SENIOR AUTHOR’S NOTE: Most of the material from this point on comes from investigator’s debriefings of the individuals involved rather than diaries and other written evidence. Reliance on memories that can shift over time would normally lead to the expectation of an overall reduction in accuracy. In fact, given the high levels of stress still evident in the dispositions of these individuals, it is quite likely that they are NOT revealing the full truth regarding their emotional states. As a result, while maintaining the timelines, most of the remainder of this manuscript will be in third person.

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 6, 7:33 A.M., 1212 WEST 155TH STREET, APARTMENT 6E, NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK

Lyle awoke and groggily took inventory–and the negatives won. He was weak, but with no pain, no fever, no chills, no nausea, no vomiting, no diarrhea, and no clammy skin. Still trying to clear his throat so his voice would sound normal again, he got up and cautiously shambled around the various magazines, journals and textbooks scattered about the floor. Grabbing a half-read mystery novel off the nightstand, he rubbed his bleary, grain-filled eyes as he moved, more by habit and instinct than through conscious thought, out the door to his bedroom and down the hall to the bathroom he shared with his three roommates.

Lyle sleepily dropped his pajama bottoms, and then tried to open his eyes enough to read the mystery novel he’d begin before his strange illness. The eyes creaked open, but refused to focus. He felt vaguely disoriented and light-headed, which was easily enough explained by his recent illness. As if on autopilot, his left hand slid down between his legs to guide the stream of urine about to be released…

Suddenly an electric current of terror tore through him! His muscles locked, his stupor vanished and, in the blink of an eye, all of his wake-up rituals were utterly forgotten. With exquisite care, he placed the book gently on the floor, face frozen in shock. Then he stood up slowly and looked himself over. Things had changed! The pubic hair was still there, but the penis and testes were gone. His male genitalia were gone, replaced by what appeared to be female genitalia. Grabbing his chest through the pajama tops, he confirmed that he now had breasts too. With great deliberation, he unbuttoned and removed the last of his clothing, his sense of unease and disorientation growing by the second.

He was clearly no longer male. He briefly wondered if he was dreaming, or more likely hallucinating. Could one of his roommates have dropped some bad acid on him or something? Somehow, he was now a she. The scar on his left pinky finger from when he had gotten it caught in the runner of a fold-up metal protective gate at age five was still there; so was the slightly larger pair of scars on the back of his right thigh from when he had been bitten by a dog in tenth grade, but the small birth mark on his chest was gone. Lyle slowly sat down on the toilet and stared at nothing.

There was some knocking at the bathroom door, but then it stopped. Eventually he felt the need to eliminate and did so.

A long time later Lyle blinked, shivered once, and muttered “scientific method,” as if it were the Holy Grail and would solve all his problems. He cleaned up, took a shower, dried off and stood on the scale.

“One hundred and seven pounds...a loss of fifty three pounds,” he muttered as he worked to keep the panic lurking just under the surface of his thoughts from breaking through. Moving back to his bedroom after carefully checking to see that none of his roommates were around to see him in his present state, he continued his self-examination, still unaware he was even vocalizing.

“Light brown hair, over the ears and about an inch up from the shoulder. Color and length seemed about the same as before although the roots seem a bit lighter…”

Then Lyle looked in the mirror, and noticed something that had changed. “My eyes are blue,” he continued muttering worriedly.

“Eyes of blue,” he began singing nervously. Abruptly, he stopped, glancing worriedly about, as if to see if anyone had observed his brief journey into madness. Continuing in a tightly controlled voice, he added, “A change from brown.”

Grabbing a pencil and a note pad, he began scribbling but just as suddenly stopped. Putting the pad on his head, he stood against the wall and marked his height. Moving quickly to his desk, he grabbed up a ruler and measured.

“Five foot eight inches...no change. Look at the body.”

Lyle moved over to the mirror attached to the back of his bedroom door, a leftover from an unknown former occupant, and turned from side to side.

“Well muscled, a little more fat...”

Taking a towel, he wrapped the long edge of it around his chest and marked a measurement. Bringing the towel over to the desk he again picked up the ruler and measure the diameter marked.

“Thirty seven and a half.” Repeating the process for his waist and hips, he jotted down twenty-four and thirty-six.

Lyle stared at the data for several long minutes before sighing in acceptance. As a research assistant, he had long ago learned that data did not lie; just the people who manipulated it. He was going to have to accept the obvious. For the first time he spoke out loud. “Okay, I’m now female, estimated age twenty to twenty-five, blue eyes, light brown hair, five-foot eight-inches and a hundred and seven pounds. I was male, approximately the same age, brown eyes, same hair color, same hair length and same height, but fifty-three pounds heavier.”

It was at this point that Lyle finally noted that his voice had changed too. Somewhat anticlimactically, he sang a scale and decided it was now a rather light and melodious soprano. He added it to the list of changes.

“How?

“No, set that aside for now. The question isn’t how but, what. What to do now?” He grabbed the note pad again and began making a list. Lists were good. They helped Lyle decide what was important and had to be done immediately and what could wait.

“One, get dressed. Two, eat. Three...no, eat first, figure out what to wear, then get dressed.” He stopped short.

“Did I really say that? “ Giggling, he continued, “Then...then I work on ‘What then.’”

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 6, 8:45 A.M., EAST 55TH STREET, APARTMENT 1617, NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK

Eunice groaned, stretched and rolled over to turn off the alarm clock on the nightstand beside her. “I thought I had that thing turned off,” she grumbled.

What a shame, it had been such an interesting dream. She had dreamt of being a boy chasing a girl instead of being chased. With a wry grin at the ludicrousness of the idea, Eunice thought, “I’d think I was gay or something if I didn’t know better.”

With a leisurely stretch against the satin sheets, she quickly took stock. No fever, no chills, no pain.

“Well,” she thought, “now that I’m up and I am apparently healthy again, I may as well go to work...or not.”

She stared at the bed covers, where a large stiff object was pushing upward. She reached her hand out over the sheet and gently poked at the strange intruder. It felt very odd when she touched it. She jerked as she realized it was attached.

Throwing off the covers, she jumped out of bed and onto the soft pink plush carpet, yanked off her nightgown and stared at herself in the full-length mirror on back of her bedroom door. Her hands went to her mouth and just barely muffled the scream that came out.

Surprisingly, the shock was short lived. “I’m a man. This doesn’t just happen. I’ve got to be dreaming.” She pinched her arm.

“Ouch! This ain’t no dream. What the hell is going on?” She spun about looking at her new body. “Not bad I guess. Same hair. Same height. A bit on the thin side. I wonder how this could happen.”

Suddenly Eunice stood rigidly still.

“I wonder. Could it? I’ll bet...It’s got to have something to do with the university; maybe that silly accident with Abbot? I’d better find him and fast.”

A quick check in the telephone directory produced a telephone number.

“Ring.”

“Ring.”

“Ring.”

“Ring.”

“Click. As usual, I’m not here now. If you really want me, try the lab; otherwise leave a message at the beep. Click. Click. Beeeep.”

“Abbot, this is Eunice–Eunice Branca from the university. Abbot, something’s happened and I think we need to talk...”

“Hello Eunice. Is that really you? It doesn’t sound like you. Wait a second and I’ll turn off this answering machine.” There was another click on the phone line.

“I understand. Something strange has happened to me. I was wondering if we might talk.”

“You too? You’re right. We do need to talk. Has your...Uh...Has something changed?”

“Yes, but what seems to have happened is kind of impossible.”

“How about if I start, Eunice?” Lyle took a deep breath. “Something absolutely amazing has happened. I think it must have happened to both of us. I also think it must be related in some way to the accident in the lab. This is hard to say. It would probably be easier if we were face to face, but here goes...have you changed sex?”

“Yes. You too?”

“Me too. We better meet somewhere...and soon. Do you want to come to me or should I come to you?”

“This is going to sound silly Lyle, but what are you going to wear?” Eunice continued after a brief silence, “Exactly. I have a much more extensive wardrobe and the credit cards to fill in any gaps. In fact, give me some basic measurements and your skin, hair and eye color, and I’ll bring some clothes for you. I have your address from the phone book and I can be there in about one hour.”

Eunice was right. The selection of clothes was more difficult. She placed them on the bed for better evaluation.

For Lyle she chose a variety of dresses, casual, and intimate items that either stretched, fit various sizes, or provided layering. Looking at the pile, something was missing. She pursed her lips in consideration for a moment, and then added a variety of lipsticks, mascaras, powders, conditioners, assorted jewelry. Even two wigs were added and the whole pile placed into a large suitcase.

For herself, she chose a pair of baggy jeans, a white tee shirt and a flannel shirt, worn unbuttoned since the buttons were on the wrong side.

Underwear bottoms proved to be a problem. In the absence of anything more appropriate, Eunice chose a pair of boxer-style flannel pajama bottoms.

Looking at herself, Eunice then took her shoulder length hair, combed it straight and put it into a loose ponytail at the top of her head. After a moment’s examination, she repositioned it lower on the back of her head.

“Gee, I haven’t been out of the house without makeup since I was eleven,” Eunice giggled; only it came out as a deep, rumbling belly laugh.

Going to her purse, she pulled out all her money and credit cards and stuffed them into her pockets. Then re-opened the suitcase and stuffed a couple purses inside.

“Now, what do I do about the doorman?” Quickly, Eunice moved back to her desk, pulled out a piece of stationary and wrote two notes. The first, to the doorman, said...

Dear Malcolm:

Something important has occurred and I will be away for a while. I don’t know how long yet. I will be having some friends condo-sitting for me, but I’m not sure which ones at the moment. I’ll introduce them to you via letter using this same stationary.

If there are any questions, please leave a message at my work number. They will be able to reach me, although it might take a few days. I look forward to being home again soon.

Sincerely yours,
Eunice

The second letter said …

Dear Malcolm:

This is to introduce you to the couple that will be condo-sitting for me. Please treat them as well as you have always treated me. I’ll be back as soon as possible.

Thanks.

Sincerely yours,
Eunice

Sealing the letters, she placed them in separate envelopes and stuck the second one in the suitcase. Then, she lugged it all to the door and out.

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 6, 9:50 A.M., BIOMEDICAL SCIENCES BUILDING, NEW YORK UNIVERSITY

“Mrs. MacInerney. May I please have the addresses and telephone numbers of Ms. Branca and Mr. Abbot?”

Dr. Sternlicht stood rigidly before the secretary’s desk. As usual, he was staring at a spot about two-feet above the woman’s head, unwilling to acknowledge the social convention of eye contact.

“Certainly Dr. Sternlicht,” Mrs. MacInerney began flipping though a card file. “Is there anything wrong?”

“No, of course not. I merely wish to contact them so that I can acquire several documents I need for the paper I am currently preparing. They have each taken various portions of the material I require and, slackers that they are, have failed to arrive at work this morning as required.”
Mrs. MacInerney scribbled on a piece of paper and handed it to Dr. Sternlicht. She started to ask if there was anything else that she could do, but Dr. Sternlicht had already turned and exited the office.

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 6, 9:57 A.M., UNDERGROUND RESEARCH FACILITY, LOCATION DELETED CONSISTENT WITH PROVISIONS OF THE NATIONAL SECURITY ACT

Captain “Hank” Schultz could already hear a dial tone as he hung up the telephone. Sitting quietly, staring at the peeling paint on the ceiling above his desk didn’t help, but looking down at the unadorned dull green walls was no better. With a sigh and an unspoken curse for all the prig scientists in the world, he picked the telephone up again and buzzed his aid. “Jack, I need the Crisis Team in the conference room ASAP.”

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 6, 10:12 A.M., UNDER-GROUND RESEARCH FACILITY, LOCATION DELETED CONSISTENT WITH PROVISIONS OF THE NATIONAL SECURITY ACT

The portable blackboard was clean. There were six men sitting on the folding chairs surrounding the too-small card table in the center of the room. At least the air conditioning was working today. Captain Schultz began.

“Gentlemen, we may have a problem. The project leader has just reported that two of his ancillary staff on Project Janus have failed to report to work as scheduled. They’ve been unavailable for the last three days. Furthermore, the project leader advises me that there was an accident in the lab on their last day of work. At least one vial of an experimental substance has been broken and a biohazard condition may have occurred.

“Our job is to locate and contain these two individuals taking full biohazard precautions. Additionally, this must be handled as a “class one” security issue.

“We’ll start with their last known locations and work from there. This, and all other available information, is in the briefing packets in front of you.”

“Lieutenant Jackson.”

“Yes sir.”

“You will take Group One. Locate and isolate this Lyle Abbot.”

“Lieutenant Roegler.”

“Yes sir.”

“You will take Group Two. Locate and isolate Eunice Harriman.”

“Master Sergeant Challer.”

“Yes sir.”

“You will organize communication. At this time, police and health agencies are NOT to be informed, except to be advised that we are engaged in an operation in their area. They are requested to stand down for now, but we may call upon them for assistance if necessary.”

“Questions?

“No?

"Then let’s go gentlemen. Double time. Please remain here a moment, Dr. Isaacs.” As the others left, Captain Schultz began to pace.

“I’d like a realistic risk assessment. Can this be contained?”

Dr. Isaacs looked up to the ceiling for several seconds while clasping and unclasping his hands.

“After speaking to Dr. Sternlicht and reviewing the specifications I would have to say ‘I don’t know.’ We are in totally new ground here. My guess is that the genetically modified virus will act in a manner similar to the original virus in terms of transfer capability. If that is so, it should require blood to blood contact and that should mean that only the standard blood born pathogen precautions should be required.

“This is also Dr. Sternlicht’s opinion, isn’t it Doctor?”

“Yes sir, it is. The problem is, we cannot assume. We must act as quickly as possible to contain the contagion. Furthermore, we must assume that this is a highly contagious, deadly, air and/or contact born virus and that means that every second these two individuals are loose they could be infecting everyone they meet, possibly hundreds to begin with and maybe eventually millions. The area of contagion could increase exponentially. Under those circumstances we could loose New York City or–again worse case–the entire continent.”

“You know our need for secrecy here. You know the plan.” Captain Schultz turned away again as he continued pacing. “Is there something more we need to do?”

“No. Not as long as our assumptions are correct.”

“Thank you Dr. Isaacs. One last question. It may be classified, but I think I now have a need to know. What does this damn virus do anyway?”

“Well, Captain. It’s not an issue of need to know so much as that I’m not sure yet. As you know, the publicly stated function of the virus is to eliminate the rejection problems inherent with most organ transplants. It does this by eliminating any portions of the genetic code that might individualize it. The virus fills those spaces in the helix initially, but it is unstable and as soon as replacement genetic material can be obtained, the virus absorbs it and begins replicating that new genetic structure in every cell. If the virus works as advertised, it should be possible to infect a target population and then hold them ransom with the threat of spreading a genetically modified disease specific to only that population. The potential for controlled biological warfare is tremendous.”

“And just what will the opportunities for misuse be I wonder?” Captain Schultz shook his head. “That will be all for now. Thank you Dr. Isaacs.”