Part Three

As he rose invisible into the sky, Aaron was tempted to fly the slow way back to Haven. The weather was that nice. With a resigned sigh, he flew high enough to be above airliner traffic and applied his quick travel power to head west.

* * *

Melody was sitting, staring unseeing at the far wall of her office, when her boss stopped by later that afternoon.

"You look busy."

"I am, actually," she said, raising an eyebrow. "Deep in thought."

"Hey, you reporters aren't paid to think," said Gadding, with a grin. "You're paid to write."

She had to laugh at that. Then she motioned him to come in. Melody definitely noted that he closed her normally open door on the way. Even before her kidnapping, she had preferred that freedom of access; the open door helped her cue in on the general mood of the office. These days, having her boss and friend close the door gave her a flash of claustrophobia. Fortunately, he got right to the point.

"Did you get what you wanted from your interview?" said Gadding, as he settled into the chair on the other side of the desk from his employee.

"On multiple levels," said Melody, nodding.

"Anything you can tell me about?"

She gave him the digest version of what Aaron had related to her, though for the upcoming Libyan project she only noted that the group had "other things in the works."

"Excellent. I expect you to produce several articles from all this. If you think there's more going on than you can cover, feel free to let some other reporters in on things."

"You don't have to go easy on me, Carl," said Melody, flatly. "I can do the work, and I can judge for myself when to call on others for help."

"That's better," he said, smiling and nodding. "Well, get on with it, then!"

Again, she had to laugh at her boss' comment.

"He's remarkable, even for one of the empowered," said Gadding, after a few moments of quiet.

"Did you know that as a child he knew people who had been slaves?" said Melody, softly.

"No, but I'm not surprised. He was born in the South in 1895."

* * *

"Good morning, Mannequin," said Dr. Carver.

"Good morning!" came the cheerful reply.

The psychiatrist frowned at the little boy as he climbed into the chair opposite him.

"Could you take an adult form, please? If for no other reason, so I can look you in the eye."

"Sure," said the boy. He grinned, and expanded. In seconds, the therapist was confronted by a tall, leggy, stacked brunette in leggings and a - for Mannequin - modest blouse. "How's this?"

"Well, I can look you in the eye," said Carver, with a slight smile. "If you don't mind my asking, why the frequent gender changes? I can understand experimenting, but you've had your powers for years."

"Why should I deny myself access to half the population?" said Mannequin, smiling and practically purring.

"I see. You've said before you enjoy sex, but this seems to go beyond that."

"Oh, definitely. I guess I'm a sensualist. I enjoy experiencing not just sex, but many forms of pleasure, and not just with different physiologies, but different viewpoints."

"What about other explanations?" said Carver, definitely looking her in the eyes while speaking casually. "Can you think of other reasons for your, well, desire to be so flexible in your sexual adventures?"

Mannequin squirmed uncomfortably for a bit, then sighed and nodded.

"I am... complicated," said Mannequin, with a tired smile. "Before my empowerment I had a Y chromosome, was intersexed and bisexual... only no-one knew all that, including me. Everyone thought I was a girl, which was fine because I liked boys. Then, when I was fifteen, my parents found out I liked girls, too, and took me to a doctor for my first really detailed physical. Yes, they are the type who think being anything other than straight is a sickness, and that only sinners get sick and need doctors. I'm surprised they even bothered with my vaccinations.

"Anyway, when the doctor tried to give me a pelvic exam she realized there was a problem. Things went rapidly downhill from there. Somehow - according to my parents, anyway - it was all my fault, including being misdiagnosed as physically female at birth."

Dr. Carver hid it, but he was surprised at the extent of this revelation. He'd already known most of this - had even heard some of it from Mannequin - but to have all this related in one go, almost casually...

"You are definitely not alone in having parents like that," said Dr. Carver, sympathetically. "Or even in having that assortment of problems."

"Yes, but I believe my parents' reaction was at the extreme end of the spectrum," said Mannequin, dryly.

"They didn't notice your breasts weren't developing? That you weren't having periods?"

"Well, yes," Mannequin admitted, uneasily. "To the former, anyway. My mother isn't all that well endowed, but that lack was part of the reason they finally had me checked. As for menstruation, that wasn't discussed in polite company."

"So they were legitimately concerned that you weren't developing properly," said Dr. Carver, pointedly. "However, you believe the primary reason your parents were concerned about your health was that you weren't 'normal.'"

"Yes. Then they decided to 'make me normal.' So, without consulting me, they and the specialist on intersexed children they were sent to decided on surgery to remove all my internalized boy bits. I didn't even know what the surgery was for until later; they said it was to help with my urination issues. Which were actually minor, and which I told them about but they ignored the matter until the first doctor mentioned that might be a problem. Then they criticized me for not telling them! My protests that I had told them just confirmed that I was a rebellious teenager who had to be taken in hand!"

Obviously upset, she took a moment to sit back, tug her blouse straight and take a few deep breaths to calm herself. When she continued she was rather smug.

"Fortunately, the hospital was using a new relaxant in the pre-anesthesia IV which has since been banned because it turned out to be a trigger chemical. Before the anesthetist could gas me, I was higher than any of his previous patients. Literally."

"That's one way to find vindication," said Carver, nodding, and even smiling a bit.

Mannequin looked startled.

"You know, I never thought of it that way."

She smiled. A bit vindictively.

"Let's see," said Carver, flipping through his notes. "You've tried both genders, with both same-sex and opposite sex partners. You've tried multiple ages, ethnic types..."

"Exactly! For that matter, why should I limit myself to humans?" said Mannequin. Her expression turned wistful. "Have you seen that golden retriever of the Director's? I'd love to have his puppies."

She held the pose of longing for a moment, then relented and laughed.

"I see," said Carver, smiling uneasily. "Well, humor has many uses, including providing a safe venue for exploring otherwise forbidden topics. However, I recall your comments on bringing children into the world in its current state."

"Actually, Aaron pointed out that the world is usually in 'its current state,'" said Mannequin, a bit sadly. "He also keeps emphasizing how each of us needs to choose our fights. So, no worries on that issue, for now I am definitely reluctant to father or mother a child. Even a human one."

* * *

Getting permission to visit the chemical repository was neither quick nor easy. It still officially didn't exist, despite being shown briefly on live television. Inquiries to various government agencies had resulted in polite letters which basically said nothing. Fortunately, Aaron had relayed her request to Blackpool. The response to that had come two days after his visit, in the form of a telephone call.

Arranging transportation was almost as difficult, and nearly as time consuming. Aaron and Blackpool were both too busy to act as taxi. However, Melody had finally worked out an arrangement with Blackpool where he would send an innocuous government vehicle to the closest commercial airport. That still left a three hour commute by road after her flight. Even then, Melody was only able to make the trip because Blackpool agreed to put her up in a VIP room at the facility for a week.

As she exited the car inside the compound, most of those Melody could see were strangers to her, many of them wearing the bland, non-descriptive uniforms of facility workers. A few were known to her, with most of those being empowered. Despite his claims that he was too busy to give her a personal lift, Blackpool was one of those on hand to welcome Melody to the facility. In fact, he was front and center as the dusty sedan pulled to a stop inside the walls.

"I'm glad to see you again," said Blackpool, his smile visible through his full-face mask as he took Melody's hand. "As well as that you're finally getting to see what we're doing here."

"I'm just as glad I'm finally getting to see this place in person," said Melody, with a slight laugh. They held hands a bit longer than strictly necessary according to protocol. When they finally released Melody was surprised to find she had enjoyed the contact. Even through his gloves.

"I suppose knowing that Aaron and his team are using some of our facility for a major project increased that curiosity," said Blackpool. He showed no reaction to that slightly prolonged welcome, naturally.

"Yes, but I wanted to see this place, anyway," said Melody, wondering if she had imagined what they seemed to have shared. After greeting the others there to welcome her, she continued more quietly as he escorted her inside. "I'm also glad to see you. You've been sequestered here for months. So thoroughly that I didn't even know you were here until recently."

"Yes, Aaron told me about his visit. Well, let me give you the tour, and you can meet him later."

The place was larger than she expected, mainly due to so much of the construction being underground. This first tour was brief, just to give Melody in idea of what was there. She also wasn't shown everything on this initial tour, since some areas were unsafe to enter without donning protective gear. Naturally, there were others areas which simply weren't mentioned.

"Here's your quarters," said Blackpool, finally. The door was open and the lights on. Melody's luggage was already on the bed. "This suite of rooms is used by visiting officials and experts, but none are here right now. There's a good-quality deadbolt lock on your door, and the windows latch securely. The key for the door is on the dresser, there."

"Thank you. I'll grab a quick shower and change of clothes and... Where do I go from here, anyway?"

"It's lunch time," said Blackpool, his smile again slightly visible through his mask. "If you don't remember the way to the commissary, there's a printed map beside the keys."

"Oh. Right, then. Thank you. I'll be there shortly.

* * *

When Melody got to the commissary she saw that "lunch" seemed to be mostly over, but there was still plenty of food and many people eating. Blackpool wasn't there, but to her pleased surprise she saw Aaron sitting alone at one of the tables, staring at an unopened bottle of soda. She slid into a seat across from him. He nodded towards her absently, and continued staring at the bottle. Melody didn't want to interrupt whatever train of thought was occupying him, so she stayed silent. Instead of speaking, she idly wondered if anyone would ever develop a plastic bottle which could meet all the requirements which had ended every previous attempt to replace glass.

She was just thinking of how glass bottles were overall sturdy but could break into dangerous fragments under impact, when the lid blew off the bottle!

"Well," said Aaron, with an embarrassed laugh, "that reaction was rather more energetic than I was expecting!"

"What the Hell were you doing?" said Melody, grabbing napkins from the dispenser on the table and wiping at her clothes.

"Probability manipulation. Or, as some call it, reality shaping. I was trying to get the cap to come off. In a controlled manner."

"Like AmberMite," said the reporter, startled into momentarily stopping her dabbing and staring at the empowered man. "I didn't know you could do that!"

"I got some tips from Mannequin," said Aaron. He gave her a tired smile. "I'd offer to use it to remove the pop from your clothes, but I'm worried about how that could go wrong."

"Yes, please, refrain, at least for now," said Melody, with a nervous laugh.

"This actually fits in with our long-term project, here," said Aaron, leaning back a bit. "Working with probabilities. It's... Well, there are others here who could probably explain it better."

"You said the other day that you were working on some sort of computer."

"It is definitely that!" said Aaron, with a wry laugh. "We started over thirty years ago with Adam. Then came Betty. Then Colin. We're up to Harriett by now."

"You alternate between male and female names."

"Helps us to keep track of where we are," said Aaron, sitting back in his chair. He looked sad. Even tired. "Anyway, I apologize for not being here when you arrived. I heard about someone who had been buried in a landslide on the west coast. I flew out and helped find them. Unfortunately, they had already been dead for some time. If there had just been an air pocket..."

Melody decided to get him onto another topic as quickly as possible.

"Blackpool has been giving me - as folks used to say - the nickel tour," said Melody, smiling. "However, even the others working on your group project here have told me that you're the best guide for that."

"I think Blackpool and the others were leaving it to me to determine how much to trust you with," said Aaron, with a shrug. "If I'm not mistaken, he didn't even show your our research facilities, also leaving that to me."

"Well, before we start lunch I need to visit a restroom and try to get some more of this off. I'll be back in a bit."

Once she left, Aaron looked back at the mess on the table. An odd haze formed around the bottle, and suddenly all the soda was back in it and the cap back in place. Aaron stood and casually moved to the trash, where he disposed of the bottle. He had been a fast learner even before his empowerment, and in the century since...

Melody would later note that her clothes had dried more quickly than she expected, and subsequently needed less cleaning.