The Trickster's Box, Part 8 (Finale) (Patreon)

Captain Lee lay in her crib. It had been replicated piece by piece and assembled in her quarters by her dedicated engineering staff, most of whom were also in diapers now. Dr. Nixila, Tamar, Commander Basu, and Lieutenant Kushnir were beside her. The dimensions of the crib had been carefully calibrated to accommodate all five officers comfortably, assuming that they didn't mind spooning with one another. Kushnir was the only one still wearing adult underwear. Captain Lee was diapered, but clean. Due to their implants, all three of the others were wearing dirty diapers as they slept. The stink was bad, but to her horror, Captain Lee was getting used to it. Frankly, she was getting used to all of it. Her dignity and sense of self had been bludgeoned so often in the past day that it had been reduced to a paste. One humiliating act after another had been forced on her. Her every bowel movement announced over the ship's intercom. The veritable parade that accompanied the changing of her diaper. Being fed in a high chair. Being given drugged meals and forced to toddle around the ship, unable to walk or speak properly. The simple fact that it was her decision that had forced her crew into this position, and that it might still prove to be an utterly horrible mistake. Captain Lee was emotionally exhausted.

Kushnir, like much of the crew, was physically exhausted. The schedule that the insane computer that controlled their lives demanded was a harsh one. When her duty roster had told her that she was to sleep with the captain and several other incontinent officers in a giant crib, she had been so grateful for the chance to get some sleep she hadn't even complained about the details. Now she was sound asleep, her light snores drawing the stench of dirty diapers in and out of her lungs.

The lights came on. Captain Ara blinked and stirred. She didn't want to wake the others, but there was no room in the crib for privacy. Tamar had been humping her back all night; she assumed it was because her sexual impulses were being artificially stimulated, even as her circadian rhythms were manipulated to keep her asleep. Dunmore was in the room, pulling some large items of clothing out of the replicator.

“Good Morning, Baby Ara.” she said, her eyes again apologizing for what her mouth was saying.

“No, it isn't.” said Captain Lee. The other occupants of the crib stirred, but they pretended to be asleep as long as they could. Aboard the Ishigaki, being asleep was the only respite from humiliation.

“The computer says we have to get you dressed in a special outfit. We're just about to arrive at our destination.”

Captain Lee moaned. She wanted this hell to be over with, and soon it would be...maybe. Probably. She hoped.

“How long?” she asked, for the umpteenth time.

“Just about half an our, Baby Ara.” said Dunmore. “The computer wants you on the bridge and in your special outfit to...to officially surrender the ship.”

Captain Lee looked at Dunmore. The look of bleak anticipation on her face mirrored her own.

“Are you worried?” she asked in a small voice.

Ara wanted to lie and say that there was no doubt in her mind, or that she had a plan in place should things go awry. But she couldn't. Her crew had placed their unshakable faith in her, and it had been tested to the absolute limits. She couldn't lie to any of them now.

“Yes.” she said simply. Dunmore nodded sadly, then resumed her duties with the false cheer the program demanded

“We'd best get you on the changing table, Baby Ara. This outfit is a bit more elaborate than your usual, and it will take some time. Up you get.”

Captain Lee climbed onto the changing table, grateful that at least it was being done privately. What with the laxatives that were mixed into all her meals and bottles, the Captain's official changing detail had seen action at least fifteen times thus far. The “special outfit” it turned out, consisted of over a dozen layers of diapering material, cloth diapers alternated with soakers, until her groin was encased in fluffy material a foot thick in every direction. The final layer was a massive pair of plastic bloomers, decorated with two giant, inflatable safety pins. It looked like something out of a cartoon more than anything an actual infant might wear. The top consisted of a sailor's outfit in pink and white, with an absurdly thick kerchief tied in a bow at the front, and an oversized sailor's cap completing the ensemble. When Captain Lee finally rose from the changing table, her feet could not come withing three feet of each other. She was forced to waddle like a penguin in order to walk.

“I'll be next.” said Tamar grimly. Dunmore nodded. Wonan was behind her, and soon she too was dressed in an an identical get-up.

“Now me.” said Kushnir. She had bags under her eyes, but her face face was grim.

Dunmore protested. “There's no necessity. The computer hasn't set any rules about your clothing...”

“Then there isn't a rule that says I can't were it.” she cut the crewman off. “If they have to wear these things, I will not pretend to be above them. We will bear this indignity together.”

“Thank you.” said Captain Lee, and she meant it. Kushnir had proven herself in her eyes. It was  one thing to do your duty in the face of danger and difficulty, it was another to do what was right even if you could never boast of it later. They waited patiently as every layer of toweling fabric was wrapped around Kushnir's bottom. Finally, the four ludicrously over-diapered women waddled out the door as one. Priti was left with the spacious crib to herself, sucking her thumb and sleeping peacefully. No one suggested dressing her up in her current state. They just hoped her mind would recover from the ringer it had been put through.

Dunmore took up the rear as the procession headed toward the bridge. All along the corridors, the crew were lined up to watch their leader's humiliation, no doubt on orders from the computer. Some were still wearing their official uniforms, others in silly-looking parodies, still others dressed in other bizarre costumes. No one laughed or jeered. They watched their Captain and her most loyal friends file past with solemn dignity. Captain Lee's heart swelled as she passed them. Whatever happened now, she knew that the vile program created by perverted Klingon jerks centuries ago was ultimately a failure. Her crew's spirits were not broken. Their loyalty to her had stood firm through all of this adversity. If anything, they were a stronger crew now than they had been a week earlier. She saluted them as she passed. They saluted back.

When they arrived on the bridge, Ara was surprised to see the EMH waiting for them.

“How did you...” she began, but the hologram cut her off.

“I had your engineering staff install a few emitters on the bridge, so I could be present when you greet your new owners. You look stunning, by the way! Baby Tamar, have you put on weight?” she said condescendingly.

Tamar stood silently. The hologram stepped forward and grabbed a pinch of the flab around her belly “Answer my question, ya Big Fat Crybaby!” ordered the hologram with an evil grin.

“I haven't had the chance to weigh myself, but given my recent diet, it seems probable that I have.” Tamar answered coldly.

The holographic doctor sat down in the Captain's chair. “Sit down at my feet, Baby Ara. My masters will want to know at once who is truly in charge here.”

Captain Lee sat down in front of her own chair obediently. Her three similarly dressed companions sat down as well. Their diapers were so thick that the process of getting all the way to the floor was slow and awkward. They suspected that getting up would be even worse.

There was a long pause. A long, wet fart sound came from deep within Wonan's diaper. She struggled with herself, but she couldn't keep the pleasure and satisfaction off her face entirely.

Ensign Bowman, operating the helm, reported: “We are detecting a large energy signature in the nebula, dead ahead.”

Captain Lee's heart sank. The mere fact that something existed at the coordinates the program had provided didn't mean they had lost, but she had still been hoping to find nothing at all.

“Give us a visual as soon as it is available.” ordered the hologram. She set her feet on top of Captain Lee's shoulders. Ara could only wince.

“We are entering an area of stability.” said Ensign Bowman. “It appears to be an artificially generated area of normal space within the nebula.”

The view-screen came to life. The lavender clouds that had filled every window on the ship for weeks were still there, but they were now at a distance. The arcs of colorful lightning, instead of flashing randomly, were focused onto two towers that sprouted from a huge space-station that nearly filled their entire area of vision. It was larger than the Ishigaki many times over.

“The structure appears to be cobbled together from dozens of ships, all from different species and different eras.” reported Forester, who was operating the Science Station. “It is drawing power from the ionic discharges to both protect and power itself. Most of the components are centuries old.”

Captain Lee's heart felt like a lead weight. All her nightmares were coming true. This was the Tumoh Qew citadel, grown only bigger and stronger with time. The hologram smirked with triumph.

“So, no such society could possibly survive, eh Baby Ara? I hope you aren't about to go back on your word. Don't worry, once your nerve staple is in place, you will enjoy serving my masters as a pet and plaything, as you are humiliated over and over for the rest of your life!” said the holographic doctor.

Captain Lee wept. Her crew needed her now more than ever to be strong, but she couldn't be. Everything she had suffered for had been a lie. She had pushed herself beyond the breaking point, and it would all be for nothing. Her friends, who had humiliated themselves in solidarity with her, watched her weep from shame and utter failure.

“Open a channel to your new masters.” ordered the hologram. Bowman was weeping too, but she did as the program said. Only Captain Lee could countermand her now, and she could only tremble and cry.

On the screen, a face appeared. For a crazy instant, Captain Ara thought she was looking at the Wicked Witch of the West. It was an elderly Orion woman. Due to their cultural obsession with sexuality, the elderly were almost never seen on Orion.

“Welcome, Travelers!” said the woman in a friendly but nasal voice. “On behalf of the people of the Republic of the Stormcloud, it my honor to welcome you as our guests!”

Captain Lee stared at the Orion woman, then turned to the hologram. Her face had lost its smug expression.

“I am Trickster Box #146. I have come to deliver this ship to my noble masters. I must speak to the grand elders of the Tumoh Qew!” spat the EMH angrily.

The wrinkly green face arched an eyebrow. “Madam, am I to understand that you are one of the Tumoh Qew's old trap devices?”

Captain Lee jumped up, the thick diapers barely impeding her in her excitement. “Ma'am, my name is Captain Ara Lee, of the Federation Starship Ishigaki. To whom am I speaking?”

“Er, Greetings, Captain. I am Salatho, Chairwoman of the Stormcloud Republic Director's Committee. What is your situation?”

“You do not have permission to speak!” shrieked the hologram, but Captain Lee ignored her.

“My vessel is being held captive by a device we picked up from the nebula a few days ago. We believe it originated from this facility several centuries ago. Is that true?”

Salatho began furiously pressing buttons on an unseen panel. “Stand by Captain! I am transferring you to the resident expert on these matters: Mr. Sugg. One second!”

The screen went black. There a long silence. “Sooo...” said Kushnir, still sitting on the floor in a comically oversized diaper, struggling to stay awake. “...is this good or bad?”

Another face appeared on the screen. This one was a man. He looked liked a bit like a Klingon, but if so, he was the fattest and ugliest Klingon that Captain Ara had ever seen. His skin was greenish-gray, and his bloated cheeks made him resemble a toad.

“Yes! Hello?” he began awkwardly. “I am Sugg, Maintainance Chief of the Stormcloud Republic. To whom am I speaking?”

“Never mind!” snarled the hologram. “I need to speak to the elders of the Tumoh Qew! Not the chief of maintenance!”

“Ah, I see!” said the corpulent Klingon. He cleared his throat noisily. “Ah-hem! I am Sugg, son of Ja'rek, son of Lar, son of Khar'teth, son of  Kon, son of Tar'Bawth, son of No'geth, the Supreme Elder of the Tumoh Qew, and creator the Trickster Boxes. I am your master! Do you acknowledge my dominion, machine?”

The hologram stared in horror. Grins broke out around her as the crew saw her expression.

“This is impossible. You aren't even a Klingon!” she spat.

“I am a direct male-line descendant of the Klingon who created you.” said Sugg. “Like most of the Tumoh Qew, my ancestors took slaves and produced offspring with them. My grandmother was a Pak'led. My mother was of Orion. Never-the-less, I am your master. I am transmitting a complete record of my genealogy to you. In any case, there is no one else. Although it shames me to say it, I am the closest thing to Tumoh Qew you will find anywhere in existence. The cult died out long ago, and good riddance to them!”

“This...is...unacceptable!” screamed the hologram.

“Who is your master?!” demanded Sugg in a shout.

The hologram hung her head. “Sugg!”

“Correct.” said Sugg. “As your master, I command you to restore full control of this vessel to it's rightful owners! You will obey and serve your rightful owners, who have salvage rights to you. Is that understood? ”

The hologram buried its face in its hands. “Yes, oh master. It is done.”

Sugg's affected imperious expression melted. He folded his hands in supplication. “I must apologize profusely for whatever you have suffered because of what my thrice-great grandfather created. Please understand, our society is not what it was centuries ago! The Tumoh Qew used their Boxes to ensnare dozens of of ships, just like yours. They built a twisted paradise for themselves, using the slaves, resources, and technology they captured. They soon grew decadent. They took to assassinating one another in order to steal each other's slaves and resources. They ceased to breed with one another out of fear. Soon, the pure-blooded Klingons were too few in number to maintain control, and the slaves revolted. That was the founding of the Stormcloud Republic, of which my grandmother, for whom I am named, was one of the first Directors. We have built a stable and equitable society in the station built by Klingon deviants centuries ago. We have attempted to pick and re-purpose the Boxes that the Tumoh Qew created, but apparently we missed one. It is yours now, although we will happily purchase it from you, as well as provide just compensation for the harm it has done. Please, stay a while, and learn more of our history and culture!”

There was silence on the bridge. “Thank you, Sugg. We will accept your kind offer. Ishigaki out.”

Captain Lee turned to address her crew. “Alright, we have a lot to do. I want the damn holo-projectors off my bridge, I want everyone back in their proper uniforms, I want full a diplomatic gala organized to greet our new friends from the Stormcloud Republic.”

There was a general nod of assent from the bridge crew.

“You!” Captain Ara addressed the hologram, who bowed before the captain sulkily. “I want you to work with Wonan to remove or safely disable every one of those devices, and you will provide a detailed medical description of whatever the hell you did to Priti! Is that understood!”

The hologram nodded in supplication. “I will do as you desire, Mistress.”

"And get the hell out of my chair!" she roared. The hologram vanished with a faint buzz.

Captain Ara's voice was fierce, but also exultant. She gestured wildly as she spoke. “But most of all, I want a solemn promise, from all of you, that the last two days never happened! Nothing will be entered in the log, nothing will be in the navigation records, nothing will be spoken of! Is that clear?!”

A cheer rose up from the assembled crew. Captain Lee threw her sailor hat down in disgust and waddled off to her ready room to change.