I shouldn't have written this. Really, I shouldn't have.

Oh well.

Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation Starship Voyager had a white-knuckle grasp on the smooth molded plastic of her command chair as sticky beads of sweat crept from the immense forest of her auburn hair, trickled down the slanted plane of her forehead and drip-dropped off of the pointed cartilage of her classic nose. She anxiously crossed her legs and smiled spuriously at her first officer as he whined about something or other that she didn't quite care about. The words drifted drearily in one ear and out the other, leaving in its wake virulent wood splinters that frazzled and frayed the various niblets of information that filled Kathryn's brain and left her with millions of budding carcinomas that had queer little tattoos above their left eyes.

Although the fledging cancer should have concerned her, she gave it little thought as she shifted uncomfortably in her chair and clenched her jaw. She chimed in with the obligitory nod and grunt of agreement, all the while silently wishing that Chakotay would just shut the fuck up for a change. The growing pressure deep in her bowels was becoming very difficult to ignore; the tell tale grumbling and gurgling, the insistent pressure prodding her anus.

It had been two days since her last bowel movement, she noted with a certain amount of dismay. It wasn't her fault. The past week had been extraordinarily busy, so busy that she had to pull a triple duty shift. A no duty shift, you mean… She clicked her jaw, partially at her own bad humor and partly at the rather loud burble that erupted from her gut. Chakotay's banter showed no sign of slowing. God, he can't go on any longer. God, please. Another abrupt rumble earned a brow of concern from her security officer, but he ignored Kathryn's pleading look and returned to his station.

Kathryn cursed under her breath. She cursed her dumb ass first officer, she cursed her insolent security officer, and she cursed the three hard boiled eggs she so wonderfully decided to eat for breakfast. She forced a lungful of air through her nostrils and nodded sharply at the large dolt sitting next to her. You dick. You bum plundering banana smothering pea-brained dick. He smiled and continued. The determined pressure was nearly intolerable at this point, the swirling gasses and fecal matter that filled her bowels were threatening to burst free at any moment. Jesus, oh Jesus. He made himself laugh, and Kathryn wanted to hit him square in his obtuse face. She whimpered and arched out of her chair, the crushing tension barely contained by her steadfast squeezing.

Unable to think, to control her self, she shot up from her chair and grasped her cheeks with both hands, swinging around to shout, "STFU, Chakotay!" She barreled from the bridge and into the air lift, not caring where it stopped. She clumsily bound down the corridor, ignoring the baffled looks from various crew members. She wasn't going to make it. She looked around frantically and wondered why there were no public toilets to be found, before giving up and weilding her authority to burst into a random door. She cursed as she entered a cargo bay, but gave it little thought as she rushed through another smaller door with in the room. To her relief, a shiny metal toilet gleamed between two shiny metal doors.

Gasping with near orgasmic joy, she ripped her pants from her hips and settled on the lustrous seat with a bombastic rip of flatulence. "Oh, Jesus Christ. God Almighty!" She arched and tilted her head back, groaning from deep within her throat. Nothing, in her forty-one years, felt as good as the expulsion of that pent up fecal matter did at that very moment. She couldn't restrain the various grunts and groans and sighs and moans as she filled the shallow bowl beneath her. She sat for nearly ten minutes, the flow of supressed excrement seeming to go on and on with out the slightest ebb. But finally, at the deliciously sweet end, the toilet thoughtfully cleaned her with a blue tinted sonic beam, and she swiftly rose and pulled her trousers up. As she stepped from the sheening stall, she ran smack into the solid six-foot form of a very startled young Borg.

"C-captain?" Seven was greenish and her sweet blue eyes were dialted and wide with shock.

Kathryn's mouth was gaping. "Seven…H-how long?"

"T-that…that smell. Captain." The Borg was at a loss for words. Her eyes were on the verge of popping from her titanium skull and rolling across the luminescent floor. She was at a loss for breath and words. Not knowing what to do, she stumbled quickly backwards and exited with the brief swish of the door, leaving Kathryn to dwell in her own post-defication humiliation.


"God damn it." Kathryn slumped forward and pressed her forehead against the gleaming wall.