If lasers don't work on the Borg, how are physical missiles supposed to? xD
Don't worry though, there is a plan.
[Currently down in Engineering, looking for something we could reverse-engineer into a weapon. But of course, everything's pretty useless, what with our ship being a Class 3 Merchant Vessel and not a cool battle class type. I mean, honestly, how come merchants always end up getting screwed out of the really cool toys, like warp warheads and Arden Phaser arrays?]
[I'll bet that kinda crap never happened to the Tamil Kings]
"Master, what are we gonna do? I still have so much left to do in life, I don't wanna be a creepy android bat!"
Me: "Tell me about it. I don't wanna be a creepy android Joey either. I mean, can Borg drones even get drunk?"
"They're not entirely robotic, right? If they still have all of their organs and use blood-flow to distribute oxygen, then probably."
Me: [An idea pops into my head; it's incredibly stupid, as usual… but just maybe…] "Say that again, Medi."
"What, that they could get drunk? That's a big maybe, Master; I don't really know. Star Trek biology isn't exactly my area of expertise, it's pretty inconsistent."
Me: "But there's a chance that they could. Maybe. Right?"
"Sure, I guess."
Me: "Well, I'll take a maybe over a definitely not any day of the week. Computer, are you listening?"
[The intercoms crackle to life]
Computer: "WE'RE GOING TO TRY SOMETHING INCREDIBLY STUPID AGAIN, AREN'T WE, CAPTAIN?"
[You know me so well, baby]
Me: "You bet your shiny metal ass, yo! Divert all power to 'Uncle Daddy’s Saturday Night Party-Time Mixing Cabinet' and prepare the booze! It's time for a party!"
[The sounds of a crazy pink pony cheering from somewhere in the distance of the universe echo throughout the ship]
"What the heckie was that, Master?"
Me: "Don't worry about it, that always happens when someone starts preparing a party. Let's get back to the bridge so I can work some more nerd magic."
[Back on the bridge the ships Computer is attempting to distract the Borg drone by arguing the ins and outs of string theory. To his credit, the drone doesn't really seem to give a crap one way or the other.]
Borg: "This is irrelevant. You may postulate the possibilities of alternate worlds, realms, and realities as much as you want. You're still going to be assimilated, Sheldon."
Computer: "WOW. RUDE."
Me: "Alright, boys-
Borg: [Interrupting me] "My drone line originally came from a race that reproduced asexually. How dare you assume me gender."
Computer: "ALSO RUDE. CHECK YOUR PRIVILEGE, CAPTAIN."
Me: "Whatever! Drone, listen up, alright? I checked down in Engineering to see if we could concoct a clever plan to blast you into atoms and it looks like we're pretty boned over here."
Borg: "I could have told you that."
Me: [To Medi-Bat] "The ego on this joker, am I right?"
"What a jerk! EEEEEEE!"
[I clear my throat]
Me: "So, seeing as how were screwed hard and with no forward courtesy of lube, how about you grant us a final request?"
Borg: "The collective sees no reason to perform such an emotionally-based gesture."
Me: "Under normal circumstances, of course not. But things are going a little weird today and this is a pretty Janeway heavy episode, she just isn't here yet."
Borg: [Actually looks somewhat "upset"] "Oh brother. We've got one of those writers then, correct?"
Me: "Looks like it."
Borg: [Sighs] "Is consistent writing really asking for too much?" [Another sigh] "Very well, what is your request? If we can get this out of the way as quickly as possible, perhaps the ratings won't drop too far."
[Medi-Bat and I share a grin]
[Thank you, Captain Janeway]
…making wine from literally whatever is in the compost heap
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