With the lonely Guardian of Forever, a little goes a long way.
Let’s say you may have caused a minor temporal infraction and rather than suffer a red flag reprimand in your all-too-important personnel file, you need help. Well this secret is right up your time stream. In fact, sympathetic researchers of the Guardian of Forever have been trying to upgrade these whispers to a rumor for a while now but to no avail. You’ve heard recordings. It talks so strangely nobody wants to be around it in any timeline. So, what is the secret? The secret, my dear friends, is a kiss. Wait! Not just any kiss. A causality loop kiss. In fact, loop kisses are so coveted by the lonely time portal that it’s willing to risk a few solitary decades in quarantine for what it can easily turn into a ridiculously long smooch. And all you’ll remember is a quick peck on the granite. It’s too bashful for anything else. It doesn’t want to risk anything that only a difficult-to-implement predestination paradox can fix. But this is only a solution of last resort. Don’t think you can go indiscriminately stomping through time anytime you like, because if the infraction is severe enough this meanie will find a way to erase your brief existence. So, if you suspect you may have caused a few ripples the last time a time portal caught you snooping around in the past, swing by the Guardian’s distant and doomed planet. Say the code words to this super-immortal cyborg AI and it will set things straight faster than you can pucker up. What’s the code word? Snow White. With these two little words, your records will remain pristine for all your future generations, living on this world and the next.
You can dance a Changeling right into the bucket.
Why? Because for some reason dancing is as intoxicating to Changelings as Romulan ale is to the rest of us. And don’t think they’re all xenophobic and are communing in some gelatinous state somewhere. It appears the Great Link has sprung a leak. Some of them, not only, spy on us but wander incognito among the non-jelly populations as well. So if you even suspect that someone may be one of those liquid freaks, start shaking your booty, dance a jig, cut a rug or any other dancing metaphor you can think of. And once you seal that piece of slop in a bucket with an industrial strength lid, beam it down to some gods-forsaken Berthold-irradiated planet where it will take eons to sober up. Think of it as a public service solids everywhere will thank you for.
Let your holographic clone take the risks, so you don’t have to.
Former protégé of Dr. Lewis Zimmerman, Dr. Peter Singh, will develop your very own personal holographic clone, complete with an easily-concealable mobile emitter and neural interface so you can see what your other you is doing at all times. That’s right! Let your photonic copy take on all the risks so you don’t have to. For instance, you may have a particular aversion to conversing with moronic Starfleet personnel (Broccoli), or state visits with “friendly” Klingons, or dinner with frisky Betazoids. So, visit Dr. Singh soon before this tech-made miracle is expunged forever to red-tape purgatory. You may have a difficult time finding him though. He’s somewhere in the Borderland where reputable transports won’t go. But if you’re desperate enough, you’ll find some disreputable scoundrels to take you there. Just have enough gold pressed latinum to pave the entire yellow grid road of your journey.
There are male versions of the Orion green slave women.
Yes, there’s a pheromone-prolific male version of the green slave women, but contain your excitement. This version was genetically engineered by scientists of the Orion Syndicate in conjunction with the Ferengi Alliance to specifically seduce “uppity” females (or close enough) in Starfleet uniform and other high Earth officials. According to recently declassified space documents, a number of captains were compromised by these amorous supermen, but the accounts were deleted from starship logs for political reasons (alas, no visual records). So, if you are female and hold a fairly important position in any echelon of Starfleet or Earth’s society, travel with at least one male Vulcan science officer to keep your libido as frosty as Captain Kathryn Janeway’s. Unless, of course, you simply don’t want to.
If Cardassians wear this underwear, they’ll die.
It has to be underwear made of silk disguised as cotton. Many Cardassians are vain. Appealing to this vanity, tell them that this kind of underwear is really popular with females in the Alpha Quadrant. After putting it on, even in the midst of putting back on his uniform (we’ll leave that one alone), he’ll start to suffocate which will incapacitate him, then you can make your escape. You have been captured, right? That’s really the only justifiable reason to potentially cause the fatality of a Cardassian, unless, of course, you’re a Bajoran.
Botany Bay crew blood is available to almost anyone.
This is a secret so secret, we shouldn’t even know it. If you happen to have extremely deep pockets, a vial of BBB (Botany Bay Blood) would be great to take along with you in case you contract one of those nasty alien diseases that the ship’s doctor or Long-term Medical Holographic program (L.M.H.) can’t cure. But if you’re being transformed into a god, you may not want to use it. If the disease’s progress or transformation is instantaneous, then you’re S.O.L. Tell the ship’s doctor just in case anything happens to you? Then he’ll, most definitely, take it from you, stupid. Trust me, instantaneous equals S.O.L. I don’t know where to acquire it. Ask around in high and lofty places.
A Tribble doused in Saurian brandy is hazardous to Ferengi.
Everyone should have a couple of these, but they’re not available on Earth. Be sure to run into a couple of merchant traders on your trip to acquire them and the Saurian brandy, but make sure they’re sterilized! Only reputable traders will have sterilized Tribbles in his inventory anyway. So, if some greedy bastard Ferengi take over the ship, you’ll be more than adequately prepared.
Vulcan ears are also extremely sensitive erogenous zones.
This is for when you run into one of those vampirish V’tosh ka’tur bastards who try to slurp all your emotional good times out of you through a mind meld. Which reminds me, never mind meld unless it’s to save your life. (That’s gotta be a module somewhere.) “How am I going to get close enough to stroke his ears?” you ask. Dummy, if you’re close enough for a mind meld, you’re close enough. When you finally realize what’s going on, next session, spring into action and turn that soul-sucking bastard into a quivering, whimpering mess.