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Captain Picard walked into the turbolift.

It had been a rough day for the captain of the Enterprise. First of all he had had to sort out a border dispute between two farmers, Romulan and Human respectively. What had begun as a simple argument over who could plow where, soon blossomed into an interplanetary dispute requiring the time and resources of a Galaxy-class starship and its one-thousand plus crew. The situation had threatened to become ugly until Worf solved the problem by shooting the Romulan.

The lift came to a halt and its doors cracked open. Picard walked forward automatically, only realizing when the doors shut that he was not where he was meant to be. Confused, the captain of the Enterprise looked around. He was meant to be in the men’s toilets, yet here he was, somehow in a shuttlecraft, drifting amongst the stars.

The answer to his unspoken question stepped forward. "Q," Jean-Luc murmured dryly. "I knew you would be involved. Whenever our scriptwriters need to toy with the concepts of absolute power and its inherent corruption, they quickly resurrect you. What’s on the agenda today?"

Q waved a finger at the irritated officer. "Tut, tut, Jean-Luc. You should treat me with more respect - I am the resident god in your little, plagiarized universe, after all. No, I am not here to tempt you with god-hood this time, though how very formulaic of Riker to have refused it. Any normal man would have jumped at the chance of being God for a day, but Riker’s only a cheap, two-dimensional character. I expected no less," he sniffed.

"Aside from the literary criticism, Q, why are you here? I do have a ship to run, you know."

"Oh, come on, captain! You know very well that they will write your absence seamlessly into the script. I wager that as we speak they’ve woven a new sub-plot around your unexpected disappearance." He smiled suddenly. "Or perhaps life on the Enterprise has become so dull they haven’t even noticed your absence."

Picard frowned with some warning. "What are you implying, Q?"

"Merely that your dull, meticulous, stereotyped little lives are yet another bane on the existence of the milliards of the galaxy. Don’t you think the audience out there has better things to do then sit back and watch you lot jabber on about the Romulans, or the Klingons? All that’s old hat, and your script writers are so uninspired they keep churning out the old plots."

Picard entered the main cabin of the shuttle and took a seat. "Star Trek may not be raking in the highest ratings at the moment," he conceded, "But the new version is much better than the old one. We’ve got a new—"

Q yawned. "Oh, spare me the sales pitch, Picard. I am all too aware of what your new series has to offer. Bigger ships, better special effects - but weaker plots and greater boredom. Face it, Star Trek has lost its edge. You lot are merely a sequel brought out of moth-bolls to rake in the cash for your greedy little producers."

"Q, we’ve gone through all this before. On our first encounter you held us on trial for the crimes of Paramount Studios. We were exonerated on those charges. Why do you bring it all up again?"

"Can you deny to me, and the millions in your tired audience, that this show has squandered its first seasons, wasting them on re-hashes of old plots and paltry renditions of trendy politically correct themes? No, I think not. As a series, you’ve come to the end of your usefulness."

Captain Picard’s hand thumped the navigation console. "I dispute that," he said hotly. "In our time we’ve sold a lot of merchandise, and filled the wallets at Paramount quite nicely. We’ve got a first class ship, the latest special effects --"

"All of which leads nowhere," Q concluded. "Which is why I am here right now. As you know I come from the Critic Continuum, a race of omnipotent beings who can sink your little Enterprise, or praise it. In your little nutshell-bound space opera I am your God. And I tell you right now that the Critic Continuum is most displeased with your progress, Jean-Luc Picard. In fact, many of my fellow Critics have written scathing reviews of your ill-fated series, and have many times threatened to blow it out of the water. I, however, thought you deserved a chance."

"Oh," drawled Picard. "How very kind of you. But I can tell you, Q, that we do not need you to fight our battles for us. We have our public relations office, and our lawyers. As a series we are alive and well. We’ve explored concepts never touched on in the last Star Trek--"

"Because they were too boring," concluded the Critic. "You’re at a dead end. You’ve been trapped in the loop of a Sequel. You won’t admit it, though. Your series is incapable of change; all the adventures you face follow the same formulae. Your enemies are recycled from the sixties!"

Captain Picard shifted in his uncomfortable chair. "We are capable of change," he declared.

Q leaned back casually, raising an eyebrow. "Oh, really? Somehow I doubt it," he sniggered.

Picard gritted his teeth, knowing that he was walking into Q’s trap. "The new Enterprise is more than capable of handling any new situation you have to throw at us. What do we deal with today? The homeless? The horrors of war?"

Q leant forwardly intently. "Worse - me!"

Guinan stared uncomfortably out the windows of Ten Forward.

Guinan was a new character to the show, and had herself been in some reasonably successful films. Why she had ended up in Star Trek, no-one ever quite understood, but her presence in an episode usually marked the introduction of something mysterious, which is to say, beyond the range of their special-effects budget.

The black bar-tender wandered the quiet lounge restlessly. She came to stand by the windows opening on to space. It was night out there, and all the stars were out. She was plagued by a feeling from her past, of something ominous and unpleasant. She tapped her communicator badge. "Bridge, is there anything . . . wrong with the ship?"

Riker’s puzzled voice drifted back. "No, not really. We’ve got an imminent warp core breach, but I wouldn’t pay it much attention. What’s the matter, Guinan?"

"Well, aside from the fact that I don’t get paid enough, I have this unpleasant feeling."

"Try drinking some prune juice," replied Riker dryly.

"Oh, put a sock in it, Commander. Forget I called."

"Will do," said Riker and signed off.

Guinan moved to stand by the windows again. She stayed there long enough for the audience to get the idea that something ominous was in the works, and then left.

Hours went by in the shuttle-craft.

"So what’s your answer, Picard? I’m a Critic, and I have infinite patience. But you’ve got a restless audience out there hungry for a plot - it’s not doing your ratings good to sit here all episode and sulk."

"I am not sulking. Oh, very well, Q, what is it you want?"

"So you’re willing to grant my request?"

Picard smiled dryly. "I haven’t heard it yet."

"Very well," said Q. "Why don’t we take this to an improbably empty area of your ship." The Critic snapped his fingers, and in a flash the two were now in Ten Forward. Just as Q had said, the place was now deserted, which was unusual considering it was lunch break. Picard suspected that the Script Writers had played some part in this.

Q looked around with disdain. "Oh, how exquisitely dull. Your sense of décor certainly hasn’t improved."

Guinan suddenly leapt from behind the bar, a bottle of whisky in hand. Her voice was slurred, and quite furious. "You!" she shouted, throwing her bottle into a corner.

"You!" Q gasped, leaping forward in shock.

"Who?" Picard muttered, stunned, as the two stuck their fingers up at each other rudely. "Enough of that!" Jean-Luc admonished. "This is a politically correct ship, and I’ll have no rude gestures on it." Reluctantly, the two acceded, crossing their arms.

The captain walked furtively to Guinan. "What’s this all about? Why were you drinking while on duty?"

"Oh, she’s good at that, Picard. Didn’t she tell you? Last time we met, she was enrolled in Alcoholics Anonymous."

"AA? But that organization hasn’t existed in centuries - the morally-upright twenty-fourth century has no drinking problems."

Guinan clutched Picard unsteadily. "I am not from the twenty-fourth century," she explained. "That’s why my character has a personality."

Q snorted as Commander Riker and Worf bowled through the door at an imitation of warp speed. The Klingon snarled at the Critic, while Riker merely circled him like a cautious satellite. Riker performed a sloppy salute to Picard, and reported, "Worf and I were just on our way to, hmm, yes, to crush a mutiny. Captain, it was obscene; they were making fun of your hair – we just had to leave the Bridge and take control of the situation."

"Well, it seems that your unruly mob has departed in haste, Commander." The captain rolled his eyes, pleading with the ceiling. "I’m supposed to be running a politically correct ship, yet my officers snatch any opportunity to drink on duty." He pulled out a flask of whisky and threw back a mouthful to soothe his frayed nerves.

Worf shoved a finger in Q’s direction, in a vaguely offensive gesture. "What is he doing here?" the Klingon growled.

"I am doing what I always do, dog-boy - improving your ratings! I can barely imagine what kind of dull episode it would be without my presence." Imitating a magician, Q conjured a rubber bone with a remarkable sleight of hand. "Here, boy – go fetch!" he urged, throwing the toy out the window, and into the dark eternity of space.

Worf barked furiously, forcing Riker to tether his leash to an iron ring bolted into the bar for such an occasion.

"Yes, Q," Picard began, tucking away his flask, oblivious to the theatrics. "It’s about time you divulged your true purpose in coming here. We do run a busy schedule, you know."

"Very well, mon capitain. I will make it simple, for your little minds to comprehend: I’ve come to join your motley crew."

Riker’s chest rolled like a barrel in laughter. "I never thought I would see the day: an unemployed Q!"

Guinan was not laughing, and neither was Captain Picard. "No, sorry, we don’t employ letters of the alphabet here. Go and try Sesame Street."

Riker was still laughing. "You’d better join the dole queue, Q!"

Q frowned in aristocratic annoyance. "Hold your tongue, Riker, for you will soon be joining me!"

Suddenly, Guinan’s hands flashed a potently obscene gesture, distracting Q from whatever scathing retort he had been about to unleash. The two combatants were locked in a war of silent insults, out-shocking the other in crude body-language.

Finally, Picard stood between them, his face red. "Enough of this!" he bellowed. "This is a prime-time show, and I will not have it polluted with the smuttiness of two guest stars!"

Reluctantly, the flames dimmed, the conflagration quenched. Q assumed a business-like air, sporting a three-piece suit to enhance his new image. "You need me Picard," he pronounced. "Your ratings have slipped drastically - if you don’t hit the screens with a good episode soon, your little star trek will come to a timely end."

Jean-Luc crossed his arms. "We are doing quite well, thank you, Q. We’ve had our encounters with the new Romulans, we’ve looked into Worf’s Klingon heritage, we’ve --"

Q waved a dismissive hand. "Oh yes, in your own paltry way you’ve done all these things. But the public doesn’t care about all that - it wants to see some good stories, some original ideas." He frowned darkly. "And in this, your series has been sorely lacking."

The Critic stepped away from the group and into the center of the room. He pointed out into the vistas of space. "Out there are phenomenon you haven’t even dream of. Wealth and wonders to delight your wallets," he enthused. He then frowned most darkly. "And horrible budget cuts to chill your souls. You never know, you may even make a successful movie out there." He smirked at them in superiority. "But somehow I doubt it."

Picard tutted impatiently. "For someone who despises melodrama, Q, you’re being quite theatrical yourself. Why don’t you just get to the point?"

"Very well, Jean-Luc. In tonight’s episode I am going to give you a little taste of your future. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, and don’t say I didn’t offer to help." He suddenly clicked his fingers, and the room rolled around like a disco. The stars outside swirled like a stirred cup of coffee. After some superb effects shots, the ship slowed to a halt.

Guinan felt that tingling she had before. "Q," she pleaded, "Don’t do this to them . . ."

"They have to be shown," he replied dismissively. "They still think they have a future. At least you and I are assured of careers, but can you really see this bunch starring in Days of Our Lives? I think not - it’s out of their league." The Critic turned to Captain Picard. "Now, Picard, I shall have to leave you. Call me when you change your mind." The insufferable being vanished in a flash of light.

Picard stood by Guinan. "What does he mean?" he said without preamble. If his crew was facing a dip in ratings, he had to know now. Guinan shook the gloomy thoughts from her mantle. "He’s taken us to the far side of the galaxy, Captain." She stared ominously at the new stars. "Turn back now, while you still have the chance."

Data’s bland voice uttered though the intercom. "Captain, we have changed position. According to our sensors we are currently in the far side of the galaxy, in what is known as the Dole Sector."

Picard watched Guinan carefully, but the bar hostess was giving away no secrets. "Hold our position, Mister Data. Riker, Worf, you’re with me." The three headed out of the room, with Picard turning back briefly at the door. "If you have any more plot revelations to make Guinan, I urge you to make them soon."

The silence on the Bridge was ruffled when Data said, "Captain, a vessel is approaching our vicinity."

Picard leant forward - this was the first encounter they had had yet in the Dole Sector. "On screen."

The big screen shimmered. There was a glorious spray of stars, and a colorful nebula, however, no ship. Picard squinted, and could then see a tiny cube. The captain frowned. "Enlarge factor ten, Mister Data."

The cube grew into view. It was a menacing shape, all machine and economy. Eerie music played softly in the background, and Picard knew that this was his next dramatic plot.

Commander Riker coughed in confusion. "Captain," he said tentatively, "Uh, is it just me, or does that vessel seem somehow familiar?"

Data looked up from his console. "According to our computers, Commander, a vessel of this configuration is unknown to the Federation." He paused momentarily. "However, I must admit to experiencing the same sensation of ... familiarity. Is this what is know as ‘de javu’, Commander?"

"No, Data," Picard answered, smiling. "Merely a plot device."

"Zoom in again, Data, I want to see that ship in detail."

The android complied, and the alien vessel engorged the screen. Drums pounded behind the Bridge, and Picard heard the sound of a sinister choir. The captain felt his heart pumping with excitement, and rubbed a sweaty hand on his arm-rest. This was all just so deliciously dramatic, and it boded well.

The rest of the crew were not euphoric. In fact, one might say they were down-right stunned. "Am I seeing what I think I am seeing?" Riker muttered.

Picard frowned. "Will, just because we’re in a sci-fi, it doesn’t mean you can utter worn out cliches at every opportunity."

Riker blushed. "Sorry, Captain. Old habits die hard." He pointed helplessly at the craft. "But who in a million years would have expected to see a giant die out in space?"

"Actually, Commander, I had predicted this from the beginning," Data answered. "My android brain extrapolated every possible out-come, and this was one of them."

Picard had heard enough. "That’s quite enough Data. De-activate your intelligence circuits - I’m supposed to be the clever one here, remember?" His authority declared, Picard now enacted the routine. "Mister Data, open all hailing frequencies."

"Done, sir."

Jean-Luc settled in his chair. "This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Federation starship Enterprise. We come from the other side of the galaxy, and mean you no harm in this episode." He looked at Data. Even though Picard had just sent the message that second, and should have really waited at least half a minute for a response, the Script Writers dictated that common sense didn’t earn big bucks, so they threw it out the window along with quality acting and the plot.

"The message was received, sir. They are just not choosing to respond."

Picard suddenly remembered Guinan’s warning. Was this the reason she wanted them to leave as soon as possible? Or was it simply because she had left the kettle on back on Earth? The captain decided to find out. "Picard to Guinan. I want you to find a nearby TV and watch this with us. What do you make of that vessel?"

There was a pause on the other end. Finally, Guinan responded, her voice tired and old. "I know this ship, Captain. They call themselves the Borg Collective - they collect things. I recommend you turn back now."

Picard tutted with impatience. "We won’t get good ratings by turning tail, Guinan. I need to know more about this vessel."

"Sorry, captain, but I can’t tell you too much now or else it will ruin the suspense. Just wait. You’ll find out for yourselves soon enough."

"Very well. Picard out." The captain looked around the Bridge. "Any suggestions as to how we make contact with the Borg?"

Worf was first: "I suggest a constant bombardment of photon torpedoes and a phaser barrage."

"Mister Worf, all we want to do is say ‘hello’ to them."

"That’s how we do it on my planet."

The captain sighed. "Worf, you’re doing it again: conforming to the stereotype of a mindlessly aggressive Klingon. Must I remind you that this is the new Star Trek?"

Worf grunted. "Sorry, sir. Old habits die hard, with a vengeance."

Picard and Worf’s petty bickering were interrupted by the unexpected (but scripted) appearance of Q.

The Critic sighed. "More petty bickering, I see. What have you achieved so far, Jean-Luc?"

Picard tensed with anticipation. "Well, we have just encountered a vessel previously unknown to us, and are currently working on a strategy to greet them."

Q rolled his eyes. "Let me see - you opened all hailing frequencies and welcomed them, and when that didn’t provoke a response in one nano-second, you decided to form a committee to solve the problem."

"That’s the gist of it, yes."

"You don’t need a committee to work this out, Picard - only a brain. Unfortunately that appears to be a rare commodity on this ship." The Critic turned to the android. "Data, what is happening with the Borg? Why don’t they respond?" Q regarded Picard smugly as Data answered with the bland monotony that only machines and news reporters can muster.

"Our sensors indicate that this vessel is the product of a highly advanced society. Therefore it is highly improbable that they are unable to respond to us. The logical answer is that they do not wish to respond to us. Following this line of reasoning, it is safe to assume that the race which populate this vessel is simply ignoring us because it finds us boring, the same way millions on Earth avoid watching our episodes."

"Enough, Data!" Picard snapped, glaring at Q. "You know we can’t use Data too much, or else the show would be over before it even began. It would ruin all the suspense!"

"Nevertheless, I would listen to your android, Picard. And I would check your sensors, too. You’re in for a nasty shock." With that singularly unenlightening, dramatically tantalizing, remark Q popped out of existence.

Riker turned to Captain Picard, confused. "What did he mean, ‘we’re in for a shock’?"

Picard scowled. "Oh, say something original, Number One. Now, Data, I want you to scan that vessel for life-signs. Discarded bottles of Guiness, disco music – that sort of thing."

After a ridiculously brief moment, the android glanced at Picard. "There is nothing on that ship that conforms to our definitions of ‘life’, Captain."

Jean-Luc grunted his surprise. ‘That’s odd. Well, what else can you tell us about the object?"

"Unfortunately, not a lot, sir. The design of the vessel is so repetitive and monotonous that even the Enterprise’s sensor array has fallen asleep. Before sensor black-out, indications were that the ship has no command functions, engines or weapons. It appears to have as little function as a refrigerator magnet, but lacks the charisma. But, most horrifying of all, there was not the merest indication of a bar, a liquor shop or any intoxicants on board."

Riker swooned in horror, gripping his chair maniacally. "My God," he muttered.

Picard leant over to his First Officer. "Will, we can’t go to an ad break on this note. We need something decisive to happen."

"You’re right of course, captain. But what could possibly happen to us, with a lifeless block of sinister alien technology of unknown purpose floating dead ahead of us?"

"Captain!" Worf blurted. "Intruder alert!" He scowled at Picard fiercely. "There is an intruder on the Enterprise!"

Riker smacked his forehead, groaning. Picard touched his arm consolingly. "No, Number One, this is an excellent point in which to go to an ad break."

Picard, Riker, Data and Worf marched into Engineering.

All four officers jammed themselves in the narrow doorway until Worf took the initiative and shoved them aside. He swaggered onwards, his phaser-chain-gun resting casually against his hip.

The scene in the room was appalling. Geordi LaForge cowered in a far corner, whimpering to himself. Meanwhile, a hideous black leather-clad individual bedecked in chains, pipes and spare computer parts began hacking into the Enterprise’s computer systems, smashing the keyboards with his wicked-looking axe and kicking in the monitors.

Picard’s gut clenched with terror and bile. "My God, Data, what is that thing?"

"Well, sir, my readings indicate it is either a Borg soldier, or else a badly-dressed punk from the nineteen-nineties. The amount of body-piercing is making a definite classification awkward."

LaForge crawled across the floor surreptitiously and began groveling at Picard’s feet. "Forgive me, captain, there was nothing I could do. Before I knew it, he was calling me names and laughing at my clothes. I can only take so much!" he sobbed. "But I only gave him low-priority codes. He doesn’t know that the prime password is ‘Plagiarism’."

The Borg freak smirked at them savagely and punched in the command code.

Picard kicked Geordi in the head and huddled into a corner with Worf, Riker and Data.

"All right, gentlemen, it seems we have a problem on our hands. If we allow the Borg access to our confidential information, it could mean the end of us all."

"Do you mean they’ll steal our advanced technology?" Riker proposed.

"No, Number One – far worse. They might publicize our true viewer ratings." All of them but for Data shuddered at the implications.

Their council of war was interrupted by a rather bestial snoring from the console controlling the Nuclear Reactor. A bald, fat, jaundiced man was sprawled in his chair grotesquely, his mouth slack with drool. Riker tapped the worker on the shoulder, who woke in short order and yelped. Riker waved his hands placatingly. "It’s all right, you can go home now."

"Woo hoo!" he whooped and bolted from his chair, snatching up a bag of donuts in the process. At the doorway he turned unexpectedly and picked up a hard-drive the Borg had smashed onto the floor. "I’ll take that one too!" Then, mercifully, he was gone.

Picard clucked his tongue. "Number One, if you’re quite finished indulging in subtle references to other shows, would you please come over here and assess the situation?"

Riker walked over to his commanding officer, who was regarding the cyborg warily. "Hmm," he offered. "I would say that this fellow is breaking into all our systems and robbing our ship of its secrets. What do you think?"

"Hmm, I agree. There is some cause for concern. I wish there was something we could do about it, though."

"Talk, Captain," Data suggested.

"Oh, I do that all the time, Data. I like the sound of my own voice."

"I know, sir. What I really meant was that if you tried talking to the intruder . . . ?"

"My God, Data, that’s brilliant! I really should promote you, but you’d probably put me out of a job." Jean-Luc Picard stood forward, dramatically. "We come in peace," he began. "But we shoot to kill."

The part-machine, part-punk ignored him. "Hmm," Picard grunted. "That didn’t go down as well as I had hoped. Listen, we mean you no harm. We want to learn about you. What are you? Where do you come from? What size underwear do you have?"

The Borg turned and skewered Picard on the sword of a chilling gaze. Rather than saying anything, however, he merely brandished the mechanical appendage on the end of his arm, which uncannily resembled a mutated cross-marriage between a blender and a pair of shears. He waved the limb in the air menacingly, slashing at the computers, provoking arcs of lightning across the consoles.

"Captain!" Riker blurted. "He’s gaining access to the ship’s systems!"

"Oh, Worf, stun this imbecile, would you?" The Klingon complied happily.

The captain stepped forward once more. "This requires drastic and decisive action. Intruder! If you do not step away from our computers, I will be forced to have my lawyers read you your rights. And if that doesn’t deter you, we may just have to file a complaint!"

When Picard’s demands were met with more vandalism, Worf elbowed his captain aside. "Here, sir, let me talk to him," he growled, and speared the Borg with a phaser beam. The radiation seared its metal casing, bubbled the plastic and blew the creature half-way across the cavernous chamber. It dropped to the ground like a sack of bricks and lay there twitching like a cockroach downed by a roundhouse.

Immediately after the Borg expired another beamed into the room, and carried on with its predecessor’s task. The floor shook viciously and the lights flickered red, green, blue and then began strobing the Engineering room like a discotheque.

Recoiling under the barrage of optical bombardment, Picard himself gunned the next Borg down. However, this barrage had negligible effect until Worf added his own fire-power. Caught in the crossfire, the intruder collapsed to the floor, smoking and rolling in painful spasms reminiscent of break-dancing.

Out of the melee another of them materialized, but instead of hacking at the Macintoshes, it inserted floppy disks into slots built into its fallen comrades. As one, the corpses were consumed in rust and soon vanished in a pile of dust. The remaining intruder beamed itself out.

Data pounced forward, scanning the smoking remains with his doohickey. "Captain, it appears that I have found fear in a handful of dust," he reported cryptically.

"What?"

"It would appear that the last Borg infected its comrades with an insidious computer virus of the utmost cruelty. Within micro-seconds the infection had eaten up all their RAM, trashed their hard-drives, and paralyzed their systems. In short, the total systems failure left the two soldiers as scrap."

"But that’s monstrous!" he exclaimed. "What kind of twisted programme could have inflicted such irreparable damage?"

Data shuddered for the first time in his bland existence. "It is called . . . Windows 95."

Riker groaned as he came into consciousness. Geordi had furtively left the corner and now joined them again, as if nothing had happened. Worf scowled at everyone.

Picard looked very serious indeed. "The situation is grim," he intoned. "Our enemies are ruthless, and they now have full design specifications of our vessel. They know all the special effects we can perform, and how we manage them. My carefully considered command decision is that we run like Hell!"

Riker rubbed the back of his head. "I couldn’t agree more, sir."

"Yes, sir, that would be most appropriate," Data chipped in.

"I’m behind ya, captain," Geordi remarked.

Worf scowled at everyone.

They were all back on the Bridge again, after a timely ad break.

Picard had just assumed his command chair when Data looked up from his console. "Captain! We are receiving a hail from the Borg!"

Jean-Luc’s eyebrows snaked up his forehead. "Well," he murmured, and straightened his jacket. "This is more like it. Patch them through, Data."

The screen flickered, and the view changed. Instead of an unending abyss of stars, there was now an unending abyss of machinery and weird green light. Picard’s first thought was that they were having some kind of disco on their vessel.

"I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard, captain of the starship Enterprise …"

"YOU WILL SURRENDER YOUR VESSEL TO US. WE HAVE ANALYSED YOUR SHOW’S SPECIAL EFFECTS BUDGET, AND OURS IS BIGGER. YOUR DEFENSIVE CAPABILITIES ARE UNABLE TO WITHSTAND US."

The interior of their ship vanished, to be superseded by the stars again. Picard smiled tightly. "Not exactly one’s for small talk."

The Borg ship (and their Producer) chose that moment to fire. The Enterprise’s Automated Turbulence Systems kicked in, throwing everyone but Data out of their chairs. Picard scrambled off the floor and back into his seat, just in time to be thrown out of it again.

Captain Picard struggled back into his seat, gripping it tightly. Riker rolled his eyes. "This is as bad as those rides in Movie World!"

Jean-Luc glared at the die-shaped vessel. "Worf," he commanded. "Fire at will!"

Worf smirked savagely and blasted Riker again. "My pleasure, captain."

"Not him you cranial deformity, the ship!"

The Borg vessel took a barrage of photon torpedoes, and was smothered in a cloud of plasma. Momentarily the screen cleared. It was still there, but not unharmed. A large crater was blasted out of its surface, making the IV into another V.

Captain Picard smirked. "There, that should show them what comes about messing around with the latest special effects!"

Data was less pleased. "Sir," he began. "The Borg vessel seems to be repairing itself."

As usual, the android’s statement was correct. Right in front of their eyes the torn metal fabric of the ship was knitting itself back together. Picard swore. "They must have the team at Industrial Light and Magic!" He calmly weighed the situation for a moment. "Mister Data, when will their repairs be complete?"

The android consulted his board. "According to my script, sir, their repairs will be completed before the next ad break."

Jean-Luc Picard frowned. "That isn’t much time. We’ve got to send an away team over, find out if they have any weaknesses. Data, Worf, I want you to board their vessel. Give me up-to-date reports, and if they have a 7-11, pick me up a cheese and lettuce sandwich."

The two headed for the elevators. Picard remembered something. "Oh, yes, wake him up," he said, prodding Riker. "He’s going with you."

Eerie violin music stalked them as they wandered through the Borg vessel.

Riker felt overwhelmed. Aside from the background music, it was silent. It was like creeping through a graveyard, and Riker felt the analogy might not be too far from the truth.

His footsteps echoed on the metal decks as they penetrated the corridors. They all seemed to be the same. Riker smirked: maybe their budget wasn’t that big after all.

Data was consulting his doohickey. The android pointed down the corridor and said, "Commander, my readings of the script indicate that just ahead lies a key part of our plot."

Riker looked at Worf worriedly. Things weren’t going that well - he wasn’t sure whether he could handle yet another plot revelation. The Commander sighed. "Very well, Mister Data. Lead on."

The three walked on, phasers held at the ready. Data never took his eyes from his device, while Worf’s eyes shot all over the place. They reached the end of the corridor, and Riker suddenly knew that Data had been right.

Worf grunted. Riker gasped. Stretching away into infinity was the abyss they had seen on the Enterprise’s screen. An unearthly green glow spewed forth from its interior, making Riker feel ill. But it wasn’t the chasm that had caused him to gasp - it was the procession of niches cut into the walls, niches that housed standing Borg soldiers. Riker neared, watching them cautiously for any signs of life. They were simply immobile, staring forward, listening to some voices he could hear far away.

Data had put away his thing-a-ma-jig and scrutinized the scene. He waved a hand in front of a Borg’s eyes. It made no response. He put his head closer to the creature, listening intently. Suddenly he looked at Riker. "Commander! I believe I hear something!"

The First Officer came closer, puzzled. "I can’t quite hear it, Data. What is it?"

The android frowned in concentration. "It appears that all the Borg are watching re-runs of Star Wars."

Worf’s eyes bulged in fear. "That would be enough to send anyone into shock!" he muttered.

A look of pleasure suffused Data’s android features. "I believe I understand, sir. The Borg are regenerating - repairing themselves. It seems that while the ship is busy, the crew are killing time."

Riker poked a Borg on the nose. "No response. Judging from their slack-jawed and dazed appearance, I’d say you were correct, Data. They display all the signs of watching TV."

Data studied the machinery around a Borg. The niche bore an uncanny likeness to a mechanical coffin. Various tubes and conduits prodded through, making soft gurgling noises. The android stood straight. "It seems that the Borg are in possession of a technology far in advance of our own, Commander. They have the capability of feeding television shows directly into the humanoid brain."

Riker’s eyebrows mounted new heights. "Astonishing! Captain Picard, are you getting all of this?"

The grim voice of his commander came back: "I am indeed, Number One. Proceed with your investigations."

Riker stepped away from his Borg and moved onto another one. His eye caught something in the gloom, above the Borg’s head. It was too dim to see. "Can I have some light over here?" Riker called.

Worf promptly blasted the shadowed object into oblivion. Riker glared at him. "I was hoping more for a torch, Worf."

The Klingon shrugged. "It’s torched now."

The First Officer tried another cubicle. "Ah, there’s another one. Data, shine a light on it, would you?"

The android flashed a beam into the area. The object seemed to be a label of some kind, with two words printed on it. Riker could make no sense of it. "Data, what do you think?"

The synthetic man pondered it a moment. "I believe I recognise the name, sir. It refers to an actor in twentieth century cinema."

Worf grunted admiringly and read the name out aloud: "Arnold Schwarzenegger. Now that’s a warrior’s name."

Data blinked twice. "Commander," he began, "Unless I am mistaken, the Borg resident in this cubicle bears features strikingly similar to those of Arnold Schwarzenegger."

Riker looked closer. It was true the features looked familiar. "But how could a hack actor from twentieth century Earth possibly end up out here?"

Data inclined his head. "Perhaps the same way you ended up here."

Worf had moved onto the next cubicle. "Commander!" he blurted. "Look at this."

The next Borg also had a name. "Jean-Claude van Damme," Riker muttered. "Now where have I heard that before?"

Data moved on, reading out the names of each occupant as he went. "Stephen Segall, Bruce Willis, Will Smith, Tom Cruise ... Commander, all these are B-grade actors from the late twentieth century. They all appeared, frequently, in action films and often in science-fiction."

Picard’s voice came over their speakers. "Did I hear you correctly, away team? The Borg vessel is populated by second-rate actors?"

Riker nodded. "It seems to be that way, Captain, although I haven’t a clue as to how they arrived out here. There’s no work, for a start."

They continued to move on, their hypothesis growing stronger with each actor encountered. Finally they came to a long row of empty cubicles. Riker moved forward to read the names. He fell back in shock, gasping in horror. Worf also became frightfully pale. Only Data was unmoved.

"Away team!" Picard demanded. "What’s going on over there!"

Since the other two looked decidedly ill, Data responded. "Captain, it appears that our theory is correct. The ship is crewed by the stiffest and most wooden actors Hollywood has ever mustered. And it appears that the Enterprise crew are next to be collected into the ranks of the Borg."

The away team were back on the Enterprise. Most of the Bridge crew had gathered in the Ready Room to analyze their discoveries. Guinan was also present, having being dragged away from a bottle of gin.

"Right," Picard declared. "In case you do not know, the away team have just returned from the Borg vessel. And the news they have to bring is not good. Before we get down to specifics, though, I would like to hear what you have to say on this matter, Guinan. It’s been quite evident that you possess some secret knowledge vital to our plot. I believe it is time such information is now revealed to us."

The black bar-tender inclined her head. "I agree, Captain." She smiled. "Where should I begin?"

Picard thought for a moment. "Well, how about you start with your own experiences with the Borg? You seem to know them."

Guinan shook her head. "I never met them personally, you understand. I have always been pretty much in demand for work, and had occasionally starred in a few good films. But, I have heard stories about them." She now settled down to give the typical explanatory speech. "The Borg are the result of a horrific experiment. Centuries ago on your world, the USA was over-run by a computer company called Microsoft. Microsoft well and truly had the government in its pocket, and its sights set on more wealth. One of their diabolical schemes involved the gradual takeover of Hollywood. First of all they funded some small time films, then they played with the big boys, pouring money into all the crappy sci-fi adventures that Hollywood pumped out. Before the world knew it, Bill Gates owned Hollywood. Every cliched alien invasion film plugged Microsoft products at every opportunity. But that wasn’t enough for them. Gates had this insane dream of a computer in every home. His computer of course, running his software, all exorbitantly priced. To a certain extent he was succeeding, when he finally hit on the idea of plugging his computers into people. That way everyone would have to buy his machines and software. He started small, selling Microsoft jewellery and ear-rings. Then he upgraded, attaching his machines to his actors in all his films. That is how the Borg came about. The B-grade actors went out of control when they realized that their machines could act better than they themselves. Eventually they were taken over by the forces of Melodrama, and they assimilated all that was boring, stiff and mechanical. Needless to say, Microsoft was swallowed straight away, and then the US Congress. Other world governments, fearing for their very safety, lured the Borg into a trap, and rid Earth of their menace forever. Next they-- "

Riker interrupted. "Hold on a minute. What was the trap Earth set?"

Guinan looked at him disapprovingly. "Just because you’re an incidental character, doesn’t mean you have to act that way. There’s more to life than asking the main characters leading questions, you know."

Riker hung his head in shame. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"That’s better. Now let me get on with my formulaic description of the history of the Borg. Earth was very cunning, and understood the nature of the Borg. Remember, the Borg are composed of cheap, shoddy actors - that’s why they want you guys to join them. Now, Earth knew they couldn’t out-gun the Borg, so they decided to out-class them instead. They lured the Borg into a massive, specially constructed cinema, and subjected them for three days to an all out bombardment of Earth’s greatest films. Braveheart, Shine, Hamlet - you name it, whatever Earth had, it gave to the Borg." She stared meditatively off into the distance. "For three days they were locked in there. They were deprived of any cliches, tortured with great acting. At last, they could stand it no longer and fled Earth."

Picard puts his hands on the table, grimly. "The Borg were never seen again, and Earth took the means to make sure they never returned. For a hundred years Earth blossomed as Hollywood turned out masterpieces, perfect tableaus of great acting. Shakespeare, Gogol, all the classics were performed, and all science fiction was banned. Until now."

Riker nodded with dawning understanding. "So you’re saying that we’re the reason the Borg are back?"

"Well, think about it man! Shoddy acting, improbable scripts, boring speeches - you have to look no further than Star Trek to find all of these. We must be a feast to the Borg."

Riker stood dramatically. "The only question now is : how do we stop them?"

Red alert lights flashed, and sirens howled all around the ship, and out into space. Worf’s voice came through the intercom, accompanied by background music. "Captain, the Borg - they’re back!"

The Borg cube filled the center screen. Picard took seat in his throne as the rest of the crew filed onto the Bridge.

"The Borg are powering up their weapons, Captain."

"Arm photon torpedoes! Charge phasers and ready to fire on my order."

Q appeared beside Picard. "Tut, tut, mon capitain. You are merely gristle for the Borg’s mill." He mimicked Picard’s voice: "‘Shields up! Arm phasers!’ - you are nothing more than a paltry cliche. The Borg have heard it all before, and so have your bored audience."

Captain Picard ignored the Critic. "Prepare to fire on my mark." Picard leaned forward dramatically, pointing his finger at the Borg. "FIRE!!"

Bolts of light flew from the Enterprise, and streams of deadly missiles. The Borg ship was obliterated from the screen in a blinding barrage of weaponry, as the Enterprise chucked everything they could at it.

Picard settled back into his chair smugly, looking at Q. "Not such a fearsome adversary after all, Q."

The Critic was still smiling faintly, glancing at the screen. "Don’t speak too soon, Jean-Luc. You may still be out of a job, yet."

The captain snorted at his presumptuousness, but took a turn when Worf suddenly announced, "The Borg are recovering, sir."

Picard thumped his hand on his arm rest. "Impossible!" he exploded. Yet there it was, on the big screen. Dramatic music pumped out of the massive speakers as Picard watched the Borg cube re-assemble itself before his very eyes.

Q leaned forward maliciously. "You cannot destroy them. Cliched weapons such as yours only make them stronger. They feed off your incompetence and unoriginality. Right now they are growing. They have read all your scripts, they know everything that you will do. They are indefatigable!"

Jean-Luc Picard went red in the face. "Data! Get us out of here, maximum warp!"

Q settled back into his chair, chuckling. "You’re playing into their hands, Jean-Luc."

Data reported from his console: "Warp seven, sir. Warp eight. Warp nine. Warp nine point five. . ."

Picard watched on the screen with a growing sense of horror as the Borg ship grew. Out of the depths of space it hurtled after them, a monstrosity more cliche-ridden than themselves. They fought back every attack, they delivered their lines in a wooden and menacing tone - and all too soon, the Enterprise was set to join them. Picard wiped the sweat from his bald head with a handkerchief Q supplied him with. He gave the item back to the Critic. He was about to saying something when the vessel shook.

"We’re hit!" Worf reported.

"Duh!" Riker exclaimed.

"Our shields are down, Captain," Data reported calmly. Being the only regular in the show with a real personality, Data was confident he could soon find work elsewhere. He had heard that there was an opening in a film called Phenomenon.

"We are defenseless," Worf clarified.

Riker smashed his fist on his arm-rest. "Do you have to be so bloody obvious, Worf!"

The Klingon grunted. "What do you expect? I’m only the token aggressive character."

"The Borg are here," Data reported, and so they were, hanging out in space by their strings.

Riker calmed down. There was only one option left. "Worf, arm the photon torpedoes and prepare to fire."

Data turned to the First Officer. "Sir, a photon detonation at this range would surely destroy us - the ratings demand we do something to get our audience’s attention!"

Q laughed. "Predictable as ever, Jean-Luc. Happy little science fiction cliches, right until the end. I think I’ll be going now."

Picard lunged forward, falling to his knees at the Critic’s feet. "No, Q, wait!" he groveled. He pulled out a handkerchief and sniffed theatrically. "You wanted to terrify us with visions of our ultimate future - well, we’re scared! You wanted to show us how cliché-ridden and stupid we are - well, we have seen! You wanted us to admit that our show stinks - well, our show stinks!"

Q leant back in his chair with an air of smug amusement.. "You have done well, Jean-Luc. I brought you out here not only because I am a cruel, omnipotent jerk who can do whatever he wants, I also brought you out here because I wanted to humiliate you in front of millions of people. You have all leant an important lesson today," he pontificated, addressing the entire audience. "You thought you could fight the inevitable with guns and techno-babble, but you were mistaken. The Borg aren’t some sequel from your sordid past – they are a prediction of what you are all becoming."

The Critic strolled around the Bridge casually, imperiously. "Today is a momentous occasion for your paltry show. You can now add another cliché to your already ample supply. The individual against the collective! Democracy against communism! You also now understand that by humiliating yourself shamelessly, the ratings sky-rocket faster than Warp Ten. Use your gift sparingly, Picard."

Picard dusted down his uniform, rising to his feet. "Q, I appreciate what you have been trying to teach us today. But did it really have to end in the deaths of eighteen of my crew?"

Q coughed derisively. "Oh, come on, Jean-Luc. Were any of them main characters? I think not. As long as you mob are around, the show will go on. They were only uncredited extras, anyway."

The Critic lounged idly in the captain’s chair. "Now that you have abased yourself before me and groveled shamelessly, I might as well take you home." Q snapped his fingers and the Enterprise spun like a merry-go-round.

When they came to a stop, the token boy-genius character reported, "We’ve come to a rest, captain." He looked up from his console with a grin. "We’re back at Square One – right where we started."