Whose Body Is It, Anyway?             by: Brandy Dewinter

 

Chapter 6 - Wasting No Time

When I woke up the next morning, I tensed as I tried to determine what additional "improvements" Titania had decided were needed. After a few seconds, however, I felt nothing particularly new. My waist was still tightly constricted. My hair still held my head to the bed, and I could feel my feet still constrained to their strange arch. In the absence of tactile clues to any changes, I tentatively opened my eyes and looked in the mirror that had first shown me a new person.

The mirror showed more of the same. Literally. My hair was even longer and thicker. I thought my waist looked smaller, but it was clear that my shoulders were narrower as well, so I wasn’t entirely sure. My heels were higher than when I had awakened yesterday, though that change I had already known about. If it were possible, the face in the mirror was even more ethereally beautiful than before, but the only obvious change was a pair of heavy golden earrings. Overall, it wasn’t too bad. I’d been afraid of a lot worse and I’d have sighed with relief, if I could have managed that much breath.

*I didn’t think we needed any more waist reduction,* I thought to my internal companion, fighting hard to keep my tone casual rather than combative.

"Well, I did," Titania replied bluntly. "You should be happy I didn’t do anything to your mammaries. However, they are sufficient to store the reserve materials, and I can see how they might be, um, intrusive on the mission."

"Intrusive?! With the way this corset pushes them up and out, they’re flaming distractions is what they are!"

Titania’s "voice" held an unusually smug tone, "Jonesy sure thought so."

"And what about these earrings?" I asked, touching them lightly. I actually enjoyed the way the light played off of them, and wondered how much of that was my hypno-compulsion. I was afraid it wasn’t as much as my self-image might have liked.

"I thought storing some excess metallic material in jewelry would be less risky than burying it inside your body," she explained.

Now that made sense, and I let my agreement float through my mind as I swung my supple limbs from the bunk and started toward the replicator. Actually, whatever Titania had done through the night had helped my balance and coordination somehow. Of course, with the body Titania had given me, I knew I looked sensual even at rest. I suppose Tryx still had better dimensions, but in most other ways I realized Titania had achieved her goal of matching that matchless beauty. Once again, I decided to try a peace offering.

"Thank you, Titania. I think you’ve done an excellent job in forming our body for this mission."

"Quite," she replied, still irritated, but I thought, or at least hoped, I could "hear" an echo of comradeship behind her brusk answer.

I was on my way to get some sort of stimulant beverage, when I realized I didn’t have any of the tired, transition feeling that usually accompanied mornings. That thought must have been close enough to the surface for Titania to pick up on it.

"Of course not. You don’t even need to sleep anymore, except for that dream thing you do. Your muscles will never get tired, at least, not until total dehydration or some other lack prevents me from moving the necessary chemicals around in your system."

"Right," I noted. "Well, what *do* we need to do in the mornings, then?"

"Well, we need to eliminate waste, which we can do in the shower. And you will need an intake of essential nutrients, which you can do as easily with food as any other way. I’ve done nothing to reduce your enjoyment of eating. You just don’t need any artificial stimulants."

I nodded as I made my way toward the shower, remembering at the last second to hold my breath while the waste was washed away. Though the heavy mass of hair which seemed to be one of Titania’s excess material storage sites drank up an incredible quantity of water, it was dry and styled as elegantly as any salon could produce by the time we were fully out of the stall. My dark red jumpsuit shimmered into existence and in even less time than the old Xora had required, the new one was ready to sally forth.

"Let’s get something to eat on the way to the ship," I suggested. A sensation that I took for agreement flashed momentarily, and we left my quarters.

Out in the corridor I reverted to thinking my comments, *So, what do we need for breakfast?*

*You have no particular need for protein,* Titania replied. *Part of the reason I’ve given you so much hair is because slimming down your old body left plenty of excess. The trace minerals you ingested take care of most of the rest. And we rehydrated in the shower. A little sugar or any similar carbohydrate should be sufficient.*

"You mean I can actually have a *doughnut* for breakfast?" I blurted out loud, for the first time since the symbiosis started, a note of true pleasure sounded in that beautiful voice she had given me.

"Of course," Titania agreed once she understood the image that had formed in my mind.

*We may get along after all,* I chortled as I stopped by a bakery spilling heavenly aromas into the corridor.

*I sincerely hope so,* Titania replied dryly, but there was a smile in her voice as well and she obligingly removed the appearance of gloves from my hands so that I could eat "normally".

I was about to get a half a dozen doughnuts in various flavors when Titania interrupted yet again. *Don’t forget, your stomach is quite compressed. I can absorb whatever you eat more quickly than your old body could have, but even I can’t change the basic rules of geometry. Keep the volume small enough to fit in the space available.*

*I knew there’d be a catch. So much for the enjoyment of eating,* I grumped, but silently. Even a single doughnut had been forbidden to my old body, always trudging on the very edge of unacceptable weight for a Federation officer. In compensation, I chose a particularly involved creation that would at least give my taste buds a full range of sensations, then resumed my walk along the corridor.

I brushed my tumbling mass of hair over one shoulder, tossed my head to get one last errant lock out of her eyes, and smiled brightly at a passing junior officer. His own smile responded instantly and his path began to curve toward me though my eyes moved on without further invitation.

*Hey,* I thought after a moment, *I’m just walking, almost normally. I mean, these heels and my wide-load fanny make me walk differently, but I don’t feel compelled to do a lot of those extra things that I was doing yesterday.*

*I’m not sure I agree,* Titania replied, but it was an honest attempt to analyze my motion, not an introduction to an argument. *Or at least, you have the same effect even without quite so blatant an invitation.

However, it would appear that your motions are more natural and less deliberate enticement.*

Oh, I replied while I slowly licked icing off one of my slender fingers. A sticky crumb lodged under one of my glittering nails and I sucked it clear, then jerked as a passing clerk dropped a stack of infodisks with a plastic clatter.

I was about to see if I could help him pick them up, when I realized the clerk wasn’t moving.

"Could I help you?" I asked politely.

"Huh?" he replied.

"Do you need anything?" I asked again, this time I could feel a small smile playing across my lips.

"Huh? Oh," and the clerk stalled out, thoughts of what he wanted to ask for crowding out anything coherently polite. In the end, he just shook his head and I moved on.

Yes, I definitely think you’re still doing things to attract men, Titania decided.

*You’re probably right,* my thoughts giggled. *But you know, it’s sort of fun. Maybe that compulsion thing won’t be so bad after all.*

Titania tried to maintain an air of dignity, but the ever-tightening bond between our symbiont pairing gave me too much insight for that façade. Titania, caught in her own attempt to hide something, gave a not-very-dignified laugh of her own.

*Yes, it is, um, interesting.*

We reached the ship bays without further incident to find the ground crew finishing up on the ship preparations, which inevitably involved documenting in endless detail that real work that had been done. The good news was that there was an administrative assistant on hand to help them with it. The bad news was that as soon as I showed up, the admin expert turned to me.

"Commander Xora, I’m Administrator Asteria. We need to take care of a few things," she said.

*Liar,* I thought as I saw the number of files on the admin’s portable computer. But we proceeded to work our way through the details.

In some ways, it was strange to be carrying on a three-way conversation, actually, two separate two-way conversations. But it seemed more like Titania was leaning over my shoulder than actually watching from behind my own eyes and the sense of strangeness soon faded. Most of the details seemed silly and unnecessary to Titania, which wasn’t surprising since they seemed the same way to me. The only interesting part was when the time came to make up the ship’s cover identity.

"What would you like to call her?" Asteria asked.

I was surprised, "You mean we get to pick the name?"

"We?" Asteria asked.

"Um, yes, well, you and me," I covered my slip.

"Pick whatever you want. It’s only for the duration of the ship’s assignment to you anyway."

I thought for a minute and said, "We’ll call her Robin. She can certainly ‘put a girdle round the earth in 40 minutes,’ and there are other reasons for liking that name as well."

Titania, who had been "listening" as I considered alternative names gave me an internal nudge and smirked, *if they only knew.*

The clerk nodded and made the necessary entries. In minutes a set of identity information modules were created and the ship, now Robin, was officially mine.

"Bring her back in one piece," Asteria ordered, but her smile said she hoped I would enjoy the loan of the vessel.

"I intend to," I nodded, then looked around the shipbay.

Everyone else had left, and with Asteria’s wave, I appeared to be alone.

*Well, shall we inspect our new toy?* I asked.

*Toy?* Titania replied. *I didn’t think you used tools like this for play.*

"Well, many of our tools offer a challenge of one sort or another in their use. It can be fun to meet the challenge, even if you do it for a productive purpose."

Titania made no response, though I could tell that she was considering this insight. Merging with the symbiont had become such a personal struggle that I had forgotten my alien partner was here for a purpose benefiting her own race as well.

"You know," I offered, returning to speech now that they were inside the ship, "if you have any questions about tools, you just need to ask. I may not even know what things to tell you."

"I know," Titania replied. "But neither do I know what to ask. The whole concept of enjoying use of a tool that was created to solve a problem, with the enjoyment due in part to the fact that the tool does not perfectly solve the problem, well, that’s a strange concept."

"I suppose that comes back to our belief that the most important tool of all is the one between our ears," I laughed. "Keeping it challenged is a way to keep it sharp and ready for use."

"Ah, I had not thought of that," Titania mused, but further comment was precluded by their arrival in the living quarters of their ship.

"Now *this* is what I call a tool," I breathed. If there were a luxury that could be made mobile, it must have been installed in that haven of sybaritic pleasure.

Then I laughed as I caught Titania trying to absorb that statement as though it were a legitimate overarching definition.

"Just kidding, Titania," I said. "We still think of tools in terms of their utility. This is most definitely *not* what I really think of when I think of a tool. It’s luxury, not utility. Understand?"

"No, not really," Titania answered.

"Sorry. I’ll try to explain later. For now, let’s explore."

"Hearing" no further questions, I moved from the living area to the ship’s control center. There were few surprises here. Standard equipment, by regulations that covered civilian as well as government vessels, required that the equipment be pretty much the same as the ships I had trained on. Or for that matter, the simulated ships that I flew in the holoflight sims. One of the great advantages of imaging and sensing technology was the ability to make games that provided realistic training. Based on my game performance, I knew I was as competent as any but highly specialized space pilots.

Not that that mattered. Spacecraft were much like old surface transportation methods instead of gravity defying airborne vehicles. If something went wrong they could just coast without power instead of crashing to "the ground". The safe routes through inter-stellar space were almost as constrained as surface roads had once been, providing assurance that any victims of breakdown would soon be noticed by another traveler on the same corridor. That, plus the inevitable fact that navigation in space was a thing for computers, not human minds and eyes, meant that most ship functions were trusted to automation.

And that was just about all there was to the ship, except for sealed engine spaces. The galley was no more than a shelf in the control room, plus a replicator. This class of ship was considered a plaything for the idle rich, and it was assumed that travelers of this social strata would have their own vessels rather than need to share transportation.

Even as we were finishing our quick tour, the viewscreen lit with the bald visage of Admiral Jones.

"Well, Commander, does it meet with your needs?" he asked.

Instead of answering, I let yet another devastating pout form on my full lips and pretended to sulk. After a long enough pause to make my point, I said, "I may not speak to you again, *Admiral*, until you call me Xora. What does it take to get you to recognize that some of us, including this wonderful ship, are females, not things?"

"Ahem, uh, right. I’ll remember," Jones replied, but a question was lurking in his eyes. I could tell he was remembering when I was most definitely *not* female, though it appeared that I myself had forgotten. Not that anyone else would remember either, once they were looking at me. It was always a shock to Jones to have the reality of my new beauty contrast with the memory of the superseded male.

I offered an explanation, accompanied by a smile that didn’t have any remorse in it at all, "Sorry, Jonesy, but I’m trying to get into my role. From the information you sent, Machovians expect women to be quite, um, sensual."

He cleared his throat once again, then continued, "According to the reports, you are ready for departure. Is there anything else?"

"I haven’t checked the clothing that was supposed to be placed on board," I admitted.

"I’m sure it’s there. If not, the credit accounts and other exchange media you have been provided will cover whatever you need," Jones assured his new field agent, me.

"Yes, sir," I replied, responding to the no-nonsense tone in his voice.

"Very well, *Xora*," his emphasis was deliberate, "depart when you are ready."

"Thank you, *Jonesy*. I’m ready now."

The admiral nodded and broke the connection. Before I could even reach for it, the screen cleared again to show the departure controller. A few seconds of primarily computer-to-computer discussion, which was a good thing as the controller was not particularly coherent, and a countdown clock had started on the control console.

I managed to get strapped in before the engines started, though the smooth systems of this class of ship made that precaution rather unnecessary. Any further work on my part was unnecessary as well. I spent the trip to Machovia trying on the provided clothes. None seemed either as comfortable or efficient as my usual jumpsuit, but I found that with Titania’s help on hairstyle and cosmetics, and the implanted abilties from the hypnodisk, I didn’t have any real trouble.

The trip to Machovia was relatively short as space trips go, though the lack of anything to do made me welcome the end of the journey. I had reviewed all the available information on Machovian customs and styles, but that information was not much help. They styles changed so often, deliberately and in order to keep the women of the planet off balance, that there was no way to predict what would be appropriate until we arrived.

"Machovia Approach Control," the robotic voice announced. Rather than a clear soprano that had been shown to cut through ship noise most efficiently, this artificial voice was a deep bass that sounded so much like engine rumble that I would have missed the call if I hadn’t been in the control room when it arrived.

"Go ahead," I responded.

"State your identity and intentions," the voice commanded.

"Federation Space Yacht Robin, out of Earth, for a visit," I declared.

"Repeat, please," said the deep voice.

I repeated my message, wondering what the problem could be.

After a lengthy pause, a recognizably human voice came on the communicator, though still no visual image appeared.

"State your identity and intentions," the new voice demanded, as though no other communication had occurred.

"For the *third* time," I replied testily, "this is the Federation Space Yacht Robin, from Earth. I’d like to visit your planet for a while."

"A female?" the voice blurted.

"Last time I looked," I replied, triggering an amused snort from Titania.

"Traveling alone?" the voice asked, incredulity adding an obvious overtone.

"More or less," I answered, the apparently unhelpful response actually being about as true as it was possible to be.

There was another long pause. After a few minutes, during which time the Robin assumed a standard orbit at twice the planetary radius, yet another voice came on the communicator. This time, the screen cleared as well to reveal a bearded man with heavy brows. His frown cleared for a moment as he recognized the beauty in the face his own screen must have been showing. Something other than simple irritation showed for a moment, something darker. With an almost visible shake his face returned to a carefully neutral expression, though even in that his heavy brows gave him a harsh look.

"Who am I talking to?" he asked abruptly.

"I am Xora," I replied, my voice making that sound like an announcement of some significance.

*Nice tone,* Titania "whispered" in my ear.

*Learned it from you,* I replied, then said, *now be quiet while I figure out this guy’s problem.*

The man looked off screen for a few moments, then looked back.

"We have no record of any upcoming visits by Federation officials," he claimed.

"Which means very little, since I am not a Federation official," I replied haughtily. The man’s brusque manner needed to be countered with strength, I decided, for once overcoming my implanted tendency to flirt.

"You’re not?" the man asked reflexively. Before I could answer, not that I intended to repeat myself further, he continued, "You have no official Federation status? You just want to visit here for a while?"

I nodded, and he continued his questions, "How many men in your party? Let me speak to whoever’s in charge."

"There’s just me," I claimed. "I heard that there are . . . interesting men on Machovia, and I decided to see if that were true."

At this announcement, the man’s manner changed again, though not for the better. He gave me a coldly appraising look, though his appreciation for what he saw was evident despite his attempt to guard his expression.

"You have no protector?" he asked, a glint in his eye that made this question seem portentous.

"There’s just me," I repeated. "I am a Federation citizen, but I can take care of myself."

The glint in the man’s eyes got brighter, harder, but he said nothing. The screen abruptly went blank and the robot voice returned, this time with landing instructions. They wouldn’t link directly to the computer, but the coordinates and time of touchdown were quickly entered manually and I sat back to ride out atmospheric entry.

As soon as the Robin touched down, I tried the communicator again.

"This is the Yacht Robin, calling for some planetary information."

"What do you want?" another man’s voice answered.

"I would like the latest information on female clothing regulations.

I understand they’re likely to have changed since my last update."

There was yet another long pause. It seemed like even simple questions required some sort of feudal lord’s permission to answer.

"You will be told that when you’ve cleared arrival procedures," the voice promised.

"This is a trap," Titania said.

"It sounds that way, but surely they wouldn’t be so blatant," I replied. "They have to give you a chance to get it right, if you know enough to ask."

"Do they?" Titania asked.

Before I could answer, the door to our shipbay opened and the man whose face had been on the viewscreen appeared. I closed down the ship and went to meet him.

"I am Herne," the man declared, finally identifying himself. As the hatchway to the Robin closed behind me, the cold glint returned to his eyes.

"I am Magistrate over the spaceport district for this period," he claimed, "and I will approve your planetary visit."

"Thank you, Magistrate," I replied, not sure that the sultry tones that were a seemingly permanent part of her voice were a particularly good idea right then.

"Come with me," Herne ordered, turning away as with continued abruptness.

"Excuse me, Magistrate, but I have heard that I should be careful to dress appropriately. Could you tell me what clothing I need? Or where to find out?"

At this the man turned back, and gave me a long, slow, frankly-appraising look from sable hair to towering heels.

"What you are wearing is fine with me," he said, turning again.

*What do you think?* I asked Titania.

*I think this man is a chauvinistic slug,* Titania replied.

It made me giggle out loud, a response I would later regret since the good humor it caused led me to follow the man without further thought.

Once past the door to the shipbay, I saw a fairly traditional arrival lounge. There were a few bored clerks ready to stamp whatever paperwork was required, noteworthy on this world that it was actually paper. My Federation credentials included standard electronic identification as well as a traditional physical passport. I handed over the packet with my travel documents to the clerk that Herne pointed me toward.

The clerk looked at me in surprise and was clearly about to say something when some movement behind me caught his eye. His face paled and he said nothing as he made the necessary entries. I turned to see a glower on Herne’s face, but that was hardly unusual.

The clerk finished his work and gave what was clearly a rote announcement, "Once you step through that portal, you are officially on Machovian sovereign soil. Unless you claim diplomatic privilege before you enter, you will be treated like any other Machovian citizen."

"Good, that’s what I want," I claimed. Once again the clerk looked like he wanted to say something, but he dropped his eyes and busied himself in his paperwork instead.

I stepped through the indicated portal to find Herne waiting on the far side. The glint in his eyes was not nearly as cold as it had been. In fact, it had hot triumph in it, though he said nothing to me. He just gestured to two armed men standing nearby and said, "Enforcers!"

"You’re under arrest for violation of the district decency codes for women," the taller armed man declared as he approached me.

"Arrest?" I asked in disbelief, looking at the back of Herne as he disappeared into a side doorway. "But your magistrate said I was dressed appropriately."

"You’ll have to take that up with him," the lawman said dismissively, producing a pair of cuffs that appeared to be welded together in a rigid crossed position. "Turn around."

*Well, this going wonderfully,* Titania sneered in my internal ear.

*That bastard set us up!* I snarled.

I believe I tried to point out that probability, Titania reminded me.

*Thanks a lot for reminding me,* I replied.

I had put my arms behind my body, holding my wrists crossed at about waist level. However, as soon as the "Enforcer" got behind me, he pulled my right wrist up between my shoulder blades and locked the first of the rigid cuffs around it. In seconds my other wrist was pulled equally high and locked into its own restraint. While I was trying to understand the impact of the restraints, and to find a position that minimized the tension in my shoulders, another pair of cuffs connected with a short chain was placed around my ankles.

"I’ll hardly be running away in these heels," I sneered.

Instead of a comment, my jibe achieved only an amused glance between the two Enforcers. Their chuckle revealed a shared joke, but not the nature of the joke, at least, not to me.

*Well, you didn’t waste any time finding out about female restraint practices on this planet. Can we go home, yet?* Titania asked with an artificially-innocent tone that she had learned in the time we had been joined.

*Be quiet,* I demanded as the Enforcers forced me to scurry with quick steps toward the doorway through which Herne had gone.

 

(continued in part 7)

 

 

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© 1999 by Brandy Dewinter. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.