[A house in the Midwestern United States] *click* VO: Tonight on the Spice Channel... *click* VO: Tonight on Star Trek: Excelsior... *click* [A dark room. There is the low murmur of conversation and a hint of glitter. With a flourish, the room lights up and a graphic appears on screen.] ANNOUNCER: Welcome to the Third Annual Golden StarDestroyer Fanfic Awards! Tonight- - *click* CHUCK: Shit!!!! [A door slams. Tires screech, then are silent.] *click* VOICE: HARDER!! [A curtain rises, a staircase dollying in from stage rear. A large man in a bad- fitting tux walks down the stairs, trips, rolls and lands face-first in front of the podium. In blatant violation of all known physical and biological laws, since he is writing the fucking story, he is not injured.] DALTON: Uh...welcome all to the third annual Golden StarDestroyer Fanfic Awards, where we honor the best and brightest in our fan fiction world. As I'm sure you're aware, my name is Rob Dalton, and...uh...Chuck doesn't seem to be here-- VOICE: Wait! [A FIGURE runs up on stage. He is out of breath and in his skivvies, struggling with a bowtie.] CHUCK: Hello...*huff huff*...my name is...*huff*...Chuck Sonnenburg. Welcome all to the third--- DALTON: I already said that. CHUCK: Alright...so where are we? DALTON: I was about to introduce the evening's sideshow, but since you're here you can do it. Where the hell were you? CHUCK: Never mind. Right...here we go. Lieutenant Hit-Man, if you please... [The lights dim. A STORMTROOPER in scarred, blackened and thoroughly weathered white armor walks in from stage right, dragging a struggling...what could potentially be called a man by the hair. They are both silhouettes. He reaches stage center and stands the sorry form up.] DALTON: Ladies and gentlemen, we present for your viewing pleasure... [Dramatic pause. Spots full on LT.HIT-MAN and other figure.] CHUCK: Scooter! [Silence. LT.Hit-Man, being a Sith after all, steps back well out of the way. Scooter blinks stupidly in the bright lights. He is wearing the uniform of a Federation officer, complete with pants so tight one can tell the religion of the wearer. Between his legs the uniform is oddly concave. He looks at the spotlights and grins.] SCOOTER: "THERE ARE FOUR LIGHTS!" Captain Jean-Luc Picard, TNG episode "Chain of Command" Part II--- [A ROTTEN TOMATO hits SCOOTER full in the mouth. This precipitates a shower of rotten fruit, rotten eggs and, in one or two cases, well-stained underwear.] SCOOTER: STOP MARGINALIZING ME!!! [Hit-Man stomps back up, grips SCOOTER'S greasy hair and drags him backstage. SCOOTER is babbling like a child the whole way. We hear a vicious crack, followed by screaming.] CHUCK: Alright, el-tee...save some for later. [A broken bat comes spinning out from behind the curtain.] CHUCK: [staring somewhat nervously at broken bat] Tonight Scooter will attempt to stop the proceedings, and we will see how badly he fails. More of that later... we hope. Rob? DALTON: Tonight we give out twenty-two awards for various accomplishments in fan fiction. Before that, though, we present to you something new and necessary in this, the third annual awards ceremony. Tonight, we have one of our intrepid crewmen standing by the experimental and highly dangerous device we have called...the Idiom Switch! Joe, flip the switch...let's see how this works! [JOE is standing by a hulking, sparking heap of machinery. Wires trail everywhere and it smokes and sputters with pent-up energy. JOE grasps a heavy lever and pulls it toward him--] With a grunt of effort, Joe finishes pulling the switch into the "story" position. He stands off to the side, wiping a grease-stained arm across his forehead which only serves to get his temples dirty. "This is the Idiom Switch," Dalton says. "I'm sure you can see the difference. We had to install one of these tonight upon seeing many of our nominees' acceptance speeches, since I apparently forgot to clarify "script format". Are you all familiar with it? Good. Joe?" Joe grasps the lever again, turning it back to the original position, which is marked "script"-- [JOE finishes pulling and again stands by the machine.] DALTON: There we go. Anyway, we have a great show for you tonight, so stay tuned! [FADE TO: Commercial] [A series of film clips.] VO: Coming...this winter...the long-awaited latest addition to the most successful franchise in history...where loyalties will be tested-- ah, fuck it. Just watch Star Trek Eleven: The Undiscovered Insurrection Nemesis Contact. Coming out December 12...five days before Return of the King...is this right? BONES: It's dead, Jim. [CROSSFADE TO: Cover shot of audience. Graphic fades in, fades out] ANNOUNCER: Welcome back to the third annual GSDA fanfic awards! Presenting the Darth Vader "The Force is Strong in this One" Award for Best Character Development are tonight's hosts, Chuck Sonnenburg and Rob Dalton! CHUCK: Welcome back to the...uh...snow? [squinting] Uhm... Carrots... er... what? Oh. Characters are off... uh... excuse me. There's a rather strong glare coming off the teleprompter... VOICE [from behind]: AHAH! See?! FOUR LIGHTS, just like I said! Concession accepted, you Rabid Warsie Fuckwit! Ah--oh, fuck. [SCOOTER runs off, dropping the lights with an expensive-sounding tinkle. ASST. ASST. LT. CMDR. SMI chases him with a cattle prod.] CHUCK: Thank you. Anyway...perhaps the most important parts of any story are the characters. And as most of you know, in any good story the characters must grow and change to adapt to their surroundings. Tonight we present the award for Best Character Development. Rob? DALTON: First off is Paradise Lost, by Chuck Sonnenburg, for the continual growth and change exhibited in both already well-established characters, as well as some new ones, including Sebastian Skywalker; StarCrossed, by Stravo, where we get an inside look at what Luke Skywalker would be as a Sith; Manifest Destiny, by Mark S; The Life of LT.Hit-Man, by LT.Hit-Man, which details the life and times of...LT.Hit-Man; and Past Imperfect, by Aron Kerkhof, about the life and career of a young force-sensitive pilot named Corbin Solaris, as well as the different lives led by Han Solo and Wedge Antilles in an alternate reality. DALTON: And the winner is...StarCrossed, by Stravo! Stravo, come on up here! [Heavy applause. A large man bounds up to the podium, full of energy.] STRAVO: It's not easy writing a character and having him grow, particularly in a fanfic when most characters have their personalities set for you before you even start. But it is a testament to the characters created by Gene and George that despite all the shows and movies their characters still have flexibility and room to grow. This is as much an award for their characters as it is for my handling them. [STRAVO leaves the stage to more heavy applause.] DALTON: Very well spoken, Stravo, and thanks for keeping it short. As a reminder to our winners, we have Rob Wilson up in the balcony, his sniper rifle loaded and ready to tranquilize your babbling ass...so watch out. Now, to present The Grand Moff Tarkin "Evacuate? In our Moment of Triumph?" Award for Best Ending is the king of bad endings himself, Michael January! [An exceedingly tall, large black man walks onto stage. He has cybernetic enhancements replacing nearly half his body.] MIKEJ: Well, screw you Dalton. Anyway, a satisfying story always needs a satisfying ending. Without further ado, I present the nominees for Best Ending. First off is Paradise Lost Act I, by Chuck Sonnenburg. "A person of some influence requested the Emperor provide him and his aide with a ship to help him in his own personal search for the Vong. No one will miss one single star destroyer that has only just been returned to active service." "I understand," Naomi said, even though she didn't. This wasn't the Imperial Taxi Service. "Who is it that has this kind of influence?" "I can't say for security reasons," he replied. "But it's important that you understand that this is his mission, and he has final say. Not exactly the way you wanted to cut your teeth on a Star Destroyer, but there it is." Naomi's guts were telling her that her good fortune may not have been as good as it looked. "I'm not sure I like the thought of a civilian giving orders-" "He's only in charge of the overall mission," Kormain said. "And he's ex-military himself. Sort of," he added. Naomi couldn't help herself. "Who is it?" she practically demanded. Kormain thought it over. "He is only to be referred to as The Emperor's Hand." MIKEJ: Next is Mailed Fist, a one-off original story by Colonel Falkenhorst. "The Starfleet ships were taken by surprise as the four Confederate destroyers dropped their cloaks directly aft, and unleashed a spread of torpedoes. The missiles rocketed in, their warheads detonating in close proximity to the Starfleet ships. Space was filled with coruscating blue fire for several instants, and the Starfleet vessels seemed to be caught in the grip of the hand of God. One of the Galaxy-class starships appeared through the crackling energy, it's shields gone, hull wreathed in sparks as it's running lights flickered and died. One of the /Excelsiors/ suffered the same fate, it's systems blown by the tremendous EMP discharge. Just then, the 2nd squadron of fighters appeared, accelerating towards the enemy at full thrust, with fresh loads of antiship missiles. The remaining Federation ships turned and fled to warp." MIKEJ: And the winner is...Chuck Sonnenburg, for Paradise Lost Act 1! [CHUCK steps out from backstage, wearing a DAZZLING SMILE. He steps up to the mic.] CHUCK: I'd like to thank everyone who settled for the lesser of two evils. [CHUCK smiles broadly.] It's always hard saying goodbye, and for a writer that extends into the rather ridiculous position of saying goodbye to people who never existed. I guess that's why most of my work ends with the hope that things will be even better for the participants, whether it's on a galactic scale or for a single individual. It's a very simple theme, but I'd like to think it works. I hope that as things continue throughout this series Paradise Lost will continue to earn your support, and I'll do my best to make it a fun ride. Now, before we present our next award, let's check in and see how Scooter is doing! [Two LARGE SCREENS on either side of the stage light up, showing a rather DISTURBING SCENE.] CHUCK: Joe, hit that switch, would you? [JOE pulls the lever again, or at least tries to. There is an ELECTRICAL ARC that shocks JOE, who FALLS to the floor and CONVULSES.] CHUCK: Somebody get a medic! [On the screens, SCOOTER faces off with LT.HIT-MAN. As a testament to his tendency of "monkey see, monkey do," he wields a loaf of FRENCH BREAD, emulating PAUL JACQUES and the stunt that was pulled two years before. He is covered in his own FILTH.] CHUCK: How goes, Hit-Man? [HIT-MAN’s chill VOICE echoes off the speakers in the AUDITORIUM.] LT.HIT-MAN: (V.O.) The little shitkicker's been flinging crap at the load-bearing beams. CHUCK: Well, what about trying to stop the ceremony? LT.HIT-MAN: I think he is. SCOOTER: (looking straight at CAMERA) It is logical. If logs can destroy an Imperial walker, then it follows that I am more than capable to destroy an auditorium full of Rabid Warsie Fuckwits--unarmored--with my own logs! DALTON: I don’t think that will work... SCOOTER: Ah, another Rabid Warsie Fuckwit... of course, you have no evidence, as usual. Concession accepted! [SCOOTER resumes FLINGING his own feces at the ornate column. It hits with wet SPLATS and squelches, SLIDING DOWN into an ever-growing pile.] CHUCK: (glaring at the screen) Enough of that. [He turns toward the IDIOM SWITCH, where the medics have finally arrived] Um... how’s Joe? JOE: (weakly) I’m still alive... DALTON: Anyhow, on with the next group of victims—er, nominees. As is traditional, the next two awards will be presented simultaneously. For The General Veers "You May Start Your Landing" Award for Best Ground Combat and The Lando Calrissian "We'll Last Longer Than We Will Against That Death Star!" Award for Best Space Battle, please welcome Greg Burnett and Sea Skimmer, respectively of ASVS and StarDestroyer.net! [Applause] GREG: War is a fact of life. As long as one culture exists, other cultures will actively try to destroy them. This happens in the form of war, war which is usually fought on two fronts, one on the ground by the Army, and the other in the Sea, or Space in this case, by the Navy. The nominees for Best Ground Combat are... The Division and Phoenix Company, both by Ryan Crierie; I'm sure I don't need to provide an example here! De Imperatoribus Galacticis, by Marina O'Leary... "Corporal Kragg continued to grimly fire, his gunsight bringing alive each and every target with a simple perfection through the night. The range was still over two hundred meters, but that might as well have been point- blank as the aimed fire continued and the servitors fell to the overpowered bolts of the heavy blaster rifles the Guard carried -- Those shots often hitting the unarmoured spots on these slave warriors of the Vong and killing them outright; and otherwise having the sheer power against that less sophisticated armour to leave them in hideous and burned agony on the field. Then there was a blur of light and a rush of heat; by an instinct older than culture he threw himself into the trench as the detonation of the plasma erupted near enough to sear at his hair. In the noise and heat of the moment, the Vong armour had had a chance under the fire of the legionary artillery to re-engage them. There were screams, oh yes, from there, and even among the mightiest warriors, there certainly were. He picked himself up, leaning against the wall of the trench as the fire continued; and then there was a sound overhead, faintly audible, barely registered. He paid it little heed, but several minutes later the barrage of the divisional artillery intensified once more and a series of secondary explosions, instead of just a few, could be heard -- And the armour did not trouble the regiment again. Corporal Kragg was back on the firing parapet, though. His scope was out of action, but he still had the iron battle-peep sights, the effort of using them at night aided by the iridium inlaid into them, the faintly glowing green and red highlighting the distantly onrushing figures at which he fired again, and gain, pausing only to replacing magazines." GREG: And StarCrossed, by Stravo: "Fire in the hole!" Kirk exclaimed as he beamed another canister. The target Walker kept on firing as the canister materialized several meters to the east of it and exploded. "Hey! What happened?" Kirk asked looking back at Artoo. Kirk had single handedly just knocked four Walkers out of commission and watched with glee as the Imperial advance seemed to be faltering as the Flyers had knocked out another two. Artoo whistled a long plaintive string. "Okay, now I'm lost." "He said, sir, that the Imperial forces are jamming his sensors, he has to try and make his best guess." Threepio interjected. "Well, my little friend, try to guess better." Kirk said with a nod. A long explosion ripped through the area, throwing Kirk and the rest to the floor. Kirk felt hot shrapnel pelting him. He slowly looked up and saw a sight he never thought he would see. Starfleet command was in ruins, the main building had been leveled by the monster blast that had passed over them. The building that had stood since the dawn of the Federation was gone. GREG: And the winner is...StarCrossed, by Stravo! [STRAVO again walks up to the podium.] STRAVO: Many writers want to know how to approach ground combat. My one bit of advice is when you watch movies and the big battle scenes come up, you know what you like and what you don’t like and more importantly what you want to see and never get a chance to. Well, as a writer you now have the chance to put down everything you always wanted to see in battle. Chances are other people want to see that too. Thanks! [He steps down again.] SEA SKIMMER: There's nothing better than a big-ass space battle. Watching the might of the Imperial Navy crushing the pitiful Federation fleet brings joy to my heart! The nominees for Best Space Asskicking-- excuse me, Battle, are... StarCrossed, by Stravo: "-ARE THE BORG, YOUR TECHONOLOGICAL AND BIOLOGICAL DISTINCTIVENESS WILL BE ADDED TO OUR OWN. LOWER YOUR SHIELDS AND PREPARE TO BE ASSIMILATED." "It seems we have our answer." Nemesis stated evenly. "Open a channel to Captain Tarsi." "Tarsi here Admiral. I'm standing by on all weapons. We're picking up energy spikes on all these cube ships. Something happened a moment ago, seems they were trying to beam some form of energy to us, we've picked up multiple impacts along our shield grid." Tarsi reported smartly. "Orders?" "RESISTANCE IS FUTILE." Kittaine paused at the ridiculous statement. "Captain, show these would be conquerors that the Empire always resists." Tarsi smiled coldly, nodded and the holoimage disappeared. A heartbeat later, the Adjudicator suddenly fired all her weapons at the cubes. Half of them disappeared into exploding debris and hot gasses. The other cubes, huge gaping holes and gashes in the armored hull slowly rotated and released a storm of green torpedoes. They impacted against the Adjudicator. Green flashes of energy splashed along the ship's entire hull. Without having to be ordered to, the Inexorable and the Executioner opened fire on the remaining cubes. They exploded under the new onslaught. Within a few moments, the cubes were gone and the space they occupied was littered with debris." SEA SKIMMER: De Imperatoribus Galacticis, by Marina O'Leary: A moment later: "Admiral, our analysis indicates the Borg are probably going to..." "Exactly." Then: "Order all ships to be prepared for suicide-ramming attempts by Borg Cubes; evasive manoeuvres may be undertaken at all captains' discretion." The Cubes raced in, the salvoes pelting them, 15,000 torpedoes from each sphere every minute now. But the torpedo spheres didn't have a minute. _Well, Nurai my love, I certainly hope you are doing better out there than I am here,_ Rano thought idly and tensely as he watched the massive image of a cube swell towards his flagship on the plot. But to his quiet and internal relief the image was removed; the cube destroyed by the rapid-fire salvos and hammering turbolasers, electronics disrupted into vulnerability by the ion cannon fire. So we shall yet see each other again, he thought with inward relief still extant; for there was nothing to instill nervousness in even a veteran of the most intense naval combats as to observe a spacecraft far larger than your own closing at high velocity to you on a ramming course and to within a few thousand klicks. And all around the scene was repeated, as the Borg Cubes attempted to close and were blown apart. Or connected with their targets in a sickening display of energy - Something that happened several times, enough to remind Inaras that his fleet was suffering as the Borg methodically executed their ruthless and simple form of attack. Sometimes even a few of the torpedo spheres evaded; the affair looking like two beached whales rolling about, but sometimes that was all it took in space, where an inch might become a thousand miles. SEA SKIMMER: And Manifest Destiny, by Mark S: "It looks like the sensors on the torpedoes are having trouble as well," the captain replied. "Reprogram them for straight trajectory and manually target them as well." Twelve more specks of light rushed toward the Star Destroyer on the right as its counterpart's shields flashed with energy impacts from both the Klingons and the Federation. Trying to minimize the potential impact of the Klingon torpedoes, the Destroyer opened fire on the nearing dots. One quantum explosion detonated after the next as the projectiles were picked off. Not all however. Two made it through the barrage to collide against the forward shields with brilliant reaction. "Again! Torpedoes fire!" By this time the Lo'Cha was passing over the enemy ship as it fired, crossing paths with its Federation brother who was doing the same. Explosions began rippling across the embattled Star Destroyer bringing a cheer to the throats of two different crews. Cheers that were cut decidedly short. Dead short. The monstrous vessel was still there. There had been no visible effect. The torpedoes had impacted harmlessly on the shields. SEA SKIMMER: And the winner is... Is this right? Well, better call him back. The winner is StarCrossed, by Stravo. [STRAVO has a shocked look on his face as he begins to sit. He gets up and walks back to the podium.] STRAVO: I am particularly happy about this award simply because Starcrossed for me sprang from a desire to see vast fleets of starships going up against Imperial fleets in desperate battles. I’m pretty sure I captured that spirit in my work. Thank you for recognizing that. CHUCK: Well, looks like it's three for four in Stravo's favor. We'll be right back after these words from our sponsors. [FADE TO: PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT] [Footage of various... people wearing Starfleet uniforms] VO: Every day, helpless Trekkies are forced out of their parent's basements to get jobs because they don't have enough money to buy the latest Star Trek merchandise. Please, join the "Crap for Losers" program... help promising young nerds like Trek_Fan_1701 stay in those dank cellars, eating macaroni and cheese and wanking off to pictures of Counselor Troi. With your help, we can stop these dweebs from coming out into public. TREK_FAN_1701: The yellow face, it burns usss, preciousss! VO: Give today. Call 1-800-TREKKIE. [FADE TO: WS Audience, graphic] ANNOUNCER: We are back! Presenting for The Master Yoda "Judge Me By My Size, Do You?" Award for Best Duel is Graeme Dice! [A KNIGHT in FULL ARMOR clanks up to the podium. He has an EXTREMELY LARGE SWORD. Blood drips from several points along the blade.] GRAEME: Greetings. I am Lord Graeme of Dice, Tamer of Dragons, Defeater of the Boyd Legions. Let me send a "shout-out" to all my "homeys" aboard my Worldship, which is currently several light-years from here as I have no wish to accidentally drag Earth along with me to the next galactic supercluster. Getting on with it... there is nothing nobler than the Duel, the Fight between two, or even more, people. Whether with swords, knives or fists, it is the most personal and honorable battle there is. The nominees for Best Duel are... Paradise Lost, by Chuck Sonnenburg: The injured Vong soldier, refusing to allow the loss of a limb to interfere in a death duel, took up his amphistaff with his other hand and rejoined the fight. They surrounded Sebastian and, as one, they swung. The air echoed with the sound as irresistible forces met a man who refused to be moved. They stood locked for several seconds. Sebastian held his saber to his right, both blades pressing against the amphistaff of a Vong. His left hand was up, the third staff held against a thick armored plate that had emerged on the back of his hand. Sebastian turned and looked in the face of the lead Vong, causing the alien to freeze. The Jedi's eyes... He'd expected hatred, anger, maybe even fear. There was none. At first the Vong thought he saw madness in those eyes, but what chilled him to the bone was the realization that those eyes reflected a mind too sane for its own good. Behind those eyes was frost and clockwork; the antithesis of the Vong. The Vong could see Sebastian knew he was going to win, but there was no trace of smugness or self-confidence. They'd tried to surprise him, to overwhelm him, and to terrify him, but that was impossible, pointless... Futile. GRAEME: Death Dancer, by Colin Brian Witz: He moved with skill and precision of one who knew that he had reach And mass however, he didn’t even think of her advantages, the cool air washed over them neutralizing their pheromone abilities, however she could still feel his aggression, and desire, mixed together. Feeling the tempo of the room, and his movements she made some exaggerated dodges, letting him press the initial attack. Soon, she isolated his rhythm from the rest of the room, the skills of a man trained as a warrior for his whole life came down to notes, she danced in harmony with his movements evading his every thrust like water or wind. He swung strong at mid level figuring that she would have to drop to avoid it and be caught by a sudden reverse, his swing however was overdone, taking too long to recover as she leaped above him. Her crescent shaped blades scored deeply into his legs from behind. The Warrior, found himself unable to support and fighting on his knees, bleeding as he was he raised the blade in a defensive posture, however she evaded his movements and sliced into his arms. With him lying there she took a short bow to the direction of the lights before removing his head. GRAEME: And StarCrossed, by Stravo: "Nemesis had finished stretching when the hundred warriors materialized around him in a semi circle. many of them locked eyes with him and shifted their weapons eagerly. Nemesis slowly stood up straight and began to grow angry, angry that this race of warriors had disrupted his plans so far, angry that they would not bow to the inevitability of their loss, furious that they had forced him to vaporize a planet, expending valuable resources for a cause that had failed. This anger burned in him like an inferno and in one smooth motion he drew his lightsaber and activated it with a snap hiss. The first warriors roared and charged, bat’leths swinging, eager to take his head. The second line of warriors fanned out to close the area around him. Nemesis did not care. He smiled at them as they closed the distance and suddenly crimson flashes of light whipped around him. Bat’leths exploded into a cloud of sparks and molten metal as the lightsaber cut through the bladed weapons. Many of the warriors stared dumbfounded at their weapons, most cut in half, each end a useless fused metal lump. Nemesis waded into them, his lightsaber flashing around him like lightning strikes, each stroke took a Klingon warrior's limb or head. The screaming warriors fell away from him as he moved among them like a stalking panther, black tunic stained with the cold gray soil of the crater. His crimson blade was constantly moving around him, striking anyone that came near. He brought his blade back, stabbing it backward under his left arm and to his rear and it burned through a warrior coming up behind him. Meanwhile, with a snap move of his free hand he held out a fist and a pair of charging warriors were suddenly thrown back as if they had been shot. They landed twitching as their internal organs burst from the pressure wave of the force push." GRAEME: And the winner is... StarCrossed, again! Stravo? [STRAVO huffs up to the podium, struggling with his previous three awards.] STRAVO: Ah, another one...wow! I never thought...whoo...how the hell am I gonna carry all these? [CHUCK comes up from behind with a wheelbarrow, nods and winks at STRAVO, then walks off to the side. STRAVO loads it up and wheels it down a CONVENIENT RAMP.] CHUCK: Get used to it, kid. Next up! Scooter! Let's see what the little assclown is up to! Hit-Man? [CUT TO: The outside of the auditorium. Scooter is spraying graffiti on the walls.] HIT-MAN: Well Chuck, it looks like Scooter's spraying shit on the walls. CHUCK: Really? Shit? HIT-MAN: Genuine shit. CHUCK: What's it say? HIT-MAN: Well, mostly "WONG IS WRONG", "OSSUS IS A LIAR" and "I AM THE LAST BASTION OF TREK". Wait--yes, he is now spraying "RABID WARSIE FUCKWIT ZONE" on the doors. CHUCK: ... why? SCOOTER: Logically, if I inform the innocent populace of the deceit of Wong, nobody will come to your little wankfest ceremony! [A beat] CHUCK: The theater's packed. Standing room only. SCOOTER: I don't know what version of reality you subscribe to, fuckwit, but I see a totally empty theater! You damn Warsies, always twisting reality to suit your illusions... CHUCK: Whatever, kid. Have fun. Next up, we have the Darth Vader "Luke... I am your Father" Award for Most Unexpected Plot Twist! Presenting this award is StarDestroyer.net Supermod and raving lunatic Mr. Bean! [Applause. MR BEAN steps up to the podium, which PROMPTLY FALLS APART. He looks dismayed, then attempts to rebuild it, FAILING MISERABLY.] DALTON: I had a bad feeling... New podium, please. [A STAGEHAND wheels in a new podium and shoves what’s left of the old one out.] MR BEAN: ...Bean. [As he says his name the PODIUM begins to tilt to the side; he tilts with it.] MR BEAN: Er... a crucial element in many stories, whether humorous or serious, is the plot twist, sometimes known as the reversal. Authors have to think bendy instead of straight to achieve maximum effect with plot twists so-- [The podium is leaning at an extremely acute angle. MR BEAN falls on his ear. DALTON and CHUCK shake their heads.] DALTON: Just finish from where you are, Mr Bean. MR BEAN: [voice somewhat muffled as he is on the floor] Er...the nominees for Best Plot Twist are... [he struggles to read the list] ... Paradise Lost, by Chuck Sonnenburg... 'So do you understand now? I wasn't trying to- I didn't mean for this to happen. I just wanted to make things better. Don't you understand? I just wanted.... Can you grasp what it's like to have the welfare of countless beings resting on you, only to fail?' She withdrew her connection from Sebastian's temple as the young man fell back in his chair. She leaned forward, her fingertips pushed together on her lips as she looked at him, pondering. "Yes, Sebastian," the Borg Queen said, "I do." MR BEAN: StarCrossed, by Stravo: "You are quick on the uptake. Your answer will be leading the tour." The door behind him hissed open and someone stepped in. Picard turned and his eyes widened. "Data?!" Data stood in the doorway, wearing an all black jumpsuit. It resembled a Starfleet uniform, but it had a harsher edge to it, more militaristic and intimidating. He cocked his head in that strange way Data used to do when he first came on board the Enterprise. "R-7 reporting for duty as ordered, Captain Durant." The android said in Data's voice. Durant nodded to Picard as he looked back at him in surprise and confusion. "Not quite, captain Picard. Not quite." MR BEAN: Third Ground Kings, by Spyder: A lone life pod emerged from hyperspace. The computer of the now obliterated vessel that the life pod was attached to had a simple procedure to perform when it came to the life pods. In the event that something goes wrong and the order is given to abandon ship, start flinging the pods into hyperspace in random directions as a means of escaping the ensuing blast. A subroutine to make sure the pods had people in them before launch was added in the first patch release. A second patch release was due out the next month to introduce pre- programmed coordinates so that there was a greater then a one in a thousand chance that the pods would ever be recovered. MR BEAN: Manifest Destiny, by Mark S: "That would be great Rolland. And please, it's just Luke. I never liked being called Master, even by droids." Luke rose from his seat quite smoothly for his age and shook the other man's offered hand. That was when the Force told him it was time. The reason he had insisted on handling this mission himself, the reason he had come with only the droid, all flashed through his mind. This was where the Force had led him. He could hear it at that moment, comforting him. It was all exactly as he had foreseen it. Two seconds later the Plato, and everyone on her, exploded in a flash of expanding gas and a cloud of debris. "OH... MY... GOD!" Jean-Luc Picard's words blasted through the communicator to echo around the bridge and hang in the air like a bad smell. Two teenagers walking past his quarters looked from the door to each other and quickened their pace. "I'm coming right up, Number One. Have the Admiralty and the other Starfleet Captains on screen when I get there. Try to get a hold of the Republic ship and convey our shock and sympathy." MR BEAN: And the winner is... er... oh my... the winner, once again, is Stravo, for StarCrossed! [MR BEAN picks up the award, cuts his finger on the sharp point, and promptly DROPS THE AWARD ON HIS FOOT. It rolls off the stage, into STRAVO'S wheelbarrow. MR BEAN is led off stage by SEVERAL HOT CHICKS, TRIPPING TWICE over his own feet.] CHUCK [sotto voce, to STRAVO]: Smile and nod for now. You can make more speeches later. As I'm sure you will. [Speaking to audience] Ah, now for the presentation of the Princess Leia "I'd Just as Soon Kiss a Wookiee!" Award for Best Romance, we have a special guest: from everyone's favorite game, where you steal cars and kill many, many people in Las Vegas, is Fernando Martinez from Grand Theft Auto: Vice City! [FERNANDO sidles up to the podium. He is wearing a WHITE TUXEDO with a ROSE IN THE BUTTONHOLE and has a SHIT-EATING GRIN.] FERNANDO: We all, deep down inside, crave the good fanfic. A good fanfic iz like a fine lover. It grabs you by the crotch and it does nah leh you go, filling you wi'the passion, the groaning and the moaning of the making love, and best of all, it's not jealous if you only love it the once. And when you add in a little romance, it gets even better, you know? Or perhaps you don know. Perhaps you are alone at home wi'the ugly girlfriend, all fat all oogly, like a big fat porpoise too oogly for children to clap for, and you read the fanfic and you say, "I do not know this feeling. What is it?" And I, Fernando, say to you, "It iz the miracle of de passion. You feel it, you want it, you muz hold it." And you would say "Who are you?" and I would say "I, am Fernando Martinez, and I know the thing you are missing." And you, senors, are truly missing it if you are missing out on dis years nominees for Best Romance. They are... ANNOUNCER: Paradise Lost, by Chuck Sonnenburg. Jorri was really quiet, and Sebastian left her to her thoughts as they continued along the trail. "How do you live like that?" she asked finally. Sebastian just dismissed it. "You go to bed at night, you get up the next day, and you do what needs to be done. Just do, and forget the worrying." "I don't think I could do that," Jorri said. "You'd be surprised," Sebastian said, not looking at her. "'Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,'" he quoted. "In the end, we all adapt; a Borg even more so." "Jorri!" Brian shouted from somewhere off the path. Must've cut across the woods, Sebastian thought. Jorri waved, then turned back to Sebastian. "It's been great talking again. I'm glad you could come." She gave him a quick embrace. VOICE: (O.S.) Shit, I hope that was the right romance... DALTON: (O.S.) Shh. It’ll do. ANNOUNCER: StarCrossed, by Stravo But then Mara looked into those eyes and the rage was gone, the fires that burned in her cooled for she felt the power from him and the presence of command. He was born to rule and she could see that. Power came quickly to him and he had a way with people, a gift of making others follow him. Even Kittaine, an admiral that had been chosen for this duty particularly because he was recognized as a man that would never take any unnecessary risks and as such would never turn on the Emperor had embraced him as a new emperor, he had fallen under the young Sith lord's spell. She realized something else as well and it disturbed her to the core. She recognized that as she looked at him there were other things stirring within her, emotions that were not part of her training. Emotions that she was trained to induce in men but never to feel in herself. She wanted Nemesis. She could not allow herself to feel this way but there was no denying it. ANNOUNCER: Perversions of the Force, by Kelly Antilles and IG-88E "Y-" Lusankya cut herself off. She looked at Stravo and a soft smile crossed her lips. He was so handsome, even in all those clothes. She looked him up and down, looking at his black hair, silver eyes, and lean body. "Not just yet," she said. She leaned towards him and kissed him on the lips. His eyes widened in surprise then closed as he returned her kiss. Finally, she broke off and rolled onto her back, letting her head lay on the snow. "What if we get caught?" "Oh, I wouldn't worry about that," she said. She crooked a finger, beckoning him to her. He chuckled and moved on top of her. Their lips met in a passionate embrace. "I'm so glad I met you." He reached out to brush a stray lock of her hair from her face. His hand slid down to cup her cheek. "So am I," he replied quietly, looking deep in her eyes. She had to blink, breaking the gaze. "But, sometimes I can't stand when you get serious." She slapped at him playfully, tossing a bit of snow at him." FERNANDO: And ze winners be...Kelly Antilles and IG-88E for Perversions of the Force! Joe, ze svitch, please! [*flip!*] Kelly stood up alongside the cheers of the crowd. Briefly glancing at the empty seat beside her, she took a deep breath, smiled, and walked up to the stage, her red dress flowing along behind her. The cheers intensified the closer she got and by the time she reached the podium, some people were positively roaring. Kelly blushed deeply and pressed one hand to her chest in embarrassment. She waved for silence. The catcalls kept coming. She finally rolled her eyes and yelled, "SHUT UP!" Once the crowd settled she began to speak. "Um, wow, thanks," she said. "I didn't know if the story even had a chance, considering the competition it was up against, but I guess I underestimated myself. A lot." There were a few scattered cheers then people settled down again. "I started Perversions when a thread was started wondering where all the porn fanfic was. Well, that sounded like a challenge to me." She grinned broadly. "I took part of a story I'd started a long time ago that was just taking up room on my hard drive and added to it. I can't remember what made me start putting SD.net denizens in it." She brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. "IG came around and helped make it better. But then, I suppose when you work really hard on something, you can really turn it into an epic." The corners of her smile trembled at bit as she looked down at the Award in her hand. "Um, I really don't deserve to accept this on my own. I really wish I knew where IG was. Maybe he had something better to do." "No! Wait!" yelled a voice in the back. Everybody turned to face the sea of reporters and cameramen standing in the rear of the auditorium. "Excuse me, pardon me, coming through, MOVE IT, PEOPLE!" the voice continued. A form burst out from between two reporters and ran towards the stage. It was IG-88E, dressed up in a black tuxedo, good shirt and shoes... and a Three Stooges tie. Kelly sighed. The bullet-headed assassin droid scrambled up onto the stage and ran over to the podium. Kelly covered the mic with one hand. "Where the hell have you been?" she hissed. Up in the rafters, Rob Wilson cocked his rifle and aimed carefully. "You try finding a Tuxedo shop that'll cater to a 6-foot-2 assassin droid," he shot back. Kelly rolled her eyes and took a step back. He took the podium. "Ah, sorry I'm late, ladies and gentlemen. Anyway, when Perversions started, I was just another reader. Then, Kelly was gracious enough to put me in a supporting roll. Well, when she announced that she'd run out of ideas, I started making suggestions. I even wrote a few passages. Well, it all built up from there, and pretty soon, we'd ended up co-authoring. I gotta say, it's been a lot of fun. Thank you!" He stepped back and took Kelly's hand, then lifted it into the air, both of them holding up the Star Destroyer. Kelly smiled, and the crowd burst into cheers again. They stood there waving for a moment, then returned to their seats. Wilson relaxed the grip on his rifle, slowly uncocking it. Dalton finished applauding, and went back up to the podium. He stood there for a moment, then cleared his throat, glancing meaningfully at Joe. "Joe, the switch please?" Dalton said. Joe was tugging hard at the lever on the Idiom Switch. "Nothing, boss," he said. "The damn thing's stuck. That last short probably damaged it." Dalton shook his head. "Fuck. Now we're gonna run longer than the Oscars. We can't go to commercial like this!" Suddenly, Joe noticed something jammed in the mechanism. He pried it out carefully; it was a standard Federation-issue Starfleet authentic fake commbadge, gear-marks on either side. It was also rather blackened, apparently being the source of the earlier short. "Found the problem, boss..." He handed the thing over. Dalton swore feelingly. "Chuck, Scooter almost fucked us up this time. Man, good thing that even the grunts can ruin his nefarious plots!" Joe grinned the grin of a man who knew he was more intelligent than his boss but chose not to show it. "Throw it, Joe." And so he did-- [THE SWITCH breaks off in JOE'S HAND] DALTON: Oh well. I don't think we'll be using it anymore anyways-- [As if to punctuate that, the IDIOM SWITCH smokes, sputters and EXPLODES MIGHTILY, taking JOE with it. Fortunately nobody else is hurt as it is behind a MASSIVE PLOT DEVICE.] DALTON: Fuck it. [DALTON spins the badge in the air like a coin. Suddenly, there is a LAUGH from underneath, sounding eerily akin to that of SNIDELY WHIPLASH.] SCOOTER: I will not be silenced! I am the Last Bastion of Trek! I will fight the Rabid Warsie Fuckwits! I-- [A SCREAM] AALCS: Got 'im! No! Shit! TED: He's over there! After him! [A naked... man... streaks across the stage. He is followed by a cadre of security guards.] CHUCK: We're gonna be in for an interesting night here... [beeper goes off] Well, there we are. Excuse me, I must be going. DALTON: What the fuck? We're not even half done here! CHUCK: I know...just get someone to fill in for me, would you? [bounds off quickly] DALTON: Fine...right. Crayz! Crayz9000! Get over here! [A slightly disheveled man in a Half-Life HEV suit RUNS up from backstage. He is holding a CROWBAR, which is slightly BLOOD-STAINED. The HEV’s front has a thin layer of SHIT on it.] CRAYZ9000: (annoyed) I have a name, you know... DALTON: [aside, holding NOSE] John, make sure you get that thing washed off pronto... JOHN: I was on my way to the cleaning room when you called me up! DALTON: [Still holding nose] Just get the fuck over here and announce the next presenter before things get even more clusterfucked. JOHN: As you will! For the Grand Admiral Thrawn "When You Understand a Species' Art, You Understand that Species" Award for Most Creative Tactic, please welcome the one... the only... Grand Admiral Thrawn! [A HUMANOID with blue skin and black hair steps up to the podium. He is wearing a bright white uniform with not a speck of dirt anywhere on it. He receives a standing ovation until the audience realizes this is not the Chiss they think it is.] GAT: Er, hello. I am Grand Admiral Thrawn. [Murmuring and some catcalls from the audience.] GAT: That is, the supermod from StarDestroyer.net... Thrawn in name only...? [Several "oh yeahs" and other SOUNDS OF RECOGNITION emanate from the audience. Applause.] GAT: Much better. Anyway, as our militarily-inclined readers will tell you, a good fanfic battle isn't much without good tactics...and a really good tactic can take a story in a direction it's never, ever been. The nominees for Most Creative Tactic are... ANNOUNCER: De Imperatoribus Galacticis, by Marina O'Leary Every single maneuver of the first part of the battle had been planned and calculated for the sole purpose of getting as many possible Missile Boats in range to deliver their Heavy Space Bombs into those Vong capships, and even as the Missile Boats recharged their SLAMs for the final run in and continued to approach the body of that fleet, those twelve Strike-class cruisers were completing their firing solutions on the light, anti-fighter ships of the Vong fleet. On the bridge of the Cuirass Mystrela was watching as the subspace sensor plots abruptly flicked from a dozen locations in the system, and eight dots were proffered from each of those locations. At supralight velocities, ninety-six ASMs raced in against the Vong light ships. Their Dovin Basals could not intercept targets traveling at FTL velocities except by a direct interposition between the Dovin Basal and the missile, and that was a matter of luck. There was no violence, no action on the display. There were just the indicators for four corvette and gunship analogues vanishing from the displays as they were destroyed by the supralight ASMs when those high- penetration warheads detonated against effectively unshielded hulls. Mystrela smiled slightly; It looked like it was going to work. The Strikes fired another salvo. ANNOUNCER: StarCrossed, by Stravo Kirk hit a button on his command chair. The Enterprise lurched to the left, suddenly pivoting in space to face its true target. "Now Mr. Scott." Scotty without hesitation hit the warp drive controls and simultaneously faded from the bridge. Kirk took one last look around. "No beach to walk on." He whispered and he disappeared in a column of light. The Enterprise lanced forward, driven at speeds exceeding light by many hundreds of times. It screamed straight at the Stardestroyer Relentless. Traveling at nearly Warp 8, it crossed the distance in nanoseconds. The Enterprise struck the bridge tower with a thunderous explosion, the tricobalt devices stolen from the Starfleet arsenal by the Sagan detonated simultaneously on impact as well as the Enterprise's entire photon torpedo payload. The explosion tore through the Imperial stardestroyer's shields and vaporized portions of the bridge tower in moments, debris tore through the upper portions of the tower and ripped through the bridge itself. ANNOUNCER: A Prelude to War, by Crayz9000 The man was relieved to see that the warships did not open fire on the comet, but what they did startled him, to say the least. Every one of the ships locked tractor beams on the comet, and they began to drag it out of orbit, slowly but surely. The man glanced up and scratched his head; what anyone would want with a comet, besides water, was beyond him. He didn't bother to think of its hyperspace shadow until he'd blacked out again. [...] The feeling didn't last forever, he noted thankfully as he landed hard on the deck of the crew pit and began running, again without wanting to. Someone else shouted in a barely intelligible voice--he heard something about _comet_ and _mass shadow_--but his hands were already flying over the terminal's keyboard. Belatedly, he realized that it was a navicomputer he was apparently working at, and suddenly it clicked; that was why the warships had moved the comet, to interdict a passing ship. GAT: Much as I like anything dealing with the obliteration of the Outbound Flight, the voters have decided that the winner is... [He looks at the paper] well... again, it's StarCrossed, by Stravo! [Applause. STRAVO wheels up, collects the award, and sits back down. People in nearby seats STARE at him. He GRINS weakly.] JOHN: We'll be right back with more! [He runs for the cleaning room] [CROSSFADE TO: Commercial] HULK HOGAN: Hey Alf, knock knock! ALF: Who's there? HOGAN: Ten-ten. ALF: Ten-ten who? HOGAN: Ten-ten-two-twenty! HULK: KNOCK KNOCK. HOGAN: Uh... who's there? HULK: HULK. HOGAN: ...Hulk who? HULK: HULK SMASH!!!! [A scene of UNIMAGINABLE VIOLENCE.] VO: The Hulk. Be smashed on June 20th. [CROSSFADE TO: Roof of the auditorium] SCOOTER: I AM THE LAST BASTION OF TREK!! HAHAHA!!!! MY WORD IS LAW!! [Back on stage] DALTON: Well folks, looks like Scooter's officially lost it... JOHN: It was only a matter of time. You think he'll try anything else? DALTON: I hope so. We need SOMETHING to break up the monotony around this place. Especially with this next category...The Lt.Cmdr. Data "Quantum Tetryon Actuator" Award for Best Use of Technobabble. Presenting this award is Chris O'Farrell! [CHRIS walks up to much applause and a few cat calls.] CHRIS: I know who you are, so shut the fuck up. Anyway, any narrative that utilizes the paradigm of Star Trek, or even science fiction in general, will make considerable use of technobabble in one of perhaps many particular varieties. In other words, ya gotta bullshit. So, tonight I'm presenting the award for Best Use of Technobabble! The nominees are... ANNOUNCER: StarCrossed by Stravo Wesley nodded with a smile. "Yes sir. See, the Excalibur was on automatic controls when you encountered her. The technical records indicate that the energy baffle at the mouth of the device was malfunctioning. The baffle prevented back flow of energy into the more sensitive parts of the craft when digesting raw materials for fuel conversion. The Constellation blew up in here without the baffles in place to shunt the energy away. The resulting explosion caused those crystals," he pointed to the enormous building size crystalline structures interspersed throughout the maw of the ship. "to experience an antiproton surge this initiated a plasma scattering cascade that interrupted the ionic flow through the hypermatter processors. This disrupted the energy couplings that ran throughout the ship causing rapid loss of power and control. The plasma scattering field also generated a pretty powerful EMP pulse that finished off any droids that happened to be working near the maw disabling some of the core features of the self repair systems on this vessel. In order to avoid a general tetriyon surge in the crystalline matrixes that such an event would inevitably cause the vessel committed an emergency blow of all available power and simply shut down." ANNOUNCER: Paradise Lost by Chuck Sonnenburg "He's dead," Janeway said without the slightest hint of regret. Garak furrowed his brow as he came over. "Maybe you just lost him." "No, he's dead," she repeated. "He's integrated in the timestream now; I can't even bring back his corpse." Garak tried to think but this wasn't his area. "I don't recall there being a Sebastian Skywalker running around at this time. He shouldn't be part of the timestream. Could you lock onto him?" "It would be difficult," she said. "Finding his approximate location isn't easy; pinpointing him precisely enough to pull him back would be next to impossible." "He has been a worthy opponent," the lead Vong remarked. Apparently they were taking the death of their comrade rather well, Garak thought. "But we need him. Bring him here." "You're talking about pinpointing one individual out of an infinite number of possible realities each containing its own universe," Janeway said. "I can't guarantee success." "Bring him here," the Vong repeated, as if just saying the words was enough to make it reality. "I wouldn't advise this," Janeway said. Her voice was somehow absent of concern, almost as if she was saying it solely for the point of ticking it off her list. ANNOUNCER: Manifest Destiny by Mark S Voyager's captain regrouped and would not be daunted. "Perhaps if we were to find the frequency of their shield harmonics," she offered, beginning to find new excitement in the thought process. "Their shields don't have harmonics," Captain Johannas countered. He had straightened up in his chair as if sitting on trial. It was his classic position for technical debate. "Maybe if we were to get through their shields in one small location we could beam in an explosive device..." "No. Their hull material contains too much deuterium to beam through. I though we were all given the intelligence reports?" "Ok, what if we reconfigured our main deflector arrays to emit bursts of quantum particles..." CHRIS: And the winner is... Jesus... again... StarCrossed, by Stravo! No, don't get up! Go long! STRAVO: ARE YOU FUCKING CRAZY?!? THAT'S FUCKING SHARP!!! [CHRIS flings it with all his might, but it stops inches away from STRAVO] LT.HIT-MAN: Chris, my old pal...you of all people should know not to steal from me! Especially the opportunity to deal out pain and death! [STRAVO stares wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the HULKING FORM of the SITH LORD] Don't worry there Stravo, another day, huh? [The award lowers into the wheelbarrow. STRAVO sits down, but apparently not by will of his brain.] JOHN: Exciting shit, folks. You usually gotta pay for this kind of entertainment! [DALTON whispers in his ear] Oh, so you have paid. With hours of work. MUHAHAHHA!! DALTON: Alright John, enough of that. Settle down. Anyway, here to present the George Lucas "Better than 'Attack of the Clones'" Award for Best Title is 2000AD, from StarDestroyer.net! [2000AD walks up among clapping and cheers] 2000AD: Can you say...irony? Indeed. I have not yet thought up a name for my fanfic, but these fine folks have, and they are all very good names indeed. Which title is best? The nominees are... StarCrossed, from Stravo - a name that drips with meaning! It has the crossover built in! Manifest Destiny, from Mark S - based off a defunct presidential declaration, it has many layers of potential meaning! De Imperatoribus Galacticis, from Marina O'Leary - which translates to "On the Galactic Emperors!" A note from Marina: "It's in Latin - And, considering the word Galacticis is really not a Latin word but rather one created using the proper ending, it would be appropriate to say that it is in the Latin Vulgate." How fascinating! Third Ground Kings, from Spyderizer - a name which has nothing whatsoever to do with the story! Random, just like Spyder likes it! Dark Dawns, from WeeMadAndo - mysterious! Evil-sounding! It fits its material well! Paradise Lost, from Chuck Sonnenburg - an oldie but a goodie, but more than appropriate! And Perversions of the Force, from Kelly Antilles and IG-88E - one hell of a name for this adult fanfic! [He pauses for breath.] 2000AD: And the winner is... StarCros---no, wait, it's someone else this time! It's Perversions of the Force, by Kelly and Iggy! Joe, the switch! DALTON: (O.S.) Joe’s dead, and the switch is broke, remember? 2000AD: Shit. Where’s the U.S.S. Voyager when you need it? JOHN: Wait, found it. [Presses the TREK RESET BUTTON™] [BLUE SMOKE is sucked back into the IDIOM SWITCH. JOE stands up again, and THE SWITCH flies back to its proper place.] JOE: Oh, my FUCKING HEAD! 2000AD: Joe, the switch... JOE: Are you fucking nuts? I’m not going to touch that thing again! I’m not even wearing a red shirt, and I’m getting killed and shocked like crazy! What, do you think my name is Kenny or something? [JOE is BACKING UP toward THE SWITCH.] JOE: I’m serious. I’ve worked in this place for twenty years, and I’m supposed to retire— [JOE smacks into THE SWITCH--] "...tomorrow..." Joe barely finished before falling into the orchestra pit. A loud clash of cymbals followed him, gradually diminishing in volume as the entire ensemble fell down a conveniently placed bottomless shaft. Meanwhile, in the audience, Kelly whooped and gave her droid partner a quick hug before they started up the aisle. Accepting the award, she waved to the crowd, while he shook the announcer's hand and headed to the podium. "Ahem," he said to get the crowd's attention. "As Kelly told you, when this fanfic was started, it had no title. When I really started to spend serious time on it, Kelly asked me if I had any ideas. Being the brilliant, witty, and handsome droid that I am... I had nothing." The crowd snickered. "So, we put it to the crowd to come up with a name. The result was the suggestion that got us this award. And we both owe one man for thinking it up for us. Mike Wong, take a bow!" The droid gestured to a man seated near the center of the auditorium. Mike Wong stood, grinned, and waved to the crowd, who gave him a round of applause. "Thanks Mike," IG said. "We owe you one." Kelly leaned in. "And Mike, feel free to drop by the Dungeon anytime." She winked, and the crowd burst into another round of cheers. Mike bowed and sat back down. They moved back to their seats. "Wow," Kelly said softly. "Two awards? I never would've guessed." "I would," IG said. One red photoreceptor blinked off, then on again in a wink. Kelly just rolled her eyes. "That'll teach me to argue with an assassin droid." "You got that right." They clutched their awards and sat back to watch the rest of the show. And a nameless ensign flipped the switch— [ENSIGN is killed by a random FALLING ANVIL] DALTON: Good work you two! Before we continue, let's see how Scooter is doing. [CUT TO: Roof] SCOOTER: I AM A GOLDEN GOD!!! [CUT TO: Stage] DALTON: The ego-meter's at four Strowbridges, folks. Right! The next award is the Jean-Luc Picard "THERE ARE FOUR LIGHTS!" Award for Best Torture! And as usual, the presenter is-- [DALTON is cut off as his windpipe constricts slightly, informing him that the presenter is there.] LT.HIT-MAN: Heheh! Pain and death is my forté, as I'm sure you have guessed. So now I'll present the nominees for Best Torture. Not necessary in any fanfic, but a great way to get something off your chest... or to get something's chest off. Heheh!!! The nominees are... well, well, well! The first nominee consists of my fanfic reviews! Are you surprised? "FOR LOVE OF THE GODS HELP ME!" 80 Knight screamed as he ran towards the seven road crewers who at the sight of the slightly blood drenched man with a pack of snarling, rabid and pain and hunger maddened wolves bearing down on him tried to restart the asphalt layer in order to escape from that nightmarish sight. But alas it was too late from them all as the wolves lunged at the screaming 80 Knight who was slammed into the hot asphalt that seared his face as the starving wolves began to rip him into bloody gobbets of dying meat starting with his legs at the knees that where ripped from his body in a spray of blood that smoked and sizzled as it hit the hot asphalt as the dying troll tried to drag himself along the hot asphalt however his dying struggles where ended as the alpha male of the pack grabbed 80 Knight by the throat and with a mighty pull of it's jaws tore 80 Knight's head clean off. LT.HIT-MAN: And the other nominees are... Paradise Lost, by Chuck Sonnenburg: The creature bore a passing resemblence to a squid, in the same way that a shark bore a passing resemblance to a goldfish. It towered above the gathered crowd of the Vong, and over Sebastian as well. It's long tentacles slithered in every direction along the icy walls. Its horrible face was growing, its bulbous eyes, gaping maw, and terrifying tooth filling the young Jedi with fear. They called it the yammosk, the war coordinator. The simpler word was the most accurate, the one that stayed with everyone despite their years from visions of childhood: monster. He was powerless in its grip. His mind was battered with its own, amplifying his fear until the terror saturated his body. Its mouth was open, jaw already working to consume him. He couldn't look away, and his body was paralyzed. He saw the maw grow until blackness overcame him, but not unconsciousness. He could feel his head was in its mouth, just about to bite it off like a grisly animal cracker. Then he was pulled back out and turned around. Feet first. The idea slipped into his mind from the yammosk; let him be alive for the ordeal. He didn't deserve a quick death. He was unworthy. His legs slid into the mouth up to his knees. Primal instincts caused him to kick violently, but the mouth closed, the great tooth pinning them in place. It gave him a moment to anticipate; just a little more pressure to scissor them off, and the tasty treats would be its. Then onward up the legs, then the arms, one at a time, each succulent one enjoyed before moving on to the next tasty part. Only then, when he had been picked apart would it finish the job, when it would finally just devour the rest. A fine treat for the war coordinator, filling Sebastian's only useful purpose in life. There was no other fate he deserved. LT.HIT-MAN: He’s certainly got the right idea, heheheh! And on to the next victim, StarCrossed, by Stravo! "Perhaps we did not make ourselves clear earlier, hmmm?" the young man gestured with a finger and one of the small attachments suddenly came to life, it buzzed like a drill and slowly swung over to his arm. Ochoa's eyes widened and he stared at it. "Pain is such a terrible thing to have to endure." The drill bit into his flesh and he threw back his head against the metal frame of the bed and screamed. There was no blood, only pain. He could feel it, tearing through his flesh but his uniform remained untouched. "The phase needle is just one of the many implements I have at my disposal. There are more... invasive methods I could apply. Perhaps you would like to have a look at your insides, Captain? There are drugs I can give you that would keep you awake and completely lucid even as I slowly extracted your intestines and handed them to you." Ochoa's screams stopped as the needle buzzed back away from his arm. The young man leaned in closer. "You do want to talk don't you?" He touched his forehead. His skin was dry and cool, Ochoa's hot and damp with perspiration. Ochoa began to nod and stopped himself suddenly. Something within him wanted to respond to the young man, wanted to tell him everything but he grit his teeth and centered himself. "Why endure this?" He asked seriously. "Ricardo... Ernesto... Ochoa... Captain... USS Thunderchild... United... Federation... of... Planets, Service... Number... 44AA9885." Ochoa replied, ignoring the dimming of his sight. "I can take so much from you, Captain. Not just your sight." Ochoa found himself plunged in darkness. He struggled vainly. He could not see and it panicked him. He had never liked darkness, ever since his father lost his sight in an engineering accident he had been afraid of blindness. To live in a world of darkness was greater than any pain. LT.HIT-MAN: Yes... feel the pain! And the next victim is Third Ground Kings, by Spyder! Harry extinguished the saber and watched as the transparent emergency doors closed, sealing the entire engineering crew in with the plasma coolant that was flooding the entire room. B'Elanna ran to the door and banged her fist against it. "Ensign! Open the door." She screamed. "Harry, please!" The cloud of plasma coolant spread throughout the entire engineering compartment, knocking B'Elanna to her knees. She screamed in agony as the coolant washed over her body, searing her flesh on contact. In a process that took mere seconds, to the chief engineer it seemed to take an eternity. Wave after wave of indescribable pain washed over her, until finally there was nothing left. LT.HIT-MAN: And another one of Voyager’s crew bites the dust, heheh! But the next nominee is Phoenix Company, by Ryan Crierie! The moment Sheppard stepped into the sound-dampening field, he heard the pitiful moans of a beaten person. Turning his head, he saw a sight that made his stomach do several double back-flips. Kathryn Jordan was lying on a torture rack, and a little over half of her skin was gone - flayed off. The ISB commander put down her bloody knife and motioned for Sheppard to sit. "Hello Captain, as you can see, the interrogation has been going splendidly, although she refuses to tell me anything." "Kill...me..." gasped Jordan. Sheppard started to squirm in the seat, despite the fact that he had sat through dozens of interrogations before. It was the sight of the Commander drawing the knife back under Jordan's skin, and flaying yet more skin off. Sheppard suddenly got up and walked up to the rack, pulling out his BlasTech E-13 standard officer's sidearm and pointed it at Kathryn's head. "Tell me everything, and I'll end it." Sheppard saw the glimmer of hope in Jordan's eyes – not at being able to live, but to have an end to the intense, unbearable pain forever. For the next hour, they listened to Kathryn spill the beans on everything she knew. Finally, as he always kept his word, he shot her in the head. Sheppard slowly holstered the pistol, visibly shaken at what he just had to participate in. He was suddenly jolted back to reality by the harsh sounds of hands clapping. He looked and saw the ISB Commander clapping her hands. "Good work, Captain. I never thought I'd get the information out of that bitch. This was a nice variant on the 'Good Cop, Bad Cop' strategy. Torture the person until they're willing to do anything to end the pain." LT.HIT-MAN: And the winner, as usual, is yours truly! First off, I want to thank everyone who voted for me... I know who did and who didn't... Hehehehe! [He gives everyone an EVIL STARE] LT.HIT-MAN: I also want to thank my old friends in ASVS for providing me with a lot of good ideas for my fics as well as fodder for said fics and fan fic reviews! [Even worse EVIL STARE with a SADISTIC SMILE] LT.HIT-MAN: And a warm thanks to all my newfound friends on StarDestroyer.net for giving me some new ideas for a few new fics that I'll be working on soon! [He takes his AWARD and walks off stage] [A few minutes later there is a LOUD SCREAM from above the audience followed by a WET RENDING SOUND as blood pours from the air vents covering everyone with the warm, wet red stuff. A PIECE OF A RIPPED CLOTH lands by DALTON who picks it up. Written on the bloody scrap are the words "U.S.S.Dorkstar Cap:Mike6002"] JOHN: Well... uh... that certainly was unpleasant. Let's take a quick commercial break. [SOUND of most of the audience PUKING] [CROSSFADE TO: Commercial] VO: STROWBRIDGE IS GOD [Flash frame of C.S.Strowbridge's ass, which is the Goatse pic...] VO: YOU LOVE STROWBRIDGE [Flash frame of C.S.Strowbridge's ass, which is the Goatse pic...] VO: STROWBRIDGE IS GOD [Flash frame of C.S.Strowbridge's ass, which is the Goatse pic...] VO: YOU LOVE STROWBRIDGE DALTON: AHHH! SHIT! HOW THE FUCK DID THIS GET ON AIR? CUT BACK! [CROSSFADE TO: Stage] DALTON: WHAT THE FUCK? WILSON! SHOOT HIM! [WILSON tracks a fleeing figure who is laughing and capering joyously, then falls blissfully unconscious as WILSON'S SHOT takes him square in the FUCKING NECK.] DALTON: Can we edit that out?! JOHN: We're live, dude. DALTON: Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!!!!!!!! [A beat] ...well, might as well get on with--FUCK! ASS! FUCKING SHIT!!! CHAIN HIM UP!!! [He composes himself. STROWBRIDGE is taken away to ROT FOR ETERNITY in some MEXICAN HELLHOLE.] DALTON: Get on with it then. Our next award is the Borg Collective "Resistance is Futile" Award for Best use of Star Trek, presented by StarDestroyer.net's token Trekkie, Alyeska! [Significant applause and several catcalls] SHEPPARD: YOU SUCK ALYESKA! [SHEPPARD falls unconscious with a dart in his FUCKING NECK.] ROB WILSON: (polishing rifle innocently) Whoops. ALYESKA: Thank you very much. Anyway, for any good versus story you need to portray each side or faction meaningfully and in detail, and this includes not turning the Federation into a communist police state to be looked down upon. The nominees for the Best Use of Star Trek category are... StarCrossed, by Stravo - TOS-era Kirk winds up helping the Voyager-era Federation and a contingent of Rebels against the evil Darth Nemesis. The Division, by Ryan Crierie - Intrepid Imperial troops take on the Klingon Empire. Reign of Terror, by Michael Wong - Two Maquis stumble across an amazing find... but they soon learn that this Star Destroyer is not merely abandoned... Pirate's Endeavor, by RayCav - A young man joins a pirate syndicate after they attack a Federation convoy. ALYESKA: And the winner is...Stravo, for his use of Star Trek in StarCrossed! [STRAVO gets the award, wheelbarrow, YADDA YADDA YADDA] JOHN: And Stravo nets yet another GSDA. When will it end? Moving on...presenting for the Jabba the Hutt "My Favorite Decoration" Award for Best use of Star Wars is the Warsie's Warsie and Technical Critic Extraordinaire, Kazuaki Shimazaki! [Applause and some jeering, but everyone loves Kaz!] KAZ: Thank you very much! Before I begin, I'd like to say that technically, IG-88 had only *four* clones of himself when in fact the fifth was an IG-72 unit-- DALTON: Enough of that. Get on with it. KAZ: OK, OK...anyway, there's one thing that I especially like to see in a fanfic, and that's a universe used well. Especially if that universe is of Star Wars. Where the Empire ruthlessly crushes its enemies under its MIGHTY HEEL! AAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!! [A beat, embarrassed silence] KAZ: Ahem. The nominees for the Best Use of Star Wars in a fanfic are... StarCrossed, by Stravo - Darth Nemesis and his Imperial fleet are drawn into another galaxy and face off with Kirk and the Rebels in an epic battle that may destroy the universe. Manifest Destiny, by Mark S - History repeats itself when New Republic team discovers a whole new galaxy ripe for the taking. Paradise Lost, by Chuck Sonnenburg - Luke Skywalker and the Empire face a new threat: the Yuzzhan Vong. De Imperatoribus Galacticis, by Marina O'Leary - A chronicle of Galactic Emperors years after the Empire conquers a new galaxy. Hero of the Republic, by Greg Burnett - A fleet of New Republic ships is sent to help the beleaguered Federation fight back against a Vong attack. KAZ: Putting aside the technical accuracy of these stories, which I will review later on if you want to watch, the winner of this category is...StarCrossed, by Stravo! [More applause. By this point STRAVO has left the wheelbarrow by the stage. KAZ drops it in with a clink of metal.] JOHN: So...that's, uh, nine for Stravo now. Wow. DALTON: Wow indeed. I don't think even Chuck has won this many at once. Whoops, I'm getting something in my IFB... let's see what Scooter is up to! [CUT TO: Roof] [SCOOTER has his FINGERS in his EARS and is SHOUTING] SCOOTER: LALALALALALLA I CAN'T HEAR YOU LALALLALALALA-- [He FALLS through a SKYLIGHT, BABBLING the whole way, and lands on a SOFT PILE of FAT LOSERS in the AUDIENCE. He is immediately chased out by LT.HIT-MAN.] [CUT TO: Stage] DALTON: That is one very, very ill man. See that he doesn't get back in here, OK? Alright, next up is the Tasha Yar "That's it!" Award for Funniest Death, presented by Baron Kenneth von Lowe, a veteran of many deliciously hilarious death scenes. Baron? [A MAN comes out from backstage. He is riding A SHEEP. Literally. He sits in a rolling chair strapped to THE SHEEP by a harness and... well, HIM.] DALTON: COMMERCIAL!!! COMMERCIAL!!! GO TO COMMERCIAL NOW!!!!! [QUICK CROSSFADE TO: PSA] [A MAN is buying twinkies.] CASHIER: Oh hello sir! Feel like supporting terrorism today? MAN: What? CASHIER: That's OK, I'm sure only one or two people will die because of your habit, you scum. MAN: They're fucking twinkies! CASHIER: They're a habit! VO: Twinkie money supports terrorism. We have no evidence of this, but since it's on TV it must be true. www.theantidrug.com [CROSSFADE TO: Stage] [THE BARON is at the podium. His livestock has been confiscated.] BARON: Goddamn bastards. I'll show you what for! DALTON: JUST DO THE FUCKING CATEGORY!!! BARON: Fine, fine! Funniest death, right! I know about funny deaths! I wrote the fucking book on funny deaths! There's nothing funnier than Timothy Jones dying billions of times a second! Fuck! The nominees for Funniest Death, WHICH I DIDN'T GET NOMINATED FOR YOU COCKS!!! Are... [A beat, during which some... unpleasant... things transpire] BARON: Welcome to Liberty City, by Raynor RayCav! "Hey, this is El Burro of the Diablos. Anything I can do you for?" the man spoke with a wierd Latin accent. The man appeared to be very thin, and things overall seemed out of place. Hit-Man began to probe his mind. Immediately he identified this man as an imposter. "You are not El Burro of the Diablos. You work for the Columbian Cartel." "I am not El Burro of the Diablos. I work for the Columbian Cartel." "You will stop trying to be someone you're not. You will not try and spark a war between the Leone family and the Diablos." "I will stop trying to be someone I'm not. I will not try and spark a war between the Leone family and the Diablos." "You're not interested in selling me drugs." "I am not interested in selling you drugs." "You want to rethink your life." "I want to rethink my life." "After some careful thought, you have decided that your life is worth shit and you will jump in the ocean, making no attempt to swim whatsoever." "After some careful thought, I have decided that my life is worth shit and I will jump in the ocean, making no attempt to swim whatsoever." With that parting thought, the Cartel imposter drowned himself. BARON: Har, har. Doesn’t hold a fucking candle to me! And the next one is StarCrossed, by Stravo. A low whistling sound slowly grew in volume. "What the hell is that?" Jones asked. "Maybe it's the Starfleet smack down about to go into effect." Scooter replied with a gleam in his eyes and quickly glanced out the window again. The whistling was definitely getting louder and now the building was shaking. "What the hell?!" Scooter slowly looked up and his eyes bulged as he saw the great fireball descending down on them. He turned to his friend, tears in his eyes. "Timmy?" "What?" "Hold me." Scooter begged. The stabilizing rod from Starbase One plunged right through the tenement house and impacted into the earth in a multi megaton blast of fire and smoke. The blast leveled most of downtown San Francisco. BARON: Honor Bound, by Dalton. Fortunately, he had arrived back on Earth a couple of days ago, and was currently fast asleep. Totally oblivious to the vengeance of Jacques. He invaded Ferris's mind. "Oh Admiral? Remember me?" Ferris awoke suddenly, sweating, took a deep breath. "Who's there?" he asked. "Show yourself!" "Oh believe me, you can't see me unless I let you. But I'll give you a hint as to who I am. You've killed me quite a few times." "Jacques?" he asked incredulously. "But...I thought you were..." "I am," Jacques said coldly. "For real. And now it's my turn." Jacques forced himself into Ferris's mind, tearing thoughts and memories, altering thoughts. "Let's see how you like being killed over and over again!" Ferris bit back a scream from the unbelievable pain that was currently running through his chest. Soon, it subsided, only to be replaced by the most intense migraine imaginable, followed by a crushing pinch in his abdomen. "Aighhh!!! Please!!! Stop!! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." "Sorry isn't good enough! You are going to die! You, and all those who mocked me!" "B-but why? Everyone is made fun of at some point! Why must you go to such drastic... AIGHH!!!" "Shut up! I do the talking, I make the rules! And rule number one is: you die!" BARON: 3rd Ground Kings Part 2, by Spyderizer. Strowbridge came running down the corridor to where Transcend was scrubbing the bulkheads. "Tranny! Get to the life pods! There's a fifty megaton nuke on board and we have to abandon ship!" "One, stop calling me Tranny. Two, I doubt that we're in any danger. These 'bomb' incidents happen all the time." Transcend answered, continuing his work. "Are you mentally retarded? WE'RE GOING TO DIE!" "Hey! Do mentally retarded people know Perl? You just think about that." "Perl hasn't been used in over a thousand," Strowbridge paused to consider his situation. "You know what? Hold that thought." Strowbridge called out as he ran the other way towards the life pods. "Simpleton." Transcend said, shaking his head. Then his ship exploded. BARON: Heh, there’s nothing like poking fun at the village idiot. But next up, it’s LT.Hit-Man's Journal, Imperial Phoenix: First Blood! The rest of the gathered Bajorin and Federation personal looked up at the table and began to point as they talked excitedly amongst themselves as they watched Major Kira flop onto the table on her back and started thrashing around, sending plates of food flying everywhere as her agonized screams shattered the festive mood. "GET OUT OF THE WAY!" Doctor Bashir yelled as he ran to Kira's side, tricorder in hand as Odo and Command Sisco were struggling to hole the convulsing Major down as her screams increased in volume and urgency. Major Kira felt like there was a mining crew inside her body with heavy drilling equipment as she continued to trash around in hellish agony as a huge lump was forming in her chest, Doctor Bashir was taking some readings from his tricorder when suddenly there was an obscenely wet ripping sound that defied description as the chest of her uniform top was drenched in an explosion of blood and she found herself face to face with a blood covered worm like thing that was slowly turning towards her. *This is your death, courtesy of the Galactic Empire you REBEL BITCH!* she heard in her mind, the last thing she saw and heard was the worm like thing open it's fanged maw as blood and slime dribbled over it's body as it looked right at her as her terror filled dying scream did a duet with it's furious hissing- scream as her soul was fed to the Dark Side. There was a moment of stunned horror as Odo, Sissco and Doctor Bashir, who's faces where covered in Kira's blood just looked at they thing that had ripped it's way of her chest there mind refusing to understand what it was that was now facing them in the ruined remains of Major Kira's shattered chest as her head tilted to the right and blood began to spill from her agony twisted mouth, staining her lips like an obscene parody of lipstick. BARON: And the fucking winner is, who can't even hold a fucking CANDLE to me, is StarCrossed, by Stravo, and he's not getting this fucking award since it should be mine! AHAHAHHA!!! DALTON: Baron... Baron! WHAT THE FUCK! Oh god, it's just like two years ago... [BARON runs off the stage laughing maniacally. Both hands are empty, yet he still has the GSDA...] DALTON: We'll get you a replacement, Stravo. Jeez... [He SIGHS.] Next up, the Commander Worf "Feeling Agressive Tendencies" award for Goriest Fanfic, presented by Jeri-- [There is a muffled thump from backstage, followed by the sound of a lightsaber being ignited. Moments later, a leather-clad woman with long, flowing red hair steps out. Her LEATHER ARMOR is spattered with BLOOD. DALTON looks in a PANICKED manner at JOHN, who SHRUGS and DIVES FOR COVER.] DALTON (shakily): Well, we seem to have a last minute change in the plans. May I ask the new presenter her name? WOMAN (monotone): Whind. DALTON (more unnerved): Well, uh, Miss Wind, if you would be so kind as to pick up that script that's lying on the floor and start reading it... [WHIND glares at DALTON, but picks up the script anyway.] WHIND: The nominees for this award are: "Welcome to Liberty City", by Raynor RayCav; "The Ship" by MKSheppard and Colonel Falkenhorst; "Division" by MKSheppard, and "3rd Ground Kings" by Spyda. [A thoroughly scared STAGEHAND walks up and delivers her a sealed ENVELOPE. She casually DECAPITATES him before opening the envelope.] VOICE (O.S.): He's dead, Jim. 2nd VOICE (O.S.): Knock it off, Bones. WHIND: And the winner is... [A GASP from the audience.] WHIND: "Division," by MKSheppard. [WHIND steps off the stage and VANISHES in a blinding FLASH of DARKNESS, leaving the SCRIPT and ENVELOPE to flutter into the AUDIENCE. COMMOTION ensues as the AUDIENCE scrambles to grab the SCRIPT.] DALTON: Well, that was weird. John? Where are you? JOHN (behind Dalton): Right here. [DALTON nearly knocks the podium over.] DALTON: [muttering] I wish you wouldn’t do that... [SHEPPARD slowly BLUNDERS forward, TRIPPING on a number of people in the process. He is OBLIVIOUS to all the blood on stage.] SHEPPARD: [rubs neck sleepily, but only manages to wiggle the tranq dart around some more] Ow... my FUCKING neck hurts... so fucking badly... [A STAGEHAND hands him a fresh SCRIPT.] SHEPPARD: Oh? Oh, yeah. Script. Thank... thank you all. For this award. I am... honored by... [He begins to SNORE loudly until STAGEHAND prods him.] SHEPPARD: Oh, um, yeah... where was I? Yeah. I would like to... thank all of you for this... award. This is my third... um... year in a row that... um... I've received a GSDA... and I'd, um... like to thank all of you. [JOHN hands him the GSDA trophy. SHEPPARD STRUGGLES to keep a grip on the heavy trophy. MAN, TROPHY, and PODIUM then go crashing into the audience.] JOHN: Uh, I think we need another podium. [A new PODIUM is wheeled in.] JOHN: Now that we're all back in order, our next award tonight is the Mon Mothma "Many Bothans Died to Bring us this Information" award for Highest Body Count. And presenting it is none other than the infamous destroyer of Kerenos IV, Michael Wong! [The AUDIENCE roars in applause as WONG steps forward. However, one particular pimply-faced dork stands up, turns around, and MOONS WONG. LT.HIT-MAN and ASST. ASST. LT. COMM. SMI run after him. Cries of "False" and "Liar" suddenly become abundant.] WONG: Who let Scooter back in here? [A TICKET CLERK's face gets very red.] WONG: [Sees that Scooter has been caught] Well, I guess El Tee will be giving him the good ol’ Imperial Smackdown now, so it should be safe to proceed. SCOOTER: [screaming] You're a racist for calling me a Black Knight, Wong! JOHN: [sarcastically] Right, you go on believing that. SCOOTER: I knew it! They're all-- [He is gagged and taken away.] WONG: OK, maybe NOW we can continue. For this category, there are several nominees: Paradise Lost, by Chuck Sonnenburg, for the destruction of Sernpidal. "The planet Sernpidal appeared outside the viewport as the Falcon exited hyperspace. During the approach Sebastian began scanning the planet per his mothers instructions. "I'm picking up an emergency distress signal," Jacen said from the other chair. "Automated... wait, it's not coming from here." "Where's it coming from?" Han asked quickly. "A ship?" "No. It's from a place called ExGal-4, whatever that is." "A research base," Annika said, not looking up from what she was doing. "Belkadan. They're searching for extra-galactic life." The fact that Annika was extra-galactic life provided all the irony that statement needed. "Somebody's pet political project," Han guessed. "Whatever their problem is is going to have to wait. Any word from Sernpidal?" "Negative," Jacen replied. "I'm not picking up anything; not even emergency channels." "Let's start with the largest city. Which one would that be?" "Sernpidal City," Anakin answered. "Well, they're nothing if not creative," Han replied. The ship turned as Jaina punched up the atlas for the planet to located their destination. Sebastian watched his uncle look between the two for a moment and scowled. "Dammit," he said as he gave the display a slap. "They said the Falcon had the most up-to-date navigational data there was." "What's wrong?" he heard his father say. "There's no city," Han said testily. "Data's all fouled up." "I don't think so," Annika said quietly. "I think the city was there until recently." "Yeah, I know, there's a crater," Han said as he ran a sensor search for signs of the city. "But that's not it. There's no sign of weaponry, and you can't make a hole like that short of crashing a monster asteroid into the planet." "Or a moon." "What do you mean, 'Or a moon?' The moon's right over there." "Sernpidal has two moons." Annika stood up and turned to Han. "So where's the other one?" The weight of the question hung in the cockpit as Han brought the Falcon into the atmosphere. No one spoke as they settled just outside the lip of the crater." WONG: StarCrossed, by Stravo, for the Imperial rampage in the Alpha Quadrant and destruction of the Borg Unimatrix: The blast from the Emperor's Will erupted forth in a green beam of raw destructive power. It lanced into the planet. On the night side of Romulus, for the largest city on the planet, night became day. The green superlaser burned through the air, literally igniting it with its passage and struck the earth with the sound of Armageddon. Instantly, the city was vaporized, millions died before they could utter a sound. The blast continued on unopposed into the planet's crust, thrusting through the rocky outer layer of the planet and exposing the molten mantle beneath. Huge geysers of molten rock spewed forth into the atmosphere. The blast shockwave began rippling along the surface like a monstrous thing, completely obliterating all in its path, cities, mountain ranges, even oceans boiled away at its passage. Several hundred million instantly died with the shockwave, many more would perish as the resulting earthquakes and fires damaged vital matter/antimatter reactors, causing a chain reaction of core breaches throughout the planet. White flashes of core breaches slowly appeared, circling the night side like a string of pearls. Nemesis felt them, their voices, they were trying to hide themselves from him but there was no hiding from the dark side. There was no obfuscating the goals of the Sith. he would find them, he could feel their voices all swirling around the center. Trillions of voices but ONE source, Millions of connections, ONE source, Thousands of worlds, ONE source. He would find it, they could not hide and in a burst of rage he saw it, clear as if he were standing in the room, the enormous green energy field, the symphony of a trillion voices all distilled to this one place. He smiled victoriously. "Fire on coordinates 1122 mark 56." Nemesis boomed. "Commence Primary ignition."" WONG: Division, by MKSheppard. [He scratches his head.] I still don't see why... aw, fuck it. "In a stunning two-month blitzkreig, the Empire's armies have overrun world after world, crushing race after race under their iron heel, while in space, the Imperial Navy has dealt blow after blow to the Empire's enemies. Now, all that remains of the once proud Klingon Empire, is a world called Ikonos, where for the last three weeks, the battered remnants of the Klingon Army has held off against overwhelming odds." WONG: De Imperibatorus Galacticis, by Marina O'Leary, for the casualties suffered in a Yuuzhan Vong invasion. [He clears his throat] Nevermind how the Yuuzhan Vong are completely unrealistic and based on biotech. The New Republic should have had no trouble with them. Anyway, the next contestant is 3rd Ground Kings, by Spyda. "So, I hear Cuba has its own planet now." The men were sitting at a table in the ship's cafeteria. While the ship was in transit there were only two jobs outside of bridge work that needed doing; occasionally glancing at a monitor to make sure no alerts were going off and scrubbing off the grease in the maintenance passages. The later wasn't really necessary, but it kept the guys at the table from having to listen to the inane jokes that the previously mentioned worker was infamous for. "Yeah, second planet in the Aegis system, they just finished terraforming it." One of the men responded. "I thought that one was habitable to begin with." "Well yeah it was, but you know what a misfired salvo of five hundred gigaton nukes does to a planet." He said before finishing his drink. "Damn, did those guys actually look at what they were shooting at during the war or do they just push the button and hope they didn't hit something friendly?" One of them asked rhetorically. "Well look on the bright side. Those five or six alien races that were wiped out in the cross fire wont need their planets anymore." "True, true..." WONG: [wipes a tear from his eye] There's nothing like a good humor fic in the spirit of Douglas Adams. Our final contestant is Dark Dawns, by WeeMadAndo. He adroitly wiped out Earth, but I'm sure that Kaz would be able to find some problems in the method used. The first feeds were coming through. Showing the beautiful visage of earth marred by a massive black cloud, one rapidly expanding and spreading to hide the surface from prying eyes, and from the nurturing light of the sun. A dull light is visible from the epicentre of the cloud, no doubt massive fires burning from the heat of the impact. Castigator had worked perfectly, just as it had been predicted to work. As Admiral Bates looked down upon the image of the ravaged earth he was reminded of a quote used by a predecessor, chuckling to himself he mutters "I am become Shiva, destroyer of worlds." The cloud was nearly enveloping the entire globe now. Only a few areas at the poles seemed to remain uncovered. It was predicted that it would only take a few days of darkness to completely destroy the worlds ecosystem. He predicted it would take far less to completely destroy the minds of men. WONG: And the winner is... [He tears the envelope open with a troll tooth] Oh, what a surprise. Stravo. [STRAVO, struggling to push his already overloaded wheelbarrow up on stage, takes the trophy and heads back into the audience.] STRAVO: (O.S.) Excuse me. Oh, shit, watch it! [There is a very large CRASH, as if the wheelbarrow tipped over.] SCOOTER: (O.S.) Yes! My own trophy! Ha! Take that--oomph! DALTON: [shakes head] Some people never learn. Up next, the C-3PO "Let the Wookiee Win" Award for Most Unbiased Fanfic. The award will be presented by long-time ASVS neutral Spyda, who hates to reveal his real name. SPYDA: Shut up. DALTON: That’s not on the script. SPYDA: Everyone knows you’re ad-libbing this, for Allah’s sake! DALTON: ...the script... SPYDA: (grudgingly) Right. This time, the nominees are StarCrossed, by Stravo, again; Manifest Destiny, by Mark S.; Pirate’s Endeavour, by RayCav, De Imperatoribus Galacticis, by Marina O’Leary, and Imperial Phoenix, by MKSheppard. RAYCAV: (O.S.) Did I win? Did I win? SPYDA: Down, boy. [He takes out the award envelope.] And the winner is... RAYCAV: (O.S.) Is it me? Please, I hope it’s me... SPYDA: [Ignoring him] Stravo, again. [He throws a glance to the audience.] VOICE: (O.S.) Raynor, I know you’re in there. Didn’t I say you were grounded? RAYCAV: (O.S.) But, Mom... VOICE: (O.S.) No buts. Now get out here before I have to come in and drag you out! [STRAVO arrives on stage, trying even harder to push his wheelbarrow, which now has a flat tire. He finally gives up and tries to lasso the trophy, but only succeeds in snagging a chandelier. Seizing the opportunity, he swings across the stage and grabs the trophy, but as he forgot about his momentum, he winds up crashing through the opposite side and into the ladies’ dressing room. Moans and giggles come from it for the next few minutes. He eventually emerges, draped in undergarments, and walks up to the podium for his speech.] STRAVO: [Removes a pair of panties from his head] I am particularly thrilled about receiving this award because the goal of Starcrossed, apart from entertaining you wonderful people and making a lot of ships go boom, was to respect both universes because I am a child of both. I was there that summer waiting in the long lines for A New Hope, that all we old timers KNOW was actually just called Star Wars back then. And I remember spending my Saturday afternoons at 6pm watching Star Trek and the exploits of one James T. Kirk. I could never slander or demolish one at the expense of the other. I can tell a story that makes both shine and that was my purpose with this story. DALTON: And that would be Stravo, ladies’ man extraordinaire. Next up is the Han Solo "I know that laugh" award for Most Humorous Fanfic! Presented by the official ASVS humor connoisseur, Iceberg3K! ICEBERG3K: Well, although I’m not receiving anything this time, it is an honor to be presenting these awards. So, I’ll start by listing the contestants. First off is Third Ground Kings, by Spyda. This fanfic starts off like the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, but rapidly turns into a completely random spoof. [He pauses to take a deep breath.] ICEBERG3K: Second is Chuck Sonnenburg and Scott Gordee’s hit spoof, The Arr Chronicles. I’m pretty sure that this is what would result if Mel Brooks replaced Gene Roddenberry during the original Star Trek. [More cries of "Idiot" and "False" come from the audience area. We see that SCOOTER is leading SECURITY in circles around the AUDIENCE.] ICEBERG3K: Right. The next one is TK421, by WeeMadAndo. The amusing story of a hapless stormtrooper under the Emperor, this story was unfortunately (for us, anyway) never finished. [He checks the SCRIPT.] And the next entry is also by WeeMadAndo, this time aptly called A Crossover Too Far. This story is so random it almost makes Dexter’s Empire look well-planned by comparison, but that doesn’t detract from its humorous value. [SECURITY finally manages to catch SCOOTER again. He is thrown into a paddywagon immediately and driven off the premises. A last cry of "It’s right because I said so" echoes through the auditorium.] ICEBERG3K: And the last contestant for this award is the ultra-gory Welcome to Liberty City, by RayCav. On a scale of originality from 1 to 10, I think I’d give it a 3. It essentially follows the life of erstwhile Imperial commando LT.Hit-Man as he is mysteriously dumped into a 20th century Earth city. Unfortunately, he follows the plot of the game he based it on too closely, so I don’t think it got much in the way of high Mark S. [ICEBERG3K fumbles through the SCRIPT, and finally pulls out an envelope. He freezes the top with liquid nitrogen and shatters it, then extracts the letter.] ICEBERG3K: And the winner is... Graham Kennedy? [There is a quickly suffocated cry of "Yes!" from the back row of the audience.] ICEBERG3K: (looking at envelope) Damn, wrong one. I think this is it.... [He pulls out another one] Dear Maud... naah. [He finally pulls out an envelope so large that it makes you wonder how it even fit into his shirt, then extracts a microprinted letter.] And the winner really, really is... WeeMadAndo, with A Crossover Too Far! [ANDO, clutching a can of Fosters beer and wearing a gaudy hat covered in corks, swaggers (or perhaps staggers) up to the stage. He clumsily flips a switch on his hat, and suddenly a dozen corks fly off in different directions. Everyone ducks.] ANDO: Yesh, I’m a real happy to be here with y’all to-die. [He hiccups] I meaan, I want my awaard. [He takes a swig of beer.] In the name of the Austraailan peoples, I clam thish here trophy. [He hiccups again.] Yesh, that’s what I do. And you knowsh what, Baron? Yoush didn’t get nominateed! Ha! [Ando flips the Baron off before going for his trophy.] [ICEBERG3K quickly hands him the trophy. ANDO uncertainly wobbles off the stage in the direction of the nearest restroom.] JOHN: Coming up next, it's the 7 of 9 "You Think in Such Small Terms" Award for Most Original Character! Presenting this award is Aron Kerkhof, author of the critically-acclaimed story Past Imperfect! [Much applause] ARON: Thank you, thank you very much! Tonight I present the award for Most Original Character. Normally, fiction writers don't have to worry about original characters, but when you're dealing with already well-established universes you need to present a fresh take on things, or, in some cases, a fresh character. The nominees for this award are... ARON: Paradise Lost, by Chuck Sonnenburg! Sebastian approached quickly, striking at the Vong rapidly. There was no fury in his swings, just quick, deliberate attacks. The Vong was going backwards, Sebastian staying with him so that it was almost like a dance. He could only block, his human opponent not allowing him even a moment to consider an offensive strike. Every attempt to turn was anticipated so that he couldn't escape. It was as if he was being toyed with, but the expression remained as cold as ever. It seemed to radiate patience, inevitability. Sebastian's saber passed through the elbow joint of the armor, and with the same motion he knocked the Vong on his back with the Force. Sebastian stepped over his vanquished form, and as he raised his saber the Vong still saw no emotion in his face. "Abomination," he choked. That made Sebastian pause. "What did you say?" "You're an abomination," he repeated. "Worse than the woman." He coughed. "She is bonded to machines, but you... you are a machine. An imitation of life, but not really alive. Blasphemy to fall to one such as you." Time stretched out forever as the remark hung in the air. "Then you don't want me to kill you?" The Vong hadn't expected this, but considered. "Not like this." Sebastian stepped over and stabbed the slithering amphistaff. "On your feet," he said finally. "Just hope that I don't change my mind once I've seen my mother." "I hope you do," the Vong said, struggling to get up. "It means you might actually be more than just an automaton." ARON: StarCrossed, by Stravo! Q slowly looked up at Gary Mitchell. His eyes bore into the flat silver ones, Q could see himself in those silvery orbs. "You were human once, you hate to admit that I know, but don't you feel it?" "What do you want me to feel? James Kirk is going to know defeat and then he will know pain and then he will know death. But before that I will reveal myself to him and he will pray to me, he will pray to his god and beg for death and I shall not be a harsh cruel god, I shall be merciful." He said with a cold smile. "Aren't you the psychopathic one Gary but don't put on airs here amongst brethren. You don't have to pretend anymore with me, listen to your heart and tell me that it does not feel fear. That cold touch that makes your heart skip a beat, that cold uncertainty." Gary remained impassive. "Damnit Gary we are going to die! The universe is ending, it could end tomorrow or it could end in the middle of this sentence but it is going to end and there is nothing we can do to stop it. We are creatures of power and immortality, the universe trembles at our every word and now we are as dead as an insect underfoot." "And this means something to me, Q? I knew death intimately for a long time, I clung to a very slim strand of life under tons of unyielding stone until I finally gathered enough power to raise myself up from the grave that James Kirk would have for me. And he called himself my friend." Gary snorted. His eyes gazed down at the starship Enterprise alongside the large conical shaped piece. His eyes flashed back up to Q. ARON: Manifest Destiny, by Mark S The hooded grey snout regarded the trio for a second before answering. "I am called Gallus," he replied. His words seemed to hang in the air for a moment with the whirling dust and the pale light. "Darth Gallus." Again the veiled eyes shone eerily, catching each men in their light one at a time. ARON: Warhammer 40k vs Star Trek, by 2000AD. [Scratches head] Hmm... I wonder how this one got in here, since it’s so short that there wasn’t really any character development... Oh well. Next one is "War Diary of a Crewer," by Ryan Crierie: July 1st, 2370: Today I arrived at Kuat, as per my orders. The entire planet is devoted to one thing, and one thing only, the Drive Yards. The entire planet's economy revolves around it. As KDY goes, so does Kuat the planet. My shuttle took the long route around The Yard, as everyone speaks of it here. Talking to one of the shuttle pilots, I learned that his family has worked for KDY for the last thirty generations. There is a big buzz in the Navy. Rumor has it some thing BIG is opening up, and that the Navy will be expanded even further than it was under the first Five Year Plan under Palpie. I know I'm not supposed to even HAVE a diary in the first place, thanks to all these asinine new regulations, but I have this...well...feeling that whatever's happening here is gonna be big. ARON: And the winner is... oh my! The winner is Chuck Sonnenburg, for Paradise Lost! Chuck? ...Chuck? DALTON: Where the fuck did he go? John? JOHN: Not a clue here, boss. DALTON: Well, I guess I'd better accept for him-- [He is cut off again by CHUCK, who is running from the ENTRANCE.] CHUCK: Wait, wait! I'm back, I'm here! DALTON: Where the fuck did you go? CHUCK: Sorry, my dealer called. DALTON: Your...dealer?! What the fuck? CHUCK: Don't worry about it, I'll explain later. Now, I believe I have an award to accept? DALTON: Go right ahead... CHUCK: Thank you. I'd like to thank everybody who continues to support Paradise Lost. From the beginning this project seemed a risk, because this new story was going to be focused primarily on an unknown character: Sebastian. Even though he'd have the support of classic characters from both universes, he was going to have to hold things together. I'm glad you seem to think he's doing his job. Thanks for sticking with Paradise Lost. [Much applause. STRAVO looks slightly disappointed, but game as always.] CHUCK: Thank you, thank you! And now-- JOHN: Wait, what about me? I'm not just chopped meat here, ya know. CHUCK: You are now, kiddo. I'm back, so you can go sit back down. DALTON: That's enough, guys. We three can do this together-- JOHN: Fuck that, this is my time! CHUCK: Damn it! [Pokes JOHN in the FUCKING EYE] [JOHN retaliates with a SLAP to the back of the FUCKING HEAD, forcing CHUCK'S HEAD downwards into a waiting BANANA CUSTARD CREAM PIE. DALTON attemptes to break up the fight, but a poorly-aimed COCONUT CREAM PIE hits him in the FUCKING FACE. DALTON goes for the double-eye-poke on JOHN, but CHUCK rises up and DALTON'S FINGERS go up CHUCK'S FUCKING NOSE.] [Massive laughter and applause. ROB WILSON fires three darts, hitting the three hosts in their FUCKING NECKS. They fall to the ground unconscious.] ROB WILSON: We'll be right back after a word from our sponsors. [CROSSFADE TO: Commercial] [A MOTHERFUCKING CHARGING ELEPHANT comes straight at the CAMERA, but falls suddenly with a dart in his FUCKING NECK.] VO: Wilson's Brand Elephant Tranquilizer...for when they just won't SHUT THE FUCK UP. Available at your local supermarket, gun shop, and/or local black market. Special this week! Buy a dozen darts and get a free scope for the rifle of your choice! [CROSSFADE TO: Stage] PHONG NGUYEN: Hello, my name is Phong Nguyen...as the other three are currently blissfully asleep in the corner covered by pie, I'll be taking over hosting duties for the rest of the ceremony...I assume. Before we go anywhere though, let's check in on Scooter and see how he's doing! [CUT TO: Wide-open Field] HIT-MAN: Well, Phong, it looks like Scooter's getting his ass kicked left and right out here... SCOOTER: I AM NOT! This Rabid Warsie Fuckwit just WON'T GIVE UP in the face of my superior logic! OSSUS: You're so totally full of shit, kid. SCOOTER: SEE?! Can't even debate without insulting me! OSSUS: It's a swordfight, you cock! SCOOTER: Ad hominmismim! Hah! [he LUNGES with a loaf of FRENCH BREAD] OSSUS: Man, can't you think of anything original? [He is boffed by the FRENCH BREAD] Jesus. [OSSUS slices off SCOOTER'S FUCKING ARM with a huge FUCKING KATANA.] SCOOTER: I'M INVINCIBLE! OSSUS: You're a looney!! [CUT TO: Stage] PHONG: That's fucking hilarious! We'll see more of that later on, I guess. Anyway! Next up is the Reginald Barclay "Strict Dress Code" Award for Most Original Story, presented by Zaia, from StarDestroyer.net! [Massive applause, especially from the MALES in the audience, including WHOOPS, HOLLERS and other SEXUALLY OFFENSIVE noises. There is a SUDDEN COLLECTIVE GROAN as a spring-loaded boot in the seats in front of them KICK THEM IN THE MEAN BEAN MACHINE. Zaia smiles sweetly.] ZAIA: Well...good evening all. I hope you are enjoying the evening so far? [MUMBLES and GROANS.] ZAIA: Good. Tonight I present the award for most original story. What makes a story original? Well, original characters, original plotline, original theme...it's a very general definition. The nominees are... Manifest Destiny, by Mark S! Presenting a rather imperialized view of the New Republic, where the universe of Star Trek is merely territory to expand into; Paradise Lost, by Chuck Sonnenburg! The continuation of an epic trilogy of trilogies by ASVS's master of fiction, where our heroes face a Vong invasion; StarCrossed, by Stravo! Where the factions are pawns and where the final battle can mean the end of the universe; And Third Ground Kings, by Spyderizer! A humorous story about the lives of several diverging groups of characters after their ship is destroyed by a prank. ZAIA: And the winner of Most Original Story is...StarCrossed, by Stravo! [STRAVO is still recovering from BEING KICKED IN THE NADS. He struggles to the stage, heaves the award, and places it into the WHEELBARROW before falling down unconscious.] PHONG: Well, that was certainly...interesting. Moving right along, before any of you can wake up to complain, we have the Boba Fett "No Disintegrations" Award for Most Spectacular Death, presented by everyone's favorite tinpot dictator, Pablo Sanchez! [Crickets. Pablo walks out in a GAUDY, RIDICULOUS UNIFORM with LOTS OF USELESS MEDALS on it.] PABLO: Thank you, thank you! Thanks everyone, yes I know I'm great...no autographs, please! [Silence. The occasional GROAN and SOB.] VOICE: MY BALLS HURT! PABLO: Thank you! My balls hurt too! Tonight I present the award for Most Spectacular Death! Who died the best? The brightest? The fastest? Most Hollywoodish? Let's find out! The nominees are... ANNOUNCER: Third Ground Kings, by Spyderizer... or Spyder, or Spyda... filthy spiders... AAAH! NOT A FUCKING HAIRY BLACK WIDOW! AAAH! [ANNOUNCER runs off, SCREAMING] [PABLO rolls eyes] PABLO: Next... Suddenly a back panel on the Firespray opened up and a small metallic device drifted away. The fighters swerved to avoid it. As they cleared the object it quietly exploded into a small blue cloud. "Well that was unimpressive." Dalton said. Suddenly a wall of energy leapt of from the cloud and the fighters were caught in the blast. The shockwave tore the fighters apart leaving nothing but debris. "Maybe it was the other one." Strowbridge said. "Let's get out of here before they call in reinforcements." "Yeah, we might just do that." Wilson said as he pulled the switch. The Fire-Spray's engines revved up to full power then, with a flash, the small craft jetted off into the unknown. ANNOUNCER 2: The Division, by Ryan Crierie A few minutes later, Falk and Shep were standing in the hallway, pointing their rifles upstairs warily while the rest of the platoon moved into the lower floor. One of the new recruits, a Timothy Jones, if Shep remembered correctly, ran past them and up the stairs yelling at the top of his lungs, disregarding Sheppard and Falkenhorst's warnings not to go up there yet, as it was still 'hot'. A few moments later, the whine of disruptor fire echoed off the walls, followed by a short scream that was cut off abruptly. "FNG," muttered Falk, shaking his head sadly. ANNOUNCER 2: Past Imperfect, by Aron Kerkhof "But, this isn't Imperial space... we were just--" Another Stormtrooper advanced on Chewbacca, with a little box in his hand. Han knew it was a bioscanner, that could cross reference Chewie's records back on Imperial City, and then the gig would be up. Chewie knew it too. "NO!" Han started to yell as he started to go for his blaster. Han was quick, but the trooper behind him saw it coming, and was already on his way to connect Han's head with his rifle butt. The blow brought him to his knees. His hand went limp and his trusty blaster pistol clattered away. Chewbacca had already thrown the nearest trooper 15 feet in a random direction. The trooper hadn't even hit ground before the one with the bioscanner had it knocked from his hands. Two huge Wookie paws lifted him bodily in the air. All in all, a good effort. But with Han down, he didn't have a chance. A blaster bolt hit Chewbacca in the back, freezing him in place. Then another. He dropped the trooper he held over his head, and slowly turned. A final bolt burned into his chest, sending the big Wookie down. Han knew he had let Chewie down for the last time. "Chewie..." Han moaned in pain. ANNOUNCER 2: Paradise Lost, by Chuck Sonnenburg His left hand reached to his belt and he pulled off a second weapon, this time sliding it over his hand so that it was a part of it. As the Vong advanced he activated it, producing another short but unmistakable lightsaber blade. He brought it up to block the attack on his left while the chained blade in his right hand came up, tearing through an exposed point in the second Vong's armor, deactivating it at the apex. It wrapped for a second over his shoulder as he reversed direction and struck the third Vong in the neck. The attacks were so swift that the first Vong was already working on the counter-swing from his strike blocked by the short saber. He ducked under the swing and pushed the blade straight up under the Vong's jaw even as he brought the chain around again to cut through the leg of the second Vong.. The last Vong warrior, spotting an opening, swung down with his staff sharpened to a razor point that would cut the man who was not Sebastian in two. He brought his weapons up, but the Vong was just out of his striking range. Instead the chained weapon retracted into a single piece as he brought it up and igniting it, catching the end of the ampistaff between the two crossed blades. The three seconds they struggled in that position was the longest break the battle had seen, but even after everything that had astounded him, Garak watched the next event with horror. The head of the ampistaff was right in front of the young man's face, and he was staring at it with a visible rage. In its current form it was too hard to be cut even with a lightsaber. Then, regardless of the will at the other end of the staff, it softened. He stood as his blades chopped the staff in half, then rammed both points into opposite sides of the last Vong's neck. The blades immediately deactivated and he turned and reached for the one-armed, one-legged Vong, who suddenly gave off a horrible choking sound. Seconds later it collapsed, unmoving. ANNOUNCER 2: StarCrossed, by Stravo "I would prefer death to living under your tyranny." the Klingon replied evenly. "What did you say?" Nemesis asked softly and stopped in his tracks. "Death before surrender. I will not join you to avoid death." Nemesis blinked. Suddenly he was holding on to the gantry on Bespin, the wind howling in his ears. "Join me... there is no other way." He looked down at the yawning abyss below him, torn by the lies that were revealed and by his utter helplessness before the black armored giant that had been the same man that he worshipped growing up. He could not see any other way than flinging himself to the abyss. Death. It chilled his heart and he looked to the man that was his father, holding out a hand. (How long had he wanted to touch his father, to know that he was loved?) He decided that death was not an option, why die to protect those that had lied to him from the beginning. (Because you were afraid) This Klingon was doing what he could not. It enraged him. The fury exploded out of him like a storm and he roared in anger (and pain) and the Klingon took a step back in fear and surprise as the Dark Side vomited out of Nemesis, tearing the Klingon apart until there was nothing left but gristle and gore. PABLO: And the man who wrote the most spectacular death is...Stravo, for StarCrossed! [Scattered applause. STRAVO stumbles up again and collects the award for the UMPTEENTH TIME. The author can't think of anything else to say here.] PHONG: Well folks, we're almost done here...only two more awards to go! Since the guys are-- [Three men are STIRRING the corner. They GROAN.] DALTON: Whaaa...? CHUCK: What the fuck... JOHN: Get your elbow outta my eye! CHUCK: Then get your leg outta my crotch! DALTON: What the hell happened here? Why am I covered in cream? [EINHANDER SN0M4N giggles.] DALTON: ...oh god. CHUCK: Let's not dwell on that. Come on. What're we doing? What's the deal...oh yeah, it's time for the Emperor Palpatine's Highest Honor for Overall Best Fanfic. Well, here we go! It's time... DALTON: For the one award. The best of the best... JOHN: And tonight we have three powerhouses of fanfic facing off against two complete newcomers. Who'll win? PHONG: Let's find out...and the nominees are!! [DRUMROLL] PHONG: Paradise Lost, the continuation of the Unity Saga, by Chuck Sonnenburg! CHUCK: StarCrossed, a newcomer fic that shot up like a bat out of hell, by Stravo! DALTON: De Imperatoribus Galacticis, a staple of long, complicated fiction by Marina O'Leary! JOHN: Manifest Destiny, another newcomer and just as popular as many other stories, by Mark S from StarDestroyer.net! PHONG: And finally...Imperial Phoenix, the benchmark story by which many are judged, by Ryan Crierie! DALTON: And the winner is.... CHUCK: StarCrossed, by Stravo!! [SPOTLIGHTS suddenly hit STRAVO full. He bounds up off the floor, pain forgotten, and runs up to the podium. He has a HUGE FUCKING SMILE on his face.] STRAVO: Ok, I won’t do the "you like me, you REALLY like me" bit because half of you will pelt me with rotten vegetables and the other half are too young to get the joke. But I will say this. StarCrossed owes its existence to two men. One is Graham Kennedy. Don’t look at me like that, that’s right, Graham Kennedy is one half of the pair that knocked me up and gave birth to this tale. Porthole you see is the antithesis of StarCrossed. Porthole is the standard to which I hold myself constantly not to sink to. It is the fic that inspired me to right something fair and balanced. The other man is Michael Wong. Conquest was the first fanfic I ever read and it opened up my mind to the possibility that this could be done well without making it sound retarded or fanboyish. So StarCrossed is the direct progeny of these two tales. And to them I owe this award as much as my own talent because they helped me believe that it could be done. STRAVO: (takes a breath) Also I cannot leave the podium without thanking my fans, who seem to be legion AND rabid, a VERY dangerous combination. Honorable mention goes out to three in particular: Mr. Bean of SD.Net who became my first true fan and urged me on with words of praise and kindness as well as sharing his font of EU knowledge in making this tale blossom. Kazuaki Shimazaki of ASVS for WONDERFUL analysis and breakdowns of the story by paragraphs. Nothing makes an author’s heart beat fondly as much as a reader who dissects his work in such a manner and enjoys it at the same time while offering very valid criticisms that helped keep the tale on point and balanced; despite Kaz’s distinctly Warsie slant he proved invaluable and so thanks friend for being there since Chapter 1. Finally, Master of Ossus, words are not enough to express my gratitude to this fine gentlemen that was always supportive yet firm with his advice, one of the first which has served me so well, SLOW DOWN. Take your time and write what you feel and don’t put yourself on a time table, for that and so much more thank you Ossus. Now, where are the beer and bitches??? DALTON: Congratulations, Stravo! No beer or bitches quite yet, I'm afraid. We still have some unfinished business, if you'll recall. If you'll step up here...and Chuck, you over here. CHUCK: What's this about? PHONG: Tell me you forgot about the duel... CHUCK: Well...it's been so long, and we've been waiting a while for this ceremony, ROB. DALTON: Bite me! This thing is already 26 fucking pages and it's not done yet. Sheez. JOHN: In case you're wondering, Chuck and Stravo had a little fanfic contest as a promotional stunt for the GSDA. Chuck's "Just One Man" went up against Stravo's "Concordance of the Heavens", both original stories. There is no particular award for this story. Please remember that it was just for fun! DALTON: And the winner of the fanfic contest, ladies and gentlemen, is...Chuck Sonnenburg! [Much applause. CHUCK and STRAVO shake hands warmly.] DURANDAL (O.S.): FUCK YOU ALL!! AAAAGH!!!!!! DALTON: Wilson, sedate him. [PHOOT!] CHUCK [sotto voce to STRAVO]: Good work, kid! You're taking home fifteen awards tonight...a new record! STRAVO [in reply]: Thank you, thanks so much. DALTON: Enough of that mushy crap, you two. We still have one last thing to take care of. CHUCK: Oh yeah... about earlier... DALTON: What? CHUCK: You might want to get Hit-Man and the crew as far from Scooter as you can... DALTON, PHONG, JOHN, STRAVO: ...I've got a bad feeling about this. [CUT TO: Field] OSSUS: Give it up, Scooter...you lost! SCOOTER [With no arms, no legs and no hope]: Never! I'm invincible! You yellow... bastard... [There is a RUMBLE. DUST appears on the horizon.] HIT-MAN: Ossus... Smi... get the FUCK out of here! SMI: Oh bloody hell... OSSUS: RUN AWAY! RUN AWAY!!! SCOOTER: That's right! Run from the truth! You COWARRRRRRRDS!!!! SHIIIIIIIIIT!!!!!!!! WEEMADANDO: SMOKE ME A KIPPER, I'LL BE BACK FOR BREAKFAST! [ANDO hurtles himself towards SCOOTER.] WEEMADANDO: IN THE NAME OF THE FAQ! [MASSIVE EXPLOSION. SCOOTER appears unharmed, while ANDO rockets into the STRATOSPHERE.] WEEMADANDO: Damn cheap Crazy Ivan bombs... SCOOTER: You'll never defeat me. And that's a fact. [Another RUMBLE. Even more dust. SCREECHES AND HOOTS soon become apparent.] WONG [smiling evilly]: Game over! [SCOOTER is suddenly consumed by A STAMPEDING HORDE OF RABID MONKEYS who TEAR HIM INTO BLOODY SHREDS AND GIBLETS.] VERILON: That's all, folks! Da-da-da dah dah dah! Donk... THE THIRD ANNUAL GOLDEN STARDESTROYER FANFIC AWARDS Written by ROB DALTON Assistant Writers JOHN HANSEN MARK RUSBRIDGE CHUCK SONNENBURG Original Concept ROBBIE RHOADES G.A. REID Special Thanks COLIN "YOSEMITE BEAR" WITZ GEORGE LUCAS GENE RODDENBERRY AND ALL OUR FANFIC AUTHORS, READERS AND OTHER ASSOCIATED BEINGS The GSDA Fanfic Awards have been brought to you by... WILSON'S ELEPHANT TRANQUILIZER CHUCK'S COUNTING SERVICE THE BARON LOWE SHEEP EMPORIUM SCOOTER'S FUCKED-UP DELUSIONS AND THE ALT.STARTREK.VS.STARWARS FANFIC ARCHIVE KEEP WRITING, FOLKS! REMEMBER, EVEN IF YOU DIDN'T MAKE IT THIS YEAR, YOU MIGHT MAKE IT NEXT YEAR! DON'T GIVE IT UP! Dedicated to the crew of the Columbia, seven among few who ventured out into that place known as Space, the Final Frontier...