"Road Runner, if he catches you you're through.” Road Runner Theme - Barbara Cameron

Disclaimer: This is fiction. All the characters and events portrayed here are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely accidental and unintentional. I as the author reserves all rights. A big thanks goes out to Cathy who proofed and generally made this readable. Any remaining errors, or mistakes are mine! Enjoy!

Cue music: “I learned a thing or two from ol' Charlie don't you know.” Copperhead Road — Steve Earl

Once we reached 300 mph, I let us cruise. Unless the Smokies managed to stop us, we were only a hour away from our turn off. Now, I wasn’t exactly sure how the hell I was going to slip away from 3 or 4 States worth of Highway Patrolmen that wanted to nail my hide to the barn.

I didn't exactly have a choice here. The whole setup in the Superbird was programmed to only initiate at given velocities. It was all part of Gloria’s harebrained safety protocols, just in case we lost control of the experiment. At the Bonneville Salt Flats that wouldn't have proved a problem. Yeah, if something went wrong, and the AI or nanobots went out of control, our crash and burn should keep the rest of the world safe. Of course, we would be dead, but the rewards, if we succeeded, would be all of our dreams coming true.

My companion was simply giving me an amused look.

My eyes were on the HUD. A window marked Phase 3 blinked with a red wait indicator. The first parts of my friend’s plan had succeeded. Phase One: the creation of an honest to god Artificial Intelligence. My companion was the visual representative that mankind was no longer alone in the universe.

Phase Two: the development and evolution of a workable nanobot swarm, programmed to make improvements in the old Plymouth so she could reach the speeds that, even now, she was hurtling down the highway at 300 mph.

Suddenly I caught my breath, as the indicator blinked green, and the progress bar started tracking towards completion.

“Well, aren’t you going to finish telling me what happened to Gloria?” she asked.

I swallowed, “Not all that much more to tell. As you know, from hacking the police database, Gloria’s place was busted into again, but this time they took the computers in his workshop. Still the cops insisted it wasn’t anything other than a common robbery.

“We knew differently, but because of Gloria’s precautions they hadn't gotten a damn thing about you, the Queen Bee. Then they broke in that last time, and I guess they were desperate.”

My voice broke as I tried not to cry. “This time they made sure she was home. They killed her.”

Rather than her eyes losing focus, this time her head just cocked to one side as if she was listening to something.

“CJ,” She said, “You’ll want to hear this. I just intercepted this message.”

The speakers came to life. “That’s correct sergeant. Move all of our people out the way, but continue to keep the on-ramps closed. Homeland Security is running the show now. Don’t be surprised if you see military aircraft. I don’t have a clue how that damn thing got past the spikes, or over the roadblock, but it is about to be blown straight to hell!”

I took a deep breath, “Shit! I didn’t plan on that.”

Her phantom hand touched mine. “I’m tracking them now. A pair of F-16s carrying some serious ordinance. If one doesn’t work they are prepared to keep trying until something does.”

“Ain’t that special. Break the speed limit by a measly 230 miles a hour, run a few roadblocks and look what happens.” I cursed shakily.

Calmly she pointed out. “You are breaking the law.” Then, thinking about it, she amended, “Breaking a lot of laws.”

Remembering how poorly law enforcement had treated the death of my friend, I spat out. “Frakk ’em if they can’t take a joke.

She said, “I think I can juggle things so, by the time they are able to make their runs, we will be at our turn off.”

I swallowed again, trying not to show my apprehension. “That might make a good distraction for us to leave the road and get to our destination. That is, if they don’t just blow us to smithereens.”

Smiling she winked. “Oh I think we have a few more surprises for our boys in blue. However, we will have to step it up to make this work.

My eyes flashed back to the progress bar for Phase 3. “Are we going to have enough time for …”

Her curt nod cut me off. “Yes.” She paused, “I’ve read the description for Phase 3. Are you sure you want to go ahead with this?”

My fear went away, replaced by a cold calmness. The icy certainty that had made me begin all of this to start with. “Just make sure I can deal with anyone who might want to keep me from visiting Gloria’s ex-partner.” Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly, “Let‘s do it!”

Cue music: “And happiness I've known proves that it's right, because you're mine, I walk the line.” I Walk the Line — Johnny Cash

It got to the point where I was taking yet another shower a day. One to clean up from work, and another to wash off the grease and dirt from helping Gloria with the Superbird. There is a story there too. I came over to help one day and found her, rather than Gary. The problem was, she really wasn’t dressed for the part. I think what happened was she had not intended coming out to the workshop dressed, but had gotten one of her ideas that she just had to write down before it got away.

Without batting an eye I tossed her a pair of coveralls, and got to work. Startled, she caught them, but then just gave me a smile and climbed into them.

If I thought my genius friend was firing on all cylinders before, I found out differently. Working en femme, she was always so many steps ahead of me, I could not even count ’em.

Even my writing took off, although I had far less time to devote to it than before. I got another book ready for publishing, and Gloria convinced me to find an agent to try and sell this one to one of the big boys with national distribution.

The car was coming together so fast now it was like watching a time lapse video. Gloria, trying to make the restoration look authentic and hide what we were really up to, came with some really ingenious stuff. Somehow she had found an old, original Fuzzbuster radar detector.

Of course it did not work, but she hid a state of art Heads Up Display within the vintage, oversized black-box. HUDs were designed for fighter jet’s cockpits to project all the information a pilot needed to know on the windshield, without making him look down at his instruments. That way his attention would stay where it needed to be, seeing what was going on around him.

Gloria, knowing we would need to be monitoring upteenmillion different things when we made our high speed experimental run, set the HUD projection system to act like a multi-function screen, displaying all the computer information right onto the windshield. She had even set up the Roadrunner emblem horn cover like a laptop’s touch-pad, so the driver could access information without her hands moving from the wheel.

The next cute gadget she added had me nearly rolling on the floor when she showed.

“Gloria, that’s an 8-track! Where did you ever find one of those still working?”

She gave a grin. “I didn’t. There are tons of these broken things. I took the casings and did a bit refurnishing.”

I asked, “Just how much refurnishing?”

She showed me the dashboard she had set on her workbench. “I might be breaking the rules as far as the Authenticity Restoration Nazi’s are concerned, but I am keeping to the spirit. Everything, including even the HUD projector, looks just like equipment that is period for our Lady.”

“The 8-track player is the input device for the Quantum computer hidden inside the dash. Each tape cartridge is concealing a 2 Terabyte digital hard drive. Since I had to replace all my computer equipment anyway, my buying a lot of high tech stuff won’t seem out the ordinary.”

“You want tunes? We can put every piece of music we both have on one these babies and still have room left over!” She laughed.

Now that almost lead to our first real fight. I might be a little confused about that whole boy/girl thing, but I did like my country music. Johnny Cash, Jerry Reed, and even a bit of Rockabilly was what I listened too. Gloria on the other hand was a Rock’nRoll girl. Beach Boys, Jan and Dean, and other 60’s Oldies.

That night over dinner, we hashed it out. Her hard drive from hell could damn near hold several music stores worth of tunes. Taking turns, we decided what would make the perfect soundtrack for our harebrained experiment. She got to pick first, deciding on “Little Old Lady from Pasadena.”

Laughing, I raised the stakes by picking the theme to the old Roadrunner cartoon.

Gloria got into the fun of it with the Beach Boys “Fun, Fun, Fun!”

We got into another tiff, when I suggested, “Copperhead Road” by Steve Earl. She bought up that it certainly wasn’t period music. I got the giggles asking, if we were going go all period, what were we going to be wearing?

That got her thinking again, but we batted around a lot of good music and laughed at each other’s silliness. However we did end up with a very unusual collection of tunes, and admitted we were both really excited to get the Plymouth to Bonneville.

The next day, Gloria was all eager to show me something she had come up with on her computer. It looked like some kind of racing suit

She hit a key, and the animation showed the suit becoming slimmer and adjusting to, presumably, the wearer, changing dimensions in a matter of seconds. “So what do you think?” She asked.

I scratched my balding head. “I don’t know. You’re really intending we test the transforming abilities of the Queen Bee out in Bonneville? I knew we were going to try and kick-start the AI and test out the nano-swarm. However, refitting a car with nanobots is a whole lot different than rebuilding a human.

“You’re essentially tearing your subject apart and putting them back together. Not only does that sound more than a little painful, but we have no guarantee that the Queen Bee will be able to put Humpty Dumpy back together again. Look how long it took for the Human Genome to be mapped. Done wrong, if it doesn’t kill us, we could be crippled for life with any number of real serious conditions.”

Gloria listened as I laid out my concerns, but replied, “You have some good points, but here we go. First, this will be the 3rd and last Phase of the experiment. Unlike the others, this one will go though multiple simulations to make sure it can actually work. Only then will the program be accessible for use, and then only if we give our express permission.”

“Next, if the AI evolves as fast as I expect, working out our new bodies’ designs and the reconstruction procedure will be child’s play. That is why the suits.

“I started with a Super-Fabric brand motorcycle suit, made of d3o impact material, but that did not meet our needs. I altered it so it would be more comfortable and flexible for driving, plus I included intakes, so if the nanobots need more raw materials for the transformation, it would be available. There is also plumbing hookups, like jet pilots use, given we might be stuck in these things for a while.”

“The only real problem is that these are the one thing I can’t do out here in the workshop. I had to place a custom order with Super-Fabric. However, nothing in the design should tell anyone what we’re up to. In fact the people at Super-Fabric liked its so much, they’re talking about a deal to make the racing suit a part of their product line up.”

Standing there, realizing that each of our impossible dreams not only could come true, but would become reality in only a few months, had me trembling like a small child.

My friend put a hand on my shoulder. “I know CJ. I know. Only a little longer,” she said, smiling.

When our suits arrived, I saw immediately that they were going to be the one thing that wasn't shooting for authenticity. Instead of the coverall fireproof ones I was familiar with from NASCAR, these had more in common with those hi-tech swimsuits that made such a difference at the last Olympic Games.

While not as formfitting as those, they were damn snug! That was because they had to shrink with us as, hopefully, we changed from bear-like middle aged males with hairy backs into svelte sleek feminine ideals.

Unable to resist the temptation, instead of the regular slew of car product patches such suits usually sported, my friend had substituted some of her own. Each one had a Sci-fi theme or some tongue in cheek meaning, only fans like us would get. My favorite was the CAT Fusion Power patch from that “Aliens” movie although I saw Gloria had made sure a Brown-Coat triangle from “Serenity” had a place of honor.

She knew that, if everything went to hell in a hand-basket, they would be pulling us from the wreckage. That is why the suits used state of the art, impact resisting materials like D3o. Like the nifty armor out of the Sci-fi we both loved, it was soft and pliable unless a sudden blow struck it. Then it would stiffen absorbing the energy while protecting the wearer. With the fireproofing these suits gave us our best chance to survive that worse case scenario.

Being prototypes, she insisted we test out everything, from the fit, to those damn plumbing connections. It was beyond me how she got all the functions in one suit, but however she did it, it certainly impressed the people at Super-Fabric.

Too much Talcum powder later, I got my fat butt into the damn thing. I quickly learned an important safety tip. It wasn't just a good idea to get rid of all of that body hair first, it was a great one, because if you don't, Ouch!

Once I finally, with a great struggle, pulled it on, Gloria got me good. With all the golly gee whiz stuff, they made serviceable, G-suits. They compressed various areas of the body to help keep the wearer conscious while they were being thrown about hard enough to knock you out cold. That also meant that, using the same controls, she could mold a body's contours even without the use of nanos.

When that damn thing, tightened around me, I yipped like I'd been bit. The damn waist shrunk like I was wearing a corset, and I had enough man boobs to be pushed up into convincing cleavage.

Grasping for breath, I wheezed, “Gloria! Ack! Help!”

When she burst out laughing, I figured out what was going on. For a while now she'd been gently pushing me to show her my feminine alter-ego. I steadfastly refused, because I looked liked a man in dress. Since that was definitely not what I wanted to see, I didn't go there.

As soon as I managed to get the hang of breathing, with this thing squeezing my waist, I conceded that, with it on, I had a reasonably feminine figure, if a bit more matronly than I cared for. Of course the suit was bulky enough that it was impractical to wear anything nice over it, but this was a taste of things to come.

I was about to jokingly say something, when I looked into her eyes. We had both come so far in dealing with our unique differences. What I saw told me that, despite the progress we'd made, there were still things unsaid between us.

My suit suddenly released me, as my tears fell. We huddled there together, not daring to speak.

“We are a pair of silly bitches aren't we?” I whispered.

Gloria nodded, “Yes, we are. Let's go finish our Lady.”

From that moment on we both worked like the Devil himself was snapping at our heels. After countless hours of attention to every last detail, due to the simple fact that our very lives and future hung in the balance, Gloria finally announced that we were finished.

She made one of her, ever rarer, appearances as Gary, to show off our Lady to the neighbors. We made a party of it, as I fired up that 426 Hemi. Unlike most big motors, she purred at idle like the biggest, most satisfied cat you ever heard.

I think that was the happiest day either one of us had in a very long time.

The next day at work, I put in for vacation for our trip to Bonneville.

I was the one to find her. She had been duct taped to a chair. Despite knowing otherwise, I had to see if she was still alive. My heart tore itself apart as I touched her cooling flesh.

I wept.

How much time passed I don’t know, but I regained my senses enough to call the police. I could not remove her from the chair without disrupting evidence and making myself a suspect. I know I wasn't thinking clearly, but if I had known what the result was of her being found dressed, I would've done it anyways.

Despite clear signs she had been tortured to death, the police refused to take my friend’s death seriously. Right there in front of me, a few of them made rude jokes, and talked about how this brilliant person deserved such a horrible death, because of her clothes.

That’s when I finally caught on that, somewhere, the police had to be covering this up. I had no idea who in the department was doing it, but this was just too much of a coincidence. Not one, but two different robberies, and now a murder, and still they ignored it.

Maybe I’m paranoid, but that was too damn much for me.

Only a handful showed up at the funeral, but even though I had not ever seen a picture of him, I knew the man who showed up in the dark SUV with the bodyguards.

In my heart, I named him; betrayer, thief, murderer.

We didn't speak, but the alertness of his guards told me he knew exactly what I thought of him.

Gloria, in her careful way, had prepared for the chance that, if somehow our experiment went amiss, and she was killed, all she had left went to me in her will. I wasn’t surprised to find that, somehow, no copy of it was to be found. Everything was to go to, you guessed it, the partner.

Forlorn, and lost beyond words, I sat by the grill where my friend and I had shared so many good times. I watched the bastard’s goons go though my friend’s house searching for her secrets, but never once checked the car.

I watched them drive away, but knew that sooner or later that would change. They would be back, and a gift that Gloria had meant, not just for me, but for the whole world, would be lost to that evil, conniving sonofabitch.

Sometime during that lonely night’s vigil, I made my decision. This was not over. Looking at the time, I saw that it was late enough that the super slab should be mostly empty. Picking up a crowbar from my toolbox, I snapped the lock they had placed on the workshop garage door. I knew they had reset the alarm, but I was going to be gone in five minutes.

Excited about our trip, Gloria had given me my own set of keys to the Superbird, and packed away our suits in the trunk. Tossing the suit in the passenger seat, I fired up our Lady.

A few minutes later I was at the corner gas station filling up the tank. Preparing to have the Roadrunner shipped to Bonneville, we had kept the tank nearly empty. Taking the suit with me, I changed in the restroom.

The clerk gave a startled look as I stepped out in the sleek black suit that reshaped my aging body making me seem decades younger. I was on my way to meet destiny.

Standing next to the car, I saw the flashing lights of our corrupt police, flying down the road towards the triggered alarm. Too damn bad they hadn’t responded so quickly when Gloria had needed them.

I touched the Roadrunner emblem on the tall fin as I finished closing the gas cap. “What do you say? Let’s get some answers.”

Wheeling the Superbird onto the road I headed for the on ramp. I pushed in the 8-track tape. Soon the “Little Old Lady From Pasadena” sang from the speakers. On cue, as if I planned it, the “Roadrunner Theme” took its place as I merged the Plymouth onto the interstate.

Hitting the gas, the 426 Hemi growled, laying down rubber as we rocketed forward.

Cue music: “I looked in my mirror, a red light was blinkin'. The cops was after my Hot Rod Lincoln!” Hot Rod Lincoln — Charlie Ryan

“You can open your eyes now,” she told me.

“Are you finished?” I asked.

“Yes, all done.” She said back, with a smile in her voice.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but it had not hurt at all. Looking down I saw mounds where there had been none, and a flat smoothness where middle age spread and testosterone had their way for far too long.

The Plymouth’s evolved seat and harness adjusted for the loss of mass, and my far different contours. My hands on the steering wheel were slimmer and looked so damn elegant, even in the gloves of my suit.

I had not even noticed how my voice had changed, but a glance at the HUD told me, in no uncertain terms, that now was not the time for more exploration.

Bracketed icons showed the two jets hunting us. I felt us surge forward even faster to get to where we could disappear when they attacked. 325, jumped to 350 mph as we blew by mile markers like they were telephone poles.

I had no idea what was now powering this constantly evolving Superbird Roadrunner, but I doubted it was the same 426 Hemi it had begin with when I left the house. For all I knew we had a Mr. Fusion under the hood now, since my companion had even redesigned me.

The HUD’s predictive graphs showed our expected point of collision, and it was coming up fast.

“So,” she asked, “I haven't a father and a mother, but two fathers, who were also my mothers?”

That kinda made my head hurt, thinking about it. “More like a mother all along, that everyone wanted to believe was a father, but if you want to consider me one of your parents, I would be honored.”

Her bright smile, so like Gloria’s, answered. “I do. So Mom, why do I get the feeling that there is more to Mother Gloria‘s death than what you‘re saying?”

Sighing, I replied, while keeping an eye on the HUD display and the two jets, “It’s just too much of a coincidence that the local cops ignored everything that happened. It almost has to be a cover up and, despite my admitted paranoia, I’m convinced that Gloria’s ex-partner, and Paradigmatic, are involved. Additionally, She did say her ex-partner was making deals with some government agency about Black Programs. Who knows what any of them might do if desperate enough.

“The most damning piece of evidence is her will. I know she changed it and sent it to her lawyer. Now, no trace of it can be found, and I hold the only copy. The proof of the betrayal is, the will that was found left everything to her ex-partner.” I said, unable to keep my emotions in check.

“Maybe I’m wrong, but the answers, one way or the other, will be found there, at Paradigmatic.” I said, bracing myself for the fighter jet’s attack run.

“We will get our answers, Mom. I guess I should tell you my name now, all things considered. Do you think Mother Gloria would mind if I took her mother’s name of Emma?” She asked.

I replied with a tight throat, “I think she would have liked that.”

Her voice, all business, announced, “Entering attack range in 10.
Nine
Eight
Seven
Six
Five
Four
Three
Two
One
Zero, we have weapons’ release from lead aircraft. Stand by for impact!”

A brilliant flash caused the windshield to reflexively darken as we hit the brakes. Like a porcupine flexing its spines, all the Plymouth's speed brake panels snapped out, trying to slow and control our insane maneuver.

It was now that I had a chance to see some of how Emma had improved me. First, I stayed aware of what was happening instead of being overwhelmed with all that going on in those scant, split seconds. Our tires were each independently steerable now, and all 4 grabbed for traction, like a cat's claws on a linoleum floor.

While before, the aero-control surfaces of the Superbird had allowed us to briefly soar, now they forced us down onto the road surface, fighting the forces that threatened to spin us out of control.

Those same forces slammed me brutally against my racing harness. The G-Forces should have left me unable to lift an arm, but instead I guided our Plymouth down the path Emma had outlined on the HUD, like a spacecraft burning in for re-entry.

Letting out a shaky breath, it was over.

She had found a hole. We had left the interstate though, but wouldn't we be followed? I wondered. Checking the rear and exterior views, I got my answer.

Rising high into the dawn sky, a huge mushroom cloud of fire grew behind us.

Knowing that, while Homeland Security might not be the sharpest spoons in the drawer, but surely they would not be dropping nukes on speeders. That left only one person.

“Emma!” I asked, “What did you do?”

She grinned, “We needed everyone chasing us to be busy looking elsewhere. I set off a small, Electro-Magnetic-Pulse, and superheated a little air, along with infusing some of our onboard fuel with nano-particles for extra energy, pumping up the explosive power of that missile they fired at us. Think of a super efficient, fuel-air explosion, with some garnishing.

“Believing it’s a nuke, exactly like you did, they won’t be looking anywhere at all, but at that big black spot back there.” Emma explained.

Plaintively I replied, “EMP is a product of a nuclear reaction. Please tell me you didn’t set off a nuke back there.”

Crossing her arms, she glared at me. “Maybe you need a nuclear device for EMP. I don’t.”

Sighing, I decided it was me who was overreacting. “It’s alright, but you scared me. I might be Looney Toons nuts with this stunt, but I have no intentions of harming anyone.”

Thinking about it, I amended my words. “With the possible exception of a certain suit at Paradigmatic.” I said, pointing at the blinking destination on the HUD.

Then I blinked again, doing a double take. Our external view showed a far different looking car from the Superbird I had climbed into with a few hours ago. It resembled one of those supercars by Lamborghini, or Maserati, rather than a vintage American muscle car.

Winking, she held up a finger to her lips. “Sssh, we’re in disguise.”

I couldn’t help myself. Giggling I asked, “Are we hunting rabbits?”

Still playful, but a glint of steel touched her eyes, “No, We’re hunting weasels.”

My own humor left me. The horrible events of the past few weeks washed over me, followed by practical fatalism. “I guess we’ll need to hole up somewhere for that Weasel to come out of his hole. It is still on the early side of the morning.”

Emma shook her head. “Nope. I took care of that. Tapping into the phone system, I sent him a false message to get him to the lab early. His cell phone GPS indicated he was there before I set off my little surprise. This is the perfect time to take care of this, once and for all. Local communications are out and all law enforcement personnel are busy with our diversion.

I nodded, “Let’s do this.”

After our thundering run down the super slab, the 40mph down the drive to Paradigmatic seemed like we were crawling. I could see, on our approach, that their security was well aware of events up the road. They were alert and moderately prepared, keeping to the motto of ‘just in case.’ However, unknown to them, their boss was about to reap the whirlwind.

Four guards were at the gatehouse, and all wore tactical vests as well as carrying short, ugly, high-capacity sub-machine guns.

As we slowly pulled up to the gate, Emma gestured at my new chest, making a zipping motion. Despite my stress levels, that got a laugh from me. All of this was way outside of my usual comfort zone. I am a peaceable person at heart. However the Furies in my heart pushed me onward, hungry for Justice.

Coldly, I unzipped the racing suit that, along with everything else, had been altered by Emma, the nano-swarm’s Queen Bee. A shiver went though me as I revealed feminine cleavage. Not silicon forms, or some other illusion, but flesh and blood, me.

Stopping at the gate, three of the men covered the one who motioned us to roll the window down. Remembering an actress in an cross-country racing movie who used her assets to her advantage, I took a deep breath, arching my back.

The look on his face was priceless, but he still managed to say, “This is an restricted area ma’am.”

Forcing myself to smile, I wondered what to do next. “Excuse me, but I think we’re lost. Something has the highway all blocked off, and we got detoured this way. This GPS thingie doesn’t seem to be working either. Can you direct me to the best way to get to Charlotte?” I asked.

The other three guards crowded in to get a better look at the two honeys in the fast looking car. That was their undoing, as a handful of ball lightning flashed pass me.

Armored vests or not, they were all down, doing the Taser shuffle. Shocked, I looked back at Emma who had what looked to be a timing gun in her hand.

A standard piece of the mechanics tool kit, the gun is used to adjust an engine’s timing so the spark will ignite the air-fuel mixture in the combustion chamber, during the compression stroke. It is not used to zap guys like something out of Star Trek!

She hopped lithely out of her open window, just like in that old TV show, sliding across the hood in her hurry to open the gate. Hitting the controls, she jumped back in before it had finished opening.

I gunned the engine, and we were off. Once again our path was laid out on the HUD. However I had some questions!

“What the hell was that?” I asked screeching around a turn.

Holding up the gun, she smiled. “Oh this is just something I thought you would need. It has three settings; a stun, a knock them out, and lastly my favorite, a blow holes in things.”

Braking hard to a stop in front of our objective, I exclaimed, “You know that’s not what I’m talking about! Since when do you have a solid body! I thought you were a hologram.”

She tossed me the gun, “I was, but I got better! You run down the Weasel, and I’ll check out that sealed off computer network. If there is anything incriminating it should be there.”

Seeing me hesitate, she assured me, “Don’t worry, your suit is proof against anything they’re toting, and believe me Mom, you can kick butt and take names.”

Slipping out of the Plymouth, I found myself gliding with a smooth grace. The glass front to the building, revealed a woman it took me a double-take to recognize.

My racing suit looked liked something from a spy movie rather than a racetrack. But it was the unmistakable feminine figure it cut that made me catch my breath. Emma had made sure my new athletic and trim figure had no lack of curves.

Resisting the urge to whip off my helmet to see the rest of my makeover, I made myself get back to business. With all these guys running around with guns, it was no time to remove any form of protection.

The pistol’s controls were simple. Reaching the doors, I found that they were locked, with the security grate down. Pushing the red button, I pulled the trigger. The ball lightning blew a hole in it as big as a basketball with a crackle, Boom!

Holding it down, another crack Boom, had a slagged opening wide enough for the new, slender me to slip though. A line of ragged dents exploded near me, but faster than I could think, I had the orange button down and a handful of ball lightning flying back at the guards, shooting at me from behind the wide information desk in the lobby.

Like something from the Matrix, I saw a red circle about each person shooting at me. As soon as I had the gun lined up on one it turned green. Firing at each, in an eye blink they were twitching and unconscious.

More of Emma’s improvements I guessed. A glance at a fire evacuation diagram at the desk showed me where to go. At this time in the morning most of the workers had yet to make it in, as well as my little speed run had slowed up any early birds.

However, the executive offices were clearly marked, and I ran lightly down the carpeted hallway. I wondered how many shots my blaster had left in it as I skittered around a corner. Maybe it wasn't elegant, but it certainly wasn't clumsy or random because it sure did the job.

A second later a hammer blow spun me in a circle that I let carry me behind a receptionist desk. Quicksilver fast, I rolled to my feet and zapped the imposing sized guy that shot me.

As he twitched on the floor, I touched my wound, but found my suit and me unharmed. I might have a bruise there, but no holes. Gingerly, I checked the door, receiving a salvo of bullets from within. Okie Dokie, red button it is, as I blew the thick, wooden door to toothpicks.

Getting used to this new improved me, I green buttoned the two remaining bodyguards. Easily rolling back to my feet, I walked to the source of my pain.

His name was everywhere. The numerous pictures and awards of his brag wall all proclaimed his greatness. Behind his huge expensive desk, he cowered. Even now I could not bring myself to say his name.

“Who are you? What do you want?” He demanded, trying to recover his bluster.

Keeping my finger away from the red button, I asked, “Why did you have Gary killed?”

Like a snake, his eyes instantly veiled themselves. “I don’t know what you’re talking about? He was killed in a botched robbery. My old partner was my best friend. We only parted due to a difference of opinion over business.”

I could see his eyes darting over me, trying to identify me.

Grimly, I asked the air, “Emma, can you verify that claim.”

“No I can’t,” her voice spoke behind me as she stepped into the room. In one hand she carried a laptop, as she strutted past the ruined door.

“Unfortunately, your paranoia was dead on the money. Without Gary as the driving force behind their research and development, Paradigmatic couldn’t deliver on their promises. He had these fellows break into Gary’s house and bug it. When Gary built that improved 3D copier to restore that car, Mr. Executive thought our friend had made a breakthrough. Desperate, because of his deal with the Devil, he ordered another burglary, but found nothing.

“The high-tech purchases Gary made to replace his stolen computers, were the final straw.” She pointed a finger at the fearful, sweating man.

“You can’t know that!” The Weasel claimed. “That’s all conjecture, and will never hold up in court.”

Emma patted the laptop. “I disagree. It is all here. I found Gary’s designs in your system, as well as other material that he hid his data signatures within. The dates in those link Paradigmatic with the earlier thefts.”

Trying to bluff, and with a nasty smile, he replied, “This facility is doing research for the Department of Defense. Breaking in here is a federal crime, and you can’t have broken into our network because it has the best computer security available. You’re trying to make me give a confession under duress.”

I sighed, my thumb involuntarily moving towards that red button. “Are you sure?” I asked her.

Emma nodded, “I even found the message that they,” she said pointing at the unconscious goons,” sent Gary’s lawyer, blackmailing him into losing the revised will. Seems like they don’t trust Mr. Executive here either. Can’t say I blame them.”

Then softy she touched me on my shoulder. “Don’t shoot, Mom. We have other options open to us.” She said making me remember just what she could do.

Hoarsely I asked, “What do you suggest?”

His fear returned three fold as he saw my eyes.

She spoke, “I can’t say. You’re the one who began this. Just don’t kill him. Surely you can think of something else.

I gave an ugly laugh. I was a transgender fiction writer. Some of the stuff I had read over the years would curl most people’s hair. What I could come up with in my current state of mind scared even me.

The Weasel cringed, “Don’t kill me! I have money.”

Ignoring him, I pictured a two dollar crack whore, living from trick to trick. Looking around I imagined all those men around me, who I was told was directly responsible for Gloria’s death, with their dignity, bodies and very identity ripped from them.

Within my very soul, the fires of my rage burned hotter and purer than Hell itself. Somehow I turned from taking that final step into damnation. I had sworn I would never wish the torment I had felt every single day of my life on any living creature, never dreaming that one day I would be able to do just that.

I whispered drained of energy, “Are you familiar with Obsessive/Compulsive Disorder?”

Emma nodded, “Yes. I can replicate its effect.”

“Then,” I pronounced their sentence, “Let them have a compulsion to tell the truth. Every last nasty detail of all the wrongs they have done. More, let it take over their lives to tell all who will listen. They will provide the very evidence needed to prove their own damning words.

“If they have any loved ones, then they’ll have a chance to try and make things right for them before the end comes for them. I doubt it will take long. People like the ones they have sold their souls to, like keeping their secrets.”

Emma bowed her head, “A hard ruling, but their justice will come from their own mouths.”

Then her lips quirked in a grim smile. “So it is said, so it is done!”

I did not see what happened next, for I walked out. It was done. I had my justice, but my friend still laid in the cold earth, dead. Passing the unconscious bodies, I walked to the car, unsurprised to see that Emma had somehow beaten me out.

I slipped into the passengers seat, exhausted in mind and soul. As we drove away, my sorrow overcame me, and my tears fell like rain.

One year later.

I stood by her grave, in a dress of emerald green. My heels were black, and complimented the rest of my outfit. I'd taken hours getting ready. My appearance had to be flawless, for her.

Softy I began speaking, “Gloria, I can’t tell you how much I still miss you, and the void where you should be hurts so damn much. But I’m not here to tell you that. I’m sure you know. You always were the smart one.

“I want to tell you about our daughter, Emma, and of how it seems each day she has something new to show me. We have done what we can to stop the damage we humans have done to the Earth.”

Laughing I explained how our daughter had Gloria’s sense of humor, “The minx started leaving those old, Kilroy was here, ‘calling cards’ behind wherever we fixed something. Additionally, she has been driving some of your old fellow eggheads nuts leaving them notes educating them on where they went wrong. Not just the established ones either. Some of the world’s brightest youngsters are on her email list too.”

“She says that handing knowledge to them on a silver platter won’t help them learn. Besides, they may come up with something different even better.”

“Me? I’ve gone back to school under a new identity. With Emma’s improvements to yours truly, the course work is a breeze, even with her constant complaints the textbooks are all wrong. However, I’m earning all the credentials I need to reach for my dreams of flying beyond planet Earth to the stars.”

I gave a bitter laugh, “My harebrained stunt of charging down the road got billed as a failed terrorist attack. An attempt to nuke DC, or so they claimed, although they never explained just what happened to the radiation that should have been there. Just plain, ordinary, bad science and ass-covering.”

“As for Paradigmatic, it got bought out after the former owner committed suicide. As far as I can tell, all those bodyguards went the same way. I asked Emma about that, but she just shook her head, no. Like I told him, the people he dealt with like their secrets.”

I paused, “Gloria I don’t know if I did right or not. I did what I did, so now I have to live with it.”

“That old car of yours, that started all of this, is sitting in a museum, where I donated it. Of course Emma took all the special stuff out of it, but it is there, restored to better than brand new, just like you wanted.”

No more words would come. “Good bye my friend. I love and miss you with all my heart.”

Turning, I wiped my tears, as Emma put her arms around my shoulders. Slowly, we made our way out of that garden of stones, as the sun rose on a new day.

Author's postscript: The genesis of this story has its roots way back in the 70's when I first began telling tales to myself to ease my discomfort with wish fulfillment.

First let me say I do not advocate breaking the law or driving recklessly. In those days, the speed limit had just been lowered to a mandatory 55 mph, and a great many people weren't very happy with the change. Songs about it from “I can't drive 55” to “Convoy” told about folks' discontent. Movies such as “Smokey and the Bandit” were very popular because of it.

This was the era in which I grew up. It was inevitably that such would make their way into my stories. This one has changed and refined itself over time, but this is my very first TG story written long ago in a land that is far different now.

I have changed from that confused youngster dreaming of barreling down the highway at insane velocities towards an unknown destiny. It was to have been my entry into the Summer Romance Contest, but once again Fate intervened, with the passing of our dear pet half Rottie-Lab Delta. It took time but I did finish even if a little late. In the doing, it took on a much sadder tone than I intended as well as a lot longer.

In the end it is up to you the reader to decide just what kind of story this is. Lost love?, revenge?, or just wish fulfillment?

Grover
(Jacqui with an i)