SMITE 2: Pheromone Pharmacopia
By Brandy Dewinter

Chapter 1 - "Mission"

"Wow, Vanna, did you rob a bank or something?" asked Carol.

"Hardly," the elegant blonde replied, patting gleaming combs in her
elaborately styled hair. "These are Army issue, just like Sandy's
boobs."

"Hey, I grew about half of these fair and square," Sandy laughed,
hefting her soft mounds.

"Quit bragging," laughed Carol. Then she turned to the fourth member
of their team, Jaymi, and said, "You're awful quiet, Jaymi. What did
you do on furlough?"

The slender brunette blushed and ducked her head, but her grin showed
she was more than willing to talk about her vacation. "Oh, nothing
much," she began nonchalantly. "I just met... a boy."

"Oooh, tell us all about it!" Sandy squealed.

"Settle down, ladies," Marilyn ordered, coming into the room and
forestalling Jaymi's response.

The team dutifully draped themselves among the available comfortable
chairs. Despite the furlough after their previous mission, they were
still closer than sisters, a closeness built on mutual trust forged in
shared danger. Marilyn, jiggling like her equally-blonde namesake,
seemed to contradict her own orders with the bright energy she brought
to every move, but her authority was uncompromised within her
team. The others waited patiently, but expectantly, for her to explain
why she had called them together.

However, as soon as she started to speak all four of the other young
women chorused in unison with the words she was going to say, "We have
a mission!"

Marilyn laughed and said, "Well, since you already know everything, I
guess I don't need to talk."

"Oh, Mom, you know we're just funnin'," Sandy said, giggling.

"Don't call me `Mom´," Marilyn ordered, but the twinkle in her blue
eyes took any sting from the reprimand. "Why, most people looking at
us would take us for sisters, not a mother and daughter."

"Right... mom," Sandy replied, unrepentant.

The shapely team leader shook a manicured finger at her dark-haired
second in command, unable to squelch a giggle of her own. In truth,
she didn't really look old enough to have a grown daughter. On the
other hand, Sandy didn't look old enough to be out of high school yet,
at least not until you saw the ancient anguish in her eyes. The other
team members watched the sparring with amused tolerance. Elegant Vanna
raised a single eyebrow; sensuous Carol idly fingered the hem of her
tiny skirt, a distraction in almost any setting; and serene Jaymi
sighed softly, clearly happy for the comfort they found in each
other's company.

"I'm glad to see you have your team so well under control," a man's
voice said from the doorway, discordant among the soft tones of the
women. Sam Gates, their liaison to the President and de facto boss,
chuckled as he moved into the room and took his own seat, recognizing
that informality would never undercut the discipline of the SMITE team
- the She-Male Independent Tactical Expedition. For all these
beautiful women were indeed she-males, outwardly feminine but born as
men, and with a man's fully-functional plumbing.

"About as well as could be expected," Marilyn said, not apologizing in
the least.

"Indeed," Gates nodded, then he looked at the team, assessing each one
against some private internal checklist. Whatever standards he held
must have been met because his eyes twitched in the lightning-quick
flicker that passed as his smile.

Marilyn took that as an invitation and she turned in her seat to look
at Vanna. "Vanna, dear, how would you like to be an astronaut?"

It was a tribute to Vanna's relentless training that this stunning
question caused no further physical response than another lift of her
arched brow. After a moment, she said, "Once upon a time I would have
said I wanted that more than anything in the world. Now, there's
nothing more important to me than the team, but I would surely love to
find a way to have both."

"And so you shall, my dear, as will all of us," Marilyn said with a
proud smile. Then she explained to the others, "I'm not sure we ever
talked about this, at least all together, but Vanna is a pilot -
civilian only, but with some ratings that show real skill. She's going
to be helping all of us in the next few weeks."

Marilyn paused and looked at Gates. "I suppose this is as good a place
as any for you to take over," she said.

He nodded, but instead of beginning a briefing, he asked a question of
his own. "How many of you have heard of Seward's Folly?"

Sandy's hand raised immediately, followed by Jaymi and Vanna. Only
Carol looked befuddled, though she was in fact the one to speak. "I
seem to remember something about that from school. Wasn't that, um,
another name for the Louisiana Purchase or something?"

"Not quite," Gates answered, another smile-twitch showing briefly.
"That's not too far off base, for one use of the term. The first thing
called `Seward's Folly´ was the purchase of Alaska, but I was in fact
referring to the contemporary application of the name."

"The space station?" Sandy offered.

"Quite," Gates confirmed, then continued. "Thomas Seward, of Seward
Pharmaceuticals, has put together a consortium to finance the first
major commercial space endeavor outside of the communications field.
There are certain pharmaceuticals that can only be produced in
commercially-useful quantities in a zero-G environment. The station,
officially `Seward Space Facility 1´ was constructed for that
purpose. However, aside from the financial risk it has gained a
questionable reputation based on Seward's eccentric plans for staffing
and supporting it."

"Oh, now I remember," mused Jaymi. "He's the new Howard Hughes, right?
Billions of bucks, but a recluse who hasn't been seen in public for
years."

Gates nodded, and added, "Apparently his... inducements are
sufficient that no one on his supply crew will say anything about
conditions on the station."

"I read something about that, too," Vanna said. "It seems he believes
that except for himself, only women should be astronauts, though I've
never seen a very good explanation of his rationale."

"That's because he's been hiding his real rationale," Marilyn said,
taking over from Gates for a moment. "And that's where we come in."

"Good," Carol said. "I'm glad we're finally going to talk about
something I might understand."

"Perhaps," Gates replied. "First, another question. Are any of you
familiar with the concept of `Brilliant Pebbles´?"

Again, Sandy's hand went up immediately, this time not to be joined by
any others. At Gates nod, she explained what she knew. "It's supposed
to be the ultimate smart bomb. All it takes is a rod of metal in orbit
with a simple GPS guidance package. You de-orbit the rod of metal at
the right time and send it down to some specific point. They're cheap,
aside from the cost to get them in orbit in the first place, and just
about impossible to stop. A couple of pounds of tungsten rod traveling
at 10,000 miles per hour will punch a pretty good hole in just about
anything."

"Very good," Gates said, nodding. "Okay, one more question. Have any
of you heard of human pheromones?"

This time Carol's hand shot up like a kid in school who finally gets
the chance to show off. Gates' smile-twitch was all the permission she
needed to start talking. "They're supposed to make people irresistibly
horny. Now that is something I know about."

"I'm sure you do," Gates agreed. "And that's close enough to the
truth. There's only one key thing you didn't mention. They are sex
specific. Pheromones that arouse women have little effect on men, and
vice versa."

"So, can you put it all together?" Marilyn challenged her team. As
they often did, the other girls looked to Sandy to speak for them.

She paused a moment to gather her thoughts, then said, "Well, the
Brilliant Pebbles would seem to tie in to the Seward's Folly space
station, and the pheromones to Seward's Pharmaceutical business, but I
don't see the whole thing tying together."

"Neither did we, until recently," Gates said. "In fact, they are not
directly related except in the way Seward has used them. One, the
Pebbles, are his offense, and we believe pheromones are his defense."

The young women were too beautiful for confusion to mar their faces in
any serious way, but even slight frowns seemed so out of place that
Gates almost rushed to explain so that their serene (well, in Carol's
case, sensual) smiles could return.

"Seward has apparently been using the station to produce more than
pharmaceuticals. He has offered to sell destruction from space as
well. At least in claim, he has sown Brilliant Pebbles around his
station and will take out any desired ground target for the right
price."

"That's the offense," Marilyn took over. "That part we know about for
sure, since he has made his offer of destruction. However, he's
brilliant, if eccentric, and it would be foolish to assume he has no
defenses. There have been rumors of new, black-market aphrodisiacs
that are supposed to make women irresistibly aroused. That seems too
convenient to be a coincidence."

"What do you mean?" asked Carol.

"Well, what would you do, if you wanted to defend a space station from
armed attack?"

Carol's brow furrowed in a discordant frown, and she glanced at Sandy
for help.

The young brunette's own expression showed concentration, which
cleared as she began to speak. "Obviously, you don't want bombs or
guns that could depressurize the station. Anything light enough -
darts or whatever - that wouldn't damage the walls would have trouble
penetrating body armor, or even a space suit. So, something airborne?
I can see why pheromones might be useful, but, why not just use gas
masks?"

"Cameras," offered Jaymi.

Marilyn nodded, and continued, "We believe that his primary defense is
saturating the air of his space station with pheromones that cause
arousal in women. That's the real reason he insists on only female
astronauts. Based on some of the black-market samples we've
intercepted, it's likely he carries with him a spray defense that is
so potent women are reduced to helpless desire. Since compartments are
so small in the space station, he feels that he can render any
attacker helpless before she can attack him unless something is used
which would be likely to kill the attacker, too. A grenade on a space
station is *not* a good idea."

"So shoot the whole thing down," suggested Carol.

"Aside from the fact that we couldn't be sure where the pieces would
come down - there's little value in creating the very rain of
destruction we're trying to stop - we don't have an ASAT capability
any more," Gates explained.

"ASAT?" Carol asked.

"Anti-Satellite," explained Gates. "We used to have a rudimentary
system, but the missiles are old, their propellants unsafe."

"Ah, I don't mean to be, oh, bloodthirsty or anything, but why not pop
the thing with a nuke? If he's threatening the whole world, you could
probably get the political support." Vanna asked.

"EMP," replied Sandy, cryptically.

"Damn it, d'you just want me to go polish my nails or something?"
Carol snapped. "If not, then speak English."

"Sorry," Sandy said, nodding her head. "Electro-Magnetic Pulse. If you
set off a nuke up where the satellites live, you'd burn out most of
the communications, weather satellites, whatever. The cost would be,
well, astronomical."

"Quite," confirmed Gates. "That option would be worse that paying
Seward's protection money."

For the first time, Jaymi spoke up with a gentle question. "And an
assault by men, or men dressed as women? They would be immune to his
pheromone defense."

Gates showed a moment of what might have been embarrassment in a
less-controlled individual, then said, "Seward always, ah, examines
each supply crew before he allows them through the airlock. The
standard Seward Space Facility uniform is, ah, rather revealing. We
expect that if the astronauts do not show appropriate signs of
arousal, they are refused entry. If they try to force entry, well, he
claims that he keeps his finger on a button that will automatically
send Brilliant Pebbles through the roof of the Oval Office in the
White House and through other equivalent sites. The Powers That Be are
not ready to take that risk, yet. That's also his threat if we
interdict supplies to the station."

"So, as I said, that's where we come in," Marilyn declared. "I'll be
more blunt than our so-gentlemanly Mr. Gates, and explain a bit
further. Seward has his female astronauts wear skin-tight uniforms
that just happen to show nipple arousal in the presence of female
pheromones. `Permanent´ arousal from faked boobs is too obvious. Only
those who can show a visible difference in their nips are permitted
through the airlock. We can meet that test, I believe."

The girls snickered, and nodded. "However," Marilyn continued, "we
should not be so incapacitated by his close-in spray that we can't
overcome it. Our rather unique nature, neither fully fish nor fowl as
it were, might allow us to slip through a crack in his defenses. Our
task is to board the station, taking the place of a
regularly-scheduled supply mission, and then capture Seward. It should
be a piece of cake."

"Oh, dear, there goes my diet," Sandy sighed, but her eagerness to
proceed showed in her smile.

"Are we really going to be trained as astronauts?" Vanna asked, just
as eager.

"I think I'll let Marilyn brief you on the actual approach to be
used," Gates said. "The only element I will stress myself is that you
need to maintain absolute secrecy about your unique natures, not only
for this mission, but to avoid compromising past or future missions as
well."

He looked at Marilyn, a glance passing more of a message than mere
permission to continue the briefing. She nodded, and in her turn
looked at Jaymi.

"Jaymi, dear, that means you will need to be a bit more discreet in
your off-duty... pursuits than you were while on furlough."

"Yes, ma'am," Jaymi replied, a blush firing her cheeks as she ducked
her head.

The other team members stared at Jaymi like she had just grown another
head or something, but they all held their tongues, not wanting to be
the next victim of Marilyn's disciplinary attention. It didn't work,
though. Marilyn's blue eyes focused on those of the other blonde on
the team, the elegant Vanna.

"Even when you are the... pursued rather than the pursuer," the
team leader warned.

Vanna's blush showed even more clearly against her pale skin and for
once her air of poised sophistication gave way to an almost childish
contrition that would have looked more in place as part of Sandy's
ingénue persona.

"Geez, am I the only one who didn't get laid on this break?" Carol
grumped.

Instead of answering, Sandy said, "It would appear that we had, ah,
company on our furloughs."

Now it was Marilyn's turn to appear slightly uncomfortable, but she
lifted her head (provoking interesting secondary motions) and said
firmly, "You all knew that security was paramount when you
volunteered."

"Indeed we did," Jaymi softly agreed, defusing any tension with her
gentle acceptance.

"Indeed, we all did," Gates said. "And you all did well, considering
the challenges you faced." Then he surprised the team by looking at
their commander, saying, "Even you, Marilyn."

"Now *there* is an opening we just have to pursue," Carol crowed,
laughing at the thought of a romantic liaison for their beautiful
leader.

The laugh died in her throat, though, when she saw a look of sadness
rather than embarrassment on Marilyn's beautiful face.

In a heartbeat, Sandy was out of her seat and hugging the pretty
blonde, an embrace that Marilyn did not seem to mind a bit.

"I think you all have some more catching up to do," Gates said,
standing to leave. "The only reason I came today is to make it clear
that the surveillance placed on all of you was not in any way a sign
of lack of trust from Marilyn. She could, as usual, have handled the
entire mission briefing herself. But none of you, nor myself in fact,
are exempt from security. Remember that as you meet all those, ah,
handsome astronauts and fighter pilots."

He smiled to each of them in turn, made a slight yet courtly bow
toward Marilyn, then made his way out.

"What happened?" Sandy asked as soon as the door closed, her emerald
green eyes focused on the brilliant blue gems Marilyn displayed.

Marilyn straightened in her seat, and dredged up a more-typical smile
before glancing at Jaymi. "I guess you could say that I, too,
... met a boy."

Chapter 2 - "Mystery Guest"

"You met a boy? Ooh, do tell," Carol urged their shapely commander.

Marilyn shrugged, her expression showing her recognition that her team
not only deserved, but would insist on a real explanation.

"I have a brother, a younger brother," she began. "He graduated from
West Point during our furlough, and a few weeks before we went on
leave I realized the timing would overlap."

Marilyn leaned back in her chair, her eyes losing focus, or perhaps
gaining focus on something only she could see. Her tone seemed almost
nonchalant, at least at first.

***

I picked up the secure phone and dialed a complex number with too many
digits for a conventional call. After a long pause during which I had
to negotiate with computers by pronouncing seemingly-random strings of
letters and numbers that the silly machines must have conjured up in
the first place, I finally heard the voice I wanted on the far end.

"Sam, Bobby is graduating next month."

"I know," Sam Gates replied, surprised neither by the abruptness of
the statement nor the cryptic reference to a name not part of the
team.

"I... well, I was going to say I need to be there, but I suppose
it's not quite that... inescapable. But I really want to be
there. I guess that means I need to ask a favor."

"You know I'll do what I can," Gates replied. "What did you have in
mind?"

"Well, in my dreams I get to show up as Major General Richard Merlin
and congratulate him, but..."

"But even aside from the security issues, you know you can't really
return to your old identity, certainly not on a temporary basis. With
your current, um, mannerisms, you wouldn't be a particularly good role
model for `a modern Major General´."

"That is the problem, all right."

"You wouldn't have called me without a plan," Gates declared.

"Right," I confirmed. "I'll have to go as Marilyn, of course, but I'd
like you to get me an invitation to the graduation ceremony."

Gates voice held a note that would be humor in a more-expressive
person, contradicting what might have seemed like a reproof. "Why,
Marilyn, since when have you paid any attention to obstacles? I can
think of half a dozen ways in which you could have managed this."

"Yes, but getting there is only part of it. I need to have some
official orders to attend - faked, but official."

"Ah, and so you called me."

"Well, you are one path around this obstacle," I pointed out with a
laugh.

"I assume you want to attend as a serving officer then, and not just
as a, hmm, an unescorted woman?"

"Exactly. I need to wear a uniform so that I can be one of `us´, not
one of `them´."

"Quite," Gates said, that wry note of humor back in his voice. "You
understand your `orders´ won't identify you as a Major General. There
aren't enough female general officers to support the idea that one
nobody knows just happened to attend the West Point graduation."

I laughed again and said, "I sort of figured that. I'll go as a Major,
since that's my permanent rank."

"Actually," Gates said, the note of humor in his voice now very
obvious, "I've been meaning to talk to you about that. You really need
to pay more attention to your official mail."

"What are you talking about?"

"You're no longer a Major, Lieutenant Colonel Merlin."

"I'm, uh, oh! Oh, my. That *is* news."

Gates chuckled at my surprise, but cautioned, "It's not official, yet.
You've been selected but it will be a few months before you are
formally promoted. That will be useful, actually. I can have you jump
the gun a little, for your uniform, and it will confuse anyone who
looks into it too closely."

Then his voice got more somber, as he said, "You realize you won't be
able to let Bobby know who you really are. You won't even be able to
claim ring-knocker status, since there will be officers there from
every West Point year group and any female graduate as pretty as you
would certainly be remembered."

"I understand. But I still want to be there."

"Very well. I'll work on it. Good-bye."

"Bye," I echoed, sitting back in her swivel chair. A promotion, and
way ahead of normal year group, was pretty dramatic news. Still, my
mind was reeling more with the idea of being there for my kid
brother's graduation.

A month later, I found myself in the VIP area at the West Point
graduation. As I took my reserved seat, carefully straightening my
uniform jacket and pulling down the hem of my barely-regulation skirt,
I was thinking about the rewards and penalties of my current identity.
I had accepted the unique character of my life, but in all honesty
there were few times when I actually enjoyed it. In most cases,
presenting the appearance of a woman was simply necessary to the
security of our nation.

Sometimes though, it was truly rewarding to be able to act as a woman.
Specifically, to be unashamed of the tears that rolled down my face as
my baby brother, now grown tall and strong, graduated with honor from
my own alma mater. It would have been hard to prove we were siblings
even before Richard Merlin had become Marilyn Richards, Lieutenant
Colonel Marilyn Richards, no less. Where as Richard, or Rick, I had
always been slight of build - what little build there was - Bobby had
definitely taken after our father and grown to a commanding height.

"Dear Lord, they could use him for a recruiting poster," I mused to
myself.

"Pardon me?" said the man, a brigadier general, sitting next to me.

"Oh, excuse me, General. I must have spoken out loud inadvertently."

"Quite all right, um, Colonel," he said, grinning. "I think I may have
caught what you said, though. May I ask just which one of our fine
young officers caught your eye?"

"Oh, uh, well, they are all fine additions to the `Long Gray Line ´,"
I said, trying to dodge the question.

"Indeed," he said, eyes twinkling. "It would no doubt do their egos a
great deal of harm - through inflating them even further, of course -
to have such a beautiful woman tell them so."

"Thank you, General. I'm sure their sergeants will be quick to knock
that out of them."

"Indeed," he agreed, then in accordance with his combat training he
pursued an advantage that had presented itself. "I don't believe we've
met before. I'm Dan Braddock, TRADOC, DCS Doctrine."

"I'm, um, Marilyn Richards, currently on special assignment."

"Oh? Doing what?"

"I'm sorry, General, but I'm not supposed to say," I replied, glancing
around as though my problem were more with discussing it in that
location than with the question itself. Or at least that's what I
tried to imply.

The brigadier general's brows furrowed sharply, a chance meeting with
a pretty woman now transformed into an issue of turf. "Look, Colonel,
I'm in charge of training doctrine for anyone who wears the
uniform. You can tell me. In fact, since Secretary Symondson has
directed us to get feedback from operational units at every
opportunity, I can even make that an order."

"With respect, General, that would not be a good idea. If you do, this
will escalate into something neither of us will enjoy. Can't we just
focus on the graduation ceremonies?"

"Hmmph. You understand that I can pursue this through official
channels," he threatened.

"Yes, sir, I do. Just as you understand that in a case of conflict of
orders, I am bound by those from my own chain of command until they
are countermanded."

"Indeed," he said abruptly. "We'll just see about that. Who is your
commanding officer?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but I'm not at liberty to say."

"What?!"

His surprised comment was loud enough to cause heads to turn
throughout the VIP area. The furrow between Braddock's brows was now a
sharply-defined chasm, but recognition that he was drawing undesirable
attention to himself from his own superiors forced the once-friendly
general officer into silence, a black look promising that this young
Lieutenant Colonel, no matter how pretty, was not to be allowed to
avoid him in so cavalier a fashion.

Oh, hell, I thought. So much for a quiet, anonymous visit to the
Point.

I turned pointedly back to the graduation speaker, making it clear
that I would volunteer no further information. General Braddock's
glare was in no way diminished by my obvious move to distance myself
from him.

And so much for being able to relax and enjoy Bobby's special moment,
I sighed to myself.

The ceremony proceeded to a close. When the hats went into the air,
tears once again came to my eyes as I remembered that same moment from
my own graduation. Never did find that hat, I remembered wryly.

Then I quickly remembered my new problem and took advantage of the
predictable pandemonium to escape into the crowd. General Braddock
looked as though he was going to try to pursue me, but even a general
officer has less sway with a thousand young men than a pretty woman
and the path that formed for me closed abruptly.

With that demonstration that I was risking security with my very
presence, I knew I should have left immediately. But fate intervened
in the form of a distraught older woman whom I literally stumbled over
in the crowd. My mother.

"Can I help you?" I asked, unable to leave her in distress.

"Oh, um, thank you," she replied, her eyes dropping from a frantic
scan of the crowd to look at the young woman in front of her. For a
moment, her eyes widened in an expression of... confusion, followed
quickly by a small, subconscious shake of her head as though rejecting
an idea too silly for further contemplation.

"I'm looking for my son," she explained. Like that was news or
something.

"One of the cadets?" I prompted.

"Yes, he's, um, some sort of officer," Mrs. Merlin said.

"They're pretty much all officers, now," I said, trying to show both
appreciation for her distress and confidence that we could overcome
it.

"Oh, I guess that's true, isn't it?" Mrs. Merlin said sheepishly.

"Was he perhaps a cadet brigade officer, perhaps a company commander
or something?" I asked.

"Oh, yes, that's it. Only, um, is there a battalion commander person?
When my other son graduated, he was the company commander. Bobby was
quite proud that he had done better."

"Indeed, and well he should be," I said, smiling outwardly even as I
winced inwardly. Probably a good thing I'm not officially here, I
mused. I'd never hear the end of Bobby ranking higher in the corps of
cadets than I did. Bet his class standing wasn't as good, though.

I took my mother's arm, relishing the personal contact in a way that
brought fresh tears to my eyes that I now had to hide. Urging her
gently through the crowd, I scanned for the tall form of my brother.
From the reviewing stand I hadn't been able to discern Bobby's cadet
rank, or perhaps I had just been focused on other things.

Two women, one gorgeous (if I do say so myself), one with the
unmistakable look of a proud but worried mother, worked a double magic
on the gentleman officers and we moved unimpeded through the throng
until we finally spotted Bobby. He was searching for us, or at least
for his mother, and looking for his classmates for one last good-bye
at the same time. As a result he wasn't doing a very good job of
either pursuit, ending up looking the other way as we approached.

Mustering up the most commanding voice I could, I barked, "Is that how
you greet your mother, Mister? By showing her your backside?"

Bobby whirled and hit a hard brace by reflex too deeply set for
conscious thought, saluting almost before he absorbed my rank. Despite
looking over my shoulder rather than directly at me, he realized he
didn't know any pretty female colonels and confusion showed on his
face alongside the relief of finding at least one of his objectives.

"Oh, Bobby, I'm so glad to have found you," Mrs. Merlin said.

"Ah, yes, um, Mother. Me, too." His eyes asked a lot of questions but
he held his position.

"At ease," I commanded, returning his salute even as I tried to ease
the tension with one of my very best smiles. "Apparently your mother
needed a little help, ah, recognizing you. In your uniform and all. It
was my privilege to provide some assistance."

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am," the youngest Merlin said, hitting a
parade rest posture nearly as rigid is his attention had been.

"Lighten up, soldier," I commanded again. "And you might be allowed to
provide a cup of punch to two desperately thirsty ladies."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, snapping off another salute that I barely had
time to acknowledge before he was off for our refreshments.

"Oh, there he goes again," sighed Mother.

"He'll be right back," I assured her, then forced a light, amused tone
into my voice in place of the deeper emotions I felt. "He looks to be
a fine young officer."

"Yes, he does, doesn't he?" replied the woman I was going to have to
think of as Mrs. Merlin; pride and a bit of wonder in her tone
triggering what I knew would show as a new glisten in my eyes.

I had to follow up on an earlier opening. "Did I hear you say that you
had another son who graduated from West Point?"

"Yes," she nodded, and I was shamelessly pleased to hear a matching
note of pride in my mother's voice. "He has done very well, I think. I
really don't know what he's doing right now, but I'm sure whatever it
is is being done well."

"I'm sure, um, he'd be gratified to hear that," I said softly.

"I do so wish he could have been here. He and Bobby were always so
close. It seems that he is `missing in action´, or might as well
be. Other than an occasional letter, I haven't heard from him in a
very long time."

"Ah, well, sometimes things just don't work out like we expect," I
murmured, trying not to let my emotions loose. "I'm sure there's
nothing to worry about or the Army would have notified you."

Any further comment that her mother might have made was interrupted by
the return of the newly-made officer and gentleman.

"Here you are, ma'am," the young Lieutenant Merlin said, returning
with two cups of punch. He was torn for a moment between offering the
first one to his mother or to the officer who had ordered him to get
it, deciding at the last second to speak to the officer while offering
a cup to his mother. It was a good compromise, and one which triggered
a smile of appreciation on my artificially full lips.

"So, Mister, do you suppose you could find the manners to introduce
us? " I teased.

"Oh, yes ma'am. No excuse, ma'am," he blurted out. "This lady is my
mother, Mrs. Janice Merlin. I am Cadet Major Robert Merlin... "

His voice trailed off as he realized he didn't know anything about the
pretty woman before him but the last name on her badge and her rank.
Actually the decorations on my trim uniform told some surprisingly
impressive things as well, though he didn't recognize the majority of
the ribbons.

In any event, I filled in for him by smiling at his mother and saying,
"And I'm Marilyn Richards."

Mrs. Merlin smiled and nodded, words lost in a cover of sudden
laughter from another nearby grouping. I took a sip of my punch and
tried to decide what to do next. Should I just make my excuses and
leave? Certainly that would be the right thing to do from a security
perspective. Yet, this was my own mother and God only knew how long it
would be before they could speak again - certainly not while I was
presenting the appearance of a woman.

My mother took that decision away from me with an observation that
made an immediate departure both more necessary and less possible.

"You look so... familiar to me, somehow," she said, studying my
face much too closely for comfort. "I have this absolutely compelling
feeling that we have met before."

"Oh, um, well I would think I'd remember if we had," I said, not quite
lying.

"Bobby," Mrs. Merlin asked, "does Miss Richards look familiar to you?"

"Ah, well, now that you mention it... ," he said, stalling. He was
not going to give up a possible opening with a pretty girl - even an
`older woman´ - without taking full advantage of it.

"I knew it," Mrs. Merlin said. "We simply must talk and find out where
we have met before."

As much as I might have loved the chance to spend some time with my
unwillingly-estranged family, that particular topic was inescapably
off limits and I finally admitted to myself that I was going to have
to get away from them. Once again though, the choice was taken from me
as Mother made an invitation I couldn't refuse without drawing even
more attention and curiosity to myself.

"Marilyn, if you're not already committed for this evening, we're
going to a dinner party and would love to have you as our guest."

"I couldn't intrude," I replied.

"We had hoped that my other son could attend, though all he had said
was that he would try. In any event, Bobby's friend is expecting three
of us and you'd be more than welcome. Right, Bobby?"

"Of course," he said quickly, though the frown on his face said that
fraternizing with an officer so much higher than his own rank made him
uncomfortable. Or perhaps I'm flattering myself that the problem was
my rank and not my age.

"Ah, what kind of party is this?" I asked, stalling.

Bobby answered, "One of my classmates, Cadet Bronson, is getting
married tomorrow in the post chapel. This is his rehearsal dinner."

"Then I really couldn't intrude," I said firmly.

"Nonsense," Mother said even more firmly. "I've known Angela Bronson
since before you were born. I'm sure she'd love to have you." She
paused for a second, then her tone changed to entreaty, "And I would
really like to get to know you a little better. I truly believe we've
met before."

That was even more reason to decline, but... but my own mother.
Could you have turned her down? I suppose my decision must have shown
on my face.

"Then you'll come?" Bobby asked, pressing for a commitment in true
military style.

"Very well," I said, then thought to myself, I'll just have to keep
the discussion on other topics.

Then I smiled in a way that Bobby found most... intriguing when
another thought came to me. In the only decent outfit, other than this
uniform, that I have with me I don't expect there's much chance anyone
will associate me with my alternate identity as a male officer.

Chapter 3 - "Misdirection"

Marilyn*, you idiot,* I thought to myself while I waited for my `
date´ to arrive, *if you* ever *planned a SMITE mission as poorly as
you planned this outfit, you and your whole team would be toast!*

"If the neckline were any lower, my *real* `secret´ would show," I
grumped out loud as I looked in the hotel room mirror. "And it's even
worse in back. No bending over for this babe tonight, that's for damn
sure!"

But in my heart I knew that if I had been meeting anyone other than my
own family, I'd be spectacular. "Spectacle is right," I chided my own
inner thoughts, not that it helped. They still wouldn't be quiet as I
turned this way and that before the mirror, watching the way the sleek
black fabric glued itself to my dramatic curves - courtesy of Uncle
Sugar. "Way too fancy, even for a rehearsal dinner. Not to mention too
damn short. Why did I *ever* listen to Carol's suggestion on my `
emergency´ outfit?"

A discreet knock at the door required me to turn away from my
narcissistic preoccupation and gather up the rest of my things. The
purse was too small to be useful, but I wasn't headed for a week in
the bushes on a tactical exercise. A short mink jacket - at least I
think it was mink, I never asked Sam where he had gotten it from - and
some black gloves completed my ensemble.

"Maybe I'll just keep the jacket on all evening," I muttered to myself
as I opened the door.

"Ma'am?" asked Bobby in confusion. He stood in the doorway tall and
trim and very handsome in a sportcoat and slacks that were about as
far from the uniforms he had been required to wear as possible without
getting sloppy. Part of me was appreciative even as part of me was
envious, proving that he was not the only one confused at that moment.

"Now, Lieutenant," I said, counterattacking to cover my mistake, "if
you're going to call me `ma'am´ all night, I'll just stay home."

"Um, sorry, uh... Colonel?"

"Marilyn will do, since I'm out of uniform," I said. Way* out of
uniform,* I thought. Then I realized that Bobby was almost certainly
thinking exactly the same thing, and I couldn't hold back a bubbly
giggle. Also courtesy of Uncle Sugar and my once-useful training in
bimbo.

"Ma'am?" he said again, then caught himself. "I'm sorry, I mean, did
you say something, um, Marilyn?"

"Just get us to the car, Lieutenant," I said dryly. He hit a parade
ground brace and offered me his arm, a welcome aid in the steepled
heels that the dress required, and we set off to a waiting cab without
further embarrassment for either of us.

At least, it could have been. But I just had to keep him off balance,
if for no other reason than because all new Second Lieutenants are
required to be off balance. It's part of the Army code. I was working
on ways to tease him when he pulled open the cab door for me.

"Good evening," I heard from inside.

"Good evening," I repeated to Mrs. Merlin, my very own mother.

"What a lovely dress," she said politely.

"What there is of it," I muttered under my breath. At that very
instant my thoughts on Sandy and Carol were not very
... complimentary, even though I knew I had been all too easy to
persuade to wear that slinky bit of silk.

"What did you say, dear?" Mother asked.

"Oh, um, sorry, nothing," I lied. She looked at me very closely for a
moment, frowning, then gave her head a tiny little shake and settled
back into her seat. Bobby took a jumpseat facing us, and the driver
soon had us on our way.

"So, Eltee, tell me again how you managed to end up escorting two
women on a post where men outnumber women at least 10:1," I said,
trying to cover my own confusion with another poke at Bobby.

His answer was interrupted, though, by our mother. "Eltee?"

"Short for lieutenant," he explained. "I have to admit, I'm still
trying to get used to that."

I grinned wickedly and said, "All the way from Major to Eltee in one
quick step. Oh, how the mighty have fallen."

"Cadet Major," he quickly corrected me. "It's hardly a fall."

"You'll think it is once your sergeant gets a hold of you. If you
thought plebe year was difficult, you're gonna hate what real soldiers
do to you," I promised.

"Were you a cadet?" he asked, trying to shift the subject from
himself. Goodness, they must have finally managed to drill some
manners into his head.

"My career path has been, ah, convoluted," I said, not really
answering.

"But impressive," he said. "You're very young to be a Lieutenant
Colonel."

"Why, thank you," I said, dimpling artfully. "And I guess I can take
that as an answer to my question."

"I'm sorry?" he said, confused.

"As to how you managed to get two women to go to the ball with you," I
reminded him. "You're pretty smooth with the ladies, aren't you?"

His response was a blush not very well in keeping with his masculine
appearance. Mother's laugh didn't help anything. At least, not from
his perspective. I thought it was great.

Mother asked, "Will you really be, um, working with regular soldiers
now?"

"Pretty soon," he said. "I report to Fort Sill for more training,
first, but part of that will include performing tasks with trained
enlisted men."

"A Redleg? What ever made you choose Artillery?"

He shrugged as though it were not a big deal, but I could see pride as
well. "I like the, um, precision of things. The math and ballistics."

"You like math?"

"Sure," he confirmed, smiling.

"That doesn't... ah, does that run in the family?"

"Hardly," he laughed. "My older brother hates math. He was always more
... intuitive, I guess. I think he finds it more rewarding to guess
a right answer than to work it out carefully. Whatever he's doing now,
I'd bet it involves dangerous react-without-time-for-analysis
undercover missions in some sort of disguise rather than sitting
behind a desk doing calculations."

I had to quickly chew on my tongue rather than blurt out an agreement,
but he couldn't have found a more accurate description even if he had
known of my current... situation. It was only after I had a chance
to get my own `react-without-time-for-analysis´ impulse under control
that I realized there had been a fair bit of pride in his comment.

And then I felt my mother's eyes on me again, with that frown back in
place. Fortunately we had just arrived at the hall where Bobby's
friend was celebrating and the bustle of getting out of the cab
distracted her. Inside, a stiffly formal plebe was taking coats. So
much for my plans to hide inside my jacket.

It was a bit, well okay, it was very gratifying to hear the collective
gasp from all those fit, handsome men when they saw me in my dress.
Even Mother's eyes widened at the... display. Wish I knew if she's
pleased or thinks I look like a tramp, I wondered, glancing at the
frown that had reappeared on her face.

Bobby escorted us into the main dining room, smiling at the calls from
his friends. He gallantly offered his arm to his mother, then realized
he owed me the other one - an offer he made quickly to forestall those
who appeared only too willing to take on that duty for him.

I'd like to be able to blame what happened later on the dancing. It
wasn't the drinks. Even `off-duty´ I knew better than to get drunk and
while I had an obligatory glass of champagne, the rest of the evening
I stayed with soda. But there is something almost as intoxicating
about being the focus of attention for so many handsome, wonderfully
fit young men.

Bobby had the first dance and clearly wanted more besides, but it
wasn't long before another new `officer and gentleman´ approached.

"Bobby, I am *not* going to believe that this is your sister," he
said.

"Hardly," Bobby agreed, though the irony almost caused me to laugh out
loud.

"And she is not wearing an engagement ring, so I'm about to exercise
my prerogatives as a brother officer and give you a run for your
money," the sharp-eyed young man said, then before Bobby had a chance
to reply he switched his attention to me. "Miss, I'd be very grateful
for the privilege of a dance with you."

For some reason I looked at Bobby like I needed his permission or
something. I could see a bit of conflict in his eyes, but we had just
met, really, so what could he say?

The answer to that question was formed in manners as he introduced us.
"Marilyn, this is Todd Jackson, who will not doubt become famous in
Army lore for his devotion to the frontal attack. Todd, this is
Marilyn Richards... "

He paused just long enough for Jackson to let an interestingly feral
grin appear on his face, then concluded, "... Lieutenant Colonel
Richards."

The poor boy's face fell like he had taken a.223 round in the heart,
but to his credit he recovered quickly and smiled. "Nice to meet you,
Colonel."

"I'm just Marilyn tonight," I said, but Jackson's look remained
defensive.

"As you wish, ma'am," he said, offering his arm.

I refused to take it, smiling at Bobby to see if he recognized the
point. He smiled back, then realized there was an invitation in my
glance as well. That put a much larger grin on his face as he looked
back to the other officer.

"Mister Jackson, does this gorgeous woman look like a `ma'am´ to you?"

Jackson had hit a brace from reflex, though he would have gained a few
gigs for breaking his pose by letting his eyes look at me instead of
straight ahead. They lingered for a while, long enough that Bobby had
time to stifle the laugh his own reflexes wanted so much to indulge
then paste a firm look on his face.

"Well, Mister? I asked you a question."

"Ah, no. Sir," Jackson stammered, then did a pretty good job of
recovering. "When I think of `ma'am´, the image that comes to mind
does absolutely no justice to this vision of loveliness."

"Why, lieutenant, for that I may just forgive you," I said with a
slight dip into something much too small to be a curtsy. With that, I
held my hand out to take the arm he was no longer really offering.
Young Jackson remedied that quickly, and we were soon moving easily to
the - like all things Army - very traditional music.

The next young swain didn't even wait for the song to end, cutting in
on Jackson before we had found each other's rhythm. His own turn was
not much longer. There is something very... like I said,
intoxicating about all that attention from such virile men. It wasn't
really sexual, at least on my side. It was the flattery of their
interest, not the potential for intimacy - despite the inherent
sensuality of moving to music in the arms of a very male companion.

Or perhaps addictive would be better than intoxicating. I certainly
enjoyed the attention, enough that I didn't want it to end even when I
knew it had to end... because of my feet.

"I'm sorry," I said with a grimace as soon as Bobby reclaimed me one
more time, "but I just have to sit for a while."

"Of course," he said gallantly.

I faked continued nonchalance for the walk back to our table, though
I'm afraid the quite graceless impact of my fanny on the chair gave me
away. Mother laughed, which was no help at all.

"I wouldn't even have tried to dance in shoes like those," she said
without sympathy. "You should have known better."

"I did," I said ruefully, "but I wore them anyway."

"On the other hand," I said, smiling at Bobby, "I didn't know I'd be
dancing so much."

"You should have," he said unrepentantly. Smugly, in fact, as he
looked around at all his classmates and their admiring glances.

"Thank you," I said softly, but sadly, too, as the lie I was really
telling them sparked a new bout of guilt. I really shouldn't have
come.

The sadness I felt didn't have much time to fester because almost as
soon as we sat down some of Bobby's friends started to join us. Mother
looked on in amusement at their transparent attempts to impress us,
um, perhaps it was more to impress me. It got to be a `there I was´
contest, telling tales just close enough to true that they might be
believed. That's when I got into trouble.

One of the young men - I don't remember his name and they were all
very happy to answer to `Lieutenant´ anyway - was planning on getting
into the Green Berets. He had applied for jungle training after his
basic infantry school, and was already jump qualified. It sounded like
a nicely laid-out path... if you hadn't been there.

"Pick carefully, Lieutenant," I said. "Jungle training is a *lot*
worse than you think."

"Ah, yes, ma'am', he said, suddenly formal again. He couldn't disagree
with a superior officer, of course, but it was clear he wasn't
convinced.

I suppose it irritated me. I *had* been through jungle training, back
when it was in Panama and really nasty. It was wildly inconsistent
with my current appearance, of course, and inexcusable to compromise
my cover for bragging points with a bunch of wet-nosed shavetails, but
.. . But I did it anyway. Intoxicated is my only excuse.

"Look, Mister, when you're four days in the mud with the trots from
the bad water and God knows what growing between your toes, and you
see a snake that just crawled over you take a tree frog that would
poison you if *it* came your way, and then the frog snatches a moth
the size of your palm even as it's being eaten. Well, then you'll know
what the law of the jungle really means."

A very uncomfortable silence fell on our table, though the look of
respect I guess I had wanted certainly showed in their faces. Between
mentally kicking myself for falling into the stupid macho game of
bragging, I was trying to figure out some way to lighten the mood when
Mother stepped in to save me.

"Marilyn, dear, would you like to go with me to the powder room?"

"Of course," I said quickly. We gathered our purses and made our way
across the room toward the facilities, the pain from now-swollen feet
seeming all too just to me. Mother stopped us before we passed the
door, though, steering toward a small alcove.

Her voice was so soft and casual that it took a moment for the import
of what she said to register. "Ricky, don't you think it's about time
you told me what's really going on?"

"I can't, Mom... Uh, oh."

"Quite," she said.

I had denied a lot of things to her over the years, probably with a
lot less success than I had imagined at the time, but this time she
stopped me before I ever got started. "I heard my son Richard give
that same description after he first got back from that horrible
school," she said, "and I was almost certain even before that. What is
going on?"

"Ah... yes," I said, stalling. "I, ah, met Richard and he... "

"Don't even try," she ordered bluntly.

Glancing around to make sure we couldn't be overheard, I tried to
decide what to do, what to say. "Mom, this is really, really serious.
I'm in a very special, very secret, um, organization and if anyone
even guessed we existed some of our successes would be undone, and
really bad things might happen - world-class disasters."

"But, you look like a woman, and a beautiful one. And you move like
one, and you dance like one, and I don't believe even Hollywood could
fake breasts that perfectly."

"No, they're not fake, though they can be removed. I'm really sorry,
Mother, but I truly can't explain any further. You just have to keep
this secret. Not even Bobby can know. In truth, I'm not sure what I
should do about you."

"Richard! I'd never tell anyone. Don't you remember when I caught you
in your cousin's clothes?"

"What?"

"Child, you're going to have to quit acting like you don't know what
we're talking about. It's silly when you know very well that I know
you know very well. I caught you dressed in your cousin's clothes when
you were - what was it? Twelve? - that time we were visiting my sister
Jessie."

"That was because my clothes got dirty, and I needed something to wear
while mine were washed."

"Yes, dear, but no one chose the clothes you had to wear but you."

"It's all she had that would fit me! At least, the only ones I could
find."

Mother just sat there, a smugly disagreeing expression on her face.
After a pause long enough to officially express her disbelief, she
said, "The point, Richard, is that I never told anyone, not even your
father. Whatever is behind what you're doing now, I won't gossip about
it."

I took a deep breath to calm myself. After a moment I was able to
speak relatively normally. "I know that, Mom, but this is way more
important than just some personal embarrassment for me. This truly is
a matter of national security. I can't say any more than that."

Standing, I looked back at the main room. "I better be going. You're
the perfect example of why I shouldn't have come at all, but I'm not
sorry I did."

"I'm not sorry, either," she said, showing a smile only issued to
mothers and only used when they are really pleased. Then she became
more thoughtful and asked, "Ah, how long do you think this will...
continue?"

"I don't know. For as long as we're needed, I guess."

"Do you... like this?"

It's funny, but while I would not have hesitated to tell my team how
much I loved being part of it, answering the same question from my own
mother was not as easy a task. "Now? I think so. In the beginning, it
was, well, let's just say I would have preferred going through jungle
school again. But I have an incredible team, and I think we're doing
something important."

"Is that all?" she asked, gentle amusement lurking in her eyes.

I know I blushed, and it wasn't just because I had learned that reflex
in training. "Maybe not, but... well, can you believe my current
enjoyment is no more critical than my earlier discomfort? At least for
now, it's what I need to do to serve my country with honor."

"Ah, my Richard. Under all that magic, you're still my hero."

"Thanks, Mom, but you've got Bobby now."

"Yes, but he'll never be my hero. You've been braver every day of your
life, at least since it was clear you'd never be tall and strong and
physically imposing, than he will even need to be. Don't think I
haven't always known... even before that time at Jessie's."

"Oh, Mom, I'm so sorry to have embarrassed you."

"Dear Ricky, you have always made me proud. I believe you, that what
you are doing is important. And even if it wasn't, even if you were
just... different now, you'd still be my child."

Her smile showed acceptance and reassurance, but also something more.
Something that brought tears to my eyes even as I saw a glisten in
hers.

Softly, tenderly, she asked, "Are you happy?"

My words stuck in my throat. That question was so much like the
earlier one that it seemed redundant, but in her gentle words I saw
the difference between liking a job, and real happiness. Maybe there
were some things I hadn't admitted even to myself, but none of that
was important in the light of her love. Even though I couldn't speak,
I leaned over and hugged her, letting my head nod against her shoulder
in answer.

"Then that's all I need to know," she said, patting my shoulder.

After a moment I managed to get myself back under control and said,
"We better get back."

She nodded and stood. "I do appreciate your being here for Bobby. His
big brother might not have been able to make it, but having a
beautiful woman show she's proud to be escorted by him is about the
next best thing."

"Actually," I said, offering an excuse for an accusation she had not
made. "I thought I might keep his... attention focused on this
dress as a form of... misdirection so that he wouldn't recognize
me."

"I must admit, that dress is an attention-getter."

"Do you like it?" I asked, twirling a little.

"What there is of it. It's a good thing you're all grown up now,
because I'd never have let a daughter of mine out of the house in
that."

She looked sharply at me for a moment, frowning, then she laughed and
all the remaining tension leaked away. "Nor would I let her out with
her makeup streaked like that. Now we really *do* need to use the
powder room."

She took my arm and led me to where I could rebuild my face, and after
a few very necessary moments, we rejoined the boys.

***

Marilyn leaned back in her chair and sat silently. The team didn't
realized she had finished for a long moment, then Carol burst out.
"What happened after that?"

Their commander sighed softly, then said, "Nothing much at the party.
We danced some more."

"Didja kiss him?" Carol asked.

"Carol, he's my brother!"

"*He* didn't know that," she snickered.

"No, he didn't. But no I didn't kiss him, except just a quick peck on
the cheek."

Carol snickered again and said, "I'll bet." That earned her a
no-nonsense frown from Marilyn which did a very effective job of
quieting the boisterous redhead.

Marilyn sat up in her chair, straightening her slender shoulders in an
unmistakable sign of resolve. "And when I got back, I reported myself
to Sam Gates for a security violation."

"You did what?!" Vanna asked, apparently taking over the role of chief
interrogator.

"I told Sam about my screw-up," repeated Marilyn. "Anyway, let that be
a lesson to all of us. We just won't be able to contact our real
families, even in our new identities, until, well, I don't know.
Certainly not as long as we look like women."

After a pause long enough for them to absorb Marilyn's announcement,
Jaymi asked softly, "Why didn't you just, ah, go along with her
suggestion that you might have done this because you wanted to? That
you were, um, transsexual?"

"Think about it, Jaymi," ordered Marilyn.

The dark-haired girl's face frowned in an obvious lack of
comprehension until she was rescued by her longer-haired sister. Sandy
said, "Because it would have been just as bad to have her thinking,
and maybe telling someone, that her elder son - the Army officer - had
become a woman and now had some secret job. If the idea that
genetically male Army officers are able to look like beautiful women
gets out..."

"But she wouldn't tell anyone," Jaymi protested on behalf of a woman
she had never met.

"She might. Not intentionally, but all it would take would be, um,
hesitation or something when someone asked about her son Richard, and,
well, if the wrong people were listening... "

"That's pretty paranoid," Vanna said.

"Which is exactly the way we all need to be, all the time," Marilyn
declared. She looked at her team to see if they had any further
questions, clearly hoping there wouldn't be any. But that hope went
unfulfilled.

Jaymi asked, "What did Sam Gates do? When you told him?"

"To me? Nothing," replied Marilyn. "We're in such a unique situation
that his only real option - at least in my case - would be to disband
the team. He wasn't happy, but I'm not the one who has to pay the
price for this mistake."

"Who does?" "What price?" The questions stepped on each other as
several girls spoke at once.

"My mother," Marilyn said softly. "From now on, though she doesn't
know it, her phone is going to be tapped. She'll be followed. She
might make some new friends who aren't what they seem to be. She's
lost a significant part of her privacy, and all because of my
selfishness."

Silence sealed the memory of her explanation into their minds and
showed that it had been written on their hearts. After pausing long
enough to show that she was fully aware of how serious this was,
Marilyn brought the impromptu interrogation to a close with a brisk
observation that reminded them all they had work to do. "At least none
of the rest of you met any family members over your furlough. Though,
as Sam indicated, some of you danced a fine line with security even if
you didn't trip over that line like I did. Now, if there are no
further questions about my own screw-up, we all have things to do."

All but Sandy filed out of the room. The dark-haired girl who looked
so innocent but had suffered so much, walked over to Marilyn and
pulled the curvy blonde to her feet. Without a word, Sandy hugged her
commander. Then, still not speaking, she walked out after the others.

Chapter 4 - "Missile"

"Comin' through!" Vanna called as she spiraled down the center of the
large tube, a blonde, self-guided missile in a sleek black skinsuit.

Carol's gritted teeth made her response harsh, which was what she
intended. "Shut up, Vanna!"

However, Vanna was unimpressed, bouncing off one wall and heading back
up the long axis of the hollow cylinder.

"Watch out for those heels," Marilyn ordered, sighing. Her personal
feelings were much closer to Carol than to Vanna right then. Zero-g
was obviously not going to be one of her favorite parts of their
training, either.

It wouldn't be quite correct to say that Jaymi was having fun, like
Vanna, but she was coping. Always focused with at least a part of her
attention on Sandy, Jaymi realized her longer-haired sister was gamely
experimenting with the strange sensations as well. She decided to urge
Sandy into something more... dramatic and in so doing force herself
to do the same.

"Sandy, meet me in the middle," she called out, then pushed off toward
the center of the enclosure. Even across the space you could see Sandy
gulp a little, but she launched herself toward her floating friend. As
their paths crossed, Jaymi grabbed Sandy's arm and they began to
pinwheel slowly about each other, Jaymi's dark red and Sandy's emerald
green outfits providing an unseasonably festive image. Sandy's
reaction was more panic than planned, but Jaymi started moving her
arms in graceful gestures while arcing her body into a smooth curve.

Unfortunately, any attempt Sandy might have made to match Jaymi's
grace was quickly interrupted. They had only gotten started when the
warning buzzer sounded and each member of the team grabbed for an
anchor. Their weightless state was highly temporary - less than a
minute at a time - as the NASA KC-135 completed one arcing maneuver
and swooped into the next. The cylinder in which they played, or
suffered, was a converted airliner flying a path that sent it
nose-high, then following a zero-g profile until the nose was well
below the horizon, then pulling up for yet another nose-high
maneuver. Zero-g was hard enough on unaccustomed stomachs, but
interspersing quick transitions to elevated g's often affected even
experienced aviators, earning the plane the nickname "Vomit
Comet". For Carol - well at least no one could doubt the strength of
her stomach muscles even if their control was problematic. Suffering
didn't even begin to cover her condition.

Her reaction was the worst among the team in a spectrum that had
Marilyn noticeably green in a not-flattering accent to her royal blue
attire, Jaymi and Sandy coping if a bit less than enthusiastic, and
Vanna acting like she had found a special corner of heaven. This was
their first weightless session as part of astronaut training and like
a lot of the other tasks, the unpleasant portions that the general
public seldom considered seemed to far outnumber the `fun´ ones.
Except to Vanna.

Not that the things they had been required to put up with were all
enjoyable even to Vanna. For one thing, they had all been fitted for
their spacesuits - made to the requirements of Seward and his Folly.
Apparently his ideas of `proper´ spacegirl attire had been formed in
the cheesy fifties. They had already known the suits would be skin
tight and deliberately revealing. The tightness actually had some
technical validity, supplementing the natural elasticity of their skin
to provide efficient protection from the vacuum of space. Built-in
corsets - tight corsets - helped control the expansion of internal
body cavities so those, too, were at least reasonable even if marginal
for comfort. However, the high heels and the comic book colors were
just, well, cheesy. Of course, Seward didn't really need to justify
himself. All he had to do was pay the bills.

Except for this team. They were being trained by NASA with the bills
ostensibly going to a movie production company. Their cover was that
they were preparing to film an action adventure set on Seward's
station, with a sub-text on the coming commercialization of space. For
most NASA personnel, that was more than enough justification for
putting up with a bevy of beauties who were clearly pretty enough to
be movie stars. And of course they had all heard of Seward's eccentric
requirements for his support crews. In fact, the SMITE team had
secretly applied to be an alternate crew for Seward's resupply
missions. The regular crew were not US citizens so there was no
official leverage on them, but it was expected that when the time
came, something would be arranged so that the `alternate´ crew would
actually be assigned to a mission.

The buzzer sounded again and their weight disappeared as they entered
another zero-g float. Perhaps it was because there was nothing left in
her stomach to occupy her attention, but this time Carol managed to
release her death grip on a support strap and actually float free.
Sandy and Jaymi, their interrupted weightless ballet not particularly
interesting anyway, pushed off from their own perches to support their
game colleague.

"C'mon, Marilyn. The other girls have Carol, let me help you," Vanna
offered. Marilyn forced a nasty taste down from the back of her throat
and tried to show she was as brave as the tall redhead by pushing her
own way from one handhold to another in the large aircraft's interior.

That was apparently evidence of passing some sort of undeclared test.
Their official instructor for the exercise, veteran astronaut William
"Oz" Anderson, named for his much-declared admiration for all things
Australian, announced the next requirement.

"Roighty then, Lydies, this wy," he called in an affected accent only
he thought was charming. But he was certainly comfortable in the
weightless environment and moved with sure precision from one numbered
point to another in the plane's interior.

A few more cycles - way too many in Carol's opinion - and the whole
team was moving reliably if not with equal grace about the
cabin. Every one but Vanna was nonetheless quite ready to call it a
day when Anderson pronounced them finished.

They were met at the door of the plane by the other ` professionals´
who were guiding their training. The `real´ NASA staff made it quite
clear (complete with audible quote marks around their words) that the
girls were not `real´ astronauts, for all that they were indeed going
into space. Even the female member of the NASA team; a pilot both
qualified to fly the shuttle and beautiful enough to meet the
additional standards of Seward and the film cover story, looked down
her petite nose at the ` movie people´.

It was probably inevitable that a woman named Cleaver (Jacqui not
June, but that was close enough), a raven-haired female flyer pushing
her way into a still macho-male dominated field, would end up with the
call sign, `Beaver´. If the men who bestowed that nickname on her
expected it to embarrass her though, they were mistaken. A
post-graduate expert of the `anything you can do, I can do better ´
school, Jacqui was determined to show them that she could outfly the
best `jock´ among them. And the first time someone deliberately let
her overhear an off-color joke, she countered with one so steamy even
the most jaded among them blushed. Her classic, if diminutive, beauty
might have opened a few doors for her, but she was more than ready to
kick down any that remained.

In all fairness, Jonas "Waylon" Jennings, the director of astronaut
training, might not actually have been dismissive of the girls because
they were `movie people´. In his case, it was probably sufficient that
they were women. He never sneered, of course, or told any off-color
jokes of his own. Despite his past pilot status, he was now firmly
entrenched as a bureaucrat and knew better than to do anything
unambiguously chauvinistic. His opinion was shown by his excessive
politeness, always standing when a woman entered the room, always
holding chairs and opening doors, but he never seemed to feel the need
to actually ask their opinion on anything. Or indeed, to ask anything
of them more complicated than how they were feeling that day.

So, as the girls regarded the welcoming committee while they made
their way down the boarding stairs from the KC-135, it was not only
their queasy stomachs and the hot Houston sun that put a frown on
their faces.

"How're y'all feelin'?" Jennings asked. Politely.

"Fine," Marilyn answered. Politely.

Jacqui looked a bit surprised - or was that disappointment? - when she
said, "Only one puker among you?" Carol's distress, while physically
cleaned up, still showed in her pale countenance if not on her
forest-green suit.

"Yes," Sandy said tersely, moving closer to Carol. If she had been
taller, it would have looked like she were hovering over Carol to
protect her from the smaller astronaut.

"We managed," Marilyn said, establishing without a doubt that they
were a team that would stand or fall together.

"I believe you," Jacqui replied, smiling honestly. "I was actually
impressed. That's not an easy ride for newbies."

"Ah, okay. Thank you," Marilyn replied, but she returned the smile.

Jennings hrmpphed to get their attention and said, "Okay, the next
stop is the flight surgeon. Beaver, um, Jacqui will give you a ride
over there. If he clears you, then report in accordance with the
published schedule."

"Yes, sir," Marilyn replied, though her eyes were on Jacqui. Their
escort pointed out a waiting van and the team swayed toward it, any
unsteadiness in their gait excusable by their spindly heels even if
that covered a deeper residual effect from their flight.

"You're out of uniform, Jacqui," Marilyn said as they climbed into the
vehicle.

Jacqui looked down at her standard NASA jumpsuit, then shrugged. "I
don't like the corset, wear heels only for special occasions, and..
."

She aimed a disarming grin at Marilyn, and then glanced at Sandy. "
.. . and I didn't particularly want to, ah, compete with you. I like
to win in the contests I enter."

Marilyn's full lips shaped a friendly grin of their own, but her words
left no doubt who was in charge. "I appreciate the compliment, but
this won't work if you don't look like one of the team. From now on, I
want to see you in your suit anytime we have to wear ours. More if
you're not comfortable in heels this high. Sandy starts filming
tomorrow for the establishing shots and when you're in the frame,
you're in uniform. Okay?"

Jacqui's frown could have used a bit of the training the SMITE team
had received so that it would look like a more fetching pout. The war
going on behind her eyes was obvious, as was her discomfort. In a
moment of insight, Marilyn realized there was a more subtle reason,
though.

Something in the buxom blonde's body language both required and
authorized Jacqui to explain without risk of giving offense. The
petite brunette's frown changed to a surprisingly guilty smile, then
she nodded.

"It's just, um, well, for you it's all right. All of you, I mean.
You're movie stars and all. But for me, well, those skinsuits seem,
ah, frankly indecent. I mean, they show... everthing!"

Marilyn laughed and said, "Goodness, Miss Prim, you'd be more covered
up than you are now."

Jacqui blushed as she disagreed. "Covered thinner than a coat of
paint. Especially, well, you know."

Marilyn giggled and took a deep enough breath to show her `you knows´
very prominently indeed. Then she sighed and nodded at Jacqui's
point. "That's part of the job. You should have been told when you
agreed to be our mission pilot."

"Oh, I was, but..."

"But you thought you could put it off a while," Marilyn offered.

Jacqui nodded. Marilyn matched her nod, but hers was not so much
agreement as declaration of a decision. "That makes it even more
important that you are `in uniform´ from now on. You've got to get
used to it, or you might be distracted at a critical time. Agreed?"

Jacqui's frown was back, but the self-discipline that had helped her
to excel in a field that was difficult by anyone's standards left her
no option in the face of Marilyn's logic. She nodded, then confirmed
it with a, "Yes, ma'am."

Then she actually seemed to relax a little. Marilyn picked up on it
and recognized that the `real´ astronaut was accepting not only the
specific order, but the pecking order as well. On matters other than
those directly related to safety of the flight, Marilyn was in
command.

The resolution of that issue was timely, both in the larger sense of
settling an issue within the team, and in the specific case that they
were pulling up to the medical facility just as they finished talking.
Out of necessity, their flight surgeon was Paul Hansen, the doctor
from their Montana base. He and a small staff of nurses also from the
base were the only ones beside the girls themselves who knew their
most basic physical nature. Since it was not expected that they would
need their true... equipment for the mission, each SMITE team
member was wearing a disguising prosthesis that would pass any but the
most intimate examination though it was part of Marilyn's standard
defense in depth approach since that would not be put to any real test
anyway. The cover story as actresses with `unique´ medical
requirements relative to typical astronaut trainees provided a
necessary bulwark for security while also providing a legitimate
medical team to ensure a valid understanding of the true state of
their special physiology. As a result of this dedicated attention, the
team was making faster progress than might have been expected of
pampered actresses. Even the ostentatiously avuncular Jennings had
been impressed with their strength and stamina.

The afternoon session tested the opposite of their morning exercise;
elevated g's instead of weightlessness. The method for that was
ground-based; the large rotating centrifuge seen in every astronaut
movie ever made. They took turns, Jacqui paired with Vanna to ` show
them how it should be done´, setting a standard none of the others
even tried to match. It wasn't just about survival, or even retaining
consciousness. The test required them to throw switches and, for the
pilots, work flight controls. A prolonged period at moderate g's,
which is what they would experience in the shuttle, was more relevant
than maximum g tolerance.

"Your turn, ladies," Jacqui said nonchalantly as climbed from the
torturous device. If Vanna couldn't make her own exit with the same
insouciance, she could at least do it without assistance which was a
triumph in itself.

They were both now dressed in their `spacesuits´, though no NASA
astronaut would ever willing go outside their spacecraft with so
little protection. Still, for women in such excellent condition, the
uniforms were flattering indeed. Jacqui was sporting an imperial
purple addition to the colors that had long identified the rest of the
team.

"This isn't so bad," Vanna promised Carol as she helped the tall
redhead into her just-vacated seat. "Just make sure you do the ab
muscle compressions they told us about. Even a tall girl like you can
handle these g levels."

"I think I'll just take a nap and let Marilyn handle the work," Carol
said sourly. "There isn't *any*thing about this that isn't `bad´."

"You don't know how many times I've envied you your long legs," Vanna
whispered to her. "If this time is a sort of, um, payback or
something, well, I'm not feeling a bit guilty."

Carol winced at the accuracy of that barb, knowing that on more than
one occasion she had flaunted her fashion-model stature as she
strutted past her shorter teammate. But Vanna's gentle taunt worked
and the redhead nodded, composing her features as she forced herself
to assume a better attitude.

Carol redeemed herself from her zero-g problems by doing quite well as
Marilyn's partner. Despite her tall form, which significantly added to
her challenge, she demanded of herself that she match their shapely
leader. Marilyn realized as she completed her own tasks that she was
definitely going to have to get a little tailoring work on her outfit,
though.

She winced as she stepped from the centrifuge, hefting her
artificially enhanced curves. "Damn."

"What's wrong?" Carol whispered, shielding her from the always-
watching attendants.

"I need a better bra if we're going to do much of that," explained
Marilyn.

"Quit bragging," Carol giggled, but she still moved to interpose her
own trim form between Marilyn and the others.

"At least the suit tech will get a cheap thrill," Marilyn softly
whispered back. Then she decided they might as well accept what would
soon be an open secret. She raised her voice to normal tones,
sensually ran her hands up her torso and announced, "I need a little
more support. Open nipples with a built-in shelf bra oughta be good
for a few ratings points, anyway. Don't you think?"

"Report to the suit tech, then," Jennings said gruffly, but the tips
of his ears showed his thoughts were not as businesslike as his
comments tried to claim.

"How bad is it?" Sandy asked, crossing her arms under her own ample
charms, so provocatively displayed in her bright, body-hugging green
uniform.

"Not too bad," Marilyn said. "I wouldn't want it to be a habit, at
least not without better support, but one ride won't be a problem even
for you."

Sandy nodded and joined Jaymi in the centrifuge cab, struggling to
adjust the multi-point harness.

"Damn, girl," Jaymi whispered to her. "You grow any bigger and they're
going to have to send for a larger harness."

"Oh, be quiet. You're just jealous," Sandy whispered back. "I haven't
really grown that much, not even a full cup size. It's just that I've
lost a little more muscle mass in my shoulders."

"If you say so," Jaymi said, obviously unconvinced.

They finished fastening themselves in and signaled their readiness to
start the test. Then... nothing happened.

"Test, this is Beech. We're ready to go."

"Right, we know," came the terse reply.

"What's the holdup?"

The tech's voice was replaced by Jennings slow drawl. "Y'all're gonna
have to wait a spell. The computer profile for your run won't load. We
may have to reboot."

"Kick it where the sun don't shine," Sandy suggested. Her
recommendation wasn't even acknowledged, but the scurrying techs made
it clear that they were working as hard as they could so the two test
subjects settled in for an indeterminate wait.

After a few moments of steadily increasing boredom, Sandy realized
that Jaymi had a distant look on her face, but the smile that was also
there showed no irritation.

"What are you thinking about?" she whispered.

"Um, girls," they heard Marilyn's voice in their headphones. "You
might remember that you're on an open mike."

"Oops," Sandy said, blushing. Jaymi giggled as she remembered what she
had said about Sandy's continuing development. Without comment, they
each pulled their headphones off and moved the microphones out of the
way.

"So, tell me," Sandy demanded again.

Jaymi's blush showed noticeably against her ivory skin, and the heat
she must have felt on the inside let her know that there was little
use in denying that her thoughts had been very focused.

"Well, she whispered back, "I told you that on furlough I met a guy."

"Oh, that's right. In all the excitement, I never did talk with you
about it."

"There's not really that much to tell. But that is what, or I guess I
should say `who´ I was thinking about."

"Yeah, right," Sandy snickered. "Well, we're not going anywhere, at
least for a while, so tell me what happened."

The dreamy look came back into Jaymi's eyes, but there was an echo of
pain as well, an echo that Sandy knew showed only too often in her own
eyes.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

Jaymi smiled, easily it seemed for all that the pain didn't really
leave her eyes. "Nothing, really. It's just that, um, part of me
wishes I hadn't gone home for furlough."

"Not that I really went `home´," she added quickly, forestalling any
worry on Sandy's part. "My home wasn't really all that
... pleasant. When it became clear just what sort of person I was,
things got strained... "

Jaymi continued her story with small shrug of her shoulders - all she
could manage within her tight harness - but enough to show that what
she was about to say was no longer a cause for serious emotional
distress.

Chapter 5 - "Mister Right?"

Jaymi glanced at the earnestly busy technicians and decided there was
time to share a quiet moment with her best friend.

***

My parents never yelled at me or tried to deny what I had realized
about my... interests, but the sense of disappointment was so heavy
that I could never be comfortable with them. I think it was more
frustration because they couldn't understand than any active
disapproval, but aside from any judgment on my lifestyle in the
theoretical case, they were clearly disappointed that I would not be
the son they had wanted and expected.

It probably didn't help that I was always fairly solitary. That may
surprise you since it's clear that I had probably had more intimate
experience than the rest of the team put together. But my
relationships were always focused on one person at a time. It's just
that I was never particularly concerned about the plumbing of the
individual I was in love with, and I found physical pleasure to be a
wonderful thing to share. In between lovers though, I spent a lot of
time alone.

So when I say I went home over furlough, what I meant was that I went
back to where I grew up, more or less, not that I visited any
relatives. I spent the time in a little fishing village on the coast
in Maine that was far enough from my real home I didn't figure I'd
meet anyone I knew from my old life.

I love the coast. In Maine it's rough and sort of... primal
somehow, with the waves crashing on the unyielding rocks. The sea
couldn't care less about my sexual desires. It exists as it is and
always has been, take it or leave it. And in return, it accepts
everyone as they are. Implacable yet patient. I used to spend hours
just walking along the shore, sitting on the rocks where I could see
for miles, or hiding in a little cove where there was only the sea and
me.

I was in one of those little coves one day, actually a sort of double
cove with a huge boulder dividing a single little inlet into two
separate spaces. The sea was nearly calm, more caressing the beach
than crashing it, and aside from the gulls it was fairly quiet.

Then I heard a clatter of falling rocks, an "Oh, shit!", and a muffled
thump. It came from the other part of the little inlet, blocked by the
boulder from where I sat. I didn't hear anything else after the rocks
stopped clattering but, well, what would you think if you heard a
curse then a thump? Anyway, I climbed my side of the big rock to look
into the other half of the cove.

There was a body lying at the foot of the mini-cliff on that side, a
man dressed much as I was in a bulky sweater and jeans. The rock wall
where he had fallen wasn't really all that high, maybe ten or twelve
feet, but it was pretty steep which was why I had chosen to climb down
where I had been sitting. Whoever had slipped must have figured he
could manage the steeper portion.

I clambered over the boulder and down to where the guy was sprawled,
checking even as I walked up for really awkward limb positions or
other bad news. About the time I got fairly close - maybe he heard my
feet on the gravelly beach or something - he stirred and moaned.

I knelt over him and said, "Take it easy. How bad are you hurt?"

His eyes flickered open, deep rich brown eyes that matched his hair
and beard almost perfectly, and he said, "Oh, good. You're not
blonde."

"Excuse me?"

"You're not blonde," he repeated. Then he smiled, making little lights
dance in his dark eyes, and said, "I was always afraid that the angels
would all be blonde. Assuming I made it to heaven - not likely, I'll
grant you - I didn't want to have to become another boring blonde. So
a dark-haired angel is very satisfactory, thank you very much."

I knew I should have said something about that silly flattery, but
before I could think of any good words I just had to laugh. Maybe it
was the relief or something, but I laughed so hard I lost my own
balance and ended up sitting gracelessly on the gravel.

He propped himself on one elbow so that he could look at me right side
up, wincing a bit as he moved. But after a few tentative range-of-
motion experiments, he sat up beside me. Sticking out his hand he
said, "Jason Taylor."

"Jaymi Fox," I replied, shaking his hand.

"Hmm, an angel who's truly a fox? Maybe I hit my head harder than I
thought. You won't vanish when my headache goes away, will you?"

"Hardly," I chuckled. "Unless you're trying to say that I'm the source
of your headache."

"Uh, no," he said simply. I was pleased that he didn't try to make
some sort of artificial apology for what had really been an unfair
twist to his words on my part.

"Truly, are you okay?" I asked, concerned again now that I had
absorbed the idea that I, of all people, should be an angel.

"Nope," he replied. "I have a very serious injury."

"What's wrong?"

"My pride is desperately bruised," he declared. "Only the pleasant
companionship of an angel - dark-haired by preference - can possibly
assuage my distress."

"If I find an angel - dark-haired or otherwise - I'll be sure and send
her your way," I promised.

He surprised and impressed me again by not protesting that I had
misunderstood what he had been saying. Instead, he nodded and said,
"You do that. In the meantime, how about trying some local remedies
with me? Something appropriately therapeutic can no doubt be found in
town."

I ran my hands through my wind-blown hair and tugged at my damp
sweater. "Oh, God, I couldn't go into town, at least not more than to
sneak into my room. I look like something three days dead that washed
up on the beach..."

Whatever else I might have planned to say was smothered within his
beard. He kissed me thoroughly, passionately, and deliberately. I'm
not sure how long it was, because I sort of lost track of things like
breathing that I could have used to measure. All I can tell you is
that it wasn't long enough.

When he let me up for air, he said, "My foxy lady, I'll let you
misunderstand or misinterpret anything of what I say that you
want. But when it comes to actual lying, why, I just feel that honor
compels me to break you of that habit."

"Lying?" I said, still dazed from his kiss. Honest, that's what it
was.

"You are the most beautiful woman I have seen since my eyes opened as
a pup," he claimed.

"Ooh, that's way over the top," I replied, but I could hear my own
voice go sultry and low and I knew in my heart I loved it. So sue me.

He was leaning to kiss me again, and I hope to tell you I was ready to
meet him more than half way, when we heard a horn followed by some
catcalls that put the gulls to shame. A fishing boat cruising the
coast had passed our little cove and the crew was offering all sorts
of suggestions. Thankfully, their voices were distorted enough that
all I could make out was the tone. That was bad enough.

I stood up more by reflex than conscious plan. Jason scrambled to his
feet as well, moving with controlled power that proved without a doubt
he hadn't really been injured. When he stood up, I could see that he
was much taller than I had thought. It made him look suddenly thin
instead of, oh, merely trim. It looked good on him, though. All of the
sudden I had this image of a ship's mast; tall and flexible, yet
strong enough to stand up to a storm.

"So much for the idea of a private bit of beach," he grumped.

"I really have to go," I claimed, brushing gravel from my fanny.

"Good, then we can go find that, ah, therapeutic elixir," Jason said,
brushing at himself. He turned to look at the rocks he had fallen from
and grimaced. "Maybe we shouldn't have let that boat get away."

"It's not as steep on the other side," I said, pointing at the boulder
I had climbed to reach him.

"Lead on, Angel."

That got him another smile, as I'm sure he knew it would. But I was
already half way up the rock when I realized that he had tricked me
into agreeing to go get a drink with him. Or at least into not telling
him no again. He kept surprising me though, by not taking advantage of
the climb to, well, take advantage or anything. There were times when
a hand steadying my fanny as I climbed wouldn't automatically have
been inappropriate, but while I could tell he was ready to catch me if
I slipped, he never touched me until we were up on the trail above the
cliffs.

What really stuck in my mind was that I was disappointed.

When we got to the top, he said, "Well, I think the first round is on
me."

Then he introduced a problem by turning north.

"My hotel is this way," I said, pointing south.

"Okay," he said easily, turning my way.

"Look, Jason, I really do need to get cleaned up," I said. "If you
want, maybe we could meet later."

"Deal," he said quickly. Deliciously so. "I'll pick you up about, oh,
7:00 and we'll get a bite to eat with our `medicinal´ liquids."

I nodded, and after he found out where I was staying is when he
touched me again. Only this time it was just to shake my hand. I had
to keep my eyes down so that he couldn't see how disappointed I was,
and it wasn't until later that I realized that meant I couldn't see if
he was disappointed as well.

As soon as he was out of sight, I practically ran back to my room to
get ready. That part of Maine is sort of funny about styles. If you're
working - and their work ethic is so strong that if you're not, why
not? - then jeans and a sweater are almost an issued uniform. But if
you have an excuse not to be working, then women are expected to be
feminine. Very feminine. I had lost several propriety points with the
locals for having only collar length hair and wasn't about to lose any
more by looking like a street urchin on a dinner date.

Of course, like everything in my life seemed lately, there were
complications. I hadn't really planned on much in the way of social
occasions on the trip. I only had a couple of nice outfits, and one of
those was just a skirt that I could wear with a sweater. That didn't
seem... sufficient for a real night `on the town,´ even such as
that little village had to offer. So that left me with my one real
dress. At least it wasn't as short as the ones Carol wears. Like that
limit meant anything as far as propriety was concerned. Nor was it as
... well, let's just say that it was flattering but not quite
indecent even by the standards of New England. Dark red, like most of
my nice clothes - at least the Army-issue ones - the only thing that
was guaranteed to raise a few eyebrows was that it was a quite
snug-fitting knit that would show off my equally Army-issue curves.

Seven o'clock came way too soon, but I did have the advantage of a
woman's right to keep her date waiting. I didn't abuse it
though. About five minutes after he called the room, I was stepping
off the elevator. I knew you would all understand, but I was glad
right then that none of the rest of the team were there. I'm not
really in your class - don't shake your head - and Carol has this sort
of `presence´ that just grabs attention and won't let it go. When I'm
with you all, I feel like I fit in well enough but that's really the
problem, in a way. I don't `stand out.´ Quit smirking and adjusting
your straps so smugly. You know what I mean.

Well, stepping off that elevator, I definitely got noticed. It was
like someone had set off a hush-a-bomb in the room, with silence
rolling out from where I stood. That little hotel had a sort of
combination lobby and lounge that was really the only gathering point
in town so there was a good sized crowd. It didn't take long for them
all to get very quiet, though.

Then Jason stepped forward. "Damn, there goes my fantasy."

"What?" Really elegant, that's me. At least I didn't say, `huh?´

"Nope, fantasy number one is right down the tubes," he repeated. "I
just can't see you, in that outfit, as an angel. *Way* too dangerous
for an angel. You're going to be causing accidents all night."

"I, uh, it's all I had to..."

"Don't you dare apologize," he ordered. "I think being with an imp is
going to be a *lot* more fun."

"Oh," I said, feeling a blush mount my cheeks. Then I decided I'd give
as good as I got. If I could. Anyway, I arched a brow, put a little
promise in my smile, and said, "You never know."

That man could do the most amazing things to my emotions. One moment
we're getting, um, close, and the next he's back to formal. Instead of
following up on that opening, he just smiled and offered me his arm
like we were about to meet the king or something and escorted me to
his car, um, to his truck. SUV's were popular up there before they
were even called SUV's. He had a fairly new Ford Expedition that
looked well cared for. There was only one problem. It was about two
feet higher than I could comfortably climb into while wearing that
dress.

Jason to the rescue. I think he was waiting for just that moment
because he gathered me up in his arms - did I mention he was really
tall? - and lifted me toward the seat. That got his arms around me and
mine went around his neck almost by reflex. After that, it as sort of
like, `Bam!´ and things happened, um, automatically.

Some time later I realized we were getting some, um, encouragement
from the bystanders. I didn't really care, but Jason pulled his head
back and smiled. "Later," he whispered and I purred a contented little
hum to accept his offer.

Then, when he was walking around to his own side of the car, I
realized I couldn't really accept his offer. I mean, I could, ah, do
some things later, just not the things he was expecting. At least, not
all of them. Which meant I couldn't really do *any* of them. I could
kiss him all night long (and would *love* to) but... but when he
said, ` Later´, I didn't think he had more kissing in mind. At least,
not only more kissing. And I didn't want to, um, get started under
false pretenses as it were. Okay, so I had already let things get
started, but I couldn't let them, uh, proceed to their logical
conclusion based on a lie.

This was the first time I had ever faced that problem. Isn't that a
hoot? All of my previous experiences had been with people who knew
James Fox, not Jaymi. If I ended up sharing something with someone
special, it was always based on the truth about who, or what, I was.
This was the first time I had ever hidden that. Even though I really
felt like Jaymi, not James, my plumbing told a different story.

Jason hopped up into the car on his side, but before he even got the
door closed he picked up on my distress. "What's wrong?"

Oh, God, another problem. What should I tell him? I had promised
myself the very first day I dressed as Jaymi that I would *never* use
the trite excuse of `my time of the month´ to put a guy off.
Compounding one lie with another just didn't seem right. That applied
to all the other convenient lies. I didn't have an STD. I wasn't a
virgin saving myself for marriage. I just wasn't... a real girl.

"Jaymi?" he asked, still looking for an answer to his question.

"Oh, um, nothing," I said, ending up in a lie anyway. It didn't really
count since he could tell I wasn't telling the truth. But he scored
another point when he let me have my lie and just nodded.

"Italian okay?" he asked as we started.

"In this town?" I asked, surprised.

"Sure. Despite what you tourists from the South think, we're gettin'
real civilized up here in the frozen North."

"I'll have you know I grew up not fifty miles from here."

"Then why didn't you think we had Italian restaurants?" he challenged
with a smile.

Geez, he just kept scoring points. He didn't ask where I had grown up.
His smile said it would be okay to tell him, that he was interested,
but he wouldn't pry. That was just... wonderful. Of course, it made
me feel even worse.

"Ah, well, it's been a while since I've been back," I excused myself.

"Good, then you can be pleasantly surprised," he said.

I was, and not only by the cuisine. I shouldn't have been. I mean, by
that time I knew that Jason was really special. But he kept surprising
me not only by the way he could ask - and not ask - the right things.
It turned out he was, well, interesting, too. He liked the same
authors I liked (the ones that are available in the bookstores,
anyway). He found the Oscars unbearably pretentious - score *big*
points for that - so he didn't go to many movies, pardon me, films. We
just talked and talked, and everything we talked about was fascinating
fun.

It was what we didn't talk about that kept bothering me.

Like all good things (and even the unpleasant ones), the meal finally
came to an end. "Goodness, what time is it?" I asked suddenly,
realizing that regardless of the number on the dial it was already
late.

He didn't answer, at least not with words. The look in his eyes - dear
God, for the first time since I had met him there was sadness in there
and I don't think I ever wanted him more - the look in his eyes showed
a need that wasn't only physical, wasn't even mostly physical. I
remembered that when we had met, he was trying to find a place of
privacy, too.

I could feel my own eyes burning as they filled with tears I didn't
dare shed. Not that it helped. He noticed anyway. This time he asked
the question in a way that said he wouldn't accept silence or evasion.
"What's wrong, Jaymi?"

"Not here," I said. He nodded and accepted that, but it was not a
pardon, only a reprieve.

"I need to, um..." I said, or started to say.

He smiled and kept me from having to mention the unmentionable, after
all this was New England, and pointed at the right part of the
restaurant. "You go ahead. I'll get the check."

"Oh, no, I'll pay my share," I said.

"Over my dead body," he replied. "Angel or imp, no pretty girl pays
the check when she's already given me the favor of her company for,
ah, for even as short a while as this."

What could I say to that? Did I tell him, right then and there that he
hadn't been granted `the favor´ of a girl's company at all? That's
another thing that had never happened before, the financial
thing. When people knew I was James, they might offer to split the
check, but they never just assumed it was their responsibility. Yet,
this was a significant expense, more than a simple drink, and obtained
under very false pretenses.

In the end, I just ran away like a coward. Well, walked really, but he
paid the check while I took the obligatory trip to the ladies room.
That was so much of a habit that I didn't even think about how it was
another element of the problem, at least not until I was putting my
lipstick away and walking out of the room to meet him on the other
side of the door that said, `Ladies´.

"Where would you like to go?" he asked gently. Yet it was a demand as
well and I nodded in recognition of that.

"Tongues would wag is we went back to my room," I said.

"Don't tease me," Jason chuckled, then frowned. "Sorry."

I tried to smile, but I could tell it didn't come out very well.

This time when he lifted me back into his truck, that's all he did. I
could feel the tears fill my eyes again but I managed not to lose
control until he had the car started and we drove off. He didn't ask
any more questions, but it was clear he had a plan.

It would have been funny if it weren't so serious. We drove to a
scenic spot overlooking the ocean. Lover's lane, in other words. We
weren't even the only car there, though I'd have been surprised if
anyone else was over twenty.

"Okay, Jaymi," Jason said. "We're private enough to talk, but not so
private that, well, that there's anything to worry about. You can flat
out tell me to mind my own business and I'll take you home. But you
haven't done that. I'm betting that means you have something you'd
like to talk about, but don't feel you can. All I can offer is my
promise that no matter what you tell me, I'll still respect you in the
morning."

He said the last with a smile, one that touched his lips but not his
eyes. We both knew it was for effect, saying more about our fears than
reaching for our sense of humor. My own answering smile was a lot like
that, too.

All of the sudden it was just too much for me; the lies, the desires
that I had lied even to myself about for so long, the obscene rules in
a society that says love is bad in so many ways, and good only in so
few. I decided, between one heartbeat and the next, that I was not
going to lie to Jason any longer. I trusted him enough not to attack
me for the lies I had told so far even as I thought that to myself I
knew it was still a risk. I had lied to him, humiliated him publicly
if my real nature got out, but my heart trusted him. Was that
overpowering a more accurate message from my mind? Still, I didn't
really think he'd get violent, and even if he tried something, the
unarmed combat skills I had learned from El Supremo should keep me out
of real trouble - at least of the physical sort. And I figured I could
walk back to my hotel even in my not-made-for- walking shoes if he
kicked me out for... for being who I really was.

Even before I said a word he could tell that I had made a decision. He
smiled in a way that showed he expected to surprise me again. That
was, well, that was another point he scored; that he knew he had been
scoring points. Does that make any sense? It showed real sensitivity,
coupled with the serenity not to need to prove it.

Taking a deep breath, I said, "I'm not... who you think I am."

"You mean you really are an angel after all?" Jason asked lightly.

"No, not an angel," I said. "I..."

I ran down. My mind was made up. I was going to tell him. I just
couldn't decide how to do it. I mean, could you just blurt out, ` I'm
not really a girl!´? I'd rather just slap him and get out of the
car. He deserved better than that. I just didn't know how to give it
to him.

"Let me tell me," he said, confusing me for a minute while I figured
out his sentence.

"I know after your kisses that you find me attractive. You know I find
you attractive. Pardon me if this is, um, insulting or something, it's
not meant to be, but anyone who kisses as passionately as you is not a
shy virgin waiting for some impossibly perfect Prince Charming, nor
committed to someone whom you think of that way. Yet, I also don't
believe you're, ah, casual enough with your love that you've caught
something unsafe. You're too torn up about this for the standard
excuse to be a problem right now or you'd just use it, and something
like terminal cancer is too cliché to be true. What does that leave?"

He answered his own question, at least in part. "Whatever it is,
you're worried more about what I will think of you after you tell me
than you need to be. I truly mean that. You arouse my passions -
claiming anything else would be silly. But your soul is too gentle for
hatred and I won't be the one to put any there. Trust me."

I felt more than saw him put his arms around me, but I turned to his
embrace like a lost child. "You just don't know," I whispered.

"Then tell me," he said with exquisite gentleness.

"All my life I've been different," I said slowly, approaching the
problem obliquely. "In some ways, I've told myself I was, ah, ` more´
than other people, that I was like others only with something
extra. But that's self-justifying and I've come to believe that I
don't need to measure myself against others anyway."

"Good," he whispered, not so much interrupting as affirming.

"No, it's not. Not right now," I said. "You see, you've assumed that
you know what I'm like, because you've assumed you could place me in
the spectrum of people you've already met. But I've misled you. I'm
not, um, I'm not really what I look like."

"Don't `assume´ what I've assumed," he said softly, then he tried once
again to lighten the mood. "I never really figured you for an
angel. Honest."

"That's not it and you know it," I said, smiling through my tears at
his determination to milk that joke in the face of my
... concern. It worked, though. Not enough to make me anything like
happy, but enough that I could continue.

"When I was growing up, I found myself attracted to lots of people," I
said, then paused for a beat, tensing for his reaction. "Boys and
girls, both."

"Ah," he said, but his arms never even twitched. He just kept holding
me, comforting me. The points for that sent him way past the finish
line and I knew at that moment that he had won my heart. I loved him.
With the rational part of my mind, I recognized that he was still
thinking of me as a woman and that he thought I had just confessed to
some delightfully naughty girl-girl desires. But the rational part of
my mind was buried beneath the emotional. He had neither been shocked
nor noticeably aroused by the thought of me in a same-sex
relationship. He had just accepted it, and for that I loved him. I
knew, though, that I had not won his heart, not honestly. And it was
time to be honest. Now for the bomb that would close his heart to me
in the very moment that mine became his.

"Boys like me," I whispered.

In a funny sort of way, I loved him even more for the fact his arms
did indeed twitch then, and his body stiffened. I don't know exactly
why. Maybe it was because he recovered so quickly. He never pushed me
away or anything, just stiffened for a moment, then squeezed me
again. It made him more, I don't know, real or something. Not that
impossibly perfect Prince Charming he had said I didn't need.

"Is that all?" he asked. His voice showed a lot of strain that made it
clear the question was from his mind, not from his heart, but he was
so wonderful even to manage that. I tried to sit up, to give him an
excuse to let go of me without making it his fault.

He wouldn't let me. It wasn't that he was rough or anything, but the
gentle pressure of his arms didn't relax at all, pulling his own lean
body just a bit toward mine when I tried to pull away. "Tell me about
it," he asked, and I knew he wasn't after prurient details. He wanted
to know how I had come to look the way I did.

"I can't, really," I said, telling the truth for once. "There are good
reasons for that, honest. But I, um, despite the way I look on the
outside, I am still a, uh... "

"Allow me to disagree," he said softly, caressing my hair. "I've seen
into your soul when we talked, and into your heart when we kissed. I
don't doubt what you say about your... background, but to me you
are still a beautiful, gentle woman. That's enough for me. At least,
for now."

Did I say that I loved him? Well, I didn't even have a clue.

***

Jaymi's tale was interrupted by a tap on the glass of the centrifuge
that almost sent Sandy into orbit without a rocket. A technician was
motioning them to put their headsets back on, but that didn't stop
Sandy's anguished wail.

"Not now!" she cried. "Tell me, quick, what happened?"

Jaymi smiled and said, "He took me back to my hotel."

Sandy's exasperated grimace was almost operatic. "And... ?!"

Jaymi blandly ignored the question as she busied herself pulling her
headset into position.

For a moment it looked almost like Sandy was going to slap her
shorter-haired sister. But she must have decided on homicide by deadly
glance because all she did was arrange her own headphones and mike
while glaring daggers at her best friend. Once she had her equipment
in place, Sandy snapped, "Beech to Test. Are you ready yet?"

Jennings' voice was carefully formal as he replied, accepting the
rebuke in Sandy's tone but countering with an implicit demand for
professionalism. "Test to Beech, sorry for the delay. We're ready to
begin the exercise."

"Fine," Sandy snapped, but as she pulled her head back against her
headrest, she relaxed and smiled at Jaymi, blowing her a
kiss. Mouthing an, "I'll get you later" threat, she reached for her
first control task.

Chapter 6 - "Misdemeanor"

The centrifuge exercise that had provided Carol a chance to redeem
herself was almost the undoing of Sandy. By the time she and Jaymi had
finished their run, Sandy was pale and shaking. Jaymi had been too
busy to notice during the actual test but as soon as she glanced at
her sister in arms, expecting a congratulatory smile of
accomplishment, she knew something was wrong.

"Sandy?"

"I'm okay," Sandy said, obviously lying. But the message she didn't
say in words was just as clear. Whatever was bothering her was more
than a few moments at elevated g's.

Before Jaymi could do anything to help her friend, before she could
even decide what sort of help was needed, Marilyn and the rest of the
team were there unfastening Sandy's harnesses. No one said anything
but the intensity of their concern showed among the tight-knit
team. They hustled Sandy away from the centrifuge cab, protecting her
from the prying eyes of the test technicians.

"Is somethin' wrong?" Jennings asked.

"No," Marilyn replied tersely. Then she decided some further
explanation was in order if only to head off additional questions.
"This is our last exercise for the day, and we're all anxious to get
out of these suits."

Jennings' ears colored in what the team was recognizing as his
telltale sign of embarrassment. The source, whether because the
thought of these specific girls peeling out of their showy costumes
aroused him or the more generic ideas of women and clothes seemed
inappropriate for NASA, didn't really matter. It did close off any
further questions. He sent a parting comment their way, though. "Don't
forget to report to your flight surgeon."

"Right," Marilyn nodded. Once they were out of earshot, she whispered
to Sandy, "What's wrong?"

"Something... tore, where my rear is scarred," Sandy grunted out
through her pain.

"We could all hear the pain in your voice," Marilyn said, then she
tried to lift the tone with a positive observation of Sandy's support
from within the team, "not to mention the worry in Jaymi's tone."

"Doc Hansen will fix you up," Vanna promised.

"Again," Sandy said, nodding. It was intended as a joke, but the
strain sounded too clearly for any humor to work.

Before they met their doctor though, they had to pass the suit
technicians. Despite the 50's glam of their skin-tight apparel, with
typical NASA technoid glee their suits were really constructed of
space age materials; lightweight, virtually tear-proof, and fire
resistant. So of course the nearly indestructible suits were handled
with utmost care whenever they were not actually being worn. Suit
techs, guardians of their own empire, had an iron-clad authority to be
involved each time they were donned or removed.

This was not usually a problem. The concealing prosthetics that the
team wore would pass merely visual examination, and in any event they
were allowed to wear their own panties under the outfits. Now, the
time it took for the suit techs to fuss with the outfits had become
very much a problem, for Sandy at least.

It got worse when one of the techs, thankfully a woman, reached an
obvious but wrong conclusion. "Sandy, you're spotting. Why didn't you
tell us it was your time?"

The blood on Sandy's panties had an entirely different source, but the
tech's assumed explanation was much too convenient to
contradict. Sandy just nodded, her less-than-cheerful demeanor excused
by the same convenient mistake. The silver lining of an additional
reinforcement for their security that showed for just a moment in the
cloud that hung over them caused Marilyn to give an equally unnoticed
sigh.

The cloud didn't show any silver when Hansen examined Sandy, though.
"You really shouldn't be pulling g's," he said.

"Not a choice, Doc," Sandy replied grimly.

"It most certainly is," he said. "I can ground you."

"For how long?"

"Forever," he replied bluntly. "Or at least until I get a chance to do
a better job on your repairs."

"What would that involve?" asked Marilyn, ostensibly a chaperone so
that the doctor wouldn't be alone with a female patient but very much
the commanding officer as well. She knew that Sandy would ` volunteer´
to do whatever was necessary to stay with the team. Accepting that
offer would ultimately be Marilyn's decision to make.

"Another surgery. And the recovery time. Probably four weeks before
she could repeat the centrifuge test."

"What's the alternative?" Sandy asked. "And I don't mean grounding
me."

Hansen sighed, a sad look in his eyes as he contemplated the pain that
would once again be part of the seemingly innocent girl's life. Yet he
knew of the team's mission and of its importance. He shrugged his
shoulders and mentally reached into his bag of tricks. "I can do
something temporary for now. With appropriate indignities we can keep
your normal wastes soft enough to avoid further damage. By the time of
the actual launch, well, we'll work something out. It won't be fun,
but..."

"Good," Sandy said. "That's settled."

Marilyn was not as easily convinced. "What's the downside, aside from
those `indignities´ you mentioned?"

"There will be a real risk of infection, and a somewhat smaller risk
of hemorrhage," Hansen said.

Behind Marilyn's eyes the calculations could be seen. Before she had a
chance to complete her considerations, Sandy interrupted them.
"Marilyn, please. You can't kick me off the team."

"Never," Marilyn answered instantly. Then she sighed and displayed a
smile that was different in every detail from that the doctor had
shown though it conveyed the same sad message. "But I won't make you
sit out this specific mission, either." Turning to the doctor she
said, "Do what has to be done."

Hansen had his own responsibilities of course, and they were first and
foremost to his patient. Yet he knew the team, knew how much of their
strength came from their mutual support and willing
interdependence. He nodded, then put a not very convincing smile on
his face as a sign that they were now firmly on the chosen
path. "Well, girl," he said to Sandy, "at least you have an
excuse. For the next couple of days you're going to be having a bad
`monthly´. Limited duty only. I suppose an actress as beautiful as
yourself is entitled to a little pampering now and then."

"Don't mention Pampers, okay?" Sandy retorted.

"Ha!" Hansen said. "All of you are going to become very familiar with
them. What do you think you're going to do in space?"

That night, the rest of the team gathered in Sandy's room. They were
well on their way to a giggling all-night session when Marilyn stepped
into the room. Despite the sensual appearance of the curvy blonde in
her own sheer gown, the serious message in her eyes quickly stilled
the chatter.

"All right, ladies, we've got to rework the assignments a little," she
began. "I don't dare rely on Sandy's physical strength, in her
condition, so I'm afraid that task falls to Carol, with Jaymi as
backup."

"What's her condition?" Carol whispered theatrically, at least in part
to cover her own concern about coping with her new assignment.

"She's pregnant," Vanna whispered back, not at all sympathetic to
Carol's plight but playing along. She'd have loved the idea of going
EVA, but she had her own assignment.

Marilyn frowned at Carol's interruption, then had to stifle a giggle
at Vanna's explanation. That was in turn interrupted by Sandy's
question.

"What will I be doing?"

Instead of answering only what Sandy had asked, Marilyn ran down the
whole set of assignments.

"It works out this way. You are our primary camera operator for the
film cover. Now you'll have the real assignment of finding the
brilliant pebbles control system and disabling it, as a backup to
Jaymi who has that as her primary mission. She might be pulled away if
we find some especially difficult locks since that is her
specialty. Carol will take over on the EVA task of disabling the
brilliant pebbles control antenna if we find one, under the cover of
repairing a solar panel on the station. Vanna will be the co-pilot, of
course, both for the film and for the real mission. In addition,
she'll back me up on capturing Seward."

"How important is it that we capture him, as opposed to... " Vanna
asked.

"Not terribly," Marilyn said. "That's why you're my backup on
that. Our information is that Seward likes blondes, so you and I will
try and get his attention. If necessary, well, a knife is a lot safer
on a space station than a gun. Your skill with them will be useful."

"And Jacqui?" Jaymi asked.

"She'll be told that there is a covert mission just before the
launch," Marilyn declared. "Her job will be to keep the shuttle in
readiness for our escape. She won't be involved in anything else."

That decision, seemingly obvious at the time, would turn out to have
tragic consequences.

Once the business was over, Marilyn tried to get the team back to a
lighter note. "So, Jaymi, what were you and Sandy talking about so
intently before your spin in the centrifuge?"

"Boys, of course," Sandy giggled.

"Ooh, tell us," Carol demanded, but Jaymi shook her head,
blushing. The dark-haired girl looked at Marilyn to see if her
commander would make than an order, but the blonde just smiled and
shook her head in concurrence that Jaymi didn't need to make a further
report.

"Oh, you're no fun!" Carol grumped. Then she turned her bright blue
eyes on Vanna. "Your turn then, Vanna. Gates said a man had chased you
on your furlough. Did you let him catch you?"

Vanna looked at Marilyn, too. This time, the blonde commander nodded
her head to her equally-blonde subordinate. Vanna smiled in response,
a hint in her eyes that she expected Marilyn to be surprised by what
she had to say.

"Ladies," Vanna began, nodding her head in Marilyn's direction, "I
submit to you that our Marilyn is one damn fine leader."

Now it was Marilyn's turn to blush as the chorus of enthusiastic
assent rolled back and forth around the room. Vanna raised her hand to
silence her friends and continued, "Not just because we'd all do the
standard `charge the machine gun nest´ for her. We all would, and she
knows it, just as we know we'd have to run as fast was we could to
keep up with her because she'd be leading the charge."

Vanna's voice dropped to a softer, introspective tone that said she
was sharing her heart as much as speaking her mind. "But what makes
our fearless leader really special is that she understands us, you
know?"

The team agreed again, silently this time, with introspective nods of
their own that showed an even deeper acceptance than their earlier
cheers.

"When the time came to select new personalities for us each to learn,
how did you choose?" Vanna asked Marilyn directly.

"Oh, lots of things," Marilyn said, not dodging the question, but not
sure how to answer it either.

"Well, whatever it was, it worked," Vanna declared flatly, then she
broke her own mood with a laugh. "Of course, turning Carol into a tart
was no great leap of insight."

Carol laughed as much as the rest of them, vamping a smoldering look
and air kiss at her shorter sister.

"But none of you got as perfect a match as I did," claimed Vanna. Some
of the others looked like they were going to disagree, but once again
Vanna held up her hand for silence.

"I don't care what you think. You can tell your stories later. I'm
just telling you that I think she hit the `real´ me best. So much so
that I didn't want to go on furlough at all... "

***

I was packing for our leave, slowly, because I didn't have anywhere to
go and no money to get there. I had some beautiful clothes, of course.
But my parents don't have much money and the Army doesn't pay privates
very well. I could get home, of course. Marilyn had arranged
transportation vouchers ("Sam Gates," Marilyn contradicted her
quietly), but I couldn't afford to stay where I wanted to go after I
got there, anyway.

You see, I really like being Vanna. I like the elegance, the sense of
class and style. Coming from a poor family, I've always envied the
upper class. Like in the movie, Titanic. I wanted to dress in long
evening gowns and `dine´, not just eat. I wanted to be
desired by rich, good-looking men who were impressed by my impeccable
manners even as they were enticed by a show of hidden lace.

Don't get me wrong. In my mind I think Jaymi is right to be so open on
whom she can love, but in my heart I was still only attracted to women.
I can do what's required with men, like on our last mission, but it's
not something I really enjoy. I didn't want to make love to a man, just
be desired by them - at least the rich ones. ("Don't forget `
good-looking%rsquo;," Carol said, grinning, but she said it quietly to
show support and acceptance, not really to interrupt.)

So, despite my beautiful clothes and an open travel voucher for
anywhere in the US, I didn't have any place I really wanted to go. At
least, not that I could afford. Marilyn came in while I was packing
and, as always, picked up right away on my feelings.

"Where are you going on furlough?" she asked.

I didn't answer. I couldn't answer really, even if I had had plans. I
felt my throat get tight and knew I was about to lose control of the
tears that filled my eyes. Marilyn straightened up and surprised me
with a crisp order.

"Follow me."

I did, of course, but I had no clue what was going on. After all, I
hadn't said a word so I figured Marilyn had something else on her mind
than my problem.

When we got to her office, Marilyn motioned me to a seat by her desk
and started in on all that rigmarole she does on the phone. After a
couple of minutes I heard her say, "Sam? I need you to rework some
orders for me. No, not really for me, for Vanna White. Right. I'm
canceling her furlough."

Needless to say I was surprised by that. But what she said next was
really a shock.

"I need for her to do some research while the rest of us are on
furlough. No, she'll have to travel. She can use her transportation
voucher for that, but she'll need expenses while she's there. New York.
Yes, New York City, as in Manhattan. Of course she's going in
character."

New York! That would be perfect! The Big Apple might be a bit past her
prime, but it was still the center of real elegance in the whole
country. LA is way too, well, I mean the best hotel is `pink´
 for goodness sake. Money without taste.

My face must have been showing emotions much too clearly, because I saw
Marilyn's smile widen even as my own died away. Hell, even with basic
expenses paid for at whatever rate the Army would cover, I could afford
to go to a Broadway play, or `dine´ at the best
restaurants, or... But Marilyn had that under control as well.

"No, Sam," she was saying into the phone. "I know I could write the
orders for her myself for a basic trip. But I need some, ah, special
assistance. Yes, again."

Then she dropped the bomb, at least it blew me away. She said, "I need
her to attend several of the Broadway shows, whatever is best right
now. And she'll need tickets to whatever is `in´ culturally
right now. Is the Met still doing La Traviata? Oh, too bad. Oh, sure,
Carmen would be fine. Let's see... well, you know what's appropriate
better than I do. Get her a suite... okay, a small suite at the
Waldorf. Oh? Well, whatever is currently considered best. Have someone
meet her at the airport. Thanks, Sam. What? Oh, um, sure. This is
definitely part of her required training. You want that in blood?
Figure out how to do it over the phone, and I'll donate. Thanks, Sam."

She hung up, then looked at me for a moment. Then she said, "What are
you still doing here?"

Like I said, she is one damn fine leader.

When I got to New York, there was a guy in an obvious chauffeur's
uniform waiting with a sign that said Vanna White. That turned out to
be a problem, because as soon as I walked up I was surrounded by
autograph hounds. I must have said, "Yes, but I'm not the Vanna White
that's on TV" a hundred times. You know what's really funny? A lot of
them didn't even care. Having a signature from a woman named Vanna
White is all they wanted.

The chauffeur took care of my bags and then the doorman at the hotel,
the Plaza, right next to Central Park. I read somewhere that you don't
tip the, um, basic hotel personnel until you leave, which was a good
thing because I don't think the cash I had with me would pay for the
doorman's shoe polish. So I just stayed in character and walked in like
I owned the place.

That wasn't too far from the truth. The way people snapped to attention
when I walked up reminded me of basic training. I almost saluted out of
pure reflex. The details were all taken care of, and when I say `
all´, you wouldn't believe...

Anyway, I did give the bellboy a tip, basically all my money and still
got a disappointed look, then started through the stuff on the desk in
the room. Whatever Marilyn had asked for, and more, was there, starting
with tickets to a special exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in
the morning. And cash.

My basic black sheath dress never looked more appropriate than when I
walked into the museum. There was no way I could come to New York and
not see the plays and things, but on my next trip, I think I'll plan on
spending the whole time in that museum. It's that... incredible.
Besides, I didn't get to see it all that well, that time. I had no
sooner entered the room with the Impressionists when someone coughed
discreetly by my elbow.

There he was. Just like in the movies, this tall hottie was smiling at
me. A rich one. Trust me. Maybe I could have afforded his shoelaces,
but that would have been about the only thing. His tie probably cost a
month's pay, at least, a month of my pay.

"Do you like Renoir?" he asked politely. From which I deduced that I
had been looking at a Renoir. I hadn't had time to read the card by the
painting.

"I like his balance a bit better than Monet," I said easily. Remember
all that training we had in how to speak `easily´ in our
new voices? Well, I needed all of it. "Just enough realism to convey a
feeling of being in the painting, without losing the sense of intuitive
presence in the impression."

"Very insightful," he said with a delightfully impressed look. Bowing
slightly he said, "Wilson Kennedy."

At first I thought he was saying he had caught me in a lie, that the
painting I had been looking at was really a `Wilson Kennedy´
 not a Renoir. I almost screamed, almost ran away, almost dropped
my purse, almost collapsed right where I stood, almost anything. But
what I actually did was nod slightly, smile briefly, and by the time my
reflexes had carried me past that I realized that he had been
introducing himself. So I softly said, "Vanna White."

He grinned like it was a joke, on him but a good one. Like he didn't
believe me, in other words, but accepted my obvious lie as a valid way
to put off an undesired intruder. He nodded again and wandered off to
look at another painting.

Now that I had, ah, established my credentials as an art expert, I
couldn't just move quickly past the rest of the paintings. Not that I
wanted to. As a result, we sort of `hovered´ around each
other for the next hour or so, neither speaking but always aware that
we were not alone. It got to be a sort of game, seeing if we could
catch the other looking our way, smiling when we did, grinning at
getting caught.

I gave up first, but I had a good excuse. I had a ticket for the
Metropolitan Opera that I was not going to waste. I had spent enough
time at the museum though, that I didn't have time to eat. I just
rushed back to the hotel (yeah, right, in Manhattan *none* of the cars
get up to a good `rush´), and got into this perfectly
glorious gown, black of course, complete with long black gloves and a
pearl choker.

I knew enough to be fashionably late, arriving just as the house lights
were dimming, and had to have an usher show me to my seat. It was
already dark when I sat down and I was soon lost in the music. I didn't
know the opera of course, so I was surprised when the first
intermission came. When everyone started filing out of their seats, I
just went along. For all I knew, the whole thing was over.

But when we got to the lobby area, everyone was getting champagne and
little hors d'oeuvres. I was standing there trying to figure out if you
had to pay for them or could just take something, when I heard a voice
that I recognized despite having heard only a sentence or two from it.

"Since I've already used my best line, and gone down in flames, maybe I
should just ask, `Come here often?´"

The tux Kennedy wore - it was him of course - made his suit look cheap.
I didn't think his suit had been off the rack, but that tux was
obviously tailored just for him, and by an expert. Little details, like
the way the collar fit his neck snugly without digging in at all,
showed he was as comfortable in that rig as in anything else he might
have thrown on. I was considering that he was part of the real Kennedy
clan, the real rich Kennedy clan even though he didn't look like them -
too tall, for one thing - when he spoke again.

"So, are you still Vanna White this evening?"

"All the time," I said quickly, nervously. It sounded abrupt though,
like I was irritated.

"Ah, sorry," he said, showing just a hint of flush above his perfectly
tailored collar. "Um, I seem to be doing it again. Can I make up for my
bad manners by offering you some champagne?"

Well, at least that solved the issue of how to get some. Champagne I
mean. I nodded, expecting him to walk off to one of the tables. I guess
I didn't know how the really rich work, though. Instead of moving, he
just lifted his eyes and looked at someone. In a second two glasses of
chilled champagne were handed to him on a tray. He handed one of the
flutes to me like he had fetched it himself though, totally ignoring
the waiter who had brought it. I'm not kidding about that `second
´ either. If it took two, then I lost count. Someone must have
been watching him the whole time.

"To the honesty of beautiful women," he said, lifting his glass.

And right then I just about lost it again. I was hardly the poster
child for honest women. Wrong on both counts, and by a long shot. I
almost couldn't drink the toast, but... but it was champagne, in the
Metropolitan Opera House, in New York, and I decided if I was to be
damned anyway, then this was as good a cause as any. So I smiled and
sipped at my bubbly, waiting once again for him to speak.

"Do you like Bizet?" he asked, grinning sardonically.

Who the hell is Bizet? I wondered frantically. Was it one of the
characters? Or maybe one of the actors who was playing one of the
characters?

Something about his grin gave me the hint I needed, thought. Well, in
conjunction with the visit to the museum that afternoon. I grasped
desperately at something I had heard Marilyn say, hoping I had heard it
correctly. "It's not La Traviatta, but I do feel a certain kinship to
the heroine."

"Oh, are you being pursued by an unwanted suitor?"

Oops. I hadn't picked up on enough of the play to realize that was the
plot. Now it looked like I was spurning his advance again. Hell, maybe
I was. I mean, I wanted to be desired by men like this, but only from a
distance. On the other hand, I didn't want to be rude. Really, that's
what it was.

I had been looking down at my glass, more to avoid his eyes than in
contemplation of the amber liquid. Letting my eyes rise just enough to
see him through my lashes, I softly said, "Not, ah, at the moment."

Chapter 7 - "Miscast"

A warning blink of the house lights prevented either of us from
following up on whatever it was that had started between us. I kept
trying to tell myself that was good news as I smiled a counter to his
own rueful grin. A tray appeared near my hand for my half-empty glass
as mysteriously as a prior one had provided the full ones, and I was
quickly making my way back to my seat. At the next intermission I had a
mission of some urgency and there was no way that Mr. Kennedy could 
`bump´ into me there. I have to admit, though, that I looked
for him at the end of the performance. To no avail. Catching a cab, I
rode back to my hotel alone.

I spent the next day, in the daylight of course, running through
Central Park. I kept to the main paths and made sure I knew where the
nearest police officer was at all times, but SMITE spends so much time
keeping fit that I really enjoyed the chance to run for a while. I
covered a fair bit of the park over the course of almost three hours.
That left me just enough time to get dressed for my first ever Broadway
play. I had decided I'd wear a different evening dress of course. It
was also black, but it had a sequined bodice that narrowed to a halter
top; lots of skin on back, shoulders, and arms - very glam. That dress
just demanded that I have my hair and nails done, so a fair part of my
`getting dressed´ time was spent in the Plaza salon.

The rest of my getting dressed time involved shimmying into gossamer
dainties, slithering into that fabulous gown, and drifting a bit of
black cobweb around my shoulders that pretended to be a wrap but
actually called even more attention to all that skin. By the time I was
riding the elevator down to the lobby, I was nicely panicked about
being late, trying not to show it. All that emotional energy on the
inside, with all the coolly controlled exterior that our instructors
could drill into me on the outside, had to be as good as any drug ever
made for getting high. I was floating as much as walking when I reached
the door and nodded to the doorman to call a cab.

"Going my way?" I heard a voice say. Yes, that voice.

"Geez, I'm a Virgo, all right? Enough with the silly lines," I said,
turning to see Wilson Kennedy. Again.

"I'll keep it up until something works," he promised, smiling without a
hint of embarrassment.

"This is obviously not a coincidence," I observed dryly.

"Nope," he replied with that same easy grin. "I called in a few
favors."

Real subtle, there, buster. Not just rich, but connected as well. Why
don't you just hang out a sign that says, `Big Time Operator Here
´? I didn't say that, of course, but I was starting to get a
little concerned, as much with his apparent arrogant self-confidence as
with any worry about, well, stalking or something.

He must have seen that concern in expression because he quickly said,
"Look, I'm not trying to, ah, force you to spend time with me or
anything. But even though you haven't been particularly, um, welcoming
toward my advances, you haven't flat told me to get lost, either. Do
that and I'm history. On the other hand, if you'd like a ride to the
play, I just happen to be going that way."

"Why are you bothering?" I asked, feeling a well-trained pout form on
my lips.

"Have you looked in a mirror lately?" he said with a chuckle. "All that
and I already know you've got brains and class, too. What's not to
like?"

Indeed. Well, if he found what was hiding inside my shimmery dress he'd
have something not to like. But I had to admit I was flattered. Who
wouldn't be? Whoever he was, he was too easy in his wealth to be a
predator. I mean, I know that kings and princes can be real creeps
despite being fabulously wealthy, but that was as much about power as
about money. This guy didn't need power games, not with women, not with
other men. It just showed in the way he smiled at his own compliments,
delivered not for advantage but because they were the simple truth. At
least to him.

Before I could say anything more, his smile changed to a little boy's
pleading beg and he said, "Please, let me take you to the play."

I'd have probably agreed anyway, but that look was more than I could
refuse. I nodded, unable to stop a smile from curving my own lips, and
looked back at the doorman. Once again Kennedy had things under control
already, though.

"Over here, if you would," he said, motioning to about fifty feet of
gleaming limousine.

He held the door for me himself, handing me carefully into the seat,
then ran around to where the chauffeur held his door. We were on our
way so smoothly I didn't think about how quickly it was as well until I
saw a cop holding up traffic for us.

"Goodness, just how many favors do people owe you?" I asked. Then I
remembered an earlier speculation. "You're not one of *the* Kennedy's
are you?"

"Good Lord, no!" he said, his smile contradicting the vehemence of his
denial. "Hell, I'm a Republican!"

"Oh, too bad," I said sadly. That was for effect. I didn't really care
if he were a Martian. Politics bored me to tears, but that opening was
too good to let pass.

"Ah, indeed," he said noncommittally, showing the first crack in the
armor of his perfection. I decided I wouldn't mind playing poker with
him. His `trouble´ face was so blank that the contrast with
his usual energy was like a big sign over his head. A part of me was
telling myself not to underestimate him. When I had decided he didn't
need his money to feel powerful - no matter how much he had - that
realization had come with the feeling that it was because he had made
his own money and was sure he could make another fortune if he lost the
one he already had.

Those thoughts were some sort of attempt to cover over a louder, more
strident part of me was just flat being impressed. This was indeed a
big time player and I was way out of my league despite all the training
I had received in `cool and classy´.

That's my excuse anyway, for what happened after that. I leaned back
more comfortably in the seat and decided to try and find that smile he
had lost. "So, Mr. Kennedy-who-is-not-related-to-*the*
-Kennedys-and-glad-of-it, just who are you?"

This time I was the one who spoke again before he could answer. I knew
jumping in again sounded too... interested, too excited and that I
shouldn't do that. It was a major loss of cool points to blurt out
another thought, but I couldn't help myself. "Unless, you're not part
of... another sort of family, are you?"

He laughed - at least I had managed to get his good humor back - and
pushed the tip of his nose to the side with his finger. "Ya mean, like,
one a da Families? Nah, dat's my brudder Guido youse is t'inkin'
about."

"I'm sorry," I said, blushing. I really had blown my sophisticated
image, but... maybe it was worth it. He did have a heavenly smile.

"No," he said, answering my question again, "I'm not connected with
anything except a rather specialized investment group. And I've been
lucky."

"Right," I said, managing to get the fire in my cheeks back under
control. I hoped. "The sort of luck that comes from 18 hour days, I'm
sure."

"Not any more," he said easily. "Now, tell me about yourself."

"Not much to tell," I said, mentally kicking myself for not preparing a
story in advance. I should have known this sort of thing would come up,
even if I hadn't expected to meet this particular person over and over.
However, this sort of dissembling had been a big part of the training I
had received, so I could look calm even as my mind raced. The standard
recommendation when caught unprepared was to stick as close to the
truth as possible, so.. "I'm actually here on business. My boss sent
me to do some research."

"On what?" he asked politely.

"Would you be offended if I begged off from that question?" I asked
demurely. "It's, well, proprietary would be as good a word as any."

He smiled and said, "Not at all." Then he changed the subject. "But I
do want to know how you got the name Vanna. That's too cute to be
real."

I chuckled, thanking my instructors once again for providing me with a
classy reflex. I had this incredible urge to giggle instead. But my
training held as I nodded. "You're right. That's not what it says on my
birth certificate, but I've used the name for so long I can hardly
remember the other one." Then I changed the subject, or at least tried
to. "So, how did you find out where I would be?"

"Uh, uh," he countered, no apology in his grin. "Not so fast. You've
played the mysterious society lady very well, but I am not going to be
put off that easily. Tell me a bit more about yourself."

"And if I refuse?" I challenged with my own grin. "After all, a lady
has to retain some air of mystery, or men get bored so quickly."

"I don't think you'll bore me... not quickly in any event."

"And...?"

"And what?" he said, but I knew he knew what I was asking, so I just
smiled my amused patience smile and settled a tiny bit further into the
corner.

"Okay," he said, nodding the point to me. "I'll promise to do my best
to keep from boring you. To that end, how am I doing so far?"

"Oh, boring you're not," I answered with a smile I meant to be sort of
introspective - as though considering my experience so far - with a
sort of examination of him - as though considering his potential for
the future at the same time. I don't know if it worked, but his smile
widened and he nodded another point to me.

Right about then we got to the theater. It was no surprise by that time
that it was the right one, nor that his ticket was for the seat next to
mine. I hadn't heard of the play before, some sort of mystery set in
Seattle called, "For Lisa." You wouldn't believe what it was about. The
playbill talked about this oriental cop who goes undercover to find his
lover's killer and I had visions of some cheesy Charlie Chan thing but,
well, I won't go into it. If you get a chance, go see it. It was
anything but cheesy even if the detective really was named `Chan´
. I think our Sam Gates has a pretty good sense of humor, though,
for picking that play to send me to.

When it was over, Kennedy turned to me and said, "Well, uh, Ms. White,
have you had dinner?"

"Oh, God," I moaned theatrically, holding the back of one limp hand to
my forehead - so sue me, we had just seen my first ever Broadway play -
"I have become my mother. `Ms. White´ killed Colonel
Mustard in the kitchen with the spoon."

"From which theatrics," he replied dryly, but with a twinkly little
smile dancing in his eyes, "one assumes you do not like to be called
Ms. White. So... ?"

"Vanna, of course," I said. "And... Wilson?"

"Only if you want to walk home," he said. "It's just Will. And if it's
ever Willy, even by mistake, I'll have the chauffeur run over you."

"Oh, no," I said firmly. "It would never be `by mistake´."

He, Will, laughed and held up his hands in surrender. "Uh, oh. I may
have created a monster."

"That's another play, I think," I replied, looking pensive as though it
were a serious issue.

"Probably so," he said, nodding with equal gravity. "Now, to the more
important matter. What are you hungry for?"

"Food would be nice," I replied, continuing with a serious tone despite
a very silly answer.

"Okay, then that's what you'll get," he declared grandly. The limo was
waiting at the curb, of course. How could it not be ready? And we
whisked silently away to wherever we were going next.

That turned out to be some place that was not in any of the guidebooks;
at least, not the ones available to the proletariat. There was this
ordinary looking door with small white letters painted on the glass
that read, "Jean-Paul", with a shaded bulb bathing the half dozen steps
up from the sidewalk in soft light. Will had helped me out of the limo
again. I had waited for him, of course. I had to admit (to myself) that
I appreciated the attention even aside from the social niceties. The
stilts I was wearing, and the somewhat-restrictive cut of the gown made
a bit of aid very welcome. That's the reason I didn't, ah, mind when he
kept his hand on my elbow as we approached the door.

It opened in front of us, revealing the first clue about what sort of
place we were entering. That's not true, actually. It was just the
first one I noticed. In any event, the man opening the door wore a
white tie and tails, the first outfit I had seen that looked even more
expensive than Will's.

"Good evening, Mr. Kennedy," he said. "Nice of you to visit us again."

"Good evening, William," Will said. For just an instant I had another
massive urge to giggle. Maybe I'd be able to remember the name of this
... whatever he was. "This is Ms. White."

"Very nice to meet you, madam," William said, bowing. But I caught a
glimpse of a smirk that was intended for Will. It didn't make me...
mad, exactly. But I didn't like the idea that they thought they were,
ah, ahead of me or something. So I decided I'd see if I could convince
this pompous pigeon not to take me for granted.

I spoke only to Will, of course, pretending my problem was not at all
with the smirker. "Why, darling, you didn't have to tell him what I did
for a living, did you?"

Guys have this competitive thing, you know? Anyway, the current contest
was to see who could flush the deepest red, in each case nicely set off
by the snowy-white collars of their respective costumes. Will was the
first to recover, laughing out loud even as he held up a hand to keep
William from the apology he clearly intended to offer. "Score one for
the lady, William."

William nodded obediently, but I was gratified to see that his glance
was now for me and that it had an interesting combination of respect
and assessment. He was trying to decide if my surface joke covered a
deeper truth. The best part, though, was that Will was asking himself
the same question. You could see it in his eyes. So much for being
taken for granted.

We followed the flapping tails of our, ah, greeter past a series of
varying size rooms to one that held a single table set for two. That
did not mean that it was a small table. Nor could it have been. I think
there were fourteen glasses and nineteen pieces of silverware, and even
before we started to eat there were at least six pieces of fine china.
At each of the two place settings.

William moved to hold my chair for me, but Will was already there. Once
I was seated William did the napkin thing for me and then handed me a
menu. I didn't even see where he got it from. Not that it mattered. My
French overlapped with what was on the page by about two words. I saw 
`caviar´ and `pate´ and ran out of options.

One thing I did notice, though, was that there weren't any prices. I
knew what that meant.

Will scarcely glanced at his menu, looking instead at me. "What
interests you?"

Now why did that make me blush? To cover that up I shrugged with
careful nonchalance and said, "Whatever you think is best."

"Good, then let's go," he said quickly, putting his menu on the table.

Maybe I was lucky. Realizing that his... attention had made me blush
had me so focused on cooling my cheeks that I was able to keep any
surprise out of my voice and gain back a few `cool and classy´
 points. I just smiled, laid my own menu down, and said, "As you
wish."

"I may just hold you to that," Will replied, chuckling even as he
nodded his head at my poise. Well, I was showing poise, regardless of
what I felt on the inside.

But he also picked up the menu again and started in with the patient
William. It's even harder to understand French when it's spoken than it
is to read it, so I had no clue what I was going to get.

I still don't know what it was. Not that it really mattered. Like a lot
of new experiences, some of it was wonderful, some of it was... not.
I did the wait-until-he-shows-you-which-fork-to-use thing, and he
caught me at it, and we both smiled, and it didn't matter after that.

Despite the fact he was clearly attending other patrons, too, you'd
have thought that William was our very own waiter. One of them at
least. He was more the conductor than the one playing the tune, though.
I never saw him carry a plate, though there was an army who jumped
whenever he glanced their way. But unless something was needed - which
could include correcting an errant wineglass that had the temerity to
actually be only half full - we seemed to be alone.

The first part of the meal was spent discussing the play we had seen.
That was only on the surface, though. Under the casual chatting there
was a deeper current of building... curiosity in Will's eyes. I
noticed, and let him know I noticed with a hint of amusement in my own
demurely-lowered eyes. Finally, I `won´ that little battle
of wills (no pun intended) when he changed the topic.

"At least you called me `darling´," he said in what would
seem like a massive non sequitur. Unless you'd noticed the
undercurrent.

I put a little heat into my smile - okay, a little more heat - and
said, "I did, didn't I?"

"You could be, you know," he said next. I knew what he was really
talking about. The smirk he wore was very interesting, very complex. It
said he felt just a bit guilty at having embarrassed me, even as it
showed a hint of arousal in the fascinating possibility that I was
indeed some sort of high class - definitely high class - madam. It
confessed he didn't really know that much about me, yet it showed not
the least bit of regret for pursuing me. Like I said, complex, yet
somehow very clear just the same.

I just nodded, accepting his statement. If he wanted to know if that
possibility were true, he was going to have to ask. But I could drop a
hint of my own. "A girl has to make a living somehow," I said easily.

I blew it, though. Somehow, despite my attempted ambiguity, he saw
right through me and sent a new message with a new grin. And other
things, now that I think about it. He reached for his wine and for the
first time in quite a while broke eye contact. Topic settled. I was not
really a madam. He didn't need to actually ask. Score one for him.

When he looked up again I nodded in acceptance that he had won the
point. And decided I didn't really want to play poker with him after
all. I might think I could read his face, but it was clear he was no
slouch at reading others, either.

It's a shame, really, about the meal I mean. I don't really remember
much about the food, which would seem to be a waste since I can't
imagine what it cost. All I know is that some time later William was
pulling my chair back and we were walking back to the outwardly
unimpressive door. No check, of course, was ever presented. The limo
was idling at the curb and I realized that there was no room to park.
Think about that. No one who came to that place was going to have to
park their own car, nor need valet service either.

I had been pretty careful to keep my fluid intake under control so I
was relaxed but not... loose as we rode back to my hotel. I did
allow him to provide a little stability, though, in the form of a
shoulder to lean on and an arm to steady me. That's all it was, just
stability.

When we reached my room, I handed him the keycard and he worked the
lock. Then he stood there, a smile on his lips, a question in a gently
arched brow, in the twirling keycard. Message: Do you want me to give
this back to you? Or do you want me to keep it as an excuse not to
leave?

Like I had any choice. Slowly, showing a regret that was not as
artificial as I knew it should be, I reached for the card. His smile
didn't even slip a bit. All that happened is that the question
retreated from his eyebrow.

Then a new one replaced the gentle smile on his lips. "Do you have any
casual clothes with you?"

"Casual clothes?" I repeated. Stupidly. That question really had caught
me by surprise.

"Sure," he confirmed. "Jeans, sneakers, that sort of thing."

"Um, close enough," I said. Damn, first time I'd let an `um´
 slip out all night.

"I'll pick you up at ten, tomorrow morning," he declared. "We'll 
`do lunch.´" I could hear the quotes around the phrase and
knew he was poking fun at the ostentatiousness of it, especially in the
context of his prior question about casual clothes.

"Um, okay," I said. I'd have kicked myself for yet another `um´
, but all of the sudden I was too busy for that.

He kissed me. It wasn't the classic, wrap-his-arms-around-me-so-I-
could-pretend-to-want-to-escape-but-not-really-try capture kiss. It was
much, much worse than that. He just lifted his hands to cradle my face
and caressed my lips with his. I had never been kissed more gently, nor
more intensely. I couldn't even have imagined such intensity, and would
have denied the possibility it could come packaged in such gentleness.

Until I experienced it.

Jaymi is right.

Chapter 8 - "Mishap"

Vanna's voice trailed off with that whispered memory, her eyes perhaps
seeing where the sound had gone since they were clearly not focused on
anything in Sandy's room. After a moment, she shivered slightly as
though shaking off an enclosing shroud, lowered eyes telling more of
the tale despite her silence. The blush did not speak clearly enough
for Carol.

"What do you mean, `Jaymi is right´?" the tall redhead
demanded.

The incongruity of a demure blush on Vanna's elegant face was
surprisingly charming - a sign of a new aspect of her personality
developed in the course of her experience. She didn't answer though, at
least not in words. Instead, she looked at Jaymi, smiling at the
recognition in the slender brunette's eyes that she had understood.

Carol saw the interplay, but rather than push at Vanna she decided to
go straight to the source, Jaymi, later. She still felt the tale was
incomplete, though. "So what happened next?"

"Oh," Vanna replied with a grin that teased even as her easy words
proclaimed full openness. "The next day we went on his yacht to visit
the Statue of Liberty."

Then her voice got serious again, earnest as she tried to share
something from her heart despite her previous reticence. "That is so.
.. powerful. Have you ever seen it? I mean really seen it, from the
water as you approach? As we rode over on the yacht I could really
feel, for the first time I think, what America means. Can you imagine
all the immigrants who passed that statue, what it represented to them?
We are the hope of the whole world, and that hope is summed up by that
great lady; tall, lighting the way for the rest of us, proclaiming
liberty built on an unshakeable foundation of honor."

"I got all silly and sentimental," Vanna admitted, remembered majesty
again putting a glisten in her eyes. She realized it, she probably had
no choice but to realize it as her throat tightened and she whispered,
"I still am, I guess."

Despite her earlier demand for juicier news, it was Carol who reached
over to embrace her shorter teammate. At least, she was the first.

Marilyn's soft voice eventually intruded in a way that was more
completion than interruption of the moment. "I think we need to be
getting to sleep, now. It's late."

It was proof - as though any were needed - of Marilyn's timing that
none of the team members twitched at her voice, yet all started moving
even as she spoke. By the time they had sorted themselves out smiles
had become light-hearted again, with Carol laughing as she threatened,
"I'm going to get the rest of that story out of you."

Vanna chuckled that oh-so-elegant laugh she had been taught, but her
smile showed no concern. It was unclear whether that was because she
really wouldn't mind telling, or whether it was because she had no
intention of ever sharing what had happened between her and her
unexpected beau - which was part of the fun, of course.

Marilyn was the last to leave Sandy's room, deliberately so as she
ushered Jaymi out. "You go to your own room, no hovering over Sandy all
night," she ordered the slender girl. Then Marilyn turned back to
Sandy, an incipient hover in her own attitude as she asked, "Are you
going to be all right?"

"Of course," Sandy said easily. "I'm fine, really." Then her voice got
quiet with memories that were beyond words yet colored the ones she did
say. "I've been through much worse."

The next morning, no one outside the team would have seen any hint of a
problem in Sandy's bright smile. Even Carol gave her a funny look, as
though trying to decide how much of her enthusiasm was real and how
much was cover. The tall redhead's question remained unspoken though,
as the hovering tech prepared her for what was now going to be her
assignment.

"I wish I were going with you," the tech, a too-thin, dark-blonde girl
named Chrissy, said as she fussed with the taller woman's forest-green
skinsuit.

Carol's bright smile didn't really reach her eyes, but she nodded. "It
should be fun. How many guys did you say would be diving with me today?"

"Oh, ah, that's not really what I meant," Chrissy said, blushing.

"What? All those men and you're *not* thinking about them? Just what
were you thinking about?" Carol said, smirking, then her lids drooped
into a sultry invitation and her voice got husky. "Or.. just where
did you want to go with me?"

This sparked even more of a blush in the over-matched tech's cheeks,
but the real message was in the way she wouldn't meet Carol's eyes.
After a pause much too long to support the denial, Chrissy whispered,
"That's not what I meant either."

"Too bad," Carol whispered in return, reaching out with her gloved hand
to caress the smaller woman's cheek.

Chrissy didn't flinch from the touch, but neither did she follow up on
the opening. That was not a further message though, since they were
interrupted by yet another suit tech bringing the helmet to Carol's
suit.

"I thought this sort of thing went out about the time Lloyd Bridges
learned to swim," she complained as the man lowered over her head a
huge elliptical helmet with an absurdly small clear port.

The new tech, a man she hadn't really met whose nametag read simply, 
`Jake´, laughed and said, "Why, this is newer than new.
Amazing Space Adventures says that this is what all the space babes
will be wearing in 2007." He paused for effect, then explained, "Of
course, that issue was published in 1957."

"What?" Carol asked. Or at least, her mouth formed that word. It was
another second before Jake completed connecting the umbilical so that
her mike and helmet speakers worked.

Even through the small window in her head bubble, Carol could see the
others laughing, and she assumed it was at her expense. Her attitude
was not improved when she noticed that Sandy had started performing on
her assignment too, as the team camera operator, and so had recorded
whatever joke had eluded the redhead. Carol's eyes flashed with a
reminder that even with her hair hidden by the helmet her temper was
still very real. Before she could say anything though, the speakers
inside her helmet crackled with official business.

"Can you hear now?" Jake asked through his own mike.

"Yes," Carol replied, the sound repeated with an artificial echo from
speakers throughout the area.

"I think we'll wait until we get to the tank to add your weights," Jake
decided, offering a polite hand to help Carol stand on her stilt heels.

Chrissy looked as though she might move forward to help Carol as well,
but Vanna was already there. None of the other team members wore their
helmets for this exercise, though Sandy's face was even more obscured
by the camera she carried. Dancing lightly despite her towering heels,
Sandy circled the gaggle of beauties plus one proudly preening male
technician, as they moved from the dressing room to the training
facility.

At the entrance to the exercise chamber they were stopped by the
artificially avuncular tones of Waylon Jennings. "Whoa, there, litt.
., ah, ladies. The pool area can be mighty slick and I wouldn't want
you to slip."

"Thank you for your concern, but I think we can handle it," Marilyn
said with more apparent patience than the rest of the team was feeling.

"That's okay," Jennings insisted. "We're experts at this."

He waved his technicians in to take the place of Carol's teammates,
blandly ignoring any potential that the SMITE team could be as
competent as a `real´ astronaut team, even in walking
across a tiled floor.

In fact, the floor was relatively slick, especially so for the dagger
heels incorporated in the team's specialized skinsuits. However, the
only woman having any trouble was the one in imperial purple, Jacqui
Cleaver. The multi-level irony of that was not lost on the team, but of
course it was missed completely by Jennings.

The training facility was a huge swimming pool, a tank over 40 feet
deep, where astronauts who were preparing for extra-vehicular
activities would rehearse the specifics of the tasks in a simulated
weightless environment. For each actual astronaut, there were always at
least two safety divers wearing conventional SCUBA gear, along with a
bustling beehive of personnel who were nominally supposed to stay dry.

Carol's situation was unique in that her skinsuit was much more akin to
the wetsuits of the divers than the typical bulky NASA spacesuit. Her
first task was simply to get dunked so that it could be determined what
weights would be required to offset her inherent buoyancy, much less
than that of typical trainees. In the end, a few dive weights at her
trim waist, wrists, and ankles, along with some careful additions to
the backpack that housed her air and power supplies, and she was ready
for her first try at replacing a solar panel.

Sandy filmed it all, first moving close to get shots that proved it was
still really Carol inside the bubble helmet, then back to show the
scope of support an astronaut receives. The rest of the team remained
with the other strap-hangers who had no apparent duties. Or at least,
almost with them. As always, there was an immediate segregation as the
`real´ astronauts moved a few steps away for private
conversations.

Perhaps to show that their own shoes were so much better on the wet
deck around the tank, Jennings and `Oz´ Anderson stood
close to the edge of the pool. Sandy was the only team member who
happened to move close enough to `accidentally´ eavesdrop
on their conversation.

"I think we're gonna have to get suits like that for *all* the
astronauts, now," Anderson said, leering at the girls in a way he
probably thought was subtle.

"Shit, Oz, you'd look like the Pillbury doughboy in one of them suits,"
Jennings said, laughing.

"In one of those suits," Anderson countered, "even I would look good. I
mean, look at Beaver. Would you have ever guessed she was that...
shapely?"

"Mighty fine, that's for sure," Jennings agreed. "Mighty fine. But..
."

"I know what you mean," Anderson said. "So, which one would you like to
be marooned in space with?"

"Damnit, Oz, we're professionals. These women are our, ah, clients and
we need to behave."

"Yeah, right," Anderson snorted. "Hell, Waylon, I'll `behave´
 just fine. But even your training program can't keep me from
thinkin' what I want."

Jennings didn't respond, at least not with words, but his eyes told a
story that he probably considered no impediment to his own `
professionalism´.

"Not a bad choice," Anderson observed with a conspiratory snicker. "If
you like curvy blondes and don't have much need for intelligent
conversation."

"Talking was not the... communication I had in mind," Jennings
admitted quietly, glancing around to see who might have heard.
Unfortunately for him, and even more so for Anderson, he didn't turn
quite far enough to see Sandy drifting closer.

"For an old fart, you've got good taste," Anderson continued. "Not
great taste, mind you, but, like I said, not bad."

"Oh, and just what's wrong with my, ahem, taste?" demanded Jennings.

"It's not what I would call, ah, subtle," Anderson declared. "That
Marilyn is almost as pretty as her namesake, but choosing to copy
Marilyn Monroe is just what I mean. How obvious can you get?"

"Hell, Oz, I told you I wasn't thinkin' about her mind," Jennings
snorted.

"Even so, I think there are, um, depths I'd like to, ah, explore in
that dark-haired girl," Anderson said.

"The young one? I thought you were more grown up than that," laughed
Jennings.

"No, though she's obviously the prettiest," Anderson countered. "I was
talking about the one called Jaymi. There's just something about her. I
think she needs to be shown what being a woman is all about."

"Yeah, right, like you know," Jennings said. "Hell, Oz, there's only
one part of a woman you know anything about, and not much about that."

"I'm hurt," Anderson said, theatrically holding his hand over his
heart. Then he laughed and said, "Besides, there's at least a couple
more places of interest. Though, once you add those in you do have
about all that matters."

"Say that to the Beaver and you'll lose your interest in women...
permanently," Jennings warned.

"I'm not as dumb as you look," Anderson said with a laugh. "But the
others, well, I'll probably rent the movie when it comes out, but I
think I'll just leave the sound off."

"Good plan," Jennings said, laughing in agreement. "I'll bring the
beer."

"Oops!" A woman's voice interrupted their mutual satisfaction.

Sandy's high-heeled foot suddenly appeared beside them, thrown up waist
high in an obvious attempt to recover lost balance. It was not enough.
A heartbeat later her shoulder caught Anderson in the waist. Like
dominos, her impulse was translated through him into Jennings.
Curiously, only Anderson and Jennings actually fell down.

And down. Into the pool they had been standing near so casually.

When they surfaced, Sandy was standing near the edge, having recovered
her balance thanks to their `help´.

"Oh, Mr. Jennings," she cried. "I'm so sorry. You told us to be
careful, but I just slipped."

"S'oll roight," Anderson answered for the sputtering Jennings. "Oi'm
sure i'couldn' be helped."

"Uh, yeah," Jennings agreed, hauling himself from the water. He ignored
Sandy's offered hand in favor of those from the other bystanders who
had gathered at the edge of the pool. The ones who were not wearing
steepled heels.

"You should go get dried off," Marilyn observed with ostentatious
concern too perfect for Jennings to recognize as a parody of his own
attitude toward the women.

"I, ah, can't do that yet," he replied. "As Test Director, I have to be
here until the astronaut trainee is out of the tank."

"Oh, that's too bad," Sandy said in tones dripping with remorse.
Somehow her tones weren't reflected in her eyes, though. Perhaps it was
because she was not `dripping´ as badly as some others.

A warning buzzer soon indicated the end of the training exercise
anyway. The waiting support team helped Carol back to the dressing room
and had her out of her own wet skinsuit and into a dry one with
practiced efficiency. The SMITE team, now including Jacqui as at least
an honorary member, were waiting in the debrief conference room before
Jennings and Anderson arrived.

"Okay, Sandy," Marilyn asked. "What really went on out there?"

"I slipped," she said simply.

"Yeah, right," Jaymi laughed. "I've seen you do cartwheel in heels
higher than that, and on surfaces at least as slick. Tell us what
really happened."

Sandy glanced at Jacqui, asking a question and receiving an answer in
the flicker of an eyelash. She nodded acceptance of the message,
gratifying the newest team member with that simple acknowledgment.

"They were... discussing us. In terms they no doubt thought were
flattering, but weren't really. You know? Anyway, I decided those pigs
needed a bath."

"Hell, girl," Jacqui said, "I've heard that sort of thing ever since I
came here. You'll have to get used to it."

"Hell, girl," Carol said to Jacqui in conscious repetition, "I've said
worse than whatever they could have said. That's not the point."

"Right," Marilyn agreed. "If we're going to be properly prepared for
this mission, we need their honest respect and fair assessments.
Condescension could kill us, if it results in poor training."

"Ah," Jacqui said softly. "Good point. I, um, chose a different route
to gain my own acceptance."

"You mean you earned it," Marilyn said directly. "And you're right. By
the standards of typical astronaut candidates, you did. Our needs and
those of our mission are unique - and not just in the obvious ways. But
don't make the mistake, as Jennings did, of assuming we're not
competent. It's just that our competence takes a different form."

"I'm beginning to understand that," Jacqui nodded, with more respect
than she might have had a few days before.

"All that's just fine," Vanna said, breaking in with an artificially
overdone giggle, "but I want to know who they were interested in."

Sandy laughed and was about to tell them, when any further conversation
was interrupted by the appearance of Jennings and the rest of the task
analysis team. As usual, the debrief lasted longer than the actual
exercise, but the conclusion was that Carol had done well, her long
arms an aid in an environment where brute strength had long been
recognized as not a primary need. Carol herself was strangely quiet,
answering questions quickly and directly, but not volunteering
anything. Most surprisingly, she passed up obvious opportunities to
throw in her usual sexual innuendoes.

Jennings looked like he was even going to comment on it at one point,
Carol's brisk professionalism that is, but in the end all he did was
toss a condescending `good job´ her way. After a review of
the next day's exercises, the team was dismissed.

"You wanna go get a cup of coffee?" Vanna invited Jacqui.

"Uh, thanks, but, um, if you don't mind, I'd like to go around the tank
facility," the petite brunette replied, then grimaced a little. "I need
a little more practice in these heels before I spend any more time on
that wet tile."

Carol stayed seated for a moment as the others gathered up to go.
Marilyn noticed, as she noticed everything, and paused for a moment in
her own activities to let the others get away. The first thing she did
when they were alone was... nothing. She let Carol have the time to
bring up whatever was bothering her, just being there in case now was
the time.

Marilyn looked like she had about decided it was not the right time and
turned to go, but despite Carol's attempt to hide behind lowered eyes,
she gave herself away with an audible sniff.

"What's wrong, dear?" asked Marilyn.

"Nothing," Carol whispered.

In response, Marilyn didn't say anything. At least, not with words, but
she sat down with a firm finality that made it clear she wasn't
accepting that answer.

When Carol looked up, the tears in her eyes were past hiding, past
denying. Her voice was still a whisper, vanishing softly into the
corners of the conference room but only after passing by the attentive
team leader.

"This is not really me, you know?" Carol began.

Perhaps to her surprise, her leader nodded sadly. "I know, Carol, and
I'm sorry. I needed you to fill a specific role on the team - and you
do it very well - but I've always known you weren't comfortable in the
role of a sex-obsessed vamp."

"You have?"

"Yes," Marilyn confirmed. "But I needed you to feel motivated to do
your best, at least in the beginning, so I couldn't offer you any real
alternatives. After that, well, things were working too well to derail
with some sort of shakeup. Maybe that was a mistake."

"Maybe," Carol said softly, the unaccustomed criticism of her commander
making her tone hesitant.

Marilyn started to say something more, but Carol interrupted her. "It's
not being part of the team," the redhead declared. "I love that. I love
being attractive, and I don't have any... , I mean I don't feel
embarrassed about looking like... "

Her words were interrupted by a cautioning hand from Marilyn. "This is
probably not the right place to discuss some things," the blonde said.
"Let's go get our own cup of coffee."

"Oh, right," Carol agreed, blushing. "I'm sorry, maybe we should just.
.. "

"Stop right there," Marilyn interrupted again. "This is important and
we need to work it out, just not here."

Nodding, Carol gathered up her things and they both left the conference
room. The day was pleasantly cool, at least for Houston, so after
dropping their briefing materials off in their respective rooms, they
took a stroll to an isolated place on the grounds.

Chapter 9 - "Mistake"

"It's just that I feel so... alone," Carol began. "It's not the
team. They're great, and I feel very much part of it. But outside the
team, well, what else is there?"

Once upon a time, Marilyn might have jumped in with an offer of some
sort of solution. But now she realized that it was more important for
Carol to share what was on her mind than to `solve´ the
problem. She just nodded and Carol's eyes took on a distant look as her
mind focused more on memories than on the birds in the trees before
her.

***

I really, really enjoyed that exercise in the tank. It's been a long
time since I've actually built anything. I used to do that, you know,
back before... well, a long time ago. I was a carpenter before I
joined up. Oh, silly me, of course you already knew that. Anyway, I
liked building things, working with my hands to create something
enduring. I know what we do on the team is important, really important,
but sometimes I wish...

I liked sports, too. I couldn't afford season tickets or anything, but
I managed to get to a couple of games a year, in whatever sport was in
season. And when I couldn't get to the game itself, I'd visit a sports
bar and watch it on TV, along with a hundred other hootin' and
hollerin' fans.

That's what I tried to do over our furlough. Like Sandy, I don't have
any family so I took my ticket and went to Denver. The Avalanche was in
the Stanley Cup playoffs, and if I had to pick a single sport that I
like best, it would be hockey. I'd never been to Denver before, so I
figured that would be a safe place for a furlough. When I got there, I
splurged and rented a really nice Mustang and was soon whipping my way
around their beltway; I-470.

I don't really mind being pretty and wearing clothes that show it. Part
of looking good, as we all learned, is to take advantages of the
advantages you have, and I know I've got killer legs. They look even
better in heels, but nosebleed spikes are, well, they look good but
they're not the most comfortable things to wear even when you're used
to them. So the first place I went in Denver was to a western wear
store with the subtle name of `Boots and Spurs´. I was
wearing my leather mini and knee-high boots when I went in, and
surprise, surprise, I didn't have to wait very long for someone to
notice me.

"Can I help you, miss?" a guy asked. No name tag, and from something -
I don't know - `furtive´ in his manner I actually wondered
for a moment if he was really a store employee. But I put it down to
the typical sort of nervousness that people seem to show around me. In
my heels I'm, uh, `noticeable´, and a bit intimidating to
some people.

At least I've never had Sandy's problem. People don't talk to my boobs.
They talk to my legs. I waited for him to get his eyes uncrossed and
look at my face. When I, that is, my face had his attention, I took a
moment to size him up just as obviously as he had looked at me.

He wasn't bad. Urban cowboy type, but fairly well done, with snugly
tight jeans and a buckle so large it made his trim waist more necessity
than option. He had a beard though, and that wasn't a good thing, at
least not to me.

Still, my training held and I let a little smolder into my eyes and
said, "Oh, I hope so."

He blushed nicely. I let him. After a moment that no doubt seemed a lot
longer to him than to me, he said, "I'm Rick. How can we help you?"

"We? That sounds... interesting." I guess training really takes when
it's a reflex you can't stop if you want to. Anyway, this time I was
the one to blush, but I covered it with a return to business. "I'm here
on, uh, vacation and I decided I want an outfit that's more...
local."

I could see him trying to decide whether to be offended or not. I have
to admit, I sounded sort of condescending even though I didn't really
mean to, but I was saved because `the customer is always right.´
 He nodded and let his eyes make a circle of the store, asking
where I wanted to start.

"I'd like some boots," I said, "and some jeans and a nice shirt."

"We don't have anything with heels like that," he said. I'll give him
credit for not looking down again after I had made it obvious I had
noticed his initial... focus. Well, not more than a quick glance.

"Fine," I replied. "I like heels, but there's more to me than just
legs."

It made him blush again. Or maybe it was the way I sort of.. slid my
hips out to one side when I said it. Whatever, it also gave him
something specific to do, so he led me to about 14,000 pairs of boots.
Fortunately, there were only 57 styles in my size, so it wasn't too
long before I had some really cute boots with only about three inches
of heel, and not stilettos, either. After that I found a pair of jeans
and a satin shirt in dark green and white with only a modest amount of
fringe. Really.

I tried things on and came out to look in the mirror. The outfit seemed
to work. Rick's eyes were about as bulging as before, maybe more. Of
course, those jeans were, well, our skinsuits are no tighter, that's
for sure.

"Do you like it?" I asked with a smirk. Like I couldn't tell.

"Ah, yes. It looks, um, great," Rick said. I didn't much doubt that he
was telling the truth.

"I think I'll just wear these clothes out of here," I decided, then
before he could say a word I found a hat I just had to have. Black, of
course, I am a bad girl after all, but with some white braid that
danced around the hatband before piling up in front - just short of
gaudy. Or at least I thought so.

Rick liked that, too, and helped me get a nice shape to the brim. Of
course, I had to get a belt, too, and a few other things, but I escaped
with a little money to spare. Not enough to go buy hockey tickets at
scalper prices, though.

"So," I asked, "where can I find a place to watch the game tonight?"

"Hockey?"

"What else?"

"Um, do you just want to watch?"

"Well, I don't think they'll let me play."

He blushed yet again, then recovered with a `dare you´ look
on his face. "If you're interested in just watching the game, then I'd
suggest your hotel room. But if you want to have some fun, there's
always Jackson's."

"I think I saw that place, but it was way back by the airport."

"It's a chain. They call them `Jackson's All American Sports
Grill.´ The one over on Yosemite is fairly close, and you can get
a nice meal or get rowdy in the bar, whatever you want."

"Thanks," I said as I gathered up my things. "You've been a big help."

"Any time," Rick replied, a bit more wistfulness in his voice than I
think he intended.

I gave him a medium sway as a reward on my way out the door. I imagine
he noticed. He'd been having a lot of trouble looking me in the eyes
again.

The bar was easy enough to find, but before I stopped I decided to get
a room that fit within my remaining budget, eventually finding a
typical sort of western-sprawl motel. I used the time to peel out of
those jeans and take a quick shower. I almost thought they'd shrunk
when I tried to get them back on, but with a little help from my 
`bad girl´ vocabulary I managed to get the zipper up.
Tilting my new hat to the properly flamboyant angle, I decided I was
ready to strut.

The game hadn't quite started when I got to Jackson's, but I could tell
it was going to be a rowdy crowd. My first clue was the raucous cheer
when I walked into the bar. I had to laugh. There were so many guys
undressing me with their eyes - at least in their imagination - and I'd
have bet not one single one of them got the most important part right.

It only took a glance at a stool and guys were scrambling to make room
for me. And make offers for me... or perhaps that should be make
offers to me. I finally decided I needed to get things under control a
little.

"Listen up, all of you," I called out. "I'm just here to watch the game
and maybe have a beer or two. Now, behave or I'll root for Dallas."

*That* set up a nice loud groan, but it also calmed things down enough
that I could order a sandwich and a beer from the bartender, a good
looking brunette that reminds me of, that is, that Jacqui reminds me
of. She had the same sort of
not-looking-for-trouble-but-you-better-not-be- either attitude, not
really a chip on her shoulder, but a readiness that was too confident
to be wariness.

"You don't really think things will be that easy, do you?" she said
with a grin as she handed me my beer. "You come in here looking like
something these studs wish they had enough imagination to dream up, and
you expect them to just treat you like `one of the boys´?
Don't kid yourself."

I almost snorted beer out my nose at that `one of the boys´
comment, but I managed to cover it with a chuckle of my own.

"You seem to do okay," I observed. "And you're as pretty as I am."

"Thank you, darlin'" she drawled, "but you can't kid me, either. You're
the most gorgeous thing that has *ever* been in this bar."

"Why, thank *you*, darlin'," I repeated. "A girl does what she can."

"And the best make it look easy," she said, laughing as she moved -
easily - to get another beer for someone down the bar.

I turned back to look up at the big-screen TV where the game was
starting up. That was apparently an invitation.

"Hey, Barb, long time no see." I heard from near my shoulder.

It was obvious he was talking to me, so I said, "My name's not Barb."

"I know," he said easily. "That's a nickname of course, but you just
have to be `Flame of the Barbary Coast.´ They make movies
about beauties like you. And I memorize the ones about redheads."

It was an interesting opening, I suppose. Too bad the guy making it
wasn't. I wasn't entirely sure why I felt that way, though I decided it
was a lot of little things. For one, he had a mustache, and while it
wasn't real scraggly or anything, it didn't seem.. neat somehow. And
he could have used a shave. Most of all, though, he was, that is, he
was *not* very fit. I worked damn hard to keep my waist down, and his
was trying too hard to cover his belt. He wasn't grossly fat or
anything, but his hardbody days were long past, if he'd ever had any.

"You've got the wrong girl," I said, looking up at the screen again.

He didn't answer me directly, because just then the bartender was back
and handing me my sandwich.

"I'll get that," he offered.

I reached for my pocket - I had decided to bring just my money and ID,
leaving my purse in the car if I needed my lipstick later - and turned
just far enough that I could show him a shoulder. "No thanks. Like I
said, you've got the wrong girl."

It would have been smoother if I could have gotten my hand inside those
damn tight jeans. I was still struggling, figuring I'd have to stand up
to get my fingers in my pocket without breaking a nail, when the
bartender's hand touched my shoulder.

"Don't worry, you've got a tab," she said.

"Thanks," I replied, sending her a look that showed I appreciated more
than just the credit.

A cheer from the crowd about something going on in the game gave Movie
Critic a chance to pretend to be interested in something else anyway,
ignoring the way I was ignoring him. It also gave me a chance to
introduce myself to my dark-haired protector.

"I'm Carol."

"Rachel," she said, shaking hands in an interesting way that was
neither masculine wannabe nor delicate femininity, yet somehow promised
both. "I think I'll quit worrying about you, even with these guys. You
took care of old `Ed Earl´ well enough."

"Ed Earl?" I repeated with a snort.

"Can you believe it?" Rachel laughed in turn. "It's not even his real
name. I saw that when he used a credit card one time. He likes to
pretend he's a good ol' boy, but I'll bet he's a computer geek or
something."

"Or something," I repeated her words again.

She was called away again, letting me get back into the game. This was
obviously not the year for Dallas, which was just fine with the guys in
the bar. At least, those who cared. It wasn't long before I had another
offer. And then another. Proving another cliche. True equality of the
sexes won't be reached until a woman can be 40, bald, and pot- bellied
and still think she's sexy.

That's not fair, actually. A couple of the guys who showed an interest
were about my age, fit, and good-looking. Another truism of the mating
chase is that confidence is its own reward, most of the time. The
desirable ones could send an invitation on the wings of a glance,
hardly breaking their concentration on the game. Except, they weren't
desirable, at least not to me. They could accept that, too. The ones
who couldn't accept it, who wouldn't take no for an answer, got more
than a little tiresome though.

"Nothing suits your fancy?" Rachel's voice floated over my shoulder
through the general noise level as the latest over-ambitious suitor
slithered away.

"No," I said, turning back to her. "You were right of course, about it
not being as easy as telling them I was here to watch the game. But
that's really all I wanted." She nodded, but I had this feeling her
acceptance was more complex than my simple agreement would indicate.
"You don't seem to have any trouble with these guys. What's your
secret?"

"Well, for one, I don't come in here looking like nine kinds of hot in
a tall, cool package."

"Sorry," I said, sniffing and turning back.

"Hold on, gorgeous, I didn't say I didn't like it," Rachel said
quickly. "I just meant it, ah, contributes to the problem. I mean,
these animals are not exactly subtle, you know?"

"You can say that again."

"Believe me, I have. Again and again," Rachel said with a laugh.

"Just what makes them think they're so hot?" I asked. "They're all so.
. coarse. I don't mean crude, though that's true too. But, I mean, look
at them. Most of them need shaves, and the rest need a bath. None of
them have enough pride to stand up straight. They just look..
sloppy."

"You only made one mistake in that sentence," Rachel countered,
chuckling again. "You should have stopped with the key question. 
`What makes them think.. ?´ And the answer is... 
`nothing.´ They're men. What did you expect?"

"More than that, or less actually, since I expected to be allowed to
watch the game in peace. Just like one of them."

"Girl, you definitely need to look in a mirror. You are not like one of
them."

"Well, I'm not apologizing for looking good. It's not a crime."

"No," she agreed, but then she said, "though you do have to admit it's
not unreasonable to expect that a woman dressed as... hell, as
provocatively as you, who comes into a bar populated 50:1 with men..
."

"All right, so I made a mistake. Sue me!"

"Chill, girl, I'm not complaining. This mistake has its good points."

"Like what?"

"Well, for one thing, we met each other," she said with a chuckle.
"Look, the problem is the place, not the outfit. I know another place
we could go to that would be, ah, `subtle.´"

"Now?"

She shook her head. "No, I'm on duty until late tonight. But I could
take you there tomorrow night. Say, 7:00? I'll pick you up if you'd
like."

"Um, sure," I said, distracted by a shout at another Avalanche goal.
"Beats sitting around alone."

Some part of my training resurrected itself and I thought about
clothes. "This okay?" I asked, waving my hand at my western clothes.

"Its up to you," Rachel answered. "I thought we might get a bite to
eat, too. If we go clubbing afterward, though... "

".. we don't want to be limited to redneck country-western clubs. Is
that it?" I finished for her.

"Subtlety is the key," she laughed.

That phrase resonated in my mind after she said it. I realized I hadn't
really been fair to the guys in the bar. I was anything but subtle
myself. My SMITE team persona was deliberately provocative in every way
that I could be. But who was the off-duty Carol? Mixed up, obviously,
sending conflicting signals. Blatant invitation in dress and movements,
cold rejection in words and sneer. Uncomfortably astride a fence. Ha,
just like the real me.

I was pretty quiet for the rest of the game, nursing a drink or two and
trying to be a bit more gentle with the rest of my admirers. I even
casually flirted with a few, teasing without really inviting. But I was
glad when the game was over. I waved at Rachel and left more than
enough money for my tab, though she hadn't ever asked to be paid. I
also left the name and number for my motel room. Then I tried to be
just a bit more subtle on my way out of the bar.

That question - who I really was - bothered me all night. On a mission
I could do what was required, even unpleasant things. But off duty? I
didn't know how to act. I just didn't know how. After the scene in the
bar I knew I wasn't really, in my heart, the tramp that my SMITE team
role defined. I wasn't interested in fulfilling the promises my
innuendoes made. Especially not with civilians. The guys in the bar
were sloppy and out of shape, but not unusually so for civilians. I was
just used to the discipline of soldiers. Add to that the care women
take with their appearance, and ordinary men don't stand up too well in
comparison. But what about other men, men with a sense of discipline
and pride in their appearance, Army men or some other service?

That didn't interest me either. I kept thinking of the guys I had known
when I was Carl, when I knew a lot more guys. I never felt any interest
at that time, of course, but, well, living as a woman changes a lot of
things. You get used to `fitting in´, playing the role
until it's not a role any longer. I knew I had done that in some ways.
I had no desire to go back to looking like a guy. I even liked
provocative outfits, liked being attractive, and that inevitably meant
attractive to men. That night I realized though, that they had never
become attractive to me.

Rachel, on the other hand, was something else. But... was that just
the other side of the same coin? Was I attracted to her while she was
not really interested in a tall, redheaded woman? Once again, I just
didn't know. I had never tried to read those sorts of signals - as a
woman - from a woman, and I didn't know if the things I had picked up
on, that I was clinging to, were real signals or just wishful thinking.
If I'd have thought about it more, I wouldn't have agreed to meet her
again. Not that I didn't want to, but I didn't want to screw it up by
assuming the wrong things. It would have been better to get to know her
better before agreeing to... what? Did we really have a `date´
 for the next night? If it had been a guy, that would have been
clear. But with another woman? What would our night out mean?

Lord, What was I going to wear?!

My western outfit wouldn't do, of course, not even if Rachel hadn't
more or less said so. I didn't want her to think I was, um, limited.
Should I be the Carol I had been trained to be? Should I wear something
just this side of trampy, blatantly provocative? I was off duty and I
could be anyone I wanted. Business professional in a trim pin-striped
suit, the skirt just a bit too short so that I could show off my legs?
Dainty `girly-girl´ with lace and ruffles? Tough
leather-girl with my boots and mini and a motorcycle jacket? Who was I,
really?

None of the above, I decided. The `girly-girl´ look wasn't
me. I liked looking good, but I wasn't demure and that was that. I
didn't need to be trampy, but it would be just as fake to pretend
innocence. The leather look didn't really appeal to me, either. I liked
my stiletto boots and a leather skirt is hardly a major fashion
statement any more, but taking that one extra step with a leather
jacket and correspondingly `tough´ makeup just wasn't me,
not the real me, the Carol who wasn't playing an assigned SMITE team
role.

Neither was the professional woman look, but for a different reason.
The look itself actually appealed to me. I think that after all this is
over, after the SMITE team has done what we need to do, I'd like to be
that sort of woman. Fashionable, not ashamed of her sensuality though
not defined only by it either. But...

But I didn't want that formality with Rachel. I wanted more than a
professional relationship with her. Maybe she didn't think of me that
way, but I was not going to be the one to shut off that path. I wanted
a sophisticated look, but a personal one. That was... is part of
what I... needed. I love the team, but under all the honest
affection we have for each other, there is always `Duty´.
We got into that relationship because of Duty. We do what we need to
do, even the unpleasant things - especially the unpleasant things -
because of Duty. I like to think that we would all be good friends even
without the pressure of Duty, but you just can't know. It's part of who
we are, part of how we met, inextricably part of us. I wanted something
more, something that was free and not in any sense `necessary´
. I wanted to be free to walk away from a relationship without in
any way compromising my sense of professionalism, my Duty. And I wanted
to know that my... partner in a relationship could do the same.

Somewhere in there, my `wants´ became dreams, because I
don't remember the sunrise, though I'm sure I didn't miss it by much. I
guess it's a good thing the Army likes to start the day early. Despite
my restless night, I didn't waste any of the morning - and I needed
every bit of that day to get ready. I guess it was a date, at least to
me, and I went at it like a girl with more than `friendship´
 on her mind.

I found a dress right away, a royal blue knit that could have been used
for a dictionary illustration of `body conscious´. What
took forever was finding shoes. Which I never did. I ended up in a pair
of black patent heels that I had brought along, at least two inches
higher than I wanted, but they did make my legs look spectacular, aided
by the fact the dress was... well, `short´ will do.

I really hated the idea of trusting my hair and face to a salon I'd
never been in before, but after I made them write out a contract in
blood that they wouldn't cut anything or use any chemicals more
dangerous than hairspray, I gave a trendy downtown location a chance.
And of course I needed new earrings, and a pearl necklace (fake,
unfortunately). I was still fussing with them when there was a knock at
the door to my motel room.

"Coming," I said, giving up on the necklace for a moment. I opened it
to see a Rachel I'd have passed on the street, she was so different
from the night before.

That's not true, actually. She was so stunning I'd have turned around
and followed her if I passed her on the street. She was in a classic
little black dress (heavy emphasis on `little´) and made it
clear why that look was so classic. Her dark hair was piled up to show
a surprisingly long neck for such a petite woman, accented even further
with glittering chandelier earrings. But all that was merely a frame
around the most artfully made up, expressively deep eyes I had ever
seen.

"Wow," I whispered.

"Wow yourself," she said with a laugh. But she blushed, too, and I
could tell she was pleased that I was impressed.

I just stood there like a fool, of course, blocking the door. After
some immeasurable interval, I realized it and stepped back. At least
one thing went right, though not because I deserved it. I was holding
my pearls in my right hand so I didn't reach out to shake hers in an
inappropriate male response. I have to admit, at that moment I was
feeling more `male´ than I had in a very long time.

I was still dumbstruck, but once I got moving Rachel helped with that
side of things. "Need any help with those?"

"What, oh, yes, please, I would appreciate it."

I handed her the necklace and turned my back to her. My curly hair just
wouldn't take an updo, so it still spilled over my shoulders. I lifted
a handful out of her way and stood waiting.

"Goodness, girl, you're gonna either have to squat down or find me a a
ladder," Rachel said.

"Oh, sorry," I replied.

"I'm not," she said. "You look fabulous. But you are certainly tall."

I squatted down a bit so she could reach around my neck with the pearls
while she continued. "I never did ask what you do for a living. Are you
a model?"

"Hardly," I laughed, then I sobered a bit as I realized I didn't really
have a good answer for her. "I, um, let's just say I'm on vacation and
leave it at that."

"Oh, a mystery woman," Rachel said, but she laughed too so I knew she
wasn't upset.

"More than you can imagine," I said softly. By then, she had my
necklace hooked so I stood straighter and gathered up the rest of my
things.

She took me to a nice restaurant, just this side of ostentatiously
elegant. I had promised myself that on furlough I would have a nice,
juicy steak, but that didn't seem the time for it so I had some sort of
ragin' cajun dish that hadn't suffered a bit from being so far from its
nominal home. It did take a few glasses of wine to keep the fire under
control, though. Quite a few.

Rachel was... charming. Witty, engaging, distractingly beautiful,
and attentive. I smiled when I could remember to, laughed way too often
for the air of sophistication I was trying to present, and began
wishing I had met her under other circumstances. Wishing hard.

When we finished the meal, I certainly didn't want the evening to end
so I was more than receptive to her suggestion we go to a club she
knew. For the life of me, I can't remember the name of it now, but that
doesn't really matter. What does matter, or did, was that when we
walked through the door, I realized that every single person in the
club was a woman. Including the ones draped over each other on the
dance floor.

Chapter 10 - "Misanthrope"

I hesitated at the door, which could have been okay if I had recovered
just a bit sooner. It was a typical nightclub, flashing lights in some
places and gloomy in others and a moment to absorb it was not
unreasonable. But I stood there a moment too long and the
always-attentive Rachel picked up on it.

"You're upset," she accused.

"What? No, just... surprised," I countered.

"I thought you, I mean, I assumed you... understood."

I turned to her and reached out to touch her cheek. "Rachel, believe
me. You've done nothing wrong. I was just surprised."

She leaned her face into my hand, then looked up again. "We can leave."

"Not unless you want to," I replied, then didn't give her a chance to
make any new desires clear. I took her arm and pulled her down onto the
floor, scanning over the heads of the shorter women for a table. That
was really a ruse to keep from looking at Rachel. After the first...
confusion, it had sunk into me that she was the very thing I had been
hoping she was - interested in women. Interested in me in `that
way´.

Which was even more of a problem, since I wasn't really `that way
´.

I hadn't even made a good start on figuring out what to worry about
worst when my search for a table was rendered moot.

"Rachel!" a voice boomed.

I was suddenly glad I hadn't chosen the leather look, because that
suggested dominance issues and the woman who plowed through the crowd
could have broken me like a dried-out toothpick if I offered any sort
of challenge - at least any sort of physical challenge. And I don't
care how good our hand-to-hand training was. She looked like the
professional women wrestlers hoped they would look like when they grew
up - the `new´ style; sensual, graceful, beautiful, but
above all, strong. Rachel grimaced as she looked at the source of all
the noise, but she transformed that into a smile that looked genuine
enough to belie any real fear.

"Drue," she said calmly, not really attempting to be heard above the
noise.

The woman gathered Rachel up in her arms and swung her around, making
me glad I was very well practiced in my heels so I could dodge out of
the way. In a casual show of strength, `Drue´ wrapped one
arm around Rachel and held her just off the ground so that our heads
were all at about the same level.

"My oh my," Drue said with a comic leer at me. Then she looked at
Rachel and said, "You've been holdin' out on me, hun."

Rachel didn't seem to be offended by the casual way Drue handled her,
so I decided I'd just act casual as well. Lord knows I was too confused
to figure out anything else to do.

Rachel pushed quiet introductions from her squeezed lungs. "Drue, this
is Carol. Carol, Drusilla."

"Pleased to meet ya'," Drue boomed, sticking out her free hand.

Time seemed to slow *way* down all the sudden, almost like combat does
to you, and a plan opened up before me like a revelation from above.
For the first time since I, um, since Carol was created, I didn't feel
physically... impressive. Not intimidating. Whatever. I know I'm not
actually the best fighter on our team, nor the smartest, nor any of
those things, but being so tall, I've always felt... I don't know.
.. strong somehow. I'm not that tall for men, but within the team,
especially since I took such a liking to heels, I've always been...
impressive. Maybe that's another Duty issue, like I was required to be
tougher than the other girls. More like a man. Maybe that's where
Carol's sensuous overcompensation came from. Whatever the genesis, for
the first time I felt like I could be `dainty´, like the
spectrum had moved so that I was well into the range of `normal´
 women instead of an extreme case.

All that came to me in a half a heartbeat, and I felt a sense of, I
know this sounds silly, but `delicacy´ come over me. I held
my own hand out in that soft, palm-down way that Sandy does so well and
said, "Enchante."

"Woo, a French chick," Drue said, resurrecting her leer.

"Hardly," I disagreed softly, shaking my head to reinforce a message
not supported by much volume.

"Close enough for me," Drue said, laughing. "I'm not interested in
French language anyway."

"Indeed?" Then I turned to Rachel and said, "I'm so glad we found a
place where the... clientele is so `subtle´."

Rachel blushed. Drue brayed with laughter, but she had the poise to
accept the comment without argument. I gave her even more credit
because she didn't try to justify herself, either. She was as she chose
to be, take it or leave it. I could respect that.

Apparently Drue had a table already, or at least a part of one. There
were more purses on the table than chairs around it, but three of the
chairs that were there were empty. Drue started bellowing for a
waitress before she sat down. I half expected her to pull out our
chairs for us, at least Rachel's, but she just waved grandly at the
open ones before choosing one for herself.

The waitress that showed up was dressed in an obvious Playboy bunny
style, except she had foxy ears and a bushy tail. That wasn't what I
expected. I figured, Drue notwithstanding, that women would like
refined elegance in their `private´ clubs, something like a
traditional men's club. That had obviously been wrong from the moment
we stepped in the door, but I was still too busy absorbing to really
think things through. I suppose I was still caught up in prejudices
too, pigeonholing Lesbians as all fitting some sort of feminist,
anti-sex-appeal stereotype. Anyway, the waitress, `Foxy Lori´
 as she introduced herself, was pretty in a bimbo sort of way;
all blonde curls and ostentatious curves.

Which, as soon as she looked at me, turned out to be yet another unfair
prejudgment. There was amused intelligence behind those rich blue eyes.
You could see the `I'm making $500 a night, and you're paying for
it´ condescension there, but fun, too. She was having fun doing
something she enjoyed, and if it involved acting outrageously `
sexy´, she could handle that.

Just like someone else I knew. Only I didn't remember having that much
fun. So who was really the bimbo?

Somewhere in there a drink got ordered for me. I don't usually mix my
libations so I had intended to get a little more wine, but when Lori
showed up again I found a strawberry daiquiri in front of me. It tasted
much too good to complain about. So did the next one.

By then Drue had moved on to attack yet another `dearest friend´
 and the music had even taken a quiet turn, so Rachel and I were
able to talk. She was still worried.

"I shouldn't have brought you here," she said. "You were right, of
course. It's not subtle at all. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," I said, honestly happy. "This is fun. Drue's a dear, and
my, um, I can feel my attitudes, ah, expanding even as we sit."

"It's just," Rachel began again, "this is, um, the first time I ever
came to accept.. who I am, it was here."

"Drue brought you, didn't she?" I guessed.

Rachel nodded. "She was just a friend. I met her in Jackson's, as a
matter of fact. She just invited me to come to her club with her one
night. I didn't know what to expect, and frankly, I was angry at first.
But... after a while I realized she had seen something in me that I
hadn't seen in myself. I thought, well, maybe I hoped that it would
work the same for you. But I shouldn't have done it without asking."

"Maybe not, for most people," I said, agreeing on my way to
disagreement. "But I don't mind." Then I lifted my eyes to look
directly into hers and whispered, "Really, I don't mind at all."

Something very complex showed in Rachel's eyes for a second. Something
I was afraid to examine too closely. The absence of Drue's overwhelming
presence had left a void and I found myself slipping back into the 
`tall´ role again to avoid dealing with it. "Would you like
to dance?"

"Sure," she said with a sunny smile.

Whoever was selecting the music kept it on slow dances for several in a
row. If Rachel noticed anything funny about the way I seemed so
naturally to lead, holding up the correct hand and all, she didn't say
anything. At least, not about that.

"Can I ask a personal question?" she whispered from my shoulder.

I nodded, hoping and fearing what she would ask.

"Have you ever... been with someone... like me?"

"No," I answered. "But I have `been with´ other women. They
just weren't nearly as lovely as you."

I could feel the tension when I said the first part, but the way her
curves softened to merge with mine at the end made it clear she was
pleased with my answer. Just then the music changed though, and that
quenched any opportunity to follow up as effectively as a bucket of
cold water.

Back at our table, we found fresh drinks courtesy of an unknown but
probably very large benefactress. Once again I didn't know what to do.
The blatantly sexual SMITE Carol wasn't right, wasn't what I wanted to
be for Rachel. Yet all my other reflexes seemed too... masculine.
Like asking her to dance, and then leading when we did. I could see
myself falling into habits that were... dangerous.

So I just sat there, looking at Rachel when I could do it without being
too obvious, trying to find a path to a destination I wasn't sure I'd
know how to handle if we got there. She must have finally accepted that
I wasn't upset, because I could see the confidence of the `old´
 Rachel surface in a genuinely-amused smile.

"Finish your drink," she ordered, swallowing what was left of hers.

I did as I was told, then followed her out of the club. I didn't know
what to expect, really. My mind was ranging from a hoped-for greater
intimacy to `thanks for a nice time´ dismissal, worrying
about both and not sure how to handle either. That sounds like an
excuse, and maybe it is, because she surprised me as soon as we got
between a couple of parked cars.

Without a word, she turned to me and lifted her arms to surround my
neck. Pulling herself up to my level, she kissed me. Dear Lord, I don't
think I have ever been so thoroughly kissed.

And the funny thing was, it was so softly delicate. I had always
expected passion to involve... power, I guess. Mashing mouths and
forcing tongues and crushing embraces. I learned in a heartbeat that I
had never been a very good kisser before. In two heartbeats, I was into
graduate courses, finding the right way to share the dance of tongues
and the warm pressures of true sensuality.

I'm still trying to decide just where I screwed up. Or why. I suppose
the easy way out is to blame the drinking. I had probably had more to
drink that night than in the previous two years combined. I was on a
runaway train, headed for a bridge that we couldn't get over, but I
couldn't seem to do anything but stoke the fires hotter and hotter.

We ended up at her apartment. It's a good thing she had to drive. We
teased each other the whole trip, which was only a couple of miles, but
neither of us could take things too far. When we got in the door
though, it didn't take any time at all for her little black dress to
hit the floor and only my fumbling incompetence with the unfamiliar
fastenings of my blue one delayed its fall to join hers.

"God, you are beautiful," she said when my corset was finally revealed.
"That has to be the sexiest outfit I have ever seen."

"Second best," I disagreed, letting my eyes linger on the curves so
artfully framed by her own dark, satin-shimmery scanties. Like my
waist-cincher, the cups to her bra left the most interesting bits
exposed. She also wore stockings, as my exploring fingers had
previously discovered. A garter belt framed delicate lace panties that
were more symbolic than effective, which was quite effective in a
different way.

Then - inevitably - it all came crashing down. Her own digital
explorations had danced lightly across my... secret, but she must
have decided not to trust what they seemed to indicate. I could feel
her stiffen, though, concern pushing passion to the side.

"Is this a... bad time for you, darling?"

"No, of course not" I answered. Stupidly. I still didn't get it. I was
in a private place with a beautiful, sensual, aroused woman and I was
ready to take advantage of that. Only it was Carl who was ready to do
something that Carol shouldn't have been able to do. I suppose it's a
sign of how accustomed I had become to women's clothes that I could
trade compliments on lingerie without finding it... unusual. But my
little head wasn't worried about things like that. It was much too
focused on something it had been without for much too long.

Something that Rachel, however, had no interest in at all.

Her delicate fingers probed again, then became less delicate.

It finally started to sink through my drink-fuzzed mind that she wasn't
finding what she expected. "Ah, Rachel, love, I, um, there is something
I haven't told you."

She stepped back, rubbing her fingers together as though she were
trying to clean off something dirty.

"What *are* you?"

"I'm me," I said, searching for a way to explain something I didn't
understand myself.

"What sort of damn answer is that?!"

"It's all I have," I offered. "I'm sorry. I'm..."

"You're a fucking pervert!" she shouted, interrupting an explanation
that had no place to go anyway.

She started hitting me, more than slaps, but too out of control to do
any real damage, just wild swings at my shoulders and arms.

"Freak!! What makes you think you're as good as a woman? What makes you
think you could *ever* be as good as a woman?! How could you *dare*
touch me, you filthy... animal!?!"

I reached out, trying to hold her to stop her flailing arms. "Rachel,
please, I'm sorry, but I really... "

She dodged away from me. "You're really *nothing*! Do you hear me? *
nothing!* You're a fucking pervert, not even honest enough to be a real
man. You lying, evil,... !"

"Get out," she demanded, interrupting her own tirade, her voice now low
and tight. I reached out to her again, but through gritted teeth she
said, "If you even *try* to touch me again, I'll fix that problem of
yours, with my bare hands if need be."

I looked into her eyes, trying to find any shadow of the warmth that
had been there, trying to find something to build on. But all I saw
were chips of coal, flat, dull, empty.

At least I didn't have to search for my dress. It was still puddled
with hers at our feet. My feet, now, since she had taken several steps
back. I struggled into it, followed by the dark glare of her eyes but
offered no help, not even the false help of demands to hurry. It was as
though we were on opposite sides of a glass wall, able to see but kept
from any other interaction.

My purse was next to hers on a table by the door. I picked it up, then
one more time tried to link with her eyes, to tell her without words
the things that words were inadequate to cover. But her eyes looked
right through me to the door. She didn't move as I let myself out, but
the door had barely latched when I heard the deadbolt and chain being
locked from her side.

There wasn't any phone in the lobby of her apartment, so I had to walk
to a convenience store to call a cab. Somehow, those few blocks in my
ridiculously high heels seemed like a fair price - a minimum price - to
pay for what I had done.

***

Carol's eyes came back from the birds she had not really been watching
to look at the sympathy in Marilyn's matching blue gems.

"What did you do then?" Marilyn asked gently.

"Nothing," Carol replied.

"Your furlough was a week long."

"Oh, yeah. Well, I didn't do anything special. I had rented that hot
Mustang, so I spent a day just driving through the mountains. And I
went to another hockey game - that is, I went to another bar to watch a
hockey game. This time the bartender was a guy, and he was nice enough
to keep the hounds away from me. I actually headed home early, but I
decided to drive instead of fly."

"Are you okay, now?"

"Okay? No, not really. I thought I was. I slipped back into `
Carol´ easily enough, the sexy SMITE Carol. But today, when I
built that panel assembly in the tank, I guess I just... "

Marilyn offered a completion. "Got lonely, for things you can't have
any more?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"So, what do you want to do?" Marilyn asked, finally moving toward a
solution.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you want out of the team?"

Carol stood abruptly and said, "No! God, Marilyn, all I have is the
team. You can't take that away from me, too."

"I won't make you leave, of course. But if you're really unhappy, we
can work something out. But you, personally, as Carol or as Carl, have
a lot more than the team, though I can see how you might not think so
after that experience."

"Yeah, well, she was right."

"Perhaps," Marilyn said neutrally. "Like most human conflicts, there
are rights and wrongs on both sides. Clearly, our, ah, `unusual´
 circumstances are unexpected. It's part of what makes us so
effective, but there is a price."

Carol just nodded. The blue-clad blonde moved over to put her arms
around the taller redhead. "Tell me, Carol, do you still think that
what we do is worth it? Do you think that the SMITE team is a good
thing?"

"Duty, Honor, Country?" Carol asked. "No sacrifice too great to ask if
saving the world is at stake?"

Marilyn didn't answer, but Carol didn't really need an answer because
she knew that was indeed the question - and stating it was its own
answer. So it was Carol who nodded, answering Marilyn's question
instead.

"I'm sorry things didn't work out better for you," Marilyn offered.
"But I know you're committed to the team and will do your part, to the
best of your very considerable abilities. I'll tell you what. After we
get done with this mission, I'll arrange for you to learn a few more,
ah, three-dimensional responses. It's been unfair to limit you to a
sexual stereotype. At least we can make you more comfortable in `
normal´ situations."

Carol nodded again. "Thanks. I'd appreciate that."

"You never know," Marilyn said lightly, deliberately changing the mood
as she picked up her now-cold coffee. "Maybe there's someone out there
who would really appreciate, what was it, `nine kinds of hot in a
tall cool package.´ Especially with a little something extra."

"Yeah, right," Carol sniffed, but a bit of light came back into her
eyes as she clutched at the possibility, at least.

Chapter 11 - "Misguided"

Waylon Jennings wore a particularly self-satisfied smile as he waited
with pseudo-gallantry for the team to be seated for the morning
conference. He shared a smirk with Oz Anderson, then hinted at his
little surprise.

"Ladies, y'all are about t' experience one o' the less, ah, pleasant
aspects of astronaut trainin'."

"Worse than the Vomit Comet?" Carol asked in alarm.

"Sure thing," Jennings confirmed. "Right, Oz?"

"I guess we'll see," Anderson replied, for once forgetting to fake an
Aussie accent. His smug smile said that he was focused on something he
expected to be even more rewarding.

If Jennings expected more expressions of alarm from the girls, he was
to be disappointed - not that it diminished his smirk - and he moved
smoothly into lecture mode.

"As y'all know, some o' the launch and recovery emergency scenarios
result in the astronauts comin' down in remote areas. Obviously, we
don't expect that t' happen, but we must be prepared for all
contingencies. As a result, all a' y'all need to be qualified in basic
survival skills."

"Like what?" asked Jaymi with a grimace that suggested she already had
a distressingly good idea of what that might mean.

"Like dropping us somewhere in the middle of nowhere and expecting us
to eat bugs for two or three days," Jacqui answered with her own scowl.
"Been there, done that, ain't no fun. But we can handle it."

"I'm sure we can," Marilyn said brightly. "I was in a movie once where
I was shipwrecked on a deserted island, you know. I learned all sorts
of survival skills while making that picture."

"Oi think you moight find that a real wilderness is jus' a bit more..
. difficult," Anderson said. "Roight, Beaver?"

Jacqui shrugged, then asked a question of Jennings with a raised
eyebrow.

"Yes, Jacqui, we think you should go, too. You're the shuttle
commander, and will be responsible for the safety of the crew."

She sighed, but nodded. "Same rules as before?"

Jennings nodded in his turn, then explained. "We used t' do this as a
no-notice exercise, with the candidates limited t' what they were
wearin' at the moment they were tapped t' go. But the men.. oops, the
candidates were all qualified military pilots, and once they learned
that a survival demonstration was part of the trainin', they all
started carryin' a bunch of gear from their reg'lar flight kits. That
sorta defeated the purpose of the no-notice approach, so now we give
you fair warnin'. Specifically, y'all have an hour t' git ready. You
can bring whatever you want, dress however you want, as long as you
board the chopper in an hour."

"Where will the exercise be held?" Vanna asked.

"Louisiana," Jennings announced. "Y'all'll be provided with maps just
before you're dropped off."

A pout formed on Marilyn's full lips. "This seems like a lot of bother
for something we shouldn't need anyway. Do we really have to be out
there for days?"

"That's sorta up t' you," Anderson said. "If you hurry, you c'n make it
t' th' pickup point in a d'y or so. Oi' did."

"Will you be coming with us?" Jaymi asked, hinting with a smile at
interest in a little... unsupervised time with the tall astronaut.

"No, thank you," Anderson said, showing no regret at missing whatever
Jaymi might have been suggesting. "As Beaver said, I've been there, and
Ah'll pass."

"That doesn't seem really fair," Marilyn said. "I mean, if Jacqui has
to do it over, then why not you?"

"I'm not on this flight," Anderson said, a patronizing tone in his
voice as he explained what should have been obvious.

"Well, yes, but, this isn't really part of our mission, either,"
Marilyn said, still pouting as she tried to understand. "It's just a
sort of... general qualification thing, right?"

Jennings nodded, a new flavor to his smile.

Marilyn's smile brightened as she reached what seemed like the obvious
conclusion. "And if Jacqui has to go again, then it's a sort of
recurring thing, so you have to do it over sometime, too. Right? Why
not now?"

"She's got you there, Oz," Jennings chortled. "I think that would be a
good idea. We wouldn't want them to think we were being unfair."

"Speaking of that," Marilyn said, interrupting anything Anderson might
have wanted to say. "How do we know this isn't some sort of... macho
thing, just to make us feel uncomfortable? I mean, who picks the place,
and how far we have to go, and, well, that sort of thing? What if
something bad happens?"

"I pick the exercise parameters," Jennings admitted. "But I assure you,
it's a reasonable test. And safe, too. All a' y'all will have beepers
so you can signal for help. Of course, that would mean you failed the
exercise."

Marilyn's pout was turned on at full force when she looked at Jennings.
"Well, if it's so reasonable, then why don't you do it, too?"

"I'm not an astronaut candidate," Jennings replied, unconsciously
mimicking the patronizing tone Anderson had earlier used to respond to
the challenge directed at him.

"Hell, Waylon, you were happy enough to saddle me with this," Anderson
said. "I think it would do you good to get out from behind your desk
for a while."

"Unless you think you couldn't do it," Sandy said, blandly offering
Jennings a way out - one that would require him to admit he wasn't up
to a challenge he considered reasonable for the slender girl.

"I could do it," he snapped quickly. Too quickly, because he had no
chance to reconsider his words before Marilyn stood.

"Good, that's settled. It'll be the boys against the girls, and the
last team to the pickup point treats the winners to a nice dinner,
okay?"

Her team rose with her. The men weren't even given a chance to agree
before she turned toward the door. "Come on, girls, we only have an
hour to pack."

Once they were out of the conference room, Marilyn's jiggle damped out
considerably as she led her team toward their rooms. That doesn't mean
it disappeared. In the heels they all wore a lot of hip motion was more
necessity than affectation, but there was now a gliding grace that
seemed more sinuous than soft. She led them into her room, signaling
Vanna, who was last in, to close the door.

Marilyn turned to look at the team. The sharp, decisive look in her
eyes was a shocking contrast to their typical appearance; shocking at
least to the newest member of the team. "All right, Jacqui, there isn't
time for a full briefing now, but you're going to start seeing a few
things you probably don't expect. The mission to Seward's space station
is real, but our objectives aren't quite what we've said. I'll go into
that later. For now, we need to take advantage of this opportunity."

"Opportunity?" Jacqui repeated, a bit of a dazed look in her own eyes.

"Yes," Marilyn said. "We need to get Jennings and Anderson to take our
training seriously, yet do it without blowing our cover stories
completely. This is our chance to do that."

"How?" Carol asked.

"We're going to look just as empty-headed as ever when we're with them,
but we're going to beat them to the pickup point. That should confuse
them about just how capable we really are, but it should also get them
out of the expectation that we're bound to quit before we're actually
launched. After that, they'll have to make sure we're really
qualified."

She expanded her attention to encompass the whole team. "All right, the
rest of you know the drill. Hide the real stuff under the frills. I'll
explain a bit more to Jacqui. Dismissed."

After the other team members had dispersed, Marilyn turned to Jacqui.
"I wish we had more time to bring you up to speed, but we'll handle
that once we're alone in the woods. Gather what you want to take with
you - Jennings knows you'd choose useful things, but don't change from
your flight suit."

Jacqui looked down at the skin-tight purple outfit, complete with
towering heels, and said, "You've got to be kidding! We can't spend
three days hiking in the mountains while wearing a corset and heels."

"The heels and thin soles come off those boots," Marilyn informed her.
"I'll bring you some replacements. And we can live with the corsets;
they're stiff, but not that tight. But we need to make it look like
we're totally unprepared for this, so unprepared that we aren't even
aware of how bad it's going to be. I want Jennings and Anderson to be
way overconfident."

"Oh, they will be," Jacqui said, but she looked at Marilyn with a new
respect, then shrugged her shoulders and started heading for the door.
"Okay. Whatever you say."

Just before the appointed time the team, less Carol, sashayed to the
waiting helicopter, all besides Jacqui pulling stylish roll-aboard
suitcases. Jacqui's utility vest seemed at least as incongruous against
her shiny purple outfit and the heels each still wore were obviously a
challenge even on the flat expanse of the concrete landing field.

Oz Anderson, clad in well-worn camo BDUs and combat boots, started to
speak. "Um, ladies, you're only supposed to bring what you can carry."

He was interrupted by a similarly clad Jennings. "That's all right, Oz.
They can make their own choices."

Sandy, filming as usual, struggled with her large camera and a cute
little trailer suitcase full of extra tapes and battery packs that was
hooked to her own roll-aboard. She smiled helplessly at the helicopter
crewman after struggling to lift the heavy bags. He lifted the roll-
aboard easily into the waiting helicopter, but even he had to strain to
lift the densely packed camera gear.

Carol came running up last (an interesting sight in her heels and
skin-tight outfit), frantically stuffing a hair dryer in her own
wheeled luggage. The wisp of pink daintiness that slipped from the
opened suitcase to blow across the ramp had the virtue of being lighter
than the hair dryer, but was probably not a lot more useful.

"Carol, dear," Marilyn said patiently, "We're going to be roughing it.
I don't think we'll be able to plug that in anyway. You'll just have to
let your rollers air dry. After all, this is a survival exercise."

"Oh. Oops," Carol said sheepishly. "Oh, well, I've got it now, and you
did say we're going to Louisiana, right?"

Jennings nodded, then Carol continued, "Well, then after we get done
with this hike thing, we can all party in New Orleans. We'll need our
hair dryers there!"

"Oh, I wish I'd have thought of that," Vanna said with a pout.

Anderson and Jennings were studiously going over their own gear one
last time, only faces flushed to a rich scarlet giving testimony to
their efforts to keep their thoughts to themselves. And their laughter.
Jacqui nearly matched them in color, a most unfortunate effect with her
purple outfit, only in Jacqui's case it was clear that humor was not
what she was suppressing. No one said anything more though, and the
flight crew managed to find places for all the luggage. In minutes the
chopper was lifting off the pad, headed toward the morning sun.

The flight was long enough to become boring, but not long enough to
require refueling. That, plus the look of the swamp under them when the
helicopter swooped to a hover were their only clues to where they were.
After a couple of minutes of careful jockeying, the helicopter pilot
managed to set down in a small clearing. Jennings and Anderson
courteously helped the women offload all their gear, ending up doing
most of the work as the women took their first good look at their new
environment.

"Ooh, this is icky," Jaymi observed, struggling to extract one slender
boot from the muck.

"And it's just... ruining my hair," wailed Vanna.

"Where are the, you know, tents and things?" Marilyn asked Jennings.

"Tents?" Jennings repeated.

"Sure," Marilyn said. "When I did that island picture, there were, you
know, tents and little huts and, oh, things like that."

"Sorry, ladies, but all you get is what you brought with you," Jennings
smugly reminded them. "Oh, and these."

He handed out small plastic boxes to each of them, along with laminated
maps. "The beepers only have a panic button, but they put out a
location signal as well, so we can come get you if you need us."

"I thought you were going to be doing your own survival exercise,"
Jaymi said.

"Oh, yeah," Jennings replied. "Well, we might get done before you. If
not, someone else will come."

"Are you really going to be doing the same exercise?" Marilyn asked
suspiciously.

"Of course," Jennings said, then he pointed on his own map. "We're
going to be dropped off about a mile from here, and we both have to
make it 10 miles to the pickup point."

"Ten miles?" Carol groaned. "It'll be, like, forever before we get to
New Orleans."

Jennings and Anderson were not terribly sympathetic, snickering at the
looks of disgust shared by the pretty girls. Whatever damage the swampy
humidity had done to their hairstyles was minor next to the blast of
air as the chopper lifted off, but the team was too busy shielding
their faces to complain.

However, as soon as the chopper was out of sight, their demeanor
changed. Marilyn started issuing orders immediately.

"All right, girls, let's get unpacked."

"Hey, Jaymi, have you seen my makeup case?" Sandy called.

"Incoming!" Jaymi called back, tossing a bright pink box toward her
longer-haired teammate.

"Makeup? Here? You've got to be kidding!" Jacqui snorted.

"Don't leave home without it!" Sandy declared, then laughed as she
opened the case to display sticks in a muddy palette of grays and
greens and browns. "This is the latest look, don't you know?"

The artistry that made her features look innocent and child-like
disappeared behind a smudged pattern that appeared to have only the
virtue that the coverage was thorough.

"Camouflage?" Jacqui realized at last.

"With insect repellent built right in - and some really nice
moisturizers," Sandy announced. "You'll need some, too."

"Here, Jacqui, you'll also need these," Marilyn continued, handing the
still-confused pilot a pair of what looked like lace-up rubber
overshoes.

"Like this," Sandy said, pulling a similar pair from her own kit. In
seconds, she had pulled the arched soles and spiked heels off her boots
and attached the wider, flat soles of the overshoes. The flexibility of
the suit material allowed her ankles to bend to a comfortable angle in
what now looked like high-top sneakers, still slender and much lighter
than combat boots, but with a real sole and good traction.

Jacqui struggled to follow Sandy's example as the rest of the team
extracted rations, canteens, and packs from their roll-aboard
suitcases. Sandy's camera kit supplies opened to display GPS units,
commo headsets, and a laptop computer. Each girl produced a set of web
gear already decorated with combat knives and obviously-filled
holsters. Jacqui's eyes widened with each display, but the question she
wanted to ask was interrupted by a casual apology.

"Sorry, Jacqui," Marilyn said. "But we don't have an extra GPS for you.
We do have another headset, though. Oh, and you can hotbunk with
whoever is on watch at night, so you won't need your own sleeping bag."

"Who *are* you guys?" Jacqui asked. "This is all, um, Army gear, isn't
it? Special ops stuff."

"Is it?" Carol asked, laughing with her eyes as she snicked a live
round into her sidearm. "Gee, imagine that."

"I think you've been keeping secrets from me," Jacqui accused, but for
the first time since Jennings had announced the survival exercise, she
seemed to relax a little.

"A few," Marilyn admitted. "Let's get moving and I'll tell you why
we're really here after we're on our way."

She continued with orders before explaining, though. "Vanna, take point
and break trail. Carol, help her find a good path on the moving map,
and alternate with her when she gets tired. Remember, there are gators
and moccasins in this swamp and I'd just as soon not solve that sort of
problem in a noisy way. Try to find a path that follows a ridge line.
Sandy, I'll need you and Jaymi to do a recce tonight, so try and figure
out a good place to intercept Oz and Waylon."

The team moved swiftly to their assigned positions, leaving the
detritus of stylish luggage behind without a backward glance. Once they
were on their way, Marilyn turned her attention to Jacqui again.

"As you've obviously figured out, we're not quite what we seem," she
said, ignoring a muffled snort from the nearby Jaymi. "I think it's
about time we let you in on the real mission."

"Yes, I sincerely hope so," Jacqui replied, a bit of irritation
floating on the fringes of more-dominant confusion in her tone.

Marilyn had a way of disarming any suspicions that someone might hold,
even when not in bimbo mode. She could appear to be fully open while
still holding the important parts of the mission, or of the team, back.
Perhaps it was her bright, clear eyes, or the easy smile on her full
lips, but there was no hint of deeper secrets hiding behind what she
actually said.

"We're not really making a movie," she began. "Seward's Folly, or 
`Seward Space Facility 1´ is actually a cover for a
blackmail scheme against the entire world. We're going up there to put
a stop to it."

"Yeah, right," snorted a disbelieving Jacqui. "The assembled
governments of the world chose a bevy of beautiful women to defend
themselves against evil."

"No, only the US Government," Marilyn corrected her, the flat statement
carrying such simple conviction that Jacqui's eyes widened as she began
to believe. Her cheeks burned at the realization that she had showed an
unconscious prejudice herself. Why shouldn't a team of women be just as
capable as men in... whatever needed to be done? Hadn't she spent
her life proving that?

Marilyn moved on with the explanation rather than letting Jacqui dwell
on her mistake. "While some of us are distracting him, the rest of us
will try and, ah, take care of the station."

"By doing what?" asked Jacqui.

"Well, we understand that Seward has a thing for blondes. Vanna and I
will, um, occupy his attention while Jaymi and Sandy try to disable the
hardware that makes his bombs work."

"Bombs, on a space station? That's insane!" Jacqui snapped.

"Probably," Marilyn said with a nod. "But that shouldn't be a surprise,
either. Actually, the bombs are outside the station proper, as best we
can see from reconnaissance photos. It's the triggering mechanism Jaymi
and Sandy will be after."

"And me?" asked Jacqui.

"You'll stay in the shuttle in case we need an immediate getaway. Carol
will be in the airlock, ready to go EVA if needed."

"We don't allow solo EVA's," Jacqui said automatically. "At least, not
without someone standing by in case a rescue is needed."

"There shouldn't be much risk of that," Marilyn said confidently.
"Carol probably won't go outside the ship anyway, and if it does become
necessary, the rest of us will head back to help. We thought it would
be a good idea to have someone suited up and pre-breathing, just in
case."

Marilyn's breezy optimism was buoyed on the best insights of the
experts who had thought up the mission in the first place - experts who
were all too ready to take risks with another's life. Tragic risks. It
would be too late when they learned that, though.

Jacqui was highly intelligent and knew it. Despite the poor showing she
had made on her earlier assumption, to recover her standing she made
the next step in the briefing herself.

Thoughtfully, she mused, "If I were trying to defend myself on a space
station, I'd do something about the air supply - and with the
requirement for all-female crews, something... sex-based?"

"Very good," Marilyn complimented her. "At least, we think so, too.
Seward's Folly is likely to be saturated with pheromones that make
women less of a, um, threat."

"And you'll be able to overcome that? How? Gas masks?"

"No," Marilyn replied. "His internal surveillance system would make
that too obvious. We're just, ah, we think we can... resist."

Any further briefing, including any potential for difficult questions
from Jacqui, was interrupted when Sandy and Jaymi dropped back to
report on their study of the map.

"We think they'll try and camp here tonight," Sandy began, pointing at
a clearing indicated on the aerial photo they had downloaded from a
satellite-linked database.

"How far?" asked Marilyn.

"About 8 klicks from here for us, maybe 5 or 6 for them depending on
how good a pace they're making. It's the only place for three or four
miles that should be high and dry, though. And we're betting that they
know about it. I expect that Oz Anderson has already been this way."

"Ya think?" Marilyn said with a snort. "Why, that would be cheating, to
drop him someplace he'd already been, where'd he know the way and all."

"Yep," Sandy agreed with a smirk. "Or else it's a coincidence that
there's this nice little ridge for them to walk on, while we're
slogging through muck to our knees."

"I wish it were only to our knees," groaned Jaymi as she slipped into a
deeper hole.

"We're going to have to pick up the pace a bit," sighed Marilyn,
looking at her own GPS. "Jacqui, do you feel like taking a turn on
point?"

"Um, sure," the petite girl replied, tucking an errant strand of raven
hair behind an already-muddy ear and speeding up.

"We'll all take turns, aside from Sandy and Jaymi. They need to be as
fresh as possible tonight," Marilyn explained as the smaller girl moved
ahead.

"Fresh, I don't promise," Sandy said, plucking at her tight uniform.

"I know," Marilyn said. "These outfits are too hot, really, but they'll
protect us from the bugs - and other wee beasties - in this swamp. Make
sure you drink plenty of water."

"What do you want us to do tonight?" asked Jaymi.

"I'm betting that they have GPS, too," Marilyn said. "But I doubt if
they brought shelters. So I want you to get their GPS, their beepers,
and if you can, their boots. Don't take them, just make it look like
raccoons or some other critter gnawed on them - but render them, ah,
hors de combat."

"You got it," Sandy said, giggling.

For the next few hours, the team focused all their energy on the hike.
The lead pair had found a dryer path and they made reasonably good time
- which in a swamp means a kilometer an hour or so, a bit more than 10%
of what they might have managed on good ground. It was still a very
long, very tiring day until they reached the site they had selected for
their own camp.

Sandy and Jaymi pulled thin, camouflaged garments from their kits and
covered the bright colors of their skinsuits within shapeless ponchos.
Jacqui watched with an expression that was too tired to be called
amazed as they snugged down a few adjustment straps to keep the flowing
covers from billowing or making any noise, then turned to Marilyn for
any last minute instructions.

Their still shapely, though disheveled, blonde leader had only a minor
change in plans. "Leave one of their beepers, just in case they get in
real trouble. After all, they may break a nail or something."

"Right," Sandy said, managing to dredge up a smile though she was too
tired to giggle.

The dark-haired pair vanished into the gloom like a whiff of half-
remembered scent, only a faint rustle that could have been wind hinting
at their passage.

"We might as well get some sleep," Marilyn said tiredly. "I'll take
first watch."

The remaining members of her team offered no argument. Only a
relentless sense of duty kept Marilyn awake for the two hours she had
selected for her own watch. And of course the recce team returned just
as she had managed to fall asleep after she had been relieved.

"Marilyn, they're back," Vanna reported.

The team leader crawled from her bedroll and motioned the camouflaged
wraiths to her. "How'd it go?"

Despite the lines fatigue had etched in their faces, both dark-haired
girls looked at each other and giggled.

"Oh, the poor dears," Sandy snickered. "They were so tired."

"Yep," Jaymi confirmed. "They just dropped their packs, pulled their
boots off, and crashed. Poor old Waylon hardly got a blanket spread
under him."

"Did you get their gear?"

"Most of it," reported Sandy. "Oz was using one of his boots as a
pillow, so he's got one good one. But some fierce little animal chewed
a hole in the other three boots, and ripped off the laces."

Jacqui and the others, who hadn't heard Marilyn's earlier plans,
started to giggle as well. "Oh, that's cruel."

"It seems that the little bugger liked the taste of plastic, too,"
Jaymi said. "The buttons are all chewed off their GPS units, including
the power switch. They may be able to jury-rig something, but it would
probably be just as quick to follow the sun. Oh, and they may have both
beepers because the only one we found was Waylon's and we left that.
But we think Oz's got lost somewhere. We couldn't find it, but I'll
guarantee it wasn't in his pack or on his web gear."

"Maybe they'll just call for help," Vanna suggested. "They might have
some other way to contact the outside."

"Not those guys," Jacqui said confidently. "Even if they have
something, they won't use it until they knew for sure that we had
bailed."

"Well, I know for sure I'm tired," Marilyn said. "Sandy and Jaymi are,
too. Let's get back to sleep. Whoever's on watch, wake us at sunup."

Chapter 12 - "Misery"

"Rise and shine, ladies. It's a brand new day," said Carol in a
disgustingly chipper voice.

"I may rise, but I refuse to shine," Jacqui grumped a she struggled
from the tangled bedroll.

"Oh, God, Jacqui, that is soo old. Can't you do any better than that?"
Jaymi asked with a snicker.

"Not after a night in this stinkin' swamp," the other brunette snapped.

Sandy laughed and said, "My, my, it looks like little Miss Sunshine
hasn't had her sweetness pill this morning."

Jacqui was not impressed. "How in hell can you all be so damn cheerful?
There is no way that anyone can be that happy after a day in the muck
followed by a night sleeping on roots and rocks. It's not human."

Marilyn struggled from her own bedroll, trying to find a smile to join
in but not entirely successful herself. "Well, Jacqui, it's like this.
When it gets to this point, you can either laugh or cry, and I guess we
choose laugh."

Before Jacqui could reply, Vanna stuck a cup of coffee under her nose.
After that, Jacqui had better things to do than talk. *Much* better.

While the team went about starting the day, Sandy and Marilyn got
together over the map display. "I make it about... six more klicks,"
Sandy said.

"About that," Marilyn agreed. "But I think we need to stay close to the
men; ahead of them a little, but close enough we can check on them
periodically. We shouldn't have any trouble moving faster if they only
have one good boot between them. If they stumble on an angry snake
though, we may need to call for help for real."

"Hmmm," mused Sandy. "I expect they'll stay on this ridge."

"Right," Marilyn confirmed, "but we can't let them actually pick up our
trail, so we'll need to stay just off of it."

"I was afraid you were going to say that," Sandy sighed, but she
nodded.

Marilyn urged the team to move on before they had eaten, letting the
small indulgence of hot coffee be their wake-up elixir. They munched on
rations as they walked, the joy of cold macaroni and cheese just
another of the pleasures in their nature hike. Periodically, Jaymi and
Sandy would drift back into the jungle, reporting back with a nod that
the men were doing okay.

Once it was clear that the sabotaged men were not in any real risk,
Marilyn had them pick up the pace. Just before they reached the
recovery clearing, their blonde leader called a halt.

"Okay, girls, wash the camo off your faces. We don't want them to know
we had this level of equipment." She smiled and said, "Stuff the web
gear inside the packs and assume a suitably tired demeanor."

"Assume, hell," Carol sighed.

"First order you've given me all day that I *knew* I could obey," Vanna
said, nodding.

"Um, girls, if it's any incentive," Jacqui offered, "I understand that
the pickup station has showers."

"Why didn't you *say* so?!" Carol demanded, then let her long legs take
her away before the shorter girl could answer.

When the men stumbled into the ranger station a few hours later, they
found Carol happily drying her hair. She was quite careful not to let
the smirk she wore point in their direction, but that was about as far
as she could control it. The rest of the team was studiously
nonchalant, but it would be hard to tell they had just spent two hard
days in a swamp.

"How.. ? What are you doing here already?" Jennings asked in
amazement.

"Just waiting for you," Marilyn replied. "Oh, and we've been discussing
just where you're going to take us for dinner."

"This wasn't a valid test," Jennings snapped. "A raccoon or something
got into our camp and screwed up a lot of our stuff."

"And that affects the test.. how?" Marilyn asked, an expression on
her face so perfectly vapid that it seemed like an honest question.

"It.. we.. it just isn't fair," Anderson said petulantly.

Jacqui walked over to him, hips swaying with the gait enforced by her
replaced spike heels. "Like it was so fair that you were put on ground
you'd already been through. I remember where you said your first
survival exercise was held. You bragged enough about how much tougher
your swamp trip was than my mountain test."

At this statement, Anderson's eyes took on a decidedly guilty
expression, mirrored by one shown by Jennings.

With a bit more respect in his voice, Jennings asked again, "Really,
how'd you get here so fast?"

"We just found a good ol' boy with a boat and hitched a ride," Sandy
claimed.

"Yeah, right," Anderson said. "Like there are guys just hovering
around, waiting to do you a favor like that."

"It so happens," Carol said in a husky, sultry voice, "attracting men *
is* a survival skill... for some people."

Sandy didn't say anything, but she glanced through her lashes at
Jennings with a look of entreaty that would have charmed the birds down
from the sky. She managed to hold it for almost ten seconds before
dissolving in laughter. Her innocent happiness was so infectious that
even the men joined in.

"We voted for Brennan's, in New Orleans," Marilyn announced, returning
to her previous topic when the chuckling had died down.

Jennings had regained a bit of his sense of authority along with his
humor, so he shook his head. "No. We need to get back to Houston. But
it does appear that you won, so it looks like we'll be taking you out.
.. say, Friday evening?"

"Good enough," Marilyn accepted for the team. She turned to Jacqui and
asked, "What's good in Houston?"

"Palmas Lounge, of course," she replied immediately.

Jennings winced, but nodded ruefully. "Damn, with, um, three of you for
each of us, that's going to be... well, a lot. But, if that's what
you want, okay. There is a price on your side too, though."

At Marilyn's arched eyebrow, he continued. "You ladies need to dress up
enough to make that worth our money. I expect something classy."

"My good man," Vanna replied in tones that proved her statement, "I
invented classy."

"I'll, um, believe you," Jennings said in wonder. Then he recovered and
said, "Now if one of you ladies would hit your panic button, the
chopper will come pick us up."

"Why not use your own?" Jaymi asked innocently.

"Oh, no particular reason, I guess," Jennings said, but the guilty look
in his eyes betrayed a very specific intent indeed. He realized he'd
been caught and grinned sheepishly as he sent his own signal.

One shower wasn't really enough to compensate for their time in the
swamp, but Jennings scheduled a couple of relatively easy days after
that exercise - perhaps because he didn't expect them to finish so
soon. By the time Friday arrived, they were not only fully recovered,
but anxious to go. Their last `official´ duty was done soon
after lunch, and they made arrangements to meet in a common lounge a
few hours later.

On her way to the lounge after getting ready, Carol stopped by Jacqui's
quarters. "Ready to go, hon?" she called as she knocked.

"Sure," Jacqui's voice answered. The door opened to reveal Jacqui in
the most formal, most feminine outfit they had ever seen her wear.

Unfortunately, that was because the only other outfits she had ever
worn were duty clothes.

"Oh. Dear," Carol whispered.

"What?" Jacqui said.

Carol didn't even answer. She just stepped back out of the room and
yelled down the hall, "Houston, we have a problem! Marilyn, Sandy front
and center!"

In moments the team had assembled. The girls were dressed in accordance
with their well-studied personas, from the long-legged, sensual Carol
to the seemingly innocent Sandy. Each presented a stunning,
eye-catching demonstration of the elemental aspects of femininity,
something for every desire. Only Marilyn looked unremarkable, at least
relatively unremarkable within that spectrum - and that only lasted
until she moved. It seemed her gown had a slight deficiency in...
support in a very critical area. Well, two areas. Each step started a
complex set of motions that didn't look like they'd damp out until the
second Tuesday of the following week.

And then there was Jacqui - dressed in a yellow-brown pantsuit at least
two sizes too large for her and a man-tailored, button-down shirt
complete with an official NASA tie.

"Oh, dear," Marilyn said, unknowingly repeating Carol's comment.

"What?" Jacqui repeated. Then, because she really knew what the problem
was, she made a defense. "Look, if you think I'm going to get all
frilled up like you girls, well, that's just not me."

Marilyn shook her head. "Jacqui, you're part of the team now, and we're
not going to have one of us looking like a post-modernist bag lady."

"Bag lady? I'll have you know I paid two-fifty for this pantsuit. It's
from one of the most respected shops in Houston."

"Well, I think you got ripped off," Carol said. "Two dollars and fifty
cents is *way* too much for that.. thing."

Jacqui's sputtering rage was interrupted by Marilyn, fully back in team
leader mode. "Okay, team, this is a crisis moment, but I know we can
handle it. Sandy, you're pretty close to her coloring, so you get
makeup. It's a crime to have such lovely eyes lookk like... that.
Jaymi, you're closest to her size. See what you can do for a dress. I
want slinky, but innocent. Umm, Vanna, I think you better look into
shoes, and of course you're the best in lingerie. Carol, I think that
leaves you for hair and me for nails. Get moving girls, this is an
emergency!"

Jacqui's protestations fell on deaf ears, or more accurately, they
failed to reach the ears of rapidly disappearing teammates. After that,
things got really frustrating.

"We're gonna be late," she said, calling down the hallway.

"Tough," Jaymi said, the first to reappear. "They lost the bet.
Besides, you're gonna make it worth their while."

"Strip, we're starting from scratch here," Vanna commanded as she
walked through the door, her arms full of things that Jacqui knew
couldn't all be worn at the same time. At least, she thought she knew
that.

Jaymi was in her dresser, making little clucking sounds as she rooted
around in the neatly organized disappointments. "Ah, here it is," she
announced, pulling out a rolled corset. "I knew you had a spare, we all
got them."

"I'm not wearing that," Jacqui said adamantly. Not that anyone cared.

"Of course you are," Marilyn said as she re-entered. "It'll make you
look fabulous. Besides, after wearing your flightsuit for the last few
months, it's not like they don't know your shape."

The girls didn't quite force her from her clothes, but somehow her
fastenings were disappearing faster than her own fingers could have
released them. The boned satin of her corset was hooked around her in
little more time, then Carol started pulling on the laces.

"Suck it in, girl, the dress Jaymi has for you won't accept half
measures."

"Dress?" Jacqui repeated weakly - not entirely from the lack of air.

"Tonight, you're into taffeta and lace, girl," Jaymi said, "but first.
. "

"First, you get stockings," Vanna said. "Full-fashioned stockings, and
if you need any help keeping your seams straight, just ask any boy with
a pulse in four counties, because they'll all be watching."

"Seams?" Jacqui repeated, hating herself for being so far behind the
power curve even as she realized this was a pretty high-powered team
she was trying to keep up with.

"I don't suppose there's time to wax her legs?" Carol asked
plaintively. Marilyn shook her head, which stilled a struggle from
Jacqui that was clearly headed for a real explosion.

Vanna continued with her part of the ensemble. "Right, and now this
little slip - not much more than a cami, I'll admit, but just enough to
keep the dress from hanging on that lovely little hip swell the corset
helps you with. The panties - what there is of them - go on over the
garters, of course."

"I am *not* going to wear a goddamn thong!" Jacqui yelled as she looked
at what Vanna was offering.

"Suit yourself, dear," Vanna said, unperturbed. "I was just thinking of
your own modesty. Obviously, you can't wear regular panties with that
dress, so if you'd rather go without..."

"Without?!" Jacqui squawked.

Vanna dangled the wispy bit of red lace from her fingers, an arched
eyebrow permitting Jacqui to reconsider her decision. The brunette
snatched the tiny garment and struggled into it, glaring at her
supposed benefactor. When she stood up straight again, Vanna took one
look at the curves lifted by Jacqui's corset and tossed away the bra
she had brought.

"But.. I'm not... covered," Jacqui said. "I mean, this corset
leaves my... I'm not covered."

"Nope," Vanna agreed smugly, then a glitter of humor in her eyes
undermined the look of pensive concentration she tried to display. "I
may be wrong about one thing."

"What?" Jacqui asked, suddenly worried.

"The guys may not be watching your stocking seams after all," Vanna
delivered the punch line. Jacqui's blush was buried under the hoots of
her teammates.

"And now the dress," Jaymi announced grandly.

"Not yet," she was interrupted by Carol and Sandy simultaneously. "Let
us get her hair and makeup done first so we don't mess up all that
lace."

"Lace?" whispered Jacqui, though part of her remembered that she had
already been warned about that.

"Sit here," Sandy ordered.

"Right," Carol reinforced the order. "I've been positively *itching* to
get my hands on her.. ah, that is, on her hair since the first time
she pulled off her flight helmet."

"What's wrong with my hair?" Jacqui snapped.

"Besides being a crime against nature, you mean? Don't worry though,
it's nothing I can't fix. I think... something like a lion's mane,
to suit your personality."

"Look, guys, it's not that I don't appreciate this and all," Jacqui
lied, trying to get back some control. "But, I mean, this is all just a
waste. I'm never going to look like I fit in with girls as beautiful as
you. You all just started out with way too much head start on an
ordinary woman."

She didn't understand the outbreak of laughter her comment created, not
that it mattered if she understood or not. In seconds, Jacqui found
herself a virtual prisoner in her own room. Her head was frozen into
immobility by Carol's attack on the shoulder-length hair that was her
one compromise with an otherwise masculine look.

Her next... comment was even more plaintive. "*Ow!!* What the hell
are you doing now?"

Sandy smiled and said, "Oh, be quiet, wimp. I'm just cleaning up your
eyebrows a little. Girls are supposed to have two, you know, and
preferably not ones that look like fuzzy black caterpillars."

The tugs on the petite pilot's tresses and plucks at her brows were
countered by pulls and twists on her fingers as Marilyn worked to fit
nail extensions. Even her feet where restrained as shapes that had
become all too familiar to her forced them into dramatic arches. The
plucking eventually ended, but that was only the sign for Sandy to
start in on potions and powders, half of which Jacqui couldn't even
identify, let alone assign a purpose to.

"Girl, with eyes like yours, it's a sin and a shame not to let them
shine," Sandy said with gentle reproof. Any further comment was
interrupted by victory in at least one battle.

"Hairspray," Carol warned tersely before attacking her creation with a
large, economy size bottle. Sandy tried to cover her own eyes and those
of Jacqui without interrupting her own work, not entirely succeeding in
either endeavor.

Whatever she might have had in mind was delayed by an explosion - an
accidental one as Jacqui sneezed. "Uh, uh, *Chooo!!*"

The reflex motion caused her head to move abruptly forward, along with
her shoulders - which carried along her waist within the stiff corset.
For a moment, there was silence as the team tried to absorb what had
happened. She looked around sheepishly, but before she could say
anything, the team swung back into motion.

"Oh, damn," Sandy sighed. "Now I have to redo your lip liner." She
pushed the helpless brunette back against the chair and started
scrubbing at the corner of a distorted mouth. As soon as Jacqui was
stable, Carol started in again, but only for a moment.

With a flourish like a rodeo cowboy finishing the leg tie on a roped
heifer, Carol lifted her hands, stood back and said, "Ta daa!"

"Oh, that's nice," Vanna said, "and I have just the thing for it."

Jacqui's attempt to see her own hair, let alone the `thing´
that Vanna had for it died before she even started, a frown from the
gentle Sandy permitting no motion at all.

"And now the dress?" Jaymi repeated, this time asking.

"And now the dress," Marilyn said, then sent a sharp warning to Jacqui.
"But don't touch anything with your fingers until that polish dries."

"Polish," Jacqui repeated resignedly, no longer surprised.

Sandy stood back as she finished her own task, then Jacqui's right arm
was carefully guided through a wisp of soft dark-red fabric that flowed
across her corset-enhanced figure like a lover's caress. Fingers busied
themselves with hidden fastenings that made Carol's earlier warning
about the snugness of the dress no more than simple fact - though the
dress itself was decidedly not simple. An asymmetric line started from
the single shoulder strap and continued to a shaped hem that left one
leg exposed almost as high as Carol's dress. Lace panels wandered with
seeming randomness like a leafy vine, swinging near enough to promise
but not quite deliver on secrets that Jacqui couldn't imagine she would
ever come so close to revealing.

"Now *that* is worth waiting for," Marilyn said, finally allowing
Jacqui to see herself in the mirror.

"Oh, dear," Jacqui said, heedless of the snicker from Carol. The
transformed pilot reached out tentatively toward the mirror, seeking
assurance that it was truly a reflection and not someone else that
stood before her. A casually wild burst of captive midnight framed her
darkly mysterious eyes, a single contrasting pearl comb making her
raven tresses deep and rich. Full lips that had never shown such an
artful pout contrasted with cheeks so warm that the glow must have been
natural - except it had never been there before.

"I think the plum lips and nails are just right, don't you?" Sandy
asked.

"Hmmm?" Jacqui replied, obviously not to the stage of assessing details
yet.

"Stand clear!" Carol suddenly warned. She approached with a double
strand of pearls, earrings, and a perfume bottle.

"Not too much of this mantrap juice, now," she warned as she squirted a
light mist in a few strategic places.

Vanna seconded the caution, "Right, since it's *my* perfume." But it
was clear the elegant blonde was happy to share.

"I think she likes it," Sandy said with her own snicker at the still
frozen Jacqui.

"Wait'll Oz sees you," Jaymi added.

"Oz?" Jacqui said, turning in confusion.

"Like none of us noticed," Sandy sniffed, then giggled at Jacqui's
uncomprehending look.

"Speaking of our dates for the evening," Marilyn said. "We've probably
kept them waiting long enough."

"Simmering nicely, I'll bet," Carol agreed, handing Jacqui a useless
little bag that had the sole virtue of matching her dress and shoes. If
it had more than cab fare home, it was because the bills were large
denominations, but it's purpose was to call attention to Jacqui's
elegant nails anyway.

"Places, girls," Marilyn commanded, another order that made no sense to
Jacqui until she found herself surrounded.

"Remember," Sandy whispered in her ear, "you only get one chance to
make a first impression. Or in your case, to make one that will blow
away anything they've ever seen before."

The troop marched in good order down to the common room where Anderson
and Jennings were sprawled in easy chairs, watching some old war movie.
They might not have been able to pick out the tap of multiple heels
from the rattle of gunfire, but the rustle of swirling fabrics was
signal enough. Anderson stood quickly, Jennings rising at that cue, and
they turned to face the phalanx of beautifully clad women.

Jennings' eyes went immediately to Marilyn, who put a simpering blush
on her face with polished reflex. Not that he noticed. Inadequate
support from the dress required his engineering attention to focus
elsewhere, don't you know. Anderson's eyes were clearly looking for
Jaymi, searching for dark hair and finding one head too many for what
he expected to see.

As if on cue, though it was unsignaled and `merely´ the
common impulse of a tight-knit team, the girls separated to form an
aisle to Jacqui.

"Who is.. ? Holy shit! Beaver?" Oz stammered in a choked voice.

Jaymi slapped a high-five at her teammates, then Sandy said with ironic
formality, "This is our pilot. I think you know Jacqui Cleaver?"

"I, uh, sure," Oz said. "I.. wow! I mean, damn girl, you look...
great!"

"Lordy, Beav...uh, Jacqui, you *do* clean up nice," Jennings said.

Jacqui ducked her head in embarrassed confusion, but she couldn't
entirely hide a smile of pleasure, and of pride.

"Sorry we're late," Marilyn said as she found herself holding Jennings'
arm.

"Not a problem," he said gallantly. "It was definitely worth it."

"Nice of you to say so," she replied with a giggle. The frown on
Jennings' face was too complex to classify. Was this the leader of the
team who had beat him so soundly in the survival exercise, or the girl
who considered lipstick color a major life decision? It was so easy to
assume the second that he was beginning to suspect it was only another
sign that the first was closer to the truth.

Anderson found himself with an embarrassment of riches, unable to
decide which girl he should offer to escort. A second's hesitation is
all it took for the decision to be made for him. All of the girls but
Jacqui were suddenly halfway out the door, leaving him standing there
alone with his newly glamorous colleague.

"C'mon, you two, the night's not gettin' any younger," Carol called.

"Uh, we better be, you know, going," Anderson said. Then he recovered
enough to offer Jacqui his arm.

She took it, but tentatively, a shy hesitation as much at odds with her
normal brashness as her new beauty. She tried to cover it up with a
little humor, "Geez, Oz, it's not like you've never seen me before."

"Yes," he said. "It is."

Chapter 13 - "Miscreant"

If they'd have had more time, the girls would have given Jacqui a few
lessons in modesty. She clearly had seldom worn a skirt - and never one
so short. If it had slid up just a tiny bit further when Anderson
helped her into the car, the thong that had so embarrassed her would
have been truly necessary if she were to preserve any secrets at all.

"Jacqui," Jaymi hissed over her shoulder as Anderson walked around to
his side. "Keep your knees together when you swing your legs in and
out. Geez, girl, you don't need to be so blatant. You've already got
him hooked and landed in the boat."

"What?" Jacqui said, then realized what had almost happened. She
blushed brighter than her dress, looking carefully out the window to
hide the fire she knew was showing all too well through her smooth
makeup.

It wasn't until Oz had started the car that she absorbed the second
half of Jaymi's statement. The girls in the back of the car could see
when she did, though, as she gasped and looked suddenly at Anderson.

"What's wrong?" he asked, catching the motion out of the corner of his
eye.

"Nothing," Jacqui choked out in a strangled voice.

Her teammates covered for her with bright chatter from the rear seat
and after a moment a sharper look returned to Jacqui's stricken face -
a look that said she was considering what she had been told most
carefully. She didn't say anything though, at least not until they had
arrived at the restaurant. She managed to get out of the car without
quite repeating her earlier display, then whispered to Sandy and Jaymi
as they waited for Oz to negotiate with the valet.

"This is *not* going to work," Jacqui said urgently. "I don't have the
... training for this like you girls who grew up with frills. I'll
never learn all I need to know to pull of this, this, farce."

"Calm down, girl," Sandy said. "We'll get you through this. We had to
learn all this, too."

"Yeah, but you had a lifetime to do it," Jacqui said.

"A bit less than that," whispered Jaymi. "Now hush. And smile! A quiet
mouth - with a smile on it - is 90% of what you need to know anyway."

Jacqui looked like she was ready to argue about that, a bit of the fire
that had made her famous within the rough and ready pilot community
surfacing in her eyes. The other girls almost lost it in helpless
giggles though, when she showed a smile that could have graced any
fashion magazine as she turned to her tall escort when he walked up.

The other group had gotten out of their own car as well and were
standing at the entrance to the restaurant - or club, really, with
entertainments other than food. The Palmas Lounge had been socially
discovered a few years before and was now the `in´ place to
go for a night out. Clothing in oil-rich Houston tended toward the
highly-fashionable, tempered by good ol' boy Texas insistence of
flattering, feminine styles. Unfortunately for Anderson and Jennings,
the prices reflected that clientele.

"Lordy, lordy, I'm glad I'm not payin' for this," Carol gloated,
earning her a frown but a rueful nod from Jennings.

They took it like men though, not stinting on the bill. The quality of
the sumptuous meal almost justified the prices, and afterwards they
moved into the nightclub area and ordered champagne.

"To the most amazing group of women I have ever met," Jennings said,
raising his glass in a toast. The laughter that greeted his remark
might not have been what he expected, but the ostentatious nods from
the girls made it clear they were not disagreeing with him.

"Would you like to dance?" Anderson asked, and no one but Jacqui was
surprised that she was the object of his invitation.

"Oh, I don't dance," she said nervously.

"No time like the present to learn, girl," Sandy said with a laugh.
"Now get up and do us proud or I'll pull your chair out from under
you."

"But I.. I've never.." she stammered.

Anderson didn't need any further help. He bowed gallantly to her -
while reaching for her hand and pulling her to her feet. "Then I'll
have the privilege of introducing you to this... pleasure."

When they were away from the others, Oz dropped his voice and said,
"You really do look terrific tonight. I'm sorry I was so..
surprised."

"Sorry?"

"I should have realized you were this pretty, but I guess I never
really looked at you before."

"Hell, Oz, we've been friends for, what is it? Years anyway."

"Have we?" he asked with a little smile that said a lot more than
words. "Then how come I feel like I've never seen you before tonight?"

"I don't know," she said - softly - and realized that she was truly
enjoying herself.

***

Jennings looked at Marilyn and said, "Well, it looks like they'll be
occupied for a while. Would you care to dance?"

"Love to," Marilyn said with a happy little smile.

The executive had his own reasons for getting Marilyn alone, starting
with an interrogation. "So, who are you really?"

"Moi?" Marilyn asked with wide eyes.

"Don't give me that," Jennings replied. "I'll admit, you do that ditzy
blonde thing as well as anyone I've ever known. Better than a lot for
whom it wasn't an act. But I'll make you a deal. I won't assume that
you're stupid any more, and you don't assume I am either. Okay?"

"Deal," she replied, still smiling but with an added sigh. "You don't
know how much of a relief it is to quit pretending."

"So, why do you?"

"Why did you believe it?"

"Huh?" he asked, not seeing the relevance.

"Why did you ever believe I was, ah, ditzy you said? Did I ever do
anything wrong on your tests, screw up in some way that showed I wasn't
up to the challenge?"

Jennings frowned, thinking back. "Well, no, but... "

Marilyn didn't help him out, just lifting an unrelenting brow.

He grinned and shrugged. "Okay, I get the point. If I underestimated
you, then there's a potential advantage for you."

"Not so much an advantage over you, since your standards are pretty
objective," Marilyn said. "But, well, lets just say that being
underestimated by some people has allowed me to... advance my
career. And it did get me at least this night out at your expense."

"This is where I leap to the brilliant insight that Marilyn is not your
real name, Ms. Richards."

"No, it's not, but she made a career with that technique, and it works
just as well today as it ever did."

"It does indeed," he replied.

They danced for a few moments, maneuvered by Jennings to a position
where they could see Oz and Jacqui. "I never thought I'd see those two
together," Jennings said.

"I never doubted it for a moment," Marilyn countered with a grin. "The
way his eyes locked on Jaymi when we showed up made it clear he likes
petite, dark-haired girls, and with Jacqui's other qualifications it
was inevitable. After all, how many astronauts have lovers who are also
great pilots?"

"Lovers?" repeated Jennings. "Are they... "

"Not yet," Marilyn said lightly.

***

"Oz, tell me something," Jacqui murmured.

He nodded, and she continued with a grin, "Where has your Aussie accent
gone all evening?"

"Oh, um, I guess I forgot," he admitted with his own grin. "I was
distracted."

"Indeed," she said, smiling happily.

***

Sandy looked at the dancing couples and smiled at her remaining
teammates. "We done good, ladies."

Carol snorted and said, "Yeah, like it was any sort of challenge at
all."

"That's the best kind," Vanna giggled.

"Best kind of what?" asked a solidly built man who had walked up as
they were talking.

"Oh, um, sorry," Vanna said. "I didn't realize we had gotten so loud."

"Not really," he denied. "But I do like to hear the sound of girlish
laughter. Why don't you dance with me? I'll see if I can get you to
laugh again."

"Yeah," Carol said with deliberate parody as she urged Vanna to go with
him, "like it was any sort of challenge at all."

This time Vanna was the one to blush, but she stood and went with her
unknown partner.

"Lordy, she does attract the rich ones," Jaymi said, smiling with
pleasure for her friend.

"Earned his own money, though, I'll bet," Sandy said. "He's spent a lot
of time in the sun, with that prairie squint."

"Yeah, but he didn't get that tux in a dusty old general store,"
observed Jaymi.

Then she was tempted away herself, followed quickly by the others as
their availability and willingness to dance became obvious to the men
in the lounge.

***

"You really are smooth," Jennings said with a little chuckle and nod of
his head to his blonde partner.

"Hmmm?" replied Marilyn.

"You never answered by question," he observed. "You deflected it so
smoothly I never noticed. At least, not until I thought of it again."

"Question?" she asked blandly. Vacuously, or so she tried to imply.

"Now you're just stalling," he said, refusing to be put off.

"I'm just a li'l ol' country gal, all wide-eyed at all the fancy
gadgets and gizmos you technical types have invented."

Then she squeaked, as Jennings hand drifted just low enough to pinch
her shapely bottom.

"Lie to me like a sneaky li'l ol' country gal, and I'll treat you like
one," he threatened, but his smile took away any offense.

Instead of an answering smile, vacuous or not, Marilyn's pretty face
frowned as she tried to decide how to answer his question. "This is
hardly the place to discuss that," she said, stalling.

"You'd be surprised," Jennings said. "There are deals made in this room
that affect more money than the GDP of most countries, so unless you're
talking government classified information... "

His comment was offhand, a way to set such a high standard for
continued evasion that Marilyn would be forced to talk to him. However,
the way she stiffened in his arms - no outside observer would have
noticed anything - gave him an answer he didn't expect.

Before she could respond, he continued, "Okay. We'll talk tomorrow in
my office though. And this time, it's not a request."

***

Some time later, Sandy and Vanna returned to their table after a joint
visit to the powder room. As had often happened that evening, there
were fresh drinks waiting for them from some unknown benefactor.

A deep chime started from a towering clock, and unconsciously they both
started counting the bongs.

"Witching hour," Vanna said.

"And it looks like our Jacqui has initiated the new day in a quite
enjoyable way," Sandy said, pointing at their petite pilot who was
locked in a toe-curling kiss with the man who had been her constant
escort for the evening.

"Geez, that girl may not walk like a woman, but she sure can kiss like
one," Vanna giggled.

"And hold her breath for a long time, too," snickered Sandy.

They were both horrified to see their friend suddenly recoil from Oz as
though she had been slapped, then turn and run from the room with a
rapid clatter from her heels.

"Uh, oh," Sandy said, rising to follow. Vanna hurried after her and
they were just in time to see Jacqui disappear into the powder room
they had recently vacated.

Inside, the dark-haired pilot was slumped on a couch, crying
uncontrollably.

"Jacqui, what's wrong?" Sandy asked softly, resting a gentle hand on a
heaving shoulder.

"Go away," Jacqui replied, waving a hand without looking up.

"Can't do that, girl," Sandy said, slipping into the space next to
Jacqui on the couch. "Boss lady says no one goes anywhere alone."

The sense that somehow the girls were under orders - with the corollary
that perhaps someone was watching to see how they behaved - penetrated
Jacqui's sobs and she sat up suddenly, looking around.

That gave Vanna a bit of room to sit next to her, and the despondent
young woman found herself surrounded, but with friendship and patience,
not judgment.

"Tell us what's wrong, hon," Vanna ordered, gentle but implacable.

"He... he kissed me," Jacqui whispered, as though it were a secret
too terrible to say out loud.

"He certainly did that," Sandy said carefully. "And you're crying
because...?"

"Because... because it wasn't... me!" Jacqui said, burying her
head to sob again.

"Um, sweetheart, we were watching," Vanna said softly. "It most
certainly was you."

"No it wasn't," the muffled voice said. "It was this... thing you've
created, this sexy, beautiful... thing that I can never be. Not
really."

"Why not?" asked Sandy.

Jacqui's head came up again, this time with a disgusted tinge to her
expression. "Don't be stupid. I could never do this again."

"Why not?" asked Sandy again, her tone matching her previous question
perfectly.

"Because I don't know how!" wailed Jacqui. "You girls have had a
lifetime to learn how to dress, and how to wear makeup, and how to,
well, to move like a woman. Do you know how hard I worked *not* to look
like that? How hard I tried to get everyone to treat me like `one
of the boys´? While you girls were playing with dolls, I was
building model airplanes."

"You have a girl's hairstyle," Vanna pointed out.

"No," Jacqui contradicted her. "Until tonight, I had a ponytail, which
is pretty much unisex nowadays. And I only grew that because I heard,
well, I heard that people thought I was... sick - perverse or
something; that I thought I was really a man in a woman's body.
Astronauts need to be all-American... symbols. I grew my hair to
prove that I was happy to be a woman, but it was really so that I could
be accepted as an astronaut, just like I've done everything else in my
life."

"Are you? Happy to be a woman?" asked Sandy.

"Of course I am," Jacqui replied, but a moment of confusion showed in
her eyes and her manicured fingers drifted along the sleek curves of
her dress.

"And you like men? Like being kissed by a tall, strong man?" Sandy
continued with a smile.

Now Jacqui's eyes softened in a memory that was a statement so clear
that words, or even her embarrassed nod, were superfluous.

"Good. With that figure, I don't think you'd be very convincing as a
boy," Sandy said lightly.

Before Jacqui could respond to that, Sandy continued. "Personally, I
don't think I'd jump to the conclusion that someone who felt like a man
trapped in a woman's body was automatically sick anyway. That doesn't
really matter, though. I can imagine that others feel that way. None of
which is really relevant to your problem. Do you want to dress nicely,
use makeup, and, well, the other things it takes to be a pretty woman
in today's society? Or not? You certainly know that you *can* be
pretty, if you choose to be."

"What difference does it make?" Jacqui asked. "Whether I want to or
not, it would take, well, a lifetime to learn how to do what you did to
me tonight. I've missed my chance."

"Bullshit," Sandy replied, the obscenity jarringly discordant from her
innocent face. "Vanna and I could teach you ourselves, and in, oh, what
do you think, Vanna? A week?"

"If she pays attention," Vanna said easily. "Two if we have to beat it
into her. After all, she's got the supernova smile, and the tears. All
the rest is just filling in between."

Jacqui's mouth opened and closed, twice, before she could say anything.
When she did speak, it was in an incredulous, little-girl whisper
begging to be convinced that there really was a Santa Claus. "I don't
believe you."

"Is that a challenge, Jacqui girl?" Sandy said with a comic-opera
threat in her voice.

Like a magic word, the thought of a challenge lifted Jacqui's head and
firmed her eyes. "You can't do it. It would take years."

"Yep, definitely a challenge," Vanna said.

"Starting right now," Sandy declared, standing up. "And the first
lesson is that you do *not* show yourself to your beau with your eyes
all red and puffy."

"Oh my God," Jacqui said, her hands rising to touch her face, then she
jerked as she absorbed the rest of Sandy's statement. "Beau? He's not
my..."

"Nor your cheeks all streaked with mascara, though we can fix that
before we leave here," Sandy continued, rolling over Jacqui's
unconvincing denial.

"Vanna, you go get the valet check to one of the cars. Say that Jacqui
has an upset stomach and we're taking her home. Jacqui and I will take
care of emergency repairs."

***

"They've been in there a long time," observed a worried Oz. "I never
should have forced myself on her like that."

Carol, who with Jaymi was standing beside him, slapped his shoulder
lightly. "You really think that if you had `forced´
yourself on her that she would have run away? I think she'd have decked
you, and stomped on the twitching parts."

Oz winced, but grinned ruefully. "You're probably right, but.. "

"But nothing. Jacqui can take care of herself - at least physically,"
Carol declared, but with that last caveat a bit of worry sounded in her
own voice.

***

Jennings and Marilyn had stopped dancing, too, standing together where
they could also see the hall toward the powder room.

"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea," Marilyn said softly.

"Nonsense," Jennings retorted, though he kept his voice low. "In the
years I've known Jacqui, this is the first time I've ever seen her
cry."

Before Marilyn could reply, he continued, "And no, that is *not* a
sexist remark. I think it's a good idea for men to cry now and then,
too. She's been holding a lot of things in. Too much, probably."

***

Both groups sighed with relief when Vanna appeared, her sense of
purpose obvious in her motion. She gathered up Jacqui's purse and then
approached Anderson.

"I need the claim check for one of the cars. We need to take Jacqui
home."

"I'll take her," Oz volunteered quickly.

"Not right now," Vanna said adamantly.

Oz looked like he wanted to argue, then bowed his head. "At least, will
you tell her I'm sorry?"

"I most certainly will *not*," snorted Vanna. "Geez, how do you pilot
types ever manage to reproduce? You knocked that girl for a loop with a
high-octane smackeroo, and you want me to tell her you regret it? Get a
clue!"

"Really?" Oz asked, a little boy grin starting to show on his face.

Vanna just laughed and walked back down the hall, waving at Marilyn in
reassurance.

The group that was staying got a further reassuring wave, albeit a
long-distance one, from Jacqui herself when the three girls briefly
appeared on their way to the exit. When they got outside however, 
`brief´ was no longer an option. There was a long line at
the curb waiting for cars.

After the third concerned matron, seeing Jacqui's red eyes, asked what
was wrong, Jacqui looked at Sandy with a silent plea for escape. Sandy
nodded and swayed her way over to the attendant.

"Um,.. Sam," she said, spying his nametag. "We're really in a hurry,
and we don't mind getting our own car. Would you just give us our key
and tell us where it is?"

"I'm sorry, I can't do that," `Sam´ said.

"Why not?" Sandy asked, pouting with disappointment that would make
angels weep.

"It might not be safe," he said. "The parking garage is not very well
lit, and um, how about if I just have them bring your car up as soon as
possible?"

"Oh, there's three of us. I'm sure we'll be okay," Sandy said
confidently. She took a deep breath, then when she had the attendant
thoroughly distracted, she leaned close to him to snag the keys to
their vehicle.

"Thanks," she said cheerily as she moved back to her friends.

"But, miss, you really shouldn't... "

"I know," she said, smiling. "But I do a *lot* of things I really
shouldn't do."

That thought crossed the eyes on the now panting `Sam´, and
they were out of sight around a pillar before he could think of
anything else to say.

Not that he was wrong, as they found out a few moments later.

The three young women approached their car, checking with the alarm to
make sure they had the right one, when a wheezy voice interrupted them.

"Mighty fine, yeah, mighty fine," the voice said. Then the owner of the
voice stepped from the shadows into the not-much-lighter main pathway
and continued. "Oh, babies y'all are soo hot! This's m' lucky day."

"You don't want to do this," Sandy warned stepping ahead of the other
two. Jacqui moved to stand beside her, but Vanna's warning hand and
frown held her back.

"Oh, yeah, Ah want.. Ah want y'all all right. All a' y'all three.
Ah'm gonna show them black boys that it ain't the size o' the meat,
it's th' way ya pack it. Ah'm gonna show 'em what a white man kin do
with three lovelies like y'all."

"There aren't any black men around here, mister, so you'll have to save
that for another time," Sandy said, motioning behind her back for the
other two to move toward the car.

"Ah'll tell 'em. Ah'll tell 'em all 'bout gettin' some rich white- girl
pussy. Besides, Ah'll have me some soov'neers," he claimed, flicking
out a long knife blade no less dangerous for the flecks of rust that
marred the shine. If it really was rust, and not something... worse.

Chapter 14 - "Misremember"

Sandy's eyes never left the blade trembling in the would-be assailant's
hand, but her words were for Vanna, triggered by the soft rustle of
fabric behind her.

"I'll handle this, Vanna," she said, something dark and...scary in
her tone.

Jacqui didn't know whether to be more surprised by the slender throwing
knife that had appeared in Vanna's hand, or by the note of fierce
anticipation she heard coming from Sandy's deceptively innocent lips.
Her confusion was not lessened when Vanna replied to Sandy in a voice
that held a strange note of warning.

"Careful, Sandy, don't get carried away. He's not... "

Whatever he was or wasn't was lost in a grunt as the man lunged toward
the young woman who confronted him. His thrust sliced only air and he
found his hand gripped in Sandy's slender fingers. His own fingers grew
suddenly weak as Sandy pinched a nerve nexus while her other hand
deftly slipped the knife from his instantly useless hand.

Then the knife was accelerating rapidly toward the gap between his
fifth and sixth ribs, aimed slightly up, slightly back...

"*No*, Sandy!" Vanna screamed.

It was too little, too late to stop Sandy's thrust. But it was enough
to penetrate her combat rage. She managed to twist her hand just enough
to keep the blade from the man's chest, slamming into it with her fist
wrapped around the haft of the knife instead. With a dull, popping
sound like the cracking of knuckles, they could hear the man's ribs
break - a penalty confirmed in a suddenly halted gasp of breath.

Sandy stepped back, panting, wild-eyed, and trembling with suppressed
need. Vanna stepped to her side and took the knife from the shapely
brunette's own loosened grip, then looked at the hunched over thug.
"Run away, little man, before you really get hurt."

She turned away, pulling Sandy with her, appearing to ignore the
defeated adversary. Yet it was clear that she remained very much aware
of him when her shoulders relaxed as the man started to slink away.

"It's okay, Sandy. It's over," she said, comforting her teammate.

"I'd have killed him if you hadn't yelled," Sandy whispered.

"But you didn't," Vanna answered.

"Oh, God, I'd have killed him!" Sandy repeated, burying her face in
Vanna's shoulder. "I did it again. I'll always be this way, always.."

"What's wrong?" Jacqui asked quietly. "She didn't really hurt him, and
even if she had, well, he had threatened us. It would have been
justified."

"This time," Vanna said, nodding. "But Sandy has had some... bad
experiences. Sometimes she, well, at least she's afraid she might...
overreact."

"It's not just a `fear´," Sandy whispered. "I *do*
overreact. I've hurt people when it wasn't justified."

"I, ah, wasn't aware of that," Vanna said cautiously. "You haven't done
it when the team was together."

"No, I did it on furlough," Sandy said, leaning against the car as the
memories for her past started to cover the more recent emotions.

***

I guess you could say that I was a bit of a `late bloomer´.
Everyone is always telling me I look too young for my age, so I thought
I'd just go back to high school for a few days, to see how it's like
from `the other side´ now that I've, ahem, grown up. Or
out.

I mean, I was always a scrawny kid, and well, let's just say I didn't
look as good as I do now. In the pecking order of high school cliques,
I was never an `insider´, never one of the ones people
wanted to sit with at lunch time, never one who got invited to the
parties. I figured I'd go register for one week, finals week in fact,
and claim that I was transferring into the area. Taking finals would be
to confirm my proper placement for the next real school year. I figured
I could do well enough not to embarrass myself, which is all that
mattered since I wouldn't really be going back in the fall. Besides,
I'd already taken and passed the classes anyway.

Yes, I had indeed taken those specific classes, since I decided to go
back to my own real high school. I didn't figure anyone would recognize
me. Like I said, I've changed, and from an unmemorable nobody the first
time around. Of course, I couldn't very well use the same name, so I
picked a name out of the air and registered as... Jaymi Fox.

I didn't have any trouble finding my home room - no surprise there -
and gave the teacher my paperwork. She was a Mrs. Anderson I remembered
from before, but only vaguely since I hadn't had any classes with her.

"It's a bit unusual for someone to show up just for finals," she said.

I knew I'd get really tired of explaining that, but I told her about
placing correctly and she nodded. Then she rapped her pencil on her
desk and announced, "Class, this is Jaymi Fox. I'm sure you'll make her
welcome."

The hoots and whistles that resulted were certainly intended to be
welcoming, in a high school kind of way that made me stifle a giggle.
Then I realized I was a high school girl myself and was supposed to
giggle. That was just... fun. It was nice not to have to act so
mature all the time in order to compensate for looking so young. Now I
could just relax and, well, have fun.

You might know, the first person I met was the archetype of what I had
always wanted to be, beautiful and blonde enough to call up the image
of sunswept beaches. Proud of it, too. She flipped her hair around and
I could see her eyes narrow as she considered a decision. Treat me as
competition? Or invite me into her own circle where she could, ah, keep
me under control.

I suspect it was the whistles of the guys - I really shouldn't have
called myself a fox, that was too easy of an opening - which made her
decision for her. I could just see the calculations whirring behind her
eyes, finally settling down on the side of a bright smile.

"Jaymi," she said, "sit over here. I'm Natalie Michaels."

Mrs. Anderson gave them a couple of minutes to fling names at me, then
she started her announcements. It turned out that the first final would
be in trigonometry, which prompted a groan from most of the class.

"Oh, don't give me that," Mrs. Anderson said with a laugh. "You guys
are all honors students, and Mr. James said you've been reviewing all
week. If, ah, Jaymi isn't worried, why should you be?"

"Ignorance is bliss," someone called from the back of the room, but it
was good natured.

Mrs. Anderson smiled, but kept to her duty and I joined the groans of
the others when I found out what I had signed up for. Some vacation!

As soon as she dismissed the class, Natalie Michaels started
interrogating me.

"So, Jaymi, where are you from?"

"Montana, most recently, but I've moved around some."

"Wow, Montana is way cool," a voice said over my shoulder. A boy's
voice.

"It is in the wintertime," I agreed with a laugh, turning to face him.
"Downright cold, in fact."

He groaned, but quickly smiled and pointed a thumb at himself. "Kit
Carson."

I'd have made some sort of joke, but he looked like he could have come
by the name honestly; a true descendent of the intrepid explorer. He
had shaggy blond hair, bright blue eyes, and the sort of whipcord-lean
body that suggested enduring toughness.

To cover my, um, distraction, I looked at the boy standing next to him
and said, "So, that makes you... Jim Bridger?"

This boy, brown-haired and sort of `blah´ in features was
nonetheless just as noticeable as Kit Carson, though in a different
way. He had an athletic look as well, but of the `knock holes in
the wall´style. I think he was as wide as he was tall, with none
of it fat. His voice had a funny tone, obviously a deep bass but still
not quite mature in a way that didn't imply it would crack or anything.
From the looks of his coarse skin, puberty had hit him a long time ago
anyway.

"How'd you know?" he asked, smiling. "Of course, I go by the name Nick
Thomas around here, but you can call me anything you want as long as.
. "

He was interrupted by a chorus of laughing `friends.´ "..
as long as you call him!"

I blushed, not having seen that coming myself. By the time I got a few
more names sorted out, some of which were repeats from the first
volley, I had been `escorted´ to the trig classroom and we
were settling down for a test I had aced just a few years before.

Lordy, what a difference a few years made. I had forgotten *way* too
much about that subject. I figured I passed, but I certainly didn't ace
it this time. I was still scribbling frantically when Mr. James called
for the test papers, and shook my hand to work out a cramp as I
gathered up my things.

"I know," Natalie said sympathetically. "At least we got it out of the
way early."

"Thank God for small favors," I agreed.

Natalie led us to the rest room and we took care of the depredations
from two hours of twirling our hair, licking our lips, rubbing our
foreheads, and other actions taken to cope with the stress of the trig
final. Of course, 97 other girls (okay, maybe a dozen, but that was
plenty) were jostling for the same mirror space and it took more than a
touch of ruthlessness to achieve my own repairs.

No one seemed to mind though, and we joined up as an assault battalion
to take the lunchroom by storm. The group split up there to swarm the
various lines - I just got a salad and some fruit myself - and I was
reminded of the pleasures of juggling a purse, books and a tray while
keeping my hair out of everything. That reminded me of another thing I
was going to have to take care of, and soon. Clothes.

By the time I had paid for my lunch, several members of the giggle
gaggle were congregating at a table guarded by twin Amazons I hadn't
met yet. Puberty had definitely made their acquaintance, though. To
their credit, they hadn't tried to deny it. Their clothes and hair
(dark, wavy, and shoulder length) were well within the range of their
contemporaries, just scaled up by about 25%, in *all* dimensions.

As I approached, the group scrunched as required to make room. Smiling,
I looked at the two giants and lifted an eyebrow in question.

That was all the excuse they needed to launch into an obviously well-
practiced duet.

"Hi, I'm Mary.. "

".. and I'm Kari..."

"Cameron. We're.. "

"... twins."

This was where I was supposed to go, "Oh, really?" Or make some other
comment on the obviousness of their twinness. But I surprised them by
groaning - theatrically, with the back of one hand held limply to my
forehead.

"What's wrong?" they asked. At least, I think they both spoke. The
unison was so perfect one might have been lip-synching.

I smiled to make it clear I wasn't really hurting, then said, "I though
the TRIG final would be my hardest test, but I just know you're going
to expect me to tell the two of you apart."

"It's easy," one of them claimed, launching another pre-set program.

"My sister is *way* taller than me," they finished exactly in sync.

That was more than enough excuse to set off the whole Giggle Gaggle,
and I found myself joining in. Natalie had caught up to us by that
time, and she quickly made me regret my initial cattiness toward her. I
had thought she was one of those who would cut other pretty girls down
as a way to claim the top of the pecking order, but while she was
clearly the leader of this group, she was pretty nice about it. She
didn't let the other girls pester the newbie - that would be me - with
an avalanche of personal questions. Instead, she gave a quick recap of
my taking-finals- for-placement story, and then steered the
conversation to other things. Important things.

"Did you see what Kit did?" she asked conspiratorially.

"What?" (Twelve crystalline voices in girlish unison, complete with
breathless anticipation.)

"He got his ears pierced! Both of them!" she squealed. (I had noticed
his earrings - simple gold studs - but hadn't known it was new.)

"Ooh, how *cool!*" (Cool, cool, cool... echoed from the walls)

"Yeah," she agreed. "He told me he was going to do it. I guess he
figured they wouldn't kick him out of finals, so he did it a week
early."

Someone I didn't know said, "No way Nick would, like, do that."

"No way," the twins - well, one of them at least - agreed. They both
laughed. I got the impression that they felt they had a... special
insight into the burly guy who was apparently Kit Carson's sidekick.

"So, how *was* the trig final?" another girl asked. I didn't remember
her name, but that was hardly unusual. Unfortunately, she looked so
much like a younger Vanna (slightly younger, sorry Vanna) that I knew
I'd have a hard time getting it right when I did learn it.

"Oh, God, don't ask," said a redheaded girl I did remember. Her name
was Ashley Kincaid, and she was the only girl there who had more hair
than I did, tightly curled and framing an infinite number of freckles
that she had the sense not to try to cover with heavy makeup.

"Oh, quit, Ashley," Natalie said, snickering and poking her. "We all
know you aced it. You've been sucking up to James since day one."

"Hey, I had the same questions on my test that all the rest of you
did."

"Yeah," one of the twins said - I think it was Mary because she was
sitting on the right and I hadn't seen them switch - "but the rest of
us didn't get that, like, `special tutoring´ you've been
getting."

"Oooh, that's nasty!" Ashley countered, but she laughed and I thought I
could hear pride in her voice. Certainly she wasn't offended.

I was glad to hear a warning bell, because I really did *not* want that
line of conversation to be explored further. Things had changed a *lot*
since I was in that school. I had to laugh though, as I gathered my
things, because I realized it might just have been that I was clueless
when I had been a.. an outsider.

For the - last, thank God - final for the day, Natalie and I were
headed in different directions. Before she left, she said, "Some of us
are getting together this evening to study. You wanna come?"

"Oh, that would be great," I said, but I shook my head. "But I can't. I
have to do some shopping. I'm afraid, well, I think I'd like to be a
little more casual tomorrow."

"Why? You look terrific!"

"I look overdressed," I said.

Natalie snickered and said, "Well, maybe the heels are a bit much."

I had worn a tan skirt and a green blouse, which were part of my SMITE
wardrobe and a bit `grown-up´ for a high-school junior,
plus some heels that were definitely out of place. I should have known,
but I think that was another thing that had changed since I had been
there. The Gaggle wasn't into grunge or anything, but jeans, shorts, or
a denim skirt were definitely more appropriate than a nice skirt, and
if anyone else was wearing as much as an inch of heel, I had missed it.

"Well," Natalie said, copying my early theatrical groan and limp wrist,
"it's just my duty - as class president, did I mention that? - to help
out the new students. So I'll have to force myself to go shopping with
you instead of study."

I laughed. "Oh, you don't have to do that."

"No, no," she countered. "It just wouldn't be right not to."

"What about the study group?"

"Oh, we'll study. We'll just do it in the mall. I'll let them know and
we'll meet after this next final."

I nodded as the warning bell sounded and she hurried off to her class.
I guess I'd like to claim that I was distracted by the thought of going
mall-crawling with the Giggle Gaggle. That was what I had wanted when I
went back to high school, right? Anyway, Biology didn't go nearly as
well as Trig. But I probably passed it. If I really were going to
attend that school again, it looked like I was shaping up to be a very
ordinary `B´ student, not top-ten geek like I had been
before.

It turned out that the twins had been in that final too, and I found
them very useful. Not on the test, which I think they found more
difficult than I did, but in the obligatory restroom break afterwards.
They made excellent blocking backs. Of course, the downside of that was
that they took up half the mirror by themselves.

I kept reminding myself that the tests didn't really matter, that this
was all just `fun´ as I walked to the parking lot to meet
Natalie. I was in for that most quintessential of high school girl
rites of passage, a trip to the mall. I just hoped it would be less
intimidating than that Biology test.

Natalie, the Amazon twins, and Ashley were waiting for me when I got to
the parking lot. This was clearly the core of the Gaggle and I had just
as clearly been taken under their collective wing at least until I got
settled in a little.

"Wow, Jaymi," Natalie began as I approached, "you look like you've been
hit by, like, a truck."

"No, just a Biology final," I grimaced. "Sorry I'm late."

"No prob," Natalie said, then changed the subject. "How long have you
been in town? I mean, do you know how to get to the mall?"

"Duh!" I answered, laughing. I worried for a second that she might have
felt insulted, but Mary and Kari laughed even louder than I did; big,
belly laughs that were spilling over with real humor, and in the face
of that, Natalie just had to join in.

I had thought that Marilyn's team encompassed just about all the
aspects of feminine sensuality there were - chosen deliberately by
Marilyn, of course. But we missed at least one, as demonstrated by the
Cameron twins. They were marvelously sensual in a way that wasn't
really sexual. Until I met them, I don't think I really understood the
difference. They were like great, tawny cats; alert, very aware of
everything going on around them, `sensual´ in that aspect
that says their senses were hyper-sharp and they really enjoyed the
messages they were receiving. It just didn't carry with it an overt
sexuality. It was pure, animal aliveness without lust.

They had it under control, I realized. In the lunch room they had
giggled with the rest of the Gaggle, but out in the open, it was as
though they had been released from a leash. They took great, satisfying
breaths of the fresh air and bellowed it back out in hooraw laughs that
were unapologetically too big to contain.

"I told you," Ashley said to her blonde friend, then turned to me to
explain part of the humor. Which was a good thing because it was
clearly too much for my little joke.

"They were, like, worried about how we would get to the mall, figuring
that you had your own car and all. I told them you looked like a girl
who had her priorities straight and wouldn't, like, have any problem."

"Not in finding a mall," I agreed, ducking my head a little. I knew
where it was because I had lived there, of course, but I let her
mistake stand. It was a little white lie, but it still made me feel a
little bit bad, even though I knew it was the right thing to do. This
whole trip - my whole life for that matter - was based on a network of
lies and I was trapped in it.

"We still think Ashley should ride with you," Mary/Kari said.
(Actually, I think it was Kari, because I thought I remembered that she
was the one wearing little gold heart-shaped earrings. Or maybe it was
the KC I saw on her notebook.)

"Fine," I nodded. Ashley smiled compliantly at me. She was clearly
overshadowed by her bigger and more outgoing friends, but I could see
why they liked having her around. Aside from being heart-stoppingly
beautiful in a girl-next-door sort of way, she had a twinkle in her
gray eyes that showed a lot of intelligence - enough that she didn't
have to prove it all the time.

Natalie had been leading us toward the parked cars as we talked and I
saw that my rented econobox was one of three vehicles left in the
junior's section of the lot. The other two were a GMC pickup that was a
couple of years old and really neat little Miata. None of them would
hold us all, so we were clearly going to have to convoy the couple of
miles I knew it was to the mall.

Then I had to reset my prejudices again. I had assumed since Ashley was
the designated rider that the other two vehicles belonged to the
Natalie and the twins. Expecting Natalie to head for the Miata, I
almost bumped into her when she angled toward the truck.

"Oops, sorry."

She snickered and flicked a shared-memory grin at the others. "A lot of
people are surprised I drive a pickup. It's my brother's. He's away at
school and they don't let them have personal cars the first year, so I
inherited it."

"And I know you were not suggesting that we're, like, too big to fit in
that little Miata," Mary(?) said.

"Oh, no, of course not," I assured them, but it was drowned out by a
giggleburst. Well, I deserved it.

The others patiently waited until Ashley and I were ready to go before
heading out. Natalie took the lead, as expected, but the twins let me
go in the middle, just in case.

"Was the Biology final all that bad?" Ashley asked as we drove along.

"Not really. It's just that I hadn't studied some of that for a while."

"Um," she began, hesitantly, "then why are you taking that final? I
mean, if you've already completed that course, then it should be on
your transcript. Why do you need credit for it here?"

Well, so much for my cover story. When in doubt, lie with the truth.
"Well, actually I dropped out for a year. Late in my junior year. I'm a
year older than I would have been. I need credit for my last junior
year classes as well as approval to enter next year as a senior."

Ashley looked at me gently and asked, "Do you mind telling me why you
dropped out?"

I had seen this coming, and this was the `lie with the truth´
 bit, since I had actually finished high school. But that lie was
a setup for the next truth.

"My parents died, courtesy of a drunk driver," I said bluntly. That
took care of any issues with meeting my family or anything, at least.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" she said, looking like she was ready to cry at
being so thoughtless. Like she could have known.

"It's okay," I said, smiling and patting her hand. "I'm dealing with
it."

She just nodded, but I knew she was embarrassed. Before we could
straighten anything out though, we were at the mall.

Her quietness didn't seem unusual to the others so they poured out of
the other cars with all the energy of hungry wolves descending on
sleeping sheep. Mallworld, here we come!

Chapter 15 - "Missed Opportunity"

What I had in mind was a quick trip to a couple of shoe stores, and a
Gap or something for a pair of shorts and maybe a more casual skirt.
Oh, and a couple of tops. What they had in mind was a complete
makeover. Our eventual compromise would be to visit every single store
in the mall. Some of them twice, I think.

We started at one of the teen money pits that were so interchangeable I
don't know why they bothered to put a name above the entrance. The
twins headed to the larger sizes while Natalie fixed me with an
appraising look.

She grimaced and said, "I think I hate you."

Ashley laughed, and Natalie was grinning immediately, so it might be
considered understandable that I was confused.

"I haven't been able to wear - what are you, about a size six? - for a
year," she explained.

"Um, well, maybe a six for the skirts, but... "

"Oh, quit bragging," Natalie interrupted, giggling again. She turned to
the racks and started pawing through skirts so short even Carol would
have blushed.

"I'll find you some shorts," Ashley promised, heading toward a table
piled with denim in all colors.

I didn't even have time to make suggestions before Natalie was pulling
me along with her eyes toward the dressing rooms. Her arms were full
and I noticed she hadn't picked out only my size. The twins were
already occupying one of the oversized rooms and Ashley caught up just
as Natalie nudged me into another.

The little swinging door to the changing room hadn't stopped moving
when Natalie's own skirt hit the floor. She pulled a purple
fake-leather micromini from the stack and held it to her hips.

"God, I want a skirt like this," she sighed.

"So.. ?"

"Oh, my parents wouldn't let me wear it anyway," she said. "At least,
not to school, and that means I couldn't wear it often enough to
justify the cost."

"Since when do you have to justify the cost of clothes?" Ashley asked.

"Since I was, like, stupid enough to negotiate a clothing allowance,"
Natalie answered, twisting her face into an amazingly complicated
expression. It had a frown, but also a rueful smile that at the same
time showed real humor. "Before that, I could talk them into buying
things for me. Now... "

"Now that skirt means three others you don't get, right?" Ashley
finished for her.

"Well, maybe two and a pair of shoes," Natalie snickered.

Then they both gasped, and I looked around to see what the problem was.

"Ohmigod, you're wearing stockings!"

I had dropped my own skirt, and the truth of their claim was
undeniable.

"Um, is that a problem?"

"No, it's just, like, so cool," Ashley explained. "I never wear
stockings to school, just for... special occasions."

"Well, part of it is that they are cool," I said. "I don't like
pantyhose. But, like I said, I'm here to get some more casual clothes."

"I know, but, damn girl, they look totally awesome on you."

"You think so? I think my legs are too... scrawny. I look like a
chicken."

"Oh, please," Natalie said. "I wish I had legs as trim as yours."

The skirt I had picked out to try on was a black denim that I knew was
going to be way too short, but I had the feeling we wouldn't be buying
everything we had brought to the dressing room anyway.

"Oh, yeah," Natalie said, contradicting my own impression. "That you *
have* to get."

"But not with stockings," Ashley laughed, pointing at the obvious
problem. Before I could say anything, she grabbed a top out of what she
had gathered. "Here, try this. It'll pick out the red in your hair, and
make your eyes look terrific."

My attempt to try on the dark-red knit shell was interrupted by a much
more strident chorus.

"*Ohmigod!* Ohmigod!"

"What's the matter?" Mary/Kari asked, poking their head through the
door. "OhmiGod!"

"She's wearing a corset!" Natalie provided the unnecessary answer.

Well, I didn't really need the red shell anyway since their, ahem,
interest got me to blushing so brightly it would have clashed big time.

"Ohmigod, that is like, *sooo* hot!"

"Awesome, just... wow!"

"Damn, girl," Kari said, "I had you down for either a stuck-up snob or
like, scared of your own shadow the way you were sitting so prim and
proper all day. I didn't know you had a reason like that!"

"How can you stand it?" Ashley asked, reaching out a tentative finger
to see how stiff my armor was.

"You get used to it," I claimed. "It's sort of comforting, really, sort
of like an all-day hug."

"Ooh, that sounds so yummy, but.. isn't it, like, uncomfortable?"
Mary asked, running her hands down her own waist as she obviously tried
one on her in mind.

"Only if it's too tight, and that's mostly just stupid. There's no
reason for it. Oh, you do have to get one that fits right, though."

"Oh, God, that is just so cool," sighed Natalie.

"Actually, when it's warm weather, it's mostly just hot," I
contradicted, laughing. "But I'm sort of used to it by now."

Kari reached out and gently turned me around, not that I would have had
much chance to resist. "How did you ever get started?"

Damn, another question I wasn't ready for. Think quick.

"After my parents died.. ," I began.

"Your parents died?" Natalie interrupted.

"Yes," I said, then decided to plow on instead of answering that
implied question. "I got sort of... messed up for a while. It's a
long story. But I, um, decided to change the way I looked, in lots of
ways. This was just one of them."

Goodness, that was even the truth. Imagine that.

Ashley looked stricken, like the fact this topic came up again was her
fault somehow. The twins looked uncomfortable too, and fiddled with the
clothes they had been carrying when they came into our dressing room. I
could see that Natalie was trying to think of something to say, but had
run flat out of ideas.

"Look, guys, it's okay. I'm dealing with it. I won't say it's no big
deal, since it always will be a big deal in my life, but it's no reason
for everybody to get all tense. Let's just do what we came for, which
is see how Ashley looks in that killer purple skirt."

"Oh, no, I couldn't.. ," Ashley began, then giggled as she realized
I'd managed to yank her chain.

But that was a good enough excuse that the others picked up on it and
in a heartbeat Natalie had it off and was handing it to Ashley. I had *
never* been able to get a girl out of her skirt that fast, back when I,
ah, when I wanted to try something on.

That purple looked surprisingly good with her red hair. Who'da guessed?
Not that we could talk her into buying it. They could have talked me
into buying a *lot* of things, if it weren't that I kept telling myself
I only had three or four more days as a teen that I needed clothes for.
I ended up getting the black denim skirt anyway, and the red shell and
two other tops, plus a pair of flats, and some sandals.

After we left the shoe store (the last one, anyway), there must have
been a signal I didn't see because cell phones started coming out of
purses all around me. Or maybe I did see the signal, which was the
mall's food court. The other girls were negotiating with unseen parents
for permission to eat out. Apparently they all received the go ahead,
because with hardly a pause we were dispersing among the many
opportunities.

The rendezvous at a central table took little longer. I had found a
nice selection of vegetables and some grilled chicken at a Chinese
place, and Ashley thought that had looked good, too. The twins were
more conventional, with burgers and fries that I figured their
metabolism could handle. Natalie was the unpredictable one, coming back
with only some frozen yogurt.

"Goodness, that looks... healthy," I said, smiling.

"Oh, I'll get something real when we get home," she said. "My mom's,
ah, frugal and she insists we don't waste the food she prepares, even
if we're late."

"Oh, we can go," I said. "I've got all I came for."

"Don't be silly," Natalie countered. "It won't make that much
difference to sit here with you for a few minutes."

I had the feeling that all of them just didn't want me to be alone for
supper, which was sweet. I smiled to tell them all that I got the
message, and appreciated it, and was trying to find some way to let
them know it wasn't really necessary when my thoughts were interrupted.

"Ohmigod, don't look!" Kari hissed.

At what? That really helped. Was I supposed to close my eyes or
something?

The others all looked, of course. Like prairie dogs on watch, a head
would pop up, scan quickly, then retreat, to be followed a moment later
by another head. I'm sure they would not have appreciated that simile.

After a couple of minutes I figured out what was so interesting. I
should have known. It was a boy.

Their oh-so-casual surveillance was either not subtle enough, or the
boy had his own reason for coming over. The whispered titters died out
abruptly as he stepped to our table.

"Good evening, ladies," he said formally.

"Hi, Sean," Natalie, our leader as always, replied.

The boy was tall enough for the Cameron twins, at least 6'3" or so, and
muscular without being bulky. I could see a strong family resemblance
to Kit Carson, though this boy was a few years older. He was what Kit
would look like after he grew up. Except, where Kit had blond hair,
Sean's was shiny black, and he had a mustache and a beard neatly
trimmed into a surprisingly point that looked like something out of
Renaissance Italy; "My Last Duchess", cruel and arrogant, but...
interesting.

There was a question in his eyes that was directed at me, or at least
about me, and Natalie supplied the required, "This is Jaymi Fox. She's
taking finals for placement. Jaymi, this is Sean Adams."

It surprised me. I mean, he looked so much like Kit Carson that I was
sure they were brothers. I'm sure my confusion showed, because Sean
laughed and said, "I'll bet you've met my cousin, Kit."

"Close cousin," I observed.

"Not *that* close," he laughed again, then pulled out a chair to sit
with us.

"Sean was quarterback the last two years," Kari explained breathlessly.
"Now he's at college."

I was a little surprised that I didn't know him, then. His fame would
have started right after I left. Maybe he was a transfer student, too.
It was clear that at least the Cameron twins had a crush on him, though
even Ashley's eyes had gotten extra-wide when he sat down with us.

Reaching out casually to snag a french fry from Kari's tray, Sean said,
"If this is what next year's crop of seniors is going to look like, I
may come back to high school."

No belly laughs from the Amazons this time. They were clearly back in
giggle mode, tittering appreciatively at Sean's comment within an
illusion of demure femininity.

Ha! Like I should talk about illusions.

I guess I had made more of a transition than I thought, because I found
myself giggling right along with them. It was very... flattering to
have his deep black eyes focus on you like you were the only
interesting person in the world. It didn't even matter that he would
then look at one of the others the same way. At least, I thought it was
the same way.

Sean chatted with us for a few minutes, managing to seem sympathetic to
our problems with high school finals while at the same time making his
college finals seem infinitely more challenging.

"At least mine are over," he concluded with a sigh of relief.

"Are you coming to the party Friday, since you're back in town?"
Natalie asked.

"Are you asking me?" he countered.

Natalie blushed, too flustered to speak for a minute, which set the
rest of us into another giggleburst and prompted a gently-mocking grin
from Sean.

"I'm, um, Kit and I, we're like, going steady," Natalie stammered.

"I know that," Sean said, reaching out to gently punch her in the
shoulder. "What did you think I was asking?"

Natalie didn't fall for that opening, though she did blush again. Sean
decided to let her off the hook with another disarming grin, then
stood.

"I might," he said. "If I can find a date."

He looked at us when he said that, as though considering us as
candidates for an invitation. His smile said he didn't think he'd have
trouble getting a date. "Ladies," he said, bowing courteously, then he
sauntered off.

"Ohmigod," Kari whispered, looking at me.

"I hate you," Mary said absently, looking right at me too, but with no
real rancor in her voice or expression.

"Why? What did I do?" I asked.

"What did *you* do?" Natalie asked, laughing. "Just snagged, like, the
number one prime hottie in the history of Jackson High, and right in
front of his two greatest admirers."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Surprisingly, Ashley spoke up, "Yeah, right. If you'd have fallen any
further into his eyes, we'd have had to send search parties after you."

"But.. I mean...we just talked. Just like he talked to the rest of
you."

"I wish," Kari said wistfully.

"Well, it's a good thing we're at the mall," Natalie observed. "We can
find you a party dress right away."

"Party dress?" I repeated. Stupidly.

"Snap out of it, girl," Kari said, recovering herself. "I'll bet you
anything you want to name that by this time tomorrow, Sean has invited
you to the party."

"Oh," I whispered, finally catching on. Or maybe not, because something
didn't make sense. "But, why didn't he ask me right now?"

"Because you might be going with someone else, of course," Natalie
said. "Just like I'm going with Kit. He's going to check around first.
He could joke about asking me, because he knows about Kit and me, but
he wouldn't take the chance you'd turn him down. Not in front of
others. Duh!"

"You can bet he'll find another opportunity, though," Mary said,
sighing. Then her eyes lit up with another thought. "Unless... are
you... I mean, is there anyone else? Are you going steady already?"

The idea was so silly that I just snorted an obvious negative before I
had a chance to grab at the idea. It could have saved a lot of trouble.

I should have remembered about the party, or really, The Party. It was
the big event of the year, an outlaw prom held just after finals. I
suppose part of the reason I hadn't thought about it was that I had
never been invited - and it was strictly invitation only. Supposedly
there were no rules. Well, almost none. There wouldn't be any
chaperones or curfews. It got started as a rebellion against what the
students - before my time, actually - had decided were overly
restrictive rules for the school-approved prom. The first time they
held it, they got raided. When the mayor's daughter and the sons of
three councilmen and the chief of police were among those picked up..
. well, they hadn't been raided since. After that, there was a very
sub-rosa agreement that the students would be left alone as long as
nobody tried to drive home drunk and the hotel wasn't trashed. Other
than that, anything might happen - and often did.

At some level I must have been thinking about The Party, even though I
was surprised when it actually came up. It was the ultimate insider
versus outsider gauge, the one thing that would prove that I was now an
insider. Had that been the reason I decided to go back to my high
school on my furlough at the end of the school year? The hope that this
time I'd make it to The Party? Maybe. I knew that as soon as they
started talking about it, I wanted to go. At least I remembered to ask
about the whole thing, since I wasn't supposed to have already known
about it.

I guess I already had in invitation in fact, because Natalie was acting
as though it were a given that I would be there. Of course, she was
sure that Sean would ask me, too, but I didn't get the impression that
they'd turn me away at the door if I showed up without him. They would
have, a few years before. Turned me away if I showed up alone, I mean.

The distraction of thinking about that didn't help me in my Literature
final the next morning, but Mrs. Jacobs hadn't changed her final in
forty years - or so everyone figured. It was a nicely subjective 
`pick a story and analyze it´ essay that was only a problem
in that I had to make sure I didn't write exactly the same things I had
said before just in case old Shaky Jake remembered.

The Giggle Gaggle had rendezvoused in the lunchroom at the usual table
and I moved to join them like I had been part of the group forever. As
I approached, several girls tried to make room for me to sit by them.

"Thanks," I said softly, not wanting to interrupt an already- disrupted
conversation.

"Sean Adams," sighed a girl I didn't know. I'd been told her name, but
I couldn't remember it then to save my life.

That seemed to be the topic of conversation, because the responding
sighs increased the air pressure in our area by at least 10%. Everyone
was looking at me, expecting me to pick up on that opening.

"What?" I asked.

"Tell us about him," the girl said. I was still struggling to remember
her name, something with a `K´, I thought.

"Like I know," I sniffed. "I saw him for maybe 2 minutes, total. I
don't know what you guys are so excited about - and certainly I don't
know anything about him that you don't."

By this time, Natalie and Ashley had joined us, squeezing in next to
the Cameron twins who had apparently been sharing their version of what
happened in the mall.

"You knew how to catch his interest," Natalie declared. "Two minutes
and you had him hooked like a fish - and loving it."

She puckered up her lips like a fish, but her implied use of those lips
was clearly not for breathing water.

"Yeah, right," I said. "You guys are dreaming."

"Dreamy is right," Kari Cameron said.

I tried a counter-attack. "It seemed to me that he was more interested
in you, Kari, than in me. After all, he took a french fry from your
tray."

That detonated another giggleburst, but no one was buying what I was
offering. After the echoes died, Natalie explained why my idea was so
ludicrous.

"Oh, Jaymi, you are like, so out of it," she began, but her smile took
any sting from her words. "Mary and Kari are like, um, `sharing´
 Nick Thomas.. "

She was interrupted by a snicker from the `K´ girl,
"There's certainly enough of him to go around."

That got her a slap from Mary, but Natalie plowed ahead. "Just like I'm
going with Kit. And we all know that Ashley and Bobby Watson are the
only remaining virgins at Jackson High, so they're sort of stuck with
each other."

At this, Ashley ducked her head, but there was that same look of quiet
pride I had seen several times in her eyes.

"So," Natalie continued, "that just leaves you for Sean to be
interested in - and he was definitely interested."

"Definitely!" the twins chorused. Giggleburst, Richter scale 6.

I was trying to figure out what to say, when the group's target
suddenly switched.

"Say, that reminds me," Mary Cameron said. "You gonna uphold the honor
of the party, Ash?"

I didn't know what she was talking about - not unusual - but it
triggered a fiery blush that tried to fill in between Ashley's
freckles. She ducked her head again, and from within the obscuring red
curls we heard a soft, "Maybe."

"You go, girl!" Kari crowed. The others laughed and joined in
congratulating Ashley, or urging her on. After a bit, I figured out
what they were talking about. Apparently, it was considered traditional
that no one at The Party was a virgin - at least not by the end of the
night.

I remembered that look of quiet pride Ashley had showed when they 
`accused´ her of being a virgin, and it bothered me to think
that she would be pushed into something that she didn't really want to
do. Not that I thought that made the other girls particularly `
bad´. But peer pressure is incredibly strong, and if they had
made a moral judgment that sex was okay, then anyone who didn't conform
was... a problem. That's hardly unique to this group of girls, or
this topic. Still, I wished it weren't so, and I realized I was
frowning just before I got called on it.

"Uh, oh," Kari said, noticing my expression. "We don't have another
virgin, here, do we?"

"Huh? Oh, no," I blurted out.

"Then don't rain on Ashley's parade," Mary said.

It seemed to me that the problem with the parade Ashley wanted to be in
was not with me, but I bit off that remark and tried to find a way to.
. fit in while offering something to Ashley.

I spoke directly to her. "Ashley, you ought to do whatever you want,
regardless of what we might say, or might have done, but..." I
sighed, not at all artificial, because I was remembering things that
were still hard to deal with. "It's just.. like a lot of things, I
guess, now that.. I just won't ever be... pure again. That's corny
and old-fashioned, I know, but I've dreamed about my wedding night, and
now it won't be... I can't ever be again, what I.. wanted to be,
wanted to.. offer to my..."

"Oh, God," Kari laughed. "You're a romantic. We definitely have to get
you some better reading material."

Mary picked up her end of the tag team, "Hell, girl, you just got
dumped after you `gave´ yourself to the wrong boy. Don't
blame us for your mistake - and Ashley and Bobby are so like, welded
together there's no risk of them splitting up."

"I didn't `give´ myself to anyone," I snapped.

"Date rape?" Kari said with a sneer. "That's kind of overused, isn't
it? I mean, that just means you really picked the wrong boy."

Easy for the Amazon twins to say. They had never had to worry about a
physical confrontation, and woe to anyone who attacked one anyway - if
not right at the moment of the act, they'd get together and hand him
his balls later. But they were wrong anyway, and it made me mad.

"I was raped in a parking lot by a gang of muggers," I snarled. "I
shouldn't have been there alone at night, so I guess it really was my
fault, right?"

Even saying it brought the memories of that night crashing back with
fresh reality. The words were still hanging in the absolute silence
that followed my announcement when I lost it. The adrenaline that had
fueled my anger drained away and I was left with only the memories of
being weak, and alone, and... hurt. I couldn't help myself and just
buried my face in my hands and started shaking with huge, gasping sobs.

Chapter 16 - "Misapprehension"

The next little bit is sort of fuzzy to me; impressions more than clear
memories. I mean, I knew that I was suddenly surrounded by hugs and I
heard amorphous words that were more tone than content, but I don't
remember any particulars. I was lost in the memories of that night, and
they were all jumbled up with the nightmare of the Maximum Leader's
perverse biowar lab, and it was all too.. intense to sort out. My
descent into remembered horror was finally interrupted by a Pavlovian
response to the warning buzzer for the end of the lunch period. When I
looked up, all that was left was the core of the Gaggle, and no one was
giggling.

The Amazon twins looked almost as stricken as I felt, standing there
awkwardly, hands clenching and unclenching at their sides, afraid to
reach out with a hand I might bite off. Natalie and Ashley had their
arms around me, and I saw a blaze in Natalie's eyes at the twins that
might as well have been a physical force field holding them away.

But they were just high school girls, for God's sake. They were going
to make worse mistakes than that in their life. And it would hurt
others, and they wouldn't be able to take it back, and it would bother
them forever. I didn't need to add to that. Not when my being there was
all a lie anyway. Let them earn their guilt fair and square with people
who deserved more respect anyway.

I didn't say anything right away. I'm not sure I could have because my
throat was so tight. But I moved gently away from Natalie and Ashley
and around the table to the twins.

"I'm sorry," I said, apologizing when it was clear they thought they
had been the ones to offend. "I thought I was... dealing with that
better. Can we still be friends?"

"Oh, God, Jaymi, we're so sorry!" Kari whimpered.

"It's over," I declared quietly, comforting them in a turnabout even I
found ironic. It started a fresh round of waterworks, which was quickly
interrupted by a hissed warning from Natalie.

"Here comes Jonas," she said, pointing out the vice-principal. "We
gotta go or we're going be `questioned´.

The external threat overcame our internal issues in a heartbeat, and we
all hustled through our cleanup and trip to the restroom for repairs -
definitely needed repairs. I ended up getting to my next final a few
minutes late, which didn't really matter. It was a Civics class, and
the teacher was the football coach. He was so into macho that he
couldn't even frown at a pretty girl, and of course I didn't need the
time. He used that class - with the school's consent - as a way to help
his jocks keep their grade points in the acceptable range.

After I finished - early - I just headed off campus. I suppose I should
have hung around to `prove´ to the other girls that I
wasn't holding any grudges, but I just needed some time to myself. I
was wearing that too-short black denim skirt and the dark-red shell,
with sandals, and that seemed casual enough to allow an outside pastime
so I headed to a park by the river. There were benches scattered
around, and usually ducks smart enough not to migrate any further, so I
stopped at a mini-mart to get some bread on my way, then bribed some
featherheads to be friendly.

"They'd be just as happy with smaller pieces," a voice suggested.

I jumped at the unexpected intrusion, turning quickly to see who had
spoken. Somehow, it wasn't much of a surprise to see Sean Adams. Sweat
glistened on his trim body - a lot of it shown by the tank top and
shorts that were all he was wearing, that and a musky, masculine scent
that was familiar but strangely.. attractive. I was going to have to
meditate on why I had chosen that park where despite what I had thought
was a desire for privacy, I also knew the jocks did their running, but
I'd save that for later.

"Hello, Sean," I said quietly.

"Out early today?"

"Yes. I got through my afternoon final pretty quickly."

"Let me guess, Coach Schlieren, Civics, right?"

"How'd you guess?" I asked, laughing in spite of my mood. Or at least,
the mood I had been in.

"Spies," he said grandly. "Spies everywhere."

The honking ducks had started to crowd around Sean when he stopped, no
doubt trained to the expectation that anyone in range was a probable
food source, and they started to peck at the salt on his legs when he
didn't give them anything. I laughed and handed him some of my bread,
and he waded his way through the flock to sit next to me. True to his
suggestion, he broke the bread into much smaller chunks, flinging some
of them far enough away that the mob dispersed a bit.

"My spies tell me," he said after a moment, "that you might not be
doing anything Friday night."

"Not really," I replied.

"You heard about The Party?" he asked, the capitals obvious in his
voice now that I knew to listen to them.

"A little."

"Would you like to go?"

At this point, I knew I should be demure and maybe play just a bit hard
to get, or use any number of other tricks so that I didn't seem too
eager. But this was why I had come back to high school, this acceptance
was important enough I'd put up with Shaky Jake's Literature final for
a second time. I decided I was through playing games - well, that sort
of game anyway - so I just nodded without any pretense of reluctance.

"How about if I come by at, say, 7:00 and we get a bite to eat before
we go?"

"That sounds nice," I said, smiling.

"Ah, and, where would I come by to?" he asked, grinning.

I was staying in a hotel, of course - actually a motel not too far from
the high school. That would take a bit of explaining if he really
wanted to get into it, but if his spies were as good as he claimed, my
orphan status would be easy to figure out. Anyway, I just gave him my
room number and decided to let him ask if he had questions he thought
were important.

To his credit - or the credit of his spy network - he didn't have any
problem at all when I told him where I lived. We sat and talked about
nothing for a while, stretching the remaining bread by throwing smaller
and smaller pieces, but eventually it ran out.

"I suppose I should be going," Sean said. "I only finished half my
run."

"And half my bread," I said, smiling.

"I'll make it up to you, Friday night," he promised.

"I'll hold you to that."

"Promise?"

Uh, oh, all the sudden we weren't talking about bread any more. I
blushed and reflexively looked down. A second later, when I peeked up
through my lashes, Sean was smiling in way that made his beard imply
something... unrelenting. It was a challenge, and a promise that
didn't depend on any corresponding promise from me. It was also
amazingly arousing, as my knit shell suddenly made all too obvious.
That didn't help my blush at all, but it did trigger a strong,
confident laugh from Sean. He didn't say anything, though, just nodding
and moving off to resume his run.

When I got back to my hotel, there were a slew of messages. That filled
the rest of the night. It began with calls to the whole Giggle Gaggle,
or at least everyone I knew in it. (Her name was `Caitlyn´,
with a `C´ not a `K´ by the way - the girl
whose name I couldn't remember. Apparently she had spelled it out to
the clerk.) They all wanted to make sure I was okay. The cloned sighs
when I told them I had spent the afternoon with Sean (so identical I
wondered if they were all in the same room somewhere, talking on cell
phones or something), and yes he had asked me to The Party, were too
relieved to allow the near-obligatory squeal of envy. That came a
heartbeat later, of course, after they asked me what we had done.
Who'da thunk that throwing bread to ducks was `so romantic´
? Apparently every girl in Jackson High, that's who.

The phone calls had another purpose as well. They localized me. Before
I had finished the first round of calls, there was a knock at my door.

"Who is it?"

"Mary and Kari, the Asshole twins."

I opened the door to find two sheepish Amazons, hoping and fearing and
so tense they looked like they were right on the cusp of a fight of
flight moment.

I laughed and invited them in. "I told you guys all that is history."

"Thanks," Mary said. "But we're taking you out to dinner anyway. Get
your purse."

It was an order, but it as a plea as well, and I couldn't turn them
down. I might have to delay them, though.

"I've got all these calls," I said, waving the remaining message slips.

"Talk on the way," Kari ordered, shoving a cell in my hand. I was
beginning to be able to tell them apart, mostly because Kari tended to
make just a bit stronger statement with her accessories, in this case a
lace choker that made her neck seem about 6 inches tall. Mary was just
as tall, of course, but she had on a heart pendant that was less
striking even though it was very pretty.

Or maybe I was just fooling myself. For all I knew, I had them exactly
backward.

None of that really mattered, at least not right then. The tag team was
in action and I found myself out the door, purse in hand, before I had
any more chance to argue.

"Where do you want to go?" Kari asked me, climbing into the back seat
of my econobox. We sure couldn't all fit in their Miata.

"I don't care."

"They closed that place down. It got too crowded."

"Huh?" It slipped out, then I felt like an idiot. I blushed and ducked,
my standard response of course, and they laughed their big belly
laughs.

But it was okay. It made us all even, somehow, all `real´
people who made mistakes and then had to deal with them. In a second we
were all laughing, and it just built from there. I don't know if they
noticed that I drove right to a burger joint that was so ostentatiously
a retro teen `hangout´ that it worked despite the kitsch. I
guess they figured I had already found it or something.

What we also found was the rest of the Gaggle, including those I hadn't
called yet. Well, most of them anyway. Natalie wasn't there, but Ashley
was. Once everyone was personally reassured that I was back on an even
keel after my lunchtime breakdown, conversation arrangements entered a
continuous mutation stage as people slid in or out of various
groupings. At one point I ended up alone with Ashley - well, almost
alone, standing by the juke box within a dozen feet of fifty teens, but
not really in a conversation with anyone else.

"I really appreciate what you had to say today," Ashley said softly.

"Thanks," I replied. "You do know that I meant what I said about making
your own choice, right? You don't have to do something just because I
say so any more than for anyone else."

She nodded, quiet for a moment, then she said. "I do love Bobby, you
know."

"I'm sure you do. I envy you."

She glanced around the room and smirked, "Most of these girls would
envy you, for snagging Sean."

"I've hardly `snagged´ him. We're just going to The Party
together."

Ashley nodded again, but through her curls I saw just that hint of
pride again. I hoped she never lost it.

"So, what are you wearing?" she asked, changing the subject. "You
didn't let us take you shopping for a dress last night."

"Lordy, we had already tried on fifty things apiece," I groaned. "I
brought a couple of things from, ah, home anyway. I think I have
something that will work. I mean, it's not like, long formals, is it?"

"Oh, no. Nice party dresses, but some of them are *way* short," she
giggled.

"What are you wearing?" I asked in turn.

She blushed, but after a minute she lifted her head and said, "Well,
I've decided that I'm not going to apologize for being, um, for not..
. you know. I've got this white lace dress that looks like a wedding
dress, except the lace flows right down onto the skirt instead of
stopping at a bodice, and the skirt is short and... tight. Bobby
hasn't seen it, but I think it will knock his socks off."

"One sockless dude, comin' right up," I said, laughing.

Ashley dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "There's one
other thing. My mother has a friend who works with the local community
theater. I'm going to borrow a corset!"

Inside, a part of me was laughing as reflexes I didn't know I had made
my voice squeal with pleasure. "You're not! Oh, that is so cool."

"You're wearing one, too, aren't you?"

I nodded. "Of course, but at least now I won't be the only one."

"No chance of that. I think everyone was jealous after they heard about
you. I think several girls are hunting for their own."

I laughed and looked around, trying to decide who would and who
wouldn't. It would be fun to see all those girls laced too tight and
suffering until they finally wised up. Been there, done that, and
didn't regret it at all.

"Jaymi," Ashley said, whispering again, "what about... something
else?"

"Hmmm?" I was still wondering about how the other girls would be
dressed. I had three fancy dresses with me - Lord knows most of my 
`official´ wardrobe fit that that description - and I was
trying to make a mental selection. My ruminations were interrupted
quite dramatically when Ashley continued.

"What about.. doing something with Bobby where I'd still be, like, 
`pure´ afterwards?"

"What?" I said, at the last instant remembering to force my own voice
to whisper.

"You know, something other than... sex."

Ah, yes, the sexual act that wasn't really sex. What in God's name did
I say about that? I certainly enjoyed it. The real Jaymi had taught me
that there wasn't really anything wrong with pleasing your lover, but
that wasn't really the issue. Neither Jaymi nor I qualified for `
pure´, and it didn't have anything to do with broken hymens. At
least, not our own.

Maybe that was the answer after all. "Look, Ashley, having an intact
hymen doesn't make you `pure´, nor does a broken one make
you a slut. The question is how you see yourself. I personally wish I
still had the chance to offer something special of myself on my wedding
night, but not everyone is the same and God knows I'm not one to judge
others. You decide what you want to save, and what you want to give.
Just remember that once you make the decision - or at least once you
act on it - you have to live with the consequences. That's all I'm
saying."

That sounded harsh, I think, and I wish I had a better way to put it,
but it would be just as wrong for Ashley to let me do her thinking for
her as it would be for anyone else to do it. I wanted her to keep that
quiet pride I could sometimes see in her eyes, and that meant she had
to accept her own responsibility.

I was gratified to see her nod despite my harsh words. Before we could
go any further with the conversation, though, Mary Cameron wedged a
shoulder between us to reach the juke box.

"Geez, guys, if you're just gonna stand there like, all night, then
make way for someone who wants to play something."

"Oh, sorry," I said, stepping aside, but I saw that Mary wasn't
complaining as much as checking on me; making sure I wasn't slipping
back into tears or something. I caught her eyes, saw the caring
question, sent her an `okay´ message, got a return receipt
smile, and nodded my thanks for her concern. None of which materially
impeded her mission of getting some music going.

Mary's mission was multi-faceted in another way, too. It was getting
late enough that we needed to think about getting home, so she chose a
slower number that was a signal to start wrapping up. Like a well-oiled
machine, drinks and leftover food started to disappear, and in the two
or three minutes the song ran we cleaned up the place. I didn't
remember doing that sort of thing when I had been there, but then I
noticed that not everyone was helping anyway. I recognized a couple of
the actual waitresses from school, though I didn't know their names, so
I figured it was as much helping out a friend as any real commitment to
cleanliness even for the ones who were cleaning up.

I ended up driving, of course, but I felt like the Amazons took me
home. They insisted on escorting me to my door and each of them gave me
a direct, `look me in the eyes´ stare at the doorway to
make sure I was truly okay with all that had happened that day. I don't
know if they were more surprised or I was, but I realized I truly was.
Okay, that is. They both wrapped me up in softly huge hugs and then
flowed to their Miata with leonine grace fully intact. All's right with
the world when you're as intensely alive as they were - even when
you're as intensely tired as I was.

I was in a better mood the next morning. The emotions that followed my
`confession´ worked to purge some tension I had been
holding in my heart without realizing it. Getting everything straight
with the girls in school had helped too, of course. What could have
been a basis for a continuing grudge had instead helped us to become
closer.

My good mood lasted until I entered my first final for the day, PC
History. The official title was `World History´, but Mr.
Jefferson, the teacher, considered it his duty to indoctrinate us in
what was politically correct - and he wasn't one to let awkward facts
get in the way of his opinions. But it was an easy final with a
guaranteed pass as long as we ended our essay with, "If not for the
envy and jealousy of European imperialists, the (fill in the blank)
culture would be celebrated today for the wisdom and tolerance they
demonstrated."

It wasn't until I was in the restroom that I realized I wasn't really
going to attend classes there again anyway. I could have put anything I
wanted down, in that final or any other, and it wouldn't have made any
difference. My immersion in this `insider´ high school
experience was so compelling that I was losing sight of what was really
happening. The silliness of my desire to `do well´ on my
finals was so ludicrous that it restored my good mood and I was more
than ready to contribute my share to the gigglebursts at lunchtime.

Ashley caught me as soon as I sat down. "So, what are you going to
wear?"

To the party, of course. What else? "I'm thinking about this black
dress I've got," I explained, "with lace over some sheer panels. Does
that sound okay?"

"It sounds dreamy," Natalie said, leaning over to join our
conversation. "Where are you getting your hair done?"

"Oh, I didn't think about that. I was just gonna, you know, do
something with it."

"Girl," Natalie laughed, "if you're going on the arm of Sean Adams, you
better plan on more than just `doing something´ with it."

Now this was an area where my previous time in town didn't help a bit,
but that was okay because I had all the expertise in the world - or at
least in town - sitting right there with me.

"I'll take care of it," Ashley promised, noting my confusion. "Just
place yourself in my capable hands."

"Yeah, right. I don't want to look like I stuck my finger in a light
socket," I said, laughing and tugging at her explosion of curls.

Giggleburst, but a look of quiet pride in Ashley's eyes again. Before
she could say anything though, Mary Cameron grabbed my hair from
behind.

"Oooh, yeah. Let's get her pigtails, and little petticoats for her lacy
dress, and make her look as sweet as Ashley is."

I had a feeling that they wouldn't consider my see-through lace dress 
`sweet´, when they saw it, but that would be my surprise. It
turned out that Ashley was going to the same salon that Natalie used
though, so I figured it would be okay. I agreed to let them take care
of my preparations, at least those leading up to actually getting
dressed.

My afternoon final was German. Ein Problem mit der Wortschatz I had,
for sure. I remembered most of the basic rules, but vocabulary slips
away so fast when you don't use a language. I should have studied more.
Ha! I should have studied at *all*, but there I was worried about my
grades again. In any event, I certainly didn't get out of that final
early, and by the time I got to the parking lot, it was pretty empty.

I didn't mind, actually. I had really been enjoying my time with the
Giggle Gaggle, but there was a sort of unrelenting pressure to
understand everything, to `get the joke´ at least as
quickly as the others. The constant strain of keeping up with things
that were... less interesting to me now (I hadn't been following the
Boy Bands like I should have) made a chance to spend some time alone
seem pretty nice.

The only final I had the next day was in the morning, Journalism, and
at least those skills seemed to hang around a bit better. I was able to
write up a couple of articles from the provided information, covering
the who, what, when, where, why, and how in workmanlike fashion. In
fact, that was my last final, so I was feeling pretty relieved when I
got to the lunchroom.

"Jaymi, sit here," I heard a now-familiar call. I smiled and slid in
next to Ashley.

"So," she said, "you're through, right?"

"I prefer to think of it as, ahem, complete," I sniffed haughtily, then
laughed with the controlled titter required for admittance to the
table.

"What are you gonna do this afternoon?" Kari asked, looking up from a
last minute cram in her Spanish book.

"I don't know, really," I said. "Maybe I'll go run or something."

"In Lakeview park?" Natalie asked oh so casually.

"Probably," I agreed negligently, which set off another giggleburst. I
was feeling pretty clueless until I remembered who else often ran at
that park. That hadn't been what I was thinking about. Honest. At
least, I don't think so.

I blushed as brightly as any time since the first day, but denying it
was *not* going to be helpful. So I ducked behind my hair for a minute
until the echoes died away.

"Do you have any like... exercise clothes?" Kari asked, her eyebrows
doing a Groucho Marx thing that was too corny to give offense.

I decided I might as well give as good as I got, or at least as good as
I could. "Oh, close enough. I've got this hot pink bikini that should
keep me from getting... overheated."

"Damn, Jaymi, if you go running in a bikini, you'll jiggle right out of
the top," Mary claimed. Then she took a deep breath to show off her own
assets and said, "Believe me, I know."

Giggleburst, Richter scale 5, held down because a few were self-
consciously blushing instead of joining in.

"Hmm, you may be right," I observed pretentiously. "Maybe I'll find
some rollerblades or something."

"Good idea, Jaymi," Natalie observed with equal gravity. "That way
you'll be able to go fast enough to keep out of trouble."

"If she wanted to stay out of trouble," Mary observed, "she wouldn't be
going there!"

Then her eyes fell and her giggle strangled itself before the echo of
her comment had died away into the sudden silence. It took me a second
to figure out why, and I might not have if I hadn't seen her look
sideways at me with a guilty expression on her face.

I patted her hand and whispered, "Don't worry about it. I know you were
joking. So was I."

She nodded, but it did hold down the levity for the rest of lunch.
Well, it wasn't a part of my life that filled me with levity, either.
But we all needed to deal with it, in one way or another.

Chapter 17 - "Misquoted"

After we broke up, the idea of a little exercise did sound good, and
there wasn't really any better place to get it than jogging by the
ducks at Lakeview park. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. I
wasn't really expecting to see anyone there. And I was only wearing a
jogbra and shorts because, well, because it was hot.

I didn't see Sean anyway. So there. I pushed it pretty hard for a
couple of miles and was having a private argument with myself on
whether I should stop to feed the ducks when I heard the sound of
heavier footsteps echoing mine.

It was Kit Carson, though, not his cousin. "Hey, Jaymi," he said
quietly as he caught up.

"Kit," I said, trying not to gasp too obviously.

"I hear you're coming to the party," he said. I just nodded. Then he
said, "Would you mind if Natalie and I joined you and Sean for dinner
beforehand?"

By this time I had caught my breath a little. "Not at all. I suppose
you should ask Sean, though. I don't even know where we're going."

"Oh, I can figure that out," he said, grinning. "I want to surprise
Sean. It'll pay him back for... well, for things when we were
growing up."

"Have you two always lived in this area?"

"Nah. I moved here at the start of my freshman year. Sean was already a
junior by then."

The path lifted onto an inclined section and neither of us spoke for a
couple of minutes. I noticed Kit was frowning, but I put it down to
coping with the hill. His frown didn't go away when the path leveled
out, though.

"Jaymi?" he said tentatively.

"Yes?"

"Um, look, Sean is my cousin and all, but... um, don't be
intimidated by him."

"Intimidated?"

"Yeah. I mean, he's a big football hero, and he's always had girls
hanging around. Sometimes he... assumes things that you might not
intend."

"What are you trying to say, Kit?"

"Nothing. Not really. Just... don't be afraid of him. He's really a
nice guy, just... confident."

Like that helped. I tried to think of some way to get Kit to be a bit
clearer, but nothing came to me. All that was clear was that he didn't
want to say anything more anyway. We ran along in silence for a few
more minutes, but it was time for me to slow down and Kit still wanted
to run, so we waved and I watched him as he lengthened a lead on me.

"I wonder what that was all about?" I asked myself. Myself didn't have
any good answers. Neither did the ducks, for all that they were happy
to offer opinions on any number of subjects.

The next day was the last of the school year, only a half day in fact.
Finals were over, but our presence was still required for a big
assembly where the principal made a speech and various awards were
handed out. None of that had any real relevance to me, but I joined
with the other girls in applauding the jocks and laughing at the geeks.
Unfair, of course, since once upon a time I was definitely in the geek
category, but that's the way it is. One thing about that interminable
assembly was that it guaranteed that none of the students wanted to
hang around campus after we were finally released. The thunderclap of
air rushing to fill the resulting vacuum rattled the windows. Or maybe
that was just the sound of all the cars racing each other to get away,
away, anywhere but there.

It turned out to be a very good thing that I had let myself be talked
into going to a salon that afternoon. I had learned several good looks
for the evening, but none of them would have been as perfectly high
school as the one I ended up with, complete with a huge mass of sausage
curls that danced with bouncing energy while still making my neck look
long and slender. My makeup was a bit more... flamboyant than I
would have selected, too. I had never worn silver eyeshadow before, nor
quite so much eyeliner. But that was what the other girls were getting
so I went along. It had the effect of making me look very teen angel,
and I had to admit I liked it. It was also a good thing we had all
afternoon off, because by the time we had hair, face, nails and legs
done, I was feeling the rush of time in a big way.

Time became even more of an issue when I finally got back to my room. I
seriously considered changing my choice of dress for the evening after
I saw the total package. I was definitely not as innocent looking as
the glitzy teen angel makeup implied. Actually, it was and it wasn't.
When I stood still, it almost looked okay, not too short, not too low
in the neckline.

But it was tight enough that breathing was going to be a spectator
sport, not the least of which was because I was wearing my most...
effective corset. It was smallest in the waist - after all, I had
started the corset fad in our group and I wasn't going to be outdone by
anyone else - but what really made it `work´ was the
half-cups in the bra. That, and the fact the lace of the dress was
backed up by sheer silk that allowed my nipples to show if you looked
really carefully. I had a feeling that people were going to look that
closely, too.

The skirt wasn't really any better. At first, it didn't appear too
revealing; only a couple of inches above my knee which was quite long
by Gaggle standards. However, there was this interesting little overlap
slit that didn't show much when I wasn't moving, but went up and up and
... up with every step. That dress was *way* too sophisticated for a
high school party, but... Well, hell, the truth is I looked hot
enough to melt titanium, and this was The Party, the one I couldn't
have bought my way into before.

An inch-wide band of matching lace to accent my throat, chandelier
earrings to call attention to all that neck, rings to show off my
glittering nails, spike heels that would have made Carol wince, and I
was ready. Yeah, right. Any girl that says she was ready when her first
ever real date showed up is a liar. I was so sure that I had forgotten
something that I almost didn't answer the door when I heard the knock.
Grand entrance cliche be damned, I needed a mother to stall while I
checked myself out again to decide what was wrong. And got my way too
obvious breathing back under control, and..

But I didn't have a mother any more, so I made myself go to the door
and open it. I guess nothing was really wrong. At least Sean didn't
think so.

"Wow!" he whispered.

"Thank you," I said, not quite stifling a giggle that demanded release.

After several heartbeats (mine was thudding loudly enough that I could
certainly count every one), I realized he was even more flustered than
I was. It was funny, and I had to tweak him a bit. "Blink, Sean, before
your eyes dry out."

"Whu.. oh, sorry," he said, flushing around his dark beard.

"I'm not," I said airily. "A girl does like to be appreciated."

That helped him to recover a bit more, and he gallantly replied, "Well,
I certainly do appreciate you."

"Thank you, kind sir," I said, dipping into a pretend curtsy that just
happened to show a lot of leg through that devious little slit. I
didn't hold the pose for long, though. As a result, he didn't need to
be reminded to blink again, nor to breathe.

"Um, these are for you" he gulped, then handed me some flowers, red and
white roses in a twirly little wrist corsage that was really quite
sweet.

"Why, thank you, Sean. How sweet." So sue me. I never said I was
subtle, especially not in that dress. He was a college boy. It wasn't
quite like shooting fish in a barrel.

I wrapped the flowers around my wrist and gathered up my purse. Sean
was... watching the whole time, but he managed to stabilize his
breathing in time to ask politely, "Ready to go?"

"I was born ready," I said, laughing lightly. We will politely ignore
my panic of just a few minutes before.

Actually, that panic was really gone. Sean's obvious appreciation of my
appearance had helped, of course, but it was more than that. For all
his roguishly good looks, he was... like a child. Innocent in just
how nasty the world could be. I had been forged in a fire that he had
never even imagined, and thank God most people never would.

It seems silly to talk about a guy who was only a couple of years
younger than me - who looked several years older - as being childlike,
but it's true. And with that realization, my... odyssey into the
world of `insider´ high school girls was complete.
Ironically, now that I knew I could be that type of girl, I didn't need
to be that type of girl anymore. I didn't have anything left to prove,
not to myself anyway. At least, at that very moment I didn't think I
had anything left to prove.

Which didn't mean I didn't have fun. Sean was a perfect gentleman,
opening doors for me, guiding me with a politely placed hand, snarling
silently at the restaurant valet who looked a little too closely at my
... dress.

"Ah, Mr. Adams," the hostess said as we approached. "Your party is
waiting for you."

Sean had visibly swelled with pride at being recognized. Then his
breath whuffed out in a burst when the girl said someone else was
already there. He looked at me sharply for a second, but I had managed
to put a blandly innocent look on my face just in time. I considered
asking a teasing, `who else did you invite?´ but I just
knew if I tried I'd dissolve into giggles.

It was Kit and Natalie, of course. I never did learn how they found out
where we were going, though the presence of several other couples I
knew from school indicated this was a pretty popular place for Party
dates.

"Yo, Cuz," Kit said broadly as we walked up. "Glad you could join us."

I'll give Sean credit for a quick recovery. He smiled ruefully and
accepted the inevitable, pulling out my chair for me and sitting
without comment.

Natalie didn't make any comment either, at least, not with words. Her
eyes were as wide as Sean's had been, though, when she realized how
revealing my dress was... almost was... might be.

I almost lost it in a private giggleburst again when her first word
echoed what Sean had said, complete with the breathy whisper. "Wow!"

"Wow yourself," I countered. She had poured herself into a stretchy
red-sequined mini that was so perfectly `party dress´ that
it should have illustrated a dictionary. With her wearing it. She
looked terrific, but it was so high school, and I knew I was at least a
couple of notches more sophisticated. Meow, meow.

It's a good thing that this was really my last day in town, because I
was so bad. Poor Natalie didn't really have a chance. She did
everything right, but I did everything better.

"What would you like?" Kit asked her.

"I think, I'd like the chicken marsala," she answered softly.

"What would you like?" Sean asked me.

"Oh, Sean, whatever you think is best," I simpered demurely.

That bought me a smile of pride from Sean and a much sharper look from
Natalie. I smiled at her, a challenge in my eyes that was unapologetic.
She rose to the occasion in a way that earned even more of my respect.
I'd underestimated her from the very first day, and she accepted my
challenge with humor and skill. It wasn't enough, but she hadn't had
the experiences that it took to put that extra depth into my eyes. God
forbid she ever would.

After that, we were locked in a friendly battle to convince our dates
they were the most wonderful men ever to breathe. They bought it of
course, never realizing they were just filling in a blank spot in the
game.

"Um, darling," Natalie said softly to Kit at one break in the
conversation - the boys were talking about football and we were
fascinated, of course, "would you mind if I, um, went to powder my
nose?"

"Huh? Oh, sure, go ahead."

Sean had my chair moving so quickly I almost didn't make it back up on
my heels, but I smiled gratefully just the same. No one asked if I felt
the need as well, not even me.

As soon as we were out of whispered earshot, Natalie said, "Ohmigod,
Jaymi, that dress is sooo wicked. I could never wear something that..
bad."

"This?" I said dismissively. "Why, this is just something I found in
the back of my closet." Then I broke the haughty tone by giggling.

Natalie snickered, too. "If I had a dress like that, I'd have to hide
it deep in my closet or I'd be grounded until I was thirty!"

"Yeah, right. Kit can see your heartbeat through that rubber band
you're wearing. I know, because his own pulse is keeping time with
every quiver - and his eyes haven't been anywhere else all evening."

"Quiver is good," she laughed. "But he's been looking at you *way* too
much."

"Yeah, right," I repeated. "Let's go back and ask him what color dress
I'm wearing. Wanna bet he doesn't know?"

"Hell, girl, it's not your dress he's been staring out, and I'll bet he
can tell you all about the color of what's been winking through it all
night."

"Ya think?" I asked, taking as deep a breath as my corset allowed.

"Show off," she sniffed. But I noticed when she came out of the stall
that she had done something to the cups of her own body shaper. You
couldn't tell the color on her... assets, but you could definitely
tell their shape.

"Well, so much for anyone looking at me tonight," I observed.

"Just fighting fire with fire," she claimed.

"Gonna start a pretty good blaze with that look," I predicted.

"Welcome to Party night," she said unrepentantly.

While we were standing at the mirror, Natalie's voice took on a more
serious tone. "Jaymi?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think Sean knows about what... happened to you?"

"I don't know."

"Well, he may. I mean, I haven't told him of course, but, well, word
gets around, you know?"

I sighed. "I'm not surprised."

"What if, I mean, what if he... wants something?"

"Not gonna happen," I said flatly.

Natalie's eyes showed sympathy, and concern of another sort. "He might,
um, be disappointed."

"Yeah, well, life's a bitch and then you die."

"That's cold."

"Frigid, in fact," I said, shrugging.

"Oh, Jaymi, I, oh, I'm so sorry."

Damn. I didn't want the whole evening to revolve around what had
happened to me before. Trying to change the subject, or at least the
tone, I deliberately misinterpreted her remark.

"Why? Have you already had ol' tall, dark, and studly and don't want it
to go to waste? Wanna trade for the evening?"

"What? No!" she gasped, then laughed. "Okay, you got me on that one."

"I'll take care of myself," I promised her. "Let's just have a good
time tonight."

"Deal," she said.

We made our way back to our table to find our dates waiting with
building impatience.

"We didn't figure you girls wanted dessert," Sean explained. "None of
you ever do, and with your figures, well, I'm not going to try and talk
you into changing."

"Nice of you to notice, Sean," I purred while winking at Natalie.

She slid her arm around Kit and cooed, "I'm willing to go if you are,
Kit."

God, we were bad. It didn't get any better after we got to The Party.
In the face of all those cruising carnivores, our dates got hugely
protective. That's what it was, of course, just being protective.
That's why Sean's hands never left my arm, or my waist, or my hip, or.
..

"Watch it, Sean," I warned, pinching the web of his thumb in my nails.
I was trying to decide if that was working. I didn't think any hand I'd
warned like that had roamed again. Of course, since he clearly had at
least 27 hands, I might have lost track of which ones I'd pinched.

"Jaymi!" I heard a high-pitched call.

Turning, I saw an angelic Ashley breaking trail toward me, a grinning
blond hottie in tow.

"Jaymi, this is Bobby Watson," she shouted.

"Pleased to meet you," I yelled back.

He nodded, still grinning.

Leaning close to Ashley's ear, I spoke in a more normal tone of voice,
which qualified as a whisper in there, "You're late."

"We had... something to do first," she said.

I looked into her face for something a little more specific, but
couldn't find a clear answer to my question.

"Are you happy?" I asked, finally.

"Yes," she said simply, but she grabbed her guy's hand and pulled it
around her own waist.

"Good for you," I said, smiling.

That wasn't enough, though. I mean, in some ways it was, but... I
wanted details.

I grabbed her with one hand and yelled at Sean, "Powder break!"

He nodded, letting go of my hand and I towed Ashley to our table so I
could get my purse. When we reached the relative quiet of the powder
room I turned to her.

Before I could get my question out, she said, "No. We talked about it,
but we're going to wait. Bobby is satisfied with that. Well, and with.
.. something else."

"Sounds like you two were made for each other," I said, smiling a
benediction that I had no right to bestow.

"Oh, Jaymi, I hope so," she gushed. Then she laughed and said, "Though
if I hadn't already made... an arrangement with him, I'd worry about
you and that dress. It is soo bad!"

"Ha!" I countered. "Listen, my angelic one, he is the first guy here
tonight who hasn't even looked at me. I'm hurt!"

She giggled and said, "I noticed."

"Braggart! And you said I was bad!"

She ducked her head and blushed, but that look of quiet pride was
stronger than ever. Good for her.

Sean had hit the punch bowl when we returned. More than once,
apparently. But he was a big boy and it didn't impede his energy - nor
his hands - at all. It was flattering, but after a while it got sort of
tiresome, too. The same problem as before resurrected itself. The whole
`outlaw´ Party thing was so... high school. What had
been forbidden before was now so... available - at least in my real
life - that it didn't mean anything.

At a break in the music, Sean asked, "Would you like some air?"

I nodded, grabbing my purse again out of reflex more than a clear sense
of need. We walked out through the grounds of the hotel complex,
enjoying the quiet, holding hands.

"You're very pretty tonight, Jaymi."

"Thank you, Sean."

We passed under a little trellised archway woven with climbing roses,
and Sean stopped. He pulled me into his arms, not at all roughly, but
with a casual strength that made any resistance irrelevant. Not that I
particularly remember resisting.

It was the first time that I ever kissed anyone with a mustache.
Strange sensation. Distracting. That was it. That's why I didn't resist
when he did it again.

He bent me over a bit, molding our bodies together so my smaller arc
nested inside his greater one. That's why I ran out of breath. My
corset was too tight. After a while, anyway.

I might have been past high school in a lot of ways, but I had never
felt so... deliciously helpless, so weak and protected all at the
same time. Part of that was Sean. He was a... masterful kisser,
strong without being abusive, confident while paying attention to my
own needs.

Speaking of needs. Sean whispered into my ear, "I have a room."

Uh, oh. "I don't think that would be a good idea, Sean."

"I could convince you otherwise," he promised.

"I don't think so," I repeated.

"Look, Jaymi, no one who looks as hot as you, who kisses as
passionately as you can really be afraid of sex."

"So I'm asking for it, is that it?" I said, stepping back.

"That's not what I said," Sean replied, his arms tightening with gentle
force, slow but inexorable.

His lips found mine before I had a chance to say anything else, and the
feeling of helplessness returned - part of which was my own desire for
the protection that came with it. I didn't want him to stop kissing me,
but I wouldn't let it, couldn't let it go any further.

"Jaymi," he whispered in my ear. "I know what happened to you, but you
don't need to worry. I'll be gentle."

"I'm not worried," I replied, struggling a little to push back where I
could breathe, where I could think. "I just don't... want to."

"Why not?" Sean asked. "I'm told I'm pretty good in bed, and you are so
sensuous it makes my blood burn. And it's not like you have to protect
your virtue or anything."

That was not a good line to take with me. I may have been raped, but
that hadn't really touched my soul. I wouldn't let it touch my soul.
Not at the time, not in any time to come. My body might have been
violated, but by God my soul had some virtue left.

And then it hit me, with an impact that was all the worse because I
never should have forgotten, not even for an instant. I was not really
a high school girl. I was a con artist. Lying about everything. What
sort of virtue was there in that? Sean was a lot closer to right in his
assumption than I had been in my automatic denial.

Which didn't help at all. I squirmed to be let free, demanding it this
time. "Sean, please take me home."

"Oh, no, Jaymi, don't be that way. Look, let's just go back into the
party. When you calm down, we'll... talk again."

"Sean, please take me home. Now."

He reached out to put his arm around me again, sliding it over the taut
globes of my fanny on its way to my waist.

I over-reacted, more from shame than because of anything he had really
done. He truly had been a gentleman all evening, really. Close enough,
anyway, for a scene with the reputation of The Party. It was me that
was wrong to take so much offense. I knew that even as I reached for
his hand with something that El Supremo never taught me. In a lot less
time than it takes to tell it, it was over.

Sean looked up at me from where he lay on the path, trying not to add
any pressure to the strain in his shoulder.

"Good night, Sean," I said flatly, then let him go. I turned back up
the path to the front of the hotel.

"Jaymi, wait! I'm sorry."

Not as sorry as I was, but things had gone too far to turn back now.

To his credit, he hadn't tried to follow me. He had stood up, but he
waited where we had been standing under that little arbor. It wasn't
fear that held him, not some worry that I would do something to him
again. I knew that, somehow. It was honest respect for my feelings.

That hurt even worse, because I had been the one who had been treating
everyone else without respect, with my lie, with my fraud. I owed him
at least something.

"I'm sorry, Sean," I said, turning back to look at him. "This was a
mistake - my mistake - not your fault."

"Please, Jaymi, come back inside," he said.

"I can't," said softly.

"Then wait here," he suggested. "I'll go get Natalie, or Ashley. Talk
with them. Just don't go away like this."

I owed them at least as much, had taken advantage of their friendship
at least as terribly as I had taken advantage of Sean's interest.
Running away like a coward wasn't right; I needed to face the music. So
I nodded, not meeting Sean's eyes.

I heard him move away and turned to look up at the moon shining through
the branches of the little garden spot. Everything was as perfect as
things could be. The weather was warm, the sky was clear, the people I
had met had been open and accepting. God had I screwed up!

"Jaymi?" Natalie's voice reached out tentatively.

"Hi, Natalie," I replied softly.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Everything. Me."

By this time she had reached me and wrapped her arms around me. Like
that helped. It did, of course, but what it also did was break my last
strands of self-control and I was instantly sobbing helplessly. I felt
more than saw Ashley join us, and someone's gentle pressure led us to a
seat under a gazebo.

"Tell us what happened," whispered Natalie. "Tell us what Sean did."

"Nothing. He didn't do anything, except... be nice. It wasn't him."

They sat in silence for a long moment. Later, I would remember the next
thing that Natalie did and give her even higher marks for brains and
sensitivity than she had earned before. At the time, I was shocked.

What she did was make a joke. "Gee, if we go inside and tell everyone
that you were upset because Sean was too nice, they're not going to
believe it."

Ashley gasped, worried that I would find Natalie's remark cruel and
taunting. Maybe I should have, if I were still playing that game. But I
was the wrongdoer here, and the idea of Sean being embarrassed for
merely kissing a pretty girl - after all one might imagine he had done
with other girls - was too silly for words.

It stopped me in my tracks, or in my tears. I wasn't quite to the point
where I could laugh, but somehow I wasn't crying anymore, either. And I
found myself defending him. Or my claim that he was nice, or something.

"All he did was kiss me," I said.

"Good kisser?" asked Natalie with deceptive casualness.

I didn't answer, at least not with words, but I felt my face soften
with the memory.

"I think we can take that as a yes," Natalie judiciously informed
Ashley.

"Definitely," Ashley replied, beginning to get into the swing of
things.

"So, your problem is that all he did was kiss you. Is that what you're
saying?" Natalie continued.

"I can see why that would be disappointing," Ashley said before I could
respond. "But there's other boys out there. Surely someone will find
you attractive enough to... do more than kiss you."

"Oh, you," I said, finally smiling.

"So, what really happened?" asked Natalie, picking up on my changed
mood.

"Well," I sighed, "all he really did was kiss me. But he, um, offered
to do more, and when I said no, he... oh, God, he was probably
trying to be `understanding´ by saying it doesn't matter
what... happened to me before. Like bringing that up helped
anything."

"Men," the other two sniffed in such perfect unison it had to be
rehearsed.

At that I did laugh, at least a little, but it also brought my mind
back to the real issue. I sighed again, but straightened.

"Look, guys, I haven't been honest with you," I began, searching for a
lie that was as close to the truth as I could get. "This was all a sort
of.. test for me, to see if I'm, um, ready to, um, fit in, as a
normal girl. I think the answer is no. I have to deal with that, with
what happened to me, with boys and what that means, with a lot of
things. I thought I was ready, but... I'm obviously not."

"It's not Sean's fault, not at all," I said forcefully. "It's me, but.
.. I think I need to... go away again. I mean, go back to Montana
and some, um, friends I have there."

"Oh, no, Jaymi, don't say that!" Ashley cried.

"It's for the best," I said calmly. I really was calm about it. I mean,
there was always going to come a time when I had to leave. In fact, the
next day. I never expected to get so emotionally involved - no lie
there - but I knew I was going to have to go. This was as good an
excuse as any, and better than just disappearing. That whole line of
reasoning was finally sinking into my thick head. This was an
opportunity, not a problem. At least for me.

I stood up. "Look, I really do have to go. I have some friends I can,
um, talk with about this. They've helped me before. It's for the best."

They had stood up with me. I wrapped my arms around Ashley, resolute,
but quiet. She was crying now, but she saw my determination. I hugged
Natalie next. She wasn't crying. She had the wisdom, and the respect
for me, that she accepted my decision.

"When will you leave?" she asked quietly.

"As soon as possible. Maybe tonight. If not, then early in the
morning."

She looked at me, directly and intensely, then looked away.
Unfortunately for her, if she wanted to hide her eyes she looked in the
wrong direction and I saw a definite shine that she was trying to
control.

"Tell Sean that... I'm sorry," I said quietly. Natalie nodded.

"Natalie... " I paused, trying to find the words. "And you, too,
Ashley. I promise you that I'll be okay. And... I swear to you that
I have *never* had such special girlfriends, such wonderful friends in
my life. I'll never ever forget you."

***

Sandy jerked, suddenly recovering from the world of her memories to
look around the dark parking garage. A guilty look came into her eyes
as she looked at her team-mates. She shrugged sheepishly, then said,
"At the time, I thought I was telling the truth. But really, you guys
are my best friends ever - the whole team. And I wouldn't have it any
other way."

There was an awkward moment, as they tried to deal with the intensity
of the emotions that had been pouring out of Sandy. Surprisingly, it
was Vanna who found a way to relieve the moment.

"So, Sandy, just what *is* it like to kiss a guy with a mustache?"

Chapter 18 - "Mystified"

Red eyes on both Jacqui and Sandy the next morning were more than
enough of a clue for the always-sensitive Marilyn to realize something
else had gone on the night before. She suggested to Jennings that it
would be a good idea for Jacqui to go flying somewhere - anywhere that
Oz wasn't - to gain some emotional space to deal with her new
perception of herself. Since no pilot would turn down a chance to fly,
that got the newest team member safely out of the way while Marilyn
discussed what had happened with the others.

"Okay, ladies, we all know we screwed up. Let's discuss how and what we
do about it."

"Screwed up?" Sandy asked tentatively, her question failing miserably
in its attempt to portray innocence.

Marilyn didn't dignify that with an answer. But, true to form, she took
the first share of blame on herself. "I never should have allowed that
sort of shock to Jacqui. She's had a lifetime of looking at herself one
way, and we turned that totally upside down. If *any*one should be
sensitive to that, it's us."

"Jacqui's pretty tough," Carol observed.

"Yeah, like a diamond," Vanna countered. "Hard, but touch it the wrong
way and it shatters into dust."

"Is that what happened?" asked Jaymi. "Did Oz 'touch her the wrong
way'?"

"Hardly," Sandy replied. "Just the opposite. He touched buttons in her
that she thought weren't connected to anything. Maybe they weren't,
until we hooked them up for her."

"That may be the case," Marilyn said, picking up again. "Look, Jacqui
is like us, but she's not like us, too. None of us have ever been
physically intimidating, yet we were brought up to think that we should
be, that `being a man´ meant being tough and strong. Jacqui
is just the opposite. She was always told that she should be weak and
pliant - or at least that's typical for young women, especially petite
ones. She chose to reject that, to tell herself it wasn't right for
her, to put on a shell that hid her feminine softness behind a
pseudo-masculine hardness."

"Then she found herself with her softness all exposed, and treasured by
a tall, supremely masculine man. And she responded. She didn't even
have the excuse of being drunk since she wasn't drinking last night.
Her whole self image came tumbling down. The value system on which she
had based her life looked... flawed."

"I still say," Carol repeated, "that Jacqui is tough. And that's not
dependent on physical size. For damn sure *we* should know that, too."

"You're right," Marilyn nodded. "But we, all of us, have become...
well, if not arrogant than at least secure in our strength, in our
power. We run in a pack, know how good we look at an intuitive level,
and are confident that we can handle - at least within our pack - just
about any physical situation we encounter."

Sandy twitched at this, then sent a guilty look toward Vanna. Marilyn
noted it, but filed the topic away for a moment longer. "Let me ask
this. How many of you have really surrendered to a man - to the point
that you were glad you were smaller, and weaker, and softer? That's not
just about sex - maybe not even primarily about sex."

Jaymi's hand raised without hesitation. Vanna's joined it a heartbeat
later, a smile tugging at her lips in a memory that was clearly
satisfying. After a few seconds, Sandy's raised as well, though that
look of guilt was back in her eyes.

Marilyn nodded, gave Sandy a small smile that directed patience, and
said, "Call it two and a half. Jaymi, we all know you're a, um, `
special´ case. Vanna, tell us how long it took you to get to that
point."

Vanna's eyes refocused from the memories that had momentarily
captivated her. She sat a little straighter and looked back at Marilyn.
"I've already done that, since we were all there when I talked about
what I did on furlough. I guess you'd have to say it has taken, well,
since we started all this. And even then, I did it in stages; first
learning to appreciate the appearance of being a soft and gracious
woman, then learning the, um, rest later."

"And we gave Jacqui, what, about an hour? Then we dropped her, coated
in honey in a world full of bears and expected her to cope. That's not
being a good team."

Even Carol nodded at that image. "So, what do we do?"

Now Marilyn looked at Sandy, who nodded and couldn't keep an ironic
grin off her full lips as she said, "We, that is, Vanna and I, have
already committed to teach her how to be a woman."

"Is that what she wanted?" Marilyn asked.

"Yes, definitely," Sandy confirmed, backed up by a nod from Vanna. "She
didn't think she could learn all the - what did she call it? - frilly
things. She thought that chance had passed her by. But she surely wants
to."

"Because that's what she thinks it will take for Oz to like her?" Carol
said with a frown.

"Maybe," Sandy admitted. "But that just makes what Marilyn had to say
all the more correct. We can't let Jacqui be swept off her feet by the
first man to kiss her."

"Exactly," Marilyn said. She sighed and continued, "I think I'll need
to have a talk with Jacqui. I don't want to turn her against Oz. He
might be just the ticket for her. But he might not. We've got to help
her gain a little perspective so she's not mystified by ol' Tall, Dark,
and Handsome."

"In the meantime," she concluded, taking in the whole team with a
glance. "We're all going to help her with girl lessons. Lord knows
we're expert in that, and we learned it the hard way just as Jacqui
will have to learn it."

"Now," Marilyn said, turning to look at Sandy. Her voice was soft
though her questions were probing. "Why are your eyes so red? Why do
you twitch when I talk about getting physical? And why in the world do
you feel guilty about surrendering to a man? I'd have thought that if
you got over what had happened to you enough to enjoy being kissed,
well, that should be a good thing."

Instead of answering, Sandy put her face in her hands and started to
weep again. Vanna moved to put her arms around her friend, and started
explaining for her.

"I guess she's not really `over´ it," the elegant blonde
said. "Last night, we were accosted by a, well, I guess I'll say a 
`would-be´ rapist, since he didn't get what he wanted. But
there wasn't any doubt about what he wanted."

"And you didn't report it?" Marilyn asked sharply.

"There wasn't really that much to it," Vanna offered as an excuse.
"Sandy disarmed him, but... "

"But what?" demanded Marilyn.

Sandy's voice whispered out from between her hands, "But I almost
killed him, and after I had disarmed him. I almost killed him with his
own knife after he was no longer a valid threat."

"I... see," Marilyn said slowly, but her dark lips showed a frown.
"I get the feeling that's not all of it."

Sandy just shook her head. After a moment, when she didn't say
anything, Vanna filled in again. "She, on her furlough, she was kissed
by a guy, but he wanted more, and she, um, didn't react in a very
ladylike way."

"Dear lord, the mind boggles," gasped Carol.

Vanna twitched a bit, obviously struggling with a decision on whether
to reveal more of what was another person's secret. She didn't have to
resolve that, because Sandy visibly squared her shoulders, dropped her
hands and sat up.

"I didn't hurt him," she claimed. "But I did put a guy on the ground -
a nice guy who didn't really deserve it.""

"So, you need a little help with perspective, too?" Marilyn concluded.

Sandy nodded, not making any excuses. Marilyn smiled to show she
recognized the courage in that simple acceptance, but her words were
for the group as a whole. "Okay. I think we've learned a few things
here today. One; we're not as well integrated into our feminine roles
as we might have thought - not the least of which is that we don't know
how to help a real woman with some of life's little challenges. Two;
we're not working well enough as a team - and that includes Jacqui. We
need to get inside each other's heads well enough that we know how we
will react, including when we are going to have trouble. Both of those
are clearly my responsibility.. "

She was interrupted by a chorus of denial, but she raised her own voice
to carry over the others. "*Both* of those are clearly my
responsibility. But, as always, I'll meet that by assigning the real
work to you."

The last was said with a smile, followed immediately by a grimace as
she said. "Well, except for my upcoming meeting with Jennings. I'm
going to have to dance around some security issues there."

"Ask him where his accent went last night," Jaymi suggested with her
own smile.

Carol giggled and said, "And if that doesn't work, start dancing with
him again. Wiggle your tush and get him to pinch it."

"You *saw* that?" Marilyn gasped, blushing.

"I also saw that you didn't slap him for it," Jaymi said, grinning.

"So, you owe him one, hmmmm?" Sandy said, trying to get back into her
natural light-hearted mood. "I think he's going to find out he bit off
a little more than he can chew."

"Oooh, that sounds interesting!" Carol laughed.

It didn't reduce Marilyn's blush at all, but it did add a interestingly
feral twist to her smile as she rose to go to her meeting.

***

"Fweeeet, ffwwwoooo!!"

The unabashed whistle re-ignited a flare in Jacqui's cheeks that had
become all too common. In the first few days after the awakening of her
femininity, it would have caused her nearly to stumble off her towering
heels as she tried to see who was teasing her. Now, she barely broke
stride. Whether that was due to familiarity with being whistled at or
the rigors of her training in `girl´ was hard to say at
that point, and probably immaterial.

Actually, the changes had been relatively subtle, for all that their
effect was anything but subtle. Though nearly every inch of her skin
was covered by the space suit she wore constantly, its body-conscious
tightness was as revealing of her decidedly feminine curves as anything
she could wear in public - at least legally. But she had been wearing
that outfit, including the stiletto heels, before.

What had changed wasn't limited to what showed above the high collar,
though that had definitely improved. There, under the other girls'
skillful tutelage, she had learned to apply cosmetics with restraint,
passing rapidly through the inevitable clown stages in the privacy of
their quarters. Her hair, though not gelled up into the lion mane
wildness of her first real hairstyle, bounced lightly in a smooth
pageboy that framed new earrings sparkling in the bright Houston
sunlight.

All that was real, and effective, but - at least on a relative scale -
minor. It was the way she moved that had really undergone a transition,
and it was that which most often provoked a sign of appreciation from
observers.

Jacqui had learned to flow. Her body eased through the world like a
jaguar sliding silently through a forest - moving past obstacles as
though they, and not the sleek cat, were deviating from a direct path.
In two days her now-released natural grace had her moving more
sensually than any of the team but Marilyn and Sandy. In two weeks,
even Marilyn couldn't match the feline frolic demonstrated by Jacqui.
Of course, Marilyn didn't particularly want to, since her own jiggles
were as deliberate as her vacuous smiles.

If it hadn't been for the results of Marilyn's meeting with Jennings,
Jacqui - and the rest of the team - would have been having a wonderful
time.

Not that the meeting had gone poorly. Quite the opposite, in fact.

***

"Marilyn, c'mon in and set yourself down," Jennings had welcomed her.

The curvy blonde approached the offered seat cautiously, not sure how
to handle his expansive mood. The night before, his expression had been
ominous to say the least.

"Y'all are prob'ly wonderin' why I called you in here today," he began.

At her nod, Jennings manner changed. The good ol' boy was gone, and in
his place was a tough, professional executive. In clipped, precise
tones he said, "It's time we quit playing games with each other."

Then he picked up a folder off his desk and handed her a sealed
envelope with her name on it. He smiled as he did it - not the easy
cowboy smile he often showed, but a sharp, self-amused grin like a
shark might display.

"I'll bet you I can tell you what's in that envelope," he declared.

Marilyn offered him that challenge in the tilt of her head, but she
quickly opened the envelope. An astute observer could have seen a
slight tension in her shoulders, followed by a much less subtle
sharpness in her glance as she looked again at Jennings.

To her surprise, he didn't speak. He just took another item from his
folder and handed it to her. After she had a moment to look at it, he
repeated his offer, "I'll bet you another dinner that same data was in
your envelope."

"No bet," Marilyn said, smiling, but nodding the point to him.

"So, you want to tell me what's going on?"

Marilyn took a sheet out of her own envelope, and handed it to him.
Jennings quickly absorbed the contents, then handed it back to her.

"Damn, Ah gotta get me one a' them," he said, sinking back into his
chair and into his accent at the same time. "So, y'all are guv'mint
agents - from some agency that Ah noticed ain't identified - who are
here at the personal request a' th' President himself."

"That should be, `th' President *his*self´, shouldn't it?"
Marilyn asked, smiling.

"What? Oh, yeah, you're prob'ly right," Jennings replied with his own
smile. "Y'know, after a while, it gets way too easy to hide behind the
masquerade - but I suppose I'm glad that I don't lose myself in it
completely."

"Tell me about it," Marilyn countered wryly.

"Heh, yeah, I expect it is even harder for you."

"So," Jennings continued, reclaiming a bit of respect by drawing the
next conclusion on his own. "If that letter from the President tells me
you're agents, but not from what agency, I don't suppose you're going
to tell me either."

"No," Marilyn replied, a pout forming on her full lips as she said,
"and you're not going to make an issue of that, are you?"

Jennings shook his head. "Well, that note asks that whoever you show it
to will kindly assist you in any way possible. That's a hell of a blank
check, but I had intended to help you anyway. That's why I gave you our
own data on last night's incident. I'm guessing this is all related."

The data Jennings had shared, which was indeed repeated in Marilyn's
envelope, was a report of an object de-orbiting and splashing down in
an empty part of the Pacific Ocean. What made the data particularly
interesting was that it appeared to be debris from Seward's Space
Facility. However, the orbital mechanics were not consistent with
simple debris.

"Would you mind telling me what this data indicates to you?" Marilyn
asked.

"Well, it's obvious it came from the space station. But the trajectory
indicates something of pretty high sectional density, yet it came down
too quickly for atmosphere-induced orbital decay. That thing was
deliberately de-orbited, and it hit the water at a hellacious speed."

His grin showed he was about to do something showy, and he did. "So,
Seward has Brilliant Pebbles up there, doesn't he?"

Marilyn's widened eyes were enough of an answer for him to proceed to
his next conclusion. "And you and the other women are going to try and
stop him from, well, whatever he's threatening to do with them."

"Not just try," Marilyn corrected him with quiet determination.

"I don't want Jacqui getting hurt," Jennings said firmly. "She's not
one of you agents. She's one of my pilots, and I'll bounce her from
this mission if it's too dangerous. To hell with what the President
says."

"I believe you would," Marilyn said. "But there truly shouldn't be any
risk, at least not for her. She's not getting off the shuttle."

"I don't like the sound of that, the part about risk to the other
girls, um, women, I mean. What's wrong?"

Marilyn shrugged and said, "I just wish we had a chance to practice on
the actual, um, mission a bit more. You NASA types don't go to the
bathroom without nine kinds of simulation, but our real mission is not
quite what we've been training for."

"Why? I mean, why not? Surely we can set up something."

"Well, aside from the security aspect, we don't know that much about
the interior of Seward's station. I have a plan for the actual assault,
but all we've got to go on are external surveillance photos..."

"Well, li'l lady, y'all shoulda come to ol' Waylon sooner," Jennings
said, leaning back in his seat. "It jus' so happens, that Ah have
interior layouts a' the whole station."

"How'd you get those? Nobody has seen the interior, at least, not past
the entrance chamber. Nobody who'll talk, in any event."

"Well, now, there's talkin' and then there's talkin'," replied
Jennings. "Ah jus' happen to have some design studies - studies only,
o' course - which jus' happen to have been shared - unofficially - at a
recent design conference. They ain't labeled, but Ah'll jus' bet Ah kin
guess where they came from."

Marilyn's delighted smile would have warmed the heart of a man much
less interested in curvy blondes than Jennings. He beamed his own grin
at her and leaned forward, "Now, why don' you tell ol' Waylon what
y'all plan to do, an' we'll see what we kin work out."

***

Jennings had been as good as his word, and the team's training
exercises had been adjusted to provide the skills that were needed.
That included skills no one outside the team was aware of, like Vanna
learning to throw knives in the zero-g simulation of the arcing
airliner. Jennings also arranged for a small-scale model of Seward's
folly to be built, allowing the team to review the steps of the plan
over and over until each team member - including Jacqui, though she was
irreplaceable as pilot and would not actually leave the shuttle - knew
all team assignments at every point of the actual assault.

It had, however, kept them very, very busy; too busy for them to find
time to enjoy Jacqui's butterfly transition even as they worked to make
it happen. At least, everyone but Jacqui was too busy.

Jacqui and Oz.

After the third time Jacqui returned with smudged lipstick from a 
`solo´ lesson in girlhood, Marilyn decided she needed to
take a little action. A behind-the-scenes call to Sam Gates and Oz
Anderson finally got the chance to visit Australia. To the rest of the
team's credit, none offered any homilies about absence making the heart
grow fonder. Of course, the fire in Jacqui's eyes might have made that
simple survival.

The team had one advantage in their astronaut training, relative to the
first American astronauts at least. The early astronaut candidates,
Mercury 7 and subsequent groups, were all military pilots, all very fit
and pre-qualified for the physical rigors of flight. As a result, much
of their selection process focused on motivation. The screening tests
deliberately tested not only physical abilities but mental commitment,
and were often deliberately demeaning or needlessly painful as a way to
weed out candidates.

The girls never had to face those sorts of obstacles. Of course, they
were not as well prepared for the rigors of spatial disorientation and
zero-g, so they had plenty of rides in the zero-g simulation transport.
That seemed as unpleasant as anything the `real´ astronauts
might have faced - at least to them. Still, they stayed with it,
bolstered by Jacqui's steady presence; now a full member of the team
except for one special secret.

Marilyn called her group together several weeks later, excitement
showing despite her always-disciplined self-control. "We've been
accepted!" she said.

"By Seward?" Sandy guessed quickly.

"Yes," confirmed Marilyn. "He's seen our team photo - not surprisingly
that was important to him - and he's approved our `servicing´
 mission."

"`Servicing´ is right," Vanna snorted. "That pig is
probably slobbering all over our pictures."

"`Slobbering´ is not the word I would have used," Carol
said with a smirk. "Though what he's really doing would be at least as
... hard... to clean up."

Jacqui snorted. "He can't.. I mean, he wouldn't really expect...
would he?"

"Darlin'" Carol replied. "You wouldn't believe what some people
expect."

"I can't believe you agreed to that," Jacqui said, looking at Marilyn.

"All we agreed to was that we would accomplish the stated mission
requirements, including wearing these outfits," Marilyn said. "But it
doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out why he wants only pretty
women on his crews."

Jacqui nodded absently, her eyes unfocused as she tried to absorb this
new information. Jaymi took that opportunity to ask a question of her
own, though it was one they all wanted to know.

"When?"

"Countdown, at least the part we have to be there for, starts in two
days," Marilyn replied simply. "The launch window is pretty small
because of the high inclination of his station orbit. It seems the
regular crew had some visa problems and won't be able to clear Customs
before the window closes. I can just about guarantee that."

"Won't he be suspicious?" asked Vanna.

Carol's voice took on a throaty purr as she said, "Would you complain,
if women as beautiful as we are asked to visit you?"

Marilyn laughed, but she said, "Actually, we're expecting him to be
suspicious, but we're also counting on his ego. He'll think he's safe
behind his pheromone defenses."

"We'll just have to... show him the error of his ways," Sandy said
resolutely. The rest of the team nodded in agreement.

Chapter 19 - "Misogynist"

The time until launch seemed to evaporate like ice cream in the hot
Florida sun, leaving a blurry residue of memories of last-minute tests
and training that made the actual launch seem like just another drill.

Until they started heading up. And up.

It didn't take a very large portion of the ten minutes at high thrust
to make it clear this was no drill. The first staging was also their
first zero-g period - and for the first time they were grateful for the
prior experience in the Vomit Comet. The next stage engines kicked in
quickly, followed by yet another staging and more zero-g. By then they
were in `outer space´, well above the 50-mile limit to
qualify for astronaut status. It also meant that the remaining engines
could nudge them into higher orbit more gradually, with less thrust
though for a relatively longer period.

After a time that seemed very long to those in the mid-bay and very
short to the busy pilots, Jacqui leaned back and smiled at Vanna.

Vanna smiled back, pointed at her nav display, and confirmed what
Jacqui's own instruments had told her. "Yep. From here, we just keep on
falling. Welcome to space."

"You okay back there?" Jacqui asked of the remaining crew.

"Just fine," Marilyn promised, hoping as she looked at Carol that it
was true. Carol seemed okay though, showing enough interest in the view
through a port to make any motion sickness seem unlikely.

"Okay," Jacqui said. "You can unstrap and move around. Next mid- orbit
burn in 45 minutes."

"Roger that," Jaymi said jauntily, grinning at Sandy. Then she pulled
off her elliptical helmet, put her hand over the mike near her lip and
whispered, "Did you ever think you'd make it into space when you were
growing up?"

"Absolutely," Sandy replied as she pulled of her own oversized hard
hat. Then she carefully covered her own mike and whispered, "Doesn't
every little boy dream of being an astronaut?"

Jaymi's nod was interrupted by Jacqui's curious voice. "What did you
say, Sandy?"

The purple-clad pilot had drifted into the mid-bay with a soundlessness
that wasn't possible when fettered by gravity.

"Oh, I, um, was just talking with Jaymi. She asked if I had ever talked
about being an astronaut when I was growing up."

Jacqui laughed and grinned at the innocent-looking girl. "Oh, and your
friends were boys even when you were a little girl? Didn't you play
house with other little girls?"

Carol came to her rescue. Laughing good-naturedly, she poked at Jacqui
and said, "Look, shorty, some of us learned that playing with boys was
fun at a very early age."

"I guess I did, too," Jacqui admitted, no real apology in her tone.

By then the whole team had found a port to look through. Jaymi, as the
mission specialist responsible, opened the bay doors to get the
radiators on line and that gave them additional windows on their
suddenly expanded universe. Despite the tightness of their team, the
girls immediately divided into two groups; those who just wanted to
look out the ports, and those for whom it wouldn't be real if it
weren't recorded on film.

Then there was a third group, created by Marilyn as she tugged at
Jacqui's arm. "You got a minute?"

"I've got, um, 8 minutes, actually," Jacqui said, grinning. "Before I
have to start working on the next burn."

Marilyn smiled back and said, "Let's find a place to talk."

On the cramped shuttle there weren't many places that could be
considered private, but the rest of the team knew what was going on so
they stayed behind while Marilyn and Jacqui returned to the flight
deck. Marilyn was clearly uneasy about what she had to say, and Jacqui
noticed. That was not particularly noteworthy - neither that Marilyn
was a little uneasy with their newest team member, nor that Jacqui was
sensitive enough to notice - but what Jacqui said was a surprise.

"No, I don't blame you for sending Oz to Australia," Jacqui announced.

"I, uh, what?"

"Oh, Marilyn, you don't need to den mother me," Jacqui laughed, then
her own expression changed as her humor became more self-directed. "Or
maybe you did. I have to admit, if the zipper on this silly skinsuit
had been a little easier to reach... "

"But, it wasn't," Jacqui continued. "I have to admit, Oz got my
afterburner heated up a couple of times. But now that I've been, that
my hormones haven't been doing my thinking for me, I'm glad to have had
a little room to breathe."

"So, you're happy with the way things turned out?" asked a very
relieved Marilyn.

"Oh, hell yes!" Jacqui laughed. "God, I still get aroused just looking
at myself in a mirror. It's like I've got a lifetime of sensuality
bottled up inside of me that I've never noticed before. Of course, part
of that is just keeping up with the other girls - and you. Lordy, I was
really the odd duck before. But you can't hang around Sandy, or Carol
for very long without appreciating what God gave all women to work
with."

"Um, yes," Marilyn murmured, though Jacqui didn't notice her
distraction.

"But," Jacqui continued, "I'm still learning to use these new weapons
you've, um, armed for me, and Oz was way out of my league."

"Only in experience," Marilyn corrected her.

Jacqui nodded. "Yes, and that's part of what I've realized since he's
been away. I started out replaying all my memories of him like a
lovesick school girl. And that included the memories from before he
showed any interest in me. He can be a real macho bum, but he can be
charming, too. Sorting that out will take a while."

"Damn, Jacqui, maybe I should be asking *you* for advice."

"Not hardly," Jacqui snorted. "God knows what I would have done if Oz
hadn't been sent away. But now... well, I think I'm ready for round
two."

"Good for you. And my money is on you, for sure."

Jacqui laughed again, ostentatiously patting her hair and arching her
back to display her.. assets to best advantage. The effect wasn't
quite what she expected - since in their weightless condition her
assets had a very unusual motion. Highly interesting - one might even
say `breathtaking´ - but not exactly what that trained pose
would have accomplished on earth. They both broke into laughter at the
sight, giggling with a shared though unspoken image of what poor ol'
Oz's eyes would have looked like if he tried to analyze that particular
orbit.

"Oh, God, we have *got* to get some movies of that," Marilyn gasped.

"Not on a bet!" Jacqui countered. "At least, not unless we get all the
girls in the film."

"Don't tempt me," Marilyn countered. "It would make one hellacious
recruiting film, don't you think?"

"For what, horny goats like Oz and Waylon?"

"It's a start," Marilyn observed judiciously, prompting another round
of shared snickers.

"You two sniffing at the laughing gas again?" Sandy asked, calling from
the mid-deck. "It's not polite not to share you know."

"Oh, Sandy," Jacqui promised. "You would definitely need to share in
it."

"Oh?" Sandy said, but her curiosity was not to be satisfied.

Jacqui raised an eyebrow at Marilyn, then turned to her displays.
Marilyn just shook her head, smiling at Sandy but holding the reason
for their mirth as a private moment between the pilot and herself.

The demands of orbital mechanics made the old Army complaint about 
`hurry up and wait´ seem mild by comparison. Despite a speed
of over 18,000 miles per hour, their approach to Seward's Folly seemed
glacially slow. Every thrust took a counter thrust, and the total of
all their speed changes (`delta-V´) was strictly limited.
As a result, they'd thrust just enough to gain a little speed on their
target, then wait patiently while they drifted closer.

Once their orbit matched that of the space station closely enough that
they were on a constant bearing angle, Jacqui aimed an antenna and
called to the man they knew only through news reports and old photos.

"Seward's Station, Shuttle Echo, ready for approach."

"Right. Activate your onboard cameras."

"Roger," Vanna replied, flipping the switches that sent images from all
parts of their shuttle to the waiting recluse.

"Very nice," the voice purred - not a soft sound at all, more like the
rasp of a rattlesnake's rattle. "You're cleared for the approach."

Seward's Folly showed the typical sprawled out look of `real´
 space stations, so different from the classic rotating wheel.
Huge solar arrays dominated the design, with the actual living spaces
only a small portion of the whole and not nearly enough to justify a
ring of any meaningful size. In this particular case, there were
additional reasons not to introduce a centrifugal pseudo-gravity. Arms
with laboratories or processing chambers for the zero-g pharmaceuticals
which were the station's nominal reason for existence stretched off as
spindly branches in several directions. In addition, there was one arm
of particular interest that had not been on the pirated plans.

"Those must be the Brilliant Pebbles," Vanna pointed as they drifted
closer.

She routed a camera view to the screens in front of each team member -
though not visible to Seward's watching cameras. What they saw was a
grid of oddly shaped rods, illuminated by the bright Earth in a way
that glinted off reflecting surfaces without really revealing the
nature of the objects. Jaymi worked her own camera controls to zoom in
on a portion of the arm holding the devices.

"Looks like a single major harness running back toward that round
module."

Sandy compared the view to what she had studied on the station. "If the
plans we have are right, that module should be - let me think -
Computing Module 3. It also controls power for that whole side of the
station."

"Right, that's what I remember, too," confirmed Jaymi.

They neared the docking port, short blasts of maneuvering thrusters
roaring on and off as their path became constrained ever more tightly.
Jacqui's piloting skills were up to the task and with a minimum of
wasted fuel she nudged them to mate with the docking tube.

"Seward, Shuttle Echo, docked," Jacqui reported.

The next command from the raspy speakers was expected, though it had
not been included in the official instructions. "Very well, all of you
move to the mid-deck and ventilate your cabin with station air."

Though expected, it should have been a surprise so of course they were
`surprised´, at least that's how they acted. Vanna, as
co-pilot, took her cue.

"Say again, Seward? We need to be careful about contamination."

"So do I," the voice said. "I have some... sanitizing agents in my
station air to make sure you don't introduce any germs up here."

"Can't we, um, just do a sample or something?" Jacqui asked. "After
all, some of what we're bringing you is fresh oxygen. Your station air
must be, um, well-used by now."

"This is non-negotiable," Seward said. "If I don't see all six of you
on the mid-deck in the next 30 seconds, with air ventilated 30 seconds
after that, I'll block access to the station and, well, you don't want
to know the rest."

"Chill," Carol said, interjecting herself into the conversation in a
way that seemed to chastise her crewmates. "We're going to board the
station in a little while anyway. Sharing air is no big deal. Let's do
what the man says."

"A good plan," the dry voice sneered.

The girls assembled in the largest compartment on the shuttle, then
Vanna worked the controls to share air with the station. The results of
that action were unprofessional, but undeniable.

"Oh, God!... Damn that's good... Ooooohhh yessssss."

The girls' voices squeaked out in uncontrolled reaction to the effect
of Seward's invisible security interrogation - all but one of the
girls, that was. Jacqui blushed a very fiery red that clashed
desperately with her purple skinsuit - not that she noticed - but her
only verbal response was a stifled grunt. More... direct responses
showed as well in the form of hard buttons that popped into sharp
relief in deliberately thin portions of her skin-tight flight suit. All
of the suits. It wasn't enough for the lurking `host´.

"You, in the purple, approach the camera," Seward's voice ordered. "You
would be... Jacqui Cleaver, right?"

"That's right," Jacqui said through gritted teeth, panting in her
effort not to surrender to the sensations singing in her most intimate
nerves.

"That's close enough," Seward said, when she had turned to face the
camera and moved to within a few feet. Complying with his next order
was less easy for Jacqui.

"Take off your suit," he said bluntly.

"What?"

"You heard me. My `sanitizing´ agent is really female human
pheromones. It assures me that you are truly women, or at least it
should. Your response to my pheromones was not... convincing. I want
to see you naked, or I'll... "

"You can take a flying leap out an airlock, for all I care," Jacqui
snarled, starting to turn away.

"What's your home town?" Seward asked in an apparent non sequitur.

"Me?" Jacqui asked in surprise.

"Never mind," they heard his voice say. "According to my records,
you're from Sioux Falls, South Dakota, is that right?"

Jacqui just nodded.

The disembodied voice took on a reasonable tone, but there was no
mistaking the gloating threat within it - even aside from the words
themselves. "Then Ms. Cleaver, let me put it to you this way. Either
you strip so that I can see you are really a woman, or I'll drop the
equivalent of ten thousand pounds of high explosive on your hometown.
Oh, and that of all the others on your shuttle, too. Which will it be?"

Jacqui sent a look at the camera that should have fractured the lens,
but all that earned her was the raspy rattle of a self-satisfied
chuckle. Seward was so sure of his position that he didn't bother to
give her a deadline. He just started a low, `dum, dum, de-dum´
 warble that was too tuneless to be called a hum.

The curvy pilot looked at Vanna, who just shrugged. It was confirmation
enough that there really wasn't any choice so Jacqui reached for the
zipper at her collar. In a moment, she had her skinsuit open to display
quite unambiguous proof of the effectiveness of Seward's airborne
potion.

"Now, Jacqui," Seward's voice took on a patronizing tone. "A thorough
astronaut like yourself, surely you don't believe in doing things
halfway."

Jacqui sighed in resignation. "I'll need some help with the corset
laces."

"I'm sure that beautiful blonde in that so-interesting black suit will
be glad to help you," Seward said without remorse. Then, though the
speakers were transmitting his voice with equal clarity to all portions
of the shuttle, he raised his voice and said, "Just because one of you
was so... uncooperative, I think we need to conduct a few further
checks. Let's see... "

"You, the other blonde in the shapely blue outfit, you open your suit,
too." His voice took on a tone that implied she should be grateful for
his generosity when he added, "All you have to do is how me that your
little pleasure buds are really your own. Don't bother with your own
corset."

"However, Miss Cleaver, you have pissed me off, and for that, you go
all the way to skin."

"Oh, Mr. Seward," Marilyn called languidly - smiling sensuously at the
pleasure she was receiving. "I, um, we'll be glad to do what you want."
She giggled and continued, "Especially if you keep sending us those,
um, whatchamones things, but would it be okay if the other girls start
moving the, um, cargo? We were told that we had to get it on the
station right away."

"Huh? Oh, okay. Just, uh, I have cameras inside the station, too, so
don't try anything."

Nodding at the others, Marilyn floated over to where she could block
most of the camera's field of view and began a slow, sinuous strip
tease as she drew the zipper down on her own skin-tight suit. Behind
her, the rest of the team worked frantically to complete tasks of their
own while Seward's attention was so captivated. Out of line of sight
from the camera, Sandy's eyes sent a desperate message to Jacqui,
begging her to go along for the sake of the mission.

Though her fury showed in hot spots in her cheeks, Jacqui nodded. When
it was her turn to present herself to the camera again, she couldn't
bring herself to continue Marilyn's deliberately enticing distraction.
That might not have been a good idea anyway, to change so completely
from her previous disdain, but she did proceed slowly, granting Jaymi
and Sandy time to get some items through the airlock that were
definitely *not* on the manifest.

"Very nice," Seward said in a lascivious tone that brought fresh spots
of fire to Jacqui's cheeks. "Too bad you're not nice as well. Get
suited up again, but you're staying on the shuttle. I don't want to see
you even looking into the airlock, do you understand?"

Jacqui just nodded, turning to Vanna for help getting back in her suit.
She was interrupted by another order from Seward.

"No, get that big redhead to help you. She's the one who's supposed to
do the antenna module replacement, right? She can stay there and get
ready after you're suited up again. I want, which one are you, Vanna? I
want Vanna and, um, Marilyn to report to my control room right away."

Marilyn's foresight, for this is exactly the way she had planned their
disposition, was hardly a surprise to the team. Seward's next order,
while not expected, didn't seem like a problem either.

"You two blondes, and the two brunettes who are hauling cargo, bring
your helmets with you. Don't put them on. I just want to know where
they are. Rack your helmets on my side of the airlock, in plain view of
the camera."

The four team members who would enter the station gathered up their
matching elliptical helmets. When they cycled through the lock, the
rack Seward had mentioned was obvious, comprised of mannequin heads
fitted with bungee straps to hold the helmets securely.

As the team moved further into the station, then went into `
whisper mode´, a tactic they had worked out to defeat Seward's
surveillance devices. Carefully noting the cameras in each compartment
they entered, they made sure they were looking away, and spoke only in
the faintest of whispers into their tactical microphones if they had
any team business to conduct. If they were discussing the things Seward
knew about, they spoke in normal tones, and they made sure that there
was enough ordinary conversation to make their occasional silences
unremarkable.

The first of those ordinary conversation topics was actually
reconnaissance by voice. Marilyn spoke to Seward. "We're through the
lock, but, um, where did you want us to go?"

"Report to my control room," Seward repeated.

"We'll be glad to," Marilyn said, then pouted. "But we don't know where
it is. We were just told to move cargo from the airlock down, um...
?"

"Passage 3," Seward snapped. "It's to your right. But have the
brunettes do that. I want you to come down the passageway right in
front of you."

"Lordy, I *do* like the way you welcome a girl," Marilyn cooed. Vanna
nodded happily, drifting in a weightless ballet that was graceful and
lazy at the same time.

"Damn," they heard Seward's voice mutter. "I might have been better off
with that snotty brunette. You two are just too responsive."

"Responsive is my middle name," Marilyn chirped happily, wiggling in
mid-air in a way that demonstrated a lot of motions not possible in
gravity.

Sandy and Jaymi were disappearing down the noted passage with packaged
supplies when Vanna's lazy spiral caused her to drift against one of
Seward's surveillance cameras and dislodge it.

"Ooops," she said, giggling. "Clumsy me."

"I would not call you clumsy," Seward's voice said, a husky note
showing more than dispassionate interest. "But you are slow. Proceed
down that passage immediately. Why do blondes have to be so damn dumb?"

"I'm not dumb," Vanna protested. "Just feeling really fine."

"I'm, well, okay, maybe I'm not as smart at Sandy. Or Jaymi. Or
Jacqui," Marilyn said, calling the roll. Then her voice took on a
teasing tone, "But I'll bet I know things that they don't know. Fun
things those stupid dark-haired girls don't even know are fun."

"Come down the passage," Seward's voice called, coaxing like he was
summoning a reluctant kitten. "You'll like what you find here. We'll
have fun."

"I'm all for fun," Marilyn cooed, drifting that way.

"Me, too," Vanna said, twirling as she resumed her dance, but at least
she was now headed in his direction.

***

Jaymi and Sandy headed for the power control room, carrying
appropriately labeled boxes of supplies. The labels were the only part
of the boxes that were appropriate - from Seward's perspective - but
the carefully graceless lurches with which they transported the
weightless cargo made that pair of women and their activities less than
interesting to Seward. Once they were in the key control compartment,
they busied themselves stowing the supplies they had brought with them.

"I hope Marilyn and Vanna were faking the, um, effects of this air,"
Jaymi whispered. "If they're really that hot and bothered, they're
likely to get us all in trouble."

"I think they're okay," Sandy replied. "Based on my own reactions,
it's, ah, distracting but not incapacitating. How about you?"

"I suppose that's as good a way to describe it as any," Jaymi
concurred. "And now that I think about, it, Jacqui wasn't affected all
that much. I guess Marilyn and Vanna must be doing that deliberately."

Sandy nodded, "Yeah, as long as it doesn't get any worse, I think we're
okay. If anything, it seems to be diminishing, either because we're
getting used to it, or because the chemicals are deliberately
concentrated in Seward's part of the station."

"This has to be the right place to get control of the Pebbles," Jaymi
whispered to Sandy, returning to their own task. "See, the marking on
that harness matches the one I saw coming from the Pebbles."

"Are you sure?" Sandy asked.

"Pretty sure," Jaymi confirmed. "We're in the right module, and it's
obvious that particular harness was added later. See? It's the only one
on that side that's wrapped in blue instead of green."

"How do we bypass his launch codes, if he's in the control room?" Sandy
whispered to her red-clad teammate. "The plan was that Marilyn or Vanna
would lure him away from there."

"Well, the things have gotta get power from somewhere, and a signal
through an antenna. That takes different kinds of wire. If we can find
the circuits, we can put an interrupt in them," Jaymi explained.

"But.. ," Sandy began, then stopped when the futility of what she was
going to say registered. There were any number of `buts´,
none of which had obvious answers.

"Um, right. Now what?"

"Why don't you bring the other took kit, the one with the electronics?
I'm going to see if I can tap this line," Jaymi suggested, anchoring
her heels in a pair of the clamps that were the justification for the
spindly footwear in the first place.

Sandy nodded and started floating back down the passage. "Okay. Be
careful."

"You, too."

***

"I better get into my helmet and start pre-breathing," Carol said as
she finished tying off the re-tightened laces to Jacqui's suit. The
still-blushing raven-haired pilot didn't notice that the taller
redhead's breathing was as labored as her own.

"Thanks for your help," Jacqui said.

"Um, any time," Carol replied, turning away.

Jacqui grimaced as she finished pulling the zipper on her skinsuit up.
"Damn, what's he call 'em? Pheromones make it hard to think straight.
And my body feels like, well, it's a good thing we're both girls, or
I'd be... awful naughty right now."

"Uh, yeah. I know what you mean," Carol said, blushing. Lordy do I *
know* what you mean! she thought to herself.

"Hell, even ol' Oz Anderson might have a chance, with a supply of this
stuff," Jacqui went on dreamily, not realizing the effect her musings
were having on her panting teammate. Nor the distracting effect the
residual pheromones were having on her own thoughts, especially now
that the countering effect of her initial anger was subsiding.

Carol donned her helmet out of sequence, but she wanted to be breathing
filtered air as soon as possible. After she was protected from her
invisible assailant, she reached for the extra parts of the EVA rig.

Jacqui shook her head as though to clear it, then grinned ruefully at
the redhead. "Well, it's not by the book, but I understand what you're
trying to do. Now let me help you."

The thin - actually thinnest - portions of their skinsuits were
strategically located to provide unambiguous evidence of response to
the chemicals pervading the station air supply. When actually going
outside the pressurized compartments, it was necessary to add what were
essentially `pasties´ to the costume, plus of course a
backpack with independent air supply. The latter was no problem, but
when the time came to apply the pasties...

"Damn," Carol muttered, her words picked up by the helmet mikes and
retransmitted over speakers in the compartment. Jacqui wore a boom mike
of her own so that they could talk.

"What's wrong?"

"I can't see to put these damn things in place while I'm wearing this
stupid helmet," grumped the taller woman.

"Calm down," Jacqui said. "I'll get them for you."

Whatever Carol's intentions might have been, the feel of Jacqui's hands
on her already-turgid nipples was anything but calming.

"Don't hyperventilate," cautioned Jacqui.

"What, oh, yeah, well, I'm working on it," gasped Carol.

As she breathed the independent air, pure oxygen that would support her
breathing at a pressure low enough to avoid the need for a hard
spacesuit, Carol began to recover from the forced effects of the
airborne pheromones.

Or maybe it hadn't all been because of the pheromones.

Chapter 20 - "Misplayed"

Marilyn pulled her teammate close as they drifted down the passage
toward Seward's control room. "Are you going to be able to do this?"
she whispered.

"I think so," Vanna whispered back.

"We need to keep his interest away from his controls and whatever
monitors he has," Marilyn said, "either by leading him away from the
controls or by putting on enough of a show he doesn't pay attention to
them."

"Oh, I expect we can find a way to... distract him," Vanna giggled.
Then she shook her head and said, "These drugs are having more of an
effect on me than I thought."

"Me, too," Marilyn said, sighing. "But we'll have to try and keep our
heads clear."

"Yes, ma'am," Vanna said brightly, saluting. Then she frowned and shook
her head again. "I think it's getting worse."

"You might be right," Marilyn agreed. "Seward may be stepping up the
potency of his pheromones. That could be a problem. Simple teasing may
not be enough if he expects us to be more strongly aroused than we were
on the shuttle." The pretty team commander looked at her companion and
asked, "Are you really prepared to do... whatever it takes to
distract him?"

Vanna gulped a bit, but nodded.

"We'll have to see how it goes, but obviously we can't really strip for
him, like he had Jacqui do. I think the zippers to both our suits just
got jammed," mused Marilyn as she twisted the one at her own collar.

"Won't that make him angry?"

"Maybe," Marilyn said. "But that's where the distraction comes in. We
need to be prepared to... help each other."

Vanna's eyes showed a question, but before it made it to her full lips,
her eyes widened as she answered her own unspoken question.

"Come in, come in, ladies," Seward said expansively as Marilyn and
Vanna finally reached his control room. "Welcome to my home."

They hesitated at the entryway. Their reason for pausing was not
immediately clear, not because there were no reasons but because there
were so many it would be hard to pick which one stopped them.

The compartment itself was reason enough. With one notable exception,
it was cluttered in a way that seemed disturbingly dangerous for a
space installation where things wouldn't just sit where they might have
been laid. A moment of review and they realized that this was both more
and less of a problem than they might have thought. The modification to
that perception was based on the recognition that the clutter clustered
around the air vents, drawn to them by the continuing motion of air
even as they blocked the vents themselves.

"Don't mind the clutter," Seward said, virtually reading their minds.
"Just think of it as your typical bachelor pad."

He delivered this excuse from the one location in the compartment that
was not cluttered - the notable exception to the rule. That location
was the control panel itself, spotless and gleaming in a bright
combination of indicator lights and shiny reflections. His words drew
their attention back to him. Their reaction was not pleasing.

"Perhaps it's not the room that bothers you," he snarled, his tone
turning ugly. "Perhaps you don't find me personally appealing."

That supposition was probably a good one. The best information that the
team had been able to find out about Seward was that he had moved into
the station just over two years before. It was possible that he had
last bathed on the ground. And brushed his teeth.

And exercised. The arms and legs revealed by a truncated coverall - the
kind called a `romper´ when worn by a child - were
emaciated to the point that one would suspect malnutrition. Yet the
pudgy cheeks and greasy sheen to his forehead, plus the hint of a
well-inflated spare tire within the loose confines of his stained
coverall showed Seward was getting plenty to eat. It was loss of muscle
that had attenuated his limbs.

One part of his appearance did not track with his obvious lack of
cleanliness. His eyes were sharp, clear, and a complex gray that seemed
to shift in color as his glance flickered between his `guests´
 and his monitors.

All this observation took only heartbeats, just long enough for Seward
to become irritated despite the fact their reaction might have been
more justified. After only that short pause though, Marilyn recovered
enough to put an empty smile on her face.

"Gee, Mr. Seward, I don't know why you'd say that?" she simpered. "Is
it true that you have billions and billions of dollars?"

Despite his slovenly personal habits, Seward was not stupid. He knew
that pretty women would not be attracted to his current state - at
least not because of physical attractiveness. But he also knew he had 
`special´ advantages. Money was one of them.

"Last time I checked," he said, showing yellowed teeth in a satisfied
grin. "And you wouldn't believe how much richer I'm going to be."

"Oooh, tell me more," Marilyn cooed, drifting closer. Her path was not
very efficient, though. She was going to miss his location at the
control panel by several feet.

"Oops," she giggled, flailing a little.

"Here, I'll help," Vanna offered, setting her spiked heels in floor
clamps and pushing at her blue-clad teammate. But her shove moved
Marilyn even further off course. Her ineffectual intervention attracted
Seward's attention to her, and the disdain she hadn't adequately
suppressed in her voice was reflected in a visible twist to Seward's
mouth.

"So, you at least are honest enough to show your true feelings," he
growled. "Too bad for you that I'm perfectly happy with a compliant
lie."

He pulled a spray bottle from his belt and pointed it at the disdainful
blonde.

"No!" Marilyn called, breaking character.

"Don't worry," Seward sneered. "You're next."

He pulled a trigger on the device and was rewarded by a sharp spritz as
a narrow stream of liquid shot toward the blonde in black. It splashed
from her suit with no apparent effect. At least, none until enough time
had passed for a similar stream to be splashed on Marilyn's blue suit.
In a moment, both girls were demonstrating that the stream was not
innocent, however.

"Ohhhh, mmmmyyyyy," Marilyn crooned, still drifting, but interrupting
the struggling motion of her limbs in a compulsive caress of her
suddenly rock-hard nipples.

"Ahhhh," Vanna echoed her, in tone if not in exact words. She swayed
above her anchored heels like seaweed in a gentle current, her own
hands slowly sliding along the contours displayed so provocatively by
her skinsuit.

Seward released a lap belt that was holding him to his console and
started moving toward them.

***

"I think we better cut the shuttle air off from the station," Jacqui
panted, fingers drifting without conscious direction to slide
languorously along her smooth flank, then linger over an itch she had
wanted so very badly to scratch. "I can hardly think straight."

"Tell me about it," Carol said over her microphone. "Once I started
breathing pure oxygen, though, I got over it pretty quickly."

"I wonder how it is for the girls in the station?" the brunette mused.

***

"Sandy, I think you better stay with me, now," Jaymi said. "I'm still
so damn hot from those pheromones that I'm afraid I'll make a silly
mistake."

"What makes you think that I'm any better?" Sandy whispered, blushing.

"You're probably not," Jaymi giggled, "but between the two of us we
might manage one clear thought, now and then."

"Maybe," Sandy said, but she set her own heels in an appropriate set of
deck clamps and started absorbing what Jaymi was working on. Or trying
to, though Jaymi's full red lips seemed *much* more interesting than a
bunch of twisted wires.

Jaymi shook her head to recover from a plunge into the depths of
Sandy's green eyes and managed to report her findings. "This seems to
be the main power feed, but from the waveform there has to be a
transformer down the line somewhere, which probably means batteries out
on the arm of the station."

"So, cutting it wouldn't necessarily disarm the Pebbles?"

The red-clad brunette shook her head again, this time actually related
to the problem at hand. "I don't think so. This station has a pretty
distributed system design. What I'm reading on the rest of the bundle
is mostly digital traffic, so there's probably a processor out there
somewhere to translate commands into actions. I don't know what it
would do if the signal traffic is cut off."

"Then I guess we better not cut it," Sandy said.

"Not until I get it figured out," Jaymi concurred. Then her voice took
on a warning tone as she said, "Or unless something changes."

***

"Damn," Seward muttered his own curse as he reached the languid
blondes. "My stuff must be losing potency. With that charge, these
women should have been completely over the top by now, locked in
continuous orgasms."

Surprisingly, the next thing he did was take another, smaller spray
bottle from his belt and squirt something in to the air around them.
Inhaling deeply, his eyes seemed to swell with new energy, and he began
to paw roughly at Marilyn's skinsuit. His grimy fingers started
pinching lasciviously at Marilyn's shapely form, the touches far too
crude to be considered caresses. After tugging at her distended buds,
his hands moved to her high collar.

"Damn it, who the hell changed the design on this zipper? Sonuvabitch
is stuck!"

It is a truism of combat that no battle plan ever survives contact with
the enemy. In this case, the only element of Marilyn's battle plan that
did work right was the jamming of her zipper. From there, things got
worse in a hurry.

"Wha? Wha.. say?" Marilyn murmured. Her long eyelashes fluttered as
she tried to overcome the effects of Seward's diabolical potions,
diluted though they were by her team's only partial transformation into
women. If anything, Seward's most recent addition to the local air
supply had tended to clear her mind, though it had created a problem of
its own. One that Seward could *not* find out about.

Vanna roused as well, not so much dispelling the effect as overcoming
it by force of will, buttressed by a building familiarity with the
sensations singing through her body - including sensations that had
once been much more familiar. She could compensate, at least partially,
for the effects of Seward's drugs. The two sprays, one directed at the
women and one intended for Seward's own gratification, seemed to be
canceling each other out to some degree. It came to her that Seward was
away from his controls, that now was the time - if ever there would be
one - to capture him.

"Marilyn," she gasped. "Get him!"

"Hmm?" her commander asked, then the opportunity became apparent to
her, too.

Unfortunately, Marilyn was drifting in the middle of the compartment
and couldn't move without an anchor to push against. Even more
unfortunately, in her semi-cognitive state, Vanna had spoken out loud.

"What did you say?" Seward demanded, fending off Marilyn's grasping
hands.

"I want you," Marilyn whispered, trying to put an invitation into her
throaty voice.

"Yes," he said suspiciously, "but for what?"

He reached for the spray at his belt again, but a frown showed on his
face, coupled with a clear suspicion that it might not be effective.

"All of you, off my station now," he ordered, backing away. He moved
toward a prominent red switch on the control console.

"Vanna," Marilyn said, a warning and an order in one.

Vanna produced a throwing knife from the back of her collar and called
out to Seward. "Freeze!"

Instead of stopping, Seward slammed his hand on the red switch. Then he
reached for a gun also hanging from his belt - an unusual weapon that
they recognized as a multi-chamber tranquilizer gun even as he drew it.
There was no way to tell what he had loaded the darts with - lethal
potions were far and away the most likely - so Vanna sent her knife
streaking at his shoulder to stop his motion.

She had practiced in the weightlessness of the Vomit Comet, but that
simulation was not quite accurate. Her knife flew with a
lightning-quick flicker, but instead of burying itself in the sinews of
his shoulder, it found a home in Seward's throat.

***

"Uh, oh," Jaymi said.

"I don't like the sound of that," Sandy replied.

"We need to cut this line, quick!" said Jaymi,

"Got it," Sandy replied, pulling a tool from the kit she had been
holding. It didn't take long, but the expression on Jaymi's face said
it had been long enough.

Or had it? Nothing happened for a long moment.

"Sandy, what's going on?" Marilyn's voice sounded over their headsets.

"We were about to ask you the same thing?" Sandy replied. "We just cut
some sort of wire harness, but I don't know why."

Jaymi said, "It's the control harness for the Brilliant Pebbles. I had
just traced it to the junction box that heads out that arm of the
station when I started picking up a lot of signal traffic. I figured
we'd better cut it."

"Good idea," Marilyn said. "We've got a problem here, though. Seward's
dead."

Any further explanation was interrupted by the shudder of a distant
explosion.

***

"Shuttle to Marilyn. Shuttle to anyone, can you hear me?"

"I hear you, Jacqui, what happened?" Marilyn's voice replied.

"I don't know what caused it, but there was just an explosion in the
station airlock. We're okay, but don't try and enter it from that side
without a helmet."

"Okay," Marilyn said. "Seward tripped some sort of switch before he
died. I don't know if we managed to stop whatever he had in mind or
not. Apparently not all of it, in any event. All team members, head
back to the ship."

"Ah, Marilyn, it's not entirely okay," Sandy reported over the team
net. "Our helmets are in that airlock."

"There's more than that," Jaymi reported. "I captured some of the data
stream we interrupted. It was targeting and launch commands. Some of
those Brilliant Pebbles were told to attack! I don't know why they
haven't gone off."

"Orbital mechanics," explained Jacqui, breaking in. "They have to have
some sort of de-orbiting retro charge, but it has to go off at the
right time or they won't come down close enough to their target for
terminal guidance to work. They're waiting for that right moment."

"How long will that take?" asked Marilyn.

"I don't know," Jacqui replied. "It might be any second, or it might
take more than a full orbit to get into position. I can get a rough
estimate for different target sites, but it will be a guess."

Jaymi's voice sounded over the comm system, "If we can get back on the
shuttle, I may be able to decipher these launch codes. There's probably
a time stamp in them."

Marilyn said, "That will take a while. We have to work out some sort of
interim airlock in order to get you your helmets."

Carol's voice broke in, carrying a slight echo from the inside of her
bulbous helmet. "Well, I guess it's a good thing I'm ready to go EVA."

"What are you suggesting?" asked Marilyn.

Carol paused for a moment, thinking through the steps she would have to
take. "Okay, it's like this. Even if you get your helmets, you don't
really have air packs. You'll have a couple of minutes of air - not
much longer than just holding your breath - inside your suits. But
that's enough to get you past the blown-out airlock. So, here's the
plan. I'll go out and gather up the helmets and put them in the next
compartment, closing it off behind me. Then you can get into that
compartment from the other side, put on your helmets, then scoot past
the open space into the shuttle airlock. It's still working okay."

Jacqui joined in, "Yes! That will work. Only.. "

Sandy's voice completed the thought. "Only the shuttle airlock is
limited to two people at a time, and the cycle takes too long for the
other two to wait outside with only the air in their helmets."

Carol said, "Okay, then I'll bring some air packs, and... "

Sandy interrupted again. "And how long will it be before those bombs
start dropping? We're not working the right problem here."

"It's a start," Marilyn said, her command voice announcing a decision.
"But we'll cut to the chase a little. Here's what we'll do... "

***

The stark white of the open bay seemed pristine and untouched by
whatever had caused the angry gash in the module bridging from the
shuttle to the rest of the station. Carol's dark green skinsuit was a
surprise as jarring as the damage itself when she suddenly appeared
through the shuttle main airlock exit. Working her way carefully up the
side of the ruptured station airlock, she eeled her way inside through
the gaping hole.

"Just as we thought," she reported after she disappeared inside.
"There's some debris blocking the lower door. Everyone will have to go
outside. But the helmets are all okay."

Within the station, Marilyn sighed and turned to the other three who
were still trapped on the wrong side of a lot of nothing. "It looks
like Seward's plan was a little more thorough than we gave him credit
for. If Carol weren't available on the shuttle, we'd be trapped for
real."

Sandy shook her head in disagreement. "But she is over there, and so is
Jacqui. He must have known we'd be able to work our way past this."

"Eventually," Marilyn said, nodding. "But it all takes time. Time we
don't have."

She continued. "Seward didn't really want to kill anyone..."

"He didn't?" Vanna interrupted. "You coulda fooled me!"

Marilyn shook her head and continued, "No, if he wanted to kill us, he
could have blown out a lot more than an airlock. Look, his whole
strategy was based on his pheromone defense, effective against
all-female crews. Like a lot of arrogant SOB's, he figured women could
never be a real threat."

"So, why blow the airlock, then? And have us move our helmets before
that?" asked Vanna.

Thoughtfully, Sandy said, "Well, it means he knows where they are, for
sure, and if the helmets are in a compartment open to space then we
can't get to them without help. It's a delaying action, one that lets
him regain control of a situation without mass murder."

"Yeah, right," Jaymi joined the conversation. "This is the guy who's
going to rain death on half the world, and he didn't want to hurt
anyone."

Marilyn contradicted her, "Actually, he didn't. Either part. He didn't
want to hurt anyone, because if he ever really did commit murder then
someone would have to take action. It was the threat that mattered.
Once he had to use it, he'd already lost. And he hasn't actually 
`rained death´ on anyone yet, either."

"Oh!" Jaymi said, a light dawning in her eyes. "That's right! I'll bet
that's why none of the Brilliant Pebbles have launched yet. He was, I
mean, was his plan that he could use that as a sort of `ticking
clock´ to regain control if his station were invaded? `
Surrender and I'll stop the launch.´ That sort of thing?"

"Right," Marilyn said. "And without our helmets, we couldn't be part of
any effective assault force - especially since we'd be, ahem, under the
influence of his drugs."

"But now he's dead, and we're still stuck," Vanna sighed.

"Not for long," Carol's voice broke in on the tactical net they were
using. "I've put the helmets in the connecting node. First two, get
ready."

"Jaymi, that's you and Vanna," Marilyn ordered.

"I should go," Sandy said. "Jaymi needs to work on the data, of course,
but I need to start pre-breathing."

"No," Marilyn said. "One EVA is enough for you, dear. You and your..
. war wounds."

"But.. " Sandy began, then stopped at the look in Marilyn's eyes.

Vanna and Jaymi had the wisdom to be quiet, though in part it was
forced as they breathed deeply to get in as much oxygen as possible
before they went into space without an air supply.

"Besides," Marilyn said gently. "Vanna is our best in zero-g. We need
to get her out there helping Carol as soon as possible."

Sandy nodded, recognizing the wisdom in Marilyn's order even as she
worried about her teammate. Two of them, actually, since Carol and
Vanna would be facing similar risks. As second in command, it was
Sandy's responsibility to watch out for her teammates, to protect them
with her own life if necessary, but it was her duty to obey orders. And
in the brutal logic of command, Marilyn was right. Vanna was better
qualified.

Carol's forest green led the black and dark red suits of her sisters
through and around the damaged areas on their way to the shuttle
airlock. As soon as they were safely inside, she turned back to her
remaining teammates.

"How did it go?" Marilyn asked anxiously, peering through a small
viewport from the connection node where they had already obtained their
own helmets.

"Fine," Carol reported. "Forty five seconds until air was filling the
shuttle lock."

"Good," Marilyn nodded, but there was a pensive note in her voice.

"What's wrong?" asked Sandy.

"Do you think you can make it without Carol's help?" Marilyn asked.

"Um, sure," Sandy said, though there was little certainty in her tone.

Marilyn nodded, recognizing what Sandy was really saying. If Marilyn
felt the risk was worthwhile, then Sandy would take it. The curvy
blonde reached out to her friend and colleague and gave her a quick
hug.

"Carol," Marilyn transmitted, "and all of the rest of you, too. Listen
up. Sandy and I will make our own way back to the shuttle. Carol, I
want you to work your way over to the Brilliant Pebbles and do a
careful reconnaissance. I do *not* want you approaching them closely,
but we have to start figuring out a way to disable them, and I guess
you're elected."

"I need to help you back to the shuttle," Carol said.

"We can make it," Sandy said, backing up Marilyn - though they all knew
she was speaking more from willingness than justified confidence. If
they got lost, if they got delayed in any way, there wouldn't be anyone
to drag them to safety.

Jacqui offered another objection. "No one is supposed to leave the
shuttle bay without a backup astronaut ready for EVA."

"I'll put on an airpack," Jaymi said from the shuttle, beating Vanna's
offer by a margin so small it sounded like an echo.

"Don't be silly," Marilyn countered. "Holding our breath is easy. But
if you tried breathing at airpack pressures without purging the
nitrogen from your system, you'd get the bends and wouldn't help any of
us. Jacqui, I recognize your objection, and normally I'd abide by it,
but this is not optional. You have your orders. Carol, get on your way.
Vanna, are you and Jaymi out of the lock?"

"Yes, Marilyn," Vanna reported. "It's ready for you, but..."

"But what?" demanded Marilyn

Vanna's voice carried a note of surprising embarrassment. "Um, we, that
is.. "

"Damnit, Vanna, spit it out," Marilyn ordered.

"It's our nipples," Jaymi explained. "Without the pasties covering the
thin spots, it's pretty uncomfortable. And you and Sandy are.. "

"... are more, ah, at risk. Is that what you mean?" asked Marilyn.

Jaymi's assent was more sigh than words, but it was nonetheless clear.

"Very well," Marilyn said, "it can't be helped." She looked a question
at Sandy, who nodded, gulping air as they prepared for their own
challenging extra-vehicular excursion.

The hissing of air seemed terribly loud in the small compartment - when
it started. All too soon it faded away as the air required to transmit
the sound disappeared into the void. Then, it didn't seem like it was
happening quickly at all as they held their breath, waiting for the
pressure to drop far enough they could open the hatch. They could hold
their breath for long enough. They both knew they could. Yet, when they
also knew they didn't have any option, it seemed critical to breathe
immediately, as though they were already suffocating after only
seconds.

It didn't help that it was hard work to move toward the shuttle. That
seemed counter-intuitive, since they were weightless and virtually
frictionless in the airless vacuum. But the effort required to work in
weightlessness had been proven over and over. Without the stability of
gravity to provide a base to push from, much of their effort actually
worked against themselves, rotating their body instead of moving it in
the direction they wanted.

And all the time, the pressure in their lungs, the feeling that they
were running out of air, the need to breathe was a demand that became
so compelling it seemed like the movement through the void was the
secondary effort, the throbbing in their distended nips only a minor
irritation.

And then it was over. They were in the lock and the sound of hissing
air was back, this time sweetly beautiful and the grandest music they
had ever heard. Gasping, they would have fallen into the main shuttle
compartment, except in the absence of gravity all they did was drift
into the arms of their waiting team-mates.

All but one. Carol was making her way through the open lattice of
girders toward the waiting bombs, most of the standard safety rules
thrown out by the grinding need to hurry, a need as great as that felt
by her air-deprived sisters but with even less hope that it would be
quickly met.

"Okay, I'm at the bombs," Carol said, panting into her open mike.

"What do you see?" Vanna asked, then kicked herself mentally when she
realized that Carol would report as soon as she could.

"There's a, um, rack, I guess," the distant redhead said. "And about,
let's see, two, four, six, eight, by two, four, six... what's that?
Forty-eight? Right?"

"Right," Sandy confirmed, not that her comment was necessary either.

"Each one is a four-foot-long rod, with some fins near one end and a,
well, a curvy cone or, um, bell at the other. I don't even know which
end is the front."

Sandy was sketching as Carol talked, then she pondered her sketch. "Is
there anything in the cone?"

"Don't get too close," Marilyn cautioned, trying to get a look at Carol
through the camera on the shuttle's remote arm.

Carol didn't reply, except by moving closer to the array despite the
warning. "Yes," she reported. "There's some sort of ball in each one. I
can't tell what it is, but it's not, um, well, it doesn't look like
metal."

"Right," Sandy said, thinking out loud. "I think the end with the bell
is the front end. The ball is probably some sort of explosive that is
used to de-orbit the rod. The cone itself would burn off during re-
entry. Then the rod is guided by steering the back end."

"Makes sense to me," Jaymi confirmed, looking up from her computer
console. "That's the good news. The bad news is that I think the first
one will start launching in about 5 minutes."

"Where?" asked Marilyn.

"I'm not sure," Jaymi said. "All I've got is a time hack."

Jacqui said, "I may be able to help with that. Let's see... "

Then she frowned and said, "Uh, oh, I need to have some sort of
estimate of how much the charge will slow the rod down. It can be a
very gradual de-orbit, or a fairly quick drop."

"The impact from the test impact was about 3000 miles downrange from
the de-orbit blast," Marilyn reported.

"Test impact?" Jacqui repeated. "You didn't tell us about that."

"Just figure the orbit," Marilyn said unrepentantly.

Jacqui nodded, then worked for a moment at her console, muttering out
loud. "Okay, if we figure forward 3000 miles from where we'll be five
minutes from now.... shit!"

"That didn't sound good," Vanna observed.

"Eastern seaboard, US," Jacqui said flatly. "Too much potential
variation in the de-orbit impulse to tell exactly, but figuring where
our own landing footprint would be, with a burn five minutes from now
we could come down right on Washington DC if we wanted to."

Chapter 21 - "Missing in Action"

"Damn," Carol said over the comm. "I've always dreamed of taking out
DC, but.. "

"That's not all if it," warned Jacqui. "The high inclination of this
orbit means that we'll actually be tracking up the entire East coast.
If the retro charge is higher than I figured, the things could hit
Florida. If they're less, or if there are more launch codes coming,
then New York or someplace in Eastern Canada could be hit. That's a
pretty sizable part of the entire population of both countries."

"And that's the good news, right?" Vanna's dry voice asked over her own
helmet mike.

"I guess it is, considering that the bad news is that we don't know how
to stop it," replied Marilyn.

"Any sign of a release mechanism?" Sandy asked, trying to find some way
to work the problem.

"Um, yes and no," replied Carol. "They're all held on by clamps, but
I'm not sure how the clamps themselves are released."

"Maybe we could jimmy the clamps or something," Vanna said. "Point them
the wrong way, and the de-orbit burn might even boost their orbit."

"Right," Marilyn said. "Okay, Carol, why don't you come back here and
escort Vanna back out there? I don't like you being alone. While you're
on your way, we'll see if we can find some way to... Carol, what are
you doing?"

Marilyn interrupted herself as she saw Carol's green-clad figure moving
even closer to the array of weapons.

"Marilyn, we've only got five minutes, remember?" Carol said quietly,
just loudly enough to be heard over the rasp of her panting breath.

"So don't waste any of them!" Marilyn said sharply.

"Right," Carol replied. "Look, I don't expect these things can go off
while they're still clamped to the station. I figure if I can see one
release, I can turn it around or something."

"And get yourself killed in the process!" Marilyn said. "Stay clear of
those things. We'll find another way."

"Just as soon as you find it, let me know," Carol said, grunting as she
pulled herself right into the middle of the array.

"Ready to go EVA," Vanna reported, breaking Marilyn's concentration on
her headstrong teammate.

"You are not," Jacqui said with a snort of disbelief.

"Close enough," Vanna said adamantly.

Carol's voice intruded and their attention was once again drawn outside
the shuttle. "Hey, guess what."

She continued immediately, "These little cone things are really light
weight, almost like a tin cup. I can bend them."

Sandy shrugged. "Well, if the charge is placed right, the pressures
should be fairly well balanced. The cone could act sort of like a
balloon. And something like aluminum would not only be light, it would
be sure to burn off quickly during re-entry so that the rod fell true."

Outside the shuttle, Carol was squeezing the material of one of the
cones, causing it to distort into a double-lobed figure eight. "Well,"
she reported, "it ain't easy, but it's doable."

"There's almost fifty of those things," Marilyn said. "And you don't
know which one will go first. Get out of there."

"Let me go help her!" Vanna demanded urgently.

"Time's about up. Launch command in 10 seconds," Jaymi reported, adding
yet another level of stress.

"Uh, oh," Carol's voice said. "One of the clamps just released."

"Get out of there!" Marilyn repeated.

Carol pulled herself across the array until she got to a rod near one
corner. It was clearly drifting away from its perch, responding to a
spring that had been compressed by the clamp until it released. Hooking
her legs around one of the still-anchored bombs, Carol reached up to
grab the slowly-moving loose rod.

"Well," she said, grunting, "at least they don't move too quickly at
the beginning."

"Damnit, Carol, back away from there. If you lose your grip, you're
shit out of luck."

"Vanna will catch me," Carol said in a light tone made false by her
heavy breathing. "Besides, I have this feeling that ol' Beaver could
scoop me up with the whole damn shuttle if she needed to."

Jacqui said, "I don't like that name, Carol."

"I know," Carol said, still wrestling with the drifting weapon. "But I
figured if I pissed you off enough, you'd figure out a way to rescue me
just so you could tell me off to my face."

Any response Jacqui or any of the others might have made was lost in
the intensity of their emotions as Carol managed to get the long rod
turned around and facing the still-attached array of bombs.

"Now what?" she asked, more to herself than her teammates.

"Carol, I'm ordering you to get out of there," Marilyn said firmly.

"What's that, Boss? Your signal is breaking up," Carol asked, though
her own voice was clear - clear enough, in fact, that they could hear
Carol humming idly to herself. In the image from the shuttle arm
camera, her dark green suit was a shadow against the skeletal grid of
metal, but it was enough to see that she was not moving away from the
bombs.

Recognizing the futility of ranting into the microphone, Marilyn turned
to Jacqui. "Can you get us moving over there? We're not doing any good
here."

"Working on it," Jacqui said.

"Marilyn, let me go to her. I can make it as quickly as Jacqui can fly
us there."

"Please be quiet, Vanna," Marilyn said, the polite words carried on a
tone of tightly-clamped anger. "You have 3 minutes left on your pre-
breathing. I don't want to hear about you going EVA before then. Is
that clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," Vanna replied reflexively.

"Everybody hold on to something," Jacqui commanded. A moment later the
shuttle lurched as they undocked from the ruined airlock. Thruster
blasts began their intermittent drumbeat as Jacqui maneuvered them
clear of the station.

"Uh, oh," the speakers transmitted Carol's voice, recapturing their
attention from the distraction of seeing the station recede.

Marilyn looked at the monitor again. "Carol?"

"Another missile has been released. It's drifting... "

"There," Sandy called, pointing at a gleaming dot against the darkness
outside a viewport. Jacqui's maneuvers had brought the nose of the
shuttle around the bulge of the main station module and the array of
bombs was now visible directly.

Carol's tones were triumphant when the speaker next reported. "Got it!"

"What's going on?" asked Marilyn.

"I used my tether to tie off the first bomb, and managed to snag the
second one," Carol said proudly. As the shuttle drifted closer with
painful slowness, they could see Carol with her arms wrapped around one
long rod and legs wrapped around a girder, while a second rod was
alternately drifting and snubbing against a standard tether used in a
decidedly non-standard way.

"I could, uh, use some help here," she said quietly, her initial pride
giving way to the realization that she was in a very tenuous position.

"You're not supposed to release your tether!" gasped Jacqui, then those
on the flight deck could see her bite her tongue at the obvious
futility of that observation.

While they were still several hundred yards away, the first retro-
charge exploded.

It was strangely unexciting. There was a flash of light, but no sound,
no pulse transmitted through the ground to reverberate viscerally, no
shudder vibration in the shuttle windows or jitter in the instruments.
It was as though a simple flashbulb had gone off, nothing to cause
concern.

Except it was not a simple flashbulb, it was an explosive charge that
rapidly built pressure within the bell of the Brilliant Pebble that was
tethered to the rest of the array. At the moment of the explosion, at
least the bell was pointed away from Carol. Unfortunately, it was not
pointed far enough away from Carol.

The rod only changed velocity by a couple of thousand feet per second
or so, less than half of what an armor-piercing round would experience
in the gun of a main battle tank, but that was enough to turn the
device into a very capable penetrator of the ultra-lightweight
structure of the space station. It arrowed to the base of the array,
not hitting it cleanly, but striking it with enough energy to break one
leg of the supporting girder and send a shock through the entire arm.

Which happened to be the arm that Carol's legs were wrapped around.

The long beam cracked like a whip, a visible pulse racing along it's
length.

That's when the second retro-charge exploded.

Which happened to be in the bell of the Pebble that Carol's arms had
been wrapped around.

Neither of those were coincidences of course, since those were the ones
which had been released from their clamps because they were about to be
de-orbited, but that didn't help Carol's situation at all.

The pulse of the whipping girder had actually helped her situation,
though. It had snapped the second rod from her grip. As a result, when
the second charge went off, it wasn't mere inches from her face.

However, the combination of the pulse from the girder and the expanding
gas from the retro charge flipped Carol away from her anchor hold as
cleanly as a sling hurls a stone.

That effect was almost lost in the larger disaster befalling the
station. The eerie silence made the collapse of the bomb array seem
artificial, a movie special effect without the confirming sound track.
There were no groans of tortured metal, deep and bass to prove it was
not a tiny model that was twisting before the shuttle ports. Only the
ponderous, inexorable, interminable duration of it gave a sense of
scale to the motion. It did not `fall´ of course, since
there was no up or down, but once set in motion it ground its way
through solar panels and connecting girders, setting off a fireless
fireworks display of sparking electrical arcs.

"Carol," Marilyn called, the first to wrench her attention from the
slow motion catastrophe.

There was no answer.

"Carol!" Marilyn called again, then before there was a chance for an
answer, her attention focused on Jacqui.

"Get us around that mess and find her!"

"Yes, ma'am," responded Jacqui reflexively. She was already doing it,
as best she could, but the huge arc of the swinging arm was slicing
through the direct path to Carol's dwindling form, and the secondary
destruction was a minefield of waiting danger. Jacqui had to thrust
laterally first, then get past the wreckage before she could gain any
distance toward her crewmate.

"Get on the radar, Sandy," Jacqui ordered. "I need a velocity vector on
her right now!"

"Um, okay," Sandy said doubtfully. "Jaymi, you better give me a hand."

The slim brunette nodded, moving to join her longer-haired sister. For
a moment, she glanced at Vanna. She had been the one to train on that
equipment, but for her to work it, she'd have to unhook from her
pre-breathing apparatus. Vanna's eyes returned the helpless look, but
they both knew that someone would have to be ready to go EVA.

All Vanna could do was say, "The manual is in Storage Compartment A-3.
There are some diagrams of what the screen symbology means in Appendix
4."

There was a sudden silence as the shuttle thrusters cut off.

"What's wrong?" asked Marilyn.

Jacqui shrugged her shoulders. "Nothing, except, I need data before I
can do anything more."

"Just head that way until we get what you need," Marilyn demanded.

"And when we get there? Passing her with several hundred feet per
second of excess speed? How are we going to help her then? We need to
match orbits with her, not just wave as we go by. I need data for
that."

"Whoo!" a voice from the speaker said - Carol's voice. "That was one
wild ride!"

"Carol!" four voices chorused together. "You're okay."

"Yeah, well, more or less," she replied. "My neck feels stiff, like I
wrenched it or something, and I think I may have broken one arm, but
all things considered... "

Her voice held a note of humor when she said, "Hey, guess what. This
means all those damn rides in the Vomit Comet were worthwhile after
all. I'm tumbling in zero-g, but I'm not sick at... "

"Uh, oh," Carol said, her voice now not cheerful at all.

"What's wrong?" demanded Marilyn.

"I just saw the station. I'm, um, quite a ways away."

Jacqui's confident voice hid any trace of the frown those in the
shuttle could clearly see. "We're on our way."

"Gee, Beav, I didn't think I was being serious. But you can come and
get me any time you want."

Any answer Jacqui might have intended was sidelined by the distraction
of a tap on her shoulder by Jaymi, who pointed at data scrolling up the
pilot's displays. "We've got her!"

"Not yet," Jacqui whispered grimly, her concentration on the data even
as her finger held the mute button for her mike. She worked her
specialist magic on the computer and in a moment they had a graphic
display of multiple intercept paths, each with accompanying data on
time to intercept and fuel used. Even as the first data were appearing
on the screen, Jacqui's nimble fingers were keying orientation data
into the flight controls. "Grab on to something," she warned tersely,
just before the shuttle started to rotate. A moment later, the OMS was
firing and they were boosting toward a distant dot the computer
promised was their drifting teammate.

Jacqui's frown didn't dissipate when they started after Carol, but she
didn't say anything. Marilyn waited for a moment, expecting the pilot
to make some sort of announcement, but the petite brunette's
concentration was intense and rather than break into it, Marilyn made
her own call.

"Carol, we're on our way, now. We've got you on radar and have an
intercept course laid in."

"S'all right," Carol replied. "I'm not goin' anywhere." The she giggled
and said, "Well, actually, I am going somewhere, but I'm not doin'
anything while I'm goin' there."

Her voice was still clear in tone, but the slurring of the words drew
Jacqui's attention from her own calculations for a moment and her head
came up to look through the port. Before she said anything though,
Vanna's voice sounded over the speaker.

"Carol, hon? Will you do me a favor while you're, um, waiting?"

She had to repeat her call, "Carol, are you okay?"

"Jus' fine," the distant redhead's voice replied. "No problems where I
am. How 'bout you?"

Vanna's voice held a worried note when she replied. "Carol, will you
check your Oh-Two gauge for me? What's it say?"

"It don't say nothin', girl," Carol's voice giggled. "But it also
doesn't show nothin'. It's broke."

"How do you know it's broken?" asked Marilyn, breaking in.

"'Cause the silly thing says I'm out of air, but I'm not," Carol
replied. "I feel fine. And I have hours of air left."

Vanna made a slashing motion across her throat, and Sandy switched off
the transmitter. She was puzzling out the switches at Vanna's station
so that she could route their communications internally, when Jacqui
took care of it, then spoke.

"We're in trouble," their pilot said.

Marilyn started to speak, then caught herself and looked her question
at Jacqui instead.

"Hypoxia," Jacqui said. "As Vanna guessed, Carol is running out of
air."

Jaymi asked, "How can you be so sure? She's not gasping for breath or
anything, and like she said, she should have hours of air yet."

"Gasping is triggered by CO2 buildup, not by lack of oxygen," explained
Jacqui. "When you're low on oxygen, it's a bit like being drunk. Get
real low, and you just go to sleep."

"So we need to keep her awake?" Sandy suggested.

"Not necessarily," Jacqui replied. "She'll use less air sleeping."

Marilyn asked the important question. "How long does she have?"

Instead of replying, Jacqui turned back to her calculations. Her body
language said she was going to get there as soon as possible, doing
whatever it took to save her crewmate. But that was an answer, too,
though not good enough for Marilyn.

"Jacqui, how long does she have? And how long will it take to get
there?"

"I'm *not* going to lose a member of my crew," Jacqui replied through
gritted teeth.

"You *are* going to answer my question, though," Marilyn said quietly,
but implacably.

Sandy leaned over to look at Jacqui's calculations, then quietly
whispered, "Oh my God."

"Someone better start giving me some answers," Marilyn said, still
quiet, but storm clouds building in her tone.

Jacqui and Sandy looked at each other in silent agony, each praying
that the other saw a solution where they could not.

A solution that was not there.

"It looks like... 40 minutes minimum," reported Sandy. "And, um,
there's another problem."

"Give it to us," ordered Marilyn. "All of it."

Jacqui pointed at a number on the trajectory data, then a gauge on her
panel. "If we follow that minimum time trajectory, we use up all our
fuel."

"That's okay," Jaymi said. "We'll just go home after that anyway.
Jacqui can handle it. Can't you?"

"We use up *all* our fuel," repeated Sandy. "Including what we need for
our own retro burn."

"It's worse than that," Jacqui said. "Carol is going too slow for a
stable orbit. She's going to re-enter herself if we don't get to her.
And chasing her will mean we go down with her."

"So are you saying we can't get to her?" asked Marilyn.

"No!" Jacqui replied. "I'm saying that we *will* get to her. But it
will be on a path that means we re-enter right after we catch her."

"That would bring us down... where?" Jaymi asked with carefully
controlled curiosity. The frown and shrug from Jacqui was enough of an
answer.

Jaymi's question was punctuated by a call over the speaker. "Hey, guys,
whas goin' on? You asleep over there?"

Jacqui looked at Marilyn for permission, and at the blonde's nod,
activated the transmitter.

"Carol, dear, how are you feeling?"

"Jus' fine," the voice said lightly. "A bit lonely. When are y'all
gonna drop by?"

"Would you check your Oh-Two gauge again for me?" Marilyn asked.

"Same as before," Carol replied. "I tol' you, it's busted."

"Carol," Marilyn said, slowly. "It may not be broken."

"Gotta be," Carol argued. "I'm feelin' fine."

"That may be... hiding what's going on," explained Marilyn
patiently. "You remember the briefings we got on hypoxia?"

"On what?"

"Hypoxia. It means you're not getting enough oxygen. It's sneaky."

"Sneaky," Carol's voice repeated dreamily. "Like ol' Rachel. Snuck up
on me."

"Um, yes," Marilyn said. "We're coming after you, but... it may take
a while."

Something in Marilyn's tone broke through Carol's drifting state and
her voice suddenly sharpened. "I'm not going to make it, am I?"

"We *will* get you!" Jacqui answered sharply. "I do *not* lose members
of my crew."

"Not hard to find," Carol replied, her tone bitter. "Nobody out here
but me."

Sandy reached over to cut the transmitter again. Her motion caught
Jacqui's eye, and the two brunettes looked at each other. Sandy's
pointed at a number on the trajectory plot, then her eyes made an offer
to Jacqui. The pilot's lips firmed and she pointedly turned back to her
calculations. Her stiff body said she not only refused to take Sandy up
on whatever she had offered, but refused to discuss it. Sandy sighed,
then turned to Marilyn.

"Jacqui hasn't explained the whole problem," Sandy began. "We're not
only going to be committed to re-entry when we reach Carol. We're going
to be partway into it."

"What does she mean, Jacqui?" asked Marilyn.

"We'll probably be seeing some atmospheric effects when we rendezvous,"
Jacqui said dismissively. "I can handle it."

"With the bay doors open?" whispered Sandy. "And with Carol's bo...
with Carol reacting differently than we do?"

"I am *not* going to lose a member of my crew!" Jacqui declared.

"What is the risk?" Marilyn asked.

"I can handle it," Jacqui claimed again.

"You didn't answer my question," Marilyn said quietly.

Jacqui just kept her face pointed at the displays. Marilyn sighed and
said, "Vanna, what is the risk?"

"How low will we be at rendezvous?" the other blonde asked before
answering.

"Maybe to the 5 millibar level," Sandy answered. "Less than 60 miles
altitude, at about Mach 15."

"How much?" Vanna asked in shock.

Sandy didn't answer. Instead she looked again at Jacqui.

Marilyn's own eyes went to Vanna, who closed her eyes in dismay, but
shook her head.

"Jacqui, stop thrusting," the curvy, blonde said, her soft body no
counter to her hard words - words forced on her by a commander's
unrelenting responsibility.

"I can get her," Jacqui said, but her adamant words couldn't hide the
despair in her voice.

"Jacqui, stop the engines," Marilyn repeated implacably.

The pilot's dark eyes glistened with frustrated tears, but she reached
for a switch. Suddenly, they were weightlessly drifting again.

Marilyn closed her eyes for a long moment, searching within herself for
the words to say. Jaymi's slender arm stole around her shoulders in
support, and Marilyn's hand reached up to pat the brunette's comforting
touch. The others were silent, still, waiting. Sandy's lips moved
without sound as she remembered prayers she had long thought
irrelevant. In a moment, Vanna was doing the same. Whether they shared
the same view of God was not very important right then, both wanted the
solace of faith in something greater than themselves, something that
could help where they were helpless. Jacqui just cried, eyes filling
with tears that had no where to go, that couldn't even fall away.

"Carol?" Marilyn finally spoke. There was no answer.

"Carol?" Marilyn repeated.

The speakers provided Carol's voice, seemingly so close. "Uhhhh, sorry,
Boss. I musta dozed off. Sleepy."

"Carol, we have a problem," Marilyn said.

"Already figgered that out," Carol replied.

Jacqui spoke. "Carol, I'm so sorry."

"S'all right, Rachel. Unnerstan'"

Jacqui's eyes narrowed in a new frown at the error in her name, but
before she could correct Carol, Marilyn interceded, whispering with her
mike muted.

"Go with it. I'll explain later."

Jacqui shrugged, but nodded. "Thanks Carol. I appreciate that."

"'ppreciate you," Carol mumbled. Then her voice strengthened, though it
was still slurred. "Rachel, you ever see that asteroid movie? Not the
one with Bruce whatsisname, Willis. Other one."

"Um, sure," Jacqui said, confused.

"Inna end a' that movie, when they're gonna die, remember what the girl
said?"

"Which girl?"

"Onna shuttle. Said they'd all get high schools named after them.
Remember?"

"Yes."

"Good. Tell Marilyn, I want name to be Carol, not Carl."

"What?" Jacqui said, too surprised to continue with the role-play.

Carol's voice took on a petulant tone. "Carol, not Carl. Promise me,
Rachel. Tell Marilyn. She can do an'thin'. Promise?"

"I'll tell her," Jacqui said, the confusion in her eyes not hiding the
tightness in her throat.

"Gettin' dark," Carol's voice reported a few minutes later. "Can't see
Earth anymore. Mus' be nighttime. Nighty night."

"Go to sleep now, Carol," whispered Jacqui.

"You, too, Rache," Carol replied. "G'night."

The silence that followed was broken only by a soft weeping too
terrible for Marilyn's heart to contain.

Chapter 22 - "Mistress With The Mostest"

"Mr. Gates, Ladies, the President will see you now," reported the
courteous functionary, smiling in appreciation as they stood.

The team, including their punctiliously neat boss, Sam Gates, were
waiting in a hallway outside the famous Oval Office. It was clear that
they were a team, though they no longer wore their colorful skin-tight
spacesuits. Nonetheless, they were essentially in uniform; snugly
tailored business suits complete with button-down shirts and color-
coordinated neckties. The suits - except for the dark blue that Gates
wore - were charcoal gray, accented with a pinstripe in each team
member's trademark color, including a muted purple for Jacqui. Only an
Ally McBeal shortness of the skirts and too-high heels interfered with
the professional dignity they portrayed, and those fashion statements
were not optional. Carol's memory demanded nothing less.

Gates nodded, and led the way to the opened door. Once inside though,
he stepped to the side and motioned for Marilyn to array her team in
the space before the desk in the office, an empty desk in an
unpopulated office. Before they had all entered, however, the President
stepped through another door, smiling and offering his hand to the
curvy blonde leader.

"Ms. Richards, or if you prefer, Col. Merlin, I'm pleased to finally
meet you."

"Thank you, sir. Marilyn is fine. May I present my, uh, the team?"

"Of course," he replied, though his eyes sharpened for a moment as he
caught the break in her words. Introductions took only a moment, each
woman receiving a politician's smile and a carefully impersonal
handshake - each woman but Sandy, at whose hand the Prresident paused.
"I swear, my daughters look older than you."

"Clean living, Mr. President," Sandy said, dimpling in a smile while
adding just enough of a graceful sway in her hips to imply a curtsy.

"Hmmm. I'll have to recommend that they give it a try," he said wryly.

Turning away from the women the President continued, "Not surprisingly,
I find I agree with you, Sam. I've read the report, and I am
impressed."

Gates just nodded, indicating with his head in Marilyn's direction. The
President nodded in his turn, and faced her. "The camera tapes you
brought back show that the Brilliant Pebbles are no longer a threat,
yet the Seward station is itself in a stable orbit. We'll work
something out with the intact parts of it - probably in conjunction
with the International Space Station facilities. The threat you were
sent to counter has been neutralized. I don't want to imply that your.
.. unique qualifications were not an important element of your success
in this, but I do believe that you and your team have demonstrated a
competence that would have succeeded in any mission assigned to you."

Instead of making some suitably modest reply, Marilyn looked away and
dropped her head. Sandy stepped up to place an arm around her
shoulders, beating Jaymi by only a heartbeat. No words were spoken, but
the President stepped back, leaning one hip on the desk. He paused for
a moment, obviously looking for the right thing to say. Gates stepped
forward ready to intervene, but a subtle wave of the President's hand
stopped him.

Marilyn looked like she was about to say something, but stopped
herself, looking at Sandy, then sighing.

The President straightened from where he was sitting on the desk and
looked at Jacqui. "Ms. Cleaver, you are a very talented pilot," he
said, changing the topic for the moment. "You did a good job getting
that shuttle down with the limited fuel you had to work with when it
came time to do the re-entry burn."

"Um, yes sir. Thank you sir."

"You are also a problem for us," he said next, surprising her.

"I, um, don't understand, sir," she replied, but her eyes showed a
different message, then dropped as the President's smile said he saw
the truth she had denied.

He sent an engaging grin her way, then quoted, "You can always tell a
fighter pilot, but you can never tell him much."

"I was one a' them fighter pilots, too, y'know," he continued, letting
a bit of drawl into his words. "And they - we - are all sure we're not
only more talented, but flat out smarter than anyone else around. So
I'm not surprised that you think you're the only one to have realized
Carol gave away her `secret´."

Then his tone became more serious as he continued, "But the need to
maintain security on this is more important than your ego, or mine. Sam
and Marilyn told me that we have to do something with you."

He finished with what was obviously a direct order. "Tell me what you
think you've figured out."

Jacqui looked at her teammates, guiltily, but she stood to attention in
an unconscious reflex and reported. "Carol was... not really a
woman. Lord knows she looked like one, a very pretty one, but... she
was really a man. And based on... things I've noticed, I don't think
..."

She ran down, but her glance traveled to the other team members and it
was clear what she was thinking.

The President looked at Gates, who nodded, then began, "Ms. Cleaver,
this team you've been working with is called, `SMITE´,
which stands for She-Male Independent Tactical Expedition."

"She-Male?" repeated Jacqui.

"Yes. With the exception of you, the whole team was born male, but now
have the external appearance of women - with the exception of one
important.. characteristic of their birth gender."

To her credit, Jacqui's pretty face was not marred by any expression of
disgust or dismay. There was confusion, but its cause was quickly made
clear when she asked, "Why?"

"It was those damn drugs," Vanna said with a little shake of remembered
distress. "If we'd have been... born women, we truly would have been
as helpless as Seward expected. You only caught a tiny bit of it in the
shuttle. In his control room, it was... incredible. And our, um,
nature turned out to be doubly important when the male-arousal
pheromones he used to enhance his own enjoyment and aggressiveness
counteracted the effects of the female-arousal ones he had hit us with.
That's what allowed us to defeat him."

"This is not the first mission which has required this team's unique
capabilities," interjected the President. "Nor even the most important
to the security of the United States or the world as a whole."

"However," he continued, "some of those missions, though successful,
could still be compromised if our.. adversaries even realized we *had
* a team of soldiers who looked like women but could, um, function as
men. Since you know that secret, you have become a problem."

"I'd never tell anyone!" Jacqui promised.

"You're right," Gates said. "The only question is: How are we going to
guarantee that? We will guarantee it, but there are... alternate
ways to achieve that end."

Jacqui sniffed at that implied threat. "Like what? Throw me in some
deep dark prison somewhere and never let me out."

Gates made that threat very real with an emotionless, "That's one way,
yes."

"That shouldn't be necessary," Marilyn said, speaking for the first
time since she had become lost in her memories of Carol's loss. "Jacqui
can.. join the team."

"She's not a she-male," Gates pointed out bluntly.

"I know that," Marilyn replied testily. "We can work around it."

"Would you be willing to be part of such a team?" the President asked
Jacqui. "Security is... extreme. Your old life would be over, at
least the professional part. No more space missions, at least."

Jacqui turned to look out the windows behind the desk. It was evening,
and the night sky held stars despite the glow of city lights. "I don't
know..."

"While you're deciding, we should probably take care of the rest of the
business of this meeting," the President said. "It may influence your
choice." He nodded at Gates who pulled a folder from his unobtrusive
briefcase.

"Attention to orders," Gates commanded, and out of reflex the women
formed into a neat line.

"I think we can dispense with at least some of the formality," the
President decided. "The citations are all fake anyway - not the part
about courage and sacrifice of course, but the specifics are...
unspecific. Let me just cut to the chase here."

"Jaymi Fox," he said, stepping up to the brunette, "according to the
mission report, you saved a lot of people by recognizing and
interrupting the command codes for those weapons. We've analyzed the
signal traffic you captured and the first two weapons were targeted for
Congress and this very room we're standing in. Some of the country
might consider that a small loss, but I am personally rather grateful.
It gives me great pleasure to award you the Legion of Merit."

"Vanna White," he continued, not without a grin at her chosen name,
"Though your contributions, and those of your teammates, are unique,
you are truly soldiers in the service of your nation. It is clear that
you performed to the standards of the Soldier's Medal, and I find it
personally interesting that this is a step down from your last award,
despite the unique skills and courage you demonstrated."

"Jacqui Cleaver, regardless of what you decide to do from here, you
have certainly earned this award, the Air Force Distinguished Flying
Cross." He continued with that friendly grin, "I'm sorry you won't be
able to brag about how you got it. I know how important that is to
pilots."

When he reached the next person in line, his grin increased to a
snicker as he recited her name, "Sandy Beech, I've talked to a lot of
people who have won `the Big One´, the Medal of Honor.
Every single one of them hopes never to be faced with something that
might win another one. I hope you'll be satisfied with this Soldier's
Medal as well. You have set an enormous standard for yourself, yet this
medal is justly deserved and honors all those who have ever won it."

"Yes, sir, Mr. President," Sandy replied, bowing her head as the ribbon
was placed around her neck.

"Marilyn," the President said, turning to the last team member - at
least the last one in the room. "It's traditional for the commanding
officer to receive his, uh, her honors last. However, one member
couldn't be here to accept her award. Presenting it to her family faces
the same security problems that we've been discussing, and I understand
they were not close anyway. Would you be willing to accept Carol's
Medal of Honor on her behalf? Her sacrifice cannot be honored by
anything else, because there is nothing higher the country can do."

Marilyn's eyes filled with a shine that threatened imminent flood, but
she shook her head rather than nodding. Holding up her hand to
forestall her Commander-in-Chief, she turned to Jacqui. Marilyn spoke
in a tight, thin voice with none of the light energy she had trained
herself to use.

"Jacqui, things can be very... tough on this team. As you've just
heard, the girls have earned - the hard way - two Congressional Medals
of Honor. That's a sign of very difficult, very high-risk missions. And
it has resulted in the death of one of us already; a death not caused
by random risk or accident, but by a deliberate sacrifice. If you join
the team, you're facing a greater challenge than anything NASA could
ever throw at you. Yet... the girls need you, more than you know.
Will you join them?"

Jacqui looked at Marilyn in surprise, not expecting her to force the
issue so bluntly. After a moment, she nodded. At Jacqui's acceptance,
Marilyn sighed, and seemed to shrink as she lost a little of the
stiffness in her military posture. There was even more sadness in her
eyes, though, when she turned next to Sandy.

"Sandy, dear, even with the example of Carol, you are the bravest
person I have ever met. And probably the smartest. It's not your fault
that you never received the formal education it takes to handle some of
the things the team commander needs to do. Like a lot of things, that's
my fault, too. You're an excellent second, but you're not ready to take
command of the team."

"I don't want command," Sandy said in confusion.

"I know that," Marilyn said. "But I don't either."

She turned back to the President and said, "Mr. President, I resign.
Effective immediately. Jacqui is a qualified command officer, and I
know the team will serve her as ably as they have served me. I don't
deserve to lead them, though. Nor do I deserve to receive Carol's
medal. Give it to Jacqui on behalf of the team."

Her quiet words hung in the air of the room, seeming to echo back from
the curving walls. It was impossible to sort out the next words,
because when they came, it was as though a dam had broken and the
resulting flood was too confused to be coherent.

"If she quits, I quit!" "*No*, Marilyn, you can't!" "I don't *want* the
job, not at that price!" "You're crazy!"

The President held up his hand and the well-trained voices stilled.
"Sixty-two," he said softly.

Marilyn said, "Excuse me?"

Gently, slowly enough that it was clear she would have time to draw
back if she chose, the President reached out and cupped Marilyn's chin
in his hand, drawing her face to look directly at him.

"You don't consider the mission a success because of what happened to
Carol Stevenson," he said, no question in his tone. "I've never had
anyone under my direct command die, but I have worn the uniform, and I
do understand military discipline - and risks. Since I have taken
office, sixty-two American service men and women have died in the line
of duty. Ms. Stevenson was one of them, but I feel responsible for each
and every loss."

He dropped his hand, but continued to capture Marilyn's eyes with his
own. "Can you believe that I understand what you're feeling?"

Marilyn nodded, dutifully, but her shoulders squared a little and she
lifted her head.

Her Commander-in-Chief continued, "I want an honest answer now. Is
there anyone else - in all of your experience, including Lt. Col.
Cleaver - who is *more* qualified to lead this team than you? Even
considering what you're feeling about Carol's loss?"

After a long pause, Marilyn shook her head.

The President asked, "And could you have done anything differently that
would have saved Carol without an even greater cost if the missiles had
rained down on us?"

At this, Marilyn's head dropped again and she didn't try to hide the
despair in her voice as she said, "No, Mr. President, but that's the
point! I should have been able to save her, but I couldn't. And if I
were in the same situation again, I'd fail again. Even now, with all
the time in the world to think about it, I can't come up with anything
else I could have done."

"Then I for *damn* sure couldn't have!" interjected Jacqui, breaking
ranks to stand before the taller woman. Their relative statures were
unimportant though, for the fierceness boiling from the shorter
brunette made her loom over the blonde. "Look, Marilyn, if the only
reason you feel you can quit this team is because I'm now part of it,
then I quit. Hell, even I don't want to be part of the team if you're
not leading it. Carol disobeyed your direct orders, not once, but
several times. You did all a commander could do. Don't you dare degrade
her sacrifice by blaming yourself."

All of a sudden Jacqui seemed to realize what she was doing, lecturing
a superior officer and in the presence of the President himself. Her
mouth, opened to deliver the next barrage, snapped closed and she
flinched as she turned to look over her shoulder at the leader of her
nation. The graceful slither forced on her by her stilt heels gave a
dual meaning to `slink´ as she moved back into line, a
fiery blush consuming the rest of her energy.

The President smiled and said, "I don't believe I could have said that
better myself." Then his eyes took on a serious, sympathetic expression
as he looked back at the wide-eyed blonde, "Please, Marilyn, reconsider
your decision. I have full confidence in you. It's not easy to accept
that sense of responsibility, but I wouldn't want anyone in such an
important position who felt it any less."

He held out the box containing Carol's Medal of Honor to Marilyn again.
The rest of the team held their breath while she made her decision,
then released an explosive gasp when a small sad smile relaxed the
frown that showed on her troubled brow. Marilyn reached for the box,
and nodded slightly.

"I don't want to make any more posthumous awards - not even of the
Medal of Honor," the President said, then reached for another box
handed him by Sam Gates. "After the intensity of that decision, I hope
you find it easier to accept this one, too. The Distinguished Service
Medal is not easy to earn, and in this case it's especially well
deserved. Let's hope that future missions for your team are less -
challenging.

Then he smiled sadly and added, "Though I'm afraid I expect they will
be."

He stepped back and smiled at the array of beautiful women. His smile
was genuine, but also deliberate, an attempt to close the encounter on
a positive note. He saw a note of greater humor in Sam Gates' face
though, despite the fact it was only visible as a slight twitch.

"What's so funny, Sam?" he demanded.

Gates twitched again, then replied, "Well, Mr. President, I was just
thinking. You get very little credit in the press for the cultural
diversity your Administration demonstrates, with people of all
backgrounds in positions of great responsibility. This has got to be
about the most... dramatic example of that I could imagine: A
genetic woman on a she-male team comprised of genetic males who look
like beautiful women tthemselves. And we can't tell a soul about it."

"Goodness, no!" the president replied. "Even aside from the security
aspects, the right-wingers would have a cow, and the left-wingers would
claim it was all political anyway."

"That's what you get for being a moderate, Mr. President," Gates
observed.

The Commander-in-Chief shrugged, then turned back to Marilyn. "Is there
anything I can do for you, more than these medals? I don't mean the
logistics of supporting your team. Sam handles that. I want to know if
there is something... personal you need that I can help with."

That offer was probably intended to be merely polite, and the polite
response would be to deny any need. But Marilyn surprised him by making
a real request, though her voice choked with emotion as she spoke.

"Yes, Mr. President, there is. Carol's last request was to have a high
school named after her. Apparently there was some movie where that was
the reward for some astronauts who died sacrificing themselves for the
people on the ground. Can that be done?"

The President was surprised when she made her request, but he recovered
quickly, pulling a well-worn notebook from the jacket of his suit. He
wrote for a moment, then looked up. "Ah, do you think it should be, um,
Carol, or Carl?"

Though his voice was gentle, recognizing the poignancy of that
question, it was too much for Marilyn. She buried her face in her hands
and turned away.

Her team huddled around her, sharing the moment even as they defended
her from the terror of being alone - or tried to. Yet, just as they
could not be with Carol in her ultimate loneliness, the weight of
command could not really be shared. Marilyn's tears were hidden, yet
unstoppable.

Jacqui, on the outside by virtue of reactions just a millisecond slower
than her teammates, turned to the President and said, "Carol, Mr.
President. It was her last wish, and how I learned her true nature."

Before the President could reply, Jacqui continued, speaking almost to
herself. "That's not really true. I knew her true nature long before
that. What I learned about her plumbing didn't really change that."

The President nodded, then put his notebook back in his suit pocket. "I
will make that a personal commitment. Carol Stevenson will get her name
on a high school, or there won't be any federal education funding next
year."

"And," he continued, "I will also make a personal commitment to pray
for her, and for you all."

The highly trained, demonstrably competent, super-secret team of
America's finest dissolved into sobs as his comment took them all back
to Carol's last moments when prayers were all they had to offer her.

Gates' voice intruded on the moment, and though it was indeed an
intrusion, it was also a relief. "Mr. President, it's time for your
next appointment."

"Of course," the President replied. He watched the women make an
ineffectual attempt to repair smudged makeup and prepare to leave.

That mundane duty resurrected controls that memories had broken, and
the team leader managed a nod to her Commander-in-Chief. "Thank you,
Mr. President," she said as they left the famous room.

There was a convenient powder room outside the Oval Office, and the
team took advantage of it to recover as much as possible of their
typical beauty. It didn't meet the standards Marilyn had established,
but it would do for the trip back to their hotel. As they gathered up
their things before the mirror, Jacqui looked at her new comrades in
arms and said, "That had better be one *hell* of a great school."

Marilyn nodded, then sent her own inspecting gaze to each of her team
members. "Thank you, all, for your confidence. I'll try to live up to
it."

Vanna forced a smile on her features, then a mock grimace of horror.
"Oh, Lordy, if you think you have to do *more*, then God help us all!"

"You got that right," Sandy said, a smile on her lips that was at odds
with the blinking she was doing to keep her tears under control. "Oh,
Jacqui, you poor fool. You won't believe what she's like when we're *
not* on a mission."

Jacqui laughed and said, "You can't scare me. I was on that swamp trek
with you. I know how she drives her slaves."

"You don't have a clue!" Jaymi claimed, then provoked a small smile of
pride from Marilyn when the brunette concluded, "but you will!"

© 2001 by Brandy Dewinter