As a Voyager fan my one major critique of Star Trek: Beyond is that we didn’t get the Tuvix inspired transporter malfunction Jaylah/Kirk mashup that the movie so blatantly set up.
Imagine: right at the film amps up into its climax, there’s a shower of sparks from the MacGyvered transporter pad and the two glistening beams merge last minute into one that slowly resolves itself into the broad-shouldered and undeniably alien physique of Jamelah, agender captain of the stars, their dancer’s legs swaggering across the deck in thick boots while their white bangs flop distractingly across their pale, distressingly handsome face. The yellow stripes on their black shoulder pads are more reminiscent of a warning than a mark of command, like hazard tape molded into armor, but there’s something undeniably right about the glint of the Starfleet insignia pinned upon their breast.
All of Scotty’s stammered assurances that he can fix this, just give him a moment, are dismissed with a wave of one gauntleted, thickly calloused hand.
“Don’t bother,” they say, dropping into the captain’s seat with the grateful ease of a traveler falling once more into their own bed. “I’ve got it from here.”
Imagine their grin, red-gummed, blunt-toothed, black facial markings crinkling as they scroll through Jaylah’s playlist and find something old and familiar and beloved to all parts of them.
Imagine their joy as they lean forward, fingers curled tight around metal armrests, and get ready to make some noise.