The first thing Captain Janeway saw when she woke up in Voyager’s sickbay was the smiling face of the Emergency Medical Hologram.
“Captain,” said Doc, pleased that his medical brilliance had once again produced a last-minute solution to a crisis. “I have successfully removed most of the Borg implants from yourself, Commander Tuvok and Lieutenant Torres. I anticipate no long-term effects, and your neural suppressant has prevented any of the psychological damage we’ve seen in other former drones.”
“The mission?” croaked Janeway, sitting up on the biobed. Her scalp itched and she had an incredible craving for a nice hot mug of coffee. This was the last time she was going to let herself be assimilated by the Borg! Apparently ‘liquid supplements’ were irrelevant. Picard was right; the Borg truly were the essence of evil.
“Commander Chakotay informs me that the individuality virus has been spread throughout the Borg Collective. He instructed me to tell you not to worry, he can handle Voyager for a few days.” Janeway swung her legs off the biobed and Doc added significantly. “So I suggest you get some rest.”
“I’m quite fine, Doctor,” said Janeway, striding for the door and promptly stumbling in her unfamiliar shoes. She looked down and screamed in sheer horror.
The Doctor was so startled he dropped his tricorder. “Captain?”
“What the hell am I doing in a silver catsuit and boots with four-inch heels?”
“The biosuit works as a dermaplastic graft,” replied the Doctor soothingly. “It’s to help your skin regenerate. As for the boots well, fashion is hardly my forte, but...”
“For God’s sake, you can tell my butt size in this! I’m not having every horny crewman on Voyager checking out my physical dimensions!” Janeway looked in a mirror and screamed again. “And what happened to my hair? I’m bald!”
“Well, don’t blame me,” said a miffed EMH. “The Borg were responsible for that! I didn’t see the need to change it. After all, some of Starfleet’s greatest leaders have been bald. Kirk, Picard, Sisko, and myself of course.”
“I want my hair follicles regenerated immediately! And I want this biosuit removed at once!” Janeway shouted, cranking her Glare of Death up to full power.
“We can’t do that yet,” protested the Doctor, as he prepared a hypospray of caffeine in a desperate attempt to placate the frantic captain. “The transporters are offline, and the only way to remove you from that biosuit is to beam you out of it.”
“Beam me out of it?”
“Yes, and then I’d just have to spraypaint it on again afterwards. Those grafts shouldn’t be removed until your skin has regenerated, and that can take some time. Seven of Nine is still wearing hers after three years! Mind you, she does have an awful lot of skin to regenerate. Especially around her... chest region.”
The sickbay doors hissed open and Tuvok minced through them in his high-heeled boots. “Captain, I fail to see the logic in wearing this ridiculous form of footwear. Furthermore, this biosuit is cutting off the circulation to my genitalia.”
“Oh Tuvok,” said Janeway. “If I ever let on that it was easy for Seven of Nine, remind me of today.” To the Doctor’s alarm the captain reached out to embrace her long-time friend and companion.
“Don’t, Captain! You’ve still got some of your Borg impl—”
The next time Captain Janeway woke up, it was Chakotay’s concerned face staring down at her.
“Commander Chakotay,” Janeway said whoozily. “I see the way your pupils dilate when you look at my body. Do you wish to copulate?”
“She’s coming around, Doctor,” said Chakotay. “What happened?”
“Two words,” replied the Doctor. “Static discharge.”