Anomaly – A Star Trek Story
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

“I am fully aware of the Prime Directive, Spock.” Captain James T Kirk found himself again annoyed by his friend’s reference to the fundamental rules applying.

“Nevertheless Captain, we have an unexplained anomaly,” Spock continued. “We have a small population of humanoids, with a low level of development, perhaps a little less than Earth’s dark ages, and right in the middle of all populations our sensors detect a highly sophisticated power source. It would appear that there has already been interference by advanced visitors. Given the Prime Directive it is unlikely that it would be one of the United Federation of Planets.”

“Perhaps a remnant of a prior more technologically developed civilisation?” Jim asked.

“Possible. But unlikely,” replied Spock. “We have a functioning machine of some power, with unknown purpose, right in the middle of a primitive society. In my opinion, Captain, investigation is warranted.”

Jim Kirk pondered and muttered some misgivings.

“There is precedent Captain,” added Spock. “You will remember the Archons.”

Jim Kirk had a good memory: “That was certainly remedial. In that case we knew that it was alien influences doing harm. We have no such information here. But I am inclined to find out. If you are unable to gather further data remotely, we will need to put together a landing party.”

“I will work on a language module based on what we have,” said Spock. A small probe disguised as a rock had been dispatched earlier to listen to the speech of these beings.

“Compromising the Prime Directive is a big call,” said Kirk. “I will need to go myself. I’ll take you Chekov, and get somebody from security – Laine or Briggs. And ask Mr Scott to send me somebody with experience in alien energy generating machinery. You will be in charge onboard, Spock.”

“Yes Captain,” Spock and Chekov responded simultaneously.

***

The beam dissipated and the four of them found themselves standing behind some bushes next to a pathway. There was Kirk, Chekov, Laine and Garcia from engineering. They were dressed in the best that could be prepared for them in the way of medieval garments, but on close inspection it would be clear that the fabric was not hand woven. Such inspection should be avoided. Communication and weapons were concealed and earpieces were in place for remote prompting from the language module.

“We’ll join the path and turn right towards the energy source,” said Kirk. The language module repeated the command in the local language, or at least the best determined translation on the material then available from remote sensing in orbit based on detected conversation only. The module would evolve to improve language as they interacted with anybody.

Garcia used an energy sensor that he could keep hidden up his sleeve. A few paces on he said: “Increasing energy levels Captain. We must be getting closer.”

In the clearing ahead, there were three men. They appeared 100% percent human. They were olive skinned and had some features that looked a little out of place, but they appeared very close to earth-originating homo sapiens. Proof again of the miracle of random mutation creating intelligent beings on entirely independent tracks.

Two of the men were seated and clearly unwell. The other was older, perhaps mid-thirties in Terran terms, but he looked strong and fit. He had a scar on his face and other scars on his forearms. A fighter or a hunter who wrestled with dangerous prey was Kirk’s best guess.

“Strangers,” the humanoid greeting the crew members of the Star Ship Enterprise. “Are you bound for the Tarrakan?”

“Yes,” Kirk said. ‘Yes’ was a word he had learned in advance, but he had no idea what the Tarrakan was. It seemed that it might be their name for the machine.

“Let us travel together,” the warrior said. “My fellow travellers have had time to catch their breath.”

As they walked together another of the inhabitants asked Kirk: “Were you chosen or did you volunteer?”

Kirk listened for options and chose: “We are all volunteers.” It was the least likely to produce a response.

“It may not look like it, but I too, am a volunteer,” said the warrior as they walked. “I am weary of battles, and want a home and a chance to breed, as I think I have strong blood to pass to the next generation.”

“I agree,” said Kirk. “I have the same thought. The time will come to raise a family.” He still wondered what this was all about.

The path spilled in to an open area beneath a cliff with two tunnels driven into the rock. One appeared to be an entrance, and the other some distance away, an exit.

Garcia approached and whispered in Kirks ear: “The energy profile has been heavily masked by the rock, Captain, but our instruments have been able to detect it from orbit. I am getting very strong readings”.

The warrior turned to Kirk and said: “I am not one to pause before battle, so I urge you to come with me stranger. I will pause only for a moment to give thanks that I can offer so much to the future.”

“We need to follow this man inside,” Kirk said to the landing party. “It looks as if we come out over there.”

As if to confirm it, at that very moment a woman stepped out of they had guessed was the exit tunnels. She was wearing a coarse robe many times too large for her. Two women who had been waiting took off her robe so that she was naked, her soft golden-brown body looking fresh and toned. The women then put a clean and fine robe about her and showered her with flower petals.

The warrior rose from his moment on one knee, evidently saying his prayer of thanks, and he walked to the entrance tunnel, beckoning his companions, and Kirk and his party, to follow.

Kirk gave instructions: “Collect your readings Garcia. Images please Chekov. Laine, cover the rear.” He strode forward.

The tunnel was not straight. It wound through the rock as if following seams of softer rock, sometimes with a higher hanging wall of hard rock visible. But it was illuminated by what appeared to be electric lights disguised as glowing minerals. It was not long before both sides of the tunnel disclosed developed machinery. It was almost as if they were walking through an old diagnostic machine, but much longer.

“I am getting very strong readings,” said Garcia. “We are being bombarded kappa rays, captain. Not lethal at these levels, but not advisable.”

“Should we go back, Captain?” asked Chekov.

“I think that we need to go all the way through,” replied Kirk. “You scanned the woman who excited before we entered, and she was healthy?”

“Yes, Captain,” answered Chekov. “Perfectly healthy. Exceptionally healthy.”

The tunnel opened out into a large cavern in front and below them.

The three from the planet in front of them leapt from the ledge. It was a sheer drop for the first few meters but then curved into an incline curving to flat so that the three below them took to their feet uninjured by the fall.

“That answers your question about going back, Mr Chekov,” said Kirk. He leapt and the others followed.

The warrior approached him at the foot of the slide and embraced him. To Kirk’s puzzlement he said: “Welcome sister”. Kirk tapped his concealed earpiece to check the translation.

Then they all stood to watch an apparent miracle.

The beard on the warrior’s face fell off. Kirk noticed there was other hair on the floor of this underground chamber. The hair on the warrior’s head seemed to grow, and to sprout from his scalp where no hair had been. His body seemed to lose mass. He seemed to shorten slightly. The strong arms seemed to lose muscle.

The warriors companions were changing to. They had appeared unwell but now appeared to gain colour. The hair on their heads also grew. Beneath their robes they seemed to be changing shape.

“This is interesting Chekov,” said Kirk, without turning. “What do you make of what is happening to these men?”

Chekov replied: “It’s happening to you too, Captain.”

***

“This is the Transporter Room, Mr Spock. The landing party has returned sir, but I think that you might want to come here before they leave.”

“Very well,” said Spock. He had no idea why he would need to do this, but he was happy for the exercise before handing the con back to his Captain.

When he arrived, there were four women with the crew member. There were two small dark-haired women, a tall blonde and a rather intense looking woman with golden brown hair. They all wore simple clothes like those the landing party had been given.

“What is going on,” said Spock. “Where is the landing party?”

“We are the landing party, Mr Spock.” The intense woman was talking to him, in English. And then he recognised the brown eyes that she had.

“Jim?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied. “Yes, and Laine, Chekov and Garcia.” She waved a delicate in the direction of the other women.

“Interesting,” said Spock in his usual flat and infuriating fashion.

“Not the word I would have chosen,” said the woman who had been James Kirk.

“We should follow quarantine protocols and proceed to sickbay.” Spock was seriously considering adding the word “Ladies” but it would have been only as a joke, and Vulcans do not joke. However, he thought, the strangeness of the situation might have allowed an exception.

“This might explain a population anomaly that we have identified in your absence, Captain,” he said.

“What might that be, Spock?” she asked.

“There are no women on the planet below the age of sixteen, so far as we can detect. It would appear that the survival of this planet can only be assured if a portion of the male population can become female, past childhood. Evidently this machine you have identified, does that job.”

“Spock, why have you brought aliens into my sickbay?” asked Dr “Bones” McCoy testily.

“These are not aliens, Doctor,” Spock responded. “This woman is your Captain, evidently transformed by some genetic process.”

“Jim?” McCoy was even more incredulous.

“It’s me Bones. You had better do a full diagnostic”. She was now becoming exasperated. Did she have to explain the situation to everybody?

It took less than a minute to identify the issue. So Dr McCoy was as direct as usual: “The Y chromosome has been knocked off. Knocked off all of you. The changes are at a cellular level. You are all fully functioning females, although your uteruses are still taking final form even now.”

“Uteruses?” Kirk stood in disbelief, but the word seemed to trigger a sensation from within. Something was there that had not been there before.

“It is an incredible feat of medical engineering to be able to target such a genetic modification across the whole body like this,” said Bones. “Truly incredible.”

“I am sure somebody needs to be congratulated,” sneered Kirk. “But how can we fix it? Can the machine we went through reverse it.”

“Jim, or … Captain, the Y chromosome is an add on. You can delete it but you cannot add it,” explained McCoy. “We have the ability to synthesise some DNA on a cell by cell basis, but there are 15 trillion cells in the human body. Every one of those has been changed by the elimination of a small amount of genetic material. I don’t think that we can undo this. Maybe if you found out who developed this technology you could have them fix it? But it is easier to delete a gene than synthesize one. We have discovered that over the years. What has been done is through a highly advanced process. Undoing it would seem almost impossible, based on current human technology anyway.”

“I asked them about the machinery – they call it the Tarrakan,” said Kirk. “They told me that the machine has been there for centuries. Nobody knows who built it and where the builders came from. One thing is clear is that the technology is not from this planet, or at least from this time. There is nothing else like it down there.”

Bones shrugged his shoulders. He said: “If it’s any consolation, Captain. You make a very attractive woman.”

It was not a consolation at all, but Captain Kirk felt strangely pleased at the compliment. He smiled, and maybe even blushed.

***

Captain Jemima Kirk was checking her hair and makeup with the mirror function on her PDA. She was pleased with the look today. Her hair had stopped its fast growth lately and had settled to a length that was ideal for the practical updo that she wore today.

She looked ahead to where Toni Chekov sat. Her hair also looked good today in the French roll she had adopted as her standard. Sulu was looking at her adoringly. It was the Captain’s business to know who was sleeping with whom onboard. If the relationship interfered with their work Jem would have to reassign one of them, but her inclination was now more inclined to accommodate personal feelings.

Chief Engineer Scott had taken to Gabby Garcia most recently. It was a difficult situation as unlike Sulu and Chekov, Scotty outranked his new girlfriend and that raised questions. But again, Jem was understanding. She had to be. She outranked Spock, but she needed a man in her bed.

What was clear to her now was that the change of sex also included the addition of a healthy libido and a hunger to become pregnant. After all, procreation was the purpose of the Tarrakan. At least that was something that could be controlled. If not the hunger, then the conception. The hunger she could live with, as long as Spock was up to feeding it with regular sex.

While Vulcans pride themselves on being unemotional, their race has also evolved from primitive species and still derives extreme pleasure from orgasm, as a reward for copulation. In the case of Spock, Jem found her ability to destroy his ability to reason during the act of sex was strangely satisfying. She had discovered the ability to conquer logic with her perfectly formed body when Spock was inside her. At last she had the measure of him. The thought made her smile, and her vulva tingle.

For Security Officer Pauline Laine, control had been conquered by her new desires. She was the one who had been Paul Laine, the fleet champion hand to hand fighter and a renowned rake. She was now pregnant by somebody in the crew - it could have been anyone of eight by last count. But, doubtless but the effect of the Tarrakan, calculated by its builders (whoever they may be) she is looking forward with relish, to a life of motherhood.

The End
© Maryanne Peters 2020