---

Maybe if I had been alert, I would have noticed something was amiss when I pulled into my parking space at City Hall–maybe. But the sad truth was I was exhausted. Jerry and I had just gotten back from a few days in New Orleans where he had attended a grocer’s convention. It was just me, Jerry, and little Ashley. The twins were starting school, so I had let them stay with friends while we were out of town.

Even with a baby in tow, New Orleans was an exciting town, with plenty of entertainment and some of the best restaurants I had ever seen. The waistband of my skirt felt slightly tight as I had driven into work, and I knew I’d have to spend endless hours on the treadmill unless I wanted to be referred to as the fat lady. How did the old saying go? ‘A moment on the lips and a lifetime on the hips.’ Ah, the joys of being a girl.

Maybe I could talk The Judge into zapping off a few pounds, I mused after I had dropped the twins off at school and Ashley at her babysitter’s. After all, he was the reason I was a girl to begin with.

And to make matters worse, as I have already said, I was tired. We had gotten home after dark the night before. By the time we had picked up the twins and gotten settled in, it was late, and Jerry and I were too tired even to think straight. We dropped off to sleep right behind the kids, too exhausted to contemplate fooling around. Besides, we had done plenty of that in New Orleans.

Even though sleep came at once, I hadn’t slept well. Something seemed to be keeping me on edge through the night. I counted the days as I lay there half awake and half asleep, wondering if it was time for my period, but no, that wouldn’t come for another week. Again, the joys of being a girl.

Every little sound outside seemed to bring me out of my sleep–a passing car, a plane droning overhead, even a gust of wind. One time I woke up convinced that I had seen a bright flash. Probably a little thunderstorm I told myself, drifting back into my restless sleep.

The first indicator I had that something might be up was Susan’s little Toyota parked a few spaces down from mine. Unless there was an early morning trial, she seldom had business with the courts so early, and like me, she had a baby to drop off at the sitter’s, so being this early was out of character.

As I grabbed my purse and smoothed my skirt, I tried to remember if I had checked my messages. Usually, The Judge would always leave word for me over the weekend if I needed to be in court early on Monday. No, there had only been a message from my mother and a few hang-ups.

Susan was in The Judge’s office already. Standing next to her was a striking blonde with Nordic features, including expensively-styled hair and piercing ice-blue eyes. Susan smiled nervously as I entered, but the blonde merely looked me over as if she was looking at something distasteful. “Cindy, this is...”

The Judge cut her off. “There will be time for introductions later,” he snapped, coming around from behind his desk. “We have to move quickly. While you were gone Cindy, we had several cases come before us that had to be handled at once. Now, we need to examine one of our new citizen’s memories carefully before we make our next move.”

“But if I wasn’t here, how can I help?” I asked. I had not known The Judge to perform a transformation without my presence since I had come to work for him. When it came time to relate the experiences of someone The Judge had transformed, I had always been in the courtroom as they were changed. I would feel a tenuous but definite connection with the defendants which could be used to establish a virtual experience with them when called up by one of the gods.

The Judge understood my dilemma and nodded. “I too, hold the connection,” he admitted. “And I can pass it on to you. And yes, I could relate the story, but it would be missing something. However, when related through another human, the story takes on nuances I am unable to provide.”

That made me feel rather special. It seemed as if I had a talent even the ruler of the gods lacked. It was both satisfying and humbling at the same time.

“I asked Susan to join us,” The Judge went on. “Officer Mercer will be here, too. I want them to see if anything has been missed.” Again, he failed to introduce the attractive blonde.

I nodded, wishing I had at least downed a cup of coffee before jumping back into my work. I was more than a little uncomfortable relating a story in this fashion. Besides, The Judge seldom asked to view a story with me, and even when he had, I had been comforted by Diana’s friendly presence. Now, I’d have only Susan to relate to, since The Judge and Officer Mercer were gods, and Brunhilde there might well have been a god as well.

The Judge raised his hand in front of my face, and I felt the presence of someone else’s thoughts invading my mind. I hadn’t expected to be starting my trance without Officer Mercer in the room, but one of my last conscious impressions was that he had entered the room too quickly for his entrance to be seen. With that, I dropped off into a deep trance...

The Marine sentry sized me up as I approached the entrance of the NSA facility at Fort Meade. What he saw was a Navy officer carrying a briefcase, looking very spiffy in his tropical whites. His eyes had focused on my shoulder boards–black with two gold stripes and a star on each, denoting a line lieutenant. He wasn’t impressed, and his salute showed it. After all, in a facility where O-6’s weren’t much more than clerks, an O-3 was about the equivalent of a shoeshine boy.

“Good afternoon sir,” he said perfunctorily. “May I see your identification?”

Silently, I pulled my ID from my breast pocket. His eyes followed my hand, and the expression on his face changed when he saw the triple row of ribbons above the pocket, topped off with the gold badge of an eagle with its wings spread standing behind an anchor while it clutched a trident. Few men were privileged to wear the badge–the mark of a Navy SEAL officer.

“Come ahead, sir!” he requested, the salute this time crisper and his expression more respectful.

“Thank you Corporal,” I replied graciously as I put my briefcase on the conveyor for inspection and stepped through the metal detector. Once through, I asked, “Can you tell me where Conference Room C is?”

“Henshaw!” he barked to a private in the Security Office. “Please escort this officer to Conference Room C.”

I smiled to myself as the young private led the way. On the whole, Marines thought Naval junior officers were soft and gave them only the respect they were required to give. However, it was different with a SEAL officer. Marines knew the physical training we had to endure to wear the badge of a SEAL made standard Marine training look like a day at a boys’ summer camp. And unlike some military training where the enlisted regimen is far more physically demanding than the officer requirements, a SEAL officer went through everything his men went through. Period.

Conference Room C was accessed only by punching in code numbers or by requesting entry from within. The young Marine sentry had to resort to the latter, telling me that whatever mission had been important enough to bring me back from Afghanistan was a high priority and highly classified. I admit I was intrigued.

The door opened and a serious civilian wearing a dark suit and nondescript tie looked first at me and then at a document in his hand. I could see the document included my official BUPERS photograph, dressed in the same uniform I was now wearing. The civilian nodded, motioning me to a chair as he murmured a few words into a small mouthpiece.

The chair was situated at an oval table lighted only by overhead lights recessed in a dark ceiling. Soft blue lighting reflecting from the walls left the faces of the others at the table obscured until I was seated. Once I was in my chair, I realized I knew everyone else sitting around me–at least on sight.

We were all SEALs. While none of the men seated with me had been on my team, I still knew who they were. All had been in Afghanistan just like me. Yes, I know there’s no ocean in Afghanistan, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t SEALs there. America’s enemies don’t all stay near the sea.

To my immediate right was a second-class petty officer with short blond hair almost as pale as his white jumper–his name was ‘Doc’ McGuire. A medic, he had patched me up when I took a little shrapnel in the arm a year ago. He grinned at me, obviously recognizing me as well. “Lieutenant,” he greeted me quietly.

To his right was Ray Hernandez. Ray was also a second-class petty officer, but there any similarity to Doc ended. While Doc was tall and lanky, Ray was fairly short and built like a fireplug with his broad chest and beefy face. I didn’t know Ray well, but I had watched him best guys half again his size in hand-to-hand combat practice back in Afghanistan. He didn’t bother to acknowledge me as he dozed in the comfortable chair.

Across the table were three other SEALs–two I barely knew and one I knew all too well. Rufus McCormick was a big black man who looked vaguely like the guy in The Green Mile. Unlike the guy in that great movie though, Rufus had a reputation of being one mean mother. Although he took no obvious pleasure in hurting people, it didn’t seem to bother him much–and he was very, very good at hurting people. Every SEAL hated drawing him as a sparring partner, since he regularly if unintentionally sent them to the hospital.

Next to him was Petty Officer Third Class Chick Steele, one of the best young explosives men in the business. He looked a little like Doc, only a little darker in complexion and hair. Frankly, he looked too fragile to be a SEAL, but beneath his lean exterior was the heart of a true warrior. His exploits were legendary. Word was that he would be offered a commission before his current hitch was up.

It was the last of the men on that side of the table I was sorry to see, for Michael Kast was a third-class petty officer, just like McCormick and Steele, but unlike them, he was barely competent. He had been in training for the SEAL program at the same time I was, and there he developed a nickname which stuck with him until that day–Tail-end Charlie. Kast was always last in everything–not because he lacked the ability, but because he lacked the drive. Word was that he was the son of a well-decorated SEAL who had gotten out of the Navy in order to make millions in the civilian world. All of that would someday be Michael’s–but there was a catch. In order to inherit his father’s wealth, he would have to be a SEAL.

His father had some big contracts and important contacts with the Defense Department, so he managed enough influence to shoehorn his son into our ranks. It was obvious though, that he didn’t want to be a SEAL and no SEAL wanted him on his team. Yet there he was. Special Forces programs have less nepotism than most other military jobs, but they aren’t entirely immune.

The sad thing was that Kast actually had the ability. He was a natural athlete who could have probably played at the professional level in at least two sports. But what he lacked was the drive and ambition to succeed. In professional sports, that might have meant he sat on the bench a lot. In the SEALs, it meant he could cost someone his life.

And finally, there was me–Douglas Harmon: Lieutenant, United States Navy. Unlike many of my Academy classmates who were spending their Naval careers sleeping between clean sheets, sipping hot coffee and eating well-prepared food in the wardrooms of our nation’s warships, I had already seen action in countries most Americans had never heard of, let alone finding them on the map. I had requested SEAL training right out of Annapolis. I had seen the SEALs at work during one of my summer cruises as a Midshipman. As a starting running back on the Academy football team, I knew being a SEAL was a challenge worthy of my physical and mental abilities. It was a job for a man’s man. Once I reported for training at Coronado, I never looked back.

None of us had an opportunity to speak to each other, for the door opened again, and this time it wasn’t for another SEAL. Three individuals in civilian clothes entered the room. Two were men as nondescript as the guard at the door. It was the third civilian who drew all the notice–first because she was a beautiful female and second because everyone in the room recognized her.

Freda Jorgenson was one of the most powerful women in Washington. A confidant of two presidents, she was considered the white answer to Condoleza Rice. Her pale blond hair and skin nearly more white than pink coupled with her demeanor had given her the obvious nickname of ‘The Ice Queen.’ While many women had been called that, it took me only a moment gazing into her icy blue eyes to convince me that the name was particularly fitting in her case.

“Gentlemen,” she began without a preamble, “you are here today because you have been chosen for a special mission...”

All of us at the table looked silently at each other. ‘Special’ in our line of work usually meant a mission we would not be expected to survive.

“While none of you have worked together before, you have been identified as having skills which should increase the chances of success in this mission.”

She nodded at one of the other civilians who nodded at his nondescript twin. Then the two of them began a PowerPoint presentation as the Ice Queen stood back, arms folded over her substantial breasts to observe our reactions. The first man didn’t bother to introduce himself. It was no problem. Being a spook, I knew he’d probably just give us a false name were we to ask. So Spook #1 began, “We have come into possession of a document which has given us reason to believe that the United States has been infiltrated by a large number of agents of an unfriendly power...”

For the next hour, Spook #1 unfolded an incredible story while Spook #2 passed out corroborating bound documents to each of us. We each set them aside to be studied later, for the presentation contained material so disturbing and unreal that we could scarcely absorb it.

According to the briefing, a hostile force had created a base of operations in Oklahoma–right under our noses! From there, this force had been conducting clandestine activities throughout the country for a number of years. We listened carefully for the nature of this operation, but Spook #1 seemed in no hurry to elaborate. Instead, he would only say that our mission would be to infiltrate this operation and shut it down by providing additional intelligence on the operation.

When he had completed the sketchy overview, Hernandez was the first to raise his hand. “Sir, this is an operation on US soil?”

Spook #1 looked blandly at him. “Yes, it is.”

“It’s my understanding that Special Forces are not to be used on US soil.”

“Who cares?” McCormick muttered across the table. “Our mission is to take out the bad guys. If they’re in this country, we take them out.”

Spook #1 smiled. “That is a very good point, Mr. McCormick. As for the answer to your question, Mr. Hernandez, you are prohibited from operations against US citizens on US soil. That is not the case here.”

“You mean a group of foreign nationals has an operative base on US soil?” I asked, sounding more derisive than I had intended. “Sorry,” I managed to add, “but the idea seems a little outlandish.”

Spook #1 nodded. “It did to us as well at first. But let me show you something.” He brought up an image on screen which was obviously taken from a spy satellite. The resolution was incredible. I looked carefully at the projected image. It just looked like farmland interrupted by a ridge of low hills. Then I noticed something odd...

“What’s that line paralleling those hills?” I asked.

Spook #2 took that question with a knowing smile. “Very good eye, Lieutenant. That is a seam–at least that’s what we’ve been calling it. The objective is inside that seam.”

“What kind of a seam?” I asked uneasily, unable to understand what the spook was driving at.

The Ice Queen replied, “An inter-dimensional seam.”

We all stared at her blankly.

“The enemy base is wrapped inside a dimensional pocket,” she explained.

“Like a bubble in the space-time continuum,” Doc suggested, surprising us all. He just shrugged and said, “Hey, I read a lot of science fiction.”

“You are correct,” she acknowledged with begrudging respect. “According to the data we have in our possession, there is a bubble under that seam which stretches several miles in every direction. Contained inside the bubble is an entire town...”

And that was how we first learned the details about Ovid, Oklahoma.

I think I can speak for the entire team when I say that at first we were attentive and curious, but as the Ice Queen continued to tell us about Ovid, our expressions turned first to confusion and finally to disbelief. Such a town simply couldn’t exist–not in Oklahoma or anywhere else for that matter. What was that about people being changed into other people and not allowed to leave Ovid? And what about the shades–nearly transparent people who walked and talked as if nothing was amiss? And then there were the masters of Ovid...

It was Kast who asked the question all of us had been wanting to ask. “Excuse me, ma’am, but just who are this judge and all his cronies?”

There was a hint of a smile from the Ice Queen. “They claim to be gods.”

“Gods?” I repeated.

She nodded. “Yes–that’s right. The judge is supposedly Jupiter–king of the Roman gods, and the traffic cop is Mercury.”

“The messenger of the gods,” Doc mumbled. I looked at him curiously as he shrugged. “I read a lot of mythology as a kid, sir.”

“You don’t expect any of us to believe this bunch are Roman gods, do you?” Kast asked derisively.

“Of course not,” Freda Jorgenson replied, her voice so condescending even Kast had the good sense to shut up.

“So who are they?” I asked at last. “Mad scientists? Terrorists? North Koreans?”

“Most likely aliens,” she replied blandly, surprising me with her matter-of-fact reply. She looked around and saw the same looks of incredulity around the table. Then she admitted, “We don’t really know, but given the powers they seem to have, we can’t rule out aliens.”

Something told me–probably all of us–that the NSA really did have proof of alien activity on Earth. Maybe all the loony shows on TV were right after all. But I knew I wouldn’t get a straight answer from her if I asked, so I waited for her to continue.

“Whatever their origin, they do present a clear and present danger. If our source is correct, they’ve been abducting Americans for years and holding them captive in this high-tech prison they call Ovid. It is our job to find a way into this base of theirs and shut them down.”

“When do we go in?” McCormick wanted to know. Leave it to him to be itching for action, I thought.

“Tomorrow night,” she replied.

“Standard gear?” Hernandez asked.

She gave him an icy stare. “If you mean weapons, no. Firearms set off alarms when they’re brought into Ovid. We’ll be going in wearing civilian clothes and no firearms. And yes, you can take knives, but nothing else. Anything else you need will be provided to you by the Agency.

“Now, until mission time, you’ll be restricted to this complex. Use the time to get some sleep and study the materials you have been given. Pay special attention to the map of Ovid our contact provided and memorize all key locations.”

“Just how are we going to get into Ovid?” Kast wanted to know.

“We’re going in by parachute–right through that seam,” was the reply.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. “Ma’am, we’re all experienced jumpers, but that would be a tough jump even in daylight. We just can’t be sure of hitting the seam straight on.”

Her smile was smug. “Don’t worry about that, Lieutenant. We have equipment which will make your insertion easier than you could ever imagine. We’ll cover all of that in tomorrow’s briefing here at 1400. We’ll leave for Ovid immediately after the briefing. Any other questions?”

Since it was obvious we’d have to wait for the next day’s briefing to find out anything of consequence, we all remained silent–even Kast.

“Dismissed!”

Our team spent the evening together, studying the material in the ready room of our barracks. To minimize any outside contact, our meals were brought in to us, so we had maximum use of our time.

As Team Leader, it was up to me to set the schedule. I ordered everyone to read the material in detail and I would quiz them on it during the evening and just before tomorrow’s briefing. I’ll say this for all of them: they took the mission seriously, in spite of the outlandish idea that we were up against aliens or gods. At least each of us had laid our lives on the line enough times to know it was what you didn’t know or dismissed as impossible that was most likely to kill you.

As the evening went on, I queried each of them, trying to get an assessment of their mental abilities. Steele and Hernandez seemed to be pretty sharp when it came to choosing potentially important sites mentioned in the briefing material. McCormick surprised me with a pretty good understanding of electronics and communications. Doc had the greatest grasp of the material, astounding me with his detailed knowledge of how to get around the town. He had memorized all the key locations as well as the map included in the material so thoroughly, I almost felt as if he was describing his home town.

But once again, it was Kast who posed some of the most intriguing questions, thus becoming the biggest surprise of all. “Lieutenant, do you see something wrong with this mission?”

“What do you mean?”

“Hey, we all just came from the Middle East, right?”

I nodded.

“When we want information, we send in drones. When we want to kick ass, we get sent in. Since when do SEALs do this kind of grunt work?”

“SEALs have been used extensively to gather information lots of times,” I argued.

“Yeah, but this is the twenty-first century. The intelligence we collect is the stuff you can’t get by drone–interviews with friendlies in the area–that sort of stuff. Hell, we could even task a satellite with resolution good enough to tell what color eyes this judge has. We know squat. You notice we haven’t been given the name of this contact who compiled this report.”

“Need to know,” I insisted a little uncomfortably.

“God damn it, Lieutenant, I need to know. Don’t you?”

“Okay,” I sighed. “If the Ice... if Ms. Jorgenson doesn’t bring it up tomorrow, I will.”

That seemed to satisfy him for the moment, but I made a mental note to be sure I asked the question. I was more than a little curious myself. In spite of the company line I had given Kast, I too had some misgivings about the mission. It didn’t seem like something a SEAL Team would be best at. Kast was right. Our job was to kick ass. Going in without weapons meant we were no more likely to be effective than any novice FBI agent.

We took a break after a couple of hours. McCormick used the time to get in a little calisthenics. No wonder he looked so powerful. Every chance he got, he was doing something to build up his already-impressive body. Hernandez produced a deck of cards and started playing low-stakes gin with Steele while Doc looked on. Kast just read the material, as if there wasn’t a break.

“Remember,” I told everyone before we settled back in to finish reading our briefing materials, “our mission is strictly recon. If we do our job right, we’ll find out everything we need to know and get out before they know we’ve been there.”

“Sir,” Kast called out, somehow making the ‘Sir’ sound like an insult.

“What is it, Kast?”

“I’ve already read this stuff twice. I think you should know that getting out of Ovid may not be that easy.”

“Why not?”

He leaned back, looking at the thick binder in his lap. “According to this, if you try to leave Ovid, you just end up right back in town. Say you go over a hill on the west, you’ll find yourself looking down on the town from the east.”

“Sort of a Má¶bius strip,” Doc commented. When he saw several blank stares, he tore a strip of paper from his notepad and twisted it together into a loop just like I remembered a science teacher of mine doing back in Ohio during high school. “This loop is really one-dimensional,” he explained, tracing the paper with a pen. “You see, it looks as if you’re travelling in three dimensions, but in fact, there’s only one–the surface of the paper. And eventually, you’ll end up right back where you started.”

“Except this Ovid isn’t a strip of paper,” Steele pointed out. “It’s a real three-dimensional place.”

“Is it?” Doc smiled. “Maybe this town really is run by gods–and maybe dimensional physics don’t apply to them the way they apply to us.”

“Bullshit!” Hernandez snorted.

“Do you believe in God?” Doc asked unperturbed.

“Of course I do!” Hernandez returned, slightly puzzled at the question. “I’m a good Catholic. But what does that have to do with this... this mobile strip?”

“Má¶bius,” Doc corrected. “Look, if you believe in God, you probably believe in Heaven, but where is it?”

“Someplace up there,” Hernandez replied uncomfortably, pointing up.

“What?” Doc pressed. “Somewhere out in space?”

“What the fuck does it matter?” McCormick boomed, clearly bored.

“It matters a lot,” Doc insisted. “What if Heaven is right here–all around us–but we can’t see it because it’s phased into another dimension? Maybe Ovid is like that–phased in another dimension.”

“Fucking Trekie,” McCormick muttered.

“Doc, you’re full of it,” Kast taunted. “Who gives a shit where Heaven is? It’s Ovid we’ve got to be concerned with.”

“So stop worrying about where this Ovid is and keep reading,” I ordered. “By the time of our briefing tomorrow, I want you guys to have this binder memorized. You got that?”

Everyone barked, “Yes, sir!” and settled into reading at the tables where the remains of evening chow had already been cleared away.

“Doc, come with me for a minute,” I said, indicating the small office/sleeping quarters that had been reserved for me at the front of the barracks.

When we were alone, I motioned for him to sit in the one flimsy guest chair while I parked myself on the gray government-issue desk “Doc,” I began, “I don’t want to bog this mission down with long explanations. McCormick just wants to break heads, Hernandez just wants someone to tell him what to do, Steele just wants to blow things up, and Kast... well I don’t know about Kast–maybe he just wants to play with himself.”

“Sir,” Doc began, “they need to know what they may be up against.”

“I’m not telling you to keep your mouth shut,” I clarified. “I’m just telling you that most of this is pretty far over their heads. If you want to keep the team informed, just tell me what you think is going on. Then I’ll decide if I want McCormick to kill it or Steele to blow it up or Kast to play with it. You got that?”

“Yes, sir.” He didn’t argue about it.

Doc was a good SEAL, I realized.

“Now, we’ve never worked together as a team, so I really need you to give me everything you’ve got. You’ve already read most of the material, haven’t you?”

He gave me a surprised look. “Yes, sir. I’m a speed reader with a photographic memory. But how did you know?”

I knew because I had similar qualifications, but I didn’t tell him that. “Just tell me what you think about this Ovid.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know, sir. I don’t know what to think. Ms. Jorgenson seems pretty sure it’s aliens running the town, but...”

“Go on.”

He shook his head. “I know this whole thing about Roman gods is about as far out as you can get, but whoever gave them all of the data presents a pretty good case for that.”

“How so?”

“Well, look at how they operate. If they were aliens, wouldn’t they have all kinds of technological gadgets? These ‘gods’ seem to operate without them. Sure, I suppose they could be higher in development than humans, with all sorts of powers that just look like magic, but it almost sounds as if they’re downright technophobic.”

“I don’t know,” I argued. “That shield of theirs–what did you call it? Oh yeah, a bubble in the space-time continuum. Anyhow, that sounds pretty high tech.”

“True,” he admitted, “but maybe they generate that with their minds the same way they change people.”

I ran my fingers through my short hair and sighed. “I don’t think our Ms. Jorgenson is telling us everything she knows.”

Doc just shrugged. “When do the people who send us out ever tell us everything?” he asked. “Like why did they bother to slap a bunch of strangers together instead of working with an existing SEAL Team? That doesn’t sound very efficient to me.”

“I have to agree,” I said, adding, “I was wondering the very same thing. For that matter, why use a SEAL Team at all? With no weapons, we’re no more effective than a team of FBI agents or undercover cops. Something tells me we need to watch our backs on this mission.”

“Don’t we always, sir?”

I nodded, thinking to myself that I’d really like to take the geniuses who thought up this mission and drop them into Ovid instead of my team.

We ran five miles before breakfast the next morning. Hernandez and Doc kept up with me, with McCormick and Steele not far behind. Kast, of course, brought up the rear, but even he turned in a decent time. That didn’t stop me.

Breakfast was waiting for us when we got back. We nodded in satisfaction as we dug in, not at all mindful of having too many carbs. Unlike the pussies out in the civilian world, we’d get rid of the carbs the way nature intended–running and exercise.

We spent an hour after breakfast reviewing the mission while our food settled. I barked off questions and got sharp answers from most of the team. Kast, of course, wasn’t quite up to snuff, but even he would be able to find his way around Ovid without too much trouble. And even though he wasn’t as sharp on the facts, any question involving critical thinking seemed right up his alley.

As I expected, Doc had the sharpest eye for detail. In Ovid, we’d break into two groups. I’d lead one and Doc would take the other. He’d get Hernandez and Steele while I took McCormick and Kast. I wanted McCormick where I could watch him. I was pretty sure he’d try to get out of any scrape with an unacceptable body count. As for Kast–well, I just wanted to make sure he didn’t screw anything up.

We spent another hour in calisthenics. Then we took a rest period until it was time for our 1400 briefing.

“Split up?” I practically yelled. I had planned on two teams, but she was demanding we work as individuals. The rest of the team seated at the briefing table seemed as upset about that as I was.

The Ice Queen nodded. “That’s right. Six individuals can cover the town faster than one group. Besides, wouldn’t it look a little odd for six men to be walking around town as a group?”

She was right about that, at least. “Yes ma’am, but two groups can work more effectively than six individuals. Without anyone to cover our backs, whoever is running Ovid could just pick us off one by one. We stand a much higher chance of survival if we stick to small teams.”

She was silent for a moment, lost in thought. At last, she nodded. “All right, Lieutenant. Perhaps you’re right. Two teams would have a better chance of getting in and out of Ovid than six men working alone. Do it your way.”

“Yes, Ma’am!”

“But remember, the purpose of this insertion is to verify the information on our informant’s disk. This is not a reconnaissance in force. You get in and you get back out as quickly as possible.”

“Then why use SEALs?” Kast wanted to know. It was a good question. He continued, “SEALs kick ass and take names. Your lap dogs here...” pointing at Spooks #2 and #3, “could take pictures and draw maps as good as we can. Are you expecting some trouble you’re not telling us about?”

I figure Jorgenson’s blood pressure must have shot up about thirty points from the flushed expression on her face. Her stare was so vicious, Kast had to look down. I think in that moment we all thought she was going to jump over the briefing table and tear Kast’s head off. The way her body tensed, I thought maybe she could have done it. At last, she willed a calm expression back on her face. “You would not have been my first choice,” she admitted, “but we’re stuck with each other.”

“Then who the hell did choose us?” McCormick wanted to know.

“That’s classified,” she replied as blankly as she could. “Now can we get back to the briefing?”

She spent the next four hours making sure we knew every detail that had been on the disk–or at least those they had transcribed for us. It made me glad I had taken the time to drill the team, but it also made me curious. We had only her word that we had been supplied with all the information on Ovid. There were items in the materials which didn’t seem to make much sense.

For instance, the material indicated that unwary travellers were shanghaied into becoming citizens of Ovid. But what would make them do so? It wasn’t enough that there was some sort of invisible barrier around the town. Surely someone would have figured out a way to get out. Granted, they didn’t have the high-tech tools we were going to be using, but there must have been a way out.

And for that matter, why hadn’t the authorities figured out people were disappearing? The legends of the Bermuda Triangle involved only a handful of people, and yet practically everyone in the civilized world knew what it was at least by name. Why hadn’t cable TV deluged us with phony documentaries about the Ovid Rectangle, or something like that?

As for the crap about aliens or gods or whatever they were, who really gave a rat’s ass if they had built a little enclave in Oklahoma, because odds were that they weren’t from any other world–either physical or supernatural. It was just too bizarre to imagine why they would want to set up a small town in the middle of the Bible Belt. As far as I was concerned, they were probably something like the Waco wackos–a group of iconoclasts who chose to build a small settlement away from prying eyes. Now, somebody in their little cult had become disillusioned–or maybe just delusional–and decided to get the government interested by claiming the leaders of Ovid were deities or something.

So why were we being used? The answer was really pretty simple to me, although I didn’t want to bring it up to the team. We were being used because we could perform the mission and get the hell out of the way easier than out civilian counterparts. Twenty-four hours after the mission, we could be back in Kabul, and if there were any questions to be asked, there would be no one from the mission remaining to ask them of. Even if the media caught wind of our little expedition, we wouldn’t be around to question. The government didn’t want another Waco on its hands–not during an election year anyhow.

I gave Jorgenson every opportunity to mention a contact with her source in Ovid. That at least, would have given some justification to using SEALs. No mention was made, so when it looked like the briefing was about to finish up, I asked the question I had promised Kast I would pose. “Wouldn’t it make sense for us to contact your source and clarify some of this data?” I asked innocently.

Her features clouded over, and I knew from her expression that there would be no contact with the mysterious source. “Our source,” she began slowly, “has probably been compromised by now.”

“Compromised?” I repeated. I wasn’t going to let her off the hook easily.

“We suspect he has been discovered and possibly turned.”

There was a collective groan around the table. I summed it up in words. “So odds are good they know we’re coming.”

“They probably know someone is coming,” she amended. “That’s why we’re using you. It’s possible you may have to fight your way out of Ovid.”

“Without weapons?” Kast pointed out.

She scowled at him. “I thought SEALs were trained to live off the land–to procure weapons from the enemy if necessary.”

She was right about that. Even Kast remained quiet for once.

“Our flight leaves within the hour,” she informed us. “Now let’s get your gear issued and get this show on the road.”

“What do you think, sir?” Doc asked as we were assembling our gear in preparation for the long flight to Oklahoma.

“I’m not paid to think,” I grunted noncommittally.

“Neither am I,” Doc agreed quietly, “but I watched you in there. You didn’t ask any questions to speak of, except the one about the contact, but you looked like you were chewing something over. You don’t think this mission is what she says it is, do you?”

I know in a lot of military units, Doc’s remarks would have been a little out of line, but we were SEALs, and that meant every member of the team was entitled to an opinion. The lowest rated man on the team might well bring up an overlooked fact that would save the entire team’s lives.

“You think she’s lying to us?” I asked Doc in a low tone.

He shrugged. “Maybe. I can see some rationale for using a SEAL Team. What bothers me is why us–I mean why specifically us? We’ve never worked together. Steele is an explosives expert on a recon mission. McCormick stands out like a sore thumb and is only good when it comes to lots of violence. Kast... well, Kast is about as dependable as an ice cube on a summer sidewalk.”

“I hear Hernandez is a good man,” I pointed out. “And you too, from what I hear.”

Doc nodded at the compliment. “I’ve heard good things about you too, sir.”

“Look, here’s what I want to do,” I told him quietly. “I suppose Jorgenson is right about one thing–six men milling around together would look a little suspicious. We’ll break into two teams as I planned. You take Steele and Hernandez. Try to learn as much as you can, focusing on communications and logistics. I’ll take McCormick and Kast. We’ll verify key locations and try to find the best way out of Ovid.”

“If the briefings are right, that might not be too easy without a fight.”

“That’s why I’m taking McCormick with me,” I explained. “Without weapons, I may need somebody big enough to crack a few heads.” I didn’t bother to tell him that I also wanted to be sure he didn’t crack any heads without my say-so.

“Makes sense,” Doc allowed. “But what about Kast? You don’t want to be saddled with him, do you?”

“No, but neither do you. Kast may be an eight ball, but he actually managed to ask a couple of good questions during the briefing. If it’s as tough to get out of Ovid as the intel indicates, he may be insightful enough to figure out an exit.”

Doc looked at me as if he didn’t really believe I had any faith at all in Kast. Well, he was right–to a point. Kast could be insightful when he wanted to be. The problem was that he didn’t always want to be. I wanted to be there to kick him personally in the ass if he started fucking up.

The flight to Oklahoma in a C-130 was long and noisy. All we could do after orders were issued and equipment checked was to sit back in the windowless cargo bay and close our eyes to shut out the red illumination overhead. Even though we’d have night-vision goggles for the jump, we’d have to be prepared to see as well as possible in the dark. The red light would help since it didn’t impair night vision. The problem was it could also give me a splitting headache, so I kept my eyes closed, feigning sleep. Unfortunately, there was no easy way to shut out the drone of the plane’s T56-A-T5 turboprops.

At least there was plenty of room to stretch out on the deck. The C-130 was built to hold about sixty-five paratroopers, so our small team, plus a jumpmaster and the Ice Queen with her two pet spooks made for plenty of personal space. Jorgenson pulled each of us aside, talking low to us in private. Apparently, she didn’t completely trust my skills in organizing the team. At least she seemed satisfied, and after an unusually long session with Steele, it was finally my turn.

“You’ve organized your men well, Lieutenant,” she admitted begrudgingly.

“Thank you, Ma’am.”

“Just remember–no rough stuff. Get in, get your information, and get out.”

“What happens once we’re out?” I asked.

She shrugged, drawing attention to her beautiful body. Even dressed as we were in a nondescript jump suit it was easy to see that she was undeniably stunning.

“After debrief, that will be none of your concern, Lieutenant,” spoiling the image of feminine perfection with her icy tone.

I returned the shrug. There was no use in discussing the subject further.

“Saddle up, men,” the jumpmaster called out. “You jump in fifteen minutes.”

We hooked up in a line, each man checking the man in front of him to make sure everything was in order. Jorgenson herself checked me over since I was last in line. The way she tested the straps made me realize she knew what she was doing. My limited esteem for her went up just a fraction of an inch.

Checking our chutes was of paramount importance–not just for our safety, but because of the nature of the parachute itself. GPS locators on our left wrists would pinpoint our precise location, making sure we could actually glide into the small fault in the bubble surrounding Ovid. Without any visual reference points and dropping at night, we would have no chance of reaching our target. The chutes themselves were of a highly-classified variety, connected to the GPS locator and designed to make midcourse corrections in our descent, adjusting our course far more accurately and quickly than even our expert manual adjustments.

The nature of the equipment for the drop meant we all knew Steele had a serious problem when he swore, “Fuck! My GPS is down.” Since the GPS was attached to the chute, everything would have to be replaced.

Jorgenson didn’t miss a beat. “Unhook,” she ordered. “Drop to the back of the line and I’ll have your spare chute ready.”

Steele moved quickly. We were seconds away from the drop. I looked around to make sure Jorgenson had him set up right. I had just turned back, satisfied, when the jumpmaster gave us the green light.

So I was now fifth in line. I watched with pride as each of my men dropped perfectly into the inky sky. Then it was my turn. I felt the rush of air, cool even in the late summer at this altitude over the warm, humid ground below. Night drops can be scary at first, but I had made dozens of them and found them exhilarating. I heard the tone and felt my chute slipping out of its case, stopping my freefall with an authoritative tug.

Looking below, I thought I could see at least one chute. Above, there was no sign of Steele but I wasn’t worried. The chutes would take us to pre-programmed landing spots about twenty yards apart. After a gentle float down into the moonless sky, our feet would touch ground in what the narrow rift in the satellite photos appeared to lead to a farm field. I only hoped the field would be something like wheat, gentle and forgiving instead of spiky corn stalks. Well, whatever lay below wouldn’t be enough to hurt us through the jump suits. Besides, once we were through the rift, the locator would surrender minor control to us so we could avoid any unknown obstacles.

Passing through the rift was anticlimactic. If it hadn’t been for the altimeter in the locator, we would never have known we had passed through it. Or at least we wouldn’t have known until we looked down. Off in the distance, just beyond our drop zone, lay the lights of a town. It didn’t look like a big place, but I knew it hadn’t been there moments ago.

I think until that very moment, I had wondered if we weren’t on some sort of a government sponsored snipe hunt. It was still hard to believe that a town could be so completely hidden from view. The technology behind such a trick had me wondering if maybe Jorgenson wasn’t right about this being the work of aliens. Not for the first time since we had been ordered to this mission, I wished that we had come armed with more than a few paltry knives. Whoever–or whatever–could do this wasn’t going to be afraid of the most fearsome knife. They might not even be afraid of anything in our standard arsenal.

There was no time to dwell upon that now. As I switched on my night-vision goggles, I could see the ground was rushing up more quickly now, and the field that was to be our landing zone was surrounded by some rather large trees. Deftly, I pulled to the right just enough to avoid all of them and proudly saw that I was heading straight for the center of the field.

I stayed on my feet, running until I could pull enough of the chute down to stop myself. We had lucked out. The field we had landed in appeared to be beans of some sort–probably soybeans I realized. Other than a little incidental damage to a few of the plants, no one would even know we had been there.

I could see two other figures, their bright silhouettes in stark contrast to the darkness behind them as they gathered up their chutes for burial. As I began to do the same to my own chute, I could see two more approaching. One was so large he could only be McCormick.

“We’ve got everybody now except Steele,” Doc reported to my right.

“He should have been right behind me,” I returned.

“Maybe he missed the drop zone,” Doc suggested.

It was a distinct possibility, especially if Jorgenson didn’t get his chute on in time. “What was he carrying ?” I asked.

Doc shrugged. “Everything he had is redundant. He had a video camera and some listening devices. He also had an uplink, but we’ve got two others.”

That was one good thing about not having to carry weapons on this mission. We each carried enough electronic gear to open a Radio Shack. What we were missing was another pair of eyes. I thought about giving Kast or McCormick to Doc, but I finally decided that Doc and Hernandez would make an effective team.

“We’re about two clicks out of Ovid,” Hernandez announced. “It’ll be light in a couple of hours.”

“Then let’s get moving,” I ordered. “Get these chutes and jumpsuits in the ground. Save the goggles, though. They might come in handy.”

Shortly, each of us had buried our gear and completed our disguises. The equipment we had been issued was as compact as technology would allow, but it still took up space. Kast and Hernandez had been issued tool bags so they looked as if they were blue-collar workers. Doc and I had briefcases which were light but designed to carry a lot of gear. We were the white-collar workers. McCormick carried his gear in a gym bag, looking as if he were on his way to work out.

There was still no sign of Steele, but I decided we couldn’t wait any longer to move out.

Doc and Hernandez started out first. We gave them about twenty minutes–enough time to get to the edge of town. Then we took off in a slightly different direction–one that would bring us out very close to City Hall.

The sun was just coming up as we reached the first houses in the town proper. What I saw reminded me of my hometown back in Ohio. Ovid was a farming community, judging from a sign advertising a feed and grain store and an official sign reading ‘Future Farmers of America welcomes you to Ovid.’ I had always thought of Oklahoma as dry and arid, but the tree-lined streets and lush green lawns were reminiscent of my home state.

The only noticeable difference was that Ovid looked maybe just a little bit... cleaner than my hometown–and a little more prosperous. I knew from the briefing material that Ovid boasted some industry–most notably Vulman Industries. That must have made the NSA cringe. Vulman held a lot of top secret government contracts. What if the company was really controlled by enemies of the United States?

“So far, so good,” McCormick muttered.

“Yeah. It reminds me of home,” I commented.

The big black man shook his head. “Not me. I grew up in Chicago–South Side.”

“Chicago?” Kast said. “So did I.”

“North Shore, right?” McCormick growled.

Reluctantly, Kast nodded.

“It figures,” McCormick snorted.

“You guys can discuss Chicago later,” I told them. “Right now, let’s discuss Ovid.”

“What’s to discuss?” McCormick wanted to know. “We’re almost to Main Street and all I’ve seen are houses out of Smallville.”

“You were expecting maybe Roman temples?” Kast chuckled. Then the chuckling stopped.

Since it was so early in the morning, we had seen very few people out walking around. But as the sun rose and the residents of Ovid began stirring, we noticed an occasional morning runner or a homeowner in his bathrobe out to retrieve the morning paper. But it was a man in jeans and a denim shirt–probably a construction worker from the tool belt he wore–walking to his truck who made us realize suddenly that there was something very strange going on in Ovid.

The man smiled and waved at us. Dumfounded, we managed to return the greeting as he stepped into his truck and started it up.

“You could see right through him,” McCormick muttered.

That wasn’t exactly true. It wasn’t as if he was actually transparent. Rather, it was as if we could ‘sense’ what was being blocked by his body, as if we were seeing two images at once somehow double-exposed.

“A shade,” Kast commented, his eyes glued on the strange manifestation. “They’re real.”

And if the shades were real, that meant...

McCormick stated it for all of us. “Then maybe there really are gods.” Raised a casual Lutheran in a small Ohio town, the thought that the Roman gods might be real was a blow to everything I had been taught to believe. McCormick and Kast appeared equally disturbed. No wonder our superiors wanted to believe aliens controlled Ovid. It was far more palatable than the alternative.

“Come on,” I finally managed. “We’ve got work to do.”

We had studied the material on Ovid for so long that Main Street felt like home to us. We could have probably named more stores and who ran them than many of Ovid’s residents. And unlike most of the residents, we had a pretty good idea who really ran some of those stores.

“The street is pretty wide,” McCormick remarked. “It would be hard to defend.”

My SEAL mind tried to picture barricades made up of wrecked cars and shop fixtures behind which the gods tried to hold off advancing platoons of Marines. “You’re right,” I acknowledged. “Everything is too open.” And too... right, I realized. Ovid looked like what America was supposed to be all about–small towns filled with friendly, prosperous people. After what all of us had seen around the world, Ovid looked like the last place any red-blooded American Marine would want to damage.

“The material said City Hall is where this judge and his people can be found,” Kast offered. “Maybe it’s the only defensible point in town.”

It sounded like a good guess. “Okay,” I agreed. “We’ll go there next.”

We were fish out of water, and we were just really beginning to realize it. While we had protested that we weren’t the right people for the job, deep down, every SEAL thinks he can do anything and everything if he has to. There was never any question in our minds that we could quickly penetrate the town, assess any threats, and make our way out without casualties.

But what we had found was a town as American as any town we had ever seen. Flags flew, birds sang, and people looked prosperous and happy, unlike the disintegrating pestholes that were usually assigned to. There were no sullen men ready to ambush us from narrow streets and alleys. There were no burned out and bombed out husks of buildings, booby trapped and waiting for an unwary enemy. There were no command posts, fortified areas, or communications arrays which needed to be discovered and neutralized.

“There’s City Hall,” Kast nodded.

Again, there was nothing particularly ominous about the place. Stately columns and a gray marble façade were set off by a grassy lawn painstakingly manicured and accented with flowers of every imaginable variety.

“I wish my hometown looked this good,” I muttered.

“Look!” McCormick said suddenly. We were still half a block from the entrance to City Hall, but we were close enough to see something disturbing. Two men were just getting out of a police car. The police officer, a tall, serious-looking individual wearing mirrored sunglasses, was ushering the two men up the front stairs.

“It’s Doc and Hernandez!” Kast gasped.

Strangely, no weapon was trained on them–yet they offered absolutely no resistance. Either Doc or Hernandez should have been more than a match for any policeman, except...

“Wasn’t there something in the briefing about a cop being one of the gods?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Kast replied. “Mercury is supposed to be a cop here–an Officer Mercer.”

“Well, it didn’t take him long to find our guys,” McCormick commented. “Shall we get them loose?”

“Those aren’t our orders,” I reminded him. “If we identify ourselves, our usefulness will be compromised.”

“If they talk, it will be compromised anyway,” Kast pointed out.

McCormick and I just stared at him. The thought of any SEAL ratting out another member of the team was unacceptable. It concerned me, though. If that was the way Kast thought, then maybe he might sell us out if he had the chance.

So we waited impatiently outside City Hall, taking turns walking around so long as at least one of us had an eye on the City Hall door. While we saw several people coming and going, there was no sign of the police officer or either of our comrades. Of course, I realized, if this judge really was a god–or alien–who had the power to transform humans, we might not recognize our team members anyhow. But even after seeing the semi-transparent shade, I found it hard to believe that a person could be transformed–magically or otherwise–into an entirely different person. However, my scepticism was soon to be challenged.

I was the closest man to the entrance when I saw Officer Mercer leaving the building, escorting two young girls who looked between twelve and fourteen. Both were slim and attractive with light brown hair hanging loosely about their shoulders. Both were wearing the tight-fitting jeans and tank tops favored by young girls everywhere. The only difference in their clothing was that one wore a white tank top and the other a blue one.

If Officer Mercer hadn’t been with them, I probably would not have given them a second look. Attractive as they were, they were obviously jailbait, and besides, I had a job to do, looking for my comrades. Still, the hairs on the back of my neck rose up. What if this judge really did have the power to transform them? How would I know it was them?

I was soon to find out.

One of the girls–the one with the white top–seemed relaxed and natural, laughing and squeezing her friend’s arm as girls often do. The other one though, was ignoring her, looking around as if searching for something–or someone. Her eyes lit on me and stayed there. She gave a sudden, subtle hand motion which would be missed by anyone who was not in the military. She was telling me she had been hit.

At first, I refused to believe what my eyes were telling me. Were the two girls really Doc and Hernandez? If so, one had apparently been mind-wiped. The girl in the white top showed no distress or interest in anything which would not be noticed by a young teen girl. The other one though, had apparently retained her mind and was trying to signal me. Carefully, I acknowledged her signal with my own hand, and she nodded with satisfaction as she climbed into Officer Mercer’s patrol car.

But which one had survived? I felt that whichever one no longer remembered who she had been constituted a fatality. According to our informant, a majority of Ovid’s real residents fell into that category. Perhaps their souls–if you believed in that sort of thing–retained a modicum of the original identity, but the victim would live out the rest of his or her life with no recollection of any previous existence. I shuddered at the thought.

“What’s going on?” McCormick had circled back around to my position. Rather than answer, I started walking in the direction I had seen Kast last. He was only a hundred yards or so away.

When we were all together, I told them what I had seen.

“Then it’s real,” Kast murmured.

“It’s real all right,” I agreed.

“We’ve got to get them,” McCormick urged. “They’re still members of the team.”

I shook my head. “No, they’re not. First of all, one of them wouldn’t think she was being rescued. She’d probably think we were kidnappers. And as for the other one... well, I have no idea where Officer Mercer took her. She’s probably on her way ‘home’ right now to meet her new parents–not that they’ll realize they’re meeting her. If we try to take her, assuming we could even find her, her parents will have the authorities on us.”

“So it’s one captured and one dead,” Kast summed up.

I nodded. “Remember men, we have a mission to accomplish. It’s the same as Afghanistan: the mission comes first.”

I looked in their eyes to make sure they were on board with that thought. Kast nodded at once, although there was an odd look on his face, as if he was thinking about something besides the mission or our casualties. McCormick nodded reluctantly, but he was a good SEAL: he knew how to take orders.

“All right,” I sighed. “Now, whatever is going on around here seems to center on City Hall. I think we should all take a look around.”

“What if we’re spotted?” McCormick asked.

“Tell them you’re looking for the head–only remember to call it ‘the men’s room.’ Then stay in the head a few minutes and start searching again. Look for anything that looks like a nerve center–communications, defenses, and so on. We’ll meet back right here in one hour. Got it?”

“Yes, sir!” they said in unison. I smiled as they walked away. In spite of my misgivings, both McCormick and Kast were turning out to be pretty good men.

Our search proved easier than I would have thought. There seemed to be little security in the building. Instead, it looked like the typical small town city hall on a warm, late summer afternoon. That isn’t to say doors weren’t locked–some were, but they appeared to be storage areas or utility closets. There was nothing which might be thought of as a command center or defensive stronghold.

As I made my way through the building, I noticed a large number of the shades. As nearly as I could tell, everyone who was real just treated them as if they were normal people. All were uniformly well dressed, looking far more prosperous than I would have imagined them to be. Back where I grew up in Ohio, there were such people, of course, but not as many. According to the briefings, Ovid was an agricultural community with a small but growing manufacturing segment. Could it be that Vulman Industries was doing so well that the entire town was prospering?

The only evidence I saw of any official security was the presence of the local police department, but even there, it seemed as if things were laid back. The only officer on duty was a very, very attractive black woman. Behind the glass at the information window, I could see her concentrating on some paperwork. She didn’t notice me, so I was pretty sure she wasn’t on guard duty. If she were, she was doing a damn poor job of it.

We met back on the street as scheduled and compared stories. Both McCormick and Kast reported the same things I had seen–average Americans going about their daily business. No one had seen anything suspicious or threatening.

“I think it’s some sort of bullshit,” McCormick growled.

“Don’t forget the shades,” Kast cautioned. “They certainly aren’t bullshit. And neither is what happened to Doc and Hernandez.”

“It’s possible that City Hall is just a front,” I theorized. “Maybe the real shots are called from someplace like Vulman Industries.”

McCormick shook his head. “Maybe you’re right, but there’s no way we’ll get in there. A defense plant like that has to be pretty secure.”

“What do they make?” Kast asked casually.

“Auto parts for Fords, mostly,” McCormick told him. “But they also have a military division that makes fuel pumps for aircraft that extends their range.”

I looked at McCormick curiously, surprised that he knew so much about Vulman Industries. That hadn’t been in the briefings. He shrugged and explained, “I’m a stockholder.”

“Wait a minute,” Kast said. “You mean you knew about Ovid before we got here?”

McCormick shook his head. “Nope. According to the annual report, the company is headquartered someplace else–Oklahoma City, I think. I don’t remember any mention of Ovid.”

“Well, no matter what’s at that plant, I doubt if we’d have any chance of getting in,” I decided. “I don’t think we’re going to be able to accomplish anything on our own without weapons.” I silently cursed Jorgenson and her civilian staff who had sent us in with no means to defend ourselves. “If we report back, we may be able to persuade our people to send in an armed force and extract our... men. Let’s go ahead and see if we can get out of this town and report in. Figuring out an exit is the last part of our assignment.”

I got no argument from either of the men. They were as ready as I was to get out of Ovid before something happened to us like what had happened to Doc and Hernandez. As SEALs, we faced death throughout our careers without flinching, but the thought of being changed into teenage girls as Doc and Hernandez had been was enough to make any SEAL cut and run. After all, as girls, we could never be SEALs.

The sun was setting as we reached the outskirts of town. We had stopped off at a convenience store and bought sandwiches and drinks as it had been a long time since our last meal. We made short work of them in a pleasant park called Sooner Park, sitting under a large oak tree that seemed to sigh in the warm summer breezes.

Kast looked a little unnerved as he finished the last of his meal. He kept looking up at the tree.

“Something wrong Kast?” I asked.

He tried to shrug it off. “It’s just this damn tree,” he explained. “I keep thinking it’s watching me–trying to talk to me.”

“That’s weird,” McCormick commented, swallowing half a bag of chips right after he shoved them in with a large, greasy hand.

“In Ovid, everything’s weird,” Kast muttered.

“Then let’s get out of here,” I ordered, pulling myself up off the ground. I didn’t want to admit it, but I had noticed something weird about the tree, too. Could it be that the tree had once been human, too? It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. I remembered an old myth or two where the gods turned someone into a tree or a flower. Maybe Doc and Hernandez had gotten off lightly, just being changed into girls, if having one’s sex changed could ever be called light.

As we walked silently out of town, choosing to cross a field rather than staying on a road, I thought more about that. Like most men, the thought of being changed into a woman was about the worst thing I could imagine. The thought of wearing dresses and makeup and having periods and babies was bad enough, but the real problem was that being a woman meant not being a SEAL. In an age in which women military personnel were ‘manning’ everything from ships to attack fighters, no woman had ever (or hopefully ever would be) a SEAL. It was a bastion of male superiority, where testosterone ruled and estrogen was only good for a one-night stand.

At least that was what most SEALs thought–whether they would admit it or not was another issue. Of course some SEALs married and had nice families, but many didn’t. I had tried it once, marrying a girl I met while stationed in San Diego, but it hadn’t worked out. Jennifer was a good woman, but three years with me were three hard years. The divorce was amicable–or at least as amicable as divorces ever are–with no children to muddy the waters. I hadn’t seen her in four years, ever since the decree had become final.

Being a SEAL was just too damned hard on a marriage. It was nearly impossible for most men to plunge into the rugged mountains of Afghanistan slitting the throats of enemies and blowing up their bases one day, then bouncing a happy innocent child and hugging a sweet, sensitive wife the next.

“Any sign of a barrier?” I asked after we had walked a couple of miles in the evening dusk.

“Nothing,” McCormick replied, looking through a small scope he had produced from his gym bag.

We had nearly crested a hill which would block our view of Ovid at last. If there was a barrier, it had to be close. We were already four or five miles out of town.

Kast spotted the lights first. “There’s a town over there!” Sure enough, spread out before us were the lights of a town, twinkling in the still summer evening air.

“Shit! It’s Ovid,” McCormick growled scoping out the town with night glasses.

I felt my heart sink. “Then the briefing was accurate,” I murmured. “We have to find another way out of town.”

McCormick pocketed the glasses. “Don’t worry, sir. We all knew it might be like this. I’m fine with it if we need to fight our way out of here.”

In spite of myself, I smiled at McCormick. His first impulse was always to fight. Well, at least he had obeyed orders thus far. He had been a good man to have on the mission: he had kept his natural impulses to fight in full check. But maybe it was time to fight now. “And I think I have a way to do it,” I said.

We were a little stiff and hungry the next morning as we set out to execute my plan. We had spent the night under the stars, sleeping surrounded by a clump of bushes to hide us from curious eyes. Breakfast had been cold and basic, consisting of high-energy rations we carried with us, washed down by water. I would have killed for a cup of coffee. With a SEAL, that isn’t always an idle statement.

The plan was simple enough. We were going to steal a car and head out of town. Of course, we knew we would just end up back on the other side of the ‘bubble’ which contained Ovid, but escape in the stolen car was not our objective. According to the briefings, this mysterious judge liked to try his victims in a sham of a traffic court. The victims were hauled in by Officer Mercer and placed before the court where they were inevitably transformed. We were counting on Officer Mercer’s efficiency. He would be made to think he was pursuing a single suspect. When he approached the car though, he would find out there were three of us. I doubted if even a so-called god could best three highly trained SEALs.

Stealing a car was easy enough. Like many small towns, most people didn’t even bother to lock their car doors when they stopped off for something–like breakfast. Ignoring the wonderful greasy smells wafting out of the little hole in the wall called Nellie’s Grill, we picked a rugged-looking GMC Yukon and had it turning over in seconds. I had a sneaky feeling from the efficiency of McCormick’s work that he had picked up the trick on the South Side of Chicago rather than in SEAL training at Coronado.

Kast and I were hunkered down in the back seat, knives at the ready as McCormick screamed out of Ovid as if he were in NASCAR time trials. With grim satisfaction, I could hear the approaching whoop of a police siren. “Is he alone?” I called out to McCormick.

“Seems so,” the big man replied, glancing in the rear-view mirror. “Get ready: he’s almost on us.”

We barely had time to brace before McCormick slammed on the brakes just seconds after we heard the siren go around us and apparently stop in front of us. I looked Kast in the eye, satisfied that he was waiting with grim determination.

By all rights, the trick should have worked. I had used variations of it in three different countries. It would have worked in Ovid, too, if it wasn’t for Officer Mercer. As expected, he got out of his patrol car and sauntered over to our car. I could tell from the sound of his footsteps approaching in the loose gravel: I had heard the sound before. After all, he was the authority–he was the cop. Even if he had his holster unstrapped (as any competent cop would have), he would have no reason to believe that there were two men, armed with knives and experts at hand-to-hand combat, waiting for him in the back seat.

In a moment, we would swing the door open, catching him off balance. Then McCormick would open the front door, knocking him to the ground. Dazed and on his back, he would have two knives at his throat before his heart could beat twice. With him as a hostage, he’d escort us out of Ovid where we would be able to report in and complete our mission. Then the brass in Washington could figure out what the next move should be. The plan went wrong from the get-go. Certain that he was close enough to nail with the door, I threw it open, surprised when it hit only air. I heard McCormick’s door open before I could get on my feet, but instead of finding Officer Mercer lying stunned on the ground, I found McCormick there, trying to catch his breath. Kast was right behind me, and I was startled to hear him yelp as something shot past me. I heard his knife go skittering across the top of the car, landing with a dull thud some distance away.

There was no time to think. We had underestimated our foe, and only blind luck could save us now. Officer Mercer was moving too fast to see, so I made a wild wide swing in the hopes of at least disabling him. Luck wasn’t with me. In retrospect, it couldn’t have been. Unless I had been able to move and think as quickly as Officer Mercer, he could have avoided any thrust I made. I grunted as my wrist was suddenly jerked, causing my own blade to go flying. An instant later, Officer Mercer was standing there a few feet from us, gun drawn. He wasn’t even breathing hard.

I still wasn’t willing to concede that the masters of Ovid were gods, but I was more than willing to admit that Officer Mercer would have made one hell of a SEAL.

As we all regained our wits, Officer Mercer surprised us by putting the gun away, a grim smile on his lips. None of us made a move toward him, though. Any attack would have been futile. Even McCormick, as aggressive as he was, knew better than to challenge this... whatever he was.

“In the car, please,” Officer Mercer ordered emotionlessly, nodding toward the back seat of his patrol car. Meekly, we obeyed.

None of us spoke on the way back into town. Unlike most of the people Officer Mercer must have detained over the years, we knew we weren’t on our way to traffic court where a hefty fine and points off our licenses would be the order of the day. If the course of events ran as we had been told in the briefings, we would soon be on trial for auto theft and assaulting a police officer. Then, this mysterious judge would utter a few words that sounded vaguely like Latin and we would all find ourselves in strange bodies with tailor-made lives awaiting us.

So what sort of a life would I be condemned to? That was what was on my mind. And would I remember who I had been? Apparently many did not. To lose one’s identity in such a way was tantamount to a death sentence in my book. Still, it might be preferable to some of the things this judge might decide to turn us into.

It looked as if Doc and Hernandez had been changed into young girls. I assumed one of them remembered who she had been before and the other one didn’t. But which was which? Would we all be young girls just like them? It seemed a fate even worse than death. It wasn’t that I had anything against girls, really. Like all red-blooded American boys, I liked girls just fine. I just didn’t want to be one. Besides, even worse than having periods and wearing skirts and makeup, girls couldn’t be SEALs.

I expected to be led directly to the courtroom, and my expectations were met–sort of. The courtroom was empty, and Officer Mercer led us to the front of the room through a door which I was sure led to the judge’s chambers. I felt a strange sense of relief at this. According to the briefing material, this judge always made the transformations in the courtroom. Perhaps we were to be spared. Or perhaps not.

I thought seriously about trying to make a break for it, but I doubted if it would do any good. Officer Mercer had defeated all three of us, and we had possessed weapons then. And who could possibly outrun him anyway? Besides, there was something in my mind that seemed to be pushing me to cooperate. Had others felt this in the past? No mention had been made of it. Was it possible that Officer Mercer was using some subtle form of mind control? It would explain how one being–no matter how powerful–could keep several people under control at once.

At least we would at last meet the infamous judge. I had tried to conjure up a mental picture of him since no description had been given to us. It was hard for me to imagine the leader of the Roman gods as a judge. Every picture I had ever seen of Jupiter showed him as a powerful but older man, usually with gray hair and a gray beard, trimmed in either Greek or Roman fashion. Instead, I pictured him on the bench as an elderly, corpulent presence, with a dour expression and daunting manner.

Given such an image, I was very surprised by The Judge when I met him. He had surrounded himself with an office which managed to be comfortable, official, and masculine all at the same time. Green leather chairs were arranged neatly in front of a large oak desk. The desk was framed with the flags of the United States and the State of Oklahoma, giving it the look of normalcy which set us somewhat at ease. His office looked like anyone would expect an American magistrate’s office to look like. I suppose I had been half-expecting something out of a Roman temple, complete with oil lamps and glaring statues.

Standing before the desk was a man of middle years wearing a tasteful dark blue suit of an expensive cut, accented with a blue oxford shirt and fashionable red and blue patterned tie. He was well built, just as all the statues and drawings of Jupiter indicated, but his dark hair and beard, salted with just a distinguished amount of gray, and his gold-rimmed glasses made him look mortal–but still imposing. He stood an inch or two above my six-one stature, making him tall but not as tall as McCormick.

“Welcome to Ovid,” he said in a deep, rich voice, extending his hand.

I shook it. His hand felt warm and normal–his handshake firm but not uncomfortably so. He smiled as he locked onto my eyes with his steel blue ones. Then he repeated the ritual with Kast and McCormick.

“Please be seated, gentlemen,” he offered, motioning to the chair before his desk as he took his own seat. “Would you care for coffee? My secretary would usually get some for you, but she is out of town for a few days. However, I’m sure we can manage some coffee for you.”

We looked at each other, unsure as to what to make of all of this. Each of us then nodded slowly, surprised as Officer Mercer produced a tray with three steaming cups which he offered to each of us. We hadn’t seen him leave the room or return, but there he was with our coffee.

“Could I get some cre...” McCormick began before looking into his cup, already lightened with cream.

“I think you’ll find it to your liking, gentlemen,” The Judge told us. “Two spoons of sugar for you, Petty Officer Kast, and cream and sugar for you, Petty Officer McCormick. As for you, Lieutenant Harmon, just black coffee, although it is your favorite Kona blend.”

“Nice trick,” I commented, sipping the coffee. Maybe I should have worried about the beverage being drugged, but I figured if he wanted to shoot us up with something to make us talk, Officer Mercer could slip us a needle before we ever saw it coming.

“It’s not really a trick,” The Judge said with a pleasant smile. “It’s all here.” He pointed at three files on his desk. “Everything about your lives is here,” he went on. “Your history, your preferences, your hopes, your fears, your weaknesses–all here.”

“The files don’t look very thick,” McCormick noticed.

“The print is quite small,” The Judge replied cryptically.

“Okay,” I said bluntly. “Now that we’ve all made nice, what is it you want of us?”

The Judge looked at me carefully, and although there was no malice in his gaze, I couldn’t help being reminded of the way a small boy studies an insect. To say it was an uncomfortable stare would be an understatement. At last he nodded, “Very well, Lieutenant, I’ll get right to the point. I want some information from you.”

I remained silent. In the movies, this would be the place where I’d defiantly spout out my name, rank and serial number. That didn’t seem like a good idea right at that moment. Besides, it wasn’t really SOP and hadn’t been for years. The Code of Conduct for prisoners of war merely states that such information can be given, but not that it has to be given. More important is the concept of evading further questions to the best of one’s ability. That I fully intended to do.

“I want to know about Admiral Nepper,” he announced.

I was somewhat surprised by the request. I decided it wouldn’t hurt to answer him on this one. “He’s in Naval Intelligence,” I told him, “but I suspect you already know that.”

“And did he assign you to this mission?”

“Can’t you just read our minds?” I returned.

The Judge frowned. “Normally, yes,” he replied honestly. “But something seems to be blocking us. Now, did Admiral Nepper assign you to this mission?”

“I don’t know Admiral Nepper,” I replied honestly.

While there was no surprise in his expression, there was something else... it was as if I had confirmed his suspicions. I hadn’t intended to do that.

“Then who did you get your orders from?” he demanded.

I remained silent.

“Where is Petty Officer Steele?” Now it was my turn to attempt to hide my expression of surprise. How did he know about Steele? Of course he knew about Steele, I realized. He probably had a file on him as well. I remained silent, though, not wanting to even acknowledge that Steele existed.

The Judge relaxed in his chair, studying each of our faces. “Since you won’t give me any information, perhaps I should give you some. Admiral Nepper selected each of you for this mission. It was to be his mission to supervise, but for some reason he was removed from the assignment. Do you know why he selected each of you?”

We all remained silent, but of course, we really wanted the answer to that question. As luck would have it, the answer was forthcoming.

The Judge pulled out another file, distributing a copy of a newspaper clipping to each of us. I looked at mine. It was an article from my hometown paper back in Ohio: ‘Local Man Killed in Afghanistan’ the headline blared. Of course, the picture was of me. Looking at McCormick and Kast, I could tell from their expressions that they had received similar news about themselves.

“Any novelty store can do this,” I commented tossing the disturbing article on his desk.

The Judge actually smiled at that. “Yes, but you know this is not the work of a novelty shop, don’t you, Lieutenant?”

I remained silent. He was right, of course. I don’t know how I knew: I just knew. And looking at the others, I could see I wasn’t alone.

“Because of your knowledge of Ovid,” The Judge continued, “I believe we can dispense with the necessity of a formal trial. I would rather settle all of this out of court. Here is what I’m offering you. If you won’t answer my questions, you will be transformed into citizens of Ovid at my whim. You may even lose your mental identities, resulting in what some have likened to a death sentence. In fact, the odds are fairly high that this will be the result.”

I thought again of Doc and Hernandez, where one of them almost certainly had suffered such a fate.

“On the other hand, should any one of you choose to cooperate, I will agree to change each of you into a citizen of Ovid using the least invasive method I can think of. You will be able to keep your present identities and we will even find suitable jobs for you.”

“I suppose getting out of Ovid as we are isn’t an option,” McCormick muttered.

“I’m afraid not,” The Judge sighed. Then, he turned his gaze intently on McCormick. “Well, Petty Officer McCormick? This is your last chance. Will you tell me what I want to know?”

“Go fuck yourself,” McCormick said so calmly I could only smile in respect.

The Judge waved his right hand at McCormick while uttering a something that sounded sort of like Latin. Kast and I stood transfixed as McCormick began to shimmer and change. It was almost like watching an old television set where the picture goes out of focus and skews. McCormick appeared to be in a trance, his eyes rolling back into his head as his body lightened and shrank. His clothes were changing as well, his huge tennis shoes becoming black and shiny as his shirt and trousers lightened, becoming a soft pink.

All in all, the transformation took less than a minute. Where once a giant of a man had stood, there was now a small, fragile-looking girl–white with long medium blonde hair arranged so that she looked a little like Alice in Wonderland. Her dress was as feminine as feminine could be, with matching pink socks and little black Mary Jane shoes.

“Who am I?” the little girl cried out, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. “What have you done to me?”

“Your name is Michelle Darling,” The Judge told her, a wicked little smile on his lips. “You’re five years old and will be starting kindergarten right away.”

“I’m not a little girl! Change me back!” Her voice was becoming nearly hysterical. In spite of what it would have meant, I was almost wishing that she had been deprived of her memories. What she had become was as opposite of her former self as anyone could be. I realized with deep concern that a similar fate probably awaited Kast and me.

There was a knock at the door. Officer Mercer opened it, admitting a distraught-looking woman–one of the shades. When she spotted the little girl, she sighed in relief. “Oh, Michelle baby, how could you have wandered off like that?”

“I’m not Michelle!” the new girl cried.

The woman ignored her. “Oh honey, you can’t run off like that. What if you’d been hit by a car?” She rushed to the little girl and hugged her tightly as she knelt, muffling the youngster’s protests with her breasts. Holding the girl as if she would never let go, the woman looked up at The Judge. “I’m sorry, your honor. I was shopping at March’s and she wandered away. I really try to be a good mother.”

The Judge nodded sympathetically, playing his own part to the hilt. “I know you are, Mrs. Darling. Michelle has always been a handful, especially with her imagination. Why, she tried to tell us she wasn’t really Michelle.”

Mrs. Darling nodded with understanding. “I don’t know where she came up with that game. Raymond and I thought it was cute at first, but lately she’s been playing it way too much. We... we’ve been thinking about getting professional help for her.”

The Judge shook his head. “I don’t think that will be necessary. She’s just adjusting to her identity. A lot of children go through that, you know.”

Mrs. Darling smiled, picking up the little girl who had nearly exhausted herself in tears. “Thank you for understanding, your honor.”

The Judge smiled. “Any time, Mrs. Darling. Say hello to Raymond for me.”

She smiled happily and left as Officer Mercer closed the door behind her.

“Now who is next?” The Judge asked. “How about you, Petty Officer Kast?”

I expected Kast to fold. Sure, he had been good on the mission–better than I had expected–but his record spoke for itself. He would cave in: I was sure of it. He wasn’t even a career SEAL. He had a good life waiting for him when his hitch was up. He’d fold. He had to.

He didn’t.

His eyes darted back and forth for a few moments, as if he was trying to think of what to do. At last, he replied softly, “I have nothing to say.”

The Judge raised an eyebrow. I think he, too, was a little surprised. “Are you sure?” he asked Kast quietly.

Kast shifted nervously.

“It might not be quite what you envisioned,” he said cryptically.

“I’ll take my chances,” Kast replied evenly, but I could tell something about his decision was bothering him.

“Last chance,” The Judge prompted.

“Just do it!”

Kast began to change, but not exactly like McCormick had changed. Instead, while he grew shorter, he was still about five feet tall. His hair had become black as night and thick, long and straight. His features were changing, becoming more feminine while his skin took on a coppery tone. His clothing changed as well, becoming a black tank top and a black miniskirt. Instead of heavy shoes, he now sported worn, cheap sandals open at the toe where small brown toes peeked out covered in chipped pink polish.

The girl he had become was thin with small breasts and fairly narrow hips. She appeared to be in her teens, but where in her teens was indeterminate. Her clothing was rather worn, looking as if it had seen years of wear, perhaps from an older sister. While not unattractive, the girl looked as if she came from a financially disadvantaged family, where there simply wasn’t enough money to provide her with the things that made girls look their best.

“You are Maria Lone Feather,” The Judge told her. “You are fourteen, living here in town with your aunt since your parents decided Ovid schools would be preferable to the reservation schools.”

Kast looked down at herself, studying the cheap jewelry and worn clothing that were now hers. “Can I go now?” she asked softly.

The Judge handed her a card. “Yes, you may go. This card will direct you to your aunt’s trailer. Your life will be a hard one.”

For someone like Kast, raised in an affluent home, the change of race and financial status might have been more difficult than the change of sex. Still, he seemed to accept the burden without protest. Before he left, he looked back at me and mouthed, “Good luck.”

I nodded in respect. I hoped that I could accept whatever The Judge had in store for me as well as Kast had.

“So it comes down to you, Lieutenant,” The Judge said, turning his full attention to me. He glanced down at his file. “You’ve led an interesting life, Lieutenant.”

He was going to work on me, I realized. He had wanted me to be the one to break all along. Of course, I was the officer in charge. I presumably knew more than any of my men about the mission. I was potentially the best source of information. He had made me watch as he impatiently transformed two of my men, giving them lives which would be sheer hell for them. McCormick would be weak and tiny and raised to be highly feminine. Kast would find his life of privilege a thing of the past, living out an existence in borderline poverty. As for me... well, he had to have something even worse planned for me, I thought.

But I had been trained to withstand interrogation. Granted, my superiors had never anticipated the threat of transformation, but I was sure this tin-pot god, or whatever he was, couldn’t break me–even if he planned to change me into a female.

Of course, like any normal man, I had no desire to be a woman. Womanhood offered me nothing and took away from me the one thing I lived for–the opportunity to be a SEAL. But if I had been blinded in an explosion on a mission, or lost a leg to a land mine, wouldn’t I be equally deprived of the opportunity to be a SEAL? I had to look at my situation just like that–my transformation would be like a serious wound. I would not break.

That was what I told myself over and over as The Judge looked through my file. “You had a rather hard childhood according to this,” he commented. “Your father was an alcoholic–he beat your mother severely on many occasions. You were an only child.”

I remained quiet, just sitting in the comfortable chair and glaring at him. There was nothing to say. The Judge was probing, looking for something which might get a rise out of me. I wasn’t going to give it to him.

“Did you know, Lieutenant, that the reason you were an only child is the beating your mother received from him when you were only three damaged her so badly that the doctors were forced to perform a hysterectomy?”

I hadn’t known it. I was sure my mother covered for my father that time, just like she always covered for him. She made excuses for him until the day he died in an accident at the steel mill where he worked. I loved my mother and despised my father, but I never had any respect for my mother. The way she put up with the beatings was unconscionable. She could have made him stop, just like I did when I managed to knock him out when I was only twelve. But she was too weak-willed to make him stop–just like many women I knew.

For someone who couldn’t read my thoughts, The Judge seemed to know exactly what I was thinking. “You showed remarkable courage when you stopped him from beating you.”

“I surprised him,” I replied. “He didn’t expect me to have that frying pan in my hand. I knocked him out cold, and he had been so drunk, he didn’t remember it the next day. But he must have sensed something, because he never went after me again.”

“But he continued to abuse your mother,” he pointed out.

“She wouldn’t tell him to stop,” I said simply. Fortunately, it wasn’t a long-term problem. He died in that accident just three months later. If he had lived, I would have probably had to kill him before he could kill my mother. As it was, she wasn’t very healthy for the remainder of her life, dying in her late forties, right after I graduated from the Academy.

“Yet you never abused your wife,” The Judge mused.

“I’m not my father,” I replied simply. I knew where he was going with that. Many abused boys become abusers themselves: it’s all they know. I had made a vow to myself as I watched my father being lowered into the ground that I would never be like him. I would work hard and study hard, staying out of the mills and making the most of my opportunities. I had done just that–top ten percent of my high school graduating class, All-State in high school football, good grades at the Academy, coupled with an outstanding collegiate football career, and finally the SEALs where I was tested every day.

“No you’re not,” The Judge said quietly. “Lieutenant Harmon, you’ve wanted your entire life to prove yourself. Given your family background, you’ve done that very well. What if I were to tell you that by giving me the information I need, you’d be doing a great service for your country and your race?”

I hadn’t expected that. My eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

The Judge looked at me evenly. “I would ask you to accept for a moment the idea that my associates and I have access to something that will allow us to see the future. Can you accept that?”

“Yes,” I replied, and I meant it. Any beings who could shut an entire town off from the rest of the world and change interlopers into other people could probably see the future as well. It was no leap of logic to accept such a power, given what I had already experienced.

Satisfied that I was being honest, he told me, “For centuries, my kind has stayed in the background. Our powers were neither needed nor desired by most of mankind. You could call it a form of retirement. Oh, we would step on the stage of history every now and then, just to keep our hand in things. Some of the scientists, poets, and artists in your history have been what your kind would call gods. We even became involved in a more direct way two thousand years ago, but have since decided direct involvement could be counterproductive.”

I wasn’t able to catch his meaning with that last remark, but I sensed from his tone that the results of the ‘involvement’ might have been not exactly what the gods had expected.

“Then a few years ago,” he went on, “we sensed a very serious threat which could have devastating effects on both your race and our own.” He motioned toward a computer monitor on his credenza–a monitor that I was sure had not been there before. The picture was in color, and what it showed was a large American-style skyline transforming into dust and blowing away in what was obviously a nuclear wind. The scene changed to another city–a middle eastern city which I was reasonably sure was Teheran. It, too, disintegrated in a nuclear fireball.

“The war for the last of the Earth’s oil is coming,” The Judge told me.

“War between America and Iran?” I asked.

“Among others,” The Judge replied. “Europe, Russia, China, even India will all be major players, shifting sides back and forth, trying to seek some advantage to keep their economies moving, but nothing will work. What starts as a conventional conflict will quickly escalate. Within three terrible years, all but the most backward parts of this world will be devastated beyond anyone’s imagining. Even in the areas which survive, mutations and collapse of local economies will be the order of the day.”

“Isn’t there any way of stopping it?” I asked, spellbound in spite of myself by the scenes of mindless destruction as I watched a futuristic Rome, Moscow, London, New York, and Damascus disappear from the world.

The Judge allowed a small, grim smile. “There may be. The future is not cast in stone. That is what we seek to prevent. You can help us prevent it, you know.”

“When will all of this happen?”

“In about sixty or seventy years,” he answered too surely. “We have already done a few required things which have put off the holocaust by a decade or so. However, unless something drastic is done, the world will inevitably plunge into a cataclysmic war before the end of this century.”

I thought about what he was showing me. Of course, there was a chance that what he was showing me wasn’t real. But somehow, I knew that it was real–all of it. Could it be that my men had been changed against their wills while working for the wrong side? Of course, the United States was well-intentioned. Most nations were. But good intentions appeared to be insufficient to prevent the world from sliding into what amounted to total destruction.

“Will you help us?” The Judge asked softly.

Even if I wanted to help him, what could I do? He wanted to know where Steele was. I couldn’t be sure even if I told him everything I knew. As for who had assigned us to this mission, he didn’t really need me to tell him the answer. If Admiral Nepper was part of his operation, he must surely have others embedded who could tell him the name. As for our mission, I was beginning to think our mission was doomed from the start, with a meaningless objective and insufficient preparation.

And above all, I was a SEAL. I had taken an oath to follow the orders of those appointed over me. It was not my duty to decide to collaborate with someone who might be an enemy. At last, I shook my head. “I’m sorry: I have nothing to say.”

The Judge was silent for a moment before raising his hand toward me. “I’m sorry, too,” was all he said to me. I was suddenly jerked out of my chair to a standing position.

Twice I had seen The Judge transform men before my eyes, but now I was the target. What would I become? Would I become a small child like McCormick? Would I be a teenager like Doc and Hernandez? Or perhaps like Kast, I’d be transformed into a disadvantaged member of some minority race. No matter what my circumstances, I was almost certain I would be female. The Judge seemed to delight in turning men into women.

Yes, it was happening. There was no pain, but I could feel a strange tingling sensation, sort of like when your foot is asleep, but the tingling washed over my entire body. I could move, but only very slowly, and my actions were limited. I managed to look down at my chest in time to see two substantial breasts growing there under my shirt. I was able to watch as my shirt changed as well, becoming white, lacy and a little sheer, exposing the faint outline of a white bra covering my new breasts.

I had expected to feel pain as my anatomy changed in the most telling way of all, but there was only a tickling sensation between my legs as my penis and testicles retreated into a new opening, obviously forming into their female equivalents.

I could feel other changes as well, all happening at the same time. My hair became longer, tickling as it grew down my neck and over my back and shoulders. For a proper SEAL, it was as alien to have long, soft hair as it was to have new plumbing between my legs.

I could feel my heels rising up slightly, but I didn’t seem any taller. In fact, I suspected I had lost several inches in height. A breeze was at my legs, caused by the transformation of my trousers as they re-knit themselves into what was obviously a knee-length skirt. My legs seemed to be wrapped in something, and I knew without looking that I now wore nylons.

I was suddenly able to move freely again, just as something poked through my ears leaving small weights on my lobes. My first action was just to close my eyes and sigh, trying to reconcile what had just been done to me with what I knew of the physical sciences. Since I could not, I had to accept in that unreal moment the absolute power of magic.

“You brought this on yourself, you know,” The Judge told me.

I was barely listening to him, concerned instead about what I had become. I was a woman now: that much was painfully clear. But what sort of a woman had I become? At least I was an adult, I realized. Unlike McCormick, I wasn’t a young child, and unlike the others in my team. Both my figure and my clothing seemed too mature to be a teen.

I realized suddenly that I was old enough to be married. In fear, I looked down at my left hand. To my relief, my ring finger was bare. But to my consternation, the hand was slim and delicate, with subtly feminine fingernails coated in frosted silver. This was a hand that had never held an automatic weapon and would probably chip a nail trying to throw a grenade.

“If you want to know who you are, I suggest you look in your purse,” The Judge said matter-of-factly, nodding toward a brown leather shoulder bag lying on the edge of his desk.

Without replying, I snatched the purse, rummaging past the tissues and cosmetics inside it to a slim woman’s wallet. It only took me a moment to find ‘my’ driver’s license. The picture showed a rather plain-looking woman, and I found I was uncharacteristically concerned that I wasn’t better looking. Then I remembered that pictures on driver’s licenses were invariably poor. A second look revealed fairly short brown hair trimmed in a decidedly feminine fashion, large dark eyes, a slender, attractive face, and a friendly smile. I might not be Miss America, but I wasn’t too shabby.

My name was listed as Gabriella Leone. I was thirty-three years old, so I had lost four years. According to the license, I didn’t wear glasses and had no physical impairments. I lived on Whippoorwill Road–a street I remembered passing when we had walked into town. At least I lived in a nice if modest neighborhood. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to get done,” The Judge said gruffly.

“But, what do I do now?” I asked, hearing for the first time my sweet, feminine voice.

The Judge looked at me with an expression of bland indifference. “Why, you do whatever you want to do.” Then he added, “Officer Mercer will take you back to your school.”

School?

Officer Mercer took me gently by the arm and led me out of the room. As we walked, I felt for the first time the sensations naturally-born women must take for granted. There was the feel of my hair bouncing up and down as it tickled my neck and ears. There was the odd sensation of something tugging lightly at my earlobes. Then even more pronounced, was the exaggerated feeling of movement from parts of my body–my breasts, my hips, my ass, and even my waist. I knew deep down that the movement wasn’t as great as it seemed, but the obvious changes in my body structure blew the sensations out of proportion.

Then there were my clothes–while my shirt–blouse if you will–didn’t seem too different from what I had worn as a male, the skirt was completely alien. Although I realized it was fairly conservative, its openness made me feel as if I was wearing nothing at all below my waist. I thought with horror how easy it would be for a big man like Officer Mercer to throw me on my back, lift that flimsy skirt, and enjoy my new sex before I could manage to get my new weaker muscles to mount any defense. No wonder many women live in fear of a sexual assault.

Perhaps the oddest sensations of all though, were my heels and nylons. I realized I was wearing pantyhose–I could feel them clinging to my thighs and rubbing against my panties. There was no equivalent sensation in my experience wearing men’s clothing. It wasn’t really an unpleasant sensation–just odd. As for the heels, they required me to walk in an entirely different fashion, shifting my weight subtly to maintain proper balance–a difficult task given the new width of my hips and the expanse of my breasts.

As Officer Mercer held the front door of his car open for me, I tried to remember how women got into cars. I didn’t want to put on a show for the small crowd of onlookers, many of whom might have a pretty good idea what had just happened to me. I actually did a credible job of slipping in with unaccustomed but necessary feminine decorum.

“Where are we going?” I asked once Officer Mercer had started the car.

“Orion Middle School,” he told me. “You teach geography.”

Geography? It seemed like a thankless job, I thought, remembering my own experiences in geography many years ago. Besides, why geography? I knew nothing about the subject to speak of. It was bad enough that I had been changed into a woman against my will, but now I was expected to stand up before a class of smart-assed kids and talk about a subject I was unqualified to teach. The Judge had really dumped on me, it seemed.

Officer Mercer had nothing further to say as he drove me to the start of my new life. Of course, I had nothing to say to him, either. I was too busy trying to withdraw into my own mind–my masculine mind–where none of this was real. As a result, when he stopped in front of a fairly new single-level school where a sign in front announced ‘Home of the Orion Centaurs,’ I simply exited the car and walked into the building without a backward glance.

Later, I found out I had unintentionally surrendered myself into some form of autonomic control the locals laughing called either “autopilot” or “cruise control.” I suppose it was for the best, because I didn’t even have to ask for directions to my classroom. Classes were apparently already underway. I stood just outside the classroom door as the auto-control faded away.

A middle-aged woman with short, dark hair and a pair of glasses attached to a thin gold chain stopped what she was saying to the class and turned to me. “Class, study that map of the Caribbean I gave you for a moment, please.”

As the sound of paper being shuffled grew louder, the woman hurried to the hallway where I was waiting. “Well see, Gabby? That didn’t take so long after all, did it?”

“Uh... no,” I stammered, unsure of what she was talking about.

“Jury duty seldom takes very long in The Judge’s court,” she went on smugly. “Well, I’m glad you got back early. Sam is taking me out to dinner tonight. As nice as it is to take over your classes for a day, it will be good to get home and take a nice warm bath before Sam gets home.” She smiled and gave me a little wave before leaving.

It finally dawned on me what had just happened. Gabriella Leone–the shade Gabby–had to be gone for a while to allow for my entrance. Apparently everyone who was either a shade or a transformed person who had no memories of a previous life–like the woman I had just spoken with–would believe I had been on jury duty for the day. Of course, anyone who retained their memories of previous lives would probably suspect what was going on. In fact, they would know it the minute they saw Gabby Leone was no longer a shade.

That meant a number of the students in my classes would know. But would they suspect I had once been a man? It was embarrassing enough to find myself transformed into a woman without having people snicker about it behind my back.

Then I realized that a significant number of my students would have had the same thing happen to them. The Judge seemed to enjoy changing men into women, so how many of the cute little teen girls in my class remembered having a dick between their legs?

In spite of my rationalizations, I nearly bolted and ran from the school. I had no desire to pretend to be a woman. Besides, I knew nothing about teaching geography. But, I reasoned, there was no immediate escape from Ovid. While in the town, I would have to eat, have to have a place to live. That would take money. At least as a teacher, I’d be able to support myself while...

While what?

I tried to put what had happened to me in a military perspective. It was as if I had been captured by the enemy and placed in some bizarre prison camp. As a military officer, it was my duty to escape. But that would take planning and possibly the help of my fellow military prisoners. In the meantime, I would have to appear as if I had accepted my imprisonment. I would have to play the part I had been given, to lull the enemy into a false sense of security. In short, I would have to be Gabriella Leone–at least for the time being.

I strode into the classroom, trying to look confident. I couldn’t help but notice several members of the class were giving me knowing looks, as if their suspicions had been confirmed. I even saw one girl slip a couple of dollars to a grinning boy–probably the result of a bet as to what had happened to their teacher. Of course, many just looked like normal students–except for the ones who looked a little transparent. But all of them looked like a typical middle school class–bored and restless.

“All right then,” I said, standing before the class, “where did Mrs. ...” I suddenly realized I didn’t know the substitute’s name. “Where did you all leave off?”

“We were talking about Cuba,” one sweet little blonde girl piped up. Her bright manner and cheery smile were the marks of a girl who wanted to succeed in her class work. I made a mental note to get her name. She would be a good go-to person for a correct answer.

“Nah, we were talking about Haiti,” a boy near the back of the room stated.

“You were talking about Haiti,” the blonde said coolly. “The rest of us were talking about Cuba.”

That got a chuckle from some of the other students.

“Let’s see what you know about Haiti then,” I challenged the boy.

It led to a good discussion. I was surprised the boy actually knew quite a bit about the tiny, troubled nation. In fact, I found myself really getting into the discussion with them. It did help that I had been on covert missions in both countries, plus a couple of other island nations in the region, so I found I was able to give the class quite a bit of information not included in their textbooks. We had moved on to a discussion of some of the economic problems faced by a number of nations in the region when the bell rang.

The class time had actually gone by very smoothly, and I noticed a little smile of relief from several of the students who I suspected retained their old memories. I think they feared I would not live up to the reputation of someone I suspected had been a popular teacher. I just hoped I could keep it up.

I hurriedly went through my lesson planner, happy to note that it was now the last period of the day–a free period for me. It gave me the opportunity to study the seating chart and review what was expected of the classes. The more I learned, the more I actually began to look at my assignment as an acceptable challenge. I had taught a little in the Navy, so I wasn’t entirely new at the game. But teaching a bunch of middle school students would be different from teaching a bunch of SEAL trainees. For one thing, there was no forced military discipline in my new classroom. I would have to develop a teaching style compatible with my teenage students. It wouldn’t be easy, but I’d find a way.

Not that I had given up my plans to escape. No, I still planned to do that, but where was it written that I couldn’t enjoy myself while formulating that escape plan? To be honest, teaching the class had been an entertaining experience, and I suspected the students in this school were probably of a higher caliber than those found in most schools.

The only thing that continued to gnaw at me was the realization that even if I escaped, I would still be a woman. There seemed to be no escape from that. But if I had understood The Judge correctly, this Admiral Nepper was possibly in our custody. If so, perhaps some sort of a deal could be made. Perhaps my men and I could be changed back into our masculine selves in return for this admiral. If that didn’t work, there had to be some other way back to masculinity. The key thing was to complete our mission and escape any way possible.

Just after the final bell rang and the gaggle of students had mostly rushed from the building, I heard a girl’s voice from the doorway. “Hi.”

I looked up. It was one of the girls I had seen leaving The Judge’s office the day before. I was sure she was either Doc or Hernandez. Whoever she was, she just stood there looking at me quizzically.

“Hi yourself,” I answered cautiously.

She stared at me. “You don’t know me, do you?”

She hadn’t been in my only class that afternoon. I couldn’t very well fake it, so I remained silent. My silence was all the answer she needed.

“Who are you? Kast? McCormick? Lieutenant Harmon?” she asked.

“I’m Harmon,” I replied, knowing her to be one of my former men and relieved that she had kept her own memories. “Who are you?”

“I’m Doc,” she replied. “You’ll have Hernandez in your nine o’clock class. He’s Heather Abbot now and doesn’t remember a thing about his real life.”

“Kast and McCormick remember, but McCormick is a five-year-old white girl now.”

In spite of our situations, the girl–Doc–giggled. “That’s got to really piss McCormick off.”

I actually smiled. “I think he’s more pissed to find himself white than he is about being a girl.”

“I’m not surprised,” she responded, looking out into a quiet hall. “Just about everyone else has left. We’d better get out of here before the custodians lock up the building. Let’s go home.”

“Home?”

She closed her eyes and sighed, “Oh that’s right. You don’t know, do you? You see, you’re my mom.”

“It’s ironic when you think about it,” she began once we were in the car. She pushed back a pretty lock of hair in a surprisingly feminine gesture. “You were in charge of me on the mission, and now after all The Judge did to us, you’re still in charge of me.”

I just nodded. It was bad enough to be a woman. I certainly hadn’t bargained on being a mother. Not wanting kids was one of many things that caused my marriage to go sour.

“Turn left at the next corner,” she directed me. “Our house is the third one on the right.” She pointed with a polished nail, coated in bright red.

“You seem to be taking this in stride,” I pointed out.

“So are you,” she replied. “I think it’s part of the magic. I mean, just think about what a mess this place would be if every guy who got changed into a girl was running around town whining about it. I think we’re given something like a tranquilizer to make us more receptive to the changes.”

“Sort of like brainwashing.”

“Sort of,” she agreed, “but a lot more sophisticated. For example, have you gone to the bathroom yet?”

I shook my head.

“When you do, you’ll find out it just seems right to sit to pee. And when you’re finished, you’ll probably just wipe without even thinking about it. All the easy stuff is taken care of.”

As I pulled up in front of a modest, older house with a matching detached garage, I ventured, “Yeah, but what about...”

“Periods?” she asked bluntly.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know,” she said softly. “I guess we don’t have them for the first couple of months we’re here. At least that’s what some of the changed girls at school told me. I think they’re afraid that will really freak us out. Also, it keeps us from getting pregnant until we’ve learned how to handle our bodies.”

“Pregnant?” I practically yelled as we got out of the car. I hadn’t even considered that possibility. To get pregnant, you had to have sex with a man. I had no intention of doing something as perverted as that. After all, I wasn’t a queer.

Wait a minute. I had a daughter. That meant... “Oh god! Doc, I’m not married or anything, am I?”

“No,” she laughed. “As nearly as I can tell, dear old dad died in a plane crash a couple of years ago. I guess the insurance money has started running a little low. That’s why you went back to teaching instead of being a stay-at-home mom.”

“Thank god for that!” I exclaimed as we walked in the house. I couldn’t imagine staying home all day being Susie Homemaker.

Doc gave me a sly grin. “But you do have a boyfriend...”

“Oh shit!”

I wanted to hear Doc’s story. He–she–had been in her new form for more than a day and had obviously learned some valuable information. But before I listened to her story, I wanted to get out of the feminine outfit I was wearing. A skirt and heels didn’t seem like the right clothing to wear to a debriefing. Doc giggled (that’s right–giggled!) at my distaste for traditional feminine attire and elected to remain in her short little denim skirt and pink tank top.

As I stripped out of my school clothes, I realized I was to be immersed in things womanly and fragrant. My bedroom smelled of distinctly feminine scents I had not experienced since my marriage broke up. With no husband to tone things down, the room had more frills than an old-fashioned woman’s petticoat. I’d have to make some changes to all of that, I told myself.

I stripped down to the basic bra and panties, pleased to see that my new undies were not too outlandishly feminine–if you ignored the little bow and flower sewed into the center of my bra. Still, I nearly cringed at the soft, smooth curves of my body. I was obviously in pretty good shape, but it wasn’t a shape I had ever wanted to have for my very own.

I even managed to go to the head–excuse me–the bathroom without cringing too much. Doc was right: it didn’t seem all that unnatural. I was pleased to note that the experience wasn’t as odd as I had thought it would be, but it wasn’t something I ever wanted to try while standing up in this body.

I dressed quickly, relieved to see among all the feminine finery there was an ample supply of jeans and sweatshirts. The jeans were excruciatingly tight in the ass and the crotch, but I managed, slipping on a white sweatshirt emblazoned with a purple Kansas State wildcat, which was long enough to hide my rather nice ass. I slipped on a pair of sweat socks as well, electing to go without shoes when I noticed the only tennis ones in the closet had pink laces.

Doc was pouring two diet sodas in the kitchen when I rejoined her. I couldn’t help but think how much she looked like Buffy’s sister with her long brown hair and delicate features. Her movements were decidedly feminine, as she deftly brushed a lock of hair away without spilling a drop. ‘Was something similar happening to me?’ I wondered. ‘Would observers think that I walked and talked like a youngish teacher? Mother? Woman?’

“I thought we could use something to drink,” she said, placing the drinks at the kitchen table.

I sat, nodding, as I took a sip. A sip. I didn’t gulp or slam it down. I took a sip. Good God, it was already starting!

Doc smiled. She knew. I tried to ignore her look.

“So what have you discovered?” I asked her once she was seated.

She shrugged a very girlish shrug while twirling her hair with slim fingers. “It’s all pretty much what they told us in the briefing,” she began. She went on to explain how she and Hernandez had been captured by Officer Mercer and taken to see The Judge. He apparently made the same offer to them that he made to us and was turned down by both men. The major difference occurred when Hernandez was transformed.

“I was already as you see me now,” Doc explained. “I was still coming to grips with what had been done to me when I saw Hernandez begin to change. I expected him to do the same thing I had done when I realized what had been done to me–I screamed. Instead, he just looked confused for a moment and then smiled this weird little bimbo smile.

“The next thing I knew, she was thanking The Judge for helping us with our civics paper. She looked at me and said, ‘Come on, let’s go.’ When I failed to respond, she called me by my new name, although I didn’t recognize it. It took me a few seconds, but I suddenly realized she was talking to me. She knew my name–my new name. Even I didn’t know it at that time. Then I realized she thought she had always been Heather Abbot. I’ll tell you, Lieutenant, it was downright scary.”

“I wonder why Hernandez was the only one of us to lose his identity,” I mused.

Doc shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t know him that well. A better question is why four of us remembered who we were. I hear that’s a higher number than the norm. If I had to guess, I’d say that we remembered because we knew what was coming, so the shock wasn’t quite as great.”

“But Hernandez knew, too,” I pointed out.

“Yeah,” she agreed, “but I don’t think he really believed it. Maybe the more rigid your thinking, the less chance there is of keeping your memories.”

I took another unconsciously delicate sip of my drink. “So what have you learned about Ovid?”

“Quite a bit,” she replied. “It seems just about everybody who remembers their old lives tries to help you along. Four or five girls came up to me and offered to help me–one at a time, of course.”

“Then it really is impossible for more than two people to discuss what’s really going on here?”

“You got it,” Doc smiled. “Anyhow, one of the girls told me her dad works for Vulman Industries. Her dad can’t talk about it, but it sounds as if they’re working on something pretty big. It’s some sort of new motor.”

“Given that they make fuel pumps, I guess that makes sense,” I mused. “But what are a bunch of technophobic g... g...” I gulped. Since my transformation, I could no longer discuss Ovid as a creation of ancient gods. “What are... these beings... doing building a new type of motor?”

“They are just supervising, from the sound of it. Remember, there was one... being who had something of a technological bent.”

Yes, I thought. Vulcan. Of course. Vulman was Vulcan. “Where do they get their engineers?” I asked. “Surely even the g... they can’t manufacture a creative engineering talent out of nothing.”

“They don’t,” Doc agreed. “They hire most of them. A few are engineers just passing through town who get picked up in The Judge’s net. But more of them–including Dana’s dad–are hired from outside at pretty hefty salaries. Apparently we’ve got a brain drain within our own country.”

I nodded. Dana had to be the name of the girl she was referring to. “Can this Dana get us into Vulman?”

“Maybe on a school field trip!” Doc laughed. “Apparently there have already been a couple of security breaches out there, so I imagine they’ve tightened things up.”

We had been checking out the wrong places. We should have made an attempt to get into Vulman Industries instead of wasting our time wandering around Main Street. Damn! It should have been a military operation from the start. If we had come into town with a sufficient force–a sufficient armed force–I doubted if even Officer Mercer could have been fast enough to stop us. Allowing a bunch of civilian spooks to task a military unit was like asking The Three Stooges to supervise brain surgery.

“We need to get some info out of Vulman and figure out a way out of this town,” I decided.

“Like this?” Doc asked, motioning to herself. “How do we get back to our own identities? If we’re leaving, I’d just as soon not be Sophia Maria Leone.”

For some reason, that amused me. “Sophia? Your name is Sophia?”

Her face reddened. “Yeah.”

“Like in Sophia Loren?”

“Yeah, like in Sophia Loren. Now look, just quit that smirking, Gabriella. Or should I call you Gabby?”

It was my turn to redden.

A sly look crossed her face. “No, I guess not. I know. I’ll call you ‘mom.’ Okay, Mom?”

She didn’t look so sly when I replied. “Maybe you should call me mom. After all, that’s the way everyone else will see us. That means, Sophie dear, you had better act the dutiful daughter, don’t you agree?”

“Now wait a minute.”

“No, I think that’s a good idea. I’ll be mom and you’ll be my obedient daughter. That means you get to work on your homework while I make dinner. Then you can clean up after dinner and study for a while more. You’ll get an hour of TV time if you have everything done.”

“What? There’s a Cubs game on tonight, and...”

“I want you in bed by ten, young lady,” I said sternly. “Is that understood?”

“Mo-om !” she whined. Then suddenly, she froze, shocked at the sound of her own voice. “What did I just say?”

“Remember the autopilot idea in the briefing?” I reminded her. “You reacted like the teenaged girl you’ve become.” I didn’t point out how naturally I had fallen into the role of her mother, though.

“Shit!”

“Yeah,” I acknowledged. “Shit.”

“We’ve got to be careful,” my new daughter murmured. “We could really start acting like mother and daughter.”

“Speaking of acting,” I said, changing the subject, “what’s this about me having a boyfriend?”

Her look of amusement suddenly changed to alarm as the doorbell rang. “Oh shit! That’s him now!”

“That’s who?”

“Mike. Mike Melrose.” When she saw my confused expression, she stage-whispered, “Your boyfriend.”

Oh shit was right. “What do I do?”

“Answer the door,” she suggested. “Play it by ear. I’ll try to get you up to speed.”

As I walked to the door, I thought nervously that I should have asked about my boyfriend first. Granted, I could have simply refused to answer the door. After all, just about the last thing on Earth I wanted at that moment was a boyfriend. I couldn’t imagine anything more perverted. But until I figured out a plan of action, my best bet was to act as natural (at least natural for Gabriella Leone) as I could. That way, The Judge would assume I had knuckled under and I’d be off his radar.

I just hoped Gabby’s relationship with her boyfriend was reasonably platonic. I was willing to play along, so long as there were no sudden moves toward the bedroom. Who was this Mike guy anyhow? Was he a shade? Was he real–and if he was real, did he remember who he was? Or was he one of the minor gods I knew were salted among the general population? Maybe he was like that girl’s father that Doc–Sophie–had mentioned–a real person who had moved to Ovid to work for Vulman.

After taking a deep, deep breath, I opened the door.

“Pizza delivery!” a tall, good-looking guy complete with blond hair and a neatly-trimmed mustache said, displaying a large pizza box with ‘Tony’s Real Italian Pizzeria’ emblazoned on the top and sides.

For a moment, I thought he might really be the pizza deliveryman. Maybe Sophie had ordered a pie while I was changing. But the broad, impish grin on his face said otherwise. “Come on in... Mike,” I stammered.

“Is that any kind of a greeting for the guy who made dinner for you tonight?” he asked lightly, deftly balancing the pizza box in one hand as he swept me to him with the other. Before I could react, my lips were pressed against his. I could smell his masculine odor, feel the faint stubble of whiskers on his cheek, and the ticklish sensation of his mustache on my upper lip. I did my best not to fight the kiss–at least part of the kiss. I did manage to keep my lips close enough together to avoid having a mouthful of tongue.

He let go of me and looked into my soft brown eyes with his steely blue ones. “Something wrong, Gabby?”

“No!” I laughed nervously. “It was just a... just a long day.” That was an understatement.

“Well this will make you feel better,” he pronounced, gliding past me to the kitchen. “I got a barbecued chicken pizza–your favorite.”

Actually, my favorite was one with lots of pepperoni, sausage, and globs of gooey cheese and sharp tomato sauce on them. I never went in for the boutique pizzas with all the silly toppings on them. Still, I managed a small smile.

“Thanks.”

If he noticed my obvious lack of enthusiasm, he said nothing, setting the pizza into the oven and punch in the ‘Warm’ setting to keep the pizza hot. “Where’s Sophie?”

Sophie was in the hallway leading to the bedrooms, motioning silently for me to join her.

“Uh... she’s working on her homework right now,” I managed. “In fact, I have to help her with something. Excuse me for a moment... Mike.”

He just grunted, “No problem,” while helping himself to a diet soda from the refrigerator. His familiarity with my kitchen told me he had been here often. That meant he was a serious boyfriend–which spelled serious trouble for me.

I shut the door to Sophie’s room behind me and asked in a low voice, “What am I going to do? He kissed me! The bastard actually kissed me!”

Sophie grinned that little evil grin again. “I think he’s done a lot more than just kiss you.” I could feel the color draining from my face, as she hurriedly added, “I don’t think you have to worry about tonight since I’m here. I was here last night and he was pretty much a gentleman. Besides, he’s trying to cultivate me–probably so when he announces that he’s my new daddy, I won’t freak out.”

Yeah, but the day he announced that would be the day I freaked out. “Who is he? Not his name–I mean what does he do? Where is he from?”

“He’s track and field coach for Capta College,” she explained. “He’s... thirty-four, I think. He was married right out of college, but his wife left him about seven or eight years ago. I don’t know where he’s from. He just moved here about a year ago.”

“For real or is he one of the transformed who doesn’t remember a previous life?”

Sophie shrugged, flipping her hair back from her ear in a disturbingly female gesture. “I don’t know for sure. He seems normal enough, though, so I suppose it doesn’t really matter.”

“But how do I act?” I pressed. “Should I ask him to leave? I’m not in any mood to be pawed by some big hunk...”

“You really think he’s a hunk?” There was that grin again.

“Knock it off, Doc!” I ordered, purposefully using his former name. “This is serious. We’ve still got a mission to perform.”

“I agree,” she said, equally seriously. “That’s why you have to act naturally. The Judge may have spies checking up on us. If we act like we’re blending in, they’ll probably leave us alone. Then we can finish the mission and get out of here.”

Damn. I hated it when she was right. “Okay, so what do I do?”

“Just act the way you liked girlfriends to act,” she suggested.

“No way,” I protested. “I liked it when my girlfriends stripped off all of their clothes and told me to fuck them.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You know that isn’t what I mean. And stop with the ‘F’ word. It’s out of character.”

I grunted and Sophie winced. Apparently grunting was out of character, too.

“All right,” I sighed. “I’ll make nice. But if the bastard sticks his hand in my pants, I’m gonna break all of his fingers.”

On the whole, the evening went okay. Mostly, Mike and I talked about our respective days. Since we were both associated with education, I talked mostly about the students in my classes and Mike told me about some of his incoming members of the track team. Sophie joined us after about fifteen minutes in which she was supposedly doing her homework, and the three of us sat around the kitchen table eating pizza and talking. Once I got into the rhythm of things, I could almost imagine myself sitting around with a couple of old SEAL buddies at some little restaurant off base.

After dinner, Sophie volunteered to clean up while Mike offered to take me for a walk. That actually sounded great to me. As a SEAL, I was used to physical activity, and the sedentary lifestyle of Gabby Leone was already starting to wear on me.

We walked along quiet streets lined with large oaks and green, well-tended lawns. There were few children playing along our route–probably settling into homework as the first week of fall classes got into full swing. It was a pleasant neighborhood, and I couldn’t help but think that Ovid seemed somehow to represent the quality of life that as a SEAL I had fought so hard to protect. It seemed to me that The Judge and his cronies didn’t need to kidnap people to live in Ovid: many would have moved here gladly, even if it meant being transformed.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” Mike observed as we strolled in the twilight.

“Just thinking,” I replied honestly.

“Did I say something wrong? Are you mad at me?”

I stopped and looked at him. “What makes you say that?”

He had stopped, too. “I don’t know. You just seem... different somehow.”

That made me uncomfortable. I was trying so hard to appear as much like Gabby as possible. If any of The Judge’s fellow gods could hear Mike, they might think I wasn’t working at fitting in and decide to watch me more closely. That would interfere with my intention of completing my assigned mission.

“Like how?” I asked carefully, hoping he would be honest enough to tell me the truth. I couldn’t act like the Gabby he knew unless he told me what was wrong.

Mike shrugged. “I don’t know. When we kissed tonight, you seemed a little tense. Now, here we are on our walk and you didn’t take my hand like you usually do. Gabby, you mean a lot to me, and I just don’t want you angry with me.”

I couldn’t help but feel just a little bit sorry for him. Unbeknownst to him, his lady love had been replaced–and replaced by a man who thought showing affection to another man was a very bad idea. Mike seemed like a good guy–the sort of guy I wouldn’t have minded having a few beers with when I was still a man. He even looked fit enough to be a SEAL for that matter.

Trying not to look reluctant, I took his large, rough hand in my small smooth one. “I’m sorry, Mike. It’s just the pressure of a new school year and all,” I lied. I managed to give him a little smile. “Please forgive me?”

He smiled back, looking at least a little relieved. Then he squeezed my hand. “I’m glad you’re not mad at me,” he said. “Particularly with Saturday night coming up and all.”

Saturday night? What was coming up Saturday night? Today was only Wednesday. I’d have to ask Sophie if she knew anything about Saturday.

We walked slowly down the street. I decided to do my best to put my body on autopilot. It wasn’t that hard. All I had to do was to relax and smell the fragrant odors of late summer and listen to the chirp of thousands of insects to lull myself into a mindless state. I felt my body sidling up to get closer to Mike, until at last my hand slipped from his and rested around his masculine waist while his arm slid around my indented and very feminine one.

Strangely, it didn’t seem as gay as I thought it would. It actually felt... well, good–sort of a secure feeling. I remembered a similar feeling when I had been a small boy, cuddled by my mother until my father told her to stop it and treat me like a boy and not a sissy. The rational part of my mind suspected that my reaction was something inherited from the unconscious memory of the shade who had preceded me in this identity. Perhaps those of us who were transformed inherited more from the shades than we realized. Whatever the reason, I felt somehow at peace as we walked back toward my house.

By the time we were home, it was truly dark. From the porch, I could see Sophie in the living room, reading a textbook while lounging on the couch under the light of a pole lamp.

“It looks like Sophie is digging right in this semester,” Mike observed. “Maybe that talk you had with her about getting her grades up this year did some good.”

Of course I had no idea what I was supposed to have said, so I just nodded.

“I’ll drop by after my run in the morning and take you out for coffee before your classes,” he offered.

Run?

“What time are you running?” I asked.

He shrugged. “The usual time–five thirty.”

“Then come by at oh five... I mean five thirty and I’ll run with you,” I decided on a sudden whim.

He looked as if I had just told him that the Cubs had moved to New Orleans. “You... you want to run with me?”

“Isn’t that what I just said?”

His look of confusion dissipated, replaced by sudden understanding–or so he thought. I could see the wheels turning. He must have thought I wanted an excuse to be with him, even though Gabby was apparently not a runner. At last, he said, “You know, I keep a pretty fast pace...”

“How fast?” I asked, not backing down for a second.

“Well,” Mike replied, “I have a course I run that’s right at four miles. I usually run it in thirty-six minutes.”

That was a mile every nine minutes. It was a good pace–for an amateur. SEALs were expected to run four miles at seven and a half minutes to the mile–while wearing boots! Most of us did considerably better than that. “Pick me up at five thirty.”

Before he could answer, I gave him a quick kiss on the lips. It wasn’t that I suddenly had this great desire to be kissing guys, but I knew from personal experience that a guy will shut up and stop arguing the second he’s kissed. It had been done to me more than once when I was a guy.

Of course it worked. He gave me a boyish smile and said, “See you at five thirty.”

I heard him drive away as I closed the door. Sophie was looking at me with amusement. “How was your first date as a girl?” she asked wickedly.

“It wasn’t a date,” I protested. “We just went for a walk.”

“Call it what you will,” she grinned. “And what’s this about running with him in the morning?”

“Why not?” I was a little annoyed that she had overheard us. That meant she probably also knew I had kissed Mike.

“Have you taken a good look at that body you’ve got now?” she asked. “There’s no way you’re going to be in any shape to keep up with him.”

“You may be right,” I admitted, “but if I’m going to be stuck in this body for any time, I’ve got to get it in fighting shape. Besides, I know a few tricks that will allow me to keep up.”

“Maybe if that were a male body,” she argued. “I’ve been in this body a few hours longer than you though, and I can tell you that just like walking is a little different, running is real different. Besides, you won’t have the strength or the stride to keep up with him.”

“We’ll see,” I said, but my confidence was slipping a little. Why in hell had I been so impulsive about trying to run with Mike? Maybe it was because I didn’t like having him assume that I couldn’t (or wouldn’t) do it. Maybe Sophie was right. I should have started modestly if I was going to run in this body and build up to a respectable pace. But now I was stuck. I’d just have to make the best of it.

“I think you like him,” Sophie chuckled.

“Well, sure,” I replied. “Mike seems like a good guy–you know, one guy to another.”

“Except you aren’t a guy anymore,” she pointed out.

My eyes narrowed. “Just what are you saying?”

She closed the textbook and sighed, “Look, I’m just saying that from what some of the other girls tell me, Ovid has a way of sneaking up on you. One minute, you think your old self is in control, and the next minute, the new you takes over. It’s even happening to me. I got kind of silly when this cute boy...”

“Cute boy?”

“Yeah, when this cute boy came up to me at lunch today and put a few moves on me.”

“Doc,” I asked, intentionally using Sophie’s old name, “you aren’t...”

“Into boys?” she finished for me. She shook her head. “No, I sure as hell wasn’t before, but function may follow form. Girls don’t look that sexy to me right now. I got a chance to see a bunch of little sweethearts at gym today, and they didn’t do a thing for me. Then I realized I was a sweetheart, too. Imagine what it will be like after a week or so.”

“That’s why we’ve got to get out of here,” I pointed out. “Tomorrow, let’s get back on our mission.”

“Sure,” Sophie agreed. “After your run of course.”

“Of course.”

It took me less than a mile the next morning to regret my bravado the night before. First off, I didn’t get nearly the sleep I had expected to get. As a man, I usually slept in my boxers, but as a woman, sleeping in just panties proved to be a bad idea. For the first time in my life, I realized why women (including my ex-wife) had been so obsessive about smooth sheets with a high thread count. Female skin seemed much more sensitive than male skin–particularly around the nipples. I discovered quickly that women covered their breasts while sleeping out of more than modesty.

Embarrassed half to death, I managed to find a nightgown which didn’t look too overtly feminine. The soft, sheer material felt soothing on my breasts, so one problem was solved. I tried to tell myself that in the darkness, it didn’t matter that it had little satin bows at strategic places done up in the same pastel yellow as the gown itself.

Next, there was the hair. I realized to my dismay that I would have to do something to keep it out of my face. I let myself go on automatic for a few minutes and managed to get my hair tied back in some semblance of order. I had no idea how Sophie coped with her hair, which was considerably longer than mine.

At that point, I managed to get to sleep, but not for long. Each restless turn of my body awakened me as the unfamiliar sway of my breasts startled me. It took me some time to find reasonably comfortable sleeping positions which complemented my new curves.

So I woke up exhausted. I thought about taking a shower, but realized that would be a waste of time since I’d just have to do it again after my run. Sophie got up with me, chortling as I combed through my drawers looking for something to run in that didn’t make me look like a waterfront hooker. The white sports bra and thin red running shorts exposed a lot more of the new me than I would have liked, but I had to settle on them.

“Your hair is a mess,” Sophie observed as she helped me untangle it. She then gathered it into a relatively short ponytail.

“Where did you learn to do all this?” I asked suspiciously.

“I had three sisters,” she explained. “They were all older than me, and I had to watch them primp in front of a lot of mirrors. Don’t ask me about makeup, though. I had to go on automatic to do that.”

“Maybe I just won’t wear any,” I thought out loud. Looking into the mirror, I could honestly say I didn’t need much to improve my face. Neither did Sophie. In fact, it was easy to tell that we were supposed to be mother and daughter–we both had the same dark hair and olive complexions, and our faces were shaped much the same. We weren’t drop-dead gorgeous, but we were both reasonably attractive.

“You’ll need some,” Sophie told me. “Remember, the idea is to fit in. No makeup would arouse some questions.”

“Is there special makeup I should wear for my run?” I asked caustically.

“Yeah,” she replied. “Try something that will take the red out of your skin when you get winded.”

“I won’t get winded.”

“Need I remind you that you’re not in your old body?”

I looked down at my ample breasts. “No, these things are reminder enough.”

And on the run, they proved to be very substantial reminders.

“Having trouble?” Mike called. He was running at perhaps half his normal pace, so he wasn’t even slightly winded.

“I guess I’m not in that good a shape,” I panted, gasping out each word. My lungs were in pain, and my legs felt as if they were in a vice. I was spent and I had just begun my run.

“I appreciate you wanting to run with me,” Mike said sincerely, his hand on my arm to steady me as we slowed to a walk, “but you need to build up to it. You haven’t done this before, have you?”

How could I explain to him that just twenty-four hours earlier, I could have outrun his fastest pace and barely broken a sweat? But as Gabby, I had certainly never run before. Honestly and humbly, I shook my head.

Mike wrapped his arms around my exhausted body and held me tightly as he planted a warm kiss on my panting lips. It should have repulsed me, but it felt comforting given my physical state. “But you were willing to try it for me.” I was too tired to disabuse him of that notion. He looked into my unfocussed eyes. “That’s why I love you so much,” he said softly.

This guy had it bad, I realized suddenly. I could have served him a shit sandwich on shoe leather and he would have called it a banquet. I had seen guys go gaga over a girl before: I had just never been the girl then. “I need to walk home,” I told him, trying to wriggle free from his grasp.

“Wait until you’ve caught your breath,” he advised.

I nodded, wordlessly. I felt like hell. It was bad enough to be stuck in the body of a woman, but to feel so weak and out of shape was too much. All my life, I had been athletic–always the fastest runner with the greatest endurance. Now, I was a wimp–and a female wimp at that.

Mike walked me home. We had to take it slow because my leg muscles were already screaming from unaccustomed activity. At least I got my breath back.

“You going to be okay?” Mike asked at the door.

“Yeah,” I muttered.

Mike kissed me again–a quick one this time. “See you tonight?”

I nodded. I was too tired to argue with him.

“I tried to warn you,” Sophie crowed as I hobbled into the house.

“Shut up,” I growled, stripping off my sweaty sports bra. If anyone had been looking in the living room window, they would have gotten quite a show, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to fall into the shower as soon as possible and soothe my aching muscles.

“Go on automatic,” she advised. “Otherwise, you’ll be late for school. So will I for that matter, since you’re supposed to be taking me.”

At least I had sense enough not to get my hair wet. It wasn’t terribly long, but it would have taken me a while to dry it. I tried to ignore my new body, content to let the water run over my abused anatomy. Well, I did manage to play with my nipples just a little–just to see if they really were as sensitive as some women had led me to believe.

They were.

The triangle of downy hair between my legs remained shrouded in mystery, though. I washed there quickly and rinsed, trying to ignore the emptiness I had been cursed with. If I was forced to remain a woman forever, there would be time enough for experimenting later. However, given the buzz I had gotten from my nipples, I certainly wasn’t ready to go any further–not if I planned to make it to school on time.

As I waited in my classroom for my first hour civics class to begin, I reviewed in my mind a few pertinent points from the Code of Conduct all military personnel agree to follow if they become prisoners of war. Already, I had invoked it in my mind to avoid answering The Judge’s questions. That was in Article Five of the Code. Now, I was about to embark upon Articles Three and Four. Article Four demanded that as the senior officer, I take command, and Article Three instructed me to attempt to escape and aid others to escape as well. That was just what I planned to do.

I had asked Sophie to keep an eye out for Kast. He–now she–would be about Sophie’s present age. Although it appeared Hernandez was lost and McCormick stuck in the body of a girl too young to help us, I had hopes that Kast, Sophie and I would be able to complete our mission in spite of our changes and get away from Ovid.

“Mrs. Leone?”

I looked up to see two girls–identical twins, in fact–staring at me from the doorway. They were both about Sophie’s age, with bright red hair and about a million freckles apiece spread across bright, cute faces. They wore identical clothing–short white skirts and Kelly green knit tops. I had known identical twins before, but never had I seen to girls who looked as much alike as these two. Even the expressions on their faces were so identical that I might have been seeing a double image.

“Yes?” I replied. I had just reviewed a seating chart for my civics class, and realized that the girls had to be Kari and Shari Doherty. “Aren’t you girls a little early? Class isn’t for another half hour.”

“We know,” they said in unison. Then they faced each other. The one on the left nodded to the one on the right, as if by some unspoken signal, the one on the right had been chosen as a spokesperson. “I’m Kari Doherty,” she said. “This is my sister–Shari.”

I nodded, smug in the knowledge that my assumption had been correct.

“We’ve heard that you were sent here by the government to investigate Ovid,” she began. “We’re afraid this is all our fault.”

“But how can it be your fault?” I asked, puzzled.

“Because we are Dominic Woods,” Kari replied. “We alerted the authorities about Ovid.”

“‘We’?”

They nodded together. “Yes, ma’am,” Kari said. “You see, it’s a long story...”

They managed to tell me most of it before the rest of the class wandered in. Although we had not been given the name of the person who had compiled the information that had been smuggled to us from out of Ovid, I believed the girls as their story unfolded. They spoke to me, sharing their story. One would stop and the other would begin–often within the same sentence. They filled in a lot of blanks for me, convincing me that my team had not been given all of the facts about Ovid.

From them, I heard the story of a troubled girl who, along with her parents, was swept up into the trap that was Ovid. The girl had become a young man who, due to a schizophrenic disorder had been able to fool the gods while pretending to be assimilated in Ovid and plotting its downfall.

“We regret what we did,” Shari (or at least I think it was Shari) finally told me. “It was wrong. We know now that The Judge is trying to save us... save us all. If we had known... understood, we would not have betrayed him. We were... troubled.”

“And The Judge split you into two people?” I asked.

They nodded together. “It has allowed us to see more clearly now,” Kari insisted. “We were kept in stasis for a while until The Judge could find a way to help us.”

“That’s where we learned the truth,” Shari added.

“Wait a minute,” I protested. “How could you learn the truth while you were locked in stasis?”

“We were monitored by the Oracle,” they said together.

“And just what is the Oracle?” I asked.

In the same pattern of speaking back and forth, I learned of the Oracle of Delphi as I had never learned of it before. I recalled something I had read as a boy about the Oracle–something about a woman named Pythia who spoke prophecies which were often difficult to interpret but were never wrong. Pythia supposedly acted as a conduit for the words of the god Apollo.

“But the myths are wrong,” Shari told me.

“Pythia was a title,” Kari added. “Many women served in the role for nearly eighteen hundred years.”

“Now, no woman is required,” Shari continued. “The art of communication with the future is a talent no person remembers. While Apollo was the patron of the Oracle, his words were not the ones the Pythia spoke.”

“Then whose words were they?” I asked.

The two girls blushed. “No one knows for sure. Not even the... The Judge,” Shari said.

“But the words are always true,” Kari assured me.

“And this... Oracle spoke to you while you were in stasis?” I asked.

The girls looked at each other again. Then Kari answered, “In a way.”

“Well?” I prompted. “What did it say?”

“You need to see for yourself,” Shari replied.

“See where?”

The class bell rang before they could answer. As if by magic (not always an idle phrase in Ovid, I thought grimly), students began to filter into the classroom. There was just time for the twins to answer before leaving for their own class. “Go to Del’s,” they said together.

I had no idea what or where Del’s was, and I would be tied up for the next three hours with classes. I made a mental note to find out over the noon hour. Hopefully, it was a name I’d find in the Yellow Pages–a business. If it was just someone’s first name, I’d have a much tougher time finding it.

I was also troubled with what the twins had said about wishing they had never blown the lid on Ovid. Of course, I realized, it could be additional conditioning The Judge had given them when he changed them into what they now were. After all, their slightly stilted speech and eerie way of completing each other’s sentences were unnerving. But perhaps that was just an after-effect of the process that had split them, changing them from one unhappy being into two lovely young girls. It could also be the presumably unintentional merging of their thoughts while in stasis with the Oracle. Again, it was obvious that I had to find the Oracle.

At least the morning went by quickly. Since my hours alternated between a civics class and a geography class, then back to civics, it was a mentally stimulating morning. I found to my surprise that I had a natural knack for teaching, since both subjects were ones I could speak to from some personal experience. Maybe the automatic mode helped subtly: I can’t say for sure. Or maybe it was just that the classes were attentive and eager to participate–probably because a good number of my students remembered other lives and were thus more mature than typical middle school students. Whatever the reason or reasons, I actually enjoyed myself, although I thought I would have enjoyed myself more if I had been standing before the class as a man rather than as an attractive woman.

It was in my third hour civics class that I spotted Kast. She walked into my classroom, surrounded by a pack of girls. All of them were dressed about the same–short skirts, big cheap jewelry, and tight little tops over small but promising bosoms She was laughing and joking with them, her dark hair bobbing back and forth in a loose fantail. She appeared to be so well acclimated that I wondered uncomfortably if some individuals who initially remembered their former selves sometimes lost their true identities later.

As the students milled around before taking their seats, I was trying to remember the name she had been given by The Judge. At last I remembered. It was Maria. A quick confirming glance at the chart showed a Maria Lone Feather. Okay, I thought to myself as everyone settled in for class. Kast had been given an unenviable life–an Indian girl from someplace so presumably poor that her parents had to send her off to a trailer park to live with an aunt just to be in a decent school. Kast would jump at the chance to help us complete the mission and get away from Ovid. I was sure of that.

But I was wrong.

“Ms. Lone Feather,” I called out as the bell rang ending the class, “would you stay for a moment, please?”

She looked a little disappointed, but I heard one of her friends say that she would hold a place for her in the cafeteria since it was to be their lunch period.

“Yes, Ms. Leone?” she said in a sweet little voice once we were alone. The way she stood before my desk was almost enough to make me laugh. She looked so vulnerable, so like the little girl she had become. She obviously thought she had done something wrong.

“Don’t worry Kast, I know who you are,” I told her.

Her big brown eyes got even bigger. “Lieutenant Harmon?”

I suppose she had figured it out by the process of elimination. I nodded. “That’s right. And Doc is my daughter now.”

She giggled, “Sophie Leone? I met her just this morning. I had no idea...”

“Look, we need to complete our mission and get out of here,” I interrupted. “Hernandez has no idea who he–she–was and McCormick is... well, you know about McCormick.”

“Get out of here?”

“That’s right,” I confirmed. “Think of us as prisoners of war. We have to get what we came for and escape.”

She shook her head. “Why would I want to escape?”

I was puzzled. “Why? Why wouldn’t you want to escape? Look at you–you’re just a poor Indian girl off the reservation or something. Back home in Chicago, you’ve got a good life waiting for you from what I’ve heard.”

Her face shifted into an ironic little smile. “But in Chicago, I wouldn’t be a girl,” she pointed out.

She was waiting for me to say something, but I was too dumfounded to speak. At first, I thought that her pronouncement was just one more example of mental transformation imposed by The Judge. Surely she was being made to think that she wanted to be a girl. Or perhaps she was just joking: Kast had the reputation of being something of a wiseass. What better way to pull my chain than to tell me she actually would rather be a poor minority girl rather than a rich, white man who could buy anything he wanted...

Except his sex.

There was no merriment in her eyes: only resolve. “You’re... you’re serious, aren’t you?” I stammered.

“Never more so,” she replied evenly.

“But... but you’re a SEAL,” I insisted. I could have added that Kast was not exactly an ideal SEAL, but any man who could make it through the training program and earn the eagle and trident of a SEAL was a man–a real man. No cross-dressing limp-wristed pansy could possibly make it through the most rigorous training the US Navy could throw at him. Even the worst SEAL ever to serve–and although not ideal, Kast was far from the worst–could never be accused of being anything but a man.

“Yes, I’m a SEAL,” she agreed. “Or at least I was. Do you know why I became a SEAL?”

I shook my head.

She began, “When I was a boy growing up in Chicago, my father was determined to ‘make a man of me.’ Don’t get me wrong: I wasn’t a sissy. I just didn’t particularly like rough sports, like football or hockey, although I was pretty decent at tennis and swimming. My father had been a SEAL though, and anything less than a SEAL was a wimp in his book–including his own son.”

“So he made you go into the SEALs,” I concluded.

She cocked her head and grinned. “Made me? No one made me do anything of the sort. My father was willing to let me go on to college and eventually go into his business. You’re right about having a good life. I would have had a very good life if I had done that. But if I had, my father would have tried to run my life from then on, just as he had when I was a kid. I didn’t want any part of that. I wanted to prove to him that I was just as much of a man as he was.”

I understood all of that. I had heard similar stories before. But that still left a very big question: “So when did you decide you wanted to be a girl?”

“I’ve always wanted to be a girl,” she sighed. “Don’t look so surprised. Not all transsexuals talk with a lisp and swish through life. Some pretty manly men who don’t own a single bra or pair of panties dream quiet dreams about having breasts and a vagina. Even men who don’t probably wonder what it would be like. Haven’t you ever wondered what it would be like?”

I felt my face redden a little. Unlike Kast, I had never had any desire to be a woman, but that being said, sure, I had wondered a time or two what women experienced during sex. Of course, that was just idle curiosity, mind you, not any real desire to be a woman.

“I can see in your face you’ve at least wondered about it,” she said, smiling. “But with you, it was probably just a little itch–an itch too mild to even try to scratch. Don’t worry, Lieutenant, I don’t think you were any less of a man just for wondering what it might be like. But with me–and others like me–it isn’t just a little itch. It’s like poison ivy all over your body. It itches in so many places and with so much intensity that you can’t scratch it without drawing blood.

“But now, for me, it doesn’t itch any more. Yeah, I’ve lost a lot–money, power, strength. Instead of being a rich man, I’m just a poor little teenage girl. But I wouldn’t trade this for ten times the wealth waiting for me back in Chicago. When I realized yesterday what The Judge was going to do to me–to ‘punish’ me–I nearly creamed my shorts.”

I knew it was a waste of time to try to convince Kast she should join Doc and me. I didn’t agree with her reasoning, but the passion with which she expressed it was too intense to refute. Oddly, I found that I wanted her to be happy with this new life she had so readily embraced. I wasn’t sure if the old me–the male me–would have been quite so understanding. Perhaps I was being influenced by my new body, with all of its female hormones flowing through me. Whatever the reason, I managed to smile just a little. “I wish you well then, Maria.”

She returned my smile. “Thanks.” She turned to go, but then looked back at me. “You know Ms. Leone, you should maybe try to relax and be what you have been changed into. You might actually like it.”

She didn’t see my smile disappear. She had already turned away to join her friends in the cafeteria.

I sat silently at the teachers’ table in the cafeteria, playing with a rather mediocre chef’s salad. The only other teacher at the table was Ms. Frost, the science teacher, who was preoccupied with her classroom workbook. I was thinking about what Maria had just said to me–about relaxing and becoming the person I had been changed into.

As I looked around the room, I noticed among both teachers and students–a mix of shades and real people. I could count maybe fifty real kids and a half dozen real teachers and staff. Assuming that a quarter of them knew who they had been before being changed by The Judge, that meant fourteen or fifteen of them remembered previous lives. Yet I saw no discomfort from anyone. Could it be that many of them were like Kast, happy to be in new bodies? Or were they more like Doc? Doc–as Sophie–was helping me. He knew her duty. But what if I hadn’t been there as a constant reminder of that duty?

She seemed to be adapting well. I spotted her at a table across the room, laughing and giggling with three other girls. She seemed confident and comfortable in who she had become–traits apparently shared by a number of others.

Yet there I was–trying my best to complete my mission, like some sort of supernatural Buzz Lightyear refusing to admit that I was just a toy. Wouldn’t it be easier just to fall into line like everyone else seemed to have done? I could become just what I appeared to be–a relatively young, attractive teacher and mother–and I could snare a husband–someone like Mike who would be happy to show me how to be a woman from a horizontal position.

The problem was, I wasn’t really a woman. Oh sure, my body was female, but my mind was the same male mind I had always had. I didn’t feel comfortable standing around in a skirt and heels. I didn’t enjoy the sensation of swinging breasts and wide hips as well as the obvious absence between my legs. And deep down, I knew why I was most uncomfortable and would never be able to relax: I was a SEAL, now and forever, and a woman could never be a SEAL.

No, I reminded myself, it wouldn’t be possible for me to ever be comfortable as a woman. I would have to complete my mission, as ludicrous as it may have sounded to someone like the girl Kast had become, and get out of Ovid. Hopefully somehow somewhere, the government would find a way to get me back into the body of a man.

I had planned on trying to find this ‘Del’s’ over the noon hour, but my time spent with Maria had cut into my free period. I resolved to do it after school. Then, that idea was quashed when Mrs. Crabtree, the middle-aged woman I had spoken to the day before who turned out to be the principal, sent her secretary around to notify all teachers of a meeting after the class day was finished.

The meeting was strangely casual. Years of military meetings with at least a semblance of formality had left me unprepared for the casual gathering around the conference table. Everyone was on a first name basis, and it was obvious that most of the teachers were good friends. I was introduced to the staff as a new teacher for the year. A couple of the non-shade teachers gave me a knowing smile, and it was apparent to me that they were among the few teachers in the room who had been transformed and still remembered it. I made a mental note to talk with them later.

It turned out that the meeting wasn’t particularly consequential. It was mostly just an opportunity for each of the teachers to bring to the table any special problems that had been noted in the first couple of days of classes. I was used to meetings where missions were planned and coordinated. The casual nature of the meeting frankly bored me–until Ms. Frost asked, “My computer is running a little slow. Does Del’s have the contract for repair again this year?”

I vaguely heard Mrs. Crabtree reply in the affirmative. So Del’s was a computer store. That made sense. A computer could dispense information just like an oracle could. In all likelihood, the Oracle was probably resident in a computer, or at least communicating through one just as it had communicated through a priestess centuries ago. I was ready to hurry over there that evening until I heard Mrs. Crabtree continue, “They’ll be closed in a few minutes, though. You’ll have to call them in the morning.”

Closed so early? Then I remembered that Ovid was a small town. Businesses closed early and employees went home to hot dinners and leisurely evenings. There were no mega-stores, with brightly-lit parking lots and late hours in small towns.

Pretending to go along with The Judge’s plans and be a teacher was going to create some serious conflicts with my mission. Even though Ovid was a small town, it seemed as if I would have very limited time tracking down everything I needed to complete the mission. Of course, tomorrow was Friday, I realized. I doubted if there would be any special afterschool meetings then. I’d have time to get down to Ovid before the town sidewalks rolled up.

Jenny Pritchard the art teacher, stopped me on my way out after the meeting. She was one of the teachers whose expression told me that she knew what had happened to me. She smiled and said, “I just wanted to welcome you to Ovid and let you know that anything you need to help you acclimate, just let me know. The first few days in Ovid are hard for most people.”

“I can imagine,” I replied dryly, unconsciously glancing down at my own breasts.

“So you were male,” she surmised. “Before, I mean.”

“As male as they come,” I confirmed. “And you?”

“Nope,” she grinned. “But most women in Ovid used to be men. I think it’s because more men than women tend to travel by themselves, so there aren’t enough natural women showing up in Ovid to be changed. Besides, the powers here in Ovid tend to change a fair number of the women who do show up into men, just to be perverse, I suppose.”

“You don’t seem too upset being kidnapped and changed,” I pointed out. I had noticed most people seemed to be, if not content, at least resigned to their changes.

She shrugged. “I was in a relationship back in Dallas that didn’t work out. I was on the verge of suicide when I drove through Ovid on my way to visit family back in Indiana. Once I changed, I realized I had one of these.” She held up her hand, showing a wedding ring. “Jack turned out to be a pretty good guy, and our relationship has been good this last year–good enough that I’m three months pregnant now.”

“I wish things were that simple for me,” I sighed. “Apparently, I have a boyfriend, but I’m still a guy inside.”

She smiled. “Don’t let that stop you. You might find you enjoy things like sex from this side.”

I’m sure I turned beet red. “That’s easy for you to say: you were already a woman.”

“Yes,” she nodded, “but not a heterosexual woman. That relationship I told you about? It was with a cute little blonde attorney who left me for another woman and I just couldn’t get over her.”

“You... you were gay?”

She wrinkled her brow a little. “You make it sound like a disease.”

I could feel my face flushing even more. I suppose I always had sort of considered it a disease. Like many in the military–particularly in a macho discipline such as the SEALs–I had an uncomfortable feeling about gays. No, I wasn’t a gay basher nor were any of the men I knew, but we just never got over the idea that gays were some sort of alien species. The idea of being attracted sexually to someone with the same equipment we had was at best repugnant and at worst downright disgusting.

“You’ll get over your reluctance,” she told me, as if reading my mind. “Don’t look so surprised,” she admonished. “It was easy to tell you used to be male, and it’s easy to tell what you’re thinking right now. Ask any of the women in Ovid who used to be men. They’ll tell you they felt the same way you do, but they got over it. They had to. Otherwise, they’d go crazy trying to reconcile their dislike of homosexuality with their current bodies.”

She had a point, I realized, after we had said our goodbyes. Here I was, stuck in the body of a woman. The idea of having sex with a man was disturbing to say the least, but if I found myself stuck forever in Ovid–stuck in this female body–how would I reconcile my reluctance to see men with my abhorrence of homosexuality? Since if I were to try to have a relationship with a woman, it would go against the physical reality I had been faced with.

I thought back on the two quick kisses I had gotten from Mike. While neither had been particularly passionate, they had not been grossly unpleasant. Even Mike’s mustache had been softer than I had anticipated, tickling my upper lip just a little, but it hadn’t been unpleasant. I certainly hadn’t felt my nipples tingle or gotten wet between my legs, though, either. On the whole, the experiences could be termed neutral.

On the other hand, I had seen several attractive women since my transformation and had not been turned on by them either. Perhaps I was sexually inert, interested in neither men nor women. For the time being, that was probably for the best. After all, I was still on a mission. Come to think of it, sex always scurried to the background in my mind when I was on a mission. I would just have to do my best to make sure it stayed there.

But then there was the Saturday night event Mike had alluded to. What was planned for Saturday night? Call me paranoid, but I suspected The Judge had transformed me into Gabby knowing that her boyfriend had a big evening of fun and sex planned for Saturday night. I wouldn’t have been at all surprised to find I was under observation, to make sure I was playing my part properly. If sex was on the menu for Saturday and I backed out, I might find myself under more scrutiny to the point that I wouldn’t be able to carry out the mission. And if I couldn’t carry out my mission, I’d be trying to get out of Ovid empty-handed. Even if I managed to escape with Doc, we would be seen as failures by our superiors. Well, maybe not entirely failures since our appearances would have certainly been conclusive proof of The Judge’s magical powers.

Sophie was already home when I got there. Bless her heart, she had already started dinner. “I figured you’d need something after your afternoon run,” she told me as she popped a couple of chicken breasts into the oven.

“I appreciate it,” I told her. “Then we can talk over dinner about the mission.” Suddenly, I thought about Mike. “That is, unless Mike is coming over.”

“Nope,” she shook her head. “It’s just us girls tonight. I suppose Mike just figured you already knew, but the track team is at a training camp until Saturday morning.”

That was a relief. I wouldn’t have to play sweet little girlfriend for the next two nights. I suddenly realized that my new daughter had seen her mother and Mike together the day before I had been transformed. Maybe she would know how much of a girlfriend I was expected to be. “Sophie...?”

“Yes?” She looked up from the vegetables she had begun to slice.

“The night before I was transformed... Did Gabby and Mike seem to be... you know...?”

“Lovers?” she prompted.

“Well, yes.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so... At least not yet.”

“Not yet?”

“There’s a message for you on the phone,” she told me with a grin. “I didn’t listen to too much of it...”

“Liar!”

“Hi, Gabby,” Mike’s voice on the message greeted me. “We’re just getting ready to leave for Norman for the camp. If you need me, try my cell number. I can’t tell you how much I miss you already, honey. But I guess it will just make Saturday that much sweeter for us. I love you, Gabby.”

The message ended while I just stood there with the phone glued to my ear. Love? Oh shit, it was worse than I thought. “Sophie, what is he talking about? What’s happening Saturday?”

“Well, starting tomorrow afternoon, I’ll be at a Girl Scout camp until Sunday, so I guess you and Mike have something really, really big planned.”

“Quit that grinning!” I demanded. “Do you realize he probably means to f... I mean se... Oh crap! You know what I mean.”

She looked at me slyly as she pulled out a head of lettuce for the beginnings of a salad. “So why not just lie back and enjoy it?”

My eyes widened. “Are you crazy? I’m not a woman–not in my head at least. I don’t want some guy...”

“Doing to you what you’ve done to them?”

“Exactly!”

She sighed as she chopped. “Well, Mom, do you think the women you made love to didn’t enjoy it?”

“What?”

She looked up at me from her finely-chopped lettuce. “Do you think they enjoyed it?” she repeated.

“I... I suppose so,” I managed.

She nodded. “Then why shouldn’t you enjoy it, too?”

It was a valid question: I had to admit that to myself. The problem was, I didn’t like the answer. The answer was that I was just a little afraid that I might enjoy it.

Sophie shooed me off to get in my run while she finished dinner. I was pleased to note that I had less trouble running than I had with Mike. Maybe it just felt good to get out of that skirt and heels and dress in something more familiar. Well, the shoes were more familiar anyhow, although the sports bra and tight little running shorts didn’t feel all that normal.

I got a fair number of stares from the folks I passed–most of them were men, so you can imagine what kind of stares I was getting. Even the shades took their time watching as I jiggled (there seems no other word for it) down the sidewalk at a conservative pace.

I tried as I ran to remember what it had been like to run as a man. My male body had been stronger and possessed a greater stride. I seemed to be running so slowly now that as a man, I wouldn’t have even called it ‘running.’ The only advantage I seemed to have picked up was agility. At no time could I remember being as flexible as a man as I was in this feminine body.

I put in roughly two miles, huffing as I walked back into the house to be assailed by the smell of roast chicken in some unidentifiable herbs.

“Where did you learn to cook?” I asked, savoring the appetizing aromas.

“I told you I had three sisters, remember?” Sophie said, dishing up some rice to go with the chicken which had already been placed artfully on the plates. “Mom always insisted that all of us learn to cook. She said it was important for my sisters to cook well to please their husbands.”

“So why did she want you to know how to cook?” I pressed.

She sat down across the table from me. “So I wouldn’t be forced to marry the first woman who could cook,” she replied primly. “It worked too well, though. I never got around to getting married.”

“Uh... but you liked girls, didn’t you?”

“Of course I liked girls,” she huffed.

I suppose the question was out of line, but after Kast’s shocking admission, I was beginning to wonder if Doc hadn’t swung that way as well. As Sophie, she seemed to have little trouble adapting to her new life. Of course, it was easier for her, I thought. She didn’t have to worry about dressing in a skirt and heels every day, and she didn’t have a boyfriend sniffing around like I did. She could just be a happy-go-lucky teen while I had to play the adult role.

“Let’s discuss the mission,” I suggested, changing the subject.

“Over dessert,” she countered. “I don’t want the chicken to get cold.”

I nodded, digging into the chicken. It tasted as good as it smelled, and I vowed to let Sophie do all of the cooking until we got out of Ovid.

Dessert was simple by comparison–vanilla ice cream with fresh peaches, but I found it very satisfying. I had noticed that my capacity for food had been greatly reduced in this new body, but my sense of taste had actually been enhanced. I didn’t think that was necessarily a sexual characteristic, but it drove home once more the fact that I was now an entirely different person.

When we finished, I loaded the dishes while telling Sophie what I had learned during the day.

“I’m not surprised about Kast,” she said as we finished cleaning up the kitchen.

“You’re not?”

She shook her head. “No. He seemed to have the ability to be a SEAL, but not the desire.”

“So you’re saying that without the desire, he was just a pussy,” I joked.

She shot me a look of mock irritation. “I’m just not surprised is all I’m saying. But that story the twins told you... that’s promising. Maybe we should go by this Del’s now.”

“I’m sure they’re closed,” I replied. “We’re not talking about a big city computer store. Most small towns close up early.”

“Yeah, but we can drive by and take a look,” she suggested. “If anybody sees us, just tell them we’re window shopping for a computer for me.”

“But you have a computer...”

“Sure,” she grinned, “but anybody who asks us won’t know that.”

In just a few minutes, we had checked the address in the phone book. The shop was on the unimaginatively-named Main Street. It was only five minutes away. Of course in a town as small as Ovid, just about everything was only about five minutes away.

It was still light, although the sun was down when we got out of the car in front of Del’s. As computer stores went, it wasn’t much. A small red and white sign proclaimed it to be a Radio Shack agency store, and the windows displayed a small selection of computers, their monitors cheerfully displaying a variety of demo programs.

“This is where the Oracle is kept?” Sophie said, shaking her head. “It doesn’t look like much to me.”

I was about to agree when I heard the click of heels waking toward us along the otherwise deserted sidewalk. I turned to see what appeared to be a mother and her young son approaching us. The mother appeared tall and attractive in the waning light, and her son was a boy of perhaps eight or so. Sophie and I waited for them to pass, but it was quickly apparent that their destination was the same as ours. Just our luck, I thought.

My blood suddenly ran cold as I realized who the ‘mother’ was. Blonde hair and icy blue eyes resolved themselves into the most prominent features of Freda Jorgenson’s beautiful face.

No, she wasn’t exactly Freda in appearance, but I knew at once who she was. From Sophie’s expression, I could see that she knew as well. Her face, although still beautiful, had been altered subtly, and only those of us who would have had reasons to remember her well would have been able to identify her. But how had she managed such alterations? Certainly not by plastic surgery, I realized, or her face would still be swollen and discolored. It was as if...

It was as if she wielded power to alter her appearance, much like the power of The Judge.

As that thought rippled through my mind, I realized she was staring intently at us, as if trying to determine who we were. I suppose we should have identified ourselves, thinking that this was still part of our mission, but both Sophie and I said nothing–primarily because the look on Freda Jorgenson’s face was not a pleasant one. She looked at Sophie and me as if we were insects–below her very notice. This was not the Freda Jorgenson the world knew as advisor to presidents: this was something else–something powerful in ways few humans could ever imagine.

Gently, I put my hand against Sophie’s back and guided her away from the woman and her juvenile companion before she became too curious. As she observed us departing, she directed her ward’s attention to the window, pointing to something inside. The child, I could see as I glanced back, nodded silently.

“Do you know who that is?” Sophie whispered to me once we had walked perhaps a block.

“Yes,” I replied. “It’s Jorgenson.”

“And the child is Steele,” she added.

“What?”

“It’s Steele,” she affirmed. “He’s been transformed into a child, but I can tell it’s him.”

I had been concentrating so heavily on the woman that I hadn’t paid much attention to the child. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” she answered. “He has the same color eyes, hair, skin tone, and if you look at him carefully, you can see an adult presence behind those eyes. Do you think they’re working with The Judge?”

I shook my head. “I doubt it. Otherwise, why would The Judge be so insistent that we tell him where Steele was–if you’re right about the kid being Steele.”

“Then that means...” she began.

“It means The Judge isn’t the only one who can transform people,” I finished for her.

“But Jorgenson works for the Administration. Our own government has the power to do what the g... g...” she choked, then recovered, “...The Judge can do?”

“I don’t think so,” I replied. “I think there’s another player in all of this–a player with the same powers The Judge has.”

“Suddenly, we’ve got more questions,” Sophie sighed.

I nodded in agreement. We certainly had more questions but no more answers. Something told me that the mission was becoming more complex by the minute.

One thing I learned the next day was that teachers anticipate the weekend at least as much as students do. Everyone–students and faculty alike–seemed more interested in the high school football game that night or the football game at Capta College the next day than they were in Friday’s lessons. I had noticed that morning that even I–or the ‘I’ who had existed in this role before my transformation–had written down the Capta College game on the calendar hanging on my refrigerator. Apparently that was to be part of my day with Mike.

I hoped with all my heart that the game was all Mike had been referring to in his references to Saturday, but then I recalled that the game would be in the afternoon and Mike had specifically referred to Saturday night. I had a sneaky hunch that Mike was planning a sleepover at my house that night, and not the sort of sleepover where you told scary stories and watched TV until dawn.

I actually looked forward to my classes that day. Every minute spent before a class was one less minute I spent worrying about Saturday night. In the scheme of things, I suspected Mike and Gabby were obviously expected to be having sex whenever Sophie was safely out of the way, such as her weekend Girl Scout outing. But if I was to continue the illusion that I was content to be a happy Ovid resident, I might have to actually go through with a lovemaking session.

What would it be like to make love as a woman? I wasn’t anxious to find out. The thought of lying on my back with my legs spread while some guy poked into me wasn’t high on my list of things to do.

Perhaps, I thought, Sophie and I should have said something to Freda Jorgenson the night before and tried to reattach ourselves to the mission. Then I could have probably avoided any time in the sack with Mike. The problem was, as Sophie and I both saw it, we weren’t really sure Freda was on the same mission we were.

I was in turmoil over what to do, and I think Sophie was as well. Freda Jorgenson was a top official with our government, and by all rights, we should have submitted ourselves to her authority. But what held us back was the near certainty that no one in our government could have done what Freda had done to herself, let alone what had been done to Steele. No, the best thing we could do was to try to carry out our original mission and assume that Freda Jorgenson was a rogue agent working for some power as ominous as that of The Judge.

“Don’t do anything rash without me,” Sophie cautioned as I helped her with her backpack.

“I won’t,” I promised. “What have you got in here–lead weights?”

“Actually it’s a lot lighter than anything we used to have to carry,” she told me, adjusting the straps on her pack until it fit more snugly. “The problem is just that we’re both a lot weaker now.”

“That’s for sure,” I grumped. I had practically sprained my wrist that morning just trying to open a jug of grape juice.

“And have fun with Mike,” she called back to me with a grin as she headed off for the bus. She was too far away for me to say what I wanted to say and stay in character.

That evening, I felt oddly alone. It was funny, because I had never been a terribly social person before, as my ex-wife would have surely been happy to testify–if she even remembered me. The house seemed lonesome with Sophie gone, and I began to realize just how much I enjoyed her presence. After my evening run, I decided to go out and get something to eat rather than stare at the walls in my own kitchen.

I ended up at a place called Rusty’s, which looked as if it might have a decent burger. I felt almost normal as I got out of my car to go into Rusty’s. I was wearing jeans and a light sweater, and sneakers, so it almost felt as if I was dressed as a man again. Or at least it would have if it hadn’t been for the purse tucked under my right arm and the slightly constricting feeling of my bra.

I had just entered when an attractive brunette seated with a young toddler motioned me over and called out, “Gabby, come sit with me. Are you batching tonight, too?”

“Uh... yeah,” I replied. I didn’t hesitate to join her, though. I craved company.

When I got closer, her beautiful eyes shot up in surprise. “You’re... real.”

“So?”

She thought for a moment and thrust out her hand. “Susan Jager. And this little guy is Joshua.” The boy smiled from his high chair.

She had a strong handshake–almost like a man. “I’m... well, I guess you already know who I am–or at least who I’m supposed to be.”

“Yes,” she said with interest. “But more importantly, who were you before?”

A waitress came up and took my drink order, so I had a few moments to reflect on just how much I wanted to tell this woman. Her interest seemed more than casual, as if something had happened to me that wasn’t exactly supposed to happen. After I had ordered an iced tea, I decided to put a question to her first.

“Why the surprise? I thought things like this happened all the time here.”

“They do,” she admitted, as she managed to tuck a bib on the squirming boy who was doing his best to get out of the high chair. “Or at least transformations do, but not the way it was done to you. It’s just that I had The Judge’s assurances that everyone coming into Ovid would be subject to due process.”

“Well, I don’t remember anyone reading me my Miranda rights,” I told her drolly.

She looked me in the eye. “I’m going to try to talk to you about this, but there are rules in Ovid. I may not be able to say some things because three people can’t talk about them at the same time. I’m guessing that Joshua is too young to understand and won’t be taken into account in our conversation, okay?”

I nodded. It turned out she was right. The only limit imposed on our conversation came when the waitress would approach our table.

Susan went on to explain to me her role in Ovid as a defense attorney, practicing before The Judge to mitigate his stern sense of justice. “I try to make him understand we’re only human,” she explained. “He sets people to a very high standard, so more than one petty criminal who has strayed into Ovid can probably thank me for preserving his humanity.”

“Yet neither I nor my men were given any chance at a defense,” I pointed out. I proceeded to tell her a highly-edited version of our mission by explaining that we were a team sent by the government to investigate allegations of people being forced to live in Ovid.

“That’s certainly the case,” she admitted. “But to be fair, most of us settle into pretty happy lives here. I, for one, am far happier here than I ever was as an attorney out in the real world.” Then she looked rather wistful. “But I do sometimes miss my Lexus.”

“That’s not what I miss,” I groused.

“What?” Then a look of understanding crossed her face and she laughed. “Oh! Of course. You were a man. I see what you mean.”

“Do you?”

She grabbed my hand and squeezed gently. “More than you could ever imagine. I was a man once too, you know.”

“And suddenly, you found yourself a woman with a young child,” I supplied.

She laughed again. “Oh no! The child came later.”

I must have had a very stricken look on my face. “You... gave birth to him?”

She nodded, smiling.

“Then you must have had...” I stammered. “I mean you must...”

“As often as I can,” she acknowledged, the smile becoming wider.

I had that thought to chew on as our meals arrived.

“Listen, Gabby,” she suggested after swallowing a dainty mouthful of her burger, “sex as a woman is just different. It’s still sex.”

“But with a man?” I blurted out, nearly losing the bite of what I had to admit was a delicious burger.

She smiled devilishly. “It seems to work better that way.”

“Susan,” I asked, trying desperately to change the subject, “why do you think we weren’t given a chance to defend ourselves in court?”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure, but I can guess. The Judge has been very touchy the last week or so. It was bad enough when he learned that a disc had been smuggled out of Ovid with valuable intelligence about his operation here, but last week, he was even worse.”

“How do you know?” I asked. “Was he changing people into field mice or something?”

“He hasn’t done that in some time,” she replied absently, causing me to cringe involuntarily. “No, actually no one new has been allowed into Ovid since the disc was taken out. Oh, people still pass through, and a few new residents have moved into town–all Vulman employees–but no one has been before The Judge for some time now.”

“Except me and my men,” I sighed.

“I think The Judge had a plan to combat any incursion caused by the disc,” she confided softly. “But something went seriously wrong with his plan–something unforeseen.”

“You may be right,” I acknowledged, deciding instantly that Susan could be a valuable resource. I decided to confide in her–at least to the point of explaining how Steele had not made the mission. I didn’t tell her about seeing Jorgenson and Steele earlier at Del’s.

“So Steele didn’t make the jump,” Susan repeated. “Then The Judge changed all of you because you wouldn’t tell him about Steele?”

“Um-hum,” I agreed with a mouthful of burger. It really was a great sandwich and I was hungry.

“Why would he be so worried about Steele?” Susan asked as she gave Joshua another drink of milk.

“He’s an explosives expert,” I replied.

Susan looked worried. “You think he might have made it into Ovid alone prepared to blow something up?” she asked.

“It’s possible,” I admitted. It was something worth worrying about. Steele was about the best demolitions expert in the entire Navy. What if Jorgenson had brought him into Ovid to blow something up? And what was important enough to destroy?

Maybe it was Del’s. After all, the Oracle was there. Or was it? So far as I knew, the Oracle might just be speaking through a computer terminal. The Oracle might still be back in Greece with a network connection into Del’s. Still, it would explain why I saw him with Jorgenson in front of the store.

How about City Hall? Steele’s explosion might catch The Judge, Officer Mercer, and possibly another god or two. But could a C-4 explosion destroy a god? I rather doubted it. Perhaps Vulman was the target. Something important was going on there–something big enough that even with the embargo on new transformees, new employees were being allowed to move into town to work in Vulman’s secret labs.

I needed Susan’s advice, but how much could I tell her? There was one way to find out. “Susan, here in Ovid, does The Judge respect attorney-client privilege?”

“In general, yes.”

“Then how would you like to be my attorney?”

She frowned. “Why do you need an attorney? If you’ve done something to anger The Judge that you haven’t told me, I don’t think I’ll be able to help you much.”

“No,” I sighed, “it’s nothing like that.”

So after she agreed to represent me, I told her everything. It bothered me to do so in ways that are difficult to explain. I have always been loyal to my country and always will be, but something wasn’t adding up in this mission. We had been denied the very intel we needed to complete the mission. Now, Jorgenson and Steele were in Ovid, and I had no idea what–or whose–mission they were on.

I supposed it was possible that they had been sent in once we had failed to report back. But if that were the case, they were a very unlikely pair to be inserted into Ovid. Jorgenson wasn’t a field operative. She had no experience in covert operations, except presumably as a desk jockey. As for Steele, he was a specialist. It was up to others such as the man I had been to get him in close to the target. He lacked the intelligence-gathering skills a mission like ours would have demanded.

“The Judge needs to know about this,” Susan concluded when I had finished my story.

“But you said I could give you privileged information,” I reminded her, shocked at her suggestion. I had no desire to face The Judge again. Heaven only knew what he might change me into the next time I saw him. I might be female now, but at least I was a human female of a reasonable age.

Susan read my expression of fear and placed her hand on mine. “Don’t worry, Gabby. This time I’ll be there with you as your attorney. You asked me to be your attorney, and as such, I have to recommend to you that you tell all of this to The Judge. I don’t think The Judge will do anything to you. After all, you are helping him by telling what you know.”

“All... all right,” I agreed reluctantly. “When do we see him?”

“Right now,” she replied.

As I climbed into Susan’s little Toyota, I began to have second thoughts. Just because I hadn’t been told about any plan to insert Jorgenson and Steele into Ovid didn’t mean it wasn’t part of a sanctioned operation. Granted, it wasn’t acceptable procedure on the surface of things, but more than one operation I had participated in had required compartmentalization. Since our whole operation had been the result of being seconded to NSA, it was hard to tell if what was going on was normal operating procedure or not.

But I had my doubts. If our entire operation had been nothing more than a smoke screen to make the gods think we had executed a flawed mission and gotten ourselves caught to boot, that meant a team of good operatives had been needlessly sacrificed. That wasn’t the sort of strategy that made men willing to put themselves at extreme risk. It made it appear as if we had been set up–lied to–just to disguise the real nature of the mission.

Besides, I had to operate on the orders I had been given. I had been told to gather information on Ovid and get out as soon as possible. I hadn’t been told that there was a second mission–or that our own government had the power to change an adult into a child. Maybe what I was doing would get me closer to The Judge and help me to get the very information that would complete my mission. I still believed that Jorgenson was on a rogue mission, and compromising her and Steele would do nothing to compromise my own mission.

Maybe this was all a rationalization, I told myself as we pulled into the City Hall parking lot, but I was tired of being a pawn–and a taken pawn at that–in this game. The only way I could get back into the game was to see The Judge.

Officer Mercer and The Judge were waiting for us in chambers. Susan had contacted him as she drove us over to City Hall. For Officer Mercer as Mercury, the trip would have only taken an instant. As ruler of the gods, I suspected The Judge was every bit as fast. Both of them were dressed exactly as they had been when I was transformed, and both of them wore disapproving looks as they saw Susan and me together.

“Just what is this about?” The Judge demanded, not bothering to rise from behind his desk.

“My client,” Susan began, emphasizing my relationship to her, “has information which may be of great value to your efforts.” She said it so calmly I suspected she was one hell of an attorney. She didn’t seem to be intimidated by the gods at all.

“And what does your client want in return?” The Judge asked, reserving a stony stare for me.

What did I want? I hadn’t really given it much thought. What I really wanted was Jorgenson and Steele’s activities curbed so that I could get on with my own mission. But perhaps there was a chance to complete my mission and get out of Ovid before Mike got me alone Saturday night.

“Your Honor,” I began, “our mission poses no direct threat to you and your... associates–assuming that you have no hostile intentions yourselves. If you could change my team back to normal and provide us with assurances of peaceful intent, we would be willing to pass that on to our people.”

The Judge smiled, but it was a grim smile. “Ms. Leone, you really have no idea how complex this matter is. Had things gone according to our plan, none of this would have happened. You and your team would have been held in reserve until our immediate plans were accomplished. That was Admiral Nepper’s mission. Unfortunately, we have discovered that Admiral Nepper is being held incommunicado and a new and dangerous enemy has surfaced, about whom we know very little.”

“That doesn’t justify changing people without a trial,” Susan pointed out.

“Your own President Lincoln established a similar precedent when he suspended habeas corpus,” The Judge shot back. “Make no mistake about it, Susan, we are at war–just as surely as your nation was when Mr. Lincoln took his actions.”

“Maybe if you explained what is happening, my client could help,” she returned.

Anger which had been growing in The Judge’s face seemed to abate, as if he was honestly considering Susan’s proposal. At last, he nodded. “Very well. I will explain this much to both of you. The Oracle has determined that the human race has no more than a few decades left before it destroys itself and us with it. Before this era, we had no concerns about your infantile conflicts–until at last, you developed weapons powerful enough to destroy even our kind.”

“Nuclear weapons,” I suggested. So this was what the twins wanted me to understand from the Oracle.

He turned to me. “Exactly. In Japan at the close of your Second World War, several of our kind were obliterated by nuclear weapons. It was at that time that we were forced to take a more active interest in human affairs or face extinction as well. We assumed human identities and ingratiated ourselves to a number of your world leaders. Eisenhower, McMillan, de Gaulle, even Khrushchev and Chairman Mao received our advice as we sought to temper the human lust for war. In the end, all saw that we were correct and the world was safe–for the moment.

“Then things started to fall apart. Social systems began to collapse and alliances waned, leaving the world with a number of new groups with potential access to nuclear weapons, but unlike the more mature nations we were able to influence, these new groups cannot be dissuaded from using such weapons in the name of their causes. It is only a matter of a few more years before a religious war of apocryphal proportions grows from the actions of these groups and destroys all that your species has achieved.”

“The Middle East,” I murmured.

“Right again,” The Judge acknowledged.

“And you have a plan to stop it,” I prompted.

“A plan which the discovery of Ovid would render useless,” he replied.

We were all silent for a minute, until at last I asked, “And you expect us to take your word for all of that on faith?”

As I remember, more than one of the ancient Greeks cautioned that it was unwise to anger the gods. I realized the moment I had spoken that I would have been wise to remember that dictum. In spite of his modern dress, I could just for a moment imagine The Judge’s face surrounded by roiling clouds filled with menace and destructive power. He glared at me with the coldest blue eyes I had ever seen. As I glanced away, I saw that even Officer Mercer looked vaguely uncomfortable from behind his enigmatic mirrored sunglasses.

“Your Honor,” Susan began, bravely stepping in front of me, “I don’t think she meant...”

“I know exactly what she meant,” The Judge growled, his eyes still fixed on me. “How dare you doubt my words! I have told you more than I have told any other mortal. I sought to make you understand the urgency of bringing our plan back on track. Instead, you want proof, do you? Then here is your proof!”

In an instant, I was somewhere else–some when else as well, I realized. I recognized the place–it was Michigan Avenue in the heart of Chicago’s famed Loop. But it was a Chicago which I prayed silently would never exist. Instead of crowds of bustling people and lines of slowly moving cars, the street was deserted. Oh, there were cars–or what was left of them–burning wrecks strewn in all directions, as if they were toys thrown there by a careless child. The twisted remains of Chicago’s magnificent skyline burned and smoked, filling the sky with acrid smoke, blotting out the sun as ashes swirled in a firestorm-created wind.

The heat was intense–fatal if I had actually been there, but something told me I was not really there in corporeal form. But as intense as the heat was, it was positively cool from what it had been, as evidenced by the powdery silhouettes on the sides of the building–the last evidence of what had once been living humans, vaporized by the intense power of a nuclear weapon.

Yes, it could have all been some sort of special effects, created by the gods and placed in my mind to frighten me into submission, but I had seen war. I had studied the aftermath of thermonuclear destruction. What I was experiencing was real–or would be some day.

“This is just a foretaste,” the voice of The Judge came from behind me. I turned to see him standing there with me, the fires of the hell that had once been Chicago reflected in his gold-rimmed glasses. “Already Boston, San Francisco, and a host of other American cities have suffered similar fates.”

“What of the enemy?” I asked softly.

He shook his head. “There is not one city still in Moslem control. Vast areas of the Middle East have been rendered uninhabitable for centuries. Not that it matters. The cloud of radiation now surrounding the planet will kill all but a few of the remaining humans within the next five years, even if the remaining nuclear weapons still at the ready are not detonated.”

“And you can stop this?” I asked softly, averting my eyes from the horror before me.

“We can try,” he replied. “Nothing is certain.”

I nodded. I understood at last what the fate of my race would be unless The Judge was allowed to proceed. “I’ll do what I can. Get me away from here. I’ve seen enough.”

“Are you all right?” Susan asked.

I was standing exactly as I had been before. “I... what happened?”

“Your eyes glazed over and you stiffened,” she told me. “I was afraid The Judge had done something to you.”

I looked into The Judge’s eyes. “I suppose he did.”

The Judge made no move to explain to Susan what had happened. I looked around as I heard a door close to see Officer Mercer still standing there. “What did you find?” The Judge asked.

“I’ve checked the entire town,” Officer Mercer replied. “There is no sign of either Mr. Steele or Ms. Jorgenson.”

The Judge’s eyes narrowed. “Ms. Leone, are you certain you saw them?”

“Of course I’m sure!” I snapped. “Why would I lie?”

“Actually, I can think of several reasons you might lie,” The Judge responded drolly. “But I do know that you are telling the truth.”

I suppose he did. After all, no god worth his salt would lack the ability to tell when any mere mortal was lying to him–or so I thought. “Maybe they changed their shapes,” I suggested.

“Possible,” The Judge agreed, “but not likely. Shifting the shape of others so quickly is not a common ability–even among the gods.”

“Are you saying Jorgenson is a g... g...” The Judge waved his hand, allowing me to gasp out the final word: “...god?”

“It’s very likely,” he replied. “But she isn’t one of our pantheon. That is what makes her and her allies so dangerous. We can only guess at what powers are arrayed against us.”

“Not exactly godly powers if she needed an explosives expert,” I pointed out, noting to myself that The Judge had all but said that Jorgenson was some sort of deity.

“Unless she wanted to make it look as if humans were allied with them,” The Judge mused.

I could see his point. If the gods believed that the government of the United States had discovered them and made some sort of alliance with another faction of gods, it could be enough to make The Judge uproot his operation in Ovid and move to some presumed safer location. That, coupled with any damage Steele managed to cause would effectively derail whatever plan the gods had devised to stop the march toward a devastating world war.

It’s been said that man plans and the gods laugh, but maybe every now and then, it happens the other way around: gods plan and man laughs. What Jorgenson could never have anticipated was that I would chance upon her and Steele as they reconnoitred the town, or that I would have effectively defied my orders and contacted The Judge. The first error I could forgive her for since it was mere chance that caused our paths to cross. As for the second error, it irritated me that she would think me such a martinet that I would remain loyal to my mission after discovering her betrayal of my team. Because of her, five good men had been rendered ineffective–all changed into girls with one even losing his sense of identity.

The Judge dismissed us and Susan drove me back to Rusty’s to pick up my car. “You were wise not to push The Judge for anything tonight,” she told me. “I think he respected your ethics in this matter.”

“But I would really like to have asked him something,” I sighed. As we drove along Ovid’s nearly-deserted streets. “I would really like to be changed back into a man before tomorrow.”

“What’s happening tomorrow?” she asked.

I was hesitant to tell Susan of my apprehensions about the coming day with Mike, but who would understand what I was going through better than Susan? While she was now apparently content to be a wife and a mother, there must have been a time after her transformation when she felt as reluctant as I was to face the possibility of having sex with a man.

“Is that all?” she laughed when I had told her.

I flushed, wondering what she could possibly find so funny. Had she been gay as a man? I couldn’t imagine any red-blooded American man who, finding himself transformed into a woman, would wilfully spread his–or rather her–legs for any man. Even if time and hormones altered his mind, surely it would take more than a few days to become comfortable with the thought.

Now that my mission was, for all practical purposes, ended with Jorgenson’s apparent betrayal, I no longer felt the need to continue pretending to be content with my new feminine role. All that remained for me now was to let Mike down easily. I did like the guy. If I were still a man, he was the sort of guy I would like to drink beer with and talk about the prospects for the Bengals or the Reds.

But as much as I liked Mike, he was a man. I had been where he was before–dating a girl and expecting her to put out after a suitable interval of courtship. What would I have done if the girl had backed away just before the big day? I like to think I would have been a gentleman and accepted the girl’s refusal, but would Mike?

I had known guys who could be nice as you please to their girls–until something rubbed them the wrong way. I had even sat on a court martial where a sailor faced with that very situation had made the wrong decision and found himself up on very serious charges. According the testimony, he was a good kid who friends would never have dreamed would ever be up on rape and assault charges.

Actually, I didn’t think Mike was the type who would force me, but there was something about finding myself in a small, defenseless female body that made even the possibility of a sexual assault something to worry about. Granted, I could probably defend myself–to a point. All of my hand-to-hand combat skills depended upon my male strength and balance. I might just anger a determined man. A little bit of unfamiliar fear crossed my mind.

It must have shown on my face, too. Susan had parked next to my car and was looking at my face with new concern. “You really are worried about this, aren’t you?” she asked.

I just nodded, afraid that my voice would tremble with my new fear.

Susan put her arm around me. “Look Gabby, I think I know someone who can help.”

“Help? How?” I asked in a quavering voice.

“Tomorrow morning before the game, go down to March’s Department Store and ask for Vera March. She can help you sort this out.”

“Wait a minute!” I said. “I know who she is. She was mentioned in the briefing. If I see her, she’ll have me turned into a bitch in heat. Mike won’t have to do anything: I’ll probably do it all for him!”

“I’ll call her first thing,” she promised. “I’ll tell her how you’re helping The Judge. Vera will understand, Gabby. She’s not like The Judge. She’s a woman too, after all.”

Too.

What a horrid thought, but it was true. Reluctantly I nodded. “Okay. I’ll see her.”

And see her I did. March’s Department Store was a throwback to a kinder, gentler time. In an era where downtown department stores struggled even in the heart of large urban centers, March’s was obviously doing well, judging by the number of customers I saw milling about the store. The building was only three stories tall, and each floor was a fraction of the size of the typical suburban Nordstrom’s, but the stock looked new and up to date and was well displayed.

I made my way into the women’s clothing department, feeling as out of place as I had when I had been inserted into Angola a few years back. This was unfamiliar territory for me and always had been. During my brief and stormy marriage, my wife had dragged me into the women’s department a few times, and I always felt like a fish out of water. Unfortunately, now that I had the type of body that could actually wear the garments I saw displayed around me, I felt even more uncomfortable. The reason? I suddenly realized that I would be coming into stores like this for the rest of my life, trying on and buying skirts and heels and cosmetics. It was a sobering thought.

“Can I help you?”

I turned to see a young woman, smartly dressed, smiling at me. She appeared to be a few years younger than I–probably no more than twenty–with long brown hair and a perky crop of freckles. “I’m Donna Gorman,” she said. “Is there something in particular you’d like to see?”

I gather my wits and replied, “Yes, I’d like to see Vera March. Susan Jager sent me.”

Donna’s mouth turned up into a bemused smile. I blushed a little, as I had the sudden suspicion that she knew exactly why I wanted to see Vera March. Well, there was no turning back, though. I’d just have to suffer through the embarrassment.

Donna took my arm. “Don’t worry. A lot of us have to see Vera sooner or later. She’s nice: you’ll like her.”

As Donna ushered me into Vera’s office, I wasn’t sure if I would like her, but if I had been in my old male body, there were a number of things I would like to do with her. To say that she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen would not have been an exaggeration. As she rose and came around her desk to greet me, extending a perfect hand, I realized for the first time exactly why extremely attractive women are called goddesses. Donna was actually quite attractive, but next to Vera March, she looked like a boy.

“Susan told me you’d be dropping by,” Vera told me, squeezing my hand with a firm while feminine handshake. “I’m very pleased you came.”

She was pleased. I nearly shuddered in pleasure that she was pleased. “I... uh...” I began as Donna excused herself with a smile and left.

She motioned for me to sit next to her on a nearby couch. When I was comfortable, she gazed at me serenely for a moment. Then, she frowned. While even her frown was beautiful, I had to ask, “Is something wrong?”

“You seem a little hard to read,” she replied, but I knew what she really meant was that she couldn’t read my mind. Strange, The Judge seemed to have the same problem. From what I knew of the gods, any one of them should have been able to read my mind with little or no effort at all.

“Still, your emotions are easy to read,” she continued.

Well Donna had said she had helped others in my position. “I... I think I’m expected to have sex tonight,” I admitted reluctantly. “I just can’t... I can’t do it.”

“Why not?” she asked calmly.

“You know why,” I shot back. “This isn’t who I am.” I motioned with my hands at my woman’s body. “I’m a man–at least inside I’m still a man. I can’t have sex with another man. It’s... it’s just plain sick!”

“Would it be all right if you were to make love to a woman?” she probed.

I had no immediate answer for that. My mind wanted to say yes, but I was in the body of a woman. It might be kind of fun to watch some skin flick where two women go at each other, but the thought of being one of those women seemed somehow unnatural to me now.

“Answer the question,” she insisted.

I seemed compelled to respond. “No, I mean I don’t think I should–not like this.”

“Then what is it you want?”

“Can you change me back into a man?” I asked hopefully, clutching at straws.

She shook her head, a little smile of amusement on her lips. “Why would you ever want to be a man?”

I didn’t bother to answer, nor did she seem to expect me to. After a few moments of silence, she rose. “I’m sorry then, Gabriella, but there seems to be nothing I can do for you...”

“No, wait!” I begged. “You have to help me. Susan said...”

“Susan is a very intelligent woman,” Vera interrupted, “but she apparently overestimated your own intelligence.”

“What?”

“You are what you are,” she said, sitting next to me once more. “You are a woman. No matter what your mind tells you, you have been made into a lovely young woman, and by your own moral code, women should make love to men.”

“But I’m a man inside!”

“If it were the other way around and you had a woman’s mind in a man’s body, would it then be all right for you to ignore women in favor of liaisons with men?”

I thought suddenly of Kast. He had shocked me with his admission that he preferred to be a woman, presumably with all that entailed. “But what can I do?” I moaned.

“Do you like this man?” she asked gently.

I nodded. “He’s a good guy. He could be a good friend.”

She returned my nod. “Lovers should always be friends before they become lovers. Don’t you agree?”

Again, I nodded, feeling embarrassing tears welling up in my eyes.

“Physical love is a further manifestation of a deep friendship,” she explained. “While pleasurable in the physical sense, it is an ultimate expression of trust. For a woman to allow a man to enter her, she must feel the man is worthy of her friendship and her trust. Is this man worthy of your friendship?”

“Y... yes,” I stammered, my voice soft and trembling. I was feeling something within my new body that I had never felt before, but I couldn’t quite understand it. It was a little like the feeling I had experienced when I had held Mike’s hand during our walk, but much more demanding.

“Is he worthy of your trust?”

Did I trust Mike? He had certainly never given me any reason not to trust him. I nodded again as the strange feeling seemed to warm my inner being.

“Then you know what to do,” she concluded in a soothing voice.

Yes. Yes, I did know what to do. My conscious mind–my male mind–seemed to recede in the wake of the warm glow. I didn’t even remember leaving Vera’s office.

Just because Vera March did whatever she did to give me the warm fuzzies about Mike didn’t mean that I didn’t have a care in the world about what might be expected of me. First, I had been so focused on finding a solution to Mike’s expected advances that I had not taken into account that after my revelation to The Judge, my mission was most certainly over. I really didn’t need to deal with Mike’s advances. I could simply tell him no and let him walk away.

The problem was that I wasn’t sure I wanted that to happen. In the few days I had been in Ovid, I had found Mike to be a true friend. We had discussed many things together–things that interested both of us. I really didn’t have any other friends to speak of. Oh, a couple of the teachers had been friendly, and Susan appeared to be a good friend, but that was it. And besides, Susan had a family–a husband and a son–who took up much of her time. Well, there was Sophie too, but she had interests of her own–interests that did not include her mother. And yes, in retrospect, I realized she was starting to treat me as if I really was her mother. She even seemed a little reluctant to talk about our previous lives and was beginning to focus on her new one. That left Mike.

Even if I had been the person I appeared to be–that is to say born and raised a female–I would probably have had some misgivings about Mike, I realized. Here I was, a single woman–a widow no less–with a teenaged daughter to raise. From my experience as a man, I found women such as the one I had become to be a little suspicious of men. Questions such as ‘will he be a good father to my child?’ and ‘how will he compare to my first husband?’ would come to mind. Of course, I had no way of answering that second question, but the trepidation I showed could easily be interpreted as that by someone like Mike.

So even a real, lifelong woman would probably have visible concerns. As for me, those concerns would be magnified. I had already come to the reluctant conclusion that I was going to be a woman for the rest of my life. In the briefings, I hadn’t heard of a single person who had been changed back. I was doomed to be a woman from now on: it just remained to figure out what sort of a woman I was going to be. Either I would learn to cope with my concerns or I would not. If I did, I would probably lead a normal–perhaps even happy–life in Ovid. If not... well, it was best not to think about that now.

Whatever Vera March had done to me had indeed allowed me to set some of those concerns aside. For the first time since my transformation, I began to think about what sex might be like as a woman without breaking out in a terrified sweat. As a man, I had made love many times with a number of women. Most seemed to genuinely enjoy the experience. If they could, why couldn’t I?

I looked at the clock on the mantel. Mike would be back at any time. Then, it would be off to the game, followed by... well, I didn’t know what it would be followed by to be honest. I had to pick something to wear.

Only later would I realize that whatever the goddess had done to me was really starting to kick in. Rather than looking for something utilitarian and warm, I began mentally selecting and eliminating items from my closet with an unusually practiced eye. A pair of jeans here, a sweater there, practical shoes–no not-so-practical shoes with a little more heel. I fell into the automatic mode I had experienced earlier, until at last I had the right combination.

Looking into the mirror, I couldn’t imagine for the life of me why I had thought myself unattractive when I had first looked at my driver’s license picture. All it took was the right makeup, the right style for my hair, and the right clothes. In the wrong jeans with the wrong hairstyle and makeup, I might have looked positively boyish, if you discounted my obvious breasts. That wasn’t the case though, now. The red turtleneck sweater I wore stuck out prominently in a very un-boyish way. My dark blue jeans were practically painted on, displaying feminine hips, a spectacular tush, and long, supple legs, accented by the black heeled boots. I had gone light on jewelry, opting instead for more eye-catching makeup. I might have been thirty-three, but I could have passed for twenty-five in a pinch.

My preening in front of the mirror ended suddenly as the doorbell rang. It had to be Mike, I realized. As usual, mixed emotions tore through my mind. I had really come to like Mike, but in the way I would have liked him before my change–as a friend. I felt joy at the arrival of my friend. And as before, there was trepidation as well, for I knew very well that what Mike wanted was more than just friendship–something I wasn’t sure I could give him or any other man for that matter.

But there was something new in the emotional mix that hadn’t been there before. Had the goddess put it there, or had it been there all along? It was difficult to say. Whatever the reason, I had begun to wonder–wonder what it might be like to be the woman Mike thought I was. Could I be such a woman?

As I rushed to the door, I wasn’t sure if I could be that woman or not. But my body had started sending me little messages that weren’t hard to interpret. As a man, I remembered similar feelings–the rush caused by anticipation as a pretty girl approached or the longing sensation of anticipation translated through my penis. I lacked one of those now, of course, so the sensation took on a different and yet similar aspect as I felt just the tiniest tingle in my breasts and in the emptiness between my legs.

There was a split second in which I nearly didn’t answer the door, wanting instead to turn and call Vera March and beg her to undo whatever it was that she had done. But the moment passed, suspended in the alternatives of time never to be realized.

“Hi there,” Mike said cheerfully as I opened the door.

“Hi yourself,” I responded, taking in his very male body as if for the first time. He wore jeans and a navy blue sweater–an outfit similar in some respects to my own. But unlike my feminine attire, his clothing exuded masculinity. I looked into his eyes as if for the first time, my body unconsciously leaning forward, my face tilted upward. On my toes, my face came even with his and I kissed him convincingly on the lips. “I missed you.”

He seemed a bit flustered at my actions. Since I had become Gabby, I had never initiated a kiss like that. “Well,” he said, his face turning just a little red, “I think I’ll have to be gone more often if that’s the kind of kiss I get when I return.”

I just laughed. It was a natural laugh and I liked the sound of it. “Do we need to go now?”

He looked at his watch. “Kickoff is in about an hour. I thought we’d walk on over to the stadium and get a bite to eat there.”

I smiled. “Sounds fun. Let’s.”

I had walked arm in arm with Mike before, but never had I sidled so close to him. The weather was sunny but brisk, and the warmth of his body felt good. As far back as I could remember, I had prided myself in my ability to take care of myself, but sheltered in Mike’s arm, I felt strangely safer than at any other time since my transformation. In a way, I envied Mike, because he was all of the things I had been as a man–handsome, fit, and presumably virile–but on the other hand, I was oddly content just to be with him because he was all of those things.

In retrospect, walking with Mike to the stadium was an epiphany. I was truly content, forgetting for the moment the concerns about the mission, the presumed betrayal by the Ice Queen, my life as a SEAL and as a man, and the ominous warnings of the gods which spelled a potential end for our world. None of these things were as important as the feeling of Mike’s body next to mine.

We barely got in our seats in time for the kickoff. Two rows ahead of us, Susan stood and waved. She motioned for us to come down and sit in two empty seats next to them. It was obvious that Mike knew Susan’s husband, so we moved on down.

“Normally, Cindy Patton sits here with her husband,” Susan whispered to me once Mike and her husband became preoccupied discussing the game. “She and her husband are in New Orleans for a few days while he is in some business meetings, so I know nobody will be sitting here.”

Once we had gotten past the small talk, we settled down for the game. As a man, I had been interested in football and had played in high school as well as at Annapolis. Unfortunately, being around the world had made it difficult for me to follow any teams closely, even with the ability to pick up satellite broadcasts. Even so, I was sure I had never heard of East Central University in Ada, Oklahoma.

Of course, as I understood things, no one from East Central University had ever heard of Capta College either. Their team would march into Ovid, play their game, and leave again, never aware that they had done anything that day except use a bye date for a little rest and recovery. A special edition of the Tulsa and Oklahoma City papers would report on the game, but neither of those articles would ever be seen outside Ovid.

The game was exciting, but Capta was outmatched by the Tigers of East Central. In the end, East Central won by a touchdown. At least I knew the gods hadn’t stooped to fixing football games.

During the game, I had been sitting very close to Mike–so close that Susan gave me a sly glance. During the halftime as Mike and Steven–Susan’s husband–went for drinks, Susan leaned over to me. “You and Mike seem to be getting along fine.”

“Maybe too fine,” I replied with concern. “Just what did Vera do to me?”

Susan shrugged. “I told her to relieve your anxieties. She promised that was all she would do.”

“Then explain to me why I’m getting so... so...”

“Hot?”

I felt my face turn red and looked around to make sure no one else was listening to our conversation. “What do you mean ‘hot’?” I hissed.

“Gabby, guys aren’t the only ones who get hot and bothered about sex. You’ve been a woman for a few days now, and your body is trying to tell you something, but until those anxieties were removed, you’ve been ignoring the signals from your body. Don’t deny it, now. It happens to all of us after we get here.”

“You mean I’m getting horny over a guy?”

“You’ve got the right equipment for it now,” she replied as she wiggled her eyebrows.

“Shit!”

Susan spotted Mike and Steven wading back through the crowd with drinks. She patted my hand and said quickly, “Just let it happen, Gabby. What’s the worst that can happen? Why, you can’t even get pregnant here for a couple of months, so you might as well try it and see if you like it.”

That was easy for her to say, I mused as we said our goodbyes after the game. She had already tried it and found that she liked it. Me? I was scared half to death, in spite of the fact that my body was sending me increasingly strong signals–signals that I could easily identify as sexual urges.

Steven had invited us to join them at Tony’s, an Italian place downtown. Before I could say anything, Mike told him, “We’d love to, but we have a reservation at Winston’s in a couple of hours.”

I felt a strange mixture of relief and disappointment. On the one hand, I liked Susan very much, and her husband seemed nice as well. It would have been fun to go out with them. And, of course, it would delay any designs on me Mike might have. As for the relief... well, I’m not sure where that came from. Maybe I was just thinking that Winston’s sounded like a good place. It had been mentioned in our briefings, and male or female, I was always in the mood for a good steak. Besides, if we were going to Winston’s that meant Mike wouldn’t try any funny business with me–at least until after he had wined and dined me.

Mike dropped me off at my place to get ready for dinner while he went home to change as well. I thought it a little funny, since I doubted if a small town steak house had anything resembling a dress code, but it seemed important to Mike, so I decided to be a little bit formal.

Selecting women’s clothing was still something of a mystery to me, so I allowed myself to go into automatic mode, pretty much going along for the ride in a near alpha state as I selected a black bra and panties, matching slip, and a somewhat sheer shortish black dress. A few silver trinkets were added to the outfit, making me wonder how I could look so damned sexy in what Mike would probably identify as Oakland Raider colors.

I touched up my makeup, teased my hair, and slipped on a pair of black heels just as the doorbell rang.

“That’s what I like about you,” Mike commented as I opened the door. “You’re always ready on time. Are you sure you’re not a guy?”

I blushed at his little joke, wondering what Mike would say if he were to realize the question wasn’t as funny as he thought. “Do I look like a guy?”

He smiled. “Not in the least. You look stunning.”

I smiled back. He didn’t look so bad himself. Mike had the sort of physique that looked great in a suit, and the navy blue pinstripe number with the blue oxford shirt and red tie made him look like a candidate for Governor of California. In spite of myself, I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like...

“Are you ready to go?” he asked.

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” I said starting out the door.

“Hey! You’d better wear a coat. It’s a little cool out there, and you just might freeze in that dress.”

He was right, of course. I fumbled around in the closet until I found a dark cloth coat that would go with the dress. Why was I being such a dunce? I was acting like... like...

I was acting like a girl going out on her first big formal date.

Shit! How had I sunk so low so fast?

Fortunately, Mike talked as we drove to Winston’s. I wasn’t sure I could carry on a lucid conversation. My mind was too busy fighting my body. Or maybe it was just part of my mind fighting the other part. Whatever it was, I kept swinging from near panic at the thought that Mike would probably try to feed me and get me drunk enough to go back to his place or mine and do... well, do just about anything he wanted. The other part of me was wondering what it might be like to do everything he wanted–and enjoying the idea at that!

Winston’s was surprisingly nice for a small town steak house. It boasted linen tablecloths, classical music, a host in a good-quality dark suit and a wait staff nicely attired in a white shirts or blouses and black trousers or skirts, appropriate to their gender. The waiters even wore dark ties.

I was a little taken aback when the host held my chair for me. I wanted to tell him I wasn’t some helpless little babe who couldn’t move her own chair, but I suppose that was the SEAL in me barking to get out. Some small part of me was actually flattered by the attention. I even managed to give the waiter a smile of thanks.

“Did you want to get an appetizer?” Mike asked when we were seated.

As a man, I would have probably had one, but I had noticed that as a woman, I didn’t seem to need as much food, so I shook my head. “If I did, I wouldn’t be able to eat a steak.”

Mike smiled. “So you’re a cheap date, huh?”

Cheap, but not easy, I thought. Maybe I should have ordered an appetizer. It would prolong the meal and I could always beg off from any later activities because I was too tired and too full. But in fact, I did want to save myself for the steak. As a SEAL, I was used to eating big meals and working them off. I loved steak, and the aromas wafting through the dining room were enough to convince me that Winston’s could have held its own with some of the best steak houses I had ever visited.

We ordered, Mike choosing a large Kansas City strip while I reluctantly ordered a petit filet. It seemed to be one of the smaller selections on the menu.

Of course, along with some very fine steaks along with all the trimmings, we had to have a good wine. As a man, I had enjoyed wine, but I always felt a little uncomfortable ordering it. Fortunately, Mike seemed to know wines well and ordered a superb one. I mention this because I think the wine was the beginning of my downfall.

Like a lot of SEALs, I subscribed to the philosophy of ‘work hard–play hard,’ so I thought I could hold my liquor as well as the next guy. The problem was I wasn’t a guy any more. I was a much smaller woman whose body weight wasn’t sufficient to absorb as much alcohol. Oh, I thought I was fine as we sat there together enjoying a wonderful meal, but the dulling effect of the wine was breaking down whatever mental resistance to giving in to my new body that I might have retained. Coupled, I told myself, with whatever Vera March had done to me, I found myself becoming less inhibited–mentally at least.

Specifically, I was growing more and more curious about what it would be like to make love to Mike. My curiosity was growing with every sip of wine, and my body was beginning to respond to that curiosity as well. I don’t even think I recognized just what was happening at first. A man feels sexual stimulation in essentially one place. A woman feels it concentrated in a few key spots, of course, but a woman feels sexual attraction almost all through her body. It’s not as intensely demanding as a man’s sexual stirrings, but it’s every bit as real.

In short, I was getting incredibly horny before I realized what had hit me.

We lingered over coffee–but no dessert. Both of us considered our workouts to be strenuous enough without adding unnecessary calories to the situation. We talked about inconsequential things–the game, what we had done since we had last been together (except for my session with The Judge, of course), and the like. At last, Mike asked, “Are you ready to go?”

Even in my slightly inebriated state, alarm bells went off. This was it! This was the moment. He had treated me to a special evening–a special day, actually–and now it was time to pay the piper. I realized if I had been in his shoes, I would have thought exactly that, too. In fact, I was thinking it even as who I had become. It had to be Vera’s magic. She had changed me from a reluctant transformee into a horny woman who was actually looking forward to hopping in the sack with a man. What had I done to myself? Less than a week ago, I had been a man–a very straight man–and yet here I was seriously contemplating having sex with Mike. The war inside my mind and body was becoming more fierce, and I honestly wasn’t certain which side would win.

All the way home, we were both silent, as if we had something on each of our minds. I was sure that what was on Mike’s mind was how best to maneuver me into the bedroom. I looked pretty damned hot that evening, if I do say so myself, so I couldn’t really blame him for thinking that way, could I?

As for me, I felt like I suspected most girls felt when they were seriously thinking about giving their virginity to a boy. Of course, as far as anyone knew, Gabby was hardly a virgin. I had been married, I had a daughter, and I was thirty-something. Any one of those facts would have moved me out of the virgin column. The problem was that I had only been Gabby for a few days, so I might as well have been a virgin. Mentally trapped inside this body I was certainly one.

What would it be like to have Mike inside of me? Would it hurt? Most of the women I had known intimately seemed to enjoy the experience of lovemaking as much as I had. None of them seemed to be in pain. Well, there was Mary Sue back in high school, but she had really been a virgin...

Suddenly, I realized I had no protection. If Mike did enter me, he was going to leave something behind. No, that wasn’t right. I remember the briefings where it said that transformed women couldn’t get pregnant for the first few weeks–it was something to do with allowing new women to get acclimated to their new sex before having to worry about pregnancy. Susan had mentioned that as well. Still, the thought of having a man ejaculate into my body was enough to make me cringe.

But women seemed to enjoy it...

And Mike wasn’t a bad looking guy. There: I said it to myself. I liked the way he looked. What would he look like without any clothes on? He’d look strong, I decided, and fit. He’d look... manly.

What the hell was going on between my legs? I felt warm, and the warmth seemed to be coming from inside me. I felt something else, too: dampness. It was as if I was holding warm water in my panties. I hadn’t peed myself, had I? No... no, it wasn’t anything like that. It was like... It was like...

“Well, we’re home,” Mike said suddenly, shocking me out of my reverie. Yes, we were home–Gabby’s home. My home.

“Are you all right?” he asked, worried.

“Oh! Yes... yes, I’m fine.”

He looked at me carefully in the dim light cast from my porch light. “Can I come in? I have something I want to tell you.”

Yeah, he wanted to tell me that it was time to pay for my meal. Somehow, that made me feel even warmer and moister. This was it! This was the moment. I was scared, anxious, ready and reluctant all at the same time. But I was something else, too, I suddenly realized.

I was horny.

Mike ushered me into the house, but instead of leading me directly to the bedroom as I had suspected he would do, he guided me to the couch in the living room. What was he thinking? Did he think I needed another drink to loosen me up? Why was he being so gentle? Why didn’t he put those strong arms around me and begin tearing my clothes off? Why wasn’t he doing something about the ache between my legs?

“I guess I’m being a little old-fashioned,” he said at last. With that, I thought he was getting lower to sit next to me on the couch, but he got down on the floor instead, reaching into his pocket. He was on one knee and holding something in his hand–a velvet box–and... and...

Oh my God, no!

“Gabby, will you marry me?”

There it was–out in the open. He had said it. He wasn’t going to haul me into bed: he was proposing. That was what he meant by a big night. Had Gabby known? Should I have known?

I know to Mike, the next few moments must have seemed like an eternity. Frankly, they were for me as well, but for a different reason. I suddenly realized in that pregnant moment that I had misjudged Mike–I thought he was like me, or rather like the man I had been. Sure, I had taken a liking to the guy, but deep down, I thought he was just after a piece of ass. Ever since my short-lived marriage had disintegrated, that was how I had played the game.

Not so Mike, though. The guy was sincere. He loved me! Jeez, what was I going to do? I had petitioned the goddess Venus to brace me for a night of sex as a woman, but I had no defense against a proposal of marriage.

The strange thing was that I was honestly considering it. Why? Well, it was starting to appear quite unlikely that I would ever be changed back into a man again, and as an attractive youngish woman, I was bound to be hit on regularly. Eventually, I would probably give in naturally to the enhanced sex drive Vera March had given me. In fact, even without any help from Vera March, I would probably give in to sex in my new body: I got the idea that everyone eventually did. So why not latch onto Mike? I liked him and Sophie liked him. Besides, I had this growing itch that needed to be scratched. The sooner I said yes, the sooner I could get my needs taken care of.

Damn! Why had I let Vera March tinker with my sex drive? If I hadn’t made the mistake of asking her to help me, I could probably have gently declined Mike’s offer and sent him on his way. But now–right now–I wanted him. Damn it, I needed him! If I had to agree to marry him to get what I needed, then so be it.

“Yes, Mike,” I replied at last, allowing the poor man to breathe again.

“Yes?” he asked incredulously. “You’ll marry me?”

I forced a smile. “Yes, I’ll marry you.” Now come on, you big lug, I thought to myself. Sweep me up in your arms and carry me into the bedroom and get down to business. I can’t take it much longer!

He did take me in his arms and lower his face to mine, but the kiss was sweet–almost chaste–rather than the passionate assault I had been anticipating. I threw my arms around him and thrust my tongue between his unsuspecting lips. My eyes were open, and suddenly so were his–wide in surprise. I thought the kiss would help, but it just turned up the fire. The heat between my legs could have melted lead and still he wasn’t moving me toward the bedroom.

“Gabby...” he began, coming up for air.

“Come on!” I urged, leading him in the direction of the bedroom. If he wasn’t going to take the lead, I’d have to.

At last the light dawned in his eyes. “Gabby, I thought you said you wouldn’t go to bed with any man until you married again.”

I did? She did? Oh, hell! I had misread the whole situation. Now I was so damned horny that if Mike didn’t take me to bed, I’d be up all night playing with myself until I was raw. Well, the sweet smile had worked before. I turned it on again. “Can’t a girl change her mind? Besides, if we’re engaged...”

Any time a woman lets her voice trail off like that, any upstanding heterosexual man will fill in the rest of the sentence in a way most favorable to initiating sex. Mike was no exception to the rule. “Well, if you insist...” he drawled.

Come to think of it, women could fill in the rest of a sentence, too.

It was like nothing I had ever imagined. How could something the remnants of my male mind told me was so wrong feel so right?

I let Mike undress me, savoring the gentle feel of his hands on my electrified body. I reciprocated, tugging off his shirt, almost pulling off the buttons, and helping him remove his trousers. Standing nude before him, I pulled down his boxers, nearly cringing as I saw how big he had become. I was hardly an expert on the size of male organs. Like most men, I made it a point not to notice another man’s equipment in, say, a communal shower. I had seldom even glanced at my own member when I had it. Had mine been that large? How could something that huge ever fit in me?

But it was too late to turn back now. My body was pulsating with urgent messages all telling me that what Mike had was exactly what I needed. Gently, he lowered me onto the bed, and I offered no resistance. I became almost embarrassed at how skilful he was. I knew that as a man, I had never been so patient, so gentle. His big rough hands glided effortlessly over my smooth skin, sending still more shock waves throughout my body. He began with my breasts, moving his nimble fingers to brush across my inflated nipples. The anticipation was greater than I had ever dreamed possible.

His hand moved lower then, brushing against my pubic hair until he found what he was looking for. I had avoided touching it myself, except out of necessity. I had no idea how sensitive it could be. I spread my legs wider to allow him to probe deeper.

By the time he was ready to enter me, I was completely on fire. No thoughts of my former life or my mission or my transformation managed to surface. All of my thoughts were centered on the sensations my body was experiencing. To my surprise, his entry was not painful at all. Instead, it felt absolutely wonderful.

Before Mike came, I experienced the first of what proved to be several delightful orgasms. My body shuddered involuntarily. The sensation wasn’t exactly as intense as my male orgasms had been, but they lasted so very much longer and there were so many of them. I came again as I felt Mike building to his own climax. It wasn’t as intense as the first orgasm, but coupled with the ebbing sensations I was already experiencing, it actually took me higher than I had been before.

Mike had been careful, using a condom which he had unconsciously scooped up from my nightstand. I had no doubt that it had been placed there by Vera March when I noticed the logo of March’s on the discarded package later. I had almost regretted him using it. I wanted to feel the sensation of his cum filling me, but it was not to be. Ah well, safe sex made sense. When we were married, I thought dreamily as I drifted off to sleep, I’d go on the pill. Then he could fill me as much as I liked...

Yes, my first thought when I awakened naked in his arms the next morning was, ‘Oh God! What have I done?’ The male that I had been for most of my life still occupied a distinct corner of my mind, and upon awakening, it took momentary control, but the control faded with the physical awareness of my body.

So my second thought was how good his arms felt curled around me. How quickly my mind had shifted! Days–possibly even hours–ago, I would have thought I could never be content to be held as a woman. Now, it seemed oddly natural. I attributed it to Vera March’s spell, but to be completely honest with myself, I realized even her spell hadn’t been the only element in my decision to make love with Mike.

I was a woman–now and forever. I had spent fruitless hours bemoaning my fate, hoping against hope that some miracle as great as the one that had changed me into a woman would suddenly change me back into the man I had been. Now, I had come to realize that The Judge had changed me–as he had changed many before me–into the person I would be for the rest of my life. And as a woman, I craved something I had first denied: I craved a good man to share my life with.

I began to realize as I lay there that that was what had been missing from my life as a man. My brief marriage had failed because I felt my career as a SEAL was an adequate substitute for a partner with whom I could share my life. But I was wrong. It took a radical transformation and the realization that I could never again be a SEAL to make me realize what had been missing.

Wistfully, I wondered what it might have been like if I had still been a man, met a Michelle instead of a Mike outside Ovid, and been smart enough to see that finding a love to share my life was better than proving my manhood over and over in the very hell holes of the world. The problem was that Lieutenant Douglas Harmon would probably have been too wrapped up in his male hormones to do that. But Gabriella Leone didn’t have to worry about male hormones I realized, smiling softly to myself.

“Are you awake?” Mike asked gently.

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you want to get up?” he asked, starting to withdraw his arm.

“Not just yet,” I replied, pulling his arm tighter around me. My body tingled thinking about what I was going to say next. “I’m not quite done with you.”

I found making love first thing in the morning was every bit as exciting as doing it last thing at night.

I picked up Sophie Sunday afternoon in the parking lot at the First Baptist Church. Her jeans and sweatshirt looked as if she had slept in them (which she probably had, I realized) and instead of makeup, her face bore a couple of smudges. Her long hair had been pulled back into a loose ponytail and she wore no earrings. She also looked happy as a pig in shit.

“It was fantastic!” she giggled (yes, giggled) once we had loaded her gear into the car. “It was like all the fun stuff we used to do on missions without all the crappy parts.”

By crappy parts, I assumed she meant blowing the living shit out of terrorists who had holed up in Afghani caves.

“The food was pretty decent, too. And the other girls were a lot of fun,” she effused. Then her face got a little more serious. “The only problem is that I miss being able to walk out into the bush and take a leak.”

“How did you manage that?” I asked. I knew what she meant. All that sitting to pee and wiping afterward was a real pain.

“Hey, mom, it was a Girl Scout camp,” she replied. “They had outhouses–clean outhouses, no less–and plenty of toilet paper.” She shuddered just a little. “They even had tampon dispensers.”

“Oh goody,” I said sarcastically as we drove home. “It sounds as if you’ve acclimated to your new identity pretty well.”

“Yeah, I guess so...” she began. Then she stopped and looked at my left hand perched on the steering wheel. The engagement ring wasn’t ostentatious, but it was obvious. “Oh my God, it looks like you’ve acclimated pretty well, too.”

My face flushed. “I guess I have.”

As we hefted her pack into the house, I told her everything that had transpired since she had left for camp. Of course, it was somewhat edited. I told her I had seen Vera March to get her to help me endure Mike’s proposed big night, but I didn’t tell her how I had ended up in bed. Instead, I gave her the sanitized ‘motherly’ version, concentrating on how I had come to realize my life in Ovid was permanent and how Mike seemed like a logical choice to share that life with.

Sophie couldn’t be fooled, though. As we sat at the kitchen table drinking Diet Cokes, she grinned. “You’re holding out on me.”

“No I’m not!” I protested.

“Sure you are. You guys ended up in bed together, didn’t you?”

“I... well...” It made no sense to lie to her. She knew I had ended up having sex just from the way I was hemming and hawing. I couldn’t say it, though. After all, this was Doc–a fellow SEAL. I just knew she was going to be disgusted with me.

To my surprise, she wasn’t. “Hey, that’s great!” she exclaimed.

“Great?”

She nodded, grinning. “Look, I figured out over the weekend we’d never be going back to our old lives. Some of the other girls–they’re like us–you know, changed. We had a chance to talk–one on one, of course. All of them said just about the same thing. They fought the changes at first, but it didn’t take them long to get comfortable with their new lives. Some of them even have boyfriends, and some of them have even, you know, played around a little.”

“I thought these girls were Girl Scouts–not Girl Sluts,” I commented.

“Oh mom,” she sighed melodramatically giving her best imitation of a beleaguered teenager, “that is so twentieth century.”

“Sophie!”

She laughed, “Actually, compared to where I went to high school, the girls here in Ovid are candidates for nuns. Sexual morality is pretty highly regarded here. Come to think of it, other morality is, too. Nobody sneaked a pack of cigarettes or a bottle of vodka into camp like we did back in my Boy Scout days. But all joking aside, we all talked about sex. Most of us were pretty curious about it.”

I remained silent, refusing to respond to what was an obvious prompt.

“Well,” she said at last, unable to wait any longer, “so what is it like to have sex as a woman?”

“It’s... nice,” I replied evasively. “Of course, Vera March’s spell had a lot to do with it.”

“Yeah, right,” she sneered.

“Well it did!”

“Don’t give me that!” she laughed. “I’ve seen how you look at him. As nearly as I’ve been told, I think the g... the powers that be in Ovid don’t make us do anything. They give us the shape, the right hormones, the right life, and we do the rest.”

“Are you telling me I wanted to go to bed with Mike?”

She shook her head. “Not exactly. If you were still a guy, you’d probably just be looking at Mike as a friend. With all your new equipment though, you want to do more than just have a couple of beers with him. It’s only natural.”

“When did you get your degree in psychology?” I asked her.

“I don’t need one,” she told me. “To be honest, by Friday I was checking out a few guys at school myself.”

“Uh... you aren’t thinking about...”

She laughed, shaking her head. “No, I’m not ready to go that far yet. As I said, among the girls in high school here, virginity is something to be valued.” She suddenly got serious. “But Friday one of the guys in class did ask me to go to a football game and the party afterwards next Friday night. I told him I’d have to ask you...”

She looked at me hopefully, and I realized she had the same concern I had been burdened with before I told her about having sex with Mike. She was worried about what I would think of her if she started actually dating boys. It was time to play concerned but understanding mom–a role I was sure to be playing from now on. “Is he a nice boy?”

“Oh yes,” she replied enthusiastically. “I think he was transformed, but he doesn’t remember. He’s really a great guy.”

I thought of asking his name, but I wouldn’t have recognized it if she told me. Instead, I nodded my head. “I’d like to meet him.”

She grinned. “I invited him over to study with me tomorrow night after school,” she admitted.

“Just be sure you study something besides each other.”

“Mother!”

Mike came by the house for the official announcement of our impending marriage. Sophie pretended she was hearing it for the first time and gushed like the teenage girl she had become, hugging him and planting a kiss on his cheek while calling him “Daddy.” Mike ate it up–having two nice-looking Italian girls fawn over him had to be a lifelong ambition for him. He took us out to eat, taking us to a new little Mexican place called Miguel’s located out on the highway. As we toasted each other with argaritas (well, Mike and I toasted with them anyway while Sophie looked on wistfully at her Diet Coke, acutely aware of her minor status) and chowed down on excellent enchiladas and tacos to the sound of Mexican music, I was almost able to forget that something bad was lurking around us, courtesy of the Ice Queen.

I was still in a festive mood when Mike dropped us off–or at least I was until a few minutes later when the phone rang.

“Gabby?” Susan’s voice sounded tense.

“What’s wrong, Susan?”

“What does this Steele look like?”

I thought for a moment. I had only seen him as a child once in front of Del’s and I hadn’t been able to stare at him without arousing suspicion. “He’s just a kid now,” I told her. “I’d say he’s about eight or so–short dark hair, fair skin. Why?”

“I think he was just outside my window,” she said speaking just above a whisper.

“Does he know you’ve seen him?” I asked.

“I don’t think so. I’m going to call The Judge.”

“We’re on our way over,” I told her, fumbling for my keys.

Sophie and I arrived in time to see Officer Mercer detaching something from the side of Susan’s house while she and her husband looked on in the dim porch light. Officer Mercer brought the object over to me. “Do you recognize it?” he asked.

It was a standard device every SEAL knew how to construct–a C4 charge with a small but accurate timer that is attached to the target with a strong tape that is nearly impossible to remove once it has bonded. I noted Officer Mercer had little problem removing it, though.

“We... we’re the target?” Susan asked, her voice shaking.

“One of them,” Officer Mercer replied cryptically. Then to me, he asked, “Can you disarm it?”

“Sure,” I replied. The bomb really wasn’t designed to be stealthy–just horribly deadly. The leads could be easily removed and I did so. It was then that I noticed the timer. “Shit! This thing was due to go off in less than a minute from now.”

Officer Mercer didn’t reply. One moment, he was there and the next moment he was gone. He had told Susan she was one of the known targets. To maximize the surprise, all the other explosive devices would undoubtedly be timed to go off at the same time. Obviously, he knew where any other bombs were and was on his way to stop them.

Sophie realized it, too. “He can’t find another bomb in time.” I nodded in agreement.

Susan actually smiled. “Time isn’t a problem for him,” she reminded us.

Even so, it must have been close. A few blocks away, a white streak shot through the sky, like a meteor in reverse. He must have found the bomb just as it was due to explode and moved it so fast that the force of the explosion was dissipated over a distance of miles in a fraction of a second.

“What was the target?” I asked.

No one answered, but I could see a troubled look on Susan’s face. She knew the town well of course, and undoubtedly knew from the trajectory roughly where the other bomb had been placed.

Within moments, a crowd had gathered in Susan’s front yard. Some of the people were obviously neighbors, alternately hugging Susan and her husband and speculating about the target of the other bomb. As I watched Susan, it became clear to me that although she wasn’t saying anything, she had a pretty good idea of what the target was–and why her house had been a target as well.

The rest of the crowd hung back, silent and thoughtful but avoiding the anxious neighbors. Since The Judge and Vera March were among their number, I was sure that the dozen or so spectators in their knot were all gods. The Judge motioned for me to talk to him.

“We have been unable to detect either of the two suspects,” he told me, speaking softly enough so as to be heard only by his associates. “They have found some way of blocking our detection.”

“I don’t know what they could be using,” I told him honestly.

“But you can identify them. Do you have any idea where they might have gone?” he pressed. “Is there a pickup point where you were all to meet? Or is there somewhere in town that they would normally go to escape detection?”

I shook my head. “They could be anywhere. There was no rendezvous established. As for hiding in town, there was no safe house established. There may be one we weren’t told of–someplace where a local friendly could hide them–but I have no idea where it might be.”

The Judge nodded, accepting my explanation. As his attention turned to a large bearded man standing next to Vera March, on impulse I caught Vera’s attention.

I wasn’t unhappy with how things had worked out with Mike. In fact, I couldn’t be happier, but I was curious about something: “What did you do to me?” I asked.

She smiled indulgently. “No more than what you asked me to do.”

What had I asked her to do exactly? I had told her I was uncomfortable with the idea of making love to a man, and she had done... what? She had talked to me, but there had been no magic chanting as with The Judge. “Please refresh my memory. Exactly what did you do?”

“I simply removed your inhibitions by allowing you to see yourself as the woman you have become,” she replied. “I didn’t force you to have sex if that’s what you’re concerned about, nor did I alter your moral code in any fashion. I just allowed you to be in spirit the woman you were in body and let your natural instincts prevail.”

I nodded but said nothing. She was right, I realized. As a man, I considered it the most natural thing in the world for a man and a woman to have sex when they felt strongly about each other. I considered Mike a close friend as we began our evening, and I considered him even more than a close friend when I accepted his ring. The rest just came naturally. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. I was a woman now and forever. Why would a woman deny herself the pleasures of her sex? Why should I?

I managed a smile of my own, holding up my left hand so she could see my ring.

“Then I guess I should thank you.”

“Your smile is thanks enough,” she told me, and with that, the Goddess of Love turned gracefully to consult with her fellow deities.

“I am beat!” Sophie exclaimed when we got home. She flipped on the lights and plopped down on the couch with a sigh.

“A little camping trip got you down?” I teased. “And you call yourself a SEAL.” I didn’t let on that I was tired, too. It had been an eventful weekend and tomorrow I had to get back into my schoolteacher persona.

“When I was a SEAL, we didn’t sit around a campfire all evening eating s’mores and singing songs,” she reminded me. “And we didn’t spend half the night awake giggling in our sleeping bags and talking about boys.”

I tried to imagine a bunch of SEALs doing exactly that. The image was as funny as it was preposterous.

“And I’ve got a math quiz tomorrow,” she groaned. “I had forgotten what a pain high school classes could be.”

I was about to make another snide comment when there was an unexpected knock on the door. “Who can that be?” I muttered, wondering for a moment if Mike had decided to come back over. I actually hoped he hadn’t. As much as I had come to enjoy his company, I really wanted to get a nice relaxing shower and go to bed.

I opened the door without thinking–something I would imagine no naturally-born woman in her right mind would do in broad daylight, let alone at night. I realized my mistake at once as I found myself staring into the eyes of Freda Jorgenson.

“Aren’t you going to invite us in?” she asked with mock sweetness. I stepped aside to let her and the young boy that was Steele enter. I had no choice since she had a Mac 10 trained on me all the time.

“What?” Sophie jumped up from the couch.

The Ice Queen wasn’t distracted, her weapon still pointed at me. “Oh, don’t bother getting up for us, dear. If you don’t want mommy here to die, you’ll sit back down.” She motioned for me to sit next to Sophie on the couch.

“What do you want?” I asked, trying to hide my fear. Being afraid had nothing to do with my new sex. Had I still been a man, I would have been equally disturbed at seeing a weapon as deadly as a Mac 10 pointed at my chest.

“We just need a place to lie low for a while,” she replied smoothly. She ruffled Steele’s hair, ignoring his deep embarrassment. “Chicky and I just need a place to hide until our extraction team can get us out. We’ll be gone in a couple of hours.”

“I thought no one got out of Ovid without The Judge’s permission,” I pointed out.

Jorgenson shrugged. “Usually, that is the case–for humans. As I’m sure you know by now, I don’t have that particular shortcoming. I’ve decided to make an exception for Chicky here as well. He’s really very good at explosives, you know. I can use his talents. Who would ever suspect a young boy of having such deadly skills?”

Steele said nothing, but the look in his eyes at the thought of having more explosions to create was nothing short of bliss. Steele had gone around the bend. Maybe it was his transformation into a young boy, or maybe Jorgenson had just enhanced a madness he had been able to contain as a SEAL. Whatever the reason, the madness in his eyes would be reflected in the death of many people if he wasn’t stopped.

“Why target Susan? And who was the other target?” I pressed.

She shook her head. “Really, Lieutenant, you’re in no position to be asking questions. I really do intend to leave the two of you alive, so I don’t want to tell you anything you will just repeat to The Judge. I think it’s appropriate that you be forced to face your failures as warriors and spend the rest of your lives with pussies. I really couldn’t believe it when Steele here told me he overheard you talking to that pompous Jupiter like an old friend. That’s how we discovered who you were, you know. Steele was hiding in the bushes close enough to overhear you.”

“You betrayed us!” I snapped. “You set us up. We were just a diversion for your mission.”

“Well, you may be a weak little cunt but you can still think like a warrior,” she laughed. “You’re correct, of course. I knew Jupiter and his minions would be braced for a foray after the information on Ovid got in government hands. But the old fool is so predictable. He used Admiral Nepper–his brother, by the way–to round up a team of doomed special forces personnel. But he didn’t know how well-connected we were. We used you and your men as bait, figuring once they had you, they’d figure the threat was over.”

“But you didn’t realize that The Judge knew exactly who was on the team, did you?” I ventured. “When Steele wasn’t with us, they redoubled their efforts.”

“Steele is very handy–for a human,” she acknowledged. “I was just going to kill our targets the old-fashioned way, but Steele intrigued me.”

Steele looked up at her and smiled, his boyish eyes twinkling with twisted adoration.

“He’s a natural killer,” she explained, almost like a proud mother. “He really enjoys his work, don’t you, Steele?”

“Oh yes...” he replied with a sigh.

“He’s the only true SEAL among you,” she snapped. “The rest of you were lambs. He was the only wolf.”

I said nothing in rebuttal. From her perspective, she was right. I had known many men and even a few women who had been forced to look into the eyes of an enemy they had to kill. While they were capable of doing it, none really enjoyed it. Freda Jorgenson’s eyes burned with rapture at the thought of death, and Steele might as well have been her offspring.

“But why did you wait so long to execute your mission?” I asked. “You could have taken Susan and her family out at any time. If you had, I never would have seen you. The Judge would have been unprepared.”

Her look of contempt turned sour. “Because our other target was out of town,” she admitted. “We had no way of knowing it, and once we were inserted, we had to stay until we could acquire our target.”

“Why couldn’t you just drop through the rift again?” Sophie asked. “You didn’t have to stay in Ovid and take a chance on being caught like we were.”

She laughed at that question. It wasn’t a pleasant laugh. “Don’t be a fool. There is no rift. Anyone can enter Ovid. If they belong–if they are about to die–they’ll be forced to stay. If not, they’ll pass right on through town and forget they have ever been here. You were all destined to die. That was why Neptune–you think of him as Admiral Nepper–selected you. I could have left at any time and returned later, but my little pet here...” Again, she ruffled her new acolyte’s hair, “...was marked for Ovid. He couldn’t have left and we would have been discovered if we tried.”

She looked at her watch. “Speaking of that, we will need to leave the house early–in case the extraction team is early. Fortunately, they have a way for my young helper here to leave with us.”

I had no doubt she had planned her escape well. Obviously, she didn’t concern herself with forgetting about Ovid once she left. I wondered why. I had a pretty good idea, but I wanted to make sure first. “Who are you really?” I asked.

Her smile was feral. “I would have thought you might have figured it out by now.”

“I know you are some sort of... like The Judge. But who are you?”

“I am known by several names,” she replied proudly. “Most scholars call me Freya, and I am the Norse goddess of war and death.”

She looked at me smugly as if her name had weight. I was happy to disappoint her. Like all kids, I had read some mythology as a boy, but it was mostly the Greek and Roman stories. I didn’t know Norse gods from smorgasbord. Deep down, though, the war part didn’t bother me nearly as much as the death part. Her obvious contempt for Sophie and me meant we couldn’t trust her letting us go, even though she had promised to do so. Her last act in Ovid could well be to gun us down, enjoying the spectacle as we died in front of her eyes.

That was bad, because I had discovered over the weekend that I had something worth living for. Had Freda–or Freya–threatened me immediately after my transformation, I might have willingly taken a fatal bullet just to escape what I had become. In a few short days though, I had learned that my new life wasn’t so bad after all. In some ways, I would always miss being a SEAL. It had been an integral part of my life. But in other ways, I had come to appreciate the life I had been given even more. Teaching was actually sort of fun: Sophie had become as close to me as a... well, as close to me as a daughter. And then there was Mike. How could I have ever imagined that sex with a man could be so wonderful?

“You’ll drive,” Freya ordered, motioning with her gun for emphasis. “I’ll be right behind you with this pointed at the back of your head.”

“Where are we going?” I asked, reluctant to move.

“I’ll tell you that when we’re in the car.”

I had to play for time–to try to keep her talking until there was an opening. “What was your mission? Why were you trying to kill those people?”

She favored me with an evil smile. “That won’t work. I know you’re just stalling. This isn’t some sort of James Bond movie where the villain spills her guts. All you need to know is that you’ve chosen the wrong side in this conflict. Now if you and your new sweet young daughter here want to live through the night, move! Now!”

There was no opening for me, but Sophie and I weren’t the only protagonists as it turned out. One second, we were standing there, facing the gun of an angry goddess. The next moment, the door was open–not just open, but embedded in the wall from swinging open so far. Before the sound of the door crashing into the wall could be heard, the gun was out of Freya’s hand and she was lying on the ground unconscious.

Steele reacted next. The SEAL now trapped in the body of a little boy tried to make a run for the open door. Before he could make it, Sophie had snatched him so quickly that his little legs were still churning as she held him off the ground. “Not so fast, Junior!” she laughed. “Stop struggling or Sophie spank!”

Apparently whatever the goddess had done to Steele made him react like the angry little boy he appeared to be. He flailed wildly, tears streaming from his eyes as he whimpered, “You let me go! I’ll tell!” The Judge touched the boy lightly and he collapsed unconscious, falling from Sophie’s arms onto the floor next to his mentor.

Officer Mercer stood before the prone body of the Norse goddess. Not a hair was out of place, in spite of the fact that he had broken through the front door and cold cocked The Ice Queen before any of us had even known he was there. His only movement now was to slowly adjust his mirrored sunglasses.

“Sorry about the door,” The Judge called calmly from the open doorway. “I’ll make sure it’s fixed within the hour.”

“How did you know they were here?” I asked, trying not to tremble with the relief I now felt.

“You told us, my dear.”

“I told you?”

He nodded. “You said it was likely that they would try to hide with a local friendly. All of the others on your team are too young or would not remember our friend here. Only you were in a position to offer her sanctuary.”

“I hope you don’t think this was my idea...” I began.

He waved me off with his hand. “Of course not. The circumstances are obvious. There was simply no one else she could turn to. You’ve been very helpful, Gabby. I’m very pleased with how far you’ve come in such a short time.”

Strangely, that made me feel good.

Officer Mercer removed Freya and Steele from our house right away while they were still unconscious. I didn’t envy either of them. Whatever The Judge had planned for them was probably not as benign as the way he had treated me and the rest of my team. The Judge, good to his word, repaired our door. I guess I should say he replaced the door. With a wave of his hand and a soft chant, the door was back in place and the wall it had smashed into repaired. I couldn’t help but notice he had actually upgraded the hardware on the door when he replaced it.

He turned to us. “I know you’re both curious about what has happened here tonight and why. I would ask both of you to keep quiet about what you know and seek no further answers. You are no longer SEALs on a mission: you are citizens of Ovid, with all of the privileges and responsibilities that such status entails. Part of those responsibilities is to keep quiet about what you have seen and heard here tonight.”

Sophie and I both nodded. I couldn’t help but think of a phrase we had learned back in our Academy days: ‘Rank hath its privileges–rank hath its responsibilities.’ As SEALs, we had spent years fighting the enemies of our way of life. In a strange way, I had come to realize that as citizens of Ovid, we were somehow continuing to do that, although in a way we couldn’t completely understand.

“One more thing,” The Judge said, pulling an envelope from his suit pocket. “Consider this a little reward from us.”

I opened the envelope, and while Sophie and I stared at its contents, The Judge somehow vanished without even opening the door.

“What is it?” Sophie asked.

“Something that will probably come in handy for us now,” I grinned. I handed the single sheet of paper to her. She read it and returned my grin.

It was a thousand dollar gift certificate for March’s Department Store.

The Judge’s chambers appeared around me, and I looked up into four faces, each displaying a different expression. The Judge looked downright angry, although at whom I wasn’t certain. Maybe he was angry at himself for not foreseeing the potentially deadly assault on his community. Officer Mercer was impassive as always. I wondered–not for the first time–if it was a reflection of the way he really thought or merely a mask of a character he played in Ovid.

As for the Nordic blonde, she looked thoughtful–not in character with whom I now knew her to be. She was Freya–the Ice Queen. What was she doing in The Judge’s chambers? She was the enemy. Yet she too, acted as if she was seeing the events of the past few days for the first time.

It was Susan’s expression that concerned me the most. She looked very disturbed, and I knew it was something more than the fact that she had nearly been one of the victims of a deadly attack. She was holding something back–something I think she had just discovered for the first time, although it was something I’m sure she suspected.

“The other bomb was at my house, wasn’t it?” I asked her softly.

She nodded, biting her lip. I realized suddenly that the bright flash I had seen during the night had not been a thunderstorm after all. Instead, it had nearly been an unpleasant end for me and my family.

I turned to The Judge. “Why?”

He controlled his emotions as usual, but there was none of his usual bravado. His reply to me was nearly as soft as my question had been. “It’s not something we can discuss now.”

“But I want to discuss it now,” I pressed. “My family–and Susan’s family–were nearly killed last night. I want to know why.”

The Judge’s eyes were not without pity. I think he wanted to tell us the reason we had been nearly killed, but something held him back. He was silent for a moment, as if trying to decide some compromise which would satisfy both Susan and me. “I will make you a promise,” he said at last. “I will tell both of you as soon as the current crisis is resolved.”

“But there always seems to be a new crisis,” Susan reminded him. “First, it was The Others, and now... who?”

“War gods,” Officer Mercer explained.

The Judge nodded. “Yes. The Others were merely misguided members of our own pantheon. They had foresworn any meddling in human affairs. This new enemy seeks to actively create the very war we want to prevent.”

“But they could be killed, too,” I pointed out.

“Just as you humans have always had some voices who believe a nuclear war could be both decisive and winnable, they believe they would prevail,” The Judge countered. “To make matters worse, we don’t even know which pantheons are involved.”

Unspoken, but certainly on my mind, was that Vera March’s husband was perhaps the best known war god of all. Could it be that we had a high ranking traitor in our midst?

“Why not ask her?” Susan nodded at Freya.

“Because I’m not who I appear to be,” she replied, cracking a small but recognizable smile.

“Diana!” I gasped. The smile became wider.

“Diana was the logical choice to return in Freya’s place,” The Judge explained. “With her help, we will be able to free my brother and perhaps learn more of our new enemy.”

“I’ll also be able to misinform our enemies and make them think Freya was successful in her mission,” Diana added.

I shuddered when I realized that Freya’s success would have meant the death of both my family and Susan’s.

“In the mean time, your families will be placed under closer protection,” The Judge assured us. “It is imperative that you and your families survive.”

I nodded. There seemed little more to say. Susan and I would undoubtedly speak of it later–perhaps over lunch.

For now, I would have to content myself with The Judge’s promise that we would be protected and that all would be explained to us once the current crisis had passed.

I only could hope that it was soon.

The End