By Joseph Marsh
It's LGBT history month in the UK. This is a complicated period with complicated emotions. While it can often be hopeful to look back on our history, to reach back into the years and see ourselves in ancient civilizations and hidden diaries. To read stories of queer experiences, preserved, not for the eyes of their contemporaries but with the hope that one day the world will change and we will be able to recognise the beauty in their stories. The connection to the past, and the comfort that we have come so far is astounding. Queer hands clawing into the future crying with wreckless abandon "We were here! We existed too!" It's awe-inspiring.
And yet, there is also sadness. This LGBT history month has been tainted with the tragic murder of Brianna Ghey. A beautiful trans life snuffed out before she had the chance to make her claim on the world. The realisation that no matter how far we've come, the vital changes aren't coming fast enough. Our trans siblings are hurting, attacked with the very same tactics used to prop up section 28, to prevent the decriminalisation of homosexuality, and to hold back the fight for gay marriage. Brianna didn't deserve to become a symbol, she didn't die for a cause or in some noble fight. She was killed by a poisonous ideology which we have allowed to fester like a wound for too long. The ideology of gender criticism, hiding like cowards behind false concerns and ignorant slogans as they kill and dismantle any progress we made.
With this in mind, it's difficult to imagine a hopeful future. A future where trans people can be happy and don't have to worry about danger for the simple fact of who they are. It's almost impossible to imagine. That is why it's so important that we do. We are the Anne Listers, the Sapphos, the Wilfred Owens, the Nobuka Yushiyas crying out to the future for recognition. We have to imagine a hopeful future because it's so hard to imagine a hopeful future.
When I originally decided to post this story on my website it was because I thought it would be a nice story for people to read, connected to the queer community. There wasn't much more thought than that. Then, when the tragic news was reported, I hesitated, I wondered if it would be insensitive to post something so lighthearted, so trivial in the wake of such a tragedy. The thing that made the decision for me was this. LGBT history is built up of nuggets of happiness surrounded by seas of heartache, LGBT present is likewise made of grief with brief moments of peace. I think it's important, therefore, to imagine an LGBT future of joy. A future of love and friendship and beauty. It's our duty, to those of us who never got to see it.
I'd like to dedicate this silly little science fiction story to Brianna Ghey. I never knew her and perhaps I never would have. But the world is brighter for having her in it.
Captain Tiberius Hisk woke with a start. The low frictionless hum of the ship moving through space thrummed in his ears. His wide, alert eyes scanned the spartan room. The heavy bags beneath his eyes begged for him to close them but he knew he couldn't until he was sure there were no threats. The search took thirty seconds, the room was empty, just as it had been when he'd last jolted awake. Secure in his safety but unable to rest with the adrenaline in his veins, he reached a shaky hand below his bed which was built into the wall and opened the drawer. When he took out the datpad he brought up the familiar image of his husband John and their child, William.
He stared at John's ears, a little too large for his head. Everyone always noticed his ears when they met him. They were the first thing Tiberius saw when they first met and he loved them. When William was born and they saw he had inherited them Tiberius cried. Those big perfect ears. How lucky someone would be to be able to love them. The picture only served to remind him of what he was missing. William would be eight now, three years older than he'd last held him. Tiberius realised he may never get to hold him again. Scowling, he threw the pad on the bed. The struggle to find solace proved elusive as a speck of dust in a nebula.
The red light of the ship’s computer, Ada, roused. The opening notes of Vivaldi’s Spring played. “Hello Captain,” it crooned in its feminine voice. It reminded Tiberius of the synthetic harmonised voices of the Tajoran masseuses on Tajor prime. “My readings say that your average sleep schedule isn’t due to be finished for three hours. Are you having trouble sleeping?”
The captain sighed and went to scratch his head. When his phantom hand failed to reach his scalp he groaned and reached into his under-bed drawer again with his other arm. He pulled out the prosthetic and attached it sleepily to the stump below his elbow. When he’d connected all the plugs and neural transmitters he flexed the fingers experimentally. He was still getting used to the sensation of feeling with cold metal fingers. It had been three weeks since his arm was lost and his brain was still playing catch up. “It would appear that I am, Ada.”
“Would you like me to prescribe you a sedative, Captain?”
“No, thank you, Ada.” He may be exhausted but he wasn’t going to be rushing back to that dream any time soon.
“Would you like me to wake Dr Rashore and schedule a consultation for you, Captain?”
Tiberius winced. Lavender was the last person he needed to see. He knew the moment he walked into her room she would read him like a book. The downside of accepting a transfer request from a childhood friend.
“No, Ada. That won’t be necessary. Just, fix me up some coffee”
“Yes, Captain.”
Tiberius got out of bed and walked over to the now steaming coffee maker. He nervously eyed the air vent above the door to his bathroom, praying for it to stay functioning. His feet on the cold metal floor made him hurry. The coffee brewed and he reached for it with his prosthetic. The hand gripped the mug two seconds too late, knocking it off the maker.
"Fuck," he hissed as he hopped away from the scalding liquid. The sound of the metal cup rolling on the floor screeched in his ears. Tearing metal bulkheads, the hiss of air escaping the room. Tiberius scrunched his eyes and thrust a fist wildly out. Seconds passed and he opened his eyes, his fist was embedded in the metal bulkhead. Six inches of titanium bruised as easily as cardboard.
Ada's red light glowed accusingly. The air recycler hissed.
Ashamed, Tiberius retrieved the mug and placed it back on the maker.
"Another coffee, Ada. Please," he mumbled as he stared at the metal hand.
"Yes, Captain," Ada said and the maker started steaming once more. Tiberius heard pity in Ada's tone though he knew that was not possible.
While he waited for the hot liquid to finish pouring, he opened his datpad to check how the ship was doing. Everything was fine. Just as it had been every night this past week when he’d woken at this hour. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his second officer Tilly. He knew he had the best crew in the entire Alliance fleet. He was simply a bundle of perpetual nerves.
The coffee brewed and he dropped a sugar in it before taking a sip. The boiling liquid burnt his lips and throat as he swallowed so he winced and placed the mug on his tidy metal desk. Yawning, he took a seat. The lack of sleep was catching up with him. The lives under his command deserved better than an exhausted Captain.
Tiberius checked the clock above his bed. With a hand gesture, he turned its alignment to Terran rotations and then to European Time District 12. The red digits with their brightness adjusted to give the least irritation to sleep-deprived eyes read “12:34 PM.” His husband would be awake. He pulled up the contact on his datpad and the notification asking him to confirm the call came on the screen. Those ears. Tiberius wiped his sweaty palm on his pyjama trouser leg before hovering his fingertip above the button. He licked his still sore lip before cancelling and dropping the datpad onto his bed.
He ran his hand, his real hand, through his hair before undressing to go in the shower. “Ada,” he said.
“Yes, Captain.”
“Could you wake up Dr Rashore after all?”
“Certainly Captain.”
“Thank you, Ada.” He turned on the shower and went to step in.
“Captain.”
“Yes, Ada?”
“You should be proud of yourself.”
Tiberius hesitated. He was still getting used to the new AI's ability to develop its own personality. It was supposed to make crews defend their ships harder if they had an emotional connection to their ship. Tiberius found the prospect of suffocating in the vacuum of space encouragement enough but these decisions were outside of his pay grade. That said, he did appreciate having Ada around for a chat when he needed one. “Thank you, Ada.”
Tiberius sat on the mauve sofa in Doctor Lavender Rashore’s quarters. The Captain compared the love and care with which she had decorated her quarters with the clinical organisation of his own. Lavender has always been the sentimental type, even when they were kids. He imagine it was what drew him to her. Every item had a story and was delicately placed to share as much of that story as possible. There were souvenirs from holidays with her wife Emily. On her shelf were reams of photo albums squeezed between medical journals and the occasional Tolstoy. There was a topiary of restored plants from her grandparent's now-destroyed farm. Even Ada's light seemed softer, more welcoming in here. The room radiated love. Already Tiberius’ heart and mind were soothed.
The Doctor dropped into the sofa next to her Captain. Her fluffy white dressing gown with red flowers draped gracefully around her pyjama-clad shoulders. She drew her feet beneath her as she handed Tiberius a cup of tea. She smiled. “So Tibs,” she said in a voice sweet and smooth as honey, “Ada tells me you’re having trouble sleeping.”
Tiberius bristled at the sound of his childhood nickname. His mouth opened to reprimand Lavender for the informality then he figured that since there was no crew around, he could allow the lapse of discipline. Like a stubborn child unwilling to admit an accident he pouted and mumbled, “Yes.”
“Is it a problem with the arm? I can run some diagnostics.” She eagerly reached for the arm, something she never would have done with a normal patient but with Tiberius, she allowed her enthusiasm to flow freely.
Tiberius drew back. “No, no… Well yes but no the arm works fine. It’s… It’s just I’m,” he sighed, unable to finish. It could probably do with a diagnostic after the punch so he reluctantly held out his hand.
Lavender assayed the damage, shocked at the broken synthetic flesh and the scratched metal insides. "Looks like you punched a bulkhead," Lavender laughed.
When Tiberius did not respond the laugh died away. She went to work checking all the internal systems, the soft pursing of her lips bellaying her concentration.
Tiberius stared ahead, unable to feel as Lavender jabbed tiny screwdrivers and pliers into his arms. He saw darkness, snarling faces, and he felt his throat closing.
Before the panic could come he spoke. “I have nightmares, Lavender."
Lavender raised her eyes, a wire clasped between tiny tweezers. "Hmm," she said.
Swallowing, Tiberius continued, "Every night I wake up thinking about… thinking about being in space. Suffocating.”
“That makes sense," Lavender said, closing the panel on his arm and gently lowering it. "You were spaced for twenty seconds. That’s a long time. I said you should have taken a few weeks to recuperate.”
“I know,” Tiberius sighed. “I have a duty to my crew.”
“And what about your duty to yourself? This stuff isn’t going to just go away. You need to take care of yourself.”
“I know.”
The doctor stayed silent for a moment as she regarded her captain with irritated eyes. This conversation occurred once a day, every day since she had reluctantly declared him fit enough to return to duties. Every talk yielded the same result. Her fingertips soothed her aching temple. The loss of sleep made her irritable. With a heavy sigh, she said, “you’re not going to listen to me are you Tibs?”
The Captain smirked. “Do I ever?”
Lavender slammed a fist on her thigh channelling as much of her frustration into it as she could. “Fine! Fine… ignore my advice as a doctor then, and as a friend. I’ll just watch my best friend slowly work himself to death.”
Tiberius’ eyebrows furrowed at his ill-placed joke. Humour was never one of his strong suits. He met the woman’s eye. “Lavender,” he murmured, apologising with his eyes.
Lavender wiped her eyes, taking her hand from her Captain’s. “No, it’s fine. I’m alright.” She laughed as she recomposed herself, brushing her hands through her raven hair to calm rising nerves. “You prick you only went and made me cry.”
Tiberius smiled. “I do hear you, Lavender.”
Lavender sighed. "Have you been speaking to Counsellor Milne?"
Tiberius shrugged. "He's not as good as you."
"I'm not a counsellor," Lavender replied with a smile.
"Nevertheless."
Resigning to her role, she furrowed her brows. "So you're having nightmares..."
“It’s not just the nightmares.”
The doctor frowned. “What do you mean?”
“It’s about John.”
Lavender's face fell and she studied Tiberius’ expression for answers to questions which were coming too fast to ask. “Tiberius, what’s happened?” she asked in a way that implied she'd kill him if he'd done something bad.
“Oh no, nothing like that. John and I are fine, for now.” Tiberius flexed his robotic arm, the synthetic skin stretched with the shifting gears. The mock sensation of touch coming from the copper wires felt inadequate. He thought of the mug again. If he couldn't so much as pick up a cup without fucking it up how could he ever trust himself to hold John close? Or to hug his son.
“I’m scared…” His throat caught, the images he'd conjured were too gruesome to ignore. Terrible images of his loved ones...
Tiberius closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. He had to talk about it. The vulnerability he was about to show was as alien as the Aeluronn who took his arm in the first place but it had to come.
“Scared of what, Tibs? Did John say something about your arm?”
Tiberius looked away, his cheeks reddening in shame. His robotic hand clenched into a fist. Frustration and fear brought tears to his eyes. He turned his head, unable to face his friend.
“Tibs, have you told John yet?”
The Captain shook his head and then in a mournful voice, said, “I’m scared he’ll think I’m broken… That I’m no longer the man he married.” His robotic fingers stretched in front of him, he stared at the gold band on his finger, it almost looked like the real thing but he could tell the difference. They hadn't been able to recover the original. It was lost in space along with his arm and so he had to make do with this replicated version. “This isn’t the hand he put a ring on, it’s something else, something wrong. What if he won’t love me anymore?”
“Tibs, how can you think that? John adores you.”
Lavender cupped Tiberius’ face, gently pulling him to face her then took another sip from her mug. “Tiberius, you are a real man. Don’t ever think that you aren’t. Why would John think any different of you?”
Tiberius looked at her. His lip quivered as he fought the tears threatening to come forth. "I don't want to be a burden," he said, his voice hoarse as he fought back his tears.
Lavender rushed to wrap her arms around him. "Oh, Tibs," she said.
Tiberius sat stiff for a moment. The struggle to remain stoic still strong inside him but soon the force of his exhaustion and his heartache proved too much. He collapsed, sobbing into her rose-scented hair. The irony of the scent with her name would have been funny if he weren't so distraught. "I just don't want to lose him."
"Tiberius," Lavender said, smoothing his hair with a gentle hand. "You're not going to lose him and you're far from a burden."
"Then why do I feel like one?"
Lavender pursed her lips, struggling to think of something that would help Tiberius. With a weak smile, she said, “You know… how you’re feeling sounds quite similar to the way I felt in the build-up to my surgeries.”
Tiberius frowned. "It's not the same."
The doctor cut Tiberius off with a finger to his lip. Had anyone else done that they would have been court-martialed but for Lavender he let it slide. “You’d be surprised just how similar they are. You see, when I first discovered how I felt, I had been married to Emily for two years. It had been five since we first met and all she knew me as was a man. She married what she believed to be a man, and fell in love with a man. And then it turned out I wasn’t a man. I had no idea how she was going to react.”
Tiberius sighed, he remembered the time well. He'd been one of the first people Lavender had told of her gender. Supporting her in that time had helped bring them closer together.
“I felt like a liar. For a time, I tried to ignore how I felt but eventually, I realised that if I couldn’t be honest with myself then there wasn’t any point in me sticking around. So, I told her. And you remember how she reacted?”
Tiberius nodded a smile coming to his lips.
“Right, she couldn’t have been any more supportive.” With a theatrical flourish of her hands, she added, “now look at me, I’m a happy, gorgeous woman. You see the point I’m making?”
Tiberius sighed. "I think so."
“You have to tell him Tibs. You won’t feel better until you do,” Lavender said. Once more she took his hand and squeezed it, trying to siphon some of her strength to flow into her friend.
Tiberius pulled his hand away. It was his robot hand, his false hand. The unnatural hand that punched through titanium and couldn't grip a mug.
"It's still different. You were working towards something. Every surgery brought you closer to your goal. You gained your true self. I'm just... incomplete."
Lavender sighed and shook her head. "Talk to John. That's all you can do. I'm here for you, whatever happens."
Tiberius stood, pausing to frown at a picture of Lavender and Amy. Ada's eye seemed to glow stronger, as if watching intently for his reaction. "Thank you, Lavender," he said and left the room.
Tiberius returned to his quarters and found that despite his fatigue and the comfort of his soft bed, sleep alluded him. Thoughts of John ran wild in his mind. He knew that Lavender was right, that he needed to speak with him. It didn't make it any easier.
His robotic arm lay next to him on the bed. An inanimate object that he would be tied to for the rest of his life.
He looked up at Ada's light and stared into it. Ada stared back at him without emotion. Nevertheless he felt there was pity in it. Was it possible for a ship to feel pity? Tiberius wondered. If Ada was supposed to make the crew feel more attached to their ship, wasn't it possible that the reverse may be the same.
Tiberius grunted and swung his legs up to lie on the bed and curl into a ball. This alien vulnerability. He hated it.
Sighing, he reached into his pocket and pulled up the picture of John on his datpad. Those beautiful ears. Tiberius tried to imagine John without them. Would it affect his love if they were gone? No, why would it? Then why was it so hard for him the same about John? The arm he lost wasn't even John's favourite part of him. Was anyone's favourite body part an arm? It seemed silly now that he thought about it and guilt encroached at the realisation of how unfairly he had judged his husband. Surely he knew him well enough to know it wouldn't make a difference.
But what if it was? What if all of his fears were right? What if John did think of him differently? The thought was so terrifying at filled Tiberius with bile.
Tiberius sat back up and ran his hand over his tired eyes. A dull ring hummed in his ears and his brow was slick with sweat. He was so exhausted. The thought of another sleepless night was agonising. If he didn't do something then he knew he would go insane. For the second time that night, he brought up the request to call John.
His finger hovered. Those ears. Tiberius released a long breath. Whether John continued to love him or reject him, he would have to do this. He would choose to believe that John would love him, if only out of hope to see those ears again.
Tiberius confirmed the call.
Originally published in Past Rainbows, Into the Stars by Erik Mercado
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