From: Edwin Gay <gaye@delphi.com>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: TG: "Black Ice" (Chem Trans)
Date: Sun, 13 Nov 94 10:57:09 -0500
Organization: Delphi (info@delphi.com email, 800-695-4005 voice)
Lines: 343
Message-ID: <5+wXMCt.gaye@delphi.com>
NNTP-Posting-Host: bos1e.delphi.com
*
Black Ice
"Black: [n., adj.]: 1) a color, ... 27) slang, secret, esp. with
respect to the military...
Ice: [n., v.]: ... 16) slang, security code in a computer program ..."
WEBSTER'S 2015 Ed.
I. AGL
M. October 10. I've arrived. Six years of school and mind-numbing
nights in the lab finally pay off. I'm now part of AGL. AGL, mega corpora-
tion, leading biocompany in the North American Confederation and rumored owner
of the largest block of senators of all the multinationals. My chance at for-
tune and fame, a glorious carrer in the fast-growing field of applied
genetics. Hooray!
I resolved to start this journal today. Should be interesting reading
after my first Nobel (ha ha). Tommorrow I find a bar.
T. October 11. Didn't find the bar yet. Took too long looking over
my work area. Pretty much as expected. Top notch, real state-of-the-art.
There's even a new Fuller-Pinch sequencer/assembler: an advantage of working
for a company that does so much military work.
W. October 12. Military paranoia is rampant. From the recruiting
information, I expected to see the mark of their twisted thinking in the
defense groups. I didn't expect its iron grip everywhere. There are camera's
in the johns for christ sakes! Curiously, the only places not under
security's everwatchful eye are the labs. Don't want to spoil the creative
flow, I suppose. Damned silly if you ask me. Outside of the defense groups,
the German Bloc doesn't give a damn about what we do.
Still haven't found that bar. I've tried seven pubs and holes-in-the
-wall between the lab and conap. I didn't think there was that many fake
ferns in the world! No doubt about it, yuppies were one of God's bad jokes.
Th.October 13. Met my lab mates. What a pair. Caroles is a big gray
bear, maybe 50, big, broad weight-lifter's body just beginning to run to fat.
Outgoing, easily liked, the life of the party but with a sober, business side.
A good researcher according to his dossier, nothing flashy just quitely
competent. Flint couldn't be more different. 32, short, about 30 pounds
overweight, his face seemingly frozen into an expression of amused surprise.
Where Caroles is gargarious, Flint's quiet, his energy and attention directed
inward. Nice enough otherwise. Just, well, insular. Top notch labman
though. His earlier work is shot through with pure genius.
P.S.: Caroles says he's knows just the bar I'm looking for.
F.October 14. Finally got to work. Our work's plant genetics, trying
to tweak soybeans into drawing their water out of the air. Food for a starved
world, and all that. Long way to go before we bear fruit, though.
Th.October 20. Busy past few days. Caroles delivered. He started by
showing me the city's seamier side. That's o.k., "meet the winner's in the
dives" and all that. Gotta hand it to him too. The places we checked out are
hotter than a bunsen. And the women! God! Early in the evening I thought
it was my imagination. But as the night went on it became clear I'd died and
gone to heaven. Every other woman was a knockout. I kid you not, every
second one was the stuff of dreams. They came in all shapes and sizes, but
they were universally gorgeous. And as eager for a good time. More often
than not they knew Caroles and showed it with unabashed affection.
We ended up at one woman's house. Celia on Caroles' lap and her
roommate on mine. The girls were night and day: Celia a tall, frosty blond,
built like the proverbial brickhouse; the lady with me, Bev, small, with
unblemished honeyed brown skin, face distinctly anglo, but tits and ass
undeniably african. And her kisses: like honey. O.K., o.k., I know it was
only pheronomes. Of course, we ended up in the sack. Bev was unbelievable.
She was insatiable and incredibly responsive, but gentle and, well, fun. Like
a kid playing 'show me.' I lost myself in her, waking with the sun up only to
start all over again. I get hard just thinking about it.
Caroles and I ultimately had to leave for work, of course. Staggering
to the car, half-supporting each other. Dragging myself around most of the
day, watching Caroles work unflagingly. Damn the man. He must be made of
iron.
Tried to make lunch conversation with Flint Tuesday. He was
tightlipped as usual. That's o.k. I did find one thing out. I saw his log
entries by accident. Flint was in the lab most of the weekend and every night
since, working on something listed as a hobby.
St.October 22. Date with Bev last night. Ended up in the sack again.
My god, she's fantastic! Over morning coffee, I finally got her talking about
herself. Two years ago she was a lab assistant in one of the defense groups.
But the military shit finally got to her. One day after calculating that the
lethal rate on her latest baby was 97% she was discovered in the midst of a
burning lab, crying uncontrollably, a lighted torch in one hand. Very bad.
AGL was furious, of course. And what with the military throwing its ham-
handed weight around, she thought it was goodbye for sure. But, when they
sifted the ashes the next day, AGL found that every record on Bev's latest
project, papers, tapes and disks, had gone up in smoke with the lab. That
raised problems: the project was clearly illegal under the '99 treaties.
So, AGL and the military decided discretion was the better part of valor. The
project had never existed, the fire never occurred and their remained nothing
to punish Bev for. Obviously, however, an early retirement was in order.
Bev is amazing. I think the whole thing stinks, but she insists on
being forgiving about it. She's actually grateful to AGL! Said it gave her
the money and time to work on herself, something she'd wanted for a long time
but just hadn't seemed able to find the time for. She even credits AGL for
her looks, insists against all evidence that she was an unattractive, mouse of
a woman before her 'retirement.' Only after she left work and began working
out, did her body miraculously reshape itself into one she'd always dreamed of
having. It seems a harmless enough delusion, pretty hard to credit though it
is. Women like her are just not made over night. Still, she does have a
near fanatic respect for AGL, far beyond what her meager pension seems to
warrant. Oh well, at least she seems genuinely interested in my work.
M.October 24. What a weekend. Bev and I went out with Caroles and a
new girl, Marge. Marge was much like Celia, blonde-red hair and peaches and
cream complexion instead of Celia's frosty ice-queen looks, but the rest was
more or less the same. Close enough to be sisters. And every bit as much a
bombshell. I used to feel that beauty like that was just a Hollywood
creation, but since coming here I've discovered a whole new world.
Anyway, Bev and I ended up back at her place. Celia was apparently
out for the weekend. Bev said she wouldn't mind though. Well things went as
you'd expect. Saturday night was a groove, and Sunday even better. I love
this town.
T.October25. Work, work, work (are you there john warfin?). Cramer,
the section head, pulled a surprise inspection. The shit. Good thing Flint
seems to have spent another weekend in the lab. Everything was spotless.
Cramer seemed disappointed. I don't know why, but I sensed hostility rolling
off him like sweat. Tried to thank Flint, but he just played tightlipped
again. I'm getting tired of that.
W.October26. I've decided Flint is a mystery I must crack. He blew
up at me today when I accidently accessed one of his files. He wiped the
screen before I could see much, but I did get a glimpse of some cell
structures. What is someone working in plants doing with human cell
structures in his data?
T.October2. Flint didn't show up today. About noon someone came in
and removed all his stuff. No explanations or comments. All, that is, except
his code book. That just happened to fall in that crack behind the printer no
one ever notices. After the goons left, I did a full dump onto floppy.
Almost 3 gig! Looks like everything Flint did since he came here. I'll stash
it and check it out when I get back home.
M.October6. Bad juju. They spotted the code book's absence. I don't
know what I've got, but it must be important. Security swarmed through the
place like locusts. Found the book, of course, just where I replaced it.
I'll have to take a look at the disks as soon as possible.
T.October9. Someone around here clearly has a case of the screaming
paranoids. Christ, armed guards at every corner! What have I gotten into?
F.October10. The goons are still playing soldier at every corner.
Now I know how the Russians felt when the Fourth Reich came marching in. How
does any one think in the military labs?
S.October11. Gotta beg forgiveness from Bev. Stood her up. I must
be crazy, but, hell, talk about chinese puzzles. For starters, the ice is
definitely olive drab. Took me all day and four systems crashes to punch
through. Didn't even make it all the way through. This is definitely weird,
nothing about plants rates military ice.
S.October12. Eureka! All is revealed. The ice makes sense. Even
the human genome data fit. Its a viral modification program. Self-
replicating, tough and wicked. It eats anything. Including viralphages.
Especially viralphages. A normal AMA approved dose of AnaV would kick the
thing into overdrive, boost efficiency 50 or maybe 60 per cent. That makes no
sense. At that rate, the five day cycle would require the calories from 60 or
more pounds of tissue. Haven't figured out the end product; need more memory
than my home deck has.
II. Secrets Revealed.
Date unknown. I thinks its been six days since I was seized by Zoon's
goons. I'm not sure, but it feels right. I'm writing this on a left over
microwave-dinner carton. Don't know how, or if, I'll ever get it out of here.
Sorry to say, I'm begining to think the same about myself.
The goons worked me over but good. Not much of me doesn't ache or
bleed right now. And all over Flint's disks. Damn him to hell. I didn't see
enough to put two and two together, but Zoon refuses to believe that. Flint
broke into a very black-hole project. They want to know how much he found
out, who his contacts are and where he is now. They were very insistant on
that, three teeth insistent. At least they only loosened them. What has Mrs.
Goodnaugh's boy gotten himself into?
Day 2. That'll do as good as anything for a date. Something very
weird is going on. Last night, two goon's came down and took me to some kind
of lab. I was prodded, tested and ultimately given a shot. All the time Zoon
was looking down from an observation platform, laughing. Afterwords, he
confronted me, smiling and laughing the entire time. "Since you wouldn't
cooperate," he said, "the least we could do was show you what you are
protecting. Give you a taste of the medicine." He thought that last bit was
hilarious. I do not like that laugh.
Day 3. My fears seem confirmed. I'm running a fever. I'm sore and
swollen. I think Zoon made good on his threat and I'll have my chance to see
Flint's virus at work. Unfortunately, I think I'll be too close to the action
to appreciate it with proper clinical detachment.
Day 5, I think. Any way, there are two uneaten meals on the floor.
The fever got completely out of control, I fainted and have been sleeping. I
don't know how long. I'm puffy and swollen all over. Yet, I could almost
believe I'm also shrinking. My clothes are real baggy. How is that possible?
It's not.
Day 8: Fainted again. Three meals on the floor this time. Whatever
is happening its definitely weirds-city. Clothes don't fit at all. Pants are
huge everywhere but in the hips; shirt's baggy as hell except in the chest
where I simply refuse to believe what I seem to be seeing.
Day 9 Fever's slacking off. I slept a little last night (night?) but
nothing like the zombie state of the last few days. I guess I'm going to have
to start believing what I see on my chest. My shirt won't stay closed, all the
damn buttons got ripped off somehow. All it does now is hang to either side
of my breasts. Yeah, that's right. Breasts. Capital B, little r,e,a,s,t,s.
As in tits, boobs, dugs. Small, but definitely there, right down to the big
pink nipples.
This isn't be happening! Is it? But then my appendix scar can't have
disappeared either, could it?
Day 9. Its been five or six hours, I think. I'm ashamed. I gave in.
I told myself I wouldn't, but I did. I mean, they look just like the real
thing. Hell, they are the real thing! It was so easy to pretend they were
someone else's. Easy 'till I realized that I was really into have them played
with. Not playing with them. Having them played with. I just realized the
difference a moment ago and it scares shit out of me.
Day 10. The titty-fairie visited me last night. They're huge!
Yesterday I could hold one in my hand, today I can't even close my fingers
around it! And the rest of my body has changed just as dramatically. Can
this tiny high waist really be mine? These smooth, round, full hips? This
jutting, gorgegous ass. I have become sleek and volumptuous, a lyrical
collection of curves.
Okay, I know what's happening now. I've gone crazy. Completely
looped. I'm lying on a gurney somewhere and Zoon's goons are working me over
and messing with my head. I wish I believed that. And, I wish I knew why the
noises in my gut bother me so much.
Day 10, 3 hours later. Be careful what you wish... I found out what
the gurgling is all about. I had to take a pee. Bellied up to bar and
whipped it out. Or tried to. IT isn't there any more. Not even a stub.
Just some ugly red swelling a little further down.
I really amaze myself. I mean, before this shit started I'm sure I'd
have said I'd be stomping and screaming long before this. But I just can't
seem to get worked up. Somethings happening to me, but I can't seem to get
upset about it. It seems well, natural, somehow, and I have this overall
feeling of peace and contentment. Like coming home after a long trip.
Day 11. My vaginas nearly complete. Yeah that's right. It doesn't
even bother me anymore. In fact, I think its kinda cute.
I think I'm going to die.
Day 12. Someone brought a bath, mirror and clean clothes while I was
alseep. I sat there for a while just staring at them. Finally, I got up and
checked them out -- a bra for christ sakes! I threw them in the corner and
just sat down and cried 'till tears wouldn't come anymore. That in itself is
as insane as everything else in this charade. I don't cry, haven't since I
was 12. Yet when I started crying, I couldn't stop.
Day 12, 3 hours later. Okay, I finally gave in. The thought of all
that clean water just a little bit away was too much. I stripped quickly, my
back to the mirror, resolutely avoiding looking at myself, refusing to
acknowledge this thing of curves and bumps is me.
The water was as good as it looked. I just sat there for a while,
soaking in the warmth, feeling myself melt. After a while I felt, oh I can't
say how I felt. I mean there I was, alone for 10 days, with not even a
thought of sex. Suddenly, a feeling like a huge bubble welled up inside me
and exploded, leaving me tingling all over. I was instantly, uncontrollably
horny. And, right there was all the bush and tit I could ever want. Just
reach for it.
So I did.
Definitely different. Good, real good, like peaking on good acid. It
doesn't even bother me anymore that those were my tits I was playing with or
my legs my fingers kept diving in and out between. I have no idea how many
times I came. After the first, I just couldn't stop. It was like a dam burst
in my head. Suddenly everything was perfect and all I could think of was the
delicious feelings bubbling up from near my tummy. Afterwards, I just lay
there, idling carressing my nipples, my stomach, the top of my crotch. Slower
and slower. Just drifting in the slowly cooling water.
After I dried myself off, I collected the clothes, laid them out and
just stared at them. Finally I was simply too cold. I put them on. Once
started, I figured, what the hell, might as well do the whole number. The
hose were sheer silk and heaven on my legs. They were held up by a lacy,
virginal white garterbelt, a gossamer cloud that set the gold of my skin and
my orange-red pubic hair off to perfection. Then the bra, as lacy and fine as
the belt, the rub of its crisp silk against ny nipples setting them tingling
again. When I finally got over that, I slipped into the black lace dress,
noting it was barely long enough to cover my crotch and so low cut my nipples
kept trying to pop out. I searched for panties but there were none to be
found. I didn't even notice how little that oversight bothered me. Then I
slipped on the white apron and stepped into the shinny black, open toed,
highheel shoes.
I turned to inspect myself in the mirror: a gorgeous young woman in a
too small french maid's uniform greeted my eyes. I gasped and was momentarily
mesmerized by the resulting giggling of my breasts.
"Why" I said aloud, (I'd never before had the habit of talking to
myself, but I did now it seemed), "I'm gorgeous." My voice was a rich,
throatly low soprano, with just the sexiest hint of a breathy lisp. "Oh, my."
END CHAPTER II
________________________________________
(i'm not quite sure were this is going from this point, though I'm sure i
don't simply want to fall into the 'all us girls' pot of the typical story of
this kind. Any suggestions? Meanwhile, i'll keep mulling it over.)