Fic: Everything Was Beautiful; Nothing Hurt, Chapter 6
Title: Everything Was Beautiful; Nothing Hurt... or Even More Kin and Even Less Kind
Chapter Title: Chapter 6: If You've Forgotten, This is Science Fiction
Author: katiemariie
Artist: tprillahfiction
Fanmixer: civilbloodshed
Beta(s): subluxate and avsioss
Link to Art: Art
Link to Mix: Fanmix
Word Count: 7k
Over the past month, Charlie had acclimated to life on the colony much better than McCoy had expected. Besides a few temper tantrums (which, by the way, did not result in anyone dying or being turned into a lizard), Charlie was behaving like he grew up surrounded by other people. And, according to him, he did. Like McCoy and Sybok, Charlie had two sets of memories and a hard time telling the difference between the two, even though he was the one who put them there. He was still largely silent regarding how that actually happened. Whenever he was asked, Charlie would either become very upset or claim that he didn’t know how he did it; he just wanted a family and then suddenly he had one. The same as with anything else he wanted.
To commemorate a month without any major abuse of Charlie’s powers, Sybok decided they should camp out at the beach and he would teach Charlie to surf. The second part of the plan was put on hold once they realized Charlie couldn't swim.
“I don’t see why we can’t do this in town,” McCoy grumbled, swinging his backpack over his shoulder.
“I thought you liked camping,” Sybok said.
“I do. I just don’t think it’s safe to teach Charlie to swim in the ocean.”
“He’s not going to get swept away.”
“He could get dragged underwater, get caught in seaweed.”
“And if he does he can get himself free, or I can float him over to the shore. He’ll be fine.”
“Wouldn’t it just be easier to do this in the public pool?”
“Len.” Sybok looked up from the food he was stuffing into a picnic basket. “Vulcans don’t do swimming pools.”
“You’re telling me Vulcans never use swimming pools? Never?”
“Never. That’s why we don’t compete in the swimming events in the Summer Olympics. It’s standing water. Unhygienic. Like swimming in a toilet bowl.”
“They treat the water.”
“Great. Let’s have Charlie dive head first into a big pit filled with noxious chemicals.”
“You’re really bothered by this.”
“Yes. It’s illogical.”
“Over two millennia of Surakian tradition and that’s what you take away.”
“You guys ready?” Charlie asked, poking his head in the front door.
“Yeah,” McCoy responded. “We're just working through some of your father’s cultural neuroses.”
“Hey,” Sybok said, floating the picnic basket ahead of him as he walked toward the door. “You people are the minority here. It’s your cultural neuroses now.”
-
“Captain Thomas Lester,” the Human said, holding out his right hand. “Garbologist.”
“Elder Spock,” he said, raising an eyebrow at the name. “Vulcan.”
Lester withdrew his hand. “Right.” He glanced around the workshop. “I was told you were the man to see for a souped up warp core.”
“Perhaps. If I was that man, I assure you I would only render my services to people I trust with that technology.”
“I'm very trustworthy. I can give you references.”
“I see. For what were you awarded the IDIC?” He tapped the button on Lester's lapel with a screwdriver.
“It was a gift.”
“Of course. I cannot in good faith grant hyperwarp technology to a pirate.”
“Garbologist,” Lester corrected.
“Garbologist,” Elder Spock conceded. “While you are no doubt a principled businessman,” he said, tongue firmly in cheek, “I cannot say the same for your customers. I have no guarantee that you will not market my modifications to those who would use them unscrupulously.”
“You misunderstand me-I don't want to sell your modifications; I want to use them.”
“Pardon me if I do not trust your assertion.”
“Come on, that's illogical,” Lester said, straightening the IDIC on his chest. “If I sold the patent for your modifications, then everyone would have one.”
“And you would be unable to outmaneuver the authorities.”
“Exactly.”
“The patent could make you incredibly wealthy.”
“There is no greater wealth than freedom.”
“What do you have to offer me in exchange?”
“Right now, I don't have much in working order, but how about I let your science teams take a look at my stock and pull whatever they want?”
“Hardly a fair trade.”
“You haven't seen my stock.”
-
As fitting her station, T'Pring was given the first go around in Lester's cargo bay. There was not much there, except the stench of rotting garbage.
“Biofuel,” Lester explained. “What's your fancy?”
“Hmm?”
“What are you interested in?”
“Defense screens, engineering,” and, as an afterthought, “cybernetics.”
“Ah!” Lester headed down a tunnel formed through two massive piles of garbage. “Have I got just the thing for you!” he called. “I call him Pinocchio.” Lester came back, lugging a large trunk behind him. “He doesn't turn on as of yet, but I'm sure you can figure something out.” He opened the lid of the trunk, revealing a jaundiced looking Human figure nestled inside. It looked almost childlike. “I'm no cyberneticist, but I dabble enough to know that this is no normal android. From my scans, it looks like he may have a positronic brain.”
“A positronic brain?” Such a thing had never been done.
“Yeah. It's completely fried of course, but it's there.”
“How did you procure this android?”
Lester scratched the back of his neck. “I found him circling the black hole that Nero created. I figure he might have come through. Maybe even from the future.”
Sold.
-
“I feel like I'm on a field trip,” Carol said, climbing up into the cargo bay of Lester's ship.
“We are not in a field,” Spock said, following behind her.
“Don't be cute.”
Lester stepped out from behind a giant heap of rubbish. “Hello. Welcome to the SS Intruder.”
Carol pinched her nose close with her fingers. “It smells like Staten Island.”
“Just the natural process of decomposition.”
“How are you handling this?” Carol asked Spock. “Your sense of smell is twice as strong as mine.”
“I am able to suppress my olfactory sense.”
“Lucky you.” Carol smacked Lester on the shoulder. “Can we hurry this up?”
“Sure, sure,” Lester said. “I've got something I think you'll enjoy.” He led them through a seemingly endless garbage dump to the aft bulkhead of the cargo bay, where a tall bit of rock covered with runes stood. “Mined this out of a cave on Camus II.”
“What is its function?” Spock asked.
“The runes depict something called a 'life-energy transfer.' Apparently a ritual custom amongst the Camusians.”
“Fascinating. Can it be moved?”
“Yeah.”
“So,” Carol said. “That's it? We're taking the first thing we see?”
“If you see anything with more potential, do inform me,” Spock said.
Carol's eyes scanned the mounds of refuse stacked up higher than her head. “Fine.”
-
“It's so life-like,” Uhura marveled, carding her hand through the android's hair.
“I thought you would find him pleasing,” T'Pring said.
“Him?”
“He is anatomically correct.”
“Oh.” Uhura pulled her hand away. “Is he...” she searched for the word, “...fully functional?”
“Currently, he is not functioning in any capacity, but his phallus has erectile capabilities. Although, I do not think he was designed solely for sexual gratification.”
“Yes, I doubt anyone would bother placing such an advanced brain in a walking marital aid.”
“That begs the question: for what was he designed?”
Uhura pulled on the android's jumpsuit. “Is this what Lester found him wearing?”
T'Pring nodded. “Captain Lester attempted to make me pay for it.”
“Maybe there's a tag.” Uhura flipped the android onto his stomach, and pulled down the back of his collar, craning her neck to read the writing printed on it. “'Tactical. Masculine style. Large. Starfleet issue 2360.'” She cursed in Swahili.
“This might be an extended propulsion, but, if he was in Starfleet in the 24th century, perhaps Elder Spock knew him, or at least knew of him. He is a rather exceptional specimen; there would have been great scientific inquiry into his physiology.”
“He said something, right after he tried to kill me.” A low growl emanated from T'Pring's chest. “Something about vivisection of cybernetic beings a hundred years from now. The Federation wanted to make an army of slaves.”
“Perhaps that is the android's reason for being. He was designed to be a soldier.”
“Does he have any weapon systems?”
“No. Nothing besides his own brute strength.” T’Pring blinked slowly. “As deplorable an option it may be, I believe our best source of information is Elder Spock.”
“I’ll comm him over.”
“Send for Dr. Chapel, as well. Her knowledge of your cybernetic implants may prove useful.”
-
“What do you think Lester meant by ‘life-energy transfer’?” Carol asked, stepping onto base of the Camusian artifact to get a closer look at the runes.
“I am not certain.” Spock picked up a digital magnifying glass form the lab table, and handed it to Carol.
“Thanks.”
Spock nodded. “My best conjecture is that the machine is a type of anti-aging apparatus, transferring the youth and vitality of one person into the body of another.”
“That could explain why the Camusians died off. They cannibalized their young until there weren’t enough people to sustain the population.”
“I had considered that scenario myself. There could be an element of addiction as well. Once the Camusians felt the intoxicating effects of the life-energy transfer they must have wanted to experience it repeatedly.”
“Wait,” Carol said, turning around to face Spock, “you knew this thing could have potentially destroyed an entire planet’s population, and you still brought it down here?”
“That is precisely I selected this artifact. It is better that it resides in responsible hands than in those of one of Captain Lester’s unscrupulous customers.”
Carol smirked. “For a Vulcan, you sure are an optimist.”
“Half-Vulcan,” Spock corrected, which was strange because Carol had not once heard Spock-this one, at least-refer himself that way. It was always, “I am Vulcan,” or “my Human heritage...”
“I don’t think any of us are half as responsible as you think we are. You say the life-energy transfer could be like a drug. Well, your brother is willing to pack his bong with whatever he finds. He’d smoke fiber glass if I gave it to him. And the other you is an alcoholic. Which means you probably have the propensity to be one, too.”
Spock scowled minutely at the comparison. He seemed to think of having a future version of himself hanging around was a burden rather than a cosmological miracle. “That is why we must learn how the artifact functions so that we may disable it permanently.”
“Or we could just blast out of existence with a phaser.”
“And risk the machine reflecting back the antimatter or detonating. I think not.”
“Whatever you say. You’re the boss. I don’t why you are, but you’re the boss.” Carol turned back to the Camusian artifact, turning on the digital magnifying glass.
“Be careful with that instrument; it is Maltz’s only prototype.”
“I know.” She flicked the magnifying to its highest setting. The runes began to glow and almost hum. She tried to step off of the machine, but it was like some force was keeping her there. Great. And there Spock was, rushing to her side without a plan--clearly, he’d spent too much time with Kirk. And then Spock wasn’t moving anymore, just stuck there like she was. And then...
She was looking at herself. She was looking at herself. She must have been having one of those out of body experiences people in comas have. Except Carol wasn’t so much floating above herself, as she was looking down at herself. Down and to the left. Where Spock was standing. No. She lifted a hand to her face. No. Those were much to big to be hers. And the nails were too well taken care of. No. She wasn’t having an out of body experience; she was having an in Spock experience.
-
Elder Spock stopped just short of the threshold of T’Pring and Uhura’s living room, gaping at the android on the floor.
“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” Chapel said, walking around him.
Frankly, Elder Spock often looked he’d just seen a ghost. That’s the expression a person tended to take on when hanging around younger versions of all their dead friends and relatives.
“Do you know this android?” T’Pring asked.
“Yes,” Elder Spock said. “But he should not exist in this time. His inventor has yet to be born.”
“Captain Lester believes he come through the Ah’rak black hole.”
“Alone? Without a vessel?”
“Yes. He has an anti-spaghettification compensator.”
“Fascinating.”
“Does he have a name?” Uhura asked from the couch.
“Data. His name was Data.” Elder Spock thought for a moment. “Although it is possible... His inventor, Dr. Noonian Soong, made two other androids identical in appearance to Data. Although their temperaments and processing capabilities were quite different. Judging by his uniform, I would say this is Data.” He paused. “Although his brother Lore had once impersonated him... That matter could quite easily be settled by ascertaining whether the android has the capacity for emotion... Of course, Data acquired an emotion chip later in life. His aging programming merely could have been reset in the black hole.” Elder Spock looked like he was done, but started up again. “He could very well be Data’s other brother B-4 wearing Data’s uniform. There’s also the possibility-”
Chapel cut in. “Does it really matter which android he is?”
“Yes. Lore was a genocidal malcontent, and B-4 was an unwitting spy for the Romulan praetor.”
“I thought our family was messed up,” Chapel muttered.
“Is there any way to determine which android this is?” T’Pring asked.
“Yes. There are certain positronic pathways that are unique to Data. They enable his capacity to learn.”
“Would you be able to identify them?”
“Yes. The man with whom I designed my ship was a close friend of Data’s. He allowed me to study Data’s schematics after his destruction. I believe Mr. La Forge hoped I would be able to help him reconstruct his lost friend.”
“I don’t know how recognizable his brain will be,” Chapel said. “Even though it’s positronic, his brain was still warped by the singularity. Take a look.” Chapel attached an electrode to the android’s temple, which seconds later projected a holographic image of the android’s brain. “See that? I saw the same pattern when I operated on the M’Benga from the Mirror universe, and when Geoff showed me the scans of your brain before he operated on you. That’s probably why he won’t turn on.”
“Can it be fixed?” T’Pring asked.
“I’ve never down brain surgery on a robot before, but I can try.”
Elder Spock peered closely at the holograph. “That is most definitely Mr. Data.”
“Are you sure?” Uhura asked.
“Yes. Even with the distortion caused by the singularity, Data’s neural pathways are unmistakable. Of course, this does not mean that he is the Data that I knew... Or that he is Data at all. He could be-”
Uhura shushed him.
-
Spock knew something was wrong the moment he regained consciousness. He could not feel Geoffrey in his mind. In his katra, yes, forever, but not in his mind. It was as if he were stripped of his telepathy. When he oped his eyes, he found that he was looking up at himself. His body. He groaned internally. That was exactly what Spock needed: another version of himself.
He tried to sit up, but he felt so weak. He looked down at his abdominal muscles, willing them to function properly. That was when Spock saw. Breasts. He had breasts. (Although, he supposes, he always had breasts, but not particularly ample ones.)
“What-” His hands gripped his throat. His voice was higher. He was a woman. (Although, again he supposes somewhere deep inside, he was always a woman.)
“Spock?” his body asked. “Is that you?”
“Yes,” he answered. “Who are you?”
“Carol. That stupid fucking machine switched our bodies or something.”
It was somewhat disconcerting to watch his body speak in that fashion. Although, in no way more disconcerting that watching his future self fondle his parents-in-law. “How?” Spock asked, struggling into a sitting position.
“I don’t know. I think Maltz’s prototype must have turned it on.”
“That is easy enough to fix. Merely calibrate it to the same settings and we can return to our own bodies.”
“That’s not going to work.”
“Why not?”
Carol-in-his-body (hereby known as Carol) nodded toward the Camusian artifact. On top of it lied Maltz’s prototype. In approximately twenty different pieces.
“You dropped it?” Spock asked incredulously.
“Technically, you dropped it.”
“Maltz spent months constructing that. We need to return to our bodies today.” Rather, they needed to return to their bodies before Carol found out what type of underwear Spock put on that morning.
“Christ,” Carol groaned. “I’m not going to tell anyone that you like to wear panties.”
“Have you been looking at my body?” Spock accused.
“No!”
“Then how did you know that... my undergarment preferences?”
Carol molded Spock’s face into an expression that could best be described by the Human expression “duh.” “You just told me.”
“I did not.”
“Yes, you did. I heard you.”
“Did my lips move?”
“Of course, your lips... Fuck. You’re a telepath. You’re a telepath who breast feeds! I want my body back.”
“As do I.”
“Maybe if we stand on it, it will turn us back.”
“It is worth an attempt.” Spock crawled over the machine on his hands and knees, as Carol walked over to it with ease. “Are you unusually weak for a Human?”
“No.”
Perhaps she was just very heavy.
“Shut up.”
Spock lifted himself onto his feet, and awaited for the machine to take notice. Nothing happened. They stood there stubbornly (for there were no two people on the planet as stubborn as Spock and Carol Marcus) for ten minutes. Still nothing happened.
“Fuck. We need help.”
“I will comm Captain Lester.” Spock stepped off the machine.
“Yeah, and he can give us more dangerous alien technology that smells like rotting fruit. God, how can you stand that smell?”
“My olfactory senses are now half as receptive as yours.”
“How do you turn them off?”
“First, you sit down in the lotus position, light incense, and then you spend the next ten years of your life learning how to do so.”
“It is very strange wanting to punch yourself in the face. But I guess you’d know all about that... I can’t be you. I don’t even really like you. We need help.”
There was only one being on this planet who could help them. (Barring Sybok, who could transfer their katras. Spock ruled that out as a possibility due to the significant memory loss it caused and his suspicion that Carol would murder anyone who got that close to her katra.) He did not want to call upon his counterpart for help, but whatever strange situation Spock found himself in, it was almost guaranteed that Elder Spock had been in it, too, in a slightly modified (and more politically incorrect) fashion.
-
Christine stepped out into the waiting room, peeling the gloves off of her hands. (She really didn’t need to wear the gloves. There wasn’t much of a chance that the android would develop an infection, but protocol was protocol.) Elder Spock was right on her heels, and T’Pring and Uhura stood up as soon as they entered the room, looking very much like concerned parents awaiting the news of their child’s tonsillectomy. “The surgery was successful.”
Uhura sighed. “Is he awake?”
“No. We thought we should talk to you first. You might want to sit.”
Pointedly, neither of them sat. “Is something wrong?” T’Pring asked.
“While we were able to heal most of the damage,” Elder Spock started, “and stop any degeneration, he will not operate at the same level as before. He will not be the same android.”
“We don’t care,” Uhura said. “We didn’t know him before, so it doesn’t matter.”
“The only person it would make a difference to is you,” T’Pring said. “And, frankly, we do not care about you.”
“I think Data would prefer to be conscious but different than nothing.”
“If he has difficulty adapting, there are several people with acquired brain injuries on planet who could counsel him.”
“That’s the other thing,” Chapel said. “We had to reset him to complete the operation. He won’t remember his life before.”
“Like amnesia?” Uhura asked.
“More like being reborn. When Data gets turned on again, he’ll have to regain sentience.”
“In addition to Data’s schematics, Mr. La Forge provided me with his medical records. A Starfleet counselor noted that Data reported experiencing suicidal urges when he first gained sentience.”
“Is the experience painful?” T’Pring asked.
Elder Spock shook his head. “Merely difficult.”
“Then we should do it,” Uhura said.
“You’ll have to observe him closely,” Christine said.
“That’s fine. Where should-”
Elder Spock’s comm whistled. “Excuse me.” He spoke into the comm, “Elder Spock here.”
Spock the younger’s voice, tinny and frantic, came out of the comm loud enough for the entire room to hear. Apparently, even half Vulcans weren’t immune to hearing loss as they aged. “Thank god. You’ve got to get the lab right the fuck now.”
“Pardon?”
“That thing Lester gave us made me and Spock switch bodies.”
“To whom am I speaking?”
“Carol Marcus.”
“I will be there shortly.” Elder Spock placed his comm back into his pocket. “If you will excuse me, I have a matter that requires my urgent attention.”
“Are they going to be okay?” Uhura asked.
“If the cause of this situation is what I believe it is, then their condition is only temporary.”
-
“So, what? We’re just supposed to wait this out?” Carol said, waving her arms in the air.
“Essentially, yes,” Elder Spock said. “The life energy transfer is only temporary. In my timeline, it had reversed itself within a ship day.”
“If I might ask,” Spock began, looking far too measured in the usually bellicose Carol’s body, “who underwent the life-energy transfer in your timeline?”
“Jim and Dr. Janice Lester.”
“Any relation to Captain Thomas Lester?” Carol asked.
“That is what I am going to find out. I have a meeting with the good captain in few minutes.”
“Comm us if you learn anything,” Carol said.
“I will. Fare thee well.”
Elder Spock left, leaving Spock and Carol to stare at each other/themselves awkwardly.
“So...” Carol tapped her fingers on the table.
“I believe a few ground rules are in order. Regarding our conduct while within each other’s bodies.”
“Right... No permanent modification: tattoos, piercings, that sort of thing. Don’t show my naked body to anyone-that includes M’Benga.”
“Agreed. No...” Spock searched for useful euphemism. “No hanky panky of any kind.” Obviously this Human brain was getting to him.
“Of course... What about self hanky panky?”
“Self...?” Oh. “I have no objections, if you have no objections.”
“No. It would be good for science.”
“In the name of science, yes.”
Carol hopped from foot to foot. “Is there anything else?”
“Yes. I have certain dietary restrictions: no meat, chocolate, alcohol, spicy foods, or catmint. When you eat, please use utensils and wear gloves when handling food with your hands. Also, if you must consume dairy products, you will need to take an enzyme supplement.”
“Cool.” By this point, Carol was almost dancing.
“At some point, you will need to use a breast pump. If you have trouble, I will be able to assist you.”
“Right.”
“You appear distressed.”
“I have to pee.”
“By all means, take your leave.” Spock pointed the commode.
“I tried.”
“Tried?”
“I couldn’t figure out how to get your dick out.”
“I see.” Spock felt his cheeks flush.
“How do you...?” Carol’s eyes bulged.
Spock swallowed. “When I was undergoing training to learn how to use the toilet, my father once told me to visualize a snake coming out of a hole.”
“Right. Snake.” Carol sprinted into the bathroom. A few moments later she called, “Spock! Can you give me a hand?”
Spock permitted himself a sigh as he headed to the bathroom. It was going to be a long day.
-
T’Pring and Uhura sat on the floor of their spare room, Data lying between them. They’d decided it would be best to turn Data on in a quiet, dark room-not for any medical or scientific purpose, but because that’s where they let Kihika out of his cage after a visit to the vet’s office.
“Are you adequately prepared?” T’Pring asked. There was just enough light in the room for her to see Uhura nod and placed her hands on Data’s shoulders. “Activation in three, two, one...” T’Pring pressed the switch on the small of the android’s back. He jerked to life, thrashing his limbs about. After a moment, he stilled, but resumed his panic quickly thereafter. His left hand felt along his back, as if searching... //He is attempting to deactivate himself.// T’Pring said to Nyota through their marital bond.
Ever quick to respond, Nyota grabbed Data’s hands and held them above of his head. Data tried to wriggle away, much like a child attempting to avoid bedtime.
//How may I be of assistance?//
//You can’t. You’re not strong enough.// Being the physically weaker partner in their marriage was still new (and, if she was being honest with herself, efeminating) to T’Pring. Nyota felt a bit of shame and inadequacy slip through their bond, and quickly backtracked. //You could sing. Maybe that would calm him down.//
//What would I sing?//
//Whatever your mother sang to calm you.//
T’Pring thought for a moment and then began to recite, “Zero squared is zero. One squared is one. Two squared is four. Three squared is nine...” Not exactly what Uhura was expecting, but it seemed to relax Data. “Four squared is sixteen. Five squared is twenty-five. Six squared-”
“-is thirty-six,” Data said quietly. “Seven squared is forty-nine. Eight squared is sixty-four.” His voice grew louder as his confidence increased. “Nine squared is eighty-one. Ten squared is one hundred. Eleven squared is one hundred twenty-one. Twelve squared is one hundred forty-four...”
-
“Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice,” Elder Spock said, motioning for Captain Lester to sit.
Lester, instead, chose to lean up against the arm of Spock’s couch. “No problem. What did you need to talk about?”
“Janice Lester.”
Lester scowled. “That’s not important.”
“It is very important, if you wish for my technicians to continue to work on your ship.”
Lester pushed himself off the couch, and paced. “You know, I was told this was a fairly progressive planet. I had my worries concerning the feminist majority-they don’t have the best track record with this. But I figured I trust what I heard. I come here, let your friends take whatever they want from my cargo, and you decide to hold my ship ransom because you clocked me!” Lester advanced toward Elder Spock, snarling at him. “What do you want? A reward for your Vulcan powers of perception? Or do you just wanna fuck me?”
“I assure you do not want either of those things. I just wish to know your relation to Janice Lester.”
“Why? What does it matter to you?”
“I assume you are familiar with the Narada incident, and how that vessel came to be in our universe.”
“Of course, I do.”
“There were records brought through aboard the Narada.” Notice how he does not technically lie. “According to intel retrieved from the wreckage, a Dr. Janice Lester existed in Nero’s timeline. She committed several crimes, most of them concerning the Camusian artifact being studied by this planet’s scientific researchers. Seeing as you share the same surname and both of you possessed the artifact, I thought there might a connection between Dr. Janice Lester and you. I needed to know if the Janice Lester of this universe has gone done the same path.”
“Trust me, she didn’t.”
“You know Janice. Is she a relative?”
Lester shook his head. “Janice was my name before I transitioned.”
“I see. And you have never murdered anyone via radiation poisoning?”
“No,” Lester said slowly. “I’ve never murdered anyone via anything.”
“If I am understanding you correctly, you are not a serial killer.”
“Right. And if I was, and my modus operandi was radiation poisoning, I’d have to be one cocky son of a bitch to try to trade on a planet where the First Lady is one of the galaxy’s strongest advocates for innovation in treatment options.”
“Of course.” Elder Spock folded his hands. “You can trust that I will not share what you have revealed to me with anyone.”
“Thank you.”
“And your ship will be taken care of.”
“Thanks. Can I?” Lester looked toward the door.
“Of course.” He watched the captain leave, but before he reached the door, Elder Spock had to ask, “Are you happy?”
“Yeah.”
-
Spock stood in front of the full length mirror in his bedroom. Naked. His attempts at “self hanky panky” had been unsuccessful due to as much his discomfort as his general lack of knowledge about pleasing women sexually. (Before he and Geoffrey were bonded, Spock took for granted that his first sexual encounter with a woman would be pathetic and embarrassing; he didn’t foresee that he would be the woman in question.) He still, however, wished to explore being in a Human woman’s body.
Minus the lack of telepathy and physical strength, it was largely the same as being a half-Vulcan man’s body. Lower to the ground, perhaps. Warmer. He thought it would feel better. He thought he would feel better.
After admitting to his bondmate (and himself) his disidentifcation with the ad hoc category of “male,” Geoffrey had provided Spock with the medical literature about gender identity disorder, which he studied closely. There, it seemed, his path was laid in front of him-and well worn. Despite the existence of species like the Andorians, the Federation acknowledged the idea of two sexes-male and female-as universal constants. If Spock was not fully male, and did not feel he could become so, he had one option and it was in the literature Geoffrey provided.
Become a woman, change his name, have surgery.
There were symptoms was Spock was supposed to have. He knew from the diagnostic criteria that he was supposed to feel uncomfortable in his body and desire to bring it in line with female norms. That ran contrary to his experience. Spock was neither comfortable nor uncomfortable in his body. While he didn’t dislike it, he couldn’t say that he liked it either. That was not to say that at certain times in his life, Spock did not wish that particular parts of his body were more Vulcan or more Human, bigger or longer, darker or lighter. But his feelings about his body as a whole were similar to thoughts about shoes: Spock was grateful to have shoes, because walking along rough ground would be painful without them, but his shoes did not occupy much of his mental or temporal capacity.
Spock thought that, perhaps, after his body was reclassified as woman, he would feel something-rightness, belonging, succor-rather than the absence he felt in his current body.
Now, he was in Carol’s body-a Human woman’s body-and he felt nothing.
It was unsettling.
-
“...is one thousand, three hundred, sixty-nine.” Data sat up slowly. “Have I been activated?”
“Yes,” T’Pring answered.
“You activated me?”
“We both did,” Uhura said.
Data glanced at both the women. “Are you my mothers?”
Getting over her initial urge to run out of the room, hop a starship, and take off for the far edges of the galaxy, Uhura looked over at T’Pring, who merely shrugged. “Do you want us to be?” Uhura asked.
“I have not yet determined if this would be the most beneficial outcome. More data is needed. A query: if I designate you as my adopted Humanoid parents, would you provide me with shelter and the information I need to process my surroundings?”
“We’d try.”
“Yes. I find you to be suitable mothers.”
“Okay. That’s settled. We’re... your mothers.” Half of Nyota wanted to put her head between her knees and pray for Armageddon, while the other half wanted to pinch Data’s yellow, robotic cheek.
“Are you going to name me?”
“You are Data,” T’Pring said, foreclosing any opportunity of them naming him something that would drive Elder Spock batty.
“I am Data?”
“Yes.”
He pointed to the window. “That is a window?”
“Yes.”
“That is a lamp?”
“Yes.”
“That is a banana?”
“No.”
“That is not a banana. Is it a plantain?”
“No. That is your foot.”
“I have two of them. Is one a spare?”
“No. You require both of them to walk.”
“Why?”
“Traditionally, walking entails placing one foot in front of the other.”
“Why would I walk? I can see everything from here.”
“You can?” Uhura asked, not sure if Data had X-ray vision or something.
“Yes. Window, lamp, foot, foot, mother, mother, Data,” he listed, pointing to each item in the room.
“There are other things.” Nyota tried not to laugh.
“Where?” Data looked around the room. “Are they hidden?”
“No, they’re just outside of this room.”
“Outside of this room,” Data repeated. “There are things outside of this room?”
“There is an entire universe outside of this room,” T’Pring said.
“What are the dimensions of this universe?”
“Large. Vaster than you can imagine,” Uhura explained, expecting this to excite Data, as it did most members of Starfleet. Instead, he looked up and down his body-at his hands, his arms, his trunk, his legs, his two feet-and then curled into the fetal position. “What’s wrong?”
“I am insignificant within the scope of the universe. My existence is meaningless. I am just one of many small particles in the cosmos.”
“That’s why you don’t live in the cosmos. You live in this room.” Nyota knew she was condescending to a being with a far superior intellect than her, but it felt like the right thing to do. “And in this room, you’re pretty big.”
“Specificity gives meaning. My placement within a larger social context grants me greater importance.”
“Exactly.”
-
Carol sighed in frustration. She’d been trying for the last half hour to jerk off, but to no avail. Every time she got close, she would overhear someone thinking about what they wanted for dinner or something-and it was like being splashed with a bucket of ice. (The cruel irony being that she lasted longer than most men she slept with.)
Being Spock had quickly lost its novelty. At first, she’d gone around listening in on people’s thoughts and lifting heavy objects. Then her tits started aching like a zit ready to pop and she had to pump. Luckily, she was able to figure that out without Spock’s help. After that she pretty hungry, but she couldn’t have meat, chocolate, or alcohol-pretty much the three staple foods of any ‘fleet brat. She managed to choke down a salad by promising herself an orgasm afterward. And that didn’t turn out as she expected.
Carol was just about to “put the snake back in the hole,” when she was overcome by a strange sensation, like she was drifting out of herself. At first she thought that might be what a Vulcan orgasm felt like, but then it was like she in a room somewhere looking at herself-her real self. This was what Elder Spock described to them-the transfer of their life-energies back into their real bodies. He told them to fight their way to their bodies. If this was what being Spock was like, you better believe Carol put up one hell of a fight.
-
After three uninterrupted days at the beach, Charlie was proud to say that he could swim, and even paddle a bit on his surf board. It was nice being alone with his parents not having to worry about reading lessons or the looks other people gave him. The Thasians completely erased their memories of him, so it was like he dropped out of the sky the day they let him stay on Sh-Ka-Ree. Charlie was a stranger, even to members of his family, like Geoff and Spock. In some ways, he didn’t want to go back home. He’d rather stay on the beach with the two people who knew and loved him. (Uhura knew him and how he came to the planet, but she certainly didn’t love him.) But staying in a tent with one’s parents didn’t really lend it to itself to masturbation, which was quickly becoming one of Charlie’s favorite activities. He was anxious to get home to rub one out in the shower, but Leonard insisted they stop by T’Pring and Uhura’s to return their cooler before they forgot.
The door was opened by a robot who looked like he was in the death throes of hepatitis. “Hello. I am Data. I am an android. It is pleasing to make your-”
Sybok let out a blood curdling shriek, grabbed Charlie and Leonard by the wrist, and dragged them running down the street all the way into their living. It was only after he had made sure all the windows and doors were closed, and the blinds drawn that Sybok stopped screaming.
“Jesus Christ, what’s gotten into you?” Leonard asked, still holding Uhura’s cooler.
“That thing,” Sybok gasped.
“So T’Pring and Uhura bought themselves an android. Big deal.”
“It has katra.”
“The android?”
Sybok nodded.
“You’re losing it. The thing’s a coffee maker. An electric toothbrush.”
“It has a katra. I could sense it.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Hence the running away screaming.”
-
“For some who’s going to be cited in all the major anthropology and metaphysics journals for the next century, you don’t look too triumphant.” Captain Lester grinned. “Mind if I sit?” he asked, gesturing to spot next Spock on the park bench.
Spock shook his head, and put down his PADD.
“Why so glum?”
“I found the results of my experiment to challenge far too many of my previously held beliefs.”
“About science or about you?”
“You are uniquely perceptive, Captain Lester.”
“It comes with the trade. A garbologist has to know what one man’s trash is to find his treasure.”
“And what is my trash?”
“I’d start with that shit you’re reading.” Lester nodded his head toward Spock’s PADD. “The Federation Diagnostic and Statistic Manual doesn’t have a clue. Especially when it comes to what you’re reading about.”
“And you are an expert in that field?”
“Not an expert. But I have some experience. I had... a friend whose insurance wouldn’t cover surgery because he was attracted to men.”
“That isn’t in the FDSM.”
“Tell that to my friend’s psychiatrist.”
“What happened to your friend?”
“He ditched his managed care plan, found an off-planet doctor who would treat him, and took to the stars to make enough money to pay for everything.”
“And did he?”
“Yeah. And he’s never looked back.”
“After surgery, did your friend feel better?”
“That makes it sound like he had a cold or something... He did feel better. I guess that’s right word. The body dysphoria went away.”
“I have a friend,” Spock started slowly, “who does not experience body dysphoria, but believes he might be transsexual.”
“That’s normal. There are plenty of trans folk who never have body dysphoria before they transition.”
“How do they transition then? It is one of the diagnostic criteria.”
“Some people never get diagnosed or have surgery. Other people fake their way through it or work their way around it like I did.”
“And those who did not have surgery, people accepted them as women?”
“Or men, or neither, or both.”
“Both?”
“There’s a lot more out there than man or woman.”
“Even amongst civilized species?”
“You really drank the Federation Kool-Aid, didn’t you? The idea that in so-called ‘savage’ races there’s a greater degree of sexual and gender ambiguity is old colonizing trick borrowed from the Europeans. But at the same time Europeans were going abroad to measure the genitals of Africans, there were Europeans at home who were actually trans and intersex. The idea went away for a while after a lot of work by trans activists, but after first contact, Earth culture felt like it needed to cling to something... And now most people in the Federation have no idea that someone could be a man and a woman, somewhere in between, or completely outside that whole spectrum... I’m sorry to go off on you like that. Considering your friend...”
“It is fine. I found what you said to be quite illuminating. I will pass it on to my friend.”
“It was good talking to you. I have to head over to Elder Spock’s workshop. My ship should be ready. But, here.” Lester pulled a small piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Spock. “Take my card. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye.”
Once Captain Lester had walked away, Spock glanced down at the card. It wasn’t like any business care he had ever seen--not that he had seen too many. It was a playing card-the ace of spades, to be exact-with Lester’s comm frequency and the words, “Tell her Captain Lester sent you,” written on the front. Overall, a business card befitting a garbologist.
Previous Next
Chapter Title: Chapter 6: If You've Forgotten, This is Science Fiction
Author: katiemariie
Artist: tprillahfiction
Fanmixer: civilbloodshed
Beta(s): subluxate and avsioss
Link to Art: Art
Link to Mix: Fanmix
Word Count: 7k
Over the past month, Charlie had acclimated to life on the colony much better than McCoy had expected. Besides a few temper tantrums (which, by the way, did not result in anyone dying or being turned into a lizard), Charlie was behaving like he grew up surrounded by other people. And, according to him, he did. Like McCoy and Sybok, Charlie had two sets of memories and a hard time telling the difference between the two, even though he was the one who put them there. He was still largely silent regarding how that actually happened. Whenever he was asked, Charlie would either become very upset or claim that he didn’t know how he did it; he just wanted a family and then suddenly he had one. The same as with anything else he wanted.
To commemorate a month without any major abuse of Charlie’s powers, Sybok decided they should camp out at the beach and he would teach Charlie to surf. The second part of the plan was put on hold once they realized Charlie couldn't swim.
“I don’t see why we can’t do this in town,” McCoy grumbled, swinging his backpack over his shoulder.
“I thought you liked camping,” Sybok said.
“I do. I just don’t think it’s safe to teach Charlie to swim in the ocean.”
“He’s not going to get swept away.”
“He could get dragged underwater, get caught in seaweed.”
“And if he does he can get himself free, or I can float him over to the shore. He’ll be fine.”
“Wouldn’t it just be easier to do this in the public pool?”
“Len.” Sybok looked up from the food he was stuffing into a picnic basket. “Vulcans don’t do swimming pools.”
“You’re telling me Vulcans never use swimming pools? Never?”
“Never. That’s why we don’t compete in the swimming events in the Summer Olympics. It’s standing water. Unhygienic. Like swimming in a toilet bowl.”
“They treat the water.”
“Great. Let’s have Charlie dive head first into a big pit filled with noxious chemicals.”
“You’re really bothered by this.”
“Yes. It’s illogical.”
“Over two millennia of Surakian tradition and that’s what you take away.”
“You guys ready?” Charlie asked, poking his head in the front door.
“Yeah,” McCoy responded. “We're just working through some of your father’s cultural neuroses.”
“Hey,” Sybok said, floating the picnic basket ahead of him as he walked toward the door. “You people are the minority here. It’s your cultural neuroses now.”
-
“Captain Thomas Lester,” the Human said, holding out his right hand. “Garbologist.”
“Elder Spock,” he said, raising an eyebrow at the name. “Vulcan.”
Lester withdrew his hand. “Right.” He glanced around the workshop. “I was told you were the man to see for a souped up warp core.”
“Perhaps. If I was that man, I assure you I would only render my services to people I trust with that technology.”
“I'm very trustworthy. I can give you references.”
“I see. For what were you awarded the IDIC?” He tapped the button on Lester's lapel with a screwdriver.
“It was a gift.”
“Of course. I cannot in good faith grant hyperwarp technology to a pirate.”
“Garbologist,” Lester corrected.
“Garbologist,” Elder Spock conceded. “While you are no doubt a principled businessman,” he said, tongue firmly in cheek, “I cannot say the same for your customers. I have no guarantee that you will not market my modifications to those who would use them unscrupulously.”
“You misunderstand me-I don't want to sell your modifications; I want to use them.”
“Pardon me if I do not trust your assertion.”
“Come on, that's illogical,” Lester said, straightening the IDIC on his chest. “If I sold the patent for your modifications, then everyone would have one.”
“And you would be unable to outmaneuver the authorities.”
“Exactly.”
“The patent could make you incredibly wealthy.”
“There is no greater wealth than freedom.”
“What do you have to offer me in exchange?”
“Right now, I don't have much in working order, but how about I let your science teams take a look at my stock and pull whatever they want?”
“Hardly a fair trade.”
“You haven't seen my stock.”
-
As fitting her station, T'Pring was given the first go around in Lester's cargo bay. There was not much there, except the stench of rotting garbage.
“Biofuel,” Lester explained. “What's your fancy?”
“Hmm?”
“What are you interested in?”
“Defense screens, engineering,” and, as an afterthought, “cybernetics.”
“Ah!” Lester headed down a tunnel formed through two massive piles of garbage. “Have I got just the thing for you!” he called. “I call him Pinocchio.” Lester came back, lugging a large trunk behind him. “He doesn't turn on as of yet, but I'm sure you can figure something out.” He opened the lid of the trunk, revealing a jaundiced looking Human figure nestled inside. It looked almost childlike. “I'm no cyberneticist, but I dabble enough to know that this is no normal android. From my scans, it looks like he may have a positronic brain.”
“A positronic brain?” Such a thing had never been done.
“Yeah. It's completely fried of course, but it's there.”
“How did you procure this android?”
Lester scratched the back of his neck. “I found him circling the black hole that Nero created. I figure he might have come through. Maybe even from the future.”
Sold.
-
“I feel like I'm on a field trip,” Carol said, climbing up into the cargo bay of Lester's ship.
“We are not in a field,” Spock said, following behind her.
“Don't be cute.”
Lester stepped out from behind a giant heap of rubbish. “Hello. Welcome to the SS Intruder.”
Carol pinched her nose close with her fingers. “It smells like Staten Island.”
“Just the natural process of decomposition.”
“How are you handling this?” Carol asked Spock. “Your sense of smell is twice as strong as mine.”
“I am able to suppress my olfactory sense.”
“Lucky you.” Carol smacked Lester on the shoulder. “Can we hurry this up?”
“Sure, sure,” Lester said. “I've got something I think you'll enjoy.” He led them through a seemingly endless garbage dump to the aft bulkhead of the cargo bay, where a tall bit of rock covered with runes stood. “Mined this out of a cave on Camus II.”
“What is its function?” Spock asked.
“The runes depict something called a 'life-energy transfer.' Apparently a ritual custom amongst the Camusians.”
“Fascinating. Can it be moved?”
“Yeah.”
“So,” Carol said. “That's it? We're taking the first thing we see?”
“If you see anything with more potential, do inform me,” Spock said.
Carol's eyes scanned the mounds of refuse stacked up higher than her head. “Fine.”
-
“It's so life-like,” Uhura marveled, carding her hand through the android's hair.
“I thought you would find him pleasing,” T'Pring said.
“Him?”
“He is anatomically correct.”
“Oh.” Uhura pulled her hand away. “Is he...” she searched for the word, “...fully functional?”
“Currently, he is not functioning in any capacity, but his phallus has erectile capabilities. Although, I do not think he was designed solely for sexual gratification.”
“Yes, I doubt anyone would bother placing such an advanced brain in a walking marital aid.”
“That begs the question: for what was he designed?”
Uhura pulled on the android's jumpsuit. “Is this what Lester found him wearing?”
T'Pring nodded. “Captain Lester attempted to make me pay for it.”
“Maybe there's a tag.” Uhura flipped the android onto his stomach, and pulled down the back of his collar, craning her neck to read the writing printed on it. “'Tactical. Masculine style. Large. Starfleet issue 2360.'” She cursed in Swahili.
“This might be an extended propulsion, but, if he was in Starfleet in the 24th century, perhaps Elder Spock knew him, or at least knew of him. He is a rather exceptional specimen; there would have been great scientific inquiry into his physiology.”
“He said something, right after he tried to kill me.” A low growl emanated from T'Pring's chest. “Something about vivisection of cybernetic beings a hundred years from now. The Federation wanted to make an army of slaves.”
“Perhaps that is the android's reason for being. He was designed to be a soldier.”
“Does he have any weapon systems?”
“No. Nothing besides his own brute strength.” T’Pring blinked slowly. “As deplorable an option it may be, I believe our best source of information is Elder Spock.”
“I’ll comm him over.”
“Send for Dr. Chapel, as well. Her knowledge of your cybernetic implants may prove useful.”
-
“What do you think Lester meant by ‘life-energy transfer’?” Carol asked, stepping onto base of the Camusian artifact to get a closer look at the runes.
“I am not certain.” Spock picked up a digital magnifying glass form the lab table, and handed it to Carol.
“Thanks.”
Spock nodded. “My best conjecture is that the machine is a type of anti-aging apparatus, transferring the youth and vitality of one person into the body of another.”
“That could explain why the Camusians died off. They cannibalized their young until there weren’t enough people to sustain the population.”
“I had considered that scenario myself. There could be an element of addiction as well. Once the Camusians felt the intoxicating effects of the life-energy transfer they must have wanted to experience it repeatedly.”
“Wait,” Carol said, turning around to face Spock, “you knew this thing could have potentially destroyed an entire planet’s population, and you still brought it down here?”
“That is precisely I selected this artifact. It is better that it resides in responsible hands than in those of one of Captain Lester’s unscrupulous customers.”
Carol smirked. “For a Vulcan, you sure are an optimist.”
“Half-Vulcan,” Spock corrected, which was strange because Carol had not once heard Spock-this one, at least-refer himself that way. It was always, “I am Vulcan,” or “my Human heritage...”
“I don’t think any of us are half as responsible as you think we are. You say the life-energy transfer could be like a drug. Well, your brother is willing to pack his bong with whatever he finds. He’d smoke fiber glass if I gave it to him. And the other you is an alcoholic. Which means you probably have the propensity to be one, too.”
Spock scowled minutely at the comparison. He seemed to think of having a future version of himself hanging around was a burden rather than a cosmological miracle. “That is why we must learn how the artifact functions so that we may disable it permanently.”
“Or we could just blast out of existence with a phaser.”
“And risk the machine reflecting back the antimatter or detonating. I think not.”
“Whatever you say. You’re the boss. I don’t why you are, but you’re the boss.” Carol turned back to the Camusian artifact, turning on the digital magnifying glass.
“Be careful with that instrument; it is Maltz’s only prototype.”
“I know.” She flicked the magnifying to its highest setting. The runes began to glow and almost hum. She tried to step off of the machine, but it was like some force was keeping her there. Great. And there Spock was, rushing to her side without a plan--clearly, he’d spent too much time with Kirk. And then Spock wasn’t moving anymore, just stuck there like she was. And then...
She was looking at herself. She was looking at herself. She must have been having one of those out of body experiences people in comas have. Except Carol wasn’t so much floating above herself, as she was looking down at herself. Down and to the left. Where Spock was standing. No. She lifted a hand to her face. No. Those were much to big to be hers. And the nails were too well taken care of. No. She wasn’t having an out of body experience; she was having an in Spock experience.
-
Elder Spock stopped just short of the threshold of T’Pring and Uhura’s living room, gaping at the android on the floor.
“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” Chapel said, walking around him.
Frankly, Elder Spock often looked he’d just seen a ghost. That’s the expression a person tended to take on when hanging around younger versions of all their dead friends and relatives.
“Do you know this android?” T’Pring asked.
“Yes,” Elder Spock said. “But he should not exist in this time. His inventor has yet to be born.”
“Captain Lester believes he come through the Ah’rak black hole.”
“Alone? Without a vessel?”
“Yes. He has an anti-spaghettification compensator.”
“Fascinating.”
“Does he have a name?” Uhura asked from the couch.
“Data. His name was Data.” Elder Spock thought for a moment. “Although it is possible... His inventor, Dr. Noonian Soong, made two other androids identical in appearance to Data. Although their temperaments and processing capabilities were quite different. Judging by his uniform, I would say this is Data.” He paused. “Although his brother Lore had once impersonated him... That matter could quite easily be settled by ascertaining whether the android has the capacity for emotion... Of course, Data acquired an emotion chip later in life. His aging programming merely could have been reset in the black hole.” Elder Spock looked like he was done, but started up again. “He could very well be Data’s other brother B-4 wearing Data’s uniform. There’s also the possibility-”
Chapel cut in. “Does it really matter which android he is?”
“Yes. Lore was a genocidal malcontent, and B-4 was an unwitting spy for the Romulan praetor.”
“I thought our family was messed up,” Chapel muttered.
“Is there any way to determine which android this is?” T’Pring asked.
“Yes. There are certain positronic pathways that are unique to Data. They enable his capacity to learn.”
“Would you be able to identify them?”
“Yes. The man with whom I designed my ship was a close friend of Data’s. He allowed me to study Data’s schematics after his destruction. I believe Mr. La Forge hoped I would be able to help him reconstruct his lost friend.”
“I don’t know how recognizable his brain will be,” Chapel said. “Even though it’s positronic, his brain was still warped by the singularity. Take a look.” Chapel attached an electrode to the android’s temple, which seconds later projected a holographic image of the android’s brain. “See that? I saw the same pattern when I operated on the M’Benga from the Mirror universe, and when Geoff showed me the scans of your brain before he operated on you. That’s probably why he won’t turn on.”
“Can it be fixed?” T’Pring asked.
“I’ve never down brain surgery on a robot before, but I can try.”
Elder Spock peered closely at the holograph. “That is most definitely Mr. Data.”
“Are you sure?” Uhura asked.
“Yes. Even with the distortion caused by the singularity, Data’s neural pathways are unmistakable. Of course, this does not mean that he is the Data that I knew... Or that he is Data at all. He could be-”
Uhura shushed him.
-
Spock knew something was wrong the moment he regained consciousness. He could not feel Geoffrey in his mind. In his katra, yes, forever, but not in his mind. It was as if he were stripped of his telepathy. When he oped his eyes, he found that he was looking up at himself. His body. He groaned internally. That was exactly what Spock needed: another version of himself.
He tried to sit up, but he felt so weak. He looked down at his abdominal muscles, willing them to function properly. That was when Spock saw. Breasts. He had breasts. (Although, he supposes, he always had breasts, but not particularly ample ones.)
“What-” His hands gripped his throat. His voice was higher. He was a woman. (Although, again he supposes somewhere deep inside, he was always a woman.)
“Spock?” his body asked. “Is that you?”
“Yes,” he answered. “Who are you?”
“Carol. That stupid fucking machine switched our bodies or something.”
It was somewhat disconcerting to watch his body speak in that fashion. Although, in no way more disconcerting that watching his future self fondle his parents-in-law. “How?” Spock asked, struggling into a sitting position.
“I don’t know. I think Maltz’s prototype must have turned it on.”
“That is easy enough to fix. Merely calibrate it to the same settings and we can return to our own bodies.”
“That’s not going to work.”
“Why not?”
Carol-in-his-body (hereby known as Carol) nodded toward the Camusian artifact. On top of it lied Maltz’s prototype. In approximately twenty different pieces.
“You dropped it?” Spock asked incredulously.
“Technically, you dropped it.”
“Maltz spent months constructing that. We need to return to our bodies today.” Rather, they needed to return to their bodies before Carol found out what type of underwear Spock put on that morning.
“Christ,” Carol groaned. “I’m not going to tell anyone that you like to wear panties.”
“Have you been looking at my body?” Spock accused.
“No!”
“Then how did you know that... my undergarment preferences?”
Carol molded Spock’s face into an expression that could best be described by the Human expression “duh.” “You just told me.”
“I did not.”
“Yes, you did. I heard you.”
“Did my lips move?”
“Of course, your lips... Fuck. You’re a telepath. You’re a telepath who breast feeds! I want my body back.”
“As do I.”
“Maybe if we stand on it, it will turn us back.”
“It is worth an attempt.” Spock crawled over the machine on his hands and knees, as Carol walked over to it with ease. “Are you unusually weak for a Human?”
“No.”
Perhaps she was just very heavy.
“Shut up.”
Spock lifted himself onto his feet, and awaited for the machine to take notice. Nothing happened. They stood there stubbornly (for there were no two people on the planet as stubborn as Spock and Carol Marcus) for ten minutes. Still nothing happened.
“Fuck. We need help.”
“I will comm Captain Lester.” Spock stepped off the machine.
“Yeah, and he can give us more dangerous alien technology that smells like rotting fruit. God, how can you stand that smell?”
“My olfactory senses are now half as receptive as yours.”
“How do you turn them off?”
“First, you sit down in the lotus position, light incense, and then you spend the next ten years of your life learning how to do so.”
“It is very strange wanting to punch yourself in the face. But I guess you’d know all about that... I can’t be you. I don’t even really like you. We need help.”
There was only one being on this planet who could help them. (Barring Sybok, who could transfer their katras. Spock ruled that out as a possibility due to the significant memory loss it caused and his suspicion that Carol would murder anyone who got that close to her katra.) He did not want to call upon his counterpart for help, but whatever strange situation Spock found himself in, it was almost guaranteed that Elder Spock had been in it, too, in a slightly modified (and more politically incorrect) fashion.
-
Christine stepped out into the waiting room, peeling the gloves off of her hands. (She really didn’t need to wear the gloves. There wasn’t much of a chance that the android would develop an infection, but protocol was protocol.) Elder Spock was right on her heels, and T’Pring and Uhura stood up as soon as they entered the room, looking very much like concerned parents awaiting the news of their child’s tonsillectomy. “The surgery was successful.”
Uhura sighed. “Is he awake?”
“No. We thought we should talk to you first. You might want to sit.”
Pointedly, neither of them sat. “Is something wrong?” T’Pring asked.
“While we were able to heal most of the damage,” Elder Spock started, “and stop any degeneration, he will not operate at the same level as before. He will not be the same android.”
“We don’t care,” Uhura said. “We didn’t know him before, so it doesn’t matter.”
“The only person it would make a difference to is you,” T’Pring said. “And, frankly, we do not care about you.”
“I think Data would prefer to be conscious but different than nothing.”
“If he has difficulty adapting, there are several people with acquired brain injuries on planet who could counsel him.”
“That’s the other thing,” Chapel said. “We had to reset him to complete the operation. He won’t remember his life before.”
“Like amnesia?” Uhura asked.
“More like being reborn. When Data gets turned on again, he’ll have to regain sentience.”
“In addition to Data’s schematics, Mr. La Forge provided me with his medical records. A Starfleet counselor noted that Data reported experiencing suicidal urges when he first gained sentience.”
“Is the experience painful?” T’Pring asked.
Elder Spock shook his head. “Merely difficult.”
“Then we should do it,” Uhura said.
“You’ll have to observe him closely,” Christine said.
“That’s fine. Where should-”
Elder Spock’s comm whistled. “Excuse me.” He spoke into the comm, “Elder Spock here.”
Spock the younger’s voice, tinny and frantic, came out of the comm loud enough for the entire room to hear. Apparently, even half Vulcans weren’t immune to hearing loss as they aged. “Thank god. You’ve got to get the lab right the fuck now.”
“Pardon?”
“That thing Lester gave us made me and Spock switch bodies.”
“To whom am I speaking?”
“Carol Marcus.”
“I will be there shortly.” Elder Spock placed his comm back into his pocket. “If you will excuse me, I have a matter that requires my urgent attention.”
“Are they going to be okay?” Uhura asked.
“If the cause of this situation is what I believe it is, then their condition is only temporary.”
-
“So, what? We’re just supposed to wait this out?” Carol said, waving her arms in the air.
“Essentially, yes,” Elder Spock said. “The life energy transfer is only temporary. In my timeline, it had reversed itself within a ship day.”
“If I might ask,” Spock began, looking far too measured in the usually bellicose Carol’s body, “who underwent the life-energy transfer in your timeline?”
“Jim and Dr. Janice Lester.”
“Any relation to Captain Thomas Lester?” Carol asked.
“That is what I am going to find out. I have a meeting with the good captain in few minutes.”
“Comm us if you learn anything,” Carol said.
“I will. Fare thee well.”
Elder Spock left, leaving Spock and Carol to stare at each other/themselves awkwardly.
“So...” Carol tapped her fingers on the table.
“I believe a few ground rules are in order. Regarding our conduct while within each other’s bodies.”
“Right... No permanent modification: tattoos, piercings, that sort of thing. Don’t show my naked body to anyone-that includes M’Benga.”
“Agreed. No...” Spock searched for useful euphemism. “No hanky panky of any kind.” Obviously this Human brain was getting to him.
“Of course... What about self hanky panky?”
“Self...?” Oh. “I have no objections, if you have no objections.”
“No. It would be good for science.”
“In the name of science, yes.”
Carol hopped from foot to foot. “Is there anything else?”
“Yes. I have certain dietary restrictions: no meat, chocolate, alcohol, spicy foods, or catmint. When you eat, please use utensils and wear gloves when handling food with your hands. Also, if you must consume dairy products, you will need to take an enzyme supplement.”
“Cool.” By this point, Carol was almost dancing.
“At some point, you will need to use a breast pump. If you have trouble, I will be able to assist you.”
“Right.”
“You appear distressed.”
“I have to pee.”
“By all means, take your leave.” Spock pointed the commode.
“I tried.”
“Tried?”
“I couldn’t figure out how to get your dick out.”
“I see.” Spock felt his cheeks flush.
“How do you...?” Carol’s eyes bulged.
Spock swallowed. “When I was undergoing training to learn how to use the toilet, my father once told me to visualize a snake coming out of a hole.”
“Right. Snake.” Carol sprinted into the bathroom. A few moments later she called, “Spock! Can you give me a hand?”
Spock permitted himself a sigh as he headed to the bathroom. It was going to be a long day.
-
T’Pring and Uhura sat on the floor of their spare room, Data lying between them. They’d decided it would be best to turn Data on in a quiet, dark room-not for any medical or scientific purpose, but because that’s where they let Kihika out of his cage after a visit to the vet’s office.
“Are you adequately prepared?” T’Pring asked. There was just enough light in the room for her to see Uhura nod and placed her hands on Data’s shoulders. “Activation in three, two, one...” T’Pring pressed the switch on the small of the android’s back. He jerked to life, thrashing his limbs about. After a moment, he stilled, but resumed his panic quickly thereafter. His left hand felt along his back, as if searching... //He is attempting to deactivate himself.// T’Pring said to Nyota through their marital bond.
Ever quick to respond, Nyota grabbed Data’s hands and held them above of his head. Data tried to wriggle away, much like a child attempting to avoid bedtime.
//How may I be of assistance?//
//You can’t. You’re not strong enough.// Being the physically weaker partner in their marriage was still new (and, if she was being honest with herself, efeminating) to T’Pring. Nyota felt a bit of shame and inadequacy slip through their bond, and quickly backtracked. //You could sing. Maybe that would calm him down.//
//What would I sing?//
//Whatever your mother sang to calm you.//
T’Pring thought for a moment and then began to recite, “Zero squared is zero. One squared is one. Two squared is four. Three squared is nine...” Not exactly what Uhura was expecting, but it seemed to relax Data. “Four squared is sixteen. Five squared is twenty-five. Six squared-”
“-is thirty-six,” Data said quietly. “Seven squared is forty-nine. Eight squared is sixty-four.” His voice grew louder as his confidence increased. “Nine squared is eighty-one. Ten squared is one hundred. Eleven squared is one hundred twenty-one. Twelve squared is one hundred forty-four...”
-
“Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice,” Elder Spock said, motioning for Captain Lester to sit.
Lester, instead, chose to lean up against the arm of Spock’s couch. “No problem. What did you need to talk about?”
“Janice Lester.”
Lester scowled. “That’s not important.”
“It is very important, if you wish for my technicians to continue to work on your ship.”
Lester pushed himself off the couch, and paced. “You know, I was told this was a fairly progressive planet. I had my worries concerning the feminist majority-they don’t have the best track record with this. But I figured I trust what I heard. I come here, let your friends take whatever they want from my cargo, and you decide to hold my ship ransom because you clocked me!” Lester advanced toward Elder Spock, snarling at him. “What do you want? A reward for your Vulcan powers of perception? Or do you just wanna fuck me?”
“I assure you do not want either of those things. I just wish to know your relation to Janice Lester.”
“Why? What does it matter to you?”
“I assume you are familiar with the Narada incident, and how that vessel came to be in our universe.”
“Of course, I do.”
“There were records brought through aboard the Narada.” Notice how he does not technically lie. “According to intel retrieved from the wreckage, a Dr. Janice Lester existed in Nero’s timeline. She committed several crimes, most of them concerning the Camusian artifact being studied by this planet’s scientific researchers. Seeing as you share the same surname and both of you possessed the artifact, I thought there might a connection between Dr. Janice Lester and you. I needed to know if the Janice Lester of this universe has gone done the same path.”
“Trust me, she didn’t.”
“You know Janice. Is she a relative?”
Lester shook his head. “Janice was my name before I transitioned.”
“I see. And you have never murdered anyone via radiation poisoning?”
“No,” Lester said slowly. “I’ve never murdered anyone via anything.”
“If I am understanding you correctly, you are not a serial killer.”
“Right. And if I was, and my modus operandi was radiation poisoning, I’d have to be one cocky son of a bitch to try to trade on a planet where the First Lady is one of the galaxy’s strongest advocates for innovation in treatment options.”
“Of course.” Elder Spock folded his hands. “You can trust that I will not share what you have revealed to me with anyone.”
“Thank you.”
“And your ship will be taken care of.”
“Thanks. Can I?” Lester looked toward the door.
“Of course.” He watched the captain leave, but before he reached the door, Elder Spock had to ask, “Are you happy?”
“Yeah.”
-
Spock stood in front of the full length mirror in his bedroom. Naked. His attempts at “self hanky panky” had been unsuccessful due to as much his discomfort as his general lack of knowledge about pleasing women sexually. (Before he and Geoffrey were bonded, Spock took for granted that his first sexual encounter with a woman would be pathetic and embarrassing; he didn’t foresee that he would be the woman in question.) He still, however, wished to explore being in a Human woman’s body.
Minus the lack of telepathy and physical strength, it was largely the same as being a half-Vulcan man’s body. Lower to the ground, perhaps. Warmer. He thought it would feel better. He thought he would feel better.
After admitting to his bondmate (and himself) his disidentifcation with the ad hoc category of “male,” Geoffrey had provided Spock with the medical literature about gender identity disorder, which he studied closely. There, it seemed, his path was laid in front of him-and well worn. Despite the existence of species like the Andorians, the Federation acknowledged the idea of two sexes-male and female-as universal constants. If Spock was not fully male, and did not feel he could become so, he had one option and it was in the literature Geoffrey provided.
Become a woman, change his name, have surgery.
There were symptoms was Spock was supposed to have. He knew from the diagnostic criteria that he was supposed to feel uncomfortable in his body and desire to bring it in line with female norms. That ran contrary to his experience. Spock was neither comfortable nor uncomfortable in his body. While he didn’t dislike it, he couldn’t say that he liked it either. That was not to say that at certain times in his life, Spock did not wish that particular parts of his body were more Vulcan or more Human, bigger or longer, darker or lighter. But his feelings about his body as a whole were similar to thoughts about shoes: Spock was grateful to have shoes, because walking along rough ground would be painful without them, but his shoes did not occupy much of his mental or temporal capacity.
Spock thought that, perhaps, after his body was reclassified as woman, he would feel something-rightness, belonging, succor-rather than the absence he felt in his current body.
Now, he was in Carol’s body-a Human woman’s body-and he felt nothing.
It was unsettling.
-
“...is one thousand, three hundred, sixty-nine.” Data sat up slowly. “Have I been activated?”
“Yes,” T’Pring answered.
“You activated me?”
“We both did,” Uhura said.
Data glanced at both the women. “Are you my mothers?”
Getting over her initial urge to run out of the room, hop a starship, and take off for the far edges of the galaxy, Uhura looked over at T’Pring, who merely shrugged. “Do you want us to be?” Uhura asked.
“I have not yet determined if this would be the most beneficial outcome. More data is needed. A query: if I designate you as my adopted Humanoid parents, would you provide me with shelter and the information I need to process my surroundings?”
“We’d try.”
“Yes. I find you to be suitable mothers.”
“Okay. That’s settled. We’re... your mothers.” Half of Nyota wanted to put her head between her knees and pray for Armageddon, while the other half wanted to pinch Data’s yellow, robotic cheek.
“Are you going to name me?”
“You are Data,” T’Pring said, foreclosing any opportunity of them naming him something that would drive Elder Spock batty.
“I am Data?”
“Yes.”
He pointed to the window. “That is a window?”
“Yes.”
“That is a lamp?”
“Yes.”
“That is a banana?”
“No.”
“That is not a banana. Is it a plantain?”
“No. That is your foot.”
“I have two of them. Is one a spare?”
“No. You require both of them to walk.”
“Why?”
“Traditionally, walking entails placing one foot in front of the other.”
“Why would I walk? I can see everything from here.”
“You can?” Uhura asked, not sure if Data had X-ray vision or something.
“Yes. Window, lamp, foot, foot, mother, mother, Data,” he listed, pointing to each item in the room.
“There are other things.” Nyota tried not to laugh.
“Where?” Data looked around the room. “Are they hidden?”
“No, they’re just outside of this room.”
“Outside of this room,” Data repeated. “There are things outside of this room?”
“There is an entire universe outside of this room,” T’Pring said.
“What are the dimensions of this universe?”
“Large. Vaster than you can imagine,” Uhura explained, expecting this to excite Data, as it did most members of Starfleet. Instead, he looked up and down his body-at his hands, his arms, his trunk, his legs, his two feet-and then curled into the fetal position. “What’s wrong?”
“I am insignificant within the scope of the universe. My existence is meaningless. I am just one of many small particles in the cosmos.”
“That’s why you don’t live in the cosmos. You live in this room.” Nyota knew she was condescending to a being with a far superior intellect than her, but it felt like the right thing to do. “And in this room, you’re pretty big.”
“Specificity gives meaning. My placement within a larger social context grants me greater importance.”
“Exactly.”
-
Carol sighed in frustration. She’d been trying for the last half hour to jerk off, but to no avail. Every time she got close, she would overhear someone thinking about what they wanted for dinner or something-and it was like being splashed with a bucket of ice. (The cruel irony being that she lasted longer than most men she slept with.)
Being Spock had quickly lost its novelty. At first, she’d gone around listening in on people’s thoughts and lifting heavy objects. Then her tits started aching like a zit ready to pop and she had to pump. Luckily, she was able to figure that out without Spock’s help. After that she pretty hungry, but she couldn’t have meat, chocolate, or alcohol-pretty much the three staple foods of any ‘fleet brat. She managed to choke down a salad by promising herself an orgasm afterward. And that didn’t turn out as she expected.
Carol was just about to “put the snake back in the hole,” when she was overcome by a strange sensation, like she was drifting out of herself. At first she thought that might be what a Vulcan orgasm felt like, but then it was like she in a room somewhere looking at herself-her real self. This was what Elder Spock described to them-the transfer of their life-energies back into their real bodies. He told them to fight their way to their bodies. If this was what being Spock was like, you better believe Carol put up one hell of a fight.
-
After three uninterrupted days at the beach, Charlie was proud to say that he could swim, and even paddle a bit on his surf board. It was nice being alone with his parents not having to worry about reading lessons or the looks other people gave him. The Thasians completely erased their memories of him, so it was like he dropped out of the sky the day they let him stay on Sh-Ka-Ree. Charlie was a stranger, even to members of his family, like Geoff and Spock. In some ways, he didn’t want to go back home. He’d rather stay on the beach with the two people who knew and loved him. (Uhura knew him and how he came to the planet, but she certainly didn’t love him.) But staying in a tent with one’s parents didn’t really lend it to itself to masturbation, which was quickly becoming one of Charlie’s favorite activities. He was anxious to get home to rub one out in the shower, but Leonard insisted they stop by T’Pring and Uhura’s to return their cooler before they forgot.
The door was opened by a robot who looked like he was in the death throes of hepatitis. “Hello. I am Data. I am an android. It is pleasing to make your-”
Sybok let out a blood curdling shriek, grabbed Charlie and Leonard by the wrist, and dragged them running down the street all the way into their living. It was only after he had made sure all the windows and doors were closed, and the blinds drawn that Sybok stopped screaming.
“Jesus Christ, what’s gotten into you?” Leonard asked, still holding Uhura’s cooler.
“That thing,” Sybok gasped.
“So T’Pring and Uhura bought themselves an android. Big deal.”
“It has katra.”
“The android?”
Sybok nodded.
“You’re losing it. The thing’s a coffee maker. An electric toothbrush.”
“It has a katra. I could sense it.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Hence the running away screaming.”
-
“For some who’s going to be cited in all the major anthropology and metaphysics journals for the next century, you don’t look too triumphant.” Captain Lester grinned. “Mind if I sit?” he asked, gesturing to spot next Spock on the park bench.
Spock shook his head, and put down his PADD.
“Why so glum?”
“I found the results of my experiment to challenge far too many of my previously held beliefs.”
“About science or about you?”
“You are uniquely perceptive, Captain Lester.”
“It comes with the trade. A garbologist has to know what one man’s trash is to find his treasure.”
“And what is my trash?”
“I’d start with that shit you’re reading.” Lester nodded his head toward Spock’s PADD. “The Federation Diagnostic and Statistic Manual doesn’t have a clue. Especially when it comes to what you’re reading about.”
“And you are an expert in that field?”
“Not an expert. But I have some experience. I had... a friend whose insurance wouldn’t cover surgery because he was attracted to men.”
“That isn’t in the FDSM.”
“Tell that to my friend’s psychiatrist.”
“What happened to your friend?”
“He ditched his managed care plan, found an off-planet doctor who would treat him, and took to the stars to make enough money to pay for everything.”
“And did he?”
“Yeah. And he’s never looked back.”
“After surgery, did your friend feel better?”
“That makes it sound like he had a cold or something... He did feel better. I guess that’s right word. The body dysphoria went away.”
“I have a friend,” Spock started slowly, “who does not experience body dysphoria, but believes he might be transsexual.”
“That’s normal. There are plenty of trans folk who never have body dysphoria before they transition.”
“How do they transition then? It is one of the diagnostic criteria.”
“Some people never get diagnosed or have surgery. Other people fake their way through it or work their way around it like I did.”
“And those who did not have surgery, people accepted them as women?”
“Or men, or neither, or both.”
“Both?”
“There’s a lot more out there than man or woman.”
“Even amongst civilized species?”
“You really drank the Federation Kool-Aid, didn’t you? The idea that in so-called ‘savage’ races there’s a greater degree of sexual and gender ambiguity is old colonizing trick borrowed from the Europeans. But at the same time Europeans were going abroad to measure the genitals of Africans, there were Europeans at home who were actually trans and intersex. The idea went away for a while after a lot of work by trans activists, but after first contact, Earth culture felt like it needed to cling to something... And now most people in the Federation have no idea that someone could be a man and a woman, somewhere in between, or completely outside that whole spectrum... I’m sorry to go off on you like that. Considering your friend...”
“It is fine. I found what you said to be quite illuminating. I will pass it on to my friend.”
“It was good talking to you. I have to head over to Elder Spock’s workshop. My ship should be ready. But, here.” Lester pulled a small piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Spock. “Take my card. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye.”
Once Captain Lester had walked away, Spock glanced down at the card. It wasn’t like any business care he had ever seen--not that he had seen too many. It was a playing card-the ace of spades, to be exact-with Lester’s comm frequency and the words, “Tell her Captain Lester sent you,” written on the front. Overall, a business card befitting a garbologist.
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