Synopsis:

Synopsis: Lt. Commander Brandon Anderson is grievously wounded during a special operation in the Iraqi desert. After two years of surgery and therapy, and facing a lifelong disability, he accepts an offer from Dr. Susan Covington to participate in an ambitious test of the alien artifact he helped recover from the desert. The results are something neither anticipated in their wildest imaginings and Brandon embarks on a journey to discover the woman, and weapon, he has become.

Warning: This story contains no graphic sexual content but does have adult situations and language. There are also action scenes with graphic descriptions of violence and warfare.

Story:

Genomorph   Part 1 of 5

By Breanna Ramsey

Edited by Janet Nolan and Carla Winters

CHAPTER 1

Northwestern Iraq, near the Syrian Border, March 2003

The night was moonless. The stars were obscured by a heavy overcast, blanketing the bleak landscape with total darkness. A lone sentry patrolled a section of the high chain link fence that encircled the compound in the desert, unaware as a laser dot appeared on the back of his skull. Even if it had been on his face, he could not have detected the dot, which was visible only with the aid of night vision gear. Then in the next second his head snapped forward as a silenced nine millimeter bullet impacted at the base of his skull. He dropped lifeless to the sand.

Lieutenant Commander Brandon Anderson, United States Navy SEALs, lowered his MP5SD and scanned the compound for any sign that the death of the sentry had been observed. All was quiet, and as he motioned the two SEALs with him forward, reports echoed in his ear from the rest of his platoon, informing him that the other sentries around the perimeter had been dispatched with equal efficiency.

The mission had begun more than thirty miles to the south at an altitude of twenty-seven thousand feet. The platoon of sixteen SEALs had performed a HAHO, High Altitude, High Opening, parachute insertion, and then covered the remaining two miles to the secret bunker on foot. After reaching the Iraqi compound, there had been an agonizingly slow crawl through the minefield around the perimeter fence to where the mission had begun in earnest with the neutralization of the perimeter patrols.

Now they were on the clock. It was only a matter of minutes before one of the patrols would be missed. Brandon motioned Petty Officer Greg Jennings forward. While Brandon and Seaman Andy Talbot maintained watch, Jennings quickly cut through the fence, then slipped through the opening. Once through Jennings swung his MP5SD forward and took up watch as Brandon and Talbot slipped through the opening.

Once through the fence Brandon dropped to a knee and waited for the rest of the platoon to report. Seconds later the radio informed him that all the elements of the platoon were in position.

"Go, go, go!" Brandon hissed into the throat mike, and he and his two companions moved forward.

Brandon took the lead, followed closely by Jennings and Talbot. They crossed the compound fast and low, reaching the front of the bunker and taking up positions around the small door next to a big roll-up door. They were joined seconds later by three more SEALs, led by Senior Chief Petty Officer Charlie Wright. When the rest of the platoon signaled that they were in position, Brandon turned to Jennings.

"Blow it," he ordered, and then spoke into his radio, "kill the lights."

Jennings stepped forward, placing a pre-assembled breaching charge over the locking mechanism and hinges of the door. The SEALs drew back, taking cover to the sides of the entry and Jennings triggered the charge. With a thunderous boom the door was blown inward, taking out the guard on the other side in the process. Simultaneously there was the sound of an explosion across the compound as the generator was taken out. The interior of the bunker was plunged into darkness. Brandon stepped through the doorway, sub-machinegun at the ready, followed closely by the other five SEALs.

The bunker was really just a large warehouse, with wooden pallets scattered everywhere. The pallets were stacked with shiny silver cases, apparently seamless, of various sizes, some quite large. Once through the door, the SEALs spread out and began picking their way forward to clear the bunker, scanning the darkened interior with the aid of the night vision gear they wore.

The first Iraqi soldier to round a pallet stacked high with the silver crates barely had time to register surprise before a three round burst from Brandon’s MP5SD ended his life. The integral silencer of the weapon reduced the report to a barely audible whisper. The six SEALs continued to search the interior.

Outside, the rest of the platoon moved in on the barracks and the security building. Most of the opposition that was awake had been neutralized silently already. The others stumbled from their racks to find themselves staring down the weapons of the SEAL platoon. Those few who did attempt to fight were neutralized easily, with only a brief exchange of fire.

It was over in minutes. The compound was secured and Brandon set his men out to watch the perimeter. He then called in the cargo aircraft that would take away whatever it was they had come to snatch.

As he waited for the planes to arrive, Brandon considered the mission they were on. He was not even supposed to be here. At thirty-eight, he was being promoted and should have already taken over as Commander of SEAL Team Eight, to which the platoon was attached. But the word had come down that this was a critical mission and he had been given the job. It was the price of being the best. Still Brandon had eagerly accepted; once he was team commander his days of field ops would be basically at an end.

Fifteen minutes later two C-130 cargo planes taxied down the compound’s runway and up to the bunker. This was the most dangerous part of the operation. As long as the aircraft were on the ground they were extremely vulnerable. Brandon fervently hoped that their intelligence brief had been right, that there were no Iraqi forces within striking distance of the facility. They were well out in front of the advancing American forces. Baghdad had not been taken yet and they were well to the northwest of there.

As soon as the ramps on the two aircraft were down, a pair of Humvee’s with mounted fifty caliber machine guns sped out of the cargo holds. They took up positions to lend fire support to the perimeter if necessary. After the hummers were clear, they were followed by a pair of heavy duty fork lifts that would be used to load the pallets from the bunker onto the aircraft.

"Time is of the essence Commander," A woman’s voice said from behind him. Brandon turned to face Dr. Susan Covington. He regarded scientist for a moment as the support team began moving into the bunker.

She was certainly very pretty, in her late thirties with long, dark brown hair and a nice figure. She was dressed like everyone else in desert pattern BDUs, but there was no mistaking that she was a woman. Brandon had considered the possibility of asking her out once the mission was over, but he felt fairly certain she would not accept.

She had also proven to be a first class pain in the ass. Brandon had not even wanted her to accompany them, as she was just one more noncombatant to worry about. But, he had been overruled by the brass. Still, he was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, and he sensed that she was not usually such an aggravation. Now was not the time to let this get on his nerves however.

"I’m aware of the situation Dr. Covington," Brandon replied tersely. "The crews are moving to load the aircraft as we speak."

"Perhaps some of your men could assist and speed things up," She suggested.

"My SEALs are maintaining the perimeter and that is where they will stay," Brandon told her. "We are out on a limb here, Doctor."

*****

Thirty miles to the west, just over the Syrian border, a convoy of trucks loaded with Iraqi troops, members of the elite Republican Guard, left their concealed positions and began speeding towards the east.

*****

"The last two loads are coming out now Skipper," Lieutenant Matt Branch, the platoon executive officer informed Brandon. Branch was slated to take over as platoon leader after Brandon moved up to Commander, SEAL Team Eight.

"Fine Matt, start pulling the perimeter in," Brandon told him. Branch jogged off to over see to the withdrawal of their men from the perimeter.

Brandon watched impatiently as the last pallets were being pulled from the bunker by the forklifts for transfer to the C-130s. It was taking far too long and they were in decidedly unfriendly territory. He had no clue as to what was in the containers, and did not really care. His job was to see that they were safely removed from Iraq and that was it. As one of the forklifts began moving the next to last pallet, he began to think they might actually get away clean.

"Skipper we got trouble incoming," Chief Wright said in a hushed tone as he stopped beside Brandon. "We just got word that a force of Iraqi troops crossed over from Syria over an hour ago, at least a reinforced company. They could be here anytime."

"Can it get any better than this?" Brandon asked rhetorically. "How the hell did they get into Syria in the first place? I thought the fly boys were blasting everything that tried to cross the border."

"Intel thinks they were pre-positioned and monitoring this place," Wright said.

"Typical," Brandon muttered. It was exactly the type of information that should have been included in his mission briefing and was not, probably because some intelligence weenie decided the SEALs did not have a need to know.

The last pallet was being pulled from the bunker and the fork lift began making its way towards the second cargo plane, even as the first C-130’s ramp began closing, its engines revving for take off. Maybe they would get lucky, Brandon thought as he turned to Susan.

"Time to go Doc, I want you on that plane now," Brandon said.

"Commander Anderson…" Susan began protesting, but Brandon cut her off, turning to Chief Wright.

"Chief, escort the Doctor to her seat," He ordered. "If she gives you any trouble, pick her up and carry her."

Chief Wright smiled politely and gestured towards the waiting cargo transport. With a glare at Brandon, Susan turned and allowed herself to be escorted on board. They had just reached the foot of the ramp when the night air was split by an explosion as a rocket propelled grenade slammed into the front of a one of the humvees, sending the vehicle somersaulting into the air. It landed with a crash and exploded again. Small arms fire immediately erupted from the darkness.

Flare rounds arced into the night sky and began bursting, illuminating the darkness, as the SEALs returned fire. The Iraqis were advancing in company strength or better, at least two hundred men against his sixteen SEALs.

Another RPG round streaked through the air, scoring a near miss on the second hummer. The gunner manning the fifty caliber machine gun mounted on the vehicle was shredded by shrapnel and the gun fell silent.

"See if you can get some air support in here pronto!" Brandon ordered his radioman, and then he sprinted for the humvee. Bullets ricocheted off the vehicle as he climbed aboard, pulling the body of the gunner from the cupola and then slipping into place.

Brandon opened fire, cutting into the advancing enemy as he barked orders over the radio and directed his SEALs. They were receiving a heavy volume of small arms fire from the advancing Iraqis. Though the SEALs volume of fire was smaller, it was more effective, and the Iraqi advance began to falter. That would change as soon as the platoon began to withdraw to the plane though, unless some kind of fire was maintained to support the withdrawal.

"Branch, pull squads three and four back to the Herk!" Brandon ordered his executive officer over the radio. "One and two hold for my order to fall back."

The C-130 was loaded and the sound of the engines turning over rumbled across the desert as the battle raged. Brandon gave the order to the remaining two squads to fall back as he reloaded the machinegun, and then began to pour fire from the fifty cal into the advancing Iraqis. The advance faltered once more and the enemy pulled back.

Squads one and two were falling back, nearly to the aircraft when more fire came from Brandon’s right. Another group of Iraqis was moving in to flank the withdrawing SEALs and placing the still vulnerable C-130 at risk. Brandon swiveled the fifty around and opened fire once more. Another RPG was fired at the hummer and again missed. Shrapnel hissed past Brandon as he continued to fire.

"Pull this thing back soldier!" Brandon shouted down to the driver, who was crouched behind the engine of the hummer, engaging the enemy with his M16. The soldier ceased fire, climbed in and tried to start the vehicle. There was a grinding, metallic sound as the starter tried to turn over.

"No go, sir, the motor is FUBAR!" The driver shouted from within the vehicle. "We gotta get outta here!"

"Go!" Brandon ordered as he continued to pour fire into the advancing Iraqis. The driver bailed out and headed for the C-130 at a run.

Brandon watched the driver run, and then stumble to the ground. His helmet came off revealing close cropped red hair. He picked himself up and resumed running, bounding up the ramp and into the C-130.

Brandon turned back and resumed firing. He made his decision. Without the fire from the fifty to delay the advancing enemy, the last C-130 would likely never make it off the ground.

The second group of Iraqis began to withdraw as the machinegun came up empty a second time. Brandon dropped into the hummer and hauled another box of ammunition up top. He had just snapped the receiver down and charged the weapon when gunfire erupted once again from the direction of the first group of Iraqis. He could hear Chief Wright shouting over the radio piece in his ear as he opened fire once more.

"Skipper we’re loaded! Get the hell out of there!" Wright’s voice pleaded over the radio.

"Get that aircraft off the ground Chief!" Brandon barked as he continued firing. "That is an order!"

Something hit him in the left side like a hammer blow, and Brandon felt a warm wetness spreading there. He knew he had caught at least one round but did not think it was too serious, his body armor taking the brunt of it. Stealing a quick glance over his shoulder he saw that the last of his SEALs were bounding up the ramp into the C-130, the lumbering aircraft already beginning to roll forward. Brandon resumed fire, the fifty caliber rounds exacting a terrible toll on the Iraqi troops. Once more the advance was halted. The fifty came up dry again and Brandon dropped down for another case of rounds.

He popped back up and quickly reloaded the machine gun. As he returned his attention to the advancing Iraqis, he saw the smoking trail of another RPG round streaking towards the hummer.

The explosion propelled him upward from the gun mount, his senses overwhelmed by light and heat and pain as his body tumbled through the air. He hit the ground hard and rolled across the rocky sand.

When he came to a stop he tried to lever himself up with his arms, but his right arm could not be made to work. He managed to push himself up with his left and looked down.

The lower half of his body was a smoking, bloody mess. His right leg was horribly mangled, nearly severed below the knee. His left was bloody and torn and blood was pouring from his pelvic area and groin.

"Oh shit!" He screamed as the pain grabbed him fully. The last thing he saw before passing out was a pair of Apache helicopters swooping overhead, chain guns blazing.

**Two Years Later**

Stairs were the worst, and there were a lot of them on the University of Florida campus. There were elevators in most of the buildings certainly, but despite his disability Brandon refused to take an elevator unless his destination was more than one floor up.

He should have died on the desert sand, but somehow, even as he lost consciousness his body had refused to give up. As his life’s blood had flowed he had fought to hang on to that last thread of life. Still, if there had not been a Dustoff chopper following on the heels of the gun ships, he would have died. They had stabilized him and gotten him to a field hospital.

The fact they had been able to save his legs was nothing short of a miracle; that’s what all the doctors said. But they could not make them completely whole again. He had lost a good portion of the inner thigh of his right leg, and most of the calf. His left leg had faired better, it could still support his weight unlike his right, which required a cane to provide support. His right arm had made a nearly full recovery, though he was still undergoing physical therapy to try and restore its full range of motion.

Perhaps to some the worst injury had been to his genitals, which were so badly mangled they had to be removed entirely. And if that had been the only injury Brandon would likely have been more upset over the loss of his ‘manhood’. But for Brandon, the loss of mobility was by far worse. He had been a powerful, athletic man and now he hobbled along, barely able to walk.

There had been months and months of reconstructive surgery and still more to come. Naturally the majority of the surgery had concentrated on his legs. He could deal with sitting down to urinate, but being confined to a wheelchair for a year had been sheer hell. The physical therapy was like torture at times. He often found himself thinking, after a grueling session, that they should put terror suspects in the care of a loving physical therapist. One or two sessions and they would give away their mothers.

Most of all he hated the feeling of helplessness; having to walk with a cane, the loss of mobility. He hated knowing that despite all the surgery and therapy in the world he would never run again.

He made his way from the VA hospital, across Sixteenth Street to the parking garage. Though he was only parked on the second level he broke his own rule and took the elevator; he was just too tired after today’s therapy session.

Waiting beside his Ford SporTrac was a familiar woman and Brandon found himself smiling. Despite their rather rocky introduction, he and Susan Covington had become good friends. She had visited him frequently in the hospital, and he knew she had harbored some guilt over his injuries. It was silly, and he had told her so. It could have happened on any one of the dozens of combat missions he had been part of; it was part of the job.

Susan smiled as she saw Brandon approaching, though he detected a bit of apprehension in her eyes. They embraced and she gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek.

"You’re looking well Brandon," She said.

"And you look fantastic as always," Brandon told her. He pushed aside the thoughts of what might have been and accepted what was.

"What brings you down from your secret mountain top lab?" He asked her, only half jokingly. Since the desert, he knew that Susan had been involved in something regarding the containers that had been flown out of Iraq, and he also knew not to ask what it was.

"Well, you do actually," She smiled. "I thought you might like a tour of the place."

Brandon stopped and stared at her, as a black Chevy Suburban pulled up next to them.

"Brandon you know the way these things work," she said, her face serious now. "I can’t tell you a lot. But I am offering you a chance to be whole again, to heal your injuries completely. If you aren’t interested, just tell me and I’ll get in the car and leave. If you want to know more, we get in together. But once you get in, there’s no turning back. And before you make a decision, I have to warn you that this is not without risks."

Brandon leaned heavily on his cane, and then smiled and gestured towards the waiting SUV.

"After you, Doctor Covington."

*****

The trip to the airport was made in relative silence, with only a few attempts at small talk. Brandon knew there was no point in asking questions; Susan would not talk about her offer in detail until they were in the air at least. At the airport they boarded a waiting Cessna Citation.

"Would you like a drink?" Susan offered once the twin engine jet was airborne.

"I would like you to tell me what is going on," Brandon answered. "But since you offer, I’ll take a beer if you have one."

"Of course" Susan smiled. She took two bottles of Killian’s from the cooler in the bar and twisted the tops off. She passed one to Brandon, then sat down and took a drink from her own.

"You expected me to accept," Brandon said, smiling as he took a swallow of Killian’s, his favorite.

"I suspected you might," Susan admitted. "Of course I like Killian’s too."

Brandon took another swig of the ale, and then waited for Susan to speak.

"It all goes back to that night in the desert. Did you ever wonder what was in those containers that were flown out that night?"

"Wasn’t my job," Brandon replied. "I was there to see that they, and you, were protected."

"Well they contained…artifacts," Susan continued, watching him closely. "Alien artifacts to be exact. Advanced technology left here by beings from another planet."

If Brandon was shocked he showed no sign, though in truth he was surprised by her statement. Regardless he continued to return her gaze, stone faced, as he waited for her to continue.

"You’re no fun at all," Susan complained and pouted slightly. "The majority of the artifacts turned out to be a machine, a medical device, capable of manipulating the genetics and cells of living things like, well like magic. I’m sure you’ve heard the saying that any sufficiently advanced technology would be indistinguishable from magic. This device certainly qualifies."

"And how does this apply to me?"

"We’re ready to begin advanced testing of the machine," Susan informed him. "I believe that with it we can repair the damage from your wounds, restore you completely as though you had never been injured."

"So what is the catch?" Brandon asked, knowing there had to be more to this offer than Susan had told him.

"There’s no catch," Susan replied. "The machine has been in testing for eight months and every test has been successful. We have re-grown limbs and even corrected birth defects in test animals. After the procedure, you’ll be put through a few weeks of tests and kept under observation, and then you’ll be free to get on with your life. We will ask you to come back once a year for a week of follow up testing."

"So why me?" Brandon asked her.

"Because we…because I owe you. Without what you did we wouldn’t have this technology," Susan told him. "Also, you fit the profile. Other than your wounds you are in excellent physical condition. You have already been cleared through numerous exhaustive security checks and you are still bound by the oath you took as a SEAL. Also you, well you…"

"I have no family to miss me if something goes wrong," Brandon finished for her. His parents had been killed during his second year at the Naval Academy in a home invasion. It had been a brutal, senseless crime and had influenced his decision to join the SEALs. He saw it as a way to get back at the evil in the world in a more direct manner than he could as a typical Naval officer.

"So where are we going?"

"Oh, a little test site in the Nevada desert."

"Not Area 51?" Brandon asked with a grin.

"Of course not!" Susan exclaimed, a look of mock disgust on her face. "Area 51 is strictly for tourists…we moved the real alien artifacts out of there several years ago."

They chatted for a while about their lives since they had last seen one another, and finally lapsed into silence for a long time. Brandon began staring out the window, his mind awash in thoughts. To be whole again, healthy and complete…he knew he would do anything for that.

"I would have said yes," Susan said a short time later. She had been watching Brandon for some time as he stared out the window.

"Yes, to what?"

"If you had asked me out," Susan explained. "I knew you wouldn’t though. I was pretty much a bitch that whole mission."

"Well you had a lot on your plate," Brandon said.

"I’ll tell you what," Susan suggested. "How about when this is over, we spend a few days in Vegas. See some shows; waste some money in the casinos."

"You have a date," Brandon smiled.

CHAPTER 2

As Susan had stated the facility was not at Area 51, rather it was west of there, located at the northern end of the Nevada Test Site. The Cessna landed at Nellis Air Force Base where they boarded a helicopter which took them the remaining ninety miles.

They landed at a helipad near a collection of small buildings and a hanger. Most of the buildings were run down and near collapse, and there were two rusted out trailers situated directly across from a relatively new looking structure. Susan took Brandon into this building where he was signed in and given a badge, then buzzed through the security check point. A short hallway led to an elevator, which they entered.

"The actual facility is a hundred feet underground," Susan explained as the elevator began its descent.

"So what happens now?" Brandon asked her.

"We have a few days worth of tests to run on you," Susan explained. "They’re all routine, to establish a record for comparison after the procedure is complete."

The elevator reached the bottom and opened onto a long corridor. The interior looked much like a hospital and Brandon noted there were even colored lines to guide one to specific areas. As Susan led him through the corridors, they passed a few people and Brandon noticed that he got a few curious looks, making him feel more and more like a lab rat.

"Forgive the stares," Susan apologized as they reached a secure door. "Everyone is excited about the test."

Susan slid her badge through the reader next to the door and it unlocked with a click.

The room beyond was the size of a small hangar and was dominated by the machine. Brandon suppressed an urge to laugh when he saw it. He had been expecting something futuristic and instead saw something out of a bad B-movie. There were gleaming silver conduits everywhere, and along the far wall were five large cylinders filled with a glowing purple plasma. At the center of the machine was a raised metal platform. Around the perimeter of this were eight tall columns topped by large silver spheres. In the center of the platform was a clear cylindrical chamber topped by large blue crystal about three feet in diameter. Blue energy arced between the spheres on the columns and into the crystal atop the chamber. Inside the chamber was a shiny metallic exam table.

Susan led him to a small control room to one side of the room. Inside was a large console, which in contrast to the machine itself looked very advanced. The entire surface was a glossy black screen with glowing touch pads and screens with scrolling information and displays. A young man was busy at the console as they entered the room.

"Brandon this is our resident computer genius Ryan Sanders."

Brandon shifted his cane to his left hand and shook hands with Ryan and then turned his attention to the console. He was surprised to see that it displayed information in English.

"I would have expected the controls to be in some alien language," Brandon said as he studied the console.

"Well they were when the machine initially was powered up," Ryan explained. "Shortly after that it interfaced with our computers and in a few hours had translated itself. A good thing too; we would still be stumped if we had to try and translate it ourselves."

"Lucky us" Brandon said. "So how does this work?"

"The subject lies on the table in the chamber and the machine runs an initial scan," Susan explained. "Once it has the scan data, we can enter the corrective procedure from the console. The entire process takes very little time, though we can’t be entirely sure as this will be our first major human trial."

"When do we start?" Brandon asked. Now that he was here he was anxious to get on with it.

"Brandon you understand there are no guarantees here?" Susan asked. "We are confident that the machine has the capability to repair the damage you have suffered but we can’t be absolutely certain."

"There are no guarantees with conventional treatments either," Brandon responded. "And in fact there’s not much more they can do. Let’s just get this started."

Over the next four days Brandon was poked, prodded and measured and then poked and prodded some more. They took blood and tissue samples and hooked him up to a variety of machines. There were CAT scans and MRIs and dozens of photographs taken. Some of the tests seemed to have no purpose he could ascertain at all, and he was reminded of a book he had read about the Mercury astronauts. They had endured torturous testing by doctors who found themselves with willing subjects and the freedom to subject them to whatever procedure they wanted to. He could hardly object considering what they were offering him.

During his free time, he read through several pages of material on the alien artifacts, and Susan answered his many questions regarding the machine.

They called the aliens The Forerunners, as information they had gleaned from studying the records stored in the databanks of the machine indicated that they were very much like mankind. It did not appear that they had actually brought intelligent life to Earth, but it was apparent that their genetic heritage had been mingled with man’s.

They had arrived on Earth around ten thousand years ago, a band of refugees fleeing their own planetary system, which had been ravaged by a long, bloody war. It was unclear also as to whether they had eventually died off or simply fully integrated themselves into human society. Whatever their fate had been, they had left behind caches of their technology, one of which had been found in the desert of Iraq shortly after the first Gulf conflict. The Iraqis had intended to spirit the artifacts away to Syria, which is why everything had been neatly packed for transport when Brandon and his SEALs had ‘liberated’ the artifacts.

As the day approached, Brandon felt a rising sense of excitement. Once the procedure was complete, and if it was successful, he would have to endure a week or so of additional testing, and then he would be free to resume his life. He was even told he could be returned to active duty if he so desired.

Whether he would choose that path he had not yet decided. For the moment, he tried not to get his hopes up. The life of disability and pain that he had thought lay before him might now be swept aside by a miracle. And if he could be restored to full health and mobility, the implications for accident victims and even those born with a disability, were staggering.

But as Susan told him numerous times, there were no guarantees. As he drifted off to sleep the night before the procedure, he knew he was willing to pay whatever price was necessary to be whole again.

CHAPTER 3

Brandon stepped naked into the crystal chamber under the watchful eyes of Susan and a dozen other scientists and technicians. Even after two years of having his emasculated genitals viewed by numerous medical professionals, both male and female, he still felt self conscious about it. The fact that there was no technical reason for his nudity - the machine would perform its function even if he were clothed - only added to his discomfort. The onlookers simply wanted to be able to observe and record the process, which of course meant there were a number of video cameras trained on him including one which would be focused tightly on his groin.

He was helped onto the table by two female nurses. Though it appeared to be made of shiny chrome, he found the table was warm against his skin and as he laid back the surface conformed to the shape of his body. His skin began to tingle as though a slight electric current was running through him. He had been fully briefed on what to expect, but was surprised as he felt a stirring in his groin, as though his partially reconstructed penis was becoming erect, or at least trying to.

"How do you feel Brandon?" He heard Susan’s voice ask over a loudspeaker.

"Good," Brandon replied, his voice sounding a bit dreamy "Very good in fact."

"The machine is sending a harmonic wave through your nervous system at the moment," Susan explained. "The wave is stimulating the production of endorphins in your brain to promote relaxation."

Susan saw Brandon nod slightly in response to her words. Already though he was nearly asleep, though she knew the machine would not knock him out but rather lower him into a state of complete relaxation and keep him there for the duration of the process, much like placing a patient under hypnosis.

"Start the scan, Ryan," Susan said, her voice almost a whisper. As Ryan touched a series of glowing squares on the control console she realized she was holding her breath. She was excited, not just because of the tremendous potential of the machine if this test worked, but because of this test. She owed Brandon Anderson her life, and she knew that even if the machine only worked this one time she would be content.

The great machine began to hum with power as the crystal chamber filled with the glowing purple plasma. A bright white beam of light flashed down from the crystal atop the chamber and bathed Brandon’s nude form. Seconds later a three dimensional image of him appeared in a small screen on the console. Next to this a graphic representation of Brandon’s genetic structure appeared, resembling a laser barcode with multi colored bars instead of simple black lines. One by one each of these bars flashed in quick succession as each gene was scanned. Susan knew that the roughly thirty thousand genes would be scanned in about fifteen minutes.

Inside the chamber Brandon felt as though he was immersed in warm water as the glowing purple gas surrounded him. The sense of euphoria he felt increased and his skin began to tingle pleasantly. He noted the sensations with a sense of calm detachment. There was no sensation of time passing; for all he knew he could have been in the chamber for minutes or hours.

A new text display appeared on the console, displaying the progress of the procedure.

Initial scan complete….physical debilities identified….

On the graphic image of Brandon’s body, areas were highlighted; his legs and groin, his abdominal region, even the fully healed bullet wound in his left side.

Initiating repair sequence….foreign objects in body….matter conversion underway…

It was working! The machine was converting the steel hardware that had been used to piece Brandon’s shattered legs together into living, healthy bone. As Susan and the assembled scientists watched, the muscles could be seen reforming, the scar tissue disappearing.

In the groin area, the penis was being rebuilt, tissue forming as if by magic. The testicles were replaced and pubic hair even began growing spontaneously.

After twenty minutes, Brandon’s body was completely restored. A cheer went up in the control room and around the chamber as the display announced success.

Physical debilities repaired…Human male subject restored to 100% capacity….

Her fellow scientists were congratulating Susan on the success of the procedure. Debilitating injuries had just become a thing of the past! The enormity of what had just happened struck Susan and she did not no whether to laugh hysterically or shed tears of joy, so she did both.

"Susan there’s something odd here," Ryan said, gesturing to a display on the console.

Targeted genetic sequences identified….Genomorph Protocol override initiated….

"What’s going on?" Susan wondered aloud as she read the words. Several of the bars in the genetic display were now flashing.

"What the hell is the Genomorph Protocol?" Ryan asked.

"Shut it down!" Susan ordered. Ryan pressed a touchpad but nothing happened. He stabbed the control several more times but there was no effect.

"The system is not responding," He stated, and then began frantically trying to override the system.

Subject chromosomal structure reassignment underway…..XY Chromosome conversion to XX Chromosome in progress….

"That’s not possible!" Susan gasped. As she watched the gene map she saw a pair representing Brandon’s XY chromosome changing, the Y chromosome altering until it matched the X.

"I don’t get it?" Ryan remarked. "XX…isn’t that…."

"Female," Susan confirmed. "It’s altering his male chromosome to female."

Gender reassignment initiated….scanning data banks for profile….

"We can pull the plug," Ryan suggested. "Sever the power feeds to the chamber…"

"That could kill him for all we know," Susan countered. "We have no choice but to let it run its course."

Error…Error….data banks out of date….scanning network connections…updating Genomorph Profile to reflect contemporary esthetics ….

"The computer is accessing the network and the web," Ryan informed Susan. He glanced down and saw a new display window on the console. It appeared that the computer was compiling data about the female appearance and sexuality. Susan was extremely uneasy as she saw what kind of sites it was scanning more and more frequently.

"Oh shit!" Ryan exclaimed as he put the pieces together. He pushed away from the console, rolling his chair across the floor of the control room to another, more conventional computer terminal. He began frantically tapping commands into the keyboard.

"What are you doing Ryan?" Susan asked.

"It’s accessing internet sites, trying to build a profile on what a woman should be, how she should behave," Ryan said, continuing to pound commands into the keyboard. "It’s accessing porn sites — there is some pretty freaky shit out there. I’m trying to limit access to some of the more extreme sites."

Susan looked out the control room window and stared with horror at Brandon. His body was already changing. His masculine appearance was becoming softer, feminine. His muscular frame was thinning, his waist, chest and shoulders narrowing and his hips widening. His face was softening and taking on a definite female appearance. All the while he stared serenely upward.

Despite his seeming oblivion, Brandon was aware that his body was changing. He could see his reflection in the crystal of the chamber and had felt a rush of exhilaration as his legs had become strong and muscular once more. He had seen his genitals reform.

But now he was changing still. There was no discomfort but he did feel the transformation as fat was redistributed and his musculature was altered. There was a decidedly odd sensation that bordered on painful as his skeletal structure was altered, but the endorphins flooding his brain kept the sensation at bay.

All the while he watched his reflection in the chamber’s crystal walls as it changed. Something was definitely not right. His hair was vanishing, being absorbed into his body, every part of his body. Even the hair on his head was vanishing. And his body seemed to be changing in other ways. He could feel his hips widening, even as he watched them expand and soften. His waist narrowed, and the hard edges of musculature became soft. His shape was becoming less and less masculine and far more…

…feminine.

"Su..Susan…" He struggled to speak, to call out and let them know something was wrong, but it was so hard to concentrate against the lethargy that seized his body and mind.

The strangest sensation came from his groin and abdomen. Over the course of the initial transformation, which took nearly thirty minutes, his just restored male genitals were transformed into a perfect female vagina.

"I think I did it," Ryan announced. "I was able to restrict access from our network to anything really extreme or fetish oriented."

Brandon’s body was now completely female, but it appeared bland, unfinished. The woman who now lay on the table was neither pretty nor ugly; she was not even average but more a blank slate waiting for details.

Reconstruction of Genomorph Profile complete….randomizing variables to construct unique subject profile….

Next to the graphic image of Brandon’s now female body a new display window opened. At first the image there was identical, but gradually it began to change. The figure became even more obviously feminine, almost exaggerated with a narrow waist and wide, round hips. The breasts swelled to form extremely large, round mounds, jutting firmly from the chest. The face went from plain to beautiful and sensuous with full lips and large, expressive eyes. Pale, curly blonde hair that hung down to the waist was added, and the overall frame of the figure shrunk in height. The final form displayed was of a beautiful young woman in her late teens or early twenties; it was hard to tell her precise age. The youthful, innocent face could easily pass for fifteen but the figure was that of a mature, sexual young woman.

Initiating final cosmetic transformation….

Brandon’s form once more began to alter, now conforming to match the image on the display. For another half hour the process continued until finally the young woman who lay on the table looked exactly like the computer generated image; and bore no resemblance at all to the man she had once been.

Gender transformation sequence complete….

XX Chromosome structure in place….body chemistry and hormone levels stabilizing at optimum levels…

Subject is now a Genomorph female….biological age seventeen years…

Height five feet, eight inches….weight one hundred thirty-five pounds….

Initiating motivational and behavioral matrix modifications….downloading core skill upgrades

Brandon’s body was once more bathed in white light, while a beam of intense blue light focused on her face. For the first time, she made a sound. It started out as a low moan which gradually built in intensity. It was not a moan of pain or discomfort but rather one of building pleasure.

Subject’s body optimized for physical and sexual performance….

Sex drive of subject increased….sexual orientation modified to dual gender acceptance…

Genetic structure modified to Genomorph Profile …

"Susan look at this," Ryan said, pointing to the display of Brandon’s new form. A graphic representation of the double helix that had been his genetic structure had been replaced by something Susan had never seen before, a quadruple helix.

"My God…"

Genomorph sequence complete….do you wish to enter a new code name?

Beneath the question on the screen Brandon’s name was flashing. Susan looked at the young woman who now appeared to be sleeping peacefully on the table. The name hardly seemed appropriate any longer. She quickly typed out a new file name and hit enter on the virtual keyboard.

Subject profile saved….code name...Brandi….

CHAPTER 4

Awareness returned slowly, and the first thing she noticed was the strange weight on her chest. The second thing was the fact that she knew she was now female. The third was that she was restrained by straps securing her arms and legs. It had not been some weird dream; it was all real.

She could remember it all; at first it had progressed as Susan had said it would. There had been a feeling of euphoria; a natural seeming relaxation as the machine had begun its work. But then the changes had begun; changes she had felt and seen in the reflection that shone back at her in the crystal chamber. She opened her eyes and looked down at the two impossibly large mounds pushing the sheet up at her chest.

"Shit."

The sound of her voice was startling, a soft, melodious soprano, and drew the attention of the two women standing nearby. Susan handed the chart she had been reading to the nurse standing next to her, and then turned towards the young woman on the bed, her face showing concern. She looked like she had not slept in days.

"Why am I strapped down?"

"We were afraid you might be…agitated when you awakened," Susan explained. "We didn’t want you to injure yourself. You seem to be handling things well so I’ll release the restraints."

"I don’t know about well but I’m handling things….I don’t really have a lot of choice do I?"

"How do you feel Brandi?" Susan asked as she and the nurse released the straps.

"Brandi?"

"Sorry, it’s what we’ve been calling you since …since the transformation," Susan said. "You’ve been asleep for three days and…well it just didn’t seem right to call you Brandon anymore."

"I suppose not," Brandi admitted, and then her face clouded with anger. "Susan what the hell did you do to me! I trusted you and you…you…"

Brandi’s voice trailed off, choked by the sobs that forced their way to the surface. She tried to fight the tears, tried not to cry but soon she was sobbing uncontrollably as Susan held her, encouraging her to let the emotions out.

"Brandi, please believe me, none of us had any idea the machine was capable of anything like this," Susan said. "If I had known… I never…"

"I believe you," Brandi said, wiping her reddened eyes. Even as she said it she knew it was in fact true; she did believe Susan, not just because she trusted her but because she knew she was telling her the truth. It was not like an extrasensory phenomenon; rather it was as though she were hypersensitive to the world around her. As she concentrated on the sensation, a world of sounds and smells and feelings she had never experienced before washed over her.

She knew other things she realized too. She knew that the nurse still standing by the door was nervous and a bit frightened despite her dispassionate appearance. She knew that the room was being monitored, though she could not see any evidence of cameras or microphones she could feel their presence and knew where each was located. She knew that there were two guards outside the door.

"I’d like to see what I look like," Brandi said quietly after Susan broke from their hug. Susan studied her for a moment then adjusted the bed so Brandi was in a sitting position. She pulled a hand mirror from the drawer of the night stand and passed it to Brandi.

The face that was reflected in the mirror was that of an incredibly beautiful young woman. She looked quite young, in her late teens or perhaps her early twenties. Her skin was a light golden tan and flawless, framed by a mane of pale, loose, golden blonde curls that billowed over her shoulders and down her back. She had high cheekbones with a natural blush and a beautifully sculpted, slightly upturned nose. Her lips were full and also had a slight upturn, giving her a natural, mischievous grin. The most striking thing about her face was a pair of big, round eyes with astonishingly deep, purple irises.

Brandi stared at the face, her face, for a long time before turning her gaze downward to the breasts that more than anything else announced that she was indeed a woman. They were large, quite large, and very firm. There was no denying them as they pressed against the thin fabric of the hospital gown she wore, her nipples clearly visible. Brandi set the mirror on the night stand and then tentatively poked at her right breast with her index finger.

Without preamble, or any apparent concern over modesty, Brandi pulled the loosely tied gown down and then grabbed both of her breasts experimentally.

"Wow they sure are big," She said, her voice filled with innocence and awe.

Brandi continued to examine these new additions, seemingly oblivious to the presence of Susan and the nurse. She seemed mesmerized by her breasts. They did not hang from her chest but rather projected, a good six inches, their weight pulling them down just enough to give them a pleasing, natural appearance. She lifted them and let them fall; she pressed them together and pulled them apart. Finally Susan could stand it no longer.

"Megan would you step outside please," She said to the nurse, who appeared only too happy to comply.

Turning back to Brandi she said, her voice pleading, "Brandi, please tell me what is going on inside your head! Are you still…I don’t even know how to say it…"

"Am I still me?" Brandi asked, raising her eyebrows. She pulled the gown back up to cover her breasts and settled back against the pillow.

"I don’t really know if I can answer that. I mean, I know who I am, or was…dammit this is confusing! I remember my life but I do feel…different."

"You feel like a woman," Susan suggested.

"I guess…I don’t really have any basis for comparison, other than the fact that I don’t feel like I did as a guy," Brandi admitted, and then she frowned. "Susan, how did this happen?"

"During the initial scan the machine detected markers in your genetic structure that triggered something called the Genomorph Protocol," Susan explained. "It was buried and encrypted within the computer system, but we have been able to decipher some information about it. Apparently it was a military program, designed to produce a superior soldier."

"This body, a superior soldier?" Brandi snorted. "What am I suppose to do, beat things to death with these huge boobs? And what the hell is a Genomorph?"

"The outer shell is superficial window dressing, or maybe camouflage is a better word," Susan explained. " Genomorph is a translation of a word in the Forerunner’s language that had no parallel in ours. Geno for genome or genetic, and morph from metamorphosis, meaning to alter form or shape. The Genomorph Protocol radically altered your genetic structure.

"You remember that the Forerunners were fleeing their system after a devastating war? Well, their enemies, which were actually just another branch of their own race, were a completely male dominated society. Women were nothing more than objects for sex and reproduction. So the forerunners developed Genomorphs as operatives that would not be seen as a threat."

"So why not just use a woman?"

"That’s where the genetic markers come in," Susan told her. "For lack of a better description, we are calling those markers ‘warrior genes’. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that while most people use the terms warrior and soldier interchangeably, there is a difference. A lot of men, and women, can be taught to be good soldiers, but I’m sure you’ve heard it said that a true warrior is born that way. Well, it looks like that adage is true. The Forerunners identified those genes."

"And those genes are only in men?" Brandi asked.

"No," Susan replied. "They are rare in men and even rarer in women. Plus it involves more than one set of genes. The computer was looking for a specific combination of seven genes. Of course we have only identified a very small portion of the human genome. The Forerunners apparently had mapped it much more extensively, perhaps even completely."

"So what exactly did it do to me?" Brandi asked. "I mean other than the obvious."

Susan hesitated for a moment. She was not sure how much Brandi was ready to hear, and in truth they had no idea how much the Forerunner machine had modified her.

"Please just tell me the truth, Susan," Brandi pleaded as she saw the hesitation on Susan’s face.

"Brandi, I promise you now that I will never, ever lie to you," Susan said. "That doesn’t mean that I might not withhold information from you if I feel you aren’t up to hearing it. I am responsible for what has happened here and I am going to do everything in my power to help you get through this.

"As to what has been done to you, the truth is we don’t know the full extent. I can tell you that you are now completely female in every way. That means you have the brain and body chemistry of a woman and you have a fully functional reproductive system and all that entails. You can get pregnant and will have to deal with a monthly period.

Brandi gasped slightly as Susan’s words soaked in.

"Your muscles, connective tissues and skeletal structure are considerably stronger than a typical human, stronger even than a person in peak physical condition. Your cellular structure is much more robust as well. Over time as cells divide and reproduce, the DNA within them becomes damaged. It’s kind of like making copies of a copy. Eventually the end product is unreadable. Your cells reproduce exactly every time, so far as we can tell, and we have some pretty sophisticated ways of analyzing them even over a short period of time. This will have many benefits; your rate of healing from injuries will be extremely fast, and I seriously doubt there is a disease out there, not even cancer, that could harm you. It also is likely that you will look just as you do now for a long, long time."

"Are you saying I can’t die?" Brandi asked wide eyed. "That I’m immortal?"

"I’m saying you would be very hard to kill, and aging is not something that you will have to concern yourself with. You will remain at your present biological age of seventeen, but I can’t promise that it will be forever. We have found no data regarding the long term effects. Certainly you will live several human lifetimes."

Even though what Susan said was technically true, she frankly doubted there was any limit to Brandi’s life span. She had studied her new genetic and cellular structure repeatedly over the last three days and every thing she saw indicated the young woman would never simply wear out over time.

"Seventeen?" Brandi echoed. "I thought I looked younger than I had been. A lot younger. That could make it kind of hard to function in the world. Everyone who sees me will think of me as a kid. I guess our trip to Vegas is off. I doubt I could get into a bar. "

"Who said we had to go to a bar, or a casino? We could always spend a few days hitting all the malls," Susan said, laughing as Brandi gave her a sour look. "Well, with that body I don’t think you will have much trouble. You look young, yes, but no one would question an ID that put you in your early twenties. And once you learn the art of makeup there are tricks you can use to make yourself appear more mature or even younger if you wanted."

"I may feel like a girl but I’m not ready to surrender to being a girl just yet Susan," Brandi said. "I don’t want to even think about things like makeup, or sex for that matter."

As soon as she said the word Brandi realized she had been thinking about sex for some time in the back of her mind. To her shock, and horror, she realized she had been thinking about it with a sense of curiosity and anticipation. She felt her nipples hardening and could see them becoming more visible as they pressed against the fabric of the hospital gown. The very contact of the fabric against them began sending shivers of pleasure through her body.

"Oh shit."

"Yes, you may not have much choice on that score," Susan said somberly. "It appears that sex was as much a tool of these Genomorphs as combat skills. Your sex drive was increased significantly, likely to allow you to utilize it more effectively."

"That is just fucking great!" Brandi shouted. "It’s bad enough that I get turned into a hyped-up female super soldier and now you tell me I’m a sex crazed bimbo, too!"

"I said nothing of the sort," Susan shot back. "Your mental capacity has not been reduced in any way. In fact, your thought process is several orders of magnitude faster than normal. Your capacity to learn and adapt has also been increased. Yes, you will have to deal with an increased level of desire, but you have the capacity to deal with it."

Susan paused to give Brandi time to absorb what she had learned so far. As she watched her, she could see that her nipples visibly softened beneath the gown.

"It could have been much worse," she finally continued. "The Forerunner computer recognized that its data files were very old and began searching through the network connection to the internet for information on what contemporary society considers sensual. Most of the data it gathered came from pornographic web sites. Ryan was able to limit access to exclude the more extreme sites."

"You’ll have to thank him for me," Brandi said sullenly. "I guess that explains this body. If I saw boobs like this on a woman I would swear they were fake, but the pictures it accessed probably were of girls with implants."

"They are real I assure you," Susan said. "The machine made modifications to the musculature of your back and shoulders to accommodate them, though I suspect you’ll still want to wear a bra."

"I don’t have a clue about stuff like that!" Brandi protested. "I wouldn’t even know what size I need."

"We took your measurements while you were asleep," Susan informed her. "Your measurements are 36G — 22 — 36. I’m afraid you won’t be buying bras off the rack. I took the liberty of ordering some for you, and they will be here tomorrow."

"Gee, thanks," Brandi said, rolling her eyes. "Something to look forward to."

"I’m not saying any of this will be easy, Brandi, but you have to look at what you have gained as well. You are young and healthy and you have the full use of your body again. You are more physically capable than you were at even your best before you were wounded. It is going to be a long, hard process, but I will help you in every way possible."

"There’s no way to undo it?"

"We already tried," Susan told her. "The day after you were transformed we put you back in the machine. If it had the capability to alter you from a male to a female, we reasoned it had to be able to alter you back. We burned out the entire control system trying to override the security protocol."

"The machine was destroyed?" Brandi asked wide eyed.

"No the machine still works. We can run scans, but the programming required to make repairs and alterations, including the Genomorph program, was largely destroyed. We are already working on reconstructing it, but it will take time...years, probably even decades, before we have the technological capabilities to restore that kind of function to the device."

"For the foreseeable future, you are one of a kind."

CHAPTER 5

"How did the Forerunners get here?" Brandi asked as she applied a liberal coating of ketchup to the huge hamburger on the tray table before her. Brandi preferred to eat in her room, usually in bed as she was today. Though she endured whatever tests or exercises they asked of her, almost always observed by numerous scientists, she felt uncomfortable around people in a less controlled environment like the cafeteria. She complained to Susan that they looked at her like she was a lab rat, or worse a freak. It was the main reason Susan desperately wanted to get her out of the lab, if only for a few hours each week, so she could be exposed to people who would see her only as a beautiful young woman.

"We’re not sure," Susan said as she watched Brandi begin to devour the hamburger, her second. The girl had an appetite like a horse. "So far no evidence has been found of any kind of landing site. There is mention in one of the historical files we have translated of ‘passing through the gateway to the new world’, but we’re not sure if that is literal or poetic."

"So they might have come through some kind of portal, like on Stargate?"

"It’s a possibility," Susan said. "Are you finished or do you want a third?"

"No, two will hold me for a while," Brandi said after a moment’s consideration. "I guess I should get dressed for play time."

Brandi threw back the covers and hopped out of the bed, totally naked. She showed no modesty at all standing nude in front of a room full of people, cameras rolling, yet she resisted every suggestion that she wear feminine clothes. On the rare occasions she did wander the corridors, she wore a pair of black BDUs and an over sized t-shirt. The only female clothing she would wear was her undergarments, and that was more a concession to comfort than a desire to wear them.

She slipped on a pair of panties and a sports bra, the only type of bra she would wear, and then slid on a pair of black tights. Again, the tights were a concession to practicality; she would be sparring today instead of her usual solo workout.

"Brandi can I ask you a question?" Susan asked as she watched the young woman.

"Because I’m afraid," Brandi answered as she tied up her sneakers. She had a habit of answering questions before they were asked. It was not that she could read minds, but rather she read people. Her enhanced senses gave her a flood of information about a person, and her mind was capable of processing it all astonishingly fast. She had sensed Susan’s discomfort over the question she wanted to ask, and linked it to her getting dressed.

"I can’t bring myself to dress like a girl because I’m afraid I’ll like it. I’m not ready for that yet."

"All right sweetheart, I don’t want to rush you," Susan said. "We have plenty of time for you to adjust."

That was bitterly true, Susan knew. In the three weeks since Brandon had been transformed into Brandi, Susan had requested repeatedly that she be allowed to take the girl out into the world. She knew the clinical environment of the lab was stifling Brandi’s emotional development. But every time she had been told no; it was too great a risk.

She knew Brandi was excited about today’s agenda. Generally, Brandi cooperated with whatever tests or exercises she was asked to endure, but she did so without enthusiasm. Today she was downright giddy.

"It’s nice to see you happy," Susan said. She was becoming very attached to this young woman.

Brandi finished tying her other shoe and paused to regard Susan before speaking.

"I don’t know if happy is the right word," She said slowly. "But I am, like excited. I do want to see how I do against real opponents."

"I see."

"Susan I know you’re worried about me," Brandi said, her voice growing quiet. "The last thing I want to do is stress you out. It’s very hard; I mean I still think of myself as a man, even though I don’t feel that way. Hell I even talk like a teenager. Sometimes I’m afraid I really am turning into a bimbo."

"What’s the square root of two hundred forty six?"

"Fifteen point six eight four three eight seven one four one three…," Brandi rattled off the digits without hesitation.

"Enough!" Susan laughed. "I’ll take your word for it. I think your mind is functioning just fine."

"Yeah but if a stranger had asked me that I would have said, ‘Um, numbers have roots…and they’re square?’" Brandi giggled.

They left Brandi’s room and walked a short distance away to a much larger room which had been set up for physical testing and training. There was a variety of exercise equipment and the floor at the center of the room was padded. A larger window on the high wall marked the location of the observation room.

Five men stood on the edge of the exercise mat. Four were dressed in shorts and tight t-shirts that clung to their muscular bodies. They were all six feet or taller, and all wore stony expressions on their faces.

"Oooh, new toys," Brandi purred sexily, slipping seamlessly into her role. "They are all that and then some. But like, who’s the tin soldier?"

The fifth man, dressed in the grey BDUs of the security force, stepped forward.

"Brandi this is Evan Mitchell, head of the security detail," Susan said.

"Hmm," was all Brandi said. It was evident that she did not like Mitchell on sight.

"I’m here to make sure you don’t get out of control," Mitchell said flatly.

Brandi giggled at that, "Honey think whatever makes you feel good."

"I’ll be upstairs in the observation room," Susan told Brandi and then slipped out through a side door.

Brandi stepped to the center of the mat and stretched a bit, making a show of it in front of her sparring partners. When she finished, she adopted a sexy pose with her hip cocked and smiled at them suggestively.

"There’s only one rule here boys; fight hard," She said sweetly. "Treat me like a girl and I will hurt you."

The four men glanced at each other and then at Mitchell, who simply nodded his head.

They rushed her as a group but Brandi dodged all their attacks. She took a defensive posture and let them initiate for a time, using the opportunity to judge their strengths and weaknesses. Once she was satisfied, she went offensive, taking one to the ground with a hard kick to the stomach and another with a driving punch to the gut followed up with a palm driven up under his chin.

The third grabbed her from behind as the fourth man came in, punching her hard in the abdomen twice. Brandi let out a cry of pain and then tears began streaming down her face as she started crying. The man backed away, confused, and Brandi rewarded him with a kick to the groin…she pulled it so it did not do serious damage…followed by a second kick to the face as he doubled over.

The remaining man held her still from behind, his arms looped under hers with his hands behind her head.

"Afraid to squeeze tighter honey?" Brandi asked as she pretended to struggle to break free.

"I wouldn’t wanna make you cry anymore," The man leered. "I couldn’t bear to hurt a pretty thing like you."

"To bad I don’t feel the same way," Brandi said as she snapped her head back, flattening his nose. To give him credit he maintained his grip but it did not matter as Brandi reached up, grabbed his hands and twisted, snapping both his wrists.

"I warned you not to treat me like a girl!" she hissed as he fell to the mat crying out in pain.

Brandi looked up at the observation window, her face angry as she said, "Next time get me some guys with fucking balls! If you’re gonna just waste my ti…"

Her words were cut short as she felt two pricks in her back. Then the muscles of her body tensed as fifty thousand volts of electricity surged through her from the taser gun in Evan Mitchell’s hands.

Brandi crumpled to her knees, tried to rise but seemed unable to get her legs under her. She managed to reach around and pull the darts out, but still seemed shaky and uncoordinated as she regained her feet. She turned shakily towards Mitchell, just in time to receive a blow across the side of the head from the collapsible baton he held in the other hand. He followed the blow up with two more, across the stomach and then to the back and Brandi pitched forward onto the mat with a cry of pain. She struggled to rise but Mitchell brought the baton down across her back again.

"That’s enough Mitchell you bastard!" Susan screamed as she flew through the door into the room.

"She injured one of my men!" Mitchell protested.

"That doesn’t justify beating the hell out of her!" Susan screamed back, her face livid.

"Hey she is supposed to be the super soldier," Mitchell shrugged. "She needs to learn to watch her back."

Medical teams entered the training room to treat Brandi and the man with the broken wrists. It turned out she had also broken the jaw of the man she had kicked in the groin. As they tried to load Brandi on a gurney she shook their hands off and then limped out of the training room. By the time Susan caught up with her, Brandi was in bed in her room in a deep sleep. When Susan tried to wake her, she did not respond. Near panic, Susan called the medical team and they rushed Brandi to the infirmary.

CHAPTER 6

The large plasma screen display on the wall of the briefing room showed Brandi, dressed in black tights and a sports bra, standing on the exercise mat. Surrounding her were six men, much taller than her five foot, eight inch frame. They were all experts in hand to hand combat, and they circled the young woman warily at the edges of the mat.

Brandi appeared unconcerned, and she did not even adopt a defensive stance. Instead she merely studied her nails for a moment, and then tossed her head back, throwing her long blonde hair over her shoulder and smiling. She adopted a provocative stance and looked around at the six men.

"I thought you boys wanted to play?" She purred sexily.

Two of her sparring partners rushed in from either side, while two more came at her from the front and back. The remaining two kept their distance, ready to move in when the time was right. Brandi blocked kicks from the two to her sides but was caught squarely in the back by a kick from the man behind her. She was propelled forward towards the fourth, but she somehow managed to use that momentum to her advantage, launching herself upward into a flip that took her completely over him. Her own kick sent the man stumbling forward into his three partners and they all tumbled to the mat in a tangle of limbs.

Not waiting for them to recover, she went on the offense against the two who had held back. Rushing forward, she dodged a flurry of kicks and swings, and then doubled over one man with a solid knee to the solar plexus. She rolled across his back, her legs wind milling into a double kick to the jaw that sent the other man down to the mat.

The fight went on for another five minutes but the outcome was never really in doubt. In the end the six men lay on the mat, battered and bruised. Brandi was not unscarred when it was all over, her nose was bleeding and she had a purple welt swelling on her face as well as numerous bruises to her abdomen, arms and legs. As soon as she helped her sparring partners up, she immediately stripped off her clothing so the camera could record the various bruises and welts, showing no concern over exposing herself to the camera.

The screen went dark and the lights in the briefing room came up as Susan rose from her seat.

"Brandi’s injuries were completely healed in less than fifteen minutes," Susan informed them.

"They were pulling their punches," A man in a dark suit named Reginald Mercer accused. "They just didn’t want to rough a girl up."

Susan glared at the man for a moment. He worked for some unnamed government agency and had been sent as a ‘liaison’ to their work, but Susan knew better. He was there to evaluate Brandi, who was rapidly being viewed as a potentially valuable tool. Mercer was there to see that nothing interfered with the development of this new weapon. And to top it all off, he was an asshole whom Susan had taken an instant dislike to.

"I think you can see from the bruises and blood that they managed to rough her up quite effectively," Susan replied acidly. "Besides, this was not the first time Brandi sparred with these men, and she had taught them not to go easy on her. In an earlier bout, she sent two of them to the infirmary for treating her like a girl."

"That sounds like the Brandon I know," A distinguished looking older man in a naval uniform snorted.

Rear Admiral Michael Hammerstein, known with some affection, and a good bit of fear, by those under him as ‘The Hammer’, was the Commander, Naval Special Warfare Command. He had known Brandon for years, since he was a young midshipman at the Naval Academy. He was a hard, brusque man, and one you always knew where you stood with.

"If I hadn’t seen the transformation footage with my own eyes…" Admiral Hammerstein muttered.

"What about the earlier incident?" Mercer asked. "Why was she so easily incapacitated by the taser?"

"She is not invulnerable," Susan said. "She feels pain just like anyone else. Also Brandi is able to detect very minute electromagnetic fields. It may be that this ability makes her more susceptible to the taser’s effect on the nervous system."

"What other capabilities has she demonstrated?" Mercer asked. "Other than the physical enhancements she has displayed."

"She can go for long periods of time, days, without sleep. She can also run for literally hours at a steady pace," Susan told them. "However if she pushes herself hard she eventually has to enter a kind of meditative state to recover. She calls it ‘Zen Sleep’. Basically she becomes for all practical purposes comatose and it is virtually impossible to awaken her until her body has recovered. In this state she is very vulnerable, and her body will only allow her to enter it if she is in a safe environment. This is what she did after the incident with Mitchell, to heal her injuries."

And scare the hell out of me, Susan thought.

"Mr. Mitchell hit her hard enough to break three ribs. She also had a mild concussion and severe bruising to her kidneys. After six hours of Zen sleep there was no trace she had ever been injured."

"In strength tests she has bested the world records in the bench press, squat and dead lift," Susan continued. "That’s the men’s records, in the heaviest weight class.

"Her senses; sight, smell, hearing and touch are far more acute than human norms. These heightened senses operate on a separate level from her regular senses, so that strong stimuli, loud noises, intense smells and such, do not overwhelm her. As I said she can detect electromagnetic fields. That is how she was able to detect the presence of the cameras and microphones in her room. She has also demonstrated the ability to disrupt those devices, and has done so several times, disrupting the equipment monitoring her room."

"Why would she do that?" Mercer asked. Admiral Hammerstein chuckled at the question.

"Sometimes a girl wants her privacy," was all Susan said before continuing.

"Brandi’s body is designed to be extremely efficient, and to make use of whatever is available for nourishment. She can ingest and metabolize virtually anything. She also eats like a horse, and her body is capable of using everything she consumes and wasting nothing."

"Are you saying she doesn’t produce waste?" Admiral Hammerstein asked.

"Under normal conditions she uses a bathroom just like anyone else," Susan said with a smile. "She does not have to do it as frequently and all the waste she processes is completely sterile. Under field conditions however her body will metabolize everything she takes in.

"Perhaps the most interesting of her recently discovered traits is the fact that she does not leave behind trace evidence. Hair, tissue, blood, waste products…even fingerprints, all break down and dissipate in a very short time after leaving her body. It has made the collection and study of blood and tissue samples from her nearly impossible."

"The perfect covert operative," Mercer remarked. "Entering and leaving without a trace."

"We know Brandi has been adapting at a remarkable rate physically over the past three months, Doctor Covington," Admiral Hammerstein injected, "but how is she doing mentally and emotionally?"

"Well, let me tell you something I observed yesterday by way of an answer," Susan replied. "Brandi was in her room, which of course you know we monitor constantly. She was walking back and forth across the floor, and it took me several minutes to understand what she was trying to do.

"She was trying to walk without swaying her hips…without looking …sexy. She kept at it for an hour, if not actually trying to walk like a man than at least trying not to walk like, as she says, ‘a tease’. She couldn’t do it; her body just is not structured that way. She finally collapsed on the floor crying."

"She certainly didn’t seem to be concerned about looking like a tease before the sparring match," Mercer observed. "And she definitely wasn’t modest about showing off her tits afterwards."

Susan half thought Admiral Hammerstein was going to back hand Mercer, the way his head snapped around at the comment. Instead he just glared icily, making the spook cringe visibly.

"That was a completely different situation," Susan explained. "It’s the warrior genes. The same reason she won’t allow them to cut her any slack in training. To her, training and combat are the same thing. The only difference is how far you take it. And in combat, you fight to win, using every tool and weapon at your disposal. By the same token, she knew that cataloging the extent of her injuries after the match was a necessary part of determining how quickly she heals.

"Emotionally she is in turmoil. She still thinks of herself as a thirty-eight year old man, but she is trapped in the body of a seventeen year old girl, with raging hormones, loose emotions and a monthly period."

"So you’re saying she is unstable," Mercer concluded.

"No I’m saying she’s a teenager," Susan retorted.

"Will she speak to us?" Admiral Hammerstein asked.

"Yes she will," Susan confirmed. "She’s waiting in her room right now. She was a bit apprehensive about seeing you Admiral. She has a great deal of respect for you, and she’s worried about your reaction."

The Hammer merely nodded at Susan’s words. Susan rose from her seat and stepped out of the briefing room to get Brandi.

"Mr. Mercer, I don’t like you," The Hammer said after Susan was gone. "Brandon Anderson was one of the finest Naval Officers I have ever known. I strongly suggest you treat Brandi with the respect she has earned and deserves. If you ever hope to have her cooperation, you had best tread easily."

"With all due respect, Admiral, if she is such an upstanding officer, won’t she do as ordered?" Mercer countered.

"Brandon Anderson is dead," Hammerstein shot back, his voice a low growl. "He died due to complications from wounds received in combat, it says so right here on the citation I have. Brandi is a young woman who never served in the military and is in my opinion under no obligation to us in any way."

"I’ll make a note of your opinion in my report, Admiral."

The exchange was halted before it escalated as the briefing room door opened and Susan entered, followed closely by Brandi. She was dressed in what had become her standard attire, black BDU pants, large white t-shirt and combat boots. Despite her efforts, the outfit did little to disguise her curves.

Admiral Hammerstein immediately rose to his feet. Mercer was slower to rise and seemed annoyed at the display of courtesy.

"Brandi, this is Reginald Mercer and I believe you know Admiral Hammerstein," Susan said as an introduction. She had already told Brandi who Mercer was, withholding her personal opinion of the man.

"It’s good to see you Admiral," Brandi said softly.

"It is my pleasure to meet you Brandi," Hammerstein replied in an uncharacteristically warm tone.

"Well let’s get on with this shall we?" Mercer said once everyone was seated. "As I am sure Doctor Covington has informed you, I am here to evaluate the viability of this project and how it can be best utilized by our military and intelligence communities."

"This project has a name," Susan interrupted.

"I’m aware of the girl’s name Doctor Covington," Mercer said testily.

As Mercer droned on about what was expected of her, Brandi took a metal nail file from her pocket and began filing her nails. She had to use a metal file since her nails were far harder and stronger than normal, and a plain emery board had little impact on them.

Susan nearly laughed out loud. It was like pulling teeth to get Brandi to even attempt to attend to normal feminine grooming practices. The only reason she would do it now was to piss the government man off. Mercer continued to talk, but was becoming visibly agitated by her apparent lack of attention.

"Is she even paying attention to me?" Mercer finally demanded.

Brandi blew noisily on her nails before speaking.

"Duh, like I’m not deaf," She said, "You want me to be, like, a spy and wiggle my cute little butt and, you know, get whatever kind of info you happen to be looking for, and maybe take out the odd bad guy."

Susan groaned inwardly. It was even worse, she was in full ‘dumb blonde’ mode. In the months since her transformation, Brandi’s personality had grown to mirror her appearance, to fit the perception people would have of her. As Susan had said, she was for all intents and purposes a teenage girl. She could be petulant, flighty and downright silly at times, especially when she was stressed or dealing with a situation she did not like. Her behavior told Susan two things; she was very uncomfortable in the presence of Admiral Hammerstein, and she really did not like Mercer.

"See, now I was thinking something, like, more fun, ya know?" Brandi continued. "Maybe a training mission to the local mall…I could, like, infiltrate all the really cool shops and max out Susan’s credit card buying a new wardrobe. I could really use some new clothes."

Susan lost her control for a moment and laughed out loud. She could also be a real smart ass. Brandi had resisted every effort she had made to get her to dress like a girl.

"I think you had best start taking this seriously if you ever want to see the outside again," Mercer said menacingly. "You are a potentially valuable asset, and possibly a tremendous liability. It would not be wise for you to make us think you were going to be uncooperative, or worse, a threat."

Brandi’s violet eyes locked onto Mercer, and there was no longer any hint of mirth in them.

"I think I’ll just avoid the Christmas rush and start not liking you now," She said sweetly, her eyes wide and innocent. "You know they say when a guy acts like a prick he’s compensating for something."

"You may not like was has happened to you missy, but this is bigger than you now!" Mercer exploded. "Your cooperation is expected, and that comes straight from The Man."

"Oooh, The Man," Brandi giggled, her eyes affecting a look of wide eyed awe. "Like, couldn’t anyone come up with a better name than that? I tell you what, why don’t you tell The Man to come down here himself. Then I can tell him in person to kiss my cute, round ass."

"I think we will have this conversation another time," Mercer said, gathering up his papers and storming towards the door. "Perhaps when you feel like being more accommodating."

"Yeah that’ll happen about the time you actually develop a personality!" Brandi called after him as he slammed the door to the briefing room.

"Sheesh I thought he’d never leave!" She giggled, and then noticed the disapproving looks of Susan and the Admiral.

"Sorry," She squeaked.

"Brandi, I know this hasn’t been easy on you," Admiral Hammerstein sighed. "And God knows you deserve to be left to find your own way. But there are powerful people who want to use you, and right now they are running the show."

"I know that sir," Brandi said softly, and then her voice grew harsher. "They are the same people that sent my platoon into the desert with inadequate support and woefully inadequate intelligence. They made me what I am today, but if they think I will just roll over and be a good soldier they have another thing coming. Those days are over."

"I can’t say I blame you for feeling that way," Admiral Hammerstein told her. "You know that Doctor Covington has been pushing them to let you out of here, let you find a way to adapt to your transformation in the real world. If it were up to me…"

"I know Admiral," Brandi said.

"At any rate, I won’t stop trying," Hammerstein said with vigor. "Now, my main reason for pulling some strings to get out here today, besides wanting to see for myself how you are doing, was to give you something. I took the liberty of having this retrieved from your apartment in Gainesville before your effects were packed up."

Susan watched apprehensively as the Admiral stood up and placed his briefcase on the table. He had told her what he intended to do, and she was not certain how Brandi would react.

The Admiral opened the brief case and took out a small wooden case, which he slid across the table to Brandi. She looked at it for a long time before she opened the lid. Inside were Brandon’s commendations, among them the Bronze Star, the Silver Star and the Navy Cross.

"These aren’t really mine anymore," she said quietly.

"Nonsense!" Admiral Hammerstein retorted. "You are who you are inside, no matter what you look like or who you have become on the outside. You earned those medals…but I am afraid they are not complete."

The Admiral took another, smaller case from his briefcase, along with a framed piece of parchment. With measured stride he moved around the table until he stood beside Brandi’s chair, and then he presented the case to her. With trembling hands she opened the box to reveal a blue ribbon from which was suspended a large, bronze five pointed star.

"The President of the United States, in the name of the Congress, takes pleasure in presenting the Medal of Honor to Lieutenant Commander Brandon Anderson," The Admiral read from the citation. "Lieutenant Commander Brandon Anderson distinguished himself by acts of gallantry and intrepidity above and beyond the call of duty in action with an armed enemy northwest of Baghdad, Iraq, on twenty-seven March, 2003. On that day…"

Brandi sat in stunned silence as the Admiral read the remainder of the citation. She had known that she…that Brandon had been recommended for the medal - had even known that the award was likely. But she had not given it a single thought since her transformation. She felt the tears running down her face as the Admiral finished.

"Dammit, now you made me cry!" She sniffed as Susan handed her a tissue.

"It would be my honor if you would allow me to place the medal on you Brandi," The Admiral said softly.

Brandi stood up, coming to attention and not caring how it made her breasts jut forward. Susan stood behind her and lifted her hair free of the ribbon after the Admiral had placed the medal over her head. Then he stepped back, came to attention himself and snapped a smart salute. Brandi returned the salute with equal precision, holding it until the Admiral lowered his hand. Then she squealed and leapt forward, wrapping her arms about the Admiral’s neck and planting a big, wet kiss on his cheek. The Admiral looked to Susan, who nodded her head, before wrapping his own arms about Brandi, actually lifting her off the floor in a huge bear hug.

CHAPTER 7

"They’ll never let me leave here will they?"

Susan looked up from her desk to see Brandi standing in the doorway of her office. She was dressed in an oversized navy blue sweat shirt, black BDU pants and combat boots, and even in the baggy clothing she exuded a sensual presence.

In the three weeks since Admiral Hammerstein and Reginald Mercer had met with Brandi, she had been a model of cooperation. She had done everything that was asked of her with little or no complaint. That is not to say she still did not persist in asking to be allowed more freedom, to be released from her confinement and allowed to interact with the world outside. But each time she was stonewalled and told to be patient.

"No I don’t think they will, certainly not with any kind of freedom you would find acceptable," Susan said after a moment. She had promised she would never lie to Brandi, not even to make her feel better. "I’ll never stop trying…"

"I know," Brandi whispered, her voice trembling. "I’m sorry Susan."

Before Susan could respond Brandi was across the office, her hands gently gripping Susan’s face as she pressed her index fingers to her temples. Susan felt a sharp tingling through her body, and found she was completely incapable of moving or speaking. All she could do was stare at Brandi in wide eyed shock.

"You’ll wake up with a bit of a headache I imagine but otherwise you’ll be fine," Brandi said softly. The last thing Susan saw as her vision faded to black were the tears streaming down Brandi’s face.

Brandi released Susan’s face and checked her pulse, which was strong and regular. She had no idea how she was able to render Susan unconscious, it was just something she knew she could do. It was one of many new abilities she had discovered, and kept to herself.

Satisfied that Susan would suffer no ill effects from the ordeal, Brandi moved to the next step of her escape plan. She moved quickly to the door way and recovered the duffel bag she had left in the hall, then closed and locked the office door as she stepped back inside. Moving back behind the desk, she took Susan’s limp hand in her own, then closed her eyes and concentrated for a moment. When she opened her eyes, she was Susan’s twin in every way except her clothing. That was easily remedied, as Susan always kept several changes of clothes in the office closet.

Once she was dressed in one of Susan’s spare outfits she moved back to the desk. Gently, tenderly she lifted Susan from the chair and carried her to the couch against one wall of the office. She laid her on the couch, placing a pillow under her head and covering her with an afghan that was draped over the back. She gently brushed a strand of hair from Susan’s face and then kissed her forehead.

Next she took Susan’s ID badge and purse, and then stuffed the clothes she had been wearing into her duffel. She paused for a moment to look at her reflection in the mirror on the wall near the door. While she was physically identical to Susan, there were two potentially major differences; her hair and her lack of makeup. Susan always wore her long dark hair in an elaborate up do and her makeup was perfect. Since Brandi had never taken an interest in Susan’s attempts to teach her about such things, she had no idea how to duplicate them. Any attempt to do so was likely to draw more attention to her than doing nothing, so she did nothing. Slipping Susan’s purse over her right shoulder and the duffel over her left, she exited the office, locking the door behind her with Susan’s badge.

The guards did not even bat an eye as she left the complex and boarded the helicopter that would take her to Nellis. She had timed her move very carefully, knowing that Susan was leaving that night and would be flying to Washington in the morning on a commercial carrier. Susan should remain asleep for at least eight hours, she hoped, and Brandi would be hundreds of miles away by then.

Two hours later she parked Susan’s car at a rest stop on Interstate Fifteen, south of Las Vegas. She took her bag and slipped into the ladies room. Locking herself in one of the stalls, she quickly changed back into her own clothes. Once dressed, she returned to her normal appearance.

A wave of dizziness washed over her and she nearly fainted, sagging to sit heavily on the toilet seat. The strain of maintaining a form other than her own for so long had taxed her considerably, and she knew she would not be able to use that trick again for a while. Once she was sufficiently recovered she slipped her boots back on and laced them up. Then she carefully folded up Susan’s clothes and returned to the car. She opened the trunk so that she could lock Susan’s belongings in it and received a shock.

There was a package in the trunk, a plain brown wrapped package with an envelope taped to it. The envelope had one word written on it.

Brandi.

Her hands began to shake as she tore the envelope open and removed the letter inside. As she read the words there, she began to cry.

Brandi,

I’ve been expecting this day to come for some time. I hope you never have to read this letter, but if you are, I want you to know that I understand why you had to go. Find yourself, my sweet girl, and please be careful.

I’ve done what I can to help you. In this package you will find several complete sets of identification. Hopefully you will only need the primary, in the name of Brenda Williams. Use the others if you have to. They are all completely real and clean…Ryan set them up and he assures me that they will stand up to any scrutiny. He really is a wizard with computers. A bank account has been set up for your primary identity and it has a balance of ten thousand dollars. There are also credit cards should you need them for each of the identities."Ryan, if I ever see you again I swear I am going to kiss you," Brandi whispered.Also in the package is ten thousand dollars in cash for immediate needs. Don’t worry about the money, I can afford it, and you are worth every penny.

Take care of yourself and do not try to contact me…they will most certainly be watching me. Use the email account information in the package to reach me. Ryan assures me that they will be virtually impossible to trace as well but we have to be careful. Even though they can’t be traced, my computers will certainly be tapped and monitored. Use the email only if absolutely necessary.

I miss you already and you haven’t even gone yet. I have never given much thought to having children or a family. I have always been too consumed by my research. But I have come to think of you as a daughter, and the short time you have been in my life has enriched it in ways I cannot describe. I wish I could be with you to guide you and watch you as you blossom into the beautiful young woman I know you will become. I dream some nights of shopping trips and all the fun things mothers and daughters do together. I love you more than words can describe, and my most fervent prayer is that we will have those times someday.

With all my love,

Susan

"I love you too, Momma," Brandi cried softly. She realized now that her escape plan had left a lot of details out. If it had not been for Susan’s foresight where would she have ended up? She would have been on the street, on the run; with no money and no identity. That would have left her few options for surviving, and none of them were appealing.

She took the cash and the documents from the package, placing them in her duffel. Then she took the package and the letter to a trash can and burned them. The rest stop was mostly deserted. A few people did see her, but that didn’t matter at this point. By morning the car would be found and they would know she had been here. What was important was that no one see her leave.

Once she was certain the fire had done its work, she put the flames out with the extinguisher from the car’s trunk, and then piled more trash on top of the residue.

Now all she had to do was find a truck heading in the right direction….

*****

Dearest Susan,

I beg you don’t be too angry with me. I have to find out who I am, and they will never let me do that. They want me as an asset, a robot they can send out to do their bidding. I was never that as Brandon, and I won’t be that now.

Tell them not to try and find me. If I come back…if I come back…it will be on my terms and in my time. I don’t want to hurt anyone, but I won’t let them bring me back against my will.

It won’t do any good, I know, but tell them anyway.

I love you Susan. You have been my friend and these last months I have come to see you as my mother in every way possible. You gave birth to me, even if you didn’t intend for it to happen, and you have set me on the road to becoming a woman. I have to finish the journey on my own.

You will always be in my heart, and I promise you will see me again.

Love,

Brandi

P.S. - You look really beautiful with your hair down…you should wear it like that more often.

Susan set the note back where she had found it on her desk, having read it for the hundredth time since she had awakened, nearly four hours earlier. She had not stirred from her office, but she would have to soon. Her flight was scheduled to land in Washington in a half hour, and when she did not meet the driver that would be waiting for her there, the alarm would go out. But she was determined to give Brandi every second she could.

*****

"We found the car at a rest stop south of Las Vegas," Reginald Mercer said to the group assembled in the briefing room. "We believe she wants us to think she is heading west to Los Angeles. It would be the perfect place to get lost…a girl like her will not stand out so much there. So we will concentrate our search efforts to the east. We suspect she will head for familiar ground, back to Florida where Brandon lived perhaps."

"I suggest you do as she asked and let her go," Admiral Hammerstein said.

"Let her go?" Mercer asked, incredulous. "Admiral with all due respect we have an unstable adolescent that is capable of doing a lot of damage on the loose. I hardly think ‘letting her go’ is a good idea."

"Then find her and watch her!" Hammerstein barked, using the voice that had earned him his nickname as ‘The Hammer’. "But dammit leave her alone! Let her come to grips with the person she is, because you’re right, Mercer, Brandi is capable of doing a lot of damage. And if you try to force her back, God only knows the damage she is prepared to do."

*****

Arnold Belcher ran his hand through his thick red hair as he guided his tractor trailer along the interstate. He was four hours out of Vegas and there were miles to go before his next stop. Some company might be nice for a change.

"Darlin’ you’d be a mite more comfortable sitting up front here," He said with a deep southern drawl.

"Shit," He heard softly spoken from behind the curtain in the sleeper compartment. The curtain moved aside and his pretty blonde stowaway crawled out and into the passenger seat.

"You can just drop me off right here," the girl said. "Sorry for sneaking into your rig."

"Now that jes’ wouldn’t be right Miss," Arnie said. "If you need a ride so bad you’d hide in a strange semi I figure you either need ta get somewhere awful bad or get away from something awful bad. Either way I don’t see as it’d be right to just leave ya on the interstate."

"Thanks I appreciate it," The girl said warily.

"Ya know that weren’t all that smart a thing ta do, neither," Arnie continued, his voice taking on a serious tone. "If I was yo daddy I’d tan your backside for a stunt like that."

"I can take care of myself."

"If you say so Miss," Arnie laughed. "But you got no need to be ‘fraid of me. The name’s Arnold Belcher, but you kin call me Arnie."

The trucker extended his right hand and Brandi shook it, her own hand engulfed by the rough flesh. But there was gentleness to his touch, and in that moment of contact she knew he was telling the truth, she had nothing to fear from him. A good thing for him.

"Nice to meet you Arnie, my name’s Brenda, Brenda Williams. My friends call me Brandi though, and I think we are going to be friends."

"So where ya headin’ Brandi?" Arnie asked as he turned his attention back towards the road. Brandi had noted that even as he turned to introduce himself to her, his eyes had never strayed from hers, never dropped down to look at her breasts. She felt even better about the big trucker.

"Depends. Where are you heading?" Brandi asked.

"Riverside, San Diego and LA," Arnie told her. "Then I pick up another load and head up to San Fran. After that, who knows?"

"That’ll do for a start," Brandi whispered.

End of Part 1

Notes:

My heartfelt thanks go out to Janet and Carla for their editorial assistance.Your comments are not only welcome, they are eagerly encouraged...be nice though...I'm fragile.