Robert Beltran and the Voyager cast have all amassed outside of Berman’s lair located just outside of Los Angeles. The lair, which is a scale of Mount Rushmore, features the heads of Rick Berman, Brannon Braga, Mini-Berman and Michael Piller.
Beltran: All right, people! This is it! The battle over mediocrity begins now!
Beltran: Let’s begin the insurrection to preserve quality television!
Wang: Um, just a second, sir. Technically, an “insurrection” deals with a country going against their own government to fight for their beliefs. Since none of that is present here, and Rick Berman isn’t our government, shouldn’t this just be considered a “strong disagreement?”
Beltran: Are you sure about this?
Wang: Yeah. I always carry around a pocket Webster’s in case a situation like this may arise.
Beltran: Very well. Let’s begin the strong disagreement to preserve quality television!
(A door to the compound slides open, and out pours several security guards. These guards include Michael Hunt, former head of security for Paramount, and Hahn Jobbe, an Austrian bodybuilder-turned-guard.)
Hunt: Mr. Berman said you guys have to leave.
Wang: Damn. Oh, well, I guess I’ll see you guys later. (Wang leaves the group and walks off back toward LA.)
Beltran: Somebody go back there and get him back here.
Jobbe: You gahs cahnnoht be heah. Mistah Behmuhn wants uhs to kick yo ahses.
Picardo: Uh, sorry guys. I have to go home. I left my... uh, hairdryer on.
Beltran: What are you talking about, you’re bald! You don’t even need a hairdryer!
(Robert Picardo has already hauled ass back to Los Angeles with Garrett Wang.)
Jobbe: (Walks up to Beltran) Puneh girleh mahn! Prehpahr to face mah mahnleh muscles!
(The rest of the Voyager cast scatter, leaving Robert Beltran to fend for himself. Beltran punches at Hahn Jobbe, breaking his knuckles at Jobbe’s superior muscles. Beltran falls to his knees and starts weeping.)
Beltran: Please! Please don’t kill me! I didn’t mean it!
Jobbe: Mistuh Berhmahn vill be pleased. Mistah Hunt, tahk him behlow!
Berman: All is going according to plan. The cast is gone and Robert Beltran will be of no concern to us. I will now make my demands to Washington. Mini-Berman, open hailing frequencies!
Mini-Berman: Channel open, sir.
(The viewscreen indeed opens to the oval office, but President Clinton is sitting at his desk with a crapped-out expression on his face. A low, slurping noise can be heard.)
Berman: President Clinton, this is Rick Berman, Executive Producer of Star Trek! You will bow to my wishes!
Clinton: Star Trek? Oh, yeah! Yoda! Listen, I’m a big fan of your work! I must say Princess Leia looked really hot in that slave outfit in Return of the Jedi!
Berman: No. That’s Star Wars. This is Star Trek. You know. The Borg, Q, Klingons, Kazon, and Jem’Hadar?
Clinton: Who? What? Chewbacca?
Berman: No! You know, the show with the Romulans.
Clinton: I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. If you don’t mind, I’m in the middle of doing something. Something that involves, uh, national security interests or something... Just don’t tell Hillary. Clinton out. Oh, Monica... (The commlink fades out)
Berman: Damn! President Clinton is too strong a force. I may have to go back in time after all. Mrs. Taylor. Prepare the Temporal Vortex. I will be using it shortly.
Taylor: Aye, sir.
(Hahn Jobbe walks in)
Jobbe: Mistah Behrmehn, ve have tahken ze prisohneh. Robehrt Beltrahn is down ze below.
Berman: Excellent. First, I’ll question Robert Beltran, then I shall go back and take over the world! Victory is mine!