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I wish I had thought of this idea. I didn't. Jill did. This was all hers, and it's really hilarious. All of us make our token appearances in this story, but Jeannette is the star. You know the rest. The Star Trek: Voyager characters belong to Paramount and the creators. Yada yada.
Hair Crewman Jeannette Peterson was afraid. Very afraid. In the six years that she had been aboard Voyager, she had been involved in more close calls than she cared to remember. She had survived hundreds of battles with dozens of Delta Quadrant species bent on joining the illustrious anti-Voyager club who wanted Captain Janeway and her ship out of the Delta Quadrant almost as badly as the captain herself did. She had come home from more than her share of away missions, and had walked away from four shuttle missions piloted by Commander Chakotay-a record among the lower crewmembers, whose life expectancy aboard shuttles was almost as short as that of the shuttles themselves. But never, in all that time, had Jeannette been more terrified or more pessimistic about her chances for continued existence. And she had good reason to be. Always before, she could count on the legendary ingenuity and relentless determination of the senior staff to get everyone safely beyond the latest battle. But now...that legendary ingenuity and relentless determination was about to find a new target: Crewman Jeannette Peterson. "God, I'm dead," Jeannette murmured. Her back and knees ached from being crammed into the Jeffries tube for so long, but it was better than the alternative. Anything was better than the alternative. She tapped her communicator, wriggling awkwardly in the cramped space in a futile attempt to get more comfortable. "Peterson to Barron." "What's up?" Jerry responded immediately, and Jeannette thought his voice had never sounded more wonderful. "Are you off duty yet?" "Just. I'm on my way to my quarters." Jeannette sighed with relief. "Great. I'll meet you there." She shifted onto her hands and knees and started crawling towards the access panel of the Jeffries Tube she was hiding in. She opened the panel and peered out cautiously, watching for any signs of rioting crewmembers or rampaging senior staff. Deck 8, section 11 was deserted. She was just replacing the access panel when Jerry rounded the corner. "Jeannette? What are you doing?" Jeannette jumped to her feet and grabbed her lover by the arm, hauling him bodily into his doorway. "Shh!" she hissed. "Someone might hear you! They know I'd come here." Jerry looked down at her, unconsciously taking a step back. He'd never seen her act like this before, not even after a few too many cups of Neelix's punch. Her behavior was paranoid, bordering on the psychotic, at the moment. "Uh-could you let go of my arm so that we can go in?" "Is Orys in there?" "No. He's still on duty. Will be until 0200." "Okay then." Jeannette released his arm, and Jerry keyed in the access code. His roommate, a Bajoran ex-Maquis, had left his clothes draped all over the couch...again. Jerry swept them to one side, dragged Jeannette over to the couch, and unceremoniously pushed her onto it. "Now," he said, taking a seat on the coffee table. "Wanna tell me what this is all about? Why on earth were you hiding in the Jeffries tubes?" Jeannette looked up at him--one of the many things she loved about Jerry was that he was tall, tall enough at 6'3" that even when she was wearing her damn Starfleet-issue two-inch heels, she couldn't look him in the eye--and drew a breath. She wasn't sure where to start, and decided to think it out before she explained. Her mouth apparently had other ideas. "Commander Chakotay dyes his hair," she blurted. Jerry looked at her as though she had lost it completely. *Maybe she has,* he thought, looking at her hair, which was frizzy and sticking in every possible direction. Jeannette would never allow it to do that unless she had no idea it was doing it. Being a sensible male with a reasonable sense of self-preservation, he did not voice his thoughts aloud. "I know that, Jeannette," he said. "Everybody knows that. It wasn't like we could miss it when his hair suddenly got blacker." "So does Captain Janeway." "She dyes her hair?" Jeannette nodded. Jerry didn't think she had any idea how incoherent she was being. "Okay," he said. "I didn't know that, but so what? Oh, God. You're not going to make this into some kind of attempt to prove that those two are--wait. Did you *see* something?" That would explain her behavior... "No. Listen, Jerry, like half of the senior officers dye their hair. Okay, not half, but four. Lieutenant Torres and Seven of Nine are the other ones. I know this because I cut their hair. And dye it." He thought Seven's hair was a little *too* blonde. "Yes, but what does that have to do with *anything?*" Jeannette leapt up off of the couch and started pacing. "You haven't seen any of the senior staff today, have you?" "Just Tuvok and Neelix. Why?" A horrible suspicion was beginning to form in Jerry's mind. Jeannette, along with two other minor crewmen, cut hair on the side. Originally, the Doctor had performed the necessary task, in an ironic reversal of the ancient barber-as-doctor routine, but after a few hideous slip-ups, those who needed haircuts turned to other sources. Jeannette, who had done a brief stint as a hairdresser while in school, was one of them. By virtue of being most experienced, she did most of the senior staff. With the exceptions of the Doctor, Neelix, who (obviously, Jerry thought) cut his own hair, and Tuvok, who apparently did the same, since no one had ever seen his style change. What if she had screwed up? "Okay, promise not to laugh." "I promise..." Jeannette was not convinced. "This is serious, Jerry!" she cried. "My life is on the line, here!" "Uh-huh. What did you do to the senior officers? And to which ones did you do it?" "Janeway, Chakotay, Seven, and--" Jeannette paused, gulping, "Torres." "What did you do?" Distantly, Jeannette thought Jerry was imitating their friend Erica with that line. But she was too distracted to pay attention. "There was a little mix-up," she whispered. "What kind of a mix-up?" "Um..." she gulped again and started wringing her hands. "Um...well, I'm experimenting with batik..." "Omigod," Jerry breathed. "...and the replicator code is almost exactly the same for batik dye as hair dye..." "Oh, shit..." "...and, um, I was sort of distracted when I was working, so I didn't notice until after it was too late..." "What color?" Jeannette winced. "Color*s*," she whispered. "Oh, no..." "Blue for Seven." "Janeway?" "Purple." "Chakotay?" "Pink." She was squeaking now. "Torres?" "*Green!*" The last came out in a wail of despair. Jerry leapt to his feet. "How did you manage to do that?" he cried. "You don't do them all at once...why in God's name didn't you check the bottles? How could you dye the hair of four different people and not notice?" "It was four different accidents!" Jeannette shouted. She was close to tears. "It happened with Seven, first. I was wearing gloves, so I didn't notice the dye staining my hands, and the type of dye we use IS blue in the bottle...it washes out blonde. When I saw that her hair was blue, I ran, praying that she wouldn't look in a mirror. I had ten minutes before I was supposed to do Chakotay's hair. So I recycled all the dyes and entered the code for hair dye. Or what I thought was the right code. The same thing happened, except that the pink dye is really dark in color when it comes out of the bottle. I didn't notice it was pink--" "Until it was too late. Right. Then you had Torres' appointment, and then Janeway's, right?" "Right. And I *swear*, Jerry, I replicated the right dye every time. But it kept coming out as batik dye. If I'm still alive tomorrow, I need to have someone take a look at my replicator." "And that's why you were hiding. From the very irate captain, first officer, Klingon, and Borg, who will kill you if they find you." "Uh-huh." "Jeannette, this is Voyager. You can't hide. And you especially can't hide from *them*. I'm surprised they haven't summoned you yet. How long have you been hiding?" "Two hours..." Jerry started pacing. Jeannette had sunken to the floor. "Okay," he said, speaking abnormally quickly. "That's about an hour for each of them to get over their private horrors at what you've done to them. Torres probably took about 10 minutes cursing your name and your family, once the shock wore off, and set out to find either the Commander or the Captain. Maybe Paris. Watch out for him." Jerry drew a breath and continued talking at warp speed. "Now, Seven...Seven most likely went on with her duties. But if she were to be summoned to a meeting about it, she will no doubt have some diabolical plans for you." "I know." "I have no idea what Chakotay did. But I promise you he's mad, and if you've pissed off the Captain as much as I'm sure you have, he's even madder. As for the Captain...okay, once she got over the shock, she probably called Chakotay to her quarters--I guarantee you she hasn't left them--and upon seeing him, found out who else had their hair done today. Say fifteen minutes for the four of them to assemble...forty-five for them to plot...yeah, you're pretty much doomed any minute now." "Jerry!" Jeannette clutched at her hair in frustration, shimmered, and dematerialized. Jerry blinked, once, then barreled out the door, heading for deck 9, section 11. Jeannette rematerialized in an unfamiliar suite that she knew had to belong to the Captain. She stared straight through a pair of black-clad legs at the couch, since she was still sitting on the floor. She knew those legs. Or at least, she thought she did. They were only two suspects, since the shimmering blue stalks to her left were definitely Seven's, and the large ones to her right were Chakotay's. "Fifty percent chance of being right," she mumbled. "On your feet, Crewman," the voice belonging to the legs growled. Only Janeway growled like that. Some small part of Jeannette's mind congratulated her on her accuracy at identifying people by their knees. Jeannette scrambled to her feet, carefully, since she was boxed in by the four officers. She couldn't help but notice that Seven's hair matched her catsuit perfectly. Torres moved out from behind Jeannette and began to prowl the room behind Janeway like a hungry tiger. Jeannette backed up against the wall. "Yes, ma'am?" she choked. "Crewman Peterson, would you care to explain this?" Janeway, still flanked by Chakotay and Seven, advanced so that she stood toe-to-toe with the trembling crewman. Her hair glowed indigo in the strange light as she glared up at Jeannette, who suddenly felt about two inches tall, despite the fact that she had a good six inches on the Captain. "I'm s-sorry, ma'am. It was an accident!" "It was *four* accidents, Crewman," Seven replied, her emotionless voice nonetheless razor-sharp. "Care to explain?" Chakotay's voice was even, and Jeannette looked over at him, hoping to find some support. What she found, beneath his cotton-candy colored hair, was a mask of impassivity covering a glint of amusement. *So this is how I'm going to die,* Jeannette thought. If Chakotay was amused, things were *really* bad. Jeannette drew a deep breath and rattled off the whole explanation, amazed at her ability to stare straight over the Captain's head, ignoring the Janeway-Glare-O-Death (as Stacey liked to call it), and trying not to notice that Torres was watching her with revenge written all over her face. Meanwhile, Jerry was sitting atop Ensign Stacey Woods's desk, holding his head in his hands, while Stacey and her roommate, Ensign Jill Alexander, shrieked with laughter. Jill was sprawled on the floor where she'd fallen, and Stacey was draped across her bed. Jerry was beginning to hope they'd choke. "Guys, come on," he pleaded. "This isn't funny." That elicited another round of giggles, punctuated by a sudden pounding on the wall. "Jilly?" A muffled voice filtered through. "You'd better get over here, Erica," Jill called. "Bring Naomi, if she's with you." Jerry groaned. Together, the four of them--five, if Jeannette happened to be around--were their significant others' collective worst nightmare. They were merciless and took pleasure in watching the weak squirm. He braced himself. Erica and Naomi took in the scene with raised eyebrows when Jill let them in. Neither ensign had moved, and Jerry still sat atop the desk. At Naomi's request, he repeated the story. Halfway through, Erica crawled under Jill's desk and stayed there for the rest of the tale. Jill laughed until tears were streaming down her face. Soon, Erica joined her. Naomi looked vaguely horrified, though she was smiling from her fetal position on the couch. "What are we going to do?" Jerry asked as he finished up. "Get Erica to show us where to best catch the Commander and the Captain?" Jill suggested. "I'm *dying* to see this." "Great," Jerry sighed. "I should've known you guys would think this is funny. You're not the ones who're going to have to sleep with whatever they leave of Jeannette." That set them all off again. "It doesn't wash out?" Jeannette asked hopefully. She was still standing at attention with her back to the wall, but the officers had backed off a few inches. "No, Crewman, it doesn't wash out," Janeway replied. "You said it was batik dye?" "Yes, ma'am. I think it might fade in a few weeks..." "A few *weeks?*" Jeannette forced herself to look at B'Elanna Torres, who had finally stopped pacing and was standing, arms folded, between and just behind the two commanding officers. Her voice was dripping with rage. Jeannette tried to look innocent. "Captain, permission to break her nose?" The captain held up a hand. "Just a minute, B'Elanna. I think I have a better idea." She paced away from Jeannette, who drew a breath, relieved. She felt as though she had been underwater for the entire period of time Janeway had been standing in front of her. "I think," Captain Janeway said, turning to face the terrified crewman, "that the plasma conduits on Deck 15 need scrubbing. For the next two months. These are best scrubbed at 0400. See to it. Moreover, you will spend however many of your replicator rations--and however many of Ensign Barron's you need to 'borrow'--to replicate enough dye to recolor our hair." Jeannette began to hope that was all. She could handle that. Then Commander Chakotay opened his mouth. "Seven," he said, "the away missions scheduled for the next week are all in the very humid tropical regions of that M-class planet, are they not?" "Yes," Seven said. "But I fail to see the relevance." "Crewman Peterson, you find humidity unpleasant, do you not?" "Yes, sir," Jeannette said slowly. "Because of your hair?" She stared at him, wondering how he knew. "Yes, sir." "You will go on all of these away missions and collect data on the native insect life while your colleagues gather supplies." "Yes, sir. Permission to ask a question, sir?" "Go ahead." "Who will be leading the missions?" "Ensign Kim will be leading one, I'm leading one, and Tom Paris is leading the third." "That's what I was afraid of," Jeannette whispered. "You're dismissed, Crewman," Janeway said. Jeannette snapped to even more rigid attention and marched out the door. It slid shut behind her, and as she walked away, she could have sworn she heard someone laughing. She was certain she was mistaken; the laughter sounded like it belonged to the Captain. When the doors swished shut behind Crewman Peterson, there was a moment of dead silence in the captain's quarters. Then Janeway caught sight of herself in the mirror. And began to giggle. After a moment, she began to laugh outright. She threw herself down on the couch and chortled. "Captain?" Seven raised one perfect eyebrow at this unseemly behavior. "Purple hair," Janeway gasped. "And Seven, did you know your hair matches your suit perfectly?" "I am aware of that, Captain." Chakotay chuckled quietly. "It's not a bad color for you, Seven," he said, grinning. Seven did not deign to reply. "Although pink isn't really your color, Commander," Janeway said, looking speculatively up at her first officer. "Don't anyone say I look good in green," B'Elanna warned. "I've already heard that from Tom." Janeway laughed again. "And Crewman Peterson' face...I think she really thought we were going to kill her." "I'm sure she thought Chakotay had sentenced her to death with that away mission order," B'Elanna said, grinning. "Everyone knows people don't come back from Harry's away missions--or yours, Chakotay." "How'd you know she hates humidity, Chakotay?" Janeway asked. "I overheard her on her last shore leave, commiserating with Ensign Alexander about what high humidity does to their hair. Let's just say that Crewman Peterson will be having some difficulty controlling that hair of hers for the next week or so." A week later, Jeannette sat slumped in the corner of their usual table in the mess hall. Her hair stuck out in frizzy clouds around her head. Tom Paris had told her that it looked just like a twentieth century hairstyle known as a 'fro. Stacey giggled every time she looked at her. "How're the conduits coming along?" Jill asked. "You two are horrible," Jeannette said, scowling. "Can't you be a little supportive?" "Nope, sorry," Stacey replied. "We're not the ones who turned the Captain's hair purple." "Whatever." "Look on the bright side," Naomi suggested. "It's only another five weeks. What's the matter?" Jeannette had turned bright red, which abruptly faded to a sickly grey, and was slumping even further into the seat. In a moment, she would slide under the table. Naomi and Jill looked over the shoulders. Stacey was already staring open-mouthed at the sight. "You didn't get your replicator fixed, did you?" Stacey breathed. "It's not my fault!" Jeannette moaned. "I had Harry look at it for me. He said he fixed the problem!" Captain Janeway stood like a miniature fury at the entrance of the mess hall, flanked once again by her first officer and the former drone. "Crewman Peterson?" Jeannette swallowed audibly and rose. The trio in the door waited as she approached, their parti-colored orange- and -purple, -blue, and -pink hair practically glowing beneath the mess hall lights. "About that dye," Janeway softly, her voice edge with imminent doom. "Well," Erica said, as their friend was escorted away, "at least they can't demote her again." Fin |
