Star Trek: Hands Of An Angry Goddess free porn video

This story is set in the world of the "Star Trek" television program, airing on NBC from 1966-69. "Star Trek" and its characters are registered trademarks of Paramount Pictures. No copyright infringement is intended in this not-for-profit fan fiction. This may be archived/posted anywhere; just give credit where credit is due. Thanks! Hands of an Angry Goddess By Pretzelgirl Space, the final frontier. These are the voyages of the starship Enterprise. Its five year mission: to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go where no man has gone before. *** Captain's Log, Stardate 5911.3 As the close of our five-year exploration mission nears, I find my duties as captain of the Enterprise becoming increasingly unpleasant. Mission reports, personnel files, transfer requests, and now the task I least enjoy as commanding officer: overseeing the disciplinary hearing of an errant crewman. Commander Spock brought in the accused -- a thin, slight human man with shaggy, mud-brown hair and fidgeting fingers. Across the room, behind a stark table sat Captain James T. Kirk, impassively watching the young man find his way to a chair. Kirk hesitated just long enough for Spock to seat himself to the captain's left. "Crewman Second Class Paul Fischer," stated Kirk formally. "You know why you are here?" Fischer stared at the deckplates and answered quietly, "Yes sir." "Crewman Straub says she found you in her quarters," continued Kirk. "You had broken in while you thought she was on duty elsewhere, and she reports finding you ... finding you dressed in her undergarments. Do you deny these charges, crewman?" Without looking up to face the captain, Fischer answered, "No, sir." Pausing for a single disgusted sigh, Kirk continued. "Do you have anything to say for yourself, Fischer?" "I ... I'm sorry," the crewman said softly. "Sorry you did it or sorry you got caught?" Kirk demanded. "I ... both, sir," Fischer answered, his head still hanging low. "Dammit, Fischer!" exploded Kirk, banging his fist on the table. "What the blazes were you thinking? In the first place, breaking into another crewman's quarters is a severe breach of protocol. But rifling through her personal things and ... doing what you did is simply ... words fail me, Fischer. That's conduct unbecoming any member of Starfleet, and I ought to have you cashiered right out of the service, that's what I ought to do. I won't stand for this kind of behavior -- not on my ship, not on Enterprise!" Spock regarded the captain with a raised eyebrow, but said nothing. Crewman Fischer sat fidgeting, still staring intently at the floor. "I'm going to be lenient," said Kirk. "But only for three reasons: One, you've got an otherwise impeccable service record. Two, Crewman Straub is not interested in punishing you. She just wants assurances this won't happen again -- and it WON'T. Third, your department head, Mr. Spock, has spoken glowingly of you and says I'd be doing a disservice to Enterprise's archaeology labs if I kicked you out of the fleet ... as you so richly deserve!" "So," concluded Kirk. "As commanding officer during these proceedings, I'm giving you a formal reprimand and an ultimatum: if I ever hear any reports of you slipping back into any sort of crossdressing behavior, that will be the end of your career in Starfleet. No second chances. This is it Fischer. You want to wear that uniform, you play by my rules. You want to wear a dress, you should've remained a civilian. Do we understand one another?" "Yes, sir," answered Fischer meekly. "Look at me when you address your commanding officer," ordered Kirk. Reluctantly, a wide-eyed Fischer faced the captain and answered again: "Yes, sir. I understand you, sir. Thank you for the leniency, captain." Kirk regarded the young crewman for a moment before curtly replying. "Get out of my sight." As Crewman Fischer rushed out of the conference room, Commander Spock stood and addressed Kirk. "I appreciate you allowing Fischer to remain at his post in Enterprise's archaeology lab," said Spock with a level voice. "However, I find the conditions you have laid on him to be curiously excessive expectations of human behavior." Kirk stood and brusquely answered his first officer, "I was hardly excessive, Spock. The man was like a common burglar. That shouldn't be tolerated in Starfleet." "Nevertheless," continued Spock, following Kirk out of the room and down the corridor. "Crewman Fischer seems inevitably destined to fall short of the conditions you have imposed. His crossdressing behavior needn't be linked to his invasion of a shipmate's privacy. Humans often find it exceedingly difficult to control their sexual desires. So common is this failing, that even we Vulcans have learned to tolerate sexual peculiarities in your species." "Don't give me that holier-than-thou nonsense," snapped Kirk. "I've seen you in the throes of Pon Farr." Spock lowered his voice to a whisper, "My point exactly. Even the most disciplined Vulcans remain susceptible to sexual urges once every seven years. How can you expect a young, undisciplined human crewman to fully suppress his sexuality, however unusual you may find its expression?" "I let him off easy," said Kirk. "And I've given you what you want. He just suffered a dressing down, hopefully one he won't soon forget. He'll recover and be a better crewman for it. Besides, he'll only live under my 'excessive expectations' for a few weeks at best. Then our mission ends, and he's someone else's responsibility." Spock again regarded the captain with a raised eyebrow, but said nothing as the two entered a turbolift and rode silently to the bridge. Striding out into his command center, Kirk began crisply snapping out questions and orders to the elite team of seasoned officers manning the bridge of Enterprise. "Mister Sulu," said the captain. "ETA to Sedris Prime?" "Forty-two minutes, sir," answered the helmsman. Kirk nodded and turned to his communications officer. "Uhura, any word from the excavation team?" he asked. "Yes, sir," answered the lieutenant. "Excavation team reported in ten minutes ago. They say it's the biggest discovery of Iconian artifacts they've ever found. Off the record, Doctor Mibley says he's hopeful they might even learn the location of the Iconian homeworld from this latest cache." "Good," grunted Kirk in return, settling into his command chair. "It's about time we heard some positive news." "And captain," continued Uhura. "Doctor Mibley further requests the use of Enterprise's lab facilities for analysis and cataloging of the Iconian artifacts." Swiveling the command chair to face his chief science officer, Kirk addressed Spock, now seated at the bridge science station. "Mister Spock, advise Lieutenant Norlin in archaeology to have a tech team standing by in transporter room two in one hour's time," the captain said. "I trust your team is up to the task?" With a perfectly calm voice, Spock answered, "Each of Enterprise's archaeology technicians will provide the same standard of scientific quality you have come to expect, captain." Kirk permitted himself a half-smile and rubbed a weary hand across his jaw. Perhaps he had been a bit too harsh on Fischer. And certainly Spock deserved better. The Vulcan was more than just the most capable officer Kirk had ever served with; over the past five years, Spock had become Jim Kirk's closest friend. To have questioned Spock's department on the open bridge was petty. He'd been letting the stress of the past few weeks catch up with him, and that was unfair to both Fischer and Spock. With the five-year mission's end now looming a few weeks off, Kirk had found himself drenched in paperwork: logs, promotions, transfers, reports. After the mission to Sedris Prime, there was a brief gravitational survey at Beta Aurigae and a rendezvous with USS Potemkin. They would pass the torch to another ship, another crew, another mission. Enterprise would then head home: Starbase Two, Spacedock, Earth, and it was all over. Enterprise, Kirk, and crew would become just another footnote in the history of space exploration. Was it wistful regret, restless nostalgia, or full-blown irrational fear that had kept him on edge lately? A starship captain cannot afford the luxury of feeling maudlin. The incident with Fischer had provoked him when he ought to have known better. He should've been more even-tempered. "Mister Spock," said the captain loudly. "I have the utmost trust in your capable administration of this ship's science resources. I'm certain each and every member of Enterprise's archaeology team will perform admirably, just as they always have in the past." Spock eyed the captain curiously but said nothing, returning to his duties. With no ego to bruise, the Vulcan had been neither offended by Kirk's barb nor pleased by the captain's sudden show of faith in his department's abilities. Kirk silently resolved to permit himself some enjoyment in Enterprise's familiar surroundings and crew before the mission ended for good. The ship traversed a quiet sector now -- little chance of encountering Klingons, Romulans, or any other threat. Over the next forty minutes, the captain quietly watched the dedicated command crew of Enterprise diligently work their stations. He would miss all this. A brief sensation of bittersweet nostalgia swept Kirk. The faces, the machinery, the ship itself was home. He'd been here long enough to make this artificial shell seem so natural. A starship was more than just steel plates and silicon chips. It was people, and in the neverending rush of progress, of Starfleet paperwork, of administrative progress, he'd lost sight of that. Kirk promised himself to somehow make things better with both Spock and Fischer. *** "How'd it go with the skipper?" asked Lieutenant Norlin. Staring at the deckplates as he shuffled into the lab, Paul Fischer sighed but said nothing. "That bad, eh?" said Norlin shaking his head. "Captain Kirk is a good guy, Paul. Maybe you just caught him on a tough day." "Guess so," said Fischer glumly. "Well, chin up," Norlin said. "We'll have a lot of work cataloging these Iconian artifacts over the next day or so. Maybe you can prove yourself to the captain, do a real spit-n-polish job here." Fischer stared at his own feet for a moment before replying. "Thanks, lieutenant," replied Fischer. "I'll do my best." "You mind a piece of advice, Paul?" asked Norlin. "You should've just asked Eileen Straub. I mean, she's a nice girl. Always seemed to like you ... maybe even still does after this. She might've said yes." "I-I-I don't think you understand, sir," stammered Fischer. "Don't I?" said Norlin, flashing an impish smile. "You'd be surprised, Paul. I dated this Deltan girl back at the academy, voraciously sexual and bald as a dom-jot ball. She had this thing for hair, thought it was exotically attractive. She used to have me wear wigs whenever we made love. I've worn blonde wigs, brunette, redhead ... long-haired, pageboy cut, styled in an afro, even done up in pigtails." Fischer sheepishly smiled at the thought of Lieutenant Norlin, a beefy man well over six feet tall, sporting schoolgirl pigtails. Norlin caught the crewman's smile and laughed with him. "Yeah, I'm sure I was a sight," chuckled Norlin. "The point is, everyone gets a little excited by something weird. There's no shame in it, so long as you're open and honest. You've got to figure out your own path, but no one has to walk down it alone." Alone, Fischer thought. That was what no one seemed to understand. His path wasn't natural. Wanting what he wanted, lusting after objects and not people ... it made him alone. The lieutenant was only trying to be supportive, but it wasn't something he, or Eileen Straub, or Captain Kirk would ever understand. It was a special kind of hell only Paul Fischer would know. Maybe he would've been better if he'd never been ... well, never been a 'he.' Too late for that now. Paul forced a silent smile at Lieutenant Norlin. "Well, enough gabbing," Norlin said. "Let's get over to the transporter room and collect Dr. Mibley's artifacts." The walk to Transporter Room Two proved the first relaxing part of Paul Fischer's day. He and Lieutenant Norlin chatted amiably about everything: the end of the five-year mission, what the mess hall was serving for dinner, and the general shortcomings of command officers. Norlin was a good guy, despite everything. He might not understand Paul's world, but at least he made an effort. He deserved better than serving middle-management for Kirk's draconian bureaucracy. The bulky artifact crates proved simple enough to manage with anti-grav lifts attached. Fischer and Norlin easily maneuvered the heavy, titanium boxes through Enterprise's spartan corridors and back to the archaeology lab. In the lab, the two men began meticulously unpacking the priceless treasures, buried for untold millennia under the rocky, red, unforgiving desert surface of Sedris Prime. Opening a container, Paul pulled forth and gazed solemnly at a thin, silver headband he held gingerly in his hands. Quietly he turned it over eyeing its craftsmanship quizzically. It seemed to speak to him. This inanimate strip of metal seemed to comprehend his desires ... his unspoken secret urges. He heard it silently call out to him - to the real Paul, to the part of him that wasn't really a 'him' at all. "What's the hold up?" asked Lieutenant Norlin. "Impressed to learn the Iconians had heads just about the size of ours?" Fischer quickly turned to face his superior. His temporary communion with the metal headband shattered. The world seemed cold and artificial now. And he seemed out-of-place here. He felt nervous, anxious to return to the warm, welcoming place the artifact had just shown him. "No," replied Paul in a quiet, distant voice. "There's something else. Something powerful about it - about the headband." "Looks like an ordinary strip of aluminum to me," said Norlin, making a cursory inspection of the object Paul held. "Catalog it and let's move on. There's lots more where that one came from!" Ignoring his boss, Paul held the headband up to his forehead and slowly slipped it on. It felt cold on his forehead, like steel just out of a freezer. The frigid metal burned his skin, yet felt pleasantly soothing at the same time, as though his body had been overheating all these years and desperately needed a good, soothing cool-down. "Paul, no joking," scowled Norlin. "You don't know where that's been, or how old and incredibly valuable it is. Take it off." "No," said Paul, his voice softer and lighter. A strange white glow shone in his eyes. For the first time in decades he felt right. He was safe and secure, in the proper niche. It no longer hurt not-to-belong. He could be free. "No," he repeated. "I won't take it off. I ... I am liberated for the first time in many months. In... in many years." "Crewman, that's an order," snapped Lieutenant Norlin. "Lieutenant, you seem stressed," Paul answered in a lilting voice. An odd rush of energy pulsed through him. An electric tingle ran down his body as he eyed the Lieutenant. "I think you need to let your hair down." Norlin paused at Paul's odd comment, then felt a light weight on his head, falling down around his neck and shoulders. A mane of long wavy, platinum blond hair sprouted forth from his skull, framing his masculine features. "Paul, what have you done?" he yelled. "I have given you the hair of a beautiful woman," said Paul with a smile. A cool rippling breeze across the raised hairs on his skin rewarded his body with a sudden spasm of soft pleasure. It felt good to change things. To make things what they should be. It felt right to ... make things female. "That headband is affecting your mind," Norlin said. "You're not a god, Paul. Take it off, please." "I'm not a god," Paul answered. "I'm a goddess." Again, a spasm shook his body. This time it wasn't just a cool breeze. A sudden rush of energy convulsed his muscles involuntarily. It was pleasure and pain beyond his control ... Paul Fischer was just along for the ride. As his body shuddered in hurtful ecstasy, he both laughed and cried. Paul's own shaggy, mud-brown hair came to life, cascading into brilliant, full-bodied curls of carefully styled hair. His slight, underweight, stooped body grew more full, taller and stronger as Paul morphed into a statuesque, bountifully- proportioned Amazon, now clad in a sheer-white, translucent, ankle-length gown. Lieutenant Norlin slowly began backing away from Paul and reaching for the wall intercom panel. Paul shook his head and felt graceful waves of curled hair brush his shoulders. A peaceful, inner bliss of calm cascaded through his mind as he smiled beatifically at the lieutenant. "And now, Mister Norlin, it's time we made you into a handmaiden suitable for a goddess such as myself," said Paul. *** On the bridge, Jim Kirk stared thoughtfully at the starfield projected on the viewscreen. Stroking his chin, he contemplated his future, the future of Enterprise, the future of her crew. They had lives and fortunes of their own, but a part of him selfishly wished they could keep working together. Sulu would make a fine captain someday, and Chekov an able first officer. They deserved their own day-in-the-sun ... yet a part of Kirk wished desperately this moment in time would never end, he and all these men and women continuing in their perfect roles forever. The urgent voice of his communications officer interrupted his inner monologue. "Captain," said Uhura. "I have Commander Scott on the intercom. He says it's quite important." "Patch him through," Kirk ordered, quickly snapping out of his daze. "Cap'n," Scotty said. "We're reading a level four energy drain on deck seven. Technically, anything above a level two ought to be cleared through engineering first." "You're absolutely right, Mister Scott," replied Kirk. "Who authorized this power consumption?" "Well, no one's authorized it," Scott answered. "That's just why I'm concerned." "Where's it coming from?" asked Kirk. "Deck seven, section alpha 112," said Scott. "Archaeology labs." Kirk frowned at Spock for a moment before replying. "Shut it down, Mister Scott." "That's just the thing, Cap'n," said Scott. "I've tried and I have no control over it. Deck seven power couplings aren't responsive ... almost as though they've been fused solid. I canna shut it off from here." "Mister Spock, shut down those labs from the bridge," ordered Kirk. "Uhura, contact Lieutenant Norlin for me." "Negative Captain," replied Spock. "I am encountering the same problems Mister Scott reported. Deck seven no longer responds to bridge controls." "I'm unable to raise Lieutenant Norlin," said Uhura. "I'm sorry sir." Damnit, why was there was always something ... an alien empire, a renegade space probe, a rampaging star beast ... why was there always something that sought to destroy this perfect place Kirk and his people had built? "Blasted," muttered Kirk. "Spock, you're with me. We're getting to the bottom of this. Uhura, have an engineering team meet me at the deck seven turbolift station. We're shutting this down manually." *** Exiting the turbolift, Kirk strode boldly into the corridor only to stop short, leaving Spock and the three engineering technicians following him still halfway in the turbolift entrance. The trim, sparse bulkheads of deck seven were now painted lavender and trimmed with bright yellow flowers near the ceiling. The floors were coated in shaggy, hot-pink carpeting. A gauzy, translucent lilac canopy hung loosely draped from the ceiling. "I'm getting a clearer idea of who's behind this," muttered Kirk, again striding forward into the corridor. "I would urge caution," Spock said evenly. "It would be illogical to jump to conclusions without a full assessment of the facts. It is unlikely a single crewman could have done all this independently." Kirk nodded wordlessly while stepping over to a wall intercom panel and flipping a switch. "Kirk to bridge," he said. "Send a security team down to sweep deck seven for unauthorized persons ... bridge? Bridge do you copy?" The intercom was silent. Spock and Kirk exchanged knowing glances. "Intercoms are down," Kirk said with an exasperated sigh, turning to face the engineering squad. "Werner and Murphy, work on restoring power to where it?s supposed to be down here. Crewman Weber ? you?re now a runner. Take a report back to the bridge on what's going on. Get me that security team." The three technicians sprang into action. Kirk and Spock left them and continued walking cautiously down the empty corridor until finally reaching the archaeology labs. Motioning Spock to the side, Kirk stepped forward and the lab doors opened with a soft whoosh. Inside, a statuesque brunette in a gauzy, cream toga and silver headband smiled maliciously at them. At her feet crouched a diminutive blonde in a tight leopard-print mini-dress. The blonde wore a vacant, animal-dumb expression. "Fischer?" asked a wide-eyed Kirk. "Is that you? What's going on?" "Yes, Jim Kirk," answered the brunette. "I'm the one you formerly called Fischer. Though now I am elevated beyond your wildest imagination. You are but an amoeba to what I have become." The Goddess Fischer smiled wickedly at Kirk, then turned her gaze back to the blonde slave girl clutching her leg and pawing playfully at her feet. "What are you talking about?" said Kirk softly while motioning Spock to enter the room. "Thank our friends the Iconians," replied Fischer. "Through their heightened technology, I have become what you denied me. I am woman - care to hear my roar, Captain?" Fischer winked and flashed Kirk an evil grin. Instantly a gust of wind rushed through the room, forcing the captain and first officer, gasping, against the wall. The goddess roared with laughter, and her slave girl giggled. As the wind died, Spock leaned in close to the Kirk and whispered, "If Crewman Fischer has activated an Iconian artifact, we may all be in grave danger. As yet, we understand little of their technology." "Little?" roared Fischer in a hearty contralto laugh. "I understand it all, Mister Spock. Let's see: you're experiencing a power drain. That leads you to me, doesn't it? This Iconian headband lets me draw power from the environment around me and reshape it into anything I desire. In this case, it lets me become the goddess YOU refused me!" Kirk snarled angrily at Fischer, then took an involuntary step back, as if from another sudden burst of wind towards him. Quickly recovering, he faced the tall Amazon and answered, "And is that Lieutenant Norlin, cowering at your feet? What justice is there in that, Paul? You changed a good man, maybe your only friend on this ship, into what - a tiny, shuddering, sex kitten?" "SILENCE!" roared Fischer, an outstretched arm pointed towards Kirk. "You will learn the price of insolence!" Without warning, Kirk collapsed to the floor in an abrupt paroxysm of pain. Rising to his feet with the assistance of Spock, Kirk felt the change. He was still himself; that was good. But his uniform ... it was a short-skirted gold dress now ... with knee-high leather boots ... and nylon pantyhose. Quickly glancing down, he recognized himself - still a man -- but now in the female duty uniform due his rank. "What?" he sputtered with rage. "Fischer ... you think this is a joke?" The woman who had been Paul Fischer flashed a twisted grin at Kirk. It was good to see Kirk in a dress. The great manly hero, reduced to wearing that tight little golden gown, perched precariously in shining black boots. The discontinuity brought a wave of pleasure across Paul's body. "It's no joke, Captain," she answered. "Just a foretaste of what's to come. I'm the one in charge now, Kirk. And I've decided your masculinity offends me." Kirk's muscles involuntarily flexed as he prepared to leap forward at Fischer, but somewhere between the speed of human thought and action, Spock's reflexes cut in first, and the Vulcan first officer grabbed the captain by the shoulders and dragged him out of the lab, away from the Paul Fischer's peals of laughter. For now, Fischer would let them leave. His womanly power outclassed Kirk's bravado, and the captain had been appropriately humiliated. Outside the lab, Spock urgently addressed his superior officer. "Captain, you must control your emotions," cautioned the Vulcan once the pair was free from the lab. "Fischer could have done far worse, as evidenced from Lieutenant Norlin's fate." "Right," muttered Kirk between clenched teeth. "So how do we stop him from doing THIS to the rest of my ship? Dammit, Spock - I let him off easy..." "Now is not the time for retrospection or recrimination," replied Spock. "We must prioritize. We know Fischer is the cause of our power drain. I would recommend evacuating the remainder of deck seven, then running a cold shut-down of all non-essential power shipwide. If he is drawing energy from the environment, it may be possible to disarm him by extinguishing all power sources." Kirk tugged at the hem of his dress and was silent for a moment. "Okay," he finally answered at they approached the turbolift. "But one correction: my first priority is a new uniform. I feel stripped of my command this way." "Might I suggest Yeoman Rand meet you in sickbay with a fresh uniform," said Spock, with a nod towards Crewmen Murphy and Werner still attending to the power junction Kirk had left them at. Neither had said a word, but both had stolen quizzical glances at Kirk's out-of-place attire. "Right, of course," Kirk answered curtly. "Take care of it please, Mister Spock. And where in blazes is that security team? When they show up, have them wait until main power is offline before sweeping the deck." Spock nodded wordlessly as Kirk hurriedly beat a path to sickbay, hoping to encounter as few crew members as possible. *** "Jim, what the hell are you wearing?" asked Leonard McCoy. "Is it Halloween already? If so, my invitation to the masquerade got lost in the intraship e-mail again." "Bones, that's hilarious," grumbled Kirk stumbling into sickbay and moving straight to a computer panel. "Okay, don't explain yourself to me," replied McCoy. "Just leave it to my fertile imagination to conjecture why you're wearing a dress that'd be too-short on Uhura. By the way, you've got a visible bra-line." Turning away from his furious typing at the computer panel, Kirk faced his chief medical officer. "You'll excuse me doctor, but there's another emergency requiring my attention," he snapped. "Crewman Fischer did this to me, and there's no telling what he might do to the rest of Enterprise unless we get the engines shut-down soon." "Fischer... Fischer... Paul Fischer?" McCoy muttered to himself, stroking his chin. "Crewman 3rd class in anthropology?" "Second class," replied Kirk. "Archaeology. Disciplined him this morning for stealing a co-worker's lingerie. Just my luck, he'd wind up in control of an omnipotent alien artifact this afternoon. And dammit, he's locked us out of engineering controls!" McCoy watched the captain furiously slam a fist on the desk. "Easy there, Jim," said the doctor. "Paul Fischer's a good kid. I may not remember his exact rating and billet, but I know his personality. Hard worker and eager as a puppy to please. I can't see him lashing out at you for vengeance." "Well he did!" snapped Kirk. "How do you explain this? And where the hell is Rand with a change of clothes? I just hope Spock and Scotty are having better luck shutting down power, or we'll all wind up like this." McCoy walked over to a medical locker, opened it, and removed a stack of clothes. "You're welcome to a medical tunic," he said evenhandedly. "You say there's an alien artifact involved? Could that be affecting Paul's judgment?" Kirk took the medical uniform without words. "Y'know," continued McCoy. "This wouldn't be the first time we've seen an innocent man under the influence of alien technology. You might consider giving Paul the benefit of the doubt. I can't imagine an insidious rogue getting through Starfleet psych screening." "People change," muttered Kirk, stripping out of the gold minidress and pulling off the leather knee-boots. "Well," drawled McCoy. "Sure, he wasn't an officer. But Fischer had done boot camp, astronaut training, and had a few years space experience under his belt. He was just finishing a tour of duty on the legendary Enterprise. Hell, seems like a silly time to throw it all away over a fashion dispute with his commanding officer." "Breaking and entering," grumbled Kirk, tossing aside a useless iridescent-white bra. "Bones, he violated the privacy of another crewman. He stole her underwear. I did what any skipper would do." "Probably did," nodded McCoy, watching Jim pull on the medical tunic. "But it's funny how captains and admirals deal with utterly alien species on a daily basis, yet find it so damned hard to reconcile sexual variance in their own species." "Oh not you, now!" sighed Kirk. McCoy lifted an eyebrow, but otherwise ignored Jim Kirk's comment. "I'm no counselor," said the doctor. "But Paul Fischer sounds borderline transgender to me. Should've been diagnosed long ago, but Starfleet so rarely sends psychologists out to the frontier." "Regardless of that lamentable fact," interrupted Kirk testily, "There is a very angry and very female Paul Fischer in our archaeology labs right now, siphoning power from MY ship. He's already changed one innocent man into a woman, and done his best to make a laughingstock of me. I intend to put a stop to him." "I have no doubt you'll succeed," nodded McCoy. "Just don't be so hard on the boy. Jim, you've seen dozens of strange new lifeforms. Don't be so stubborn about encountering a woman-in-a- man's-body." "I'm hardly so prejudicial, doctor," snapped Kirk. Just then Yeoman Rand hurried into sickbay carrying an armful of clothes from the captain's quarters. "Oh, sir!" she said. "Message from Commander Spock, sir. He told me to say, 'power is off in the labs, but they're moving toward the bridge.' Communications are all off-line. Mister Spock requests your presence at the bridge as soon as possible." "I'm on my way," Kirk announced, moving towards the door. "Sir, don't you need your uniform?" asked Yeoman Rand. Without an answer, Jim Kirk was gone. "Yeoman," McCoy said. "There goes a man who needs nothing." *** As Kirk approached the turbolift station, it's doors slid open and a slight, short-haired Vulcan woman in a blue mini-dress and knee-boots stepped out. "Spock?" whispered Kirk. "It is I," answered the Vulcan woman. "Fischer easily penetrated the bridge and has transformed the entire bridge crew. Out of 'gratitude,' she only altered my body and not my mind. The rest of the bridge crew were not so fortunate." Kirk gritted his teeth in anger but said nothing. "I was sent," continued Spock, "to warn you not to attempt re- taking Enterprise. You and any 'loyalists' are directed to leave the ship in shuttles immediately. The starship 'Lady Enterprise' now belongs to Fischer." "No," said Kirk softly. "I'm sorry this happened to you Spock... but I won't give in and lose my ship." "Apologies are unnecessary," Spock said in a soft contralto. "Male or female, one body is as nearly the same as the other to me. I have delivered Fischer's message - I am now at your disposal for whatever plans you may have for re-taking Enterprise." "A security team will sweep..." The Vulcan shook her head. "The security team already intercepted Fischer on her way to the bridge. Before a single shot could be fired, all six security specialists had become ... prepubescent girls." "If we could disconnect the antimatter injectors," mused Kirk. "Again, that has been tried," Spock answered. "Fischer has issued an ultimatum to the main engineering crew to also leave the ship. Mister Scott reports that any crewmembers attempting to interfere with power flow have been ... at least partially feminized." "Feminized?" "One complete transformation," answered Spock. "And several technicians now have feminized limbs, voices, or even heads. Mister Scott himself now has considerably more delicate hands after attempting to operate a manual switchboard." "So how does one stop a god?" asked Kirk. "Goddess," Spock corrected. "Same difference." "Clearly not, in Fischer's mind," said Spock. "And it's Fischer's twisted mind that's started all this mess!" scowled Kirk in frustration. "Possibly Captain, you have just stumbled upon a probable solution," mused Spock thoughtfully. "It is not Fischer's mind alone that is responsible. I still maintain his thought-processes are being manipulated by the Iconian artifact." "The point's moot, Spock," muttered Kirk. "What's your idea?" "Archaeology never completed a cataloging of Iconian artifacts," Spock said. "And where there's one magic headband, there's another," said Kirk snapping his fingers. "It is but a possibility," cautioned Spock. "However, it seems our best opportunity at present. I would urge we move quickly. Fischer may arrive at a similar conclusion at any time." *** A short time later in the archaeology labs, Kirk and Spock had found exactly what they sought. Slowly the captain lifted a band of silver fabric towards his own forehead. "Captain, I would urge caution," said Spock. "This artifact altered Paul Fischer's mind. I do not believe he would have lashed out against the crew if not under the influence of this device." "He COULD not have lashed out like he did, you mean," retorted Kirk. Spock remained impassive. "It's our only chance," Kirk said. "While I'm wearing this headband, I'll distract Fischer ... hopefully long enough for you and Scotty to cold shutdown the Enterprise, and get the artifact away from him." "Captain, perhaps I should don the headband," answered Spock. "My mental discipline may..." "No," interrupted Kirk. "This is my ship, Spock. I have to be the one to bring her back. I'm responsible for returning this ship and crew home to Earth. If a captain can't do that, he doesn't deserve the braids on his sleeves." Spock silently eyed the sleeves of Kirk's medical tunic, absent of any braids of rank. "Besides," Kirk continued. "Apparently I was the one who set off Paul Fischer in the first place. In his mind at least, this is a personal matter between the two of us." "Only in his mind?" asked Spock. Without answering, Kirk slid the metallic headband around his forehead. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and began to speak, his voice now stronger and more resonant than ever. "Let's go." *** The Enterprise's bridge had become the throne room of a fairy tale princess. A tall, confident, and queenly Paul Fischer sat in the command chair - now a silver throne bejeweled with amethysts and cushioned with wine-red velvet. Tapestries of violet-and-gold hung alongside pink-and-grey checkered banners on pastel walls formerly adorned with computer panels. A plush lavender carpet lined with gold edge filled the room. Throughout the bridge, women (all of lesser stature than Paul) busily danced about at their tasks - a medieval serving wench refilled Paul's goblet, a harem girl from the Arabian Nights gently fanned the throne, a geisha in ceremonial robe rubbed Fischer's feet. Everywhere in the room small, unobtrusive women performed servile tasks. None acknowledged the arrival of Kirk and Spock on the bridge. Fischer didn't even turn to look at the captain when speaking. "Jim Kirk -- I warned you to leave this place," Paul said. "Don't force me to castrate you." A wicked smile flickered across Paul's face. Abruptly Kirk's body writhed, twisting into a new form - a petite, green-skinned Orion slave girl. The slave girl closed her eyes tightly, growled once, and suddenly became James Kirk again. "Get the hell off my bridge, mister!" yelled Kirk, brushing Spock off to the side of the bridge and stepping towards Fischer. Fischer's mane of brown curls whipped around as she turned to face Kirk. "How dare you take that tone of voice with me?" Paul demanded. The various servant girls on the bridge ceased their tasks and knelt subserviently around the throne. "I said get off my bridge," growled Kirk through gritted teeth. The captain's hands clenched into fists of rage as he took a menacing step towards Fischer. For the first time, Paul seemed visibly vexed. "You've got another Iconian headband," she observed. "But you're still learning to use it. I already know all the In's and Out's. The advantage is still mine!" Abruptly Kirk's clothing disappeared, replaced by a clearly too- tight black lace bra and pair of tiny satin panties. "Let's see how you like wearing Eileen Straub's underthings," smirked Fischer. Jim Kirk snarled wordlessly and took another step forward. The bra and panties melted away, replaced with a simple loincloth. Kirk now seemed taller, more massive, more muscular ... and furious. "Just as well," Fischer said, nervously climbing out of her throne. "They'd look better on me anyhow." Kirk lunged at Fischer, seeking to tackle her to the ground. The agile woman leaped nimbly from his angry grasp and materialized a flower-garlanded wrought-iron fence between herself and the wrathful captain. "Perhaps we can work out a deal of some sort," Fischer said soothingly. "Every queen needs a king; every goddess needs a god? You and I, with the power of Lady Enterprise, could rule this quadrant. We could bring peace and order to the Klingons, the Romulans, the Gorn." Kirk grabbed two of the wrought-iron bars with his fists and snapped them effortlessly. Fischer took a step backwards and nearly tripped over her own flowing gown. "Without me, Starfleet will come and take away your headband," she said. "You'll lose your newfound powers. But together, we could conquer the Federation itself. We ... this ship, all her crew, would serve you. Forever. You need never lose Enterprise." Inches away from Fischer, Kirk paused. Never lose Enterprise. That was what this was all about. She ... HE had tried to take it from him. The admiralty board on Earth was trying to promote him away from it. Enterprise ... his home, his love, his reason for being. The thoughts raced rapidly through Kirk's expanded mind. It was true. One way or another, things must change. The crew would go their separate ways, the ship would serve another captain, Kirk would wander the heavens no more. All good things must come to an end. He'd be chained to a desk. No more Spock, Bones, Scotty ... this ship was all he had. Was there no alternative - but this? Damnit! He'd sooner lose Enterprise than see her changed into this twisted opera-set nightmare. It wasn't the feminization; it was the loss of identity. These slaves weren't the free men and women who volunteered to brave the unknown ? Fischer made them mere chattel. And Paul Fischer's 'Lady Enterprise' wasn't a ship of the line, a vessel dedicated to the principles of the Federation. This was indulgence, not freedom. Fischer's offer was no offer at all. Kirk's Enterprise was lost either way. There was no alternative. With a growl, Kirk leaped forward knocking Fischer to the ground. Abruptly the lights went out. In darkness, Kirk grappled with Fischer reaching for her headband. Suddenly the darkness swam in warm dizziness ... and Kirk lost consciousness. *** "What... where...?" Kirk stammered, struggling to sit up. "Easy there," answered the voice of Doctor McCoy. "You've had a busy day." "The ship?" Kirk said, blinking his eyes into focus. "Still here or none of us would be," replied McCoy with a grin. Commander Spock, returned to his masculine self, stepped into view. "Captain," he said. "I am most pleased to see you have regained consciousness. I apologize for any discomfort my neck pinch may have caused you." "You ... you neck-pinched me?" asked Kirk. "It was necessary," answered Spock. "I surmised the second Iconian device was hyper-masculinizing your mind. It was uncertain if you would willingly part with the artifact. So, while you and Crewman Fischer were distracted, I took the liberty of disengaging the ship's energy sources ... rendering both of you powerless." "Then a couple of neck pinches, collect the headbands, and everything's back to normal?" asked Kirk. "Actually, it was necessary for me to briefly don one of the devices," said Spock. "The power began to corrupt even my emotionless logic before long. But I was able to use it to undo all of Fischer's changes and still maintain the strength to remove it voluntarily. Both artifacts are safely locked away at present." "I ... thank you," stammered Kirk. "I was simply performing my duty to ship and captain," replied Spock. "Speaking of Fischer," interrupted Doctor McCoy. "I've got him resting here in the next room." "Good," said Kirk, swinging off the medical bed and standing up. "I want to talk to him." "Easy there, Jim," began McCoy. "Bones, it's not what you think," said Kirk stepping into the next room. McCoy and Spock silently followed. In the next ward, the again-male Fischer jumped off the medical bed and leaped to attention. "Captain, sir!" he cried. "Crewman, do you really want to be a woman?" asked Kirk. "I-I-I'm terribly sorry about what happened," Fischer began. "Sir, I take full responsibility and..." "Just answer my question," Kirk said softly. Fischer hung his head low. "Sir ... I ... that is ... sometimes I ... yes," he murmured. "Good lord, boy. Weren't you ever diagnosed?" asked McCoy. "I can account for Jim's bullheadedness - simple stubbornness. But I can't figure your own sense of shame over your sexual identity -- what sort of stone age sexual stigmas were you brought up with? Where did you grow up, boy?" "Nalboth colony, sir," Fischer answered. "That would explain it," muttered McCoy. "A lot of the colony worlds are still pretty backward-thinking about transsexuality. Son, you should've transitioned years ago - or at least been given the opportunity." "Transitioned?" asked Kirk. Spock answered: "I believe the doctor is referring to sex reassignment surgery." Kirk nodded. "Well, I'm a doctor and not a therapist," said McCoy. "So Fischer, if you're interested in being surgically changed into a woman, you'll need the approval of a licensed psychologist and a medical doctor. But you've got my okay right now. A pity we don't carry counselors on starships." "Oh, I imagine there'll be someone at Starbase Two," said Kirk. "But, back to my original question: are you really interested in this Fischer? I understand that artifact was doing things to your mind earlier. I felt it's presence in my mind - amplifying what was already there." "No sir," Fischer interrupted. "Well, yes sir ... I mean, it wasn't just the artifact. I've always felt out-of-step. I never really knew there might be ... that is ... yes, doctor. I'd very much like to do the surgery." "I'll get the paperwork started. It?s a pretty quick, simple, painless procedure nowadays," McCoy smiled. "And you, captain?" "Eh?" said Kirk. "Of course, he has my approval. I'm sorry about before, Paul. The reprimand stays on your record for invasion-of- privacy, but I'm dropping the rest of it. I just didn't understand. I probably still don't understand, but I think I'm better equipped to accept it. So you certainly have your CO's approval on this matter." "No, I meant are you interested in it yourself, Jim?" said McCoy with a smirk. "I think you enjoyed your moments in that mini- dress. I'm sure 'Jaimie Kirk' would be a real heartbreaker." Spock lifted an eyebrow. Kirk flashed a grin back at McCoy. "As you were, doctor," he said with a smile and left the room. - The End -