The Gift Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Clark opened his eyes, and felt waves of pain through his head. He groaned and rolled over and felt a wave of nausea wash over him. Then he was hit with the realization that he couldn’t remember where he was or how he got there. He tried to take stock of his situation. Small insects crawled up his arms and legs, he was surrounded by small green plants and overhead a canopy of light green leaves, beyond that a blue sky, sun, but which sun? "Oh dear!" A voice, warm and inviting, cut through his haze.

Clark squinted. A silver-haired woman in a sunflower-print dress hovered over him, her face creased with concern. Behind her stood a lanky man in a faded baseball cap, and baggy cargo shorts. “I’m, ummm. I need help,” Clark said.

"Easy there, son," the man said, kneeling beside him with a grunt. His knees popped like bubble wrap. Up close, Clark could see the frayed stitching on his cap, the sunspots on his leathery neck. A retired human—or possibly a decaying biological android? Clark’s addled brain unhelpfully supplied.
The woman—Linda, her gardening gloves tucked into her dress pocket—pressed a cold water bottle to his forehead. "You’re in Sycamore Park. Can you tell us your name?"
Name. Right. Humans needed those. "Clark," he croaked. The water bottle crackled in his grip as he gulped. His throat burned like he’d swallowed a plasma coil. "I think I… overdid it last night."
Jim snorted. "Spring break’ll do that. You college kids never learn." He eyed Clark’s rumpled clothes and frowned. "Where you stayin’? We’ll call you a cab."
Clark’s fingers twitched toward his wrist communicator. Gone. Panic slithered up his spine. No tech, no memory, no way to signal his ship. Just these two soft-voiced creatures staring down at him with pity.
Linda patted his shoulder. "Let’s get you out of the sun." Her palm was cool and dry, her wedding band worn thin. A lifetime of dishwashing, gardening, giving, this would make good material for his book, then it dawned on him, he was writing a travel book about Earth.
As they helped him sit up, his vision cleared enough to notice the park around them: a laughing child chasing ducks, a couple pushing a stroller. Linda’s gaze lingered on the baby. Just a second too long.
Clark patted his pockets—stupid human disguises with their useless seams—and shook his head. "Must’ve lost it. Or got stolen. Last thing I remember is a karaoke bar and... something involving tequila and a dare about licking a battery."
Linda tsked. "Lord, you kids." But her eyes crinkled with amusement. Jim just sighed like he’d heard this story before.
Clark’s neural interface flickered weakly—still scrambled. He could’ve sworn his communicator was nearby, pulsing like a phantom limb. But the park’s oak trees and picnic blankets offered no gleaming alien tech, just the mundane magic of Earth: dandelion fluff, the sticky smell of sunscreen, Jim’s grip steadying his elbow.
Linda was never one to turn down a challenge of finding lost objects and went to the base of the tree where Clark had been sitting. “She’s like a bloodhound Clark, if your phone is sitting around here, she’ll find it.” Jim said. Linda walked a search pattern around the tree and noticed a shinny silver bracelet in the grass near where Clark had been laying.
“Well Clark, I don’t see a phone but is this yours?” she asked. Clark smiled and took the silver metal band from her. It looked like it sort of changed shape to wrap around his wrist. The Patton’s couldn’t keep up with all the technology these days. It immediately connected with his implants and rebooted them.
“Oh, wow, that’s better thank you,” Clark said almost immediately, feeling better and speaking far more clearly. “I’d like to get to know my rescuers better. Please tell me Jim and Linda, what are you doing here in the park this morning?”
Jim chuckled, scratching the back of his sun-freckled neck. "Same thing we do every morning, rain or shine. Walk the loop, feed the ducks, pretend we're not getting old." His voice dropped on the last word, eyes tracking a young father pushing his giggling daughter on the swings.

Linda slipped her arm through Jim's, her thumb rubbing absent circles over his wrist. "Our doctor says it's good for our steps," she said brightly. Too brightly. Clark's implants registered the spike in her cortisol levels when Jim mentioned age.

The communicator band hummed against Clark's skin, running diagnostics. At approximately 1:14 AM while at an establishment called “Skibidi,” he took a combination of chemicals that brought uncontrollable hallucinations. At 1:27 he was convinced by fellow revelers to lick a battery, the resulting shock disabled his implants. 2:13 AM while he was incapacitated against the tree a man rummaged through his pockets, finding nothing he forced the communicator off his wrist. The communicator administered a shock to the man and he dropped it there in the grass. Wow what a night.

He tilted his head as new data scrolled across his vision. He silently commanded the bracelet to build a profile on the Pattons, he wanted to know the history of these people.

"Jim!" Linda suddenly squeezed his arm. "Look, the Harrisons brought their grandson today." Her voice went soft as butter left in the sun. Near the duck pond, a toddler in overalls crouched to poke at dandelions, his bulging diaper making a quiet crinkling sound as he waddled.

Jim's breathing changed. Clark's sensors picked up the increased pulse, the dilation of pupils. Something about observing the infant had affected Jim, "Real cute," Jim muttered, suddenly finding his shoelaces fascinating, but he quickly turned his attention back to Clark.
“Oh, we’re just a couple of Florida retirees, nothing special.” Jim said.
Clark’s bracelet pulsed softly against his wrist as it compiled the Pattons’ history. The data scrolled in his peripheral vision:
Linda Marie Patton (née Whitaker), 68. Former elementary school teacher. Fertility treatments 1982-1987. Uterine scarring detected.
James "Jim" Robert Patton, 71. Retired postal worker. Prescription for joint pain .
Marital status: 45 years. No dependents. Nearest relative: Daniel Patton (nephew, estranged).

Clark smiled, “Well today you’re my heroes, and I’d love to repay you for your kindness. Maybe buy you lunch?" He nodded toward the picnic area, where young families spread blankets under the oaks. "As thanks." Linda opened her mouth—to protest, no doubt—but Jim’s stomach growled loud enough to startle a nearby pigeon.

"Guess that’s our answer," Jim said, rubbing his belly. The way his eyes lingered on the ice cream stand’s Kiddie Cone sign didn’t escape Clark’s notice. His communicator informed him that their favorite restaurant was 2 blocks away.

“How about the lunch at The Nook?” Clark asked.

“Well that sounds great son, but we’ll pay, I mean you don’t even have a wallet do you?” Jim answered.

“Oh, my bracelet is on the cloud, I can pay, no problem,” Clark replied.

The Nook smelled of fried shrimp and lemon wedges—a scent that made Jim's stomach growl again as they slid into the cracked vinyl booth. Linda automatically reached for the sanitizing wipes, scrubbing at the table's edge where some previous diner had left a sticky smear of ketchup.

Clark watched her hands move in precise, practiced circles. Teacher habits, his bracelet noted. Compensatory nesting behavior.

"Best hushpuppies in town," Jim said, tapping the plastic menu. His knee bounced under the table, making the silverware rattle. Clark's sensors picked up the elevated dopamine levels as Jim scanned the cartoonish kids' menu tucked behind the regular one.

Linda sighed. "Jim, get the grouper like the doctor said. Your cholesterol—"

"Spring break rules, Lin." Jim winked at Clark. "When a fella buys you lunch, you order the onion rings." The words came out lighter than his hunched shoulders suggested.

A waitress arrived, her nametag reading Darla. "Y'all ready to— Oh! Mr. and Mrs. Patton!" Her penciled eyebrows shot up. “You’ve got a friend today, is that wonderful nephew you’re always talking about?

Linda stiffened. Jim's menu slipped from his fingers. THey had often complained to Darla about how useless their nephew was.

Clark beamed. "No mam, I was struggling in the park after what you would call, heavy partying, and these fine people helped me, so I’m buying them lunch. I'll have the fried platter, extra tartar sauce. And whatever these two want—especially the onion rings."

Clark could see why the Patton’s loved this place, good food, friendly service, and a cozy atmosphere, it was mostly inhabited by other retirees their age. Between bites they talked, he told them about some of the other parts of Earth he had visited in the last few months, Mongolia, Prague, North Korea, Idaho. The Patton’s smiled and nodded. Jim was sure the young man was, in his own words, “full of crap” but to his surprise when Clark held the bracelet up to the credit card scanner it was approved, he even left Darla a 20 dollar tip.

The three shook hands, Jim and Linda walked back to the park while Clark walked around the corner and made himself invisible. He wasn’t quite through repaying the Patton’s yet, but needed more information.

The late afternoon sun stretched long shadows across the park as Jim and Linda settled back onto their weathered bench. Clark leaned against an oak tree twenty feet away, his bracelet glowing faintly as it calibrated its thought-scanning function.

Establishing neural link... 67% synchronized...

Linda's gaze locked onto the young mother playing with her son in the sandbox, helping him build a sandcastle. With care she wiped sand off the smiling boy’s face, and then pats his diaper checking to see if he’s ready for a change. The Patton’s watched in silence as Clark's bracelet translated the synaptic patterns into words that flickered across his vision:

"Her hands are so sure... never fumbling. She just knows what he needs. If I'd had the chance," The thought dissolved into a wave of longing so acute Clark actually blinked.

Jim shifted beside her, his baseball cap pulled low. His mental signature spiked with erratic activity as the toddler plopped onto his padded backside, giggling. The bracelet decoded:

"No bills, no aching joints, just... someone bringing you juice when you're thirsty. Naps whenever. Seeing the world for the first time again, not having to go to the toilet 50 times a day, God, that must feel so great.”

Clark's eyebrows rose. This was more profound than simple wistfulness. Their neural patterns showed active fantasization, Linda's motor cortex lighting up as if rocking an invisible infant, Jim's prefrontal cortex creating a visual image of himself as the toddler, even imaging what it might feel like to be carefree and swaddled in affection.

The toddler waddled to his mother, arms raised. As she lifted him, Linda's breath hitched. Her silent thought rang clear:

"I'd give every penny in our savings to hold a child like that just once."

Simultaneously, Jim's subconscious whispered:

"To be held like that again..."

Clark connected to his ship in orbit, “Computer, please formulate the following retroviruses with the specified effects. Create an appropriate delivery system and transfer to my location.” He commanded.

A chime sounded in Clark's auditory implant. <>

The toddler in the sandbox chose that moment to squeal, clapping his sticky hands as his mother produced a juice box. Jim's knuckles whitened around the bench slats. His surface thoughts now screamed with startling clarity:
"No prostate exams. No Metamucil. Just... someone deciding when you eat and sleep and—" His pupils dilated as the boy's mother tapped his diaper again. "—when you get changed."

Linda's hand had crept to her own flat abdomen, her neural scan showing a cascade of what-if scenarios involving nursery wallpaper and tiny socks.

Clark's bracelet vibrated. <>

"OK, but target psychological and secondary physical changes first, so they are ready when their bodies change," Clark murmured.

A few minutes another chime announced the completion of the virus and Jim heard the distinctive sound of two large mosquitos buzzing near his head. “Initiate,” he commanded them. The mosquitoes flew quickly across the park towards the Patton’s bench.

The two bio-engineered mosquitoes dove toward their targets with mechanical precision. Clark watched through his ocular implant as the first landed on Jim's wrinkled neck just below the hairline.

<> his bracelet pulsed.

Jim slapped his neck hard. "Got the little bloodsucker!" He examined the smeared remains on his palm with satisfaction before wiping it on his cargo shorts.
Across the bench, Linda absently swatted at her own mosquito mid-bite. "Ugh. Hate these things." She flicked the crushed insect off her finger without even looking up from watching the toddler.

<> Clark's display read. The mosquitoes had served their purpose.

Jim suddenly rubbed his temples. "Whoa. Feel kinda lightheaded all of a sudden."
Linda pressed a hand to her stomach. "Me too. Maybe we should've skipped those onion rings." Her face had taken on a slightly greenish tint.

Clark discretely monitored their vitals as the retrovirus began its work. Their temperatures spiked half a degree. Jim's blood pressure dipped slightly. Linda's endocrine system showed the first flurry of activity as the viral payload attached to her dormant reproductive cells.

"You alright, Lin?" Jim asked, though he himself was sweating more than the warm evening warranted.

"Just need some water," she said, fanning herself with a napkin. "Let's head home."
As they stood unsteadily, Clark's bracelet confirmed <>. Perfect.

He watched the Pattons shuffle toward the parking lot, Jim's arm around Linda's waist more for his own support than hers. They'd spend tonight feeling flu-ish - maybe blame it on bad seafood - but by tomorrow morning they'd just feel unusually well-rested. The real changes would come softly, like the tide creeping up the beach.

Clark tapped his bracelet, activating the recall beacon. As his ship's transporter beam enveloped him, he smiled. The Pattons would wake up changed, never knowing exactly when or how their second chance began.

Some gifts were best given anonymously.

Author's Note: This book is primarily ABDL themed, but also has a very important gender swap subplot that I think would make it enjoyable here. It's finished and published on amazon. I'll continue posting chapters here. Thanks for supporting my writing and I appreciate any feedback.
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FFHF7JTC