Author: Kakodaimon
Disclaimer: Inspiration for this story came from several sources not belonging to the author. No money is being made from it.
Rating: G
Recipient: Angel
Crossover: Babylon 5/Star Trek OS
Notes: Without knowledge of the musical Oliver! this will be even less funny, but all original song titles are given, just in case.
The scene opens on Sheridan and some EA cronies sitting, fidgeting during a council meeting. The music is tense and quiet as they begin to sing (to the tune of “Food, Glorious Food”).
SHERIDAN & EA OFFICERS:
Is it worth this goddam wait?
Since twenty-two and fifty-eight
All we’ve ever had are peace talks.
Diplomats are such a bore—
Someone start a border war!
Still we get the same old peace talks!
There’s not a skirmish or brawl to enjoy,
Not a tussle or a fracas or fray.
Regs may prevent us from starting a scrap,
But at least we can lie back and pray
For...
War, glorious war,
Starfuries and dogfights!
Oh, how we love gore,
Falls, GROPOS and Long Nights!
Narn, Drazi, and Vorlons too;
“Who next?” is the question.
Damn, aliens have it, boys:
Harm-ful weapons!
War, glorious war,
Guns, red alerts, action!
How could we want more
When that’s what we’re trained for?
Thrill, tumult, promotions, too,
Not sampling the latest spoo:
Wonderful war,
Marvellous war, glorious war!
DELENN: (ringing a chime and singing on pitch)
For the briefings we are about to receive, may Valen make us truly thankful.
Chaotic music as Sheridan and the others eagerly tear open their briefing packages, but they groan—more #$!@ treaty negotiations. The humans confer amongst themselves, and eventually push our Johnny forward.
SHERIDAN:
Please, miss, I want a war.
DELENN: What?!
SHERIDAN: (more bravely)
Please, miss, I want a... war?
The aliens roar in outrage, and on a count of three, rush him. To a comical bassoon solo—isn’t that always the way?—they chase him around the room, but just as they’re about to catch and thrash him in the name of peace, something very strange happens. He freezes, and sort of twinkles into light. When the light subsides, he’s just... gone. Cut to a bridge some of us might find familiar, aboard a certain USS Starship, where Sheridan has just materialised.
SHERIDAN:
Where—where am I?
A suave young ensign, SULU, turns around from the comconsole and grins at him.
SULU:
We beamed you out of the station. Y’see, we were just passing by, and your boredom was so intense it showed up on our scanners. When we found out you were in a committee meeting—well. We just had to rescue you.
SHERIDAN:
Gee, thanks, I think. Wait, how were you passing by?
SULU:
Ever wonder where ships drifting in hyperspace go?
Sheridan’s eyes widen, and he points at Sulu. Sulu points to himself and nods smugly.
SULU:
So we figured the beak was getting to you.
SHERIDAN:
What’s a beak?
SULU:
My eyes, how green! A beak’s a magistrate. You know, a Starfleet command officer. D’you like running away from home?
SHERIDAN:
I guess.
SULU:
Got a mother?
SHERIDAN:
No.
SULU:
Father?
SHERIDAN: (immediately all misty-eyed)
Oh, sure. I still remember my old Dad used to say to me, “Son, sometimes, when the world’s gone to hell and all the people around you have given up, you’ve just got to square your shoulders and be a man. Look trouble straight in the eye and—”
SULU:
Okay, okay. Sorry I asked. Why were you so unhappy in your world?
SHERIDAN:
Pushing all that paper was killing me! I’m made to command starships like this, not sit behind a desk. I mean, I suppose the job could have been interesting, but with all those regulations holding me down, tying my hands...
SULU:
Well, welcome aboard the USS Enterprise. We live without regulations here—we’re running away, too!
SHERIDAN:
Really?
SULU:
Oh yes! Starfleet kept trying to fence us in with nonsense like the Prime Directive, and our Captain Kirk decided, to hell with it. Why bother with rules at all? We broke away. Now, out by the Neutral Zone, we can have all the fun and hot alien sex with galactic primitives we want.
SHERIDAN:
Breaking away, eh...? I’ll have to remember that one. Can we really go anywhere?
SULU:
Uh huh. Name your coordinates.
Sheridan makes an “Ummm” noise and randomly taps a place on Sulu’s electronic map. Sulu brightens, grins again, and bursts into song to the tune of “Consider Yourself”.
SULU:
Consider your course laid in!
Consider your course thought out and verified.
We’ve souped up our own new ship.
Let’s go,
‘Cause
Walking is just too slow.
Consider your course command!
Consider your course set for the Neutral Zone.
Let’s set to Warp Fac-tor four
And go
Where
No man has gone before.
If it should chance to be we should see some Rommie days,
Balmy Rommie days, why grouse?
Always a chance that we can fire with all phaser banks
Then Romulan ale is on the house!
Consider your course laid in!
It just might get us all killed,
But adventure’s coming and the crew’s all thrilled.
Consider your course laid in!
The ship goes to warp and speeds ahead mightily. As the music and singing continues and the bridge crew joins in the chorus, the computer can be barely heard underneath.
COMPUTER:
Warning. Now entering Neutral Zone.
Nobody pays any attention, however—that is, until one of those pink-cloud plasma bursts rocks the Enterprise, bringing the music to a screeching halt.
SHERIDAN:
What’s going on?
SULU:
I don’t know! Spock!
SPOCK: (long-suffering)
Mr Sulu, we have just broken our treaty agreement with a certain alien species whose home space is less than a light year from our current position. Surely you were expecting this attack from the Romulans.
SHERIDAN:
The WHO?
The Bridge Crew begins to explain to him musically, to the tune of “Oliver”.
SULU:
Romulans, Romulans,
Those are the chaps with the big pointy ears.
CHEKOV:
Romulans, Romulans,
Exiled from Wulcan for 5,000 years.
They have eighties clothes
And rip off the Romans like anything,
And wear spandex hose
And aren’t the main villains ‘cause they’re only sideshows.
SPOCK:
Romulans, Romulans,
Not telepathic but still very bright,
So it’s best to stay out of a fight
With Rom-u-lans!
The song would go on, but something is depressing Sheridan. The music fades as he wanders off to the side, not content with his new surroundings after all. Softly, the underscore swells (“Where Is Love?”).
SHERIDAN:
Whe-e-e-e-ere’s the plot?
Engineered by Mr Scott?
I want something dark, a story arc,
Or characters with thought.
Whe-e-e-e-ere’s the twist?
Is it something that I’ve missed?
Tell me there’s a plan. No, really, man,
I’m starting to get pissed.
Sulu lays a gentle hand on his shoulder.
SULU:
I’m sorry, Johnny, it’s just not our way. We live for action and space opera, not theological imagery and Kafkaesque character dynamics. Do you want to go back home?
Sheridan nods.
...then we won’t stop you. Mr Scott, one to beam.
Sheridan shimmers into thin air, and rematerialises in the briefing room. He blinks, and looks down at the papers in his hands.
DELENN:
Can the Minbari count on Earth Alliance’s support to table the amendments to the resolution to strike a committee to analyse jumpgate usage statistical breakdowns over the past eight point five cycles?
SHERIDAN: (with way too much vicious enthusiasm, banging the table with his fist)
God yes!
The Council blinks at him.
SHERIDAN:
It’s boring as hell, but what a small price to pay for existential angst. It’s good to be home!
DA ANN’D