Genre: television

Chapter 1: Hollow Security

A Star Trek: The Next Generation Fanfic

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, settings, or props of the Star Trek universe. I make no profit from this fanfic. This is a kind of parody.

The door announced the visit request. "Come," Picard snapped. Riker entered. "Captain," he said without preamble, "there's a problem with the holodeck."

"The safeties have been disengaged, and it's become a hazard to all life on board?" Picard guessed. "No, sir."

"To the lives of everyone on Decks 8 through 10?"

"No, sir."

"Well, dammit, Number One, will you tell me who's threatened by the malfunction?" Picard asked, his patience wearing thin.

"If you're through interrupting?" Riker asked, his tone laced with a hint of amusement. Picard gave him a steely gaze. "Well, sir, it's not the safeties that have failed. It's a security matter."

"Security? Everyone on board has at least a Secret clearance. Even the children. What's been compromised?" Picard asked, his curiosity piqued.

"It's not that sort of security," Riker said, holding out a palm to forestall any further outburst. "It's the privacy protocols."

"Oh, dear," Picard muttered, leaning back in his chair. Instantly, he started to suspect. "Do we know what Ensign Crusher has been working on?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.

"It's not him, sir. He's the one who discovered the problem," Riker replied.

"Convenient," Picard scoffed. "No, sir. See, it seems that Wesley and Doctor Crusher both have files saved under the same name."

"Ah, I see," Picard said, a look of understanding crossing his face. Everyone had one of those stories, one where they or someone close to them had walked in on someone's private holo. If someone left a professional holonovel open, and someone walked into a story already in progress, the program would try to identify the intruder. Then it would attempt to find a place to slot the new identity into the narrative. Private fantasies almost always assumed that the person who walked in was the one the holo was programmed for and acted accordingly.

The comedic cliché was of a teenage boy accidentally initiating his mother's Klingon Rape Fantasy, and desperately searching for the safe word, since 'End Program!' and 'Stop!' and 'Oh, the pain!' weren't working. As an on-again, off-again romantic interest for his Chief Medical Officer, Picard mused that it was very possible that young Mr. Crusher had been seduced by a replica of Picard himself. "What did he find?" Picard asked, trying to sound disinterested.

"He found Beverly," Riker said. "Beverly? What, was she already in the holodeck?" Picard asked, his eyebrows rising.

"Well, evidently Beverly has something of a clone fetish. So when Wesley said 'run Crusher Hottie 7,' his mother appeared," Riker explained.

"And he thought he'd interrupted his mother? That would be embarrassing," Picard said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Not as much as when the clone bent him over and stuck her tongue up his ass," Riker added, his face straight.

"Really?" Picard asked, making a notation sub-vocally: crshr htty 7. Then, out loud, he said, "Very well, Number One, let's go see if we can fix this."

They stepped out onto the bridge, where the tensions were high. Ensign Ro sat stiffly at Helm. "I only did one," she said, terse and quick. "And that was to pay to get my parents out of the refugee camps."

"Of course," Data said from his seat at Ops. "I made no comment about moral judgment, merely noting that your name appears in several of the now-public accounts."

"Drop it!" she snapped. The android shrugged and returned his attention to his panel. Picard was shaking his head as the turbo lift doors closed. "Why am I thinking I'd rather it had been a threat to all life on board?"

Worf stood at the door to Holodeck Number One, holding a phaser aimed at a large crowd of people gathered in the passageway. "I cannot counter-program whatever has happened," he said in his most gravelly voice. "But I can make the computer tell me whenever anyone searches the accounts for the terms 'Klingon' and 'Penis.' And the next person that does this will feel my wrath." His finger upped the setting on his phaser. "They just won't feel it for very long."

"Klingon Penis?" Picard asked as the two senior officers rounded the corner. "It is a myth that a Klingon's manhood is armored, sir," Worf said, coming to attention. "But they are prehensile, aren't they?" Riker asked.

"Well, I can't unbutton a fly with it," Worf said defensively. "But I can grip-" he began, before Picard cut him off.

"I didn't ask," Picard said quickly. He turned to the holodeck entry. "I assume Mr. La Forge is troubleshooting?"

"Um... sure," Worf said after a brief pause. Picard scowled and marched into the entertainment chamber. La Forge had commandeered a computer console in the middle of the room and was scanning what looked to be an empty directory. Picard and Riker paused, not wanting to interrupt the officer's flow in the middle of troubleshooting.

"Computer, recheck those figures. Are you sure that Geordi La Forge's image has not been used in any private fantasy?" La Forge asked.

"No holodeck files can be found under those parameters," the computer replied.

"Are there any files, under any parameters, with a Geordi La Forge character?" he persisted. Picard glanced up at Riker, who rolled his eyes.

"Seventeen files exist with a Geordi La Forge character," the computer said.

"Ah, now we're getting somewhere. List those files. No, list the roles assigned to Geordi La Forge in those fantasies," La Forge said.

Picard eased up to look over his junior officer's shoulder. The screen populated with descriptions like Member of Crowd, Onlooker, Sex Olympics Line Judge, Contestant Number 47 in Everyone Wins And Trophy Day, Eulogy Mime, and Spare.

"Bummer," Riker said from Geordi's other shoulder. "Commander!" Geordi shrieked. "How long have you been here?"

"Since when you asked 'Are you really, really, really, really sure no one's fucked me in their holofantasy?' Sorry," Riker replied, a grin spreading across his face.

"You know, for a blind man," Picard mused, "you're remarkably poor at hearing. So, how's the fault isolation going?"

"Um... still trying to get a handle on the exact size of the problem," La Forge said.

"Sure," Riker said. "Computer! List all files that contain a William Riker character. Just by the names."

Geordi covered his visor, afraid to look. The titles spooled across the screen: Shoulders 1-13, Naked Training 3, Orbital Orgy, Bachelor Contest, Love Slave, Love's Labor's Lassoed 4... 4... 3C, Sunken Voyage, Honey I Shrunk The XO, and Beam Me Up, Hottie. The screen filled and refilled three times.

"That's about the size of it," Riker said with a nod. "So what does that tell us?"

"I don't know," La Forge said. "Maybe a new mouthwash? I've heard great things about this Xindi Seaweed spray-"

"About the privacy protocols!" Picard snapped. "Oh! Sorry. Um... well?"

"Captain Picard," Troi's voice called from the CO's communicator, "please report to the shuttle bay!"

"Acknowledged," Picard replied. He turned to the exit. "She sounds upset!" Riker said.

"I don't know why," La Forge mumbled. "She's in, like, 700 files."

"You checked her status before checking your own?" Riker asked, amused.

"I asked the computer to rank the crew, she's in fourth place," La Forge said.

"Really?" Riker said with surprise in his voice. "Who the hell's in front of her?"

Geordi snorted. "Doctor Crusher, for one. But most of those are just fantasies about playing doctor with the real doctor."

"Ah... annual exam gets a little out of hand?" Riker asked.

"Yeah, she's in every one, although not always as a naked participant. Sometimes the 'main character,' as it were, is Doctor Selar or Doctor M'Benga," La Forge explained.

"Who else?" Riker asked.

"Data's a favorite. People imagine all sorts of accessories to plug into him or settings to put them to," La Forge replied.

"Makes sense," Riker nodded. "The ultimate Transformer."

"More of a voice-activated, self-directing, heat-seeking vibrator," Geordi said. "So... who is number one?" the ship's Number One asked without a trace of irony.

"Guinan, sir," Geordi reported. Riker's eyebrows rose. "Guinan?"

"Evidently, you can't choreograph a drunken orgy on this ship without her character. It's weird," La Forge said.

"Now that you mention it, she does tend to show up whether or not I detailed her...," Riker mused.

Down on the hangar deck, Picard approached a shuttlecraft. It had been removed from its bay and shoved to the very end of the hangar. The only way to get farther away from the bridge would be to go out an airlock and drift. He could see his Counselor sitting in the pilot's seat, her legs folded up to her chest, and her face resting on her knees.

"Deana?" he asked at the hatch. "You have to shut them up, Captain. Shut them all up. Please!" she pleaded.

"Yes, well, I imagine that the tensions among the crew are very taxing for your empathic abilities," Picard said, trying to placate her.

"NO!" she screamed. "I'm a trained therapeutic empath! I've experienced tension! I've walked this ship during battles and while lost beyond all landmarks, and when we were set to self-destruct. Hell, Captain, I was a teenager while my mother was dating the Gorn Ambassador! Do you know what TENSION is? Tension is when you realize the person in your mother's bed is equally attracted to eating her out as to eating her heart."

"Yes, well," Picard temporized, eyeing the exit. "No, sir, you need to get the crew to SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Troi shouted. "The main purpose of Betazed empathy is NOT to allow me to give the best blowjobs in known space!"

"Is that what they're saying?" Picard asked.

"They're comparing notes! On 'what do YOU make her do?' Then they laugh and pretend they're not looking at me!" Troi exclaimed.

"That should be fairly normal for you, then," Picard mused. "I imagine whenever you walk the ship in your space-geisha uniform-"

"Well, yes," Troi said, her voice even. "The interest is almost a relaxing... I time my steps to the pulses of the watchers." Then she slammed a fist onto the console. "But that damned GIGGLING!"

Picard ordered security to evacuate and reduce access to the ship sections within empathic range of the counselor's shuttle. Then he ordered Riker to set up a department heads meeting. On the way there, he was trying to phrase an announcement to the crew, encouraging them to grow up, act civilized, and shut the fuck up. Or perhaps he'd be the kindly father-figure? Nothing like a sixty-year-old man talking about sex to cool libidos on all decks.

The turbo shaft nearest the hangar was already turned off when he reached it. He had to hike across the rest of the section to the next shaft. He passed a weight room and nearly bumped into Lieutenant Robinson standing in the door. She didn't notice the Captain as she was shouting at Lieutenant Carver.

"I saw that houri costume you had me wear in your harem fantasy!" she exclaimed.

"I don't have a harem fantasy with you in it!" Carver put down the weight bar and turned off the magnetic field.

"That's my historically accurate representation of the Enterprise crew if we were operational in 2266," Carver said. "Not quite go-go boots, though," Picard added.

"Oh," Robinson said in a quiet voice. "Never mind." She walked quickly down the passage. Picard made brief eye contact with Carver, who shrugged.

"I knew I was innocent... There aren't any women in my harem," Carver said.

"I didn't ask," Picard said. He marched on, trying not to wonder if Carver was watching him walk away.

"Options, people," he barked as he entered the conference room. "We delete all the private files," Crusher suggested.

"It's a holographic memory," La Forge pointed out. "Nothing's ever really deleted from a holographic memory. Just covered up. We could never prevent someone from finding the stuff again."

"That's not entirely true," Worf said, waving his phaser over the table for emphasis. "We can send the files to Hell."

"They're part of everyone's mobile profile," Riker said with a shake of his head. "A thousand people on board, all moaning about how 'my whole LIFE was in that memory engram!' We need a solution that doesn't involve harming the people we're trying to save."

"Data," Picard called. The android was bent over a padd, apparently researching something. "What's your take on this?"

"I believe many people are grossly overestimating the capacity of my onboard battery," Data replied, paging down the script. "And I cannot quite parse the phrase 'penis breath.' Is that intended to indicate an air leak from my-?"

"I'll explain later!" La Forge said quickly. "Thank you, Geordi," Data said. "But you are not the source of the phrase. Where IS Counselor Troi? Should she not be at a department head meeting?"

"No," Picard said wearily. "Just be glad the shuttles do not have weaponry."

"Come on, we need to solve this," Picard said, trying to refocus the meeting. "For that, we need to know what happened," Riker said.

"Well, it's either an accident or an attack," Worf said.

"Not an accident," La Forge said with authority. "Every single personal file is unprotected, both crew and passenger-owned. But no operationally classified files have had one single layer of encryption reduced. Someone did this on purpose."

"Then why?" Picard asked. "To what effect?"

"Maybe to get you people over your sexual hang-ups," Guinan said, standing against one of the room's bay windows.

"This is the 26th century," Picard said. "We don't have sexual hang-ups! We've conquered poverty, indolence, economic disequality, telemarketing, racism, elitism, sexism, and that thing Texans did in the winter. We're an advanced culture!"

"The fist-fight down in Astrography says otherwise," Guinan said.

"Well, _I_, for one, have no sexual hang-ups," Worf said proudly.

Guinan turned to him and smiled. "There once was a Klingon from Kronos, whose girlfriend suffered from-"

Worf snapped to his feet, training his phaser between her soft, brown eyes. The weapon whined with the unmistakable tone of a phaser set to Make Baby Jesus Cry. "I will burn you, Temptress!" he shouted.

She gestured as one zipping her lip, but her smile didn't fade. It merely stopped showing teeth. "Guinan, you pulled the private files?" Picard asked, bringing the conversation back around to the topic, away from the death threats.

"Yes, sir," she admitted. "You guys need to talk more. Actually become as enlightened as you tell yourselves that you are."

"While I may not disagree with your thesis," Picard replied, "I have to say that your method strikes me as a little ham-fisted. Too much talking, all at once, without preparation or room to escape. The damage done is irreversible."

"Not entirely true," Data said. "We could drive the Enterprise into a gravity field to slingshot us backwards in time, use the hyper-secret encryption transmitter to send a discrete message to Guinan, telling her not to take this action."

"Then we'll have two Enterprises," Riker said.

"And two of me," Crusher said dreamily.

"Oh, stop," Picard told her. "Wesley is still whining in the Jeffries Tube."

"We will send an additional message," Data said, "telling then-Picard to perform the same maneuver and send the same message to Guinan. So the overlap will not be more than a day or two."

"Would you obey such a message?" Riker asked. "If it's from me," Guinan nodded. "And I'll write the orders, so they come from me," Picard said.

That afternoon, three days later, Picard stood on his bridge and watched Guinan record a message they'd send to Guinan. The "don't do it" was simple enough, but she refused to expand on the topic. After the transmission was sent, and the barkeep disappeared into the turboshaft, Picard looked around the room. "Well, I guess we go find someplace boring to hide for two days."

"Yes, sir," Wesley Crusher said, programming the helm for deep, empty space. "Jean-Luc, was there no hint about the purpose of this loop?"

"No," he said with a shake of his head. "Just clear orders to warp back in time, send her message, and hide."

"Huh," Riker grunted. "I wonder what's not going on, now?"

"Well, there might be a clue," Picard said. "There's a post-script."

"What's it say?" Riker asked. "Crusher Hottie Seven," Picard said. "Eep!" Everyone turned to see a very pale Chief Medical Officer sitting up very straight in her chair. "Crusher Hottie Seven?" Wesley asked, turning around in his seat. "Oh, Captain! You'll love it. I use that setting every day!"

Picard had turned halfway around to look at Wesley when he heard a thump. Doctor Crusher had fainted.