Archive for the 'Ficlets' Category

WIP Amnesty Day

Friday, February 6th, 2004

I’m not quite sure what WIP amnesty day is all about, but here’s a UFO (that’s unfinished object - I make no claim that it’s in progress) I’ll probably never finish. I issued a Leatherclad Challenge at some point, to get Chakotay back into his Maquis duds. Somehow this AU set in first season was supposed to accomplish that.

The Nines by Jemima (VOY, UFO, Season 1/”Survival Instinct”) 7/03

No one would have guessed they were drones by looking at them. Yes,
there was an eerie coordination to their movements as they strolled
down the wide thoroughfare of Llan Station, but theirs was not the
flesh-defying mechanical precision of the Borg. The unity of the four
humanoids was more like the discipline of an elite military squadron.
A passer-by might notice an almost decorative flash of metal on a neck
or hand, but the Collective’s callous disregard for the humanoid form
was nowhere in evidence.

As the figures turned aside at the entryway of a shop, the Human’s
motions were not quite human, nor the Bajoran’s exactly Bajoran. A
member of Species 571 would not have claimed this quartet, nor would
the former comrades of the fourth humanoid have recognized their own.
They disconnected the credit register with swift, accurate motions
that could as easily have belonged to a ring of thieves as a crew of

Their oddness did not disturb the inhabitants of the space station,
who were mainly members of species 482, 390 and 207, with a smattering
of 133, 797, the ever-popular 218, and unidentified visitors. To the
locals, they were merely four more aliens employed to service the
station’s decaying infrastructure. It would take a human to spot
Seven’s inhumanity, and a purported Bajoran to call Three spiritless.


Where is the Fic?

Thursday, January 16th, 2003

Title: Where is the Fic?
Author: Jemima
Series: VOY
Summary: A filk on the eternal question of Voyager fandom.

Where is the fic?
Where is the fic?
Where is the fic?
Where is the fic?
Where is the fic?
Where is the fic?
Where is the fic?

Where is the fic
You said you’d write for me, it would be J/C -
Will it ever be?
Where is the fic?

You told me J/P was disgusting, and you would never try to find
Those tired, misplaced lizard babies - they should be left behind!

Where is the fic
You said you’d write for me, it would be J/C -
Have you gone P/T?
Where is the fic?

If you’re still suffering through Enterprise, I wish that you would let it go.
Don’t leave me hanging on a cliffhanger -
Come back and fix my show!

Oh how I wish I’d never read you;
I guess it must have been the plot.
I got sucked in to such a weird AU,
The one you left to rot!

Where is the fic
You said would be J/C for eternity?
Have you gone C/P?
Where is the fic?

Where is the fic?
Where is the fic?
Where is the fic?
[repeat ad nauseum]

The Borg Queen

Wednesday, January 1st, 2003

Title: The Borg Queen
Author: Jemima
Series: VOY
Part: 1/1
Rating: G
Codes: filk
Summary: You’re not a true filker until you’ve filked “The Boxer.”

I am just a Borg drone
Though my role is manifold;
I once offered up resistance
Like a creature ruled by instinct -
Such are humanoids
All meat and vein
Now this drone does what she has to do
And disregards the pain.
She’ll comply…

When they took my home
And my family,
I was no more than a girl
Kidnapped by metallic strangers
To a silent maturation chamber
Drowning, scared,
Left to grow,
Taken out when I was finished,
Sent to check a manifold,
Seeing all the places
Only drones can go.

She’ll comply,
You’ll comply and he’ll comply,
She’ll comply,
Every living, breathing thing yes it will comply…

An assimilation chamber -
I’m assigned another job
But I see none like me,
Just an endless flow of those
Considered worthiest.
I cut and pare,
But sometimes one looks familiar and
I let them out of there.

She’ll comply,
You’ll comply and he’ll comply,
She’ll comply,
Every living, breathing thing yes it will comply…

And the years pass by like seasons on
A world I know is gone -
I am home
In a unimatrix lead by
One who once was me.
We expand,
Taking homes.

On a Borg cube reigns the Borg Queen,
Nexus to a billion brains,
From a nation long forgotten
By all save those who cut them down,
Re-engineered their children
To know neither fear nor pain,
Gave a number to their species
Of which only drones remain.

She’ll comply,
You’ll comply and he’ll comply,
She’ll comply,
Every living, breathing thing yes it will comply.
You’ll comply and he’ll comply,
She’ll comply,
Every living, breathing thing yes it will comply.

[Repeat ad nauseum]

Pabulum and Protocol

Thursday, September 12th, 2002

The following was inspired by Austen-tatious by Liz Barr. Copyright has lapsed on the original.

Pabulum and Protocol, Chapter 1, by Jemima Austen

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single woman in possession of a mid-sized starship must be in want of a husband.

However little known the feelings or views of such a woman may be on her first entering the quadrant, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the starship’s crew, that she is considered as the rightful property of some one or other of their officers.

“My dear B’Elanna,” said her flyboy to her one day, “have you heard that Turbolift Two is broken again?”

Lieutenant Torres replied that she had not.

“But it is,” returned he; “for Ensign Lang has just been here, and she told me all about it.”

Lieutenant Torres made no answer.

“Do not you want to know who is in it?” cried her husband impatiently.

“*You* want to tell me, and I have nothing better to do for the next fifty years.”

This was invitation enough.

“Why, my dear, you must know, Ensign Lang says that the turbolift was taken by a burly Maquis of grim aspect from the senior staff; that he left the messhall at 1300 hours bound for the holodeck, and was so fortunate as to share it with the Captain, who was on her way to the bridge; that they are now both trapped in the malfunctioning ‘lift until at least gamma shift.”

“Which Maquis might that be?”


“Isn’t he with Seven of Nine?”

“Oh, no, my dear; perish the thought! A lonely Maquis of grim aspect; what a fine thing for our Captain!”

“How so? How can it affect her?”

“My dear B’Elanna,” replied her husband, “how can you be so pessimistic! You must know that I am thinking of her marrying him.”

“Is that her design in taking the turbolift?”

“Design! Nonsense, how can you talk so! But it is very likely that she *may* fall in love with him, and therefore you must join the repair team and slow them down.”

“I see no occasion for that. You, Tuvok and Harry may go, or you may send them by themselves, which perhaps will be still better; for, as you are as handsome as any of the crew, Captain Janeway might like you the best of the party.”

“My dear, you flatter me. I certainly have my share of charm, but I do not spread it around now. When a man has a Klingon for a wife, he is wise to give over thinking of other women.”

“In such cases, a Klingon woman does not hesitate to elimate her rivals.”

“But, my dear, you must indeed go and stop Captain Janeway before she climbs out of the turbolift shaft.”

“She would rip my head off, I assure you.”

“But consider your old friend Chakotay. Only think what an establishment it would be for him. The Doctor and Seven of Nine are determined to help, merely on that account, for in general, you know they brook no sabotage of Starfleet equipment. Indeed you must go, for it will be impossible for us to pull this off, if you do not.”

“You are over-scrupulous, surely. I dare say Captain Janeway will be entirely convinced; and I will send a data PADD with you to assure her of my hearty consent to her marrying which ever she chooses of the Maquis; though I must throw in a good word for Ken Dalby.”

“I desire you will do no such thing. Dalby is not a bit better than the others; and I am sure he is not half so handsome as Ayala, nor half so good humoured as Chell. But you are always giving *him* the preference.”

“They have none of them much to recommend them,” replied she; “they are all gloomy and idealistic like other Maquis; but Dalby has something more of quickness than the others.”

“B’Elanna, how can you abuse your former crewmates in such a way? You take delight in vexing me. You have no consideration of my betting pool exposure.”

“You mistake me, my dear. I have a high respect for your pool. I have heard you mention it with consideration these seven years already.”

“Ah! you do not know what I suffer.”

“But I hope you will get over it, and live to see many Starfleet officers of childbearing age get trapped in the Delta Quadrant.”

“It will be no use to us if twenty such should come, since you will not strand them in turbolifts.”

“Depend upon it, flyboy, that when there are twenty I will strand them all.”

B’Elanna was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humour, reserve, and temper, that the experience of seven long years had been insufficient to make her husband understand her character. *His* mind was less difficult to develop. He was a pilot of low tastes, juvenile idealism, and restless spirit. When he was bored, he fancied himself a matchmaker. The business of his life was hotshot piloting; its solace was holosuites and betting pools.

She’s baaaack…

Monday, April 1st, 2002

Yes, it’s been a while. I blame blogger. I’m thinking about moving to Moveable Type - every time I want to blog, blogger is down.

The ASC Awards are in progress - you can vote at the Trekiverse site. On the fictional side, my filk of JCS is almost done. Here’s another excerpt to make up for my blogging neglect:

Hellmouth On Her Mind

(as sung by the DOCTOR at the mental institution)

Her mind is clearer now.
At last we can hope she will see that her dreams cannot be.
If we strip away the stakes from the girl,
She will see that her dreams cannot be.
Six years now you have lived
In fantasies unreal.
You really do believe
That Sunnydale is real.
Despite the good you do -
The world you save each day -
You’ve begun to have doubts about the role you play.

Listen Buffy I don’t see what you see;
I’m just asking that you listen to me.
Please believe me, I’ve been on your case here all along.
You have set your dreams on fire.
You used to play a blonde Messiah.
I can free you if you’ll just be strong.

I remember when this whole case began.
No talk of gods then, just you and a man.
And believe me, my dedication to you hasn’t slacked.
But every dream you dream today
Will fall apart in some new way.
Someday soon there will be no way back.

Sunnydale, your vampire slayer really needs to come back home
Go to college, have a life
Be someone’s wife.
Make-up, clothes, and her own car would have suited Buffy more.
No-one here would cause her harm, nothing alarm.

Listen Buffy, and remember your life,
Back before you invented this strife.
You were happy then; you have forgotten the young girl you were.
I am frightened by your eyes,
For to keep dreaming is unwise.
And we’ll lose you if you sink too far.

Listen Buffy, to the warning I give.
Please remember that I want you to live.
But it’s sad to see your chances weakening with every hour.
For your old dream is now a bind,
Too much Hellmouth on your mind.
It was fantasy and now it’s sour.
Yes it’s all gone sour……

Ben’s Dream

Friday, March 22nd, 2002

Ben’s Dream

(a filk for Veronica)

I dreamed I met a Californian,
A most amazing girl.
She had that look you very rarely find,
The haunted, hunting kind.

I asked her to say what had happened,
How it all began
I asked again - she never said a word,
As if she hadn’t heard.

And next, the streets were full of wild and undead men.
They seemed to hate this girl.
They fell on her, and then,
They disappeared again.

Then I saw all of the Scoobies
Crying for this girl
And then I heard then mentioning my name,
And leaving me the blame.


Wednesday, February 6th, 2002


Seema has struck again in the Blog Wars, and she even linked her volley. I’m still working on wiki authentication, so that it will remember the few, the proud, the registered users, instead of listing us as TWikiGuest. Don’t hold your breath, though.

I promised a fic fragment, didn’t I? Here goes nothing…

He woke up the next night with a splitting headache, the sort he usually got after dreaming about tasty human happy meals, but he couldn’t remember the dream.

“No rest for the dead,” he muttered, as he pulled on his jeans one leg at a time. He sniffed his shirt - musty, but not yet offensive - and slipped it on. Add one duster and presto, a vamp-about-town.

He was a picture of bloodless cool, leaping up the ladder and out the door of his crypt, striding faster than a human being really could across the dewy grass, going unnoted down the dark streets of Sunnydale, stopping at Buffy’s. He loitered a bit in silence, for old times’ sake, then knocked.

Dawn let him in. Time was, they wouldn’t have wanted the vamp in the house - that was some time ago. He was pretty high up in the white-hat hierarchy now - he hadn’t broken Dawn’s arm, like Willow, or summoned a demon into town to kill the populace softly with his song, like Xander, or left Buffy to fend for herself, like Giles, or fallen in love with the wrong loser in amnesia, like Anya, or left his girl to do the Twelve Steps on her own, like Tara, or committed a thousand little teen sins that seemed so significant to the living, like Dawn. No, Spike was way up there with the Slayer herself - but the Slayer had slept with a vampire, a soulless vampire, leaving Spike the good guy of the year.

Except you couldn’t win that award unless you had a soul, too.

“Nice necklace,” he told Dawn. “New?”

“One of my friends gave it to me.”

“Right.” Being a vampire was as good as being a soddin’ polygraph. The li’l bit’s capillaries dilated tellingly, but he wasn’t the costume-jewelry police. He was just the pet vampire.

“Buffy will be right down,” she assured him. “Buffy!” she shouted, to guarantee it.

The Slayer came down the stairs, reluctantly, Spike thought.

“How about a patrol?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Warren’s up to no good.”

“What else is new?” she asked, but she followed him out the door, telling Dawn not to wait up.

Spike told her his story as they headed for the industrial park.

“It could be a trap,” she said once he was through.

“Why trap you? They’re not vampires.”

“They could be planning to go over.”

“They’re not the type.”

“There’s a type?”

He turned towards her as they walked along. “Yeah. You’re not the type either.”

“I doubt they’d have let me into Slayer school if I were.”