Detox

A Star Trek: Voyager fanfiction by Andrew J. Talon

DISCLAIMER: This is a non-profit fan based work of prose. Star Trek: Voyager, Deep Space Nine, The Next Generation et al are the property of CBS Television, Paramount and the creation of Gene Roddenberry. Please support the official release.

Down in Voyager's shuttle bay, Ensign Roberta Luke tapped out a few commands on a nearby communications panel. The encrypted protocols were received, and the channel went online. A shadowy figure appeared.

"Roberta... We'd heard you were dead," he replied. "Section 31 is rarely wrong."

"I know," Roberta said. "You were wrong in this instance though. I need extraction."

"Extraction?" The man snorted. "Really?"

"Really!" Roberta insisted. "I'm your agent, after all! I've served loyally! There's got to be a way to-"

"We're sorry, there isn't," her handler responded. "Even our fastest starships could never reach you. And you knew the risks of this mission in the first place. Retrieval has to warrant the risk."

"I have information," Roberta said earnestly. "I mean, we've encountered the Borg, dozens of alien races nobody's even heard of, new technologies and phenomena that boggle the mind... I've even gone on missions for you! Top secret ones!"

"And that's useful, Roberta, but we can get that through Voyager's logs," her handler replied. "You are expendable, the information is not."

"That's not fair," Roberta whispered. "It's not fair... You can't just leave me here...! Not after everything I've done for you!"

"Life's not fair, Roberta. I'm sorry. You knew what this was when you signed up," her handler said coldly. "If you want to get home, you'll have to do it yourself."

Roberta's eyes gained a megalomaniac's glaze. "Oh, I will," she swore. "I'll come on a Borg warship... And when I get there, nothing will save you. I will make you all pay, pay, PAY!"

Her maniacal laughter filled the shuttlebay... Which made it easy for the security teams to find her. Two goldshirts grabbed her by her arms and dragged her off.

"No! NO! YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME! YOU CAN'T!" She cried. They took her to sickbay, where that holographic doctor was injecting other crewmembers with something. He turned to Roberta and smiled.

"Ah, Ensign! We've been expecting you."

"NO! LET ME GO! LET ME GO!" Roberta shrieked, struggling violently. The goldshirts held her firm, and the Doctor approached with the hypospray. He injected it into her neck... And she slowed. Her panic stopped, and she took deep breaths. She looked up at the Doctor.

"Doctor... What did you do to me?"

The Doctor sighed and repeated the same spiel he'd given to every Voyager crewmember for the last several hours: "Neelix's pheromones have induced hallucinations, paranoia, breaks from reality, and various other side effects to the entire crew since we were stranded here. I recently found a cure and I've been distributing it to everyone. You're just the latest, Ensign."

"Oh..." Roberta said. She looked at the security team around her. "Why the security team?"

"You were laughing maniacally while reading a novel about Section 31, the legendary Starfleet black operations outfit," the Doctor said. "It seemed an adequate safety precaution."

"So... Any thoughts I had about... Being a Section 31 agent?" Roberta asked.

"I'd give them some serious thought, but in the meantime, rest is what I prescribe," the Doctor advised. Roberta smiled wanly, feeling dazed and confused but... Relieved somehow.

"That I can agree with..."

Meanwhile, back on Earth...

The head of Section 31 stared in disbelief at the reports from the Delta Quadrant. He slowly looked over at his subordinate, who fidgeted.

"Are you telling me, our operative aboard Voyager has been stoned out of her mind for the last six years?!"

The subordinate winced. "Er... That seems about the size of it, yes sir."

The Section 31 chief sighed and sat in his chair. "All those countermeasures against pink space ponies... Worthless!"

Just to clear up a loose end or two...