A/N: Omicron Theta is the planet that Data was made on. Now, either there was always a strong android production business there, or that started up some time between the late 2200s and the early 2330s. This verse has the former view, Lost in Translations (and its prequel Without Direction) takes the latter.

Trifacio (three faces, ha ha aren't I clever) looks kind of like Rosie the robotic maid from the Jetsons, only with pink decals and three faces. BTW, in trying to remember what Rosie's name was, I found out that Wikipedia has a category devoted entirely to Fictional Maids. Who knew?

.bdobd.

Spock had wound up waking himself up early, scaring the everloving shit out of Jim.

"Greetings, James."

Jim, who was in the process of wrestling on his uniform pants, honest-to-god collapsed when Spock's voice sounded out of the blue. "Jesus Christ you scared me. What's up?"

"… I… The atmosphere?"

Jim paused in the epic fight he was having with his fly. 'Uniforms don't shrink, my ass.' "No, Spock, it's a metaphor. I was asking how you were feeling."

"… Why not just…?"

"It's shorter."

"… Acknowledged. All of my systems are optimal."

"Hey, aren't you supposed to be asleep for another half hour?"

"I wished to accompany you to your classes. I know little of the Academy."

"Um." Jim's voice was muffled by his undershirt, which he was pulling over his head. "I'm not sure that's a good idea. You're kind of not supposed to exist."

"Did you not send in my Sentience Acknowledgement application?"

"Well, I mean, Sciences knows you exist, but Command might not. And the cadets sure as hell don't know, and I really don't want there to be rumors floating around before we can get you a body."

Spock seemed stunned. "A…A body – Jim, I had believed that you were to attempt to obtain visual recording equipment for eyes; is not a body an exponentially more complex –?"

"Not really." Jim picked Spock up carefully to make sure there wasn't dust stuck in anywhere important. "It's not often you get a cadet asking for high-quality cameras. There'll be an investigation, just like there would be if I asked for a body for you. Either way, it'll all come out in the end."

Jim frowned down at Spock, who was now tucked securely against his chest. "Unless – Do you not want a body? Would you prefer this form, with eyes?"

"Negative, I would much prefer a humanoid form. I had just… Not expected such an effort from you. You seemed to have much more important tasks to complete."

Spock sounded kind of touched now. Jim beamed. "Not really. You can think, you can reason: there's no reason why you shouldn't have a shell to match."

"A shell? A shell is not humanoid."

"Ah, no." Jim strolled out of the bedroom, Spock under one arm. "In relation to androids, a shell is the physical form of the machine. The body. Right now, you've got more of a metal-casing-type thing. So you have a green rectangular prism as a shell. I'm gonna be working on getting you a more human-y one."

"… I am green?"

Jim froze in the middle of stealing himself an apple from the fruit bowl. "You… didn't know? Isn't that in your diagnostics?"

"Negative. What does color have to do with the functioning of a computer?"

"True." Jim walked to the door and was about to open it when he remembered that he'd decided not to take Spock to class.

He looked at the door, looked at Spock, looked to his backpack, and pivoted straight back to his room.

"James?" Spock sounded terribly confused and rather anxious, rather like a human who's just realized that their spouse has locked their only child in the family car. "I did not hear the door open. Are you still present?"

"I'm right here, Spock," Jim called over his shoulder. "I'm gonna call in sick today; I've only got Xeno Bio and Customs, anyway. I can skip a day."

Spock looked so lonely, sitting there on the bed. "Your Xenobiology class runs four hours long?"

"It's taught by a crazy human; we have way too much stamina, sometimes."

"Are you fully human?"

"Hmm?" Jim was rummaging around in the closet, looking for that personal comm unit. It was so cheap that he'd just resigned himself to using the campus comm sets – it wasn't like he had anyone to talk to, anyway – but it seemed fantastically stupid to talk to the ARA on a public line.

"Yeah, I'm full human. I look it too: blonde hair, blue eyes. Caucasian, if that means anything to you."

"It does. I have sufficient racial vocabulary."

"Aha! Success!"

"James?"

"I found my private comm. I can't exactly talk about you on a public line, now can I?"

"Who are you going to contact?"

Jim hummed slightly as he walked back over to the bed, and sat down with a heavy plop. "There's an android's rights group that's based in the city. Even if you don't look very android-ish right now, they should be able to tell me how to get you a good shell."

"Are androids especially common here?"

Jim thought for a moment. "…No, I don't think so. But the Federation Council is right around the corner; that probably has a lot to do with it."

"Indeed."

"… Grah. Damnit."

"James?"

Jim got up from the bed and went back to the closet, rooting around for Bones's personal PADD. "I forgot the number for the ARA; I'm looking for the comm link listing."

"…What is the ARA?"

"Well, it's either the American Rifle Association or the Androids' Rights Association. I'm looking up the second group."

"I would certainly hope so."

Jim snorted and dug about for the PADD. "Here it is!" He made his way back to the bed and picked up the comm. "Right… 011401-160217-D5." He hit 'connect' and waited.

"James?"

"Jim, it's Jim. We went over this, didn't we?"

"It seemed disrespectful."

"Why? I'm no better than you. We both think. We both want. We both need."

"You are my creator. Are not parents usually afforded a modicum of deference?"

Jim frowned. "Parents should earn their respect. Just because they can breed doesn't mean they should."

Spock, apparently sensing that he'd hit a nerve, shut up. "Hey, I'm not quite sure how this kind of thing normally goes," Jim murmured, "so let me take the lead, alright?"

"Acknowledged."

The link crackled to life a long minute later. The screen cleared to show an incongruously pink robotic operator with what looked like three faces, one face per screen open on her (was she female or feminine?) end of the line. "What is it that you require?"

"Last night I managed to create a sentient being, and I'm looking for a humanoid shell for him."

One of the operator's faces narrowed her eyes. "You created? Have you filed?"

"I sent an Acknowledgement form to the head of Starfleet Sciences."

"Is the Sentient capable of speech?"

"He is. Would you like me to put him on for you?"

"Affirmative."

Jim made sure Spock was facing the right way before propping him up on his lap. "Greetings. I am Spock."

"Greetings. I am Trifacio. How long have you been sentient?"

"Two hundred and three minutes."

Trifacio looked surprised. It was very clear that Jim would not wind up doing much of the talking. "Your programmer has contacted us quickly."

Spock nodded with his ears. Jim thought it was adorable, then realized that he had indeed just thought that, and firmly squashed said thought into a dark little corner of his mind, right next to his first kiss (disaster) and That Day That Sam Left.

"Agreed. I believe him to have my best interests as a priority."

She seemed to consider this. One of her other faces suddenly came to life, clearly speaking with another person on a different screen. It was creepy. "What do you require."

"I most desire an ability to see," Spock responded, "but my creator has expressed an interest in finding me a humanoid… I believe the term is 'shell'?"

Trifacio stared at Jim. It was unnerving to the extreme. "Do you share his interest? Is he imposing this on you?"

"I do indeed desire a humanoid form," Spock continued, totally unaware of the silent interrogation Jim was undergoing, "but if sight would be more quickly granted, than I wish for that, first."

"The obtaining of a shell and the granting of eyesight both take approximately the same amount of time."

"Than I wish for a humanoid shell."

The operator nodded, but it was only one third of her head, so it was more like a panel with features bobbing downwards. Totally, completely unnerving. Was that their definition of 'humanoid'? He'd seen some vids of the Android's Rights Riots; they'd looked more 'human' than this. Maybe it was a style thing?

"To apply for a shell, please visit the ARA's headquarters on the intersection of Sklon Avenue and 14th Street. There are application forms there."

Jim bit his lip. It was one thing to call in sick, it was quite another to call in sick, leave campus, pick up something in the city, and then return. "…Is there a way to get the form sent here? I'm a cadet, I can't really leave the Academy grounds…"

"Negative." Trifacio tried to sound innocently surprised and failed miserably, "is not finding an appropriate shell for an intelligent being more important than your attendance record?"

It wasn't a tardy, it was a felony. Jim thought about arguing, and then sighed. He wasn't going to win this. "Are there any bart lines that run close to the HQ?"

"There is a 12th Street station that is connected to the Red and Yellow A lines."

Spock sounded guilty. "Jim, it is not prerogative that you leave today; would it be possible for you to wait until the week's end, when the Academy is closed?"

"Our headquarters are not open on the weekends."

Jim thought about sticking out his tongue at her (it wasn't like Spock would see it) but thought better of it. It would be awful if Spock was bumped to the end of some waiting list because Jim'd been rude.

"Anyway, there's that trial coming up; I'm guessing they'll want to have it before Saturday. I want to get in an application now, so if they do anything to me, you'll have something in the system."

Trifacio perked up. "Have you located an attorney?"

Jim blinked. "I hadn't even thought of it. But…Wait, I'm a cadet, they're going to try and label Spock as Fleet property. What would a lawyer defend?"

"Spock's right as an individual to decide whom he belongs to." The face that'd been speaking to someone else receded into the main head-bit of Trifacio's body and shut itself off.

"… I'm not sure the Admirals are going to buy that."

"Admirals?" Trifacio leaned forward. "Not a jury of your peers?"

Jim looked about the room for help, but the walls were in an extremely obstinate mood, and said nothing of any use. "… No, I'm a cadet. If I commit a crime using or affecting Fleet property, than I get court martialed. I'm not even sure I'm allowed a lawyer."

"Is that not illegal?" Spock asked.

"No, it's a Starfleet matter. It's solved within the Starfleet. The big issue is whether or not you're still Fleet property after being made sentience. Because I'm pretty sure you were Fleet equipment before, so the only thing that's changed is your legal designation as an android.

"So I'd have to try and prove that the rights of a sentient creature overrule the power of the Admiralty and the Fleet, even if said creature was Fleet property before sentience and was made sentient by an Academy cadet."

Jim shrugged again. "Unless you guys can find a way to get that argument into civil courts, I think Spock's screwed. I'm kinda hoping that a shell application can prove that he can possess goods; that might help."

Spock whimpered softly. Jim flinched and patted him softly between his ears. "I'm really sorry, I'm going to do the best that I can."

"I shall call my superior officer; she shall talk with you in more depth," Trifacio announced. The face that had lain dormant woke up and started connecting another comm link. "I hope that all shall be content in the end," she continued. "Best of luck, Spock and Jim."

Jim smiled wanly. "Thanks for your help."

"We appreciate your assistance," Spock added.

The screen was dark for just enough time for it to get really, really awkward on their end of the link. Finally, the comm cleared to show a middle aged human woman who was just a little bit… off.

"Greetings. I am the head of the Androids' Rights Association. You are Spock and Jim, and you have a legal issue."

It was her eyes, Jim realized, she wasn't blinking. Her mouth wasn't quite in sync with her words, either. "Yeah, hi, I'm Jim Kirk and this is Spock. I… Kind of accidentally gave him sentience last night, and I'm worried that he'll be labeled Starfleet property."

"Spock, what is your opinion on the situation?"

Jim had the distinct impression that she was going to be ignoring most of what he said for the majority of the interview, just like Trifacio had.

"Jim is my creator, and I believe him to have my best interests as a priority. I was a machine in the Starfleet Academy Sciences laboratory. Jim is a cadet, and last night he entered the lab and granted me sentience, albeit mostly by accident.

"I now with to obtain a humanoid shell, and to exist as an independent being. Jim has aided me greatly in these endeavors. We are both concerned, however, that Starfleet will attempt to label me as their property for testing."

The woman cocked her head. "Why are you so important to Starfleet so as you think they would wade into a legal battle to obtain rights to your person?"

"I am capable of creating infinite improbability fields." The woman's eyes widened, but Spock couldn't see her and went right on talking. "I could easily create a plan for a machine that could do this without intelligent thought, and would, in the meantime, assist in any missions that required an infinite improbability field.

"But I would like to do this as an independent citizen of the Federation, not as the property of the government."

The woman nodded. "And that is your right. Jim," Jim started at being suddenly addressed, "when is the trial to be held?"

"I don't know. I'm about 90% sure it'll be before Saturday, though, because most upper-level people have Saturday off. And it's Thursday, so it'll most likely be tomorrow. I was really hoping to get a shell application filled so that Spock could say that he already owns property – and, therefore, has to be a citizen of something – but now the big issue looks like it'll be that he was Fleet property before I reconnected his wires."

The woman leaned back in her swivel chair with a creak. She had a great view of the bay behind her; he could only imagine how much her rent was. How did she make money? Jim couldn't remember seeing any android cashiers or bank tellers. Maybe they got a subsidy, like the poor used to? Android food stamps?

Oh, shit, did Spock have to eat? Had Jim been starving Spock by accident?

"I disagree with your conclusions," the woman said suddenly. "The main issue is not that Spock was owned by Starfleet before his sentience; that is now all androids are made. All were originally owned by someone.

"No, the biggest obstacle is that you," android stares were scary, "are his programmer, and you work for Starfleet. Starfleet may say that as he was owned by their organization and was reprogrammed by their employee, he is still their property."

"But –! I can't just leave Starfleet! I don't have anywhere else to go! And who'd hire me, the guy who got kicked out of the Fleet for mucking around with expensive lab computers?"

"We would."

Jim gawped. "What?"

She shrugged. "We are in need of more organic members of our coalition. Many organics see androids as disturbing or unsettling. A human speaker would greatly aid our cause."

Jim blinked at her. "How am I going to get kicked out of the Fleet in," he looked at his clock, "ten hours? I can't file for release from duty, and eviction forms take days!"

"File for my custody," Spock said, "any make me a dependant. No Starfleet cadet may be used in criminal cases if they have people who depend on them for food or shelter, unless the cadet is the one being accused."

"And you would not be," the woman continued for Spock, "technically, the lab would be filing for the requisition of property. You would only be referenced as a witness. If Starfleet truly desires Spock, they will find a way to strike you from duty so that you may testify that you were working for them at the time of Spock's reprogramming.

"And you are just one cadet. An infinite probability generator is much more valuable than you are."

Jim took a moment to resign himself to the fact that he'd never fly in space. It didn't take very long; he'd never had very high hopes for himself. That had been Pike, mostly. He sighed. "Right, how do I file for custody."

"At our headquarters there is –,"

"ARGH! I told you, I can not go off campus during school hours! They will send someone after me and drag me back to the grounds and probably take Spock in the process!"

She seemed surprised. "They may do that?"

"It's a military institution, they can lock us all in. You're listed as AWOL and brought up on charges."

"But you must come."

Jim ran his hands through his hair. "Can't you come to me? I'm worried about even leaving my dorm, now, what if I go and leave Spock here and they come and take him away?"

"…Spock? Your opinion?"

"I do not wish to be separated from Jim at any time."

"But I do not believe that we may enter," she protested, "as we are listed as a lobbying group. Lobbyists may not enter Starfleet facilities without forty-eight hours notice."

"Do you have any unlisted members? I could say they were my long-lost friends, get them a visitor's pass."

"Long-lost friends from Omicron Theta? We do not look 'normal', surely you have recognized this."

Jim felt Spock's ears prick at the sudden mention of visual differences, but everyone froze when someone started knocking on the dorm's front door.

"Right," Jim whispered, "I'm going to see who that is, Spock, you're coming with me. If it's anyone I don't know, we're booking it out the back door and going straight to Skon and 14th."

The woman nodded. "Acknowledged. We will be awaiting your arrival."

That didn't sound terribly comforting. She cut the connection, Jim gathered Spock up carefully, and looked into the door's peephole.

Three people, one of them a linguistics major, were standing on the stairs.

"Spock, we're going out the back."

Spock didn't respond; he knew enough to be silent.

Jim managed to get to the back and was actually opening the door when the people on the stairs heard him – it must've been the linguist, those bastards were trained to have fantastic hearing. He bolted, the stair people started running, and damn it all if it wasn't twice as difficult to sprint with a metal box under one arm.

"Jim! Hey, Jim!"

Fuck, wait a minute: was he tutoring today? Were those other cadets?

No time to turn around. Jim sprinted all the way to the front gates and stopped for a few seconds, waiting to see if his situation would magically improve.

It didn't. He was still a twenty-something year old human, kicking himself out of Starfleet.

Jim began to jog to the bart station. At least if Spock got a body, he'd have someone humanoid to keep him company.

.bdobd.