The 'Droid'

by P.B.Wrapper

Hikaru Sulu didn't hesitate. It was instinct, when he saw the back of a mop of chestnut-coloured hair vanishing under a tangle of brawling limbs, he didn't think, he just piled in. Before he'd had time to consciously review his motives, someone had yelled 'Starfleet!', the attackers had fled and he was lying on the sidewalk next to the man he'd intended to help.

Who wasn't Chekov.

The hair still looked right, and the black pants that had added to the general impression of Chekov-ness were indeed black, but they clung to well-toned thighs like a second skin. The boots were fashion items, not uniform -- knee high, and more 'buccaneer' than Starfleet.

Sulu's nose was about six inches from all this. He picked himself up and shook the street-dust off his uniform. Then he reached out a hand to the stranger.

Since his leave had only just started, two hours late, Sulu hadn't yet accustomed himself to the traditional masks worn by local 'pleasure' workers. This person was wearing a beaded example, and a beaded jacket to match. The little pieces of jet glinted in the sunlight.

"Is there a problem?"

It was most disorientating, having someone's eyes removed from the picture. Sulu was absolutely certain one moment that this *was* Chekov, but the next moment, as his gaze fell on the excessive tightness of the pants, the expensive sparkle of the jewels in among the jet beads...

...the way the words 'is there a problem' sounded accented, but at the same time, could just be the coloured by the cosmopolitan cadence of yet another space port.

"No... uh..."

"I remind you of someone?" The stranger took a step closer to the helmsman, as if inviting closer scrutiny.

"Maybe," Sulu answered defensively, declining to take a corresponding step backwards, into the gutter.

"You have only just arrived?"

Now that *definitely* sounded like Chekov... if you closed your eyes so you didn't see the three diamond studs piercing the guy's left earlobe, and didn't inhale the aroma of distinctly deltan perfume, legal here, but only if a Starfleet ensign was prepared to spend most of last month's paycheck buying it, and then scrub to operating theatre standards before returning to the ship.

Sulu realised he was taking deeper breaths than were entirely prudent.

"Yes. I'm meeting some friends in a bar just along here, so..."

So just why, Sulu asked himself sternly, was this masked individual making him feel so nervous?

"My apologies." The person gave a chivalrous half bow.

"For what?" It occurred to Sulu that the brawl might have been staged, and his hand flew to his belt to check he still had his wallet. He should have thought of that earlier.

The stranger smiled knowingly. "According to the bye-laws, I am supposed to explain myself before I confuse anyone. I am the latest, Mark 4, recreational holodroid. Whoever you want me to be..." The 'holodroid' threw his arms wide, like a drag queen launching into the final chorus of a torch song medley. "...I am."

Sulu frowned. "I don't remember wanting you to be anyone in particular."

"But you mistook me for someone, I think. That was enough to start the process, and now that is who I am. Until you move out of range. Which bar?"

"The... uh... the... The Fountain."

"Oh." The 'droid's face fell.

"Is that a problem?"

"No. Except... you probably can't afford me."

"You're expensive?"

The 'droid nodded. "In absolute terms, very expensive, but if you consider what I am offering you, the chance to interact in whatever way you wish with the person of your choice, I would imagine that I represent something of a bargain."

Telling himself that he could drink with his shipmates whenever he wished, but that he rarely had the opportunity to discuss supply-side economics with an android, Sulu gave in to his curiosity. "How much?"

"For how long?"

It was hard to answer that without thinking about what one might do in the time available. "An hour," Sulu suggested, "for example."

The android named a figure that would have looked reasonable pasted to the viewscreen of a nearly new two person flitter in excellent condition, one careful owner.

The helmsman gave a low, shocked whistle of disbelief.

The 'droid tipped his head on one side. "Although, you did come to my rescue just now. And it is early in the evening. I probably will not pick up another client for some time..." He halved his original price.

Sulu shook his head and turned away towards the Fountain.

"I would not still look like him if you were not interested," the 'droid said softly.

"I'm not interested. I just thought I saw a friend in trouble..."

"Of course. And Starfleet pays so badly..."

"It's not that," Sulu corrected him. "I'm really not interested. I'm sorry."

"I understand."

"No hard feelings," Sulu said helplessly, wondering why the hell he was having such difficulty giving this piece of technology the brush off.

"The problem is..." the 'droid started.

"Yes?"

"This is not your fault. But I was so certain that you *were* interested..."

"Yes?" Sulu prompted again.

"I have a subroutine, because I am sensitive to the wishes of anyone who comes within range, I have to be careful not to react inappropriately. I... locked onto this persona prematurely, and now..."

Sulu frowned. "You mean... you're stuck looking like this until... until..."

"Until I... uh..." The 'droid blushed, Sulu would have sworn, to the exact shade that Chekov would have achieved in the same circumstances. "...complete the contract."

Sulu shook his head and tried not to laugh. "He's not a bad looking guy. If you drop your price a little... well, quite a lot... you should find someone to help you out."

The 'droid took a moment to consider this idea. Sulu was worried for a moment that it would be offended, but this didn't seem to be a problem. It nodded. "You say your friends are in the Fountain?"

"Yes... Hold on a moment!" Sulu quickly caught up to the 'droid, taking hold of its arm to stop its progress toward the bar. He was startled by how real it felt, under the cool scratchiness of the jet beads. "Where are you..."

"I am designed to operate interactively. I am not sure I would be capable of sex with a stranger."

Sulu shut his mouth and scratched one ear thoughtfully. "You can't go in there," he said after a moment. "He's in there."

"You don't wish him to know that you are attracted to him?" the 'droid asked.

"I'm not," Sulu said quickly, "but that isn't the point. I mean... none of his friends are going to... Well, what I mean is, they might find him attractive, but he might feel a little... well, weird, if any of them wanted to pay to go off with you, rather than..."

"Sleeping with him on a non-commercial basis."

"Uh... something like that. It's... it's just not straightforward."

The 'droid's mouth pursed into a most Chekov-like expression of puzzlement.

"With friends, and colleagues... it can be difficult to adjust when you realise that you're beginning to think of someone as... more than just a friend. Or colleague." Sulu sought for an analogy that the 'droid might appreciate. "It's just too complicated, you see. Imagine if you realised you'd fallen in love with a client..."

"That is most unlikely to happen," the 'droid said with some conviction. "However, I understand the concept and therefore I shall report to the service bureau. Probably one of the technicians can correct this malfunction. An adjustment to my operating parameters should prevent any repetition of the problem."

"That sounds like a good idea," Sulu said reassuringly.

"Will you do likewise?"

"Huh?"

"You appear to be inappropriately programmed. You demonstrate attraction to your 'friend', yet you deny it. I..." The 'droid smiled shyly. "...I think that you are afraid he will feel 'weird' if you offer to sleep with him on a non-commercial basis."

"Damn right he will," Sulu said, more sincerely than was perhaps wise.

The 'droid sidled closer to the helmsman. "If I report to the service bureau, I am likely to be inactive for at least the rest of the night. It would be in my interests to charge you the union minimum in order to secure this engagement. I could then return to work more quickly, and arrange to be serviced swiftly during normal office hours."

Sulu frowned.

"Among the varied justifications I have been given by those who use my services is a desire to 'get it out of their system," the 'droid continued confidentially. He leaned a little closer to Sulu. "Since you are helping me with my problem, I should be most willing to assist you with yours."

Sulu blinked. The 'droid sounded disconcertingly like Chekov when he was mimicking Commander Spock. "It's... it's not just the money," he confessed. "You see... well, like I said, if he knew I'd deliberately gone with you because you looked like him..." and sounded like him, and *moved* like him, Sulu added to himself.

"But he will not know," the 'droid said.

Sulu shrugged. It still seemed...

"And in fact," the 'droid continued. "I really do not look very much like him. The technology is not yet sufficiently advanced. The mask encourages you to convince yourself that the resemblance exists."

"It does?" Sulu looked curiously at the creature. Perhaps it wasn't really so very like Chekov after all. Not quite the same height for a start...

The 'droid took a small step forward in its flat soled boots and kissed the startled helmsman on the lips.

"How much is the 'union minimum'?" Sulu asked breathlessly, a long moment later.

The 'droid named a figure that wouldn't cause Sulu's bank manager to start writing letters. "That hotel is clean and inexpensive," it said, gesturing toward a low, white building.

Since he was saving several thousand credits already, Sulu decided not to quibble. He allowed himself to be led across the street and into the lobby, where a bored native stood by as Sulu typed his account number into the computer.

"Do I pay you before, or after?" Sulu asked, his mind not really on the answer. Their room had white carpet three inches deep, an archway through to a marble and gold bathroom, and the bed... the bed was a null-gravity model. A discrete grey dotted line on the floor, walls and ceiling marked the limits of the zone. Elastic filaments criss-crossed the chamber, like cat's cradle.

Sulu swallowed. He hadn't looked at the details he was being asked to authorise. He'd just gone ahead and keyed in his number. Damned Deltan pheremones.

"I'm sorry. I can't afford this." He turned to look at the rest of the room, the video wall, the champagne cooling in a small glacier of ice, the oysters sitting in their open shells, glistening invitingly.

"It is only a two hour reservation," the 'droid said. "And I have an arrangement with the management."

Oh, well, Sulu told himself. He'd always wanted to try nul-grav sex and financial ruin He might as well get all three impractical desires out of the way in a single act of madness. He could sort out how he was going to pay it off in the morning. He smiled. Chekov was always good for a loan.

The 'droid knelt down and unlaced its boots. The beaded jacket was thrown over a chair while the pants parted along their side seams and fell to the floor in a black silk pool.

When the 'droid straightened, its arousal bobbed proudly perpendicular to its washboard abdomen.

Within his uniform, Sulu felt his own response fighting to get loose.

'Slow down,' he told himself. 'If these two hours are going to cost you two years' salary, the main feature better last more than two just minutes.' He turned away from the immediate visual stimulus and busied himself pouring champagne. When he turned back with the glasses, his companion was standing right behind him, one hand outstretched for the beverage.

"Can you drink?" Sulu asked.

The 'droid looked puzzled for a moment. "Oh, yes. I can simulate all human appetites."

"And what... should I call you?"

At that, the 'droid shrugged. "What do you call 'him'?"

"Chekov." Sulu shrugged too. "Or Pavel, if we're... off duty, after a few drinks, you know."

"Pavel."

The way the 'droid said it, it was immediately apparent to Sulu that it wasn't quite right. He dredged his memory. "Pasha. Today, I'd like to call you 'Pasha'."

The 'droid nodded, satisfied. "And what shall I call you?"

Sulu thought for a moment, and then a smile curved his mouth. After all, this was costing him a small fortune. He might as well have *exactly* what he wanted. "I'd like you to call me... 'sir'."

Behind the mask, the 'droid's eyebrows raised slightly. It upended its glass, tossing back the champagne as if it was vodka. "Shall I undress you, sir?"

"Yes."

Sulu had never wished more keenly that Starfleet uniform was less dependent on velcro, seam-magik(TM) and the stretch properties of velour. Getting out of it just wasn't a sensual experience, but the 'droid removed the garments with graceful efficiency, ending up conveniently on its knees at his feet.

It bowed its head. "Sir?"

Fighting the urge to lean forward and unfasten the ribbon that held the mask in place, Sulu considered.

Nul gravity was an interesting novelty, but it was one he could experience any time, once he was back on speaking terms with his bank manager.

What he really wanted, or the nearest he would ever come to it, was right here in front of him.

"I'd like you to..."

The 'droid opened its mouth and circled its tongue round the tip of his erection.

***

The 'droid left first, while Sulu was showering. By the time he remembered he hadn't paid, it was too late to chase after it. And anyway, he wasn't even sure who to look for. It might by now have the bright pink antennae and engorged mammary glands of an Andorian female in oestrus.

He walked cautiously out of the hotel lobby, into the bright afternoon sunshine, half expecting everything to look *different*. His knees kept threatening to give way. Nul-grav sex, when they'd gotten round to it, turned out to demand muscle control in unexpected places.

"Sulu! Hey, Lieutenant!" Riley, beer glass in hand, was advancing down the street. "Now where have *you* been? I can't believe the captain kept the both of you back for so long. Or did you... 'hic!... distract each other?" The engineer giggled and took another swig from his beer glass.

"What are you talking about, Riley?"

"It's only a five hour leave, m'boy. Chekov only turned up five minutes ago, and now you come walzing along with barely an hour left to enjoy yourself. Unless... 'hic!... you've been enjoying yourselves already an' not letting on to your friends... Le' me get you a pint, Sulu m'boy. Le' me get you a pint." Riley glanced from one side of the street to the other in search of hospitality. Eventually he managed to focus on the tables outside a functioning cafe, and taking Sulu's arm, led him unsteadily in that direction. Uhura, half a dozen officers from various departments, and Ensign Chekov, were seated around three tables that had been pushed together under the shade of a large parasol.

Sulu felt an embarrassing warmth creep into his face. "Hi," he said vaguely to the whole party. "I had to finish a report..."

Uhura frowned and glanced at Chekov. "The same report..?"

"Mine was for Mister Spock," Chekov said.

"He's a slave-driver," Uhura said affectionately. She patted the empty chair next to her. Sulu took it, thus finding himself sitting next to Chekov without really meaning to. The ensign was drinking orange juice, straight as far as Sulu could tell without tasting it. The pint Riley had noisily ordered for him arrived, and he sat back in his chair, trying to remember how he'd used to sit before he'd paid a small fortune to simulate having sex with his best friend in a null-grav suite. (He'd caught sight of the hotel's tariff on the way out, and reckoned that, morally, he didn't owe the 'droid a cent. Particularly as it had eaten more than its fair share of the oysters.)

'Probably I'd have leaned back like this,' he thought, tipping the chair back into contact with the wall of the building, 'and I might have crossed my ankles like this in a nonchalant kind of way...'

One of the chair's back legs buckled. He grabbed at Chekov's arm and pulled himself up just before he was dumped on the ground, but not before he'd felt the crunch of jet beads under velour.

The End