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Image Credits: All images were created and drawn by Brandy DeWinter. ~Sephrena.
 

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Synaptic Overload
 

Chapter 1 - Overlooking the Obvious

 
"All right class, in summary. The three laws of thermodynamics can be expressed as: First law - 'You can't get something for nothing.' Second law - 'You can't break even.' Third law - 'You can't get out of the game.' Or, the amount of work out of a system is not greater than the amount of work you put in. There will always be loss to heat through friction. And, the entropy of the total system always increases. Are there any questions?"

Jonathon Thorson, Ph.D. waited patiently for the question that never came. He used to sign his name with that Ph.D. when it was freshly won, but now he was just Jonny to his friends and Professor Thorson to his students. This year, as usual, the class was divided into three groups. There were those who thought they understood the material, though the question that never came showed they really did not. There were those who took copious notes and would be prepared to repeat them virtually verbatim on the tests, though they had even less understanding. And there were those who simply had no clue. Perhaps that group was a little smaller this year. Or perhaps that was just wishful thinking on Thorson's part. Teachers do a lot of that. Why else would they stay in a job where remote bureaucrats made all the decisions and made all the money?

But that was digressing, and a fine glaze was settling into the eyes of his students.

"Okay, don't forget that the lab reports are due this Friday, and that there will be a quiz on Monday. You'll need to understand the principles of the lab to do well on the quiz, so do a good job on your lab reports."

Before he could say anything more the buzzer sounded and the class disappeared with an audible pop as air rushed in to fill the resulting vacuum.

Thorson was on his way nearly as quickly. He had an appointment with the head of his department, Henry Stansfield, to review his research plan. It was an important meeting because unlike his students, Thorson *had* asked the question that never came up in class. And he had found an answer. He had promised himself that he would have a genius-level discovery by the time he was thirty, and he had made it with three years to spare.

The question he always hoped a student would ask was, "If disorder always increases, then where did *life* come from?"

Theological considerations aside (that was another department at the University), life itself was demonstrably able to overcome the universe's tendency to disorder. And the easy out that said at some higher level disorder was still increasing became not much different than a theology of its own. In practical terms, entropy could be overcome by life, and on a scale that encompassed everything on Earth.

So, since life could overcome entropy, how do you direct that ability? It was the answer to this question that formed the basis for the research that Thorson wanted to pursue. He already had the basic answer for that one, too. The mind directed life. What he needed to find out is how to bridge from control of all the myriad of internal body functions to control of external material. In short, "Mind over matter." His initial, small scale experiments had shown definite indications of the potential, though results were sometimes erratic.

Stansfield's secretary nodded as the young professor reached the office. She glanced at the clock before saying, "He's still talking to someone. I expect it will only be a few more minutes."

Thorson was too anxious to sit, so he paced around the outer office, looking at the framed copies of Stansfield's many degrees and honors. As might be expected, there was a transition from personal honors to those bestowed on the department itself after Stansfield moved into the bureaucratic side of the University. Was there a transition as well in the nature of the awards? To Thorson, it seemed that the subjects had changed from recognition of true innovations, to recognition of dutiful service on government-funded data accumulation studies.

The door to the inner office opened and another of the department's teaching staff came out, grinning broadly.

"It would seem that you got your funding," Thorson observed.

The other professor, Jeff Haynes, nodded happily. "The grant came through from the Department of Education. Now I'll be able to add four new materials to my superconducting experiments."

"Any progress?" Thorson asked politely.

Haynes said, "Oh, yes. I've gotten the temperature for superconduction up almost half a degree already this year!"

"Ah, yes, and at that rate, when do you reach room temperature?"

That question was apparently not supposed to be asked. Haynes gave Thorson a dirty look and stalked from the room, his enthusiasm at having his research funded dampened by plebian thoughts on practicality.

Stansfield's secretary told Thorson he could go in and in a moment he was looking upside down at his own research application, watching Stansfield scowl as he reviewed it.

"Is this a joke?" the department head asked.

"What?"

Stansfield repeated, "Is this a joke? If so, it's in very poor taste."

"I assure you, sir, this is no joke. The potential for this research is literally without limit!"

"The potential for this research is without merit," Stansfield said. "Mind over matter indeed. This is a respected University, not a circus side show."

"But I have results!"

"You have claims," Stansfield disagreed. "In accordance with our standard policy, no matter how much I thought it would be wasted in this case, I had one of the graduate students repeat your experiments. Thank God your initial results don't require expensive apparatus. What he found was precisely nothing. No results whatsoever."

Thorson quickly grabbed his report and flipped to the relevant section. He said, "But look here. My results are clearly dependent on a high degree of concentration. Skeptics would not be likely to sustain the required intensity."

"Rather convenient, isn't it?" Stansfield said sarcastically.

Thorson felt things were slipping away from him even as he argued, "Convenience has nothing to do with it. For all I know there's a special knack required, like the ability to play chess well. That's why I need the funding to pursue my research, so I can start determining the true limits of the effect."

"I already know the limits of the effect," claimed Stansfield, "but I'll give you one last chance. According to your report, you can make the water in a beaker cooler on one side than the other, despite no internal boundary to circulation. I have a setup right here in my office to test that claim. It's comprised of standard issue components from our own lab so I know there won't be any tricks with the apparatus."

Stansfield pointed to a half-liter beaker with two thermometers suspended so that their sensing bulbs were immersed in what looked like common tap water.

"You mean, right now?" Thorson asked in disbelief.

"Yes, right now," Stansfield insisted.

Thorson squared his shoulders and walked over to the simple apparatus. He stared at it for a moment, as though memorizing every detail, then closed his eyes. At first, his faced appeared relaxed, but in a few seconds furrows appeared on his brow and his eyes clenched tighter.

For a long moment the room was a still as a painting. But only for a moment, perhaps as much as a minute. Then Stansfield spoke, "I knew you couldn't do it."

"What, huh?" Thorson stammered, blinking in confusion.

Stansfield pointed to the thermometers. "The temperatures didn't budge."

"Well, of course not," Thorson explained. "I was just getting started."

"I don't think so," said Stansfield. Returning to his desk, he picked up Thorson's report and application for funding.

"This is a responsible University. We do responsible research here, over 75% of which is funded by the government. We don't do mind tricks, parlor games, or magic. You have until Monday to submit an application for valid research, or you'll find that you have an opportunity to pursue whatever research you choose. Independently of this department, or of any association with this University."

With that, he dropped Thorson's report in the trash and pushed the button on his intercom.

"Send in my next appointment please," he said.

*He didn't even due me the courtesy of dismissing me,* Thorson though as he made his silent way out.

At least he didn't have any more classes for the day. He went to the faculty lounge, hoping to have a little quiet while he decided what to do next. He truly had found something, but it was as though he were trying to explain electricity to someone who had only studied paleontology. Knowledge and education were not enough, you had to have an open-minded willingness to believe.

Thorson was still analyzing, still trying to understand, *I'll bet I couldn't have done it with all the time in the world, with Stansfield so sure I couldn't. The disorder of his thoughts in conflict with mine would have negated the effect anyway.*

Right or wrong, he needed to find some sort of acceptable research topic. He could always piggy-back on someone else's research. Senior scientists were glad to have coolie labor, even post-Doc. Or he could apply for one of the plug-and-chug grants like Haynes had received. Data without meaning or application. Pure research was fine, for some people, but Thorson wanted more.

His desire for quiet was no more satisfied in the faculty lounge than any of his other desires that day. One of the English Lit professors, Rick Terhune, had the lounge TV cranked up to listen to a report on yet another stunning revelation. Thorson could tell that's what it was, because the announcer told them four times in 30 seconds.

"We go now to our man on the scene, Bill Ivins," he finally said.

"I'm Bill Ivins, coming to you from the campus of Southern Christian University. We have just found out that Charles Watkins, one of the professors here, is actually Wyvern, the superpowered crime fighter. With me is Ann Compton. Tell us, Ms. Compton, how do you know Wyvern?"

"Um, well, I only know Professor Watkins. He's such a nice man, always quiet and polite. He works late, though, and I've seen him when I clean up at night. He always says hello."

Terhune interrupted the report with a snort, "Geez, why doesn't she just say he's meek and mild-mannered? Why do these superhero types all have to be all meek and mild-mannered when they're not fighting bad guys?"

"I suppose they do it to create a distinction between their private personalities and their superhero images," offered Thorson.

"Huh, why bother? Why do all those guys need to have secret identities anyway?"

"They have to eat," Thorson answered quietly.

"Eat? What's that got to do with anything?"

"Well, unless they're rich or something they need some way to make money. Unless they switch over to be supercriminals instead of superheroes."

Terhune seemed surprised for a second, then admitted, "I guess I hadn't thought of that."

Any further response from Terhune was interrupted by another report from the TV. They were showing scenes of Wyvern fighting criminals, using his great strength and super-speed to seem to dodge bullets while tearing the doors off a getaway car.

Thorson's mind was running off on its own tangent. *If I could use this new entropy control effect like a superhero, Stansfield would *have* to believe me. With some good publicity, I could just announce my own identity and force the University to fund my research."

His burgeoning idea was again interrupted by an exclamation from Terhune, "Man, that Wyvern is one BIG dude."

Indeed, the news reporter standing next to the superhero in the previously-taped interview looked to be a full head shorter, with not half the width of shoulders. Yet Thorson knew the report was an average- sized man. That seemed to be the point of this segment of the report, in fact.

The report switched to another live interview, this time with a superheroine called Vixen. He was asking her, "What do you think of this latest revelation?"

"This makes the fourth crimefighter unmasked this year," she answered, "and the fourth man or woman who will no longer be able to help society."

The reporter was not contrite at all, "Oh, come now. Surely knowing who you people really are doesn't stop you from helping society. Don't you have something more to hide? All of you? For example, who are you behind your own mask?"

Vixen declined to answer that question, returning to her point about the need for crimefighters to be able to move in ordinary society when not actively engaged with criminals. Her words were quickly covered over by Terhune's sigh.

"Oh, my, that is one bodacious superbabe," he said. Vixen was perhaps a bit taller than an average woman, about 5'10", but size was not what had impressed Terhune. Or at least, not height.

She was incredibly well built, though, for a woman. Slender without being thin, feminine hips matched by shoulders just a bit too wide for classic female proportions accented a waist just that same bit too trim.

*I don't suppose it's her shoulders that were impressing Terhune, either,* Thorson thought. *And it's obviously not her face. She could be anyone behind that mask. She certainly has other, um, attributes that are noteworthy, though.*

Vixen completed her plea for society to respect the privacy of those who fight crime, so that they could in turn be more effective in helping society. As soon as there was a pause in her words, the station cut back to the studio anchor.

"This station, in affiliation with our parent World News Network, believes the people's right to know supersedes the right to privacy that Vixen was claming. They are public figures, and the public has a right to know those who have a disproportionate affect on society. Accordingly, the station repeats our offer of one million dollars for information leading to the unmasking of any of the following superheroes and super- criminals."

As the list scrolled up the screen by his head, he continued, "We have prepared a profile that you can use to determine if someone you know may have a secret identity as a superhero. For men, you should look for greater than usual size, perhaps disguised by a habit of wearing loose- fitting clothes. The superheroes whose identities have been revealed are typically polite and unassertive in their private lives, trying not to draw attention to themselves. They are, of course, never seen when their alternate identity is present. If you know a large, well-built man who is generally quite polite, watch for unexplained absences that coincide with the appearance of known superheroes."

He next gave suggestions for finding female crime fighters. "For superheroines, unusual height is not as strong an indicator. They are, however, like the men quite fit and trim. The tight, stretchy costumes necessary to allow the mobility required in exercising their powers leave little doubt about the basic figure of candidate female superheroes. Those unmasked have often used disguises including wigs and padding in one or the other of their identities. One should not rely too much on typical appearance features for women superheroes. As a result, male crimefighters have been unmasked nearly 8 times as frequently as female crimefighters, though the proportion of men to women on our list of known superheroes and supercriminals is nearly balanced at 18 to 14."

"Well, Jonny," Terhune laughed, "I guess we don't have to worry about you being one of those superdudes. You're thin enough for the female ones, but not nearly tall enough for one of the male ones."

"Thanks a lot," Thorson said, but without heat. He had been the target of enough jibes about his height that he no longer allowed himself to get excited by them. At 5'9", he was a bit above average height, but Terhune and the jocks he liked to hang out with were all over six feet, some of them considerably. So were the superheroes, as reported.

The announcer on the TV was concluding his list of probable super- heroine characteristics, mostly with things not to assume. "Your best indicators are a slender waist, unusual athletic ability, especially including martial arts, and unexplained absences."

"Hey, Jonny," Terhune was laughing again, "you one of those super- babes? I hear you do some of that martial arts stuff, and like I said, you're skinny enough that all you need is a bit of padding here and there. Mostly there. And there."

Thorson dodged his pointing finger and left the lounge. But his thoughts were churning with the ideas planted by Terhune. He was too short to gain quick respect as a male superhero, but this was not going to be a lifetime career anyway. The powers inherent in the entropy control he had discovered were certainly independent of gender, and didn't require a lot of muscle bulk to employ. If he masqueraded as a woman, he had little risk that anyone would find out who he really was until he was ready to reveal himself anyway. That would give him time to build up the recognition of his powers that it would take to gain the respect he needed.

The idea planted by Terhune took root and blossomed forth in just the few minutes it took him to walk to his apartment. It was clear that a wig and some padding could change anyone who was already slender into a very credible female figure, and Terhune had made it obvious that not many would be concerned with what her face looked like. He made his decision just as he unlocked his door. He *would* masquerade as a female crime- fighter. After all, how hard could it be?
 

Chapter 2 - Scaredy Cat

 
When Thorson entered his apartment, he called out to his roommate, "Hey, Dinger, are you still alive?"

His roommate raised his head from where it rested on the couch and gave a growl that was easy to translate, "Mrrowrruhh!" (You better have a damn good reason for interrupting my nap, human.)

"Yeah, Mousebait, I'm happy to see you, too," Thorson grinned. He skritched the ears on the smoke-gray tomcat on his way to change into more comfortable clothes.

Dinger was the inventor and leading proponent of the twelve-step recovery program from napping (those other cats who claimed the same procedure were vicious liars, as Dinger had been forced to demonstrate on several nocturnal excursions). The first step, like all good twelve- step recovery programs, was admitting that there was a problem. Dinger considered this with dignity appropriate to the gravity of the decision, and allowed as how there was probably merit in rising. Step two was ear exercises, and the program proceeded from there to dislocation and re- integration of the entire spine in a stretch that surely doubled his overall length.

"I don't know how you do that," Thorson said as he returned from his bedroom.

"Rrowrsfft," Dinger replied. (Of course not, you're only a human.)

Despite his seeming languor, Dinger managed to be the first one to the little kitchenette. His tone became even more preemptory, "RowwwRRaou!" (Why am I not hearing the can opener going? Get with it!)

"Yes, Boss," Thorson replied, dipping in a sardonic bow as he attended to the cat's meal before his own. "At least you're not picky about your food."

The arrant flip of Dinger's tail provided an answer with an economy the wordy humans seldom exercised. (I have to keep up my strength, you know.)

Thorson's own meal took little longer to prepare. He pulled pre- shredded lettuce and carrot mix from a plastic bag, added a bit of cheese and a hard-boiled egg, then just a bit of low-fat dressing. A Diet Coke completed his evening meal. He was thin, but it was probably due as much to his dietary habits, formed by a weight-conscious mother, as to inherent metabolism.

The day's mail was handled while he ate, and when both were completed his thoughts returned to his failed experiment in Stansfield's office.

"I know I can do that," he said, officially speaking to Dinger, but actually just thinking out loud.

Dinger took it as an invitation, though, or perhaps he didn't need an invitation. In any event, the tomcat levitated into Thorson's lap and pushed his nose in the man's face. "Mrroowww," he crooned. (I'm ready for you to pet me now.)

Thorson stroked the cat's shimmery fur, idly letting his hands do one task while his mind was far away. Abruptly, he stood and set Dinger on the floor, walking quickly to his own experimental apparatus even as he ignored the cat's disgruntled complaint.

On a shelf along the wall he had a beaker with thermometers, similar to the one that had been in Stansfield's office. Both thermometers read 69 degrees, just a bit cooler than the room temperature due to evaporative cooling in the dry apartment. Screwing his face into the same display of intense concentration he had shown earlier, he envisioned the warmer molecules in the water moving toward one thermometer, and the cooler ones moving the other way. It was as though he could see in his imagination individual molecules, some color-coded red, and others blue. He drew on the knowledge that his mind could cause impulses to flow along nerve pathways, though there was no known linkage between a thought and specific neural configurations. That same inexplicable transition *could* influence matter outside his body. He *knew* it could. He knew it *would*!

When he opened his eyes, the thermometer on the left was reading just over 71 degrees, while the one the right was a bit under 68.

"Yes!" he said. "I knew it would work."

He recorded this result in a notebook with his other attempts, noting the continued trend toward greater reliability. It worked almost half the time, now. As he noted the temperatures, he realized that once again there had been a slight gain in the sum of the two readings.

"Hmmm," he mused, to Dinger of course. "There seems to be a bit of extra energy being added from somewhere. I really need the more controlled environment of a proper lab."

(Would that mean we could eat more?) Dinger asked as he rubbed around and between Thorson's ankles.

Thorson didn't even notice the question, too lost in his own thoughts to pay attention. *Extra energy. From moving molecules around. I wonder just how much.*

He closed his eyes in concentration again, this time imagining all the free hydrogen radicals in the water simultaneously converging on a single, geometrically-pure point. He knew that this free hydrogen was essentially just loose protons swimming along, trying to maintain a randomly chaotic distance from each other in response to the repulsion of their own similar electrical charge. Yet, if entropy could be overcome, then the randomness of their motion could become ordered instead, convergent. And though there would be a mutual repulsion, whatever mind- directed force was overcoming the randomness could balance that repulsion with yet more molecules from further away, themselves trying mindlessly to reach the point of convergence. What would take incredible heat and pressure to achieve on a macro scale might just happen at a smaller scale with a relaxation of the drive toward disorder called entropy.

Thorson was so caught up in his internal vision of protons racing toward an infinitesimal cataclysm, that he missed the first signs of success. Tiny bubbles were forming within the beaker as the energy of converted mass boiled the water surrounding the convergence point. By the time he opened his eyes, there was a regular stream of pin-head sized spheres marching to the surface of the water.

"It worked!" he yelled, surprised despite himself. The stream cut off immediately, but the thermometers registered yet another rise in temperature, this time by several degrees.

Thorson scooped Dinger up in his arms and practically stuck the cat's nose in the water near the thermometer. "I didn't think it would work," Thorson babbled. "Or actually, I *did* think it would work, or else it wouldn't have worked, but I just got so caught up in the mental visualization that the impossibility of it all sort of became irrelevant."

"Pzzssftttt!" Dinger said. (Yeah, right, geek. Next you'll be telling me that mice are our friends, if only we'd understand them. Now, let me down!)

The cat didn't need to reinforce that order with claws because Thorson had already dropped him to record this new observation in the notebook. Scribbling furiously, he tried to remember every detail of the observation, noting estimated times and damning himself for not having a stopwatch going.

"Neutrinos!" he shouted. "I need to know if there are neutrinos produced in the reaction."

Dinger interrupted his meticulous attempt to restore the order of his fur to ask, "rrowrff?" (Are neutrinos good to eat?)

"I have got to get this into the lab. There's no way I can detect neutrinos here," Thorson said, pacing the room.

(Guess not,) Dinger decided, returning to his grooming.

Another idea leaped into Thorson's head and he sat down at his computer to compose his new research proposal. He'd do this through the backdoor. There was some work on detecting neutrinos through disruption on spin configuration on outer electron orbitals that had been reported in the literature. He'd propose building on that work to produce a compact neutrino detector. Stansfield would love it, since except as proof of certain nuclear reactions, neutrinos were pretty worthless. It would be sure to get a government grant, too. Then, once he had his laboratory going, he'd use the detectors to confirm that he had actually created a room-temperature fusion reaction in a beaker of water. Cold fusion was only the tip of the iceberg of results possible with conscious control of entropy, but it would be enough to sink that blowhard Stansfield.

Thorson was so caught up in his discovery and in his subsequent research that he quite forgot his decision to gain fame as a superheroine. He gained reliability and strength in his control, now able to generate enough cold fusion to bring a liter of water to a rolling boil. I really was fusion, too, as his neutrino detector confirmed. He could also accelerate entropy, or age things. He could rust a nail to dust in a few minutes, or cause other materials to oxidize to whatever form was less ordered for them.

Still, none of his results were dramatic enough to overcome the skepticism of his peers, or of Stansfield. The neutrino detector didn't care what the source of the neutrinos was, so he could demonstrate the effectiveness in conventional ways and get authorization to continue his research. His own use to confirm that he had achieve cold fusion was unreportable until he could show *how* he achieved fusion in a beaker of water.

There was one significant problem along the way to developing his powers. He could never seem to concentrate on power generation effects, primarily cold fusion, while simultaneously creating power application effects, like rusting a nail. He could set up his beaker teakettle and it would continue with little attention from his conscious mind, but just as soon as he started concentrating on something else, the fusion would stop.

On the other hand, he found that he could make what amounted to a heat laser by inhibiting the dispersion of heat from any nearby source. In effect, he made the heated radiation stay well-ordered and focused despite being of varying and incoherent wavelengths. Simple heat was enough, and while he found that it helped his visualization if he imagined the beam coming from his hand, there was no need for any apparatus, nor even high order power like electricity.

The trick of visualizing the heat beam projecting from his hand led to an analogous visualization of the accelerated entropy effect. His "rust ball" as he called it, could be thrown at something and cause immediate oxidation.

The time came when he needed to conduct some outdoor experiments, accepting the gracious offer of Dinger to assist.

"Hold still, Mousebait!" Thorson ordered.

He was attempting with limited success to get a sort of jacket around his cat. Thorson had woven threads of samarium/cobalt through the material of the vest to create a significant magnetic field around the wearer, in this case Dinger.

If Dinger had really wanted to get away, Thorson wouldn't have had a chance. But the human had applied to the cat's baser instincts and allowed Dinger to eat his fill an hour before. It was well into nap time for the languid tomcat, and though the delay in getting to sleep made him testy, it also made him too lazy to really fight.

"There," Thorson said. "Now, that's not so bad, is it?"

"Raorrfst," Dinger disagreed, but lay down to take his delayed nap despite the indignity of his attire.

If he would have stayed awake, he might have noticed Thorson bend low and concentrate. Thorson started talking to Dinger in quiet tones, using his voice to both calm the cat and focus his own thoughts.

"Okay, Dinger, we came out here in the middle of nowhere to get away from any artificial magnetic coils like those in motors or electronics. I want to focus the Earth's own magnetic field to provide a levitation effect. It works on inanimate things just fine, but I can't see the University approving a request for lab rats, so you're elected. It shouldn't be any problem."

He had been stroking the cat, who had settled down to motorboat imitation; an untuned motorboat with an irregular purr hooked directly to Dinger's slowing breaths.

Thorson imagined in his mind the lines of the Earth's magnetic field bunching together, increasing the local intensity by an order of magnitude, then by a second, then by a third. When the concentration was about 2000 times normal, Dinger lifted off the grass, still snoozing in happy oblivion. Earnshaw's theorem showed that magnetic levitation was unstable, yet that instability was itself an aspect of entropy, where the precise alignment of magnetic poles required to counteract gravity would collapse into chaos with the slightest deviation. However, Thorson had control of entropy and could maintain the required orderly arrangement.

He had brought a hydrogen/oxygen fuel cell with him to provide a source of power and after lowering Dinger down to a distance which would not be dangerous if he fell, Thorson activated the fuel cell and used the resulting heat as a source for a beam that sliced easily through a nearby plant. A rustball followed, completing the decay of the decapitated weed. Through it all, Dinger floated quietly.

"Hey, Ding, wake up," Thorson called.

"RroworRR?

"RRRaoorWWrraaaooo!!" (What in Hell is going on here!)

"Take it easy, Dinger. I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Fssszzttzzztttt!!" (Get me down, right now!)

Thorson prudently stood back as he lowered Dinger to the grass. As soon as the cat's churning legs found purchase, he was off like a shot into the underbrush.

"Oh, lighten up. You're not hurt," Thorson said as he shut down his fuel cell and put it into his backpack. His car was parked a half a mile away so that there wouldn't be any interference with the car's magnetic fields.

"Come on out of there and I'll take that vest off of you," Thorson promised.

A shadow flicked back and forth from within the deeper gloom of the brush. Thorson thought it might have been Dinger's tail, but that was based as much on the rhythm of it as on anything he could clearly see.

"Come on out of there and I'll give you this greasy bit of hamburger," Thorson said, upping the stakes.

The brush stirred and Dinger stalked over to Thorson. The sharp, regular, snapping of his tail needing no translation.

Thorson stuck the greasy bit in a baggie until he had the vest off of his cat, then made good on his promise by letting Dinger take it with solemn dignity.

"Eat up and I'll let you ride," Thorson said, trying to get back on his cat's good side. Well, at least as close to a good side as Dinger had. Dinger did not deign to reply, but when Thorson held out his hands, the cat lay down in them, pointedly looking the other way with his back to the man.

"Right, Mousebait, I knew you could be bribed," he laughed.

Settling in comfortably, Dinger looked back over his shoulder with a clear message. (I'm not the one who's walking, human.)

The following Monday found Thorson back in Stansfield's office, though the tone of this meeting was quite different than the previous occasion.

"Well, Dr. Thorson, I must say, I'm pleased with your research. Your grant has been renewed." Stansfield was beaming in a particularly patronizing way.

"Yes, sir," Thorson replied quietly.

Stansfield smiled as he walked with Thorson to the door. "I'm sure you see now how much better things are now that you've given up that silliness about Mind Over Matter. That's the stuff of comic books, not *real* science."

*A lot of what we now think of as *real* science first showed up in comic books, you pompous old fool,* thought Thorson, but he didn't say anything.

That comment from the department head did remind Thorson of his earlier plan to gain acceptance through public demonstration of his abilities. What had been an impulse born in desperation had died when he had found an alternate way to support his research. Now, though the neutrino detector grant had been renewed, there was little real science left in it. He could make his equipment portable, perhaps find a more efficient detector material, but to Thorson that was engineering, not science. The idea of gaining credit for his true discovery, the one that would add his name to the list of those considered geniuses within the annals of science; that idea seemed as far away as ever. He was now 28. A year had been spent making his abilities reliable. A year had been lost to the clock that ran out when he reached his thirtieth birthday. He was still determined to get his name in the history books before then.

Or . . . "her" name? The reminder of his previous, half-formed plan re-established the logic that his size, actually the lack of it, would mean that he could not really create a *male* superhero identity. Thorson wasn't particularly concerned about masquerading as a woman. After all, it was just a disguise, no different than putting on a false beard or something. It wasn't like he was going to have to *do* anything as a woman. Just look like one.

*No time like the present,* he thought turning his steps from the faculty lounge toward the parking lot. From there, he headed to a costume shop that did a lot of business with frat parties and other college stress-relievers. Once there, he checked out the standard superhero costumes, looking for something that would be original for his new character.

"Can I help you?" the shop attendant asked. She was obviously a college student herself, sporting a nicely-snug sweater with the school colors.

"Um, yeah, I guess. I'm looking for a superhero costume," he said. (Like, DUH, why do you think I'm standing here by this rack?)

Her glance might have been considered harassing if a guy looked slowly from feet to head at a woman that way. And if it hadn't transitioned so quickly to disdain.

"Well, we do have some costumes for some of the, um, younger partners in superhero teams," she offered, clearly thinking he was too short for an *adult* superhero.

"No, I need something original."

"That might be a problem," she said. "All of our original designs are for, well, taller men. I'm sorry."

*Not as sorry as I am,* he thought, but that problem was neither new nor particularly relevant.

"I expected that. I had already accepted the idea that I would need a woman's costume."

"Oh," she said. Then, "Oh!" She blushed, then gave him another head-to-toe glance as a smile quirked her lips.

"Anything in particular," she asked, now openly grinning.

"Well, I'll need a wig, I guess. And something with a cape."

"A cape?"

He nodded, "so that it's not too obvious what I look like when I'm standing still."

"Yes," the girl said, stifling a giggle, "that would probably be a good idea."

"Look," Thorson said with a building irritation. "This is just a costume. It doesn't mean anything."

"Oh, no, of course not," she said, but her eyes told a truer story of what she was thinking.

"Just show me the costumes," he snapped.

She pointed to the correct rack and stood back. He started jerking the costumes along the rack, looking for something that wasn't all sequins and pastel colors. No ballerina outfits, thank you very much. No harem girls, no . . .

"I need something for a superhero, not a child," he said.

"You're in the smaller sizes. What size are you?" she asked reasonably, though the laughter still danced in her eyes.

"In women's sizes? How would I know?" he answered.

"Well, you're the one who's asking for a woman's costume," she said, then gave in to an open bout of giggles.

Thorson lost whatever patience he might still have retained and left the prepared costume rack to search for accessories instead. He quickly found a high-collared cape, a long black wig, and the most concealing mask he could find that was really a mask and not a representation of a whole head. Then he moved to the checkout. There was another girl there, one who had been too busy to notice the interchange he had already endured. She looked up with mild surprise but not much concern one way or the other as he bought his accessories and left. Behind him, he noticed the first girl moving the counter for a whispered, giggling conversation, but he was already well beyond earshot, and soon beyond caring.

He avoided malls on general principle and was trying to decide where else he might find what he needed when he noticed a female superhero costume on a mannequin in a store window. The store was really a source for dance clothing, but some creative worker had set up the display to try and capture a share of the college crowd. Thorson swerved to the curb and went in.

"Can I help you?" another attendant asked, this one perhaps in her early forties, but with a still-trim form that showed she knew more about dance than just costuming.

"Perhaps. I was trying to find a superhero costume."

"For yourself?" she asked.

Thorson looked sharply at her, but her expression showed no ridicule.

"Yes, actually," he said.

"Very well. Do you have any specific colors in mind?" she asked next, normal questions in a normal tone of voice as though men asked to dress up in tights all the time.

"No," he answered. "Not really. I have a black mask and wig that I got from the costume shop."

"Black?" she asked, for the first time showing a bit of judgment in her expression.

"Yes. Is that a problem?"

"Well, you are so blond that a black wig would just not look right with your natural coloring," she explained. "Unless you're going for some sort of gothic look."

"I'm afraid I don't even know what that is," he admitted.

"Oh, well, of course you can do whatever you want," she said, retreating back into polite acceptance.

Thorson tried to get back on track. This was a lot more bother than he had expected. "Do you have made up costumes like the one in the window?"

"No, not really. We have the tights and leotards, with contrasting exercise pants as shown. But the gold belt and boots and things are just accessories. You'd have to get them elsewhere."

Thorson sighed, thinking about yet another stop. The shop had a one- piece outfit the proprietor called a "unitard" that seemed to demand less of a decision than picking out several items that were color-coordinated. He got a large sized based on the woman's recommendation, which actually took care of the color choice since the only one she had in that size with long sleeves was a simple dark blue.

Finally, he reached the sanctuary of his home to find Dinger pacing in the kitchenette, demanding an immediate supper.

"Sorry, bud, but this took way longer than I expected."

"Hhrrowmff." (Do I look like I care about your excuses? Feed me. Now!)

Thorson tossed his packages on the counter and opened a can of food for Dinger. He grabbed the makings for a quick sandwich for himself, along with the inevitable Diet Coke, and studiously immersed himself in the normal evening ritual of handling his mail.

By the time Dinger jumped up in his lap, though, Thorson's curiosity was getting the better of him. He granted his roommate a few perfunctory ear rubs, but was soon headed toward his bedroom, packages in hand. Dinger had observed his human changing clothes often enough that he knew the man could handle it on his own, and a nap seemed much more interesting. He might have reconsidered, if he knew just what sort of change was coming.

"Whaddya think, Ding?" Thorson asked.

Dinger opened his eyes. One look, and he screeched with an intensity normally reserved for mortal challenges. He backed away, swelled up to twice his normal size with ever hair standing stiffly from his body including his tail. Even the hair on his ears was erect, for all that the ears themselves were laid back flat along his skull. His slitted eyes were watching closely, while his mouth hissed and spit at the apparition before him.

Thorson laughed, then looked in the tall mirror by his entryway. That pretty well eliminated an humor in his expression. What he saw there was, well, disappointing didn't begin to convey the impression.

He had searched through the Net enough to find the trick of putting water in balloons as a way to fake a feminine bosom. That, plus the long hair of the wig were all that he had really done to appear more like a woman. Neither had worked. He had definitely overdone the amount of water in the balloons, made even worse as he recognized that one was significantly larger - and lower - than the other. The black hair hung string-straight and lifeless, merging with the overly ornate domino mask that covered most of his face. The part that showed, though, mostly his thin lips, didn't look feminine at all. The plain blue of the unitard, unbroken by any ornamentation of belt or insignia, clearly showed the muscle definition that was a source of pride when he worked out at his martial arts dojo. It also clearly showed that despite the oversized and asymmetric mammaries, the person inside the outfit was decidedly male. Even the black athletic shoes he had scrounged from his closet were definitely too heavy and masculine for any sort of convincing female impersonation. About the only part of the disguise that worked was the cape. Of course, all it had to do was hang there, hiding whatever it could. It didn't hide enough. Even the cape didn't look good, just effective at disguising his true shape. The high costume collar distorted the fall of hair from the thin wig, making him look hunchbacked.

"Well, Dinger, I was about to call you a scaredy cat, for reacting so strongly to my disguise. I see that I should have had more faith in your judgment. This truly is frightening."

Dinger wasn't about to trust that strange thing in their apartment, based only on hearing a familiar voice coming from it. He stayed crouched in the corner, back arched, teeth showing. Even as Thorson removed the wig and pulled the balloons out of his top, Dinger watched warily.

As he took off the cape, Thorson said, "At least this unitard thing is fairly comfortable, though a bit revealing. Still, I can get some use from it when I work out. The rest is pretty hopeless."

On that Dinger could agree, or perhaps it was just that there was enough of Thorson showing that he could absorb the unfamiliar clothing. In any event, his ears came up and his back relaxed.

"What am I gonna do?" Thorson asked. Dinger had no answer.
 

Chapter 3 - How Much Are You Willing To Do?

 
Thorson decided there was a lot that he didn't know about looking feminine, but lack of knowledge was a familiar problem. He attacked it with practiced skill, starting with the Net. His first searches concentrated on sites with fashion or makeup keywords, but those weren't really that focused on providing a truly feminine appearance. They seemed more shill sites to sell a particular brand of clothes or cosmetics.

Then he hit paydirt. At first he couldn't believe what he found. There were any number of sites that advertised ability to transform men into the appearance of women! Not just costumes for silly skits, but actual, passable, even pretty women. Some of the before and after shots were just not credible. They had to be faked. But some of them, well, they looked amazing. The salons tended to be located in larger cities, in fact most larger metropolitan areas seemed to have at least one. The closest one to the smaller college town where his University was located was frankly a bit disappointing in their ad. Competent, perhaps, but not really, well, compelling. That distinction was pretty close to the mark, actually. There was one site that kept pulling his attention back with compelling attraction. Surely some of those photos were faked, but still . . .

The salon that caught his attention was called, "The Inner Truth" and was located most of an hour's drive away in a larger metropolitan area centered on the city of Castle Rock. Still, it was close enough that he could visit and be back in one day. He was sure all he needed was a little bit of advice. Even Terhune had said he already looked like he could fake looking like a woman. However, Thorson didn't want to tell them that he was going to become a superhero with a female alter ego. He'd tell them it was for a costume party.

The phone number was in the ad so he wasted no more time. His call was answered with a cheerful, "Inner Truth Salon, this is Janice. How can we help you?"

*At least it's not some chirpy bimbo receptionist, based on her voice,* Thorson thought, reflecting on the midrange, slightly hoarse tone in the woman's voice.

"Um, yes. I saw your ad, on the Net? And I thought I'd see if, uh, well, you could help me get ready for a costume party."

"A costume party?" the voice, Janice, asked.

"Yes," Thorson answered simply.

"Of course," she said. Was there a slightly amused tone in her voice? Hard to tell, with that subtle raspiness.

"Do you have a particular costume in mind?" she then asked.

"Uh, not really, or maybe. I'm supposed to be a superhero," he explained.

"A female superhero?" she confirmed.

"Yes, but not anyone known. Someone new."

"Ah, yes, they do seem to keep cropping up, don't they. Almost as fast as they get unmasked," Janice said.

"Uh, yeah, well, I guess so," he said, not terribly interested in current statistics.

"Your request is not all that unusual, actually," she went on. "We have several costume options already available. I'm sure we can help you out. When can you come by?"

Thorson replied with a question of his own, "Excuse me, but I have to ask. How many of your pictures on the website are faked?"

"Not a one!" she declared. "Every photo on our website is a true record of the appearance of a customer. I assure you, the one thing we do *not* fake is our advertising photography."

"Really?" he asked again.

"Really," she declared just as adamantly as the first time. Then she paused, a pause that stretched out while Thorson's thoughts churned.

The woman took a deep breath, obvious even over the phone connection, and tried to decide if this caller was serious. "So, are we going to be able to help you?"

"Huh, oh, yes, I think so," he answered. "When can I come in?"

"Have you reviewed the options available in our standard packages?" asked Janice.

"Yes, but I'm not sure that they seem to meet my needs. I'm not interested in trying on a lot of dresses, nor in a photo record, and I'm certainly not interested in a night on the town. I just want to look credible at the costume party."

"Oh, yes, the costume party," Janice said. "I'm afraid I thought that was an, um, excuse."

"Excuse?" Now Thorson was puzzled.

"Yes," she admitted. "Some of our customers like to maintain that they are just transforming for an unusual occasion like a costume party, yet they are in fact more, um, involved than that."

"I . . . see," Thorson said, though he didn't really.

"I don't know how difficult it will be for you to come by," Janice said, trying to recover from her wrong assumption, "but there are so many options in what you have requested that I truly believe it would be best if we met face-to-face."

"Uh, sure. Okay. Um, how about Saturday? Say, right after lunch?"

"That would be fine," Janice confirmed. "Do you mind giving me a name?"

"No, not at all. My name is Jonathon . . ." began Thorson, then interrupted himself. He realized that these people might be able to deduce what was happening after he started appearing as a female superhero, and if they had his real name, they might reveal him before he was ready.

His pause must have seemed like a termination of answer to Janice, who briskly concluded, "Very well, then, Jonathon. We'll see you this Saturday."

The time between his phone call and his Saturday appointment seemed to take an especially long time to Thorson. The strange nature of Janice's reaction to his call spurred him to do some more research, and he found that the salons weren't catering to whimsical masquerades like the college costume shop. Most of the customers for these transformation salons were actually transvestites who found dressing as women to be exciting, even sexually arousing. That had never made much sense to him, but then, his world of research had never connected terribly well with that of most non-scientists he knew. He'd had the occasional fling in college, but once he became an instructor students were off limits and there weren't many young, single women on the faculty in the science departments. For that matter, there weren't many young, single women on the whole faculty.

His college experiences had been enough to let him know he was comfortably oriented toward women. One of these days, after he became famous, he'd probably need to work on the problem of finding a wife. In the meantime, his research was fulfilling enough.

Now, however, it appeared he was going into a world where men wanted to be women. He almost canceled his appointment (or actually, decided not to show), but his old research habits kept him looking into the topic until he found that most cross-dressers were actually heterosexual. Quite strongly, many of them, in fact so oriented toward women than they sought to emulate them.

In any event, he didn't cancel. Saturday found him eating a quick lunch after he reached the neighboring city, then entering the door to the Inner Truth salon.

The woman who met him at the door was stylish in a comfortable way. She had brown, shoulder-length hair and wore a soft knit dress and tasteful jewelry, none of it particularly expensive. Actually, Thorson himself only noticed that she was quite well-preserved, perhaps near forty but trim and attractive, an impression reinforced by her wide, welcoming smile.

"You must be Jonathon," she said. "I'm Janice Hardesty. We spoke on the phone."

He just nodded, looking around the shop at all the clothes. He had expected the sort of salon where they had lots of people in chairs getting haircuts and plastic fingernails. Instead, there were racks of clothing, some of which looked rather, well, cheap. Or maybe, like the sort of clothes one would see on rather cheap women. If there was some sort of beautician station, it wasn't visible from the main showroom.

"I have the feeling that you don't really understand what our typical customer is like," Janice started to explain.

"Well," Thorson interrupted, "I didn't when I called, but I did some more research, and I think I have a better idea now."

"Perhaps I should start out, then, by asking if you have any questions," she offered.

"Um, are we alone?" Thorson asked first.

"Yes. Or actually, my partner and her client are in one of the makeover rooms, but you probably won't see them. We respect the privacy of our clients above all other considerations, subject to their own wishes, of course."

Thorson was still bothered by something, "They won't hear us, will they?"

"No," she promised, now curious.

"I mean, I don't want to insult anybody but I wanted to know, what sort of man wants to look like a woman?" he asked.

"Well, you, for one," she answered simply.

"Oh, sure, but I'm different," he claimed.

"I'm sure you are," she said easily, but then went on, "as are all of our clients. Each has his own reasons, and each has our respect regardless of those reasons."

Her tone was still light and pleasant, the slight hoarseness seemed almost normal rather than the result of a cold or something as he had assumed. It was a bit sultry, actually, as though she were, well, flirting. Or it had been, but his question, with its implication that there was something wrong with the people who would patronize her shop, had caused just a hint of irritation to creep into her tones.

Thorson picked up on it and began to apologize, "I'm sorry. I read that most of the people who come to these places are, you know, normal. I mean, straight."

"If you mean they are oriented toward women, yes, that is true," she confirmed. "We like to think that this is nothing more than an innocent game, a fantasy played out with our help. It harms no one, though our clients have often themselves been the subject of undeserved ridicule, even abuse."

"Ah, yes, well, sorry," Thorson said again.

Janice tried to get things back on a more positive footing. This was a potential client, after all. "Just what did you have in mind? You mentioned a superhero costume, a female one, but that leaves a lot of room."

"Well, there's this party," he started. At her nod, he continued, making up things that he realized he should have thought about sooner, and more thoroughly. "And they have a contest for best costume. I don't particularly care about the prizes, they're usually little things, but, well, last year I went as a test tube and got laughed at. I'm a scientist, you see. Anyway, the winner last year was dressed as that Wyvern guy. I'm not big enough to be a male superhero, but I thought if I could do a credible job as a female superhero, then people wouldn't think I'm such a . . . "

"Scientist?" she offered, a twinkle back in her eye.

"Uh, yes, I guess," Thorson said, blushing.

"That's fine, Jonathon," she assured him. "Clearly, we don't think there's anything wrong with someone being, um, intrigued by the dressing itself, but your reason is a good one, and certainly not something to be embarrassed about."

He just nodded, then Janice continued. "I think the real issue is, just how much are you willing to do to transform yourself?"

Thorson shrugged his shoulders and said, "I don't know. I suppose that depends on how much effect there would be. I don't want anything, well, permanent."

"Of course not," she said reassuringly. "How about a goal of being completely passable in a casual conversation, like we are having here?

"Uh, yeah, that would be fine," he said. "But, well, that doesn't seem too likely. I mean, a man might look okay in a padded costume, with a mask and all, but just talking face to face is a bit much to ask for."

"Not really," Janice said. Then she led him over to a counter and positioned him to stand on one side while she walked to the other.

"Wanna arm wrestle," she said with a grin as she leaned her elbow on the counter, wrist in the air. Except, it wasn't her that said it. Or, well, it wasn't her voice.

Thorson's eyes got first very wide, then very narrow as he caught on to the situation. He studied the, um, proprietor of the shop with a renewed curiosity. And studied. Now that she, uh, he was standing behind the counter it seemed obvious that the person was a man. The voice triggered the recognition, but there was more. He leaned against the counter with his legs well spread and set for the offered contest. Other things that Thorson couldn't put his finger on just made it clear that this was a man, regardless of the dress. Thorson couldn't imagine why he had been fooled for even a moment.

And then, right before his eyes, the proprietor changed back into a woman, so undeniably that Thorson felt his impression that she was a man must have been mistaken. At least, until she, he, whatever, spoke again.

"Yes, I'm a customer of my own shop," the person called Janice said, though the tones were comfortably masculine. Now the hoarseness of the voice seemed completely unremarkable, just what you'd expect. The tone of the voice had lowered just a bit, but, well, there was more. Thorson didn't know what else was going on, but the scientist within him was both observing frantically and gibbering frantically at the impossibility of what his eyes and ears were reporting.

"My real name is James," the voice said, screamingly incongruous in that package that Thorson realized he still found attractive.

"My wife and I," and at this James interrupted himself at the startled look in Thorson's eyes, "yes, I'm happily married to a lovely woman. She's my partner in this shop. Anyway, we found we liked to play this game together. It started as just fooling around in the privacy of our house. Then, we realized that it was working pretty well. I have a bit of a knack for it, and my wife - Angie - is simply a genius with cosmetics. We started up this shop as a way to take advantage of our talents, and it's a lot more fun than the mundane jobs either of us had before."

"I, uh, can certainly attest to your skill," Thorson said.

"As can many of our clients," James replied. "And not only at transforming me. We have some quite satisfied customers who can attest to our ability to teach as well as employ our methods."

"I'm sorry," Thorson apologized again, "but, well, it's really, um, distracting to see you look like that, and well, sound like, uh, that."

"Oh, sure," James said, then Janice continued, "Is this better?"

Thorson didn't answer, just staring at magic that he didn't understand. A lifetime of experience said that what he had just witnessed was impossible. Yet, his scientific training refused to allow him to reject data without justification. And he, uh, she hadn't even taken off any clothes. She just talked differently, and moved differently, and stood differently, somehow.

Janice had apparently seen the same cogitation in other minds before. With a sure sense of timing, she returned to her question. "You can see, perhaps, why I asked how much you were willing to do to facilitate your transformation. We can easily do the costuming things and take some static pictures. To succeed in a live action masquerade takes a commitment far beyond that, though I assure you we can make you quite passable."

"You can?" Thorson asked, for the first time considering the extension of the effect he had just seen to himself.

"Oh, yes, easily. You're slender, and you have those lovely cheekbones." Somehow, the compliment didn't make him as uncomfortable as he would have expected, coming from a man. Of course, he had to keep reminding himself this was a man. He still found it hard to believe.

Janice walked easily around the counter, taking Thorson's arm in a casual gesture and leading him to a small room with couple of chairs and a table laden with books. "I'm sorry if I shocked you," she said, "but I find that a bit of shock saves a lot of time. I take it that you now believe that a transformation is possible?"

"Well, I don't see how I could ever be as believable as you."

"Why, thank you, kind sir," Janice said, flirting cheerfully.

It caused Thorson to stiffen, feeling her hand on his arm in a new way.

"Made you uncomfortable, didn't I?" Janice asked, but she didn't wait for an answer. "What was it that I did that made you realize I was a man?" "Huh? Oh, well, there was your voice," Thorson answered.

"Is that all?" she asked.

"No, not really. There was something about the way you, well, looked."

"The clothes, my hairstyle, my jewelry?" she pressed.

"No, of course not. You didn't change any of those."

"Of course not," Janice confirmed. "Those sorts of things are needed, of course, and they make the masquerade easier to pull off. People really do see what they expect to see a lot of the time, and the right signals set up the rest of the impression. But to really convince someone you are female is as much a matter of posture and mannerisms as anything derived from cosmetics."

"You certainly convinced me of that," Thorson admitted.

Janice leaned back in her chair, studying him intently. It made Thorson uncomfortable to be scrutinized like some sort of lab specimen, but her amazing skill had earned his respect. He was prepared to trust her on what needed to be done, even if that was just looking at him.

"You're not our typical customer, you know," she said, seemingly making conversation though there was some sort of undercurrent in her tone that said she had a point.

"Most college students who want a party outfit just go to a costume shop. Most of our clients, on the other hand, are trying to fulfill an unrequited fantasy. They come and get pampered for a day, take their keepsake photos, and go home. Only a few are even interested in a night on the town or any sort of outing at all."

Thorson nodded, though what he was agreeing to was unclear, at least to him.

"It's a shame, really," she said. "Many of them would give more money than we make in a year, just to have your face for one night. Or your form. You really have a lot of potential."

Thorson flushed, not quite sure he was being complimented when he was told he could look like a woman.

"What have you already tried?" Janice asked, sitting back up to the table.

"I, uh," Thorson stammered, thinking about denying his ludicrous attempt. Then he realized he wouldn't get her best advice if he lied.

"I got a thing called a unitard, and a mask, and a long wig. It didn't look very good."

"Did you do anything else?" she prodded gently.

"Well, I put some water in some balloons for, you know . . ."

"Not bad," she said. "Most guys just use some wadded up socks when they start. Where'd you learn that trick?"

"From the Net," he said.

"Of course," she said. "You found us on the Net, too, didn't you?"

He nodded and she continued, "And the balloons, how did that work?"

Thorson just flushed again, looking quickly down at his hands.

Janice reached out and patted his hand gently. "There's nothing wrong with what you've done. It's just a little harmless fun, a game."

She leaned back again and said, "I'll bet you had a pretty impressive set of hooters, didn't you?"

"How did you know?" he asked.

"Because I haven't met anyone yet who didn't get too much water into them the first time," she laughed. "How'd you hold them in the unitard? Did you get a bra, too?"

"No," he said sharply. Then he felt his ears redden again as he remembered what had happened.

"You mean you just stuck them down the front of the thing?" she asked with a smile. "Which one slipped down the farthest?"

"The left one," he said with a wry grin.

"And so you came to us?" Janice concluded.

Thorson nodded, torn between the knowledge that this "woman" had great skill and his own building feeling of embarrassment.

"Maybe I should just, um, try something else," he said.

"Oh, I hope not," she said. "I know you don't find this as, um, what did I say? Intriguing. As my other clients, but this can be fun for you, too. If you're willing to, shall we say, throw yourself into the role, we can make it seem like your only costume is the superhero tights and have everyone wondering who the new babe is. Then, when you tell your friends that it's you inside the tights, you'll knock their socks off."

"Really?" Thorson asked, beginning to believe in spite of himself.

"I guarantee it," Janice said, then her smile grew even larger. "In fact, I'll make that guarantee official. If you don't pass, in costume, until you choose to reveal yourself, then we won't charge you anything except for materials, clothes and whatever. Nothing for our time."

"But, you'll have to really commit yourself to the part," she warned.

"What will that mean, really?"

Janice asked a question of her own, before answering his. "Can you do some things that will take a bit of time to wear off? Specifically, things like trimming your eyebrows down a little, and maybe shaving your body? It won't be so definite that you can't go back to appearing male when you want, but you might need to wear long pants and sleeves instead of shorts for a while."

"I could do that, I guess," he agreed.

Janice stood up and began to pace a bit in the small space. It was almost a relief to Thorson to see her mannerisms begin to degrade a bit as she concentrated so hard on his problem. Her movements became a bit sharper, more forceful, less graceful. She still looked like a "she" but not nearly as feminine as the flirty woman who had held his arm when they entered the room.

"You have set yourself one particularly difficult challenge," Janice mused, speaking out loud but mostly to herself. "The female superheroes are all well-built, athletic women."

Thorson waited for Janice to make her point, but she surprised him with yet another question. "What is the one thing that makes a woman most look like a babe?"

"A babe?"

"Yeah, you know. Attractive, particularly a good body."

"Well, um," Thorson stammered, embarrassed again, "big, um, well, bust, I guess."

"Wrong," she said bluntly, but the smile on her face took away any element of criticism.

"That's what you did wrong with your water balloons," she explained, "and it is the single most common mistake cross-dressers make. Oh, there are some men who focus on big tits to the exclusion of all else, but if you really look at the women who get famous for their looks, that's not really the common denominator."

She sat back down and flipped open one of the large books on the table. One book actually focused on female superheroes, showing news photos and screen captures, as well as paparazzi shots.

"Look at those and answer that question again," she ordered. While he was looking at the pictures, Janice opened another book, this one filled with photos of popular actresses. "And at this one."

Thorson studied the books for a while, but other then realizing several of the women were indeed not particularly well endowed, he failed to see anything common. Yet, they were undeniably all very pretty, with great bodies.

After letting him struggle for a few minutes, Janice answered her own question. "The single most important sign of a well-built woman is a trim waist. Everyone one of those actresses has a waist somewhere between small and tiny. The superheroes are much the same, not quite as small, usually, but still very trim. The actual dimension is not the most important issue, by the way. It's the ratio of waist to hips, as long as the hips are not themselves too large. You won't have any trouble with slender hips. In fact, we'll need to pad them up a bit. That's the next most common cross-dresser mistake. They get the tits too big and the hips too small. On the women in most of those photos, the two are pretty near equal."

Now that he knew what to look for, it was obvious to Thorson that what she said was true. The women with larger than average bosoms also had very feminine hips. Yet, women with trim hips could look good, be "babes", with relatively small busts if the waist in between were also trim.

"So here's the problem, Jonathon," Janice said. "If you were just trying to pass as a woman, we could pad your hips up to get a shape that would be intuitively convincing to anyone who saw you. But if you really want to be a superhero of the female variety, we need to take your waist down instead. You need a corset."

"Uh, sure, okay, if that's what's needed," Thorson agreed, convinced by the evidence of the photos.

"Oh, my, you *are* a neophyte. You don't know what you're agreeing to," Janice warned ominously.
 

Chapter 4 - Do I Look Like I Care?

 
"Fzzsttt! Rraowffst! (Who invades my domain? Oh, it's you. You're late. Again.)

Dinger's motion toward the kitchen and his delayed dinner was a great deal more fluid than Thorson's slow limp across the same space. The taller roommate dropped off a fairly sizable carrying bag and grumped back at his cat.

"Oh, give me a break. Those high-heeled boots make pretzels of my feet and my ankles, and my calves. Then all I get from you is complaints."

"Rrroowwrrftz." (Do I look like I care? Start the can opener.)

"I'm telling you, Ding, the things I'm doing to make this masquerade work are more trouble than they're worth."

"Mrrwrrftz." (Fine. Start the can opener.)

"The corset is bad enough. Every time I wear it, I check to see if I've worn the skin over my ribs enough to draw blood. And as for breathing, well, I suppose that is almost a good thing. I'm certainly learning to work out without incidentals like breathing. But those heels are really a killer. And I don't even want to think about the first time I put on deodorant after shaving my armpits. Now I know why women choose Secret."

Ding didn't answer this time, since Thorson had been working as he spoke and had finally managed to prepare the cat's meal. Thorson's own meal took little more time and he soon was resting his feet as he took care of his mail while he ate. Ding's mood improved as his hunger waned, so it was a contented cat that levitated into Thorson's lap in a much more friendly welcome home.

"Prrhmmrrr." (So, why don't you tell me about it. While you rub my back, of course.)

"Okay. When Janice told me that heels would make my legs look longer and my feet look smaller, I believed her. And she made her point about the corset right off, too. But if I'm going to really do this superhero bit, I have to be able to move in those things, and that is taking a lot more practice than I thought."

Ding bumped his head into Thorson's chin, sniffing a bit at a scent that was still unfamiliar.

"Yeah, that too. She showed me all the makeup things, and I've been practicing on that. I suppose you can smell it a bit even after I wash up. I almost wish it hadn't all been so damn effective."

It certainly had been. That first day, Janice had suggested they just work on a straight transformation to a feminine appearance not limited to what would show while he wore the superhero costume. It had taken hours. First, she suggested that he shave his body. Then she had given him this positively infernal contraption called a gaff to wear, along with instructions on "tucking" properly. Then came the corset. By the time he got to the shoes, he was too saturated to notice them. Much. Besides, the next thing he had to do was just sit while they did his makeup. It had almost been worse to have Angie working on him than to talk with Janice. Angie was cute in a pixie sort of way, but her short haircut and jeans soon had her looking the least feminine of the three of them. Which didn't help Thorson's saturated perceptions at all.

He was still trying to decide what his feelings were about what he saw in the mirror when they were done with him. He wasn't movie star gorgeous. His superhero alter ego would need a mask if she was going to qualify for babe status. But he certainly looked like a woman, even a pretty one. Pretty enough, in fact, that his male ego had taken a worse slam than the time Laney Crawford has laughed at him when he asked her out in high school.

How could *any* man look that much like a woman? Janice was different. He knew she was a man under all that magic, but it was a sort of intellectual knowledge that just didn't rise to the surface much. But this! This was him! Only it wasn't him, it was this well, not a babe, but certainly a pretty woman.

"That is incredible," he had said. And spoiled the illusion.

"Ah yes, well, you will have to work some on that voice," Janice had said. "But there is just as much potential there as in the rest of your appearance."

That had been the start of a series of lessons on mannerisms, voice, word choices, things that made the physical transformation seem to be the lesser part of the whole. Perhaps it was. Certainly Janice showed that clothes alone were not enough, maybe not even the most important part. Women could wear men's clothes and still look like women.

Unfortunately, at least some men could not wear women's clothes and still look like men. Or fortunately. Whatever. Thorson wasn't even sure whether he was glad he could pass so convincingly or not. But it was clear that the potential was there, so he had attacked that skill with the focused commitment that had earned his degrees, and in fact the same concentration that had gained him control over the entropy power. Still, it bothered him to know that he could pass as a nice-looking young woman any time he chose. That was not a particularly ringing endorsement of his manliness.

"Ah, hell, Ding. Terhune already figured I was fair game for jokes like that. If I get the entropy control things to work, they'll respect me well enough."

"Mrraorr?" (Jokes like what? And rub a little more behind my ears.)

Instead, Thorson stopped rubbing his cat entirely and spoke to him in a more serious tone. "Ding, we have a problem. I wove a bunch of samarium/cobalt filaments through my costume and tried to levitate today."

Ding's response was to butt his head into Thorson's chin again. (Keep talking, but don't stop rubbing.)

"When I tried to lift, I could control the fields okay, but the unitard is just too stretchy. I was slipping all around inside of it. I need something that will hold me as tightly as that corset does . . . "

His voice trailed off as the expression of his problem showed the obvious solution. "Thanks, Dinger, you've been a big help," Thorson called as he dropped the cat and made his way to the phone.

"Inner Truth Salon, this is Janice. How may we help you?"

"Janice, this is Jonny."

"Oh, Jonny, how good to hear from you. Are you calling to order your superbabe wig? I have a really good deal for you."

"Uh, well, no. Not really, but, well, maybe."

"That's not a very clear statement for a nice, logical scientist," she laughed.

"Oh, yeah, you're right. Look, Janice, I need to ask a favor."

"Okay, what can we do?"

"First, did you mean it when you said you always respect a client's privacy?" "Yes. Jonathon. We do."

*Oops, better try to mend a fence or two.* "I'm sorry, I didn't say that very well. I trust you, really I do. But, well, there may be more to it than for normal clients."

"All of our clients are special, Jonathon."

"Look, Janice. I'm sorry," he repeated, "but this is not coming out like I want at all."

He paused for a moment, then made a decision. "I need to come visit you, if I can."

"You're always welcome, of course. Aren't you already on the schedule for Saturday?" Janice asked.

"Yes, but I don't want to wait. Could I come see you tonight?"

Janice agreed without hesitation, but there as an unmistakable undercurrent of curiosity in her voice. "Sure, I guess so. We'll be here for an hour or so."

"Uh, well, that might be a problem. It takes me all of that to get there, maybe more if there's a lot of traffic."

"And you've been coming all that way for, what half a dozen times now?" Janice asked in surprise. Then, before Thorson had time to worry, she continued, "I guess we can grant you a special dispensation, after that much show of commitment."

"Thanks, I'll be there as soon as possible," Thorson said, almost cutting off Janice's good-bye as he hung up the phone.

Turning to the cat he said, "Sorry, Ding, but I gotta go again."

"Rrrurrmwrree," Ding answered. (You must have mistaken me for someone who cares. Now I can get that nap I deserve. Without interruption.)

The big old tomcat was apparently asleep before Thorson had picked up his bag and left the apartment. All the way to Castle Rock, he was trying to decide just what to say to Janice, and by extension Angie since they had made it clear they held no secrets from each other. They were creative, intelligent people and an outright lie was unlikely to work, even if they politely declined to show their disbelief.

No particularly good ideas had come to him when he arrived at the Inner Truth salon, but the door was unlocked and as he entered he found Janice quietly rearranging wigs on a wall display.

"Oh, Jonny, welcome," she said.

*At least it's 'Jonny' and not 'Jonathon',* he thought. *She must be over being mad at me.* He let himself be ushered over to the same small consulting space they had first used. As they left the main showroom, Janice turned out the lights, leaving the small office illuminated by an ordinary table lamp. Janice glanced at the equipment bag he was still carrying, which reminded him of the burden and he set it down near the table.

Janice's curiosity was too much for a lot of small talk, so she soon got to the point, "What brings you out so late?"

Despite the time in the car, Thorson was still not sure how to begin. He dropped his eyes and looked at his hands as he was trying to compose an answer. He was rescued from his dilemma, it seemed, when the door to the store opened yet again.

Janice looked at him and asked, "Did you invite anyone to meet you here?"

The very idea shocked Thorson, "No! Never."

A frown replaced the easy smile that so defined Janice, and she stood to go see who had entered the darkened shop. She didn't get very far. As soon as she opened the door to the consultation room, spilling light from the table lamp into the broader area, a slurred voice said, "Holdit. Don' move."

Beyond Janice, Thorson could see a man wearing jeans and a torn t-shirt, the faded logo of an out-of-favor rock band still legible through layers of something not as easy to identify. More important than that, though, was the glint of reflected light he saw as the intruder waved his hand.

"I gotta gun," the stranger said.

"I can see that," Janice calmly agreed.

"Gimme all your money," the man demanded.

"Ah, that's what you're here for," Janice said lightly. "And here I thought you wanted to schedule a makeover."

"Don' want no makeup," the man insisted. "Thass for wimmin. I jus' wan' your money."

Janice's tone remained casual, but she didn't offer any encouragement as she said, "Unfortunately, we don't keep any money on the premises. You'll have to try somewhere else."

The robber's next comment was interrupted by the opening of yet another door, this one from deeper in the building. Silhouetted in the opening was a short-haired figure wearing pants and holding something with a bell-mouthed barrel. The intruder jumped at the interruption, then started to swing his gun toward the backlit shape. Even in the dim light, Thorson could see the man's eyes start to squint in anticipation of the blast that he would soon release.

The light from the lamp near Thorson's hand suddenly dimmed as his left hand covered it. From his right hand, a thin red wire leaped to touch the robber's gun. Before the man could fire, a large part of the gun fell from his hand, sliced neatly just above the grip and trigger assembly that he still held. Some spatter of hot metal must have touched his hand, because he dropped the remaining portion and clutched his gun hand in pain. Before anyone else could move, he turned and ran from the shop, knocking over racks of clothing in his frantic haste.

Thorson removed his hand from the lamp, returning sufficient illumination to the area outside the small office to reveal the look of surprise on Janice's face, first at the rapid exit of the robber, and then at the suddenly-unfamiliar customer.

"What did you do?" she demanded, shock and still-unflushed adrenaline interfering with her typical politeness.

Thorson didn't answer, still not sure what he needed to say; a problem that had just become even more complicated.

He was rescued once again from an immediate need to speak, this time by Angie's demand, "What's going on here?"

"Jonny was about to tell us," Janice claimed, her eyes demanding that Thorson make good on her promise.

In a sort of distracted stall, not so much a deliberate delaying tactic as just a grasp at the tiniest straw of progress, Thorson invited Janice back into her own consultation office. With a nod of her head to invite Angie in also, Janice walked back into the room. Angie came as well, bringing the hair dryer that had so nearly precipitated a tragedy.

There were only two chairs in the tiny room, but Thorson stood back and started pacing the step or two he could make before turning. His eyes showed he was lost somewhere within his own mind, churning once again with the need to find words for something the didn't really want to discuss.

Angie looked at Janice, and once their eyes met, those of the pixie woman glanced toward Thorson in a message that might not have been clear to anyone else, but was apparently understood adequately by her lifemate.

"Jonny, maybe I should start," Janice offered.

"Huh, start what?" he said.

"Start by explaining what you came to tell us," Janice said, then continued without letting Thorson confirm or deny the need.

"You are a superhero, or at least you're about to become one," Janice claimed. "You intend to masquerade as a woman when you are using whatever powers you have and need some help with your real costume, not the one for some nonexistent party, the one you will wear in public."

"How did you know?" he asked in shock.

"Dear Jonny, do you think you're the first person to come in here claiming he needed our services for something, oh, innocent like a costume party when he really wanted it for something else? You've committed way too much to this for a casual lark. We suspected as much before, but we decided to let you have your little secret. I admit I didn't know you were a real live superhero before tonight, but I guess I should have. We don't get many who are as adamant about the superhero thing as you are. I thought it was just misdirection, not a real need."

Thorson looked at her, then at Angie. Angie was looking just as surprised as Thorson felt, though it was clear that her surprise was limited to the superhero part of Janice's revelation. Angie clearly wanted more of an explanation, but as she started to ask for it, Janice lightly touched her arm to keep her still while Thorson was still absorbing Janice's amazing statement.

"And what makes you think I'm a superhero?" he asked.

"Well, *I* certainly can't cut a gun in half from across the room, and if I grabbed a hot lightbulb like you did, all I'd burn would be my own hand."

"Oh, yeah, well, I couldn't let him hurt Angie," Thorson offered in unnecessary explanation.

"Of course not," Janice said.

"I'm not going to go into the physics," Thorson finally began the real explanation, "but I have discovered a new source of power. I'm just beginning to explore the limits of the power, but with everything I discover those limits move even further out. However, it's very unconventional. I can't get the bureaucrats at the university to listen to me."

"I . . . see," Janice said, yet they both knew that she did not.

Thorson said, "My plan is to get some publicity through public display of my abilities, or the abilities available through my discoveries. When I have their attention, I'll reveal who I am. I shouldn't have any trouble getting it, with the things I now can do."

"I am, or at least, will be a superhero. Or that's the plan, anyway. I have discovered some quite powerful effects through my research, but my department head thinks they're all tricks, faked somehow. I need the publicity that I can get as a superhero to gain acceptance of my research."

"What sort of effects?" Angie asked.

"Uh, well, I can do a heat ray. That's what Janice saw. And, oh, yeah, that's why I came here. I think I'll be able to fly, if you can help me."

"Fly?" Janice asked.

"Yeah, well, if you can help me," Thorson repeated.

"Why a female superhero?" Janice asked. "I know you don't get aroused by cross-dressing, for all that you are so good at it."

"Because I'm too small to be taken seriously as a male superhero," Thorson answered, for once letting some of the bitterness into his tone.

"So, Jonny, what can we do for a real, live superhero that we haven't already offered?" Angie asked again. "Something that would get you to come here so late at night."

"Well, I think I may need some help with my corset . . . "

"FLASH! New supercriminal reported. Stay tuned to WNN for the latest breaking news on a daring new villain!" the announcer ordered.

As usual, Terhune had the faculty lounge TV tuned to the news, and as usual they were excited about something that was just then breaking. At the mention of a supercriminal, though, Thorson looked up from the lab reports he was grading to see who they had discovered. It turned out they hadn't really discovered anything. The new supercriminal had robbed a bank in broad daylight, not bothering to block the surveillance cameras.

The on-the-scene reporter was providing some details, "At 2:00 this afternoon, in Peaches, Georgia, a group led by a woman wearing a distinctive, but never-before-seen costume robbed the Heritage Federal Bank. This image, just now released to the press, shows the woman and her henchmen."

The image running on the screen, repeating several times with the typical jerky motion of an automatic surveillance camera, showed a dark- haired woman wearing a form-fitting costume and a mask, walking nonchalantly into the bank lobby. She waved her hand toward the tellers and customers, after which they seemed unable to interfere while the men with her helped themselves to the cash from a row of teller drawers. The woman's disdain for any threat from the surveillance images was shown as she gave a jaunty wave to the camera as she left the lobby, ostentatiously dropping a sheet of paper on the receptionist's desk just before she reached the door.

The reporter resumed his narrative, "WNN News has obtained a copy of the paper dropped by the woman as she exited the bank. It contained the following message:

'On behalf of the nobility of our realm, of whom We are the queen and heir, We acknowledge receipt of partial reimbursement of taxes illegally collected from our kingdom, known to you as the Hawaiian Islands. We will continue to recover money and other items stolen from our dynasty until and unless the government of the United States comes to terms with our government.'

The note was signed, 'Synapse, Queen of Hawaii and All the Surrounding Waters'."

Synapse, Queen of Hawaii, taunts those watching through the surveillance camera. "Catch me if you can!"

Terhune interrupted any further report with his own observation, "That woman sounds as crazy as they come, but she is one stone babe!" "Geez, Rick, can't you think of anything but how she looks?" Thorson asked. "In that outfit? How could *anyone* think of anything besides how she looks?" Terhune answered, unrepentantly. The announcer had introduced one of the witnesses to the robbery and was trying to get some more information, "Sir, the surveillance camera images were not terribly clear. Can you describe the woman for us?" The man, whose name had been lost in Terhune's interruption, seemed a bit uncertain. "Well, I saw her coming in the lobby. It sort of got my attention, you know? I mean, there aren't that many people running around in costumes like that, and besides, wearing a mask into a bank seems a little off, right? Anyway, I stopped what I was doing to look at her, and I saw her look directly at me. She seemed to smile, and then she, like, pointed her hand at me or something. After that, things seem really confused. I knew something was wrong, but I couldn't figure out what, nor what to do. I didn't even think to call for help until later, after she was gone. Somebody else had already called them by the time I thought of it. That's all I can remember until about the time the cops showed up." The reported interrupted any further comments from the man by telling the camera, "That report, of a confused period after the woman looked at them has been repeated by all the customers who were in the lobby at the time." Then the reporter turned back to the man being interviewed and asked, "Can you give us any better description to go with the surveillance camera images?" "Uh, gee, I don't know. What else do you want to know?" The reporter sighed and fed the man a specific question, "Well, the cameras only record in black and white. Can you tell us anything about the colors of the costume the woman wore?" "Oh, yeah, sure. I can do that. Let's see, she had these shiny black boots that were real tall, with fancy gold trim on the cuffs where they folded over. And she had a black, whatchamacallit, like gymnasts wear, with purple sleeves."

"A leotard?" offered the reporter.

"Yeah, that's right," the man confirmed, then continued. "It had some sort of belt, or decoration, that hung a bit below her waist. I noticed that the belt had a big jewel in it, purple like her outfit. Let's see, what else? Oh, yeah, at first I thought she was wearing gloves, but when she waved her arm at me, I saw that they were just folded back cuffs, decorated sort of like the folded down cuffs on her boots. And she had this long, dark hair, really sleek."

"She sounds quite attractive," the reporter commented. The man who was being interviewed nodded enthusiastically, then his face flushed as he realized he was being a bit too obvious in is agreement.

"I'm telling you, that is one hot-looking babe," Terhune gushed as the reporter tried to set up another interview. Thorson was not really arguing, the still image captured from the surveillance camera was being shown on the screen, now colorized to match the description given by the man.

"With me now is Connie Hanson, teller at the Heritage Federal Bank," the reporter was saying. "Ms. Hanson, can you tell us about your experiences during the robbery?"

The teller seemed reluctant to talk, shyly avoiding looking at the camera. The reporter waited a moment, the repeated his question. At first, the teller seemed like she wouldn't answer at all, but after another moment she spoke in a low, almost mumbling voice.

"I guess it's pretty much like the others. I was behind my window when the woman walked in, along with two men and another woman, I think. Anyway, she waved her hand at me, and then, well . . . "

The teller ran down, not saying anything more. Terhune laughed and said, "That is one shy woman. You can see her blush even through the TV."

"I see," the reporter said, filling in the silence, "so you felt the confusion that the customers have reported."

"Yeah, I guess. Something like that," the woman replied.

"We have one other eyewitness at this time, Ms. Billi Wayne, the receptionist who was sitting at the desk where the note from this 'Synapse' was dropped."

"Ms. Wayne," he said, turning to a woman who looked like she was enjoying the attention a lot more than the teller, "you are the person who turned in the alarm, were you not?"

"Yeah, that was me," she said proudly.

"You seem to have recovered from the confusion a bit quicker than the others," the reporter offered.

"Yeah, well, it wasn't all that confusing to me, if you know what I mean," she said with a wink.

"I'm afraid I don't understand," the reporter said.

"I don't know about the others, but what I was feeling was better than the best sex I've ever had," she declared.

"Excuse me?" the reporter said not believing what he had heard.

"Yeah, that's right. Whatever that woman did to me, made me hotter than last year's Christmas party. I'm telling you, if that woman could bottle what she did, she wouldn't need to rob banks."

"You mean you were aroused by whatever she did to you?" The reporter asked for confirmation.

"Aroused doesn't begin to cover it," Billi said with another wink. "She sent me off like a rocket. Several times."

"I, uh, see," the reporter tried to recover. "Do you have anything to add to the description of the thief?"

"Only that I think she was Asian, or something. Her eyes looked, well, Asian. You know," the receptionist offered, clearly not about to say anything as politically incorrect as "slanted" eyes.

"Thank you," the reporter said, obviously glad to be back on safer ground. "You've been a big help."

He concluded his report, switching back to the studio where another talking head recapped what they had just heard. Even as he spoke, another sketch of the woman appeared beside the image of his head, this time with eyes showing a decidedly Oriental look.

"That babe can rob me anytime she wants," Terhune sighed.

*Be careful what you ask for,* Thorson thought, but he kept that thought to himself.
 

Chapter 5 - Volumetric Efficiency

 
After half a dozen convictions for drunken driving, drivers find insurance companies quite unreasonable about providing coverage. Habitual drunks therefore often end up without a car. Lending a car to a friend with that record is hardly a generous act; it's often a deadly one. The man driving the borrowed pickup had predictably gotten drunk though it was early on a Saturday afternoon. That act of false generosity cost the owner of the pickup his vehicle. It cost the drunk his life.

No one ever knew why he ended up in the wrong lane, facing oncoming traffic. The driver of the first car threatened by the runaway truck tried to stop and to swerve at the same time, an unfortunate combination that ended up rolling her small car. Perhaps the drunk noticed something, though much too late, for the pickup swerved as well, running off the road and hitting a main power pole. Predictably, a television news team was on the scene almost as quickly as the emergency crews, though in this case the most significant news item occurred during the interval before they arrived.

"This is Dan Parks, reporting live for 6-Shooter News at the scene of a major traffic accident. With me is Becky Lewis, the driver of one of the cars that was involved. Becky, tell us what happened."

"I was just driving along, and this truck came across into my lane. I tried to stop, but my car ended up rolling over. I don't really know what happened next, but my car ended up under the truck, with electrical lines wrapped around it, and I guess around the truck, too."

"And then what happened?" Parks prodded.

"Well, I don't know exactly. I saw a fireman, but he told me not to get out of the car. He said something about the car protecting me from being electrocuted. I tried to tell him that I could smell gas, and I think he knew that, but he still told me not to move."

Parks turned to the camera himself for a moment, "Captain Simpson, of the Greater Metro Fire Department, has already told us that the high-power cables carried enough voltage to electrocute anyone touching the car and the ground at the same time. They were attempting to disconnect the cables, but the strain had caused a partial short at the closest power pole and linemen were unable to approach the connections."

Turning back to Becky Lewis, he said, "Tell us how you were rescued."

Becky said, "I'm not sure of all of what happened. All I know is that the crackling from the lines stopped. I could feel the car shift just a little, like maybe they finally got the cables untied. Then the roof to my car just disappeared."

"Disappeared?" Parks asked. "Do you mean they cut it away?"

"No, I didn't hear any saws or anything, and it was all at once. I wasn't looking at the roof. I was trying to get rid of the rest of the windshield. It had been broken in the crash and I thought I could make a big enough hole to get out. All of the sudden, there was a light by my head and when I looked, there was this big hole in the roof. A woman in a costume was reaching in to help me out."

"How did she get you out?"

"Well, actually, she didn't really get me out, except to help steady me. First she asked if I was hurt, and when I told her no she offered me her hand. I used it to pull myself through the opening."

"Have you ever seen this woman before, even on the news or something?"

"No, never," Becky said.

"Tell us about this woman," Parks said, then before she could speak he looked away and touched the earpiece he wore, listening intently.

Speaking directly to the camera, he said, "I have just been informed that we have a videotape of the costumed rescuer, obtained from a bystander with a camcorder. For your first look at this apparently new superhero, we return to anchor Elizabeth Hawley at the 6-Shooter News desk."

The anchorwoman in the studio took up the narrative, "Thank you, Dan. The video you are about to see is exclusive to 6-Shooter News. For those who may not have as clear a picture as we see here, I will attempt to explain what is shown."

"The tape begins after the wrecked vehicles have stopped moving. You can see that the car is pinned by the pickup truck, and that the power lines are wrapped around both vehicles. Here, the camera points up to where the cables are stretched taut from the next, still-standing pole. The electric arcs are visible even in the daylight. In the distance you can see linemen trying to disconnect the cables at a pole with undamaged connections."

Entropy introduces herself to the world. "Here she comes, to save the day . . . "

"The camera has just switched to a shot of a flying woman, wearing a cape. She's pointing her hand at the sparking cables on the standing pole. They have just fallen to the ground, sliced through somehow. Now she's landing. She seems to have something in her hand. It looks like a giant snowflake, though instead of being white, it is glowing with an internal light. There are spiky extensions sticking out from the central glow, except these are not the six symmetric points of a giant snowflake, they are more jagged. Chaotic." "There, she has thrown the, um, ball at the roof of the car. It seems to be dissolving. No, it's more like it's disintegrating, turning to dust. Now the costumed rescuer is reaching into the car and you can see her helping the driver to escape. The driver of the car is clear, and now the caped woman is flying off as quickly as she came. It doesn't appear that she talked with anyone except Ms. Lewis." Beside the anchorwoman's head, a still frame from the video appeared on the monitor, showing a full-length image of the unknown rescuer. "This costume is not associated with any known super-powered individual. As you can see, she has a white torso and black

tights, with red boots, gloves and mask. She is blonde, with very long hair, and wears a long blue cape. There seems to be some sort of insignia on her wide belt, but it's not quite clear enough to make out. She also wears a large red jewel around her neck, though at this time it is not clear if the jewel has any significance to her powers."

Hawley now spoke directly into the camera, announcing, "This station, on behalf of our parent network, WNN, reminds our viewers of the standing offer for information leading to the true identity of established superheroes. I'm sure that this new rescuer will soon be on the list of those to whom the reward applies. Stay tuned for a word from our sponsors. When we come back, we'll have more on this new masked marvel."

Janice reached forward to turn down the sound on the TV and looked at that same masked marvel, standing quietly at her side. She said, "Well, that's pretty impressive, for a first time out."

"I couldn't just let her die. I thought the gas was going to catch a spark from that arcing power line at any time" the costumed woman said.

"Oh, I agree with you," Janice reassured her. "I'm glad you could help."

"Thanks," said her companion. "Me, too."

After a pause, the colorfully-garbed rescuer said, "I guess I should get undressed now."

Carefully ignoring the reluctance in the masked woman's tone, Janice agreed and reached to help her with her cape. The woman removed her own mask, to show an attractive face with nose just a bit too long for classic beauty. It was, of course, Thorson, though a very feminine-looking version.

"How did the new corset work?" Angie said, entering the room. They were in the Hardesty's apartment behind the Inner Truth salon and Angie had just finished with another client. Even now, Thorson had never seen any of the other clients since they were ushered quickly into a consultation room or office whenever they arrived in order to maintain mutual privacy. By now Thorson was as likely to be invited into the proprietor's private quarters as any of the salon's business areas, anyway.

"It worked very well," Thorson confirmed as he sat to remove the high-heeled boots. "It didn't slip at all, not that it could have as tight as you guys make me wear it, and yet it didn't pinch."

"That's why everyone who is serious should get a custom corset," Angie declared, then she laughed, "though not everyone gets one with those whatchamacallit filaments, and kevlar."

"The kevlar idea was a good one," Thorson said. "I'm glad you thought of it."

"Well, there's entirely too good a chance that someone you'll meet will be only too willing to shoot at you."

Thorson nodded, too out of breath for speech from trying to bend in that same corset while removing the boots.

"Here, let me help you," Janice offered. In short order Thorson was out of the rest of his clothes, or at least, his costume. He still wore the undergarments that forced his form into feminine curves.

"Any problems?" she asked professionally, thinking of the costume she had done so much to design.

"Well, the hair is pretty long. That wig gets heavy, and it drags in the wind when I fly."

Janice laughed and said, "Tough. It looks fabulous on you, and now that you're famous, you're committed."

"You're famous?" Angie asked. "I thought you were just going to try out flying in the corset."

"I was," Thorson said. "But I saw an accident and I had to help."

"Oh, great! How'd it go?"

"Pretty well. The sensors in the neck jewel; GPS, power level, that sort of thing, worked fine. The audio reports through the earrings were clear enough. But I do have one problem," he said pensively, then looked up with a wry grin, "beside the wig and the heels and not breathing in the corset . . . "

Not waiting for the obvious question to continue, he said, "I ran out of fuel, or almost anyway. I found out that I can fly faster if I project a bit of heat ahead of me to thin the air, and also if I run a bit of current through my magnetic filaments. Oh, and cutting those cables, from the distance that I needed to be, took more than I expected, too."

"Cables?" Angie asked.

"Later," Janice stilled her.

Thorson continued explaining his problem, "I can't generate and consume power at the same time, so I need to store some. A couple of the compartments on this belt are storage, and the rest are the electrolysis mechanism and the fuel cell itself. I'm full up unless I let the belt get pretty bulky.""

"What sort of fuel?" asked Janice.

"Mostly liquid hydrogen. I have a small oxygen tank that I use to supercharge the fuel cell if I need to, but mostly I just use atmospheric oxygen."

"I see," said Janice, a light of humor coming on behind her eyes. She looked at Angie with a big grin on her face. Angie looked confused for a moment, and then a smirky grin broke over her own features.

She started to giggle. "I think we can help you with that," she promised.

"Now, Angie," Janice said, but there was a note of humor in her voice. "You know I told him to keep that proportional."

"Oh, it will be, um, well balanced," she said, then started snickering again.

Thorson didn't get it. They gave him no immediate relief, just grinning at him.

Finally, Janice dropped a hint, "Just how, um, big do you want your storage containers to be?"

The words themselves were reasonably innocuous, but the sly wink she sent along with the statement finally let Thorson in on the modification to his costume that she had in mind. The blush that appeared on his face, visible even through the makeup that he still wore, showed that he had finally gotten the message.

Still, the idea was a good one, so he nodded and said in an airy, feminine voice, "Don't get any silly ideas. I have my reputation to maintain, you know. I think I have a quite adequate shape right now, don't you?"

Angie broke out in a giggle all the more pointed since her own pixie shape was not particularly well-endowed. Pretty soon they were all laughing, but it was clear that the problem of fuel storage would be easy to solve.

They decided Thorson might as well leave the costume with them, since they were going to be working on the breast forms anyway. They could also wash and set his wig, and clean everything. He might have the appearance of an attractive and classy lady, but he still got as sweaty as a man. As he was picking up his belt to put it away, Angie noticed the insignia.

"What's that supposed to be?" she asked. The mark was a simple arrow, divided into two sections by a pair of lines cutting across the middle.

"Oh, that's a broken arrow," Thorson explained. "Entropy has often been called, 'time's arrow', and a lot of what I do is control entropy."

"Say, that might be a catchy name," Janice suggested. "Call yourself, 'Entropy'."

"Hmm, I hadn't thought of that," Thorson mused. Then he nodded and said, "But it fits. I'll use it."

Then he looked at the two of them. "You know, either of you could claim a million dollars by telling WNN who I am."

"We know," Janice answered.

She didn't say anything more. What might have been a threat about a future action was in fact a promise based on past discretion. After a moment, Thorson smiled at them, nodding in recognition of the message.

"So," Angie asked. "Are you going home as Jonny, or as, what? Janie, I suppose."

"Oh, I would never go out in public like this," Thorson laughed.

"Well, of course not," Janice said, picking up on Angie's lead. "You'd need something nice to wear. I have just the thing."

"No, thanks, I don't want to," Thorson said sharply.

"Do you think it's wrong?" asked Janice.

"Uh, no, not really, well, maybe. It's wrong for me," he declared.

"How do you know?" Angie asked.

Thorson was beginning to see a tag-team plan in their comments, but if he couldn't trust them to have his best interests at heart, at least as they saw it, he was already in lots of trouble. He decided to stop the playing around and just cut to the chase.

"Why do you want me to go out dressed as a woman?"

"Because we think that you will be more successful in your masquerade if you do," Janice answered with equal directness.

Thorson paused for a moment, but he realized that part of the reason he had left the scene of the accident so abruptly was that he didn't feel ready to meet someone face to face while dressed as a woman. It made him uncomfortable and he couldn't imagine anyone ever enjoying it, except that the living example of Janice said there was a lot about this that he didn't understand. The logical extension of that recognition led to the realization that there might indeed be things he had yet to learn.

The two owners of the transformation salon had waited patiently while he thought through the problem. However, even before he announced his agreement with their plan, they could see the argument play itself out in his expression. When he looked up, Angie was already moving toward the main shop.

"You get the dress, Janice, and I'll pick out a good wig. Blonde, of course, since Janie's coloring is just too perfectly Nordic for words, but not quite as long as the superbabe wig, don't you think?"

She was gone before either Janice or Thorson could answer.

"Doesn't it matter what *I* think?" he complained.

"Not usually," Janice said with a wry grin. "Just remember, I'm the one that has to live with it all the time."

Thorson laughed, but Janice could see a little hint of wistfulness lurking in his eyes. She wondered just what sort of life the scientist had, when he wasn't learning the tricks of their trade.

Synapse, self-styled "Queen of Hawaii and All the Surrounding Waters" held court in a wicker chair on a breeze-caressed verandah. She was indeed surrounded by water, though not those she claimed to own. Instead, her palace was a seaside lodge in the Caribbean, rented with the recovered "taxes" she had taken from federal banks.

She still wore her skin-tight costume, despite the warm temperatures of the island haven. Her dark clothing and hair stood out in sharp contrast to the light color of the high-backed chair. It had the appearance of a throne, an effect deliberately selected.

"Maui, how fare our finances?" she asked imperiously.

A slender girl in a brief wisp of fabric, supported just high enough either by magic or glue for a minimum bit of modesty, swayed to her feet so that she could dip in a deliberately provocative curtsy.

"We have sufficient funds for this stage in your plan, Your Majesty. The last two bank recoveries were more productive than expected and we are therefore ahead of schedule."

Synapse received this information with a regal nod of her head, then turned to a thick-set man with iron-gray hair and a gaudily-decorated purple uniform.

"Oahu report to us on the state of our defenses."

The older man lifted himself to his feet from his uncomfortable position on the ground and came to a rigid attention. His eyes were fixed at a point beyond the horizon over Synapse's head when he made his report.

"The armored car we stole along with its contents in the Jacksonville robbery has arrived at the dock in Charlotte Amalie. I have arranged for it to be transported here by no later than tomorrow night. The RPGs have already been delivered. However, I must report that the supplier of small arms has reneged on his agreement to provide sub-machine guns and ammunition. In accordance with your directions, I have not approached local suppliers in order to maintain security. However, I should be able to obtain an alternate source of supply when we return to the mainland."

"We are not pleased to hear of things not completed on schedule," Synapse said.

"No, Your Majesty. I am not pleased to be required to report them."

"Is it not one of the foundational precepts of military power that discipline must be maintained? And another that excuses are no substitute for success?" she asked, the tones in her voice as silky and smooth as the hair that lifted gently in the breeze.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

The tip of a delicate tongue peeked out from between Synapse's full lips, and her eyes took on a heavy, half-lidded smolder. Almost idly, her right hand raised and an elegant nail pointed at her military leader. For a moment there was no response. Then, he gave a sort of half-voiced moan, bending forward as though under an irresistible compulsion. Beads of sweat shown on his forehead as he forced himself back to an erect stance. As he did so, his pants pulled a bit tighter to reveal that his stance was not the only erect part of him.

"When you report tomorrow, we will see if you have learned our lesson," Synapse said. "You may sit, if you want."

"Thank you, Majesty, but I believe I will stand."

She ignored his comment, turning to the third of her courtiers. This was a young man, but a large one. Even in his kneeling stance he towered above the seated Maui. Yet his posture was not one of dominance. Nor, aside from being on his knees, one of submission. A glance at his eyes revealed an emptiness that showed either attitude would require more awareness than the man had to display. She didn't even speak to him, just gesturing again with a casual flicker from her ruby nails.

For a moment, he didn't move either. Then a wave of pure pleasure showed in the empty windows of his eyes. When it had passed, he shot to his feet, shouting, "Yes, Your Majesty! Thank you, Your Majesty."

"Big Island, we think we will walk around our island residence today. Prepare the cart. Oahu, you will assist."

"Yes, Your Majesty," they answered in chorus. In moments, the big man was pulling what looked like an ornate rickshaw, decorated in gold and purple. Synapse stepped directly from the verandah to the cart, never risking the loss of dignity possible if she tried to walk in her stiletto heels in the loose sand.

She poked a sharp toe in his taut backside and he began to move. "Oahu, Maui, accompany us," she commanded, then poked her mount again to get him to move onto the firmer wet sand at the waterline.

"Have we heard yet from the United States government, about our demand that they return our rightful lands to us?" she asked Maui.

"No, Your Majesty. Three messengers sent to retrieve mail from the P.O. Box you have identified in notes left at our robberies have been apprehended by the authorities. As all they knew to do was post a note on an open electronic bulletin board, there is little risk of compromise. Yet, it would seem the authorities are not yet ready to accede to your demands."

"What did you call our expeditions?" Synapse asked, the silky tone back in her voice.

Maui answered, curiosity at the question in her voice, "Recoveries, Majesty, of the taxes illegally taken from your lands."

Synapse asked the uniformed man with them, "Oahu, is that what you heard?"

"No, Your Majesty," he answered.

"Nor did we," Synapse confirmed. "We distinctly heard our finance minister call them robberies."

"No, Majesty. I couldn't have," the girl said in fear.

"And now you contradict us," Synapse said with a sigh. The slender girl looked like she was considering running away, but the futility of that on the small, isolated island was all too apparent. She gave a deep, heartfelt sigh of her own, then bowed her head to her queen.

"I am sorry, Your Majesty," she said humbly.

"We believe you," Synapse said. "But, as General Oahu is already demonstrating, we believe in discipline as well. However, unlike him, you have not failed to produce, only forgotten for a moment our purpose. Accordingly, you will not be held in a state of unsatisfied arousal for any extended length of time."

"Oh, thank you, Your Majesty," Maui said in surprise.

"No," Synapse continued, the silkiness of her tones more pronounced than ever. "You will find yourself quite satisfied. Quite satisfied indeed."

The look of horror on the girl's face was quickly supplanted by a surprising flush of pleasure. Surprising, considering the horror that had preceded it. Her arousal showed through the thin material of her wrap, followed by an unmistakably confirming scent. In seconds, she slumped to the sand, quivering in an ecstasy beyond words. The quakes shaking her body gradually damped out, and she struggled to regain the breath that had not been able to find its way into her laboring lungs.

"Majesty, please. No more." Maui begged.

Synapse looked away in disdain. She prodded her mount into motion even as shudders again began to shake Maui's slender shoulders. The eyes of the man known as Big Island were too vacant to show any more concern than the queen, but those of General Oahu bulged with an intensity that boded poorly for his blood pressure. Unmet need pounded in a visible pulse at his forehead as he watched the beautiful young girl writhe in the sand. His own arousal continued to display itself, straining further until another tight grunt forced itself past his clenched teeth.

"Come, General. We will allow her to relax when we have finished our tour of the island," Synapse commanded. Then she looked back at him, "Unless you prefer confusion to arousal."

"No, Your Majesty," he said quickly, stepping back to his place by her side. The other effect which Synapse could impose was of special distress to the orderly military mind which was a source of such pride to General Oahu.

"We must plan a new move, a bold stroke that will force the United States to acknowledge us," Synapse was saying as they continued down the beach. Maui, left lying in the sand, arched her back in helpless paroxysms of pleasure, humping she knew not what, responding beyond any ability of her body to understand.
 

Chapter 6 - Queens in Conflict

 
"This is Elizabeth Hawley at the 6-Shooter News desk, with an update on the as-yet unnamed new superhero. There are now at least 5 confirmed sightings of the flying woman. We are pleased to report that she seems committed to aiding society, rather than preying on it. In each reported appearance she has either rescued someone, as in the first time she was seen, or aided the police in capturing criminals. At this time, the extent of her powers is not fully understood, but she seems to have some sort of laser beam, a disintegrating ball, and of course her ability to fly."

The anchorwoman concluded her report from the TV in the faculty lounge with a repeat of the standing offer for information on the true identify of the costumed superhero. An action image of the flying woman was shown on the screen near the reporter's head, accompanied by a toll- free number for those who might have information about her identity.

Terhune watched the report with rapt attention. As soon as the image faded from the screen when the station went to a commercial, Terhune stood up and began to pace.

"That has got to be the most gorgeous woman there has ever been," he gushed.

Thorson didn't know whether to be pleased or insulted. He settled for an observation of his own. "You don't even know what she looks like, really. She's always wearing a mask."

"I can see enough. She always holds herself so erect and dignified, yet with those curves she's clearly all woman! She has an incredible figure; her costume makes that clear. But it's what is inside the costume that is the perfect example of a sensual woman. That is a lady who deserves respect, yet she's so caring and, well, feminine, too."

"Oh, she probably wears something to make her skinny," Thorson laughed, knowing the truth of his joke even as he made it. He carefully avoided even thinking about the other part of Terhune's praise.

"She's not skinny, just trim," Terhune defended his unknown lady. "And I don't think anyone could get that shapely just from clothes."

"I thought you were all hot and bothered about that other woman that showed up a while back, the bank robber with the dark hair," said Thorson, trying to change the subject, or at least the object of the conversation.

"Oh, her. Well, she's a criminal. Besides, I prefer blondes. And this new girl has the most beautiful blonde hair I've ever seen."

"It's certainly long," Thorson agreed with a sigh that Terhune misunderstood completely. He thought it was shared desire on Thorson's part, when in fact it was remembered bother that caused Thorson to sigh.

"I'd give anything to meet her in person," Terhune promised.

"You never know, maybe you already have," Thorson said, grinning with a secret he couldn't share.

"What do you mean?" asked Terhune.

"Well, nobody knows who she is. So she may be just about anybody. Maybe she's someone you already know," Thorson explained.

Terhune seemed captivated by the idea. "Do you really think so?"

"I suppose it's possible," Thorson said.

"But I don't know anyone with hair that gorgeous, not to mention a body like that," Terhune complained.

"I imagine that some of that might be, um, costuming," Thorson said.

"Oh, quit putting her down. She's gorgeous, through and through. Any fool could see that."

*Any fool indeed,* Thorson thought, but he said nothing further.

"Your Majesty, we are ready to begin," reported General Oahu.

"Very well," the slender brunette said. She dropped a long coat that had covered her distinctive costume and walked toward the entrance to the hotel. Her entourage fell in behind her, yet they had small part to play in this particular adventure.

The door to the hotel opened automatically but most of the lobby inside was cordoned off by obvious Secret Service agents with radar eyes and electronic voices. Two started toward the masked woman as soon as the door revealed her, but with a wave of her hand they seemed to lose interest.

A woman seated behind a registration table near the entrance to the ballroom lost interest almost as quickly, though in her case the flush on her face and quickened breathing were signs of a different sort of distraction. The masked woman with the regal bearing strode into the ballroom itself as though those inside had gathered in her honor. Perhaps they had, even if unknowingly, for the subject of the gathering was, "Women of Power".

The speaker, a middle-aged blonde woman, stopped in the middle of her speech at the interruption. She looked anxiously at the agents around her, but none seemed to be paying attention. The attendees at the fund-raising banquet were predominantly women, and they were becoming aware of an arousal that was in many cases unfamiliar. The few men in the room, primarily Secret Service agents, were looking frantically, yet unproductively around, unable to determine a course of action to pursue.

"Who are you?" the blonde speaker demanded of the pretty brunette.

"We are Synapse, right Queen and Monarch of the islands of Hawaii, which you have stolen from us."

Before the blonde could respond, Synapse spoke again. "You, who think yourself Queen of this land, know this. We will not be denied our heritage. We have offered you several opportunities to meet our just demands, yet you have refused to recognize us."

Synapse took a step closer, and her smile twisted into a sneer. "You think you have power, basking in the reflection of your husband's position. Your sycophants tell you that you have power of your own, despite the pathetic way you struggle to find some position to which you can actually be elected. Now we will show you real power, that of a true Queen, against which your self-anointed pretense has no defense."

With that, the lips revealed within the dark mask Synapse wore smoothed into silken softness. Her long-nailed finger drew a lazy circle in the air, then another, then a third. From the side, it wasn't clear where her finger was pointed, but on the direct line from Synapse to the blonde woman, the targets of her gestures were obvious. The now-silent speaker gasped at each motion, a flush rising over her features. With the third gesture, the blonde's eyes drooped into a heavy-lidded smolder, windowing the heat building within her. Her breath became even more ragged and she clutched at the lectern as her knees grew suddenly weak. In another moment, her hands lost their strength and she collapsed slowly to the floor, panting and twitching.

The dark-haired, self-proclaimed Queen of Hawaii looked down on the shuddering woman and said, "See that your husband grants our just demands, or no place within your nation is safe from our power."

Dropping her voice to a whisper, Synapse said to the blonde alone, "Assist us in recovering what is ours by right, and we may allow you unlimited access to the pleasure you prefer, no longer bound by the pretense of marriage to a man."

Synapse stood and looked over the crowded ballroom. She laughed and resumed her arrogant stride toward the exit, her spike-heeled boots imparting an inescapably sensual sway to her otherwise regal motion. As she exited the room, she looked back and said, "We will grant you all another ten minutes of our power, except for your self-anointed one. She will enjoy our gift for a full half-hour. Let all of you carry forward our message. Grant our just demands, or face consequences infinitely less pleasurable than those of this encounter."

"This is Bill Ivins, of World News Network, reporting to you live from the Regency Hotel, site of the "Women of Power" conference which was attacked earlier today by the woman calling herself Synapse and claiming to be the Queen of Hawaii. Now, back to our anchor desk."

Janice turned down the volume on the TV and looked at Thorson. He had come for a regular voice and mannerisms lesson, though it had become as much a strategy session for Entropy's appearances as any training in femininity. Both Janice and Angie had long since imparted any skills they might have and considered "Janie" Thorson to be passable under any social situation not involving loss of clothes. Jonny Thorson was not as confident, despite several uneventful public excursions and an equal number of appearances as Entropy.

"That woman is crazier than a folded tesseract," Thorson declared. Neither Janice nor Angie understood the reference, but that didn't matter. They understood the meaning and waited patiently for Thorson to say something further.

"I think it may be time for Entropy to take on a real challenge," he said softly.

"Against this Synapse creature?" Angie asked.

Thorson nodded.

"But you don't have any defense against her power," cautioned Janice.

"I know, but no one else seems to have a defense, either. Based on that report we just watched, there does seem to be a range limitation, though. She might be able to do something mild across a distance as large as that room, but she had to get real close to her target for the intense effect."

"That's a pretty big assumption. Maybe she just wanted to, well, get in her face or something."

"Maybe," Thorson agreed. "But I still think my weapons outrange hers, and I should have more mobility since I can fly. I think I have to do this."

Janice was still worried about their friend, and unconvinced the risk was reasonable. "You may be able to fly, but you don't even know where to fly to."

In response, Thorson pulled a newspaper clipping out of his bag. It heralded the opening of a Hawaiian artifacts exhibit at the Castle Rock Museum of American Heritage.

"Do you think our Queen of Hawaii will be able to resist that?" he asked.

"So, what's the plan?" Janice sighed.

Thorson outlined his approach as though it would be simple, "I think I'll stake out the museum. Then, when they rob the place, I'll follow them back to wherever they've been hiding, and capture Synapse."

"Just like that, huh?" Angie said with a snort of disbelief.

"Do you have a better idea?" he asked.

"Yeah, stay home. Let the FBI catch her or something," Angie answered.

"They haven't yet," Thorson pointed out. "Look, this is my big chance. Now that Synapse has elevated herself from bank robber to potential assassin, she's big news. If I can catch her, I'll have proven myself and my powers so visibly that everyone will have to accept the importance of my discoveries. This is what I've been pointing toward all along."

Janice, who had been silent for several minutes, sighed again and said, "It looks like your mind is made up. What can we do to help?"

"I don't really know. Any suggestions?" he asked.

"Johnny, you are without a doubt the best at impersonating a woman that we've ever had in our salon. You're pretty, graceful, and demurely feminine. In the last few sessions, I've been learning from you. I don't have any suggestions at all."

Thorson blushed at the compliments, which looked much less congruous on his face than on either of his alter egos, but the flush faded into a grimace.

"That's not particularly good news," he said.

"Why not?" Angie asked. "You're a natural!"

"I'm a man. It's not right that I can look so much like a woman," he said.

"Indeed?" Janice asked, an arch of elegant brow saying more than the bare word, though Thorson continued on obliviously.

"One of my co-workers was going on and on about how gorgeous Entropy is. But he was really talking about me! I don't want to be a babe! If anything, I want to be a, well, a hunk. Or at least a man. It's not right for a man to be so good at looking like a woman." He repeated, his voice trailing off into silence.

Janice opened her mouth to say something more, but before she uttered a word her shoulders slumped and she looked away. Still silent, she walked from the room.

Thorson roused from his inward focus to see her retreating back. His words replayed in his mind and he realized they applied to more than himself. "Janice, wait. I'm sorry. I didn't mean you."

Only her drooping shoulders heard his words as the door to the main salon closed behind her. Thorson started to go after her, but Angie caught his arm and held him back.

"Let her go, Jonathon," she ordered.

"But I hurt her, and I didn't mean to," he protested. "She's very good at what she does, and I respect that."

"Yes, you did hurt her. And no, you don't really respect her, though you recognize her competence."

"I, but, well, that's the same thing," he said.

"No, it's not. Sit down, Jonathon. I'm going to tell you some things you need to know," she ordered. Then repeated more sharply when he hesitated, "I said, 'Sit down'!"

As he complied, she continued, "I am going to try to help you understand the woman inside the man I love a little better. You still don't fully . . .ha. . .don't *begin* to appreciate the gifts you are so casually blowing off. It took James *years* to learn how to look the way Janice does. Years of trial and error, of exercise, of dieting. He was brought up eating "Mom-food", and now has to turn his back on the foods he likes best so that Janice can still fit into that size twelve. Years of being desperately *afraid* that someone would find out and laugh at him, humiliate him. Do you know how long it took me to calm James down the day I finally let him know that I already *knew* about Janice? And that I still *loved* him?

"Hell, I love him now more than ever. Can you understand how flattering it is to have a husband devote his life to understanding women? To paying attention to each little nuance of gesture and inflection, and then use the knowledge not only to emulate women, but to be sensitive to the needs of the woman he loves? I'm here to tell you that men who understand women well enough to emulate them, who embrace and cherish soft words, considerate gestures, grace and beauty are far and away the best possible lovers. And if you have some other definition of what a real man should be, well, I don't even want to hear it."

Thorson slowly nodded his head, "Yes, I suppose so. But, well, why didn't Janice just tell me that, instead of running off?"

"You idiot," Angie said, but there was no heat in her tone, only gentle sadness. "Without really trying, you make a prettier woman than Janice can ever be, because you have been given natural gifts she can never have. Oh, Jonny, don't you see? Millions of natural-born girls go to sleep at night wishing they could look like a "babe". You cheapen the dream of each of them by putting down your own success. And no genetic girl ever worked harder for that goal than Janice. Not only is she jealous, but it hurts her to see how little you think of her because of how little you think of your own achievement."

Angie concluded with a sad sigh, "And of me, if you think all this is shameful."

"Oh, God, Angie. I never meant that. You guys are the best friends I have. I would never hurt you."

"Yes, you would," she said without compromise. "You did. But I know you didn't do it from malice. After a while, Janice will, too."

"I have to go talk to her, let her know how sorry I am," he said, standing.

"No. You don't," Angie said with continued firmness. "*I* will go to her. That is my privilege, and my duty. You will go home, and think about who it harms if a man loves women enough to want to emulate them. Once you can answer that question, you might begin to add a woman's heart to the mind and body you can display so perfectly."

"So what should I do?" Thorson asked.

"Go home, like I said," Angie repeated as she escorted him to the back exit. When they reached the door, she put an arm around his waist and reached up to kiss his cheek and smile to show that things would be all right. "You be careful. You still owe us for the wig."

Thorson dredged up a not very convincing smile of his own and said, "I will be."

"I screwed up big time tonight, Ding," Thorson said as he fed the cat. "I hurt someone who didn't deserve it."

Dinger was busy in his food, but he looked up with an uncharacteristic willingness to be distracted. A flick of his tail precluded any need to talk with his mouth full. (Care to talk about it?)

"Ding, does it ever bother you that we don't have any friends?" Thorson asked.

Ding's answer was a positively, well, feline licking at his chops. (Speak for yourself. There's this cute kitten down the alley that can get real friendly, if you know what I mean.)

"I don't mean sexual flings," Thorson snorted. "I mean real, help- you-when-you-need-it-and-don't-ask-the-cost friends."

Dinger looked at the few remaining morsels in his bowl for a long second, then left them as he walked over to Thorson and rubbed up against his tall roommate's ankles. (You got me.)

"Thanks, Ding. I appreciate that," Thorson said, scritching at the tomcat's ears.

Duty done, Ding went back to his food. Thorson joined him in a simple meal, but his thoughts were still churning.

"I need to really rethink my life, Dinger," Thorson announced. "The first step in that is going to be to capture this Synapse person, but after that, well, we'll have to see. My plans may need to change."

"Mmrrowwrowff," Dinger cautioned. (Just as long as you continue to feed me on time.)

"Oh, don't worry," Thorson said. Then he stopped and realized that indeed there might be something to worry about.

He went to the phone and dialed the Inner Truth salon, hoping that Angie would answer, or that if Janice answered, she wouldn't hang up immediately. It turned out that neither of those options occurred. Instead, he got the answering machine.

"Janice, before I say anything else, please believe me when I say that I'm sorry. Despite what I've done, I need to ask a favor. It may take me a couple of days to catch Synapse, and if it does, I need someone to look after my cat. Could I ask you to come down to Armbruster, by the college, tomorrow so that I can introduce you? I'm sorry to impose, but, well, there's not really anyone else I can ask."

"And isn't that a sorry state of affairs," he mused to himself.

The call the next morning was from Angie, and if her pixie grin didn't sound as clearly in her voice as it often had, still her tone was light-hearted. "When do you need us?"

"Well, the Hawaiian artifacts arrive in town this afternoon," he answered, "and I guess I should stake the place out starting tonight."

"Okay, we'll be there this evening," she promised.

When the doorbell rang that night, Thorson opened it expecting to see Janice and Angie. What he saw was Angie and a slender middle-aged man. He was about to ask if he could help the man, wondering why Angie was with him, when he realized what was happening. Then his jaw dropped and he couldn't say anything. It took him a moment to recover. When he did, he stepped back into the room with a sheepish grin on his face.

"Like, duh! I was about to ask who you are."

"I think I'll take that as a compliment," James said. Angie smiled her pixie grin as she followed her husband into the room.

"You don't have a problem with this, do you?" asked James.

"No, not at all," Thorson answered. "It's just not what I was expecting. I've never seen you in, well, normal clothes."

James laughed and said, "Anymore, these aren't my normal clothes. I call it being, 'en drab'. But it's a long way to ride in a corset, and one of my problems is that I need the more overt aspects of femininity to be reasonably convincing."

"Oh, no you don't," Angie disagreed. "You just think you do. You'd look cute in a some tight jeans and a fluffy sweater, with a big bow in your hair."

"Yes, dear," James disagreed by agreeing.

Just then Angie caught sight of Dinger. "Oh, what a cute kitty!"

"Mrrwrrmphrrsst." (I am not cute! And I am not a kitty!) Dinger said as he turned his back on her. His tail said a bit more, but that probably was better left untranslated.

"Oh, my," Angie said. "I'm afraid I've hurt his feelings."

"Probably," Thorson agreed, "but he bribes easy."

He handed the short-haired woman a treat from a bowl he kept out of Dinger's reach, then conducted the introductions.

"Angie, this is Dinger. Dinger, you need to be nice if you want your bribe."

"Mrraor." (Okay. I'll let her get by with it, this time.) He said as he watched Angie's hand with the treat. Only his tail seemed uninvolved in his focus on the food, though his tail was snapping quickly enough to show interest, just not focus.

"Dinger?" James asked.

"Yes," Thorson confirmed.

"As in Schroedinger?" James asked next.

"Very good. Not many people make the connection."

James laughed, "A scientist with a cat named Dinger, and they don't think of Schroedinger?"

"Most people don't think, dear, that's why so many of our clients get so much abuse," Angie said sadly.

"You got that right," James confirmed, then turned back to Thorson.

Before Thorson could launch into a long and painful series of apologies, James grinned and gave him an excuse for being a social idiot, "Okay, Mr. Scientist, we're here. What's next?"

"Um, actually, I'm not quite ready yet. If you'll just give me a minute, I need to change clothes."

While Thorson disappeared into the other room, Angie tried to build on her friendship with Dinger, stealing another bribe from the bowl to aid her seduction. James was looking through Thorson's reference books, and even more closely at the fiction he had also collected, when Thorson returned. He wore the Entropy costume, though he carried the wig and the mask.

"I'm afraid I couldn't really get started until you got here, in case someone else came before you did. So it'll take a little while," Thorson explained.

"Not as long if we help," Angie offered, grinning at the relief that showed on Thorson's face.

Dinger looked at his strangely dressed roommate with intense curiosity. But instead of backing up screeching like he had done the first time Thorson had presented himself in a superhero costume, Ding just sniffed at the foolishness of humans and walked to the patio door.

"It looks like Dinger has a date," James laughed.

"Well," Thorson said, "there is this kitten down the alley that he was telling me about."

It was strange for Thorson to have another man in the room when he completed his transformation to Entropy. Stranger still to have that man tugging on his corset laces, and brushing his long hair into place. Yet the familiarity of the actions, despite the strangeness of the setting, served to repair the breech in their friendship that Thorson's insensitivity had created. By the time Entropy was ready for her mission, they were laughing and joking again as though nothing had happened.

The mood changed, though, when it was finally time for Entropy to leave.

"I truly am sorry," she said to James.

"I know. Forget it. I already have."

"You be careful," Angie said in mock seriousness, overlying an all too true concern.

"I will," Entropy said, then slipped out into the darkness behind the apartments.

"Do you think she'll be okay?" Angie asked.

"I hope so," James answered as they saw the silhouette of a caped woman rise against the moonlit night.
 

Chapter 7 - Battle Royal

 
It had been no great insight to realize that Synapse was likely to want the Hawaiian Heritage artifacts. It was a bit more of a leap to see that she was likely to take them the very night they arrived. Yet, as Entropy waited from a perch above the Museum she felt confident that her prey would indeed attack that evening. The crowds expected to see the exhibition, already sold out for weeks, would make a daytime robbery difficult even if a confused mob of people did not actively try to interfere. And unless Synapse and her gang waited a very long time until complacency set in, their best chance of success was while the security procedures were still being implemented. Entropy did not think Synapse was one who would wait a long time for anything.

The next step was not as easy to figure out. Despite the high-handed manner Synapse had displayed, there had been no reports of the would-be queen or her minions actually hurting anyone. Entropy's heat beam or "rust" ball were too deadly to be used to capture someone. With a little time Entropy thought she might be able to manage a few special effects that would render opponents harmlessly unconscious, but unless they attacked her with deadly force, she couldn't use her most potent powers. Her skill in a variety of martial arts gave her the confidence to think she could control most ordinary people one-on-one, but Synapse and her gang were unlikely to take turns if Entropy attacked them. And Synapse herself was far from ordinary. So the costumed crime-fighter watched from a perch high above the museum, not sure what she would do if the object of her vigil arrived.

The first part of her plan did work, though. A van running without lights pulled up behind the museum. Three figures got out, and since the van continued to run Entropy figured at least one gang member stayed inside. Unlike the reported incident at the banquet for "Women of Power," this time the sleek curves of Synapse trailed her two companions. The leader, at least in line of march, was thick-bodied though it was too dark to see if it were fat or muscle. The second in line moved with a fluid grace that bespoke a dancer. She took up a position near the exit, facing outward, obviously on guard.

The thick figure did something at the door, then stood well back. There was a flash and a sharp report, then that person, who was moving with a solid strength that identified him as a man, hurried into the museum even as an alarm began to wail. Synapse followed with casual confidence, disappearing into the building. In a matter of seconds they had returned. It wasn't clear what they had obtained, but the man was carrying a fairly bulky object, and Synapse had some sort of rod that gleamed in the faint light of the moon. In seconds, they were all back in the van and moving again down the dark alley.

*Well,* Entropy thought to herself, *I guess I can at least follow them for a while.*

She lifted herself into the air and paced the van as it twisted through a few side streets before turning on lights and merging with ordinary traffic. Entropy followed easily, high enough to stay in the dark above the streetlights once the van reached a thoroughfare. She had expected them to drive to some hideout, though the sites attacked by Synapse had not indicated any particular location for a home base. However, Entropy was surprised when the van turned in to a small airport and stopped near an old Beechcraft Queen Air. The twin was in good shape, though Entropy knew it had not been in production for several years and the neat appearance was a sign of good maintenance, not young age. Regardless, the gang, four in number once the driver exited the van, quickly climbed into the plane and they started up.

No clearance was required at the small airport and they took off only minutes after arriving at the field. Their course was almost due south and Entropy had to add power to the magnetic coils embedded in her corset to keep up as their speed increased from the 60 mph of the van to the 200 mph of the twin-engined airplane. She managed to stay up with them, despite a trip that became hours long.

From inside the plane, the trip seemed to pass quickly for Hawaii and Maui, who fell asleep almost instantly. General Oahu was flying, so that option was not available to him. Only Synapse stayed awake by choice. She spent the trip studying the object she had stolen with an intensity of concentration that even Entropy would have respected. It was a jeweled scepter, gold for the most part, but dominated by a large purple stone curiously similar to the one already suspended below her waist. As a result of her concentration, she was as surprised as the trailing superhero when the Queen Air finally began to descend.

"Are we there already, General?" she asked as she roused from her study.

"Nearly, my Queen," he answered. "I thought we would ease the engines gradually and so have started down about a half hour before our actual landing."

"Ah, yes, well, that is good planning," Synapse said pontifically.

Oahu said nothing. His own motivation for following Synapse was equal parts gratitude and greed. Gratitude for his restored virility, dormant for some time before Synapse had restored it. Greed for his share of the wealth she seemed capable of acquiring. For those benefits, he would put up with her silly self importance. Posturing as a queen was not important. Power was important. Wealth was important.

Their few words had caused the other passengers to rouse as well. Popping their ears a bit as the plane descended, they stretched and looked out the window.

"It's dawn," Maui observed.

"Happens every day at about this time," Hawaii said. At first, Maui thought he was making a comment on the obviousness of her observation. But the simple look on his face showed that he felt he had made a reasonable contribution to the conversation. She nodded in gentle agreement and turned to look back outside.

What she saw was water. They were descending over an expanse of green sea, clear enough to show the rough coral bottom. She heard the miscellaneous rumbles and whines of airplane things, audio proof of preparations for landing.

Then, with instant transition they were over a sandy beach. In another heartbeat the wheels bumped, then rumbled as they rolled out on the narrow strip that served their island hideout. Unknown to Synapse and her cohorts, Entropy was still following. The caped crimefighter positioned herself so that she was hidden behind the fronds of some tall palms, and watched her oblivious adversaries walk to the verandahed house.

*The first thing to do,* Entropy decided, *is to disable that plane.*

Once the others were inside the house, Entropy drifted silently down behind the plane and considered the best way to disable it, without being so obvious that a glance out a window might give her presence on the island away. A ground power receptacle caught her attention, and she decided to discharge the battery. Unfortunately, her hydrolysis apparatus was not compatible with battery power, so she couldn't recharge her own depleted fuel supply at the same time. Still, in a few minutes the battery was flat. Recharging it would take long enough that Entropy didn't need to worry about a rapid escape by part of the gang.

*Now, what?* she wondered.

The choice was taken from her as an armored car roared into life, then headed straight toward the plane, and toward Entropy. It wasn't immediately obvious they saw her, but the difference was immaterial. They may have been heading out on patrol, or going to use the truck to tow the plane. Whatever the motivation, in moments they would see her, and flying up and away would reveal her just as surely.

On the other hand, Entropy didn't have any problem with the idea of attacking an armored car. The choice on what to do might have been forced upon her, but she took on the challenge instantly, rising rapidly above the plane with a rust ball already forming in her hand.

"I could have been solving differential equations, instead of dodging RPGs," thought Entropy.

She was surprised, though, when the stocky man who had been flying the plane appeared in a round turret on the top of the armored car, with a rocket-propelled grenade already mounted to his shoulder. He fired and she was forced to use a heat beam on a broad focus to detonate the warhead before it got to her. She managed to send the rust ball at the engine of the truck, stopping the roaring motor in a painfully-abrupt screech of oxidizing iron. By that time, another RPG was headed her way. *This is taking too much power!" she realized. Her fuel cell, already depleted by the long, high-speed flight, wouldn't be able to support much more of the intense drain caused by the powerful heat beams she had been using. *So much for my first real fight,* Entropy thought, and decided that it was time to call in the real Marines. She was turning to fly away when she saw Synapse arrive on the verandah of the house, a jeweled rod in her hand. Entropy thought, *I hope I'm out of range!*

Synapse pointed the wand at her and Entropy felt an overwhelming surge of strange sensation flood through her. It wasn't painful. Definitely not painful. But it wasn't pleasure, either, at least, not the sort of pleasure Entropy had ever experienced before. It was all- encompassing, touching every cell in her body, every corner of her soul. Only sexual climax reached this level of intensity, but this was not localized, like that particular experience had been before. This was everywhere, surrounding and consuming her. Her last thought as she lost any hope of concentrating enough to use her powers, was that she had failed - but that she didn't care as long as that glorious pleasure continued.

Without her concentration to guide it, the magnetic fields she used for levitation dissipated, and Entropy fell into the shallow waters just off the beach.

"Don't let her drown, you fools!" ordered Synapse.

Her three minions started toward the water, but it was Maui who reached it first, arrowing into the water in a racing dive. Before the billowing cape worn by the flying woman had surrendered its trapped air and begun to sink, Maui had pulled the woman's head from the water. She swam strongly toward the beach, the thick cape changing from buoyant life- preserver to water-logged anchor even as Hawaii joined her in water that was only shoulder deep to him.

When they reached the beach, Maui quickly checked for signs of life and started pulmonary resuscitation. A few quick assisted breaths, and the masked blonde jerked to the side, coughing up sea water and gasping for her own air supply.

General Oahu reached for the woman's mask, but Synapse's voice stopped him. "No, General. Leave her her anonymity. For now."

From her position lying on the sand, Entropy looked up at the other masked woman, wary for some further attack.

Synapse smiled with that silky smile that so often foreshadowed the use of her power, but said, "Don't worry, my mysterious visitor. We will get to know each other. Much, much better. But there is plenty of time for that."

She resumed her regal manner and said, "We assume you know that we are Synapse, Queen and Monarch of Hawaii. In return for honoring your privacy, we require that you tell us the name you use in your disguised persona."

"Entropy," the blonde said quietly.

"Very well," Synapse said. "Maui, take the Lady Entropy to the house and help her get cleaned up. It would be unseemly to have a state dinner with a guest whose hair is - well - just take care of it."

"Yes, Majesty," Maui said, helping Entropy to her feet. As they walked to the house, Entropy looked back to see that silky smile on Synapse's face. She wasn't watching her captive though. She was looking at her wand with renewed concentration, and satisfaction.

"Why did you let her keep her mask, Majesty?" Oahu asked after the intruder was out of earshot.

"She has great power, though of course it is inferior to ours. If we can convince her to become our vassal, she will strengthen us considerably."

"And if you cannot?" Oahu asked the slim brunette.

For just an instant, a flicker of irritation showed in her luminous dark eyes, but it was replaced by easy humor. "Have you ever known us to fail?" she asked in her turn.

He bowed in acknowledgment of her point.

Maui said to Entropy, "If you would disrobe, Milady, I will see that the salt water is washed from your garments."

"I'm not a Lady," Entropy replied. *Not by a long shot!*

"Milady, if it pleases Her Majesty to elevate, you, then I will not be the one to disagree with her. Now, your clothes?"

"I, uh, well, I want my privacy when I am undressed," Entropy said. "And there are some, um, items that I don't want out of my control."

"Very well, Milady. If you would like to step in here," Maui said, indicating a bathroom. "You can shower and do whatever you wish. Anything you pass out to me, I will clean. If you leave your hair wet, I will help you set it for the dinner."

"Dinner?" Entropy asked.

"Didn't you hear Her Majesty say that there would be a state dinner this evening? It will be my responsibility to make you presentable."

As Entropy was about to close the door behind her, she paused, then said, "Well, if you're really willing to help, I could use a hand getting these boots off."

"Gladly, Milady," Maui said. She tugged at the spike-heeled boots, working the tight leather past Entropy's wet feet. By the time they were done, both were out of breath, though Maui had been doing most of the work.

"Why does Synapse wear a mask, too?" Entropy asked as they worked.

"Her Majesty has not always been known as Queen Synapse," Maui explained. "She told us that no one is to know her previous identity until her reign is established. She knows her lineage includes the royalty of Hawaii, and doesn't intend to spend the time to defend it from those who would invent flaws in the line of descent."

"I see," mused Entropy. "And her costume? Why not wear, well, royal robes or something?"

"Why don't you wear a normal skirt and blouse?" Maui asked in return.

*Lots of reasons,* Entropy thought, but she said, "I have my reasons. But I don't understand hers."

"In all honesty, Milady, I don't either. I have never seen her without her costume. She, like you, retains her privacy. I have helped her to clean her garments, but she just passes them to me while she is bathing, and dons them again before emerging."

Entropy saw an opening and asked, more sharply than she intended, "She gives you everything to clean?"

"All except her jewelry," Maui said. "She cleans that herself."

"What jewelry does she wear?" Entropy continued the interrogation.

"Well," Maui tried to remember. "I have seen her wear rings on occasion, and earrings. At on time she wore a necklace, similar to yours, but lately she has worn her royal stone on her belt."

The young woman looked up sharply, perhaps just realizing she might have been talking on matters Synapse didn't want to be common knowledge. She stayed quiet after that, gently shaking her head when Entropy pressed for more information.

When Entropy was alone in the bathroom, she stripped off the rest of her clothes, all except the wig which was practically welded on her head by some magic of Angie's. The costume itself was passed out to Maui, but Entropy kept her belt and jewelry. With them, her first order of business was to recharge her fuel cell. The necessary equipment was in her belt, and with an abundant water supply she was soon fusing loose hydrogen for power to split even more hydrogen away from oxygen in the water molecules.

She took advantage of the time needed to recharge her fuel "tanks" by washing herself, treating her wig as though it were real hair. It was the first time she had ever washed the thing, and she couldn't believe how much shampoo it took to get all the salt out of it. And how impossible it was to get even partially dry. Somehow, with the wig in place she never felt like Thorson even when she removed her corset and gaff. She rinsed out all the underclothes and while they were drying she found a towel to try and control the incredible weight of her hair, then started in again on her makeup. By the time she had that done her mask was dry, and her underclothes. Her hair hadn't dried a bit, as far as she could tell, when she poked her head out the door to see Maui waiting patiently.

Entropy decided to just ask for the help she needed, despite what she felt was a manageable risk of giving away a secret. "Could you help me with my corset?"

"Of course, Milady," Maui answered, though this time her face held an impish grin that made Entropy suddenly lonely for Angie.

As the slim girl tugged at the laces, she whispered conspiratorially, "Actually, Her Majesty has a bit of, um, assistance for her figure, too."

"She wears a corset?" Entropy asked.

"No. Her Majesty is very slender. Too slender, she thinks. At least in one, um, well a couple of places. I have cleaned forms that she wears within her own costume," Maui said with a giggle.

"Good," Entropy whispered with a snicker of her own. "I'd hate to think anyone had a figure that perfect unaided."

She decided to use their renewed camaraderie to try for some more information. "How did you meet Synapse?"

Maui didn't answer for a long moment. When she did, her voice was even lower, barely a whisper, though it was not conspiracy that kept her quiet. It was as though the words were too terrible to be spoken aloud.

"I was a runaway, from a mother on drugs and no father at all. This was in Hawaii, Maui actually, though I am not of Hawaiian birth. At least, not that I know. But people tell me my features are more Polynesian than native Hawaiian. Anyway, it wasn't long before I was supporting myself the only way I could. One night, after my pimp had beaten me for not earning enough money, I was crying in an alleyway. I heard the sound of footsteps and usually I would have run, but I had no money, and I was all too well aware of how little value my body had, so I just crouched there against the wall, waiting for whatever was going to happen to me."

Maui's face brightened from her remembered horror as her tale moved to a happier topic. "It was Her Majesty, though I didn't know her then. She wore more or less ordinary clothes. She always has liked high heels, and she wore a simple mask, more like yours, but other than that she wore only a blouse and a skirt. Oh, and she had her royal jewel, though it was in a necklace like I told you. When I looked at her, I felt a pleasure that had never happened with any man, ever. It swept me up into a place that seemed so infinitely precious that I would have given anything to stay there. When I could breathe again, she was still standing there."

"She asked me if I would swear fealty to her. I didn't even know what that meant, but I nodded, and stood up to go with her. I've been with her ever since."

"Does she, um, have you had that, uh, pleasure sensation again?"

Maui nodded, though there was a surprising note of sadness in her eyes this time. "Yes. Many times. Though sometimes Her Majesty uses it to, um, teach me my place and not just as a reward."

"There, finished," Maui said as she knotted of the straining laces. Then, in an obvious attempt to change the subject, she said, "Now, Milady, if you will come over here, I will set your hair."

Entropy allowed herself to be shepherded to a vanity laden with a surprising variety of hairstyling aids. At first, she was worried about the security of her wig, but Maui was gentle and after a few minutes Entropy began to relax.

"Your queen must be very lonely," she said.

This brought another titter from Maui who said, "No, I don't think so."

Their eyes met in the mirror, with Entropy's question obvious in hers.

"Just because she doesn't undress completely, except in private, doesn't mean she can't, well, rearrange things a bit now and then," Maui laughed.

The familiarity which had suddenly illuminated Maui's face made it clear what that "rearrangement" was for, and Entropy's own face blushed below her mask.

"Milady," Maui chided. "Surely you have enjoyed the company of a woman upon occasion."

"Upon occasion," Entropy agreed, though the blush never left her cheeks.

"Well," Maui continued, "I think you are in for a treat, tonight."
 

Chapter 8 - Capturing the Queen

 
If Entropy had known how long it would take to care for her thick mass of golden hair, she would have insisted it be cut short when she first wore her costume. As she sat there, letting Maui put in row after row of rollers, she sent a silent message of thanks to Angie who must have done this a dozen times already in the intervals between Entropy's appearances. Those times though, Entropy herself wasn't welded into the wig. This time she had no choice but to sit there while Maui worked.

"There," Maui said, eventually. "That's finished, now for the rest."

"Rest?" Entropy asked weakly.

"Yes, Milady," Maui said, her words respectful but her tone full of snickers. "Your, um, combat makeup just won't do for a state dinner."

She reached for Entropy's mask, but the crimefighters gloved hand caught the young girl's smaller one before it could be removed.

"My mask stays on," Entropy insisted.

"Oh, Milady, I could do so much better if I had no obstructions!" pleaded Maui.

"Not at this time," Entropy said implacably.

"Very well, Milady," Maui said with a sigh. She moved Entropy to another table, this one laden with cosmetics. Hooking a hair dryer bonnet over Entropy's curlers - a very large bonnet - Maui set it to work while she considered her options for Entropy's makeup.

Despite Angie's undoubted expertise, Entropy watched in amazement as Maui's delicate touch made the eyes behind the red mask grow and glow, and the lips below it fill out to a full, sensual depth. Even her cheeks showed enough below the slim domino to get a bit of Maui's attention. Like the best masterpieces, most of what Maui did was too subtle to discern, except in contrast with the lesser glory that Entropy had worn before Maui's ministrations.

It took a while, the task made more difficult by the need to work around the mask. But when Maui finally pronounced herself satisfied, she also decided that Entropy's hair was dry enough for styling. That was another long task. Even removing the rollers seemed to take hours, at least to Entropy, and then Maui began combing and brushing and tucking and on, and on.

"Would you let me add a few combs?" she asked Entropy.

"I don't think so," Entropy said, "but thank you for suggesting it."

Entropy had known she was pretty, at least in costume. In her mind that was due in large part to the mask that she thought hid some of the features she considered less attractive. But the depth and richness, the understated elegance, the flat-out glamour that Maui's art had created in her face and hair lifted Entropy, even in her own mind, to a standard she had never considered possible.

Entropy was standing before the full-length mirror, amazed and pleased at the trim figure she saw before her, now with hair that was alive with bounce and shine, and eyes that seemed to glow with an inner light bright enough to put the stars to shame.

She was chiding herself for getting all poetic about her own appearance when her musings were interrupted by a pair of slowly clapping hands.

"Very nice," Synapse said from the doorway, when Entropy turned toward the noise.

"Uh, thank you, um, Synapse, um, Queen," Entropy stammered. She felt a strange surge of, well, pleasure when she looked at Synapse, as though it were a special treat.

"Since you have monopolized my handmaiden all afternoon," Synapse said, smiling to show that she was not angry, "I'm afraid the men have had to cook. But, they are sufficient for simple things. Come, let us go to the dining hall."

She waved the wand she carried, or scepter, in a graceful invitation. Entropy demurred and with her own gesture insisted that the would-be queen go first. Synapse gave a regal smile and nodded, striding with proud dignity to the dining room, a dignity undermined by the orbiting sensuality of hips swaying over her own towering heels. As they strolled down the short hallway, Synapse motioned for Entropy to follow closely so that they could talk.

"I do not plan to stand on formality with peers of the realm, as you will be," Synapse said. "But with the commoners we must maintain an appropriate distance. I would appreciate it if you support me in this."

Her words were easy and familiar, but the look in the slim brunette's eyes said that she expected obedience.

*Well, I can do a little bowing and scraping, if it gains me the time to figure something out,* thought Entropy. She nodded, confirming her agreement by falling back again as they reached the dining room. Again she felt that surge of pleasure, thinking, *It makes you feel good to make a pretty woman happy.*

It was hardly a hall, actually it was barely a room. It was open on three sides to let the soft breezes waft through, though Entropy could see provisions for screens. The table was laden with pork chops, as close to roast pig as the men could come, apparently. Sweet potatoes replaced the traditional poi and it seemed that pineapple would grace every dish. Still, it smelled delicious and Entropy hadn't eaten since the night before.

She had eaten while wearing her corset, though, as Janie when she went out with Janice and Angie. So she knew she would have to take small portions despite a feeling of hunger that demanded greater attention. Synapse sat down immediately in her wicker throne, brought in from the verandah for the occasion though Entropy didn't know this. The others all remained standing, so though Entropy moved to the unoccupied place at Synapse's left hand, she remained standing as well.

It turned out that there were introductions to be made before they could eat. As hostess, perhaps Synapse should have made them, but she was also (in her mind) a queen. Entropy wasn't familiar with the proper protocol and didn't figure Synapse would let herself be limited by it in any event.

"Milady Entropy, may I present to you the Duke of Oahu, General and head of Her Majesty's armed forces," Maui said, indicating the thick-bodied man who had that very morning been firing rocket-propelled grenades at Entropy.

"Your Grace," Maui said, turning to the man called Oahu, "may I present the Lady Entropy."

"Pleased to meet you," he growled, in no way matching his words with any other form of welcome.

"And I to meet you," Entropy replied graciously.

Maui continued, "I am Her Majesty's handmaiden, Maui, as you already know. And the fourth member of our party, before you came I mean, is known as Hawaii, or sometimes as Big Island."

The huge man standing near the foot of the table nodded happily at Entropy, who couldn't stop a return smile from peeking out from under her mask. Then she looked back at Synapse.

*That is one incredibly pretty woman,* Entropy thought. *It makes you feel better just to see such beauty.*

At a nod from Synapse everyone sat, and there were a few minutes of passing of food, made strange by a combination of familial informality and formal language. It wasn't, "Please pass the pork chops." It was, "If it pleases Your Grace, could I trouble you to move the platter of pork a bit nearer?" Still, before long everyone had as much as they cared for and conversation resumed.

"What did you do to my armored car?" Oahu asked gruffly, though at least he had the grace not to talk with his mouth full.

"Oh, just a handy trick I know," Entropy said breezily. But she looked at Synapse to see what reaction the leader would have.

Instead of supporting her general, Synapse leaned conspiratorially close to Entropy and whispered, in a voice loud enough for all to hear, "You'll have to excuse our general. He wanted a tank, and we finally consented to keeping an armored car from one of our recovery operations. He was quite upset to find that you had destroyed the engine."

"Perhaps," Entropy said unapologetically, "if he hadn't been shooting RPGs at me, I might have aimed a bit better."

Maui snickered, earning her a sharp glance from Oahu, but the sight of the humor on Synapse's face made Entropy feel good all over.

"We had already determined to elevate you to the peerage," Synapse said. "But we are mindful now to elevate you to royal rank. Tell me, which of our islands do you find most desirable?"

Entropy had to remind herself that Synapse was talking about the Hawaiian Islands, for all that they were 5000 miles away and not really in Synapse's possession. She noticed also a tightening in Oahu's eyes and realized that this was a test on several levels.

Turning to the sable-haired monarch, Entropy said, "I have always thought Kauai was the most lovely of all the, um, your islands."

The reward of another smile from Synapse made foregoing the pleasure of yanking Oahu's chain a small price to pay. The blonde superheroine didn't know if she could have pulled Oahu out from under the general and Duke, but her apparent willingness to fit in with Synapse's court was a better tactic anyway.

"Very well," Synapse said with a pleased smile. "An excellent choice. Kauai has traditionally been the site of the monarch's residence within our islands, and we are pleased to have you liege lord of our own home. We name you Duchess of Kauai, with full honors thereto. We shall install you immediately after you swear loyalty to us as your liege."

"Hmmm," Entropy murmured, distracted by a strange sensation. It seemed like she should feel moistness in her panties, but why would that be? She roused from that distraction to face a bigger problem. Playing around with fancy titles was one thing, but swearing allegiance was going to have to wait. Entropy wasn't going to start out her so-far limited career as a crimefighter by lying. She'd have to figure out a way to delay that oath.

Synapse noticed her hesitation and the flicker of frown on her face almost made Entropy reconsider. It was such a shame to see such a beautiful woman unhappy.

Then, Entropy realized what was happening, *She's using her power on me! She's trying to condition me just like one of Pavlov's dogs. Every time I make her happy, *I* get a pleasure surge. And when I disappoint her, it goes away. But she thinks that I'm a woman! The sensations she's sending me are tuned for a woman and they're not quite working for me.*

The thought of a raging, unstoppable erection within the crushing confines of her gaff almost caused Entropy to moan with imagined pain. It triggered another smile on Synapse's face though, as she considered that it was the result of turning off Entropy's stimulation. Now that Entropy knew what to expect, she was able to sense the rise and fall of pleasure in tune with Synapse's mood. It took almost as much concentration not to surrender to that lovely feeling as it took to manipulate entropy, and the superheroine was grateful for all the practice she had had in mental control.

Entropy knew she was walking a tightrope, a dangerous one. If she failed to respond as Synapse expected, she might get suspicious and cease her gentle inducement in favor of more brutal methods. Yet, if Entropy just let herself go then the powerful conditioning Synapse was using would captivate her despite the nagging discordance of signals for which her body had the wrong receptors. Entropy had to "taste" each sensation as it intruded on her mind so that she could know what was expected of her, yet never take a full bite and succumb to the power.

*Sort of like this meal,* Entropy thought, trying to distract herself from Synapse's huge dark eyes.

Her self-imposed distraction caused her to drop her eyes to her plate, a motion that batted those long lovely lashes that Maui had created in a flirtation as old as womankind. Synapse noted the movement, and misinterpreted the meaning in a way that helped Entropy's cause.

"You are quite lovely, my dear," Synapse said to Entropy in a condescending tone. "Yet quite powerful as well. How did you come by your powers?"

*Another test,* thought Entropy. She let her fingers reach toward the red jewel that hung below her throat, as though it were an unconscious reflex. But her words were deliberately vague without being totally non responsive. "I have determined a way to control factors that are normally random, hence my chosen name."

Then Entropy followed up with a question of her own, once again reaching toward her own red jewel, "And you, Majesty? How did you come to understand your own powers?"

Entropy's little play-acting with the red stone in her necklace was meant to imply that it had something to do with her powers. In truth, it was only ordinary sensor electronics hidden behind a decorative front. Yet when Synapse thought of her own powers, her eyes dropped to look at the purple jewel hanging from her golden belt. It wasn't proof, but it was at least a hint that the jewel had some relationship to her powers. Entropy's last clear image from the brief battle of that morning had been Synapse pointing the scepter with yet another purple jewel in it at her during her aborted escape attempt. The scepter clearly seemed to have added range and focus to Synapse's special abilities. Yet, Synapse had shown power before she stole the scepter, so that alone wasn't the source of her strange abilities. The coincidence of similar jewels in the scepter and the belt might have been just that. Or it might be significant.

Synapse had started to answer the question while Entropy was considering the significance of the purple jewels, but the caped crimefighter quickly tuned back in to what Synapse was saying.

"We have always taken a special interest in providing pleasure to our companions. In time, we came to realize that our abilities were beyond those of commoners. Our research showed that the royalty of Hawaii were reputed to have this same ability, which is what identified our true lineage. The Scepter of Kameha'aloa'h," she said waving it as she named it, "confirms that, of course."

"Of course," Entropy agreed, though she wasn't entirely sure just what was confirmed. Taking advantage of Synapse's willingness to talk, Entropy followed up with another question, "It is reported that you arouse women, but confuse men. Is this deliberate?"

Synapse smiled the predatory grin of a lioness with a cornered prey. It seemed to distract her from her own self-important royalty affectation. "I enjoy many kinds of pleasure, but I found - and gave - my first and most intense arousal with a woman. When I tried to use the same ability with a man, it only confused him. In time, I have learned to provide either sensation to either sex, but it still amuses me to arouse women. I save my arousal of men for . . . special occasions."

*So much for the idea that her confusion power doesn't work on me,* thought Entropy. *If she finds out I'm not what I seem, I'm history. I won't be able to manipulate entropy if I can't concentrate.*

Before Entropy could think of another probing question, the "state dinner" came to an abrupt end.

"Thank you, honored guests," Synapse said, standing as a sign of dismissal. "Duchess Entropy, would you care to accompany us to the east verandah? The moon is just now rising."

Then she stopped herself as she noticed the frown on Oahu's face. "Oh, it *is* Tuesday, isn't it?" The dangerously silky smile showed on her full lips as she continued, "And you had your pretty toy damaged this morning. It has been a very disappointing day for you, hasn't it? Well, never let it be said that your queen is not sympathetic to the needs of her subjects."

Oahu grunted, and once again bent just a bit from his erect posture, trading one sort of stiffness for another. With visible discomfort, he straightened up, at least most of the way. His distress distracted Entropy for a moment from the reaction displayed by Maui. Her cheeks were flushed, and through the thin island dress she wore it was clear that an arousal at least as great as that consuming the general had captured the handmaiden.

"Have a nice night, my people," Synapse said airily, drawing Entropy out with her into the moonlight.

When they reached the long porch, Entropy saw a soft mat spread near a row of glowing candles. On the decking near the mat a bottle of wine cooled in an ice bucket, two crystal glasses standing guard nearby.

Synapse swayed her sensual way to the mat, sliding down to lie on it in a graceful slither that Entropy knew she could never duplicate. She saw the dark-haired beauty, her mane a pool of midnight against the lighter mat, and realized that she was either in real trouble or in for that really good time that Maui had promised.

"It's a tough job," Entropy thought as she looked at the sensuous Queen, "but I'm sure I can handle . . . things."

*It's a tough job,* she mused to herself, *but I guess I'm the, um, person to, uh, handle . . . things.* She moved as sinuously as she could to lie beside the reclining beauty, tossing her own thick hair over her shoulder to keep it from dropping in Synapse's face. "I assume you didn't call me out here to discuss, oh, a long-range economic forecast," Entropy said, then continued before Synapse could reply. "Though I must say, your stock is certainly looking up in my account." That breathtaking smile broke over Synapse's face again, with a surge of pleasure breaking through Entropy on the rebound. *Tough, tough job,* Entropy thought, as she bent to kiss the full lips of her captor and enemy. *I have to remember that. Synapse is the enemy. Remember that. Don't get

distracted. By her soft lips, or her silky smile, or her luminous dark eyes. Or the sleek curves that seem to flow under my gloves like a cool river. Or those incredible sensations that are singing through every nerve in my body, lifting me in the most exquisite flight I've ever enjoyed.*

Somewhere in there, Entropy lost her concentration. Again. And let the sensations consume her until even breathing was beyond her power. It didn't matter. At least for a while nothing mattered except the incredible sensations that were surging through her. Finally her inability to breathe became sufficient distraction that even Synapse's power couldn't hold it at bay. Entropy collapsed gracelessly across the smiling brunette, gasping desperately for air from within a corset that had never been more challenging.

Entropy didn't - quite - pass out from the lack of air, but she was in no shape to do more than gasp for what seemed like several minutes. Eventually, she was able to lift herself off Synapse and focus again on those deep, dark eyes.

"Your, uh, Majesty, ah, that was, uh, unbelievable."

"I think, under the circumstances, you can call me Syn," the brunette replied.

"If that is Syn, then let me be condemned," the blonde said, finally managing to get her lips closed enough for a smile. She took that opportunity to kiss the waiting lips of the woman who had made her feel like no one had ever done before. It was vastly more consuming than her previous intimate experiences, and less finite in time. Aftershocks roamed through her body as overloaded nerves settled back into merely intense excitement.

"Syn, I would be, um, thrilled to do my best to return the gift you have given me," Entropy offered.

Synapse smiled and said, "Thank you, dear. That is the one thing I never require of my subjects. Many of them choose to give as good as they get, though."

"Allow me to disagree," Entropy murmured in the other woman's ear. "It is simply not possible to give as good as that was. I am willing to do the best I can, though."

With that, Entropy's hands began a more intrusive reconnaissance of the queen's body. After a few languidly inquisitive moments, she had confirmed Maui's report that all was not quite as it seemed behind the upper parts of Synapse's costume, but she found herself impeded from a thorough exploration of the nether regions.

"Um, Syn, there seems to be a bit of a problem here, for those of us who need to use more, um, traditional methods."

"Don't worry," Synapse chuckled, "I think of everything."

Hidden snaps parted to allow the leotard to move out of the way, and it appeared that the royal tailors had run out of material for Synapse's purple leggings in a most strategic place. Entropy took advantage of that opportunity, first with gentle fingers, then with a gentle tongue. Then, gentleness gave way to aggressiveness, rewarded with a series of arched-back bucks that made it seem as though the brunette were trying to throw her light-haired rider away from her. Entropy kept her place in the saddle, though it was the legs of the one who bucked that held her in place, not her own. She granted Synapse a return share of gradually diminishing aftershocks, before finally sliding back to entwine her arms in those of her supposed captor.

Both dark and light hair swirled together in the candlelight, a cloud of light and a cape of night fighting without anger for the privilege of pillowing the reclining heads of the well-used and using women. There was something almost like regret in Entropy's heart when she took advantage of Synapse's slumber to capture her.
 

Chapter 9 - Checkmate

 
The slumber that so quickly claimed Synapse pulled at Entropy like the most addictive of drugs. The gentle breeze caressing her hair, the distant surf whispering with a rhythm in tune with her slow breath, her own lack of sleep and the lassitude the flowed through her as her own excitement ebbed all combined to make a greater challenge than any she had faced battling merely human opponents. But she did face it, struggling to stay awake, struggling even more to concentrate on the steps needed to complete the capture of her beautiful companion.

The first thing she did was to set up a partial exclusion field around Synapse's head. Oxygen was "discouraged" from entering, while carbon dioxide was drawn away as previously random molecular motion took on a statistical bias away from the brunette. Hypoxia, as long as there is not carbon dioxide buildup to trigger panting breath, merely makes one sleepy. For Synapse, it deepened a natural slumber into near anesthesia.

Tentative nudges convinced Entropy that Synapse was indeed safely undisturbable. The blonde crimefighter slipped out of the would-be queen's sleeping embrace and looked for something to make the capture a bit more durable. The verandah had been provided with reed mats that could be let down in the event of a too-bright sun. The cords that controlled the mats yielded to an instant's application of Entropy's heat beam and she soon had all the rope she needed. Synapse's wrists were crossed and bound behind her back, then her ankles lashed together. Finally, a line from her wrists to her ankles ensured that Synapse would not even be able to contest her capture with a meaningful struggle.

Entropy studied the belt that held the purple jewel below Synapse's waist and found a way to remove it. The belt and the similarly-jeweled scepter went into her own cape, in a pouch wisely added by Janice for contingencies unknown. Then Entropy prepared to launch into the night.

The Island heritage demonstrated so beautifully by Synapse had given her delicate features and gloriously sleek hair. It had also given her a slender figure that Entropy was able to lift easily in her arms. However, lifting Synapse for a few minutes was not nearly as great a challenge as holding the woman unsupported for the hours it would take to fly her to official custody. There was plenty of extra line, but finding an appropriate position to carry Synapse took a few hurried minutes of trial and error. In the end, given the dagger heels on the thigh-high boots that Synapse wore, plus a need to transfer her weight not only to Entropy's body but specifically to her lifting corset, the only position that seemed to work was face to face. Several loops of line held Synapse snugly to the woman who had been embracing her so sweetly just a short while before.

Entropy was finally ready to go and she concentrated on the lines of magnetic force that needed to be focused even more tightly than she had done for her solo levitation. Her tired mind needed a distressingly long time to meet the demands imposed by her technique, but it was still only minutes before the entwined pair lifted silently from the verandah and started heading north. Entropy climbed as she flew, struggling to find an altitude with minimal headwinds. They ended up fairly high, a bit above ten thousand feet as reported by the GPS receiver in her jeweled pendant. During the climb, Entropy had released the exclusion field around Synapse, not wanting the combination of artificially reduced oxygen partial pressure and true altitude to cause harm to her sleeping prisoner.

Some combination of the cooler air at altitude, the renewed natural concentration of oxygen, and perhaps rest from her own deep sleep caused Synapse to stir an hour after they departed. She struggled a bit as her awakening mind absorbed the restrictions of her bonds, then her eyes snapped open in anger.

Before she said a word, her eyes narrowed again and a furrow of concentration marred her golden skin. Her mental attack did not have the effect intended, though, unless that intention was to send Entropy tumbling out of control.

"Stop that!" Entropy shouted, "or you'll kill us both!"

Even as they tumbled, Synapse was unwilling to relent. "Release me this instant!"

"Look down, you fool," Entropy growled, losing some of the voice control that was an essential part of her disguise. "We're almost ten thousand feet up. Your power interferes with my power and if you don't stop, they'll be burying us in a jelly jar, both of us together."

Synapse managed to twist around and see the lights of a small town rushing up at them as they fell. Her gasp of shock signaled the loss of her own concentration, with a corresponding relief in the mental attack that had destroyed Entropy's. As soon as the buzz in her mind subsided Entropy struggled to regather the strands of magnetic force and arrest their descent. What had seemed like misfortune, the need to go so high to minimize headwinds, had instead been their salvation.

That salvation was not the focus of Entropy's thoughts, though. Once she had her levitation under control to the point that it didn't consume all her concentration, she considered what had happened when Synapse had made her mental attack. That attack had been less effective than she might have expected, and for a reason beyond the loss of Synapse's power amplifiers. The crimefighter had never become so confused that she lost all purpose, only confused enough to lose the focused concentration required to fly. On the other hand, a side effect of Synapse's attack had become all too noticeable.

*She must have sent a confusion effect at me, but it was tuned to a woman's receptors. What I got was out of tune, partial confusion and partial arousal, only it was masculine arousal.*

For the first time since the Entropy had encountered Synapse, the arousal she felt was concentrated, very concentrated. Unfortunately for Entropy, her costume was designed specifically to prevent the normal reaction to that arousal. Even more unfortunately, the inability to respond did nothing to reduce the urge to respond, which faded much more slowly than the basic confusion effect.

*And that was only a side effect, a harmonic!* Entropy thought. *How much worse would it be if it were deliberate, and focused on a man's receptors?*

For the first time she felt real sympathy for General Oahu. And a bit of envy.

By this time she had them back at cruising conditions. Once Synapse realized the danger was over, she launched another attack though this one was with her voice.

"How dare you handle me like this?! Release me at once!" she repeated.

"I didn't go to all this trouble just to let you go now," Entropy replied, once again using the soft and light tones of her feminized voice.

"I am your Queen!" Synapse declared.

"I am an American," Entropy countered. "We don't have queens."

"I am a direct descendent of Hawaiian royalty! You WILL release me this instant."

Entropy was about to answer back with another round of refusal, but Synapse was starting to sound like a broken record. Instead, the blonde responded to the brunette with a surprising agreement.

"You know, I think you may be right," Entropy said. "Certainly your power seemed enhanced by those purple jewels. If they were really signs of Hawaiian . . "

She was interrupted by a wail of dismay from Synapse, "My jewels! What has happened to my jewels?!"

Synapse tried to squirm around and feel for the belt she should have been wearing. As tightly as they were tied together, it was quickly obvious that the large jewel that normally hung below her navel was not squeezed between their mutually-compressed abdomens.

"You mean those big purple things?" Entropy asked innocently. "I removed the belt when I was tying you so that it wouldn't get in the way, and you put the scepter thing somewhere yourself. Small loss, if you ask me. They were sort of, well, gaudy, don't you think?"

"My jewels," Synapse whispered to herself, sagging against her captor.

She rode along in silence for a while. After a bit, though, she stirred again, and looked up to use her dark eyes to capture the blue ones she saw.

Squirming in an entirely different way now, she reached her lips up to nibble at Entropy's chin and said, "You really don't need to do this, you know."

Entropy pretended to ignore her, but even without the deliberate use of her special power, Synapse could be quite distracting.

The brunette's full lips worked their way along the line of Entropy's collar, planting soft, moist kisses on all the skin she could reach. Her voice dropped to a husky whisper as she murmured, "Surely, my darling, after all we've meant to each other, you could see how - pleasurable - our association could be."

"Yes," Entropy replied, "but the price would be too high."

"Price?" Synapse snapped, her seductive tone banished into the void through which they flew. "You accuse me of being a harlot?!"

*If the high-heeled boot fits, darling,* Entropy thought, but what she said was, "I won't betray my country, even for you."

"Bitch," Synapse snarled. "You have to land sometime, and when we get down on the ground, I will twist you inside out with lust so sharp it becomes the most terrible pain you have ever felt!"

*Been there, felt that,* Entropy sighed, again silently, then said, "Just remember, Syn, dear, that you land on the bottom. That much I can guarantee. And trussed up the way you are, if we hit even a little bit hard, you're going to end up with two broken arms, two broken ankles, and maybe a broken back. Decide if your revenge is worth it."

With that, Synapse struggled again against her bonds, saved from injuring herself more by the boots and stiff cuffs of her costume than by any sense of concern for her own limbs. Her writhing contortions nearly caused Entropy to lose her concentration again, their intimate contact both a blessing and a curse as the captured queen squirmed against her.

"You better stop," she said again. "You're not going to get loose, and if you distract me too much, we might fall."

"I don't care," Synapse whined.

"Then I guess you might as well just kill us. I know you could, anytime you want," admitted Entropy. "But if that's what you want, you could have already done it. Why don't you just take it easy? You're going to be uncomfortable enough when we get where we're going."

"Where is that?"

Entropy had been thinking of that while Synapse was still asleep, so she had a ready answer, "To the FBI building in Washington. I know you've robbed federally insured banks, so they probably have a good a claim on you as any local authorities."

Synapse had no answer for that, but her squirming did stop as she settled into a deep study, trying to find some escape. They flew along in silence for a long while, long enough that Entropy thought Synapse had fallen asleep again. Even the thought of sleep was like a beckoning lover, whispering sweet promises in Entropy's ear that were so much more seductive than those Synapse had uttered.

She woke from her very short nap to the sound of Synapse screaming in her ear, "Wake up! Wake up you idiot! We're falling!"

Entropy snapped awake to find that they were indeed descending, perhaps not a headlong fall as they had done when Synapse had deliberately confused her, but quickly losing altitude nonetheless. She renewed her concentration, adrenaline doing a wonderful job of combating the effects of two nights without sleep.

"You better put us down," Synapse said reasonably. "Until you get some sleep you're a danger to us both."

"Probably," agreed Entropy, "but no thank you. I respect your power, even if I do think your plan to take over Hawaii was crazy. I'll take my chances on flying. After all, I've got you to keep me awake."

The continued on. Entropy never quite fell asleep again, but it may have been in part because at the first sign of reduced concentration, Synapse was again screaming in her ear. After the demonstrated need for it, Entropy didn't complain, even on the times when she hadn't felt that sleepy.

*This is definitely not going to replace airline travel as the way to visit the islands,* Entropy thought as the sun started to peek over the watery eastern horizon. The dawn confirmed the report of her GPS sensor that they were nearing DC. She could see the famous buildings as she started to lose altitude and used them to orient in on the FBI building. Since it was barely dawn most of the building was dark, but she saw a light in one upper story office and steered toward it.

"Remember, Syn, if we fall, you take the worst of it, and I'm not getting close to the ground until I'm sure you won't be able to get away."

Synapse responded with a curt, "Don't call me Syn."

In the lit office, there was an early morning meeting. Or perhaps, based on the look of the attendees, a very late night meeting.

"We have got to show some real progress on this Synapse thing," the Supervisory Agent In Charge, SAIC was saying. We're getting heat from very high places on this."

"I know," said the deputy director. "I was copied on that e-mail, too. You wouldn't think a law-school graduate would have such a limited, repetitious vocabulary."

"And that she'd know at least a few word with more than four letters," the SAIC agreed tiredly.

"Now *that* she does know," the deputy director corrected him. "As in 'get that black-haired bitch,' and 'if you don't hand me that bitch's ass by the end of the day, I'll have yours'. I really wish that Synapse would have picked someone else to humiliate in public."

"Speaking of which," he continued, "what is the latest?"

The SAIC consulted his notes, including fresh phone messages, and said, "Well, we found the getaway van used for the museum robbery. It was parked at a little county airport. There's no record of what planes were there but there is a radar track leaving on the night of the robbery and heading south. We lost the track once it left US airspace, but we might have something from one of the drug surveillance flights. They don't normally track outbound flights but we might get lucky. In the meantime, we're checking all the islands that have strips large enough for a plane that could make the flight in one hop. That's a lot, but we should get through them in another couple of days."

"In another couple of days, we'll both be out of a job," the deputy director said, but he knew his men were doing all that could be done.

Just then, a light began flashing in his eyes. It took him a minute to realize the light was coming from outside his third-story office. More specifically, the light was coming from the palm of a caped woman, hovering in mid air, with another doubled-up woman clutched in her other arm.

But most importantly of all, the doubled-up woman had thigh-high black boots, a purple-and-black outfit, and long dark hair.

"I'll be damned," he said, pointing to the window.

The SAIC looked and his own response was open-mouthed shock. The deputy director was already reaching for the phone when the SAIC managed to get his mouth closed enough to say, "You don't suppose . . ."

He was talking to himself, because the deputy director was already ordering all the agents in the building to get out there at once. By the time he was finished, he was alone in the room, the SAIC already gone, shouting for everyone in sight to come with him.

Twenty agents converged on the concrete below the hovering blonde woman in twice as many seconds. They all started yelling orders to her, orders which a few seemed determined to enforce at the point of a gun if necessary.

"Oh, stop all that racket," the obviously tired blonde shouted back. "I didn't bring her all this way to let her get away now. Let me speak to someone with at least a little sense. Right now."

By then the SAIC had arrived and his own voice first caused the field agents to be quiet, then began to give yet another set of orders. At least his orders were cohesive, if not terribly effective. Short of actually shooting her, they didn't have any way to coerce the caped woman and it was clear by now that the brunette was her tightly bound captive. The dark-haired woman was silent, frowning in unrewarded concentration.

When the SAIC paused to take a breath, the blonde snapped at him, "'Shut up,' I said. *I* will tell *you* what to do, if you'll just be quiet."

Not having much choice, the SAIC did as he was told. The blonde glanced at her prettily-wrapped package and noted the concentration on her face. Smiling, she whispered, "You're wasting your time," before calling down to the agents below.

"If you haven't figured it out by now, this is Synapse. She's wanted for several federal crimes. Now, before I let you get close, you need to understand the nature of her power. She can confuse your minds, and she can cause powerful sexual arousal. The combination can make you want to please her, whatever it takes. The only reason she's not attacking me is because if she does, we'll both fall to the cement and she'll be badly hurt. That threat goes away once I get close to the ground. Now, here's what you're going to do."

"I've taken away her power amplifiers, so her range is sharply reduced. Still, you need to have someone at least 20 feet away watch anyone who gets close to her. If someone starts to release her from her bonds anywhere outside a locked cell, you have to expect that she's gotten control of them. Somebody will have to run in and separate her from her would-be rescuer. If she can walk on her own, she'll escape, just as sure as sunrise. Is that clear?"

The SAIC looked at the deputy director and nodded, then started issuing orders. In moments a path to a holding cell was cleared of agents, with pairs of guard and watcher identified. The guards gathered below the hovering woman, beckoning her down to land.

She drifted silently downward, almost collapsing as her legs took the strain of their combined weights. She had to stand alone for a moment when the first group of guards did indeed start to help Synapse instead of the blonde. Only her shout, seconded by the SAIC got their attention back on the correct task. With that personal evidence of how seductive the brunette could be, the agents were able to resist her charms for long enough to get her loose from the blonde.

"I'll get you for this," Synapse snarled, held still in her tightly doubled position as they carried her away.

"You can try," the blonde said. She turned to the SAIC who had been directing things, but he was following those who were carrying Synapse. Another man, older and obviously a senior executive stepped forward to meet her.

"I think we owe you a major vote of thanks, Miss, um, . . . " the man began.

"Entropy," the blonde said, then collapsed bonelessly at his feet. The next thing to intrude on Entropy's consciousness was a tugging at her face. She roused from her exhausted slumber to push away the hands that had been trying to unmask her. Her hands met those of a female agent, capturing them before she was revealed.

"Don't do that," Entropy ordered.

"I was just trying to see what was wrong with you," claimed the agent, a petite, red-headed woman of about 25, with features just a bit too-sharply defined to be considered cute.

"You don't need to remove my mask for that," Entropy said, rising up on her elbows. "What is wrong with me is two nights without sleep, coupled with some very intense concentration. I'm just tired."

She looked around to see an executive office, complete with a couch that she was resting on and the other trappings of a senior official. Standing nearby was the older man she had met just before literally falling asleep on her feet.

He smiled and motioned the female agent to take a seat nearby, then said, "I'm Deputy Director Grove. When we were interrupted, you were telling my your name is Entropy . . . ?"

"That's right," she said, swinging her legs down to sit on the couch.

Casting a wary eye around to see what other hazards the room might hold, she relaxed when she saw that they were alone; just the older man, the female agent, and herself. That relaxation almost did her in again. She felt her eyes start to cross as she lost focus. That triggered a mental image of herself with her bright blue eyes crossed within her red mask, and it made her feel silly, giddy with fatigue.

When Grove asked if there were anything they could do for her, she found her mouth running away without control, saying, "Well, I could use a nice place for a nap. Is the Lincoln bedroom still for rent? I know I didn't make much of a direct contribution, but maybe saving Hawaii rates as soft money or something. They did vote for the incumbent, didn't they?"

A look of shock and irritation appeared on the female agent's face, but the deputy director just laughed and said, "I think we can arrange something around here."

Then he continued, "But I do have to know if there are any more of Synapse's gang at large, and if you know where I might find them."

"Oh, yes!" Entropy said, sitting up straighter again. "There were three others. They're on an island at 76.3 degrees West, 26.2 degrees North. One was an older man they called General Oahu. There was a girl, well, a young woman they called Maui, and a really big man they called Hawaii. I disabled their plane before I left, but they may have fixed it by now."

Grove looked at the female agent like he wanted her to go get someone on it, but that would have left him alone in his office with a beautiful woman. Instead, he looked again at Entropy and moved to the large desk himself. In a few moments he had agents scurrying to follow up on the information provided by Entropy. In another moment, he was standing back by the couch.

"Miss Entropy, I'll leave you in here. Miss Adams will watch over you as you nap, for as long as you wish. No one will disturb you, including Miss Adams," he concluded, with a glance at the agent.

"I'm sorry," Adams said, though her voice held little repentance. "I guess I just have a problem with people who wear masks."

Entropy nodded, too weary for an argument, "Whatever."

Adams nodded in her turn, then settled back in her chair. Whether she was on there to protect Entropy or keep her from leaving was not entirely clear to the costumed crimefighter, but it didn't matter nearly as much as getting some more sleep. She wrapped her cape around herself and stretched once more on the couch.
 

Chapter 10 - Who Is That Masked Babe?

 
The next time Entropy awakened it was in response to a urge that had become more pressing than her need for continued sleep. She roused from her nap, noticed through the window that it was now late afternoon, and then saw Adams dozing in her chair.

"Excuse me," Entropy said.

Adams woke with a start and looked around guiltily. Seeing only the woman she had been charged to watch, she relaxed and said, "Yes?"

"I need to, um, use the facilities," Entropy said.

She was led to a washroom immediately off the office. For a second it looked like Adams intended to accompany her into the room, but a sharp glance from Entropy caused her to pause at the door.

Inside, Entropy took advantage of the "emergency" options available within her costume design to take care of necessary business without fully undressing. She also started her fuel cell recharging with energy drawn from water in the basin.

Then she looked in the mirror and saw that she could use some lipstick, but that by and large the makeup that Maui had applied was still in surprisingly good condition. Or perhaps even degraded it was still effective. In any event, it was satisfactory.

Her hair, on the other hand, was a mess. The long flight, coupled with several hours scrunched up in a corner of the couch, had left it kinked and tangled.

*It's a good thing Angie will be able to get this wig off of me,* Entropy thought. *It would be a nightmare to make some order out of that mess with it still tugging on my scalp.*

Then she laughed out loud and said, "Well, DUH!"

She worked her will on her hair and the tangled disorder resolved itself into the artfully casual waves that Maui had created. Tangles became sweeping curves, kinks became great bouncy curls. In moments, it looked as good as she had been shown it could be, tumbling with graceful energy to her slim waist.

When she was satisfied, she walked back into the main office to find Grove, a very amazed Agent Adams, and the man who had directed traffic when she had arrived.

"What did you do to your hair?" she blurted out, even before the men could speak.

"Oh, this," Entropy said with coy humor. "It was nothing, really."

The men didn't really know what had amazed Adams, but Grove felt compelled to say something, "Very nice. Now, if we could get a few things straight?"

Entropy nodded politely, standing at ease as she waited for them to take the next step.

"Would you like some coffee, perhaps something to eat?" Adams interrupted again.

Perhaps the magic of an instant hairstyle improvement did more to convince her of Entropy's power than second hand reports. It certainly seemed to change her attitude. In any event, her interruption was once again accepted by the men, and Grove pointed to where some refreshments had been set up. They all took advantage of them, filling a plate before returning to sit around the couch.

Grove began his interrogation with information of his own. "We found the island. It was empty. Do you have any idea where we might find the other members of Synapse's gang?"

"No," Entropy answered. "Sorry. I don't think you have a lot to fear from them, though. With the exception of General Oahu, they were basically just doing what Synapse told them to do. Without her as a guiding force, they won't cause much trouble."

"What about this, "General Oahu"? Can he lead them?"

"I suppose he has the capacity, but they didn't seem disposed to follow him. I'm afraid you have one moderately competent criminal to worry about, and two that are more likely to need help than cause further trouble."

The SAIC was busily making notes on this information. When he caught up, he said, "We'll be asking you for more detailed information, but I have a more pressing question. You mentioned when you arrived that Synapse had some 'power amplifiers.' What became of them?"

"Oh!" Entropy said, jumping up. "I forgot all about them."

She reached in the pouch in cape and took out the belt and scepter. As she handed them to the SAIC, she said, "I'd be really careful with those. I don't know if they prove Synapse's claim to be descended from Hawaiian nobility or not, but I do know they really enhance her power."

"Oh, by the way," Entropy concluded. "Synapse thinks those are lost on the island. She doesn't know I brought them with us."

The SAIC nodded, and then he asked the question that ended the conversation, "Now, Miss, um, Entropy, we need to know who you really are and why you've done this."

"No you don't," she said abruptly, still standing, now more tense. "Wait a minute," the SAIC said. "We don't mean any harm. I'm sure the White House will want to give you a medal or something. We just need to know a bit more about you."

"No, you don't," Entropy repeated adamantly.

The SAIC was about to press harder, but Deputy Director Grove touched his arm and he subsided. The senior man said, "I wish you would reconsider. I think we could help each other out. Your reputation is that you use your abilities to help people, not take advantage of them, so you have nothing to fear from us."

"Only the loss of my privacy," Entropy said.

Grove nodded, obviously not surprised. "Very well, we won't insist."

"Good," she replied, then said. "I think it's about time for me to be on my way. Is it possible for me to make a phone call? Privately?"

"Of course," Grove assured her, but the flicker of glance that passed between him and the SAIC told her that at least the privacy part was not likely to be met. But that was part of her plan.

Still, they left the office. Entropy used the phone to make a quick call to Jonathon Thorson's apartment in Armbruster.

"Hello," she heard Angie's voice on the line.

"Hello, this is Entropy. May I speak to Jonathon, please?"

"Um, sure, just a second," Angie said, catching on. In just a bit longer than the promised second, Entropy heard the voice of James.

"Yes, Entropy? This is Jonathon."

"Jonny, I just wanted to call and let you know that everything turned out fine. I should be back at my place in a few hours."

"Oh, okay. That's good. Is there anything you need?"

"Not right now, thanks. Just checking in."

"Right. Well, take care."

"Thanks, you too. Bye," Entropy said, concluding the call. She smiled a sly little smile that Synapse would have recognized all too readily, then moved to the door of the office.

Adams met her. The others had at least pretended to give her the privacy she had requested, but Entropy would have bet that they were in some monitoring room, trying to get more information on this person who seemed to know Entropy. The costumed woman asked a question of the female agent with her eyes, receiving confirmation in the embarrassed grimace she received.

"I'm sorry, Miss Entropy, but you should have known they would listen in."

"I did," Entropy said with a conspiratorial snicker. "After they get to thinking about it for a while, they'll realize that I knew and that I was giving them a way to contact me, but with a cutout that I could pull if they get too obnoxious. I don't mind helping but it will have to be on my terms."

"Oh, yeah," Adams said, smiling at the humor in Entropy's eyes. "I should have thought of that."

"So should they," Entropy said. "I guess I just got irritated by them pushing me on things they had no real right to know."

Adams looked at her slender fingers for a second, picking at an improperly applied fleck of polish, then said, "I'm sorry for the way I acted earlier. I think maybe I was jealous."

"Of me?" Entropy said in surprise. "Goodness, girl, in the spectrum of our society, an FBI agent ranks pretty high in her own right."

"Oh, I'm proud of that," Adams said. "But you're, well, you're so pretty, and it would take two of those costumes to hold me."

"Don't kid yourself," Entropy laughed. "I've got some industrial strength helpers under this showy exterior. And why do you think I wear the mask?"

Adams laughed in turn, but she shook her head in disbelief. "So, why do you do this if you don't want any money or awards or anything? Is it because you're so damned good looking and you want show off?"

"No. If I could, um, meet my objectives without looking like something out of an adolescent boy's fantasy, I would."

"Oh, come on now, lady, don't give me that. NO woman would choose to look plain if she could look like you. Hell, I'd give a year's salary to have a shape like yours."

Entropy became quiet, remembering Angie's lecture on real girls and their dreams of being beautiful, and of how she'd hurt Janice with her so casual dismissal of that desire.

"You're right, I guess. And it helps me do what I do in ways that you'd never guess and that I could never quite explain. But I'll tell you one secret. . ."

"Oh, what's that?"

"I really am wearing a corset, and, um, other things. Trust me, what they do for me would do wonders for you, if you were serious. And it probably would only cost you, oh, a month's salary."

"Really?" Sharon said wistfully.

"Guaranteed," Entropy confirmed. "Believe me, you have a *lot* more to build on than I ever had." Entropy stuck her hand out in an almost- masculine gesture and said, "Friends, Miss Adams? I could use one in 'official' circles."

Adams took the offered hand in both of hers and shook it warmly. "I'd be proud to be your friend, Miss Entropy, but please call me Sharon."

"Okay, Sharon, and I'm just Entropy," the blonde smiled.

Adams looked at the caped superhero in her skin-tight costume and shook her head again. But her denial was less forceful this time, undermined by a wishful longing to believe. Certainly Entropy's tone held undeniable conviction.

"You're pretty confident," Adams said, but her tone held wonder, not doubt.

"I guess so," Entropy replied, not registering the irony in her weak agreement.

Adams looked up to see that they had arrived at the door, and said, "Well, you're going to need it, if you're going to survive what's outside."

What was outside was a horde of reporters and cameramen, plus another horde of hangers on, all anxious for a glimpse of the masked superhero.

"I can take you to another way out," Adams offered.

"No, this will be fine. If they get too bad, I'll just fly away," Entropy said with a grimace.

She smoothed her features into a smile she had learned in her long sessions with Janice and Angie. It was demure, yet inviting, a delicate balance between propriety and sensuality that was enhanced by the mystery of her mask. When she was ready, she walked out to the waiting mob.

Entropy let the shouted questions wash over her for a couple of minutes, ignoring the din as she searched the crowd. She saw a face that looked at her more with need than greed, and pointed to her. As though that gesture pulled a switch on all the rest, they quit their own shouting and listened to the young woman indicated by the costumed blonde.

"Sarah Hansen, WGBU News," the woman began. "Who are you, and is it true that you captured the notorious Synapse?"

Entropy almost laughed at the angry murmur of some of the crowd as the reporter took advantage of her opportunity by asking two questions, not one. Instead of answering the question tersely, the caped crimefighter chose to use the silence to make a brief statement.

"My name is Entropy. I'm sure you've seen other reports of some of the things I've done. It is not my intention to seek power or some sort of celebrity status, but since you're all here I decided I'd take just a moment to answer a few questions. Yes," she continued, "I did capture Synapse. She is now in the custody of the FBI."

"Was there a fight?" someone shouted from the crowd, a man's voice.

"You mean, like with scratching and hair pulling? That sort of thing," Entropy laughed. "If that sort of thing interests you, you're a naughty boy."

After a pause for the laughter to subside, she continued, "No. There wasn't any fight, at least, not with her. She's a very powerful woman and I couldn't figure out how to capture her without hurting her, except by cheating. Frankly, I wasn't sporting at all. I captured her in her sleep."

"Who are you, really?" another man asked.

"Trying to get that million bucks from WNN?" she asked in return. "You'll have to work for it a lot harder than that."

"Will you marry me?" a voice shouted from the middle of the crowd.

Entropy's response was a reflexively-sharp, "No!" Then she smiled to soften her answer, thinking up a truth that would give them something to think about, "I already have a, um, roommate. But thank you for asking."

Ignoring the next questions to be shouted at her, Entropy held up her hands and got at least a reduction in the din. "I don't intend to expose my whole life to you. I'm afraid you'll have to let my actions speak for themselves. And with that, I'll take my leave."

She levitated up into the air before the crowd, silent electronic cameras tracing her as she lifted, click-whirring still cameras advancing as rapidly as fingers and motors could provide. Accelerating smoothly, she swept around the corner of the building and out of sight.

Thorson was back at the University the next morning, working in the faculty lounge to try and catch up on the backlog caused by his two-day absence. Terhune was there, too, as usual. He seemed to think he could think better with the TV on. Perhaps he was right. The endless repetitions of reports related to Entropy's first "official" appearance had certainly made it seem hypnotically boring to Thorson.

Entropy's flight back to his apartment had been wonderfully quiet after all the stress of the days just past. When she slipped in the back door, both James and Angie were waiting.

"You look, well, great," Angie said in surprise, reaching up to run her hands through the still-perfect curves of Entropy's hair.

"Thank you," Entropy said with a grin.

"How did it go, really?" James asked.

"Not too bad," Entropy replied. "I got pretty tired on the trip back. I haven't had to concentrate that hard that long since I was working on my dissertation."

James looked quizzically at Entropy, obviously trying to decide whether to say something. She could see the decision form on his face even before he spoke, so she was ready for his question.

"Why didn't you tell everyone who you really are? Surely you have enough publicity now to get acceptance for your discovery."

Entropy walked with the graceful sensuality made necessary by her heels and picked up Dinger from his resting place on the couch. She ran her hands though his fur for a moment before saying, "Too much acceptance, I think."

She continued, "If I could do what I did, even as dead tired as I was, then so could a lot of people. Synapse, could have, for sure. If my discovery became public knowledge, it could be used for harm as well as good. I have to think about that."

"Two futures?" James asked.

"Hmm?" she replied, confused. They she realized she was stroking Schroedinger the cat. It was a coincidence her mind had created without conscious thought. She laughed without a lot of mirth and said, "I guess so."

"Maybe you should just turn me in, for the million dollars," she offered softly.

"Do you really think we want to do that?" asked James.

"No, but, well, I owe you two an awful lot. Maybe that would be the best way to end this."

Angie came to stand beside James, working her arm around his waist, "Why do you want to end this?"

Entropy stroked her cat in silence for a long moment, then said, "Because I don't want to."

Before Angie could ask the question that showed on her expressive face, James gave her a squeeze. He said, "I understand."

The shapely blonde looked at him and said, "Yes, I expect you do."

"I'm sorry," Entropy said, reaching out to touch his arm. "I knew better than to think that you're motivated by money, of course." Then she dropped Dinger back on the couch and said, "I've had a nap, but I'm still tired, and I really, really want out of this wig and corset. Do you suppose I could get you to help me?"

Thorson was pulled back from his thoughts of the night before when the FBI showed up in the person of Sharon Adams. "Mr. Thorson?" she said to Terhune. He pointed at the real Thorson and Sharon walked over. "Mr. Thorson, I'm Sharon Adams, FBI. I'd like to ask you a few questions about Entropy."

Thorson had been using the time since her entrance to take a better look at her. Yesterday, Entropy had been too tired to really pay attention. He found himself distracted by her lively eyes, and just for a moment his fingers itched to see what he could do with his newly-developed cosmetic skills and her face. She had strong features, a wide mouth, a nose that was perhaps a touch too long, but with a little bit of work. . . yesssss. . .*definite* possibilities. .

Thorson waited through the unnecessary introduction without speaking, then deliberately misinterpreted her question. "About entropy? Are you a student? Surely the FBI must have access to any number of thermodynamics experts for background on cosmic disorder."

"What," she stammered. "Thermodynamics?" Then she remembered enough physics from somewhere to understand the confusion. She pointed at the television, right then showing Entropy rising above the crowd at the FBI building. "No, I mean the superhero Entropy, like on the TV."

"Oh, I haven't been paying attention to the news. I have papers to grade," he said brusquely. But there was a twinkle in his eye that he couldn't entirely hide.

"Mr. Thorson," she chided him, "please. Don't pretend you don't know why I'm here."

"Why not?" he asked.

"Huh," she said, then blushed at his ability to make her lose her focus. That caused her to get angry.

"Mr. Thorson, you know very well that the superheroine Entropy called you last night from Washington. We need to ask you what you know about her."

Anything further she might have intended to say immediately was interrupted by Terhune, joining the conversation uninvited, "Jonny? Knows that superbabe? I don't believe it!"

"We have the phone record, Mr., um, . . .?"

"Rick Terhune, English Lit." he introduced himself. "But Jonny doesn't know any babes, let alone a flying superblonde."

Thorson sat quietly, waiting for Adams to deal with her would-be helper. She repeated her claim, "We have a phone record of Entropy calling Mr. Thorson at his apartment. I have been sent to find out more about her through him."

Terhune was about to deny the possibility once again, when Thorson offered the first bit of confirmation, "But that would have meant you listened in on a private conversation, Miss, um, Adams."

She had the grace to blush, a flicker of memory playing across her elegant features as she thought of what Entropy had said. "Well, as to that, um, all FBI employees understand that the phones may be monitored for security purposes."

"And of course you informed Entropy of this, right?" Thorson asked, the twinkle back in his eyes.

"Um, well, I'm not sure it came up ahead of time, but I know she knew about it," claimed Adams.

"I suspect you're right," Thorson said, letting her off the hook.

"Jonny, you mean to tell me that she's right? That you do know Entropy?" Terhune interrupted again.

"Maybe," Thorson said, but he looked only at Adams.

"I don't believe it," Terhune said.

This time, Adams had her emotional balance under control a bit better and she was able to take control of the situation, "Mr., uh, Terhune, unless you have some personal information about Entropy, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to let me interview Mr. Thorson without your, um, assistance."

Terhune spluttered for just a second, but the firm look in the agent's eyes sent him back to where his own work was spread out. After he was safely out of the way, Adams looked back at Thorson.

"So, Mr. Thorson, what can you tell me about Entropy?"

"Not much, unless you want to go into the third law of thermodynamics," he answered.

"We have already discussed that confusion. Please stick to the point."

"That is the point," he said. "I'm not at liberty to tell you anything about Entropy that you don't already know."

"This is a matter of national security, Mr. Thorson."

"This is a matter of personal privacy, Miss Adams," he replied. Before she could say anything, he continued, "Look, this is stupid. Could you at least call me, Jonathon, or better yet, Jonny?"

"Oh, well, if you want," she said, smiling in reflex despite her self-image of the highly-professional agent. But, well, her self image was weak enough that she found herself responding to the friendly smile on the handsome man. Too bad he was sort of short. Of course, she just made the minimum height standards for an agent herself.

Adams returned from her introspective thoughts with a start, and tried to cover it with a, "and please, call me Sharon."

"Thank you, Sharon," Thorson replied, then sat politely.

She looked at him for a minute, expectantly. When he didn't say anything more, she asked again, "What do you know about Entropy?"

"I know she wants us to respect her privacy," Thorson said, then he switched to the attack. "Tell me, Sharon, what do you do when you go home from your job?"

She was flustered for a minute, thinking he was asking her out. When she paused, he continued, "The reason I asked was to find out if you have to fight your way through ranks of news media and the idly curious. Can you go to a movie if you want, or shopping? Can you answer the phone without it being someone asking for difficult and possibly dangerous assistance? Wait, as an agent that might indeed apply to you. Anyway, can you see what would happen if everyone knew what Entropy looked like behind her mask?"

"But I'm not just anyone, uh, Jonny. I'm with the FBI."

"Right, like that makes things any better," he snorted. "Government intrusion is the worst kind."

"Then why did Entropy make that stupid call?" Adams asked, losing her patience.

"So that if there is some specific information you need *her* to know, you have a way to get it to her," he answered quietly.

"So this is to be a one-way line of communication?" she asked.

"For now, at least," Thorson confirmed.

"Very well, Mr. Thorson, um, Jonny. We'll be in touch," she said, gathering up her things.

"I'm counting on it," Thorson said with a smile, provoking a blush on the agent's smooth cheeks.

When she had left, Terhune was right back at Thorson's table. "Tell me what that was all about?"

"Entropy," Thorson said.

"You don't know her, really, do you?" asked Terhune.

"Believe what you want," offered Thorson.

"Can you get me a date with her?" Terhune said with a leer.

*Right after hell freezes over,* Thorson thought, but he said, "Don't hold your breath."
 

Chapter 11 - Unending Complications

 
A week later Thorson was once again approached by the redheaded agent. He was heading for the parking lot at the end of a day of classes when she intercepted him.

"Mr. Thorson! Wait up a minute, please!" Adams called.

He stopped to watch as she came walking up, noting with appreciation that she seemed to have lost a little weight. *I wonder if it's because she's got a corset under there,* he thought with a smile.

His smile earned one of hers in response, as she paused for a second to catch her breath before speaking. Her feminine attributes were displayed most attractively in a fairly tight knit top, drawing his attention for a long second before he managed to refocus on her face.

Her smile broadened a bit at his obvious interest, but she had her own face professionally neutral by the time his gaze reached her eyes.

"Mr. Thorson, I just wanted to tell you that we've captured Maui and Hawaii," she said.

"Indeed?" he said with a sly grin. "Let me guess, the attack was launched from Pearl Harbor, at dawn."

"What?" she said, then caught on. "Oh, you are just terrible. You know what I mean."

He nodded, then his expression became serious as he asked, "Are they all right?"

"Oh, yes," she assured him. "They actually turned themselves in."

"And Oahu?" he asked next.

"No word from him. They said he had given them a ride back to the mainland, then basically kicked them out of the plane. He took off again for parts unknown."

"Well, that's at least some good news," he said, though his mind wasn't really on Synapse's gang. *Hmmm,* he thought, *she could really use a bit of Angie's magic. I wonder if she's doing anything tonight. Maybe I can get her an appointment with them, now that I'm no longer occupying their Friday nights.*

"Um, Sharon, were you planning on going to the concert tonight?" he asked, wondering if she might have already committed to the event that had been the talk of the campus for weeks.

"No, I, uh, well, I have some other things to do," she said, thinking about the report she had to write on this mundane meeting.

"Oh, well, too bad," he said. "I'll see that Entropy gets this information."

"Oh, yes, thank you." she replied. Then she thought, *Was he trying to ask me out on a date? His tone didn't have the sort of, hesitancy, that guys usually have when they've asked me before.*

She looked up from her distraction to see if Thorson's invitation could be reopened, but he had turned away to answer a student's question. She shrugged and walked away, not even sure if she'd messed up.

Thorson got back to his apartment early that day, which didn't stop Dinger from immediately demanding to be fed. It was easier to give in than to argue, so Thorson was opening a can of cat food when the phone rang.

"Yes?" he said.

"Jonny, this is Angie. Are you coming tonight?"

"Uh, I don't know. I mean, things seem to be pretty well worked out. It's not like I'm not grateful, but I hate to monopolize your time and talents."

"Oh, hell, Jonny, you're more like family than client. We enjoy having you," she said. Then she dropped her voice, "but actually, I'd like you to come for another reason."

"Yes?" he said, encouraging her.

"I'm trying to get Janice out in casual clothes, jeans or shorts or something. She keeps saying she has to wear extremely feminine clothes to pass, including things that hide what she thinks are her flaws. I think she would do just fine in jeans. Anyway, if you'll come help, I have an idea on how to do that."

"Sure!" Thorson agreed enthusiastically. "That would be fun. What do you have in mind?"

"Can't talk now," she whispered. "See you at 6:00, like usual?"

"Sure thing," he said.

"Well, Ding, this might be an interesting evening after all," the tall roommate said to the shorter one.

"Mrwwoaweer," Dinger replied. (I have plans, thank you. There's this cute Persian with the fluffiest tail you ever saw . . )

"Don't brag," Thorson laughed.

He reached the Inner Truth salon just ahead of schedule and headed toward the back door "family" entrance. When he got inside, he was surprised to find his Entropy costume laid out, and to find Janice wearing a white leotard and black tights that looked almost like a costume of her own.

"What's going on," Thorson asked easily.

"Angie had an interesting idea," Janice explained. "She thought it would be a good thing if you had some pictures taken with Entropy."

Thorson didn't get it, yet. "So, you're going to dress as Entropy?"

"No," Janice laughed. "There's only one Entropy. We're going to do a little photo manipulation."

Angie chimed in with the rest of the story. "Most photo manipulation gives itself away in shadows, or too-sharp contrast with the background, that sort of thing. What we want to do is take pictures of you with Janice, she's the same height as Entropy, then have you switch places with her dressed as James and you as Entropy. That way, when we merge the two images, the shadows and background will line up perfectly."

"I, uh, see," Thorson said, though he didn't really.

In a short while, though, he understood. Angie, as the photographer, draped Janice over him in most "cuddly" poses. At first, Thorson was uncomfortable at the idea of hugging a guy, but Janice's carefree humor soon cheered him up and he began to laugh and flirt with her, blowing kisses and pretending to let his hands drift in sensual ways. At least, for him it was pretending. The real challenge came when they switched roles. Janice took off her long wig, but Angie wouldn't let her take the time to undress completely. She just handed Janice/James a pair of blue jeans and a shirt not too different from the one that Thorson had been wearing.

It took a lot longer, of course, to recreate Entropy. But they had been through that drill often enough that they worked well together and in a reasonably short while, it was Entropy being draped over a still shapely James. Angie used her authority as photographer to pose them in positions matching her first set of shots, shown on her monitor. So the flirty fun that Janice had enjoyed with Jonathon needed to be resurrected in Entropy's attitude. It was even harder for her to do it from the female side, but James' good humor and Angie's teasing soon had her laughing again.

When Angie pronounced herself satisfied, she started merging the electronic photo images together while they watched. It was pretty amazing, really. In just a few minutes, if you hadn't known the images were merged, you really couldn't tell. She even zoomed in to the individual pixel level to make sure there weren't any discontinuous shadows. When she was satisfied, she started a set of prints on photo- quality paper.

James was helping Entropy out of her costume when Angie interrupted. "I'm hungry. Let's go get something to eat."

"I think it would cause a bit less notice if I changed first," Entropy said.

"Yes," Angie agreed, sending her a silent request to play along, "but only into Janie. Leave your corset on."

"Oh, um, okay," the blonde agreed. Once she had her skin-tight costume off, she looked around for feminine clothes to wear.

"Look, why don't we just go casual, tonight," Angie said. Casually. "Janice is already in jeans, and so am I. We'll find you something similar."

"I'm not going out in jeans," Janice said. "You know I need more help than that."

"Why?" Janie asked. "You were just in a superhero costume and looked terrific. Believe me, there's nothing else you could wear that would be more difficult to pass in."

"Look who's the expert all of the sudden," Janice snorted.

"Hardly all of the sudden," Janie said. "I've been trained by experts."

"Come on, Janice. Don't be a party pooper," Angie teased. "Find a nice wig and let's go."

"Couldn't I at least wear a skirt and pantyhose?" Janice pleaded.

"Um, no," Janie said, thinking quickly. "We're going to a concert at the University. Classical music in the park. People sit on blankets and things. I don't think you want to be flashing all those college guys, do you?"

"Classical music?" Janice said, not very pleased at the idea.

"Yeah, you know. Beach Boys, Buddy Holley, Three Dog Night. It's not the original bands, of course, just local groups, but they do this every year and they're pretty good. Best of all, it's free."

"So you'll do it?" Janice asked Janie, still not convinced.

Janie took as deep a breath as her own corset would allow, then nodded. "I will if you will."

"Then it's settled," Angie said quickly. "Janie, you can wear that other wig that suits you so well, the ash-blonde, smooth one that comes to the middle of your back. Janice, dear, how do you feel about being a redhead tonight?"

The pixie dominated the taller women by sheer force of personality, hurrying them through their final preparations before either could back out. Janice did insist of wearing a more feminine blouse with a flounce around the shoulders baring a rather noticeable area of smooth skin. That was really superfluous, though. By the time they were ready to go, the skin-tight jeans all three wore left little doubt of their shapeliness.

If Janie had found the ride a bit more comfortable when not squeezed within a stiff corset, or even when flying, she didn't say anything. And if she didn't complain, then Janice didn't feel she could either. They were both grateful for the chance to unbend though, when they finally got to the campus. Angie cheerfully spread out their blanket in a relatively smooth spot while the other two took advantage of the opportunity to breathe a bit more easily.

"Looking foxy tonight," a grinning student said as he walked by the statuesque pair. After that it was race to see who could blush first, and most.

"See, I told you!" Angie crowed in a sharp stage whisper.

Janice was the first to recover. She had wanted acceptance all her life, but had never really believed in herself. She had believed in her skill, and that of Angie, but she had never believed in her own femininity. The offhand comment of a passing admirer had broken down a wall in her heart that she had never considered important, until it was gone. The confidence that filled her caused her to lift her shoulders, stand proudly, and light up their little corner of the campus with a smile as hot as any of Entropy's beams.

Janie was not as quick to recover. She asked, "Why did he say that?"

"Because it's true, dolt," laughed Angie.

"No, I mean, why did he just say that and walk on?"

"Why not?" Angie asked back.

"But he just said it, like, well, like he meant it. I mean, like it didn't have to mean any more than that. It's not like he was, well, hitting on us or anything."

Angie laughed. "Well, if you'd have said something back, he might have shown interest quickly enough. But he was just appreciating a couple of pretty girls. It doesn't have to be a 'line', the first step in a path into your panties."

Angie stood up from where she was working on the blanket and said, "Look, there's nothing wrong with bringing a bit of beauty into the world, and there's nothing that says a man can only appreciate it if he's horny. Consider it the appreciation someone might have for a pretty painting, and be grateful you can do it so well."

Janie didn't say anything, but the concentration behind those bright blue eyes lacked none of the intensity Entropy had ever employed.

"How about a coke?" Janice asked, breaking in on Janie's thoughts before she withdrew completely. "I'll buy."

"No," Janie said with a smile. "You drove. I'll buy the cokes."

She looked around for a vendor, spotting a row a few hundred yards away. Angie leaned over to whisper in Janice's ear, perhaps confirming the happiness she saw on her soulmate's pretty face. Leaving the two of them to each other, Janie strolled toward the vendors' booths. A low whistle followed her at one point, and she nearly stopped to peer into the gathering gloom for the source. But some strange impulse caused her to put a little more strut into her stride instead, earning a repeat whistle that was full of humor and appreciation.

Janie was trying to get her hand inside the front pocket of her sprayed-on jeans, where she had stuck a few dollars, when she saw Sharon Adams heading for the same area. She almost called out to the diminutive redhead, but remembered just in time that though the agent knew her as both Entropy and as Jonathon Thorson, she was neither of those people that night. Instead, she fell in behind Adams in the line for cokes.

When Adams ordered only one, Janie spoke to her, "Are you here alone tonight?"

The redhead might have spurned an opening like that from a guy, but coming from a pretty girl, it seemed harmless enough. "Yes, I was hoping to see someone here, but I guess he didn't make it."

"Oh, a guy, huh? Did he stand you up?"

"No, in fact, it's more like the other way around. I think he was fishing to see if I'd come to the concert with him, but I didn't take the bait soon enough," admitted Adams.

"I'm Janie," the blonde introduced herself. "I'm here with some friends, if you'd like to join us."

Adams refused, though she looked wistful. "Uh, no, I don't think so. I wouldn't want to be the odd one out."

"Oh, it's not like that," Janie assured her. "Not a boy in sight. Well, at least, not in our group."

"Oh, well, maybe for a while," Adams said. "By the way, I'm Sharon."

"Pleased to meet you, Sharon," Janie said, lifting the extra cokes in her hand by way of excuse not to shake hands or something.

While they walked back to the blanket, Sharon said, "I'm sorry, but I have this feeling we've met somewhere. Should I know you?"

"I don't think so," Janie lied. Or maybe it wasn't a lie. She sure hoped that the trained agent wouldn't be able to penetrate her disguise.

The got back to the blanket before Sharon had the chance to press the point. Janie still didn't feel like trying to bend in her tight corset, so after she completed the introductions, she stood with Sharon, looking over the crowd.

"Can I ask who you were looking for?" she asked Sharon. "Maybe it's someone I know."

"Uh, well, I guess so. It's one of the instructors here at the University. Professor Thorson."

Janice had a sudden coughing fit, spitting up some of her coke. Angie was a bit luckier and didn't have anything in her mouth at the time. She just started laughing instead. Both reactions were too noticeable to escape an explanation, but both were afraid to step on some story that Janie might have started so they looked to her to settle things.

She took a breath to give her time to collect her thoughts, and then started spinning her tale with a question, "You're Sharon Adams, the FBI agent, aren't you."

"Well, yes, how do you know?" she answered.

"Because Jonny Thorson is my cousin," Janie said. "Well, some sort of cousin anyway. One of those second cousin once removed things or something. Anyway, my mother told me to look him up when I got to this area, and we've talked a few times. He's a couple of years older than me. He told me about you, but I didn't make the connection until you mentioned his name."

"Ah, so that's why you look familiar," Sharon said.

"Yes, I suppose so," Janie agreed.

Then she pulled Sharon aside a bit and whispered to her. "Look, I don't want to get Jonny in trouble, but he was asking my opinion on something, and this is too good an opportunity to pass up. He told me that Entropy told him . . . "

"You know Entropy?" Sharon asked sharply.

"I've met her," Janie said quickly, then continued, "Anyway, Jonny told me that you thought you might need some help with clothing and, well, makeup styles. I think you look nice, but you might want to know that Angie is a makeup designer, and Janice is a fashion consultant. I've used their services and I can promise you they're top notch."

"Yeah, right, like you needed any help," Sharon said disdainfully.

"Believe me, I didn't always look this way," Janie said, letting lots and lots of easy-to-access conviction into her tone.

"Do you think they could really help me?" Sharon asked.

"Absolutely," Janie said, "you've got a wonderful basis to build on, much better than I had."

Sharon's expression showed her disbelief, but there was also hope in her eyes. Taking that as a sign of agreement, Janie took Sharon by the arm and pulled her back to the blanket.

"Janice, Angie, I think I just found you a new client," she announced.

Janice looked quizzically up at her, and said, "We don't usually take on clients who are that, um, pretty to begin with."

"Jonny was telling me how much he thought Sharon's self-image would improve if she had a touch of your expertise. That's what you do, isn't it? Help people feel better about themselves? That's what you did with me."

"Did we?" Janice said softly, standing up.

"Yes," Janie confirmed, realizing in her own heart the truth of that agreement even as she made it.

The ever-cheerful Angie chirped in to get things back on a lighter note. "Then I guess it's settled. Sharon, we'll even give you our friend-of-a-friend discount."

Before Sharon could commit one way or the other, an obviously- inebriated Terhune lurched into their group.

"Agent Adams," he called out cheerfully, "caught any crooks lately?"

"Not tonight," Sharon answered. She tried to turn away to give him the impression he was not welcome, but that led Terhune's attention to Janie, standing next to her.

The sight of the shapely blonde seemed to draw the breath from Terhune for a long second. After he started breathing again, he was a lot closer to sober. Unfortunately, while that gave him greater control over his balance and his elocution, it did nothing to restore any sense of inhibition. He focused directly on Janie and started quoting in grandiloquent oratory.

O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear; Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!

Janie almost laughed at his obvious attraction. *If he only knew,* she thought. Playing along for the pleasure of tweaking him, she said, "I am hardly a snowy dove trooping with crows."

Before Terhune could say any more, Janie turned to Sharon and said, "You know, Sharon, there may be a crook around for you to catch. I've heard that there's a English Literature professor here on campus who likes to get, um, up close and personal with some of the female students. Now, I'm not a student, and neither are you, but, well, don't you think such a man, if one exists of course, should be, uh, dissuaded from such a pastime?"

Neither Angie nor Janice understood what was going on, but Sharon knew right away what Janie was saying. She laughed and picked up on the theme. "Oh, absolutely. Why, if I found a professor accosting a young lady on this campus, I'd just have to, what did you say? Dissuade him."

Terhune's face took on a hue that was three parts embarrassment and two parts alcohol, but he knew when he was headed for more trouble than he needed. He stood a bit straighter and completed the quotation as he walked off with all the dignity he could manage.

Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.

Janie and Sharon couldn't control their giggles at his wounded manner, and like most laughter it was infectious. Angie and Janice joined in, which soon had them all laughing with full-bodied humor right up until the opening notes from the first band.

The bands were too loud for easy conversation, and the music was really pretty good, if a bit old fashioned so they didn't talk much for a while. During one of the lulls, Janice leaned over to Janie and said, "This is going to be complicated."

Janie just nodded.

Thorson had to go by campus the next morning and he happened to stop by the faculty lounge. He found Terhune at a table, TV again going. However, the English professor didn't seem to be making much progress on whatever work he had spread out. His head was down on his hands and he seemed almost asleep.

"What's the matter, Rick?" Thorson asked.

"I feel lower than snake shit," Terhune moaned.

"Ah, well, that's probably fair," Thorson laughed.

"Huh, what?" Terhune said, struggling to focus.

"Too much partying last night?" Thorson asked with a grin.

"No, that's not it," Terhune claimed. "It's just that I met this woman, the most beautiful woman in the whole world, and she wouldn't have anything to do with me."

"Oh, smart, too, huh?" Thorson said.

"I don't need this sort of grief from you, Jonny," Terhune growled, but his heart wasn't really in the warning.

"I thought you had the hots for Entropy." Thorson reminded him.

"Who? Oh, her. Well, she's certainly pretty, but she's kinda, you know, distant. I mean, you'd never just meet her walking in the hallway or something, right?" Terhune asked.

"Oh, I don't know about that," Thorson asked, trying very, very hard not to laugh.

"What? Uh, never mind. Anyway, I met a girl last night that is even more beautiful than Entropy, and she's well, real. You know?"

This was too much, and Thorson had to pause while he swallowed laughter that just wouldn't go away. When he could, he carefully said, "If you say so."

Then he beat a hasty retreat to let the laughter within him bubble out, echoing off the walls of the staid old University.

---

 
The End
 
End of Synaptic Overload © 1999,2013 Brandy DeWinter & Tigger