Suddenly, there was a flicker, and two holograms appeared in the middle of the lobby. They appeared to be Three of Eight and the Doctor, wearing his giant mobile emitter from the program. Chakotay and Seven stared in bafflement. Neither of them was sure whether the Doctor they were looking at was their old friend from Voyager, or some un-sentient copy of the character from the program.
"What…?" Chakotay began.
The Doctor and Three of Eight waved enthusiastically to Seven, as if she should know them. They carried themselves like real, sentient people.
"Do I know you?" Seven asked, slowly approaching them.
"It's me," Three of Eight replied, in a voice disturbingly identical to Seven's, "Haley!"
Seven's face changed. "Haley."
"Computer," the "Doctor" said, "restore Vic and Haley's parameters."
The holograms flickered, and then everyone was looking at a gray-haired man in a black suit and tie, and a blonde woman in a purple dress.
"Chakotay," Seven said, "This is Haley Zimmerman, another creation of Dr. Zimmerman's. And Vic Fontaine, a friend from Deep Space Nine."
Seven had served aboard DS9 for a couple of years after Voyager. Starfleet had not yet been successful in replicating the Doctor's mobile emitter, so Haley and Vic had simply transferred their programs to the holosuite for tonight.
"Isn't it cheating to just reprogram yourselves to look like the characters?" Chakotay challenged playfully.
Haley shrugged. "Maybe it would be a good idea to leave our vocal subroutines unaltered, just to avoid confusion."
"And 'uncanny valley,'" Seven added.
"Computer," Haley said, "Restore Vic and Haley's costumes, but only visual subroutines; leave vocal unaltered."
With another flicker, the Doctor and Three of Eight reappeared.
"So when're the Doc and the Admiral coming?" Chakotay asked.
Now with Haley's voice, "Three of Eight" replied, "Their hovercar should be pulling up any minute."
"Shall we wait outside to greet them?" Seven suggested?
Chakotay, Haley and Vic liked the idea. Followed by several other friends, they headed outside to wait in front of the holosuite. Less than five minutes later, a hovercar was indeed pulling up. The first person to emerge was Reg Barclay, dressed as the Doctor, and holding an unusual looking animal. It looked like a long-haired cat, black with a thick strip of gray running along each side of its body. Long blue lines glowed down its black back, and a few aqua orbs decorated its head; some form of holo-technology, probably.
Next came Dr. Lewis Zimmerman, grimacing as he stepped out of the car in a purple paisley robe. Following him was the Doctor, looking exactly as he had on Voyager in his old green uniform. The hologram turned around to help Janeway out of the car, like a footman assisting a lady of high standing. The Admiral emerged in a gothic Victorian costume that held everyone's attention.
They all took in Janeway's outfit as she strode proudly across the sidewalk. Her hair was tinted black, styled into a bun similar to the one she'd once worn on Voyager, but with one curled lock lying across her shoulder. Shading her dark hair was an extravagant black hat with large red feathers. Her hoopskirt dress was black with red ruffles, save the top shoulder piece with the colors inverted, turning the entire gown into an elegant parody of Voyager's old command uniform. Pinned to the lacy cravat hanging from her neck was a brooch shaped like a combadge. Over the ladylike costume, the admiral wore a few unladylike weapons: antique pistols dangling from her belt, a Victorian rifle on her back, a small gun decorating her hat. And another odd instrument blinking on her hip—a high-tech teapot?
Chakotay and Seven made sure their old captain saw how impressed they were, as she clopped towards them on high heels, holding her skirt regally. Janeway stopped in front of them, and for a moment, the three silently took in each other's costumes. Unlike her counterpart in "Photons be Free," Janeway had applied dark, smoky cosmetics to compliment her "witchy" black hair.
Raising one black eyebrow, she finally said, "Looks like I'm not the only one who decided to go above and beyond."
Chakotay's eyes were still traveling her costume. "You're a Victorian Captain Jenkins!"
Janeway nodded under her feathered hat. "Tom told me it's not uncommon for people to do historical variations for these showings. I've always been a fan of the 1800s."
"Looks good," Chakotay complimented. "Anyway, you probably look a lot classier than we do."
Seven smiled.
"Yes…" Janeway agreed, momentarily distracted eying all the tattoos under Chakotay's loose, sleeveless shit. Her hand came up, as if she were about to half-consciously touch the starship on his chest, then quickly withdrew as Seven's eyes flared threateningly. Janeway cleared her throat. "Well," she glanced between them. "You both look sexy. And I need some caffeine."
She reached for the strange instrument on her hip. It looked like an elegant, elongated, silver teapot, dangling from her belt by its handle. Blue and turquoise lights ran along the floral designs in the metal, not unlike the lights of Three of Eight's neck implant. Janeway unscrewed the lid of the pot, and took a long savoring sip. They then realized that it was a Victorian-era coffeepot—or rather, a coffee thermos designed to resemble an antique coffeepot.
"Nice blinking feature," Chakotay complimented. "Bit of an anachronism though."
"My mobile emitter," Janeway boasted before screwing the lid back on and reattaching the pot to her belt. She jerked her head towards the door. "Shall we?"
The trio headed back into the holosuite, all three receiving many more compliments on their costumes from old shipmates. Upon entering the lobby, Janeway gasped, as she almost collided with a group of small children playing tag. Miral Paris and her friends paused to stare at Janeway's extravagant getup, as well as Seven and Chakotay's again.
"Miral!" Janeway exclaimed. "My how you've grown. Especially your hair! Are you a tribble?"
In frustration, the Klingon-human hybrid huffed in her furry suit. "No! I'm Luten Marsill's mustache!"
Unsure what to make of that, Janeway's turned to greet the other three children. One was the son of security officer Todd Andrews, dressed like a character from some children's program completely unrated to "Photons." Another was Tuvok's grandson, who wasn't in costume, but wore Katanay's tattoo on his cheek. The last girl, about six years old, was dressed as a more modest Three of Eight (burgundy pajamas and regular, heelless shoes). She almost looked human, save her double-pointed ears, and the (genuine) Borg implant framing her left eye.
"Amanda Gilmore?" Janeway asked.
The girl nodded shyly. Amanda had been rescued as a baby from a damaged Borg cube, along with Icheb and the other Borg children. She'd then been adopted by a Voyager crewmember. Luckily, like Miral, Amanda's time on Voyager had been short. Amanda and Miral didn't face the social struggles Naomi and Icheb did, from spending their entire childhoods alone in space.
Gently, Janeway asked the girl, "Is your mother he—Oh my!"
Miral had just crawled under Janeway's massive hoopskirt. Amanda and the two boys quickly followed.
"Amanda!" Crewman Marla Gilmore weaved through the crowd to discipline her adopted daughter. The former Equinox crewman was dressed as Three of Eight, her blonde hair temporarily tinted red for the part. "Mandy, get out of there right now!"
Janeway lifted her hoopskirt to grant an easy exit for any children who felt like behaving. Under the skirt she wore thick lacy bloomers, and Victorian high heels decorated with combadges.
"Looks like a 'Nutcracker' rehearsal," Chakotay said, the reference flying over everyone's head but Janeway's.
Marla, after pondering Chakotay's comment, finally nodded. "The hoop skirt scene, right! I saw a 'Nutcracker' performance on Mars when I was about eight…"
They spoke as the children continued weaving in and out of the skirt like a playhouse, much to Chakotay and Seven's amusement. The laughter of the non-Vulcan children was overcut with the Vulcan boy's muffled voice saying decidedly, "Terran felt."
"Okay everyone," Tom's magnified voice bellowed through the lobby. "The showing is going to start in just a few moments, it looks like everybody's here. So if you could all take a seat, or find a comfortable place to stand, while we get this going... Lights?"
The lobby's lighting dimmed, but not to the point of obscuring vision; just enough to make it clear that the show was starting. Tom stood at the front of the lobby, before the largest screen. He spoke into his prop pipe, and they realized that it was actually a microphone. Seven and Chakotay exchanged a brief hello with the Doctor as he walked by, looking like he still wasn't sure he wanted to do this. The hologram lingered a ways behind Tom, as if he were supposed to join him on the "stage" but wasn't sure when.
Seven and Chakotay claimed a table near the front, and invited a lost-looking Reg Barclay and Dr. Zimmerman to join them. Zimmerman lifted the skirt of his purple robe and took a seat. Barclay gingerly shifted his cat into one hand, pulling out his chair with the other. As he settled into the chair, and the cat settled in his lap, Seven stared at the animal. The designs of its black and gray fur, and the blue and aqua shapes glowing over it, had a technical style. The animal shifted and purred in Barclay's lap, apparently oblivious to whatever had been done to its fur.
"That's holo-technology?" Seven finally asked.
"Hmm? Oh!" Barclay glanced at his cat. "Yes, yes it most certainly is. A collar Dr. Zimmerman helped me design." He pressed a button on a small collar hidden under the cat's long fur. The coloring flickered, and suddenly it was a plain white Persian. "I decided to go as the Doctor, and Neelix decided to be the mobile emitter." He reactivated his cat's "costume," and the odd coloring returned.
"Okay!" Tom said into his pipe, silencing the lobby again. "Harry, Naomi and Icheb are handing out your Survival Kits, which contain everything you need for this showing: the script, pudding, Kadis-kot chips, and Borg jewelry. If you don't like the Borg implant your receive, or the color of your Kadis-kot chip, feel free to trade with your neighbors, but please everyone be respectful."
Harry soon arrived at Chakotay and Seven's table, and handed them, Reg and Zimmerman small octagonal kits. Seven traded Kadis-Kot chips with Zimmerman so she could have a red one. The "implant" she'd received was Three of Eight's bracelet. With both her wrists already adorned, Seven searched for a spot to apply this new ornament, and finally settled on her ankle, the metallic clasp fitting snuggly over the tight blue fabric. Reg got the "necklace," which he draped over his cat's neck. Chakotay and Zimmerman, who'd each received Three of Eight's tiny round ear-piece, pinned their "implants" to their clothing like combadges.
"Now," Tom announced, "Before we begin this program, we need a few volunteers! Actually, maybe first I should explain how this is gonna work. As most of you know, the holodeck is located in the floor below us. As it plays, we'll be watching, on the screens you see around this lobby. The Doctor," Tom gestured for the Doctor to come forward, and the hologram reluctantly obliged. "will be playing the Doctor, naturally. But it's tradition at these showings for him to bring an 'away team.' Who's it gonna be, do I see some hands?" Hands shot up all around the lobby, while other people looked away bashfully. "I need five people, who are good at improve and aren't stage fright. Naomi! I want you on this mission, get up here."
Naomi Wildman practically leaped out of her chair and trotted over to the front of the room, her guns bouncing and swinging.
"Who else?" Tom wondered aloud. "I'm sorry I can't pick everyone… Admiral! You have to do this. I hope this doesn't look like I'm playing favorites."
Janeway lifted her skirt and made her way up to the front. "If someone else really has their heart set on participating, I'll surrender my spot."
"You will do no such thing!" Tom countered. "We've got two people, I need three more…"
Seven suddenly realized that her husband was staring at her coyly. "What?"
Chakotay continued to grin deviously at her. Finally he said, "You put all that effort into this costume, don't you want to show it off?"
Barclay's eyes bulged. "Oooh Seven, you have to go!" he said loudly.
"That's a great idea!" Tom said, apparently hearing their conversation. "Seven, why don't you come on up."
Seven glared murderously at Barlcay, then at her husband. "Why don't you go Chakotay. It would be interesting to see Katanay's reaction to your body art."
"Katanay won't notice," Tom said. "As I'll explain in a minute. Come on Seven, you're one of the most sarcastic people I know, you'd be great at this!"
"What about our wife?" Seven glanced up at the balcony, where B'Elanna and her children were sitting with some other crewmembers.
B'Elanna shook her head. "I've got my hands full. Besides I'm the host's wife, that would look like favoritism."
"B'Elanna," Harry exclaimed from below, "you're the queen of heckling!"
"Exactly, I'm already an expert. Seven needs the practice. I can lead the heckling from the audience."
"There we go!" Tom said.
Seven sighed. "Very well." She left the table, seemingly trying to ignore the cheers as she strode up to the front to join Naomi, Janeway and the Doctor.
"Okay we've got two senior officers," Tom said, "I don't wanna practice favoritism. Someone from the lower decks now," his eyes suddenly hit someone on the balcony. "Oh my god, how could I forget, Jenkins! The real Jenkins! Come on up!"
Amelia Jenkins, Voyager's former nightshift pilot, was leaning over the railing with her husband Miguel Ayala, and his two sons from his previous marriage. (Ayala's first wife had been killed by Cardassians, before Voyager; he and Jenkins had paired off near the end of the journey, and married almost as soon as the ship returned home.) Amelia nervously and excitedly made her way down the staircase. Not surprisingly, she'd dressed as Captain Jenkins, with an admittedly better wig than Naomi's. Though she lacked Naomi's guns (and the touch of the cranial horns), dressed in a more straightforward version of the character.
"Uh," Tom glanced at the group he had. "This group is looking a little biased. All Starfleets! Can I get a Maquis or an Equinox?"
Ayala, dressed as Katanay, seemed to give it some thought, then shook his head. His sons nudged and urged him, but he refused. At a table near the front of the lobby, Marla Gilmore gently asked her daughter if she wanted to go up, and the girl shook her head. Marla relayed the gesture to Tom.
"Could I at least get another non-human?" Tom glanced at the four he already had. "I feel racist. And sexist. How about some guys?"
"Tom," B'Elanna called from the balcony, "it's the twenty-forth century, we don't need Affirmative Action at a 'Photons be Free' showing."
Janeway's eyes swept her former crew. "I remember having so many crewmembers gifted in sarcasm! Henley?"
The former Maquis woman shook her head frantically, the Borg adornments of her red headband jingling. Apparently, while Mariah Henley had no fear of fighting Cardassians or back-sassing her commanding officers, she suffered stage fright.
"Harren?" Janeway tried.
Mortimer Harren pursed his lips and shook his head. "Too lazy."
"Wait," Tom craned his neck, squinting into the crowd on the balcony. "I see a hand…a blue hand… Maquis, male, alien, ticks all three boxes… Chell, come on down!"
Chakotay quickly turned away to shield his eyes from the obese male Bolian wearing his wife's old biosuit. Chell, who was standing at the top of the staircase, gracefully heaved his heavy blue body onto the railing, and seductively crossed his burgundy-covered legs. Then, with one hand behind his red wig, he slid down the railing like a model. Or tried to. He wound up tumbling off halfway down and crashing into fellow cross-dresser Vorik (as Captain Jenkins). Vorik helped him up, and Chell resumed his effeminate composure, striding up to the front of the room in an imitation of Seven of Nine's walk that made the lobby roar with laughter. Chakotay dared a peek from his hand, and fell into a silent laughing fit. Seven hadn't been amused up until how, but seeing her husband's reaction brought an enormous smile onto her face.
"Yeah Chell," Tom said, partially to himself, "you like to talk. You should be good for this. Okay, we have our away team!" Tom declared. "Now here's how this is gonna work. In the program, which is fairly primitive as far as holonovels go—no offense Doc—the characters, the crew of the U.S.S. Vortex, don't see what the rest of us do. They are programmed to respond to the player as if he or she is the Doctor," Tom gestured with his pipe to the program's unenthused author. "No matter the player's species, sex, age, or how many there are. As far as Captain Jenkins and Commander Katanay and so on are concerned, they," he gestured around the group of volunteers with his pipe, "are a single entity, the Doctor. So keep that in mind, when you watch them interact with the characters. I think we're ready to start! Doc, you know the way to the holodeck?"
"I do," the Doctor replied nervously.
"Then let's head downstairs! Before we start, I've got a few things to discuss with you guys about how to play a holonovel for an audience. In the meantime, the rest of you can enjoy some previews!"
A/N: The idea of Marla Gilmore adopting the Borg baby and naming her Amanda comes from Aaunty Pasta's short story "A Little Piece of Paradise." I grew inseparably attached to the idea, for a number of reasons, so it persists in my own "canon." It was my idea to make Amanda a Terrellian, though.