Ovid V: The Jet Jockey
By The Professor

	It was a pleasant spring Saturday in Ovid. The sun was shining
and the temperature was nearing seventy. Jerry and I had decided to
make it a lazy day at the Patton household, letting the kids watch TV
and play while he and I puttered at various small projects around the
house.  Jerry fertilized the yard, stopping at least twice for another
beer. I did a little ironing and sewed a couple of missing buttons on
the kids' shirts. All in all, it was just another domestic weekend in
small town America. The only thing that made it a little unusual is
that about six months earlier, all the members of the Patton family
had been fraternity brothers at Notre Dame.

	I was the only one in the family who knew this. My husband,
Jerry, thought he had always been Jerry Patton, currently the manager
of Duggan's IGA out on the edge of town. The twins, Mike and Michelle,
were nearly seven, and they were as normal as kids could be. Me? I
knew what had happened to us. I knew we had been turned into a model
Midwestern family. I knew my sex had been changed. But you know what?
I didn't care anymore. It was a good life. Jerry and I both had good
jobs, the sex was surprisingly great, and I wouldn't have changed any
of it for the world.

	Jerry was in the den with the kids watching something on TV
when the doorbell rang. Since I was on my feet and closest to the
front door, I answered it. At the door was a woman I had never seen
before, but I knew her instantly. She was a tall blonde, her hair cut
in a pageboy style.  She had fair skin and Nordic features. She was
wearing a pair of denim shorts and sandals which displayed incredible
legs. Her top was a white knit, showing off a set of perfect
breasts. I found myself envying her.  I was dressed about the same,
but next to her, I looked like a boy. I should point out that in
reality, I looked nothing like a boy.

	"And your name is?" I asked, knowing that she would have a new
one.

	"Diane Mane," she responded with a smile. "Goddag."

	"Goddag?"

	"Swedish for hello," she explained.

	"Aren't you a little out of your territory?" I asked. After
all, Diana - or Diane as she now called herself - was one of the gods
from Greek and Roman mythology, not Norse.

	"I don't think anyone will mind," she said with a smile. Then,
looking me over, she added, "Nice outfit. You look like one hot babe."

	"So do you," I laughed. "Come on in."

	We holed up in the kitchen, the rest of my family oblivious to
our conversation. I had a hunch Diane had something to do with that,
but I didn't ask. I fixed us each a glass of lemonade and sat down at
the kitchen table with her.

	"So what brings you here?' I asked. "I thought you usually
left town for the weekend."

	"Usually," she agreed, "but something interesting just
happened and I wanted to see it while the story was fresh."

	I knew the story she meant. I was the repository of the
stories of Ovid's newest citizens, and already four of the major gods,
the only ones who were allowed to see the stories, had come to see me
about it.  After all, it was really several days old. I didn't tell
Diane that, though. She would have been heartbroken to learn that some
of the other gods had seen the story first.

	"Which story?" I asked innocently.

	She sighed, "You've been a girl too long. You've learned how
to be coy."

	I smiled, "Do you think so?" I batted my eyelashes for good
measure.

	"Do I get to see the story, or do I have to turn you into a
toad?"

	"Well, since you put it that way," I replied and went into my
trance...

					***

	A casual observer, walking along the cloud tops, would have
been startled as three silver arrows burst through the fleecy layer on
a course that would seem to take them straight into the sun. The
triple blast of explosive exhaust cracked across the sky, mixed with
the air itself, compressed and pushed aside by the supersonic speed of
the three arrows. When he had regained his composure, the observer
would have seen the three arrows for what they were - F18 Hornets
streaking to their assigned altitude on patrol.

	Of course, there was no observer walking casually through the
clouds, although I almost imagined one being there. Instead, there
were only the six of us who manned the fighters, and we were too busy
doing our assigned duties to appreciate the aesthetics of our
situation. Flying a jet fighter is a dangerous business, requiring all
of the pilot's skill and attention. A mistake at supersonic speeds can
cost the loss of a multimillion dollar aircraft and, more importantly,
the lives of the two pilots.

	We were on patrol over the Gulf, three powerful warbirds that
could carry enough firepower to sweep any known enemy from the
skies. Our task was to enforce the No Fly zones in southern Iraq. Our
standing orders were to use whatever force was necessary to maintain
absolute control of the skies. We took our jobs seriously.

	"Boxer One, Control," a voice barked in my ear.

	"Boxer One, aye," I responded. That was my designation for the
mission.  I was in the lead aircraft, Boxer Two off my left wing and
Boxer Three off my right.

	"Bogey bearing two niner five at twenty six. Range two
hundred, speed four four oh. Do you copy?"

	"We copy," I replied to the voice. Control was an E-2C Hawkeye
off the Eisenhower with AWACS capability. The incredibly powerful
radars she sported could have probably picked up a paper airplane
sailed out of the window of the Defense Ministry in Baghdad. I
reported our actions to Control as I gave the order to my patrol to
turn to meet the threat.  Battle was imminent.  At our speeds, we
would be on top of each other before -

	Boxer One, break off and return to base. Boxer Two, you have
con."

	I was being told to turn tail and run, leaving my two wingmen
to face the threat. That didn't seem possible. "Repeat, Control!"

	"Break off now, Boxer One! Return to base."

	The real world isn't like Tom Cruise in Top Gun. You don't
say, "The hells with orders," and go blazing into combat if you ever
want to sit in the cockpit again. "Boxer One, aye. Breaking off."

	I did allow myself one private message, though. I called Boxer
Two and Three to wish them luck.

	"What's going on, Rich?" Terry Brooks asked through the
intercom from the seat behind me.

	"You've got me, Terry," I grumbled. This was it, my first
chance at actual combat. I had paid my dues, damn it!  What the hell
was going on?  I needed to be tested. I needed the combat experience
if I was ever going to achieve my goals.

	My goals, I thought. My goals had begun to come into focus
when I was ten years old back home in the Boston suburbs. Dad took my
two brothers and me to an air show. The featured activity of the day
was a performance by the Blue Angels, the Navy's crack precision
aviation team. I stood there on the hot tarmac with thousands of other
people, my mouth open in awe as the best pilots in the world thrilled
us with seemingly impossible stunts in the skies above. I knew at that
moment that I wanted to fly. I wanted it more than I had ever wanted
anything else in my life. I was going to fly or know the reason why.

	I studied my ass off in school. Math wasn't easy for me, but I
knew I'd have to get good at it if I ever wanted to be in a military
cockpit. By high school, I was an A math student, as well as in all my
other classes as well. Good grades alone wouldn't get me where I
wanted to go, though.  My family lived in a small town in
Massachusetts, so I had plenty of opportunities for extracurricular
activities. I made the football team, starting by my sophomore year as
a tight end. I made the basketball squad, too, although even my slim
six two frame wasn't enough to get me on the starting squad. When it
came to track, though, I could run like the wind, setting two
conference records and coming within four seconds in the 5k of
breaking the state record.

	I found time to be popular, too. I was on class council every
year, and my senior year, I was Vice President of the student body. So
there I was, smart, popular, and athletic, so needless to say, I
enjoyed a successful social life as well. There weren't too many girls
in high school who wouldn't have liked to land me right out of high
school, but as much as I enjoyed them, I had no plans to marry for at
least four years.

	Why four years? Because that's how long it would take me to
get through the Naval Academy. I don't think Dad ever figured out why
I would want to go to the Naval Academy. He had been an engineer in
the high-tech industry for his entire adult life, and he told me that
with my abilities, I could make big bucks doing the same
thing. Besides, he told me, he and my mother could afford to send me
to college. I didn't need the free ride at Annapolis to get a good
education. I knew that, but I knew what I wanted. My acceptance at the
Naval Academy would put me on the fast track for that jet I had wanted
since I was ten. No amount of money would make up for losing that.

	Four years at Annapolis can be hard on the best of men and
women.  You're surrounded by young people who are every bit as smart
and motivated as you are. When you graduate, you're given more
responsibility right out of school than many of your civilian
counterparts garner in a lifetime. But I thrived on the competition. I
didn't make Battalion Commander, but I spent time as both a Company
Commander and a member of Battalion Staff. I was in the top ten
percent of my graduating class. Of course, I requested Aviation.

	My record continued throughout Flight School, and when I made
it to my first squadron, I had already been identified as an up and
comer.  Squadron CO's shoved as much work my way as they could,
knowing I would do whatever it took to reach the top. To me, the top
was eventually to have my own squadron. No goal above that seemed
worth the price. As a squadron CO, I would still spend time in the
air. Above that, it would all be paperwork. Why make Admiral when you
have to stay on the ground?

	As my plane made its lonely way back to the carrier, I
realized that I had just experienced the biggest setback of my
military life. Combat missions were rare, even in the Gulf. In the
air, Iraq was like a mosquito. It could irritate you, even make you
bleed, but in the final round, it would be squashed flat. The Iraqi
leadership knew that, too, so there weren't many challenges to US air
power. Now, I had missed my chance at one of those challenges. I might
never get another one. With combat under my belt, I would stand ahead
of my compatriots when selection for further responsibility came
along. On that day in the future when I stood for squadron CO, I might
lose out to a man no better qualified, but with combat experience. It
wasn't a pleasant thought.

	I had to take my mind off my problems, though. Down below,
there was an aircraft carrier, and the most dangerous part of a
mission was still ahead of me - the landing. Even experienced pilots
in the other services cringe at the thought of what a Navy pilot goes
through to land a plane on a carrier deck. An Air Force pilot lands
his aircraft on a strip of concrete approximately a hundred feet wide
and a couple of miles long. A Navy pilot doesn't really land his
plane. He actually initiates a "controlled crash" on a forty foot by
sixty foot section of metal deck which is pitching and rolling with
the motion of the sea. To make it even more fun, your tailhook has to
catch one of four steel cables called "wires" which will reduce your
landing speed from about a hundred and seventy knots to zero in a
little over two seconds.

	I was on final, listening to the LSO - the Landing Systems
Officer - give me commands while I watched the "meatball," a lighted
optical device which showed me exactly where my plane was in relation
to the moving deck. Seas were calm and winds light as I brought my
plane in toward the deck. It looked to be a textbook landing, but I
was still ready to throw on the afterburners if I missed any of the
wires. I didn't have to throw them on, though, for the landing was a
pretty one, catching the number three wire like something out of a
Pensacola training film. The powerful fighter came to a smooth but
abrupt halt, and I powered back to taxi in.

	"Short hop," my Crew Chief yelled over the noises on the
carrier deck as I scrambled down the ladder.

	"What's going on?" I yelled back when I was on the deck. "Why
did they recall us?"

	 The Crew Chief shrugged casually. Contrary to what many
non-military people think, there is a lot of mutual respect between
pilots and their enlisted ground crews. They're part of a team, so
there's not a lot of time for excessive military formality. "Don't
know, sir. The skipper doesn't always consult with me. He's waiting
for you in the forward ready room."

	When he spoke of the skipper, he was not referring to the
ship's captain. Rather, he was talking about Commander Murchison, our
Squadron Commander.

	"We're on our way," I said, motioning for Terry to follow.

	"No, sir," the Crew Chief said. "He wants to see you
alone. Mr. Brooks isn't invited."

	My stomach dropped a few thousand feet. Why would the skipper
call me back from a mission just to talk to me privately? What was so
important that it wouldn't wait until we got back from the mission?
Whatever it was, I had a feeling I wasn't going to like it.

	The skipper was, as promised, in the ready room. I was happy
to see he looked relaxed. Whatever was up wasn't bad or he would have
been standing. Instead, he was seated in one of the high-backed
chairs, reading what appeared to be a set of orders. He looked up when
he saw me at the door and said, "Come on in, Rich."

	I was still in my flight suit, but he didn't comment on my
recall. He got right down to business before I could ask any
questions. "You're being reassigned, Rich."

	"Reassigned?' I asked. The squadron was a three-year tour, and
I had only been on board for eighteen months. "What's going on,
Skipper? Why call me back from a mission just to tell me I have orders
eighteen months early?"

	"Because we were told to," he replied, handing me the
orders. "By your new boss."

	I looked at the orders. Cutting through the bureaucratic
double talk on the orders, I saw the key sentence: "You are ordered to
report to NAVINTEL Code 146 by 0730..."

	I looked at the date. "That's tomorrow."

	He nodded. "Your bags have been packed for you and the COD is
waiting."  COD stood for Carrier Onboard Delivery. It was a C-2
aircraft that ferried men and material out to the ship from a shore
base.

	"Sir, I know what NAVINTEL is. That's Naval Intelligence, but
what is Code 146? I thought all the code designations were two
digits."

	"Your guess is as good as mine," he said. "Now, you had better
get up on deck. As soon as you get ashore, there's a plane waiting to
take you to Washington." He handed me my orders and stuck out his
hand. "I hate to lose you, Rich. You're one hell of a fine officer. If
I can ever help you, let me know."

	I accepted his hand. "Thank you, sir."

	Fifteen minutes later, I was shot off the deck of the carrier
as a passenger on the COD. It felt odd to leave my ship that way. In
the COD, you're strapped in facing backwards, so the catapult shot
throws your body into the crossed straps rather than pushing you back
in your seat.

I was the only passenger, so I had some time to think. I wasn't an
Intel officer, so why in hell was I being ordered to an Intel unit?
Were they going to park me at some little cubicle in the Pentagon? I
shuddered at the thought. Navy captains were a dime a dozen at the
Pentagon where only an admiral had any real status. Lieutenants like
me? They kept us around to shine shoes and open doors. This wasn't
going to be a good way to get my ticket punched for squadron
commander.

I changed my mind a little when we landed. The plane waiting for me
was a Navy C-9, the Navy version of the DC-9. I was being ferried to
Rome where I would be sent to Washington on a commercial
airliner. Again, I was the only passenger on a special flight. What
was so important about me that I rated air service normally reserved
for an admiral?

In Rome, something even more remarkable happened. Now dressed in my
dress blues, I was ushered by two civilian security guards to a
waiting TWA flight bound for Washington. One of the security guards
handed the flight attendant at the gate my ticket and boarding
pass. She looked at me, obviously surprised. "Someone must think
you're pretty important, Lieutenant," she remarked.

"You mean the guards?" I asked, nodding toward the two departing
security men.

She smiled. "That and the fact that we've had to delay our departure
for thirty minutes waiting for you."

It was one thing to have Navy aircraft standing by for my use, but it
was quite another thing to delay the departure of a commercial
airliner.  Who was my new boss? I wondered, and why did he have so
much clout? Code 146 must be one of the most important departments in
Washington, I thought.

To my continued amazement, my seat was in First Class. Several
passengers gave me curious looks obviously wondering how a lowly
junior officer rated such treatment. I wanted to tell them that I
wondered myself, but I just quietly settled in, ordered a drink, and
slipped on a set of earphones to listen to music. After a sumptuous
dinner - probably the best I had ever had in the air - I settled down
as the skies darkened and got as much sleep as I could. I had to
report first thing in the morning. It was going to be a busy day.

We touched down at Dulles at a quarter after six the next morning.
Fortunately, I had had the chance to shave and wash up a bit, but my
shirt was looking a little wilted after the transoceanic flight. It
would have to do, I realized as I got off the plane.

"Lieutenant Baxter?"

As I turned to see who was calling me, I spotted a very pretty young
yeoman. She was motioning for me to talk to her. "Sir, are you
Lieutenant Baxter?"

"Yes," I replied.

"Sir, your luggage is being picked up now from Customs. I have a car
waiting to take you to the Pentagon. If you'll follow me, sir."

She was as professional as she was pretty. "Wait, Yeoman," I
called. She turned to face me. "Don't I have to clear Customs?"

She smiled in relief. "Oh, no sir, it's all been taken care of. Now,
if you'll follow me."

She led me to a nondescript black navy sedan. With the VIP treatment I
had been receiving, I was actually surprised it wasn't a Lincoln or a
Cadillac, but instead, it was your standard Ford sedan. A sky cap was
loading my luggage in the trunk as I got in the back seat. There was a
small package waiting for me.

"I thought you could use a fresh shirt, sir," the yeoman explained.

I unwrapped the shirt, putting it on as we pulled away from the curb.
"Can you tell me what's going on?" I asked.

"I really wouldn't know, sir," she responded. "I'm just the delivery
service."

And an attractive delivery service she was, too. I had to remind
myself that the Navy had some serious regulations against fraternizing
with enlisted personnel. If not for that, I would have probably asked
her out. She was an excellent driver as well. She wove her way through
the early morning traffic with ease. We arrived at the Pentagon a
0715. I had fifteen minutes to spare.

Another yeoman - this one male - was assigned to take me to the
offices of Code 146. I was grateful for the guide. The Pentagon is
actually the largest building on the planet. It consists of pentagonal
rings of buildings, so rather than one large enclosed structure, it is
actually a series of interconnected structures, so getting around is
not easy. I have had friends who have been assigned there who learn
their way to their office, the head, and the nearest cafeteria and
after a year still get totally lost trying to find anything else.

"What exactly is Code 146?" I asked the yeoman as we continued at a
brisk pace through the labyrinth of America's military headquarters. I
was sorry I hadn't brought along some bread crumbs to drop so I could
find my way back.

The yeoman looked back at me and grinned. "I don't rightly know,
sir. If you find out, maybe you can tell me."

"But there really is a Code 146?" I asked.

"Oh, yes sir. It's headed up by an Admiral Nepper. Nobody knows
anything about Code 146 - or about Admiral Nepper for that matter. I
think he's a Vice Admiral, though, so whatever Code 146 is, it must be
important."

It would have to be to pull the strings I had seen pulled in the last
twenty-four hours. Special orders, aborted combat missions, waiting
airplanes, and generally first class treatment smacked of something
very big. I was almost over my pique at losing a chance for combat; it
had been replaced by extreme curiosity about what was going on and
what my role was going to be in it.

	

	The Pentagon is a busy place. The halls are filled with people
hustling from one place to another day and night, yet the yeoman had
led me to an empty corridor. I hadn't imagined that there was such a
thing in the Pentagon, but I was apparently wrong. Then, he turned
into an alcove. As I followed, I almost thought I smelled something
briny, as if the ocean had invaded the air conditioning system of the
building. Suddenly, I found myself in a small waiting room, furnished
only with a Spartan Navy issue couch, guaranteed to be uncomfortable,
and a reception desk.

Behind the desk was an absolutely stunning brunette. She wasn't
military, so I immediately looked for traces of a wedding
ring. Finding none, I gave her my most winning smile as the yeoman
excused himself and headed back to his post. "I'm Lieutenant Richard
Baxter, reporting as ordered," I said formally. Then, more friendly,
"I'd appreciate it if you called me Rich."

She gave me a knowing smile, leaning toward me with a teasing view of
an incredible pair of breasts that her low neckline did little to
disguise.  "I'm pleased to meet you, Lieutenant," she said, putting my
libido on hold. "Admiral Nepper will be with you shortly. Please have
a seat."

I took a seat on the couch which afforded me an excellent view of the
receptionist. She had a face like an angel, framed by brown hair which
actually sparkled. I thought it must be some popular new hair
treatment.  When you're on deployment and away from the United States,
you tend to lose track of new trends. As I've already mentioned, the
low-cut tight blouse did nothing to hide an absolutely beautiful set
of breasts. The desk hid legs that I was sure must be stunning. I
could only see down to her waist to observe that she was wearing a
skirt which appeared to be molded to her body. It was made out of a
shimmering gray-green material that I had never seen before.

"Look," I ventured, not ready to give up on this beauty, "I may be in
town for a couple of days, and I don't really know anyone. Would you
like to have dinner with me?"

For a lot of guys, the line never works. They say it with shyness
bordering on embarrassment. Jet pilots usually have egos as powerful
as their aircraft. There was nothing shy or embarrassed about my
question.  I had a pretty good hit rate with the line.

Not this time, though. She simply smiled at me and said calmly, "I
don't think you're my type, Lieutenant."

"I might surprise you," I told her.

The smile grew even bigger. "And I might surprise you," she returned.

Before I could answer, a deep voice boomed through the intercom, "Ask
Lieutenant Baxter to come in."

I wondered how he knew I was waiting. His receptionist had never told
him I was there.

"Go right through that door," the receptionist pointed, making no move
to show me in.

I tentatively opened the door. "Come in, Lieutenant."

Most senior officers have nice offices, and Admiral Nepper was no
exception. The motif was a combination of professional and personal
mementos. Naval scenes dominated the pictures. They were mostly
paintings of old sailing ships. On the desk and the conference table
were bronze statues of horses - noble steeds with dashing poses. They
looked ready to run from the tables at a moment's notice.

"Did you have a pleasant flight, Lieutenant?" the Admiral asked,
coming from behind his desk to shake my hand. He was a large man. I
was six two, but he was taller than me by at least three inches. His
dress blue jacket was almost straining from the size of his wide
shoulders and expansive chest. His hair was gray and shone even more
than the receptionist's hair. If an actor were to portray him, it
would have to be Charlton Heston in his prime.

I took his hand. His hand was larger and stronger than mine, but the
handshake was firm without being uncomfortable. I met his icy blue
stare man to man. He seemed to like that. He gave a nod to the
conference table. "Have a seat, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir."

"I suppose you're wondering why I sent for you," he began, taking a
seat at the head of the table when I was seated.

"Yes, sir. I am curious," I agreed.

 He sat at the head of the table and slid a sheet of paper in front of
me. "Do you know what this is?"

I looked at the sheet. It was an engineering document with a red Top
Secret stamp in the corner. "Yes, sir," I replied. "This is a fuel
pump for an F-18." I had been Maintenance Officer for the squadron. I
had seen dozens of those pumps. They ensured that the right amount of
fuel reached the engine at all times.

"Very good, Lieutenant," the Admiral said with a slight smile. Then,
he pushed another sheet in front of me. "And this?"

Similar to the first sheet, it was an engineering document. It was
also labeled Top Secret. At first glance, it appeared identical to the
first pump, but on closer inspection, there were subtle differences
around the nozzle and the vanes. "It looks like the same pump, only
there are some small modifications. Look here, sir, at this nozzle. It
looks almost as if there are multiple nozzles there. The only way to
control something like this would be with an extremely complicated
computer chip. This won't work."

"No, Lieutenant," he said, pushing a third document under my nose. It
appeared to be the same drawing, but the writing was all in Chinese.
"This is the one that won't work. It lacks the right chip."

I looked up at him in astonishment and pointed at the second drawing.
"Then are you telling me, sir, that this one works?"

"With the right chip, it most certainly works," he confirmed. "Of
course, it doesn't work by itself. The F-18 has to be modified to make
the finely tuned maneuvers this pump allows. When this new pump is
installed in our F-18s, not only will the plane outmaneuver any other
plane in the sky, but its range will be increased by ten to fifteen
percent."

The increase in range was almost more important than the increase in
maneuverability. With a longer range, targets previously too far
inland for carrier strikes would be accessible.  Range could be
sacrificed for a bigger weapons load on coastal targets. With the
changes in avionics built into the latest generation of F-18s, the new
fuel pump meant an increase of at least five years in the life span of
the fighter. There was just one problem - the Chinese document.

"So the Chinese know about this?"

"They know," the Admiral said. "Their spy network is better than we
had supposed. They could just as easily use this pump, or one similar
to it, to extend the range of their own aircraft. All they need is the
chip to make it work. And it is virtually impossible for them to
develop the chip."

"Unless they steal it, too," I concluded.

The Admiral nodded. "I knew you'd understand. That was part of the
reason I chose you for this mission. You have a quick grasp of
technical matters, and you've flown the F-18. I can send you into the
factory as an observer. It will be your job to determine where the
leak is."

"Sir," I began, "I'm flattered, but I have no experience in espionage.
Surely one of your Intel people would be better at this."

"I can't use my own people," he said simply. "Code 146 is... highly
secret. We have a small staff, and I have reason to believe that staff
has been compromised. I need a fresh face at that plant - someone the
enemy has never seen before. It has to be someone with the technical
skills to understand what is at stake."

There was something he wasn't telling me, but I really couldn't ask
what it was. I had protested that I wasn't qualified, but he had
assured me that I was. If I protested further, I wouldn't be helping
my career.  Still, I couldn't help but wonder what was going on. There
had to be dozens of Intelligence officers from other sections with a
much better background than mine. There had to be reasons for my
selection that I hadn't been told, but Admiral Nepper had no plans to
tell me what they were. I had reached the point at which all I could
do was accept the mission and hear him out.

Satisfied that I would not offer further protest, he continued, "The
chip is the product of Vulman Industries. It's a manufacturing company
with headquarters in Oklahoma. They do manufacturing in several
locations, but the chip was developed by a small research team at the
Oklahoma headquarters. Your cover story will be that you have been
sent to look at the chip and how it works since you will be the first
pilot to field test it."

"Is that true, sir?" I asked suddenly. If it were so, that meant I
would have the status of a test pilot. That would be a
career-enhancing assignment which might even lead to something like
astronaut training. I wouldn't have my own squadron, but I would
gladly shelve that idea to be an astronaut.

The Admiral dashed my hopes, though, when he said, "No, Lieutenant, it
isn't true. In fact, your cover will be that you are a civilian test
pilot. You will leave all Navy identification will Mr. Vulman. But
don't worry. I can assure you that you will get a meaningful
assignment out of this. Your future will be far better than it would
be if I hadn't selected you for this mission."

I didn't really understand the point he was trying to make, but again,
I knew I would have to accept what he said.

"I've arranged a room for you at a nearby Marriott for this evening,"
he went on. "There is a driver waiting for you in the passageway now
to take you there. Then, in the morning, you will be picked up at the
hotel at 0800 by Eric Vulman, the president of Vulman Industries. He
will give you a full mission briefing. He'll also fly you to his
headquarters in Ovid."

"Ovid, sir?"

"Yes," the Admiral nodded. "Ovid, Oklahoma, is the headquarters of
Vulman."

"Exactly where is Ovid, sir?" I had envisioned a facility in Oklahoma
City or Tulsa. At least, there would be a little nightlife. Instead,
it sounded as if I was going to have to spend the next few days or
weeks stuck in some little one-horse town on the Oklahoma
prairie. Bummer.

"It's a little hard to explain," the Admiral said evasively. "Let's
just say it's in eastern Oklahoma and leave it at that."

What the hell is going on? I wondered. Of course, the Admiral was
Intel.  The intelligence community won't even tell you what time it is
if you can't proved that you're cleared for it. Besides, I couldn't
ask anything further. The Admiral had risen from his seat, requiring
me to do the same. He offered me his hand as further evidence that my
interview was over.

"Good luck, son," he said to me as I took his hand. "Just remember,
this is a very important mission. Eric Vulman has my full
confidence. Do whatever he says. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

The beautiful receptionist was still at her desk. She smiled and I
smiled back. "Last chance for a night on the town with me," I told
her.

She laughed, "You don't give up, do you?"

No, I really didn't. As a breed, Navy pilots are used to getting their
way, and that includes with women. They don't call Navy wings "little
golden leg spreaders" for nothing. Secretaries are the best targets
for pilots. They lead relatively boring lives, shuffling paper and
taking orders from everybody. They think pilots live glamorous lives,
filled with adventure and excitement, so they seem to be naturally
attracted to us. All pilots are aware of that, too. "So what do you
say?"

Still, pilots don't win them all. With a staged looked of
disappointment, she replied, "I really am sorry, Lieutenant. I have
another commitment. I'm going fishing with some friends tonight."

I shrugged, "Well, then maybe next time." It was early in the day. I
had plenty of time to find another girl. I wasn't about to waste the
evening, though. Here I was, back from a month at sea. I had one night
in the big city before being hustled off to the hinterlands, and I had
no intention of wasting it.

The driver was waiting as promised. We had walked only a few paces
when I stopped. "Wait a second. I left my cover." Cover was the Navy
term for a cap. I had left my cap in the reception area and had
forgotten to pick it up when I left. It was a common error since I had
just come from being on a ship where caps are seldom worn below decks
and never on the flight deck during operations.

As I walked back to the reception area, I could have sworn I heard a
splashing sound. When I entered the reception area, the beautiful
receptionist was nowhere to be seen, but my cover was still on the
table next to the couch. I picked it up and prepared to leave when
something odd caught my eye. There was something around the base of
the reception desk. I looked at it closely. It was something wet. She
probably spilled something and went to get something to clean it up, I
thought.

Then I looked at the liquid more closely. It appeared to be water, but
it was foaming slightly. I touched the liquid with the tips of my
fingers and held them to my nose. There was an odd smell, but one I
recognized. It was the smell of kelp. The water was ocean water. What
was she doing with ocean water at her desk? Shaking my head, I left.
There was certainly something strange about Code 146. I just wished
that I knew what it was.

The room at the Marriott was comfortable, and the staff was
accommodating. Even though it was still morning, they got my room
ready, and I was in it by eleven in the morning. In the room, there
was a suitcase, open on the bed. It was a nice one, favored by many
business travelers, but it wasn't mine. Attached to it was a note:

Lieutenant Baxter:

  I've taken the liberty of moving your personal effects to this bag, 
  along with clothes and other items which will confirm your cover
  identity. There is also a small travel kit in the bag which you should
  use to place all of your Navy Ids and other items which do not conform
  to your new identity. You can give them to me in the morning. Just
  leave all of your uniforms in the room when you leave, and they will
  be taken care of for you. I look forward to working with you.

  Eric Vulman

I looked through the bag. He had done an excellent job. Any item I had
owned which had a Navy crest or identification from the Eisenhower had
been removed and replaced with an appropriate civilian
equivalent. There was also a wallet which identified me as Mike
Donovan, a civilian test pilot for McDonald Douglas. I was based out
of St Louis. I didn't know the city well, but I had been there, so I
could fake it if I had to. I made a mental note to see how the Blues
were doing so I could discuss hockey if the subject came up.

I took a shower - my first one since the day before on the Eisenhower.
Then, I sacked out for a few hours so I would be alert for the
evening.  While I was asleep, I had the weirdest dream. I could have
sworn I heard Admiral Nepper's voice. "Are you sure this will work?"
he was asking. "I do have other operatives we could use."

"And they'll be compromised, too," another voice said. It was a
sultry, feminine voice.

"But what if he makes a mistake? He will be under a lot of pressure."

"He can handle it, uncle," the woman's voice said. "Your brother has
handled many similar situations."

"I don't know. My brother may be over his head on this affair."

"Perhaps I should get to know our lieutenant better," the woman's
voice mused.

I drifted further into sleep and couldn't remember anything else of
the dream.

I awoke about three in the afternoon feeling refreshed. This was my
one night in the big city, and I had now had enough sleep to be able
to enjoy my evening. All I needed was someone of the female persuasion
to share it with. There had to be some good singles bars in the
area. With the Pentagon practically around the corner, there had to be
a lot of singles. Therefore: singles bars.

I checked in at the concierge desk. It was manned - or rather personed
if there was such a word in the politically correct climate of our
capitol city - by an attractive young brunette. "Tell me," I asked
with my most charming smile, "where is the best place for a guy like
me to meet girls?" I said it half in hopes she would offer
herself. The direct approach is usually best, I thought.

"I know of several," a soft, feminine voice said behind me. I turned
and found my one true love - at least for the evening. She was about
five six with bright red hair practically down to her ass. She wore a
short Kelly green minidress that displayed her considerable assets
extremely well. Her face was incredibly beautiful, and her impish grin
was enough to tell me that I wouldn't be hitting the nightspots
alone. She held out a delicate hand with dark red nails. "Diane Moone,
she said, "with an 'e.'"

"Diane with an 'e' or Moone with an 'e?'" I asked, taking the hand.

"Both,' she replied with a smile.

It had to be love, I thought.

The evening was nothing short of fantastic. Diane was the most
incredible woman I had ever known. She had it all - looks, poise,
intelligence, and a sex drive that would make a mink blush. We started
with dinner at a little place in Georgetown she knew.

"It's a great place," I told her, sipping my wine with dinner. You
must spend a lot of time in Washington. Do you live here?"

"Oh, no," she laughed. "I'm just here visiting my uncle. He's in the
Navy."

That gave us plenty to talk about. We discussed the Navy and in
particular, Navy flying. She was remarkably well versed on all types
of aircraft and their capabilities. The dinner passed quickly. Then,
we had planned to cab back to a night spot not far from the hotel, but
at the last minute, that plan changed.

"Look," she said with a smile, "let's cut to the chase. You don't need
to take me drinking and dancing to get laid. Let's just go back to
your room, order something with bubbles, and not waste time listening
to loud music."

It was an offer no red-blooded American boy could turn down. Now, I
knew I was in love.

I was too much of a gentleman to discuss my conquests in detail, but
with Diane, I wanted to break that rule. I wanted everyone to know
that I had sex with one of the most incredible women I had ever
known. Men enjoy sex most when the women they're doing it with are
enjoying themselves, too. I don't know when I enjoyed sex more. Diane
was a veritable tigress, leaping and pouncing in my bed until I was
completely spent. We fell asleep in each other's arms.




The wakeup call came through at seven. After I hung up the phone, I
realized Diane was gone. I hadn't heard her leave, but I found myself
regretting that she had. She was an absolutely incredible lover and I
missed her already. She was a real looker, and that voice... Come to
think of it, I realized, her voice was the woman's voice in my
dream. I shuddered involuntarily. Just what in hell was going on
anyway? Come to think of it, all I knew about her was her name. I
hadn't thought to ask where she was from or her phone number. I knew
she had an uncle in the Navy, but I hadn't even asked about him. It
was as if I was so wrapped up in her spell that I hadn't thought to
ask her anything.

Eric Vulman had provided me with a good variety of casual clothing. I
selected a dark blue polo shirt, tan slacks and brown loafers. I
looked more as if I was going out to play eighteen holes rather than
starting on an espionage assignment. It was probably just as well. I
never cared much for trench coats and slouch hats.

Eric Vulman was waiting for me in the lobby. He called my name when he
saw me. I assumed he must have seen a picture of me, for he seemed to
have no trouble picking me out of the busy morning crowd in the lobby.

"Eric Vulman," he said in a friendly voice tinged with an Oklahoma
twang as he stuck out a large, beefy hand. I had fairly large hands,
but his were larger than mine. We were about the same height, but he
carried about thirty pounds more than me. None of it appeared to be
fat. Except for a slight limp, he seemed to be in perfect shape. He
was dressed much as I was, although his polo shirt was green. To a
casual observer, he might have been my father. We looked like men cut
from the same cloth. I took an instant liking to him.

Rich Baxter," I replied.

He shook his head with a smile. "Not anymore. Remember?"

I could have kicked myself. I had a new identity and had forgotten to
use it. That could be very bad during the mission, I realized. "Sorry,
Mike Donovan."

The smile became wider. "Pleased to meet you, Mike. Have you eaten
yet?"

"No, sir."

"Drop the 'sir,'" he said with a laugh. "You're a civilian now. Just
call me Eric. Everybody else does."

After we had ordered breakfast and each had a cup of coffee in front
of us, Eric asked, "Have you ever been to Oklahoma?"

"No, s - uh, I mean no," I replied. "I've flown over it a few times,
and I saw Twister twice if that helps."

He laughed, "Well, that's a start anyhow. Most people think it's just
a buffer to keep the Texans from moving north. They picture it as a
flat, dry prairie with tornadoes every day."

"It isn't like that?" I blurted. To be honest, I thought that was an
accurate picture of the state.

He shook his head. "Not really. Oh, there are parts of the state that
are like that. Eastern Oklahoma is green with rolling hills, lots of
lakes and lots of trees. That's where Ovid is. I think you'll like
it."

"What about the tornado part?"

"Ovid's never been hit by one," he told me.

"There's always a first time," I pointed out as our breakfasts
arrived.

He just chuckled, as if there was a joke that only he understood.

"So," I pressed between bites, "I understand you're to brief me on the
mission."

"That's right," he agreed. "You already have your new identity. Are
your old Id's in your travel kit?"

"Yes," I replied. "I'll keep them hidden."

He shook his head. "That won't work. I'll take them when we're in the
air. We can't take the risk of someone going through your luggage, can
we?"

"I suppose not," I agreed. Deep down, though, I didn't want to let go
of those Id's. They described who I was. I didn't care so much about
the credit cards, but my military Id and my wings were in there. I
didn't want anything to happen to them.

"Good," he said, motioning the waitress that we needed more
coffee. When she had filled our cups, he leaned forward and continued,
"There are a few things you need to be aware of in Ovid. In many ways,
it is your typical small Midwestern town. In other ways, though, it's
very different. If you are to have any chance at success in your
mission, it's important that you stay in character at all times and I
do mean all times. If anyone discovers that you are not Mike Donovan,
your life could be in danger. Do you understand?"

"You make it sound like East Berlin during the Cold War," I commented.

"Do you understand?" he repeated grimly.

"Yes, Eric, I understand," I said seriously. There was something he
wasn't telling me. What did he know about what I would be facing in
Ovid? I thought. What made Ovid different from other small towns? I
really couldn't imagine.

We drove to the airport. It was one of those little suburban fields
that caters to corporate jets. There, parked in front of an executive
hangar, was a beautiful plane. It was thin and sleek, with swept back
wings which angled straight up on the tips. It was white with blue
letters reading Vulman Industries. I hadn't expected anything like it.

"What do you think?" he asked with a smile.

"It's a Learjet 45, isn't it?" I asked.

"You know your aircraft," he replied.

"But they're brand new," I said. "That's a - what? - seven million
dollar plane?"

"Configured the way you see it, closer to eight," he answered. "It
cruises at over 400 knots with a ceiling of 51,000 feet. Not bad for a
civilian plane, is it?"

Compared to the F-18, it flew slow and low, but he was right. It was
an impressive plane. My hands itched to take the stick and try it
out. Eric must have been reading my mind, for he asked, "Would you
like to fly us to Ovid?"

"Very much," I replied. "You don't mind? I've never been checked out
on one of these."

"Don't worry. It's just you and me and there are dual controls. I can
take over if you try to make it fly like an F-18."

We loaded my gear on board. I felt like a part of me was being stolen
away when he took the kit and removed all of my real Id's. I felt
better, though, when I sat in the pilot's seat. The Learjet 45 wasn't
as complex as an F-18. Of course, it had no need of weapons systems
and advanced radars. Still, it was an impressive machine. Controls
were arranged in a logical and easy-to-use fashion. Every instrument
was civilian state of the art.

"Need any help?" Eric asked.

"I don't think so," I replied, as I started going through the
pre-flight checklist. In a few minutes, I had finished the list and
was ready to taxi out. Eric was an able assistant, switching radio
frequencies for me and acting as a second set of eyes. Until we were
off the ground and at cruising altitude, we would be in what pilots
derisively called "Indian Country." This was because of all the
Cherokees and Apaches and other small planes that populated the lower
altitudes. There were so many of them that a second set of eyes was
needed just to make sure everybody stayed out of each other's way.

Once cleared, the Learjet accelerated effortlessly down the long
concrete runway. We made it off the deck without a bump and smoothly
climbed to 8,000 feet as requested by ATC. I knew how planes were
required to act in civilian airspace, but I longed for a military
field and an area closed off to civilian traffic. There, I could have
punched the Learjet and scooted to cruising altitude in no
time. Finally, we were cleared to 38,000 feet, so I put the jet into a
gentle climb and we were off for Oklahoma.

"What's the night life like in Ovid?' I asked Eric as I flipped on the
autopilot. I wasn't expecting much, but I had hoped for at least a
little action.

"There's not much to it," he admitted. There are a couple of movies in
town. Hell, we even still have a drive-in movie, too. There's the
bowling alley and a couple of bars. I hear Randy Andy's is the spot
most of my single folks hang out in."

Now that place sounded very promising. "Is it a strip joint?" I asked
hopefully.

"Well, I haven't been there," he admitted. "I've been happily married
for a long time. I don't think stripping is allowed there,
though. Ovid is fairly liberal for a Bible Belt community, but there
are some limits.  If it wasn't for the college, we would probably be a
lot more blue nosed."

"It sounds like a good place to raise a family, though," I allowed.

"Oh, it is," Eric agreed. "It is a clean town. There's really no crime
at all. There's no drug problem. We like it in Ovid."

"Is that why you have your headquarters there?"

"That's one of the reasons," he replied, not bothering to mention what
the other reasons were.

We talked about a lot of things on the way to Ovid. Eric was a true
man of the world. Whatever the subject, he had had some experience
with it.  I thought being in the Navy had taken me to many exotic
places, but Eric had not only been to all of them, but many more as
well. It seemed as if he had been everywhere and done everything. I
remember thinking at the time that it seemed as if he would have
needed several lifetimes to accomplish so much. Sometimes, the most
bizarre possibility is the correct one, as I was soon to learn.

I found myself really liking Eric.  He was becoming something of a
surrogate father to me in the short time I had known him. My own
father and I had gotten along okay, but Dad's feet were firmly planted
on the ground. Being an engineer in a high-tech lab for the rest of
his life suited him very well. Me? I knew I had to fly, and Eric was
the same way. He could talk engineering at levels I could barely
understand. He was obviously the genius who had designed the chip for
the fuel pump.  His grasp of science and engineering was the best I
had ever seen. But my father was a good engineer as well. What drew me
closer to Eric was his love of flying.

"Eric, excuse me for saying this, but I'm surprised Vulman Industries
is big enough to justify a plane like this."

He grinned at me. "Working already? It sounds as if you're ready to
put me on the list of suspects."

"No," I rushed to say. "I didn't mean it that way at all. I was just
curious about your company."

"Well," he began, "we've been in the auto parts business for a number
of years. That's how we can afford a plane like this. We've always had
a good relationship with Ford. A number of years ago, someone in my
family even helped design the Mercury for them. We've got plants in
four states as well as Canada and Mexico. That's how we got started in
aviation."

"Excuse me?"

"Think about it, son," he explained. "Rolls Royce, BMW, Saab,
Mitsubishi, Nissan, and of course, Ford, have all been involved in
aviation as well as automobiles. It's only natural that their
suppliers would follow them in whatever lines they take on."

"So is the entire plant in Ovid dedicated to the new fuel pump?" I
asked.

He shook his head. "No, not yet. Eventually we will start assembling
it in Ovid, but we'll need time to do that. I've just put new loans in
place to finance the project. But we have to find out where the leak
is first. Otherwise, the proprietary nature of the product might
become public knowledge, and we'll have nothing to sell.""

That certainly eliminated any suspicions I might have unconsciously
had about Eric. I had decided that he would be the one person in Ovid
I would be able to trust.

"Time to start our descent," he told me.

"Then I should contact the tower in Ovid," I concluded.

"No tower there, son. It's just a 4,000 foot concrete strip and a
couple of executive hangars. There's not much air traffic in and out
of Ovid.  I'll talk you in."

Ovid's airfield turned out to be at the south end of a long, narrow
valley. The surrounding hills were wooded and were already starting to
green up in the early spring. Farms spread across the valley, fields
already green with winter wheat and other early crops. As we made our
approach from the south, I could see in the distance a collection of
buildings and a pattern of streets.

"That's Ovid," Eric explained.

"How big is it?"

"About fifteen thousand," he told me, "and growing all the time."

He should be a spokesman for their Chamber of Commerce, I thought. I
began to wonder how I was going to find enough to do in a town of
fifteen thousand. I wondered if they set up grandstands on the main
drag so everyone could go watch the sidewalks roll up at sundown.

I did look pleasant in a pastoral sort of way. I actually reminded me
of some of the little valleys I had flown over in the Mediterranean
area.  Except for the distinctly American street grid laid out in
continuous squares, it could have been a little town in Italy or
Greece. I could see how it could grow on a person, but not on me. I
was strictly a city boy.

The Learjet made a smooth, fluid approach to the field. Landing on a
4,000 foot long airstrip was a walk in the park after landing fighters
on carrier decks. It was an easy plane to fly, and I was sorry to see
our flight end. I had no idea how long it would be before I was in the
air again, but even a day would be too long.

We parked the plane in front of a hangar which had "Vulman Industries"
painted on the side. Eric pressed a button on a device that looked
like a garage door opener and the hangar door flew up. Inside was a
white Mustang convertible, brand new and polished until it shone.

"That's your transportation," he told me, nodding at the car.

"Not bad," I commented.

"No," he agreed, "not bad at all. There's no Hertz or Avis in Ovid,
but as I told you, we get along pretty good with Ford. That one is
courtesy of the Ford dealer here in town. When we stow your gear, you
can drive on into town and get settled. There's a reservation in your
name at the Ovid Inn."

"How do I find the Ovid Inn?"

He pointed at a modest highway that ran parallel to the runway. "Just
follow that road north. Ovid's about three miles ahead. The Ovid Inn
will be on your right about three stoplights into town. If you have
any trouble, just stop and ask someone. I'll give you this evening to
get settled in. Then, we'll get started first thing in the morning."

"I'm fine now if you want to get started today," I told him.

"I appreciate that," he replied, "but we're not ready for you
yet. Let's just settle on starting in my office tomorrow morning at
eight."

"Okay," I agreed, throwing my bags into the back seat of the Mustang.
"Do you need a ride into town? This seems to be the only car."

"Oh, I have my own transportation." I assumed he meant that a car was
being sent for him. It was his business, I decided.

"One more thing before you go, son," Eric said as I got ready to fire
up the Mustang. " Remember what I told you. Ovid
is... different. You've got to maintain your cover at all times. Don't
be surprised at anything you see or hear. Just play it cool and we'll
talk in the morning."

"Sure," I agreed, not having the foggiest idea what he was talking
about. I was soon to learn.

The drive into Ovid was pleasant enough. It was early afternoon, the
warmest part of the day, and a clear blue Oklahoma sky unfettered by
the pollution of larger cities let a sufficient amount of solar
heating in to make the ride comfortable with the top down. I had never
driven a Mustang before, and I was pleased to see it was a tight,
responsive car.  I vowed to consider one the next time I got ready to
buy a car.

I accelerated smoothly along the nearly deserted highway, but I kept
my speed within the legal limit. I had heard too many stories about
small town speed traps. No local cop was going to make his quota from
me.

Ovid was a clean, attractive little town. Even the businesses on the
edge of town displayed signs of prosperity. Farm Implement dealers,
car dealers, and gas stations all appeared clean and prosperous, if
not busy. Oh well, I thought, it was a workday. Saturdays were
probably the big business days for Ovid. That was the time when all
the farmers came in to buy whatever they needed.

Then, my pleasant, relaxed drive into Ovid fell apart. Without
warning, the Mustang engine, which had been so responsive only moments
before, suddenly revved for no apparent reason, causing the car to
shoot ahead at fifty, a good fifteen miles over the speed limit. As if
it had a mind of its own, it shot through the approaching intersection
against the light, swerving to narrowly miss a pickup truck which had
started when the light changed. Then, as quickly as it started, the
excitement ended.  With no help from me, the engine died down to an
idle and the car pulled neatly up at the curb.

What had happened? I wondered. Had the gas pedal stuck? Even if it
had, why did the car swerve to avoid the truck. I hadn't been able to
grab it to miss the truck. It was as if the car had a mind of its own.

I didn't have much time to think about it, though. As I looked in my
rearview mirror, I saw the sight I had hoped to avoid. Red and blue
lights silently flashing, a police cruiser had pulled up directly
behind me. I watched in resignation as a tall, slender police officer,
his eyes hidden behind mirrored sunglasses, stepped out of his car and
walked purposely up to mine.



"Step out of the car, please, sir," he said with the mantra of all
traffic cops. I did as he asked. "Was there a problem back there,
sir?"

"Yes," I said, relieved that he at least seemed to be willing to
listen to what had happened. "Something went wrong with my car back
there. It went out of control for a moment."

"All by itself?" he asked sardonically.

"Yes," I replied indignantly. "If you were already behind me, you must
know I was driving safely just before I went through that light."

"So you admit to going through a red light?"

"Of course," I replied, trying to keep my temper down. "Didn't you
hear what I just said? The car went out of control. It must have been
a stuck gas pedal or something."

"Or something. I need to see your license and registration."

I was doing my best to control my temper. I didn't want to make any
waves my first hour in Ovid, but the cop was pissing me off. I fumbled
for my wallet and pulled out the Missouri driver's license that
identified me as Mike Donovan.

"And the registration?" he asked.

Eric hadn't said anything about the registration. I assumed it was
probably in the glove compartment. I slid back into the seat and
opened it. There was nothing there - not even an owner's manual. The
same was true of the compartment between the bucket seats.

"Look," I said, sliding back out of the seat, "Eric Vulman loaned me
this car. I'm working with him on a project out at Vulman Industries."
I hoped that he was an important enough person that the name would
carry some weight. The officer's expression didn't change,
though. "I'm sure if you give him a call, he can verify that. He said
he got the car from the local Ford dealer. If you check with one of
them, I'm sure they know where the registration is."

"I'll do that," he said, "but for now, I'll have to impound the car.
You'll have to see the Judge this afternoon."

"Now, wait a minute!" I began to protest.

He looked at me through the mirrored glasses and asked quietly, "Do
you want to add resisting arrest to the charges?"

Muttering to myself, I got into the Mustang on the passenger side as
he slid under the wheel. I found myself wishing someone would steal
his police car while he was doing this. To my shock, though, the
police cruiser started up, too. I looked back and was surprised to see
another officer behind the wheel of the cruiser. He looked like the
twin of the officer who was with me.

"I thought you were alone," I said.

"Did you?" was his only reply.

At least, I had the chance to look around Ovid. It was a newer version
of a lot of the small towns I remembered back in New England. I grew
up in a suburb just outside the Beltway, so I had seen little towns
like Ovid before. I wondered how a person managed to live in a burg
like Ovid and not die from boredom. Still, I had to admit, it was a
pleasant town - the sort of town Beaver Cleaver must have grown up in.

Since we were on the highway business strip, I didn't see many
pedestrians, but the ones I did see were well dressed and, for the
most part, attractive. The only thing that was odd about them was that
some of them looked a little... well, transparent for lack of a better
word.  I don't mean I could see right through them. It was like
looking at a 3-d image. You know it doesn't really leap off the page,
but it looks as if it does. That was the way it was with some of the
people. You couldn't actually see right through them, but it looked as
if you could, if that makes any sense.

	Just before we turned off the business strip, I saw a big sign
out in front of a bar which called itself Randy Andy's. Maybe after I
got finished with this small town kangaroo court, I'd check in at the
Ovid Inn and go down to Randy Andy's. It was probably all the action
Ovid had to offer.

	We proceeded down a main arterial populated by small mom and
pop shops and older houses. It gave way to the main business district
of Ovid. It looked like your typical small town with lots of concrete,
diagonal parking, and no buildings over three stories tall. We were
actually about a block off the main business street, but I could see
enough to get the general idea.
	
	We came up to a block which seemed to consist entirely of
civic buildings.  We came to a final stop as the Mustang pulled in
beside us in front of a gray granite building with Doric columns in
front. The words "City Hall" were carved into the granite above the
columns. As small town city halls went, it was reasonably
impressive. A blue flag, probably the state flag, was flying next to
the US flag in the grassy area in front of the building. It could have
been the city hall of almost any small town in the country.

	Oh well, I thought to myself, at least justice was swift in
Ovid. I would meekly take my ticket and be done with it. After all, I
was a jet pilot. We all had the reputation of being fast drivers, and
most of us were. This wouldn't be my first time in front of a judge. I
guessed I could look forward to another sharp increase in my auto
insurance.

	Just as we were about to open the door to the courtroom, it
burst open, and three little balls of energy disguised as little
giggling girls came running out.

	"There you are!"  a woman called to them from down the
passageway.  "What were you girls doing?"

	"We went to see the Judge!" the oldest of them, maybe ten,
said, twirling her skirt.

	Another girl, about eight said, "Yeah!" with breathless
excitement.

	It was the third girl that I was watching, though. She, too,
appeared to be about eight, with long blonde hair and a gingham
dress. She seemed a little dazed. "This isn't right," she muttered.

	Before she could say anything else, the woman - presumably her
mother - grabbed her by the arm. Addressing all the girls, she said
sternly, "I can't take my eyes off you for a minute! I come in here to
renew my driver's license and you wander off to bother the Judge. Now
come along, all of you."

	They left together, the little blonde girl looking back at us
in confusion and... fear? Yes, fear.

	I looked at the officer, but he just smiled at me from behind
his glasses and said, "Kids," as if that explained it all. It didn't.

	The courtroom was nicer than I would have expected in a small
town. It was nearly deserted as well. The only spectator was an
attractive blonde woman about my age who sat primly in the back row of
the visitor's gallery. I glanced at her quickly enough to see that she
was wearing a wedding ring. I guessed she wouldn't be joining me for a
drink at Randy Andy's that evening.

	The Judge was already seated. From the look on his face, he
had had a long day. That didn't bode well for me. He was about fifty,
I would have guessed, and very distinguished looking in his black
robe. His hair was mostly brown with just a hint of gray. He was gold
rimmed glasses which appeared to be fairly expensive. Being a judge
must pay fairly well, I thought, even in a little town like Ovid.

	"What have we here, Officer Mercer?" he asked in an
authoritative voice.

	"Reckless driving and endangerment," he said formally. "Also
no registration in his vehicle."

	"Well, we ought to be able to take care of that pretty
quickly. What's your name, son?"

	"Mike Donovan," I told him as I stood before the bench. I had
used the name so often that it was starting to sound natural to me.

	"Well, Mr. Donovan, exactly why were you engaging in reckless
driving?"  there was a touch of amusement in his voice.

	"Something went wrong with my car," I told him. "Eric Vulman
loaned it to me while I was in Ovid. Apparently the gas pedal stuck
and I went through a red light."

	"I see," said the Judge. "And do you have any proof of this?"

	"Perhaps someone should inspect the car," I suggested.

	"That's been done, Your Honor," Officer Mercer said. "There is
nothing wrong with the car."

	"What are you talking about?" I exploded. "No one had checked
that car!  He's lying, Your Honor!"

	The Judge pounded his gavel and boomed, "That will be enough,
Mr.  Donovan!" Then, he said something else to me, but I couldn't
understand it. It sounded as if it were Latin or something. Before I
could ask him to repeat himself, I felt a sudden odd tingling
sensation and dizziness.  My knees turned to water and I fell to the
floor.

	"Mr. Donovan, you appear to be in some distress," the Judge
observed.  "Under the circumstances, I think you should be allowed to
rest. This case is continued until further notice."

	I didn't have a clue what was wrong. I just realized I
couldn't stand up without becoming dizzy, and the tingling was
becoming more intense.

	"Officer Mercer," the Judge ordered, "take Mr. Donovan to
someplace where he can rest until he has recovered."

	I felt a strong hand lift me to my feet. With the officer's
help, I was able to stand and even walk. I assumed he would be taking
me to an office where I could sit down, but instead, he led me out of
the building and back to his car. They had apparently taken the
Mustang someplace else, for I saw that where it had been parked, there
was now a white Lincoln.

	"Where are we going?' I managed to mumble as he positioned me
in the back seat and allowed me to lie down.

	"Someplace where you'll be safe," he told me.

	I must have slept in the back seat, for the next thing I
remembered was Officer Mercer pulling me out of the seat and onto my
feet again. We were parked in front of a small apartment complex. He
helped me walk to the second floor of one of the buildings and managed
to support me against the wall while opening the door of one of the
apartments. As I was slumped against the building, I noticed the
officer seemed much taller than he had before. We were about the same
height, but now, he seemed to tower over me. I never thought to ask
him why he had taken me so far just to rest. My mind felt like it had
just been processed through a blender, and there didn't seem to be one
muscle working correctly in my body.

	He led me to a bedroom and gently dropped me on the
bed. "Thanks," I said barely above a whisper. Even my voice sounded
strange. I stopped thinking about it, though, for I quickly drifted
off to sleep.

	My sleep was anything but restful. The tingling continued, and
my muscles seemed to spasm. It felt almost as if my body was twisting
and contorting itself into a new shape. I felt parts of my body start
to grow while others shrank. Then, as quickly as the sensations began,
they stopped. The tingling ebbed away, and I seemed to know
instinctively that I had control of my body again.

	I lay there with my eyes still closed as I let my mind
clear. Almost like going through a pre-flight checklist, I began to
take inventory of myself. Something was tickling my ears, and there
seemed to be extra weight around my earlobes. That was nothing
compared to the extra weight I felt on my chest. My chest felt warm,
but my legs felt cooler, as if someone had removed my pants.

	Even with my eyes closed, it began to dawn on me what had
happened and who - or at least what - I had become, but it seemed too
bizarre to accept. Even though my mind had cleared, I denied to myself
what had happened. I wanted desperately to keep my eyes closed. I
wanted to refute in darkness what my other senses were telling me had
occurred. At last, I knew I could wait no longer. I opened my eyes.

	I was lying on my back, so I looked down at my chest, fearing
the worst. My fears were confirmed. My chest was covered in a knit
material, plum in color, and rising from it were two large, round
breasts. My first thought upon seeing them was that if they were this
large when I was lying on my back, they would be gigantic when I stood
up.

	Slowly, I pushed myself into a sitting position, grimacing as
I felt those large breasts pulling down on my chest. A mane of coal
black hair fell over my shoulders. The strands were long and almost
shiny with only a slight curl.. I raised my hands to push the hair
away and saw that they were now much smaller with long, slim fingers
and feminine nails painted a dark red. Even my skin had a reddish cast
to it. It was nearly the color of bronze, I realized, and smooth and
flawless.

	I looked down at myself again. I saw large breasts, a slim
waist, flaring hips, and slim legs encased in nylon. There was no
mistaking what I was. I was now a woman. But that was impossible, I
tried to tell myself.

	I had no idea where I was, but it was obviously a woman's
room. The carpet was a rose pink. There were floral drapes and off
white walls. A vanity sat against one wall, and there were cosmetics
neatly arranged on its surface. I could see into the bathroom where
nylons were hanging over the shower door and a bra was draped
carelessly over the back of the toilet. Was this the room of the woman
I had become? It seemed likely.

	I staggered to a full-length mirror on the back of the bedroom
door, nearly losing my balance from the changed weight distribution of
my body. Staring back at me was a young woman. She looked very exotic
with her bronze skin and long black hair. Her face was classically
beautiful with high cheek bones which gave her eyes an almost Oriental
cast. The eyes themselves were such a dark brown that they appeared
nearly black.  As I had realized from looking down, she - I - had a
very well-proportioned body and legs that were sensational, even
without a heel to set off the ankles. In short, I was a knockout. If I
had been my old self and seen this girl, I would have given almost
anything for a night in bed with her.

	I could have been Hispanic, but I realized I was probably at
least part Indian. After all, Oklahoma had always had a large Indian
population. At one time, the entire state had been an Indian
reservation. It didn't bother me to be an Indian. As a Naval officer,
I had lived, worked, and played with members of every ethnic group
imaginable. The US military is probably the most well integrated
organization in American society.

No, being an Indian was the least of my worries. Instead, I was
bothered at being a woman. I had read a story once where a man got
changed into a woman and didn't realize it at first. Believe me, I
realized it.  Everything felt wrong. First, having worn closely
cropped hair all my life, I had no idea how heavy the stuff was. And
what was pulling on my ears? I pulled back the hair from my right ear
and saw a long, dangling tassel composed of turquoise and silver
threaded through my earlobe.

My entire torso felt different as well. I had taken the shape of my
body for granted, for it had basically remained unchanged from the
time I had graduated from Annapolis. But now, it felt entirely
different. It protruded in some places and indented in others that it
shouldn't have, causing me to walk with a swaying motion. But the
worst of all the sensations was what was - or rather wasn't - between
my legs. There was something silky covering my crotch, almost like a
soft, tight bandage covering a gaping wound. I felt a sudden sensation
of loss, as if I were incomplete.

I thought I would pass out from the shock. I felt as if I had entered
a high gee turn causing my body to feel strange and my vision to
tunnel out. I staggered numbly back to the bed, sitting on it as my
knees gave out. Even that sensation was odd as my greatly expanded ass
flowed across the mattress.

Then, I did something that only a few hours earlier, I could never
have imagined doing: I cried. It was just a few tears at first, like a
small leak at the corners of my eyes, but the effortless tears became
a trembling stream followed by a sobbing torrent. Strangely, it felt
good to cry, as if my problems lessened, washed away by the tears. As
a male, I hadn't cried since I was ten, so I felt as if eighteen years
of tears were draining out of my body.

I looked across the room at my reflection. Rivulets of black flowed
down my cheeks, and I realized for the first time that I was wearing
makeup.  I licked my lips, tasting the slightly sweet taste of
lipstick.

From beyond the bedroom, a door suddenly opened and closed. "Holly,
are you okay?" a woman's voice called.

I stood up again. I had a sneaky hunch she was talking to
me. "In... in here," I called, hearing for the first time my new
soprano voice.

A terrific looking redhead in a green sweater dress looked into the
room, staring directly at me. She had sparkling green eyes and a
figure almost as fantastic as mine. She appeared to be about my age -
my new age - but she was a couple of inches taller than me, whatever
height I had become.

"Holy shit," she said, dumbfounded. "You're real!"

It wasn't something I would have expected her to say. "I'm real?" I
asked. "What does that mean?"

"Oh!" she gasped. "I'm sorry. I just meant... Look, tell me straight
up: do you remember who you were?"

"Who I was? I don't even know who I am now," I crossly told her. I
tried to fold my arms for emphasis, but I found it hard to do with the
breasts sticking out so far.

She looked at what I was trying to do and giggled, "Well, if you're
trying to fold your arms over those melons, you must have been a guy
before."

"You make it sound like this has happened before."

She sighed, "More times than you can imagine, honey. The Judge seems
to get his laughs out of changing men into women. He even changes a
few women into men just for a little balance. He's quite a guy, our
Judge."

Confused, I sat back down on the bed. "This is all happening too fast
for me."

She sat down next to me and put a sisterly arm around my shoulders. If
she had done that to me a few hours ago while I was sitting on a bed,
I would have had her naked in a New York minute and ready to rock and
roll. Now, though, I had the same plumbing she did. Lesbian sex didn't
seem like much fun, either.

"Okay," she began, "I'll start from the beginning. Your name is Holly
Ann Sheridan, and you're the Executive Assistant to Eric Vulman at
Vulman Industries. You're twenty one years old and your mother was a
full-blooded Cherokee Indian. Your parents died two years ago in a car
crash, but don't worry about that part. They never really
existed. Shall I go on?"

"Yes," I replied. "Start by telling me who you are."

She smiled. "I'm Andrea Pyron, your roommate. I work at Vulman, too,
as a secretary in the Production Department. We've roomed together for
a year."

"Are you..." I began. "I mean, were you a man, too?"

She laughed, "Do I act like it?"

My face reddened, if it could become any redder. "No, I guess
not. It's just that you said it happens a lot."

"It does, but not every time," she told me. "I was a lobbyist from
Oklahoma City. My Oklahoma accent is for real and I'm one hundred
percent girl - always have been and always will be."

"Oh my god!" I cried. "I've got an accent, too." I hadn't realized it
until she had mention her own twang. I sounded just like her.

"You'll get used to it, honey," she told me. "Everybody does."

"Maybe," I allowed, "but I don't think I'll get used to this body."

"That's where you're wrong. Just about everybody gets used to their
new identity after awhile. I think it's part of the magic. If I were
to go back to my old life, I probably wouldn't even know how to be a
lobbyist anymore."

Did that mean that in time, I'd forget how to fly a plane? Did the
magic of Ovid mean that I'd be condemned to a life of skirts and high
heels, shuffling paper from one office to another instead of soaring
above the clouds? It was a prospect I couldn't bring myself to
consider. No matter what my anatomy told me, I was Richard Baxter,
Lieutenant, United States Navy - a pilot and a man.

"I know what you're thinking," she said.

"You do?" I responded. How could she? How could someone who had always
been a woman understand what it meant to lose you manhood? I wondered
if she would have felt the same way if she had suddenly awaked with a
two-day growth of beard and a penis and testicles crowding between her
legs.

"Yes," she went on. "You want to fight it. That's okay - go ahead and
fight it. You'll come to some sort of balance eventually. You'll have
to or you'll go crazy."

"You mean I won't be allowed to cut my hair, wear pants at work, and
pick up chicks for some great girl to girl sex?" I said sarcastically.

She actually took the question seriously. "Well, I suppose you could
cut your hair. As for wearing pants, Mr. Vulman probably wouldn't be
very pleased unless they were very businesslike. I don't even think
you have anything like that in your wardrobe. As far as lesbian sex,
though, that's not very likely. Ovid is a small town, so there aren't
any good gay bars. I suppose you could find it if you looked hard
enough, but it doesn't fit into your character."

"My character?"


She nodded. "That's right. You see, Holly Sheridan has existed for
some time now. There are placeholders here - we call them shades. They
are like people, but not quite really there, if that makes any sense."

"It does," I replied. "I've seen some of them. I just didn't know what
they were. So there is a shade of everybody before something in Ovid
changes them?"

"Usually," she clarified, "but not always. Sometimes, the Judge makes
an entirely new person out of whole cloth. Then, reality warps to
accept that person as if they had always been part of Ovid. It's a
little complicated, but since most people don't remember their
transformations, it works out. Only about one in four or five people
who are changed remember who they were before."

So the Judge was the force behind the transformations. I wasn't really
surprised. The words I thought were Latin must have been some sort of
spell. The questions were how and why, and what did it have to do, if
anything, with the reason I had been sent to Ovid in the first
place. I had to have a strategy. What would it be?

I had to know more about what was going on in Ovid. Eric Vulman had
brought me here, so that meant that odds were good he knew what was
going on in Ovid. He was probably even a part of it. Andrea had said
that I was his executive assistant. It sounded like a glorified title
for secretary. The best strategy then seemed to be to keep my cover as
a transformed civilian pilot and try to fit in until I could talk to
him.  After all, I was still a Naval officer as far as I was
concerned, and I had a mission to perform. I just wasn't sure how I
was going to go about it. Until I talked to Eric, I had no choice but
to play the part I had been given.

"Okay," I sighed, "I guess you'd better tell me what my character is."

She shrugged. "There's not a great deal to tell. You have always just
been a normal young woman. You do your job well, everybody likes you,
you attract guys whether you want to or not..."

I shuddered at that part.

"...and you're my best friend."

"Uh, the boy part," I began nervously, "I don't have a boyfriend or
anything, do I?"

She shook her head. "No, but it isn't from lack of interest on the
boys' part. You've had a casual date here and there, but nothing
serious.  You're between boyfriends right now. By the way, you
apparently dropped out of Oklahoma State after two years because of a
failed romance. As the story goes, I knew you in college, but I
dropped out to go to work and ended up in Ovid. That's just a story,
though. I've only been here about six months, but Andrea was here
before I arrived. I told you about a job in Ovid, and here you are."

"Okay," I summarized, "so I'm a college dropout, a hot babe, half
Indian and a glorified secretary."

"That about sums it up," she agreed. "Remember, I fit that
description, too, except for the Indian part, and I can tell you, life
isn't too bad here. I don't think I would want to give up Ovid and go
back to the rat race again."

"That's fine for you," I told her, "but you've always been a girl. I
haven't, so I don't think I'm going to have much fun being pawed on by
every guy in town."

She grinned wickedly. "Don't be so sure. You wouldn't be the first
former man to find out it's more fun on this side of the fence."

"Yeah, right."

"Look," she said, standing up, "we're supposed to be friends. Why
don't you let me show you the ropes? I can help you play the role and
you can decide for yourself what to do from there."

"Okay," I said hesitantly, "but no guys. We can be friends, but don't
try to set me up with a guy. I would feel really queer."

She put out a slender hand. "It's a deal."

"Okay," I agreed, holding out a hand no larger than hers. "It's a
deal."

Andrea and I spent the evening together, talking about Ovid and about
my situation. It was an informative conversation, and as we fixed a
quick dinner consisting of chicken and a salad, I began to have a
pretty good grasp of what was happening in Ovid. Apparently, the town
had been created out of nowhere by the Judge and his cohorts. The
entire town was less than two years old, but most of the residents
didn't know that.  Most of the residents were shades. A shade, it
turned out, was some sort of supernatural being that thought of itself
as being a person but really wasn't. No one knew for sure what they
were.

The rest of the town's population consisted of transformed
people. Most had just wandered into town and been arrested by Officer
Mercer, who seemed to be the only police officer in the town. Once
changed, only about a quarter of the people remembered their old
lives. The rest were as clueless as the shades seemed to be. Men were
often changed into women and vice versa. Others had been changed into
animals and even plants, but that treatment seemed to be reserved for
a select few who had committed most heinous crimes.

"So why don't the people who remember start a little revolution or
something?" I asked between bites of chicken. I was actually starting
to feel human again. I had changed into a sweater and jeans, so I
didn't feel quite so out of place.

"It's not that easy," Andrea explained. "I can talk to you about this
because we're alone. If someone else walked into the room right now,
we couldn't discuss this at all. It's a little hard to start a
revolution under those circumstances."

"Then why hasn't someone fled town and told the authorities?"

  "Told them what?" she asked. "That there are some strange beings
with great magical powers who changed them into someone else in a
small town in Oklahoma that doesn't really exist?"

"I see your point," I admitted. Anyone who tried to do that would be
locked away for sure.

"Besides," she went on, "you can leave town any time you want."

"You can?" That meant I might be able to get a message back to Admiral
Nepper. There was a faint possibility that I could make him believe
what had happened in Ovid.

"Sure," she said smiling. "You can do it just as soon as you've
accepted your new identity. That's another one of the little rules."

"Oh." So I had to accept being Holly Sheridan to leave town. That
didn't sound like much of a deal. There had to be another way. "So,
another subject. Who is the Judge anyway?"

"That I can't tell you," she replied as she finished off her chicken.
"Are you finished? Here, I'll put everything in the dishwasher."

I handed her my plate. "What do you mean you can't tell me?"

She shrugged. "It's just another rule. If I tried to tell you, my
voice would freeze up. If I tried to write it down, the muscles in my
hand wouldn't work. You'll figure it out pretty quickly,
though. Everybody does. It's just a little game the Judge likes to
play."

I helped her with the dishes. It was funny, but Andrea really was
starting to really become a good friend. Like many guys, I had never
counted any women among my good friends. I don't mean to say that I
saw women as nothing but sex objects. I was a bit more nineties than
that.  It was just that I had never spent much time around them except
as coworkers or as dates. I had two brothers, but no sisters. When I
got to the Naval Academy, there were some women around, but it was
still mostly men. Then, in flight school, there were again a few
women, but not very many. As a result, I had not had the chance to
know women as contemporaries.

Then, in the Navy, there were women in our squadron, but the Navy has
some very strict rules on relationships between the sexes. Often, the
best way to stay within the rules is to keep your distance from them
socially. I always stayed within the rules.

So as a hotshot jet pilot, the majority of the women I had gotten to
know well were potential conquests. It tended to color my opinion of
women. Now, I was one, so my friends would be mostly people like
Andrea.  It was a hard road to walk, but if they were all like Andrea,
I thought I could do just fine.

When we had finished with the dishes, I asked, "So what happens
tomorrow? I mean, I don't know anyone at work." I had to make sure I
didn't slip and recognize Eric Vulman. After all, I wasn't supposed to
know him. "And I really don't know what to do or even how to dress."

"Well, most of the stuff will come to you as you need it," she told
me, sitting next to me on the couch in the living room. "When you get
up in the morning, just relax and let yourself go. If you try to blank
out your mind, you'll find that your body automatically does
everything it's supposed to do. As far as knowing people, I'll try to
identify them for you during the day. The ones who remember who they
used to be will cut you some slack. They know what you'll be going
through. Just relax and try to have a good time of it."

"Sure," I grumbled. "I don't even know how to pee as a girl." I
suddenly realized I needed to do that, but the sensation was coming
from inside my body instead of from the penis. Of course. How could it
be otherwise?  I didn't have one of those things anymore. "Uh... so
how do I pee as a girl?"

"How did you pee as a guy?" she asked.

"Well, I just stood, aimed and let go."

She grinned. "It's the same for you now - all except the aiming part,
so it might be better if you sat down."

"Thanks a lot," I told her, jumping up to go into the head - er...
bathroom.

"And don't forget to wipe!" she called cheerily.

				***

Some old habits died hard, I realized when I returned to the living
room. We had decided to watch a little TV before bed. Since we had
cable TV, there were plenty of choices to watch, and with as much male
as I could still muster, I began flipping through the channels.

"Settle on something," Andrea complained. "I don't care what."

I stopped flipping when I came to a movie I had always enjoyed. It was
a movie called Clash of the Titans. It was a simple piece of fluff
that starred Sir Laurence Olivier as Zeus and... Wait a minute, I
thought.  Ovid was a Roman poet. That much I had remembered. Zeus was
for all practical purposes the same as the Roman god Jupiter. I looked
over at Andrea who was obviously bored with the movie.

"Do you mean that the Judge is really Ju - Ju - Ack!" I choked.

She smiled. "You came up with that pretty fast. I think you've got the
right idea. Don't try to say it, though. Don't you remember what I
told you? We can't talk about that."

I remembered something else from Roman mythology while my vocal chords
returned to normal - or at least to female normal. Vulcan was the son
of Jupiter. Vulman was only one letter different from Vulcan. That
meant Eric Vulman was one of them, too. And what about Admiral Nepper?
He knew Eric Vulman. Nepper - Neptune.  Oh my god. Or maybe I should
have said oh my gods.

It was all starting to make a perverse sense now.

"So we can't talk about it at all?" I managed to say.

"Well," she drawled, "there's always a way. As long as you don't try
to mention their names, you can carry on an oblique discussion."

"So," I began, looking her straight in the eye, "if I were to ask
something about why these... beings are doing what they're doing, you
could still answer the question?"

"If I knew the answer," she pointed out. "Nobody really know why
they're doing all of this. Maybe they have some cosmic reason for it,
or at the other extreme, maybe this is just their idea of an amusement
park. That would make Ovid some sort of a metaphysical Disneyland. Or
maybe the answer is somewhere in between."

Just think of what they could do if they wanted to, I told
myself. They had the power to transmute matter itself, all without any
apparent mechanisms. They thought it and it became real. I wondered if
they all had the power or just the Judge. I tried to remember my
mythology.  Stories often talked about the gods turning someone into
something else, but a specific god wasn't always mentioned. It seemed
like it was usually Jupiter who transformed others and sometimes
himself. There was the woman who had changed a man into a stag. What
was her name? Dinah?  No - Diana. Or maybe it was Diane with an 'e.'

"Well, it's late and we both have to go to work in the morning,"
Andrea announced, breaking my train of thought. "Your nighties are in
the second drawer of your dresser."

"Nighties?"

There was that grin again. "Unless you'd rather sleep in the nude."

I shook my head, feeling the long hair tickle my neck and ears. "No,
but don't I have any pajamas?"

"Oh, they're probably in there, too," she said lightly.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" I asked with a frown.

Laughing, she gave me a sisterly hug. "You know, I've known guys like
you were before. They were military pilots instead of civilians like
you, but the mindset is the same. You're all macho and act like you
should be Indiana Jones or something. I guess I'm just having fun
watching you try something really hard, like being a girl. I'm sorry,
though. I shouldn't get my jollies out of this. It's just it's so cute
watching you try to figure all of this out."

"Unfortunately, with a body like this, everything I do seems to be
cute," I groaned.

There were, indeed, pajamas in the drawer, but that didn't make me
feel much better. They were soft and silky with lacy trim, and their
color - light pink - didn't help. I sighed with resignation and
stripped down to get into them.

There, alone and nude in my bathroom, I had the first good look at my
entire body. I could be a centerfold, I realized. I was going to have
to beat guys off with a stick. My new body was going to look sexy in
baggy jeans and a sweatshirt. I supposed I could cut my hair, but it
wouldn't really help. No one would mistake me for a guy no matter what
I did.  Besides, I still had a job to do.

Or did I? As I crawled into bed, I began to wonder. Had I been lured
to Ovid just to be changed into this Indian bombshell? If that was the
case, why all the phony identity crap? Why not send Lieutenant Richard
Baxter into Ovid and change him instead of the elaborate Mike Donovan
story. No, they were serious about my mission. Admiral Nepper and Eric
Vulman might be part of the pantheon of Roman gods, but they needed my
help. Maybe that could be my ticket back to my old life. With that
happy thought, I drifted off to sleep.

					***

"Hey! It's six o'clock, Sleeping Beauty."

"Mmph," I managed to utter. I felt strange. Everything felt different.
There was flesh where there shouldn't be flesh, and there wasn't flesh
where there should be. Then, there was this twisted mass of hair
around my face... Then, I woke up enough to remember what had happened
to me. I was a girl. Damn.

To make matters worse, I was going to have to convince everyone I met
today that I really was Holly Sheridan. It wasn't going to be easy.
Getting out of a dress and nylons hadn't been that hard, but getting
into them? And what about makeup? I would be expected to wear it, but
I didn't have the foggiest notion how to apply it. I was going to
really need some help. Thank god (or was it gods?) for Andrea.

"Take a shower and we'll get you ready," Andrea told me, reading my
mind it seemed.

We each had a private bathroom, so all I had to do was pad in, strip
down and shower, stopping first for a trip to the head. It seemed as
if this new body wasn't nearly as forgiving about holding urine. When
I had to go, I really had to go. Who designed these crazy female
bodies anyway? I thought unhappily.

I carefully washed off my new body. Maybe some men put in my situation
would have used the occasion to do a little exploring, may even a
little auto eroticism, but not me. I washed off my body as if it were
a house of cards, unwilling to touch too forcefully. This wasn't my
body, I thought. Not really, anyhow. My body was male. I had to think
of this body as just part of my cover in my mission. Maybe that was
really all it was. Yes, that was it! As soon as I finished my mission,
they would change me back. That had to be it. I actually felt a little
better. I could do this temporarily.

"Are you going to take all day in there?"

I looked up and saw Andrea staring at me through the glass shower
door.  I quickly grabbed a towel that I had hung over the door and
attempted to cover myself.

"What are you doing?" she laughed. "You haven't got anything I haven't
got. Forget the modesty."

Embarrassed, I turned off the water and dropped the towel to a less
modest position.

"Hmm..." she said. "On second thought, you may not have anything I
haven't got, but you've certainly got a lot more of it."

"Thanks a bunch," I grumbled.

"Look, save the long showers for later when you know how to get ready.
We need to get you ready to go or we're both going to be late. Here,
take this."

She held out a pill to me. "What is it?" I asked suspiciously.

"A vitamin," she said simply. "We girls need our iron."

I took it and washed it down with a paper cup of water.

She had already picked out an outfit for me and spread it out on the
bed. It consisted of a tan bra and panties, panty hose, a beige knit
blouse and a very pale green single breasted women's suit made out of
some silky material. I held up the skirt. I was afraid it wouldn't
even cover my crotch. "Couldn't you find anything shorter?" I asked
sarcastically.

"You'll want to fit in, won't you?" she asked.

Reluctantly, I nodded.

"Well, this is the type of outfit Holly usually wears. That's an 18"
skirt, so you'll be right in style. Now get dressed. We need to work
on your makeup and we haven't got much time."

When Andrea had finished with me, I was an absolute knockout. I was
going to have to consider myself lucky if I didn't get attacked by the
first man at Vulman Industries who spotted me. My suit was
professional in cut, but it did nothing to hide an incredible figure
that included a 36C rack on a five foot four inch frame. Legs? Oh,
they were unbelievable. They were the kind of legs that Hollywood
studios used to insure, and in the two inch ivory heels that I wore,
they couldn't have looked better.

Andrea agreed to go light on the makeup and easy on the jewelry. I
wore a dainty gold chain necklace and a thin gold bracelet. My long
hair pretty much covered the small gold rings in my ears. Even with
light makeup though, my dark brown eyes, thick lashes and prominent
cheek bones gave me the face of a Victoria's Secret model.

"Your turn to drive," she told me, flipping me a set of keys as we
walked out the door.

"How can I drive like this?" I asked, motioning to myself.

"It doesn't seem to stop other women," she said with a sigh. "You have
to learn sometime. There aren't any buses in Ovid and it's a long walk
to work in those heels."

My car turned out to be a little red Pontiac Sunbird. That seemed
appropriate for someone who was half Indian. After all, Pontiac had
been an Indian chief and a Sunbird sounded vaguely Indian. The car had
an automatic transmission, so I didn't need to worry about depressing
a clutch pedal in heels. I found it actually was no problem to drive
as a woman, but the shoulder harness did rub uncomfortable against my
new breasts.

Andrea guided me to Vulman Industries. It turned out to be a fairly
large building in the southwest part of town. The front of the
building was a two story brick office area with a larger cast concrete
area behind it. The concrete area had to be the manufacturing area
where the company made car parts. The entranceway was nicely
landscaped with a pair of flagpoles, one displaying the US flag while
on the other, the Oklahoma state flag flew. Or so Andrea told me. I
wouldn't have known the Oklahoma state flag from the flag of
Bangladesh.

As I pulled into the parking lot, I saw there were already perhaps a
hundred or so cars parked with more seeking out spaces.

"How many people work here?" I asked Andrea.

"About two hundred," she replied, "but we're still hiring."

The car parts business must be good, I thought. Now, if Vulman could
finish development of the new aviation fuel pump and keep the final
designs secret, Vulman could expect considerable growth.




I don't think I was as nervous the first time I landed on a carrier
deck as I was when I walked into Vulman Industries for the first time.
Everyone we met was friendly. There were cheerful greetings and waves
from the parking lot to the front entrance. It was Thursday, but you
would have thought none of these people had seen each other for
several weeks the way they greeted each other. I had to say it
appeared that morale at Vulman was good. Of course, the majority of
the people I saw were shades. Still, they seemed to be genuine in
their actions and not just automatons.

Andrea led me through the lobby, past the cheery shade receptionist,
and down a hallway. The hall opened up into an administrative area,
complete with an attractive desk and a visitor's couch. Straight
ahead, past the desk, were a pair of large oak doors. "Eric Vulman -
President" was written in gold on one of the doors. "This is your
desk," she told me.  It figured. I was right. Executive Assistant was
just another title for secretary.

I put my purse under the desk as I had seen so many other secretaries
do and sat down with a sigh.

Andrea smiled. "Just relax. Eric is a nice guy. Remember, he'll know
you are new, so he'll take it easy on you."

I returned her smile to be friendly, but I didn't feel like
smiling. As she turned and walked off to her own desk in some other
part of the building, I felt very alone. It was one thing to be Holly
Sheridan around Andrea. Even though she had always been female, she at
least knew what had happened to me. Now, I was to be surrounded by
shades and transformed people who had no idea that Ovid was all a
sham. They would expect me to act like the Holly Sheridan they had
always known. I wasn't sure I was up to the task.

I was startled as one of the large oak doors opened. There, in an
expensive suit that made him look like the corporate executive he was
stood Eric Vulman. He smiled at me. "Holly, good. I'm glad you're
here.  Come on in. I have some things to go over with you."

I'm sure you do, I thought to myself, my fear subsiding as my temper
rose. Here was one of the beings responsible for my condition, and he
was speaking to me as if there was nothing out of the ordinary. I
hoped that he could tell from my body language that I wasn't pleased,
but I suspected it was hard to do swaying as I was in high heels.

He closed the door behind me and motioned me to a small round
conference table. As I sat silently, he moved over to his credenza and
began to prepare two cups of coffee. I supposed angrily that that
would be one of my duties from then on. "Coffee?" he asked pleasantly.

"Please," I replied, trying to make it sound cold.

"I believe you like it black," he observed.

"No," I corrected him. Andrea and I had had a cup of coffee before
leaving the apartment, so I knew how this body preferred coffee.  "For
some reason, since yesterday, I seem to prefer it light."

Refusing to rise to the bait, he poured in a little powdered cream and
stirred it for me. He placed the cup in front of me, then sat down
opposite me. "I'm sure you want to know what's going on," he said.

"Obviously."

"Okay," he agreed. "I'll tell you what I can. But there is one thing I
can't tell you, and that is - "

"Who you are," I interrupted. "You're Vulcan." I was surprised that I
was able to say it in front of him. Apparently that taboo didn't apply
when you were alone with a god.

His eyebrows shot up sharply. "I can see our confidence in you has not
been misplaced. You reasoned that out much sooner than most of our new
residents do."

"I had a little help," I replied, taking a sip of the coffee. It was
just right. "The old movie Clash of the Titans was on last night."

He laughed, "Still, to deduce who we were from watching a bunch of
middle-aged actors strolling around in togas in that film was quite a
feat. It makes things easier to explain, though."

"So what is going on?" I asked. We might as well cut to the chase, I
thought.

"It's pretty much as I explained to you yesterday," he replied. "Your
mission is a real one. It's just that the cover of Mike Donovan
wouldn't have allowed you to learn much. Whoever is leaking the
information wouldn't be very open around you. But now that you've
joined the ranks of the transformed, you have a reason to not care for
us."

"That's for sure."

He looked at me sympathetically. "Please, Holly - "

"Do you have to call me Holly? You know who I really am," I pointed
out.

"I know who you really were," he corrected me, a little sternly. "Look
at yourself in the mirror. There is nothing left of Richard Baxter or
Mike Donovan except memories. You are Holly Sheridan, and as far as
most people you meet from now on, you always have been. In fact,
Richard Baxter never existed."

"What?"

He rose and went to his desk. Picking up a newspaper, he returned with
it and placed it in front of me. It was a USA Today dated the previous
morning. The headline read "Navy Jet Shot Down Over Iraq!" There were
pictures of Terry and me, and under them, the subhead read "2 Pilots
Die." I looked up at him in confusion.

"This is what happened to you day before yesterday - or would have if
we hadn't recalled you. More than likely, the incident would have
started another round of violence in the Middle East. You, of course,
wouldn't have been around to see it."

"But this didn't happen," I protested. "This must be one of those
phony papers you get printed up at the novelty shops."

"But it would have happened," he clarified, "if we had let events go
on without intervening. You were going straight into an ambush. It
happened anyway, but your two wingmen managed to avoid damage and
knock out the SAM battery that caught you. You were a good pilot. You
would have just been in the wrong place at the wrong moment in time."

It could have happened, I realized. I was a good pilot - a very good
pilot - but things happened in the air. They could have nailed me. I
looked more carefully at the newspaper, suppressing a shudder. In that
moment, I knew Eric was telling me the truth.

"Okay," I said slowly, "so you saved me from death. So what do you
mean when you said I never existed?"

Eric explained, "The way the rules are set up, when you become a
citizen of Ovid, your previous existence is eliminated. It's as if you
never existed at all. If you were to call your parents right now, they
wouldn't know who you were. The Judge can override that temporarily,
but it's a strain even for him. In your case, Richard Baxter ceased to
exist the moment you were transformed."

"But I can be changed back, can't I?" I asked. "I mean, I don't have
to stay like this forever, do I?"

"That would be up to the Judge," Eric replied. "There have been times
where he has performed a second transformation, but it doesn't happen
very often. There's a significant chance that you'll remain Holly
Sheridan for the rest of your life."

I felt as if he had just pronounced a death sentence on me. Everything
I had ever been - everything I had ever worked for was gone. I enjoyed
being a man, a pilot, and a Naval officer. All those things were lost
to me now. I had been changed into someone I didn't know how to be,
and to be honest, I didn't want to know how to be.

"I'm really sorry," Eric told me, "but this was necessary. We thought
that a girl like Holly would be more non-threatening to our spy. As
Holly, you'd be able to learn things you would never have learned in
your male persona, whether that male was Richard Baxter or Mike
Donovan."

"Then why the phony identity?" I wanted to know. "Why not just change
me without Mike Donovan even being in the picture."

"Because as a military officer, you'd be less likely to betray your
country. Our spy or spies would be more wary around you. Once an
officer, always an officer and all that. As a civilian pilot, though,
you might be a little more open to any proposal they might make. They
might think you're bitter enough about the transformation that you
would be willing to join them."

I might at that, I thought to myself. I was a loyal American, but
these people weren't Americans. Oh, they acted as if they were, but
they were really gods from another time and place. If I helped them,
was I really helping my country? Or was I just helping these ancient
gods in whatever purpose they had conceived. I realized, though, that
I would have to play along for the time being. What choice did I have?
If I helped them, I could try to make sure I was really helping my
country in the process.  If I didn't help them, I would no longer be
needed. I could be transformed again. I had no doubt that the next
transformation would be to get me out of the way of the operation
entirely. What would they change me into? A baby? An animal? I had no
idea what the limits were, but I knew that unless I helped them, I
would be in way over my head.

"So what do we do now?" I asked resignedly.

Eric relaxed noticeably. "More coffee?"

I nodded. "Please. Maybe I should get it though. I assume that's part
of my duties."

"Yes," he agreed, pushing his cup toward me. "Perhaps you're right. It
would look better."

When we both had fresh cups of coffee, he continued, "The team putting
together the chip for the fuel pump is actually pretty small. There
are only five people there and two of them are shades."

"Can a shade betray you?" I queried.

"We don't think so."

"You don't think so? I thought you were gods."

"We are," he agreed, "but we aren't omnipotent or omniscient. Read
your mythology. People were always tricking the gods, and we were
always tricking each other. We aren't like the Christian god, all
seeing and all knowing. Even he got fooled for a time by Adam and
Eve. If we were all powerful, we wouldn't need you to help us. We
would just know who our spy was."

It was actually comforting to know there were limits to their powers.
Granted, they still had very impressive powers, but they couldn't do
everything.

"So really what I am is the bait," I surmised. "You expect them to
contact me to help them in their scheme."

Eric nodded. "That's right. They thought they had the right plans
before, but there were no templates for the chip in their set. That
was only because the final design for the chip hadn't been made. We're
close now though, and they'll know it. But they'll want to make sure
it does what it's supposed to do. They'll need a pilot for that."

"Now wait a minute," I protested, raising a feminine hand, "I won't
know if the chip works or not. I'm just a pilot."

"True," Eric agreed, "but they won't know that. For a week now we've
been telling everyone associated with the project that a pilot who is
a computer expert employed by the contractor for the F-18 is going to
determine the functionality of the chip. And of course, the Navy will
be sending their own man to look at it, too. They won't approach
someone from the Navy, but I'm betting they'll approach you."

He got up suddenly and went over to his desk. He keyed an intercom and
said, "Tricia, I'm sending Holly down there to get some employee
files.  Give her whatever she needs, okay?"

"Will do," a voice came back.

"I want you to read over the files of everyone on the project," he
told me. "You'll be expected to know all of them. Personnel is at the
other end of this hall. Tricia will help you. She's an attractive
black woman, about thirty, with short hair. You and Tricia are good
friends."

"Is she real?" I asked, getting to my feet.

"Yes," he replied. "She doesn't remember being anyone else,
though. That reminds me. If you look down at the bottom of the
Employee Application Form in each file, you'll see either one, two or
three asterisks.  One means a shade, two means a transformee who
doesn't remember his or her previous life, and three mean that, like
you, they remember."

I gave him a grim smile. "How many asterisks are on your file?"

"None at all," he said blandly.

Tricia greeted me as an old friend, but I suppose in her mind, that's
just what I was. I found after chatting with her for a couple of
minutes that she really was a likeable person. I wondered who she had
been before she came to Ovid. Was she a former man like me? Had she
been black? Since she didn't know herself, it was unlikely that I
would ever find out. I began to realize that the best way to deal with
the residents of Ovid was to see them as they saw themselves and not
worry about who they had been before.

Was that how they would deal with me? Andrea and Eric knew who I
really was, or at least, who I had been. Come to think of it, Andrea
didn't even know that. She only knew my cover identity. To everyone
else, I was Holly Sheridan. To the shades and people like Tricia, I
always had been Holly. Other transformees who at least knew they had
been transformed would know that Holly was now real and no longer a
shade, but it probably wouldn't matter to them. I supposed Eric was
right. In many ways, it was the perfect cover, but why they couldn't
have changed me into a man was beyond me. I could have been just as
effective that way, I was sure.

Of course, there was the idea that I would cast my lot with the spies
if they thought I was thoroughly disgusted with my change of
sex. Maybe I should consider it, I thought. I owed these gods
nothing. They had changed me against my will. They had taken away my
career, my sex, everything that had made me Richard Baxter. What did I
really owe them?  My life? Only if I believed their story of my
imminent death in the Gulf.

Still, I told myself, they had no reason to lie to me. They could have
used another pilot were it not for their desire to use one who had
been bound to die. If all they wanted was a pilot, surely they could
have found one who could have tolerated becoming a woman. Hell, there
was probably a pilot out there somewhere who would have jumped at the
chance. I couldn't imagine who he would be, but it took all kinds to
make a world.

Resigned at least for the moment to my situation, I returned to my
desk with the personnel files I was to study. I had also grabbed my
own file so I could learn more about my new self.

The first file I opened was the file of the team leader of the chip
development project. His name was Darren Cache. His picture was in the
file. He appeared young, no more than twenty five. I wondered if it
was an old picture, so I checked his birth date. No, in fact, he was
only twenty four. I guessed high tech leaders were often young. Gray
hair and innovations in computers didn't seem to go
hand-in-hand. There were two asterisks at the bottom of his file. That
meant he didn't know who he had been before. He had dark hair, fair
skin and blue eyes if the color of the picture was right. He was a
handsome man. I wondered if he was married. I looked down at the file
and was pleased to see that he was single.

Pleased to see that he was single? What in hell was wrong with me? My
mind had been drifting in almost a trance. I had been thinking like...
like... like a girl, damn it! What was I going to think about next?
Shopping for some really cute clothes? Having babies? I had to focus
my mind on who I was. I mean, who I really was - not who I appeared to
be.  Maybe the transformation was more than physical. The physical
aspects were scary enough.

I tried to concentrate on the files. No problems with the next
file. The guy looked like a weasel. He was thirtyish, balding, and a
bushy moustache. He had dark skin - darker than mine - and dark brown
eyes.  His name was Randy Aziz. Aziz - wasn't that an Arab name? He
was a shade, though. I suspected, as did Eric, that the culprit was
not a shade. Surely the gods had better control than that on their
artificial creations.

Whoa, Rich, I said to myself. I didn't really know enough about the
shades to say that. Maybe they were just another form of intelligent
life. Eric had said himself that the gods were not omnipotent. He
might think a shade couldn't betray the gods, but what if he was
wrong? Maybe shades could act up like the Yul Brynner robot in
Westworld. Now there was a scary thought.

The next file belonged to a Meg Hartwell. She was real and apparently
remembered who she had been. She looked to be about twenty five with
blonde hair and blue eyes. I would have to call her cute, I thought,
trying to recall my male perspective, but nothing to write home about.
If she had been male before, she might be angry enough at the gods to
betray them.

Damon Greene was a black man and perhaps the oldest member of the
team.  He was thirty five but his picture made him look older. He was
real with no memory of a past life, but could he feel as if he had
been passed over in favor of a younger Team Leader? Jealousy could be
a motive for betrayal. He was also the only married member of the
team. Money pressures could cause him to be a spy as well.

The final team member was Jeff Todd. He was the same age as I was now
and a recent graduate of Capta College, which was apparently a local
school. He was blonde with blue eyes and looked like the All-American
boy. He was also a shade. Of all the team members, he seemed to be the
least likely suspect. He looked too young and too inexperienced to be
involved in anything like espionage. Of course, that could make him
the perfect spy, too. Who knew how old the shades really were?

Finally, I came to my own folder. There I was, smiling in a picture
that I had never posed for. I looked fantastic even in a cheapo
employee ID photo. According to the folder, my birthday was in
February, so I had just turned twenty-one. My parents were Brad
Sheridan and Mary Lone Eagle Hansen, both conveniently dead. I was
listed as being one half Indian. I was apparently born in Tulsa, and I
had a sister living in Dallas. I wondered what she was like, assuming
she really existed (which I doubted). I had to give the gods credit -
they were thorough.

Finished with the folders, I was suddenly bored. If I had still been
my old self, I would have plowed through all the admininstrivia with
the help of a yeoman or two and would be looking forward to flight
ops. No more soaring through the clouds for me, I realized with
sadness. I looked down at the in basket on my desk. There were other
projects for Holly to do, it seemed. With a sigh of resignation, I
began to go through them.

Most of the projects were mundane in nature, but at least I was
gratified to see that Eric did give Holly meaningful projects. I was
apparently responsible for a lot of the day-to-day administration. I
wasn't treated like a receptionist, or even a secretary. The only
phone calls that came back to me were important ones that had passed
the receptionist's screening, so I wasn't deluged with salesmen's
calls. I did have to do most of my own typing, though, but I found
that if I let myself relax into an almost trance-like state, I was a
whiz at the keyboard. Apparently, the spell on me worked a little like
an autopilot on an aircraft. As long as the task wasn't too complex, I
could do it without thinking.

Going through the in basket, I saw that there was a meeting right
after lunch that I would be expected to attend. I looked forward to
it, for it was with the chip development team. It would give me a
chance to assess each of them.

Andrea joined me for lunch, leading me to the small cafeteria in the
building. We weren't able to talk about my true first day on the job,
though. Tricia and a girl from payroll had joined us, so I was exposed
to my first dose of girl talk. Each of the girls talked about their
husband or boyfriend. Tricia was married, and the payroll clerk,
Renee, was a shade and was engaged. Andrea apparently had been seeing
a lot of the bartender at that local bar I had spotted, Randy Andy's.

I was astounded at how openly each of the girls talked about sex. It
was a good thing my Indian skin was slightly red or I would have had
to explain my sudden rash of blushing to the other girls. I just kept
my mouth shut and laughed when the other girls laughed. As a former
man, I had no idea how openly women discussed their relationships with
men. If I had known as a man, I would have probably suffered from
performance anxiety a few times.

"All this talk reminds me to take my pill," Renee said suddenly,
pulling a pill identical to the one Andrea had made me take that
morning. She washed it down with iced tea. "There. No babies for a
little while."

I gave Andrea an evil gaze. She had tricked me into taking a birth
control pill!

She shrugged and said to Renee (but really to me, I realized), "Right.
Better safe than sorry."

Finally, Tricia said, "How about you, Holly? You haven't said a word.
Who are you seeing now?"

I gulped. Was I seeing anyone now? I had forgotten if Andrea had told
me or not. I hoped I wasn't, but I didn't know. There was no way I was
going to be caught dead dating a guy. I was one myself - inside, at
least.

Andrea bailed me out, though. "Miss Sheridan is currently between
men," she announced with mock formality.

"A lot of guys around here are going to be happy to hear that," Renee
laughed. "They were afraid you and that car salesman would actually
hit it off."


"Yeah," Tricia said, "we all heard he had a big engine under the
hood."

They all laughed, and I even managed to fake a smile. I of course had
no idea who they were talking about, but I was secretly relieved that
I didn't have a boyfriend to juggle along with all the other aspects
of my new life.

"Maybe I can put a flyer in with everybody's check tomorrow," Renee
teased. "That way, they'll know you're available, Holly."

"Just in the guy's envelopes," Andrea suggested with mischief in her
eyes aimed only at me. "After all, Holly isn't into girls."

They all laughed again. I was relieved, though, that lunch ended
without any more comments about my love life.

I got to the chip development team meeting a little late. I hadn't
taken into account that going to the head as a woman was a much more
significant chore. Instead of sauntering up to the urinal for a quick
task, I had to adjust dress and pantyhose and panties. It was
practically like having to get undressed and dressed again just to
take a piss.

 They were meeting in a small conference room when I walked in on
them.  Eric had told them I would be joining their afternoon meeting
instead of him, so they were expecting me. It was the excuse I needed
to meet all of them, although they didn't know that.

"Hi, Holly," Darren called out casually when I walked in. He was
leaning back in his chair while tapping a pencil against the table. He
was wearing what looked to me to be a very expensive suit, and the tie
that was loosened at his neck cost at least a hundred. I know, because
I had priced that same tie before the ship left on
deployment. Everyone else echoed the friendly greeting. I smiled at
everyone and took an unobtrusive seat at the foot of the table.

"Okay," Darren began, "everybody's here. We've still got a lot of work
to do, so let's make this meeting a short one. Damon, how is the
interface?"

"Ready to go," the black man said confidently. "All the computer
simulation shows we're right on target.

"How about the subroutines?"

Meg and Randy both said together, "Ready."

Then Meg added, "We still need to recalibrate fuel flow in one of the
nozzles, but that can be reset now at the user level instead of
reprogramming."

Darren nodded his agreement. "Are there any other issues we need to go
over before we produce the final blueprint for the chip?"

"I'd like to take one last look this afternoon at programmable user
interfaces in general. There are a couple of areas I'd like to tweak,"
Randy commented. I noted his accent was pure Oklahoma. His ancestry
might be Middle Eastern but he was obviously born and raised in the
US.  That was one point for him. He would probably have no close ties
with a foreign family since he was a shade.

"Okay," Darren said. "Randy, you got this afternoon to look at the
interfaces. Get Jeff to help you. His subroutine is
finished. Tomorrow, we start on the final design. We should have the
final design by a week from today. That's next Thursday. Any problems
with that?"

Nobody disagreed, but the deadline set off a series of technical
problems which even with my engineering background were hard to
follow.  The solutions to the problems took over an hour.

When the last of the discussions ended, Darren smiled. "We've made
terrific progress this last week. It calls for a little celebration.
Everybody head over to Randy Andy's right after work. I'm buying the
first round."

This meant with general approval. Randy even chimed in, "And I'll buy
the second round."

"You're invited, too, Holly," Darren said with a warm smile in my
direction.

"I'll be there," I said. It would be a perfect opportunity to see them
in an informal atmosphere, not that they were very formal in the
meeting. My first impression of them was that they all got along
extremely well. There seemed to be no conflicts or jealousy among the
members of the team. I was hard pressed to see any of them as a
spy. Of course, a successful spy doesn't exactly go around with a sign
around his or her neck.

Meg hung back to talk to me after the others had left. She was better
looking than her employee file picture, but still no raving beauty.
Still, she had a nice figure which stood out through her white silk
blouse and short navy blue skirt. If I had met her as my male self, I
would have been mildly interested, I had to admit.  "Holly," she began
hesitantly, "I just wanted to ask if you were feeling... different."

I knew what she was asking since I knew that she remembered who she
had been. She was wondering if I remembered, too.  "I feel fine," I
replied carefully. The person I was supposed to be would have no
reason to know about Meg, so I had to play dumb. "I just feel like a
new person."

Meg grinned. Contact had been made. "I know how you feel."

"You do?"

"Look, Holly, a few of us remember who we were," she
explained. "You're not alone.  If you ever need any help getting
settled in, let me know."

"Thanks," I replied. "My roommate has been a big help. I don't think I
could have gotten through this without her."

"Oh, that's right," Meg said. "You share a place with Andrea, don't
you?"

I nodded.

"Well, she's a good friend of mine," Meg explained. "The team has had
to work closely with production on this project, and Andrea has been
very helpful getting the specifications we needed. If she is half the
help to you she's been to the team, you'll do fine. But if you need
any help from me, just let me know."

"Uh, one thing," I told her. "I was just wondering. I'm a little new
at being... well, at being a girl, to be honest. Andrea has always
been one. Is there anybody you know who can help me with..."

"The emotional changes?" Meg asked.

I nodded.

She smiled at me. "Don't worry. I'll help you with that. Until last
summer, I was a male software engineer working out of the Silicon
Valley."

"How did you end up here?" I asked.

"I was a big country western fan," she explained. "I was driving to
Branson, Missouri, for a week's vacation and to see some of the
country stars. I got stopped going through Ovid."

"Speeding?"

She shook her head sadly. "No, drug possession. I was a pretty
successful software engineer, so I had plenty of money to powder my
nose. Don't worry, that's all in the past now. There are no drugs in
Ovid, thank god."

Or the gods, I thought, but she couldn't say that.

"Anyhow," she continued, "the next thing I knew, I was Meg Hartwell,
girl software engineer."

I was truly fascinated. This was the first opportunity I had had to
talk to someone who had undergone the same sex change I had
experienced.  Let's see, it was nearly April, so she had been a woman
now for - what?  - eight or nine months. She didn't seem to be unhappy
about it. Still, she could be hiding it, I thought. If she was unhappy
with her new sex, she might be willing to spy on the project, either
to get even or to strike a deal with a maverick god who would agree to
change her back.

"So," I began, "how has it been for you? I mean, how have you felt
about being female?"

She gave me a knowing smile. "I remember asking someone that same
question right after I got here. To be honest, I didn't think I would
ever get used to it. At first, I was so disoriented, I didn't know
what to do. The thought of wearing dresses and makeup was
repugnant. It seemed like being a transvestite. Then, after a few
days, it started seeming more normal. Besides, I looked better when I
dressed right and had the right makeup. When I looked better, I felt
better."

I had to admit I understood her point better than I would have before
my transformation. There was a feeling of accomplishment when you put
the whole attire and makeup thing together. It was almost like putting
a puzzle together to admire the picture.

"Of course, the hormones kick in pretty quickly, too."

"They do?" That wasn't something I had thought much about. By body was
producing female hormones. How much of an effect would they have on
the way I acted and the way I thought? More than I wanted to admit to
myself, I was sure.

"They do," she affirmed. "Don't be surprised if men start looking good
to you."

I shook my head. "Sorry, but I don't think so."

"Oh, it will happen," she assured me. "It will be subtle at first, but
before you know it, you'll be looking at a man's ass and build just
like you used to look at breasts and legs."

I silently prayed to god that she was wrong. There was one more
question I needed to ask though. "Uh, Meg?"

"Yes?"

"Are you happy?"

She thought for a moment before answering. "Yes, I am. Looking back on
it, as a man, I had pretty much made a hash of my life. This was my
chance to start over. Once I got my bearings, I actually started to
become comfortable with who I had become. Now, I guess I just want
what a lot of other women want - a career, a family, and friends. Just
go with the flow, Holly. Ovid can be a great place if you do that."

Go with the flow, I repeated to myself as I went back to my desk. Was
that what I was supposed to be doing? Sorry, that wasn't my
style. What did I want? Meg had talked about a career. I had that,
until they took it away from me. A family? That had never been very
important to me. I wasn't close to my parents or my brothers, but I
had to admit to myself that I would miss them. I wasn't ready to go
out and find another family, though. As for friends, I had had them,
too. I was developing new ones in Ovid, but I didn't want to get too
close to them. I would figure out a way to regain my masculinity and
leave Ovid as soon as my mission was complete.

But, I reminded myself, unless I appeared to be going with the flow,
I'd stick out like the proverbial sore thumb. I needed to appear to be
adapting or my cover wouldn't work. My best strategy would be to do my
best to fit in and catch the spy. Then once I wasn't needed in Ovid
anymore, I could work on getting out.

The rest of the afternoon drug by. At least the offices closed at four
thirty instead of five. Still, the last hour at my desk was almost
painful. I saw nothing further of Eric that day. On his calendar, he
was signed out for meetings. I knew, though, that he was out playing
golf with the Judge. I envied him.

Just before four thirty, Andrea walked in. "Ready to go?" she asked.

"Sure," I said, collecting my purse. Then I remembered Darren's offer
of a drink at Randy Andy's. It would be a great opportunity to talk to
the team, so I really had to go. "I forgot, Andrea. I'm having a drink
with Darren and his team. I can drop you off at home first, though."

"Don't bother," she laughed. "I got invited, too. I'm kind of an
honorary team member."

Andrea and I were the first from Vulman to arrive at Randy Andy's, but
the place had plenty of other customers already. Some of them looked
like they had been there since the sun came up. The bar itself was
cleaner than most small town bars. I knew because as a pilot, I was an
expert on bars, small town and otherwise. It was just as dark as most
small town bars, though, with dim lights and pinewood walls that
absorbed a lot of the light. It was arranged in typical bar fashion
with a long bar flanked by several tables of various sizes. A second
room contained a few booths and a pool table.

The only atypical feature of the bar was a lack of cigarette smoke. I
wondered if cigarettes were as hard to obtain as drugs. It didn't
matter to me. As a nonsmoker, I would happy to learn that the gods had
kicked Joe Camel's ass out of town. Still, without the smell of stale
cigarette smoke, the place didn't seem natural. I had to make do with
a stale beer smell and there was plenty of that. It was odd, but since
my sex change, even my sense of smell had changed. I found myself
attracted to floral scents and turned off by the bar smells I had come
to enjoy as a man.

There was another difference, at least for me, when Andrea and I
walked in the bar. That was that all the men in the place turned
around to look at us. Andrea didn't seem to pay much attention, but I
felt as if my clothes were being mentally stripped from my body. I had
a sudden urge to tug on my skirt to make it longer and fold my arms
over my breasts to make them less obvious. It didn't work, though. The
men continued to stare. Had I done that when I was male? Probably.

We staked out a large table and braced ourselves as a few of the
braver men, their courage fortified by a couple of hours at the bar,
started to slowly sidle our way. The strange mixture of country
western music and rock that spewed out of the juke box made it hard to
hear what some of the men were saying, but between songs and a low
spots in the music, I kept hearing phrases like "great ass" and "nice
tits." Needless to say, I felt very uncomfortable.

Fortunately, the rest of the gang from work showed up before we could
even order drinks. Everyone arranged themselves around the
table. Darren sat next to me and grinned at me. "Thanks for getting a
table. I was afraid there wouldn't be a big one left when we got
here."

No chance of that, I thought. Many of the tables were still empty,
although the place was filling fast.

"What'll it be, guys?" a raspy voice said with a thick Oklahoma
drawl. I looked up and saw a man in black trousers and a white
shirt. He was tall and thin, with a receding hairline and a hawkish
nose. He wasn't homely, but his features gave him an almost
weasel-like appearance.

"Coors for me, Marty," Darren said. "What about the rest of you?"

A chorus of "Beer!" came up from everyone, including me.

"Better make it pitchers, Marty," Darren said. "Let's start with
three."

Three pitchers for seven of us, and that was what Darren considered
the first round. Apparently, we were going to have a party. That was
fine with me. I had downed pitchers of beer in Officer's Clubs and
civilian bars on four continents. A little sex change wasn't going to
cramp my style.

It was a good party. After we had made short work of Darren's
pitchers, Randy paid for the refills. Meg chipped in for some nachos,
which I suspected would be as close as any of us came to eating dinner
for awhile. Randy playfully kissed Meg for ordering food, earning him
the temporary nickname of Randy Randy. Damon picked up the next round
but had to leave early to make it to his son's soccer game. Jeff was
trying to teach Andrea an old college drinking song. In general, it
was a good party - one that made it hard to imagine that any of these
people could be a spy.

I was almost on familiar turf, sitting in the bar, a beer in hand and
plenty more to come. I could almost imagine myself back in my old
body, having a few beers back at the club with the other pilots. Of
course there were many differences, some subtle and some not so
subtle. When I would turn my head to talk to someone else at the
table, I could feel the sway of the earrings in my ears and the brush
of long hair on my cheeks. When I brought the beer glass to my lips, I
could see it clutched in a small hand with painted nails. Then there
was the constant problem with my skirt riding up as I shifted in my
seat. I had to remember to tug it back in place periodically. The
sound of my voice was still disconcerting, too. I would get wrapped up
in the conversation and decide to add a point, only to be shocked at
the high pitch of my voice.

Then, there were the not so subtle reminders. It seemed like every
time a slow song came up on the jukebox, some guy would come up, try
to introduce himself, and ask me to dance. I politely declined each
offer, more than a little embarrassed at the whole idea of dancing
with a man.

Andrea was getting a chuckle out of the whole thing. As attractive as
she was, guys were practically pushing her out of the way to talk to
me.  Of course, part of the time, they didn't have to. Andrea spent a
fair amount of time out of her seat next to me talking with the
bartender.

  "They're an item," Meg explained to me.

The bartender, who went by the nickname of Deuce Meg told me, was a
good looking guy. Even if I hadn't been forced to see him from the
female perspective, I would have known that. He was dark featured -
black hair and goatee, dark brown eyes, and an olive complexion. He
appeared to be about mid twenties, and from the muscles bulging out
from the Randy Andy's T-shirt he wore, he obviously kept himself in
good shape. The bar didn't need a bouncer when it had a bartender like
Deuce. I also noted that he was real.

Finally, too much beer and too much sitting took their toll. I had to
go to the head. I dreaded doing so. It had been so easy to drink beer
as a man. I could be in and out of the head in less than a
minute. Now, though, it was a major project. Still, it could wait no
longer. The pressure in my bladder was building fast. I was finding to
my chagrin that as a woman, when you had to go, you really had to go.

The heads were not exactly conveniently located. To reach them, I had
to walk back through the pool room. There, playing a game of
eightball, were two men who looked as if they had just stepped out of
the movie Deliverance. One was a homely as the other, for they were
identical twins. They both wore dirty T-shirts and jeans, and there
were two denim jackets on the stools next to them. I don't think they
dressed so nearly alike on purpose. Rather, they just would never have
had the style to dress in any other way. I would have guessed their
ages at mid twenties and their occupations as something which kept
them in fairly decent shape in spite of the beer they were
guzzling. The only real difference between them was that one of them
was real and the other was a shade.

"Hey, pretty lady," one of them called to me. I didn't know which
one. I had been trying to rush past them.

Before I could reach the head, a pool cue came down in the doorway
like a tollgate. I looked around, and up into the eyes of one of the
twins - the real one.

"Well now, Pocahontas, it wasn't too friendly of you not to talk to my
brother and me," he said in mock friendliness.

"Yeah," his shade brother agreed. "Not friendly at all."

"Hello Jed, Ted," a familiar voice said suddenly behind me. A hand
reached by me and gently pushed the pool cue aside. I looked around to
see Darren, a thin smile on his lips as he looked each of the twins in
the eye.

"Hello, Darren," both twins replied, respectfully but obviously not
happy to see him. As I looked at each of them, I could see that they
were not willing to challenge him. I wondered why. There were two of
them and only one of Darren.

"Well, if you'll excuse us, I think the lady and I need to do a little
resting."

They both backed away. "Sure thing, Darren," the real one said.

I was so curious as to why they backed down that I didn't think twice
about using the head. Everything about it just seemed natural. I even
remembered to wipe the way Andrea had taught me. I dressed quickly,
hoping Darren would still be outside the door to the head. Gentleman
that he was, he had waited for me. With a silent smile to me, the two
of us walked back to the main room past a very disgruntled set of
twins.

"They're the Borland twins," Darren explained. "Jed and Ted. Neither
one of them is very bright."

I realized that, but I also realized they didn't have to be very
bright to do what they had in mind.  "They seemed to be a little
afraid of you," I noted.

He nodded. "I have a reputation of being pretty good in a fight," he
said in a tone so conversational that it didn't sound like bragging.




The party continued, but with a subtle change. I found myself inching
toward Darren and talking with him more. It was partially protective
coloration. I wanted it to look like I was with him so the other men
in the bar would leave me alone. But it was partially something else
as well. Darren had been my protector, and I found that I didn't mind
having one. The more I saw him in action, the more I liked him. He was
fairly quiet, thoughtful, and seemed to exude an air of
self-confidence.  He was something like a pilot without the swagger.

We talked mostly party small talk. It was really more of a group
discussion than a one-on-one conversation, but I found myself enjoying
it. In the short time I had been female, I had seen a lot of men
spending more time staring at my breasts than really talking to
me. When Darren turned in my direction, though, it was as if I had his
full attention as a person. His eyes were locked on mine.

One by one, the party began to break up. My stomach was uncomfortable
from too much beer and junk food. Besides, I knew this smaller body of
mine would have less tolerance for alcohol, so I resolved to quit
before I had had too much. I suspected, though, that I had already
come close to reaching that point.

Andrea had decided to stick around for awhile. Meg told me that Deuce
was getting off at ten, so I knew why Andrea was staying. I wished
everybody who was left a pleasant evening and got unsteadily to my
feet.

"Are you going to be okay?" Darren asked me.

"Just fine," I slurred a little. "I'll drive slowly." I wondered what
the Judge would do if I was brought into his court for driving while
impaired. I resolved to drive really really carefully.

The clear evening air felt good on my face as I walked out to my car.
Since it was early spring, the evenings were still crisp. I sucked in
a cool breath, enjoying the relative quiet as the noise from the
jukebox receded. I fumbled with my keys, trying to get my car door
open.

I was new to being a girl. That was my only excuse. Someone raised as
a girl would have known to be careful in a dark parking lot. Since I
was raised male, I never thought to look around for someone lurking in
the shadows. My first indication that I was in trouble happened when I
felt two large arms grab me at the waist from behind. Involuntarily,
the air left my lungs as I let out a gasp.

"Well, well, Pocahontas, what are you going to do now?" I recognized
the voice. It was one of the twins, Jed or Ted. From the arms that
held me, I could see it was the real one, whichever one that was. The
shade twin came into view as well, an evil grin on his ugly face.

I might have been slow to recognize the danger I faced walking out
into the dark parking lot, but I wasn't slow when it came to
understanding what those two semi-retards had in mind for me. I had
been a girl for less than two days and I was about to be raped.

Thankful for the self defense training I had received in the Navy, I
dug in my heels and tried to flip my assailant over my shoulder. If I
succeeded, I might just have enough time to get in my car. To my
shock, it didn't work and I nearly lost my balance. It was a
combination of factors, I realized at once. First, high heels are a
poor shoe to be wearing when you're trying to throw someone. Next, I
hadn't allowed for the fact that I was much smaller and weaker. And
finally, I panicked, struggling futilely.

"Well it's not Pocahontas after all," the shade twin laughed. "It's
Judo Judy."

Both men were laughing so hard, they didn't even see the first kick. I
tried to jump back as a leg came flying out of nowhere, knocking the
shade twin to the ground. A dark shape hit the ground, rolled and came
to his feet. It was Darren. "Let her go, Jed," he growled from a low
crouch.

Jed didn't have to be asked twice. I felt his arms sag and fall away
from me. I nearly fell to the ground as he retreated. I thought Darren
was just going to let them run away, but Before they could both get
their balance, a car, headlights on high with a red light flashing on
top blocked their way.

"Stop where you are," a calm but forceful voice called to them,
stepping out of the police cruiser so quickly I never saw the door
open or close.  I did recognize the voice, though. Silhouetted in the
bright lights of the cruiser was Officer Mercer.

The twins saw that he hadn't bothered to draw his gun, so foolishly,
they decided to make a run for it. Officer Mercer moved so quickly, he
was a soft blur in the lights. In seconds both of the twins were on
the ground semiconscious.

"Do you need any help with them, officer?" Darren called.

"No. Thank you for asking, sir," Officer Mercer said respectfully. "If
you'd just take care of the young lady, I would appreciate it."

I shook my head and raised an arm in protest. "No... no, I'm fine. I
just need to go home."

I tried to make it to my car, but my legs nearly collapsed from under
me. Darren caught me as I began to fall, my breasts pressing against
his chest. What was wrong with me? I wondered as I rested limply
against him. I was shaking like the proverbial leaf. I was light
headed and weak in the knees. I was a pilot, damn it! I had landed
planes on carrier decks, faced the enemy in the skies above the Middle
East, and accomplished dangerous feats for years. Yet here I was,
unable to control myself. To make it worse, in frustration, I began to
cry. Cry, for god's sake!

Darren misunderstood the cause of my tears. He held me even closer to
him and said softly, "Don't worry, Holly, you're alright. They won't
bother you anymore."

For some reason, that made me cry even harder. He was talking to me
like I was a weak girl. He was holding me as if I needed to be
comforted.  None of this was true, was it? Was it? God, what was
happening to me? I was a man in a woman's body, but mentally, I was
still a man. I had to be. I couldn't lose myself in this soft vessel,
I thought. I had to get control of myself.

At last, I was able to stop the tears.

"Give me your keys and I'll drive you home," Darren offered.

I managed to pull away from him and stand a little steadier. "No, I
can drive. I'll be fine."

"Look, I want to drive you home," he insisted. "I only live a couple
of blocks from you. I can walk home. Then, you can pick me up in the
morning and bring me over here to pick up my car. I'd feel better
knowing you made it home okay."

"Well..." I drawled slowly. I had to admit I would feel safer if
someone was with me. I had never had the experience of fear of being
sexually assaulted before. I gave me a new appreciation for what girls
go through. Every dark corner could hold a potential attacker. I
suddenly realized that I didn't want to go back to my dark apartment
all by myself. I wanted someone else there when I opened the
door. "All right."

"You know," he said when we were in the car driving home, "there are
better moves you could make."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," he apologized. "I was talking about the way you tried
to bring Jed down."

I had been pretty good at self defense training in flight
school. "What do you mean?" I asked indignantly.

"Well, the move you tried on him would have worked fine if you were my
size, but you would have to be a lot stronger to make that work while
you were standing in heels," he explained.

"And you know a better way?" I asked coolly. Unfortunately, I knew he
was right.

"Well, better for someone your size," he amended. "Hey, tomorrow is
casual day. Why don't you wear something you wouldn't mind getting
roughed up and I'll show you what I mean over the noon hour."

"Are we going to fight it out in the parking lot?" I asked
sarcastically.

"No," he said, smiling, "but you'll see.

He saw me to my door and waited while I turned on the lights.

"Do you want me to look around?" he asked.

I smiled. "No, thanks. I'll be fine."

He took my hand gently. "Then I'll say goodnight. Pick me up about a
quarter until eight?"

"Sure," I agreed. Then, before he could turn away, I did something
impulsively that I never dreamed I would do. I leaned over from the
doorstep and gave him a sisterly kiss on the cheek. "Thanks, Darren."

With a surprised look on his face, he replied, "Sure. Any time."

As I closed the door behind me, I wondered if there was any way I
could kick myself. What was I thinking of, giving him that little
kiss? Was I turning gay? Well, not gay, I rationalized. After all, no
matter what I was in my mind, I was a very pretty girl on the
outside. Maybe it was just that autopilot thing kicking in again. That
had to be it, I told myself. After all, there was no way I would have
voluntarily kissed him, even in the innocent fashion I had done. No
way in the world.

Besides, Darren wasn't just a coworker or a friend. He was a suspect
in a case of industrial espionage which was potentially damaging to
the country I had sworn an oath to protect. I couldn't get involved
with him, even if I wanted to, which I didn't. I was sure I didn't
want to get involved. I was very sure. I was positive. I kept telling
myself that almost as a mantra as I went to bed.

				***

 "Time to get up!" Andrea was just too damned cheery in the morning. I
groaned and stretched, feeling the uncomfortable sway of my breasts as
I sat up.

"So what time did you come in? I didn't even hear you," I told her,
swinging myself out of bed.

"Let's just say you were dead to the world when I came in," she
laughed.  "By the way, it's casual day today, so dress accordingly."

"Yes, I know," I replied. "Darren told me. What should I wear?"

Andrea helped me pick out an outfit. It consisted of jeans and a denim
shirt. I had thought it would make me look less feminine, but no such
luck. When I looked in the mirror, I could see the outfit was designed
to compliment my curves, not hide them. With my long black hair and
Indian features, I looked like something out of a Western movie. Oh
well, I sighed, I might as well go all the way for that look. I
slipped on a black belt with a large turquoise buckle and black boots
with a two inch heel and turquoise earrings.

"You know what you really need to set that off," Andrea commented as I
struggled with my makeup, "is one of your fetish necklaces."

"I turned. "One of my what?"

"Fetish necklaces," she repeated. "Oh, quit thinking like a man. I
don't mean that kind of fetish. Lots of women wear fetish
necklaces. They have little stone carvings of bears and other animals
that have magical powers according to Indian legends. Some Indian you
are."

"I'm only half Indian," I corrected.

"Then it must be the clueless half," she joked.

"Hey, it's hard enough to figure out how to be a girl. I'll figure out
how to be an Indian later." I sincerely hoped there wouldn't be a
later.  Maybe if this mission went well, I could convince the Judge to
change me into a man again.

I put on the fetish necklace. She was right. It was perfect for my
outfit. I may have wanted to be a man again, but I still managed to
take a certain amount of pride in the fact that I made a dynamite
looking woman. I was beautiful and a little exotic.

"Come on," she urged. "We've got to get to work. My turn to drive."

"Oh!" I interjected. "I almost forgot. We have to pick up Darren."

"Why?"

"He drove me home last night and left his car at the bar," I
explained.

"Oh?" There was a sly note of curiosity in her voice.

"Don't get any ideas," I told her, blushing. "It's a long story. I'll
tell you on the way to work. Do you know where he lives?"

"His address is in the employee directory. I can find it," she
replied.

It was only three blocks, but I managed to get the basics of the story
explained to her. She was duly sympathetic. "Those boys have been
headed for a fall for a long time. They're mean and nasty. I'm not
sure why the powers that be put up with them. Maybe this time, they'll
do something about them."

I could only hope.

Darren was waiting for us in front of his house. His house turned out
to be a very nice ranch style home, well landscaped and freshly
painted. As we pulled up, I could see the edge of a swimming pool in
his large back yard. He seemed to be doing pretty well for himself. By
Ovid standards, it was quite a nice house.

"Here, I'll get in back," I offered. Andrea drove a little Escort
coupe, so there wasn't much room in the back seat.

"Don't bother," he replied, sliding into the back seat and resting his
legs across the entire seat. "See? I'll do fine. Did you sleep okay
last night?"

"Like a baby," I said truthfully.

"Good. Don't forget to come by my office at lunch."

"I won't." I didn't really think he would have much to teach me about
self defense, but I did want to get to know him better. I mean, he was
a suspect and I owed it to the mission to get to know everything I
could about him.

Darren's car was impressive. He had a white Corvette, brand new. He
really was doing well for himself. I had priced the new ones. As I let
him out, I started thinking. Darren didn't remember who he was, but
that didn't mean he couldn't be the spy. The motive could have easily
been money. He obviously liked to live well, and I began to wonder if
his salary was sufficient to afford all of his toys. I decided to take
another look in his file and see how much he earned.

"Thanks, girls," he said brightly as he got out. Then, before I could
stop him, he gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. "See you at lunch."

"Wow!" Andrea said with a wicked grin as we drove away. "For somebody
who hasn't been a girl very long, you work fast."

"Oh," I mumbled, blushing, "it's nothing, really. He just helped me
out of a jam. That was just a little brotherly peck."

"The kiss may have been brotherly," she commented, "but the look in
his eyes wasn't. Come to think of it, you had that same look."

"That's ridiculous!" I protested. "I'm not interested in him at all. I
mean, he's a guy."

"And you're a girl. So what's the problem?"

"I'm not all girl," I said, folding my arms in disgust, trying to
ignore the swell of my breasts.

"Don't be too sure," she warned. "I've seen other guys become girls
and get to like it. Look at Meg. When she first got here, she was just
like you. Now, you'd never know she was ever male."

I didn't argue. I knew there was a real risk that my entire psyche was
changing. It was only my second morning as a woman, but it had seemed
much more natural. I was beginning to think nothing of unconsciously
walking in heels and touching up my makeup. Sitting to pee was still a
pain, but I was managing to get the job done in less time. I was
beginning to recognize that the person I had once been was being
pushed back further and further in my mind, filtered by the constant
demands of a female body. Someone once said you are what you eat. I
didn't know about that, but I was starting to learn that you are who
you are.

I was just getting ready to see Tricia and pull Darren's file again
when Eric called me into his office. He was dressed casually as well,
but he looked every bit as professional in a polo shirt as he did in a
suit. He limped over to his credenza and poured us each a cup of
coffee.

"I thought that was my job now," I commented.

He grinned. "I suppose it is, but I like to think of myself as a
liberal boss. How is your investigation going?"

We seated ourselves at his conference table and I began, "Well, it's
going slowly. I haven't found anybody wearing a trench coat and dark
glasses. The whole team seems to get along well together. No one seems
unhappy or suspicious." I thought about Darren's lifestyle but decided
not to mention it until I reviewed his file again.

Eric sighed, "We're having that same problem. Meg would be the most
likely candidate from a purely pragmatic standpoint. She's the only
real person on the team who remembers who she was before. She might
bear us some ill will."

"Particularly since you changed her sex," I couldn't resist adding.

Eric stared at me. "Is it that terrible, being a girl?"

Was it? I should have been able to answer yes, it's terrible. Every
time I put my hand between my legs and feel nothing but a slit, it's a
nightmare. Ever time my breasts sway or my hips swivel, I get angry.
Every time I put on makeup, I feel like I'm in drag. I should have
been able to say all of those things, but for some reason, those
statements didn't seem accurate. All I could say was, "Maybe it isn't
terrible, but I think I would rather be male."

I think? I THINK? Where was the firm conviction that I was male
through and through? Had that dissipated so quickly? No, not
really. It was just that every hour I spent as Holly Sheridan made it
seem just that much more natural. Yes, I would rather have been a
male, but it was almost like my old male self saying yes, I would like
to be taller.

"Well, as soon as this mission is over, I'll talk to the Judge about
that and see what he can do," Eric promised.

"I would appreciate that," I mumbled.

"In the mean time, I'm going to be gone for a long weekend," Eric
continued. "Keep working on the case. The Navy will be sending someone
here on Monday to evaluate the project. That means the final designs
will be ready Monday. We will be at our most vulnerable point then, so
anything you can give me when I get back Monday may help us find the
culprit."

"I'll do my best," I promised. "But I thought the final design
wouldn't be ready until Thursday."

Eric smiled. "that's the official story, but Darren will have
everything wrapped up today. Even the rest of the team doesn't know
it. So stay alert."

"I will."




And I would. I went immediately to Tricia's office and pulled the
files on the team members again. Back at my desk, I immediately opened
Darren's file. I found myself a little uptight about it. I liked
Darren and I hoped there was nothing suspicious in his
file. Unfortunately, I was disappointed.

Eric did make pretty decent money. His file indicated that he made in
the low thirties. The problem was that low thirties was probably not
to support expensive clothing, a nice house with a pool and a
Corvette. Of course, it was possible that he had family money. Just
because his life had been constructed by the gods didn't mean he
couldn't have a rich uncle somewhere in the family who paid the bills
either directly or posthumously.

Maybe there was something incriminating in one of the other folders
that I had missed, I thought. Randy's and Jeff's files showed nothing,
though. Besides, they were shades. I had come to realize that shades
acted just like real people, but I couldn't see one of them being a
spy.  Damon was still a possibility. I really didn't know that much
about him, but somehow, he didn't seem the type. My brief conversation
with him and the comments of others led me to believe he was a
dedicated family man with a working wife. They lived well but not
beyond their means. He just didn't seem the type.

Meg was still a possibility. She had experienced a sex change after
all.  Maybe she wasn't as happy being female as she let on. But most
spies wouldn't be in a developing relationship if they knew they might
have to flee suddenly. The best spies were loners - people with no
spouse or significant other who lived alone. People like Darren.

But wait a minute, I thought. There was nothing that said the spy had
to be on the team. Technically, the spy could be anyone at
Vulman. After all, it wasn't a secure facility. Most of the place
built parts for Fords. That didn't rate very high security. Even if
you narrowed the search down to people who worked in the office, that
meant there were maybe thirty more suspects. The weird way things
worked in Ovid, the spy could even have been the shade Holly, if you
accepted the premise that a shade could be the culprit. Maybe I was
chasing myself and didn't even know it. Between my investigation and
too much beer the night before, I was getting a headache.

I felt better by lunchtime as I made my way to Darren's office. I was
looking forward to getting to know him better. He was rapidly becoming
my number one suspect, but in spite of the circumstantial evidence, I
didn't really think in my heart that he was the one.

"Come on in," he called when he saw me at his door. His office was
fairly plain. The only pictures on the wall were of new Fords,
probably given to him by one of the Ford reps who visited the plant
periodically.  His desk was relatively neat, and there were two brown
paper sacks on it.

"Lunch," he explained, nodding at the sacks. "I thought we could eat
here after our workout."

I raised an eyebrow. "Workout?"

"Well, not really a workout," he admitted. Then he pointed to an open
area of the floor where he had rolled out a padded mat. "I did think
we could practice for a minute or two."

"That's right," I said. "You were going to show me how to defend
myself."

"Well," he admitted sheepishly, "I suspect you already know how to do
that. If I indicated that you couldn't, it was probably just the beer
talking."

"No," I told him. "I didn't do very well last night, and you did. Any
pointers you can give me would be appreciated."

He nodded. "Okay. As I told you last night, you're a little small to
be trying to throw a full-sized man. There's an easier
technique. Here, put a bear hug on me like Jake did to you last
night."

"Sure," I said, coming up behind him. I threw my arms around him,
feeling my breasts squeeze against his back. I was not surprised as I
wrapped my arms around his waist to find that he was very fit. His
stomach was flat and hard.

"Now watch this," he said, dropping to one knee, grabbing my right
leg, and pulling me off my feet. As I landed on my butt, I was happy
for the first time that I had picked up a layer of feminine padding
there.  Otherwise, even the mat wouldn't have cushioned my fall as
well.

"Pretty good," I admitted as he gave me a hand up.

"It works better for a woman," he explained. "It's like the old adage
that goes the bigger they are, the harder they fall. It doesn't take
much strength, and you don't need to worry about how to plant you feet
while wearing heels. Now you try it."

He came up behind me, grabbing me just below my breasts. I dropped as
best I could, feeling my breasts pulled upward awkwardly and a little
painfully. But he was right. My heeled boots were no obstacle since I
already had a knee on the ground. I pulled his right leg as he had
pulled mine and was rewarded with a satisfying thump as he hit the
mat.

"Pretty good," he allowed. "Now the same move works from the front,
too.  Here, let me show you."

He put his arms around me tightly pulling me to him as if to steal a
kiss. His lips moved closer and closer to mine...

"Drop!"

"What?"

"Drop down and grab my leg." His lips were practically on mine. Then,
before I could react, he was kissing me. I thought to drop and grab
his leg, but there was something deep inside me that wanted this to
happen.  I felt my arms involuntarily drape around his neck. I felt
our bodies move closer together. There was a new sensation between my
legs, almost as if someone had spilled something warm there. I knew
what it was, and the feeling was very pleasant.

Suddenly, we looked at each other, each as surprised as the other. We
hadn't meant for it to happen. I certainly hadn't planned on it, but
there it was. What the hell was happening to me anyway? It shouldn't
have felt right, but it did.

"Uh... I guess you get the idea," he finally said.

"I think so," I replied with a faint smile. I let my hands drop away
and felt him release my waist. Neither of us could think of anything
to say.

Nervously, he handed me a brown sack. "I got us both chicken salad
sandwiches," he said, trying to make it sound as if nothing had just
happened. "I hope that's alright."

"Sure," I answered, accepting the sack.

We ate together in silence. I was aware of what he was thinking. After
all, I had been male myself for almost all of my life. He was thinking
that I was between boyfriends, so maybe I might fall for him. He
wanted that to happen, I could tell. I wondered if I had been so
transparent as a man. Probably, I realized.

What was odd was that I was beginning to feel an attraction to Darren.
Now, I had never been attracted to a man in my life. If I were still a
man, I could have easily become friends with Darren. He was strong,
self assured, and forthright. He was just the sort of person I had
always valued as a friend. But now that I had a full load of female
hormones racing through my system, I had been forced to see Darren as
potentially more than a friend. Added to his list of positive
attributes, the female brain I now had was forced to add the
descriptors attractive, protective, and a good dancer.

I supposed I had to think of what might happen if I had to stay as
Holly in Ovid. Eventually, I would have to consider sexual relations
with a man. The thought was not a happy one, but there it was. It
would eventually come down to go to bed with a man, be a lesbian, or
buy a dildo. None of the prospects sounded very good to me.

We mumbled lukewarm "see you laters" to each other and I went back to
my desk.

I really didn't accomplish much that afternoon. I noticed that very
little work got done on Friday afternoons, either in the Navy or at
Vulman Industries. At last four thirty rolled around and Andrea showed
up at my desk to collect me.

"I'm looking forward to a hot bath," I told her, explaining the bumps
and bruises I had probably gotten from my little self defense session
with Darren.

"Well, it will have to wait," she told me. "We're meeting the
production staff for a beer at Randy Andy's."

I groaned, "Not again. I can still feel the beer from last night."

"Then consider this a little hair of the dog," Andrea laughed. "We
won't stay long. Deuce has to work until closing, so I won't be going
over to his place until late. We can go home after a quick one and
watch a movie or something."

"Great." I was looking forward to relaxing without playing Holly for
awhile.

Randy Andy's was already jumping. I recognized a lot of people from
Vulman Industries in the crowd. Andrea and I sat with the production
staff. I had met some of them, so they weren't all strangers.
Unfortunately, one of the staffers, a Ralph Cosgrove, sat next to me
and made sure he was crowded right up against me. He was real but
seemed to know only his current life. He kept trying to strike up a
conversation with me, finally draping his arm nonchalantly over the
back of my chair.  It was too much for me to take.

Then I spotted Darren. He was drinking at a nearby table with his
team.  It gave me the perfect excuse to escape Ralph. "I'll be right
back," I promised Ralph, having no intention of returning.

"Hi," Darren said as I sat down next to him. His team all greeted me
as well. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm a little sore," I admitted. "Thanks for the lesson."

He smiled. "My pleasure. I'm sure Dennis will never bother you again,
but it never hurts to be sure."

"Who?" I asked blankly.

"Dennis," he repeated. "Dennis Jessup. Remember? He was the guy who
accosted you in the parking lot. Fortunately, it was pretty innocent,
but I'm glad you agreed to the self defense lesson just the same."

"No," I protested. "I was attacked by Jed and Ted Borland."

He shook his head. "I think you're a little confused, Holly. The only
Borlands I know of are Jean and Tina Borland over there at the bar."

I looked at where he was nodding. Two girls, identical twins, were at
the bar, flirting with two men who appeared to be truck drivers. Both
girls wore identical tight pink dresses. Neither girl was particularly
attractive, but the truckers didn't seem to care. I could imagine why.
If I looked very closely at the girls, I could see they bore a faint
resemblance to the men who had assaulted me the night before. Of
course, I thought. Officer Mercer had hauled them away. The Judge had
probably seen them this morning and changed them. Apparently not
everyone remembered who they had been before. I suspected that only
those of us who still had our original memories would know.

"I guess you're right," I conceded.

He paused for a moment, then said, "Look, Holly, I was wondering -
would you have dinner with me tomorrow night?"

That was sudden, I thought. My god, I was being asked out on a date.
Well, why not? It would give me a chance to learn more about the man
who was rapidly becoming my best suspect. "Sure."

He grinned. "That's terrific. There's a dinner dance out at the
country club tomorrow night. I'll pick you up at seven if that's all
right."

"Seven's fine," I replied. Wait a minute. Had I just done what I
thought I had done? I agreed to go out on a date as a woman. To make
it worse, a dinner dance. What in hell was happening to me? Oh, I knew
I could justify the whole thing by saying that I just wanted to learn
more about a suspect, but deep down, I knew that just didn't
wash. After all, I wasn't trying to date any of the other guys or go
shopping with Meg. No, I was zeroing in on Darren, and not because I
thought he was a spy. Or at least, I hoped he wasn't a spy.

"Holly! Time to go!" Andrea was practically yelling from the bar to
get my attention.

"Okay, Darren, I'll see you tomorrow," I said quickly.

"If you need a ride, I can take you home," he offered.

"No, thanks," I told him, squeezing his hand. "I agreed to hang out
with Andrea tonight." Part of me wanted to stay with Darren, but I
knew I was getting terribly close to doing something in this body I
would regret if I ever got a male body again.

I didn't tell Andrea about the date until we got home and we were
getting ready to watch a movie.

"A date with Darren? And a dance no less?" she practically squealed.
"That's great! He is really a neat looking guy. If I weren't going
with Deuce, I think I'd be after Darren myself."

"Look, it's nothing like that," I protested. "We're just friends. I
imagine he just needed somebody at the last minute to go with him and
I was available."

"He didn't plan to go at all," Andrea said. "I overheard him tell
somebody at the office just a couple of days ago that he hated dinner
dances and wasn't going. I think what changed his mind is finding out
you were available."

"You're writing too much into this."

She jumped on the couch next to me and put her arm around me. "Hey,
Deuce has to go to work about noon tomorrow. Why don't I take you into
get your hair and makeup done?"

"Now wait a minute," I practically shouted, "I'm not going to... I
mean I shouldn't..."

"Oh, come on," she insisted. "You're wearing makeup now, and nail
polish, too. I just want to see you really dolled up. You're such a
knockout now, I'll be you'll put some of the older guys into cardiac
arrest when they see you really done up."

"I'll think about it," I promised, hoping she would forget about it
after a night with Deuce.

No such luck, though. I slept in on Saturday, and I was sitting in my
pajamas just going through my second cup of coffee when Andrea barged
in. "Come on, you need to get dressed," she said. "I've got you an
appointment with Janice over at M'lady in half an hour."

Oh god, I thought, she remembered. "Look, Andrea, I'm not really a
girl, you know."

""Well you could have fooled me," she laughed. "I don't think Darren
dates anything but girls, so either he's made a terrible mistake or
you're a girl."

"You know what I mean."

"Come on," she insisted, pulling me out of my chair. "You made the
date all by yourself. I'm just here to make sure you do it right."

I threw on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, did something quick with
my hair, and presented myself to Andrea who promptly turned up her
nose.  "Going for the homeless waif look?" she asked me.

"You said to hurry," I reminded her. "This is the best I could do on
short notice."

"Then it will have to do," Andrea sighed. "Maybe Janice will want to
take before and after pictures."

M'lady was a small beauty shop just off Main Street. I had to my
knowledge never actually been in a beauty shop in my entire life. I
felt as if I was a helpless lamb being led to the slaughter. What was
wrong with my appearance? I mean, I needed a little work, but why all
this fuss? I was just going out for dinner with a friend. So what if
he was a guy and I was a... a... girl.

The first thing I noticed as we walked in was the chemical smell. It
was absolutely overpowering. I didn't want anything that smelled like
that anywhere near me. I balked at the door.

"Quit being such a baby," Andrea whispered.

An attractive brunette shade came to the front of the shop to greet
us.  She gave Andrea a hug and took my hands with a smile as her way
of greeting. "You're really lucky," she told me. "I had a last minute
cancellation or I could never have fitted you in today. What did you
have in mind?"

I didn't have the slightest idea, but Andrea bailed me out. "Keep it
long and full. Just trim it a bit and give it a little more wave. She
has a big date tonight."

"Don't worry," Janice said to both of us. "I know just what to do."




She did, too. I never realized how heavy hair could be until she
washed it. Once it was saturated with water, I had no trouble leaning
over the sink for a rinse. What I thought I would have trouble doing
was ever raising my head again. "Maybe you should just cut this
short," I suggested.

"This beautiful hair?" Janice said, shocked. "That would be a crime.
Wait until you see what I do with it. Then you tell me if you want me
to cut it short."

I found out that hairdressers are a little bit like Marine Gunny
Sergeants. They do things for your own good even if it kills you. I
was used to going in to the Navy barber on the ship and having him
spend ten minutes trimming my hair down until scalp showed. No such
luck as a woman, though. It took her the better part of an hour to
wash, trim, curl and shape the mass of black hair I had been given.

"What do you think?" I looked in the mirror with trepidation. Whatever
had taken that long must look pretty far out, I thought. I almost
gasped when I saw the result, though. My hair looked like a woman's
hair in one of those TV commercials where the model's hair looks so
lustrous you can actually see the sheen. My hair had only a slight,
almost natural curl, with long waves of hair flowing gently down my
back.

"Wow!" was all I could say.

Janice smiled. "I'm glad you like it. Now, it's time to turn you over
to Bobby Sue."

"Who's Bobby Sue?" I asked both Janice and Andrea.

"I'm the manicurist," a pleasant alto voice said from across the room.
Bobby Sue was an attractive blonde with long hair, large breasts, and
fairly heavy but attractive makeup. Unlike Janice, she was real. "I
hear you have a big date tonight."

"That's what everyone tells me," I replied.

She laughed, "Then it must be true. Come over to my little corner of
the world."

I followed her into a little cubicle while Janice and Andrea remained
behind, engrossed in their own conversation.

"You're new at this, aren't you?" Bobby Sue asked me when we were
alone.

"Yes," I sighed. "New at everything, I'm afraid."

"Don't worry," she told me. "It gets easier after a week or so. I've
been here a month and it seems as if I've been Bobby Sue all my life."

"But you were a girl before," I pointed out. "I mean, you must have
been. How else could you be doing this for a living?"

"Wrong!" she laughed. "I was as male as you must have been."

I was really shocked. "But how did you learn this job so quickly?"

"It's what I did before," she told me. "Don't look so surprised. There
are male manicurists and cosmetologists and hairdressers."

"Yeah," I replied as she daubed nail polish remover on my fingernails,
"but they're usually..."

"Gay?"

I blushed. "Well, yes."

"Not as many of them are gay as you might think," she admonished
me. "I was, though, if that makes you feel any better."

"So you must have been happy with your change," I ventured.

She gave me a patronizing smile as she began to use a file to shape my
nails. "I said I was gay - not a transsexual. I enjoyed being male.  I
suppose my sexual orientation made it a little easier to accept making
love to a man, but I missed my penis just as much as you probably miss
yours."

Ovid was indeed a strange place, I thought to myself. Yet somehow, it
seemed to work. Men were changed into women and, presumably, women
were changed into men, yet everyone seemed to be pretty comfortable
with the situation. Even I was falling under the spell of the town,
yet I didn't seem to care. I still would have gladly changed back into
a man in a heartbeat, but I was no longer completely uncomfortable
being a woman.  If I was forced to remain Holly Sheridan for the rest
of my life, I felt as if I could stand it. The only thing I would miss
to the point of distraction was flying.

Bobby Sue did as fine a job as Janice had done. When she was finished,
she had given my finger and toenails a coat of deep red enamel that
made them look absolutely elegant. Then, she worked on my makeup, and
when I looked in the mirror at the results, I saw that Bobby Sue had
turned me into an exotic beauty. I looked just a little Oriental, with
long luxurious lashes and deeply shadowed eyes. My lips matched my
nail polish perfectly. I smiled at the image in the mirror, well aware
that only a couple of days before, I would have cringed at this
standard of feminine beauty.

"Was I right?" Andrea asked as we drove home.

"You were right," I sighed. "Is it time for me to say I don't have a
thing to wear now, or have you got that base covered, too?"

"Oh, your closet is full of nice little numbers," she told me. "I'll
help you pick the right one."

When seven o'clock rolled around, my only fear was that Darren might
jump me the minute he walked in the door. I was wearing a dark red
cocktail dress, matching three inch heels, stockings that slightly
darkened my already dark legs, and gold jewelry set with tiny
rubies. I couldn't remember the last time I had seen such a picture of
loveliness, and it made me weak in the knees to realize that picture
was me.

Darren was dumbstruck when he saw me.

"Well, what do you think?" I asked, a little nervous.

"I think it's a crime I didn't ask you out sooner," he replied. We
looked good together. He was wearing a charcoal suit and a red tie
very similar in shade to my dress. We looked like a couple who had
just stepped out of the pages of a magazine. All that we needed now
was to be laughing out the door on our way to a sports car. Come to
think of it, we were laughing as we left to get into Darren's
Corvette.

The Ovid Country Club was a typical small town country club. It was
situated just a short distance off the highway surrounded by a clump
of woods that separated the main building from the golf course. By
small town standards, it was nice, reminding me of an Officer's Club
on a small Naval base. By big city standards, though, it would hardly
have rated as the tennis pavilion.  There was no valet parking, so we
parked the car and walked to the main building. I lived in mortal fear
of tripping in the uneven parking lot. I still wasn't entirely used to
high heels.

Darren had been a complete gentleman. He had opened the car door for
me, and when I got out, he gently put his arm around me to help
me. His arm was still around me as we walked in. I found for some
inexplicable reason that I liked having his arm around me. It made me
feel not just safe, but as if I belonged. I was becoming used to this
new body - to this new sex - of mine. It had to be part of the magic,
though. There was no way a person like me could have accepted all of
this without a little magical help, I realized. Surely hormones alone
weren't enough to change me this much.

The room was set up with mostly four person tables, and we found
ourselves seated with another couple who were already there. They were
the Jagers, Steven and Susan, and I found them to be an interesting
couple. He was a college professor and she was an attorney. They were
both very attractive people, a little older than we were. We talked
over glasses of wine, or at least, Darren and I drank wine. Both
Steven and Susan limited themselves to club soda. After we had
ordered, Susan asked me to accompany her to the restroom. I was
finally going to find out if women really did plot the overthrow of
men from the secret confines of the ladies room.

Susan was squinting in the mirror. "Do my eyes look red?" she asked.

I looked at them closely. She had beautiful blue eyes and her makeup
was impeccable. "No, they look fine."

"I'm relieved," she said. "I finally got tired of glasses and decided
to give contacts a try. They feel a little odd though. I hope I can
wear them okay."

"How long have you worn glasses?" I asked as I touched up my lipstick
in the mirror.

Susan looked around, making sure there was no one else in the room.
"Ever since I came to Ovid," she replied, looking at me carefully.

"Then you were transformed?" I asked, picking up on her cue.

"Yes," she confirmed.  "I used to be a lawyer in Dallas. A male one,
that is."

"What is it with the Judge turning men into women?" I blurted. "I
guess that you knew I used to be a man."

She smiled. "I suspected it. You're doing a great job, but those of us
who have gone through it know what you're going through."

"I understand it gets easier with time," I ventured.

She nodded. "It does. At first, you can't believe what has happened to
you. Then, you figure you're going to have to learn to live with it,
but you don't have to like it. Then, acceptance sets in. You start to
realize that a substantial percentage of the world's population lives
as female and likes it. Then finally, you start to understand why."
She said the last sentence with something resembling a contented
sigh. Then she asked, "What do you think of Darren?"

"I like him," I replied simply.

"Enough to spend the rest of your life with him?"

I hadn't considered that as a possibility. At first, he was a suspect.
Then, he became a friend. Now... I wasn't sure. "Why do you ask?"

She smiled again. "Answering a question with a question. Maybe you
should be a lawyer. You don't really have to answer the question to
me, but answer it to yourself. Ovid seems to weave a spell of its own,
and romance seems to happen quickly. I saw the way he looked at
you. He's in love."

"Love?"

"Yes," she confirmed, "and I think it may be reciprocated."

Was it? I wondered as we went back to the table. I had never been in
love before, so I wasn't sure what it felt like, especially with this
brand of plumbing. As a man, I had dated many girls and went to bed
with a great number of them, but I never loved them. They were
just... well, just girls. Some of the girls told me they loved me, but
all I could do was try to let them down gently. Now, the high heeled
shoe was on the other shapely foot. I was the girl, and it was a man
who was falling in love with me.

We enjoyed a nice meal. I was happy to have Steven and Susan there,
for it kept the conversation from becoming intimate. But on the dance
floor, Darren held me closely. I could feel his rising manhood and
found it stimulating my own body. Sometimes, we talked as we dance,
about inconsequential things. But most of the time, he just held me
closely, smelling the soft scents of my hair and my perfume.

As we left, I was a little tipsy. I had to remember that this body had
far less tolerance for alcohol than my old one did. Darren again held
me closely - more closely than was actually necessary. Still, I was
glad for his help.

"Would you like a nightcap?" he asked.

"I'd love one," I replied. I had had quite a bit to drink, but one
more would probably give me the courage to do what I planned to do -
what we planned to do. Looking back on that evening, I have no
illusions about my intent. My body was firmly and completely female,
complete with all the right parts and all the right programming. I had
gotten to know new women like Meg and Susan, and I realized that as
strange as it would have sounded to me a few days earlier, they were
happy being female and I could be, too. After all, I was a pilot, and
pilots are nothing if not adaptable.

Back to my intent. I fully expected to get laid. No, wait a minute,
that's not quite right. As a man, I would have expected to get laid.
Richard Baxter wanted to get laid. Holly Sheridan wanted to make love.
Was I nervous? Of course I was. The idea of someone sticking into me
what I had once so happily stuck into others practically made me
shudder in fear. But there was a feeling buried inside my body that
yearned for the sexual touch of a man.

The inside of Darren's house was as nice as the outside. Very tasteful
furniture, not overly masculine, graced the living room, which was
highlighted by a large stone fireplace. Darren made a fire and then
got us two snifters of brandy. Together on a large leather couch, I
took a sip. To my new body, the brandy tasted strong, but I knew it
was an excellent - and probably expensive - brandy. A quick thought
about Darren's lifestyle crossed my mind, then quickly flew. Darren
couldn't be the spy. He just couldn't. I cared too much for him.

We didn't speak. We didn't need to. Just a couple of sips of the
brandy and we were in each other's arms. I vacillated between fear and
pleasure as he lifted me in his strong arms and carried me into his
bedroom, his blue eyes never leaving mine. I felt myself being gently
laid on the bed. Languidly, I kicked off my shoes while I loosened his
tie. In minutes, we had managed to remove each other's clothing.

For a moment, I remembered that I had once had a body like his, trim
and muscular. Now, I was soft and round. It caused my body to give way
to his. We kissed long and hard, using our hands to explore each
other's bodies. I was amazed to learn that there were so many parts of
my new body that shivered at a lover's touch. It was like having
dozens of places to be sexually stimulated. I knew there weren't
dozens, but the shivers of pleasure I experienced seemed to radiate in
all directions.

Penetration was not as bad as I had feared. Rather, it was like
satisfying a hungry void. I guess that's really what it is for a
woman, I realized with a groan of pleasure. But the best was yet to
come.  Darren was a slow and a considerate lover. I thought with
chagrin that I had never been that way. Darren seemed more interested
in my satisfaction than his. The result was an explosive orgasm
accentuated by one of his own.

It was then that he said his first words to me since we had begun. "I
love you," he said softly.

I didn't answer him. At least, I didn't answer him right away. After
our second episode of making love, I told him I loved him, or I think
I did.  I was still in the middle of another orgasm when I said it.

We were still there, holding each other, at dawn. His rough, hairy
skin felt so good against mine that I never wanted to leave. I
snuggled closer to him, realizing he had a morning erection. My own
sex became moist almost at once. Well, no use in letting it go to
waste, I thought, rolling him gently on his back and climbing on
board.

We slept for a couple more hours after that. It was nearly ten when I
stirred again. Darren was still asleep, snoring softly. I slid out
from under his arm and got out of bed. As I slipped into the shower, I
was actually pretty proud of myself. I had made the ultimate
adaptation to my new form. I might never have the opportunity to be
male again, but it didn't matter as much to me now. I had found that I
could be comfortable having sex as a woman.

Of course, there were a few other things to get used to. I hadn't had
a period yet, and I wasn't looking forward to having one. Of course, I
didn't want the alternative either. Pregnancy had no appeal. I was
thankful I had taken Andrea's advice and continued taking the birth
control pills my shade self had taken.

Then, there was the Indian side of me. I was only half Indian, but I
couldn't deny my ethnic heritage. Come to think of it, I did look a
little like the Disney version of Pocahontas. What did Indians do that
was different from what other people did? I didn't have a clue. I
suspected it wouldn't be much different from being completely white.
Indians and part Indians like me made up a substantial part of
Oklahoma's population. We were just folks.

As I stepped out of the shower, though, I remembered reluctantly that
I still had a mission to perform. I had screwed up there. I had
actually slept with a suspect. Not that I really thought of him as a
suspect anymore. He was just Darren. A friend. A lover.




Darren was still sleeping when I got out of the shower. That man could
sleep through anything, I thought with a smile. I picked up all of my
clothes from the night before and got dressed. I looked a bit
disheveled, but Darren would be the only one who would see me. Well,
Andrea would unless she had stayed with Deuce for the night, but I
didn't care.

Once dressed, I made my way into the kitchen and put some coffee on. I
thought about making breakfast, but I had no indication that I had
inherited any cooking skills with my new body. I certainly didn't have
any as Richard Baxter. Still, it might be fun to try. There were some
cookbooks on a shelf. I decided to pull one out and see what I could
make.

As I pulled it out, two file folders nestled between two books fell to
the floor, their contents scattering over the tile. I began to pick up
the papers. The first file was the design for the chip. It was dated
the preceding Friday. I made a mental note to tell Darren not to take
a secret file home with him. Civilians never understood the need for
tight security.

Then, in the second file, I saw something that made my heart stop. It
was a picture of me. No, not the me I had become, but the old me. It
was a picture of Richard Baxter. With trembling hands, I examined the
rest of the file. It was fairly thin, but all the important facts of
my life were there. What was Darren doing with that file? He
supposedly had no knowledge of what was going on in Ovid, but it was
obvious that he did know. So he wasn't one of the transformed who did
not remember his previous life.

My stomach turned over violently. Talk about sleeping with the
enemy. I cursed myself. I had been so enraptured with Darren that I
had forgotten that he was one of my best suspects. Besides, I thought
looking around, how else could he afford all of this? There was the
house, nicely furnished, the Corvette, the pool, the country club
membership, the expensive clothes. Oh my god. Darren was the spy. He
had to be. He had been lying to me all along. Then why had he courted
me? I guessed it was like the old adage goes: keep your friends close
and your enemies closer.

I had to get help. Eric was still out of town. Who could help me? The
Judge? Maybe, but I didn't really trust him. How about the police? No,
the only police officer I had seen was Officer Mercer, and he was the
Judge's man. Who did I really trust? Only one person, I supposed, and
that was Andrea. I dropped the folder without thinking and headed for
the front door. I realized I shouldn't have left the folder there, but
I was a block away before I thought about it and feared going back.

High heels are not made for walking. I discovered that very quickly.
Although Darren lived only three blocks from my apartment, I wasn't
sure I'd be able to make it all the way in heels. I took them off and
walked in my stockings. The pavement was warm but rough on my new
feet. Some Indian I was, I thought. I wouldn't do well in moccasins.

I kept looking back over my shoulder, expecting at any minute to see
Darren's Corvette approaching, but my luck held. Thank god he was a
sound sleeper. I had a giddy moment of him explaining to his foreign
masters how he couldn't prevent exposure because he had overslept. And
to think I had spent the entire night making love to him! The bastard!
I hated him. Then why were there tears in my eyes?

Andrea let me in, since I suddenly realized that in haste, I had
forgotten my purse. I just wasn't used to carrying the thing. "What
happened to you?" she asked with concern, putting her arm around me to
keep me from collapsing.

"Oh, Andrea," I bawled, "I've been an idiot!"

"Here, sit down and tell me about it," she urged, pulling me over to
the couch.

Before I could begin, Deuce walked out of Andrea's bedroom. "Holly,
have you met Deuce?"

"Not officially," I managed to say. So Deuce and Andrea had spent the
night together. She was obviously happier about her choice than I had
been about mine.

"So what happened?" Andrea asked.

"I spent the night with Darren," I told her.

"Then why are you crying?" she wanted to know. "Was he a brute?"

"Oh no!" I said gulping. "That part was... was fine, but I found out
that he - awk!"

Suddenly, I couldn't speak. It was as if the words had all rushed into
my mouth but couldn't get out. I was gagging.

Andrea realized at once what was wrong. "Deuce, go outside for a few
minutes." He nodded silently and was gone. Then, Andrea told me, "Do
you remember what I said about the rules in Ovid? You were trying to
talk about Darren's transformation. Only two of us can talk about that
at a time."

"But Darren wasn't transformed," I blurted.

Andrea frowned. "What do you mean? Of course he was transformed. All
of us who are real in Ovid have been transformed except for..." Her
eyes suddenly became wider. "Holly, this means Darren is one of them."

"Them?"

"Yes, them, like the Judge," she explained. "or maybe not quite like
the Judge, but close like... like. Cache! Of course, I should have
known."

"What are you talking about?" I asked, my bawling reduced to a
sniffle.

She put her arm around my shoulder. "Now Holly, this is very
important.  How did you find out about Darren?"

Andrea was my roommate and my friend. In the few days that I had known
her, I had come to trust her more than anyone else I had met in
Ovid. I spilled my guts. I told her the whole story from beginning to
end. I left out nothing. She listened in silence until I was
finished. "You wait right here," she ordered. "I need to talk to
Deuce. And don't answer the phone! It might be him."

As if on cue, the phone began to ring. I let it ring until I heard
Darren's voice on the recorder. "Holly, this is Darren. Look, I saw
the cookbooks, so I know you saw the file. There's a good explanation
for it, though. I've got to talk to you about it. If you're there,
pick up the phone. If not, it's nearly noon and I'll be over in half
an hour."

That didn't give me much time. I did as Andrea told me, using the
opportunity to change out of my dress and into a pair of jeans and a
sweater. I had never been so rattled in my life, even the day I had
nearly slammed into the fantail of a carrier. Of course, I hadn't been
loaded to the brim with female hormones when that happened. Maybe
there was something to the belief that women were, on the whole, more
emotional than men. If so, then there was no doubt about it - I was
all woman now.

Andrea burst into the room. "Deuce thinks he may come looking for
you."

"He's already called," I said, slipping on a pair of loafers.

Andrea turned ash white. "You talked to him?"

I shook my head. "No, but he left a message. He said he'd be here in
half an hour. That was ten minutes ago."

"Then we don't have any time to waste," she decided. "Let me check
something with Deuce. You go on out to my car and wait."

"All right," I agreed, but as I hurried to her car, I began to wonder
what was going on. Andrea and Deuce seemed as upset as I was. Why? Was
there something else going on in Ovid that I knew nothing about?

Suddenly, I saw a Jeep Wagoneer fire up and go screaming out of the
parking lot. Deuce was behind the wheel. Andrea came running into the
parking lot. "Come on!" she yelled, opening the car door. "We've got
to get out of here now!"

I jumped in the car, but I was beginning to feel very uncomfortable
with what I had done. Eric had told me to tell no one, yet I had just
done so. Had I made a mistake? Something was telling me that I
had. "Where are we going?" I asked.

"Someplace safe," she said cryptically, screaming out of the parking
lot almost as fast as Deuce.

Someplace safe turned out to be Randy Andy's. "But they're closed on
Sunday," I said, noting the empty parking lot.

"I have a key," she explained, pulling up behind the building so her
car would be hidden from the road. "It belongs to Deuce. Marty has him
lock up some nights."

"Something's not right about this," I muttered. "Andrea, what's going
on? I'm not getting out of the car until you explain yourself."

"Yes you are," she said softly. I turned and looked at her. She was
holding a gun and it was pointed at me.

"Andrea?"

"Holly, look, I'm sorry about this," she sighed. "You never asked to
get involved in this, and if I can, I'll make sure you get out of this
unharmed. But if you don't get out of the car right now, I will shoot
you."

There was enough resolve in her voice that I knew she would do
it. Well, this made me an idiot twice in one day, I thought to
myself. I had trusted Darren and been betrayed. Now, I had trusted
Andrea and been betrayed. Ovid seemed like East Berlin during the Cold
War with a little magic thrown in.

Andrea led me into a small office. "Sit in Marty's chair," she
ordered, motioning to a ratty office chair behind an equally ratty
desk. It seemed as if Marty was not much of a housekeeper.

It had all come together for me in the last couple of minutes. I had
concentrated too hard on the team members, but the reason I couldn't
uncover a spy there is that the spy wasn't on the team. There were no
secretaries on the team, so clerical help would have been delivered
from outside the team. I had even been told that Andrea was that help,
but I had ignored it. Andrea was my spy. With Deuce's help, she had
managed to steal the chip design.

So where was Deuce? Of course. He was waiting for Darren to go to my
apartment. Then he would go through Darren's house. With any luck -
all bad - he would find the latest design for the chip in Darren's
house.  Damn them all! They didn't know the first thing about
security.  What was I saying? I was the one who had tipped off the
real spies. If I had kept my head and not gotten involved with Darren,
none of this would have happened, I realized.

Andrea sat across the desk from me, her gun pointed in my general
direction. There was nothing I could do except wait. She actually
looked at me with sympathy on her face. "Holly, I'm sorry this had to
happen. I know you think Deuce and I are bad people, but we're really
not. If you knew the whole story, you might even agree with what we're
doing. I wish I could tell it to you."

"Why don't you try?" I urged.

She thought about that for a moment, then said, "Well, there are a lot
of parts which will have to be left out, but I'll do my best." She
smiled wistfully. "Come to think of it, I can't even tell you who I
really am. The... Judge's edicts prevent even me from saying. But
since you know who he is, maybe I can explain. Let's just say the
Judge and I are related. When the Judge and his cronies founded Ovid,
not everyone agreed with his motives."

"Motives?" I asked. "You mean why Ovid was founded?"

She nodded. "Exactly. Discussion of that is the biggest taboo of all.
Only the... inner circle know all the reasons, and I'm not one of
them.  You might say I'm on the other side. The Judge has made a lot
of enemies in his life."

I wasn't surprised. Any being with godlike power who had lived for
thousands of years had to have made a few enemies. I had read enough
mythology to know that at one time or another, virtually every god and
goddess had had his or her differences with the king of the gods. "I'm
sure," was all I said.

"This much I can tell you," she went on. "Even though Ovid is a
magical construct, it's much easier to sustain it if it has a viable
economy in the real world. Hence, Vulman Industries and a few other
enterprises.  This new chip and the related software would guarantee
Vulman big profits which will help the entire Ovid Project. We
couldn't let that happen. We plan to share the research with other
companies who have the resources to improve upon this. Vulman's chip
will be obsolete in a month."

"And every enemy of the United States will have it, too," I countered.
"Not much of a tradeoff if you ask me."

"We're doing this for the sake of humanity," Andrea said with passion.
"You could help us. You don't owe these... beings anything. You could
help us decipher the software since you're a pilot and know about
these things. Help us. You could hurt them badly by helping us."

Yes, I could, I realized, if I really knew the software the way they
had been led to believe I did. I still wasn't sure what Ovid was all
about, but I trusted Eric and Darren more than I trusted Andrea and
Deuce. The spies had been exposed, and they were preparing to leave
town. There was no reason for me to pretend to be on their side.

"I'm sorry, Andrea, but I can't help you."

She closed her eyes. "I was afraid you'd feel that way."

There was a screech of tires, and moments later, Deuce rushed into the
room. "I got it!" he said triumphantly.

"Any problems?" Andrea asked.

He shook his head. "It went just like we discussed. Darren took off
like a bat out of hell for your place, and I just strolled in. The
file was still on the kitchen floor where she dropped it."

Great, I thought. I had made it easy for them. Not only did I not stop
them, but instead, I had actually helped them make off with the plans
for the chip. I had unwittingly helped the enemies of my country and
probably doomed myself to being Holly Sheridan or something worse
forever. I wondered if the Judge had the power to turn me into a
jackass. It was what I probably deserved.

"Then let's get out of here," Andrea said. "We don't have much time."

Deuce nodded at me. "What about her?"

Andrea handed him the gun. For a moment, I thought I was about to be
killed, but Andrea told him, "Keep the gun on her for a minute while I
get ready." She rummaged through her purse, finally extracting a
hypodermic needle and a small bottle. She filled the hypo and turned
to me. "Holly, this will just knock you out for a few hours. Since you
won't be awake to identify us, it may give us a little more time to
get away."

She plunged the hypo into my arm. At once I felt a numbness spreading
up my arm. I was becoming light headed.

"I'm really sorry," Andrea said sadly. "I really do like you, Holly. I
hope someday you will understand. Good luck."

She turned to go. I saw her reach the doorway when I finally passed
out...

				***

"... coming around," a woman's voice echoed through my head.

I opened my eyes. I was in an unfamiliar room. The lights were dim, so
I couldn't make out any details. I saw an attractive black woman in
medical greens standing over me. She was holding my wrist.

"Can we talk to her?" a male voice echoed behind her. It sounded
like...  Darren?

She shook her head. "Not yet."

Then I passed out again.

				***

There was suddenly bright light in my face. My eyes opened as if an
alarm had gone off. I looked around and saw that I was in a hospital
room. It appeared to be morning. For a moment, my mind was so clouded
that I forgot everything that had happened to me in Ovid. I looked in
shock at my breasts and felt a momentary pang of loss for what was not
between my legs. Then, as I shook my head feeling the waves of long
black hair against my neck, I remembered.

A woman in medical greens rushed in. She wasn't the same woman I had
seen earlier. Instead, she was Indian... like me. "Doctor!" she called
out the door of my room. "She's awake!"

Another woman, this time a shade hurried into the room. She was tall
and slim, about thirty five with a nametag that identified her as Dr.
Anderson. She checked my pulse and looked at the monitors beside my
bed.  "Well, Ms. Sheridan, I'd say you've made a complete recovery."

"What... what happened?" I asked, my voice a little strained.

"You were given a very strong sedative," she replied. "It was nothing
dangerous, but it managed to keep you out cold for quite a while. Now,
It's Monday morning and you're fit enough to face the world. I'll get
you released while Nurse Williams here helps you dress and tell your
driver you'll be down shortly."

"My driver?"

She smiled. "Yes, Officer Mercer is waiting for you. By the way, he's
the one who brought you in yesterday. You must be a very important
patient. We were told to monitor you around the clock."

I was important all right. I was probably going to be dragged back
into the courtroom and pay the price for my failure. It was a shame, I
thought as I pulled myself out of bed. I was actually getting to like
this body. It was light and healthy, and I found I was even starting
to enjoy the stares I got from men... one man in particular. Could he
ever forgive me for thinking he was the spy?

Then, I remembered the file on Richard Baxter. Could I ever forgive
him for lying to me? He knew who I really was all the time. Yet he had
treated me like... like a woman.

Nurse Williams pulled a tan business suit, tan pumps and a beige silk
blouse out of the closet. The requisite underwear and accessories were
there as well. I didn't ask where they came from, but I recognized
them as being mine even though I had never worn the outfit before. I
was a little unsteady, but with the nurse's help, I was able to get
dressed.

As the nurse gave me my purse, I was able to give myself one last look
in the mirror. I had applied makeup exactly as Andrea had taught me.
Andrea. I would miss her, even if it turned out that she had
completely wrecked my new life. I guessed that was the difference
between fiction and real life. In fiction, the baddies can be
absolutely bad, complete with evil sneers and nefarious manners. In
real life, though, the baddies are seldom all bad, and conversely, the
good guys aren't all good. Maybe that was my problem. I hadn't
realized that fact until it was too late.

Officer Mercer was waiting for me in front of the hospital. He gave a
thin smile and said tonelessly, "Good morning, Miss Sheridan." He
opened the car door for me more like a chauffeur than a policeman. At
least I would be riding to my fate in style, I though grimly.

He drove without any further conversation, but to my surprise, he
drove right past City Hall and turned out onto the highway. At last I
realized we were on our way to Vulman Industries. There, I realized I
would be facing Eric Vulman and have to tell him of my failure. Darren
would be at Vulman, too. I made a note to try to avoid him. I was too
embarrassed to see him.

One of the benefits of Ovid being a small town is that I didn't have
long to think about what came next. In a few minutes, we were at
Vulman Industries. As the car stopped, I tried to open the door, only
to find that the back doors of police cars don't open that
easily. Officer Mercer came around and again did the honors. "They're
expecting you in Mr. Vulman's office," he said.

Good old Mercury, messenger of the gods. Today, I was apparently the
message. With a sigh, I accepted his help getting out of the car and
walked in the front entrance. Was it really less than a week ago that
I had begun my work as Holly Sheridan here at Vulman? I asked
myself. It seemed longer somehow. I had actually met some people that
I would always think warmly of. There was the chip team, particularly
Meg who was so happy with her new life, and Tricia who may have been
anyone before but was now my friend. Then there was Eric, who had
treated me like a son - well, a daughter - and whose confidence I
hadn't lived up to. Of course, there was Andrea - gone now, but in
spite of it all, still a friend. And finally, there was Darren. What
was Darren? A friend? A lover? Both, perhaps.

I knocked softly on Eric's door, and hear his clear baritone call,
"Come in, Holly."

How had he known it was me? Oh, of course, he was a god.




I opened the heavy door, not knowing what to expect. There, standing
around the table enjoying coffee were Eric, the Judge, Admiral Nepper,
and Darren. Their faces brightened when they saw me, and Eric set his
cup down, came over to me and gave me a fatherly hug. "Thank god
you're alright," he said happily.

Thank god? Why not thank the gods? Could it be that the powerful gods
of Greek and Roman Mythology recognized a power above themselves? I
smiled and muttered a weak, "Thank you."

"I think you know everyone here," he said brightly.

"Yes," I agreed, feeling somehow naked in the presence of three gods.
What was Darren doing with them. Surely he wasn't... Or maybe he was.

"I seem to remember you drink this with cream now," Eric said, handing
me a welcome cup of coffee. "Now that we're all here, let's get on
with the meeting."

Confused, I took a seat at the foot of the conference table. Darren
sat closest to me. He quickly patted my hand and gave me an
encouraging look. I decided to remain silent until I heard what each
of the others had to say. Eric began the meeting.

"Needless to say, we've had some real excitement here over the
weekend."

The others chuckled softly. Now, I was really confused. I would have
thought everyone would have been very grim. After all, secrets
relating to the security of the United States had fallen into hostile
hands.

"Now, for Holly's benefit, I would appreciate it, Admiral, if you
explained what you're doing here today."

"Of course," the Admiral said. "Holly, I'm here to take the
specifications for the chip and the related software back to
Washington where a prototype fuel pump will be built and tested. My
trip was scheduled a week ago before your mission began."

"But, sir," I interrupted, silently cursing myself for interrupting an
admiral, "the development on the chip wasn't completed until Friday."

He smiled indulgently at me. "That chip won't work. Darren threw an
intentional bug into it that caused all the work that was done on it
last week. Even his team didn't know about it, except for Randy, and
now we've changed Randy's memories so he doesn't know about the switch
either."

"Then my mission was never real," I concluded with
disappointment. "You already knew who the spies were. Of course,
you're g..."

"You can say it, Holly," the Judge said quickly. "While you are with
us in this room, you have dispensation to refer to us as gods."

"And in rebuttal to your last comment, no, we did not know who the
spies were," Eric told me. "As I told you before, we aren't omnipotent
or omniscient. There are other powerful forces in the world who can
use some of the same powers we use."

"We needed you to ferret out the spies and lead them in the wrong
direction if possible. We never imagined it would turn out the way it
did," Admiral Nepper explained.

"It's my fault, really," Darren explained. "I was to have the folder
for the faulty chip in my home and hope that the word would get around
that I was taking work home. I never intended for you to be placed in
danger.  We were hoping you would be able to identify the spies and I
would do the rest."

"Then why did you have a folder on my real identity with it?" I asked.

He looked a little sheepish and said, "I'd rather explain that one to
you privately."

"Holly," the Judge broke in, "have you ever heard of Prometheus?"

"I think so," I said slowly. "Wasn't he the god who gave fire to
humans?"

"Yes," the Judge said a bit peevishly, "thus making himself a hero to
humans while I am the villain of that story."

"But you did bind him to a rock and order one of your eagles to eat
his liver, brother," Admiral Nepper pointed out.

"Yes," the Judge agreed defensively, "but I allowed his liver to be
constantly renewed, so no real harm was done, was it?"

"In any case," Eric broke in, "Prometheus had a son - Deucalion - and
this son has reason to have a grudge against the Olympians, as we
refer to ourselves. Along with his wife, Pyrrha, they managed to come
to Ovid and disguise their true identities."

"Yes," the Judge added. "I never changed them, but the records
indicated that I had done so."

"Deuce and Andrea Pyron," I concluded.

"That's right," Eric agreed, taking another sip of coffee. "By the
way, Holly, you make much better coffee than I do. To continue, It
appears that our two spies are working for enemies of the
Olympians. Like father like son, Deuce appears to be trying to spread
a new kind of fire to all mankind while we would keep this a military
secret of the United States."

"And after all I did for them," the Judge muttered.

"My esteemed brother saved their lives during the Great Flood,"
Admiral Nepper explained.

There really was a Great Flood? I asked myself.

"So now, our two spies are off to their masters, whoever they may be,
with plans for a device which will not work, completely unaware that
we have one that does," Eric summed up.

"But who are they working for?" I wanted to know.

"A question we may never know the answer to, my dear," the Judge said.
"Deuce's grandfather is Iapetus, one of the Titans who we overthrew
centuries ago. It is possible there are still representatives of that
ancient race who would restore themselves to power. Let us hope that
it never happens, for in spite of what our two idealistic spies
believe, the return of the Titans would not be beneficial to mankind."

Everyone except me nodded in solemn agreement.

"So now," the Judge continued, there remains only what to do with you,
Holly."

"With me?" Oh-oh, I thought, here it comes.

"Yes. As you will recall, I continued the case against you," the Judge
explained. "That allows me to modify your sentence considerably."

"We have the power to create a new existence for you - a male
existence if you prefer," Admiral Nepper added. "You're a fine
officer, and I would like to offer you a position on my staff."

"So if there's no further business here," the judge began, "we can go
back to the courtroom and -"

"Excuse me, sir," Darren broke in, "could I have just a few minutes
alone with Holly?"

The Judge looked at Darren, then at me. I was too startled to say
anything. What did Darren want to discuss with me? "Of course."

"May the dispensation continue?" Darren asked.

"Yes," the Judge replied. "You know how to get to court when you're
ready."

"I do."

Without another word, Eric, Admiral Nepper, and the Judge winked out
of existence. Darren and I were alone in the room.

"I wanted a few minutes to talk to you before you make your decision,"
Darren said.

Yes, I had a decision to make. I had grown comfortable as Holly for
the last few days, but in my heart, I was still a pilot and an
officer. I knew what my answer would be.

"Holly," he began, "the other night when I said I loved you..."

I put my hand on his. "You don't have to explain. I understand, you
were just saying it as part of the mission."

He shook his head. "No, that's not it at all. I really meant it."

"You did?"

"Yes," he said. "That's why I had your folder. I wanted to learn
everything I could about you. Look, you need to know more about me -
who I am and what my part in this is. I'm Eric's son. My real name
isn't Cache - it's Cacus. According to Roman myth, I have three heads
and breathe fire."

"Do you?" I asked, horrified.

He smiled and shook his head. "No, the Romans have a gift for
exaggeration. Except for the Olympians like my father, our powers are
pretty limited. That's why I had to ask for dispensation. I couldn't
even explain this to you if the Judge didn't allow it."

That was also why I couldn't mention the names of the gods around
Andrea, I suddenly realized. "But you live forever?"

"Yes and no," he replied enigmatically. "The Darren Cache you know
will grow old normally and die, but there will be a new one with all
of my memories when I'm gone. So for the me you see right now, this is
it.  This is the life I get, and I'd like to spend it with you."

My mouth dropped open in stunned silence. "What?"

"I love you, Holly," he explained. "I've always been fascinated with
Holly Sheridan, but as a shade, she lacked true strength. You gave her
depth and purpose."

"But I'm a man," I protested. "Or at least, I was a man." And can be
again, I realized.

He took my hands in his and stared into my eyes. "Look, Holly, I know
who you were. That's why I had your file. I wanted to know everything
about you - the old you. There's more magic in Ovid than the obvious
magic that changed your physical shape. The magic takes the best of
the old you and merges it into a new package. I love you for what you
were, what you are, and what I know you can be."

And what could I be? A girl? A wife? A mother? Yes, I realized, I
could be those things, and I could probably be happy being them. But
what was I giving up? The chance to be a pilot and an officer on an
admiral's staff - that's what. But I wouldn't be Richard Baxter. He no
longer existed. Who would I be?

More importantly, did I love Darren? The thought of loving a man still
seemed odd to me, but when I remembered our lovemaking only a day ago,
my body began to tingle. I had never known such pleasure in lovemaking
as a man, and come to think of it, I had never felt as close to anyone
as I had felt to Darren that night.

"Holly?"

"Huh? Yes?"

"Look, we can't keep the Judge waiting very long," he said
apologetically. "He's mellowed a lot through the centuries, but he is
still the King of the Gods."

But I hadn't made up my mind! I would have to depend on my instincts.

"Let's go," I said.

To his credit, Darren did not ask me what I was going to do. He
uttered a short phrase that sounded like Latin and Eric's office
disappeared, to be replaced suddenly by the courtroom where my journey
as Holly Sheridan had begun.

"Court is now in session," Officer Mercer's voice intoned.

I looked around. I was standing before the bench by myself, but in
addition to the blonde woman who had been in the courtroom for my
first appearance, Eric and Darren sat side by side. Admiral Nepper was
nowhere to be seen. Presumably he had returned to Washington.

"The case of the City of Ovid versus Richard Baxter is now back in
session," the Judge said. "Have you made your decision?"

Had I? I had joined the Navy for adventure. What greater adventure
could there be than flying a jet fighter? I wondered. Then, I had
another thought. If adventure was what I sought, what greater
adventure could there be than being part of a scheme of the gods? And
besides, wasn't true love an adventure all to itself?

"I'm waiting for your decision," the Judge prodded.

"Your Honor," I began formally, "I would like to remain as I am now -
as Holly Sheridan."

"You understand that there will be no going back on this decision," he
reminded me. "Once you court is adjourned, you will be Holly Sheridan
for the rest of your life."

I had an entire life to explore the unknown - how to be a wife and
perhaps a mother. Then, there was my Indian heritage. I would have to
explore that as well. But I would miss the flying...

"I understand, Your Honor."

Did I see a small smile on the Judge's face? "Then court is
adjourned!"  he said with a wrap of his gavel.

Suddenly Darren was there, his arms around me. Before I could speak,
his lips were on mine. My body seemed to melt in his arms, and I never
wanted the kiss to end. I knew for certain in that moment that I had
made the right decision.

"If you two could hold off just a little while, it is still a working
day and we need to get back to the office," Eric said lightly.

"Are we going back the same way we came?" I asked.

"No," he laughed, "that is saved for official business. There's only
so much magic in the world, you know. Officer Mercer will be taking us
back."

Eric sat up front with Officer Mercer, while Darren and I held on to
each other in the back seat. We had come so close to losing each other
that it was as if we still feared it would happen if either of us let
go.

"We have to attend a quick meeting on the Production Room floor," Eric
explained. "I called ahead, so everyone should be there."

Everyone was waiting for us when we walked in. Eric hushed the crowd
and announced, "As you know, Vulman Industries is expanding operations
around the nation. This means a lot of new opportunities for our
employees. Effective today, Darren Cache is no longer Director of
Research and development. He has been promoted to Executive Vice
President reporting directly to me. Darren will be shortly choosing
his own Director of R&D."

There was enthusiastic applause from everyone, but especially from me.

"Another announcement involves my Executive Assistant, Holly
Sheridan."

I looked at him in surprise.

"As some of you may know, Holly has worked hard over the last couple
of years to get her pilot's license. Given the far-flung nature of our
operations, I have decided that we need a Corporate Pilot. Holly will
be adding those duties to her job as my Executive Assistant."

There was more applause as I flushed with pleasure. I was still going
to be able to fly!

"And Holly," Eric said with a twinkle in his eye, "when some of our
new products come to the marketplace, you may have to fly something a
little hotter than a Learjet for us."

A few of the people who knew of the chip project laughed. I was
grinning from ear to ear. My days of flying fighters weren't quite
over!

"Now, one last announcement if you two agree," he went on, looking at
Darren and me.

Darren looked expectantly at me. I smiled and nodded my head. We came
together, arm in arm and nodded to Eric.

"Then I would like to announce an engagement..."

					***

"Well, at least I learned a little more about you," I told Diane when
I had come out of my trance.

She shrugged. "It won't be long before you have it all figured out."

"But only the Olympians have all the story," I surmised.

"Yes," Diane agreed, "and we're a secretive lot, aren't we?"

"Would the Judge have really let Holly go back to being a male?"

Diane thought about that for a moment. "Yes, I think he would. She had
earned it. Her life was in danger. She wouldn't have been the first
human caught in the crossfire in a war among the gods. That's what's
really happening you know."

I shivered, but not from being cold, and wrapped my arms around
myself.  "Are we in any danger here in Ovid?"

"I doubt it," she replied, drinking the last of her lemonade. "If
anything, you're probably safer. The Judge will be more careful in the
future. Now, I must pop off."

She meant it, too, as she prepared to pop out of the room. "I thought
that was for official purposes only," I pointed out.

"Well," she said with a wicked grin, "there's official and official.
Right now, there's an official hunk waiting for me for a hot night on
the Riviera, and it's just about sundown there."

Like the Cheshire cat, I could swear her grin lasted for a moment
longer as she disappeared from my kitchen.

 THE END