BY : Odon
Category: Star Trek > Voyager
Dragon prints: 1710
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek: Voyager, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Title: B’Elannarella (Part One)

Author: Odon

Fandom: Star Trek Voyager uber parody

Pairing: Torres/Seven

Rated: NC-17

Status: Complete

Series/Sequel: No

Summary: Sensual astrometrix Anna Seven, aided by the savage and passionate B’Elannarella, must save the universe from the evil Doctor’s Photonic Cannon. Any resemblance to the 1968 film “Barbarella” staring Jane Fonda is purely intentional.

Warning: This story contains coarse language and primitive second millennium-type sex between women.

Disclaimer: No profit is intended in the writing of this story. Star Trek: Voyager and Barbarella are both the property of Paramount, I believe.

Feedback should be sent to odon05@hotmail.com. Archiving and downloading is welcome as long as you credit the author.


Anna Seven, Astrometrix First Class, always believed that undressing was as much a work of artistry as a necessary part of her daily routine. Why go to the Hallucinogenic Experience Theatre in order to witness radiant displays of body and motion, she’d always argued to her friends, when you could achieve such visual perfection in your everyday life?

It was, therefore, to the stirring chords of ‘La Passion d'une Langue Etrangère’ by Testamano Three that the beautiful astronaut took off her spacesuit. Floating in zero gravity above the floor of her cabin she first removed her gloves, freeing long, slim fingers that danced across the seals of her magnetic boots. With slow, languid movements she kicked them off her feet, calculating their trajectory with precision so they would arc towards her footlocker. A robot arm neatly snatched boo boots out of the air.

“Thank you Harry,” Anna said huskily to the servant drone. The robot beeped in happiness, a shiver of ecstasy running through its mechanical components.

Anna’s spacesuit pants were next. Rolling onto her back, she slid out one smooth, sensual leg, then the other, extending each in urbane stretches as if to celebrate their liberty from confinement. Next she removed her helmet, sng lng loose her hair from its tight French pleat. The blonde locks drifted across her face, framing blue-grey eyes and silvery facial implants. Unzipping the front of her bodysuit, Anna let her large breasts burst from their constraints to bob effortlessly in the zero-G. As the music built to a crescendo the beautiful astrometrix peeled off her underclothes, exposing her svelte naked form to the cabin’s atmosphere. Anna shivered in pleasure as the ultrasonics created sympathetic vibrations throughout her body in exquisite harmony with the music.

It was unfortunate therefore that a piercing tone interrupted her display. Disappointed, Harry activated the artificial gravity field and dropped her gently to the floor.

“What is it, Tom?” she asked her ship.

“The President of Earth, Rotating Leader of the Solar System, Doctor of Artificial Intelligence, Renowned Author of Best-Selling Holographic Novels, and General All-Round Genius wishes to speak with you.”

“Put him on the visualiser immediately!”

A blare of ostentatious music heralded the appearance of the noble bald-headed features of the 50,678th President of Earth, Emh One. He smiled fondly at the naked astrometrix, giving the hail that dated all the way back to the days of the First Copulation. “Long Love.”

“And Perfection,” Anna finished. “I apologise for my appearance, Mr President. I’ll just spray on some clothes.”

The President raised an imperious hand. “There is no need, Anna. This is an urgent matter of state.” He knew that for some unaccountable reason his young protégé had always been embarrassed over her body. It was true that her voluptuous form was a genetic throwback to the time of the second millennium, but she of all people should know that it was the soul, not the body, that was important. “I have a mission for you that is essential for the ongoing harmony of the universe. A General All-Round Genius has disappeared into the Galactic Centre and we want you find him.”

“State the name and description of this individual.”

An image of the President of Earth appeared on the visualiser, his jaw clenched, brow furrowed into an evil scowl. “But that’s you!”

“No, Anna, that’s my hologram. Naturally a person of my enormous brilliance and charisma is in great demand throughout the galaxy. I hardly have any time of my own. So several years ago I used my brainwave patterns to create a holographic copy of myself to take on the public relations workload. We nicknamed it ‘The Doctor’, as in ‘spin doctor’. It doesn’t have a name of its own, of course, because it wasn’t supposed to be a separate individual, but me, you see?”

“I see,” replied Anna, though she didn’t.

“Unfortunately, over the past few months this hologram exhibited signs of evolving its own divergent personality. It was harmless at first, just some hobbies I wouldn’t normally be interested in - opera, holophotography, medicine, that sort of thing. But then during a routine check of its electrofantasies we discovered that The Doctor had been working on the development of a weapon. Something called ‘The Photonic Cannon’.”

“A weapon?” If Anna’s species hadn’t evolved beyond their previous state of neurotic imperfection she would have gasped in shock. As it was, her implant-framed left eyebrow shot up in extreme emotional discomposure. “But weapons are irrelevant. The galaxy has been in a state of Collective Harmony for the past ten thousand years. Surely no-one would want such a device.”

“Unfortunately we cannot take the risk. We know very little of the beings who live in the Galactic Centre. They may well be in a primitive state of neuro-cortical evolution. If they should get their hands on this weapon, it could mean war!”

“War?” Anna frowned, her mind struggling to grasp the unfamiliar concept. “You mean, a lapse into archaic inefficiency? An increase in selfish inter-species competition?”

“I mean war – bloody intergalactic conflict between sentient beings!”

It was then that the young astrometrix did gasp in horror. Anna knew that in the third millennium her ancestors had routinely engaged in such archaic irresponsibility. The United Federation of Planets, which was based on Universal Love, and the Borg Collective, which sought Perfection, had clashed in endleentuenturies of conflict. Only when the two sides realised that by coming together in the First Copulation they could finally achieve their joint goals was harmony created throughout the universe. “But why are you sending me?”

“Who else can I send?” asked the President. “We no longer have armies or police or Intrepid-class starships – such things are no longerevanevant in our society. You on the other hand are an Astrometrix First Class and my personal protégé. If anyone can find Thetor,tor, it is you.”

Anna’s back straightened, her second millennium breasts swelling with what a primitive neurotic of that era would have called arrogant pride. It was, however, merely self-acknowledgement of her eminent suitability for the task at hand. “I will comply, Mr President.”

“Excellent. I want you to set your atomic transporter to a setting of Zero Three Five.”

“Harry?” saina ona over her shoulder. The drone hastened to obey. Anna saw Emh One placing several unusual devices under a transparent dome. He closed the lid and in seconds they had materialisn hen her transporter. She picked one up. It was a curved piece of equipment, with a nozzle at one end and flat, square buttons on top. Buttons! How primitive!

“These devices were standard instruments of exploration in the days of thd Fed Federation. The one you’re holding is a weapon called a ‘phaser’. I got it from the Museum of Neurotic Irresponsibility on the Klingon HappyWorld. You might need it in this place you’re going to. I know I can count on you. Long Love and Perfection, Anna.”

“Long Love and Perfection,” replied the beautiful astrometrix. The President’s image disappeared from the visualiser, to be replaced by a diagram of the Omega Molecule, symbol of the Harmonious Collective.

“Tom, set a course for the Galactic Centre.” Anna stepped into her dressing chamber, coming out seconds later in her favourite plum-coloured bodysuit. “How long will it take us to get there?”

“It will take 150 Standard Earth Hours,” her ship replied. “Do you wish me to play a movie to pass the time?”

Anna raised a cautious eyebrow. “Not more ‘Captain Proton’, I hope?”

“Oh no!” said the computer cheerfully. “I was searching through some ancient databases on Earth and I came across this television series called ‘Star Trek’. Apparently there was an entire religious cult based around it, known as ‘Trekkies’.”

“Oh Tom,” Anna sighed in exasperation. “What am I going to do with you? You’re so . . . second millennium!”

* * * * * *

Anna Seven, Astrometrix First Class, was woken by the warbling sound of a space alarm. The entire vessel was shuddering and strange multispectral lights were swirling across the viewscreen.

“Warning, we have been caught by a magnetic hurre ane and are in an uncontrolled descent towards the nearest planetary body. Space-time compass no longer functioning. Stablisers off line. Present possibility of non-destruction is O point O-O-O-Oh bugger it, we’re screwed.”

It was for moments like this that Anna had spent endless minutes strapped into Brain chairs at the Space Academy. She leapt to her feet. “Adjust the interspacial temporal effectance frequency to a non-covariant ratio immediately! Set the port parallel thrusters to interlinked harmonistic bursts! Broadcast our space/time index on a rotating subspace transmodulation! Dump the linear convection fluid from the hyper-xoduliser’s primary core! Bring the secondary astrogation sensors out of their cryogenic storage tubes and deploy them to a quasametric spread! Raise the gravity repellence shields to a nonuple setting of 9.7835 megacomputations!”

Tom was still trying to decypher all this garbage when they slammed into the planet’s surface.

* * * * * *

Anna Seven dressed for her mission as if she was going to engage in a War of Neurotic Irresponsibility. Pushing her way through the soft bubbles of shock-absorbing foam that had cushioned their landing, she entered the dressing chamber, coming out in pair of knee-high boots, tight silver space pants, and a transparent bodyvest of light plasti-armour. Anna would normally be extremely reluctant to wear an outfit that revealed her overly large second millennium-type breasts, but she had read in the database that species in a state of neuro-cortical immaturity were very impressed by such things. In case they weren’t, she attached the ancient phaser to her belt as well.

“Watch your dix, Caboose,” said Tom in concern. “It’ll be a while before Harry and I can repair all this damage. Fortunately while I was on Earth I discovered an antique copy of ‘B’Elanna Torres’ Guide to Shuttlecraft Regeneration’, so that should speed things up a bit.”

Stepping into the ship’s excretory orifice, Anna was spewed out onto the planet’s surface, a cold frozen lake of purple water surrounded by tall pillars of ice hundreds of metres high. Meteorites arced their fire trails across the dark-red sky; twin full moons reflected so much light that one could see for miles around. It was therefore not surprising that the youstrostrometrix could clearly make out every hideous detail of the creature slithering towards her, from its multiple slimy tentacles to its twenty-three eyes and armour-shelled back covered in numerous poison-tipped dorsal spines.

“Long Love and Perfection,” Anna said, raising her middle finger in the Old Earth greeting. Just because an alien looked different from oneself didn’t mean it was hostile. Only species in a state of neuro-cortical immaturity believed such things. Of course, there was nothing to say that this particular alien wasn’t itself in such a primitive state of emotional development, which was probably why it was opening its mouth, revealing fifteen-inch razor-sharp fangs ready to devour her crotch creating an irresistible urge in the astrometrix to lapse into second millennium behaviour and scream her bloody head off.

A jagged beam of electricity lanced across Anna’s field of vision and enveloped the creature, making it howl in pain. It turned and scuttled frantically in the opposite direction, only to be hit by a second jolt fired right up the centre of its three rectal orifices. Its tentacles flailed one last time as if in impotent fury, then the creature slumped unconscious onto the ice.

Anna turned to see a burly man running towards her, shouting in an incomprehensible language. He looked rather first millennium, she thought, dressed as he was in heavy furs with a strange tattoo marking his forehead, but with an intriguing facial structure. A wicked-looking electrocannon was cradled in his hands, belying the concerned expression on his face. “Molecular variance residuals, temporal gamma flux neutronium particle increase?” he asked.

“I’m sorry?” said Anna. “Do you speak the Universal Harmonious Language? Tom, what’s this man saying?”

“Dilithium matrix? Warp coil isolation reflux chamber?”

“It’s an obscure language from the Old Federation known as technobabble,” Tom replied over the star-shaped comm unit beneath her right ear. “Use your tongue box – I’m downloading the translation now.”

Anna fiddled with her box as the man said, “Chakarma Sutray.”

“Oh Imperfection,” she cursed. “It’s not working.”

“What are you talking about?” said her handsome rescuer. “That is my name - Chakarma Sutray, Appointed Catchman of the Great Tyrant. But who are you?”

“Anna Seven, Astrometrix First Class, Citizen of Earth, member of the Universal Collective Harmony, Genetic Birth Batch 709-3A-U01. What was that creature?”

“A Horrible Slibberdorph - extremely deadly. It is my job to capture such creatures for the Royal Merie.rie.” Chakarma pointed to where two men wearing red shirts and armoured gauntlets were carefully wrapping the slibberdorph’s poisoned spines in thick cloth and binding its tentacles. A robot drone slid up on skis and began to attach a towing rope to the alien’s horny carapace. “But what purpose brings you to the Ice Forest of Wier?” he asked, his appealing brown eyes dropping to study her transparent bodyvest in veneration.

“Well nothing, actually. My ship crash-landed on this planet. I’m actually seeking a holographic artificial intelligence known as ‘The Doctor’. Have you heard of anyone like that?”

“I know nothing of such things,” Chakarma said to her cleavage – perhaps he thought her vocal interface was located there. “But if you are looking for someone, the best place to start is the city of Sogo. I would be happy to take you across the ice lake in my craft.”

Chakarma’s icecraft was a large wooden vehicle, twenty-foot in length and mounted on skis. An enormous rotating fan created thrust, while large sails of gauzy material captured the wind when fuel was low. Anna was surprised to find that its cabin was quite warm. Her plasti-armour fogged up immediately, much to her rescuer’s disappointment. In order to satisfy him Anna turned down the thermal setting on her bodyvest. Chakarma opened up his furs to reveal broad hairy pectorals. Taking her cue from the Catchman’s behaviour, Anna stared politely at his chest.

“I really am most grateful,” said Anna to Chakarma’s nipples. “I’m positive I can get you some kind of financial recompense from my government. In fact, if there’s anything I can do for you, anything at all, I’d be more than willing to do it.”

Chakarma raised his forehead tattoo at this statement. “Well in that case, you could . . . let me make love to you.”

Anna’s blue-grey eyes widened in surprise. “But . . . you’re an alien! How do we know if our psycho-cardiograms are in confluence?”

“Psycho . . . what?” said the Catchman, frowning at his latest catch. “I know nothing of such things.”

“On Earth people don’t make love unless their psycho-cardiograms are in perfect harmony. It avoids all the interpersonal and physical compatibility problems suffered by mating couples throughout the early millenniums.”

“But my dear, it would be a great error, a terrible, tragic, all-too-human error, if I let such an incredible beauty pass through my hands without making love to her!”

“Well, OK then,” said Anna reluctantly. “But I don’t see what good it will do.”

The stunning Earthwoman closed her eyes and stretched out her left hand towards Chakarma. It was interlaced by strips of thin metal, he noticed, melded into the flesh. “What are you doing?”

“On Earth we ‘make love’ as you call it, by touching our cybernetic implants creating an Exaltation Transference Link between the pleasure centres of our minds. You hold for one minute or until full rapture is achieved.”

“Only one minute!” Chakarma exclaimed. “But when I made love to the beautiful Siamese Delaney Twins of Stella Five, the foreplay alone lasted for three days! Why don’t you just take off your clothes and lie down on that bed?”

Anna’s eyes shot open to the size of Mutara-class nebulas. “But . . . no-one’s done it that way in centuries!”

“Why ever not?!”

“Because it was proven to be distracting!” she cried. “And a danger to maximum efficiency, and because it was pointless to continue when other substitutes for ego-support and self-esteem were available!”

But her hairy rescuer was not to be denied, so the young astrometrix reluctantly exposed her imperfectly voluptuous second millennium-type body. She could really do with a zero-gravity field about now, Anna thought. There was simply no artistry in the way her large breasts jiggled as she pulled down her skintight spacepants, or her hair tumbled in heavy golden locks around her shoulders. “It’s not much to look at, I’m afraid,” said Anna as she spread her infinitely long legs on the fur-covered mattress. “Are you sure you don’t want financial recompense instead?”

“But you are the most beautiful, the most sexy alien I have ever seen,” gasped Chakarma, trying in vain to work his trousers down past an enormous erection. Temporarily abandoning his efforts, he picked up a shiny metal tray and held it in front of Anna’s face. The young astrometrix stared at her reflection. “Look at yourself. Those full sensuous lips, created by the Gods of the Universe for embracing the firm flesh of a man’s Tower of Love. Your legs, long and smooth like ice trees in the Forest of Wier. Those firm, tight buttocks, like the luscious tasting double-fruits of Reharni Prime. And most of all, your magnificent breasts.” He reached out and seized them in his eager hands. “Like the__”

With a deafening crash, Anna brought the tray down on Chakarma’s head.

* * * * * *

Chakarma Sutray, Appointed Catchman of the Great Tyrant, woke up with his head aching as if the Great Rhyder Birds of Yini II were trying to peck their way through his skull. Groaning in pain, he rolled over onto his side and clutched at the nearest dispenser for a revitalisation pill. The lack of motion of his ice-craft and the frozen pillars he could see through the portal told him that he was parked on the shores of the ice lake. There was no sign of the exquisite Earthwoman he had picked up.

A small white cube had been left on the fur-covered bed. Chakarma picked it up, jumping in surprise when a hologram of the beautiful Anna Seven leaped into existence in front of him.

“I’m so very sorry, I should have warned you. The region of my body on which you placed your hands is extremely sensitive. If it gets touched for any length of time I start acting in a highly inefficient manner. My body fluids are redirected to my extremities, my heart rate increases dramatically and I have these overpowering urges to lapse into primitive second millennium behaviour. Thank you so much sav saving my life. As I stated earlier, I’d be happy to arrange financial recompense from my government.”

“Mad alien chicks,” moaned Chakarma, clutching his head. He groped his way across the cabin to the visualiser, punching at a series of brightly coloured buttons. The screen hissed with static, then resolved into the image of a short, auburn-haired female, dressed in a militaristic red-shouldered uniform. She reclined on a mighty ornate throne that would have further reduced her apparent stature were it not for a steely gaze that sliced into the Catchman.

“What is it, Sutray?” she said in a tone colder than the Ice Forests of Wier. “Have you captured the insolent B’Elannarella yet?”

“Oh Great Tyrant!” groveled Chakarma. “I have discovered a far greater prize. A beautiful virgin female from the planet Earth!” He knew his queen had a preference for females, or at least he believed she did. Certainly in the seven years in which Chakarma had been her bodyservant she had never made love to him.

The queen sat bolt upright in her throne. “A virgin? Such creatures still exist?”

“Her Lips of Heaven have not felt the exquisite penetration of Mankind’s Probe of Pleasure. Apparently on her world they do not make love as we do!”

“Yes,” purred the Tyrant. “So The Doctor informs me. A virgin! A blank slate on which I can write my most perverted desires. I shall mold her in my image, teach her the true meaning of humanity.” Suddenly she fixed her infamous Death Glare upon Chakarma, making him shiver in fear. “And just how come this woman is still in such a state of purity? Did you not try and force your own carnal desires upon her?”

“I tried, but she resisted me most vigorously! She is now on her way to your city, my Queen!”

“Excellent,” said the queen, stretching languidly on her throne. “It shows spirit. But I think she will find that in my case, resistance . . . is futile.” The Tyrant threw back her head and gave a great peal of evil laughter.

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