A stereotypical nerd and big Star Trek fan is having major problems fitting in, let alone getting treated as a real person. Then, at an SF convention, he discovers an alien box, and it transforms his life, and the lives of many of his acquaintences.

(NOTE: I know that the preferred term is Trekker. I am one. This title sounded better to me, okay?

Another note: This started as a short little piece about one character. But sometimes, stories have minds of their own. It just mushroomed, and refused to be so confined. And it was much more fun to write this way.)

This was posted years ago at another website. I figured it was time to take a short BB break (while I'm in writer's block) and share some of the oldies. I hope you enjoy it.

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This story is copyright by the author. It is protected by licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

"Well I don't care what you think!" The shorter lad thumped his finger in Danny Long's chest. "Major Kira is the hottest babe ever!"

Danny glared down, offended at the little twerp. "Hands off the uniform!" he glowered, brushing the Star Trek jacket smooth. He wore the jacket and trousers of the Voyager series, the black pants and jacket, shoulders capped by signature deep red of command staff, and a communicator pin proudly displayed on his chest. Star Trek fans could easily recognize it as the uniform of the last season of Voyager, modified from when the show first began its run. The uniform, though, looked awkward on Danny's tall skinny body; instead of a commanding Star Fleet presence, the uniform looked out of place.

The twerp confronting him, on the other hand, was maybe five foot six inches; Danny easily gazed at the top of the kid's head. The kid was heavyset, easily outweighing Danny, giving him a rather rotund appearance. Unlike Danny's tailored Voyager costume, the interloper was dressed in an ill-fitting off-the-shelf knock-off uniform of a Bajoran security officer from the Deep Space Nine series; it added greatly to the kid's sloppy appearance.

"You're both wrong!" a new voice interjected. Danny turned his head and saw Mike, a longtime friend and roommate. Mike strode noisily across the back of the conference room toward them, his Klingon armor clapping and clattering. "They're both scrawny little females with no...appeal!" He said the last with gusto, his hands clasping in front of his chest as if hefting large breasts. "They know nothing of fighting or pleasing a man!" He growled at the short intruder, causing the twerp to flinch visibly. "Take Lursa," he grinned. "Now there's a real woman!" Mike towered over even Danny; six-feet six, two hundred twenty pounds of muscle, Mike cut an imposing figure.

Danny watched the twerp scamper off, intimidated by the sheer physical bulk of Mike. "Hey, Mike," he smiled, reaching out his hand, then wincing as his large buddy clenched it painfully. "I was wondering where you were!"

Mike grinned, showing off his teeth. With the Klingon teeth caps, the armor, and the prosthetic headpiece nearly perfectly attached, he looked every inch a true Klingon warrior. All that was missing was a bat'leth; then again, here, as at most conventions, weapons were prohibited. "How could I miss today's sessions? I mean, Gowron!"

Danny smiled. Robert O'Reilly, the actor who played Chancellor Gowron on both Star Trek: The Next Generation and on Deep Space Nine, was the featured guest, and he was speaking today. Someone like Mike, a huge fan of anything Klingon, wasn't going to miss this for the world. "Yeah, he should be good." Danny didn't sound too enthusiastic.

Mike clapped Danny's shoulders. "But I know you wanted to see _her_." Though her name was unspoken, Mike knew, from their long friendship, who Danny had hoped to see. Unfortunately, due to a bout of flu, she'd had to cancel her appearance.

Danny shrugged, then he glanced at his watch. He pulled out his program book and rifled through the pages. "Gowron's not on for about three hours." He grimaced. "There's a panel discussion on the future of Star Trek," he read. "And I'm on a panel on nanotechnology right after that."

Mike grinned as he shook his head. "There's a seminar on advanced Klingonese for the next hour. But I'll catch you for the nanotech session."

**********

Danny trembled as he walked nervously from the meeting room, where he'd been on the panel. He blindly followed the throng of people meandering toward the main room, until he spied a vacant chair. Danny slumped down in the chair, his nerves jangled from the discussion, his hands trembling visibly.

"Great job!" Mike's voice boomed from above, startling Danny.

Danny sighed with relief as he recognized his roommate. "I'm not sure..." he said hesitantly.

Mike flopped down on the floor, his armor clattering. "Bull! You had them all, including that pompous ass from Stanford!"

Danny shook his head. "That was worse than the orals for my masters," he mumbled. Then he looked at Mike. "You really think I did okay?"

Mike laughed, a deep hearty laugh that would have been worthy of a true Klingon. "You nailed it. And everyone in the room loved how you stumped the so-called expert with your discussion of active versus passive nanobots."

Danny permitted a slight smile. "Well, having done a masters thesis and studying the subject for my PhD helps," he admitted. "And I'd read Kachanski's writings." He shook his head. "I just didn't expect him to be on the panel."

Mike roared again. "Well, you acquitted yourself well. So how about going to dinner after Gowron?"

Danny looked thoughtful for a moment, then he nodded. "Sure. If you can wait a bit so I can stop in the dealer's room on the way."

********************

Danny strode slowly out of the main hall. He clutched an autographed picture of Robert O'Reilly, but he wasn't really smiling. A couple of girls, dressed in normal street clothes and without convention badges, watched him walk, and he thought he heard one of them giggling. Danny shook his head, sighing heavily to himself. Why couldn't they ever accept him for his hobbies and interests? No one made fun of sports fanatics, of guys who dressed in the uniforms of overpaid athletic stars. So why were Trek fans such fair game?

Danny glanced at the strange box tucked under his arm. He'd run across it in the dealer's room, and from the strange symbols, he figured it was something that might interest Mike. The symbols etched onto the top vaguely resembled the strange Klingon script writing Mike was always practicing. Mike's birthday was coming up soon, too.

Danny sighed as he walked through the connecting tunnel from the convention center to the prime hotel. Like most big science fiction and Star Trek conventions, the main hotel was the site of the party rooms and suites, the hospitality lounge, and most of the unofficial 'action'. Being a struggling PhD student, he had to make the salary from his part-time job stretch, and he'd had wanted to stay in one of the cheaper outlying hotels, but Mike had insisted.

Mike was sprawled on one of the beds when Danny came in. He glanced at Danny, then at the box. "What'd you find?"

Danny shrugged. "I'm not sure. But it's got some neat figures on it that look kind of Klingon."

Mike sat up, suddenly very interested. "Let's see." He leaned over Danny's bed, studying the strange metal box and especially the intricate symbols in the top. "Hmm," he mused, "they _do_ look Klingon." Mike not only spoke fluent Klingon, but he also could write - with difficulty - the elaborate script. His nearly fanatical devotion to Star Trek, with his inherited wealth and his remarkable intelligence, allowed him the time and resources to become what others might call an obsessive fan.

As Mike traced the symbols, the box suddenly started to quiver, and then its metal began to stretch. Slowly, it began to grow. Mike scooted off his bed, backing away from the strange box, his eyes wide with surprise and his mouth hanging open. Danny, on the other hand, sat watching the box, his eyes narrowed as he studied it. The box suddenly stopped growing, and then it flipped itself neatly off the bed and landed right-side up.

"What the hell is it?" Mike asked, his voice sounding small and fearful.

"I don’t know," Danny answered softly, still watching the amazing little box. The box resumed its growth, now stretching vertically as well as horizontally, until it finally stopped. It now resembled a good-sized phone booth, but with plain gray sides.

"How...how did it grow like that?"

Danny shook his head as he walked to the device. "I don't know," he answered, his voice hushed. "Maybe some kind of dimensional gateway? Or nanobots?"

Mike read the excitement rising in Danny's voice. For the box to have done what it did, some very advanced technology was at work, and the potential of some kind of nanotechnology was too enticing to Danny.

Danny started around the device, curiously examining the strange metal. "Hey, this looks like some kind of control," he reported mere seconds later.

Danny's guess was quite accurate. Mike looked at the odd red plate, looking like a dinosaur paw, and the odd purple knob, then at the flat black panel. "Some kind of display panel maybe?"

Danny reached slowly for the purple knob. He winced as he touched it, as if expecting something bad to happen. But the box sat, silently concealing its secrets. "Hmm," he mumbled. "Maybe this one..." He touched the reddish plate. Instantly, the black display changed, and row after row of the alien symbols appeared, finally beginning to scroll. Danny removed his hand, and the display froze. He touched it again, and the scrolling continued. "Some kind of readout, you think?"

Mike nodded slowly. "But what does it say?"

Danny shook his head. "I don’t know. Too bad we don’t have a camera to record it."

Mike started to speak, then he pulled Danny's hand off the display, causing it to freeze once more. "Wait a sec." He bent over his suitcase and fumbled around. A moment later, he had his digital camcorder out, and he activated it. "Okay, go."

Danny grinned, then he touched the panel again. Once more, the display began to scroll, this time captured on video. Finally, it froze, and the final row of symbols blinked at them. Danny glanced at Mike, shrugging. "What do you think that's about?"

Mike frowned. "You think it's trying to ask if we want to continue? You know, like a computer display?" His guess was pretty accurate.

Danny touched the red crystal again, and the symbols vanished. As the two watched, the display began to change, and slowly a ghost-like figure began to appear. As they watched, the image began to solidify, acquiring substance as details began to form.

"Holy shit!" Mike exclaimed as he began to recognize the figure. "It's...Gowron!" His jaw hung open in disbelief as the image finally coalesced.

Danny dropped his hand, his own mouth agape. "Incredible!" he said slowly.

Mike stared at the image, then at Danny. "What?"

"Just a sec." Danny reached for the red plate again. The image of Gowron vanished, and slowly another image took its place. Danny let the image finish, then he turned to Mike smiling. "This thing...reads your mind!"

Mike stared at the image of Seven of Nine, the Borg beauty from the Voyager series. Her image was displayed in perfect detail. Mike pushed Danny aside. "Let me try," he insisted. He touched the plate, and again the image shifted. This time, the figure had the ridged forehead of a Klingon, but with the vast cleavage of a well-endowed woman. Any Trek fan worth his or her salt would have immediately recognized the image as Lursa, from The Next Generation series. Mike leered at the extremely chesty Klingon woman, clad as she was in her low-cut armor and exposing her generous cleavage. He turned, grinning broadly. "It really does read your mind!"

"I wonder what this does," Danny said to himself as he reached for the purple knob. While staring at busty Klingon women was interesting, he was more curious about the strange box. He reached out and touched the knob....

With no sound or motion, a door appeared - or a part of the side vanished; it was hard to tell which. One second, the side of the box was the plain gray metal. The next, it had a neat opening, like a door. Danny and Mike flinched.

Mike recovered first. He peered cautiously inside the box. "Hey, there's another one in here," he reported. He stepped into the box and reached for the other knob.

The door vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Danny felt a surge of panic; this was very advanced technology, and he had no idea of what it was capable. Now, Mike had vanished. Danny touched the purple knob frantically. Nothing happened. He reached for it a second time, but the door appeared before he could touch it.

Out of the box stepped Lursa, her mouth open in astonishment and her hands cupping the curved Klingon armor restraining her massive breasts. She looked identical to the picture, down to every little detail. "Wha....?" she was trying to ask. She looked up at Danny, her eyes wide. "Danny?"

Danny stood gawking at the woman, concern for his friend replaced by the surprise at seeing a voluptuous Klingon woman staring at him and holding her boobs. He felt himself starting to get aroused by the woman. "What did you do to Mike?" he finally managed to stammer.

"I...I am Mike," the woman replied. "It's me!" She looked down again, at the breasts she was cupping. "The box changed me!"

Most people would have immediately dismissed such a notion as absurd, writing the change off to a remarkable illusion or trick. Proof would have been required. Danny and Mike, however, were definitely not ordinary people. "Mike?" Danny asked; even as he asked, the last lingering doubt vanished. He knew. "It...changed you into the image? That's incredible!" He alternated his gaze between Mike and the image frozen on the display. "So is it an image projector, or did it actually alter your body? And does it work down to the genetic level? How deep are the changes? Does it have any effect on your mind?" The questions spurt forth as from a machine gun.

Mike shook his head. "I don't know," he answered, still cupping his boobs. "But it's not an illusion," he reported. "This feels...real!" He felt his body shiver, and then he glanced back at Danny. "It must be an actual alteration. It feels like my whole body is changed." He trembled again, and his eyes narrowed as he wondered why. He glanced at Danny, at the bulge in Danny's pants.

Something stirred in Mike, some vestige of his image of Lursa and Klingon women. They were the aggressors, according to the Star Trek universe. They took their men. Knowing this, Mike had been thinking subconsciously the same way every Trek fan imagined Klingon women would act. The thoughts were picked up by the box, and subtle changes were made in Mike's body as it was rearranged to the Klingon form. His libido, already high, was greatly enhanced. At the same time, his aggressive tendencies were heightened. A powerful combination was formed, and Mike felt some primitive instincts take charge of his body. Needs that he didn't know now burst forth, and with the combination of mental changes, Mike lost control to the base lust of this body.

Mike turned at Danny, then lunged at him. Danny was caught unaware, and fell backward onto his bed with Lursa atop him. The wild woman who'd been his roommate kissed and bit aggressively at him, her hands tearing frantically at both their clothes. Danny tried to protest, but Lursa was out of control with lust, and even though she was a woman, she was still much stronger than Danny. Fear of being hurt, coupled with lust at the very endowed and horny woman, caused him to quit protesting.

********

Danny sat on the bed, dazed and confused. His jacket was torn, and his skin bled in dozens of placed where Mike's claw-like fingernails had torn into his flesh. He'd been virtually raped by the Klingon woman.

Mike sat across from him. "I couldn't stop myself," he muttered to himself. "I couldn't stop!" Still in Lursa's body, he sat dazed, and yet strangely contented. He looked down at the floor, embarrassed by what he'd done, unable to look directly at Danny. "I couldn't stop..."

Danny felt conflicting emotions. On one hand, he'd just had fantastic sex. On the other hand, it had been with his roommate, albeit in a Klingon woman's body. Still, it was Mike. He had a sudden, almost terrifying thought. "So the box alters a body, and changes mental capabilities to match." He stood slowly, feeling his sore muscles complaining and the burning of the minor cuts and scratchs, and crossed to the box. His hand touched the plate, and slowly, an image of Mike appeared. "I guess the trick is going to be seeing if it's reversible."

Mike's head snapped up, and a new fear crept into his eyes. He'd not considered the possibility of being trapped in this body. Slowly, he stood, his breasts hanging free and jiggling. "You think I might be stuck?"

Danny shrugged, feeling sudden sympathy for Mike. If this weren't reversible, he'd be stuck as a horny Klingon woman. "I don't know. I guess there's only one way to find out."

Mike shuddered, then he touched the purple knob. The door reappeared, and with a quick glance over his shoulder at Danny, he stepped into the box. The door vanished as Mike touched the inner knob, only to reappear moments later. Mike stepped nervously from the box, his hands patting his body to reassure himself that he was indeed a human male again. He sat down on his bed, still nervous about meeting Danny's gaze. "At least the thing works both ways."

Danny slumped to his own bed, wincing at the tiny stabs of pain from some of his lacerations. "This thing has some incredible possibilities," he said softly, his mind racing as he contemplated some of the things this machine could do. For long moments, the two sat in awkward silence. "So how was it?" Danny finally asked with a grin.

Mike glanced up, and when he saw Danny's grin, he started to laugh aloud. "It was...interesting," he finally sputtered through his laughter. "But I don't want to do it every day."

"So," Danny asked casually, "you want to experiment with this box some more, or do you want to hit the party suites?"

Mike's mouth dropped open, then slowly, a grin spread across his features. "Party rooms." He glanced at the box. "But first..."

**********

The suite was noisy, a sure sign of a good party. A line of people waited at the door for their party stickers; every decent party had a unique sticker to affix to the attendee's badges. (To some convention attendees, the most important was getting the best assortment of party stickers.) Mike glanced at Danny and smiled. Already, heads at the door were turning their way, faces changing from bored curiosity to amazement and surprise. The two walked casually down the hall toward the party entrance. Around them, con-goers backed away, clearing a path and watching in stunned silence as the two strode confidently toward the door.

Mike reached the door first; the hapless door guard glanced up nervously. "Your badge?" he asked. Most door guards checked badges as they offered the decals.

Mike glared down at the guard and snarled. "I don't need a badge," he growled. He stepped past the awestruck young man into the party. He tilted back his head and roared, a deep booming sound that silenced the room. Heads snapped to see what the disturbance was. The sight that greeted them was imposing. While some party-goers were wearing their costumes, they paled next to Mike. From head to toe, Mike was the spitting image of Kahless, the Klingon warrior of legend. Beside him, Danny stood, his image that of Kern, brother of Worf and another Klingon warrior of repute.

"Who will bring us drink?" Mike demanded, glaring about the room angrily. "We are thirsty warriors in need of blood wine!"

Some of the crowd laughed at the display. It was perfectly in Klingon character, and these two newcomers, with their fantastic costumes, were really acting the part. A couple of party-goers in Klingon attire approached the duo. Danny watched with amusement as they tried to draw themselves up. They fell woefully short of Danny and Mike. The prosthetic headpieces were skillfully applied, but they were still visibly fake. The armor was fabricated from plastic, and it rattled like plastic rather than the metal-on-metal clanking of Mike's and Danny's armor.

In mere seconds, Danny and Mike had drinks in their hands. Curious onlookers found an excuse to talk to them, and left just as curious as to how they'd managed such convincing costumes. Serious Klingon fans sized them up, recognized the faces, and left, impressed by the skillful impersonation of the two. If it was an impersonation. Mike and Danny gave no clues.

**********

Mike rubbed his eyes, fighting the sunlight streaming into the room and the pounding aftereffects of the alcohol. He frowned, then he shook his head in an attempt to clear some cobwebs. He felt a weight on his arm. Instinctively, he glanced down, then he smiled as he recognized the brunette from last night's party. She'd been very taken with his costume, and it hadn't taken much to convince her to join him for the night.

The knock sounded again. Mike gently slid the girl's head off his arm, then he slid out of the bed, pausing to pull on a pair of shorts. Still feeling the pounding, he glanced through the security peephole. He slid open the lock and let the door open as he shuffled back into the room. Behind him, Danny, still clad in his Klingon armor, shuffled noisily into the room, shutting the door with a loud bang behind him. Mike and Danny both flinched at the loud noise.

As Danny clanked into the room, he heard a sigh on Mike's bed. Slowly, a girl sat up. Danny saw she was mostly naked - and quite unembarrassed about it - and turned to talk to Mike. Then he did a double-take. The girl was Klingon. She had the telltale ridges on her forehead. She glanced at Mike, and she made a contented growl, kind of like a purr. As Danny watched, she slid off the bed and began to pull on her garb, a perfectly fitting suit of Klingon armor. Mike stood watching in appreciation, and Danny watching in disbelief, as the girl finished dressing. She walked boldly to Mike, and reaching up, she yanked his head down and brazenly kissed him. She let go and started for the door, then she stopped and glanced at Danny, and more specifically, at the bulge in his pants. She licked her lips, a bold and seductive act that made Danny feel somehow nervous. "I may come back for you," she said, speaking as if seducing Danny were nothing more than eating a burger. She turned and strode out the door.

Danny shook his head. "I guess I don't have to ask how your night was, do I?"

Mike laughed. "She was quite...enjoyable!"

Danny glanced at the box. "Was it my imagination, or did you change her?"

Mike shrugged. "Okay, so I used the box to change her. She wanted to, anyway," he added defensively. Then, slowly, he got a sly look. "Besides, it made her all that much more grateful."

Danny shook his head, laughing softly. "If it works..." He stepped to the control panel and brought up his normal body. Seconds later, he emerged, clad in a clean fresh uniform which the box had dutifully created. "You going to change?" he asked Mike.

Mike grinned as he shook his head. "Partly." He stepped to the plate, then he ducked into the booth. He emerged, not as Kahless, but as a Klingon version of himself. "Being Klingon is a lot of fun." He eyed Danny. "You sure you don't want to try something a little different?" He saw Danny shaking his head. "Could be interesting..." Danny was thinking. Mike decided to take control of the situation. "Look, why don't you try? It couldn't hurt, and it could be a lot of fun." He stepped to the control plate and got an image. When it was done, he touched the purple crystal. "Come on," he prodded. "Give it a try."

Danny's curiosity was running full speed. He frowned at tried to see around Mike, to see what the image was.

His friend smiled and blocked the view. "You'll have to trust me on this one," Mike said mischievously.

Danny finally relented. He let Mike guide him into the booth, then with one last pleading glance at Mike, he touched the crystal. The door vanished as the machine started its work.

The door opened, and out stepped what appeared to be Seven of Nine! Only it was Danny, with his mouth hanging open in shocked disbelief, his neck gazing downward at the soft mounds on his chest, his hands cupped as if he wanted to touch them but was also deathly afraid. He looked up at Mike. "What...?" His voice was soft and wonderfully sexy, the same as Jeri Ryan's. "Why...? He was having terrible trouble focusing on forming questions with the strange sultry voice echoing in his ears.

Mike just smiled. "You weren't too happy that she couldn't make an appearance. Now she can." He saw the mixture of wonder and doubt on Danny's face. "Look, just give it a try. If you get uncomfortable, you can always change back."

Danny lifted his head to look at Mike. His eyes were wide with astonishment at what he'd become, and more, at what Mike was suggesting he do. "But...." He gazed down again, to where his hands - _her_ hands — were cupping his breasts. It wasn't right. "But this is...weird!" Danny protested. "I mean, I like her. But not being her!"

Mike tilted his head back and roared with laughter. "Why not? It's the ultimate chance to get to know her better!" His eyes twinkled mischievously. "Besides, think of how much fun you can have at the con."

Danny's will was flagging; Mike knew too well his weak points. "Well," Danny finally said, examining the dainty hands and the prosthetic Borg implants, "I guess I can give it a try."

**********

Danny felt very self-conscious as he strolled toward the main hall of the convention center. His reformed body felt awkward; shorter, with wider hips and wearing high heels, he was struggling to maintain a steady pace, with the predictable if not-yet-known result that his hips were swaying alarmingly in an effort to maintain balance. The heels, terrifying as they were in the first few moments, were not as much of a problem as Danny had feared. The machine had quite properly done its job, and since the image had high heels, it slightly altered Danny's neural pathways to allow his body to move in the silly things.

Around him, Danny knew heads were turning. One guy turned, and instantly his jaw dropped, followed immediately by the books he was holding. Still, the guy stood, dumbfounded, a mixture of disbelief, admiration, and outright lust displayed for all to see. As Danny sauntered past the poor guy, he saw the guy's head tracking his every move. Danny felt a sudden impulse to do something mischievous; he gave one hip an outward thrust toward the poor guy. Danny struggled to keep a straight face when the smitten guy tripped over the edge of a rug and fell to the ground. And even then, his eyes stayed riveted on Danny.

Danny strode lightly toward the green room, the antechamber where panelists and special guests could grab a quick snack, rest before or after a presentation, get updates on program changes, and just generally hang out away from the bulk of the convention goers.

At the door sat a guard, watching carefully to make sure that everyone who entered had a 'presenter' or 'special guest' badge. Green room hospitality cost a lot, and no convention had any money to waste giving free food to normal attendees. The guard looked up from his novel, scanning in a well-practiced glance for the badge. He saw no badge on Danny, so he tilted his head up a bit more. "You have to have...." The words froze in his mouth as his eyes widened.

"I seem to have misplaced my badge," Danny said calmly. Inside, his nerves were jangling; this was the do-or-die test of his appearance.

"Uh," the guard stammered, recognizing without question the body Danny was wearing, "that's okay. You don't need a badge." He jumped to his feet, his book falling to the floor. "If you lost it, you know," the guy stammered, "I can...uh...get you a new one."

Danny smiled, then bent over very deliberately and slowly picked up his book. He handed it to the wide-eyed guard. "That would be nice, thank you." Danny turned and sauntered into the room, leaving the stunned guard standing watching him.

Danny glanced around; since he'd been a panelist yesterday, he knew the layout of the room. He strolled over to the food table and began to select a few hors d'ouvres.

"Jeri," a familiar voice called loudly, catching Danny by surprise. His head snapped up, and he glanced around frantically. Across the room he spied the source of the noise — it was Ethan Phillips, the actor who played Neelix on Voyager. Danny felt a chill run down his spine; Ethan Phillips would catch on that he was impersonating Jeri Ryan.

"I heard you weren't going to make it," Ethan said as he strode across the room. For a shorter man, he had a tremendously quick stride. He reached out his arms to welcome a hug.

His heart in his throat, Danny embraced the actor. He knew he had to say something, anything, but the words wouldn't come out.

Ethan Phillips stepped back from the embrace. "I'm glad did, though," he said with a smile. Then his features clouded. His eyes roamed up and down Danny's figure, pausing noticeably at the prosthetic Borg implants Danny was wearing. He frowned. "I thought we couldn't wear that stuff," he finally observed.

Danny gulped. "Uh, I got permission," he managed to croak. "Since I had to cancel a day, I wanted to make it up to the fans." His head was spinning as he tried to fabricate a reasonable lie. Inwardly, he was cursing himself. Of course the actors and actresses didn't wear their costumes to conventions. Danny knew that; hell, he'd organized a few conventions himself. The character was the property of the studio, including the costume and any makeup.

Ethan nodded slowly, and Danny knew he wasn't convinced. "Well, I guess if they said it's okay..."

Danny knew he had to distract the actor. How, though, was his big problem. "I bet you're glad they didn't try to get you to appear in makeup. Especially without glasses!"

Ethan laughed. He was literally as blind as a bat without his glasses, and his makeup took hours to properly don. "You got that one right," he answered. He glanced at Danny again. "Are you sure you're okay? You look a little under-the-weather, if you ask me."

Danny was certain he could feel the beads of sweat standing out on his forehead. "Since when is Neelix helping out in sickbay?" he said light-heartedly. "No, really, I'm not at one hundred percent," Danny lied. "I'm taking it easy today." He turned back and picked up his plate. "So what's your schedule look like?"

**********

Danny sank against the door with a heavy sigh. The day's program was over. Now he could change back.

"Sounds like you had a tough day," Mike boomed.

Danny glanced up, then he sighed again. "You said it. Everyone wanted my autograph. _Her_ autograph." He sidled to his bed and sat down, instantly reaching down to take off his heels. "I bumped into Ethan Phillips, who started asking questions. The organizing committee came en masse to meet me. Everyone wanted a picture or autograph." He held up one of the high heeled shoes. "And these things are killing my feet!"

Mike laughed heartily. "And you loved it, too," he accused. "Didn't you?"

Danny felt his cheeks redden. "Yeah," he said through his embarrassment. "It was pretty cool." He neglected to mention the other factors — that all the guys were visibly lusting after him, and that that fact had made him feel quite...strange. Almost like being horny, but in a very different way. Danny was afraid that he'd enjoyed this body too much.

"So you want to make the party rounds? You as Seven, and I'll be Martok?"

Danny shook his head no. "Nah," he said. It's kind of fun, but I want to be back to me."

Mike picked up on Danny's unenthusiastic answer. "I think you really do want to go out as Seven," he said with a smug little smile. "You just don't want to admit it."

Danny glared at Mike, then he turned away. He didn't want Mike to see him trembling. He bit his lip, wondering why he felt so conflicted. Was Mike really right? Did he enjoy being Seven? And if so, did that mean he was...weird? He'd been a virgin until the other evening; girls just didn't seem to have any interest in geeks and nerds, especially Trekkies like him.

Suddenly, Danny realized something. Being Seven gave _him_ the power. He could make the guys squirm and feel inadequate. He had the control, power over even minor details like conversation. Just as the girls had had over him for all those years. It wasn't that he wanted to be a girl, or Seven. It was about feeling like he had some control over the situation. That was what was appealing to him. And as soon as he realized that fact, being Seven became the obvious choice.

**********

Danny pried his eye open. The light _hurt_. A lot. A fog engulfed his mind; memories were hazy at best, and as he tried to think, a process slowed considerably by the drum corps practicing inside his head, it became obvious that there were some blank spots in his memories of the evening.

Slowly, to avoid the banging of the bass drum, Danny sat up. He felt the blanket slide off him, off his chest. Off the boobs on his body. He glanced down, a sudden move which resulted in major throbs of pain from which he visibly flinched.

As the pounding eased, Danny realized that he was naked. And still in Seven of Nine's body. And slowly, Danny realized something else. He wasn't alone in bed. He turned his head, slowly so as to avoid more pain, and with a sickening dread, looked.

Mike lay on the bed, his back to Danny, his body rising and falling with each breath. Danny shuddered; through the haze, he had faint images of having had sex. He turned his legs off the bed to stand.

Despite the hangover, Danny felt like whistling at the shapely, lovely legs attached to his body. He stood, and despite the throbbing in his head, he marveled at the feeling of the cool air on this magnificent nude body. Danny's hands wandered on their own to his shapely thighs. He felt the soft smooth skin beneath his delicate feminine hands. Slowly, his hands slid up to his hips, widening around the shapely curves, and on up to his waist. His tummy was flat and satiny-smooth, flowing upward gracefully to the marvelous breasts hanging on his chest. Danny gasped at the utterly sensuous feeling as his hands automatically cupped his breasts, feeling the soft voluptuous mounds in his hands.

Like a light turning on, Danny suddenly realized that he was being watched. He turned, feeling his face reddening as he saw Mike sitting up in bed, staring admiringly at him and his self-exploration. Danny turned away sharply, and paid for the sudden move in a fresh burst of pain. He took a couple of steps, and flinched at how his body moved; nude as he was, he knew that every motion was utterly and completely sensual. He hastily donned his robe. He sighed to himself; the robe was ill-fitting, with its long sleeves hanging as they would on a chimp, while the chest was pulled tight across his generous breasts and the V of the neck displaying his cleavage. He tied it shut around him, then sank into a chair, his legs splayed in a most unladylike fashion. He stared at Mike, unsure of what to say, if anything.

Mike finally broke the awkward silence. "Uh," he started to stammer, "this is kind of weird."

Danny's eyes narrowed. "We were drunk," he snapped, flinching visibly at the sultry sound of his voice. "That's all."

Mike nodded slowly. "Uh, okay." He looked down, unsure of what else to say. "Are you sure we...?"

Danny knew. The feelings in this body confirmed the answer. "Yeah," he answered quickly, looking away from Mike.

Mike nodded slowly. Then he looked up at Danny with a curious expression. He waited until Danny looked at him. "So how was it?"

Danny blushed even redder. He started to open his mouth to answer.

Mike smiled. "Hold it," he admonished sharply. "I was there, remember? You did me, too, remember?" His grin broadened. "And I don't have the excuse of having been drunk."

**************

Danny's insides were churning as he wandered through the dealer's room. On one hand, he'd really enjoyed the extra attention of being Seven. Yesterday, everyone had paid attention to him, even going out of their way to do nice things for him. Today, he was nobody, just another convention attendee. While his speaker badge still got him into the green room, it wasn't as much...fun...as yesterday. The word hit Danny like a thunderclap - being Seven had been fun.

"Hey, Danny!"

The voice calling from behind him was somehow familiar. Danny spun, his confused mood reflected in his expression. As soon as he recognized the caller, his features lightened, even though his head still hurt a bit. "Oh, hi Darla."

Darla swept up to Danny and gave him a quick hug. Like Danny, she was attired in a Star Trek uniform, but hers was from the Next Generation television series. Tall and slender, with her bangs cut straight and her long dark hair sweeping behind her fake Vulcan ears and falling loosely about her shoulders, she looked quite like the popular aliens from Star Trek. Even her eyebrows were done in the upswept style of Vulcans. As much as Mike liked Klingons, Darla liked things Vulcan. "I figured you'd be here." She looked him over, then she shook her head. "You don't look so well."

Danny sighed, trying to smile. "Bit of a hangover. Mike and I did the party circuit last night."

Darla's eyes widened. "Oh, then you saw her!"

Danny frowned. "Her?"

"You didn't?" Darla shook her head. "Jeri Ryan made it after all," she said, stunned that she was telling Danny the news. "She was even in costume, and out on the party circuit. She was with some guy dressed as General Martok."

Danny's eyes narrowed. He was thinking seriously; Darla believed that it had actually been Jeri Ryan. He'd done a much better job of fooling people than he'd first thought.

Darla misinterpreted his look. "No, really!" she insisted. "It was her."

Danny sighed. "My dumb luck that I missed her." The news added to his inner turmoil. People actually liked the impersonation. He'd been popular as Seven, far more so than he was as Danny. But he'd been a woman.

"Hey, Danny." Another voice called him. He and Darla both turned, and they saw a Klingon girl approaching. Danny's eyes narrowed as he recognized her - it was the girl Mike had changed into a real Klingon girl.

"Uh, hi..." Danny stammered. Even though he recognized her, he didn't know who she was. Darla was staring at her, curious as to the identity of Danny's new friend. Danny glanced and saw the look on Darla's face. For the briefest of moments, he considered that she might be jealous. The thought passed quickly.

The Klingon girl smiled, showing her teeth. Her armor exposed a lot of cleavage, and she seemed to be proud of that fact. She saw Danny's confusion and laughed. "Oh, that's right. I never did introduce myself. I'm Sandy." She laughed again, especially when she saw the look on Darla's face. Then she wrinkled her nose. "But Sandy just doesn't sound too Klingon, does it?"

Poor Danny stood with his mouth agape, stunned at Sandy's forwardness, and humiliated by the implications of what she was saying. Danny knew that Darla thought he was some kind of slimeball, picking up and dorking girls he didn't even know. He glanced at Darla, and from the look in her eyes, he knew that was exactly what she thought. He glanced back at Sandy.

Sandy's eyes had something else in them. She grasped Danny's hand and lifted it slowly, palm toward her. As Danny stood, stunned, she smiled. "Maybe I should properly thank you," she said. She bent her head forward, and kissed Danny's hand, and then, suddenly, she bit it, albeit not hard enough to draw blood. She glanced up, and Danny saw a fire in her eyes; she was definitely coming on to him, brazenly and in public.

"Uh..." Danny was stunned beyond words. On one hand, the girl was attractive, and having a girl attempting to seduce him was very intriguing. On the other hand...

"Stop!" Mike's voice was strong and angry; he grasped Sandy's shoulder roughly. She responded by balling her fist and swinging at him - hard. Danny could easily see the anger in her eyes. Surprisingly, Mike caught her fist, and he clasped her hand - painfully so. She began to wince, then she grasped his hand with both of hers, and the expression in her eyes changed. The anger was gone, faded as quickly as it had appeared, replaced with the same lust that Danny had seen only a moment before. Sandy bared her teeth, then she bit Mike's hand. In response, Mike growled, a rumbling purr.

Danny turned away from Sandy and Mike as they started to walk away. He glanced at Darla, trying to smile as if nothing had happened. "So, Jeri was here, huh?"

Darla didn't fall for his attempt at changing the subject. "What the hell was that about?" she demanded, hands moving to her hips in a rather impatient pose.

Danny sighed. "It's a long story," he finally said. "She's Klingon."

Darla frowned. "I can see that, stupid." Then she thought for a second. "But that's one of the best makeup jobs I've seen in a long time."

Danny shook his head. "It's not makeup," he finally said. Time to level with Darla.

Darla's frown deepened. "You're suggesting she's really Klingon?" She shook her head and started to laugh. "That's a good one." The laugh died in her throat when she saw Danny's expression.

"Maybe it'd be easier if I just showed you."

**********

"So you're saying that box can change people? Into whatever they want to be?" To say that Darla was skeptical would have been an understatement.

Danny expected her reaction. "That's how Jeri Ryan was here. It was really me. And Martok - that was Mike. Just like, what was her name? Sandy? The device changed us into what we wanted to be."

Darla shook her head. "Mike - as Martok and a real Klingon - that part I can believe. But you - as Seven? That's a little hard to swallow."

Danny felt his cheeks burning. "It was Mike's idea," he said defensively. "Kind of a joke. He wouldn't let me see what I was changing into."

Darla stared at Danny for a few seconds, then she started laughing. "Okay, I admit you got me. For a few seconds, I actually believed you."

Danny had expected this. He stepped to the panel and touched the red plate. In seconds, he'd brought up an image. He touched the purple crystal, and the door appeared. One glance at Darla, and he saw her expression. She'd seen the door just appear; she was almost convinced. Danny stepped inside and touched the crystal. Once more, the door vanished. When it reappeared...

Spock stepped out. It wasn't the old Spock from the movies, but the younger Spock from the original Star Trek series. Danny raised an eyebrow, amazing himself at how easily he did that. "Fascinating," he said as if it were second nature.

Darla's eyes widened, then they narrowed. "I don't know how you did this trick," she said skeptically, "but it _has_ to be a trick!" She stepped closer, and slowly she circled Danny, peering intently at his ears and face.

"You seem to believe that this is some kind of cheap parlor trick," Danny said as she studied him. "I assure you that this is no trick. The machine altered my structure to match the displayed image. Surely you would find it illogical, if not impossible, for me to have contrived such a trick. After all," he said plainly, "there is no reason for me to deceive you."

Darla finally stopped, and as the facts slowly made their way past her mental objections, she sank back on the bed. Her expression slowly changed from skepticism to awed acceptance. "Wow!" she finally stammered. "It really did change you!"

Danny stepped to the interface and got his own image back. In a few seconds, he'd changed back to his own body. He sat down opposite Darla. "Uh huh," he smiled at her disbelief. "It really can change you — into whatever you can imagine."

"You... _were_ Seven!" Darla exclaimed. "And Mike...Martok?" She shook her head slowly. "And Sandy? You changed her, too?"

Danny shrugged. "Sandy was all Mike's doing."

Darla began to analyze the data she'd collected so far. "So how far do the changes go? Beyond just appearance, I mean." She glanced at the box. "Is it genetic? Does it affect the structure? When you were Seven, were you really a woman?"

Danny felt his cheeks redden. "I don't know, but I suspect it is genetic. And structure is totally, completely changed." He stared at the floor. "And I was really a woman."

Darla ignored Danny and stepped to the interface. "How does it work? Do I just touch the panel, like you did? Or can only you use it?" She touched the reddish plate, and instantly the image changed. "Oh!" she exclaimed, flinching a bit. "I guess I can use it, too?" She ignored Danny and began to think of an image. Slowly, a tall, slender woman, with straight dark hair, upswept eyebrows, and pointed ears, appeared. The image stabilized, and then Darla concentrated some more. With agonizing slowness, the machine contemplated her inputs. Darla was as much a fan of Vulcans as Mike was of Klingons, and as Danny was of Seven. She knew _everything_ there was to know about the race, from the average lifespan of well over two hundred years to the copper-based hemoglobin, from the acute hearing to the extraordinarily logical mind. Every detail of her 'knowledge' of Vulcans, the stuff of science fiction and serious discussion among the Star Trek fans, all that data was captured by the alien box, and its computers thought long and hard about the image in her mind. To Darla, Vulcans were real; ergo, the alien box had to create the suitable alterations.

Finally, just when Darla and Danny were about to give up, the image on the screen adjusted slightly. Darla stepped back, gasping slightly. It was a hybrid of Darla and Dr. Selar from the Next Generation, a Vulcan doctor from the Enterprise. The image seemed to be taller than Darla, lithe and athletic in build. Her dark hair was just above her shoulders, with straight high bangs that clearly displayed the upswept eyebrows of Vulcans. Her features still strongly suggested Darla's, but with a very slight Vulcan twist. What was more, Darla's skin had a very slight greenish cast to it, the result of her blood being based on copper rather than iron; whereas oxidized iron was red, oxidized copper was green, and so her blood was green, and that pigmentation carried through to her overall complexion.

She raised an eyebrow as she examined her body. Seeing Danny's reaction, she stepped to the sink and peered into the mirror. "Interesting," she said in a voice curiously devoid of emotion. "The change appears to be complete." She turned back to Danny and observed him. "I suppose you will now ask for some expression of gratitude," she said, cocking her head slightly.

Danny shrugged. "A 'thank you' is customary." He smiled at Darla; she was very attractive as a Vulcan. "Or more, if you're really, really grateful..." It was a joke, and Danny said it with the tone and levity that he usually used with Darla; the two were friends, and though Danny would have jumped at the chance to sleep with Darla, the two knew nothing would ever happen.

Darla cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. "Ah, yes. You are insinuating that you would enjoy an act of copulation as a reward for changing me into a Vulcan, as you perceive that I had always desired." She looked genuinely puzzled. "First, I am not currently in Pon Farr, and as such, I find no logical reason to couple with you. Second, you and I have been friends, and there have never been occasions where such an act would have been appropriate. Third..."

A stunned Danny lifted his hands, palms outstretched toward Darla. "Okay, okay already! I give up!" He shook his head as he gazed at Darla. "Sheesh, it was just a joke!"

Darla opened her mouth slightly. "Ah, a joke. Humor." She contemplated this for a moment. "It is a most inappropriate subject for human humor, even though my memories suggest that we have 'joked' about copulating on many previous occasions."

Danny gave up. "Okay. Let's go back to the convention. Is that a safe suggestion?"

Darla canted her head. "Indeed. It would be a most logical use of time, in that we have paid a not inconsiderable sum of money to purchase memberships at this convention."

**********

The bid party was in full force when Danny arrived. Major conventions rotated their locations, and prospective host groups usually put together a bid party in an effort to entice people to support their bid for host. This was a World Con bid party, and drinks and munchies were well-represented. Sometimes, bid parties included sales of trinkets and souvenirs, all in an attempt to help defray the expense of bidding, and ultimately, of hosting the convention. Danny threaded his way through the crowd to the drink table. After getting a soda, he began to circulate, looking for friends and acquaintances.

"Man, you should have seen it. It's the best costume I've ever seen!" One guest sat on the arm of a sofa, talking with his standing mates.

A second guy chimed in. "Something's going on here," he observed quietly, but not so quietly that Danny didn’t hear. "I've never seen costumes this good! It's almost like they're real!"

A third guy shook his head. "You're drunk," he chided. "All I've seen are the run-of-the-mill costumes."

The first guy wasn't going to back down. "No way! Look, those Klingons — I tried! I looked for the makeup and stuff!" He glanced at the second guy for confirmation. "Those guys aren't wearing any makeup or prosthetics! They're real!"

The third guy shook his head. "You're drunk," he clucked. "They're costumes." His eyes narrowed and he leaned toward the first guy menacingly. "Unless you're trying to suggest those guys had plastic surgery done!"

Danny felt a nudge, and he was pushed into the second guy. The guy started to glare at Danny, then his features lit up. "You," he said almost accusingly. "Have you seen the costumes? Do they look real or not?"

Danny smiled thinly. "Yeah, they look pretty realistic to me."

The first guy smiled. "See!" He pushed out his chest in triumph. "The Klingons and that Vulcan girl — they're real!"

**********

Danny tossed and turned as he tried to get some sleep. Unlike the preceding night, he'd taken it easy in the party rooms and had gotten back to his room early. He finally gave up on sleep and turned on the light. As he sat in bed, he stared at the Morphic Adaptation Uunit. It had started so innocently; it changed forms for him and Mike. And then the girl. Danny tried to concentrate, to put his finger on the details he'd overlooked. Sandy. What was it about her? And Mike. And Darla. There was a common thread, but Danny couldn't figure it out.

The raucous voices in the hall, a gruff male and a rather intoxicated and loud female, alerted Danny to Mike's return even before he heard the key card in the door slot. The door opened, and Mike and Sandy staggered in. Mike flipped on the light, and seemed stunned to see Danny sitting in bed awake.

"We'll go elsewhere," Mike snarled to the girl.

She shook her head. "He's unimportant." She grabbed Mike's hand and bit his palm, roughly grasping him and pushing him toward the bed.

Danny watched as Mike let himself be pushed onto the bed. It was as if Danny didn't exist; the two were ripping off their armor and getting extremely passionate. Embarrassed at the spectacle, Danny slid out of bed and pulled on his trousers and a T-shirt. Grabbing his shoes, he headed quickly for the door. "I'll just leave you two alone," he mumbled. As expected, he got no response except for the primal sounds of mating Klingons. He shook his head and exited his room.

As Danny walked down the hall, he could still hear Sandy's screams echoing through the door and down the hall.

Like a thunderclap, the pieces assembled themselves. Mike's behavior in nearly raping Danny when he was a Klingon woman. Mike's actions when in his male Klingon body. Sandy, and her uncontrollable passion and anger. And Darla — cold and unemotional. Logical. The pieces all clicked into place.

Each person changed, every one, had mental characteristics and behaviors that matched what their mental pictures of the target was. To Mike and Sandy, who loved things Klingon, their passions had been unleashed, and their behavior coarsened to the Klingon norm. On top of that, Danny had seen Mike doing some mock hand-to-hand combat with a guy in a Klingon costume. Danny had seen Mike nearly tear the guy's arm off, and he saw the look in Mike's eyes — it was combat, battle, and to a Klingon, battle was the ultimate rush. In retrospect, Danny realized that Mike had barely been able to control himself.

Then Danny had another thought about the changees' actions. On the shows, Klingons had a good deal of self-control. But the changees were all acting as if they had no self-control. This had puzzled Danny; now, the answer dawned on him. The change was a fantasy come true, and they _knew_ it was going to end in a couple of days, so the changees were taking advantage of their changes, living as fast and hard as they could to make the most of every moment as a Klingon.

And then there was Darla. So logical and emotionless after her transformation. Just like Vulcans. And she was living her fantasy, being colder and less emotional than even a Vulcan because she finally could.

Danny was too tired to completely assemble the picture, even though its answer was tantalizingly close. In a near dreamlike state, he wandered back to the party floor, to where he could hopefully find a relatively quiet corner free of copulating Klingons and maybe get a bit of rest.

**********

Danny crept back into the room around three. He saw Mike and Sandy asleep on Mike's bed as he quietly slipped into his own bed. He was weary, and his eyes were closed in sleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Danny awoke late, and he gingerly pried an eye open. Slowly, quietly, he turned, and saw that Mike and Sandy were already gone. He sighed in relief.

As soon as he toweled himself dry, Danny stared at the machine. Everyone had been having a lot of fun with the machine — everyone, that is, except Danny. So far, he'd been very reluctant to use it; in fact, Mike had had to push him every time he'd changed. Danny realized that he was missing out. And Mike knew it - he'd left an image of Seven on the display, a taunt to Danny to change and enjoy. Or a hint. Whatever Mike had intended, Danny reached for the purple knob, determined to fix that situation.

**********

Seven of Nine strode confidently through the halls of the convention center. Around her, heads turned and mouths dropped open in surprise. And Danny was thoroughly pleased with the fact that not one person suspected that Seven was really Danny. He spent the day dropping in on sessions, wandering through the dealers' room, and generally being seen and enjoying the attention.

After the last session of the afternoon wrapped up, Danny went back to his room and changed back into his own body. A check on funds, and he ran to the elevator. His circle of friends was getting together for dinner, and he didn't want to be late. Danny smiled; the machine had been quite useful in that regard; he imagined himself in his own body, cleanly bathed and shaved and wearing fresh clothes, and the machine happily transformed him. Quite a time-saver, too, Danny thought to himself.

Danny walked into the restaurant a few minutes late, and even before the hostess could get to him, he spotted his group. The group was really easy to find: Mike, Sandy, and a few others were still attired as Klingons and acting as noisy as their reputation suggested. Danny joined them, and as he glanced around the table, he slowly realized that every single one of the seven Klingons was truly a Klingon; there wasn't a dab of makeup anywhere in the group. Sandy wasn't the only girl; there was one who looked remarkably like Lursa, and another resembled her sister B'Etor as well.

And the Klingons weren't the only thing. There were two Vulcans as well. Danny leaned over toward Mike. "What the hell are you doing?" he hissed.

Mike grinned and slapped his back — hard! "Celebrating," he answered loudly. "And why not? We have the means to be what we wish — so we are merely taking advantage!" He hefted a large goblet of wine and began to quaff it.

Danny frowned. "But what if..."

Mike shook his head, lowering the goblet and wiping the dribbling wine from his mouth with the back of his hand. "Bah! We'll change after the convention is over. Maybe!"

The other Klingons roared their approval of his comment. Danny had the sudden feeling that some of the Klingons weren't going to change back.

"So why haven't you changed?" Mike demanded suddenly, a toothy grin interrupted for another swig of wine. "Not feeling like enjoying life? Or are you going as Seven again tonight?" He had a leering grin that made Danny a bit uneasy.

**********

Seven of Nine walked into the bid party, and instantly heads turned. Danny smiled to himself; he was starting to enjoy this attention. The crowd parted as he strutted toward the drink table; girls' stares were clearly of envy or dislike, while the looks from the guys were almost universally lustful leers. Danny knew what they wanted to do to him, and somehow, it made the experience exciting. And even as he walked around, Danny had the vague feeling that something was...different. He couldn't quite figure it out, but it was as if this body was better. Enhanced somehow.

As the bartender handed Danny a drink, he sensed — again without realizing how — another person nearby who was paying him close attention. Danny turned. And the guy was there, exactly as Danny had known he would be. He felt puzzled; how had he known?

The guy was dressed as an ensign from Voyager. "Hi, Seven," he said, being both forward and familiar.

Danny instantly disliked the guy's demeanor. "Excuse me," he said brusquely. "I have other duties to which I must attend." He turned and started to walk away.

The Voyager crewmember was clearly inebriated, and his sensibilities were AWOL. "Oh, come on, Seven. How about some behind-the-scenes info about the upcoming movies."

Danny stopped, his shoulders stiffening. He didn't bother to turn. "I believe I said excuse me," he answered coldly. A few people were taking notice, and Danny didn't like this one bit.

The crewman made a mistake. "Oh, come on! It was just an innocent question. Or are you too good for the rest of us?" The bartender came from behind his table and took the guy's elbow, but he shook it off. "Are you as stuck-up as the rest of the cast?"

Danny spun, feeling an odd combination of determination and anger. "You wish me to answer some of your questions?"

The guy inflated his chest smugly. "Yeah. I heard Seven was going to assimilate one of the male crewmembers into a romantic situation." He glanced around, not recognizing that the looks being given him were not respect but disgust. "Tell you what, if it were me, I'd let you assimilate me any day!"

Danny felt a compulsion come over him that he couldn't control. He reached out his arm toward the guy's shoulder...

...and as everyone watched in horror, most especially Danny, twin tubes extended from Seven's forearm toward the guy, intercepting his neck and visibly puncturing the skin. The guy started to scream in pain and reach for the assimilation tubes, but he froze, a look of horror on his face.

Within seconds, his skin began to pale, and then something vaguely resembling a mechanical spider pierced the guy's cheek from the inside, spreading outward over his skin like the prosthetic devices Seven wore. His eyes glazed, and mechanical contrivances sprouted from them as well. His expression changed considerably as well, from shock and pain to neutral acceptance.

'We are Borg,' Danny heard in his mind. His eyes widened, and he glanced at the guy even as the changes continued. 'You hear my mind?' Danny asked mentally.

'We are Borg,' the voice in Danny's head answered.

'We must leave,' Danny thought. He glanced around quickly, and saw the crowd. Their expressions were disbelief, horror, and admiration. Danny nodded deferentially toward the bartender and the crowd. "You must excuse us. This...trick...is extremely tiring. We require rest."

The stunned crowd burst into applause; somehow, everyone had known it was a trick of special effects, at least after the fact. Danny led the new Borg quickly from the party suite.

**********

Danny trembled at the memories; they were still extremely vivid, and Danny suspected it had something to do with his body. He'd felt each and every sensation of the drone _and_ his own body; the sex was a jumble of mixed feelings from both their bodies. Danny awoke, feeling the quiet in his mind. Since the assimilation, he'd experienced every thought and memory of the drone, once known as Pete and now Adjunct One of Unimatrix Zero, and the flurry of thoughts had been quite disconcerting.

Danny's head spun. How? How the hell had he assimilated Pete? That wasn't possible! He wasn't _really_ Seven of Nine, former Borg drone and still partially Borg. Was he? How could the machine have made him into a _real_ Borg? That was absolutely impossible. Wasn't it?

Pete the drone awoke, and Danny knew. Before he even turned, he could feel the change in thoughts as Pete woke up. Danny knew he had to do something — anything! This wasn't exactly fair to Pete, and Danny knew that listening to someone else's thoughts would drive him nuts.

'We are Borg,' came the thought from the drone. Danny glanced; while Pete had rested', more of his body had been 'Borgified'. His right arm now ended in the multipurpose mechanical tool of all drones. One eye was covered with the multi-faceted drone sensor. Danny realized that the nanoprobes in Pete's body were probably scavenging anything and everything they could find as raw material for the Borg implants and attachments. Pete was definitely thinner. Except for the black Borg outergarment, Pete was thoroughly a drone.

Danny turned to the drone. "I will change you back."

'We are Borg,' came the unspoken and unemotional reply.

Danny felt a flash of frustration. "You will comply." He fought Pete's thoughts, his resistance to changing, fought to force Pete to comply.

The drone arose and walked to the alien box. In response to unspoken commands, the drone touched the plate. The former figure of Pete was quickly displayed. The drone glanced at Danny, then he touched the purple knob. He stepped inside, and the door closed.

Danny felt the drone's actions. The light was washing over the drone, starting the change. Then Danny gasped. The drone's defenses activated, shielding him from the ray. A whining screech began to sound in the box as it increased the power of its ray, but still, the drone's shields held, protecting it from the transforming effects. Finally, the box gave up before it could damage itself, and the door opened.

The drone stepped out, unchanged. 'We are Borg,' it thought to Danny.

Panic washed over Danny. Somehow, he'd created a Borg drone, complete down to the mechanical tools and collective communications. Danny had no idea how that had happened. But somehow, he had to undo the damage he'd done. Somehow.

A memory stirred in the collective consciousness. Danny focused, and an idea began to form. What Danny had seen so far had confirmed his suspicion, voiced over objections at the nanotech session, that the nanoprobes could be partially controlled by the host body. Maybe, if that fact had been part of the data used to design this body, the machine had given him the means to control his own nanoprobes. Maybe the box couldn't change Pete back, but, if his theory was correct, Danny could inject some of his own nanoprobes into Pete, programmed to reverse the Borg changes. At least, as many of the changes as possible. He reached toward the drone, and once more, the assimilation tubes extended, piercing the skin of the drone.

**********

Pete was still noticeably different, having some spider-like patches on his skin, but he was no longer the white half-machine drone he'd been. The second assimilation had worked — somehow — to reduce the degree to which the guy was a Borg. Danny couldn't remove all the Borg implants, but Pete looked human again. And the collective link was gone. Silence had returned to Danny's thoughts — at great relief to Danny.

"That was...weird," Pete said as he stared at his hand, covered as it was by the spiderweb of mechanical implants.

Danny felt bad, but strangely, the regret was very muted — as if his emotions were dampened. "I...regret that I was unable to restore you completely."

The former drone looked at Danny and smiled. "No. I...prefer it this way. The implants are...interesting." He smiled as he flexed his hand, feeling the new sensations the hybrid body was providing. "This is the coolest thing that's ever happened to me." He stood, then walked toward the door. He paused and glanced back. "And thank you."

Danny furrowed his brow. "For what?" The guy smiled, and Danny blushed as he realized what Pete meant.

"You're not really her, are you?" Pete asked with certainty.

Danny looked at him, then he smiled. "No, I'm not."

Pete canted his head, then he smiled. "You were Danny. You were changed by the alien device," he glanced at the box again, "into Seven of Nine."

Danny dropped his head, feeling his cheeks burning. It was bad enough to have been changed from Danny into Seven, but now Pete knew his secret as well. Pete turned and let the door close, leaving Danny alone in the room.

Danny flopped back on the bed, confused. And even that was a mistake — it made his breasts jiggle, reminding him that he was still in Seven's body. He took a deep breath, ignoring the heaving masses on his chest, and levered himself back up. He glanced at the box. He knew what he had to do.

**********

"What the hell are you saying?" Mike asked, confused. He sat across from Danny, staring at his roommate. "It won't _let_ you change back?" Alarm had crept into his voice; if it wouldn't let Danny change back, it might not let him and the others change back either.

Danny shook his head. "Not quite. My body won't let me change back," he answered slowly.

"Your...body?"

Danny dropped his head, nodding in agreement. "Somehow, this body _is_ Borg." He lifted his head to watch Mike's reaction. "Yeah, I know it sounds weird, but last night, I assimilated a guy."

Mike started to speak, then he stopped, his mouth hanging open. "I heard about it. Everyone's been talking about the special effects. But it wasn't an act."

Danny shook his head. "No, it was real."

Mike's eyes narrowed. "But that's..."

"Impossible?" Danny closed his eyes, letting his head droop wearily. "That's what I thought. But somehow, this thing has changed me more than we thought. I'm partly Borg."

Mike thought for a second, then he nodded. "That explains a lot, then."

"Explains what?" It was Danny's turn to be curious.

"Do you think I've — and Sandy and the others — have been acting a little _too_ Klingon?" He watched as Danny was reminded of this bit of data. "And Darla — she's the picture of Vulcan, including her hearing, her green blood — yeah, she got a scratch and we saw it — and her strength. Hell, she's stronger than I am! To say nothing of her mind. She's...different. Very logical. Very unemotional. Just like Spock claimed to be, like the Vulcan ideal."

Danny was starting to put the pieces together. "I thought you were all just living your fantasies. Except..." He thought for a few moments. "Just exactly like the transformee was thinking when he or she changed."

Mike nodded. "Only in your case..."

The last piece clicked into place. "Because I have a background in nanotechnology, and with all my interest in Seven, it made me into what she is. Including the implants and nanoprobes."

"Into what you _thought_ her nanoprobes and technology should be able to do, based on everything you've learned and watched on the show. Yup, it looks that way. So when you said it wouldn't let you change..."

"Seven's Borg defense systems read it as an attack and protected me." Danny dropped his head as the facts hit him. "So I'm stuck, because my mental picture was of a very accurate and complete Seven." He thought for a moment, then he looked up suddenly. "So how..."

Mike grinned. "...did I make you Seven and you didn't get stuck?" He laughed, the hearty roar of a Klingon. "Because I don't know as much about her as you do."

**********

The dinner group was larger than the one from the previous evening. Heads turned as they walked by; Trekkies looking to admire the costumes and the person they thought was Jeri Ryan in costume, and non-Trekkies to stare at the strange group. Danny shook his head as the group assembled. There were now seven Klingons, four Vulcans and two Bajorans in the dinner party. Elsewhere in the convention were handfuls of other aliens, including Romulans, Cardassians, a Tellarite, a few other Vulcans, two Spock impersonators, a Kirk, a Sisko, two Kiras, and a Jadzia Dax. Mike had been busy.

"You did pretty good on the panel," Mike noted as they walked.

Danny smiled. "It helps to have a friend in the preproduction department. Otherwise, I'd have bombed." He and Mike were referring to the afternoon panel on the future of Star Trek. With a couple of cancellations, the organizing committee had implored Danny to participate, a desperate attempt to salvage the session. A few vague rumors, a little misdirection into what it was like to work on the set, and the group was happy.

"And you promised to autograph a picture for me, remember?"

Danny feigned a frown. "Yeah, well I wasn't any too happy when you _volunteered_ me to sign autographs."

They walked a bit more in silence. Danny's silence, that is. The Klingons were far from silent, and Danny winced at their antics. They were loud, rude, and quite unmannered. They ate with their bare hands, and two waiters couldn't keep enough wine on the table. It was, all in all, quite a spectacle. Danny had to laugh — to himself — when the head waiter had tried to insist that the group use some manners — and keep it a little more quiet. Two of the Klingons had reminded him, by dangling him over a railing, that they were paying customers, and it was his responsibility to see that _they_ were suitably entertained. Danny feared that the little man would call the police, but some of the other patrons, also from the convention, found the entire episode hilarious, and besides, the head waiter was a wimpy little man who probably lacked the nerve to call the cops.

Danny and Darla walked back to the hotel separate from the group. Danny was curious about Darla's experiences and thoughts on the changes. But before they could discuss things, a couple of men decided they should accompany the girls. Despite Danny and Darla's protests, the guys wouldn't be dissuaded. They were drunk and a little forceful.

While Danny gave some serious thought to assimilating the offensive boors, Darla slid her hand up on one guy's shoulder. With a little pinch, he crumpled like a rag doll. His compatriot joined him a moment later. Danny's eyes narrowed as he stared at Darla. "How did you do that?"

Darla's head tilted. "It is a standard Vulcan technique," she said, perplexed that Danny would ask.

Danny frowned. "Yeah, but when did you learn it?"

Darla started to answer, then she paused. "Interesting. I have no recollection of learning the technique," she finally answered. The two resumed their walk back to the hotel.

"Do you recall any emotions? Or other 'illogical' thoughts?" Danny asked, prying for more information.

Darla thought for a moment. "I recall many illogical and confused thoughts. Much emotion." She glanced at Danny. "It seems as though I underwent a significant change recently."

"When you changed from human form into the Vulcan form? Is that when the change happened?"

"Yes, that makes sense. When I was changed to Vulcan, my thoughts were organized as well. Yes. That is the precise moment of my change."

Danny nodded. Darla had added yet more confirmation to his fears about the power of the machine. "The machine...changed you. Into what you were thinking of. Just as it changed me into Seven of Nine."

Darla nodded slowly. "The change extends to mental processes as well," she confirmed. "That is why things are so logical since I was changed."

Danny nodded. "And the changes seem to go deeper. Mike mentioned that you have green blood. Copper-based, I'd gather. And you are probably considerably stronger as well."

Darla nodded confirmation. "Those are the parameters of normal Vulcan physiology. As is significant longevity," she added.

Danny's eyes widened. "If that's true, then...my nanobots should be programmed to maintain my DNA and cellular structure in perfect working order...indefinitely."

Darla raised an eyebrow. "Assuming, of course, that your mental image of the nanobots was..." she paused, and the other eyebrow raised as well, "consistent with the data and conjectures you posed during the nanotechnology session." Darla glanced at Danny and knew that Danny had indeed been thinking about those parameters. "Fascinating."

**********

Danny was beat. He wore the fatigue like a mask. The convention organizing committee pressed on him to emcee the costume contest, and he'd agreed, simply because he didn't know of anything else to do. And it was fun, even if it was long and rather tiring. Still, the convention-goers seemed quite pleased to have Seven of Nine taking such an active role in their con. Danny smiled to himself at that one — the publicity department of Viacom was going to get some very strange thank-you letters. And Jeri Ryan's reputation with the fans was probably going to skyrocket — even if she never quite understood why.

Then came the party circuit — again. Danny had tried to duck out early, only to find that his room was occupied by a group of Klingons intent on making the most of their last evening as Klingons; in short, it was a major orgy. Danny had been invited to join by not fewer than four of the Klingon men, but he'd declined. That left going back to the parties, and when they wound down, Danny found Darla. The one up side to Darla being Vulcan was that her interest in illogical activities such as partying and sex was practically nonexistent; Danny got some rest — finally.

When he woke up, he slowly realized that Darla was showering. Danny sat up slowly, feeling the fatigue; for some reason, she was far more tired than she should have been.

Darla emerged from the shower and slowly padded to her suitcase. Danny sat on the bed and watched. Finally, he laughed.

Darla spun. "Is there something humorous about seeing me nude?"

Danny smiled. "A week ago, I'd have given anything to see you like this." He shook his head. "Now, it just doesn't do anything for me."

Darla canted her head and raised an eyebrow. "Interesting. One week ago, you would have been male, and I would have been a human female. Are you conjecturing that, under those circumstances, you would have become aroused by my body?" Darla watched Danny's reaction. "Or that you would have attempted to seduce me?"

Danny laughed. "Yeah, I guess I would have. Both, that is."

Darla's mouth opened and she nodded her understanding. "Ah, but in the current circumstances, with a fully functional female body, you do not find me arousing."

Danny smiled and nodded. "That about sums it up." He quickly dressed, then with Darla's help, got his hair arranged. "Thanks, Darla. I appreciate having a place to rest."

Darla nodded deferentially. "It was logical. Especially given the activities in your own room." She walked Danny to the door. "Have you considered a future course of action?"

Danny shook his head. Her head. He was going to have to get used to that. "I don't know," he said softly. "It looks like I was too clever for own good. My own mental image of Seven made her too much a Borg. The implants include defensive shielding which prevents the transformation device from affecting me." He lowered his eyes. "I've tried." His head shook slowly. "No luck. I'm afraid that I'm stuck like this."

Darla nodded. "It is logical, since the machine read _your_ pattern, it automatically would have incorporated all the features of Seven of Nine that you knew, including the defenses. However, have you considered the advantages that you have gained with the change?"

Danny tried to laugh, but it rang hollow. "I'm sorry, but I can't see anything good that can come out of being a sexy Borg like...." He stopped abruptly, and his eyes widened; Darla's question had stirred new thoughts. Danny would have to consider the possibilities.

**********

"What do you mean, it won't work?" The Klingon girl, Lursa, sounded rather alarmed. "You mean it can't change me back?" Mouth hanging open in disbelief, she pushed past Mike and stepped to the box. She pressed her hand to the plate, and nothing happened. She pressed again, more insistently. After a few more tries, she was practically beating on the plate, and cursing in fluent Klingon.

Mike stepped to her and grabbed her hands. "It's no use. It won't work," he snarled. Lursa turned and threw herself at Mike, but he easily parried her attack. "Stop!" he roared. His voice had the desired effect; the girl quit attacking the machine and him.

"I don't know why it's not working," Danny explained simply. "You've all seen it. When you touch the plate, nothing happens." He glanced around the very crowded room. Besides Mike, there were eight Klingons, six Vulcans, two Bajorans, a Romulan, a Cardassian, a Tellarite, two Spocks, a Kirk, a Sisko, two Kiras, Jadzia Dax, and a green Orion slave girl. The girl who'd changed into shapeshifting Odo was nowhere to be found; Danny suspected that the girl might have gained some shapeshifting powers. All told, counting Mike and Danny, there were thirty persons changed by the box.

Darla cleared her throat. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I have no reservations about remaining Vulcan." She glanced around the room. "It is the form which I desired for many years, and now that I have achieved it, it would be illogical to seek to change back."

Mike glanced around and saw a few nods of agreement. "I agree. I am a warrior at heart. Now I am one in body as well."

Danny glanced around, then he took a quick poll. Sixteen of the people were happy as they were and didn't want to change back. Of the remainder, one Spock, Kirk, Sisko, and a Bajoran were afraid of having to resume their normal lives with the changes. The others — Danny understood their reasons.

Danny was stuck as Seven. Jadzia, the Orion slave girl, Lursa, B'Etor, the female Romulan, a Kira, and one of the female Vulcans had all been guys. Now, like Danny, they were stuck in female bodies, and in most cases, very curvy sexy female bodies. And one of the Klingon warriors had, until very recently, been a petite curvy blonde. Now she was stuck as a hulking warrior, and none too happy about the situation. At least, though, her boyfriend was the one stuck as the Orion girl.

For some of the group, the future was going to be grim. Mike glanced around the room. "Well, Danny, er, Seven, and I got you into this mess. We shall see it through." He gave out his card to the assembled group. "If you find any difficulties, give me a call or e-mail. I have, um, access to resources."

Slowly, the group dispersed. There was, after all, packing to be done, planes to catch. The convention was officially over the night before. One and two at a time, the changees drifted from the room. Mike and a couple of the Klingons eagerly sought out the bar, where Mike had promised a round of drinks. Some of the others, the reluctant ones, paused, as if trying their luck at the machine might, by some remote chance, make it work again. Disappointed, they drifted off.

Danny noticed a pattern. The ones who weren't leaving were precisely those who, like him, had changed gender. Finally, all the others were gone.

"This is going to be...tough," Danny began, glancing around before looking down, embarrassed. "I...I haven't started thinking of myself as a...girl. Yet." He looked up and glanced around the room. "But I'm going to have to. All of us are going to have to." Danny realized that the guy who'd become Kira was the very same twerp that had argued with him on the first day. He wasn't surprised.

Lursa spoke. "I...find myself...easily aroused," she said, turning her face downward. "It's...weird."

The Orion girl nodded. "Like, this body is designed for sex," she agreed. "I'm always...hot! Horny!" She looked down and Danny could see her shoulders shaking as she sobbed. "What am I going to do?"

Jadzia Dax wrapped her arm around the Orion girl. "The same thing as the rest of us, honey," she said soothingly. "We'll pull through. We'll get used to it."

The Vulcan girl who had been a guy raised an eyebrow. "I fail to understand why being in a female bodies would be so much different than the male bodies we formerly occupied," she observed, trying to soothe the group.

The Orion girl looked up, tears streaming down her cheeks. "That's because you don't go into heat except once every seven years!" she wailed. "Try it when you get horny every time you see a man! It's not so easy to adjust when all you want to do is get laid!"

"Or throw things!" Lursa added.

Danny nodded slowly. "We'll get through this. Together." He — she — looked around the room, at her fellow gender changees. "Okay?" Danny — Seven - saw the slow nods. Just like that, Danny vanished in his mind. He — she — was Seven now. Like the others, from here on out she was stuck with this body. A woman. "We can get together at all the cons, right? Compare notes, support each other?" Seven felt a bit of hope. She had sisters, others like her who were now stuck. She had someone to share her trials and tribulations with. She smiled. "Besides, when Mike said he had resources, believe me, he had resources. I'll get him to set it up so we can all go to at least one con a month."

**********

Seven sat in front of her computer, finishing up her work. For some reason, since the convention, she'd found computer work so much easier. As the project started to compile, she glanced to the side. At it. The box. It sat on the shelf, where it had been for the last three months, still and silent. Seven shook her head. She was past cursing the thing, as were most of her fellow changees. For all but a few, it was getting easier to deal with the changes. True to their word, the gender changees had been getting together monthly at a major convention.

The Vulcans had paired off; Darla had pointed out to the group that with their unique characteristics, including longevity and seven-year mating cycle, that pairing off would be the most 'logical' course of action. She and her partner, who had once been a girlfriend, quickly learned to perform mind melds and were 'bonded', joined together mentally. They knew it was only a matter of time before the other Vulcans entered into their own melds.

The Orion girl, who had been a guy and now went by Trish, was now pregnant by her Klingon boyfriend, who had been a girl. Lursa and Seven were sharing the basement apartment of Mike's house; he and Sandy had just been married in a full, formal Klingon ritual, of which her parents strongly objected but attended nonetheless. With makeup, Jadzia could pass as a normal human. All in all, it could have been far worse. At least no one tried to change into a Mugato.

And Seven had realized that, as a partial Borg, she needed to regenerate, just like in the series. This had scared Seven a bit, until she realized that she - or her nanoprobes - had the programming to create a regeneration unit. Now, daily regeneration was part of her normal routine, just like eating.

Still, there was something about the entire situation nagging at Seven's mind. Something about her....

With an almost electric jolt, it hit her. Her eyes widened, and she stared back at the box. Slowly, she retrieved it from the shelf and set it on her desk. Then, with a strangely easy move, her assimilation tubes shot out from her arm and intercepted the strange symbols on the top. The tubes easily penetrated the otherwise impenetrable metal.

Slowly, Seven's eyes widened as her mind was assaulted by a flood of alien data. For several minutes, she sat, rapt, digesting the information. Finally, she relaxed visibly, and as the assimilation tubes retracted, she started laughing aloud.

Lursa heard Seven and peeked into her study. "Is something wrong?" she asked, concerned. She spied the box sitting on the table.

Seven fought to control herself. "No, it's...it's perfect!" she cried. "It's the most perfect joke in the universe!"

Lursa frowned. "What?" she demanded.

Seven wiped the tears from her eyes. "It's a demo unit!" she laughed. "The symbols — they were a user agreement, saying in very specific terms that this was a four-day demonstration unit, and that to keep using the box, we needed to submit payment to the Gamalfi corporation!" Seven's sides hurt from her laughter.

Lursa shook her head and then laughed. "It serves us right." She glanced at the box. "So now what?"

It took Seven a while before she could speak again, she was laughing so hard. When she'd regained her composure, she glanced evenly at Lursa. "Would you change back? If you could, I mean?"

Lursa frowned. "But...." She looked down for a long time. Finally, she looked back up, directly into Seven's eyes. "No, I don't think so." She looked down again. "I mean, it's not fun sometimes, being like this. Being not only a woman, but a Klingon woman as well. But even with that, no, I wouldn't." She looked up at Seven. "Does that make any sense?"

Seven smiled. "Yes, it does. And I know what you mean. I...I don't think I'd change back either. If I could, I mean."

Lursa frowned. There was something about Seven's question. "Why do you ask?"

In answer, Seven just grinned.

**********

Epilogue

C sighed as he drove the car. Beside him, D was busy studying a convention program. C sighed again. "So why are we going to a Star Trek convention?" he asked.

D glanced up from the program. "Because there's something going on," he explained, as if at the end of his patience. "Like I said, there have been some, um, odd happenings in the last few months."

C frowned. "So? Why haven't I heard about them, then?" He hated to admit that his junior partner might have some information he lacked.

It was D's turn to sigh. "How much do you know about Star Trek?" he seemingly changed the subject.

C's frown deepened. "Not a lot," he admitted. "Why?"

D shook his head. "All of these things center around Star Trek and science fiction conventions." He rummaged around on the seat between them and pulled up a handful of files. "Item: a doctor delivers a baby that, according to the nurse, has a seriously deformed and ridged skull, not unlike the parents. Item: a doctor at an emergency room reports treating a patient with minor injuries; the patient, according to the report, had deformed ears and green blood. Item: a new computer company, referred to as The Collective, is growing at a pace that makes Microsoft look like amateurs. They have some highly advanced software and hardware, and are poised to dominate the market. Competitors are mysteriously convinced to join them. Item: at the last Star Trek convention, police broke up a riot at a local bar; the rioters were all dressed as Star Trek aliens, and it took seventeen police to subdue four of them. Item: a ranch in Wyoming was recently purchased for cash by an unidentified buyer. Shortly after the purchase, wild boars, bears, and other rather...nasty...wildlife were introduced, and continue to be introduced at an astounding rate. The Forest Service was anxious to investigate, but they report that there is some kind of force field around the ranch, and they can't get in. They suspect it's being run as a private game preserve. Item:..."

C held up a hand to stop his junior partner. "So what do all these have in common? Why are we going to the Star Trek convention?"

D shook his head. "The Collective is a term for a group mind, centered around a cybernetic race known as the Borg." He glanced at C, his face somber. "You better hope no-one decided to change into a Borg."

"Why?"

D was grim. "They're highly adaptable. And quite indestructible." He felt a shiver run up his spine, then he continued. "The ridged foreheads are characteristic of Star Trek aliens known as Klingons. And the Klingons love to hunt wild things."

"I thought Klingons had the silver sashes," C interrupted.

D rolled his eyes and sighed. "In the original series. Not in the new series."

"Oh."

D shook his head. "All of these events describe people who resemble Star Trek aliens or characters." He glanced at a file. "Do you know that Viacom brought a lawsuit against a couple of actors, only to have it mysteriously dropped weeks later? Or that they are secretly filming new scenes from the original Star Trek series?"

C frowned. "The actors are too old!"

D shook his head. "The scoop from the convention insiders is that there are some remarkable impersonators out there, and that Viacom is paying the original actors quite handsomely."

C was starting to see the light. "So what you're suggesting is that some group of Trekkies got a box and made some changes? Like changing themselves into the characters and aliens?"

"Half right," D said evenly. "But the events can't all be traced to one convention."

C frowned. "That means..."

D nodded solemnly. "That means that someone may have figured out how to use the box repeatedly."

C drove silently for a while. "You know," he finally said, "you better catch me up on all the Star Trek stuff if we're going to get anywhere with this bunch."

**********

(Despite all their attempts to fit in, C and D never quite gained the confidence of Seven or her group. And as outsiders, they never did learn the secrets tucked away inside Seven's pretty head, despite years of effort and persuasion. As far as the Collective went, agent Q started working on penetrating the organization, but after a few months, just after he'd reported that he was getting near paydirt, he mysteriously vanished.)

FIN (maybe)