Kirk walked back to his quarters, feeling shaken, the incident with Errol playing over and over in his mind. The man’s hand on Kirk’s breast, his thigh, the unwanted kiss. It made him shiver, and he hunched over, feeling self-conscious, vulnerable in his short dress, his long legs exposed, and the eyes of the men constantly caressing his figure.
Plunging into his quarters, he sighed with relief as the door wooshed shut, and he could finally relax, no longer feel embattled. He sat down at his desk, knees together without even thinking about it, and tossed his long, blonde hair. Who had done this to him? He started to cycle through the names and faces, trying to figure out who had not only motive but means. Nothing.
He checked his messages, he found orders to report to see Captain Finnegan that afternoon, as well as messages from Spock, McCoy, Uhura and Rand, all checking up on him to see how he was doing. He realized he could still taste Errol, and he got up, disgusted.
How am I doing? He thought. Terrible. He gargled some mouthwash, trying to get the taste of Errol out of his mouth. Spit it out. Gargled some more. Then he thought he could smell Errol’s sweat on his body, and he didn’t know if this was all just female hysteria or not, but once the idea got into his mind he felt disgusted and dirty, so he took a quick shower, and then sprayed himself with some of his old cologne. He felt like crying. Screaming. How am I doing? How do you think?
The only one he trusted to share his feminine struggles with was Rand. They’d been… close before his change, and she’d been there helping him adjust to his new life even from the beginning. The others, he needed them to continue to see him as the man he’d been, and would be again.
Should I ask Spock to help me investigate? Kirk wondered. The thought made him feel warm, and he imagined himself in Spock’s powerful arms, looking up into his–
No! Kirk pushed the thought away. He’d been struggling with his feelings for Spock, ever since, back on Rammerham, Spock had rescued him.
The warrior had carried Kirk to a cell and unceremoniously plunked him on the floor. He sat there in his little red uniform, staring at the long, shapely legs spread out before him, the small, dainty hands, the full, heavy breasts. He was stunned. It all seemed impossible.
After a time, he got to his feet, standing unsteadily. His whole body felt wrong. His legs were too long, he had what felt like a mountain of hair piled on top of his head, and of course there was impossible weight of his chest. He walked around his small cell, trying to get used to the feel of walking in this new body, in these boots, these clothes. He found himself tugging constantly on the short dress. He felt naked.
The cell wasn’t much. A cot, a toilet, a sink. Looking up, he saw a camera following him around the cell, and he imagined the guards, the men, ogling him, and he crossed his arms over the swelling of his soft, new chest.
What had happened? Why had he transported down in this body? He looked in the mirror, and quickly looked away. The face he’d seen? It was– beautiful. Feminine. Young. It shocked him to see her with her big, wide eyes, and full lips, and to realize that kissable face was him.
Death. The guard had told him the penalty for a woman to speak was death.
Well, how am I going to get out of this one? He wondered. And where was his crew? He examined the bars, looked for any means of escape. Found nothing. He lay on the cot, trying to pull his dress down, to keep his legs together, so the guards wouldn’t have anything to look at. He’d never had to worry about it before, but he’d never worn a tiny little dress, either. He decided he needed to think through the situation, wait for an opportunity to present itself. Was it the stress? The shock of finding himself in a new, female body? He didn’t know, but he plunged into a deep, troubled sleep and only woke up when he heard a man bellow, “Wake up!”
Kirk snapped awake, initially confused by the weight of his breasts bouncing on his chest, the sight of his long, coltish legs, exposed by his dress. Then it all started to come back to him, the slap, being taken prisoner. He pushed a few strands of hair away from his face with his slender hands and sat on the edge of the cot, his knees together.
The man leered at Kirk, letting his eyes roam across his body. Then, he met Kirk’s eyes and smiled, like a shark.
‘I am a Federation Officer,” Kirk started, wincing at the high-pitched sound of his voice. He didn’t even sound like a woman, but a girl.
“Shut up! The man said “And listen to me if you want to live.”
“I want to talk to my ship,” Kirk continued.
“No,” the man said, setting his briefcase down, adjusting his suit.
“I have rights!” Kirk had meant the words to come out forceful and commanding, but instead he had sounded like a teen girl about to have a hissy fit. He cringed, putting his hands to his throat, feeling his breasts pressed together between his arms.
“You are a woman, and you have no rights on Rammerham,” the man said. “This isn’t your precious Federation, with all of your absurd notions of equality. However, in the interest of avoiding an interplanetary crisis, I am here to offer you a deal that will save your life. So, do you want to listen or do you want to die? Nod or shake your head. I think that is your custom?”
Kirk felt ashamed of his voice, and so he just nodded. Besides, talk of the Federation reminded him he’d come here on a mission. He needed to do what he could to salvage that operation, even if it meant he had to put the little issue of his sex change aside for the moment.
“Good girl,” the man said. “So, here’s what’s going to happen. You will called before Khan Rammerham. He will sentence you to death. You will beg for your life, and offer to join his harem and serve him as his slave girl. It will help if you can cry. He likes to play the hero.”
Harem? Slave girl? The words sounded impossible to Kirk’s ears. He was a man. Had been a man. How could? What? “A slave girl? Harem? Me?” He said softly, his eyes wide.
“Khan saw you on the video. You’re sexy. Got nice tits and a hot temper. He likes this in his women. ”
The man picked up his briefcase and walked away, leaving Kirk there feeling more vulnerable and disrespected than he had ever felt in his life. Slave girl? A tight, strangulated laugh escaped from him. It was all so insane. Like the plot of an old 21st Century Fan Fiction.
No, he decided, shaking his head. No. If it came down to it, he would rather die than agree to join Khan Rammerham’s harem and- pleasure him. The thought– revolted him. Sickened him. A slave girl? A harem girl? How all of Star Fleet would laugh at that news. No. Jim Kirk was not meant for that end.
Where are you Spock? Scotty? He wondered. I need you to get me out of this. He lay on his side, fighting against a strange and powerful impulse to cry. He pushed the feelings inside, refused to acknowledge them, and instead focused all his will on one thing: his impeding death. He would not lose his nerve. He would not agree to his own utter humiliation.
A short time later a group of women arrived, primping Kirk and dressing him for his trial. They took his hair down, brushed it, made up his face and dressed him in traditional Rammerham female attire. He just let them do what they wished, thinking the whole time about the trial, and how ashamed he would be to die as a woman, but that it would be better than to become another man’s pleasure slave. It seemed an impossible sitation, but he would Kobayashi Maru it.
but this time, the Kobayashi Maru manuever would end in one death: his own.