And God Said … Meh.
Most SI stories start with a dramatic death and a rebirth in the thick of it in another universe. Mine was much less exciting. I went to sleep only to wake up in Starfleet Medical on some distant colony, being told there was a transporter accident and my pattern had been partially merged with a couple of different people.
"Frankly, I'm amazed you're as stable as you are," the EMH said. "You have at least four different species mixed together. You should be a random mass of cancerous flesh and failing organs."
A nearby nurse looked horrified at his lack of bedside manner, but I laughed. "Let me guess, it's human and three species humans have produced children with?"
"Vulcan, Klingon, and Betazed," the EMH agreed. "How did you guess?"
"Because the human race is exceedingly adaptable and horny," I replied.
"Do I want to know what you mean by that?" the EMH asked himself before shaking his head. "I don't believe I do."
"So where am I, who am I, and what happened?" I asked.
"You are in sickbay, we can't find your records, and there was an explosion at the plant," the EMH rattled off, setting down his tricorder and stepping up to a computer station and re-checking everything against Starfleet records and current scans being run by security teams. "Hm..., logs before the explosion show no evidence of your existence. In fact, I think I can see what happened. The four people your pattern was assumed to be merged with were beamed up in one group and overloaded the Heisenberg Uncertainty Modulation because of the high level of tachyon flux in their bodies caused by the explosion. You are what is referred to as a pattern ghost. You don't actually exist."
The nurse looked beyond horrified at the EMH's behavior. In fact, she looked like she could use a sedative.
"Except I do, in fact, exist; am sentient, and organic," I reminded him, gesturing towards my various burns and wounds.
"Yes. We're going to have to invent a whole new form to deal with this," he said cheerfully. "So, how do you feel?"
"Like I was caught in four different explosions," I replied.
"If it makes you feel any better, I used sections of your supplemental organs to save two of your genetic donors," the EMH said, trying to give me some good news.
"Supplemental... Klingon DNA," I realized aloud. "Actually, that does make me feel better. Just remember to make sure to re-grow or clone me replacement parts if they don't regenerate on their own."
"That is a surprising attitude considering the usual distaste for cloning in the federation," the EMH said.
"I like to think I'm smarter than my four fathers," I replied.
The EMH snickered, getting the pun, but before he could respond he winked out and a human federation doctor stepped forward. "Sorry about that. We were temporarily overrun with casualties and had to use an EMH, which can be traumatic at times."
"He was fine," I assured the doctor - an older woman with black hair greying at the temples, Eurasian if I'm not mistaken. "He was explaining that I was a pattern ghost created by the transporter. A composite being. What paperwork do I have to fill out to get a new citizen identification number?"
"Let me check your record," she said, quickly refreshing the EMH's files. "This... can't be right."
I picked up the tricorder the EMH had been using and ran it over myself before examining the readings using... huh. Apparently I had a surprising amount of knowledge of the Star Trek universe from my donors. Seeing the way all my bits fit together so well sparked off a memory, and I recalled that a single race created all of the life in the Star Trek universe, hiding a message in their combined DNA.
Yeah, the four donors' DNA mixing together so well makes a lot more sense now. Just out of curiosity I checked my blood color and found it was an interesting teal color rather than the purple I expected.
"The odds...," the doctor muttered, completely engrossed in going over my readings to the point she'd forgotten I was present.
Rolling my eyes, I got up – wincing slightly – and stepped over to a computer station and re-activated the EMH.
"What was I deactivated for this time?" he asked drolly.
I shrugged. "Don't ask me. She barely said two words to me before becoming engrossed in my file. Speaking of which, would you mind deleting all files and scans of me?"
"What if we need to treat you later?" the EMH asked.
"It'll still be guesswork," I reminded him. "If you like, you can hide a copy of my records, just don't let any non-EMHs see it."
"Not a problem," the EMH agreed, tapping several commands on the screen in front of me.
"What?! Where'd it go?" the doctor demanded, finally taking note of reality around her.
"I believe we're through here," I said. I turned to the EMH, an un-evolved version of the one used on Voyager. "You do good work, Doc. Thanks!"
"You can't just leave," the human doctor complained.
"Federation law says I can," I told her with a smirk. I could already see the writing on the wall with this doc and I wasn't going to be her guinea pig. Ignoring her protests and my body sending me a number of messages saying I should lay down somewhere and sleep for a week or two, I quickly left medical and headed for security.
The fastest way to get added to the system was to get arrested, where I'd be assigned a temporary citizen ID number for the paperwork, not to mention free food and lodging. The federation provided for their citizens quite well, thanks to anti-matter reactors and replicators. It was pretty close to being a utopia in many ways.
The hallways and rooms of the star base look almost exactly like the ones I'd seen in ST:TNG. They probably do that for some psychological reason. My memories don't give me any solid data on the matter. None of my donors had ever put any thought into it before.
"How can I get arrested?" I ask cheerfully as I entered the security station.
A Vulcan and a human exchanged glances. "Why don't I get this while you get lunch?" the human suggested. She was a blonde with short hair and a slender frame, while her partner had dark hair and was unusually curvy for a Vulcan. "And why do you need to be arrested?" she asked me.
"I need a temporary citizen ID number so I can heal in peace without the doctors at the medbay taking me apart to see what makes me tick," I replied honestly.
"Why would they do that?" she asked, looking me over a lot more thoroughly.
"Transporter accident created me from four very different people. One in a million chance, and you know how some people can get," I said.
She nodded. "Yeah, the form for transporter clone only allows for one person," she said, bringing it up. "Oh wait, we have an update on that. No, that's still only two people and a plant."
"I have three out of four DNA donors as federation citizens," I offered.
"I could put you in the system as an orphan," she offered. "Your lineage would be traceable through DNA records and we simply put unknown for parents."
"You can do that?" I asked.
"Sure, we just file it as an aftermath of accident report," she explained.
Patricia Castro – I found out her name while we made my records, carefully toeing the line between truth and fraud – had me an actual citizen number in under ten minutes, just in time for her partner to return with lunch.
"Thanks, Officer Castro. If not for you I'd have had to commit a crime," I said, relieved it had all gone so painlessly.
"What crime were you thinking of?" she asked.
I grinned. "Something that would either get me a com number or a slap in the face."
Patricia laughed, but I felt a surge of jealousy from her partner that surprised me. My expression must have given it away because the Vulcan's eyes widened a bit and I could feel her surprise.
"You can read my emotions," she noted. "My shields should have prevented that."
Apparently the combination of Vulcan and Betazed DNA allowed me to read her through her shields, but I wasn't about to share that knowledge if I could avoid it. "Body language," I lied. "You aren't nearly as controlled as you think."
"That passionate human blood," Patricia teased her partner. "You know how we are, Janice."
"Indeed," the apparently part-human Vulcan replied neutrally, managing to avoid blushing but emoting it all the same.
AN: This never really gelled for some reason.
TN: Hard to write one of your usual stories in a utopian setting. Would need major shift in plot devices and conflict sources.
Typing by: Ordieth