Fantasy Making of a Starship Captain

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[Note: This Science Fiction story is an intense character study with occasional sex scenes.]
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The USS Charleston entered orbit around PR-824883, an uninhabited planet not far from Ramadhan space. The USS Westchester had set up an automated science station there some months ago, to monitor the climate, but it was malfunctioning. The Charleston was sent in to investigate.

"There's a lot of magnetic interference down there," said Commander Kinneret, biting down noisily on an apple. "It's messing with the weather station."

"Is there anything we can do about it?" Hauslohner asked.

Kinneret shrugged. "We could try to shield the major components, but that might or might not help. We'd have to set it up, and watch it for, say, at least a day to make sure it was working consistently."

"So someone has to go down there and just sit and watch a weather station?" said Ensign Goldstein.

"I think I know the perfect man for the job," said Captain Hauslohner.

"You've been looking to get some survey team experience, haven't you, Cadet Taylor?"

"Yes sir," said Taylor. At first, he had been terrified when he had been called to the Captain's office. Was there something wrong with his floor cleaning? Had he missed a spot? Or had the Captain found out about him and Missy?

"I have just the mission for you. A very important assignment," said Hauslohner. He told Taylor about the malfunctioning weather station, and how it needed to be monitored for 24 hours. "I've heard good things about your work. You've kept the floors quite clean. But this is a new level of responsibility. Do you think you can handle this?"

"Yes sir," said Taylor.

And so the next thing he knew he was bundled onto a shuttle with Ensign Lev Goldstein. "We haven't seen much of you since you moved to... maintenance," said Lev.

Taylor couldn't tell if Goldstein was trying to be friendly or derisive. He said nothing.

"This will be an easy assignment. The planet is completely uninhabited. We put the new shielding in, you sit there, you watch, and that's all."

When they landed, they found themselves outside a small shed, on a vast prairie. The white sun was hot and high in the sky.

Ensign Goldstein went into the shed and spent much of the next hour putting in the magnetic shielding. When he was done, he called for Taylor, and explained things to him. "All the lights should be green. If they turn red, switch off the system and restart. If that doesn't work, call the ship."

Suddenly Taylor realized that he was about to be marooned on the planet, all alone. "You're leaving? You're leaving me all alone on the planet?"

"You got it," said Lev. "Have fun, Mike." He turned and left. Moments later Taylor heard the shuttle launching.

Suddenly, he was all alone on an alien planet.

As the hours passed, Taylor tried to reflect on where it had all gone wrong.

He had been the star of the Academy. People admired him, looked up to him. Even the women had been attracted to him. He remembered how beautiful Cherry had been, the night they had danced at the Academy ball. He remembered the time he had made love to her in the forest, their first time together. He remembered the looks of longing Andrea Farber and Joanna Martin had given him.

And now all that was gone. He was being used as a sex toy by a woman who degraded and despised him. He was the laughingstock of the entire crew. And his career seemed fated to end ignominiously when the Captain wrote his final report on their return to Earth.

And now here he was... all alone on an alien planet.

How had it come to this?

Eight hours passed. Then sixteen. Taylor dozed from time to time, getting up to check the readings when he awoke with a jerk. The lights were always green.

Then, finally, twenty four hours elapsed. He frowned. He hadn't heard back from the ship. They should have come to pick him up. He activated his comm unit, and called the ship.

"Taylor to Charleston. Taylor to Charleston," he repeated.

He heard the sound of the wind. Nothing else.

He repeated the call.

No answer. Had they purposefully stranded him on this deserted planet?

A wave of panic engulfed his body.

No, they wouldn't do that, not even Captain Hauslohner would do that.

Would he?

He repeated his hail a third time.

And then his comm sputtered to life. "Who is this?" came the Captain's voice, in an odd, disoriented tone.

"Michael Taylor, sir."

"Who?"

"Michael Taylor."

Taylor could faintly hear some arguing on the other end. As he stood outside the shack, he admired some yellow flowers, swaying in the breeze. Spores wafted off of them in discrete chunks. He wasn't concerned; previous expeditions had found nothing hazardous here.

"All right Taylor. What do you want?"

What do I want?

"To be retrieved, sir," said Taylor.

"All right, ha ha. We're sending someone down."

Something was wrong.

Something was very wrong.

An hour later the shuttle touched down, but it zigzagged erratically right before landing with a thud. When the door opened, Taylor climbed aboard. Ensign Goldstein was at the controls. "What's wrong? Why didn't you come back for me?"

"I forgot," said Goldstein, giving a wide grin.

"You forgot?"

"Better late than never!" said Goldstein. "Strap yourself in, I have a feeling this is going to be quite a ride!"

And he launched, even before Taylor was strapped into the copilot's seat.

As they flew back to the ship, Taylor noticed something odd about Goldstein's matter.

"Pretty planet, isn't it?" Goldstein grinned.

"Nice looking, yes," said Taylor.

"Pretty. Very pretty," said Goldstein.

Taylor could see the Charleston ahead, growing closer. "Don't you think we'd better get into the proper approach pattern?"

"Pretty... ha ha! Very pretty," said Goldstein. He gunned the engines, and accelerated towards the Charleston.

"Lev, what are you doing?"

Goldstein was smiling maniacally and laughing. Taylor tried to flip the master switch so he could take control from his copilot's seat, but Lev switched it back.

And then Taylor remembered something Sergeant Chappie once said to him. "If you have to hit a man, and I assume you have a very good reason for doing so, then hit him hard. Hit him so he can't hit back."

Taylor leaned forward and punched Ensign Goldstein in the face. He gasped in mid laugh, and grabbed his bloody nose. "My nose, my nose!" he cried.

Taylor took the controls. There wasn't much time to adjust. They were close to the ship. He had never landed a shuttle inside a ship before. He decelerated rapidly. By the time the shuttle got to the landing bay, it was moving at a crawl.

Suddenly, Goldstein moved to attack him. Taylor clubbed him in the face again and he slumped forward. At that moment the shuttle skidded to a halt along the landing bay floor.

"We have an emergency landing in the shuttle bay!" Taylor reported over the comm. He unstrapped himself and dragged Goldstein out.

There was no one there. He was all alone.

Finally the ship's doctor arrived, arriving at a very relaxed pace. His name was William McCrae. He smiled as he casually entered the landing bay. "Did someone call?"

Taylor had dragged Goldstein's body out of the shuttle. McCrae looked at his face. "Boy, what happened to him?"

"He went crazy. I had to subdue him," said Taylor.

"It looks like you did a good job of it," McCrae chuckled.

"Doctor, something's wrong with his mind. Find out what it is."

Suddenly McCrae was serious, as if he had come to his senses. "I know. We've had reports all over the ship of people behaving like this. Irrationally. Irresponsibly."

"What's caused it?"

"We don't know," said McCrae. He glanced at Taylor. "You don't feel affected, do you?"

"No," said Taylor.

"You'd better get to the bridge and report to the Captain," said McCrae.

"And he just went crazy."

"And you beat him up? I didn't know you had it in you," said Hauslohner admiringly. "There's more to this Cadet than meets the eye, didn't I tell you that, Avi?"

"No, you never said that," said Commander Kinneret.

"Yes, I did!" said Hauslohner.

As they argued, the Navigator, Ensign Cleary, was whistling.

"Cleary, for the last time, will you stop whistling?" Hauslohner.

"Yes sir." Cleary stopped whistling. But then he slumped out of his chair, and fell to the ground.

"Call a medical team," said Kinneret.

"Maybe I shouldn't have told him to stop whistling," said Hauslohner. And then he laughed, everyone else joined in.

They were in the briefing room, listening to a report from the ship's medical officer. "It's some kind of virus I can't identify," said Doctor McCrae.

"What kind of virus is it, Doctor?" the Captain asked.

"Weren't you just listening, Captain? I can't identify it. But I can tell you what it does. It makes the victim physically weak, but not before acting on the nerve centers of the brain responsible for personality."

"In what way?"

"It makes people act irrationally, irresponsibly," said McCrae.

"And how did this virus get aboard?" Hauslohner asked.

"The most likely source is the planet."

Hauslohner shook his head. "No. There were two other expeditions here before us. They detected nothing."

McCrae frowned. "The fact remains, sir that this virus didn't appear until after Ensign Goldstein returned to the ship. And he was one of the first affected."

"What about... what about... what's your name again, son?"

"Taylor, sir."

"What about Taylor? He's not affected."

"He is infected," said Doctor McCrae.

"I am?" said Taylor.

"You are," said McCrae. "Captain I took a blood sample from him an hour ago. He has the infection... but he also has antibodies which are fighting it."

"A natural immunity?"

"Possibly," said McCrae.

"So... give us his antibodies," said Hauslohner.

"It's not that simple, sir. I can't just give you his antibodies. They would kill you on the spot. I have to figure out how to synthesize generic versions that your body will accept."

"Oh," said Hauslohner.

"In the meantime we have eight people in sickbay, and more are showing signs of infection. Sir, I think we need to contact the Survey Service."

"We are the Survey Service," said Hauslohner.

McCrae rolled his eyes. "The Survey Service on Earth, sir."

"Oh. Oh, yeah. Right."

They made contact with Admiral Fujimori at Survey Service Command in Auburn Field, at Perth.

"And it's like a virus, and our doctor says it's doing bad things to our brain," said Hauslohner.

"But the other two crews who visited never got sick," said Fujimori. "The Westchester and the Maltese never reported any problems."

Captain Hauslohner held up his hands. "I don't know sir. But eight of our crew are sick, and the Doctor tells me that more are being infected by the minute."

"Have you or your command staff been affected, Captain Hauslohner?"

"Oh me? No sir, absolutely not!" Hauslohner grinned.

"I see." Fujimori checked a display out of view. "Our nearest ship is six days away, the Indomitable. I'm sending you their coordinates. Rendezvous with them and they will try to assist."

"Aye aye, Admiral sir!"

"Fujimori out." His holoimage faded.

"Do you like him?" Hauslohner asked. He turned to his crew. "Do any of you like him? Because I like him."

"Sir, hadn't we better set a course?" Taylor asked.

"Quite right. Set a course!" said Hauslohner, talking to the empty navigator's position.

"Sir, there's no one at the navigation console," said Taylor.

"Quite right! Take the navigation console Mister... whatever your name is," said Hauslohner.

Taylor nervously sat at the vacant navigation console.

"Set a course to... to...."

"The Indomitable. I have the coordinates here. Course plotted... and engaging," said Taylor.

The ship didn't move.

"Isn't something supposed to happen?" Captain Hauslohner asked.

"I think there's supposed to be some kind of sound," said Commander Kinneret, as he munched on a sandwich.

"And movement. Sound, accompanied by the feeling of movement," said Hauslohner. "I wonder who we can talk to about that?" He put a finger under his chin and looked thoughtful.

"Engineering, sir?" Taylor suggested.

"What?" said Hauslohner

"Talk to Engineering," said Taylor.

"About what?" Hauslohner asked.

"I'll take care of it," said Taylor, getting up.

"You do that... whoever you are," said Hauslohner, chuckling.

As Taylor left the bridge, Hauslohner asked Kinneret. "Where is he going?"

Kinneret shrugged, and munched on his sandwich.

Taylor recognized the incredibly loud screeching of the Swedish rapper I B Squeezed as he entered engineering. He was treated to an unusual sight. Everyone had party hats on. And Chief Engineer Hillary Ashanti was line dancing with her two large black female assistants, Ensigns Velma Johnson and Shannen Betts.

They stood in front of the engine core and swayed to the music, one Ensign on either side of the Chief Engineer. They danced and wiggled their hips and clapped their hands in sync with each other.

"You gots the groove, girl," said Ashanti, looking down anxiously at her wiggling body as she danced. Ashanti looked incredibly odd wearing a pointed hat; her head already looked quite long with her tall, rectangular afro; with a hat on top of that, she looked even more comical. She frowned and concentrated intensely as she looked at her wiggling breasts, hips, and thighs. She looked so incredibly narcisstic and self-absorbed. "You gots the groove!" she repeated, clapping her hand as she admired herself, while her fat assistants danced on either side of her.

"What's going on here?" Taylor asked.

Ashanti, smiling and laughing, paid no attention to him as she continued to dance.

Taylor went to a console and turned off the music.

"Hey! That's a microaggression!" Ashanti cried.

"We need to get under way," said Taylor.

"Who does?" Ashanti said.

"The Captain."

"Oh," said Ashanti. She considered that for a moment. "Well, tell him we can't." She started to wiggle her hips to imaginary music. She looked down to be sure she was doing it properly, and curled her lips as if she was experiencing intense pain or pleasure.

"Why not?" Taylor asked.

"The engines are shut down. In honor of Bonny Watts day," said Ashanti, desperately wiggling her hips and shoulders as she looked down at her body.

Bonny Watts. Taylor vaguely remembered that Bonny was the black maid who Ashanti claimed secretly invented the Varonkov drive.

"But Chief, the Captain wants the drive online."

"So? Is it an emergency?" Ashanti asked, wiggling her ass.

"Yes."

Her eyes widened. "Why didn't you say so! Consider it done."

"Thank you," said Taylor.

She held up a restraining finger. "But first... a number."

"A what?" said Taylor.

"You must dance a musical number with me," said Ashanti, still wiggling.

"Why?"

"If you do the crime, you gots to do the time," she said, cackling. "If you want your precious engines restarted, you have to dance, white man! Velma, music!"

The raucous rap music started playing again. Ashanti started dancing in front of the engine core. "Come on, white boy!"

Taylor had no choice. He stood next to Ashanti. "Just follow along, bro," she said. She started wiggling her hips.

Taylor started to wiggle his hips. Velma Johnson gave a cat call.

Ashanti started shaking and wiggling her entire body in a distinct pattern as she bent her knees and went up and down, over and over.

Taylor looked uncertainly at her.

"Come on, bro, you gots it in the bloooood," said Ashanti.

Taylor desperately tried to match her moves, shaking and wiggling as he moved up and down.

"Goooood, you got it, blooood," said Ashanti, curling her lip and furling her eyebrows as she watched Taylor dance. "Are you sure you aren't a brotha from anotha motha? I'll bet you got a teaspoon full of the dark coffee in you somewhere, bro." And then she turned and faced Taylor and started wiggling her shoulders at him and rolling her head, with a maniacal smile on her face. Taylor tried as best he could to match her.

Velma and Shannon, the heavyset Ensigns, clapped and cheered. "You go, you go, you go white boy, you go!"

When the song ended, Ashanti stopped and clapped for herself.

"Now will you restart the engines?" Taylor asked.

"All right, bro," said Ashanti. "Tell mighty Captain Whitey we'll be underway in moments." She looked at his body in an almost predatory way. "But you sho' got some dancing feets on you, I'll tell you that!"

By the time Taylor got back to the bridge, the ship was moving. That was the good news.

The bad news was that the bridge crew was increasingly affected. He arrived just as McCrae was carting off two more crew members who had collapsed. That left Taylor with just Captain Hauslohner and Commander Kinneret.

"Sir, I got the engines back online," Taylor reported.

"Good, good," said Captain Hauslohner. "Now can I ask you a question?"

"Yes, sir," said Taylor, sitting down at the navigational console. He checked the course. It was correctly set. He turned to look at the Captain.

Captain Hauslohner paused for a dramatic moment, and then he asked a question. "Is my ass too big?"

"What, sir?"

Hauslohner spun around. "My ass. Is it too big? As I get older, it only seems to get bigger and bigger. Do you think it's too big?"

"I wouldn't know, sir," said Taylor.

"Not the authority on asses, are you, eh?" He turned to Kinneret. "What do you think, Avi?"

"Sir, I think you should go rest in your Command Office. We have things under control here."

"Do you? Oh, very well." Hauslohner spun on his heel and went to his office, just off the bridge.

"It looks like it's just you and me," said Kinneret. "All the rest of the bridge crew has been affected. Doctor McCrae says half the crew has come down with this virus."

"Yes, sir," said Taylor. Suddenly, he felt the incredible weight of responsibility on his shoulders. Yesterday he had been the floorsweeper. Today he was the navigator, and the ship was in an emergency situation.

Several hours passed. Commander Kinneret repeatedly called for food to be brought up from the galley. When none arrived, he went down himself, returning nearly an hour later with a giant platter of corned beef sandwiches.

"Mgsdfssfd," said Kinneret, as he chewed on one of them.

"What, sir?" Taylor asked.

Kinneret took another bite out of his sandwich. "Msfkuifd," he said.

"I... I can't understand you, sir."

"Krekwdf. Emksdfswds!" Kinneret couldn't stop putting food in his mouth. It was like an addiction.

"I'd better call the Captain to the bridge," said Taylor. He activated the comm.

Captain Hauslohner came in a minute later.

"Mfididfif ergigsgsfsf," said Kinneret.

"All right, Avi. I think you should go and rest in your quarters now, I'll take over," said Hauslohner.

Taylor gave a sigh of relief. The Captain, at least, seemed to have recovered from his delusions.

Hauslohner escorted Kinneret to the door, and gave him an encouraging push.

Then he returned and sat down in his Captain's chair. "So... it's just you and me... whoever you are," said Hauslohner.

"Yes sir," said Taylor. "Sir, we haven't heard from Doctor McCrae in a while. Would you mind if I checked on his progress while you run the ship here?"

"Of course... I am in command, aren't I?" Hauslohner asked.

"Yes, you are."

"Command, command, I am in command," said Hauslohner, grinning widely.

"That you are, sir."

Taylor made his way down to sickbay. It was a madhouse. People were strapped to beds, crying out, yelling or moaning. "Doctor McCrae? Doctor?"

Taylor found him in his laboratory. He was sitting in his chair, staring at the wall. "Doctor McCrae?" he asked.

"Yes," said McCrae, blinking rapidly as if coming out of a trance.

"Doctor, has there been any progress developing an antidote?"

"An antidote?"

"A cure for the virus?" Taylor asked.

"I have provided it," said McCrae, opening his hands.

"You have?"

"I have provided all," said McCrae, smiling broadly. "Be comforted, my son."

"Doctor McCrae, are you all right?" Taylor asked.

"I am better than all right, my son. I am your Lord and Savior," said McCrae.

"What?"

"I am your Lord," McCrae repeated.

McCrae has been infected. Their chances of developing a vaccine are now precisely zero.

Still Taylor had to try. "No, you're not a Lord. You're Doctor William McCrae," said Taylor desperately.

"What is a doctor, if not a God?" McCrae said. "I was sitting here, when that very epiphany occurred to me. I bring life into the world when I deliver a baby. When someone dies, and I bring them back to life, are these not the powers of a God? And if I have the powers of a God, am I not, then... a God?"

"No Doctor, you're not," said Taylor. "Doctor, we need a cure for this virus."

"Seek, and I shall provide," said McCrae, smiling maniacally as he benevolently spread his hands.

"What are you doing, Doctor?"

"I am creating the antidote you seek, all through the powers of my mind," said McCrae. "Kneel before me, and pray, and what you seek shall be yours."

Suddenly a blonde nurse came in. Taylor recognized her as Nurse Temple. "There you are, Doctor. We need you to get back to bed."

"Ah, the voice of an angel," said McCrae, smiling broadly.

She carried him to a bed. Then she returned to the lab. "He's been like that for about an hour," said Nurse Temple.

"Was he close to developing a cure?" Taylor asked.

"Not that I know of," said Nurse Temple. "Most of the crew are reporting signs of infection. It won't be long before the entire crew is bedridden. I don't know how we're going to care for them."

"I'll take it up with the Captain."

When Taylor returned to the bridge, he found that it was empty.

He was the only one there.

"Captain?" he said.

He went into the Captain's office. He was not prepared for what he was about to see.

Captain Hauslohner stood there, in front of a holographic mirror, with his pants and underwear down. He stood with his back to the mirror, looking behind so he could see himself.

"Ah, there you are. Whoever you are," said Hauslohner, completely unembarrassed. "Do you know how the Survey Service decides who to put in command of its starships, young man?"

"Captain-"

"That's right. I'm Captain, because I have a Captain's ass," said Hauslohner, slapping an ass cheek. Taylor couldn't help but notice how large the Captain's ass cheeks were.

"Ever wonder why some people get promoted to Lieutenant Commander, or Commander, and then they never get any higher? It's because of their ass. It's too small to be in command."

"Captain-"

Hauslohner slapped an ass cheek again, giving off a meaty sound. "But my ass was big enough for a command, for this command." He looked up at Taylor. "But I wanted more. I wanted to command more than a frigate. I wanted a destroyer, a cruiser. But do you have any idea how big your ass has to be to get the command of a cruiser?"

"No, Captain," said Taylor.

"Huge," said Hauslohner. "Do you know Captain Michael Lewis?"

"No Captain."

"He's the Captain of the Battle cruiser Tiger. A battle cruiser! Our biggest class of ships! He has a huge ass, Taylor. You have to see it to believe it! It's enormous. I met him once at a conference, and he turned around, and I couldn't believe how big it was. Bigger than a starbase!"

"Sir, I really think-"

"But then there was Captain Pamela Waverly, Captain of the Deep Space Cruiser Eridani. Her ass wasn't nearly so big. Why do you think they gave her command of a Deep Space Cruiser with an ass like that?"

"Sir, I really don't know-"

"Discrimination. That's what it is. It's a quota system for people with smaller asses. Captain Waverly has a smaller ass, but it's rounder, and firmer. The admirals are human, Taylor, they don't want you to know it, but they have the same feelings, the same needs we do. They took one look at her ass and they decided to jump her to the head of the line, all because of her cute melons."

"Captain-"

"I appealed, to the Commissions board itself! I dropped my pants, and showed them my ass, and said, 'Surely this is big enough for a cruiser! Surely this is big enough at least for a destroyer!', but they said no, and they gave the commission to some girl whose cute ass didn't sag."

"Sir-"

"It's ass discrimination, Taylor. It's discrimination against larger asses that maybe aren't as handsome as some of the rest. We have to fight it, Taylor, we have to fight it even if we have to go to the very top."

"Sir, I think you should go to your quarters, and get some rest."

Captain Hauslohner suddenly blinked, and came to his senses. "Taylor?" He looked at his bare ass. "What's going on?"

"You're sick, sir. You should go to your quarters and rest."

"What about Kinneret?"

"He's already relieved, sir."

"So who's in command... you?"

Taylor nodded.

Hauslohner tried to concentrate. "I think... we're supposed to be doing something."

"Heading to the rendezvous. We are, sir."

"All.. All right Taylor," said Hauslohner. He pulled up his pants, and slowly walked to the door. "You... you take charge," he said, in a very shaky voice.

And so Acting Ensign Michael Taylor was suddenly in command of The USS Charleston, a Dorsetshire class Survey Service frigate.

As Taylor walked around the bridge, nervously checking each readout, one at a time, he suddenly realized that his low self-esteem had vanished, in a puff of smoke. He was sure-footed again. He was confident, again. What had happened to the meek janitor who just a day ago thought he was completely worthless? How had his confidence returned? Where had it been, all this time?

"It went nowhere at all. I was always there," said Ambition. "I just didn't come out until I was needed."

"You're wrong. Mike's weak. He's just running on adrenaline. When he calms down, he'll realize how hopeless the situation is," said Inadequacy.

"We've been together for twenty one years, and you still have no comprehension of what Mike is really about," said Ambition. "He's destined to be one of the greatest Survey Service Captains in history, and nothing you can do can fuck with that or change it."
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