"I've been told that my face would scare a dog out of a butcher shop."

He tilted his head and looked at my face — as if considering whether it might be so. It sent a chill through me.

"Do you know," he said, "I might be able to help you."
 

---

Groans From Timbuctoo
by Kaleigh Way
 
3. The Easy-Bake Oven
 

Note: There is no joke — no groaner — at the end of this one. It's just a story.

Also note that the Easy-Bake ® Oven is a registered trademark owned by Hasbro.

 

I was absolutely elated when I was invited to work at Timbuctoo. I was over the moon!

The last thing I expected was to end up in a hospital bed, weak with fever, standing on the edge of a dark ugly well of depression. And yet, there I was.

When I first arrived at Timbuctoo, I was put in charge of a small team. We were given the task of studying one of the alien devices: first of all, to figure out what it does, and then — hopefully — to make it do useful work.

I paid a lot of attention to the device, sometimes spending entire nights just staring at the thing. There's a small amount of writing on the face of the machine. I've got a picture of it in my pocket, always, and I often place it on the table in front of me while I'm eating. I don't understand it, but I keep looking at it, trying to get it into my head, to immerse myself in the problem every way I can.

But the one thing I didn't pay much attention to, was my team.

I'm an electrical engineer, and a damn good one. I've got a hefty academic background, packed with more math and physics than most people take, and my experience in the semiconductor industry is both cutting-edge and very hands-on. I've got an impressive resume and the skills to back it up. Even though I'm a woman in what's considered a man's job, I've always been able to go where I wanted and be respected for what I can do, regardless of my gender.

So when I was put in charge of a team of four men, I didn't expect any problems. We were all professionals, after all. We had a job to do, and as far as I could see the men didn't have any problem with my direction.

But I was SO wrong.

Gender stereotypes, you know? I figured that if the men had a problem with me, they'd come right out and tell me. If they were going to undermine me, I expected it to happen in the open. But that's not how it went.

I guess it began when I mentioned the hum.

It was probably two weeks after I got there. I'd developed the theory that the machine produced alien foodstuffs, and the men appeared to tentatively agree.

But when I mentioned the hum, they all looked at each other.

Sepulveda, one of the guys on my team, said, "What hum?"

I said, "You know, the hum that starts whenever you get near the machine."

The men all looked at each other, and Sepulveda said, "I've never heard any hum."

So we brought in sound equipment, vibration sensors, oscillators, noise generators... any device we could think of, to try to suss out the hum.

"We're not picking up anything," Sepulveda said. "And nobody hears it but you." He smiled at me, and I saw the first hint of his aggressive, even sadistic, side. "Could be tinnitus. When was the last time you had your hearing checked?"

I didn't realize it then, but afterward I knew this was his big moment: it was one of the those asinine alpha-male things.

None of the other men laughed, but I could see them all looking down, not laughing, if you know what I mean.

From then on, Sepulveda never missed a chance to take a crack at me, to make me doubt myself and my work. He was very careful to never resort to open insults... all he did was insinuate things.

It came to a head three weeks ago. It was just after I'd pulled an all-nighter, poring over data, crawling over the machine inch by inch for the hundredth time, looking for the tiniest clue, the smallest trace of light. When the others arrived, I'd gone off to clean up a bit and get some breakfast. When I returned to the lab, there was a presentation in progress.

Sepulveda had convened a group of supervisors and administrators, and he put on a presentation of the work we'd done so far. I have to say, he really knows how to put on a show: he had very slick slides and handouts. The guy is also great at explaining difficult ideas. In spite of the fact that virtually every idea that he presented as his own was actually MY work, I had to admit it was a kick-ass presentation.

I stood there, open mouthed, breakfast in hand, rumpled and messy, and utterly unprepared.

It was a complete coup, in every sense of the word.

Within two days I was demoted, and Sepulveda became the team leader.

At first I was shocked. Then I got angry. Then the very people who hired me, came to tell me — in front of what had been my team — exactly how disappointed they were in me.

I lost my title. I took a cut in pay. I had never been so humiliated. Never. And that is saying a lot.

It completely demoralized me. Some of my findings were (I think) quite remarkable, and came at the expense of many all-nighters. The biggest breakthroughs and the entire direction of our research (which Sepulveda continued) was due to my intuitions and deductions.

But now he had me making coffee, running errands, typing, printing, and collating reports... basically, Sepulveda turned me into his secretary.

I was no longer allowed to speak at team meetings. I could only take notes.

It was doubly frustrating... that in the midst of a very successful career, I was unable to make my voice heard at all. And any irritation or complaint I made was blamed on "hormones" or "that time of month."

At last it reduced me to tears. At least I was alone in my quarters when I cried, but afterward I hated myself for crying.

The next morning I woke with a sore throat. I went to work anyway, but Sepulveda sent me away, telling me in a disgusted tone that I shouldn't have come. "How irresponsible can you be?" He didn't shout, but his voice was unnecessarily loud. "Do you want to get the rest of us sick? Go back to your quarters and stay away until you're well enough to make coffee without sniffling." My face burned with humiliation, but I bit my lip and went back to bed.

The next day I had a fever of 102, so I stumbled to the infirmary and spent the next 30 hours in a delirium. I remained two days after that for observation and recovery... two days of nothingness: I was shipwrecked, washed up alone on an empty shore. I felt utterly empty, burnt out of... well... everything in me, really.

As I lay in bed in that sterile, quiet, pale blue room, I decided that — as exciting as Timbuctoo was — I needed to leave. I could easily return to the private sector, pick up where I'd left off...

Mentally I worked out all the details... where to go, who to call. I mapped it all out in my head. It was simple, really. It was time to cut my losses and go. Of course, I was disappointed, but at the same time I felt a big weight drop off of me.

I would go as quietly as possible. I'd been beaten. I wasn't going to make a fuss.

I started figuring how many boxes I'd need and how much bubble wrap... when the nurse told me that I had a visitor.

Imagine my surprise when Dr. van Els walked in. I didn't know him at all — except by reputation, and I didn't expect him to know me.

But he walked up to my bed and greeted me by name. "How are you, Dr. Kang?" he asked. "I heard you had a terrible fever. Are you feeling any better?"

"Yes," I replied. I wanted to say more, but frankly I was too tired and too surprised. After all, this man was one of the great minds... well, if not of our time, at the very least he was one of the great minds at Timbuctoo. And that was saying a lot.

People say a lot of unkind things about van Els. They call him the Son of the Devil and similar things, but one thing nobody mentions is how charming the man can be! He has a genuine charisma, and an aura of influence that's almost palpable.

Before I knew it, the two of us were talking like old friends. It was wonderful! He told me some of the difficulties and hidden stories of his research — it was fascinating! He related some episodes from his childhood and college years, his work experiences... and I reciprocated. In no time at all I was on a roll, telling him my life story. And he was interested, listening. I hadn't been able to open up like that to anyone since... well, in a very long time.

After a while I began to realize that *I* was doing virtually all the talking. But he seemed to enjoy it; he kept prompting me for more, asking questions... but he wasn't interrogating me. He wasn't pumping me for information or trying to dig out anything in particular. What I was saying didn't seem to matter at all... but I don't mean that in a bad way. What I mean is, it seemed that apart from what we talked about... and we could of spoken of anything at all... All he wanted to do, was to get to know me. It was SO lovely, so welcome, like water in the desert.

Soon I found myself telling him of my experience at Timbuctoo... how excited I'd been to come... the tentative discoveries I'd made... the way my position had been stolen from me... the degrading way Sepulveda had come to treat me...

"Dr. Kang," van Els said in soft, confidential voice, "I hope you realize that you have grounds to file several sexual harassment complaints? No one should endure such a hostile work environment."

I sighed heavily. "I know," I said. "But I also know that it won't do me a bit of good. Especially now. Everyone would think I'd made the complaint out of revenge. After losing my position, I'd seem like a desperate..." I got choked up, and couldn't go on.

He sat in silence for a while. When I was able to stop sniffling, I blew my nose and looked up at him. His expression was impossible to read... but he was still sitting there, next to my bed. He hadn't run away.

"Also... there is another reason," I said. "I'm not an attractive woman, and if I say I've been sexually harassed, people will say it's wishful thinking on my part."

"That would be inordinately unkind," he commented.

"I've been told that my face would scare a dog out of a butcher shop."

He tilted his head and looked at my face — as if considering whether it might be so. It sent a chill through me.

"Do you know," he said, "I might be able to help you."

"Help me?" I repeated in a small voice.

"Yes," he said. "If you help me, I can help you."

He told me about the transformation of Sammy and the more comical experience of Dr. Mahon. He ran though the tests he'd done on them and the data he'd collected.

"And what about the others?" I asked.

"What others?" He looked puzzled.

"The other volunteers," I replied.

"There were no other volunteers," he said. "There are plenty of people who'd like some sort of change... a cosmetic tweak... a medical correction... but I can't do that. I'd be out on my ass in a heartbeat if I started doing that sort of thing.

"However, if a person will consent to letting me put them through a series of transformations of my own AND allow me to gather extensive physical and medical data at each step, then I will be happy to change them into whatever they like."

"And what would I like to change into?" I asked him in a challenging tone. I know who and what I am. I fought with myself for decades until I'd finally arrived at a kind of peace with myself and how I looked. I know I'm not attractive. I accepted it; I long since moved on from there.

"You can be whatever you please," he said. "A newer you, with any change or enhancement you like — or another you, as different from who you are now as night is from day."

"Could I be a man?" I heard myself ask.

He shrugged. "Of course. And if you don't like it, you can always go back to what you are now. Or to a new, improved you. If you go through my seven transformations, I'll make sure that you're happy in the end."
 

---

 
I stayed another two days in the infirmary. van Els didn't come back, but I didn't expect him to. He'd left me alone so I could think...

And I did a lot of that. I had a weird mixture of feelings about what he'd said. On the one hand, he was like the genie from the lamp: he could grant whatever wish I expressed, but I had to be very careful what I wished for. On the other hand, van Els definitely had a not very well concealed mad scientist in him. He wanted a guinea pig, a test rat, and somehow he'd hit on me as a likely candidate...

... which I was! The problem lay in deciding what to ask for.

I imagined myself as a man, walking back to the lab and telling Sepulveda to get his own damn coffee and type his own reports. I could ask to be a frighteningly big, strong man, and beat the living crap out of Sepulveda.

But as satisfying as it was to picture him lying bloodied on the ground, I felt ashamed for wishing it. I also knew that if I did such a thing, it would have a very negative impact on my entire career.

So, what else could I be?

An obvious alternative was a more attractive me. I imagined myself as lovely and winsome as Sammy. I could be svelte, sylphlike, willowy. That would certainly be a change!

But the men I worked with, especially Sepulveda, were pigs. Honestly, if I were desirable, my problems were likely to increase, not decrease. He'd probably react to such a change as an expression of willingness on my part, and I didn't want that.
 

---

 

After a lot of serious thought, I decided to not change at all.

I know who I am — at least the way I am now.

Besides, I didn't see how any physical change could alter my work situation.
 

---

 

On the morning of my discharge from the infirmary, I passed the notice board where job listings are posted. I took a quick look through them, and found one that was right up my alley! So I immediately went to HR and put in a request for a transfer. The rest of the day I felt like I was walking on clouds. A transfer! It would certainly be an elegant solution. A new job, a new group of co-workers. The next day I went back to work with Sepulveda and the old crew and waited for news.

Roughly two weeks went by. Then, late one Friday, Sepulveda called me into his office. "Your request for transfer has been denied," he said.

I frowned. "Why?"

"Because it wasn't approved," he replied.

"By whom?"

"By your current supervisor."

"You?" I asked.

"Bingo!" he said, and smiled — the sadistic bastard. He added, "I can't let you go: No one makes coffee the way you do."

I was speechless. I could only blink. He stood up, still smiling, said, "Have a good weekend, my valued subordinate!" and walked out of the room.

Stunned, turned to stone, I remained there for several minutes, my mind an utter blank, long after the echoes of his footsteps had faded into silence.

I turned on my heel and strode to van Els' office. He didn't appear surprised at all. He simply gestured to an empty chair and invited me to sit.

"Look," I told him, "I need help. I don't know whether I need your help, but something's got to change. I'm tired of being pushed around, but I don't know how I could be different. I mean... different in a way that would make a difference."

"Right," he said. "I understand. But you're only seeing this from your own point of view."

I opened my hands in desperation. "What else can I do?"

"Look at it from Sepulveda's point of view for a moment: one big reason that he puts you down is simply because you're a woman. If you show up for work as a man, it's going to throw him off.

"Picture this — and I'm only saying this as a mental exercise, not as a course of action — but just imagine how things would change if you started carrying a loaded pistol in your hand. From your point of view, nothing would be different. You'd never use the gun. You'd simply go about your life just as you did before.

"But for everyone else, things would drastically change. They'd be on edge. They'd start to tiptoe around you and treat you with a new-found something-like-respect. They'd constantly be asking themselves What is she going to do with that gun?

"It's the same principle. If you go back to work as a man, and make no other change, Sepulveda is going to wonder what you're up to. He's going to see the change as your first move, and he's going to wonder what's coming next."

"I guess so," I said uncertainly.

"Listen," he said. "A change is as good as a rest. Why don't you try being a man for a week, or even two. It might give you the perspective you need to see what direction your life should take. Then you can go back to being you."

I smiled, a little shyly, "Or a new, improved me?"

"Absolutely! A new improved you. With whatever changes or enhancements you like."
 

---

 

That night I had the longest, most thorough physical exam I ever endured.

Early the next morning van Els showed me the control console and outlined what he was going to do to me.

"You see, we still don't understand all the controls. Today we're going to concentrate on this section of the console, where there are lots of sliders, see? There are alien symbols next to each, but we don't yet know what they say. What we believe, and what we'll be testing today, is that left is for maximum and right is for minimum. The middle, we think, is some kind of neutral. We'll be running some algorithms so we can test as many sliders as possible, hitting the max and min in combinations of three or four or more. With seven transformations we can test at least nine sliders, but if we're lucky we can get in a whole lot more."

I gazed at the constellation of controls. There were sliders. There were dials. There were balls with markings and numerical displays. There was even a flat part marked off like a crazy chess board and a set of disks marked with icons. "Interesting," I mused. "The machine I'm studying has no control panel at all. No visible interface."

"Really!" van Els said, his eyebrows rising. "That's intriguing. Do you think it's missing?"

"No," I replied. "It seems to be complete. I've got an idea about it, but I'd rather keep it to myself at the moment."

"I understand," he said. Then, rubbing his hands, he asked, "Ready to go?"

I was ready.

The transformations were unpleasant and bizarre. The very first change made me extremely tall and frighteningly obese. I mean, I was terrified, nearly overwhelmed by the fear of what seemed an imminent death. My heart was racing. It was difficult to breathe and impossible to move. I honestly thought I was going to die.

The second transformation reversed both those things: it left me starvation-skinny and bewilderingly short.

Each of the seven alterations featured extremes of human proportion and their opposites.

At the fifth transformation my head grew so large and so heavy that I fell over and couldn't get up.

"Be careful!" van Els called to me. "You don't want to break your neck!"

But at long, long last — and it was a VERY long day, full of photographs, measurements, blood work, scans — at long last he did the eighth transformation: He changed me into a man. Not a remarkable looking guy. Not a bad looking guy, but nice looking, with a good build.

"I look vaguely like... who is it?" I asked myself as I looked in the mirror. "I look sorta, somewhat, kinda like Jet Li. Like Jet Li's younger brother."

"Who?" van Els asked.

"Never mind," I said. "But hey, nice job."

"No thanks to me," he replied. "I had a suspicion that this control here makes it optimize eigenvalues. In simple terms, it produces results that are pleasing. Not movie star beauty. Just normal good looks. I suppose the aliens wouldn't want to stand out when they were masquerading as humans."
 

---

 

During the nine days I spent as a man I never got used to the man-body. I never forgot what was dangling between my legs; I felt it all the time, and boy was I glad to see it go! The body never felt like me; it was just a vehicle, as if I was driving a car. Looking out of its eyes was like looking through a window. And to tell the truth, psychologically I didn't feel any different. At all. I didn't have a single testosterony moment, if I can use that word. I was just regular old me, just like always, doing the things I would have done anyway. But as van Els had said, other people did see me differently. That was for damn sure.

When I arrived at work on Monday, of course I had to explain that I was Dr. Kang. After the initial surprise, Sepulveda said, "Well, then, if you're Kang, go get me a cup of coffee!"

Just coincidentally, as he was speaking, I sat down heavily at my desk. I looked up at him, but I didn't move and I didn't reply. But it didn't mean anything — at least for me. You have to remember that I'd been very sick, and I was still weak. On top of that, the transformations had been no walk in the park. So I wasn't moving for anyone, and I didn't have the energy to respond.

He looked at me for a while, and the other engineers watched him. Sepulveda gave a nervous heh! and his hand twitched a little. I realized that this was one of those asinine "alpha male" moments, but I couldn't have cared less. It was their game, and I was too tired to play.

At last he said, a little too loudly, "Are you going to get me that coffee?"

I sighed in an exasperated way. When I did, he turned and fled into his office.

After that, he left me alone. So did the other guys, and they were all a little nervous the few times I spoke with them.

It was nice! Finally I had a little peace and quiet and was actually able to catch up with myself. Since Sepulveda took over, I'd wasted so much time doing secretarial things! It was wonderful to finally return to real work.

Things ran pretty much that way for the rest of the week, and by quitting time on Friday I felt like I'd finally caught up with everything. It felt pretty good.

Aside from that, being in a man-body was kind of boring. People kept asking me what it was like. Sammy came by to compare notes, and we had a few very friendly, laughing conversations. She was one smart girl! But unlike her, who felt that she was finally right, I felt as if I was hidden somewhere in the wrong body. I was sure I was going to change back, but somehow the moment had not yet arrived.
 

Then, on Sunday night, after dinner, something struck me. I started thinking about that hum. Ever since I started at Timbuctoo, the alien device I was studying would hum every time I'd get near it. Once I realized that the others couldn't hear it, I'd dropped the subject, but something brought it back to mind once again.

I considered all the controls on van Els' device... He had a complex, confusing array to puzzle out, and I had exactly nothing. I was sure that no pieces were missing; I had no doubt that it had been designed with no visible interface.

No visible interface... the hum... that no one could hear!

It was a eureka moment: the interface had to be neural! It must have been designed to respond to mental commands!

I practically ran to the lab. I actually fought with myself to go slowly, because I didn't want to attract any attention. I needed peace, quiet, and no interruptions. I entered my lab, but didn't turn on the lights. I approached the machine and then, as always, the machine began to hum. I sat down on the floor, cross legged, and tried to clear my mind. I pushed away every other thought and listened to the hum.

After twenty minutes, one of my legs fell asleep. I got up, shook it, rubbed it, and walked it off.

Then, when I sat down a second time, the moment I closed my eyes I heard a soft click inside my head, and I began to see images scrolling. I cried out in amazed, delighted surprise, and the pictures stopped. My heart was pounding a mile a minute. This was a historic moment, and I knew it. I had to stay calm; I couldn't afford to bungle it.

I waited until my heart stopped pounding, then I set my hand on the machine and shut my eyes. Immediately there came the click and I began scrolling through the images again. I could scroll faster or slower. I could go back and forth or stop on any image. I could make the pictures larger or smaller... I could even tell how each one smelled! I was sure, quite sure, that this machine produced foodstuffs. There could be no doubt.

I stopped on one green spongy mass and in my mind "selected" it... I can't explain how. At that, a slider appeared, with maximum and minimum symbols, just like on van Els' device. I moved it to minimum with my mind and...

I heard a new noise, and this one was not inside my head. A space in the back of the machine lit, and after several strange soft sounds, there came silence. I ran back there and found a green lump sitting on a rimmed rectangular tray. It looked just like the image I'd chosen: it resembled a beef substitute formed from a spongy green tofu. The odor was something like boiled corn. I didn't dare taste it.

I removed it, closed my eyes again, and produced four more items. I tried to make them as different from each other as possible. I could have made more, but by the fifth time it had become so easy, I was confident that I could run the machine at will.

Then I slid down and sat on the floor, gasping at my victory! You have to remember that up till now only van Els had succeeded in getting an alien device to work. And I was the second! But one thing was certain: Sepulveda was NOT stealing this discovery from me.

I put the alien foodstuffs on the bottom shelf of a rolling cart and covered the whole with two lab coats. Then I set some random items on top to make it seem like *that* was what I was wheeling. Next, I called my friend Jenn in exobiology and — after swearing her to secrecy unto death — I wheeled the alien foodstuffs to her lab, where she would be able to analyze them in complete privacy.

Monday morning, I called a friend at Chico State and asked for a favor. When I described it, she got very excited and said it was no favor at all. An hour later, Sepulveda received an invitation to come and address the university's entire student body about the work at Timbuctoo. The event was scheduled for nine AM; a previous speaker had canceled, and could he be so kind as to fill in at the last minute?

Sepulveda's vanity was stroked. He scrambled, delighted at the invitation. He pulled together slides, presentation material, videos... One thing was for sure: he was going to give his audience a good show — hell, he'd give them a great show. And they'd learn a lot.

Once that was settled, I went to see van Els.

"Could you change me back tonight?"

"Sure," he said, "We can do it right now, if you like."

"No, I'd like to do it later. Would you mind doing it at six or seven? Or even nine?"

"Ah," he said. "You want to surprise someone tomorrow. Listen, how about midnight? The witching hour?"

"Perfect!" I said. "And could you, uh, turn on that eigenvalue thing when you change me back?"

"Of course," he agreed. "Anything you like!"

"I don't want to be a knockout, like Sammy. I'd just like to be... nice-looking. Just regular. Good-looking, but not breathtaking."

He smiled. "Don't worry. I'll make sure you're happy with the result."
 

---

 

It's a 90-minute drive (at most) from Timbuctoo to Chico, and Sepulveda hated being late, so by seven AM he was gone. At eight-thirty I called a few administrators and supervisors, some other engineers, a few of the physics guys, Sammy, and van Els.

I had to introduce myself again, now that I was a woman once more — and very happy to be so!

The presentation came off very well. I'd actually learned a few things from Sepulveda, and I used them. I explained what had happened; how I'd got it working. Jenn did a bang-up job with her part, which was her analysis of the foodstuffs.

In the end came the demonstration: I closed my eyes, heard the soft click and had the machine pop out a few more alien items. One of the administrators (a man, naturally) actually tasted one of the items. I wish we'd caught the faces he made on video. He was spitting and rinsing his mouth for a long while, but no harm came to him.
 

In the end, I got my old job title back and my old salary — along with a tidy little bonus.

The new recognition didn't hurt either. Now they had to say, "The only people who've gotten the alien tech to work are van Els and Kang." How about that!

I also got to choose a new project and hire my own team. Sepulveda kept his position; he and the others stayed with the food-maker. I didn't mind; I'd done the hard part, the part that really mattered.

Sepulveda took the change surprisingly well. When he discovered that I had arranged his speaking debut at Chico State, he thanked me! I'm pretty sure he was sincere. His presentation got rave reviews and many thanks, so he became a popular lecturer, and was often absent, speaking in some place or another, and I'm sure his talks were always well done and well received.

As far as I could tell, he was equally happy running the old group, still working on the food machine, even though the mystery had been solved. Some people like that sort of work; to me it's like maintenance, but to each his own.

Funny thing about Sepulveda: after the dust settled, he began to treat me pretty well. He never apologized, and he once said something about no one making coffee as well as I do... but he saw the disapproval in my face and never made a crack like that again.

"Kind of ironic," he said. "After all that, after all those changes, you get the glory and I end up babysitting the easy-bake oven there." It was how we'd come to call it. It was a better name that the Alien Foodstuff Generator.

"Yeah, ironic," I agreed, but the word I was thinking of was justice.

© 2011 by Kaleigh Way