Title: Police 924 aka Call
Summary: "Citizen, What is your name?"
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek or Aliens.
Rated T for cursing
It's a minor crossover which is why I'm not putting it under the crossover category; I'm just taking Call from Aliens and sending her to work for Iowa Police Force where she will later be asked by Star Fleet to participate in its ranks, and any Alien life form is on some far off planet that does not reside in Federation space, I'll work on mentioning it in the story if I can.
Chapter One: Fathers Dead Asshole
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
Call liked her new job on Earth where she was none only as Police Unit Number 924, aka the one who usually dealt with chasing down one infamous citizen. "Citizen, what is your name?"
"My name is James Tiberius Kirk," the blonde said it with pride; no chastisement would persuade him that he was in the wrong. This was the first time they met, Call was told he had hijacked his uncles' vehicle; said vehicle was now at the bottom of the cliff. When Call pulled up the information on the license plate to give the boy a ticket for speeding, driving under the age limit, and unlawful stealing of the first degree she saw that the owner of the car was not the uncle, Frank Demeter, but someone name George Aragón Kirk. When she pulled up James records the man was listed as his father.
"HQ, Unit 9-2-4, over," the boy stared up at her mask like helmet. He was most likely wondering why she wore the full uniform of a police officer in the Iowa heat, but honestly Call had already adjusted her inner cooling unit so that no other units would fry, the uniform itself was genderless (which wouldn't have mattered if she had been programmed to be a little more endowed) and the helmet came with a voice over comm to distort the wearers voice to be unrecognizable.
"Unit 924, this is HQ, over," someone from HQ answered; there voice distinguished it as a female, answered from the built in radio on her bike. Call always wondered why they put the mic in her helmet but the receiver on the bike, this line of thought made her wondered what they would do if she somehow crashed it.
"HQ, James Kirk has been apprehended, the vehicle in question is obsolete, according to computer file Gulf-3-Echo on License plate number 8-Kilo-Lima-9-0-0-Bravo ownership belongs to Deceased father George Kirk, and thus I cannot rightly attach Unlawful Theft to his file as Frank Demeter does not own the vehicle in question." Call reported.
"Unit 924, report confirmed, you know you're off in about ten minutes, care to have a drink with me? The girls are ALL going out tonight, we'd love to see you there," Call frowned but didn't reply right away. This was an unlawful use of government equipment, even more since she was in the middle of making a report.
"HQ, you realize this call is being recorded, thus I cannot accept such an invitation. I am not off duty until; my report on James Kirk is finished and he is in the correct hands." Because of her comm unit and the fact that she never took off her uniform the only person who knew what she looked like was her boss, the Chief of Iowa Police. Although this assured her privacy when she was away from work, her female colleagues and some male colleagues constantly hounded her for a date, they always wanted to know more about the mysterious Police Unit number 924 who they assumed was male despite her short stature.
"Oh, right, HQ out," Call got the distinct impression that she had left the female human blushing and slightly humiliated. When she got back to HQ if that same HQ call operator was still in the building she was certain she would be accosted by apologies.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
The second time she ran into James Kirk he was drunk off thirteen year old ass. "Citizen, what is your name?" it was an automatic response, Call was glad the voice comm could not express the slightly higher tone for amusement that her own vocal unit expressed upon seeing his dazed expression.
HQ had called her despite the fact that she was not the closest unit to the boy; the local shop owner had called the Iowa Police Station and complained that there was a delinquent in front of his shop scaring away customers. It seemed that one of her fans had answered the call and forwarded it to her.
"Jim…James! James Tibet...Tina…uh," His blue eyes narrowed as he thought, his mouth moving as he tried to pronounce his middle name without slurring it.
"Tiberius?" Call supplied.
"Yes!" he exclaimed, his bright eyes looking up at her. "My name is James Tiberius Kirk…wait a minute, you already knew that didn't you?" he accused.
"Of course," everyone knew who James Kirk was; well, Call didn't know who he had been until five months ago when she chased him down for joyriding. Although, it was a failure, considering she hadn't stopped him from crashing the vehicle. "Citizen, are you in need of an escort back to your legal residence?"
"No, I don't!" James yelled, standing up, only to fall back down. Again he attempted to stand, this time managing to keep his feet under him, he took a couple staggering steps squinting hard as he watched the ground move beneath him. He stopped next to where she stood by a random lamp pole. It was random because it was the only light pole in the town. That was why the store behind it was called LAMP POST HARVEST, one of three local grocery stores. The street was even aptly named Lamp Light Drive, the citizens in this small no name town in Iowa were proud of the ancient technological landmark. "Okay, maybe…just a little," James muttered, bending at the waste, he proceeded to get sick on Call's boots.
Call didn't move, she didn't twitch, she didn't show any sign that she had even noticed the cream colored vomit that resembled soggy cereal sitting on her boots. James looked up apologetically, but then his face screwed up once more and he chocked, vomiting once more on her boots. A passing citizen touched her mouth with a gloved hand; it was chilly in the late night of Iowa as was to be expected when it was in the middle of November. It was supposed to snow tomorrow, something Call was looking forward to, as she enjoyed watching the changing of the seasons.
She sighed, her voice comm letting out a quick snap of noise that was reminiscent of crumbling up plastic. She looked down; the boy was leaning heavily upon the post, his legs were bent under his weight, he was almost sitting on the ground which made her wonder why he was even trying to keep standing. "Come on," she said, stretching out her arm, holding out her hand to him. He looked up surprised, a light dusting of pink smearing its way across the bridge of his nose. He most likely believed she was going to leave him, or take him to confinement and put another mark on his record.
He hesitantly reached up for her gloved fingers. Once she had a firm grip on his arm she bent down slightly, sliding her other arm under his armpit, standing him up straight. She let go of his hand, and placed her only free hand under his other armpit and lifted him up. James hands gripped her elbows as she turned to place him on her bike. She then threw her leg over the seat and settled in behind him.
"If you have need to be sick again, please lean over either side of the vehicle and proceed." She said. She hoped he wouldn't, but there was no doubt in her mind that James Kirk was not used to drinking, aside from the fact that he was too young and it was considered to be illegal. She would let him off this time with a warning to not get drunk in Public.
When they arrived at the Kirk residence, the front porch light was on and a woman was nervously pacing about. Call assumed this was most likely Kirks mother. She leaned back, shaking Kirks shoulder lightly, but the boy continued to doze, he must have fallen asleep shortly after he had puked for the second time, luckily on the same side so she only had one soiled pant leg. Call wondered if she had been more human if she'd be more disgusted. She probably would, as it was she frowned at the mess, knowing it was disgusting and it made her thigh feel slightly damp. She ignored these feelings, throwing her leg over the seat as she turned her body to face the opposite side of the bike, keeping the palm of her hand on Kirks back so he didn't inadvertently fall off in the process.
Once off she carefully slid her arms under him, readjusting him to carry him bridal style, she began to make her way down the drive towards Kirk residence, where Mrs. Kirk was already hurriedly walking their way.
"Is he okay? What happened?" Mrs. Kirk's voice asked when she was ten feet from her.
"Just intoxicated ma'am, he'll be fully recovered in the morning with a bad head ache." Kirks mother looked up at him with weary sadness; Call was slightly surprised that she had found another person shorter than her average stature of 5 feet and one quarter inch.
"Here, I'll take him," Mrs. Kirk said holding out her hands.
"Please, Ma'am, I insist that I carry him at least until we get to the door. He's a growing boy who currently weighs about a hundred and twenty pounds; please allow me to assist you halfway." Call insisted, pausing in her movement towards the Kirks house, waiting for the mothers answer. If Mrs. Kirk insisted that she take the boy out of Call's arms she would have to comply, not that she wanted to carry him in the first place, it was just a considerate thing to do.
"Alright, Officer, if you insist," Kirks mother grinned. Call nodded, and they made their way to the front door.
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
The third time they met, Call escorted him out of the middle school for exploding cherry bombs in the cafeteria. It was his third offence to the school, which is why she was called to take him to the station to wait for his uncle to get off work and come pick him up.
When the clock struck seven, Call called his uncle; nobody answered the home telephone number. She called the number listed as his work cell, still no answer. She waited a half hour before she called again. On the fifth ring of his cell she was about to hang up when someone answered questioning her. "Hello, do you know Frank Demeter? We've been trying to get a hold of his nephew James Kirk but the kid hasn't picked up the house phone." Call paused. She wondered what had happened.
"This is Police Unit 9-2-4, James Kirk is currently in a holding cell waiting for his Uncle Frank to pick him up, and may I inquire as to what has accosted Frank Demeter, so that I may know how to deal with the child?"
"Oh, uh, well he's…dead. He had a heart attack while shopping at the Lamp." Call idly noted that the lamp was the place where she had ran into James; it was pure coincidence since the Lamp was the cheapest place to get groceries though with fewer options.
"I see, I will inform the child and contact his mother."
"Oh, we already contacted Mrs. Kirk, she's on her way home, but she said it will take her about three weeks. She was on Taurus IV."
"Understood, good day, sir," Call set the phone down, drumming her gloved hand on the table top. She was going to have to sign Kirk out and drive him home. She pulled out a form and began filling it out.
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
Kirk hadn't cared that his Uncle had died, he just said 'oh,' and shrugged. From what Call understood there was little love between them. Aside from the usual teenage rebellion one experiences during puberty, his Uncle probably fueled Kirks need to lash out in any way he could.
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
Call didn't see James Kirk until the end of the year; he was fifteen and looked like he had gone through Hell. There was a haunted look in his eyes; he took in everything in around him, not out of curiosity, but constantly looking for a threat.
He had been on Taurus IV when General Kodos had started the mass genocide. According to reports there were less than twenty survivors.
This didn't mean that Call would treat him any differently, when he attempted to start a bar fight she quickly grabbed the back of his shirt collar and dragged him out the bar. The owner Hank had thanked him and asked him to go easy on the kid because it was the first time he had any trouble with the boy. Kirk had been causing problems elsewhere though all month.
Outside, she slammed him up against the building wall, jerking his hands behind him and brought out of the cuffs. "I didn't do anything!" he yelled struggling against her hold. Despite the fact that she was barely taller than him, she was still a machine, and thus had a machine's strength. She walked him across the street, where conveniently the police station was located so they could stop late night drunk drivers, the local taxi company was right next door as well.
After sitting him down on a waiting bench inside the station she pulled out her cell and dialed the Kirk residence number. The one good thing about being a machine was that it came with a really good memory database.
Mrs. Kirk picked up on the first ring.