Willful Child (31 page)

Joss Sticks raised a hand.
“Like, can she do that? I mean, like, this is a Terran Space Fleet ship, while she’s a civilian liaison officer. So, like, I’m … what? I mean, it’s like, really? Her? And you’re all, like, yeah, her? Drinking? Well, yeah! I guess! Kinda obvious. I mean, she’s … like, this, you know? Like, ‘oh listen to me!’ but like, why? Drunk! Really?”

“Well said, Lieutenant Sticks,”
chimed in Polaski.

The adjutant turned on him.
“You? You haven’t got a say here, since you’re related to him! That tells us, you’ve been keeping it a secret, too!”

Polaski frowned.
“No, first time I knew any of this. They told me he was a distant cousin. That’s all. Besides, it was one summer. He was … ten? I was eight. He got in early to Mars Military Academy—from then on, it was just stories. Top of the class at everything!”

“Cheating! Lying!”

“No proof of any cheating,”
said Buck DeFrank.

The iris hissed open and Lieutenant Sweep Brogan strode in, trailed by three marines. She looked around, plucked out her cigar, and then said,
“Like they say, stick your head in a sewer pipe, and it smells
.
So what’s that curling my nose hairs right now? Is that maybe a whiff of … oh, I don’t know, insurrection?”

Adjutant Tighe straightened, wobbled a moment, and then straightened again.
“I want the captain arrested as soon as he returns. He’s the grandson of Harry Mitts!”

Paper crackled as Galk began unwrapping a piece of chaw. After shoving the black chunk into his mouth, he chewed for a moment and then said,
“His gramps could be Mao and Stalin’s long-lost love child, it don’t matter. Crimes don’t come in the blood.”

“He got into the Academy under a false identity!”

“I doubt it,”
Galk replied.
“There’s a government service for that kind of thing. It’s probably legit and, more to the point, none of your business, Adjutant.”

“Anyway, Mao and Stalin were both men, so how could they have had a love child?”

“Not that Mao. Lilly Mao, she lived down the street, ran the diner on the corner of Fifth and Fitch.”
Galk spat out a brown stream.
“Scary woman, that one. Down from a long line of roadkill truckers, which made the Sunday Special a little suspect to my mind. Anyway—”

“What are you going on about? I told you all—I’m taking over command!”

Sweepy Brogan blew out a cloud of acrid smoke.
“Like piss you are. Chief Engineer, is that you in the command chair?”

“It is, LT.”

“You comfortable there while your captain and his 2IC are on a ground mission?”

“LT, I’m numb, living in a white haze with pink around the edges, and every now and then I see butterflies and ducks fly past that big window. Oh, and man do I love those nacelles over there.”

“Outstanding,”
said Sweepy, who then turned back to the adjutant.
“You’re off the rails, miss. Must be the booze, not to mention the Radulak slime. Captain’s got you through the shit ever since you left the yard. Darwin knows, Tighe, he pulled you out and saved your skin.”

“I hate you all!”
Tighe then shrieked, holding up her hands.
“No! The huggy ones are back! Stay away from me, Captain!”
She flinched.
“Stop patting my shoulder! Go away! All of you! No group hugs—no! Stop it! Aaagh!”
Shuddering, the adjutant collapsed to the deck.

Joss Sticks ran over.
“Oh, did you see that? Like, huh? Ghosts? We were all staring, like … what? Like, who? Then she screams. She’s like, ‘aaagh!’ and falls down! Now look, unconscious! And I’m like … wow.”

“Leave her be,”
said Sweepy.
“Gal’s got to sleep it off, is all. Now, we all done here? Good. I still ain’t recovered from that debriefing.”

On the elevator, Hadrian sighed. “Turn it off, Tammy.”

Sin-Dour shook her head. “Sir, the adjutant—”

“Will be fine, Sin-Dour. Like you said only a few days ago, new captain, new crew, new ship. We all need to find our feet.”

She studied him for a long moment, as the elevator resumed its plunge. “Yes, sir, I suppose we do.”

The chicken pecked at the carpet.

Reaching the level, the three exited the elevator and made their way to sickbay.

They found Printlip and Nurse Wrenchit fussing over the supine form of Jimmy Eden.

“How is he, Doc?” Hadrian asked.

“Vertebral regeneration complete, Captain. Full recovery expected.”

“Can you do anything about his brain?”

“Minor concussion, already treated—”

“No, I mean, can you do anything about his brain?”

“Uh, no, I’m afraid not. Unless, of course, we consider a full neural recharge, with ganglia-specific stem-derived activator sequencing, focusing on the frontal lobes, optimized synaptic reworking of the corpus callosum, and of
course
the
neo
cortex
lbbrfl.
”

“Sounds good,” said Hadrian, pausing to smile at Nurse Wrenchit. “Ah, my hands-on nurse, I forgot to express my appreciation for your ministrations. Why, I’ve never felt better, and I’m sure I have your delicate touch to thank for that.”

The woman went white, and then slumped to the floor. Hadrian rushed over. “Doc!”

Printlip had pulled out his Pentracorder. “Hmm, she appears to have fainted, Captain. My highly sensitive olfactory receptors did note her elevated endorphin response
with
your
arrival …
or perhaps it was the chicken.”

Hadrian slid his arms under the woman and lifted her. “That cot over there,” he said.

“Why not this one here?” Printlip asked.

“No, that far one. Right, I’d better take it slow. I mean, no jostling … there, Doc, could you adjust that pillow? Yes, no, no, up, down, to the right, yes, that’ll have to do. Here we go, then.”

“Sir, what brings you here to sickbay?”

“Ah, right! Well, I need a full modification program done to me.”

“Finally! I assume the superior Belkri template?”

“What? No. I need you to make me into a woman.”

“Captain! Given your gender-specific, environmentally reinforced behavioral matrices, I highly advise against such an
extreme
psychic
shift!
”

Sin-Dour quickly stepped up to Printlip. “No, Doctor, this is entirely necessary! Mission-specific, I mean. And no half measures, either. I believe a full biochemical turnover will be required. Captain Hadrian Sawback must be made, physically and emotionally, into a woman.”

Hadrian eyed her, frowning, and then he suddenly smiled. “She’s right, Doc. The full works. Best get on with it, too.”

The chicken sighed and said, “I see where this is going.”

“And when we’re ready,” Hadrian went on, still smiling at Sin-Dour, “my 2IC and I will require a private room, in which to, uh, change into our culture-specific attire. Which I believe will involve high heels, very short skirts, and plenty of nylon. Oh, and makeup, of course. Indeed, I can see things getting very intense—the makeup application, I mean.”

Printlip’s many hands fluttered about for a moment, and then, with a deep breath, the doctor said, “Very well. Best lie down, Captain. With the full suite of accelerants, this could prove painful. Furthermore, I will need to invoke a matter-manipulation field, with respect to your ghastly external
genitals,
to
effect
inver
sion…”

Hadrian settled back on the cot next to Wrenchit’s. “Sorry, Doc, I didn’t catch that last bit—”

Field restraints kicked in, pinning the captain to the cot. “Hey? Is this necessary?”

Printlip moved up onto a ramp and trundled close. “I will alleviate what pain I can, Captain, but the process
of
penile
inversi
flbbl …
should not last long at all.”

“Hey, you had plenty of breath left for—”

“And now to shut down your higher mental state, with … this.”

The captain blinked, stared up at the doctor, and when Printlip leaned closer, Hadrian began growling.

“I know, Captain. Basic instincts and all. Alien life-form. Instinctive desire to rend and maim. Classic human response. Understood.”

Hadrian continued growling, struggling against the field restraints.

“Now, we will shut down that tiny but powerful reptilian brain, while of course taking over your basic autonomic functions.”

Hadrian said, “Gaa blullulbllgah.”

“Excellent, yes indeed. Now the endocrine flush. Ooh, yes, that makes you warm all over, doesn’t it? The same hormone-induced homeostatic flux that once existed with women of a certain age, now known as
Traumatic
Meno
pause
Dis
order.…
”

Sin-Dour leaned close, her eyes bright. “Is he even conscious, Doctor?”

“Not really.”

“Make him all woman, will you?”

“Commander?”

“Full-bodied, I mean, and set him up for, oh, two days before his period starts.”

“I don’t understand the relevance of any of that, with respect to the mission.”

“The personality transformation, Doctor, needs to be utterly authentic.”

“Hmm, well, yes, I suppose.”

“Oh, and a bad-hair day.”

“Best induce a coma now.”

Sin-Dour nodded. “Good idea, Doctor.”

TWENTY-FiVE

Lashes fluttering, Hadrian opened her eyes. “Oh, fuck. Cramps.”

Printlip leaned in close. “We have moved you into a private room, and here, see, your first officer is here with us. I’m afraid the cramps are consistent with
your
menst
rual
cycle—
”

“Really? Hey, Doc, you ever see what happens to a beach ball when you stab it with something sharp?”

Bleating, the Belkri retreated.

Hadrian sat up. “Oh shit,” she said, looking down. “These are fucking huge—oh, my lower back’s killing me.” He caught a glimpse of Printlip’s back as the doctor fled the room, and bared his teeth in a feral snarl. “Coward. Wait till I get my hands on him. Will the doc fit through a basketball hoop? That’s the question we all want answered.”

Sin-Dour sat down on the edge of the cot. “Hello, Captain. I must say, the transformation is extraordinary.” She held out a hand, palm up, with two small blue pills in it. “Replicated from the medical archives. They’ll help.”

“What’s wrong with modern fucking medicine?”

“The need for authenticity is paramount for this mission, sir, as you well know. Now, shall we get you dressed?”

Hadrian dry-swallowed the pills. Then, groaning, she sat up. “Tammy? Give us a full mirror here, will you?”

“Really, Captain? Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure, idiot! Now, before I start plucking down!”

A mirror shimmered into existence. Edging off the bed, letting the blankets fall away, Hadrian studied herself. “Oh crap! My hair’s a mess!”

“We’ll fix that quick enough,” said Sin-Dour, standing beside him.

“A tad … Rubinesque, wouldn’t you say? As in, maybe a bit overdone?”

“The doctor explained that some basic genetic instructions were simply carried over, sir. In other words, if you had been born a woman, this is how you would now look.”

“If I lazed around doing nothing but eating chocolates all day, you mean. Never mind. It’ll do. Now, where are my clothes?”

The skirt was a bit of a squeeze, the bra a blessed release—especially with the reinforced straps—and the high heels felt like vises specifically designed to crush her toes. She wobbled about, with Sin-Dour pursuing and trying to work Hadrian’s long hair into something less reminiscent of an orangutan’s backside after a sweaty night sleeping in the crotch of a tree.

“Nobody can walk in these things!”

“True, Captain. But we’ll have to make do, won’t we?”

“Don’t think I’m not aware of your evil delight in all this, 2IC.”

“Sir, I don’t know what you mean.”

“Anyway, while we’re alone, let’s talk about men.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, who do you fancy? Who’s got the best bulge?”

“I sense,” said Sin-Dour, “that certain personality traits have carried over, alas. I would advise, sir, that we keep our minds on the mission we’re about to undertake.”

“Fine, whatever. How do I look?”

“Makeup, sir.”

“Crap.” She sat back down on the bed. “Go to it, then.”

Sin-Dour brought a kit over. “Also replicated from the archival files. Now, base first, although I do apologize, as I’m not used to your pale skin tone. But I have examined the stock photos.”

“What stock photos?”

“Your grandfather’s collection of secret candid photographs of the Fellucians, which is the name of the alien species we’re about to infiltrate.”

“Secret candid photographs, huh? Sounds like Gramps, all right, the sick fuck.”

“Now, eyeliner. You must sit perfectly still now, sir.”

“What, well, I—aaagh!”

“Sorry, sir.”

“You’re trying to blind me!”

“No, sorry. But stay perfectly still, please!”

“You scratched my cornea!”

“I doubt that, sir. It just feels that way, but you will recover.”

“So what’s that shit made of, sulfuric acid?”

“Probably. Almost done. There! Now, some tint … here, and here … there.” She straightened and stepped back. “Not bad, sir. Once we do your lashes … well, I think we’re ready for the world.”

“Good thing you don’t have to go through all of this arcane crap these days, huh?”

“Sir? But I do, every morning.”

“Really? Why the fuck for?”

“Sir, I am…” She lowered her head. “… well, disappointed, that you never noticed.”

Hadrian studied the woman, and then snorted. “You’re full of shit.”

She surprised him with a quick smile, before turning away. “Best we get going, sir. In any case, we’re all much more subtle these days, with such embellishments, I mean. But I’m sure you
would
have noticed, if I neglected such morning ministrations.”