ONE WEEK KING - ROBERT ARCHER
16 Apr 2018Commander-Wingnut
Plastic surgery in the 34th century was an amazingly easy thing to accomplish, if somewhat heavy on the regulation.
With the appropriate legal endorsement, a man could become completely unrecognizable with about as much hassle as a haircut or a light dinner.
When your endorsement was decidedly extra-legal, things were even easier than that.
Herr Doktor was as afraid of Shadow President Felicia Winters as anyone else in the Galaxy.
::-::
"I'll bet there is a remarkable story behind this scar," Doktor commented as he filled it in with Derm-A-Putty, which for a moment hardened under the UV penlight before seeming to melt into his patient's cheeks.
Wingnut, his beard gone, his scalp already adorned with silvery hair, and his eyes chemically paled to a cool blue, grunted.
Nodding would have been a bad choice while the surgeon was busy.
"I was pursued out of the Sol system a couple weeks ago by another Commander who was hell-bent on nuking me halfway to Colonia.
Political, I suspect. A missile smashed in the canopy.
Camera Four shows a piece of Lexite the size of your hand spinning towards my eyes so fast I would have been blind in one of them before I could blink."
"Your helmet?"
"It deployed in milliseconds.
Like it was designed to.
Caught the glass mid-flight and deflected it aside while forming the seal.
Missed the eyes, but left this neat little crease across one cheek and the bridge of my nose.
Lexite is -sharp.- I couldn't see for all the blood spraying into my faceplate.
If it wasn't for the help of Mister Vega, I never would have made it back from that run."
Doktor mhmm'ed, as was his character.
"That must be a really popular story with the ladies.
The Putty won't erase it, though, it's only a filler.
Undetectable, mhm, but ultimately removable.
Casual picking and scratching won't make the Putty peel, but I strongly suggest you don't worry it too hard unless you're ready to reopen your scar. There will be some bleeding if you do."
"Sure, thanks."
::--::
"Now, we've installed a secondary biochip directly on top of your old one to confuse any scanners.
It's equipped with a special - and very illegal - electronic damper that will suppress your real identity.
While in Federation space, the damper will disable itself, and you should ID as Wingnut again - with the provision that being on Federation diplomatic business, you are not to be detained for any reason.
Obviously, that will not apply in Imperial space.
You will be completely on your own in there."
::-::
"Short of some very thorough surgical inspection - such as, say, an autopsy or a thorough genetic screen - there really should be no way that anyone could figure out who you really are.
The new chip comes from a low-ranking Imperial citizen, a recently emancipated slave who earned his way out of debt and became a passenger pilot before the Federation bagged him during a routine Intel sweep.
Out of almost three hundred political prisoners being held at the Barcelo Penal Colony, that was the one you most happen to resemble.
Makes for very easy work, I might add, mhm.
Congratulations, Commander.
Your new name - mm, and your face - is Robert Archer."
::-::
Reclined in his chair, he stared at the stranger in the mirrored ceiling.
"I can't honestly say I'm pleased to meet you, Mister Archer," said Rear Admiral Wingnut.
As if in agreement, the reflection of Outsider Robert Archer added; "I hope we won't know each other for very long."