A man on his deathbed reveals a deep dark secret, one that had profound implications for the world

This story goes a little different direction than my previous efforts. I hope you'll understand that this is a new venture for me, and be kind in your criticisms.

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This story is copyright by the author. It is protected by licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

"Can I see him now?" the man softly asked of the nurse. She looked at him, stopping to stare at his chest for a lingering moment, and then smiled. "He's resting. If he's awake, you can go ahead and talk to him."

The man nodded, and turned to the hospital room. Before he could walk away, though, the nurse interrupted him. "There's something you need to know about his condition."

The man turned back. "What?"

"His cancer is very treatable, but he's refusing any medical intervention. He _wants_ to die," the nurse reported, uneasy at telling the man the truth.

The man nodded, a somber expression on his face. He steeled himself and turned back to the room where the patient lay.

Even though he knew that his father was dying of cancer, he was still shocked when he got in the room. The heart-rate monitor beeped overhead, while a slow, soft hiss sounded in the background as life-giving oxygen was fed from the wall to tubes in the man's nose. The patient looked gaunt, drawn and old, older than his sixty-four years suggested.

"Dad?" the man said softly as he leaned on the bedrail. "Are you awake?"

Slowly, the old man's eyes fluttered, and then opened. "Jim," he whispered, the words an effort, "I'm glad you could make it." The old man took a breath, the effort of which caused him to wince in pain. "Sorry you have to see me like this."

Jim took off his jacket and draped it over the end of the bed. Then he smoothed his shirt down over the twin bulges on his chest. Almost as an afterthought, he tugged through the fabric to adjust one of the straps of the bra he was wearing, the outline of which could be seen through the thin fabric of his shirt. The breasts on his chest were quite large by any standards.

"I'm almost ready to go," the old man spoke softly but insistently. "But first, I have to tell you something that I've never told anyone."

Jim frowned. "What? You've never kept secrets from me."

The old man shook his head sadly. "There's something you don't know about me, about my role in history."

"I know that you're 'Patient Zero' of the ... change," Jim said, perplexed. "You've told me the story. Everyone knows the story. You're the first one who got the B-condition."

The soft shuffle of the nurse crossing the floor interrupted his thoughts. She looked at the monitor and wrote down the data. When she looked at the old man, his eyes were closed, and his breathing was slow and steady. She winced. "I don't know how much longer he's got," she said apologetically. "We're doing everything we can to ease his pain."

Jim noticed the nurse's gaze kept wandering to his chest, and more specifically, to the valley of cleavage on display because he hadn't buttoned his shirt all the way up. He looked at her, and when she looked up and saw that she'd been caught, she blushed and turned away quickly. "I'll leave you alone with your father," she excused herself, her voice stammering nervously like a child who'd been caught doing wrong.

Jim watched her leave. She wasn't unattractive; in fact, the opposite was true. He guessed that she was Filipino or Asian, quite petite, and quite exotically attractive.

"She was checking you out," Jim heard the old man whisper as he gazed after the nurse. "But I bet you get that a lot."

Jim nodded knowingly as he turned his attention back to his father. "It comes with the territory."

"Go for it. She's pretty cute."

Jim shook his head. "Sometimes, it doesn't seem fair."

"What?" the old man asked softly.

"Most of the 'flats' are jealous of me, and the other Bs."

The old man smiled weakly. "I noticed. It was odd at first, but after a while, women seemed to love a guy with hooters, because there were extra places to play."

"Dad!" Jim scowled.

"It's true," the old man said with a smile. "Funny, though — I didn't expect that."

Jim frowned at his father's choice of words. It seemed odd, especially for a scientist who usually chose his phrases with laser-sharp precision.

"What do you know about the B-condition?" the old man asked softly.

Jim shrugged his shoulders. "The same as everyone. Everyone who has Rh-negative blood factor gets it. Men grow boobs — big ones. Women, too, but not quite as pronounced."

The old man nodded. "What else?"

"Some of the people lactate — quite a bit." Jim blushed a little at his own words. "Like you and me."

"That's tied to the blood group," the old man explained. "Type Os lactate." He shook his head feebly. "I didn't expect that."

Again the curious choice of wording. Jim continued. "You were the first one to get it, after your accident with the Titan sample return probe. It's some type of alien virus, and it's very communicable." Jim frowned. This was all common knowledge. "Everyone knew we got very lucky; the virus could have been deadly, and would have wiped out humanity."

"What do you think of having boobs?" the old man continued his strange conversation that seemed to dart from topic to topic.

Jim shrugged. "I never really thought about it. I mean, it was probably a shock for your generation, but I grew up this way, remember?"

The old man nodded. "I was a freak for a while. All the early cases were. Even with the anti-discrimination laws, it was hard." He sighed again. "I knew it would be, but I underestimated how bad it would be."

Jim's frown deepened. "Expected", "underestimated" — those words made it sound like some type of conspiracy. He looked, and he saw something in his father's eyes, a nervousness that he'd never seen before. "What?" he asked, knowing that his father was struggling to tell him something.

"You need to read my diary on my computer."

Jim's eyes widened. "Since when did you keep a diary?"

The old man smiled faintly. "Since before the whole thing started." His coughing spasm wracked his body with pain. "It's a hidden, triple-encrypted file. _If_ you want to know about the condition. The truth, not the way it's been reported."

Jim was starting to feel nervous. This sounded like some top-secret government program. He suddenly wasn't so sure he wanted to know what his father was saying.

"If you want, I'll give you the encryption keys. But once I do, you're going to have to keep the secret forever. You'll understand why once you read the diary." He looked up at his son. "Do you like being a B?" he asked simply.

Jim shrugged, the action of which caused his breasts to jiggle. "Yeah, I guess. I mean, it's got more benefits that being a flat."

"You know all the background?"

"Yeah," Jim said again. This was the second time his father had asked him; he wondered briefly if his father was completely conscious. "It's an alien virus."

The old man shook his head. "No, it isn't. It's manmade."

"What?" Jim's eyes nearly bulged from their sockets. "That's ... impossible!"

"No, it isn't," the old man insisted. "I made it."

"But ... why? And if it's true, why didn't you ever tell anyone?" Jim was staggered by his father's admission.

"It's in the diary. You got a pen to write down the keys?" Jim nodded, and the old man rattled off three long strings of alphanumeric characters, and then quoted a file location and name. "It's all in there."

"If it's manmade," Jim continued, his eyes wide with surprise, "then NASA got shut down ... for nothing!"

The old man nodded affirmatively. "I really didn't mean for that to happen. Once they thought it was alien, no-one wanted to take a chance on finding something deadlier." The old man sighed heavily. "If I hadn't done it and NASA hadn't been shut down, maybe they would have been able to deflect the Edinburgh meteor. Over twenty thousand people wouldn't have died." His voice trailed off, heavily burdened by guilt.

"I don't understand why, though."

"It's complicated. To start with, my mom once told me that she had hoped that I'd been a girl. Later, when I was in high school and college, I was considered a nerd, and I couldn't get any dates." He interrupted his talk to cough again. "I guess that made me wish I'd have been a girl. I got ... curious about boobs. I wondered what they were like." He paused to cough again. "I always felt like women had power; if they jiggled their boobs, guys would do anything for them."

"You never told me any of this."

The old man shook his head. "I've never told anyone. Not even counselors. But it was always there, in the back of my mind, haunting me, making me feel ... unfulfilled."

"You mean, you were gender dysphoric?" Jim asked cautiously.

The old man tried to laugh. "No. But I was overly curious about boobs. When I was in graduate school in biochemistry, I started thinking about why men couldn't have breasts. It _should_ be possible, I realized. Men have basic breast tissue, and given the right mix of hormones, they would grow and mature into real breasts." He paused to cough again. "But the downside would be infertility and loss of libido. I considered it, but only a bit. I even became somewhat of a self-styled expert on gynecomastia — male breast growth." He shook his head weakly. "That wasn't enough. It was rare, and male breasts weren't very big. There were too many downsides to any kind of breast growth."

"You're talking like you _wanted_ boobs!" Jim said, astonished at his father's words.

The old man nodded. "Yeah, I did. I always did. I was always curious, ever since I could remember."

"But ...?" Jim started to ask.

The old man shook his head. "Read the file — if you want to know more. But only if you are prepared to live knowing a dark secret you can never share with anyone else."

**********

Jim slid the key into the lock and opened the apartment door. Inside, it was dark, and faintly musty. Jim knew that his father had been in hospital and hospice care for a couple of months, so the apartment had been unoccupied, and not cleaned, for some time, except for the two times he'd been there to clean out some of the old 'junk'.
Inside, the apartment was nearly bare; except for the large boxes of trash waiting to be placed outside for the garbage collectors to pick up, and several boxes of goods that Jim was donating to a charity for the needy. Now, though, he was on a different mission. The laptop computer was exactly where he’d left it when he cleaned up the apartment. Beside the computer were a couple of what looked like sample vials encased in Lucite. Jim slid the crystalline mementos into his pocket, and hefted the laptop. He shook his head at how ancient — and clunky — the computer seemed. It had to weigh almost a pound! Such a massive and heavy computer was unheard of, except that his father was a throwback to an earlier time in technology, and wouldn't have tossed his functional laptop for a simple reason like style.

When he got back to his own apartment, Jim put the computer on his coffee table, and then poured himself a glass of iced tea. He sat down and powered on the computer, again amazed that it took almost ten seconds to boot. Such an old piece of technology belonged in a museum, he thought as he waited. While the computer was booting, he took a slip of paper from his wallet, unfolded it, and placed it on the table beside the computer.

Once the computer was ready, Jim began to navigate through the file system. The method was old-fashioned and, to Jim, quite clunky, and as he burrowed into the directories, he realized that what he was looking for was very well hidden. He felt a twinge of nervousness. He hesitated, and then opened the file.

Immediately, the system asked for a password. Jim looked at the paper, and copied the long meaningless string of characters into the input screen. He clicked to finish, and the screen almost immediately popped up asking for a second key string. Jim winced, and then typed in the second key that his father had given him.

Another dialog box popped up. This one had a very explicit warning. "If you are certain that you want to know the hidden story, enter the key. But be warned: it will change the way you think of me, and of history. Once you read the file, you will have to make a very serious decision about what to do with the data you are about to receive."

Jim gulped; he felt like his dad was warning him from beyond the grave that Jim didn't really want to see the data. But Jim's curiosity was piqued, and he _needed_ to know the truth. He'd been somewhat of a celebrity at school — the son of "Patient Zero" of the B change. Uneasily, he typed in the third key phrase, and clicked the "OK" button.

**********

** Entry 1 **

I've decided to keep a journal of the interesting things that happen. Someday, someone might find it interesting to augment my lab notes with my personal take on things. At least, I can always look back and remember. I was accepted into the doctoral program, working under Lachinsky. He's an arrogant ass, but he's one of the best. He's working on understanding breast cancer. I feel like it's a calling; I lost my grandmother to breast cancer, and my mom had it, though she survived. Besides, I've always been fascinated by breasts.

** Entry 2 **

I think we've found something important. It looks like there's a genetic trigger that is responsible for breast growth and maturation. If it holds true, we should be able to turn breast growth off completely, and shut down cancer growth.

** Entry 3 **

We've done lab tests on cell cultures, and the results look pretty conclusive; the factor we isolated really is the chemical switch to control breast growth. This is a major breakthrough. Lachinsky has me starting to write some more grant proposals to study the effect in mice. Eventually, he thinks we'll be working with a major pharma company to do human trials if the next grants work out as well as it looks. He's writing the first of what will be several papers.

** Entry 4 **

That bastard! Lachinsky cut me out of the papers and the grants, even though most of the work was mine! That son-of-a-bitch is probably going to get a Nobel Prize for what I helped him uncover — a way to completely eradicate breast cancer! The Dean of the Graduate College wouldn't intervene; he's enamored with the money that Lachinsky will bring, and is probably afraid that if he sides with me, Lachinsky will take his grants and go somewhere else. He actually warned me to not make waves, or I'd look like another disenchanted grad student who was trying to pile on to a distinguished professor's work, and I'd end up discrediting myself. I'm just a disposable, cheap, graduate laborer! Assholes!

** Entry 5 **

I got an offer from NASA for their bio-search probe group while I finish my dissertation. They're looking for indications of life in the solar system, and are planning some missions to do some in situ analysis and some sample returns. It's not what I wanted to do, but it sounds like a good career.

** Entry 6 **

The work on the bio-probes is boring in comparison to what I did with that ass-hat Lachinsky, but at least I get credit for my work. One nice perk of the job is that I get some independent lab time to do my own research. I'm still working on the breast growth genetics, and I've been trying to figure out what are the triggers that determine size and other attributes of female breasts. Maybe Lachinsky got a Nobel for controlling breast cancer, but if I can figure out how to control growth, then I could make a fortune helping women who want bigger boobs!

** Entry 7 **

I think I found the answer! It's a variation of the factor I found for ass-hat, but it's genetically expressed to signal start or stop to breast growth. Estrogen and progesterone turn it on, but once a certain number of cell divisions happen, the switch turns off. If I'm correct, then if I apply the factor, it will turn back on. The growth factor will enable, or re-enable, breast development. The key now is to find out how to control the ultimate size; while I like big breasts — like most guys — I doubt women would want boobs that grow and grow without stopping.

** Entry 8 **

We shipped the in situ lab experiments to JPL to integrate with the probes, and we're starting to work on the transport containers for the sample return missions. Some politicians are getting themselves in a tizzy over sample return; they've watched too many sci-fi movies and are worried about what the probes will bring back. So we have to take all the precautions we can. More boring work. And within the bio-containment precautions, we have to figure out how to analyze any returned samples. It's going to be a bitch of a job.

** Entry 9 **

Work slowed down a lot; I can only do a little bit at the government lab, even with my 'independent' research time. I've had to set up a lab at home, and it's not as well equipped. Still, I can make progress. It's just tricky getting samples into and out of work when I need better equipment. I cracked the other problem. I can tailor the factor to control the amount of growth — basically, extending the growth period of normal breast development without it becoming a runaway tumor. I suppose I could have applied an unlimited growth factor, and then used the Lachinsky protocol to stop growth at a given size, but I don't want to do _anything_ that touches ass-hat's work. It really was my work, but I don't want that prick to get any more credit for anything else I do!

** Entry 10 **

I had a rather interesting thought while I was reading a story on the Internet last night. I wonder if it would be possible to tailor the factor in such a way that it would react to any sex hormone. If it could be done, the factor would react to testosterone just like it was estrogen and progesterone, and men would grow breasts. Interesting thought experiment. I'll have to see what I can come up with in the lab.

** Entry 11 **

This political bullshit about the sample return missions is getting frustrating. The odds against any organism being bio-compatible with terrestrial life is so small as to be ridiculous, but we have to act like we're dealing with Smallpox or Ebola! They have the money, though, so we have to jump through our asses to get more funding. Feels just like getting grants in grad school — only I don't have to deal with the ass-clown Lachinsky. With luck, one of the sample return missions will land on his head and end his arrogance once and for all.

** Entry 12 **

I think I solved the other problem. Now I need a way to test it. Working with lab animals is tough — only human females have continuously present breasts. In the animal kingdom, once a female stops lactating, their breasts go away. So I can't test things with male animals to see if I got it right.

** Entry 13 **

I think I found a solution to testing, but it's really skating on thin ice ethically. Rio is a center for transgendered surgery, and from what I've read on the Internet, most of them have to resort to augmentation to get reasonable boobs. If my results pan out, and all the cell culture tests I've done look like it should, then any male-to-female transgender could grow real — and large — breasts. In fact, anyone who has estrogen or testosterone in their bloodstream could grow real boobs — and that literally means anyone.

** Entry 14 **

I've arranged a trip to Rio, to work with a doctor who specializes in M2F transgender surgery and hormone therapy. Dr. Melo doesn't know exactly what I've got; I told him it's a new hormone enhancer that could help the patient grow larger breasts — and even before the reassignment surgery. The doctor knows this is highly experimental, and because of the way he practices, I'm pretty sure that he'll keep his mouth shut. He's got a volunteer lined up. The patient is on anti-androgen drugs, and is taking estrogen, so we'll see if the therapy works in the presence of estrogen. It's a first step - if I don't kill the patient.

** Entry 15 **

It's been a boring few months. More trips to DC to testify in front of Congress about our sample return missions, and more correspondence with Dr. Melo in Rio. The patient is doing remarkably well; he's up to a C-cup and still growing, whereas Dr. Melo indicated that his conventional patients usually top out at a B-cup, depending on age at which they start. He wants to do more, but I had to warn him that this is highly experimental and I'm working to license it through a pharma company. It was all lies, but I can't let this get out.

** Entry 16 **

I've been wondering about treating myself with the growth factor. I know it's weird, but I've always been fascinated by women with big breasts, and in a way, envious. If I wouldn't be a freak, I'd probably go through with it, but being the only guy with big boobs would be way too weird. Too bad more guys don't have boobs, so I wouldn't be unusual.

** Entry 17 **

Dr. Melo and I treated four more patients, and all are successful. Two were already on hormone therapy with estrogen, and two weren't, so they had only testosterone. The first patient stopped growing at a little over D-cup, and is very healthy and happy. I think this could really be turned into a breast growth product to replace silicone augmentation. The market is too small, though, for the investment a pharma company would have to make to get it approved.

** Entry 18 **

I can't stop thinking about breasts. Doing the trials with Dr. Melo has my old curiosity running at full speed again. Dr. Melo gave me some small-dose female hormone — the conventional transgender hormone therapy, but without the testosterone blocker. I can get away with this — most fat guys, and a lot of old guys, have gynecomastia, so it's easily explained. They won't be that big, and because the dose is low and I don't have the androgen blocker, I won't end up infertile. I have noticed that my nipples are growing some, and they're a lot more sensitive. Some days I hate myself for doing this, but it's like an addiction; I can't stop taking the pills.

** Entry 19 **

I was watching an old sci-fi movie last night, "The Andromeda Strain", and I had the odd thought that, instead of a life-threatening organism, if a probe returned something that had my growth factor in it, I wouldn't be an oddball. I had a vivid dream in which most guys had big boobs, and it was nothing unusual. Too bad it was only a dream.

** Entry 20 **

Work continues on the bio-lab. The politicians want us to move the lab to the high desert, just in case, but the work was already done in Pasadena, and the California delegation is a little too strong and too protective of jobs. Logic isn't on their side, but with politicians, when is it? They want the lab, and the jobs, in their districts, so if we do find evidence of life, they can be on the stage at the press conferences. I hate politics.

** Entry 21 **

I was talking with Dr. Chu in his recombinant DNA lab today, and I had a horrifying thought. What if I could engineer an organism that produced my growth factor? I lie awake at night often, cursing my obsession with boobs. Why am I so fascinated by them to the point that I want boobs? Fortunately, there are way too many obstacles to create a virus that would spread the factor, but it makes me nervous to know that I'm actually thinking about those problems.

** Entry 22 **

I started trying to tackle some of the problems after a couple of nights at a strip club. Like usual, I was fascinated by the girls with big boobs, and actually jealous of how they could uses their boobs to have guys wrapped around their little fingers. They seemed to love it. I couldn't help but wonder, and as I lay awake at night, my brain started attacking the issues. They seemed pretty formidable, but in reality, they aren't. First, it needs a carrier. That's easy — a virus is perfect. Second, the virus has to produce the growth factor in sufficient quantities to be taken up by the nascent breast tissue to have effect. Third, the virus needs to be highly contagious. Fourth, to avoid being locked up or executed as a terrorist, the carrier needs to be something that isn't obviously terrestrial, but is still biocompatible. The first three are relatively easy. The fourth one is tough. I've started running simulations on my home PC — it takes forever compared to a supercomputer, but it won't leave any trace of what I'm doing.

** Entry 23 **

God, I can't believe what I'm doing! I'm racing the clock, too. The sample return mission is due back on Earth in just over five months. I've reworked the growth factor into a protein-like structure, and I've got a virus that will express that protein on its surface and as part of its reproduction. I've got a test subject in Rio again, with Dr. Melo. He thinks it's still the old compound, but I'm going to infect the volunteer with a non-communicable virus that carries the factor.

** Entry 24 **

The virus works; before the body clears the infection, enough of the protein factor is produced to be taken up by the breast tissue. Now to sequence an alien-looking virus carrier. There are times I want to quit, but I can't. It's like an obsession now. I can't stop taking the hormone pills Dr. Melo gave me, and I can't stop working on this virus. I've tried, but this whole thing is controlling me. I have some uncontrollable compulsion to have breasts. I have to finish it.

** Entry 25 **

I got the alien virus synthesized. It took a lot of time; I had to make and document some fake viral protein samples so we could verify our bio search tests. While I was doing those runs, I engineered a virus that matches what I need it to do. I had to work very late to get a chance to smuggle the sample from Chu's lab to mine, and then erase that run and substitute data from earlier runs. Everything looks pretty clean; I don't think there are any tracks.

** Entry 262 **

I got an e-mail from Dr. Melo — the subjects are doing as well as the previous tests, perhaps even better. Dr. Melo was wondering how things are going with the trials — he wants to be a part of this and sees it as a way to get rich. To keep him from getting suspicious, I'm feeding him bits and pieces of the work from the original factor. The new, viral protein factor is so distinct that it won't be recognized as the same.

** Entry 27 **

I hit a snag today, and I don't have time to undo it. In one simulation, it showed that the breast growth factor is inhibited by — of all things — the Rh factor in blood. So it looks like anyone who's Rh negative can get the factor, but Rh positive can't. It won't be a universal change. In a way, that's encouraging, because it doesn't alter all of humanity. Still, breast growth will be unusual enough that it may get negative attention. I was trying to avoid that. Too bad it wasn't based on anti-A and anti-B factors; forty percent of the world is O blood type and would be affected instead of fifteen percent with the Rh factor.

** Entry 28 **

We got to the recovery site today. The first bio-probe re-enters the atmosphere tomorrow morning. We're all a bit nervous, so my tattered nerves don't stand out. No one has any idea of what I'd intended to do. I'm getting cold feet now; I'm not sure I can go through with it.

** Entry 29 **

I did it. I'm not particularly proud of myself right now, though. I'm a carrier, a Typhoid Mary for something that will change humanity. While we were waiting, I went into a porta-potty and injected myself with the virus. It's happening now; there's no turning back. I got rid of the syringe and needle — finding it in one spot in a large salt flat is worse than looking for a needle in a haystack. It's one in billions odds that anyone would ever find it, and then tie it to me and the condition. We recovered the vehicle and put it into its sealed transport container for the trip back to the lab. Too late for second thoughts.

** Entry 30 **

We've been working with the sample containers in glove boxes, and transporting them between the various test instruments in sealed outer containers. We're all suited and with positive-pressure respirators. Someone doesn't want to take a chance. I plan to stage an accident with one of the carriers today; I'll 'accidentally' knocked it off a corner of my lab bench, and break it in a way that cuts my isolation suit. I know I'll be put in lockdown isolation, and the whole lab will be locked down, but I’m committed, so I need to go through with it. The funny thing is, everyone else on the team was already exposed on the trip home, so all the precautions are worthless. It's in the wild, and spreading, and no-one knows. It's apt to be a while before I can write any more.

** Entry 31 **

They kept me isolated for almost two months, while they ran tests on me every time I turned around. I must have lost two pints of blood to all the tests. I'm not dead, and there are no changes except that the doctor noticed the gynecomastia. I've noticed that my nipples are larger and a bit more sensitive. I expected this. It took longer than I expected for them to isolate the virus, and then the protein factor. No one knows what it does, except that it's unlike anything anyone has ever seen. It's highly communicable, but the experts became convinced that it's not dangerous — after a lot of time and study. They ran a lot of computer analyses and did a lot of molecular testing with the virus and the factor; that's why I was in isolation for so long. Two other members of the team must be Rh negative; they're showing some breast growth. Breida was large to start, so it's not so evident on her, but Stu is a small, wiry guy, and his gynecomastia is quite noticeable — more than mine.

** Entry 32 **

The team was released today. Some symptoms are starting to show up in the general public — very mild fever and joint achiness, and then, for the Rh negative people, gynecomastia. I'm already a full B-cup, and so is Stu. We're being closely tracked, but most experts have given up on controlling the spread and are now trying to find an anti-viral agent that stops it. None of the conventional anti-viral drugs works, because its structure is too radically different. The bad news is that NASA and all other international space agencies were shut down. The vote in the UN was unanimous, and while it wasn't binding, Congress decided to play along. All of NASA is gone. I feel bad for my colleagues. Two probes for Saturn and Jupiter's moons have already been crashed. The international manned expedition which was on its way to Mars has been changed and will now do a Mars flyby and return with no landing. Everyone is paranoid that the next alien virus will be fatal.

** Entry 33 **

Some women are starting to show more growth now, too. It didn't take too long for the doctors to figure out that it's related to the Rh factor. Guys who are Rh negative are starting to panic — they know that if they catch the virus, they're going to end up with boobs. I've been spending a lot of time at the Centers for Disease Control labs being tested, and discussing the work we did on the probes and my infection.

** Entry 34 **

I was surprised to find that my T-shirt was wet tonight — over my nipples. My nipples have been feeling a little puffy, too, kind of like the sensation you get from the fluid buildup in a bruise, but not as painful. Just noticeable. When I squeezed around the nipples today, I was shocked when I got a whitish discharge.

** Entry 35 **

The doctor confirmed that I'm lactating. I'm producing more milk every day, and it's a bit painful at times. When I leak, my shirt gets two very wet spots. Now I know how women feel when they leak in public. I have to squeeze my boobs to get the pressure and pain down, but then they fill up again. It seems that the more I do that, the more milk I'm getting. The nurse at the doctor's office told me that women just stop, and endure the discomfort for a few days, and milk stops. I tried that. I was in agony after two days, and by the end of the third day, I was leaking all over. This is a total surprise.

** Entry 36 **

Those of us who were exposed first and are furthest along in our development, and the doctors at the lab, spent a few days with the National Institute of Health. They confirmed what our researchers knew — breast growth is happening in about 15 percent of the population. It's way too late to stop this; an estimate is that, by now, over five percent of the world's population has been exposed. Because the virus is alien, no-one has found anything that will slow it down or stop it. The most promising avenue is trying to mimic some of the structures from the Rh factor, but that could be very dangerous to people who are Rh negative.

** Entry 37 **

Apparently, the president is quite pissed. He's O negative — which means that he's going to grow boobs. It turns out that several of us who were in the first wave are lactating. The doctors are trying to find the common factor, because it's not universal. Like many of the guys, I'm wearing a bra now — I have to — because my tits are now C-cup, and I think they're still growing. The news media is starting to call this the B-condition; B for boob. Bra manufacturers are going to make out like bandits, especially in larger sizes. Their market just grew by one sixth.

** Entry 38 **

My friend Sandy suggested that I start pumping my milk to keep my boobs from getting too sore. A couple of the guys who were in the first wave started pumping some time ago. I had Sandy buy me a pump; I didn't realize that the good ones were that expensive! It feels weird, but it's working, and it does take away the pressure. Sandy helped me learn how to use the pump. She says it's actually kind of erotic to watch me pump. That kind of freaked me out; I wonder if she's a lesbian. The problem is, the more I pump, the more milk I seem to be producing. When I slow down pumping, it gets too sore. So I'm feeling like Elsie the cow at a milking machine. I have to pump every three and a half to four hours. Everything the doctors have suggested for stopping lactation doesn't work. This side effect is one that I don't exactly like.

** Entry 39 **

Sandy suggested that I get a nursing bra, and it makes pumping easier. The companies that make breast pumps are really doing well, as are bra makers. No woman with the B-condition is smaller than D-cup, and guys are averaging D. It seems that it's about 3 cup sizes bigger than a person would have naturally developed. I've seen a lot of guys shopping for very loose clothing, and a few in the lingerie departments of stores, getting bras. I hadn't realized how necessary a bra was; these things are heavy, and it gets very uncomfortable having them bounce around freely.

** Entry 40 **

I've been working at the lab lately to understand the lactation side-effect. They haven't shut us completely down; we're now part of the National Institute of Health, but our focus is now on the virus and its effects. I don't have to hide this work like I did my earlier work. I can't figure out why only O blood types are lactating. I know that the protein factor made the breast tissue more sensitive to any type of hormone, but it shouldn't have caused lactation. That's a completely different hormone. But somehow, people who have O blood type now have boobs which think they're living in a flood of prolactin, and responding accordingly. The trick is to find out which substance or hormone in the body is acting like prolactin to the breast tissue.

** Entry 41 **

Sandy and I have been dating quite a bit. It's hard for her — I'm someone notorious as the first patient to get the B-condition. At times, I wonder if she isn't a little jealous, because I've got bigger breasts than she does. Like just about everyone, she knows her blood type; she's A-negative, so she won't lactate, but she's grown some. I quit trying to hide my boobs. Very few guys do anymore. It doesn't work, because they're so big, and everyone knows that a man with baggy clothing and hunched over is a B. That's what the popular nickname is for the condition — B. I don't like it, but I didn't get a vote.

** Entry 42 **

I'm not sure if Sandy thinks my breasts are exciting or repulsive, at least for intimacy. She seems to be okay with them, and damn if she can't make me really excited when she plays, but at times, I get the feeling that she doesn't really like my having them. I try to make sure I focus on her breasts when we're intimate, but she might feel like I've got the big boobs and I'm getting all the attention. I really don't think she likes it when I'm on top and then suddenly start leaking all over her. On the other hand, I know she likes to suck and nurse on them, and I really like that. After she nurses a bit, she always grins and asks for a cookie. I'm seriously thinking about asking her to marry me.

** Entry 43 **

Sandy accepted my proposal. She was wondering if she was good enough for me. There's a lot of discrimination, and some very hard feelings, because women are starting to show a preference for B-guys. One talk show discussed it, and the women said they liked having a guy who was as sensitive up top as they were, and that it gave them something else for foreplay. Congress is working on laws to stop discrimination against Bs, but it's not going to end overnight, especially with the guys who use their boobs to tomcat around and attract girls. There have been some ugly incidents where Bs have suffered rape at the hands of normal guys, or 'flats' as they're starting to be called. There have been some beatings and a couple of killings, too. I guess I can understand why flats are jealous; they used to be considered normal and have an equal chance, but now, if women prefer the Bs, they don't have a chance. There are a couple of groups all worked up about racial purity and species purity that have caused some serious trouble, too. It's a lot scarier than I could have predicted.

** Entry 44 **

A woman from the La Leche League called me the other day. They know I'm a bit of a celebrity, since I was Patient Zero, and they want me to be a spokesperson for their new milk exchanges. To tell the truth, I hadn't even thought about a milk exchange. I've been dumping all my milk. The woman did point out how much healthier it is, and how many women can't produce enough milk. When she got done, I really felt ashamed that I'd been wasting mine. I promised to think it over. I'm not sure, but Sandy thinks it could be a nice change. It's not like breast milk is suddenly in short supply; if anything, there's now an excess.

** Entry 45 **

One of the big formula companies paid me a visit yesterday, and they were none-too-subtle in hinting that I shouldn't help the La Leche League. I understand where they're coming from — their profits depend on women choosing not to nurse. So I'm a threat — me and other O-negative Bs like me. They made an 'offer' that sounded like something out of "The Godfather". I promised I'd think it over, but they didn't know that I'd recorded the whole conversation. Sandy was pissed at their audacity. The whole thing made up my mind for me. I made another appointment with the La Leche League tomorrow.

** Entry 46 **

I'm an official spokesperson, and I starred in a couple of commercials. The LLL even used some of the recording in the commercial — it was my way of sticking my thumb in the eye of the formula companies for threatening me. In the commercial, I specifically mentioned the health benefits and that some people don't like milk exchanges. I touted the benefits of the LLL certified exchanges. Sandy was very pleased. We'll see how the formula companies like it, and whether it makes any difference.

** Entry 47 **

Sandy and I got married; it was a wonderful ceremony. It was funny; until a couple of years ago, I never thought I'd wear a nice white blouse with darts to accommodate large breasts under a tailored tuxedo jacket, also with darts, at my wedding.

** Entry 48 **

Today was the second happiest day of my life. Sandy had our little boy, James Clark. He's a beautiful baby. We already know he's going to be a B, and will be wet, too; he's O negative like his dad. Since both Sandy and I are Rh negative, it was all but certain he'd be a B. Sandy's milk hasn't come in yet; she's getting colostrum, but I got a turn with Jimmy at my breast — and I have to say that I loved it! Sandy said that the good thing about our situation is that I can take turns on the midnight feedings, too!

** Entry 49 **

Jimmy isn't nursing much anymore, so I'm donating my milk. Sandy suggested that I get a job as a wet-nurse. Lots of the lactating Bs are doing it; they say it makes them feel like their condition is at least helping a baby. And the LLL is pushing me to do that. I don't know — I've got a good job in their bio-labs, trying to crack the code on the O blood type effect. If we can do that, they'll be able to create treatments that will help women all over the world. If I were a wet-nurse, it would cut into my research time.

** Entry 502 **

The LLL said I can do both — they can arrange me to wet-nurse at their daycare facility, so I won't have to take too much time from my research. I'm going to sign up for it. Who'd have thought that I'd be a wet nurse? Certainly not me. But it should be rewarding, and I hope it's fun. Sandy is pregnant again, too. All in all, I'm happy.

** Entry 51 **

Today was one of the worst days of my life! A small asteroid (or large meteor) exploded in the air above Edinburgh. Preliminary reports are that over twenty thousand people are dead. It's all my fault, too! If I hadn't released the virus, NASA and other agencies would have been still flying, and might have finished the detection and interception system they were working on. If that had happened, Edinburgh wouldn't have been hit. Because of me, the program ended, and twenty-thousand people lost their lives! How am I supposed to live with that? I can picture the horrific moment when the meteor literally exploded in the air, leveling hundreds and thousands of buildings and homes. I feel like confessing my 'crime' and living with the consequences; at least that way, I'd know that future events like that might be prevented. But my family would be harassed to the ends of the earth. I guess I brought this on myself, and I'll have to bear the guilt myself, too.

** Entry 52 **

I've decided to stop this journal. There's not much more to be said. Society is adapting, if slowly, and my jobs are doing well. I do have a cure for the condition, but since I've never admitted to causing it, I can't really release it since I'm not part of that research team. Besides, I think society is better off now.

Son — if you're reading this, it's because I'm dead and I gave you the keys. Right now, you have an enormous responsibility. There are several things you can do. In my sock drawer, there's a vial that has a variant that will affect the Rh positive men as well. You can release it, and everyone will have breasts. That will end the discrimination and hatred. You can also take this laptop to the authorities, and show them the data. In it, there's a cure for the condition. But if you do that, you're going to be the son of a bioterrorist, and possibly a pariah for the rest of your life. I'll be reviled and hated, and as my son, you might catch some of that. But the world could get back to what it was before. Maybe, NASA can be reborn, and we can reach out to the stars again. The third thing you can do is delete this file and forget you ever read it. Life will go on as it now is. The choice is yours.

**********

Jim closed the file. His eyes were wide with surprise at what he'd read. His father had been a bioterrorist, and had caused the B-condition. And why? All because he'd been envious of women's breasts? "Dammit, dad," he cursed to no-one, "why? And why did you tell me?" He sat in the chair, staring at the last entry in the file, stunned by what he'd read and uncertain of what he should do. He didn't know if he should be outraged at what his father had done, or, because he was a B and got some benefits, grateful. He'd known Bs all his life. He knew that some women liked Bs more, and some didn't. For a long time, he debated with himself. Finally, shaking his head, he highlighted the file and pressed a key on the computer. The file - with the cure - vanished forever.

Society had adapted. Life went on. There was no point in dredging up facts that wouldn't do anyone any good. Jim stood, walked in the bedroom and found the vial of virus that would make the condition universal. He stared at it for many long seconds before he pitched it into the garbage can. Then he picked up the computer, and walked out of the apartment.

***** Epilogue *****

Out of curiosity, Jim was perusing the computer, to make sure that there were no other traces of the file. He frowned as he came to another file that seemed hidden, and also displayed the curious behavior when he tried to open it. Jim frowned, and then pulled out the worn piece of paper from his wallet he'd kept when he opened the last file.

He tried the first key string, and the file prompted for the second. He entered that, and he got a prompt for a third string. This one didn't have the same warning as the original journal. Jim typed in the third key string.

As he read, Jim's eyes widened. A lot of the data was in jargon he didn't understand, but he did recognize that his father had been studying hermaphroditic organisms and their genetics. There were a lot of notes about the effects of sex hormones on the opposite-sex organs, and a note that seemed to scream 'Eureka'. Jim frowned, wondering what the data was trying to tell him.

As he continued to search the computer, he came across some Internet links. He opened them, and his brow furrowed. He was looking at sites his father had frequented, at stories that he'd read. A pattern slowly emerged; the stories were primarily from transgendered story sites, and the common theme was hermaphrodites, people with both sets of sex organs. Jim's jaw dropped, and his eyes widened, as he realized that his father had also obsessed about hermaphroditism, just like he had about breasts. He went back to the second journal, and he paled as he reread the file. Just as his father had created an artificial virus and protein to create male breasts, his notes pointed towards the similar possibility of creating a fully-functional hermaphroditic human.

Adrenaline surged as panic overtook Jim. He'd just finished cleaning out his father's apartment, and a lot of junk had been simply tossed as being worthless. What if ...? Would his father have created and stored such a virus? He knew - now - that his dad was certainly smart enough to have done so.

As quickly as he could, he went back to the charity center where he'd donated his father's items. He explained, rather lamely, that there was some family heirloom that he'd accidentally given away. To his shock, the clerk at the donation center informed him that the previous day's goods had already gone to a sorting center — one of nine such centers.

Feeling hopeless, Jim never-the-less got the addresses and drove to the first center. When he explained his dilemma, he was shown into the sorting room. Dismay struck him; the sorting center was a very large warehouse filled to overflowing with various and sundry goods and clothing. He sighed, and then began to wander among the piles of goods and sorting tables, looking in vain for his father's possessions. To make matters worse, he realized, he didn't know what he was looking for, only that it was something which could contain a virus. It was worse, he realized, than trying to find a needle in a haystack.

**********

The man dumped the box of used clothing and household goods onto the sorting table at the charity thrift store. Working quickly but thoroughly, he separated things into piles; some to discard as unusable, some to wash, and some goods that could be sold as-is.

As he sorted through the pile, he found a case of men's toiletries. He turned it upside down to dump its contents on the table, and as he did so, a small bottle fell out. It had a strange label that the guy didn't recognize. Curious as to the contents, the man picked it up and twisted the top open. Thinking it was cologne, he took a sniff of the bottle. The man cringed at the acrid smell that assaulted his nose and stung his eyes. He quickly recapped the bottle and tossed it into the discard pile. No-one wanted a half bottle of ruined cologne.

The man didn't know what he'd opened. He was a new "Patient Zero", infected with an organism that would once more wreak havoc on humanity. Unlike the first change, this one would take a couple of generations to completely manifest itself. He wouldn't know anything was wrong, apart from allergies or a slight cold, until his first child was born two years hence. By then, it was too late — far too late. He'd opened Pandora's Box.