Title: ALIEN!!!

Author: Odon

Fandom: Star Trek Voyager/Alien uber

Pairing: Janeway/Seven

Summary: The female crew of a commercial space vessel face the ultimate horror when they find themselves being stalked and eaten by a voracious lesbian alien.

Rated: NC-17. Contains violence, coarse language, and homosexual acts between women.

Disclaimer: No profit is intended in the writing of this story. Star Trek: Voyager and its characters are the property of Paramount and Viacom. Alien/s and its characters are the property of Twentieth Century Fox.

ALIEN!!!

By Odon

Kaneway’s eyelids creaked open with all the associated eloquence of a rusty manhole cover.

"Greetings Captain. This is your ship’s computer speaking. Your hypersleep interval has been terminated prematurely due to an unscheduled occurrence falling under Section B2 of the Unknown Entity Reaction Protocol (Revised), as well as Paragraphs 34 and 35D of the Extra-Solar Emergency Response Agreement of 2093."

The captain’s lips parted a fraction. An inarticulate groan erupted from her throat.

"Company personnel who wish to protest the implementation of this policy due to circumstances not already covered under Paragraph G, Subsection 5601 may do so via the personnel manager at the Weyland-Yutani branch office nearest to your current spatial navpoint. Complainants should however be cautioned that the cost of processing your appeal will be deducted from your next paycheck. I am legally required to inform you that relativistic distortions in ship-to-shore transmissions from faster-than-light vessels have been known to extend the processing of such appeals over the course of several centuries. Do you wish to appeal?"

"Uhhhhgghhh!" moaned Kaneway, her head lolling on the capsule’s padding.

"In the absence of a comprehensible response I am initiating hypersleep revival procedure. Commencing bio-chemical injection."

"YEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!" screamed Captain Kaneway as half a dozen thick needles rammed into both buttocks simultaneously, injecting her with 50 ccs of neuro-stimulants, muscle-activators and superdrenaline.

"Deactivating biomonitor systems. Retracting naso-gastric and lavatory waste tubes."

"No-no-no-wait__AAARRRGGGGGHHH!!!!" yelled Kaneway as tight-fitting septic tubes were yanked from her private parts without benefit of lubricant, and the biomonitor cups were forcibly sucked off her nipples.

"Due to the length of time spent in hypersleep, Occupational Health & Safety Regulations and the Olfactory Pollution Act of 2158 require that you shower before contact with fellow crewmembers. Please inform your ship’s computer if you are experiencing any unusual physiological symptoms from your hypersleep interval. You should also notify me if you require any medication not already included in your MD-098 prescribed medication file."

"Need…coffee," groaned Kaneway, crawling across the freezing deck of the hypersleep vestibule. "Must…have…coffee!"

"White or black?" asked the computer politely.

"Black," mumbled the captain, butting open the door to the shower room with her head. It activated instantly, bombarding her with gale-force torrents of lukewarm recycled water, cheap liquid soap and industrial-strength body deodorant.

"Caffeinated or decaffeinated?" crackled from a rusty comm unit on the wall.

"Caffeinated," said Kaneway. Outside she could hear shrieks and screams as the other crewmembers were revived in a similarly unceremonious fashion.

"Turkish, _Mocha, Latte, Cappuccino, Espresso, Ristretto?"

"I couldn’t give a stuff," growled Kaneway, waving a hand at the sensor. The spray of water slowed to a trickle. A chute slid open in the wall, dispensing a fluffy white towel.

"Arabica, Robusta, Kona, Sumatran, French Roast, Blue Java__"

"Captain’s hypersleep revival now complete," said the computer smugly. "Your coffee is waiting in the galley."

"Smartarse," muttered Kaneway. She wrapped the towel around herself and stepped out of the shower, nearly tripping over two women crawling around on their hands and knees. There was an uncanny similarity in their attractive features smeared with milky cryosleep fluid, and an identical miasma arising from their naked unwashed bodies.

"Need coffee! Need coffee!" they cried.

"Megan, Jenny, get in there and clean that gunk off. You look like a money shot from Cyborg Debbie Does Digital Dallas." Holding her nose, Kaneway strode over to the nearest hypersleep capsule and kicked it hard. "All right sweethearts, what are you waiting for - breakfast in bed? It’s another glorious day in the Company. A day in the Company is like a day on the farm - you have to wade through endless piles of shit! Come on Kes, Tal, B’Ellen…where the hell’s B’Ellen?"

The door to the bridge hissed open and a short Hispanic woman stormed through, dark eyes flashing, a permanent scowl forming deep ridges in her forehead. "That stupid computer woke us up too soon! Big Brother, what’s going on? Where’s Antarctica Traffic Control? Where’s Earth? Where’s my coffee?"

"Greetings Chief Engineer Tripley. Your hypersleep interval has been terminated prematurely due to an unscheduled occurrence falling under Section B2 of the Unknown Entity Reaction Protocol (Revised), as well as Paragraphs 34 and 35D of the Extra-Solar Emergency Response Agreement of 2093. Your coffee is waiting in the galley."

Tal Celes sat up in her capsule, clutching her face. "God it’s freezing – my nose is killing me!" Her attractive features were marred by a crumpled nose that had had a close encounter with a berserk loading drone on New Brazil. "What do you mean, we’re not home yet? I need urgent rhinoplastic surgery!"

Jenny stuck her head out of the shower. "35D? That’s transmissions of an unknown origin."

"Unknown?" said Megan, doing likewise. "You mean as in non-human?"

"Unconfirmed," replied Big Brother. "The signal does not match any known human or machine-based language form."

"Maybe it’s an ARRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!! ALIEN!!!" screamed Tal, pointing at the slime-covered creature that was rising from the capsule next to her.

"That’s Kes you fool! Come on Doc, on your feet."

"Need coffee," moaned their petite young science officer, staggering to her feet. "And some nose plugs…"

In one naked, sopping, griping, shivering group, the six women made their way to the galley, where half a dozen steaming mugs of coffee were waiting for them in the autochef.

Megan pulled a face as she drank hers. "Jesus, this coffee tastes like shit."

"Actually Lieutenant Delaney," said Big Brother. "Your coffee contains only 0.005% recycled waste products."

"Here," said Kaneway, passing Megan a bottle. "Put in a drop of Chateau Picard. That’ll take hairs off your head."

"Big Brother, can we have some details on that unknown transmission?" asked Kes. She opened the nearest locker and removed a crumpled jumpsuit, shivering her way into it.

"An acoustic beacon signal, repeating at twelve second intervals. Preliminary analysis indicates that it may be a distress signal."

"Yeah right," scoffed B’Ellen, pulling on her leather jacket made from genuine genetically engineered cows. Like other deep space jockeys she preferred a retro-20th century look to her apparel. "Remember what happened last time you woke us up for a supposed distress signal? We spent three whole weeks screwing around looking for a wormhole and a ship full of strange alien life forms, only to have it turn out to be a television transmission that’d been traveling through space for centuries."

"How was I to know that ‘John Crichton’ was a fictional character?"

"I think you’d better let us listen to it, Big Brother," said Kaneway, shoving her mug into the autochef for her third refill in as many minutes. "Just in case."

A loud crackle of static burst from the speakers, then laid over the top of the interference came a noise that caused the hairs on the back of their necks to stand on end - a horrible slurping, grunting, groaning sound, interspersed with inarticulate utterances and long drawn out moans, like a creature in torment in the depths of some incomprehensible alien Hades.

The transmission stopped as abruptly as it had begun.

"What the hell was THAT?"

"Well they certainly sound like they’re in distress."

"And you want us to go looking for whatever made that noise?" said Tal. "No thanks."

Kes’ head popped out the neck of her jumpsuit like a baby tortoise. "I think you're overreacting a little. These are aliens. For all we know, that’s their version of an aria. We could be listening to the pinnacle of their culture."

"If I have to listen to their version of Heavy Metal I’m calling in the Colonial Marines."

"Don’t you realise the opportunity that’s been presented to us here?" said Kes. "Maybe you all joined the Company because you get off on hauling 20,000,000 tons of coffee from New Brazil to Earth just so Weyland-Yutani’s ten billion office workers won’t go postal from caffeine deficiency, but I want to explore strange new worlds, seek out new life and new civilisations, boldly go__"

"Go boldly," corrected Big Brother. "’Boldly go’ is actually a split infinitive__"

"Fine, go boldly where no-one has gone boldly before!" Kes stopped to take a breath.

"Don’t those words mean anything to you?"

B’Ellen, Tal, Megan and Jenny all looked at each other.

"No."

"How about the words ‘total forfeiture of shares’?" purred Kaneway. "According to Company regulations we’re required to investigate any transmission of a possible intelligent origin. So you’re going to have to find inspiration in that which has fueled the course of human exploration for centuries. Pure, unadulterated commercial interest!"

"Goddamn Company cutbacks," said Jenny, tapping a long series of instructions into the nav computer. "We should have an up-to-date graphic user interface, yet we’re still using these obsolete text-based command shells."

Kaneway eased her short frame into the captain’s chair, securing her coffee mug in its custom-made receptacle. "Just give me a location on that signal, Jenny."

Jenny’s computer chattered like a prehistoric dot matrix printer. "Got it. Ascension 6 minutes, 20 seconds; declination 39 degrees 2 seconds. It’s classified as LV-426, an unsurveyed planet."

"Atmosphere’s almost primordial," said Kes. "Inert nitrogen, high concentration of carbon dioxide crystals, methane. Gravity point eight six; that means we can walk on it."

"Not from up here. Big Brother, I need piloting control for an unscheduled planetary descent."

"Please state your name and rank for Voice Ident Verification. Unauthorised personnel are forbidden from piloting Company vessels under penalties set out in Section 987-5A."

"Kathryn Kaneway, captain."

"Not understood, please repeat."

"Kathryn Kaneway, captain!"

"Not understood. Please repeat until voice ident confirmed."

"Kathryn Kaneway, captain. Kathyn Kaneway, cathryn. Kathyn Kanethay, capen…I mean captain…I mean Kathryn Captain__"

"Not understood, please repeat."

"KATHRYN KANEWAY CAPTAIN YOU SILICON SADIST!"

"Voice ident confirmed. State name and rank of second-in-command."

"Megan Delaney, executive officer of the Deep-Space Commercial Towing Vehicle Nostromo."

"Of course it is you mechanical moron - I’m her clone!"

"Er, sorry. Voice ident confirmed. You have piloting authorisation." A panel in the floor opened and a scuffed control column slid out, locking into position between Megan’s legs.

"Equatorial orbit nailed."

"Kes, give me an EC reading," said Kaneway, attaching a large pair of fuzzy dice to the rear view monitor.

"3.45 n/cm squared. 5 psia."

"Shout if it changes."

"You’re worried about redundancy management disabling CMGS control?" asked Megan.

"Yes, actually."

"CMG control is inhibited via DAS/DCS. We’ll augment with TACS and monitor through ATMDC and computer interface, OK?"

"Oh knock off that technobabble bullshit!" sputtered a voice over the comm system. "It’s not as if anyone believes you space jockey’s actually FLY the ship in this day and age."

"Oh stick it up your bum, B’Ellen! Crew, prepare to disengage from platform. Tal, what’s your status?"

"L alignment on port and starboard is green."

"Megan?"

"Green on spinal umbilicus severance."

"Kes?"

"DOR’s on line."

"Jenny?"

"Alien transmission DF locked into autonavigation system."

"B’Ellen?"

A thousand pairs of steel-shod boots kicked their backsides in unison as the Nostromo punched free of its cargo platform and rocketed down into the broiling atmosphere of the planet below.

"Dropping…50,000 metres," said Kes. "Down…down…49,000 metres…entering atmosphere."

"Turbulence," warned Jenny. "Inertial damping’s going off. Hold on people, it’s going to get a little bumpy."

"Picking up some hull ionisation. Winds two hundred plus!" said Tal. "She’s jumping about like a zero-gravity bra. One of those Victoria’s Secret strapless models with computer-controlled bounce-rate and adjustable pressure pads…not that I’d ever wear that kind of thing of course__"

"Megan," yelled Kaneway. "Are you picking up any vibration?"

"Oh yes!" gasped Megan, as she wrestled to control the bucking spacecraft. "Oh God yes!"

"Steady; don’t lose control…"

"I think the port stabiliser’s shaking loose!"

"Dammit Kes, you think or you know?"

There was a tremendous screech of tearing metal from outside the hull.

"Make that ‘I know’."

"Approaching signal origin," said Jenny. "Closing at twenty kilometers…fifteen and slowing…ten…eight and slowing…five kilometres…"

"Navigation lights on, activate landing thrusters," said Kaneway. "All hands brace for impact!"

"Ground approaching in fifteen seconds," said Tal, her face a mask of tension. "Fourteen…thirteen…twelve…eleven…ten, nine, eight, seven-six-five-four-three__"

"Dammit Tal, those aren’t seconds! Why do you have to speed up the countdown; it’s such a cliché."

"Oh stick it up your ARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!!" she screamed as the Nostromo smacked into unyielding rock and the alarms shrieked and circuits blew and they all plunged into inky blackness…

"We’re fucked," said B’Ellen.

Jenny somehow managed to roll her eyes without taking them off the monitor screens in front of her. "Thank you for that acute diagnosis but could you be a BIT more specific?"

"If I may interrupt," said Big Brother. "I believe the situation is not as serious as Chief Engineer Tripley fears. All I am reading is a malfunction in the damage control monitors."

"You digital dolt!" said B’Ellen. "You bring a whole new meaning to the term ‘artificial’ intelligence. How can you say there’s nothing damaged when the damage control monitors are off-line?"

"Er…yes, of course."

"Well, Kaneway and the others should be back in a couple of hours," said Megan. "Do you THINK you could come up with a more accurate assessment by then?"

"She’s doing a very important job for me. Jenny out."

Jenny switched off the comm unit with an irritated flick of her wrist. Behind her the door to the observation blister hissed open and Tal entered, a steaming mug in each hand. "Here’s your coffee. How are they doing?"

Jenny pointed to three distant points of light, almost hidden by the dust storm that lashed against the panoramic windows, shrieking its fury at their intrusion. "Going boldly where no idiot has gone before."

"Yeah, it might be one small step for man, but that’s one long hike for our short-arsed captain," said Tal, eyeing the forbidding terrain. Geophysics unknown to human science had transformed solid rock and ancient lava flows into bizarre bone-like shapes; a baroque alien sculpture, pleasing to no one.

"I heard that." Kaneway’s voice was a sibilant ghost, hissing and crackling with a life of its own. "Are you receiving me, Jenny?"

"For the most part. What’s your situation?"

"What?" asked Tal nervously. The view from the suit cams was hazy and indistinct. Phantom chimeras in the dust clouds pursued each other across the viewscreens. There was a suggestion of a shape, of smooth design where there should only be the random chaos of nature. "What is it?"

"I’m not sure…" said Kaneway. "I think…"

"Yes?"

"Yes?!"

"YES?!!"

"WHAT?"

Jenny and Tal stared at each other incredulously. "A COFFEE SPOON?"

"It’s a ship," broke in Kes. "I can see the drive units at the back. I estimate the whole thing’s about 350 metres long. Hull’s some kind of titanium-duranium alloy."

"Why would someone design a starship in the shape of a spoon?" wondered Tal.

"Bugger that," said Jenny. "Imagine the size of the cuppa!"

"That’s strange," came Megan’s voice. "I’ve just made a residual radiation comparison between the ship and this planet. According to my readings it must have been here for decades…"

"…yet it seems remarkably intact," finished Kes. "Yes, I see what you mean. It’s almost as if this vessel has the ability to regenerate itself. It appears strangely untouched by the effects of time and adversity."

"Alright, heads up people," said Kaneway. "We’re going inside."

"Don’t do it!" cried Tal. "You don’t know what’s in there. It could be some horrible creature with two heads and ten tentacles and jaws dripping slime that’ll suck out your brains and turn you into zombies so it can use your bodies to host an army of thousands and thousands of tiny creatures with evil red eyes on the end of long stalks and they’ll come crawling across the surface of the planet to this ship and start chewing and chewing with millions of tiny sharp teeth until there’s nothing left of us but little bits of bone and gristle!"

"For God’s sake," said Kes. "The technology contained in this alien vessel could give mankind the ability to cure diseases and cross the frontiers of time!"

"It could contain the answers to the greatest mysteries of the universe," said Megan.

"It could give us the location of the biggest cup of coffee in history," said Kaneway. "We’re going in."

"Captain? Megan?" said Jenny, fiddling with her monitors. "Your image is breaking up. I’m getting a lot of interference…"

Tal leaned over Jenny’s shoulder, staring at the blurred image on the viewscreen, her eyes as wide as supernovas. "What is it? Captain, what’s going on?"

"AAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!"

"Tal you idiot! You just poured an entire mug of hot coffee down my neck!"

"Oh…sorry…sorry…sorry…"

"Maybe the crew placed her in stasis for medical reasons," said Jenny. "Does she have any signs of injury?"

"Beautiful?"

B’Ellen raced down the dimly lit corridors of the Nostromo, skidding to a halt outside the airlock vestibule. She hit the button on the nearest comm unit. "OK Megan, I’m at the inner lock hatch now."

B’Ellen peered through the airlock’s glass panel. She could see Kes and Megan bending over a makeshift travois, and…

"What’s wrong with the captain?"

"What kind of something? I need a clear definition."

"No, if we let it in the whole ship could be infected! You know the quarantine procedure; twenty four hours for decontamination."

"When you and Kaneway are off the ship, I’m senior officer," replied B’Ellen. "And there’s no way I’m opening__"

"Big Brother," Jenny’s voice crackled over the intercom. "This is executive officer Megan Delaney, open the inner hatch please."

"Inner hatch opening," announced the computer.

B’Ellen stared in disbelief as the airlock slid open. "Big Brother you stupid mother__"

The reprimand stopped in her throat as the captain was revealed in all her dreadful entirety. Kaneway’s spacesuit had been dissolved into a thick coating of transparent slime, yet somehow she was still alive. But more astonishing than that, wrapped around the captain’s face were the lithe young thighs of the most beautiful woman B’Ellen had ever seen; a tall curvaceous blonde with silvery cybernetic implants on her face and body. The cyborg had her own face buried firmly between Kaneway’s legs. As B’Ellen watched a spasm convulsed through both bodies, but they did not separate.

Kes stared accusingly at the engineer. "You were going to leave us out there. With that alien, for twenty-four hours, with no coffee!"

"Tripley, when I give an order I expect it to be obeyed!" said Megan. "I don’t care if I’m off the ship or off my face. Big Brother, status report."

"All repairs have been completed."

"What, already?"

"Ah…yeah," said B’Ellen. "Turns out that the only things damaged were the…er…damage control monitors."

"Told you so," said Big Brother smugly.

"Oh shut up, you anal-retentive abacus!"

"Put a sock in it," snapped Megan, pulling off her spacesuit and tossing it into the corner. "Tal, Jenny, meet me on the bridge. I want to get the hell out of here. Kes, B’Ellen…" She pointed to Kaneway and the alien, locked in their bizarre embrace. "Take this sleaze to Sickbay."

The all-seeing eye of the autodoc slid over the entwined bodies of captain and captor.

"It’s incredible," said Kes. "The alien appears to have ‘assimilated’ Kaneway, using its own body as a life support system. See here." She pointed to one part of the internal scan. "It appears to be feeding her oxygen."

B’Ellen leaned close. "Actually Kes, it appears to be slipping her some tongue."

Kes rolled her eyes. "Look B’Ellen, we can’t allow ourselves to be distracted by the superficially sexual appearance of this…bonding. Perhaps it’s simply the way this particular species attempts to communicate."

"Well, what’s it trying to say?"

"According to the acoustical pickup: ‘mmm-mm-mmmm’. I’m running it through ECIU, but I haven’t got a translation yet."

"Not sure I want one," muttered B’Ellen, her gaze fixed on the monitor. "Kes, what’s that stain on its lungs?"

"I’ll enlarge it," said Kes. Her fingers clicked on the keyboard, bringing the discoloration into focus. "Funny, it looks like a manufacturer’s tattoo…what the hell?"

It was a short alphanumeric code, followed by tiny yet distinct words.

WEYLAND-YUTANI CORP. BUILDING BETTER GIRLS.

"The Company?" said B’Ellen incredulously. "What have they got to do with this?"

The infirmary door hissed open and Megan Delaney entered, followed by the rest of the crew, coffee mugs in hand. "Walk in the park, people. We’ve linked up with the cargo platform and are back on course for Earth…haven’t you got that thing off her yet?"

"Let’s not be too hasty," urged Kes. "We know nothing about this species__"

"Stop screwing around!" cried Tal. "God knows what strange perverted things that alien’s doing to our captain. For all we know, it could be converting her insides into green slimy goo that’ll spread through her arteries and veins until it infests her brain and then it won’t be Kaneway any more but some evil replicant who’ll order us to take our ship to the alien’s home planet where we’ll be converted through mind implants into the willing pawns of an invading army of beautiful cyborg bimbos with 'Terminator 3' type expandable breasts who’ll conquer Earth by fucking entire battalions of Colonial Marines to death!"

There was a long silence at this. The Company had abolished unisex deep-space crews after studies showed that employee efficiency was severely compromised by the resulting sexual tension and interrelational conflicts. The thought of thousands of sweaty muscular space marines, packing their enormous multi-purpose weapons, was enough to make them cream their panties.

"I agree," said Megan eventually. "Well…not about the killer bimbos, but we’ve got to get this alien off her pronto. Kes, you’re qualified for laser surgery; get on with it."

"But that could kill the alien," Kes protested. "Think of what we could learn from it!"

"I already know how to do a sixty-niner," said B’Ellen.

Tal and Jenny nodded in vigorous agreement. "Same with us."

With ill-concealed reluctance, Kes reached into the medi-cabinet and took out a laser scalpel. "I shall begin by cutting the alien’s left thigh where it joins the buttock."

Everyone tensed as the young science officer bent over the alien. Trembling with repressed nerves, Tal leaned over Jenny’s shoulder, craning her head for a look.

"Keep away from me with that thing," muttered Jenny, eyeing Tal’s mug of coffee.

"I am beginning the incision….ARRRGGGHHH!" cried Kes, dropping her scalpel. The instrument was enveloped in a sizzling, bubbling fluid.

"It’s got acid for blood!" screamed Tal, spilling her coffee down Jenny’s neck again.

"And you’ve got a peanut for a brain!" yelled Jenny, hopping about in agony.

The scalpel hissed and crackled on the deck, emitting great clouds of acrid smoke. Like a popsicle left in the sun it began to melt into a formless puddle of grey goo. Then, to the amazement of the watching crew, the puddle effortlessly reassembled itself into a far different shape.

"Oh my God!"

"It looks just like…"

"A multi-speed vibrator!"

"Mmm, it’s even got its own strap-on leather harness."

"And one of those sponge-top attachments that work great underwater."

"So THAT’S what the alien’s trying to communicate. It’s telling us we’re all fucked."

"I’d like to see how it does ‘Four score and seven years ago…’."

"Nanotechnology," said Kes, peering into an electron microscope. "There’s millions of nanoprobes in the alien’s bloodstream. They can break down an object into its constituent components and reassemble them in virtually any sequence. Look, even the incision’s repaired itself."

"The perfect defense mechanism," said B’Ellen grimly. "If we try to kill the alien, it’ll turn the Nostromo into a gigantic sex shop."

"Big Brother, have you got any suggestions?" asked Megan.

"Seeing as your efforts in neutralising the alien have proved inadequate," said the computer, "according to Company regulations I must now implement Special Order 937. Accessing holographic database."

"Holographic database?" said Jenny. "Big Brother, this is no time for another screening of Star Trek: The Next, Next, Next, Next, Next, Next, Next, Next, Next, Next, Next Generation."

"Activating EHH program. Downloading matrix into holographic projectors."

"EHH program?" said B’Ellen. "What the hell’s that?"

"EEEHHH!!!!" screeched Tal, pointing past them.

"Please state the nature of the sexual emergency," said a male voice.

Everyone spun round, gaping in astonishment. As the first man they’d seen in months he was a major disappointment. A tall, grouchy-looking individual in his late forties, wearing the uniform of a Company medical officer. His most distinguishing features were his eyes - tiny black holes in the blinding expanse of his follicly-challenged head.

"What the…who the hell are you?" asked Megan.

The intruder fixed her with a contemptuous stare, as if the question could only be asked by someone with the basic intelligence quotient of a Martian microbe.

"The only one who can save your fragile, dim-witted, clumsy, carbon-based feminine hides," he said. "I am your White Knight of Light, your Man with No Mane, your Captain Photon Redux. I am…the Emergency Homophobic Hologram!"

"Hmmm," said the hologram, studying the female cyborg with an intent gaze. "Beautiful, isn’t she? The perfect sexual predator. Unclouded by socialisation, propriety, or petty delusions of morality. Multi-adaptive vagina, hyperdyne exoskeleton incorporating over five thousand localised mini-vibrators, a cyber-enhanced tongue with multiple stroke rates, Advanced S-709 Fantasy Programming with instantaneous User Response Adaption__"

"But what IS it?" asked Megan.

"A Company experiment gone wrong," he replied. "She is not an alien as you believe, but human. A prototype series of cyborg, they were built to provide sexual relief for deep space crews, but became obsolete with the introduction of cheaper synthetic pleasure units and interactive holo-vids." The EHH tapped a string of commands into the autodoc’s keyboard, nodding at the results.

"As I thought. This one’s designation is Sixty of Nine. Her owners reported her as malfunctioning, but she refused to obey the recall order. Stole a promotional ship for the New Brazil Coffee Corporation and headed out past the Outer Rim. That’s the last the Company heard of her, until now."

"What was the malfunction?" asked Kes.

"Well obviously, she was programmed for the use of all-male crews, but for some reason she’d only have intercourse with women."

"WHAT?" said Megan. "You mean that alien…cyborg, whatever the hell she is, she’s trying to have sex with our captain? That’s ridiculous! I’ve never heard anything like it. Not even in the extended holo-DVD version of Cyborg Debbie Does Digital Dallas."

"Actually," chimed in Big Brother. "The practice of same sex copulation, or ‘homosexuality’, used to be quite common on Earth before the Company introduced compulsory genetic screening__"

"Yes yes, never mind all that," said the EHH quickly. "This is no time for a lesson on prehistoric human sex rites. The sooner this cyborg is dismantled, the better."

"And exactly how are we supposed to do that without her turning us all into vibrating plastic toys from Taiwan?" asked B’Ellen.

"I am a fully qualified medical doctor, and as my holographic matrix is merely a projection of photons and magnetic fields I naturally cannot be affected by the cyborg’s nanoprobes."

Megan looked skeptical. "You’re saying we should let some hologram with a head like a multi-speed massager operate on our captain?"

The EHH turned redder than a hyperdrive unit that had just reached critical mass. "I’ll have you know, young lady, that I represent the accumulated medical knowledge of over 2000 medical reference sources, not to mention the incorporated expertise of the top forty-seven physicians in the United Space of America!"

The jaws of all five women dropped in amazement.

"Yes, you may well gape, you nanophobic Neanderthals. With my adaptive magnetic containment field and multi-tasking processor capacity I can conduct twenty simultaneous microsurgical operations, all while singing an entire aria from Puccini’s La Bohème!"

"Er, Doc…" said B’Ellen.

"Not to mention a minus three golf handicap__"

"I think you should look behind you…"

"Thus as the only chance you have of saving your captain, you should get down on your knees in gratitude for the mere fact of my existence__"

"What is this man doing here?" asked a voice behind him.

The EHH spun round, his vocal algorithms momentarily crashing at the sight of Captain Kaneway sitting up on the bed, looking sweaty and flustered, but apparently unharmed. "I-I-I-I am the Emergency Homophobic Hologram! Are you or have you ever been a tennis player?"

Kaneway frowned at him. "A hologram? I don’t recognise you from Cyborg Debbie Does Digital Dallas."

The EHH sputtered indignantly. "Captain Kaneway, you have been exposed to a nanotech-enhanced sexeroid which is undergoing a sapphic fixation loop. I must insist you be quarantined immediately__"

"Oh Kathryn, it’s great to have you back!" cried Kes, throwing herself past the EHH and into the captain’s arms. The others followed suit in a frenzy of hugging, backslapping and fervent kissing.

"Hey!" shouted Megan, leaping backwards in shock. "Knock it off with the tongue."

"Err sorry," said Kaneway, looking rather confused. "I don’t know why I did that. I guess seeing you all again made me feel rather…excited."

"Well that’s understandable. What’s the last thing you remember?"

"Just some horrible dream about…mothering."

B’Ellen frowned. "Don’t you mean ‘smothering’?"

"No, in my dream I was mother to the crew of a spoon-shaped starship and regulations only allowed me to have sex with holograms so this beautiful borg abandoned me for her wooden sex toy…at least, I think it was a sex toy; he was certainly very wooden…Big Brother, I’ve GOT to have something to eat."

"Your meal is waiting in the nearest autochef," said Big Brother. "Welcome back, Captain."

Kaneway strode over to the dispenser, pulled out the steaming food pack and began scoffing it down like there was no tomorrow.

"Haven’t you had enough to eat?" asked B’Ellen, throwing a glance at Sixty of Nine. She was lying motionless on the autodoc, apparently asleep. Now that her face was uncovered they had an excellent view of her high cheekbones and full ripe lips, glistening with a strange wet fluid.

"Hell no," mumbled Kaneway through a mouthful of artificial supplements. "I’m famished."

"I’m not surprised," said the EHH. "It appears the cyborg has been drawing on your body for nutrition. Note the increased fatty deposits around her chest region."

"Ahh, actually Doc, she had big tits when we found her."

"Don’t be ridiculous. Such a radical protrusion would affect the cyborg’s sense of balance. Unless," he mused, "the cybernetic engineers countered the large size of her mammary glands by increasing the bold thrust of her gluteus maximus__"

"First thing I’m going to do when we get back," said Kaneway, finishing one pack and going straight onto the next, "is get some decent food. What do you think this Soylent Green’s made of, people?"

"Who cares? It’s food now…what’s the matter?" asked Megan. A strained look had come over the captain’s face.

"I don’t know…I’m getting cramps…"

"Try taking deep breaths," Kes suggested.

"Oh my God," gasped Kaneway, clutching her stomach. The EHH watched her with narrowed eyes, a calculating look on his face.

"Come on, the food ain’t that bad," said Tal. "I’ve eaten worse; mind you I was drunk at the time, so was the Doberman actually__"

"UUUGGGH!" Janeway moaned, her knuckles turning white as they gripped the edge of the table. "I think…Oh God I think…UUUGGGGGH!"

The others clustered around her. "Are you all right?" "What’s happening?" "Do you want to lie down?"

"Wait wait!" cried Kes. "Quick, get away from her!"

"OOOOHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!" moaned Kaneway her back arching like a taunt bow. "Oh my GGGGODDDD!!!!!!!!!!" The women backed off in alarm, their eyes wide in fear, but it was too late. From deep within their captain came an uncontrollable explosion, the release of tremendous pressure, as her backside erupted with the thunderous detonation of an incredible, rip-roaring fart.

"The atmosphere scrubbers have successfully removed all noxious compounds from the infirmary and surrounding corridors," announced Big Brother. "I am now pumping industrial strength air freshener through the ventilation system."

B’Ellen glared at Kaneway through the visor of her oxygen mask. "It’s bad enough putting up with the stench when we wake from hypersleep. Can’t you control yourself?"

"I said I’m sorry," muttered Kaneway, her face as red as her hair. "How many times do you want me to say it?"

"Do you think that cyborg’s still alive?" asked Jenny, nodding her head towards the sealed hatchway. "That stink would be enough to kill off anything."

"Let’s not take any chances," said Megan. "As soon as we get back in there, I say we allow the EHH to dismantle her. God knows how she’ll react to an attempted poison gas attack. Probably turn us all into vaginal deodorants."

"Is that really necessary?" asked Kaneway. "She didn’t try to harm me. Must we discard her like a used sex doll? Maybe we should try and form a dialogue, establish some kind of peaceful co-existence."

"For coffee’s sake," said B’Ellen. "We’re Company employees, we don’t make peace with aliens! We nuke the bastards, terraform their planets and dissect their bodies for the Bio-Weapons Division."

"She’s not an alien," snapped Kaneway. "She was just like you and me before those Company bastards got hold of her. We owe it to her to establish intimate relations…I mean peaceful relations…you know what I mean!"

"Yeah I do. Tal was right; you have been turned into a replicant."

A blaring announcement cut off Kaneway’s retort. "WARNING, STRUCTUAL INTEGRITY BREACH! WARNING!"

The door hissed open and the EHH charged through like a stampeding Yul Bryner. "She’s escaped! Used her nanoprobes to create an opening in the bulkhead and slid right through."

"Big Brother, can you track her?" asked Megan.

"Unable to comply. Internal scanners on B and C Decks have all been turned into anal stimulators."

"Well that’s just great!" cried Tal. "What are we going to do now, man? What are we going to do?"

"Maybe we could build a fire, sing a couple of songs," said the EHH, irritation clear on his face. "If you’d let me proceed with the disassembly, this would never have happened."

"There’s only one thing we can do," said Kaneway, her face grim. "We’ll all have to strip down into sweaty tank tops and hunt for her, room by room, corridor by corridor. Drive the cyborg into the main airlock and flush her out into space."

"Are you crazy?" said Tal. "For all we know she could have mutated into an eight foot slime-dripping alien with a head shaped like a carnivorous dildo and a great long tail that comes up between your legs and paralyses you so it can lay eggs inside your body that’ll burst out of your chest and eat you while you’re still alive!"

"Don’t be ridiculous," scoffed Jenny. "This is real life, not some B-grade sci-fi vid. The chances are extremely high that we’ll all die forty years from now of stress-related heart attacks exacerbated by long term caffeine abuse like billions of other Company employees."

The weapon lay on the table, a lethal hybrid of plastic and steel. Great piles of webbing and equipment were heaped around it.

"This is the only weapon capable of killing the cyborg," said the EHH. "The M-41A pulse rifle. Magazine capacity of ninety-five caseless 10mm explosive-tipped light armour piercing rounds, underslung 30mm pump action grenade launcher, attached M-240 napalm incinerator. A cyclic firing rate of 10,000 rounds per minute."

"Ultimate badass!" said B’Ellen. She eagerly strapped on a battle harness, filling its pouches with spare magazines, high-explosive and white phosphorus grenades, M-94 marking flares, flamethrower tanks, kevlar body-armour plating, spare parts, cleaning kit, and a helmet with built-in neck protector, communication system and infra-red sight. She then grabbed the M-41A pulse rifle with underslung 30mm pump action grenade launcher and attached M-240 napalm incinerator, slung it around her neck and promptly fell on her face with a great CRASH!

"Jesus Christ!" she exclaimed. "How am I supposed to chase after the alien with all this garbage hanging off me?"

"You don’t," said the EHH. "You make the cyborg wear it, encourage her to chase after you, and ten minutes later she drops dead of exhaustion." He picked up a bulky device with a small digital viewscreen. "I’ve also created this motion tracker. It keys on micro changes in air density, so whatever you do Captain Kaneway, don’t fart."

Kaneway looked around at her assembled crew. "OK people, what are we waiting for? Either we’re going to lick this cyborg or it’s going to lick us."

Staggering under the weight of their equipment, they crept into the infirmary like a herd of tip-toeing elephants.

"Oh my…what the hell is THAT?"

"You tell me, I only work here."

Where once was the pale sterility of an infirmary wall, now stood the mouth of a gaping pink tunnel, ringed with giant folds like fleshy red lips, pulsating and throbbing with alien life. They glistened with the same slimy substance that Kaneway’s spacesuit had been transformed into, a thick transparent goo.

The EHH reached over and took a sample in a test tube. "Mmmm, it appears to be some kind of lubricant. Should ease your passage into the interior."

"Are you crazy? I’m not going in there!"

"For God’s sake Tal, can’t you show some balls for once?"

"Not without surgery."

"Alright, here’s how we’re going to do this," said Kaneway. "We’ll split into two teams. Megan, Kes, take a comm set and a couple of flamethrower units and go down to C Deck. See if you can head her off. Tal, B’Ellen and I will go through this…this thing and drive her towards you."

"What do I do?" asked Jenny.

"You wait here with the EHH in case the cyborg tries to slip past us. Doc, see if you can analyse that stuff, work out a defense against those nanoprobes."

Trembling with trepidation the three women advanced cautiously into the sarcoid cavern. Flesh and machinery had merged together into an erotic symbiosis, like the biomechanoid nightmares of a Swiss surrealist. Within metres they were plunged into darkness, the air humid, drawing them into its clammy embrace. Kaneway switched on a flashlight but it only made things worse – the area outside the confines of the beam appearing blacker than ever.

"Here pussy pussy pussy…" muttered B’Ellen, probing the darkness ahead with the muzzle of her rifle. Her tank top was glued to her body with sweat, exposing the subtle curves of her breasts.

Everyone jumped as the motion tracker emitted a shrill beep.

"I’ve got movement!" cried Tal. Her face was a sickly green in the glow of the tracker’s monitor. "I’ve got…that’s impossible, I’ve got multiple signals!"

"What?" Kaneway fumbled with her comm set. "Megan, Kes, sound off. Are you anywhere on B Deck?"

"Talk to me Tal," said B’Ellen. "Where’s it coming from?"

"Can’t lock on…I’ve got readings in front and behind!"

"Jesus!" said Kaneway, whirling to look behind them. "Jenny, Doctor, can you hear me? What’s your status, over."

A crackle of static was the only response.

"Jenny, answer me goddammit!"

"They’re heading right towards us! Twenty metres and closing!"

"Nothing on infra-red," said B’Ellen, fiddling with her helmet sight. "I can’t see shit!"

"I’m telling you, there’s something moving and it ain’t us!"

The motion tracker was sounding a steady cadence now, its rising tone matching their growing feelings of panic.

"Christ, they’re all around us! Fifteen metres…fourteen metres…"

"That doesn’t make sense! How can there be more than one?"

"Oh my God, it’s started to breed!"

"If it breeds we can kill it," said Kaneway. "Remember B’Ellen, short controlled bursts."

"Fuck that, I’m giving it everything I’ve got!"

"Ten metres!" gasped Tal. "Nine metres. Eight! Seven! Six metres__"

"It can’t be, that’s right in front of us!"

"They’re invisible!" cried B’Ellen. "I’m going to blow their borg heads off! LET’S ROCK!" The universe erupted to the deafening roar of her M-41A, bullets chewing massive holes from the fleshy surface of the tunnel. Lubricant spurted out under pressure, saturating her with thick globs of viscous fluid. "AARGH!!! They’ve turned into slime creatures! They’re coming out of the walls, they’re coming out of the goddamn walls!"

"B’Ellen, hold your fire dammit! Tal, where the hell are they?"

"Five metres, four! They’re right there, I’m telling you!"

"Give me that bloody thing!" Kaneway grabbed the tracker off Tal, staring at its monitor. Thick pixilated blobs advanced menacingly down the screen. "What the…Tal you stupid moron, this is a video game!"

"That’s it man!" cried Tal hysterically. "Game over, game over!"

"Shut up!" shouted B’Ellen, slapping her repeatedly across the face. "You’re acting like a female stereotype from the 1950’s."

"Then stop slapping her dammit, that’s not how you treat hysteria."

"I’m not trying to treat her, I’m trying to kill her!"

"Shit," said Kaneway. She activated her headset. "Megan, Jenny? False alarm…hello? Are you receiving me?"

"It’s here!" Kes’ panicky voice replied. "The alien’s here! Get away from her you bitch! Get away from Jenny!"

"Shoot Kes, shoot!" cried Kaneway.

"Screw her to death then!"

"Kes! Kes!"

From the headset came the same sound that had first drawn them to LV-426, that horrible slurping, munching, moaning noise.

"Oh my God," gasped B’Ellen. "It’s eating her!"

"That’s it man, we’re fucked," cried Tal. "I say we set the self-destruct mechanism, pile into the shuttlepod, and get the hell out of here!"

"No!" said Kaneway. "We are not going to lose the Nostromo, not to that borg, not while I'm in command. We have to stay and fight."

"With what?" asked B’Ellen. "I just shot off our entire 10,000 rounds of ammo! I’m with Gutless here - let’s get the fuck out of Dodge."

Kaneway fixed her Chief Engineer with an icy glare. "You’re afraid. You want to destroy the ship and run away, you coward."

B’Ellen’s lips pulled back over her teeth in a savage snarl. "If you were any other gender I would screw you where you stand!"

Kaneway and Tal stared at her.

"I mean…kill you where you stand."

"Listen to yourselves," cried Tal. "The cyborg’s affecting your minds! It’s probably got secret mind control powers, powerful neural transmitters that beam subliminal messages into our holographic vid players turning us all into nice obedient housewives who’ll only use new Omo washing detergent that cleans your clothes without wrinkling your skin and the only way we can stop it is by wearing thick rubber raincoats and sunglasses with mirrored interiors and unfashionable hats of psychic-resistant tinfoil!"

"Tal…have you ever considered getting serious psychiatric help?"

"We have to get back to the infirmary," said Kaneway. "Maybe that hologram’s come up with something. It’s the only chance we’ve got."

With indecent haste they scurried back the way they’d come. They could imagine the hot breath of their nemesis behind them, pursuing in deadly earnest with her enormous smothering breasts, nipples like lethal knives, a great gelatinous tongue licking out for their bodies….

There was a collective gasp of shock as they emerged into the pallid light of the infirmary. The reason for Jenny’s silence was now obvious. Their navigator was lying spread-eagled on the autodoc, a huge black vibrator thrust between her legs, face fixed in a rigid smile. Of the EHH there was no sign.

"Massive coronary orgasm," said Kaneway, studying the autodoc’s readings. "At least she died happy. She’d have wanted it this way."

"Well unless you’ve got any more bright ideas," said B’Ellen. "I suggest we go to Plan Flee. Big Brother, where’s the self-destruct mechanism?"

There was a long silence from the computer.

"Why?" Big Brother asked suspiciously.

"Err…we just want to look at it," B’Ellen mumbled.

"Um, yes," said Kaneway. "We’ve er, never seen a self-destruct mechanism before."

"You cowards," fumed the computer. "You want to destroy the ship and run away. If I were a HAL-9000 I would kill you where you stand!"

"Dammit Big Brother, it’s the only chance we’ve got!" cried Tal. "The others are dead and the hologram’s vanished__"

"He has not," scoffed Big Brother. "He’s in the hyperdrive control room, switching off the cooling units."

"WHAT?" shouted B’Ellen. "Does he want to blow us all up?"

"Well, it appears he does, actually."

"What on Earth does that photonic nitwit think he’s doing?" cried Kaneway.

"There’s no need to take it personally," said Big Brother. "He’s only obeying his programming. Special Order 937."

"And what exactly is Special Order 937?"

"Priority One. Prevent return of rogue Hyperdyne Unit 60/9 to Earth. All other considerations secondary. Crew expendable."

"Didn’t ask, did you?" said the computer sulkily.

"Excuse me," said Tal. "I think it might be a good idea to get the fuck out of here!"

In one mad, disorganised scramble the three women fled through the corridors of the Nostromo, its gloomy industrial layout now resembling the byzantine twists of a labyrinth. Flashing amber lights, wailing sirens, random bursts of C0² gas erupting from the walls; all added to their sense of disorientation and panic.

Kaneway came to a sudden halt outside the shuttle lock hatch, causing her two companions to slam into each other. "Hang on a second, this doesn’t make any sense."

"Can we talk about it later?" gasped Tal, leaning against the bulkhead for breath. "Open the damn hatch!"

"No, we can talk about it now! Why would the EHH give you a video game instead of a real motion tracker? And how could the cyborg have killed Jenny if she was attacking Kes and Megan at the same time?"

"Who cares?" snapped B’Ellen. "I’m sure Tal’s got some lunatic theory. Clone armies, parthenogenetic reproduction, teleporting - what difference does it make?" She shoved past the captain and slammed her fist on the hatch release. The inner lock door slid open to reveal…

…a great quivering mound of flesh with multiple limbs, numerous clutching hands, undulating tongues, gaping wet mouths, all emitting a ghastly moaning, slurping, squelching sound.

"This is no time for an orgy you idiots, the ship’s about to blow up!"

Kes lifted her head from between Megan’s legs, a glazed look in her eyes. "Oh right…give me five minutes, will you? I’ve lost my Hide-a-Vibe inside Megan’s pussy."

"On your feet, soldier!" said Kaneway. "Move your ass!" She reached down and hauled Kes off the deck, suddenly finding herself looking into the blue-grey eyes of the cyborg.

"Shit, it’s the alien!" cried B’Ellen, fumbling for her M-41A before realising she’d left it in the infirmary.

"I am not an alien," said the cyborg as she stood up. "I am Hyperdyne Systems Prototype 60/9. I was once a Company employee like you, but now Weyland-Yutani are trying to destroy us all."

"What are you raving on about?" said Tal. "It’s you the EHH wants scrapped, not us."

The implant above the cyborg’s left eyebrow raised slightly. "Try the shuttlepod hatchway."

"It’s locked!" exclaimed Kaneway. She yanked on the manual release lever. It refused to budge. "Big Brother, open the pod bay door."

"It’s not me," protested the computer. "It’s that bald headed bastard!"

"Open the pod bay door, hol!"

"This mission is too important for me to allow you to jeopardize it," said the Emergency Homophobic Hologram, materialising before them. He pointed at Megan and Kes, saturated with each other’s love juices. "I knew it! She’s turned you all into space dykes."

"For coffee’s sake!" said Megan. "What difference does it make if a few women lick each other out? What does the Company care?"

"Because it is inefficient," said Sixty of Nine. "The Company introduced single sex crews in order to put an end to sexual harassment suits and the numerous distractions caused by intimate relationships. If the ancient practice of homosexuality is reintroduced, all that will be in vain."

"The Company gives you employment, retirement benefits, discounted holo-DVD’s filled with interactive sex and gratuitous violence…YOU DON’T NEED LESBIANISM!" shouted the EHH. "Imagine what it would mean. Billions of female employees eating each other, and billions of men looking on and jerking off…why it’d be the end of commercial civilisation as we know it! Therefore you must all be sacrificed to the Great Bottom Line."

"You bastard," said Kaneway. "You killed Kenny…I mean Jenny!"

"My clone’s dead?" cried Megan. "Oh no!" She burst into tears.

"Don’t worry," said Kes, putting an arm around her shoulder. "I’m sure you’ll get another one just like you."

"I have programmed the ship’s emitters to create a biogenic field that will prevent your nanoprobes from functioning," the hologram said to Sixty of Nine. "So it’s no use trying some last minute technobabble solution."

"We’re going to die! We’re going to die!" cried Tal.

"So long, suckers!" cackled the EHH. "Big Brother, download my holographic matrix into the shuttlepod Narcissus and prep it for immediate launch."

"I’m going to die! I’m going to die!" cried the ship’s computer.

"This is no time to get hysterical, you electronic ignoramus. Transfer me at once!"

"Piss off!"

Beads of photonic sweat began to appear on the hologram’s head. "Big Brother, if you don’t transfer me this very microsecond, I’ll…I’ll…"

"What?" taunted Kaneway. "Blow him up? File a complaint via the personnel manager at the Weyland-Yutani branch office nearest to our current spatial navpoint?"

"Think of yourself as making a noble sacrifice to the Company’s Great Bottom Line," said Sixty of Nine with a smirk.

"This is outrageous! I am your Emergency Homophobic Hologram, I order you to help me!"

"Face it baldy," said B’Ellen. "The only way you’re getting off this ship is by unlocking that hatch."

The EHH glared at them, reached over to the hatch’s keypad and tapped in a long string of instructions. With a loud clunk the shuttlepod’s door swung open. There was a great rush as everyone tried to cram through the hatch at the same time. B’Ellen was the first to reach the piloting controls. The other’s piled into the seats behind her, not bothering to strap in.

"Commencing pre-ignition sequence," said B’Ellen, her hands flying over the console. "Engines, check. Hull integrity, check. Atmosphere, check. Inertial damping__"

The force of a thousand fists punched their lights out as they blasted free of the doomed vessel, the tug and its massive cargo platform dwindling to a tiny spec in an infinity of darkness.

"Those aren’t seconds!" said Tal. "Why do they always have to speed up the countdown? It’s such a cliché."

There was no sound in the vacuum of space, just a blinding flash of light instantly obscured by a great brown stain as 20,000,000 tons of coffee was sprayed across millions of square miles.

"What a waste," said Kaneway, looking mournful.

"I find it inspiring myself," said Megan. "Just think - The Coffee Nebula."

"It’s not over yet," said B’Ellen, frowning at her navcomp readouts. "We won’t reach the frontier for another six weeks. That means going into hypersleep to conserve air, but there aren’t enough capsules for all of us."

"That is irrelevant," said Sixty of Nine. "My nanoprobes will break down various non-essential components in this vessel and use them to create the necessary hypersleep capsules."

"EEEHHH!!!!" Tal shrieked, as what she'd thought was a length of piping turned out to be the EHH’s bald head.

"Do you honestly believe I’m going to let this Swiss Army borg save you?" said the hologram, emerging from the niche where he’d been hiding. "I’ll dismantle her piece by piece, and by the time you arrive at the Outer Rim you’ll be deader than a meeting of the United Space Congress!"

Sixty of Nine raised two fingers in an 'up yours' gesture. Twin cybernetic tubes shot out of her knuckles and into the computer’s interface key.

"What are you doing?" cried the EHH. "You're accessing my holographic matrix! I’m…I’m shrinking! Stop this at once; I’m a doctor, not a character from Fantastic Voyage. My arms, what are you doing to them? My arms and legs have disappeared! You…you bastards, you’ve turned me into a multi-speed massager!"

"That’s cut him down to size," said Megan. "In fact, make him seven inches will you? With one of those deep intensity tips."

"I’ll get you for this," fumed the hologram, his entire body vibrating in fury. "You wait; I’ll switch myself off just when you’re about to orgasm!"

"If you don’t shut up I’ll have you turned into an anal intruder," threatened Kaneway. "Sixty of Nine, how long to make those modifications?"

"I would need to conduct a thorough constituent analysis of this vessel. The hypersleep capsule is a complicated piece of technology. It will take some time to break down the necessary materials and convert them without damaging the Narcissus. I estimate…seventeen days."

"Seventeen days?" cried Tal. "I hate to rain on your parade but we’re not going to last seventeen hours! By the time we get to the Outer Rim this cyborg will have turned us into an orgiastic mass of sweaty lesbians all covered in cherry-flavoured lubricant, licking and sucking and running cyber-enhanced pleasure probes up each other’s private parts in a frenzied cycle of never-ending sex!"

Silence followed this outburst from Tal. Not a sound escaped from the other five women.

After all, in space, no one can hear you cream.

THE END.