Title: She Writes About Us
Author: McJude
Rating: R
Summary: Andromeda's crew finds about about being involved in adult fan fiction, in honor of Mandy Green's birthday.
Author's Note: This morning I awoke and in a fit of writing frenzy created a "masterpiece" in honor of Mandy's birthday. When I finished I took a deep breath and sighed as I had done the story without a save -- and my computer hadn't crashed. I saved it, went and had breakfast, came up and edited it, copied it to paste into an E-mail and something happened. The story is gone. All that is saved is the letter "C." So this is an attempt at recreation, that cannot possibly be as good as the original.
"I think we have a problem, Tyr." Dylan Hunt had a look on his face -- mostly concerned with a hint of puzzlement -- as he entered the bridge where Tyr and Rommie had been on duty all night.
"I see no indication of problems, Captain Hunt. Everything appears to be running normally." Rommie reported.
"Is that you’re your general opinion, ship, or the result of a detailed observation of your sensors and data bases?" Tyr asked.
"The first, Tyr, but it is usually adequate for general situations. I can do a more detailed . . . if the captain requests it."
"If what Captain Hunt wanted was a general opinion, he could have asked Trance who I am sure would have reported that it is a 'Beautiful day in the neighborhood'."
"I said 'I thought we had a problem.' I did not intend to have it mushroom into a full-scale argument among my crewmembers. I just wish someone would check on Harper for me."
"Mr. Harper is in his quarters. He has engaged both the privacy mode and the super privacy mode. I do not believe that he is alone." The ship's voice spoke but the holographic presence did not appear.
"I know that, Andromeda. I would like to know what is going on in his quarters."
"Mr. Harper has requested that I not tell you. Of course, as captain you have the prerogative to override his request."
"What do you THINK he was doing, Captain Hunt?" Tyr asked in an interested voice.
The look on Dylan's face changed from concerned and puzzled, to concerned, puzzled and embarrassed.
* * * *
Earlier in the week Dylan had received a request from a writer to visit his ship. It was not an uncommon request. A working antique from the prime of the Commonwealth was of great interests to the existing news media, but this writer seemed a little different as she was interested more in the members of his crew than his ship's operation. Still the crew had pledged its cooperation and were most happy to have the red-haired woman join them for a few days.
"I have found some of her stories, but I really had to look for them." Rommie had a concerned look on her face. "There is nothing current, I had to go back, way back in time."
"Strange…" Trance said, mumbling something under her breath. "Then she is a time traveler, from when."
"Many years ago, on Earth. She wrote stories about the future, about starships. . . "
"She must be interested in scientific aspects, because she has been spending a lot of time with Harper." Beka commented.
"I wouldn't exactly call her writings scientific." Rommie added.
"Literary? She writes novels and such?" Beka asked.
"Sort of, but not exactly."
"Well what does she write?"
"I think they used to call it. . . pornography."
* * * *
She was back. Harper was glad when the writer said she needed a beer and ran off to get one. At least now he could have a few minutes to work on his project. He was trying to retrofit a computer with some black market memory he had picked up. The days of once-size-fits-all memory had come and gone and he had computer pieces all over the floor. Now she was back, opening doors and slamming them shut.
"Where is the beer, Harper."
"I told you, the freaking beer is in the canteen. In the refrigerator. How clear do I have to be?"
"I don't want that freezing Bud Lite. I am looking for the real beer. Surely Dylan or Tyr, or somebody, has some stashed away somewhere."
"Storage Bay 27." He said without looking up. Sure it was Dylan's private stock, but he had to get this woman out of here and get his project done. She was totally disruptive.
She was gone, not nearly long enough, and returned with an armload of bottles of beer.
"I don't want one now, I'm busy."
"This isn't for you, it's for me. If you think you'll want some later, I'll go back and get it."
"I think you have enough for both of us."
"Don’t know, it looks like good stuff. You got an opener?"
"It is, hope you enjoy." He tossed her a tool and watched as she sat down cross-legged on the floor and started drinking the beer from the bottle. At least he could work in peace, until she started to talk again.
* * * * *
Rommie looked forward to spending the down time that evening reading some of Ms. Green's works. It was better than arguing with Tyr. What she had read had seemed very interesting, if strange. Erotic articles about people who bore a strange resemblance and the same names as the members of the crew. The lady certainly had an active imagination. She flipped through the flexies and noticed one was missing. Either she dropped it or she had left it in her room. Fortunately it was the one she had read, so she could look for that later.
* * * * *
Trance had informed Dylan that the last time she had seen Ms. Green she was headed toward the machine shop with an armload of brown beer bottles. So Harper had told her about his private stock. He wondered what else the engineer had told the visitor. Next month when he read about it in some tabloid he would be after Harper big time. It was easier to stop him now.
The machine shop was empty, and Harper's gaudy print shirt hung over the corner of the parts covered workbench. Empty beer bottles were strewn around the room liked knocked down bowling pins. It looked like someone was having fun on his ship.
He found one of Harper's boots in the corridor leading to his room, as well as one of Ms. Green's seriously big trainers. He stood at the door and listened. Loud music and muffled voices. He knocked, and waited for what seemed an overly long time.
"I believe he has engaged the privacy mode." Ms. Green had answered the door. She was wearing a most interesting costume: high leather boots, leather pants, leather bra and a chainmail shirt like Tyr often wore. Dylan noticed a handcuff hanging from her belt. The room was dark, with only a few hints of flickering candlelight.
"I just found your. . . foot ware. . . in the hall. You must have dropped it."
"Thanks, now scoot. I have some business to discuss with Mr. Harper."
In and of itself Ms. Green's clothing was not that different than that worn by members of his crew, however, she had always seemed to have a penchant for wearing loose comfortable clothes. He wondered what had caused her to change her style and why he thought he heard Harper moaning in the background.
* * * *
"It's called fetishism." Rommie reported.
"Fet - ISH - ism?" Tyr asked.
"I know, Tyr, it has absolutely nothing to do with those little stone animals the Indians of the American southwest used to carve. Just similar uses of the same word."
"Tell us more about this . . . fetishism, Rommie." Dylan said.
"There were many branches, most involving the use of specific costumes usually based on leather or rubber. Basically it started in pre-World War II Germany and spread to France, England and the Americas."
"World War II, what a wonderfully naïve term for a conflict." Tyr muttered.
"Let Rommie proceed please, without the Nietzschean editorial interruptions." Dylan instructed.
"In addition to the use of clothing, Fetishists often allied themselves with groups that relied of the infliction of pain as a method of sexual excitement. You've heard the terms S/M and B/D."
"But I thought that that was primarily a HOMOSEXUAL activity." Tyr commented.
"A common belief, but actually there was an active heterosexual element, too. All sexes seemed to like the leather." She glanced around the room at the clothing that Dylan, Tyr and she were wearing. "There were bars, clubs, hotels, conventions. It was quite popular."
"You mean that there were people who actually liked this?" Dylan questioned.
"There was no accounting for taste, Dylan." Rommie replied.
"And no accounting for accounting if I remember the events of the early 21st century correctly."
"Yes, and there were people who seemed to derive a great deal of sexual excitement and satisfaction from these clothes and activities. A female dominatrix could earn a nice living."
"There were men who paid for women to do this to them."
"They would have been most welcome on the slave planets of my youth." Tyr continued.
"I noticed that she often used this form of 'sex play' in her stories. I didn't think she would try it in real life." Rommie stated.
"Harper is naturally curious." Dylan said.
"And as such would allow himself to be handcuffed and beaten. I don't think so, Captain Hunt."
"You never know." Rommie shook her head. "By the way, did you find one of my flexies. I seem to have misplaced it."
"I have it," Dylan reached in his pocked and gave her the small card. "It is very interesting. I didn't quite understand it when I read it, so thank you for the further insight on the situation, Rommie." He had this strange look on his face. Rommie stuck it in the pile with the others and walked away.
"Did you read it? Captain Hunt. What did she write about."
"She wrote about us."
"Us."
"Yes, the crew of the Andromeda."
"And she included those sexual activities Rommie described?"
"She described US doing those things."
"Then no wonder Harper was curious."
"I don't think so, Tyr. At least from the one I had, I would have no indication . . .
"No indication of what, my captain."
"The one I had involving Harper was did not include a woman. It was homosexually oriented, she called it 'slash'."
"What? Who?"
"You, Tyr. He was engaging in those activities with you."
Tyr turned quickly, the rapidly spinning ends of his hair obscuring his face, which bore a huge smile as the walked toward the machine shop.