The characters of Star Trek: The Next Generation are the property of Paramount, and the other people they are property of, and they certainly aren't mine. This story is written entirely for amusement and not for profit. No references are intended to any actors portraying these fictional characters or to any other living persons. If you have stuck with me this far, thank you.
Chapter 5 Jailbait
…..
Ensign Nimmo cradled his friend Ensign Hucker in his arms, trying desperately to soothe the man's demented screaming. After what seemed an eternity he looked up to see the ship's chief medical officer rushing through the door.
"Oh dear heaven," said Dr Crusher, uncharacteristically.
A pool of blood was creeping over the floor next to the hysterical Ensign Hucker, who clutched desperately at his crotch with gore-soaked fingers. In the middle of the pool of blood was a small, sad piece of severed flesh.
Dr Crusher thought quickly. By the time Data and Zsuza were hotfooting through the door, closely attended by all Ensign Hucker's drinking buddies who wanted to see what was going on, she had given the poor man a general anaesthetic and, as soon as his dreadful screams had abated, commandeered a medical team to take him –with the small, sad piece of flesh that was the remains of his manhood immersed in a freezepack– straight to Sickbay.
"I want you, you and you," she said, pointing to the three women in the group that had gathered, appalled, around the door. The men all looked white as sheets. One elegant lieutenant known as the Lothario of Deck 13 was being sick in the corner.
Data ordered a search of Hucker's quarters. To everyone's dismay, his phaser had disappeared; and Nimmo was pretty sure that one of Hucker's spare uniforms was gone, as well.
"Permission to attend the patient too," spoke up Ensign Nimmo, bravely. "He's my best mate."
"Very well, Nimmo," said the doctor reluctantly. "But I have to say I think this is a woman's job."
"Or an android's," cut in Data. "May I point out that I am the only male-pattern life form not troubled by the peculiar form of this attack."
Everyone looked at him. There was a snicker from the back of the crowd. Doctor Crusher could smell insubordination a mile off.
"What the Lieutenant Commander means, and I speak as his doctor," she said icily, "is that although he is anatomically exactly similar, he is not susceptible to the emotional trauma which you all seem to be suffering."
"Sir! Even you'd mind if some bitch cut your dick off with teeth inside her cunt," said the Lothario of Deck 13, looking up wanly from the corner. Some of the men nodded and murmured in agreement. They were all standing, Zsuza noticed, with their hands clasped protectively in front of their flies.
"No, I would not 'mind'. I would simply fix it back on again," said Data sensibly. "I expect you all to face any threat to the Enterprise – or to its crew – like professional Starfleet officers. And, Harrison," he gave the wan Lothario an adamantine look, "you are on report for inappropriate language."
The men looked at Data with new respect. The women looked at him with admiration.
"Dr Crusher," interjected Zsuza, "did you find Wesley?"
"You bet I did, and he is totally, totally confined to our quarters for the foreseeable future," said the doctor warmly. "With instructions to let no one in."
"Good," said Zsuza. "Come on, Data."
She beckoned him out of the room urgently.
"I don't really want the doctor to know this, but her quarters are exactly where we should be heading for. Wesley Crusher has a new career. As jailbait."
………………………………………………………………………
"Dr Crusher to Bridge. I am performing emergency surgery on Ensign Hucker. Has Data caught that thing yet?"
"That young Hucker's stuck his knitting needle in one too many power sockets," murmured Picard as he paced the bridge. Being childless himself, Picard took a more paternal interest in the biographical notes of his younger crew members than most of them realised.
"Data's heading up the search team," he said aloud, gazing in awe at the still-prone Klingon, beside whom Counsellor Troi was kneeling solicitously. "Doctor, what – er –exactly is the prognosis for your patient?"
"He has lost a lot of blood, but it's just a routine operation. He'll be up and about in no time."
"About, maybe," muttered Riker. "But up? That may take a while."
"Captain," the doctor's voice piped up again, as though reading Riker's mind, "the psychological effect of this incident could be much worse than the physical scars. (Hypersonic needle, nurse. Thank you.) And I'm not just talking about Hucker. All his friends were practically hysterical – his male friends, I mean. I have a queue of men outside my door right now begging for tranquillisers. The very idea of having one's penis cut off during the sex act seems to make them….."
"Yes, I do see," said the Captain, who had turned a deathly white and sat down rather quickly at the words "hypersonic needle".
"I'm worried too, Captain," broke in Counsellor Troi. "We could be looking at hundreds of cases of traumatic adult castration anxiety."
"Meaning…"
"Mass impotence, Captain," said the counsellor as gently as she could, "and psychological impotence at that. Much more difficult to deal with than that caused by purely physical factors. With the attendant problems of grief, sexual frustration, loss of self-esteem, depression, potential suicide risks…and that's just the women I'm talking about, Captain. For the men….."
"But where is Mr Data?" said the Captain suddenly. "It's not like him to be out of touch for this long. "
"He's in the turbolift, heading for the senior officer's quarters, sir," reported McManus, checking the bridge monitors.
………………………………………………………………………..
"Why do you think Fanny will try to find Wesley?" asked Data in the turbolift.
"It's just a hunch. I suspect that Fanny may be programmed to memorise and seek out the men she sees when her box is opened.
"In that way, the criminal who uses her as a weapon can be confident that she will attack the man to whom she is sent as a gift. She only used Hucker to get what she needed to hunt down her target, and perhaps to check that her own weaponry was functioning. Nice, huh?"
"She is not so primitive as you at first thought, Dr Androva," said Data with a hint of satisfaction.
"I grant you that: it may be that when she was made, there were technologies being developed in the less regulated criminal world that outstripped the legitimate world," agreed Zsuza. "Let's take stock of her capabilities."
"We already know she has a few basic subterfuges such as jamming the doors and the commpads, adopting disguises – Ensign Hucker's uniform – and she can possibly manipulate weapons," said Data.
"And she may have been able to trick Hucker into showing her how his phaser worked," added Zsuza. "We must assume she is capable of deceit."
"In my opinion, she has the basis of a sophisticated quasi-android programming. I still maintain that with the appropriate re-programming, she could become a….partner for me," said Data, wondering why every other android he met had to be evil.
They were now outside the Crushers' door.
"Wesley, this is Data. It is safe for you to open the door," said Data loudly into his commbadge.
Silence.
"Oh no…." breathed Zsuza, grateful that the boy's mother was too busy with her amputated patient to be there at that moment.
"Stand back while I release the door, please," said Data mechanically. All his human characteristics seemed to be put aside in dangerous situations, and he became more than normally android-ish, Zsuza noted, as he took out a small implement and silently, deftly prised open Dr Crusher's front door.
Phaser at the ready, Data stalked through the Crusher's hallway. As soon as he was confident all was clear, he beckoned Zsuza to follow close behind.
They could hear talking in the lounge. And giggling; high-pitched, inane giggling. Zsuza recognised Fanny's voice, too.
"Oh-oh," whispered Zsuza.
"Zsuza, you are a woman – tell me – the maternal instinct is very complex – should we call the Doctor now?" Data whispered.
"No. This is a situation for the boy's kind, older, male friend. You," she added, seeing Data's blank look.
Data leapt through the door.
Fanny and Wesley were snogging on the sofa. Fanny was wearing an ill-fitting Starfleet uniform – Ensign Hucker's, of course – and Wesley, thank the stars, still had his trousers on. Things did not seem to have progressed beyond danger point; Wesley's youthful shyness had saved him from a fate worse than death.
As soon as they saw Data, they sprang apart like guilty teenagers (which, of course, Wesley was).
"Data," cried Wesley, blushing a deep puce, "Gee, for a moment there I thought you were my Mom. Hey, put that down – Fanny really doesn't mean any harm, - she says…."
But Fanny had seen Data's phaser, and in an instant whipped out Hucker's stolen weapon from under her tunic and held it to Wesley's head.
"Drop that, or the boy gets it," she spat at Data. Wesley's blush faded to white and Data slowly backed away.
(end of chapter 5)