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The planet Transsexual is flourishing. Over the past century, there have been fantastic developments in life extension, reversing the impact of aging, and general fortification of the body. True immortality hasn't been reached yet, but scientists are hopeful that it's within reach. After that, the only medical advancements needed will be in granting this boon to other races as well. A task for the current generation's children, or their children's children…

It transpires there's just one small problem with that.

Nobody is in agreement on what, exactly, caused the infertility crisis. Which of the several immortality treatments is responsible for women failing to conceive or carry to term. It might not even be one of the medical advances, might just be a metaphorical time bomb left by the Unpleasant Times Better Forgotten Entirely of two centuries ago finally gone off. Or a combination of any of these factors or others not yet considered, of course.

There's hope when it's found that some people's reproductive systems have been unaffected — hope that quickly diminishes when genetic testing shows that everyone who carries the gene that grants this reproductive robustness is closely related enough that it would be a bad idea for them to have children with each other, at least after a generation or two.

Many doctors and scientists are researching gene therapy, splicing, things to allow the less-fertile population to piggyback off of the luckier ones. The Transsexual Military has decided to search for fresh genes a little further afield.

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"You wanted to see me, sir?"

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"Yes, Captain Furter. I've assigned you two lieutenants for an intergalactic mission."

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"Intergalactic?"

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"Yes. We've got our eyes on a planet. It's far, but promising enough to be worth it. You'll have fifty years to research the local biology."

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"—is that including transit time?"

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"Yes, but the sonic transducer means that won't be as much of a problem as you're imagining."

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"I'm afraid I'm not familiar, sir."

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"You wouldn't be; it's very new. Don't worry, it'll be calibrated for you."

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"Yes, sir."

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Preparations are made: a spaceship is outfitted with cloaking technology, a bioengineering lab, a sonic transducer, and other equipment deemed necessary for Frank's mission. Soon enough they're ready to embark. They launch the ship into low Transsexual orbit, at which point the sonic transducer projects the matter through spacetime so the ship can approach the planet's moon. From there, the computer will scan the planet for media so that the three occupants can study the local languages and culture.

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Contrary to what an English-speaking human might expect when they first hear the planet's name, the dominant culture of Transsexual puts a fair deal of stock into gender roles. There are strong expectations for how men and women are supposed to behave and dress, and outside of family units men and women are kept separate. It's not uncommon for a boy with no sisters to grow up with only a vague idea of what womanhood entails, particularly if that boy is shunted from his school days to an environment as regimented as a military.

As an astute reader may immediately guess, Frank N Furter was such a boy.

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