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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 hell 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 COs 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 skycap 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 at 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 labelled 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 have 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 with 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 were accommodating. Even though it was still early, 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 travellers, 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 capital 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 mini dress 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 nightspot 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 IDs 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 IDs. 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 sweptback 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 IDs. 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.

It did look pleasant in a pastoral sort of way. It 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 rear-view 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 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 wearing 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 cheekbones 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-G 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 mentioned 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 a while. 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 your 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 co-workers 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 die 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 knows 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 that 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, maybe even a little autoeroticism, 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-inch 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 cheekbones 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 uncomfortably 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 means 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 with 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 ploughed through all the administrivia 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 guys’ 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 simulations show 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’ve 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 met 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. My 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 dragged 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 non-smoker, I would be 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 into 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 jukebox 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 a while. 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 eight ball, were two men who looked as if they had just stepped out of the movie Deliverance. One was as 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 all right. 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. It 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 co-worker 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. Every 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 meantime, 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.

Darren 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 your 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 all right.”

“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 a while.

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 to 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. To my knowledge, I had 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 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 danced, 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 dishevelled, 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 trade-off 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 tells 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 all right,” 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 the 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 rap 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