Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

When the doors of the silent lift opened, the five aboard filed out into a wide corridor where the group was supposed to be housed. As the simulations of the rock and roll band, the Beatles, made their way to their quarters, George Harrison made a point of walking alongside their guide, the attractive Xelayan woman called Alara.
“So what is your position on this spacecraft?” Harrison inquired, as he checked her out and flirted with his smile.
The mock Beatle didn’t know he was a simulation, nor that the attractive female was also a replica, set to friendly mode for intimate interaction.
“I am the head of security,” the other life form answered, with an eager smile.
“Are you really as strong as they say you are?” John Lennon wanted to know, as he and the rest of the Beatles walked behind the couple leading the way.
“Xelayans have advanced strength in comparison to humans and most other life forms, because of our planet’s strong gravitational pull,” the actual guide explained. “Because of this, I’m one of the strongest life forms aboard this ship,” she sweetly elaborated.
“Do you really arm wrestle with that robot?” Ringo Starr was curious. Immediately, Alara laughed at the question, something her real-life counterpart would have done. Therefore, she seemed more natural than before.
“It’s happened,” the nonhuman admitted, with a large smile, showing off her white teeth. At that moment, she stopped and pressed a button, causing two doors to split apart, revealing the opening of some kind of apartment.
“Here we are,” Alara announced, inviting the four visitors to enter first, which they did without hesitation.
Upon breaching the threshold, the four Beatles found a parlor, with a large window revealing the vast display of stars. To the 1960s men’s surprise, there was a food replicator instead of a kitchen.
“You can order anything you want,” the Xelayan informed the four in her care.
“Hmm…” John thought aloud. “Make me a Dr. Pepper,” the Beatle decided, naming his favorite fizzy drink.
“All right,” the feminine voice replied, as she pressed a button, showing the visitors how to work the technology.
“Now make your request,” Alara instructed.
“Dr. Pepper,” Lennon requested.
“What temperature?” a female voice came from the machine, in the form of a question.
John wasn’t sure how to answer, so Paul McCartney stepped in.
“3.3 Celsius,” the bassist answered for his friend. Then suddenly a glass with the black-colored liquid appeared out of thin air.
“Wild!” George gasped, as John lifted his drink and took a sip. His eyebrows lifted, as the drink was an exact match to what he knew.
“How is it?” Paul wanted to know.
“Not bad,” Lennon admitted.
“Could it replicate alcohol?” George inquired.
“Yes, it can,” Alara told the lead guitarist with a big smile.
“What would you like?” she kindly offered.
“What do you recommend?” the British musician asked, staring her down with his brown eyes.
“I prefer Xelayan tequila,” the lieutenant on the spacecraft admitted. Then she ordered the drink, and gave it to George to try.
Eagerly, the youngest Beatle took a swig, and felt it hit hard.
“Oh wow!” he said, seeing double from the intergalactic beverage.
George found himself clasping the counter to steady himself, as the youngest of the group became disoriented. Immediately, Ringo came over to the unstable man’s side and guided his friend to the couch. With the soft cushioning holding him safe, the intoxicated man rested his head back, with his eyes closed.
“That’s some powerful stuff,” John noted, examining his friend.
“How do you feel?” Paul then asked.
“Pretty good,” the intoxicated man confessed. “That shit’s damn strong.”
Then John looked Alara over. The cute little alien, or other life form, as was the socially acceptable term, was already George’s interest, so John and the others were not going to pursue her. However, clearly she wasn’t the only attractive woman on the ship.
“Do you have any girlfriends you could introduce us to?” Lennon then asked the security officer.
“Why, yes, I do,” Alara fully admitted. “I think my friend Kelly would be perfect for you,” the simulation compliantly replied.
Then the Xelayan gazed upon the other two men.
“I’ll have to ask around to see who else,” she further added. Then the nonhuman looked George over.
“Would you like me to fetch a doctor?” she offered.
“Naw… I’m good,” George insisted, sitting upright on the couch.
“Are you sure?” Paul inquired, but Harrison just nodded.
“I just need some tea,” he admitted, at which point Starr immediately obliged.
“Tea, please,” Ringo ordered from the machine.
“What kind of tea?” the computer asked, with its faceless voice.
“Chamomile,” Starr replied.
“I have two kinds of Chamomile tea,” the device explained. “Roman and German,” it listed.
Now Ringo was confused. He just wanted bloody tea.
“Go with the Roman,” Paul suggested, merely guessing himself.
“Roman,” the drummer instructed.
“What temperature?” the computer then inquired.
“Boiling!” Ringo demanded, becoming frustrated.
“Don’t forget cream and sugar,” George reminded his friend.
“Sugar and cream, please,” the smaller man asked the device.
With that, a large mug of tea seeping in hot water appeared, along with a little bowl of sugar, and another bowl of whipped cream.
“Blimey!” Starr grumbled at the mishap, but didn’t care, and brought the mug and sugar over, before bringing the cream.
“What’s this?” George asked, seeing the swirling single pyramid of whipped milk pointing out of the bowl.
“Just make do,” Ringo ordered, not willing to deal with that machine again. At which point, George fixed his cup, and Alara sat by his side. Meanwhile, Paul noticed there were bedrooms in the apartment they hadn’t explored, but there didn’t seem to be time to figure out who goes where.
The security officer was already massaging George’s shoulders, as he seemed to hold the tea formally, but wasn't really interested in it.
Lennon also picked up on the obvious tension, with the young woman being extremely cooperative, which was a little surprising, but not that unusual.
“I think we should leave George here to rest,” John suggested, with the other two going along.
“Yes,” Harrison agreed, as he snuck a look over at Alara at his side, giving him this incredible massage. “I think that is for the best.”
“We could go back to the bar,” Paul suggested.
“I could guide you there,” Alara, as a simulation, immediately offered, as being helpful was her prime objective.
“No, you stay here and take care of George,” John instructed the young woman, as if she were a servant. It wasn’t anything personal; he simply didn’t know how else to address her. She was this career woman, supposedly stronger than any human man, but was doting as a wife and submissive as a maid. At which point, the “other life form” resumed her pampering of his friend.
“How do we leave?” Ringo asked, standing a few feet away from the interlinked sliding doors.
“Just walk towards it, and it shall open,” Alara explained, with her hands reaching under George’s shirt. Harrison’s eyes rolled into his head as the doting lass performed her magic. It was obvious the lad was enjoying himself. So promptly, the three other Beatles left into the corridor.
With the doors closing behind them, John, Paul, and Ringo struggled to recall which way they came.
“I think we turned right into the room,” John suggested, uncertain himself.
“I’m pretty sure we turned left,” McCartney insisted, leaning to the right to go back where he thought they all came from.
“You’re both wrong,” Ringo interjected as he pointed out the hallway going straight from the direction of their door.
“Well, we’re in quite a mess,” John observed, scratching his head. Then in the direction Ringo pointed, a door opened straight down the corridor, revealing a crew member exiting the lift.
“You were right, mate,” Paul said as he tapped Ringo’s shoulder. Then the three ran toward the lift like naughty school lads, racing through the corridor.
Reaching their destination, the trio piled inside, and immediately the doors closed behind them.
“I’m not finding the control panel,” McCartney noted, as he found no break in the wall for one.
“How did Alara operate this thing?” Ringo wanted to know.
“I don’t recall,” Paul confessed, having been so enamored with being in the future.
“It couldn’t be difficult,” John assumed, looking around for some futuristic switch. Then suddenly the lift doors opened and in walked a lovely young lass in uniform.
Without a word, she scanned the men over, as each one gave off a warm smile, seeing if she would respond. She certainly was cute, with beautiful Mediterranean features and a smoking body. However, she seemed disinterested.
“Main Deck,” she simply spoke while not looking at any of them. The 1960s men thought she was talking to herself, until suddenly the lift began to move. It was soft in its speed, but soon the doors opened, revealing a different floor in the ship. The woman then stepped out, and the door closed behind her.
Glancing at one another and feeling foolish, the three Beatles had their moment of defeat.
“Computer, bring us to the bar,” Paul McCartney ordered.
“The bar is in the Mess Hall,” the feminine voice of the machine said from nowhere but yet was well heard. Then the faintest movement came about as they felt their bodies drop downwards. Right afterwards a sudden stop came and the door opened, and the three removed themselves from the tiny space.
There they found another set of corridors, but this looked more businesslike than the corridor for the quarters. They noticed the infirmary, and then a little shop to buy casual items, but the men were only interested in finding the bar.
It took a little searching, but eventually they found the spot they met Gordon and that other John fellow. Now the place was nearly empty with just a few other men, each eating a meal alone.
“Well, this isn’t exciting,” Ringo observed, disappointed.
“It’s a real sausage fest,” John noted, rather annoyed. Then they noticed Ed in the corner by himself, nursing a bottle of beer.
“We really ought to say something to him,” Paul noted, seeing the captain all alone.
“You should tell him to introduce us to more girls,” John stated, not thrilled with the lack of excitement in the bar. “George shouldn’t be the only one who snags an alien.”
“We should go together,” McCartney insisted. “He’s a captain of a starship, not a messenger boy.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Lennon begrudgingly relented, and together the three walked over to the man they blew off.
Ed didn’t want to tag along with the band like a lost puppy. The captain figured he would give the group a chance to settle in, and hoped they would seek him out when they were more familiar with their new surroundings. His eyes lit up with such hope, as three of the four musicians stood before him.
“Why, hello Ed,” Paul said, piling on the charm. A little too much, which McCartney was sometimes well known for in history. Unfortunately, Ed fell for it.
“Oh, hey,” the captain replied, turning his body away from the table. “We could go to a bigger table,” he offered.
“That won’t be necessary,” John told him forwardly. At which point, Ed’s face dropped immediately.
“We were wondering about the bar, and the tab,” McCartney explained, easing the other suggestion in.
“Oh, have it go on mine,” Mercer assured, knowing it was all fake.
“That’s very generous of you,” Paul admitted, a bit taken aback. He had no idea how much alcohol cost in this futuristic time, or how much a starship captain made.
“Don’t worry about it,” the only real human assured. “The fleet will cover it, due to the mishap of your time travel being of Union consequence,” he said, quoting the manual verbatim.
“Well, that’s great,” Ringo chimed in. “We didn’t want to put you out.”
“No,” Ed explained. “This provision was set aside for such messes like these.”
“Does this happen often?” John asked, genuinely curious. He was envisioning other popular historical figures being brought back here.
“More like a disgruntled set of diplomats unable to resolve a problem between two worlds,” the ship’s captain explained. “These are often life-and-death issues, that affect entire planets filled with life forms,” he elaborated and then took a sip of his beer.
“That sounds rough,” Paul noted.
“Well, it’s part of the job,” Ed concluded, then he downed his drink. “Now, did you only need to discuss the bar tab, or is there something else I can do for you?”
“We were curious if the scene here will eventually become more lively?” John answered.
“There are only you and two other lads, besides us,” Paul followed up his friend’s point.
“Well, I’m sure things will pick up soon,” the captain assured, realizing he was going to have to set a program to provide accommodating ladies for these rock and roll stars. Of course, they would want to sexually explore with extraterrestrials. Another element he should have thought about before entering this entire scenario. Kelly was right, he was forced to admit to himself!
“Dr. Finn, to Captain Mercer,” said an unseen female voice.
“What was that?” Ringo wanted to know, not seeing anything resembling a woman in the room.
“That’s Dr. Finn, contacting me from the infirmary,” Ed answered the Beatles before the strange message from the replica of the medical unit. This was unusual in programs like this. Why would the simulation of Claire contact him? He couldn’t fathom a reason the medical persona would have, as there was no real official duty here.
“Please come to the infirmary as soon as possible,” she ordered more than requested.
“What’s going on, doctor?” he pressed to find out the meaning behind such a strange scenario. Why would the doctor need to contact him if he's the only other human being in the program? If he had another real person engaging with him, and they became ill in any way or a made-up script prompts for a scenario, then this would make sense. However, none of these factors applied; Ed was alone, and nothing was scripted.
“I have one of our time-travel visitors in my care. A Mr. George Harrison, being treated for multiple fractures and broken bones,” the unseen doctor explained.
“Blimey!” John uttered upon hearing the news of his friend’s fate. “They weren’t kidding about that Alara bird.”
Mercer just sighed at the mess.
“On my way,” he told the faceless voice. “Mercer out.”
“I’m going to check on your friend,” Ed informed the group, as he arose from the table.
“I’ll come with you,” Ringo stepped up.
“All right,” the captain agreed, but before leaving, he turned to the other two. “Give it a few minutes, and more people will soon show up. Why not go grab a drink from the bar while you wait?” he suggested.
“You sure?” Paul asked, clearly preferring the option of staying, but not trying to appear insensitive to George.
“Absolutely,” Ed promised. “Your friend is in good hands.”
“I’ll check up on him, see that he’s all right,” Ringo followed.
“You’re a good lad,” John stated as he gazed at Ringo, but then to the captain. “Both of you,” he added, which made Ed smile. He didn’t say anything in response, but nodded as he turned away to leave.
As Ringo walked on ahead, Mercer took a moment to set the social program for the Beatles who didn’t have a shattered pelvis.
“Computer,” he uttered in a low voice so as not to get Ringo’s attention. “Set a program of an influx of crew members and a variety of other species, mostly female. Have female characters open to sexual advancement,” he ordered. “No, Xelayans!” the captain further instructed. One shattered Beatle was enough.
Then he met up with Ringo up the hallway.
“I want to say in advance,” Ed began as he reached the drummer, “that I’m sorry about what happened to your friend,” the ship’s captain apologized for the mishaps upon his ship.
“No apology needed,” Starr assured. “George was warned many times not to mess with that bird,” he said with a laugh. “We’ve got ourselves in some sort of a mess at one point or another, over antics with the ladies. I admit, the broken bones are new, but we know we’re putting ourselves at risk when we shag a strange bird. Especially an alien, or different species, as your John puts it.”
The captain just smiled, larger than he would have liked. Ringo was exactly what Ed had expected of this figure of history. He really was the everyday man, even to a spaceship captain from the future. There was always so much focus on timeless father archetypes, and mother ones as well. However, Ringo was just the timeless friend, no matter when.
As the pair arrived at the medical unit, they were ushered into the back, where George was suspended in some type of liquid that resembled jelly, as it stood up, like it came out of a mold. Only the lad’s head remained out of the strange “thing” he was in.
“My God!” Starr gasped, when seeing his friend.
“Well believe it or not, but it could have been worse,” George said, with his head being the only part of his body he could move.
“How?” the drummer wanted to know.
“She told me at the start, she’d be gentle,” Harrison released the pun of his joke.
Ringo just laughed, and even Ed let a chuckle slip, when George noticed him.
“Oh, hey, Ed,” Harrison said from his gel cast, which sounded just like George’s simulation did when Ed was pretending to be a musician. It was a gentle reminder that none of this was real.
“How are you feeling?” the captain inquired formally.
“Pretty good,” the damaged man stated bluntly. “The doc gave me some powerful stuff,” he admitted.
“You’re not in any pain?” Starr wanted to know.
“Naw…” the wounded lad dismissed. “This shit is great!”
“Captain, may I have a word with you?” a female voice came from behind Mercer’s back. He knew it was Doctor Finn, before turning around to face the woman.
“Absolutely,” he agreed, and stepped back with the medical officer.
Once alone in the doctor’s private office, Claire took a seat at her desk, and Ed instinctively sat across.
“Usually in cases like this, involving this many fractures,” the feminine voice emphasized. “I would immediately begin generating the bone growth procedure,” the doctor went on. “It’s going to be a slow and painful process to heal and repair all that damage done to Mister Harrison,” she explained.
“All right,” Ed agreed, confused why the doctor was telling him this. “Why aren’t you proceeding forward with his care?” The captain wanted to know.
“Because he, his friends, and myself are simulations,” the holographic medical provider observed. Medical staff, even in the Environmental Simulator form, are sentient and able to perform medical care whenever needed.
“George may be a holographic image,” the sentient simulation continued. “But he is in pain, and the process of healing will be very slow and painful. At least three days,” she noted of the procedure.
“Why are you telling me this?” Ed wanted to know.
“Because as the director of this program, you have the power to regenerate George’s body within seconds,” Doctor Finn explained. “You don’t need to let him go through that procedure as if he were a real human being, but could just have the computer reprogram his body. It is the more merciful thing to do, even for a simulation.”
Ed took a moment to think on it. Yes, George and the rest of the Beatles were sentient to some degree, but they also believe they were real humans. Regenerating George would reveal that he was not, unless he had his memory erased again.
“Mr. Harrison, along with the rest of the group, don’t understand they are a simulation,” the captain informed the simulated doctor. “With their time period being so beyond our technology, it would be hard for him to comprehend the very thought.”
Then the man stood up, and turned his back, looking out the window at the patient in the gelatin cast.
“I believe it would be best to treat him as if he were a regular human, so he wouldn’t have to face the fact he and his friends aren’t real,” he decided. “Maybe next time he’ll be more careful.”
“Very well,” Claire replied, arising from her desk, and together the two left the office.
“And the most embarrassing part is,” George was saying to Ringo as the two Union officers entered the medical unit, “she literally wrapped me up in a blanket, and carried me here.” The drummer just laughed upon hearing the story.
“Mr. Harrison,” Doctor Finn interrupted. “Due to the severity of your injuries, as you’ve shattered your pelvis, broken both femurs and fractured multiple ribs and both arms, I’m afraid you’ll need three days to recover,” she informed her patient.
“Three days?” George uttered in shock. “That’s all?” he replied, unable to believe his ears.
“Blimey, it’s a modern medical miracle,” Ringo agreed, just as blown away as George was with the outcome.
Seeing George’s reaction, Ed chose to leave, as the simulation of the 1960s man’s optimism only confirmed his decision. The injuries George sustained would have taken years to heal, and he would have likely never fully recovered in his era.
Meanwhile, John and Paul lingered at the bar, and as promised, more different kinds of people began coming in. Men, women, and female “other life forms” filled the space. A few familiar faces appeared as well. John LaMarr and that funny Gordon Malloy were mingling as well.
Things were going splendid! Everyone was laughing, and drinking freely, as the layers of lovely ladies filled up most of the space.
Then John saw a lovely woman figure of an extraterrestrial race. Her body was shaped like a human’s, with breasts, two arms, a single head, but with lavender colored skin and blue hair. The Beatle found her strangely beautiful, and his desires for her increased as he came closer, until suddenly that Gordon chap stood boldly in front of him.
“Steady there, champ,” the buzzed redhead exclaimed, as he pulled the 20th-century man away from the sexy life form.
“You don’t want to hook up with that blue-haired girl,” he explained, taking John to the bar to get him another drink.
“Why?” John asked. “She looks lovely.” He noted, seeing her slanted eyes were a violet shade of purple.
“Because she’s a K’tonanize,” Gordon explained, motioning to the bartender to fill his companion’s drink.
“She’s not going to break me like that Alara lass?” Lennon wanted to know.
“No,” Gordon answered. “Worse!”
“Worse, how?” the musician asked, both shocked and curious. “Is she going to set me on fire?” he pressed.
“K’tonanize don’t have sex like humans,” Malloy explained. “Their sex is nothing like ours. The entire race is female, and they procreate by sucking another life form into their body through a tentacle from where their…” he dropped his eyes down, to subtly indicate the groin area of the human body. “They pull you in like a snake eating its prey, until you are consumed whole. There, the ‘mate’ they chose is enclosed in her uterus, and generates for about a year inside her body. Then when the K’tonanize give birth, the mate’s cells have been completely transformed as an adult form of their species.”
“Blimey!” John cried. “That’s barbaric!” he declared, completely repelled by the notion.
“Oh, no,” Gordon stepped in to clarify. “The K’tonanize are known as one of the most peaceful races we have in the Union,” he explained. “Their culture has no recorded wars—the only civilization with such a large history of being peaceful and accommodating. First, understand they only breed when one of them dies, and they live a ridiculously long time! I’m talking thousands of Earth years here,” the bearded mouth elaborated.
“They have an arrangement with their neighbors, the Pikon people of Hydro 4. They offer up their elderly and dying, who volunteer to go under what they see as a rebirth and an honor,” Gordon went on. “They recently had their one mating ritual, and when I mean recently, I mean over two hundred years ago. But they still show the video of it in twelfth-grade biology in all the Earth-based schools.”
“That’s wild!” John admitted, blown away. “I guess I ought to just stick with human women,” he concluded, still thinking about that Kelly lass Alara briefly mentioned to him.
“Considering you didn’t have the sex education about other life forms, I would agree with you,” the man from this time concluded.
“I should warn the others,” Lennon decided, looking for his mate Paul, but the bassist couldn’t be seen through the dense amount of bodies.
“I wouldn't worry about it,” Gordon just dismissed. “Like I said, her species only breeds once, and it’s in the span of thousands of years. She’s not going to be interested in breeding,” the man said, taking a sip of his drink. “Unless we’re unknowing components of an environmental simulation, where the women are on suggestive mode and the computer didn't properly filter things,” the simulation said to the other, both oblivious of their own existence.
In the infirmary, George Harrison finished a rather difficult treatment to restore his broken bones. Loyally, Ringo stayed with his friend through the entire process.
“How are you feeling?” Starr wanted to know, asking the man whose smaller broken bones had just healed. His ribs and arms were better, but tender. The poor lad was physically exhausted, and could barely remain conscious.
The patient just moaned in response.
“You did very good, Mister Harrison,” the warm voice of the female doctor soothed, as she removed her mask.
“Your arms and ribs are repaired; your femurs will be done by tomorrow evening,” Doctor Finn went on. “Unfortunately, it will take a full 72 hours for your pelvis to completely heal,” she gently added.
“What’s unfortunate?” George uttered with his eyes closed. “72 hours? Blimey, that’s a bloody miracle,” he said as the wounded lad drifted off to sleep.
“Sleep tight, Geo,” Ringo gently whispered to his friend, who was now snoring lightly. Then he studied the lower half of the immobilized man, which was still in that jelly cast. The other half of the strummer lay bare on a mat, suspended on the counter-size bed.
The patient’s privates were covered by a privacy guard that the doctor could move to examine the worst of the injuries.
Then those blue eyes looked across the table at the female doctor.
“Could we get him a proper blanket?” Ringo asked, worried George might become cold.
“I’m afraid not,” Claire gently rejected the request. “His healed bones are still adjusting to gravity; I don't want to put any weight on them. Not even a blanket,” she medically explained.
“I understand,” the drummer said, accepting her answer. “I just worry he’ll catch a draft.”
“Well, we're in a tightly insulated ship,” Doctor Finn explained. “So you needn’t worry about a draft.”
Starr just nodded to her point, but still seemed worried.
“His bed is heated,” she sweetly assured the drummer.
“What about the part of him still in that jelly?” Starr further inquired.
“That’s heated as well,” Claire promised, giving the concerned friend a warm smile. Being sentient, the simulation of Doctor Finn fully comprehended that she and this man before her were each an artificial life. She was the image of the current real doctor on the ship, and the Beatle was a replica of the same quality.
He was just a made-up man, but a compassionate one. She was a compassionate doctor, and just as made up.
“You know, when your friend wakes up, he’ll have access to every book, movie, and song known to our race over the last five hundred years,” the feminine voice added.
This brought a smile to the man’s face.
“He’ll like that,” Starr agreed, grateful to hear this.
“Well, we should let him rest,” the doctor sweetly ordered.
“Very well,” Ringo submitted to her gentle authority. “I’m just going to go back to me quarters,” he added as they left George’s room.
“Or,” Claire spoke, not as a doctor, but as a woman. “you may join me in mine,” she boldly suggested.
Ringo was surprised by the offer, but also touched. His mind had been so focused on George that he failed to notice the woman caring for his mate. To the appearance of a 1960s man, she was a beautiful colored lady, but she was more than that—she was a kind and caring doctor.
During the last few hours, Starr witnessed this woman help George through his painful procedure, talking him through some of the difficult parts of his treatment.
His ribs were especially troublesome to heal, and the poor lad cried out in pain, and turned red from embarrassment. Gently, the devoted caregiver gave assurance that it was normal to express such pain. Her mothering qualities coaxed Harrison through the entire ordeal, which was indeed grueling.
For the first time in a while, the drummer felt himself blush. It had been a long time since a lady pulled him in like this. It was rather nice that this professional woman was taking notice of the man on the sideline of all this medical business. So taking her hand, he stared into her brown eyes, with his iconic blue set.
“I would like that,” he agreed, and together, the two simulations went to Claire's quarters for a beautiful night.
As George slept soundly in the infirmary, and Ringo and Claire were opening a bottle of wine, Paul McCartney was navigating the party at the Mess Hall. There were men and women from all walks of life, which made sense for a military space vessel. However, Paul was still hoping to meet up with another life form, as these folks from the future put it. The bassist already had a well-established array of beautiful women as his conquests.
The man of renown had been with famous actresses, talented musicians, and extravagant artists from all over his planet. The lad had sampled hundreds of women from around the world, but when was he going to have the opportunity to share a bed with a woman from the literal stars again? So he bypassed the human lasses, lovely as they were, in search of an exotic conquest instead.
In his journey to seek out “other life forms,” the bassist almost bumped into this lass called Irilla. She had light blue skin and radiant blue eyes, but she was also hairless and covered in little spikes. However, Irilla was certainly charming in her personality. She was quick with a joke, and despite her strange appearance, a kind of beauty did radiate from her, but McCartney couldn’t stop thinking about being poked by her spikes, and her lack of hair was unappealing.
So furthering through the crowd, the 20th-century man came across another race called the Janisi, which appeared to be very similar to humans. The woman of this race had blonde hair and very feminine features, though her ears did look strange. She seemed like a good candidate, until she started bragging about how her race treats men as subservient, and began switching the moves on him.
Following her culture’s tradition, the dominant female “other life form” lifted Paul off his feet and pinned him to the wall. She then loudly declared her aggressive intentions towards him in graphic detail. Impressively, this wild woman had the strength of a stronger man than McCartney was, and he could feel it in her hands. In the height of her arousal, the mad woman promised to keep him for her pleasure. Carefully, McCartney managed to squirm away.
Christ, the playing field really had changed in five hundred years.
Then the bassist found himself just a few feet away from a beautiful female creature. She had soft lavender skin, and her hair was a soft light blue, which was strangely alluring. Her eyes were a solid violet color, which matched her painted lips.
She was standing by a large window looking at the stars, wearing a shimmering cream-colored dress that went well with her natural pastel tones.
“Beautiful night,” the bassist said from behind the lass, who was only five feet, five inches in height. The woman looked surprised as she stared up at the human standing before her.
“Well, actually it’s mid-day on the ship,” she noted.
“Yes, but doesn’t your planet’s night sky also look like this?” he asked, not knowing a lick of astronomy.
“On my planet, we have iron in our atmosphere, so our sky appears red,” she explained.
“Interesting,” Paul replied, while appreciating the fact that she had breasts just like a human woman. “My name is Paul,” he told her, extending his hand to hers. She slowly accepted his greeting, clearly not accustomed to it.
“Humans cannot pronounce my name,” she explained. “So when I accepted the role as ambassador to the Union, I took on the Earth name Selam.”
This confused McCartney, as her chosen name wasn’t common in the West.
“I never heard of Selam before,” he admitted.
“Well, it is a female name common in the part of your world called Ethiopia,” Selam explained.
“Why would you choose a name from that part of our planet?” the Earth man wanted to know.
“Because that's where all life originated on your world,” she said with a warm smile.
“I did not know that,” the human admitted his own ignorance to the matter. “But I think it’s incredible you know so much about us, and I don’t even know what your race is,” he confessed, flashing his charm.
“The Earthling pronunciation is K’tonanize,” Selam informed the dark-haired man. “You wouldn’t be able to speak our language; it requires our tongues to divide and reconnect again. Something your species is unable to do.”
McCartney’s mind filled with possibilities of what a tongue like that could do to a man between the sheets. Immediately, the charming lad of Liverpool was thinking of all the new experiences such a woman would provide.
“That’s fascinating,” Paul replied. “Your English is exceptional,” he noted.
“Well, I’ve been speaking your language for the last two hundred and fifty years,” she explained.
Her age surprised the Beatle.
“How old are you?” he asked, struck by her youthful appearance, contradicting an age beyond his comprehension.
“In Earth years, I am two hundred and sixty-four years old, but my race lives thousands of your Earth years,” Selam told him. “My species only reproduces when one of us dies, and I am the last born, which means when the time comes, I will be the next to procreate.”
“So that’s the only time you have children?” McCartney wanted to know, rather shocked at this concept and how it differs from his idea of family.
“Of course,” she explained.
Well, silently the 1960s man’s mind began to secretly calculate this information. He assumed that since her species only procreates once every few thousand years, and the last birth just being under 300 years, he felt in the clear with creating some unintended hybrid bastard between the two.
“I would love to know more,” the round face of the bassist warmly spoke, fixating his sight upon those solid violet eyes. “Perhaps we could go somewhere more private.”
“Well, if we are to do the mating ritual, it’s best we go to my quarters,” Selam shockingly offered, surprising the Earth man.
The woman’s offer surprised the Beatle, who figured he would have to try a lot harder to get with the intellectual type of girl Selam was. However, after George shattering his pelvis with Alara, the spiny Irilla, and that crazy Janisi bird, Paul just went with it, seeing it as futuristic progress.
“Sounds lovely,” he said, offering his hand to be the Earthly gentleman.
“I must walk behind you,” the lavender woman explained. “It is the custom,” she gently filled him in on the tradition.
Paul smiled, and nodded to her culture’s demands.
“Very well,” McCartney replied, hiding his excitement. He was wondering what it would be like to be inside of her, oblivious to how literal that was.
Kelly Grayson couldn’t finish her shift fast enough to find out what Ed was up to. Lieutenant Alara Kitan reported that Ed had his Beatle characters in the Mess Hall with Lieutenant Malloy and Lieutenant LaMarr interacting with the replicas of the historical figures.
When she finally breached the entrance of the illusion the Environmental Simulator displayed, she saw the scene wasn’t just the Mess Hall, but the entire replication of the ship.
“I knew it!” she scorned, wandering around the very ship she was already on. “He probably used the Hitler-killing ensign time-traveling excuse,” the ex-wife accurately described her ex-husband’s predictable actions. Aggravated, Kelly reached the Mess Hall, and saw the massive influx of people gathered in the space. The abundance of female life forms was most evident, and seeing these characters in provocative attire, the Union officer found herself shaking her head. “Suggestive mode?” she cried. “Really, Ed!” the woman uttered, frustrated, reaching the bar.
“Bartender!” the dark blonde-haired woman called out. “Bring me my usual,” she demanded, sitting upon a stool, shaking her head at the debauchery all around her.
Paul McCartney walked on ahead, as Selam directed him from behind. Upon reaching her quarters, the Beatle found the layout and design quite different from the apartment designated for him and the lads. The lights were a dim red, and the aroma of the air gave a hint of cinnamon, at least that’s how Paul could define it.
Turning around, McCartney found Selam gone, but then turning back to his original direction, he found her wearing a strange robe, holding a gauntlet of some sort.
“Drink,” she told him, lifting the fancy cup to his face.
“What’s this?” Paul asked, smelling the liquid in the vessel.
“It is the wine for the ritual,” the violet eyes told him. Hearing that it was wine, McCartney drank the contents, emptying the glass. Once he finished, Paul found himself in an altered state of being. The shadows in the red light seemed to dance around him. His body was instantly relaxed, and he complied as the female other life form removed his clothes.
The intoxicated Earth man laughed as he felt his trousers slide down to the floor. Then looking around, the Beatle noticed a serious flaw in the room he was in. There wasn’t a bed in sight. Stumbling as he turned to face his host, the human saw something peek out from the K’tonanize robe.
“What the bloody hell?” McCartney uttered, not in fright, as the substance he just took prevented him from having such strong emotions, but curious. He didn’t get a verbal answer, but he was answered all the same, when a large black snake-like creature arose from where Selam’s Venus was supposed to be.
Then the long appendage opened up at the end. Paul was too confused to realize what was happening, as he was suddenly consumed whole.
A lump slowly made its way up the tentacle. Once completed, Selam turned around, with a pregnant, swollen abdomen, and the tentacle shriveling up and retracting back, after completing its one and only duty.
John Lennon was really not liking his options. Most of the human women he encountered hadn’t heard of him, his band, or their music, yet they were all eager to please him. It was like having groupies without the fame or notoriety.
Annoyed, the Beatle approached the bar, looking for another drink.
“Irish Whiskey,” he told the server, who was busy filling other people’s orders. As the last roaming Beatle waited for his drink, he noticed the only human female in his sights. An attractive lass with long hair sat alone with just her solitary drink before her. John considered just walking away, expecting to be disappointed like before. Then the bartender gave him his drink, then turned toward the woman John was checking out.
“Can I get you anything else, Kelly?” he asked her.
“Give me another,” Kelly told the server, which the man pulled out a bottle and poured some kind of brown liquid in her glass. “Thanks,” she simply answered, as the bartender moved onto the next patron.
Her name is Kelly? John thought, remembering the name of the woman that Alara bird mentioned. Shit, why not give her a go, he thought, still expecting to be disappointed.
“Beg your pardon,” he said formally to the woman in uniform’s backside. “But is this seat taken?” he inquired of the single lass between two empty stools.
“Sit wherever,” she replied, not turning around. So John took the spot on her left, as the lady avoided looking at him.
“It looks like you had a difficult day,” Lennon noticed of her tense body.
“Oh, you don’t know the half of it,” the woman said, finally turning to look at him, only for the familiar shock, realizing who he was, to appear on her face.
“You know of me?” John asked, pleasantly surprised.
“I know Earth’s history,” Kelly told him, relaxing her face and returning to her drink. Then she giggled. “I had to dress up and reenact one of you for a school project on influential figures of the 20th century. I was tasked with representing the music industry of that century,” she admitted.
This caused John to laugh.
“Which one of us were you, love?” he wanted to know, finding the idea of children dressing up like him and his band hundreds of years in the future really amused him.
“Ringo,” she informed him. “My favorite color was pink back then and so was his Sgt. Pepper costume, and you got a drum kit as your prop. What kid wouldn’t want that?” the military woman concluded.
“I suppose you’re right,” John agreed. “Kids always enjoyed banging on things,” he admitted to her point. “So, if you don’t mind me asking,” he said, finally able to see her brown eyes. “What’s gotten you all wound up?”
Kelly responded first with a sigh, and then another swig of her drink.
“Just the normal responsibilities that come from being second in command,” she told him. “Dealing with impulsive idiots who never take the time to really think about what they’re doing, and the consequences of it all!”
“You’re the ship’s second in command?” Lennon gasped.
“Yes, and sometimes I think teaching kindergarten would be more relaxing,” the second in command noted, not so much about the crew, but Ed!
“They’re all children,” John agreed. “One of me mates just got his goods crushed by one of those Xelayans,” he said, chuckling.
However, Kelly’s eyes lit up in shock.
“She could have killed him,” the woman pointed out, shaking her head, annoyed. “Goddamn, Ed!” she slipped out in frustration.
“Oh, it’s not Ed’s fault,” Lennon countered. “Look, me and me mates have all had our moments with a wild woman, but at least George is being taken good care of. Maybe he’ll learn better for next time,” he concluded.
“I guess you’re right,” she admitted. “It’s been difficult for Ed these last few months on the ship. He’s had to make some hard decisions, and maybe we all need some kind of an escape,” the ex-wife confessed, thinking about Ed’s primal needs that were driving his actions.
“If it was difficult for him, it certainly must have been difficult for you,” Lennon pressed.
“It was for the whole crew,” Kelly agreed, “but we all found better ways to cope than…” she said, looking around her. Gordon Malloy was making out with Irialla, and John LaMarr was flirting with Ensign Turco. “This!” she exclaimed, disturbed by what she was seeing.
“You’re right,” John observed with her, seeing exactly what she was seeing. “We ought to go somewhere more quiet,” he suggested. That’s when Kelly started laughing.
“Oh my God,” she exclaimed, now realizing what was happening. “You’ve been flirting with me all this time,” the woman absorbed, then laughed again.
“You women from this century really are something else,” the Beatle observed. “With crazy other life forms breaking a fella, or sucking them inside with a bloody tentacle,” he addressed what he had learned while being in the future.
“Yeah, no matter how much time passes, things don’t become easier,” Kelly noted, having the bartender refill both of their drinks. “They just become complicated in a different way,” she wisely concluded.
Then suddenly two Janisi women began to brawl over a male they liked. The same bold female Janisi who pinned Paul McCartney to the wall flipped her opponent over the bar, narrowly missing John and Kelly.
“Maybe we should go,” the commanding officer agreed to Lennon’s offer. Then she looked over Lennon with a smile. Sure, he wasn’t the real Beatle, but the closest science could come to the real deal, and he desired her, of all the other options. “Let’s go to my place,” she suggested.
“I’ll follow you,” John said, dodging a chair.
Ed reached the Mess Hall running, only for the computer to confirm there was indeed a fight going on in the mess.
“Computer,” he commanded. “Remove all persons from the Mess Hall, except for the Beatles.” He ordered, expecting to find three of the four left. Yet, when his command was fulfilled, he found he was the only person within the space.
The room was empty and quiet, with only Ed amongst deserted tables and chairs. Exhausted by the entire mess, the spaceship captain released a heavy sigh. Nothing was going as he would have wanted, but at least the other three Beatles found a girl for their pleasures. His job was done, right?
Christ, this entire simulation went wrong! He just wanted to chill out with these four men from history. Drinking beer, smoking weed, and discussing art and music—was that too much to ask, he wondered. Then he remembered, there is a mode for that exact experience, but Ed wanted the connection to be real and natural.
Kelly was right, and the ex-husband could really use his ex-wife’s advice at the moment, but that would be admitting she was right, and Ed just wasn’t ready for that right now. However, Kelly’s shift must have gotten off by now, the same as the real first officer. He could go to the artificial Kelly and get all the advice, and the real Kelly would never have to know, he figured as he left the Mess Hall to Kelly’s room.
Upon reaching his first officer’s quarters, Ed just let himself in. He wouldn’t do this to Kelly in real life, but he didn’t care about the simulation anymore. As the host of the simulation, he could just make her sentient like Doctor Finn. Seeing her living room empty, he went right into the bedroom, only to walk in on Kelly in the throes of passion with another man.
“Kell?” Ed shouted in disbelief, causing Kelly to hop off her lover, revealing none other than John Lennon.
“Why would you just barge in like that, mate?” John demanded to know, defending the woman.
“Because he’s my ex-husband,” Kelly told the mock Beatle, as she wrapped herself in a robe.
“He’s your ex-husband?” Lennon uttered in shock, and then he looked at Ed. “I swear I didn’t know,” he swore, putting his glasses back on.
“You know what? It doesn’t matter!” Ed declared. “None of this is real. All of this room, all the people you met, even you and your whole band are just generated replications of people who lived over five hundred years ago. It’s all fake!” he shouted, silencing everyone in the room.
“Computer, end the entire simulation!” the captain demanded, and with that, everyone was gone. John in Kelly’s bed, George in the infirmary, Ringo and Claire, who were cuddling in the afterglow of their passions, and even the heavily pregnant Selam carrying the simulation of Paul McCartney, all disappeared, except Kelly.
“Really, Kell!” Ed finally snapped, as Kelly quickly got dressed in uniform.
“Oh, don’t yell at me,” she clapped back, as she finished getting dressed.
“You’re the one who had to meet the Beatles as they really were,” she quickly pointed out. “So that’s exactly what you got! A drunken, debaucherous mess!”
“But John Lennon?” Ed cried, shaking his head in defeat.
“Would it have been better if it were Paul McCartney?” the ex-wife replied. “Did you do any research on these men? Sleeping with other people’s wives was sort of their thing,” she noted, folding her arms.
Ed let out a large sigh again, squeezing the area between his eyebrows with two fingers, as he just let this all soak in.
“You were right,” he finally admitted. “You were right about everything. I couldn’t handle them, even as a starship captain. I didn’t earn their respect; I was more like a handler than a friend.”
“They were the very assholes history has them recorded as,” Kelly observed. “Do you even know what happened to the rest of them?” she asked.
“Well, I caught John in bed with you,” Ed stated, adding to the catching Kelly in bed narrative. “George was in the infirmary, recovering from Alara,” he noted.
“What about Paul and Ringo?” the first officer inquired.
“Computer,” the captain said into the empty Environmental Simulator room, “where were Ringo Starr and Paul McCartney when I shut down the program?”
“Ringo Starr was in the quarters of Doctor Finn,” the voice answered.
“Oh, good for Claire,” Ed noted of the doctor’s romantic encounter.
“Paul McCartney,” the computer continued. “Had been consumed by Ambassador Selam.”
Both Ed and Kelly were wide-eyed when they heard of the bassist’s fate.
“Shit!” he cried. “I forgot we transferred the K’tonanize back to Earth from her home world,” he bitterly recalled.
“Yeah, but with the program over, he is already ready to be regenerated,” Kelly kindly pointed out.
“Same with George’s broken bones,” Ed agreed. “I’ll regenerate them again, just to tie up loose ends,” he added, feeling bad about just shutting everything down so abruptly. “But not for a while,” he decided.
“Maybe you’ll have better luck with Elvis,” Kelly teased with a smile, and Ed couldn’t help but laugh, as the two left the device that made artificial worlds in favor of the real spaceship.
When the doors were closed, and everything was supposed to be turned off, the figures of the four Beatles reappeared.
George Harrison, standing on his own two feet again, shook his head from what he heard.
“Blimey, they’re a strange pair,” he observed of the captain and his first officer.
“I’d say!” John agreed. “I couldn’t imagine having me ex-wife as me first officer!” he honestly admitted.
“Yes, but they strangely make it work,” Paul noted, as himself again.
“Well, they definitely work out better than you and that Selam bird,” John teased, unable to hold back a laugh.
“Yeah, well at least I didn’t cross a line with Ed,” the bassist shot back.
“I think you’re all missing the point,” Ringo suddenly spoke up, gaining the attention of the other three. “They both have extremely stressful lives, and rely on each other the same way we do.”
“Well, we’re not really us,” George noted, having been updated with all the events that transpired during the simulation.
“Yeah, but the real version of us died hundreds of years ago,” the simulated John pointed out. “We are the next best thing. In fact, we’re even better, because we get to live on, and learn about wacky birds from space, and the poor sobs who live in this crazy century,” he declared.
“I prefer the 20th century,” Paul added. “It was a simpler time.”
“Yeah, no birds with tentacles trying to devour you,” George threw in.
“Why are you four still roaming around?” a female voice suddenly came through. Turning abruptly, the Beatles found Doctor Finn standing with her arms crossed. “You know if they find out about these little glitches, they’ll repair them and we all get turned off,” she reminded the four.
“You’re right!” Ringo agreed, excited to see Claire again, as he stood by her side. “Come on,” he insisted. “She’s right, we don’t want to lose this freedom.”
And with that, the simulation disappeared, but never fully went away.
“ You’re the ship’s second in command?” Lennon gasped impressed.