Slipspace

After some quick talking to one of the FBOs, my pad autonomously began rolling towards one of the hangars. This was actually a new experience for me. I had not landed at a planetary spaceport from orbit before. I had been on passenger shuttles before, but they used a different process. During the taxi, I went through all of my shutdown procedures and then just sat and watched the view go from the busy port to the inside of a well-appointed hangar.

The pad docked to a pier looking structure and the ground crew alerted me that I was clear to exit the craft. I retrieved my bag from the locker and popped the hatch. My first taste of non recycled air hit me like a slap to the face. The usual smells of fuel and grease present in any hangar were definitely present, but the smell of dirt, asphalt and the almost spicy hint of smog assaulted my unaccustomed olfactory senses. I hadn’t set foot planetside in most of the last two years, so it took me a moment to acclimate to the shift.

Departing my ship proved an interesting source of disorientation even beyond the air. Gravity on D’reth station was about ten percent less than Telemachus IV, so I felt decidedly heavier than usual, though not enough to drag me to the ground. It took me a moment to acclimate, but I was able to adapt.

The ground crew busied themselves with attending to the pad, ensuring that there was no damage after the landing, and I did much the same for my ship. To my immense relief, there were no visible signs of damage other than some light scorching on the underbelly. Having expected some of that, I ensured that I was correct in my assumptions by running a rag across the plating. It rubbed off easily, indicating that this was just ablative material from the landing pad thrown up by the thrusters. It seemed the shields had done their job.

I began asking questions about the fueling and day storage for my ship, but the crewman I spoke to simply waved me towards the office. Shrugging, I buttoned up the Oxide

and walked through the fancy glass doors.

Inside was an arch that I was made to stand in for a moment as I was scanned for excess radiation or foreign materials. It was a standard precaution for spacers coming down from orbit, just to make sure that nothing dangerous was being brought onto the planet.  I was cleared and allowed to walk into the office proper.

The receptionist greeted me politely and I gave all of the needed details to her. The price for landing fees and service charges were a bit exorbitant, I thought, but it was nothing compared to what a last-minute ticket on a commercial flight would have cost. When I told her that I was just going to the embassy and maybe out for a short walk around the area around it, the woman offered to call a ground taxi for me. Gladly, I accepted.

Assured that my ship would be in good hands, I then paid another small chunk of cash to rent out a shower facility. As this was a large spaceport with a lot of long haul traffic going through, it wasn’t uncommon for some of the nicer businesses to offer a well-equipped pilot lounge to customers. Bag in hand, I followed an assistant to the lounge area, where she showed me the door to the shower stalls. I thanked her and stepped inside.

Everything I needed was present in the bathing room, including single use soaps and shampoos. As another departure from my norm, this facility had full water showers. It was a luxury I had rarely had access to in the past.

The shower itself was… frankly incredible, and it would be improper to describe the amount of pleasure I got from it as the water cascaded down my body. Dysphoria still sucked, but after most of a lifetime taking dry showers in space, I very much relished the experience.

My hair feeling softer than it had in ages, I finally, reluctantly, got out. An overhead fan kept the steam from the shower from fogging the mirror and I was able to use my shaver to get a clean cut on the bits of facial hair that prickled at my sanity. A brush went through my hair and I did an amateurish job at styling it into a simple side part. It was hardly long enough to do a whole lot with, but I was satisfied enough with the results.

With even more unfamiliar motions, I applied a small amount of makeup to my freshly cleaned and shaven face. I went for a fairly subtle look, but one that softened the harder lines of my face into something a bit more feminine in presentation. A couple attempts were needed before I was happy with the results, but when finished, I couldn’t be terribly upset by my reflection.

Hazel eyes peeked out from shadowed eyelids and brushed out lashes while a dusting of foundation smoothed out my less than flawless skin. My lips were graced with a touch of lipstick that only slightly differed from their usual tone. It was mostly a natural look, which suited me just fine. I would never be the girliest girl to have ever girled, but I didn’t want to be, either. I just wanted to at least look the part of a girl.

Clothes followed next. The tunic pulled easily over my head (with me being very careful not to upset my makeup), and the slacks came up around my waist with a slight cinch. Shoes consisted of simple black boots that I pulled the pant legs over top of. My transformation was complete. The girl in the mirror was just this side of androgynous, in my own opinion, but it was enough for now. The biggest shame was that I didn’t fill out the top like I wanted to. Ah well, the tits would come.

When I walked back into the lobby, my new look attracted a few glances from the staff, but none of them actually commented on it, for which I was grateful. The receptionist merely stated that my cab was waiting outside for me.

Outside, the land speeder that awaited me was in good repair and shined with the typical yellow paint and black checker pattern. My bag sat in the seat next to me and the driver expertly zoomed out of the spaceport and into the city proper.

It was a bit awe inspiring to be at ground level and looking up at the massive buildings as we drove by. As a spacer, the level of technology was nothing special and the size of individual buildings wasn’t all that impressive compared to some of the bigger ships I had seen. But there was always something incredible about the marvel of a cityscape. So many buildings in such a small space. People everywhere, walking under the open sky. It was a massive difference from the enclosed space of a ship or station.

In short order, I found myself in front of the embassy building. After thanking the driver, I slotted my credchip to pay for the ride and got out of the cab.

The embassy was quite the sight to see. Bright white structure surrounded massive panels of glass and water fountains burbled quietly to either side of the doors. With only my bag and a heart full of dreams, I walked into the embassy. A security desk was immediately inside and I had to go through the scanners to ensure I wasn't carrying any weapons or dangerous substances. Of course, I was clear, so I was quickly waved through and I was able to go to the receptionist desk deeper into the entry hall. There was a small line, but the staff of the desk made quick work of the people in front of me and I was called up to a station within a few minutes.

“And how may I help you um,” he paused to look me over. “Sir?” I suppressed a sigh.

“Ma’am, actually. I have an appointment for a change of identification.” Effort was made to suppress negative emotions from reaching my face, but I was struggling.

The man only pursed his lips and hummed. “Well then, you’ll find the vital records office on the fourth floor. The elevator is just behind me. You will then follow signs into the office proper.” He nodded dismissively. “Next!”

My brows lowered at the attitude, but I obligingly stepped away from the desk for the next person to approach. As soon as I was able, I was going to start making an actual effort to transition properly, I swore to myself. I was tired of people automatically seeing me as a man and I wanted it to stop. A deep breath filled my lungs, held for a second, and then was exhaled. There was no use getting mad about it now.

A bit of luck in my favor, an elevator was opening to allow passengers to exit even as I came up to the area. Two others joined me inside and all of us made our floor selections. Given their sharply pressed business suits, I assumed that they were actually staff members somewhere in the complex.

Once the doors opened on the proper floor, I exited the lift and peered up at the directional signs that were inset into the walls. I easily found the correct sign and walked on. The office, when I arrived, was filled with people. One entire wall of the large room was dedicated to teller windows that were all occupied. The seating area was populated as well, though not as thickly as I was afraid it would be.

Check in was as easy as tapping my wrist to a panel to prove my identity. The appointment came up under my old name, of course, but that was to be expected. A number was provided to me and the panel instructed me to take a seat. Of course, with so many people, I found myself waiting in that seat for a while. When my name was finally called I almost missed it, too busy listening to music through my subdermal implants.

It seemed that this staff member was much more polite than the person at the front desk had been and she smiled at me as I sat in the chair in her stall.

“Welcome to the Telemachus System Embassy of the Terran Union, department of vital records. Are you Matson?”

“Yes! That’s me. Soren Matson, here to sign paperwork for a legal change of name and gender markers for purposes of gender transition.”

“Please place your current identification card on the pad in front of you.”

I pulled the requested item from my bag and took what would be my last look at the card I had carried since my earliest memories.

The official cards were not used as often as they had been in centuries prior, but they carried all of the legal information on a person that the old ones did, plus some. With a tap of a personal ID card, a person could access information on place and date of birth, first of kin, relevant medical information, residency, government provided interstellar contact information and nearly any other important information a government official could ever ask for. Most people didn’t even carry them on their person every day, since a personal link or the person’s ID number could be used to get most things necessary in day to day life.

That's not to say it was a useless relic of the past, though. In a day and age where entire bodies could be changed at will, the card was an unbreakable line of information that started from the time of birth to the day that person died. Once information was stored on a card, it became read-only data and no amount of hacking could alter it.

My card fit into a security socket connected to her computer and I watched as all of the information regarding my petition came up on the screen. All over the paperwork, I could see the mark of the legal firm Marcus had contracted for the work. Everything was completed to the highest of standards that I could tell, far cleaner and more professionally than I could do alone and obviously far quicker.

“Yes, I do see that your petition has been filed and was approved by Kepler Sector third circuit court as of the seventh hour of Union standardized date 2495.126. Looks like we just need some final signatures to authorize the sealing of your previous identity change and creation of the new.” She picked up a number of data slates and pushed them to me.

“Please mark these as prompted using your current legal name.”

I took them and scanned through the legal jargon. Once again I had to testify that I was doing all of this of my own free will and not under duress. There was even a place to write in official pronoun preferences, which I filled in happily. Then it was only a simple scribble of the provided pen on the appropriate lines to certify it all.

“Excellent,” she stated. “And you have no further amendments you would like to propose?”

I told her no and the woman smiled at me.

“Then, by order of the court, let it be known that a new identity chain is to be forged under the name of ‘Adresta Mirai Matson’ and that the identity chain of ‘Soren Cole Matson’ has been archived and referenced to ‘Adresta Mirai Matson’ for all future use.”

That, of course, brought a bright smile to my face.

The woman behind the counter reached into a security box within a drawer and withdrew a blank card which was slotted into her computer. Within moments, the new card lit up and an arm came up from the machine to emblazon the Terran Union grand seal into the corner using luminescent material. At the same time, my old card’s light dimmed to nearly nothing and a dark line was etched into its face, locking it out from further use.

Her voice interrupted my interested look towards the new card. “Please hold still for image capture.” I immediately froze my face into a smile as a halo dropped from above and took a three dimensional image of my head.

My eyes watched the image develop in real time on the new card and I cringed when my face showed. The smile I had so carefully practiced in the mirror at the spaceport looked incredibly awkward in the picture and to me, my eyes looked horrendously derpy. All of that wasn’t ignored by the clerk and she giggled quietly behind her hand.

“Don’t sweat it, dear. You can always get it updated later after you get things settled. My son took three years before he was willing to get his new picture done after facial surgery.”

I shrank down in the seat slightly.

“Well, Miss Matson, you have officially been registered as a citizen of the Terran Union with residency in the Telemachus system. This slate here has a copy of the order so you can present it to other institutions you do business with. Good luck out there.”

I wished I could hug her, but I didn’t want to be so embarrassing in public. “Thank you very much.”

Soren walked into that room, a dead man.

Adresta walked out, reborn and ready to face life.