Duty, Dragons and Dabo.
Disclaimer: Paramount owns 'em; The Blue Goo, Dr Megalomania and Elvis own the Dragons. We're just seeing what happens when you mix Star Trek: Deep Space Nine and our sick twisted minds.
We'd also like to include various TV series and feature films for inspiration.
Author Note's: We'd also like it noted that we own the various red shirted ensigns and would like to assure the reader that *no ensigns were killed in the writing of this story, horribly maimed or transported to another time and place maybe but killed? No!*
Part 10: Oh Wesley, you came and you gave without leaving! NOOOOO!!!
"Nice." The Dragon looked at the jell-o with a bemused smile. Q nodded his appreciation,
"Thank-you, now, where were we?"
"I believe we were ready to make our bets."
"Ahh, yes, we were."
This cordial conversation didn't quite fit in with the scene around them, the senior staff of the station, Deep Space Nine, were gathered around a gambling Dragon and Q, beside them was a worm-black-plot-hole-spatial- anomaly-hole-rip-in-space-time-hole-thing, that Nog was avoiding contact with, several Borg drones mumbling repeatedly and following a set of dance moves that looked simple but were pointless, then; after wiggling their behinds, jumping up, clapping their hands and shouted: "Hey! Macarena! Ai!". Behind them, an ever growing conga line of ensigns and civilians romped up and down the promenade, singing at the very top of the voices: "DAR-LA-LA, LA, HEY! LA-LA, LA HEY!"
And that was the start of it on the second floor, Morn had managed to captivate his very own flock of people, to listen to him sing various selections of music, Vic Fontana was accompanying him and keeping a wary eye out for the other singing hologram, next to them the stocking legs of the three Vulcans kicked up in a very impressive display of Vulcan physiology, and the four Flem'hader clapped and clicked in perfect time.
*At least * thought Captain Sisko in relief, * at least, that vorta isn't awake. *
His relief was short-lived as three of his officers disappeared, he quickly reined in his shock and swivelled round to the two responsible for the chaos, "Where have they gone?" he demanded.
"Oh, take a chill pill, Benny!" Q moved another card to make way for the new one.
"Okay, Q, wager."
"I bet." Q's voice took on a distinctly sinister tone, "Three Starfleets performing the 'Dying Swan',"
And with that, the three missing officers reappeared dress in their uniforms but with one *minor* difference. They had the jacket, the pipped collar, the black Starfleet issue boots. and bright pink tutus. Jadzia couldn't help herself, she pointed at her husband's stocky legs and just laughed. Then she caught his gaze and shut up, "I.wasn't." she struggled to maintain her composure, ".*wasn't* .laughing."
Bashir and O'Brien glared at her, Worf grumbled, "A true Klingon warrior *does not* wear pink."
But against their will, all of them threw their hands above their heads and raised themselves on to tiptoes. Lieutenant Commander Worf, son of Morg, Doctor Julian Bashir, genetically modified genius, and Lieutenant Miles O'Brien, chief of station's engineering perfectly piroretted, leaped with perfectly arched limbs and spun with clear alacrity.
The Dragon shook her head and considered her wager.
"Alright, I see your Three Starfleet Bal-lads, and raise you three." Now she took on a sinister tone, ". Broadway dames."
The lights dropped and spotlights raced up the steps, somewhere a big band struck up, three women dressed in diner jackets with long tails and high- heeled shoes and stockings, canes and top hats made their way down the spiral stairwell.
"Oh no!" Q recognised one of them.
"Oh no!" Odo recognised another.
"Oh no!" Dax recognised the last.
"How can you be so cruel?" They asked of the Dragon.
"Because I can."
"But this is cruel, unimaginably cruel. it's . wrong. really, really, *really* mean!" Q insisted.
"Q!" a deep feminine voice called out. He swung his head round. Guinan glowered at him.
"Oh, it's you, sorry, I didn't see you here" he sneered at her.
"Well, now you do, so now you can explain what the hells going on." She sneered back.
"You two know each other?" the Dragon asked sweetly. Q squinted at her in annoyance.
"You know that, 'cos you read my mind and found her." He jerked his head in Guinan's direction.
Guinan cast a questioning glance at the dragon, "Why are you here?"
The Dragon shrugged, "A little miscalculation, and him."
"Well, you can be sure where's there's trouble, there's him."
Q decided to interject, "Excuse me, but we have a game to finish."
*
Meanwhile, Admiral Ross considered his enemy. They had continued to do absolutely zip. Zilch. Nothing. They continued to float dead in space.
It was driving him crazy. What fiendish plans were the Vorta and Jem'hadar concocting in their evil brains?
Could it be some sort of subspace explosive device? An infiltration attempt of Deep Space nine under the cover of this battle? And what was that unfamiliar skin of transparent, iridescent material wobbling around the space station? Perhaps part of the enemy's scheme - and yes, even as he watched, a couple of Jem'hadar ships launched themselves towards it and creaked to a stop . . . and. . . .
TWANG!
As the ships slingshot past his flagship, Admiral Ross gawped. In a refined manner, of course.
It was so simple!
The Jem'hadar were using this. watchmacallit. to slingshot round Deep space nine - in a seemingly aimless manner - whilst in fact they were . . . um . . . . er. . . . All right. So he didn't know. But it was obviously a decoy of some sort. Nothing so silly could be for real.
"Destroy that . . . shield!"
"Uh. Sir?" One of the nameless ensigns stuttered. "The, er, shield appears to, er, be protecting Deep Space Nine from, uh, enemy fire."
"I don't care what it appears to be! Fire!"
Admiral Ross was having a really bad day. The coffee machine had broken. It kept giving him Earl Grey tea. Hot. He wasn't a pansy! He didn't want this poncy, caffeine-free mush! Not after that upstart Picard starting depleting stocks!
And then he'd been sent on this mission, where the enemy refused to fight him and sat there like a . . . like a. . . dead weight in subspace.
He snapped.
"FIRE!"
Q tweaked his ear thoughtfully.
"Oh. . . you people. You want the shield, you don't want the shield, you never make up your minds! I'll have to assume you don't want it. . . ."
"Huh?" Bashir was a little slow to catch on. Sisko wasn't.
"Nooo!" He screamed, "We want, the shield. Ignore them. We want. The shield."
Then the dragon cut in. "This battle is boring. Get rid of them."
A pause.
"Go on. . . oh fine, I'll do it."
Suddenly, there was serene and tranquil peace around Deep space nine.
The Jem'hadar armada had been transported into bottle in Quark's bar
*
Odo had thought he'd seen the last of her, he respected her but she annoyed the hell out of him, and seeing her now brought ripples where his spine would have been, had he a skeleton.
Lwaxanna gave him obvious winks. He knew he was smiling weakly as he waved slowly at her. He looked at the other woman. He didn't recognise her but Jadzia obviously did. As she backed away slightly, she raised her shoulders and groaned. He moved closer to her as his curiosity over took him, Kira followed a similar thought pattern. Before he could open his mouth, Kira beat him to the punch. "Who's that?" she asked in her typical no niceties way.
Jadzia pulled them closer so as to not be heard, "Have you ever heard of Wesley Crusher?"
"That brat from the Enterprise that visited Worf a few years ago?"
"Yep." she looked pointedly at the red headed woman, "*That's* his mother."
"Mother? She is the one who gave birth and inflicted That Brat on the universe?" Kira wondered aloud.
*
In the meantime, Worf, Bashir and O'Brien were wondering their own predicament, "So, how shall we do this?"
"I believe the best course of action would be .bend and stretch, bend and stretch, and flex."
"WORF!!" Bashir and O'Brien cried in union.
"I am sorry. it's just we are damn good at this!"
"Miles." Bashir's voice took on an almost awed tone, "I think I've reached an understanding. a sort of peace with myself."
O'Brien understood what he was saying, it had happened before, the sudden clarity, the peace. "Yes, I feel it too, and it is familiar."
Worf didn't quite understand, "What do you mean?"
Bashir answered, "We came upon this feeling for the first time, during your bachualor 'party', and it goes something like this.*kill Q, KILL Q!*"
O'Brien soon joined in, "Kill Q! Kill Q!
Worf also joined the chant, "Kill Q! KILL Q!"
*
Brunt had been totalling the day's profits, enjoying the sweet sensation of liquidating other, bankrupt people's assets. One moment, in his office on Ferenginar. The next . . .
"I win, you lose, I get liquidator Bru-unt."
"Fine, you can take him. I don't want him anyway. He's boring."
Brunt hadn't the slightest idea of what was going on, but he was ready to hotly defend his reputation as a scheming, conniving little Ferengi, especially since that idiot bartender Quark was in the vicinity.
"Hmm. You're right. Let's make him a little more interesting . . ."
Suddenly Brunt felt an unfamiliar twinge in the back of his lobes.
They began to tingle . . .
He felt the . . . uncontrollable . . . urge to tell Sisko: 'Stop looking for the pot noodles, you fool! They are hidden far beyond your ken, on the deserted mineship Red Dwarf . . .'
All at once he opened his mouth, turned to Worf, still gyrating in a fetching pink tutu, and said:
"Has anyone had the guts to tell you you're really ugly recently? You're really ugly. Seriously. I mean it."
Whilst in mid-pirouette, Worf slowly, ominously acquired an expression not unlike a thunderstorm, and made a sound not unlike a tidal wave breaking on the shore.
All colour mysteriously drained from the liquidator's face.
The dragon turned to Q. "Let us call a finish to this game."
"Agreed but let's make it worth it. If I win. . ." Q paused, and then he dropped the bombshell. "If I win, then the Dominion will win the war of the Alpha Quadrant."
The dragon nodded slowly. "All right. And if I win, the Federation does."
"Why do you want the Federation to win? They're. . . well. . . they have *Starfleet*, for pity's sake!"
The dragon shrugged. "Well yeah. . . but you want them to lose."
They dealt the hand and the bet had already been made.
Q slapped down his hand, and a smug smile passed over his lips. He moved his hand to reveal his cards. . .
Two pair.
A winning hand.
Had he won?
Had Q beaten the dragon?
Had the freedom and the life of the Alpha Quadrant been sacrificed in the face of two pairs of mere cards?
Surely not.
Sisko closed his eyes in anticipation of defeat.
Kira prayed to the prophets.
Odo allowed himself to show his apprehension,
O'Brien thought of his family.
Bashir felt his heart leap into his throat.
Jake placed his hand on Nog's shoulder.
Nog gulped loudly.
Dax thought of her past lives.
Worf wondered if now was a good day to die . . . and if he might kill Brunt first.
Quark considered if the Dominion needed a bartender.
All held their breath - well, everyone except Odo, who just kept his mouth shut - as the dragon leaned over, looked at Q's offering, and looked back at her own hand, and once again, consulted the rules of poker. It happened in slow motion. The cards in her claws touched the table.
Had she the better hand?
Did Q?
Silence befell the universe as she moved her hand.
Disclaimer: Paramount owns 'em; The Blue Goo, Dr Megalomania and Elvis own the Dragons. We're just seeing what happens when you mix Star Trek: Deep Space Nine and our sick twisted minds.
We'd also like to include various TV series and feature films for inspiration.
Author Note's: We'd also like it noted that we own the various red shirted ensigns and would like to assure the reader that *no ensigns were killed in the writing of this story, horribly maimed or transported to another time and place maybe but killed? No!*
Part 10: Oh Wesley, you came and you gave without leaving! NOOOOO!!!
"Nice." The Dragon looked at the jell-o with a bemused smile. Q nodded his appreciation,
"Thank-you, now, where were we?"
"I believe we were ready to make our bets."
"Ahh, yes, we were."
This cordial conversation didn't quite fit in with the scene around them, the senior staff of the station, Deep Space Nine, were gathered around a gambling Dragon and Q, beside them was a worm-black-plot-hole-spatial- anomaly-hole-rip-in-space-time-hole-thing, that Nog was avoiding contact with, several Borg drones mumbling repeatedly and following a set of dance moves that looked simple but were pointless, then; after wiggling their behinds, jumping up, clapping their hands and shouted: "Hey! Macarena! Ai!". Behind them, an ever growing conga line of ensigns and civilians romped up and down the promenade, singing at the very top of the voices: "DAR-LA-LA, LA, HEY! LA-LA, LA HEY!"
And that was the start of it on the second floor, Morn had managed to captivate his very own flock of people, to listen to him sing various selections of music, Vic Fontana was accompanying him and keeping a wary eye out for the other singing hologram, next to them the stocking legs of the three Vulcans kicked up in a very impressive display of Vulcan physiology, and the four Flem'hader clapped and clicked in perfect time.
*At least * thought Captain Sisko in relief, * at least, that vorta isn't awake. *
His relief was short-lived as three of his officers disappeared, he quickly reined in his shock and swivelled round to the two responsible for the chaos, "Where have they gone?" he demanded.
"Oh, take a chill pill, Benny!" Q moved another card to make way for the new one.
"Okay, Q, wager."
"I bet." Q's voice took on a distinctly sinister tone, "Three Starfleets performing the 'Dying Swan',"
And with that, the three missing officers reappeared dress in their uniforms but with one *minor* difference. They had the jacket, the pipped collar, the black Starfleet issue boots. and bright pink tutus. Jadzia couldn't help herself, she pointed at her husband's stocky legs and just laughed. Then she caught his gaze and shut up, "I.wasn't." she struggled to maintain her composure, ".*wasn't* .laughing."
Bashir and O'Brien glared at her, Worf grumbled, "A true Klingon warrior *does not* wear pink."
But against their will, all of them threw their hands above their heads and raised themselves on to tiptoes. Lieutenant Commander Worf, son of Morg, Doctor Julian Bashir, genetically modified genius, and Lieutenant Miles O'Brien, chief of station's engineering perfectly piroretted, leaped with perfectly arched limbs and spun with clear alacrity.
The Dragon shook her head and considered her wager.
"Alright, I see your Three Starfleet Bal-lads, and raise you three." Now she took on a sinister tone, ". Broadway dames."
The lights dropped and spotlights raced up the steps, somewhere a big band struck up, three women dressed in diner jackets with long tails and high- heeled shoes and stockings, canes and top hats made their way down the spiral stairwell.
"Oh no!" Q recognised one of them.
"Oh no!" Odo recognised another.
"Oh no!" Dax recognised the last.
"How can you be so cruel?" They asked of the Dragon.
"Because I can."
"But this is cruel, unimaginably cruel. it's . wrong. really, really, *really* mean!" Q insisted.
"Q!" a deep feminine voice called out. He swung his head round. Guinan glowered at him.
"Oh, it's you, sorry, I didn't see you here" he sneered at her.
"Well, now you do, so now you can explain what the hells going on." She sneered back.
"You two know each other?" the Dragon asked sweetly. Q squinted at her in annoyance.
"You know that, 'cos you read my mind and found her." He jerked his head in Guinan's direction.
Guinan cast a questioning glance at the dragon, "Why are you here?"
The Dragon shrugged, "A little miscalculation, and him."
"Well, you can be sure where's there's trouble, there's him."
Q decided to interject, "Excuse me, but we have a game to finish."
*
Meanwhile, Admiral Ross considered his enemy. They had continued to do absolutely zip. Zilch. Nothing. They continued to float dead in space.
It was driving him crazy. What fiendish plans were the Vorta and Jem'hadar concocting in their evil brains?
Could it be some sort of subspace explosive device? An infiltration attempt of Deep Space nine under the cover of this battle? And what was that unfamiliar skin of transparent, iridescent material wobbling around the space station? Perhaps part of the enemy's scheme - and yes, even as he watched, a couple of Jem'hadar ships launched themselves towards it and creaked to a stop . . . and. . . .
TWANG!
As the ships slingshot past his flagship, Admiral Ross gawped. In a refined manner, of course.
It was so simple!
The Jem'hadar were using this. watchmacallit. to slingshot round Deep space nine - in a seemingly aimless manner - whilst in fact they were . . . um . . . . er. . . . All right. So he didn't know. But it was obviously a decoy of some sort. Nothing so silly could be for real.
"Destroy that . . . shield!"
"Uh. Sir?" One of the nameless ensigns stuttered. "The, er, shield appears to, er, be protecting Deep Space Nine from, uh, enemy fire."
"I don't care what it appears to be! Fire!"
Admiral Ross was having a really bad day. The coffee machine had broken. It kept giving him Earl Grey tea. Hot. He wasn't a pansy! He didn't want this poncy, caffeine-free mush! Not after that upstart Picard starting depleting stocks!
And then he'd been sent on this mission, where the enemy refused to fight him and sat there like a . . . like a. . . dead weight in subspace.
He snapped.
"FIRE!"
Q tweaked his ear thoughtfully.
"Oh. . . you people. You want the shield, you don't want the shield, you never make up your minds! I'll have to assume you don't want it. . . ."
"Huh?" Bashir was a little slow to catch on. Sisko wasn't.
"Nooo!" He screamed, "We want, the shield. Ignore them. We want. The shield."
Then the dragon cut in. "This battle is boring. Get rid of them."
A pause.
"Go on. . . oh fine, I'll do it."
Suddenly, there was serene and tranquil peace around Deep space nine.
The Jem'hadar armada had been transported into bottle in Quark's bar
*
Odo had thought he'd seen the last of her, he respected her but she annoyed the hell out of him, and seeing her now brought ripples where his spine would have been, had he a skeleton.
Lwaxanna gave him obvious winks. He knew he was smiling weakly as he waved slowly at her. He looked at the other woman. He didn't recognise her but Jadzia obviously did. As she backed away slightly, she raised her shoulders and groaned. He moved closer to her as his curiosity over took him, Kira followed a similar thought pattern. Before he could open his mouth, Kira beat him to the punch. "Who's that?" she asked in her typical no niceties way.
Jadzia pulled them closer so as to not be heard, "Have you ever heard of Wesley Crusher?"
"That brat from the Enterprise that visited Worf a few years ago?"
"Yep." she looked pointedly at the red headed woman, "*That's* his mother."
"Mother? She is the one who gave birth and inflicted That Brat on the universe?" Kira wondered aloud.
*
In the meantime, Worf, Bashir and O'Brien were wondering their own predicament, "So, how shall we do this?"
"I believe the best course of action would be .bend and stretch, bend and stretch, and flex."
"WORF!!" Bashir and O'Brien cried in union.
"I am sorry. it's just we are damn good at this!"
"Miles." Bashir's voice took on an almost awed tone, "I think I've reached an understanding. a sort of peace with myself."
O'Brien understood what he was saying, it had happened before, the sudden clarity, the peace. "Yes, I feel it too, and it is familiar."
Worf didn't quite understand, "What do you mean?"
Bashir answered, "We came upon this feeling for the first time, during your bachualor 'party', and it goes something like this.*kill Q, KILL Q!*"
O'Brien soon joined in, "Kill Q! Kill Q!
Worf also joined the chant, "Kill Q! KILL Q!"
*
Brunt had been totalling the day's profits, enjoying the sweet sensation of liquidating other, bankrupt people's assets. One moment, in his office on Ferenginar. The next . . .
"I win, you lose, I get liquidator Bru-unt."
"Fine, you can take him. I don't want him anyway. He's boring."
Brunt hadn't the slightest idea of what was going on, but he was ready to hotly defend his reputation as a scheming, conniving little Ferengi, especially since that idiot bartender Quark was in the vicinity.
"Hmm. You're right. Let's make him a little more interesting . . ."
Suddenly Brunt felt an unfamiliar twinge in the back of his lobes.
They began to tingle . . .
He felt the . . . uncontrollable . . . urge to tell Sisko: 'Stop looking for the pot noodles, you fool! They are hidden far beyond your ken, on the deserted mineship Red Dwarf . . .'
All at once he opened his mouth, turned to Worf, still gyrating in a fetching pink tutu, and said:
"Has anyone had the guts to tell you you're really ugly recently? You're really ugly. Seriously. I mean it."
Whilst in mid-pirouette, Worf slowly, ominously acquired an expression not unlike a thunderstorm, and made a sound not unlike a tidal wave breaking on the shore.
All colour mysteriously drained from the liquidator's face.
The dragon turned to Q. "Let us call a finish to this game."
"Agreed but let's make it worth it. If I win. . ." Q paused, and then he dropped the bombshell. "If I win, then the Dominion will win the war of the Alpha Quadrant."
The dragon nodded slowly. "All right. And if I win, the Federation does."
"Why do you want the Federation to win? They're. . . well. . . they have *Starfleet*, for pity's sake!"
The dragon shrugged. "Well yeah. . . but you want them to lose."
They dealt the hand and the bet had already been made.
Q slapped down his hand, and a smug smile passed over his lips. He moved his hand to reveal his cards. . .
Two pair.
A winning hand.
Had he won?
Had Q beaten the dragon?
Had the freedom and the life of the Alpha Quadrant been sacrificed in the face of two pairs of mere cards?
Surely not.
Sisko closed his eyes in anticipation of defeat.
Kira prayed to the prophets.
Odo allowed himself to show his apprehension,
O'Brien thought of his family.
Bashir felt his heart leap into his throat.
Jake placed his hand on Nog's shoulder.
Nog gulped loudly.
Dax thought of her past lives.
Worf wondered if now was a good day to die . . . and if he might kill Brunt first.
Quark considered if the Dominion needed a bartender.
All held their breath - well, everyone except Odo, who just kept his mouth shut - as the dragon leaned over, looked at Q's offering, and looked back at her own hand, and once again, consulted the rules of poker. It happened in slow motion. The cards in her claws touched the table.
Had she the better hand?
Did Q?
Silence befell the universe as she moved her hand.
