Just a story about a transvestite space gypsy.

~o~O~o~

NEW SPACETRAN .

Chapter 1.

Beverly was tired. Not just ‘tired — tired’ because of lack of sleep but also tired as in ‘weary’ — weary from the long years of isolation from her home world, the self imposed loneliness that was the only mechanism that enabled her to feel safe. Now her tiredness had plunged her into a miniature crisis. Not a life threatening crisis but an inconvenience that forced her to ‘space-walk’ when she didn’t feel like spacewalking and to check the hull when she was really too tired to give the inspection her total attention. Wearily, she sighed and secured herself into the space suite.

It was the end of one of a myriad intergalactic flights and she had not anticipated the heavy meteorite shower that had peppered her immensely strong shield as she slowed down to a veritable ‘interplanetary crawl’. Some of the meteorites had been as big as tennis balls and there was always the remote possibility that one or perhaps even two may have pierced the shield and managed to strike the hull. If they had, it was her own fault. She had been travelling too fast, too close to the inner planets, - a miscalculation stemming directly from her fatigue. She had planned on ‘zero-basing’ her jumping off point from Sol ready for the next intergalactic journey. Now she had to recalculate her voyage plans after checking out the hull.
However, Beverly was at least back roughly where she wanted to be, that was inside the orbit of Jupiter and in the proximity of old Sol again, the yellow dwarf that she once, long, long ago, thought of as ‘home’. More importantly, Sol was the Zero of Zeros in Beverly’s navigational nomenclature.

With Cold Albatross now in stable orbit around Sol she finally completed her hull inspection then ran some tests to ensure Albatross’s integrity after the unexpected Meteorite storm. Beverly’s tiredness had in part caused her to blunder into the meteorite shower ‘though in all fairness,’ she told herself, ‘It was a bloody extensive storm’ and she had never expected to encounter such a large widespread shower so close in to the sun. Normally Jupiter’s immense gravitational field would have swept up the billions of particles from grains of sand to the size of tennis balls and sucked them down onto Jupiter’s surface.

‘Shit I must have been tired to miss that!’ She scolded herself.

Now; - with her beloved ship ‘Cold Albatross’ in a safe, stable orbit again, she had time to take stock and have a sleep. When she awoke her first priority would be to check back on her previous voyage plan and examine her figures. Something had definitely gone wrong.

The subject could wait for now however, more important was her sleep. Within minutes, Beverly was curled up under her duvet and sleeping with her thumb in her mouth as she nearly always did. In the silent endless void, Cold Albatross drifted in her own planetary orbit around Sol.

She woke some time later and even before eating, she went to check her figures. It irked her that she had made such a simple mistake on what had long ago become her most regular and frequent voyage. The error just shouldn’t have happened. She deemed the mistake to be a reflection of the degree of her fatigue.

Eventually she realised she had made a tiny mathematical error during her transition from intergalactic time warp, to interstellar space warp. This had compounded itself when she transitioned to plain ordinary interplanetary sub-light speed. The navigational error in the final change-over meant her just missing that safe ellipsoid corridor that was free of meteorites in the ‘gravitational shadow’ radiating from Jupiter’s all protective immense bulk. She had consequently swept into the Solar system with the wrong approach and crunched straight into the shower. Fortunately, her reduced speed relative to the meteorites had been extremely low because the meteorites were hurtling towards Sol just as Cold Albatross was and their paths were only finely convergent. The particles had flashed up brilliantly on her detectors as they bounced off the Cold Albatross’s shield and ricocheted in all directions though mostly towards the sun. With the crisis over and The Cold Albatross now safely ‘parked in orbit’ between Earth and Mars, Beverly slipped into her living quarters and made herself a meal.

She was running short of decent underwear and other supplies so a raid on the Earth’s fashion houses and supermarkets was needed. For now though it could wait; food and yet more sleep called. Beverly hadn’t realised how tired she was.

Aboard Cold Albatross there was no night and day, no morning and evening; indeed there was no ‘formal, definitive ‘time’ at all save that of Beverly’s own personal body clock. Why should there be? Beverly was utterly alone and had been for years, the whole routine on the ship was Beverly’s routine.

The only other time that mattered was the immensely complex equations of time and time warping that enabled her ship to streak across the immeasurable intergalactic voids in what seemed to Beverly like earthly hours. Beverly understood the equations but no others did. That external time, the intergalactic time, the universal field of time was an external dimension and had nothing to do with Beverly’s internal clock.

For now that ‘internal clock’ said ‘food!’ and as she ate her meal, she reflected.

‘Nobody else understood those time equations’, Beverly reminded herself, ‘not nobody in the whole wide universe.’ The knowledge and solution of those equations were what gave Beverly the freedom to cross the universe.

And it was true.

Beverly was the supreme space traveller, the intergalactic gypsy, the star tramp, the planetary vagabond.

As she savoured her meal, Beverly adjusted her course and speed so that Cold Albatross would lazily spiral inwards towards the Earth until she was caught in stasis by the moon’s gravity above a chosen destination buried deep in a secret cave on the moon. As her speed progressively decelerated, the rendezvous would be in about six hours during which time she would end up parked out of sight behind the moon.

Beverly liked the Earth’s moon. It was the very first extra-terrestrial body she had visited and to this day, many years later; it still served as the beacon of her liberation, the first faltering step on her escape from hell on Earth. The moon was the first place that she ever felt safe; - safe from the childhood nightmare that had been Earth. Even as a small child long, long before she escaped, the moon had been her only companion; - the friend who brought light and companionship during the long dark nights of childhood terror. Some might describe Beverly as a ‘Lunatic’ and there was some truth to that description.

Beverly hated the Earth but she was condemned to revisit the planet where she was born, to periodically replenish her ship with food and clothes. Yes, she often garnished food from other worlds but she still hankered for certain favourite titbits that only the earth seemingly provided. Sadly, each return visit to Earth left her shivering with a morbid, primordial fear. Each new departure brought relief and joy as her heart sang while The Cold Albatross sprang once again for the stars and galaxies and best of all, freedom. With these mixed feelings she took to her bed again with nervous anticipation of the forthcoming revisit when she awoke.

The alarm dragged her from her sleep and she blinked myopically as she stared at the illuminated space outside her ship caused by Sol’s intense glare. A quick glance at the primary function meters above her bed reassured her and she sat up stretching like a sensuous cat.

‘Time to get up,’ she told herself, ‘time to go shopping.’

Her nervous anticipation made her hungry again so she drank some libi juice and split herself a vorten egg. Then, as she savoured the delicious, alien egg, the close approach alarm started to moan softly.

‘Shit what’s that?' She wondered irritably as she stepped into the control room. ‘I thought we were free of those bloody meteorites!’

However, to her surprise, a quick glance at the screen told her that an artificial object was passing close to her ship and it was heading for some place beyond Jupiter.

‘Probably another manmade probe,’ she concluded and frowned, - 'beyond Jupiter, well that was probably the best place for it.' It was no danger to The Cold Albatross for they were on diverging courses. She was spiralling in towards earth while the probe was being flung out, free of earth’s gravity and off on some immeasurable journey into near space, - that is ‘near space’ by Beverly’s intergalactic perspective. To ordinary earthmen, ‘beyond Jupiter’ was strictly ‘outer space’ to Beverly it was ‘next door’!

She plonked her breakfast plate on the control console side table and resumed eating her vorten egg. It was too tasty to let go cold. Earth didn’t have a monopoly on beautiful food.

She expected the alarm to eventually ‘calm down’ but to her annoyance’ the thing continued moaning invasively until Beverly was forced to take a closer look. She finished her egg first though. Vorten eggs were just too good to let spoil. Then she stepped over to the close approach monitor and took a closer look. She expanded the image and increased the gain on the analysis sensitivity to have a proper look at the dammed object. Her discovery shocked and angered her.

It wasn’t a probe; it was a manned space craft of some description!

“What the fu-,” she managed to stop her curse, for despite having lived alone for nearly forty years, she still suffered from the brutal censures of her shattered childhood.

The philosophies of the Jesuits were a perfect reflection of Beverly’s damaged psyche, - (give us the child, you can have the man.) She studied the output from the alarm then cursed mainly from confusion.

‘It’s a, - it’s a bloody space craft. What the hell is it doing all the way out here? Half way to bloody Mars!’

The space craft wasn’t by any means ‘half way to Mars’ but it was on a course to eternity and far beyond the Earth’s gravitational pull. Beverly’s instruments told her the craft had living sentients aboard and if that tiny cockleshell was bound for Mar’s (Which Beverly’s computers assured her, it wasn’t,) then whatever life was aboard it would be dead long before it got to Mars. The situation warranted a closer inspection for Beverly was bound by IGACOSOLIS, ‘The Intergalactic Convention of Safety of Life in Space.’

Reluctantly and with no little annoyance, she hauled Cold Albatross short round and set her on an intercept course. In little more than minutes, Albatross was standing off alongside the tiny craft and only then did Beverly realise the problem. The craft had been struck all down one side by meteorites, - possibly the same meteorites that had caught Beverly out. However, Cold Albatross had an immensely thick Titanium, ‘Starlite’ alloy hull further protected by the force shield. The primitive craft not 100 meters distance on Beverly’s port beam had nothing and the ghastly impact holes showed fatal damage. The crippled craft, -or whatever it was, was out of control and hurling towards certain disaster. If there were any living souls aboard, they were bound for hell or heaven and it would be a long slow death if they weren’t already dead.
Beverly sighed wearily.

‘Jee’ze, why did these stupid arseholes set off on such precarious adventures with so little margin for error?’ she wondered. Now she had her work cut out. She had to prepare the tractor beam then drag the blasted space craft aboard and it looked awfully bloody fragile! Then, finally she had to secure it in her capacious cargo bay and land it somewhere safe, preferably back on Earth. They were already some several millions of miles from the earth so the stupid buggers inside were probably dead or as close as. At the speed and trajectory they were following, Beverly calculated that they had been travelling for upwards of ten days. Before starting to get out all her rescue apparel, Beverly decided to check the derelict craft out first.

She manoeuvred to within a few meters then projected a powerful light into the dull lifeless windows of the derelict. She had given up on any possible survivors.
To her amazement a shocked face appeared in the window.
For long moments the face stared stupidly at the unrecognisable alien form of the Cold Albatross then eventually recognised Beverly’s human face in Cold Albatross’s side window. She was waving to attract attention. The face remained in shock and Beverly realised they were either too far gone to respond or just plain stunned by the alien apparition that had appeared beside them. Beverly now realised she really did have her work cut out and then some.

Tractoring another, smaller space ship aboard her own stout craft had never been attempted before. The tractor beam was not the most precise or gentle of tools; it was really a piece of ‘mining or cargo handling equipment’ used to yank mineral rocks out of an asteroid belt for quarrying purposes or lifting strong, purpose built, cargo containers that could withstand a clumsy impact. Tractor beams were never gentle and the fragile craft in Albatross’s shadow looked particularly vulnerable. Close up the damage was immense. The meteorite impact would not only have damaged the craft but also deflected it onto this crazy ‘towards - eternity’ course beyond Jupiter. After an hour labouring in her space suite, evacuating the cargo hold of her precious air and freeing the clamshell loading hatchway, Beverly at last had The Cold Albatross prepared to receive cargo. The tractor beam was attached to the derelict and slowly, painfully slowly; it was wound in inch by inch like a fish on a line.

Despite Beverly’s best efforts, there were the inevitable bumps and clunks as the fragile spacecraft banged against Cold Albatross’s immensely strong cargo hull until finally; the derelict came to rest in the cargo bay. Beverly closed the clamshell, equalised the air pressure and stepped into the cargo bay.

Once there, she poked her torch through the little triangular windows and identified at least seven occupants. Fortunately they responded to her light and immediately tried speaking to her. Beverly heard nothing for Cold Albatross had no radio communications whatsoever; she had never anticipated a need for any. When she had left Earth, it had been intentionally a ‘one-way-ticket’ with few expectations of ever meeting and greeting others. She reached into the front panel of her space suite and produced a notepad on which she wrote.

"Put on your space helmets. I’m trying to get in.”
The moment the crew saw the English writing they produced their own note pad and wrote.-

“We will unlock from the inside. Stand back for air blast to free door.”

Beverly did as requested and the hinged door flipped open as air whooshed out. Immediately the crew started to clamber out and stared disbelievingly around them before clamping eyes on the tiny space suited figure that had now retreated back behind the strengthened, cargo-bulkhead door. Beverly was now studying them from her own little citadel through the strengthened glass window in the armoured door.

The rescued crew continued gaping disbelievingly around them as they gradually realised they had been rescued by some sort of Alien ship. They still weren’t sure about the nature of the creature that had rescued them. Beverly realised they were frightened so she removed her helmet and signalled to them to remove theirs. As a starter she opened the window in the door and offered her hand to them. Still they hesitated.

Eventually they came to their senses for the exquisite little ‘alien’ obviously meant them no harm; - ‘hadn’t she just rescued them?’ they told themselves. Eventually the commander of the crew spoke through the little, open armoured window.

“Who are you?” He asked incredulously.

There was a painful silence before Beverly riposted a little facetiously.

“Uuhhm, excuse me, shouldn’t the question here be, - Who are you? I’m the one who rescued a bunch of castaways drifting away into space in what can only be described as a bloody derelict life-raft.”

The astronauts suddenly got the perspective and promptly identified themselves before describing the events that had propelled their craft off course and into deep space. Beverly continued twisting the knife as she enjoyed toying with their ignorance.

“And what in the hell prompted you to set off into space without even a proper engine in your craft. I’ve run my sensors over that piece of junk and I can’t find any plausible engine; - no crude rocket engines, no neutron thrust, no maglev, no warp, no nothing. You’ve gone in breach of all intergalactic law! By rights I could have you arrested for endangering other sentients’ lives by requiring them to come and rescue you. Though having said that, I doubt there’s anybody else out here in these backwoods, who could have reached you in time. What in Space’s name possessed you?”

The astronauts remained silent, stunned by the revelations that there was apparently some sort of interstellar community operating way out beyond their limits of knowledge and exploration. Finally one of them recovered enough to speak.

“Well now that we’ve thanked you for rescuing us, would it still be rude of us to ask who you are?”

Beverly was getting nervous, human men had always made her nervous; it was a hangover from a childhood of abuse. She decided to tell them little.

“You need only know that I am the owner and commander of this ship and that it is a fully registered, properly equipped, intergalactic ship. I am fully licensed to IG 1 standards to take any ship, anywhere, anyhow. Now I think it’s time I returned you to a safe place as per the IGACOSOLIS RULES. Am I right in thinking you come from that primitive planet?”

She pointed to Earth and they nodded.

“Right, then that’s where I’ll return you.”

“Gentlemen oh, and ladies I now see, If you’ll return to that firework you call a space ship, I’ll return you to that planet and say no more about the business of going into space improperly equipped. I just can’t face all the bloody paperwork and fortunately there are no other witnesses this far out in the boondocks! So please, ladies and gentlemen, back into your cockleshell if you please.”

She closed the armoured window in the cargo bulkhead door and pulled the opaque flap across thus curtailing any further chance of discourse. Before the astronauts had time to argue or ask any further questions, they felt the alien ship give a shudder, change direction and soon they were streaking towards Earth. The astronauts wondered if the ship would stop in time but their fears were soon conquered. As the huge disc of the Earth started to fill their views, the Cold Albatross gave another little shudder and hove to about five hundred miles above the earth. Beverly was debating how and where to deliver the stricken ship and crew. She was determined to embarrass the Earthmen for daring to ask who she was after it was her who had rescued them.

Beverly was a wounded, dysfunctional individual and her eventual plan perfectly illustrated that psychopathy. Once the astronauts were back inside their craft she descended easily to the planet surface and found what she was looking for. A large warship of a different nationality to that of the astronauts. In the dark, cloudy gloom of a wet Atlantic morning, the Cold Albatross slipped out of pouring rain clouds and silently deposited the stricken space craft onto the flight deck of a French aircraft carrier. Then she disappeared again before the few, early morning watch-keepers on the bridge had recovered from the shock. If it had not been for the arrival of a battered derelict space craft sitting on the flight deck and the emergence of seven bemused American astronauts, the French mariners would not have believed what they had just seen.

<In this chapter, the 'authorities' learn of the rescue of the astronauts by Beverly but are left completely in the dark about the identity of the rescuer nor if the rescuer is alien.>

 

NEW SPACETRAN

Chapter 2

The debriefing team sat staring at the astronauts for they simply had to believe what they were being told. The American general pressed again just to be certain as both French and American de-briefers listened incredulously.

“And she was just one alien, a single being wandering around our space like some sort of gypsy. You’re sure it was a female?”
The astronaut commander had little time for the blinkered military mind facing him across the table and he was getting a little impatient with the crass naivety of the de-briefers.

“Shit general, does it matter what gender it was? It wasn’t just ‘a being’! It was a human being! That’s what we all saw, that’s what rescued us, and that’s what brought us safely back to earth.”

The astronaut commander glanced around at his crew who were all nodding agreeably as he continued.

“Listen gentlemen oh, and lady,” he nodded respectfully to the French psychiatrist at the end of the table. “We all heard her, we all saw her; she spoke of some sort of intergalactic community and she was obviously part of it. Hell it even had laws and stuff.”

He turned to the French Captain who was chairing the meeting in the wardroom of the aircraft carrier.

“We all saw her ship, for God’s sake commandant’, your own ship’s watch-keepers saw the damned thing as well. It was light years ahead of anything we’ve got! She mentioned all sorts of stuff like warp drives and God knows what else. Ask any of us. We were all there, we all heard her and we all saw what that ship could do. Whilst travelling at what was obviously tens of thousands of miles per hour, she simply reversed direction as if she was parking a bloody car, then she definitely crossed several million miles in as few minutes when she brought us back,- back here,- back to Earth, - back to safety!”

“So you’re sticking with the woman thing.” The general pressed.

“Well she certainly looked like a woman to us, the astronaut’s lady doctor replied.”

“Yeah and a real babe to boot.” The navigator added. “All this and three, no, - nearly four million miles from earth. We were nearly at the end of our life support facilities.”

The Astronaut commander brought order to the de-briefing again.

“Yes, let’s not be forgetting that everybody had given us up for lost. Hurtling away from Earth at over twenty thousand miles per hour, we were well reconciled to our own deaths. Doctor Austin here had already handed out the suicide pills when this thing, - this ship, this unearthly alien apparition, suddenly pulls up alongside us like a bloody breakdown truck and promptly offered to assist us. We’re not making this up! The bloody ship reeled us in like some bloody fish on a line then, once we’re in its hold, she turns around without any apparent deceleration and sets off, in the opposite direction mind you, back towards Earth.

“Well no,” replied the general somewhat apologetically, “you couldn’t make it up. The evidence is out there on the flight deck.”

The French captain took control of the meeting as the chairman.

“So Messieurs and Madams, we know now that we are facing an advanced technology though not apparently, an aggressive one. Shall we return to the main issue at hand? We now know for certain that here really is an intergalactic community of aliens out there. Does anybody think they mean us harm?”

“I shouldn’t think so,” the lady psychiatrist interjected, “she rescued them and returned them; - safely I might add. If any aliens were contemplating some sort of invasion then I should think they would more probably have kidnapped them for research purposes or something.”

“I think that’s a bit far-fetched ma-am,” the general replied.

The French doctor bridled at the put down.

“Listen general, a bloody alien space ship has just saved and returned seven castaways from deep space, how far-fetched do you want it to be?”

“And piloted by a single woman to boot,” Doctor Austin added pointedly.

“So you’re convinced she was a woman then.”

“She looked like a woman, she behaved like a woman and she treated us like a woman would. By my medical definitions it would seem reasonable to deem her a woman and a human woman at that. It’s the duck thing.”

As she said this, Doctor Austin looked pointedly at the French Lady Psychiatrist and remarked.

“She was cautious, she was more afraid of my crewmates than we were of her, she locked herself behind an armoured door when we climbed out of our capsule, finally she reassured us when we approached the earth at some impossible speed and then decelerated without any apparent Newtonian effects. She mothered us! Yes! That’s the only word I can use to describe her care of us; - she mothered us! We none of us felt any deceleration but we pulled up short and tight after crossing those four million miles in just a few minutes. We were convinced we were going to crash into the planet or something. Normally a speed reduction like that would have flattened us into jam! Whatever that bloody craft is, it’s got Newton cooked.”

“Yes,” concurred the astronaut’s flight engineer, “and Einstein. Whatever that ship is, it’s years ahead of us; - more probably centuries. Oh and another thing; that ship had its own gravity. We were walking when we stepped out into her cargo bay. Just ask your physicists when you get back how a ship that small could generate One Gee internally, that is inside the cabin and cargo space.”

“So what are we to tell our respective leaders?” The general wondered.

“Well you can tell them that we are not alone and they look like us; - well, they look like human women.” Finished the commander. “Everything else is pure conjecture.”

“So for now gentlemen, oh and ladies, are we to keep the lid on this?”

A general consensus of yes'es rippled around the table. Everybody was nervous for this was big, really big!
The committee reluctantly adjourned and they went to dine in the Admiral’s cabin for privacy. There the conversation rocked back and forth as ideas, theories, proposals and beliefs juxtaposed for discussion and rejection or acceptance. The conversation was one of the most stimulating any one there had ever participated in; - and one of the most worrying.

The general mood was, - ‘Were there aliens out there and if so, what were they up to?’ They still had no idea if the elfin, feminine creature was human or alien. They had not actually made physical contact with it for it had remained behind the bulkhead door throughout the encounter. It certainly looked human but what morphing abilities existed, out there in the whole damned universe?

Later that Afternoon, an American super carrier rendezvoused with the French ship and the damaged remains of the capsule was transferred with consents and good will on all sides. Both the American and French governments were now in deep and much divided discussions about releasing the facts to the rest of the world.

The general consensus for the short term, after much secret discussion with other governments was that a release of the news would probably serve to unite the peoples of the Earth under some unquantifiable but clearly perceived threat from alien visitors. However, until the governments could agree a united policy and strategy to go forward, it would be best to keep the lid on the whole affair. The American astronauts were transferred to the super carrier, detained there and ordered to remain quiet until a suitable opportunity arose to reveal their rescue. They were certainly not happy about this, but government policy took precedence and they were bound by military oaths of secrecy. Similarly and for the same reasons of secrecy, the French Aircraft Carrier remained at sea.

Meanwhile on the other side of America a drunken vagrant thought he saw an alien space ship come down to earth and a single occupant come floating down on a silver beam. Then the door to the department store simply un-clicked itself and an alien that looked like a woman went stealing large amounts of knickers, bras, panty-hose and assorted female clothing. As the woman left with several trollies full of clothing, the vagrant availed himself of the opportunity to steal a pile of booze and put that on another trolley. He was caught pushing the trolley down the street and wildly protested his innocence about somehow unlocking the doors to the shop.

Nobody believed the drunk at first but slowly rumours started to gain credibility. Little things began to add up as the fashion store reported a considerable stock loss with no obvious evidence of forced entry. Then families on both sides of the Atlantic wondered why their loved ones hadn’t returned home after their rostered turns of duty and ‘why their ships were were still active on extra operations’. Slowly, ever so slowly, the rumours began to grow. Most importantly the news coverage of the doomed spacemen hurtling towards Jupiter had ceased to continue as the Government tried to suppress all speculation as to whether the astronauts were still alive or already dead in their coffin. America and the world finally concluded they were dead as experts predicted their end and the world went into mourning.

Beverly was oblivious to all this. With a well stocked space ship, she had slipped behind the moon and landed her beloved Albatross in a large artificially excavated cavern to be invisible to any orbiting eyes or unexposed to the sun’s rays. At the end of the huge cave, Beverly had her own private lair. It was one of several bolt holes she had scattered about the universe. In that lair, a bore hole had located ice, a useful source of hydrogen for the fusion engines that powered Cold Albatross and oxygen to refresh her recycled atmosphere. While her ship refuelled she would savour a few days total relaxation.
The days turned to weeks as she recharged her batteries and debated who of her alien friends she would next visit. Beverly was beginning to pall of wandering around the universe. Despite her disabling paranoia of going near Earth and the childhood horrors it held for her, something, some vestigial connection seemed always to be pulling her back like a moth to the flame. The truth was; Beverly was lonely.

For a few more Earth days she sat around moping then she became agitated.

‘Why the hell shouldn’t she visit Earth?’ She asked herself. ‘Despite the long years spent away from the place, it was still her mother planet. By intergalactic law she still had absolute right of return and abode. She’d never broken any laws, had she?

In fit of pique she decided to take the bull by the horns and lay her demons to rest, once and for all! Carefully she 'reversed' the Cold Albatross out of the cave and a few minutes later, a fully recharged and replenished Cold Albatross was easing her nose around and then streaking Earthwards.

In this chapter, Ruby the reporter and narrator of the remainder of the story appears. She meets Beverly at Beverly's instigation and learns much.

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This story was originally written over thirty years ago when I was still trying to come to terms with my childhood abuse and my transgendered transvestism... I've altered a few bits very slightlt but it's essentially the same as when I first wrote it and I seem now to hold it as a sort of link to my past and a datum mark to show myself how far I've come.

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NEW SPACETRAN
Chapter 3

D’you you think there’s any truth in it?” I asked my boss.

“Jee’ze! I don’t know Ruby. Try and get to the bottom of it. See if there really is any truth to these stories. News about the astronauts just seems to have dried up. One day everybody’s praying and lamenting then the next day zilch! Nothing. It’s bloody strange.”

Despite my best efforts, the staff at the space agency had remained tight-lipped and I had all but given up until one bitter winter’s night as I stumbled home slightly drunk from my regular bar. Yes, I’m forced to confess I was breaking the law vis-a-vis driving my car but what did I bloody care?

I now lived alone since the disastrous break-up of my last relationship. It was hard enough coming to terms with my recently discovered bisexuality but for my ex to go broadcasting it to the world after I came out to him was a betrayal that had left me stunned. Perhaps if he had been a bit less ‘Macho’ and more understanding, even then I might have stayed with him. I had been contemplating ‘coming out’ anyway. For a year after his betrayal I had found myself stumbling from one unsatisfactory lesbian relationship to another until I had all but given up on sex altogether. I was beginning to find my comfort elsewhere; - in a bottle!

In the office I knew they sniggered behind my back and called me ‘The Ice Queen’ - or more often, ‘The Vodka and Ice Queen’. I didn’t care. I was nearly on the edge of suicide anyway and it wouldn’t have taken much to tip me over. My work had been deteriorating as well and my boss had twice pulled me about sloppy journalism. This story about the rumours surrounding the astronauts was just about my last chance.

As I slipped and slithered on the ice to reach the steps of my porch, a feint eerie light suddenly engulfed me. Looking up I was stunned to see a weird object hovering just beyond the fruit trees behind my remote country cottage. The shock paralysed me for a moment until the object came closer then settled silently in my orchard and a door appeared in its skin. After gaping stupidly for a few seconds I plucked up the courage to approach. Whoever or ‘whatever’ was inside obviously meant me no harm. If it was able to hover soundlessly and land so precisely without any disturbance, the occupants must be far advanced of earth’s civilisation and could have easily captured me if they had wished.

No little green head had popped out so this was definitely an invitation. All it needed was courage on my side. Cautiously I gripped the handle and inspected the little ladder as my totally unsuitable heels teetered awkwardly on the rungs. It seemed secure so I pushed my bag through the door, hefted my skirt above my knees and cautiously climbed in. Immediately a human voice spoke softly.

“D’you want to visit the moon?”

I froze momentarily. It was a strange remark. No introductions, none of the cautious ‘first contact’ formalities, - no ‘silly clichés’ like ‘take me to your leader’, just a stark simple question. I stared around nervously but found nobody. I was obviously in some sort of ‘cargo compartment’ for there was no sign of any controls, just another heavily reinforced door with a small thick glass window in front of me. I couldn’t see through the glass because there was a metal visor on the other side. I knocked softly and tried speaking through the thick metal door.

“Is there anybody there?”

There was a short pause before the same voice replied.

“Wait a minute.”

I was puzzled. The voice seemed almost human. In fact it was definitely human. I walked around the cargo hold and as I inspected the compartment the voice spoke again.

“I’ll be ready in a moment but you haven’t answered my first question. D’you want to go to the moon?”

The outer door was still open and it was obvious that my options were still open. I stuck my head out into the frozen night and considered the idea. Thrilled with events, I didn’t take much convincing and soon gave my answer. To a science correspondent the opportunity for a visit to the moon seemed unparalleled.

“Yes. OK. The moon it is then”

I had hardly finished my reply when the outer door whispered shut.

“Will you take a seat please. It won’t take long but you might be nauseous as we warp out of here.”

Before I had a chance to ask any more questions, a panel light came on beside the inner door and some illuminated buttons became visible. I pressed the one reading ‘door’ but nothing happened so I pressed the one marked ‘seat’. A seat unfolded from the wall so I made myself comfortable and secured the seat belt as the craft tipped gently and a soft nauseous hum throbbed in my ears.

“Get ready.” Cautioned the voice, so I secured the seat belt and braced in anticipation of some sort of acceleration as the hum intensified to an invasive whine.

To my surprise, there was no sensation of acceleration and I had to convince myself we were moving by looking out of one of the small portholes as the ground dropped away. The hills receded, then the horizon started to curve and before I realised it, the dawn was forming a brilliant crescent, as the sun appeared.

I knew a lot about space travel; after all I was a science graduate so I realised we must have moved a hell of long way very quickly to create such a sudden sunrise. I turned away for a moment and when I looked again the Earth was already a shrinking orb! There was still no sensation of acceleration and yet there was a gravitational field inside the craft. The whole experience defied all the laws of physics so I moved to another porthole only to find the Moon already filling my field of vision.

‘We were almost there for God’s sake!’ I gasped. ‘What sort of bloody craft was this?’

Stunned, I gaped at the rough lunar surface then felt a sudden nausea as my whole body seemed to lighten suddenly. The gravity had changed and I was now only one sixth of my normal weight. Cautiously I wafted across to my seat and stared at the view again.

‘Yes. I was definitely on or at least, bloody near the moon. The gravity reduction was a clincher’ Suddenly a low rumble warned me that the inner door was opening and I whipped around not knowing what to expect. Despite my best endeavours to expect the unexpected I was still unprepared for the picture of loveliness before me.

She smiled wanly and nervously extended a delicate little hand.

“Sorry I didn’t welcome you aboard just now. I was having trouble with the zip of my dress; it’s got stuck. Could you free it for me please? I can’t get my dress on or off.”

She turned around to expose a beautifully curved back and a delicate lace bra that had tangled with the zip of a perfectly fitting cocktail dress. Dumb-founded, I extended nervous fingers and freed the offending zipper as she sighed thankfully.

“Thanks. They always let’s you down at the worst possible moment don’t they? I had hoped to dress to impress and didn’t really want to meet you with my dress only halfway fastened. I tried to change it but I couldn’t get it over my hips or shoulders. I was stuck”

I gaped at the picture of loveliness and shook my disbelieving head. Any human girl
would have died for such looks. My lesbian heart started to beat faster.

“Where have you come from?” I finally managed to ask the divine creature.

Her beautiful features wrinkled uncertainly as she asked for clarification.

“D’you mean now or originally?”

“Originally, what planet did you come from?”

“Earth.” She answered simply as she invited me into the control room.

“Oh come on!” I scoffed disbelievingly. “You’re not trying to tell me you’re human.”

Her smile froze and two pink spots appeared on her cheek bones as her face tensed with hurt or anger, I couldn’t decide which. Eventually she managed to squeak out her reply.

“I certainly am from Earth, you cheeky bitch! And I most certainly am human - unfortunately.” She added as a soft afterthought.

I sensed a certain bitterness and studied the face. It had stopped smiling and turned to inspect some dials on what was obviously a control panel. As she readjusted some settings and figures I spoke again.

“Who are you then, and what the hell is this ship?”

“I’m a human being, just like you, and this is my ship. I call her The Cold Albatross.”

“Cold Albatross? That’s a funny name.”

“It’s not! We wander endlessly all over the universe just like the Wandering Albatross wanders all over the Southern oceans and it’s bloody cold in deep space. I think it’s a wonderful name.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“Just me and the Cold Albatross.” She explained patiently.

“Who built it.” I challenged.

“I did!”

“Come off it! This is right outside Earth’s League. We’re still lighting the blue touch paper and standing well back. This thing is quantum leaps ahead of Earth.”

“Would you like to go back to Earth now. I think you’ve said enough.”

Her beautiful cheeks went white with emotion but I saw the hurt in her eyes and realised I had offended her deeply. I had been unbalanced by events and the whole occasion had got off to a terrible start. I still found it hard to believe she was human and wondered if she was some sort of alien ‘morph’. I voiced my suspicions and she gasped with shock.

“Why you suspicious cow! What the hell makes you think that?”

“You could be some sort of alien trying to ensnare me.” I repeated, still not convinced by her claims about the spacecraft.

“If I was trying to ensnare you, I would have disguised myself as some handsome hunk of masculinity.”

I did a double take. She was right. A man, a ‘white knight on a white horse’ would have seemed far more convincing and attractive a bait. She obviously didn’t know I was mostly a lesbian. I decided to change the subject. Anyway, if she was an alien there was bugger all I could do about it, - stuck out here on the moon. But then; going by the technology around me, there was little more I could have done about it back on Earth. Then a thought struck me.

“Tell me; do you know anything about some astronauts who disappeared into space about a month or so ago?”

Her brow wrinkled but even the frown lines made her look pretty.

“Why? What happened to them?” She asked seemingly perplexed and worried.

I related the full stories complete with the rumours and her eyes narrowed. Then she cursed softly.

“The bastards! What have they done to them?”

“Done to who?” I pressed.

“The astronauts. There were seven of them.”

“Go on,” I pressed eagerly, “do tell.”

“They should be alive. I delivered them safely!”

Then the girl became seriously distressed.

“I did! Honestly. I obeyed all the laws of the IGACOSOLIS convention. I delivered them safely! All of them, I saw them step out of the capsule onto the ship’s deck. They were definitely alive! I tell you I saw them. What have they done to them?”

She started to tremble and stamp her little heels on the metallic floor of her cabin then the tears started to flow and I had to comfort her. It was a delight to take her in my arms as she squeezed fearfully into my embrace.

“There, there now. Don’t upset yourself. They wouldn’t have harmed them, they’ve probably just kept them incommunicado.”

The girl looked tearfully up at me and frowned then she explained.

“Their space craft was hit by meteorites and their expedition turned to rat shit. I had stopped to check Cold Albatross out cos’ I ran into the same meteorite shower. That’s when I found them.”

“So it was you then. You actually saved them.”

“Why? Has someone else on Earth built a spaceship? That bloody planet is still in the stone age; - in more ways than one!”

I realised it was stupid question. The shuttle had been damaged by some sort of meteorite shower and the expedition had missed the moon. As the shuttle hurtled away into deep space the astronauts had tried to effect repairs via some sort of rescue pod; - a life raft of sorts. Sadly the line securing the life-raft to the main shuttle had parted and their evacuation had turned into a disaster. They would have been better staying with the shuttle. The upshot was, the escape capsule somehow became detached from the shuttle then all the astronauts had been given up for dead and the whole world had gone into mourning. Suddenly the space agency had gone quiet about the incident. After a few weeks rumours began to surface that the crew had turned up again safe and sound on the deck of a French aircraft carrier. But they were only rumours.

Now this delightful, beautiful girl, this space traveller was giving me the lowdown. She looked at me slightly puzzled then she shrugged.

“I can prove I saved them! D’you want to see the video?”

I gasped with delight. If this girl had a video, I would have the scoop of my life!

“Do I! Hell of course I do! How much have you got and can I gave a copy!”

She shrugged again and flipped a screen on the console. After tapping in some time settings, a process I easily recognised from my days as a reporter working with police video cameras, the whole sequence of events were portrayed. From rescue in space right through to the deposition on the French aircraft-carrier. I had it all and I quickly worked out the whole story. Boy-oh-boy! Did I have the scoop of the millennium! Eagerly I watched the replay of the video and all was revealed. If I had a copy of this and the earthly means to show it I would be in clover.

Only the astronauts and a few French navy personnel would have seen the unidentified craft gently deposit the astronauts and their wrecked module onto the flight deck in the half light before the dawn and then disappearing into the stormy night sky without a trace. The whole incident had caused consternation on the aircraft carrier and the watchmen had been ridiculed until the several flight deck videos were presented to support their claims. The American and French Governments had obviously worked frantically to limit the damage with a news blackout but the rumours were flying thick and fast. Now I knew exactly why both a French and an American aircraft carrier were being kept out at sea under the pretence of ‘extended sea-borne operations.’

The spacemen had only briefly seen their rescuer and communicated mostly via written cards except for a few brief words. They had never actually touched her, for the Cold Albatross had simply seized their crippled craft, tractor-beamed it on board then taken it and the astronauts back to the safety of Earth. I hugged myself to think what an uproar there would be when I came back with the scoop of the millennium plus the video to support it! Yes the rumours were true! The astronauts had been rescued but I had much more than just the proof of that little story, I also had the evidence of who their rescuer was. A single stunningly beautiful woman who seemingly wandered around space doing good deeds left right and centre. At least it appeared that way because I could see nobody else in the craft and there was only one other door leading off from the cockpit. I presumed it led to her private quarters. She caught me eyeing the door and moved protectively to place herself between it and me. Her actions surprised me.

‘Why was she afraid of me? Surely she held all the aces?’

I glanced towards the pilot seat and raised my eyebrows questioningly. She nodded and I settled into its comfortable folds to explore the controls. This seemed to relax her and she rested her attractive butt against the right hand console as I inspected the controls.

“How fast can this thing go?” I asked.

“I don’t think in terms of distance per unit time. I use time warps to cross the universe. The concept of velocity is old hat. If gravity is strong enough it can warp space. Then space can be twisted in on itself and any distance is reduced to zero. If space is reduced to zero and time still has duration them an infinite distance can be crossed in a finite time; or more accurately, a finite distance can be travelled in an instant.”

She had lost me completely and I fingered the controls ignorantly before speaking again.

“There doesn’t seem to be much to it. There are only these levers.”

I twiddled the group of crude aluminium levers in front of me and she gently reached out to restrain me. The soft touch of her delicate feminine fingers sent goose bumps up my spine.

“Uh, don’t do that, there’s no knowing where we could end up. The travelling is easy. It’s the flipping navigation that’s a sod.”

“How so.” I asked intrigued.

“There are no bloody charts of the universe and I never know where I’ll end up.”

“So how do you get around?”

“I have to reverse everything exactly to get back to the Sol system. It’s easy going from A to B and back to A again. The shit happens when you try to go from A to B to C and then from C to A. It’s a warp across a warp and my maths isn’t up to it yet. Nor is my computer for that matter. I’m still compiling computerised six dimensional charts. It’s OK going back to a place I’ve visited before though because the parameters don’t change that much. Then I can double warp to go from A to C but not vast quantum jumps, at least not until I’ve charted each computable stage and assembled a workable voyage plan of composite warps.”

I could not believe my ears. Here she was apologising for not understanding a concept that the best brains on Earth hadn’t even dreamt of. She carried on talking a little longer before realising that I had lost the plot completely so she smiled and simplified it.

“Look; it’s a bit like Christopher Columbus.” She grinned. “When I set out I’m not sure where I’m going. When I get there I don’t know where I am, and when I get back, I don’t know where I’ve been. Well not exactly anyway.”

“And all on borrowed time, “I finished humorously, “as opposed to borrowed money.”

She smiled wanly and gently caressed the navigation console with her delicate fingers. It was almost like a lover’s caress and she caught me studying her behaviour again. It was obvious that the ship meant a lot to her. Guiltily she lowered her eyes.

“She’s my only love and she’s never failed me. I’m very proud of her.”

“You’ve every right to be. Would you like to tell me more about her.”

“What? So you could build another like her. I think one poor misfit wandering the universe is enough don’t you?”

“I don’t think I could even begin to fathom out how she works. It would be easier to write about you instead.”

“No it wouldn’t”

Her curt denial and sudden change of demeanour intrigued me. Here was an enigma with something to hide.

“Why did you say misfit?”

“Who else would forsake humanity to wander the universe.”

“Forsake humanity? What d’you mean?”

“I left earth years ago. Haven’t been back since. At least, not to meet and greet. I fly by occasionally to restock my wardrobe and my larder. Those astronauts were damned lucky that I was passing. They must be bloody daft to go into deep space without some sort of proper drive system. What the hell possessed them?”

“That’s a bit unfair. They met with an accident. Besides, the shuttle is equipped normally to bring them home.”

“Yeah but, -.”

“But what?”

“Well the whole thing; the whole enterprise was a bit shaky. That shuttle for instance, it hasn’t really got enough fuel to do the business, you know, slowing down to make re-entry safer.”

I studied her curiously as she stared out of the cockpit windows at the harsh lunar landscape. The cocktail dress emphasised her perfect form and I greedily savoured her curves. She was a stunningly attractive woman who would have broken the heart of every man on the planet. It seemed a waste for her to have denied the men of Earth her superb body and fantastic looks, not to mention her brain. Men would have killed for her- 'and lesbians' I added as an afterthought. She turned slowly and noticed me studying her. It was obvious she had read some of my thoughts. Not my lesbian ones though, she was still too relaxed for that. Then she spoke softly.

“Things aren’t always what they seem you know. You should never go by appearances.”

“Believe me I don’t. It’s just that it seems such a waste. What on earth drove you away?”

“People. People on Earth drove me away. It’s an unfortunate expression that isn’t it?”

“What is?” I asked.

“On earth- ‘what on earth’. I mean it’s hardly relevant out here in space is it? It has a certain poignancy for me.”

“Why?”

“Well I’ll never go back. I’ll never set foot ‘on earth’ again. Not permanently, not properly anyway; - not to meet people, - not to live.”

“Why not?”

“You’re full of questions aren’t you?” She parried.

“It’s my job. I’m the science correspondent for the Free Thinker’s Journal.”

“So ask about science. There’s plenty here to keep you busy. Take a space suit and go for a moonwalk. Take some photographs if you like.”

“Nobody would believe me. I mean just look at the set up here. A single gorgeous woman in a little black cocktail dress piloting her own space ship and wandering around space rescuing stranded spacemen. It’s beyond science fiction I think you’d agree.”

“You’ve got the videos that proves it.”

A brief frown clouded her features and she made as if to speak again then thought better of it. It was obvious there was something bothering her. An oppressive silence spread around the little cockpit and she fidgeted nervously with her delicate, tiny hands. Eventually she glanced towards me again and edged towards the other door.

“I’m not being very hospitable am I? Would you like coffee or something?”

“That would be nice.” I replied with my girlish curiosity aroused and anticipating a peek into the forbidden inner sanctum.

She pressed a panel with her hand and the door eased back. I had a brief glimpse of an apartment devoted to a woman who spent a lot of time attending to her appearance. Four of the five walls were mirrored and I suspected I was in the presence of a female narcissist. The door closed immediately behind her and I was denied any further study of the details. I was left alone to gaze absently at the ships’ controls and wonder at the awesome genius that had put the whole thing together. Eventually the door slid back again and she emerged with a tray of cookies and coffee. She had also changed her dress to a more provocative number and I wondered if she suspected something about me. I was certainly feeling tempted.

“There’s a pull out flap under the left hand console.” She smiled.

I reached under and tugged the metal shelf then she carefully set down the tray.

“So what do you think of her then?”

“What? The space ship?”

“What else?”

“It’s amazing. How on earth does it all work.”

“The theory’s easy it’s the engineering that nearly killed me.”

“Do tell.”

“I worked out that gravity is a function of the electron vibrations that exist inside the atoms when they combine to make matter. In an ordinary state these atoms are each acting like individual entities and vibrating to their own script. Each element has its own frequency but even then each individual atom is resonating to its own personal cycle. All I did was create a precise atomic crystalline superconductive amalgam of elements with individual atoms precisely arranged so that the atomic frequencies would run in exact coincidental sequence. The amalgam works like a superconductor with zero resistance so it cannot overheat and yet it can handle an infinite amount of gravity. It’s like gazillion sine waves being turned into a straight line when AC is rectified into DC. The less ripple there is the more efficient the concentration of gravity. The amalgam is then shaped into a thick twisted ring to close the gravitational loop.

All it needs then is a current of a precise frequency and the gravity is concentrated into an infinitely dense linear field. Any space that comes within a perpendicular axis through that field is immediately warped into a doughnut spiral and turns in on itself. The orientation of that perpendicular axis is predictable by a long series of very complex equations, that’s the clever bit cos it gives a warp a direction and enables the navigator, (that’s me) to choose a ‘course’ in more than six dimensions at once. I use that corrupted space to move Cold Albatross from one end of the closed spiral to the other.”

She hesitated then sipped some coffee and nibbled daintily at a cookie as I shook my aching head. The whole idea was way beyond me. God alone knew how she had dreamt up the idea let alone built an engine and a ship to exploit it. I fumbled with my hidden tape recorder and she grinned as the metallic click betrayed my secret.

“Don’t worry I’m not about to give away any important secrets. The principle alone took me two years to develop.”

“Where did you build the ship?” I asked.

“This one is the second edition, it was built for me by aliens but I designed it. I physically built the first one myself, on Earth; in a farmer’s barn. He let me indulge a whim — for a price mind.”

“Some whim. It must have been a big barn.”

“It was a big price.” She countered. A shadow clouded her face and she shuddered momentarily.

‘There goes that secret again’. I thought.

“Why don’t you come back to earth. You know the planet’s becoming overcrowded. This ship could save the whole human race.”

“What! And let them spread like vermin throughout the universe? No thanks; I value my independence and freedom. It’s cost me enough to achieve it. Besides, what about other intelligent life forms out there. You know what humanity’s record is like. -If it moves kill it-.”

“You don’t like your fellow man do you?” I sighed.

“No,” she replied with a disarming simplicity.

“Why not?”

“I had a pretty shitty childhood. I’ve nothing to thank humanity for.”

I sensed we were getting to the nub of the issue. There had to be some reason why she had suddenly decided to reveal herself to me and subsequently, the rest of humanity.

She could have ignored the astronaut’s desperate fate and passed by on the other side of the sun. Nevertheless, despite whatever axe she had to grind with mankind, her natural mothering instincts had forced her to play the Good Samaritan.

“You want to talk don’t you?” I murmured reassuringly. “You want to get it off your chest.”

She fell silent and turned again to stare out of the cockpit window. The sun was
beginning to rise and the harsh brilliant sunlight was beginning to hurt my eyes. It didn’t seem to affect her but I was forced to turn away from the window. She seemed to sense my discomfort and half turned to press a console button. A dark visor descended over the cockpit window and my eyes relaxed again. I turned to study her sensuous back and after a long silence I noticed her shoulders heave. She was crying silently. Unsure what to do I gently put my arm around her shoulder and whispered.

“What’s wrong?”

The sobbing stopped and she slumped onto a small built in divan that lay beneath the cockpit window. It was obviously designed for space watching. The cocktail dress rode up to reveal her ‘hold-up’ stocking tops and she tugged modestly at it before turning to face me. As she dried her eyes there was no smearing of makeup and I peered curiously only to realise she wasn’t wearing any. Her red lips and colour tones were natural. I was about to ask about it but she sighed and stared out into space again with a look born of ages. Then she spoke softly.

“Now you’ve got the scientific theory I suppose you want the woman’s angle? The girl behind the pilot.”

I hesitated uncertainly before cautiously expanding the theme.

“I’d like the whole story, who you are, where you came from, how on earth you came to achieve all this stuff.”

She stared for a long moment at the floor then started softly.

“You won’t like what you hear. It’s a pretty disgusting story.”

“Try me. I’ve hit some pretty awful lows in this reporting game.”

She shrugged, drew a long breath and slowly started talking.

“I’m much older than I look. By your Earth time I’m over fifty but physically I’m still in my early twenties. Time and space travel plays funny tricks on your body.”

“Carry on.” I said, realising she was somehow trying to prepare me for worse shit.

“I don’t think you really want to hear the rest.”

“I do. Everything; warts and all.”

“OK then. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’ll use third person, it’s not so painful for me.”

I had done a bit of Psychology during my Media studies at college and recognised her attempt to avoid the hurt and guilt by transference.

“Go on.” I encouraged. “I’m not a judge or a jury.”

And so she laid it on my ears.

In which Beverly describes a horrendous childhood and amazing escape from Earth.

~o~O~o~

NEW SPACETRAN 4

Chapter 4

As I continued sitting in the control seat, Beverly stared out through the visored window. The strain of telling her story showed in the tension of her neck, face and hands but she persevered, sometimes faltering tearfully. This is her story and I report it as she told it. I make no excuses for her flowery language or anachronistic vocabulary. These are her words, it’s her story. This is it.

__________________________________________________________________________

“Two score and thirteen years ago a child was born on that bloody planet. It was two months premature and three pounds underweight. Its’ mother died during delivery from complications caused by heavy smoking. The father blamed the child for the mother’s death because the related dangers of smoking and childbirth weren’t fully understood in those days. Naturally the older siblings adopted their father’s view and so they also blamed their new-born sibling for causing their mother’s death.

The oldest sister was stuck with the child’s care in early years and she bitterly resented it because it stole her teen-aged youth. That’s how it was in those days. There were no social workers and stuff like that. Subsequently the child was reared as a pariah on the periphery of a socially inadequate single-parent family. It never ever felt a mother’s caress. Inevitably the child grew up dysfunctional and at the age of six was discovered to be a transvestite-,”

“Wait a minute. Good God! Are you trying to tell me you’re a man?” I gasped.

“Will you let me continue please?” She retorted angrily. “This is painful enough without
going into details and I can only get through it in one go.”

“Sorry. It’s just that-“

“Be quiet please!” She snapped before pausing to continue her harrowing monologue.

“A few months later, because of its overwhelming urges to wear pretty frocks and frilly knickers, the child was put into care on the instructions of a judge, a child psychiatrist, two welfare workers and, of course, with the agreement of its father who resented the burden of caring for such a dysfunctional, embarrassing creature. For legal convenience, the child was deemed ‘Beyond Parental Control’ and swiftly diagnosed as a deviant. The betrayal was complete.

For the next few years that child was systematically tortured by doctors pretending to treat it. I say tortured because electroconvulsive shock therapy and chemical aversion therapies are possibly worse than being beaten with sticks. Sticks are honest torture; shocks and vomiting are a medical hypocrisy!

After those early years of torment, they, the doctors, the psychiatrists, (She spat the word ‘psychiatrists’ out with a venom that left me shocked.) declared me incurable and passed me on to another secure accommodation. Yeah, you’ve guessed it, a borstal. A twelve-year-old tranny stuck in a juvenile prison with a hundred other fifteen to seventeen-year-old psychopaths. Thanks Earth; thanks a bunch. Those bastards had a ball with me and indulged in every imaginable abuse possible on a human body until they finally maimed me.”

(Here she gave the bangle on her left hand a sudden twist and to my amazement her left hand came off. She held out the stump for me to study the myriad tiny connections but I was already too shocked to react and she carried on talking, - stating the obvious about her hand and returning to the third person narrative.)

“That’s an artificial limb but more of that later. For now it’s sufficient to say that the child’s hand was severed when it was twelve years old. Just before its thirteenth birthday that child came to the brutally cruel conclusion that its life was destined to be short. It was set to be the lead player in a paedophile snuff movie for the sexual gratification of the perverts who regularly visited the borstal. The prospect of snuffing out the life of a little blond haired transvestite was quite delightful for the paedophiles. After all, what harm was there in removing a piece of perverted transvestite scum who had no right to exist in a world of “decent” people?

The child sensed that unless it took some pretty drastic action it possibly wouldn’t see its fourteenth birthday or more probably, its fifteenth.

In any event it definitely would not see its sixteenth birthday for it could never be allowed to bear witness to what was happening to the kids locked up in that place.

On Christmas Eve, when Santa Clause was coming to visit with his dog collar, purple cassock, and his pulsing erection; that child absconded from care while the snow lay two feet deep and the thermometer read five degrees below. That was a bad winter!
After floundering for miles it eventually flung itself into the freezing raging waters of the River Severn and emerged half dead on the Welsh bank further downstream. The child is still uncertain to this day if it was an act of desperation or attempted suicide.
Following a near fatal night spent in a hay-filled barn the child finally made it into the remote Montgomeryshire hills and for the next six months existed like some arctic predator. It survived by stealing chickens and eggs from farms and eating them raw; stealing vegetables from fields and eating them raw; stealing from shops and clothes lines; stealing anything anywhere, just to keep body and soul together.

An existence like that concentrates the mind of a child exquisitely. So much so that the child developed a depth of reasoning and a lucidity of perception far beyond the parameters of normal human understanding. Forced to live amongst the peaks were a single slip could send it plunging to destruction, the child developed an intimate relationship with gravity. Forced to roam the lonely moorland wastes were a loss of direction could lead to exposure and starvation, the child acquired an acute perception of space and direction. Forced to spend every day on the razor edge of survival and dancing in the jaws of death, the child absorbed a visceral awareness of time.

Two score years ago that transvestite child, only just a teenager, developed some very original ideas about gravity, space and time.

Then, one sunny day, whilst begging in a pub in Cambridge, the child heard some scientists arguing about space and gravity. He tried to join the conversation and explain to them his ideas but they howled him down and ridiculed him. Being only a kid, he didn’t explain his ideas very well and they scorned him, - after they had ridiculed his ideas, sniggered at his pretty frock and grimaced with disgust at his stinking, stained, filthy, frilly knickers. One of their number even reported the child to social services as ‘in need of care and attention’. However the child was ‘supertuned’ to anybody behaving suspiciously near phones or cars and the child vanished long before any agencies of care arrived to administer ‘care and attention’!

‘Care and attention!’ I ask you. What that child didn’t know about ‘care and attention’
wasn’t worth knowing. ‘Care and attention’ had brought that child nearly seven years of beatings, torture, rape, maiming, starvation and exposure. Desperation and terror saved it from their clutches and it managed to escape to the slums of Liverpool. There it survived by begging and still retains a large measure of gratitude to the unquestioning generosity of Liverpudlians. Hiding in those slums and old dockside warehouses the child hid its tears and started beavering away with paper and pen.

Then, one score and eighteen years ago, that child’s hormones kicked in; and oh how they betrayed it. The child sought female company but the tender shoots of its budding emotions were snatched by a lesbian harridan; - ripped out by their fragile roots; - smashed on the anvil of feminism then scattered to the four womanly winds of greed, selfishness, contempt and disgust for a dirty little transvestite pervert.

Wounded to the core, that child crawled away, curled up into a foetal ball and tried to starve itself to death. It was not to be however. The same body that had brought its owner through long years of purgatory was not about to let him escape into death now. Unable to kill itself, that child was forced to drag itself out of its own cesspit of self-pity, confront its cowardice, recognise its inadequacies then resume slaving away at the maths and science.

One score and sixteen years ago, that child finally determined the principles of, and the relationships between Gravity, Space and Time. Now however, the child was so imbued with a furious and implacable resentment towards humanity that it resolved to remain in its dark stinking corner and deny humanity any of the wonderful benefits accruing from its discoveries. Instead it put down the paper and pen, picked up the tools and with its single remaining delicate little hand started labouring away at the engineering in a barn as a prisoner of a paedophile pimp. For the privilege of being allowed to ‘play’ at building a spaceship, the child had to put out and work tricks every weekend and often weekdays too.

One score and fourteen years ago, that child with its hand now callused and raw, finally brought forth an engine incorporating his newly discovered principles. Then he installed that engine into a little spacecraft of his own design and manufacture.”
(Here she fondly caressed the incongruously crude group of aluminium levers in the middle of the otherwise smooth sophisticated console of The Cold Albatross.) It seemed odd to me how all around, the ship was smooth polished titanium except for those crude, sharp-edged, poorly worked aluminium levers. Beverly continued talking.

“Finally the child, now a terrified youth, pointed his spacecraft towards the darkest, loneliest, remotest corner of the universe and left his Mother Earth forever.

It was to be a single journey into space; a voyage exploring every possible experience available to humankind and embracing every side of life including finally the dark side, - suicide! A voyage hopefully ending in a death, unwitnessed, and unlamented as far, far away from Mother Earth as mortal man could get.

And so Ruby we come to the present. I have been wandering this universe, planet by planet, star by blazing star, galaxy by swirling galaxy for the last three decades. Always searching, always hoping to find what? Love, compassion, tolerance and I don’t know what else.”

As she finished she took back the artificial hand I had been stupidly holding and deftly clicked it back onto her stump. I had never seen such an amazing and complex piece of bioengineering before. That single invention alone would have brought indescribable joy to millions of amputees and quadriplegics. Under the bangle it was quite impossible to see the join or differentiate either hand. It was only then that the whole saga began to sink in and I remembered the transvestite factor. Once again my jaw sagged as I studied her perfectly feminine figure and shook my head disbelievingly.

“You’re definitely a man?”

“Absolutely.” She murmured.”

“I hardly find that possible. There’s no way such a petite and feminine figure could possibly belong to a man. You’re inches shorter than I am.”

I found myself measuring myself against her and realised she was about two dress sizes smaller than I was. The other normal telltale signs were also incongruent. She had tiny feet, delicate hands and full rounded hips tapering to a perfect waist. Her ripe breasts filled the cocktail dress impeccably and I shook my head in wonderment. Then she spoke again.

“It’s my transvestism that makes me a freak. They’d never accept me back on Earth; there’s no way I could live normally amongst them. They’d probably lock me up again.”

If this was all that made her afraid it behoved me to set her straight.

“Things have moved on a long way since you left Earth. They don’t lock gays or transvestites up anymore.”

“Huh! Not with bars and keys maybe, but fear and prejudice can trap and imprison just
as effectively. Anyway you’ve seen enough. It only remains to return you to earth, you’d better go back to your seat.”

“But you said you’d explain the amputated limb and there’s a million other questions to be answered.” I argued.

She shrugged resignedly as though having realised that she had promised too much and opened the Pandora’s box of my curiosity.

“OK then. If you must hold me to my word I’ll give you half an hour of my time. What d’you want to know. I’ve explained how The Cold Albatross works what more could you possibly want?”

“Is there life out there?” I blurted, desperate for an answer that had bothered mankind for ages. “And have you contacted them?” I added for good measure.

She looked at me and sucked her full red lips thoughtfully before nodding softly.

“Yes! There is; and I have dined with kings.”

It took me a few seconds to grasp her meaning. Any star traveller arriving amongst a planet bound species would probably be treated as an honoured guest. Especially if that alien race wanted the secrets of The Cold Albatross.

“Were they all friendly?” I asked.

“All but one. My very first contact believe it or not. It was my third voyage and it must have been my thousandth star, I wasn’t keeping track and I hadn’t yet met a single intelligent soul. I was feeling lonely and beginning to feel suicidal so I had pointed the Albatross to the outermost rim of the universe, - beyond the event horizon -, with a view to ending it all.”

“Go on.” I encouraged.

“Well I had reached the ‘edge’ of the universe and just dematerialised out of hyper-time with a discharge of energy that would have destroyed a small star. Some air had leaked from the Albatross and polluted the space warp. The energy accumulates with voyage duration you see and the further you travel the more energy you have to shed at the end. I thought I would be isolated and far enough away from any galaxies or stars not cause any damage. I had also arranged to emerge behind a peripheral Megallanic cloud so as to be invisible to the rest of the universe. I didn’t want any witnesses to my end, God forbid.”

“So what stopped you?”

“Two things. Firstly cowardice- I was afraid of death and secondly, the stupefaction at discovering an isolated yellow dwarf star a bit bigger than good old Sol, - or should that be ‘bad old Sol’?”

“Go on.” I pressed excitedly.

“It was crazy really. Here was an inexplicable single star right on the outer rim of the
three dimensional event horizon, having only its own family of planets and their attendant moons for company. It shouldn’t have been there, not by the conventional understanding of how star systems and their planets evolve. But there it was! The whole system was totally isolated and invisible to the rest of the universe because of the vast megallanic cloud blocking out all the other stars and galaxies. I studied it uncomprehendingly for several hours trying to make sense of its origins. Then I concluded it must have somehow evolved out of a whisp of material ejected somehow from the Megallanic cloud. It didn’t make sense.

There were thirty-six planets in nine orbits with each orbit containing four quadrimetrically-opposed planets. Imagine my surprise at discovering that the planets in the third orbit from the centre were almost identical to earth and each supporting oxygen breathing life.”

“And?” I pressed excitedly.

“Well you see, I had rematerialized a bit close to the star and the Albatross’s discharge of polluted energy had caused the star to flicker. The planets had also wobbled in their orbits. I simply didn’t know it was there. Fortunately I had arrived perpendicularly to the system’s orbital plane so I hadn’t permanently displaced any planets and the natural dynamics of the system quickly stabilised itself. I never thought that stars could form in isolation, there was no evidence of any residual dust or celestial detritus; it was a real eye opener I can tell you. Mind you my astronomy was pretty fundamental and I-.”

“Never mind the bloody astrophysics, get on with it.” I nagged impatiently.

“Well the upshot was that the residents of the planets thought a bloody God had arrived in their skies. It was crazy really. They were quite advanced technologically, in fact they had already developed a crude interplanetary atomic drive. I was chagrined to learn that they had been engaged in a four-sided interplanetary strife for bloody generations. Here was me; after travelling billions of light years through time and space, only to learn that things never changed. They thought their planetary system was the only one in existence so all four races were a right bloody xenophobic lot. For a transgalactic traveller to suddenly appear in their mist was a total rebuttal of all their beliefs, and theories. It’s amazing how backward they were about astrophysics and astronomy because of the all pervading Megallanic cloud. Their black night skies were devoid of the constellations.

Anyway, I appeared amongst them with a bang that shook their worlds and they quickly realised they were not alone. It’s remarkable how they suddenly united to confront a common foe and they were attacking me before I had a chance to realise what was happening. Cold Albatross was a very crude frail craft in those days and I was caught completely on the hop.
I had to recheck everything before making my return and I was outside in my spacesuit inspecting the warp-drive coil when they pounced on me. They captured me and accused me of all sorts until some more level headed individuals finally came to their senses.

They realised they had captured a species totally alien to anything from their four worlds and therefore I must have come from someplace else. It was realised that I was clear evidence that there must be something on the other side of ‘The Curtain of the Gods’. That was their name for the megallanic cloud. They finally realised that if they were kind and courteous to me then they might learn what lay beyond.”

“Did you tell them?”

“Of course. Why not? I even took a dozen of them, -three from each planet- for a ride
in Cold Albatross to show them what lay beyond their tiny existence. When we penetrated to the other side of the curtain and they saw the whole universe in all its majesty, they nearly died of fright. They begged me to show them Cold Albatross’s secrets, just like you did.”

“But you didn’t. I hope.”

“What d’you mean by that?”

“Well they attacked you and they took you prisoner, they must be a warlike species. It would have been dangerous.”

“So you’re judge and jury now. The human race hasn’t changed much then.”

I suddenly felt I was on trial and had just failed an important test. She wagged her head sadly and turned once more to stare out of the window. I still could not believe such a petite figure of feminine perfection was male. Then she turned to face me again.

“They were four very frightened species. They were stunned to discover that there was an infinite number of worlds and they thought I was the harbinger of Armageddon. Don’t you remember all those stupid early films way back on earth? Even the greatest writers and philosophers always portrayed a visit by aliens as hostile. Shit Ruby. They were no worse than the human race and technically they were more advanced. At least they had interplanetary travel with a reliable atomic ion drive. They just hadn’t cracked gravity or space.”

“Or time.” I added.

“I didn’t crack time travel. I just discovered it when I warped space. It was a happy
accident but an inevitable one. Once I encountered the phenomenon I had to work backwards from the first time shift and make the equations fit the facts. Nevertheless, for a couple of years it was pretty hairy. I rebuilt Cold Albatross on one planet with the help of some amphibian people. The problem was her reconstruction altered her mass and I landed in the Middle Ages trying to get back. It fair bloody put the wind up me I can tell you. It took hours of endless calculations to find a way back and that was along a single, simple linear warp.”

I grinned at her disarming modesty. She had still managed to finally crack time and make sense of the whole physical spectrum. That in itself betokened an awesome intelligence. She still appeared to be a young woman despite claiming to be over fifty so it looked as though she had many years yet to refine and develop her discoveries. I would have given both arms to persuade her to return to Earth but before I could dream up any plausible arguments she interrupted my thoughts again.

“Would you like to meet the race who gave me my artificial hand and helped me rebuild theCold Albatross? They’re the most gentle and kindly race I’ve ever met. It might remove your prejudices.”

“Would I just!” I gasped. “Where do they live?”

“Rest your butt on the divan and watch out of the window. You won’t learn much but the sight is well worth seeing.”

She slipped easily into the cockpit seat with all the decorum of a woman well used to short cocktail dresses and I watched her deftly set the console dials with a practised ease.

The moon rapidly dropped away and the millions of brilliant stars started to turn bluer until they
faded into the ultra-violet spectrum and disappeared altogether. She casually vacated the seat and joined me on the divan.

“It’s a hell of a long way away so it’ll take about a day of our time. We’ll go time warp in
about an hour. I’ve set the warp a bit weaker than normal in case you begin to feel nauseous. We may as well chat and make ourselves at home. It’ll be more comfortable in my cabin.”

I vigorously nodded my agreement and couldn’t wait to follow her into the inner sanctum.
It was pointless to think of some trap like ‘the spider and the fly’ for I was already well and truly enchanted by her manner and there was nowhere to go anyway. I entered her cabin to find it laid out like a whore’s boudoir. It was obvious she spent a lot of time dressing up. There were several other doors leading off and she explained where they led.
“That’s the bedroom and bathroom, that’s the study and that’s the kitchen. There’s no spare room I’m afraid so you’ll have to sleep on the sofa.”

“Why all the clothes?” I asked wonderingly. “It’s almost narcissistic.”

“I’m a transvestite for heaven’s sake. That’s what transvestites do!”

Once again I had to remember she was male and I shook my head dizzily. She opened the door to the kitchen and invited me to join her in preparing a meal. I readily seized the chance to do something useful and we spent a happy hour experimenting with some familiar earth food and some strange stuff I had never seen before. I held it up curiously.

“Is this from other worlds?”

“Mmm- yesh,” she mumbled through a mouthful of the unrecognisable fruit, “but don’t worry, I’m as human as you and it’s never harmed me.”

She proffered me a segment of the weird looking fruit so I cautiously bit gently in to the delicate purple cube and was pleasantly surprised.

“Mmm. It’s sweet.” I mumbled as the delicious juices squirted out unexpectedly.

“It’ll make you feel hungry in minute. They use it as an appetiser on its home planet. It prevents you from absorbing too much nourishment from your other food; you can eat all day without growing fat. Think what it would fetch on earth. Think of the diet and cosmetic industry. I use it all the time cos I get bored a lot and frankly I eat too much.”

In the kitchen bar we settled down to eat and she spent a solid hour entertaining me with hilarious tales of culinary disasters the length and breadth of the universe. As a hostess she was proving to be a real hit. Later we returned to her main cabin again and she slipped into the cockpit to set the controls for time warp. I felt a slight nausea before she returned and then the stories continued as she led me through another door into her ‘study’.

“This is my chartroom as well as my study.” She grinned. “It’s bloody rudimentary because I probably haven’t visited more than one percent of all the galaxies.”

“Bit like Ferdinand Magellan’s charts eh?” I chuckled.

She grinned and pointed to an ellipse shaped three-dimensional hologram that was suspended above the desk.

“This is a crude representation of the universe and this is where we’re going. The illuminated line is a rudimentary presentation of our course, speed and present position. That’s the galaxy were going to. I change down to an interstellar drive once I’ve rematerialized out of hyper-time. It’s not very accurate I’m afraid and it takes a bit of searching to exactly relocate the right star. We’ll be looking for another yellow dwarf about one-third from the centre along the red arm. It’s an amazingly beautiful galaxy because it’s got four brilliantly coloured arms, red, green, yellow and blue. That’s what attracted me to it in the first place. I like bright colours. It usually takes about an hour to finally reach the particular star and about another hour to do the interplanetary bit. They were ecstatic the first time I visited them and I’ve enjoyed their company many times since. They’re an incredible people and just about the only race that I list as my friends. They’re so gentle and so, so kind.”

“Have you revealed your secrets to them then?” I asked.

“Not all. They don’t want to leave their star system so they’re quite happy with the
interplanetary drive. They say they’ve got plenty to occupy them for all eternity. That’s one of the traits that endeared me to them. They’re not greedy. I explained how the interplanetary anti-grav drive worked but kept the intergalactic equations of space and time to myself. They’ll be euphoric when I introduce you to them. They might even come out to meet us once they detect the power shedding from our arrival. We won’t notice anything but there’s a hell of a lot of energy accumulated along the warp and most of it discharges as light. First there’s a hell of a blast of raw heat as the space time continuum rips open then the light pours out of the warp hole like an erupting fountain. They told me it looked like a white hole the first time I arrived; you know a place where matter pours out instead of in.”

As a science correspondent I knew about black holes and white holes. I could perfectly
imagine the effects on an advanced society at finding a white hole suddenly pouring countless zillions of cubic miles of hot matter into their star system. The resultant increase in fatal debris could be catastrophic. They must have been as relieved as hell when it stopped.”

“Anyway to cut a long story short.” She continued. “They realised it was not a hole
when the warp closed inexplicably. Finally they suspected it was the act of some intelligent species. As I picked my way
cautiously towards their sun they were anticipating me for they thought I had picked up their radio signals. I arrived to an unexpectedly friendly reception. They had outgrown their home planet and they were looking for more living space but they were virtually ‘planet-bound’. I was treated like a hero and I didn’t understand why until they explained the overcrowding problem.”

“Surely they had birth control?” I asked.

“They evolved from Amphibians in their primordial slime because there are no stray meteorites in their galaxy to destroy the dinosaurs and stuff. They lay hundreds of eggs at one go. Despite the incredibly painful steps they have taken, it’s almost impossible to stop the population growth. They do try I can assure you. The self-sacrifices they make are superhuman. Nearly all the women forgo motherhood and their urges are just as strong as ours. They envy our mammalian race enormously in only having one or two young. I think you’ll find they are a lovely people, ever so gentle.”

I smiled sleepily and she immediately apologised for having kept me up.

“I’m so sorry. You must think me a terrible hostess. Here, let’s make up your bed.”

She explained as she tugged at the sofa and it unfolded to provide a huge double bed.

“I stole this with a tractor beam from a department store in Tokyo. They must still be wondering how a huge sofa could just disappear from the top story of a tower block. Now, - you use the bathroom first. I’ve got my own private door from the bedroom.”

I showered and inspected the fittings then wondered about a dressing gown. Almost by telepathy there was a discreet knock on the door and I opened it to find a bathrobe being extended blindly through the gap.

“Thank you.” I whispered as I sensed the nervousness in the extended hand. “Why are you frightened?”

“I’ve always been afraid of adults ever since a child. Night-time is always the worst.” She mumbled as the door closed and a precise click told me she had locked herself in her bedroom.

It puzzled me why she even had locks on the door unless she regularly carried guests.Then as I recalled her life story it dawned on me where the fear came from. She was a really messed up kid. As my hair dried I settled down to study some videos she had left out for me in preparation for meeting her friends and I wondered at the strange yellowish race in the pictures. Their tallest men were slightly taller than her but she was quite a petite girl. I would be a giant on their worlds. They were quite pretty too. Faces not terribly dissimilar to human ones but no breasts of course and no visible genitalia. My human host must have been a terribly lonely, frightened soul to befriend such an alien people but I knew I was prejudging the whole issue. ‘Wait and see’ was the best policy.
In the middle of the ‘night’ I heard her whimpering softly and I knocked gently on her door. There was instant silence followed by a nervous ‘Whoisit?’

“Who do you think it is?” I replied a little impatiently.

“Wait a minute!”

The door eased back a fraction before a heavy chain-bolt stopped its progress.

“What d’you want? Isn’t the sofa bed comfortable enough?”

“The bed’s perfect.” I whispered reassuringly. “It’s the noises coming from this bedroom. Why are you crying?”

“I cry every sleep-time. I have nightmares and I’m sorry if it disturbs you. There are some bunks in the cargo hold but it’s not very comfortable in there. There’s no sound insulation either so the drive noise is quite invasive.”

“D’you want me to comfort you?” I asked concernedly.

Her eyes flashed and her face twisted with a cynical snarl as she recoiled from the door.

“Not bloody likely. That’s the last thing I want.”

I was shocked at the metamorphosis. Whatever outward appearances she portrayed, it was obvious that the damage inside her head was near total. ‘Despite the incredible genius locked up inside her skull she was definitely one fouled up individual’.

‘The childhood thing again’. I concluded. ‘Somebody or bodies down on Earth had a lot to answer for’
I gently closed the door again and retreated to my sofa bed. What this girl needed was neglect. ‘Care and attention’ she’d obviously had her fill of. It was like taming a wild animal. Just put out the food, the bait, the temptation, and let it eventually come to you. Later that night my beliefs were confirmed. Her bedroom door opened gently and she crept nervously into my bed. Whispering softly I asked what she wanted but there was no response. She was ‘sleep-walking’!!
‘Like a small child afraid of the dark’, I thought.

I felt her soft small body curl up inside mine and the whimpering eventually subsided. It was a mildly confusing situation for I found it hard to decide if she was dreaming of a lover or a mother. In any event she slept like a log and I was awake long before her. To avoid complications I gently carried her in my arms back to her own bedroom so that she would wake in her own bed and hopefully have no recollections of her nocturnes. She emerged refreshed some hours later long after I had dressed and eaten.

In anticipation of the forthcoming arrival she was dressed in a practical tight fitting overall that hinted gently of her masculinity. It was obvious she was much more at ease with the aliens than with me but that was to be expected. She studied my city power-dressing suit and grinned thoughtfully.

“There’s some spare clothing in the cargo hold. You’d better change.”

Gratefully I investigated the slop chest and was relieved to find several complete changes
of outfits including underwear. It was obvious she had prepared for my company. Back in the cockpit I asked her about it.

“I steal everything from warehouses on Earth. It’s easy to slip down to the surface while
Albatross hovers silently above some remote building and then I use my remote control and just tractor beam it aboard. I just
throw out what’s not required.”

“Hasn’t anybody ever seen you.”

“What! ‘Flying saucers’? Stealing clothes! Do me a favour. Would you believe it?”

I grinned at her caustic brevity. She was right of course.

Where Ruby gets to meet beverly's favourite aliens and learns a thing or two about trust and compassion.

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NEW SPACETRAN 5

Part 5.

We started to dematerialise out of hypertime in front of a spectacular rainbow coloured
disc that left me gasping in wonder. ‘No wonder’ she had been attracted to it I reasoned. It looked for the entire world like some immense ‘Catherine Wheel’ frozen in space. I took my familiar seat on the cockpit divan and watched as the circle stopped shimmering and the miasma of flickering colours slowly evolved into the vaguely foggy but just identifiable arms of a galaxy.

The arms slowly started to turn.

“No. The galaxy is not spinning that fast. That’s just us rotating in each separated dimensional plane as we start to align the warp.” She reported reassuringly. “If we don’t get each affected dimension in the right polarity or spacial or chronological harmony, we could arrive upside-down and inside-out and whatever else.”

“Does that matter then?” I wondered.

“Yes. If we dematerialise with the wrong dimensional polarity we could end up as a sort of virtual antimatter. I won’t try to explain but I’m sure you understand the consequences. I’ve also got to shed the surplus accumulated energy from the warp ring.”

I shuddered nervously. ‘There was a hell of a lot more to this time warping than met the
eye!’ I watched her operate the crude aluminium controls and realised how completely I was in her tiny hands. I felt a sudden nauseous giddiness and bumped my nose against the window as the Galaxy suddenly hardened into sharp focus. The warp change had corrected the light shift and each arm was a distinct colour exactly as she had described it.

“We’ll go interstellar now. The individual stars will start to streak past. Don’t be frightened, we’ll exceed light speed and we still won’t have a solid composition in the conventional sense. If anything gets in our way we just go through it like quarks through ordinary matter. We only have to take care once we arrive at the exact star system. We'll emerge from hyperspace outside the farthest orbit of the planets and manoeuvre in like any ordinary docking ship. It doesn’t take long in this system because there’s no random debris and the comets are all well documented. We can still travel pretty close to light speed.”
Her words proved true and we finally arrived close to a beautiful planet with three tiny moons. As I stared myopically, a group of tiny dots expanded to reveal themselves as spacecraft.

“Our reception committee.” She said. “Come on. Time to space walk. The big blue one is like an ambassadorial craft, a sort of ‘Ellis Island’ in space. I don’t know if they’ve ever had to use it yet though there is another planet with intelligent species in this arm of their galaxy. It’s immaterial to me though for they always accord me special diplomatic status.”

After donning our space-suites we were whisked by some sort of tractor beam to the huge craft and entered it like ants entering a church. It dwarfed The Cold Albatross which remained untouched in stasis as two powerful looking escort craft took up obvious patrol duty beside her. As we approached the airlock I asked her about it.

“They treat her as a shrine. It’s always a tremendous honour for any of them to go aboard her so the escorts protect her integrity while I’m away. They know all about my neurosis and my obsessions with privacy so they respect me for that because I gave them anti-grav and interplanetary drive.”

“Are you treated like a God then?”

“Oh heavens no! They’re far more advanced than that. They know all about my problems with transvestism and they helped me alter my body. It’s nearly all female now except for what’s between my legs. Even my brain’s half female now. They’re brilliant doctors. Just think where humans would be medically if they had reached interplanetary anti-grav drive. These people are incredibly compassionate. Hey-up we’re here.”

I braced myself for my first alien encounter and a hot thrill of anticipation coursed through my veins. I was not disappointed and eagerly copied my hostess and removed my helmet as she had done to embrace what was obviously an old friend. Introductions were swiftly completed with no formality and we were invited to dine as the craft set course for an inner planet.

“Were we expected then.” I asked her.

“Oh yes, of course. I regularly visit. Every time I bring them some new artefacts or interesting foods. They really look forward to my visits. Look, there’s a container coming across from Cold Albatross. It’s got all sorts of stuff but it all goes into quarantine before assimilation. They’ll do what they will with it and I enjoy unparalleled hospitality in return.”

“Is there nothing else, no hidden agenda?” I asked.

“There goes your human suspicious mind again. Just go with the flow for God’s sake.”

I fell to talking with our host’s assistant who gave me a brief rundown of customs and habits to avoid any embarrassment. We were to be taken to the main diplomatic compound and given an apartment each. After a formal welcome we had a free run of the planets. I decided to stay close to my friend. Our host turned again to my companion and smiled.

“So Beverly, how long will you stay this time?”

It was the first time I had heard her name and I raised my eyebrows in surprise. She smiled self-consciously and replied first to her friend.

“I’m not sure Thlom, I think my friend Ruby will want to see as much as possible. And in answer to your raised eyebrow about my name Ruby; I’m called Beverly, I live like a woman now, it’s what I want.”

“So why haven’t you gone the whole hog? I asked. “The full sex-change?”

“I want to keep my penis. He’s an important source of pleasure. I’m a transvestite not a transsexual. I don’t expect you to understand. The doctors didn’t when I was a child. They said I was mentally sick. One silly bugger even recommended a sex change when I was all fouled up and hadn’t got a clue where I was going. The another psychiatrist tried to alter my sexuality with Electro-shock therapy. I suffered burns and a lot more. They might as well have just hit me with sticks but because the sticks had shiny knobs they called it psychiatry. All this when I was only bloody ten; a dustbin kid. A piece of material for them to try their theories and experiments. They can do anything they like to you when you’re in care. And they do.”

She finished with a soft menacing voice.

“Does Thlom know the whole story?” I whispered ashamed of my own human race.

“Of course I do Ruby.” Interrupted our host. “From our amphibian perspective it’s hard to understand how important your mammalian sexual dimorphism is to you. You’ll have no doubt noticed that there is little difference in the appearance of our primary sexual organs. You will not we don’t dress to cover our sex organs because the primary ones are mainly internal. Strangely our secondary features are more important socially. The little frill you see on the backs of men’s necks is a good example. It’s a rudimentary feature harking back to our primordial origins. I’m quite old now and fairly inactive but amongst our young men you’ll notice the adornment of the frill is an important factor in sexual selection. It’s considered very promiscuous for young ladies to touch it in public unless they have been mated.”

“Beverly tells me that’s a very rare event these days.” I observed boldly.

“Unfortunately yes. We’re terribly tight for space. The selected few are very highly honoured. Once the girls are selected they have the pick of the whole male population.”

“How are they selected.”

“They undergo a series of examinations. Health checks, beauty contests, and of course a rigorous series of academic exams. We can’t afford to leave much to chance but we also have a lottery each year so that a few can win a wild card. Genetics is nothing if not a lottery. We try to be as fair as possible.”

“It seems hard for the losers.” I observed.

“It’s desperately hard and we can’t seem to find a way around it.”

“It’s pity you don’t have the same reproductive processes as mammals.”

“In that?” Queried Thlom.

“You know. Each mother having only a few babies.”

“Believe me we’ve looked at it, especially after Beverly turned up from the great beyond. When she described how you mammals reproduced, our women’s hearts ached. They would give anything just to experience that primordial right to be a mother.”

We had come to a large square and thousands had arrived just to catch a glimpse of us. The news had long preceded our arrival and I was a little nervous about entering the throng. Beverly showed no reservations and promptly joined the heaving mass. As she disappeared into the milling throng I was reminded of a football crowd. I only caught up with her again at the diplomatic compound. In the interim I explored what turned out to be a bustling market and was surprised to find that the crowds were exceptionally well ordered. Thlom later told me it was an inherent trait born of necessity through the overcrowding. They had got the population stable but reducing it was proving extraordinarily painful.

Back at the compound Beverly and I chatted about our experiences.

“It’s terribly crowded,” I observed

“This is nothing. We’re in the capital were there’s open spaces and planned parks. In some of the provincial cities there's terrible squalor. The overcrowding is bloody nigh fatal.”

“Well why don’t they reduce the number of girls selected. I argued.”

“They need a minimum genetic pool to prevent inbreeding. It’s already dangerously
close to the extinction factor as it is. In fact some of their geneticists reckon they’ve already gone too far and weakened the
gene pool fatally. There’s a huge political row about it as we speak. You see a girl’s eggs are all genetically identical so the scope for genetic diversification is limited when you apply population control.”

“So why don’t they only preserve a few eggs from each girl then more girls can breed and
there would be greater genetic diversification.”

“That’s infanticide Ruby. It’s one of their biggest ongoing arguments at the moment.”

“So what. If it’s survival of the species then eugenic need’s must when the devil drives. Choose the fittest and let them survive,”

Beverly fell silent for a moment before speaking softly.

“If that had been allowed on Earth Ruby, I’d not be here now. Transvestites and gays are the very stuff of genetic and homophobic social rejection. My foetus would be rotting in some hospital dust-bin or worse, -I’d be disposed of as six-year-old once they discovered what I was, - a lesser thing, a flawed thing, a piece of rubbish, - vermin!”

“Oh that’s not fair Beverly. I said nothing about killing children.”

“It’s a thin line Ruby, believe me it’s a very thin line. I was destined to be disposed of in
a snuff movie anyway. The moral question had already been circumvented and rationalised. I am transvestite scum, remember!”

I fell silent with embarrassment after realising I had again jumped in with both clod-hopping feet. Beverly stumbled from my apartment tight-lipped and with white spots of tension on her cheekbones. I noticed the beginnings of a tear in her eye and I could have bitten my stupid tongue off. The following morning I couldn’t find her, she had left for some private destination with Thlom. It was obvious that she felt bitterly hurt and decided to snub me. I also sensed a mood of censure amongst the aliens. I left the compound and found myself at the local university. There I fell in with a professor of biology for that was my major at college. We chatted all morning about comparative anatomy. He also dwelt at length about the miracle that Beverly had wrought when she gave them interplanetary drive. Apparently they had been on the verge of a full-scale civil war over the overcrowding question. Now the other suitable planets of their star system were being steadily colonised as we spoke although there were still vast problems to overcome. He also related their species biological history and how they had become the dominant species after the demise of a predatory race that had weakened itself through constant turf wars.

The amphibians had managed to overcome them and take over the planet. From being the prey they had become the victors and consequently overrun the planet. They had evolved from herbivorous amphibians and never been seriously aggressive. Their defensive techniques had simply evolved unexpectedly and they had gained evolutionary superiority over the species that had predated on them since the dawn of their history.

The breeding impulse however had always been strong and that was how they had survived the predators. Once the predators had virtually exterminated themselves through failed predation and starvation, the overcrowding die had been cast for the amphs. I shuddered as I wondered about their pre-historic ‘birth control’ techniques.

‘Predation! Uugh! It couldn’t have been more traumatic!’

“This was all thousands of earth years ago Ruby.” He finished. “Now we find ourselves to be our own worst enemies.”

“So how would you suggest you solve it. Why don’t you take up Beverly’s offer and use interstellar drive so that you can cross to other star systems in your own galaxy?”

“It’s no good. She said that just about every planet that could evolve life had already appeared to have done so or more often had started on the process of evolution. We doubted her word so after we helped her rebuild her ship she took some of our scientists to visit hundreds of random star systems in our galaxy and she was right. We felt quite guilty at having doubted her. In several systems the expedition was attacked but Beverly had become super-cautious and the expedition always managed to escape.

We’re not a warlike race so we would never countenance attacking another race. Apparently she had once been captured somewhere out near the edge of the universe and she only just managed to escape. That craft of hers is a remarkable device, it’s just about the most advanced thing in the universe. You should have seen the ramshackle old crate when she first arrived. We helped her build a new hull and make the interior more comfortable but the essential design and drives haven’t changed a bit since she built it. The physics departmental museum has got the original aluminium and plywood control consoles. It’s one of their most revered technical icons. You wouldn’t believe how crude the craft was when she first arrived. It even leaked air into space. When she dematerialised the first time the warp fabric detonated instead of just ripping because of the pollution from the leaked air. We recorded the explosion on our planet and it dematerialised over a light year away. Just imagine the energy that accumulates to do that. D’you want to see it?”

I nodded enthusiastically. Ever since Beverly had told me she had built her space-ship in a barn I found her words hard to believe. The cold Albatross I had arrived in had been far too sophisticated to have be knocked together in a barn!

Now I was about to see the truth, the original raw crude handiwork that Beverly had actually assembled with her own single hand. The professor contacted his colleague in the physics department and we crossed the campus to an imposing building. In the main hall I found the physics professor reverently opening the protective glass case and I realised I was getting the special treatment. Dozens of students had immediately gathered to watch such an auspicious event.

What I saw made my heart reach out to Beverly. The console was indeed a crude device. The ‘wrap-around’ aluminium sheet even showed ‘vice compression marks’ where her clumsy efforts had betrayed her single-handedness. None of the saw cuts had been filed smooth and the thing even showed copious blood stains where she must have cut herself a thousand times on the sharp unfinished metal edges. I realised the panel must have been put together in a rush as though the child Beverly knew she had to get off the planet Earth very soon or die.

Dozens of crude dials without glass showed incomprehensible readings that must have measured even more incomprehensible force. Finally, right in the middle of the panel there was a rectangular hole where something important must have lain. I finally realised that the crude levers on our ship’s, - (our ship?) super-sophisticated control console had once lived in this aperture. I caught the Physics professor fingering the panel reverently. Behind the panel lay what seemed like a thousand tiny wires obviously pilfered or scrounged from a hundred easily identifiable earthly sources; domestic wiring, telephone wires, car dashboard yokes, domestic appliances and God alone knew wherever else.

The whole sad ambit of earthly, childhood terror, desperation and genius seemed bound up in the crude spaghetti behind that simple panel. I felt a lump form in my throat and turned away unable to countenance the years of research, toil and tears that must have gone into the whole craft.

‘How in God’s name had she managed to pay for the materials to build the hull and the engines?’ I wondered. Then with a sickening certainty I remembered. She had been a child prostituted by a paedophile pimp. ‘No wonder she seemed to have a love affair with The Cold Albatross’. It was her all, the only baby she could ever have borne. The physics professor sensed my emotion and eyed me up and down as he spoke.

“This really belongs on your planet you know but Beverly would have none of it.”

“I’m not surprised. Did you help her rebuild it.”

“Yes. We couldn’t do enough for her. Once we had established a spaceship industry on this home planet, we helped her to build a new hull, and a completely new interior. All she had to do was re-install her secret warp drives and the old controls.”

I remembered the crude aluminium rods in the control console sticking up like weeds in a flowerbed. It was obvious the controls and the drive were inextricably connected. Like a brain and it’s spinal cord. The physics professor continued so I shut up and listened. After all I was here to learn.

He explained further.

“The rebuild was a much bigger task and she found it impossible with her single limb so our medics made her a new hand. She was so grateful it was pathetic but it was really the least we could do.”

“Where’s the old hull?” I asked.

“In the engineering block. If you think the controls are crude just go and see the hull. It’s little more than a metal coffin. When our first year space-craft architects see it they can’t believe it crossed between galaxies all over the universe many times before finally coming to us. Beverly’s a very brave girl. She used to have to carry oxygen bottles on her back and wear a space suite if the pressure dropped too low due to leaky welds and sub-light interplanetary ends of passages. The old suite is there as well. We designed her some new suites and excellent ones they are even though I say it myself.”

We took a shuttle to another campus and I had to gape in disbelief at the crude drum
shaped craft that was perched so conspicuously on the plinth in the main hall. It was obvious that the front cockpit section was little more than a few oil drums crudely mig-welded together whilst the rear living space looked suspiciously like the container from some garbage truck welded to a builder’s skip.

Some crude spokes stuck out radially and the engineering professor told me it was were the original amalgam spiral ring had been attached. The physics professor expanded the story a little.

“The composition of that amalgam is the crux of the craft’s secrets. That’s what gives her space warp and time travel. The whole original ring was expanded by Beverly herself by adding some more amalgam and it is now contained in a protective titanium casing on her new craft”

“So this is the real Cold Albatross. Mark one as it were?” I whispered reverently.

“The very one. This is our greatest treasure and when alien species finally meet across the galaxies this will be our finest contribution to the history of space travel. The very first time traveller, - the very first time-ship.”

I felt a deep pang of jealousy for their having such a historical artefact then I felt the guilt
of all of humanity at somehow having caused such a gift to escape. Here, but for our homophobic and transphobic prejudices; but for humanity’s cruelty and hypocrisy; - here was the past, the present, and future birthright of humanity. It seemed almost like a biblical punishment.

I had no right to grumble though. It was entirely Beverly’s right. She obviously loved these
people and I had to admit I had found them totally honest and open. My first and probably only encounter with an alien species had proved a charming and friendly occasion.

Much chastened I returned to the diplomatic compound to find Beverly enjoying a hastily
thrown spontaneous party. Thlom was performing some particularly stupid antics and it was obvious that everybody was very drunk. I wasn’t in the mood for levity so a slunk back to my apartment. Later that night, as I sat brooding in my armchair, Beverly staggered past my open door and hesitated unsteadily.

“Hi. H- h- ha-ad a good day?” She gurgled.

“An informative one. I saw your original handiwork today.”

Beverly leaned stupidly against the doorpost and said nothing. In fact she was too drunk to say ‘bread’ and as she tried to reply she slid helplessly down the wall.

“You’re pissed!” I accused.

“An- and you’re a tight-arse, bu- bur’ I’ll be sober tomorrow.”

I felt a little jealous. To lose all inhibitions and get hopelessly incapacitated demonstrated that Beverly was wholly at ease on this planet. She would never have dreamed of allowing herself to become so vulnerable on Earth. I would try and speak to her in the morning but for now it behoved me to lay her frail unconscious form out in my spare bedroom. I debated undressing her for bed then suddenly remembered she was a traumatised,frightened transvestite and my feminine sensibilities prevented me. For a moment however, I was curious and debated peeking under her indecently short skirt until I remembered her horror of such things sexual. Instead I gently tucked a blanket over her and returned to brood in my chair. Later Thlom staggered by and smiled as he saw Beverly flaked out.

“Keep an eye on her. She’s drunk far too much.”

“Don’t I know it. What prompted you two to tie one on?”

“She always does on her second night. She feels safe here and it’s her only relief valve. Getting pissed once a visit? It’s hardly a crime now is it?”

I looked at Beverly’s fragile vulnerable form and my heart went out to her as I nodded to Thlom.

.“No, it’s not, you’re right. Where did you go today?”

“Somewhere private.”

“Oh! I suppose you’re her guardian and boyfriend are you? Did you get it on then?"”

“That’s disgusting,” Objected Thlom. “I won't even honour that question with an answer. You really are a suspicious person aren’t you?”

“Well why would she want privacy on this planet. It’s like a bloody ant heap and if she wanted privacy she’s got the whole of bloody space.”

“I’ll talk to you in the morning. I’m too pissed to get philanthropical now. Goodnight.”

I wondered what he meant by ‘philanthropical’ and assumed that he meant philosophical. He left and I closed my door to avoid any more interruptions. Beverly grunted drunkenly a couple of times so I closed her bedroom door and switched on the television. There was a debate going on about improving the solutions to the overcrowding and I quickly became engrossed in the
arguments. When it finished I retired thoughtfully to bed.

When I woke Beverly was preparing some food and chewing on an alien root with a strong citric aroma. She grinned guiltily as I emerged.

“D’you want some breakfast?” She chirped cheerfully.

“I’m surprised you’re up to eating after last night.”

“I chew this root and drink oodles of water. It clears hangovers like magic. Try it.”

She proffered a small slice but I rejected it.

“I don’t need it I wasn’t pissed last night.”

“Do I detect a note of censure then?” Grinned Beverly disarmingly.

I couldn’t remain angry with her and it was churlish of me to be miffed about her having left me to my own devices. It was her only opportunity to let her hair down while feeling unthreatened. Additionally I had enjoyed a very interesting day and I asked her about the old Mark One Albatross. She smiled slightly then shrugged her shoulders disarmingly.

“Yes it was all a bit hairy back then. The Albatross looked a lot better than that when I
first lit out from Earth. She’s a bit careworn as you see her now what with the burns and blasts of outrageous fortune. She had a pretty rough life.”

“I can’t believe you actually got that trash can into space. Is it true you nearly ran out of
air?”

“Well, that’s a bit of an exaggeration. She was always leaking air and I was continually welding the cracks. The dematerializations were always a bit bumpy though. The little interplanetary dog-legs at the beginning and end of each passage”

“A bit bumpy by God! The Physics professor told me they detected the bang down here. Just how much bloody energy is knocking around when that thing flies?”

“You’re comparing her to a rocket again. She doesn’t work like that. Forget Newtonian physics and Einstein’s relativity. And don’t call her ‘it’.”

I squinted at Beverly suspiciously as she dished up the food.

“Is there something special about her that you’re not telling me?”

“No, nothing. “Nothing I haven’t already told you. It’s just that Cold Albatross I, - well she’s my baby. I can’t have a real baby can I? Although I was fucked enough times before Albatross was finally born.”

I sensed her pain and changed the subject. There was no way I was going to get involved in a psychosexual counselling session with a super-intelligent transvestite.

“What are we doing today?”

“We? I don’t know about we. I’m off with Thlom to the breeding ponds and contraception labs. They want some of my DNA.”

“Good God! What are you up to?” I squeaked suspecting some obscene frankensteinian experiments.

“They have tremendous trouble with estrogenic compounds because they’re amphibians. All their efforts at contraception keep falling foul of the low estrogenic tolerances of their amphibian metabolisms. You know like shellfish and stuff are changing their sex in Earth’s rivers because of PCB’s and stuff. Well it’s like that with their embryonic boys. If they dose the girls they lay only female eggs. That compounds the overpopulation problems and if they dose the boys they tend to change sex. The whole things a right mess. They’ve got some pretty fancy stuff available but it’s not wholly reliable. They know my mammalian DNA is far more tolerant so they are looking at some way of utilising that capacity. I leave some DNA samples every time I come. They’ve already had some spectacular results with mammalian testosterone but I don’t produce much these days. They’re on the verge of synthesising a compatible amphibian version and I’m going to visit them to chat to their geneticists.”

“They might be cloning you for all you know. Don’t you think you’re being a bit too
trusting?”

“There you go again; human distrust. I don’t care what they do. They accept me for what I am and make me welcome. I’ll do whatever they ask of me.”

“So they’ll end up with a race of half mammalian, half amphibian transvestites.”

Beverly glared at me as the white spots appeared again. I realised my derogatory reference to the ‘transvestite’ issue had hurt her. I was just about to apologise but she got her retaliation in first.

“Thanks very much. They’re not like you! They’re not stupid you know. You’re a totally xenophobic W.A.S.P when it comes to science aren’t you?”

I recalled the attitudes of White Anglo-Saxon Protestants towards the other human races
and realised she had hit the issue right on the button. Once again she had made me feel stupid. It was painfully obvious that these people were infinitely far ahead of mankind if one excluded Beverly’s lonely unsung genius. But then, she hardly considered herself human anymore. A sort of itinerant, transgalactic, transvestite, half-and-half. I couldn’t really blame her though. She put on a short coat fur trimmed coat over her mini-dress and turned to me.

“I’ll be back about fiveish, our time. That’s about thirty four o’clock their time. You don’t have to clear up. They’ve got servants for that so you’ll feel at home. Enjoy yourself.

You’ve got a month to kill before I return to the Sol system. You should have learned enough by
then to convince those unbelievers back on earth.”

“Can I come?” I begged, keen to keep company with the only other human and alreadyfeeling the loneliness of isolation and culture shock.

“You won’t approve of what we’re doing. They had enough trouble getting the mammalian DNA ideas past their own ethical research committee. What was it you said? ‘Needs must’.”

I searched desperately for a reason to justify my accompanying her.

“I might be able to contribute some of my DNA.”

She gave me a long, knowing, penetrating look.

“Stop trying to bribe me. You know you disapprove.”

“I’m a biologist for God’s sake. And I saw that debate last night on television. They
need all the help they can get.”

“So what can you do that their greatest scientists can’t”

“It’s not what I can do, it’s what I am!”

A dawning light of suspicion glinted in Beverly’s eyes but she shook her head disbelievingly and muttered ‘No’, to herself.

“Why not. What’s good for the gander is good for the goose. Let’s see what Thlom has to say.”

Beverly shrugged resignedly and nodded towards my coat and hat.

“You’d better get wrapped up then. It’s dangerously cold at the breeding ponds because they’re high in the hills. The temperature range is critical for gender distribution amongst the eggs during incubation.”

“Like reptiles.” I added.

“Exactly.”

“Why aren’t you wrapped up then?”

“I don’t feel the cold much. Arctic predator; remember?”

I stared at her inquisitorially and she shrugged again as she reminded me.

“As is bent the twig, so grows the tree. I survived the mountain frost during my twelfth year and it’s been that way ever since. Call me the bloody Ice Queen.”

I shuddered as snippets of her past kept resurrecting themselves to haunt our friendship.There was a gentle tap on the door and Thlom spoke softly.

“Are you in there Beverly?”

I opened the door to find him wrapped up like an Eskimo in a very elaborate all in one. He agreed to my request to accompany them and the three of us entered his shuttle.

“Is it that cold then?” I asked him.

“To us yes. The men feel it particularly badly. The breeding ponds are frozen at the moment and the hatch isn’t until spring. All we do is ensure that the ponds are safe. The eggs overwinter under the ice.”

“Who would attack the eggs?”

“Nobody now that the predators are extinct. We only make sure the ponds remain frozen and unpolluted. The planet has become progressively dirtier with the overcrowding. We just keep a check on the water quality then there’s a huge festival during the hatch. We’re just going up to the labs for tests.”

“Yes Beverly’s mentioned it. What d’you hope to gain?”

“We don’t know. These are desperate times.”

“What sort of DNA does she supply?” I asked glancing contemptuously towards Beverly

“Whatever we ask of her.” Replied Thlom innocently missing my venom. “Usually body cells and semen.”

“You surprise me Beverly. I’m surprised you can still produce semen.”

“It’s nothing to do with you.” Snapped Beverly defensively. “What sort of DNA are you going to supply?”

She had unwittingly struck a sensitive note. As a woman they might ask me to supply some unfertilised eggs and I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that. Somehow eggs seemed more sacred than cheap, sacrificial sperm and anyhow there was only a finite number of eggs in myovaries. I sucked my lip thoughtfully. My protective mothering instincts began to play havoc with my
wish to help these gentle people. Beverly realised she had struck home.

“Still keen to help. You can still back out if you haven’t got the bottle. I’ve got good
reason to help them; remember this?”

She disconnected her left hand and waved the stump angrily under my nose. It suddenly acquired an obscene quality as I tried to comprehend what sort of human monster would maim a child. I began to realise just how much Beverly and the amphibians were into each other; and the relationship was based on mutual affections. Her gesture finally persuaded me. If I could bring home the biotechnology associated with Beverly’s prosthetic it would be a fair deal. I considered all the amputees and paraplegics on Earth and the pathetic gratitude that would ensue. It would also make me rich. Having found my main chance I
proposed the deal, some of my eggs for the prosthesis biotechnology. Thlom pursed his lips thoughtfully then shrugged.

“It should get past the ethics committee. What d’you think of it Beverly?”

Beverly turned around and glanced at me contemptuously before replying to Thlom.

“She’s a greedy little gold digger but it seems a fair deal. We mammals can’t re-grow our limbs like crabs and lobsters.”

Then she turned to me with a caution in her voice.

“This prosthesis is not all it seems. It’s partly amphibian, partly crustacean and partly me; you do realise that don’t you. They used the crustacean ability to re-grow limbs, their own amphibian biotechnology and my genetic material to make if compatible. Look, do you see those pipes there; well they are micro blood vessels to keep the hand alive.
It’s a separate living organism in parasitic symbiosis with me. D’you think a WASP, could hack having a parasite attached to his body. The Fascist bastards can’t even stand having different races living in the same country and as for gays and trannies the less said the better. The idea of having some parasite feeding off their precious bodies would probably send them over the edge. They might even refuse it quarantine; you know how xenophobic they are.”

“I think you’re being silly now Beverly. It’s you that’s being paranoid.”

“Yeah. I wonder why.” She murmured wearily as she turned to face front again and twiddled with the in-car television.
The shuttle slowed down and descended onto a piedmont plateau just above the snow line. The breeding ponds were clearly visible as the ice glittered in the harsh sunlight and the shuttle settled by the small town that lay amongst the ponds.

“This is their main research station for genetic engineering.” Observed Beverly as she stepped out into the bitter cold.
I shivered as the icy stillness bit through my ankle length coat and Thlom frantically buttoned up his arctic style overall. Within moments he was all but invisible inside his overall and I pulled my coat tight around me. The bitter frost quickly sliced through my clothing but Beverly seemed unaffected. There seemed to be something alien about her hardiness and I wondered if perhaps she had indulged in some more alien genetic engineering on yet another planet. In any event my fingers had already begun to ache with frostbite but she seemed completely unaffected and all she had on was a short ‘thigh-length’ fur trimmed coat over her mini-dress, patterned panty-hose and calf length boots. We struggled through the tinkling snow crystals and eventually made it to the welcome heat of the buildings. Thlom let out a grateful croak of relief and my teeth chattered away uncontrollably for a few more minutes before we recovered from what could not have been more than a couple of minutes of exposure.

“M-My God! J-Just how cold is it out there?” I stuttered.

“Alcohol freezes.” Replied Beverly unconcernedly.

“Christ girl! You must have bloody glycerine for blood.”

“Is your face frozen?” Asked Beverly.

I felt it and had to admit it was not. There had been no wind to steal my surface body heat. Beverly smiled condescendingly.

“Most of my body is like your face. As a child in the mountains I had to survive in rags. The body quickly adapts. I’m used to cold. It’s also bloody cold in deep space and Cold Albatross One was a pretty crude old tub. I rarely ever felt heat.”

She continued talking and turned to grin at Thlom as he unbuttoned his overall while she explained.

“Thlom on the other hand is a warm blooded amphibian and has absolutely no resistance to cold. He would die in seconds without protection. Wouldn’t you Thlom?”

Thlom grinned and stepped out of his protective suite then looked curiously at me.

“I would have thought you would have the same alien endurance as Beverly?”

“People vary a lot on Earth.” I replied. “How on earth do your eggs survive?”

“They’re cold blooded at the moment and can survive incredibly low temperatures. They go through metamorphosis soon after hatching.”

“Like tadpoles.” Finished Beverly.

“I perfectly understand what Thlom said Beverly! I am a graduate biologist after all.”

“So-orryyy!” She winged mockingly.

“Stop bickering you two and let’s meet the research team.” Ordered Thlom who was becoming impatient with our constant sniping.

Thus censured we both kept our silence and joined the research team inside. After a very brief introduction Thlom explained what I had offered and their eyes widened with appreciation. They immediately settled around a table to discuss different strategies and Beverly was soon left out in the cold as we pooled our biological knowledge. She was obviously bored with Biology and left to indulge in whatever caught her interest. Thlom told me she had gone to donate her DNA.

‘Going for a wank.’ I grinned to myself. The thought of such an attractive woman masturbating like a man intrigued me. I found it hard to imagine until I saw her sample later under the microscope. The count was as low as I expected but the healthy motility of the few sperm impressed me. I gave my professional opinion of the sperm sample and that satisfied the amphibian scientists. It was now my turn. I was given a local anaesthetic and actually had to help direct the egg extraction on the camera. They removed half of the forty we had agreed and immediately froze them. Even if the all eggs failed there was still a vast healthy reserve left in my ovaries. For the next few days I helped in various experiments and couldn’t help feel a perverse sense of motherliness towards my own eggs even though they were still infertile. Eventually they got the artificial womb about right and managed to synthesise a credible facsimile of my own blood. They would now be able to carry out satisfactory foetal experiments and we returned to the city. This time I borrowed a spare survival suite to reach the shuttle.

Once back in the city Beverly and I were invited onto several talk shows to debate the genetic engineering question. The moral equation was left unresolved but we absolved ourselves of responsibility. After all we would soon be leaving. It was entirely up to the amphibians to decide any future course of action concern our samples.

For the next month we toured their other colonised planets then we finally had to return to Cold Albatross. It was with no small sense of loss that I left their worlds and Beverly also seemed particularly quiet when we renewed our acquaintance with our trusty craft.

“So. It’s back to Earth again.” I sighed.

“Yup. You’ve had your jaunt and all the stuff you’ll need to create a satisfactory prosthesis has been placed in the cargo hold. Shall we go?”

“Good a time as any.” I shrugged a little sadly.

She reversed the procedures more or less exactly and within a similar time span we were back hovering on the blind side of the Earth’s moon. As we shared what was obviously to be our last meal together Beverly broached the subject of our return.

“So how d’you want to arrange your return Ruby? A blaze of publicity and world-wide panic or a discreet secret night arrival exactly as you left.”

I wagged my head confusedly.

“Neither seems a good idea. A blaze of publicity would destroy all hopes privacy but if I just reappear at work the next morning I would probably get the sack. Nobody would believe a word I say although I would still be set up for life with the prosthesis technology. There must be some sort of middle way.”

“I’ve been considering that.” She grinned. “What If I did the same to you as the astronauts and put you down on some aircraft-carrier at sea?”

“I mulled the idea over in my mind and reasoned that it wasn’t a bad idea. Beverly wasn’t just a pretty face.”

“An American ship or a French one?” I asked.

“Dunno just yet. You’re an American citizen so I think it’s unfair to dump you on a United States Ship. They’ll try and keep the whole prosthesis thing a secret and keep you under wraps.

They’ll be paranoid about UFO’s after I rescued their astronauts. I didn’t identify myself much to the astronauts that time. I just tractor beamed that stupid dangerous shuttle thing into the Cold Albatross’s hold and literally freighted them back to the safety of Earth. You might not get to benefit from the prosthesis stuff either cos if they want to keep you a secret they daren’t let you loose. It might be best to use a foreign ship then they can’t keep it a total secret.”

“There’s a hidden agenda here isn’t there Beverly?”

Her jaw tightened slightly as her expression hardened and her normally full red lips became two thin red lines of bitterness.

“Humanity owes me. I want to see them sweat.”

“Who owes you?” I asked softly.

“The whole damned human race. I want them to know what they have lost and why. Instead of being one of the most fortunate races in the universe I want them to suffer like I was made to suffer. I want them to regret what they did to me for the next million years. In future, every time an alien race visits this planet, humanity will have to look up into the skies and remember it could have been them travelling to the stars. I hope that will be my undying legacy. My story is already well known the length and breadth of the universe and Earth will be a pariah planet for millennia to come. Nobody will reveal my secrets to humankind.”

I felt a cold knot tightening in my stomach. Her bitterness was a primordial hateful force
and I could hardly blame her. It was a rare and lucky individual who managed to extract any vengeance for a childhood betrayal and Beverly’s betrayal had been total. I felt a vicious mix of excitement and anxiety twisting up my vitals as I contemplated my part in her plan. I would become as rich as Croesus yet I would be the harbinger of some of the worst news to hit humanity. Would I somehow be blamed as the bringer of the news? Would they try to kill the messenger?

Full of foreboding I wagged my head slowly but she ignored my depression as she matter-of-factly declared her plan.

“I’ll scan the Atlantic for a suitable ship and land you on whatever’s convenient. OK?”

“It’ll have to be.” I mumbled. “You’ve used me haven’t you?”

“Nothing’s free in this universe Ruby. Did you think I was some sort of philanthropist? I’m a psychopathic,transvestite misfit and it’s mankind that made me so.”

“That’s not entirely true Beverly. From what you’ve told me, it was mainly your family that made you into a transvestite.”

“I don’t know about that. I think transvestites might be born not made? Is there a transvestite gene? There might be, who knows?”

“What; like a gay gene d’you mean?” I asked wonderingly.

“Exactly. You’re the biologist. You tell me.”

“That’s a thought. It might be worth researching.”

“Research or not, it’s spilt milk now. It’ll not benefit me will it?”

“It could do. If we discovered a transvestite gene we might be able to eliminate it.”

Beverly’s face turned white with shock and I quickly realised I had not only overstepped the mark but smashed right through it.

“You haven’t learned a damned thing in this entire trip have you?”

My mind groped for an apology as a vague inkling filtered through my prejudices. Beverly saved me any further mental effort.

“Don’t you understand!!? I like being a transvestite. It’s nice. Can’t you get that through you’re thick skull?”

“But what about all the social censure; the pressure and condemnation from others.”

“Bugger the others, if I found a transvestite gene, I’d offer it to the whole of humanity.”

“I don’t think they’d take up your offer.” I pointed out.

“Then they don’t know what they’re bloody missing.” She finished.

Lost for a riposte I drained my coffee and contemplated the last few minutes travelling down to Earth. She stood up, entered her bedroom and rummaged through her wardrobe for a suitable dress. Unusually she left the door open and I was allowed to watch her get changed.

The only concession to her transvestism being to discreetly turn away from me as she changed her panties. The dress was a provocatively short tight fitting cocktail number and I anticipated her needing help to do up the zip.

To my amazement however the ‘prosthetic’ left hand proved remarkably agile and she deftly zippered the dress up to fit snugly over her provocative curves. I realised she was ‘putting on her war-paint’ in anticipation of some sort of deliberate encounter.

“How come you needed my help with the stuck zip when we first met?” I demanded.

“I didn’t Ruby. It was an icebreaker. A subtle ploy to relax you.”

“I’m not relaxed now am I. It’s a shitty message you’ve left me to deliver to mankind.”

“Take heart Ruby. I’m going to allow them to see me. I’ll be standing in the cargo door when you step onto the aircraft carrier. Why d’you think I’m wearing this? Come on it’s time to go. You can sit on the cockpit divan and watch your home planet fill your senses.”

“It’s your home planet as well.” I pointed out.

“I’ve moved on Ruby. I’ve got no home now. There’s no hope of my ever going back.”

The familiar image of Earth quickly filled the window and just as quickly my emotions filled my heart. ‘Home!’ In what seemed a moment we were loitering high above the rippled grey Atlantic. It was a beautifully clear summer’s day and I began to wonder how long I had been away. We had left in the middle of the North American Winter. Beverly grinned and explained.

“You’re only a month older but the Earth has moved on nearly half a year. You’ve gained five months of extra living Ruby. Don’t waste it.”

I felt a thrill of excitement at learning this but it was quickly followed by frustration. I had no way of proving it back on Earth. Beverly brought the Cold Albatross down to a suitable altitude and we started patiently searching the ocean.
For all her super-advanced drive, the Cold Albatross lacked any form of communication, no Radar, no radio or anything. Beverly pointed out that she had little need for them as a confirmed loner wandering in space. Additionally she had no solid form when she was time warping between the galaxies so there was no physical risk of collision. Consequently we had to search the oceans visually for several hours before we spotted a familiar grey form. Their radar had spotted us however long before we had spotted them and suddenly four Harrier jets buzzed us. I recognised their markings immediately as British.

“Company.” I announced superfluously.

“Yeah.” Responded Beverly.

‘A little too disappointedly I thought considering she had been born in Britain.’

“They’re trying to attract our attention.” I pointed out.

“Well they would wouldn’t they.” She grinned. “Give them a wave.”

As she spoke the antiglare visor disappeared into its slot and the cockpit lights increased their brilliance.
Both Beverly and I were clearly visible to the pilots and their excitement was plainly apparent. I saw the leader talking into his mouthpiece and trying to establish communication. As they investigated the Cold Albatross they quickly discovered there was no turbulence from any jets or rockets and they were able to approach by hovering within a few feet. Immediately one pilot approached close enough to get a really good look. Beverly let out a short ironic chuckle before making a suggestion.

“There’s a Pencil and a large paper pad in my study. You’d better go and get it.”

I gave a vague ‘wait a minute’ sign to the harrier pilot and quickly returned holding up the pencil and pad. The pilot had already read our name on the side and recognised us as vaguely human so he immediately produced his kneepad notebook when he saw my ploy. Eagerly I scribbled the first message.

“What do you want?”

Immediately he scribbled back.

“Hello Cold Albatross. Who and what are you?”

Gleefully I riposted with a provocative reply.

“Space gypsies.”

The man was quick and intelligent and realised that whatever sort of craft it was, it was obviously more advanced than his jet. Cold Albatross looked like something out of a science fiction writer's nightmare. His next message conveyed his down-to-earth matter-of-factness.

“You look similar to humans.”

“We are human.” I quickly scribbled.

This note prompted the other three jets to approach closer as all four pilots manoeuvred for a better view. Beverly had joined me and I watched their eyes drink her in. We had slowed right down to about seventy knots and from their jaw actions I realised their radios were hot with gossip. The transmissions must have also alerted an American aircraft carrier for suddenly a squadron of familiar F 14’s howled past leaving the delicately balanced harriers tossing and bouncing in their wake. One of the harriers’ crunched into Cold Albatross’s thick titanium hull and the plane quickly started to lose control. I let out a gasp of dismay for there was little time for the pilot to eject. Beverly had already anticipated the tragedy however and let out an oath.

“Stupid cunts! Hold on tight Ruby!”

My shoulder slammed painfully against the window as the Cold Albatross suddenly decelerated in the old fashioned three-dimensional sense and a dull green tractor beam erupted from the side of our hull. It ionised the air as it tracked onto the spinning harrier and quickly halted its fall.

Within seconds the helpless plane was being drawn up towards our ship and Beverly rejoined our escort.

“Best show them we mean no harm. They may not know it but they could blast us to Kingdom Come with one missile. Cold Albatross has got no protection whatsoever.”

“Except to warp away smartish. I suggested.”

“What! With that bloody harrier attached inside the ambit of the ring? The energy diversion could vaporise the whole Earth in an instant and maybe Mars and Venus to boot.”

I shuddered at the concept of so much energy being locked up in one small ring of crystalline amalgam. Beverly reduced her speed until we were hovering drunkenly over a vast grey deck. I quickly recognised it as the plateaux of huge American nuclear aircraft carrier and I cautioned Beverly for I knew how xenophobic my own people could be.

“Is it safe to put a foreign aircraft onto an American warship? Especially as your also an alien craft.”

She shook her head resignedly.

“I’ll have to put the plane down here. The Albatross is clumsy and unbalance with this harrier attached inside the ring. I need room to manoeuvre. The tractor beam also quickly overheats in air. Look the ionised gases are already scorching the harrier’s fuselage. Anyway the Brits and Yanks are still allies aren’t they. They won’t harm the bloody pilot surely?”

I quickly concurred and wrote a note explaining the problem to the other harriers. Beverly gently set the crippled aircraft down on the vast flight deck and one of the other harriers landed alongside it. The remaining pair continued escorting us and we departed for the British aircraft carrier. We concluded that both navies must have been having some sort of joint exercise and we grinned as we considered the airwaves between the ships blistering with gossip.

“A perfect compromise.” Giggled Beverly. “Both navies are now fully cognoscente of our existence but they’ll work like hell to try and keep the whole encounter a secret.”

She modestly tugged down the hem of her cocktail dress for in the anxiety of delivering the crippled harrier she had been squirming and fidgeting in her seat.

“I’ve only done that once before with their space shuttle. It’s still a bit of a feather in my cap, though I say it myself. The air distorts the tractor beam, it’s much easier in space.”

“The harriers are asking us to steer to where they’re pointing.” I observed.

“Ask for a compass course.” Suggested Beverly.

On reading my note the pilot thumped his head in amusement and promptly wrote down the three-figure course. Beverly gave a low chuckle and ratcheted up one of the control knobs microscopically.

“Watch this.” She giggled as her finger rested easily on one of the incongruent aluminium levers.

Free of its pollutant Harrier the Cold Albatross could now show her paces. Beverly twitched the left hand lever ever so slightly and we accelerated alarmingly. Once again I felt no sensation and instantly the British carrier with its turned up nose appeared over the horizon.

We had been hovering soundlessly over the flight deck for five minutes and already lowered the passenger ladder towards the deck before the squadron of F 14’s finally arrived limping along behind us and finally the two remaining harriers another five minutes behind them.

My big moment had arrived. The cockpit window was level with the ship’s bridge and we were eyeball to eyeball with the ships’ captain. I gave Beverly the notebook.

“Please maintain course and speed.” She requested courteously as she cautiously compared our relative speeds. The captain gave a clear ‘thumbs up’ sign and mouthed some instructions to the helmsman. Beverly gave a sigh of relief for the man had obviously grasped what we were trying to do. She returned to the controls and fixed the settings before turning to me.

“Well Ruby. It’s goodbye I’m afraid. I’ll see you to the ladder.

“What about my stuff in the cargo hold?”

“It’s being lowered down as we speak. Come and look.”

I followed her to the hold and found the tractor beam already busy again. The crackling heat from the ionised air was overpowering though and we both quickly retreated back into the cockpit. Through her apartment window I watched the container being deposited gently and the beam snapped shut as quickly as it safely could. On the flight deck below, dozens of armed crew were cautiously studying the alien container so Beverly returned to the cockpit and quickly scribbled another note.

“Container is no danger to your ship. One passenger also to be landed.”

She pointed to me to indicate who was being landed but the captain was all eyes for her. As he gazed appreciatively I smiled inwardly.

‘If the man had but known what lay under that daring cocktail frock.’

With typical feminine pique I had unconsciously tried to compete with her and also dressed in a daring summer cocktail frock.

Unfortunately it was totally unsuitable for descending ladders in the middle of a cold, windy, wet Atlantic day. My thin floaty, chiffon frock was about to give the crew a treat.

Now that the tractor beam had cooled we returned to the cargo hold and the passenger door opened to reveal the long climb down to the ships flight deck. I turned to Beverly with one last sad smile.

“You don’t have to give up on us you know. Surely you can give the human race one
last chance.”

“It’s all too late.” She whispered sadly. “I’m too messed up inside here.

I don’t think it’ll be long now before I end it all. I always knew I would. There’s lots of other stuff in the container besides your prosthesis material. You’ll have all the evidence you’ll ever need. Don’t worry, none of it’s dangerous. Just be careful and sensible.”

After one last desperate hug I started reluctantly down the ladder but hesitated after only two steps.

“Please reconsider.”

“It’s too late for that. Besides I’ve work to do in space so deep, and tasks to make the strongest weep, and I’ve got promises to keep, and light years yet before I sleep.”

With these poignant words partially borrowed from Frost her message was made abundantly plain and painfully clear.

With each depressing step I seemed to be plumbing the depths of mankind’s descent until I reached the last rung and looked up one last time. She looked so small and wretched as she gave me one last wave and a lump stuck hard in my throat. I had never felt so useless as when her fragile haunted features disappeared behind the closing door. I turned to see the whole crew gaping lustfully up the retracting ladder and once again I felt that ancient womanly weariness for the age-old testosterone reactions.
As I watched their lustful faces their expressions suddenly changed and I felt a whisper of cold air around my thin summer frock. I turned to see what Beverly was doing and I was shocked to find that the Cold Albatross was already shrinking. I joined the crew in gaping at the diminishing dot and in another moment it was gone. I turned to study the reception committee and realised my troubles were beginning. One of the pilots from the escorting harriers walked nervously across to me.

“What the hell is that thing?” He asked enviously.

I recognised him for a typical sky jockey. Who, despite his obvious intelligence and physical fitness, was still conceited enough to considered himself one of the select few. He had all the hall-marks and mannerisms of a macho fly-boy and I watched him thoughtfully studying the spot in the sky where Cold Albatross had last been visible. I savoured my superiority and gave it to him with both barrels as I pointed towards his parked harrier and the circling F 14’s.

“That, boy, was a transgalactic time machine and it could out-fly all those buckets of shit
anytime.”

I don’t think he heard me for he was obviously too engrossed in the sky.

Ruby is returned to earth to 'face the music' while Beverly departs for space again with possible suicidal tendancies.

---

NEW SPACETRAN 6

Part 6.

After stepping onto the aircraft carrier deck, I turned angrily upon the crowd of gaping crewmen and snapped out an order.

“What are you all bloody gawking at? - And leave that container alone.”

The only sound was the stuttering wind stumbling around the flight deck as the ship
increased speed and steered to rejoin the rest of the fleet. Suddenly I was doused by a spraying ‘cats-paw’ and I realised my lightweight summer frock had become transparent. If I had given the crewmembers a splendid view as I descended the ladder I was now adding to that view as the cold damp spray erected my nipples. To add insult to injury there were dozens of video cameras to bear witness to my immodesty. Fortunately a three-ringer arrived and smartly saluted me.

“Compliments of the captain ma-am, and may I escort you to the -“

“Bridge.” I finished for him as his eyes fell on my freezing erect nipples.

“Lead on Mac Duff.” ‘This is going to be interesting.’ I thought to myself.

The lift spewed me out right beside the captain’s cabin and I was hastily ushered in
without a trace of formality. The Captain stood up as I entered and offered me a comfortable armchair. I looked around and couldn’t help comparing its generous spacious proportions with the crude metallic squalor of Cold Albatross (Mark 1). By comparison however, Cold Albatross (Mark 2) was a much more intimate and comfortable little craft. The captain caught my curious gaze and raised a questioning eyebrow. I pulled a wry expression and introduced myself.

“Miss Ruby Denby, United States Citizen and Biological correspondent for the Free Thinker’s Magazine.”

“Captain Rawlin Ma-am, Her Britannic Majesty’s navy at your service. Do you wish to talk?”

“Now’s as good a time as any.” I replied.

“Thank you ma-am. Might I invite my technical officers and some of your compatriots? technical experts who are attending some flight trials we are running in conjunction with the Americans.”

“Whoever you wish captain, I can’t help much technically. The real genius just left with her craft.”

“Her craft?”

“Indeed. The builder and owner of that incredible bit of intergalactic hardware was none other than a brutally damaged and cruelly misused misfit child of this planet.”

“Was that the girl I saw in the doorway above the ladder?”

“The very same. She’s hardly a girl though; she says she’s over fifty.”

Suddenly the captain was ‘bleeped’ and he picked up his phone. After a curt ‘Yes.’ He
turned again to me.

“The joint admirals in charge of the combined exercises are helicoptering across from the American Aircraft carrier. They’re also returning the pilot of the damaged harrier he wishes to thank you.”

“It’s the lady who just left that he should be thanking.”

“Well, yes indeed Miss Danby. Let’s go and meet the brass.”

I was ushered into a large planning room to wait briefly before a helicopter clattered noisily to the flight deck. I couldn’t help but compare its deafening arrival with the low uninvasive hum that accompanied the Cold Albatross’s arrivals. Once the top brass had assembled I talked for nearly two hours and I related my experiences warts and all. For several seconds a thoughtful silence reigned then I suddenly remembered my faithful little tape recorder. Hastily I dug it out of my purse and played back the part where Beverly had related her childhood. Once again it brought a lump to my throat and I couldn’t help noticing a few damp eyes amongst the fifty or so hardened battle veterans. Then I played my recordings of Thlom and my chats with the amphibian geneticists. Fortunately as a well-practised professional I had also kept notes but Beverly had put them in the container and several sceptics were wary about opening ‘Pandora’s Box’. Eventually a compromise was reached and the whole crew was balloted about wishing to be on the ship when the container was opened. To a man they scorned their admirals’ circumspection and except for men on essential duties elsewhere, the whole crew gathered expectantly on the flight deck. A close inspection of the container revealed no obvious means of opening it and I stood in front of it like a dummy getting more embarrassed until I remembered the Cold Albatross’s door panels. Carefully I studied the skin until I found what I was looking for. An almost invisible hand sized outline that exactly fitted my left hand.

‘It had to be the left hand.’ I mused to myself.

It was Beverly’s last little reminder to me of her childhood suffering. I presumed it read my DNA rather like the electronic card readers on Earth but obviously a DNA reader was infinitely more sophisticated. Throwing caution to the wind I placed my hand upon it and slowly the familiar whispering sound fought with the constant whistling of the flight deck wind. Inside was all the material I was expecting concerning the artificial limbs and additionally some stuff I had never expected.

In particular was a perfect miniature replica of The Cold Albatross but without its primary coils. It just hovered in suspension and stuck to it was a crude printed note. I read the poorly formed letters and swallowed as I remembered Beverly’s confession that she could hardly read or write when she was fifteen. The note was terse.

‘Don’t try to follow me. This model has only got anti-grav and interplanetary drive; love, Beverly.’

I gasped with shock and silently whispered my gratitude to her as tears began to flood down my face. The captain tapped gently on the door and spoke softly.

“Is there anything we can do?”

I turned to reveal my distress and he hesitated awkwardly, painfully aware of the eyes of his whole crew boring into his back. I ushered him inside then showed him the model and the note.

“Does it work?” He asked curiously.

“I should think so. It’s a model of the Cold Albatross without its primary warping coil. I suppose these minor fittings are the anti-grav but I’ve no idea how it works. There’s no way of getting inside it to operate it.” I sighed.

“If it’s model; and it obviously is, there could some sort of radio control box like a model aeroplane or boat.” He suggested.

Urgently we searched through the assorted containers and files until Captain Rawlin found what he was looking for. After a few seconds he held it in his hand victoriously. Together we inspected the controls and wondered why everything wasn’t set at
zero. The captain quickly worked that one out.

“This Beverly lady must obviously be pretty au-fait with the universe and universal physical laws. It’s probably pre-set for absolute zero, so these knobs may be adjusted to compensate for the speed of the ship or the rotation of the Earth.”

“Or the orbital velocity of the Earth.” I added nervously.

“That would be tens thousands of miles per hour.” He remarked softly. “It seems excessive for a model of this size. Extrapolating your theory it could even be compensating for the Big Bang.”

We exchanged uncertain glances and shuddered. That sort of velocity could amount to hundreds of thousands of miles per hour.

“We don’t know what we’re working with here.” I cautioned. “Just Remember the Cold Albatross could warp billions of light years in a day or so. You have to destroy all your preconceptions of time and space when dealing with that girl and her science.”

I had referred to Beverly as a girl and not revealed that she was a transvestite. I was a committed feminist myself and it would suite my feminist beliefs for the male sex to think there was a woman somewhere out there who was a million times cleverer than their best scientists. I felt that Beverly would have heartily approved and I owed her that much. The captain resisted the urge to twiddle with the radio control knobs and handed the box back to me with a questioning look.

“This Beverly girl has concocted her own hieroglyphics for the knobs and they don’t make much sense. I suggest we mark the current positions of all the knobs and adjust one at a time infinitesimally.”

“That sounds reasonable.” I agreed.

We both studied the panel and I tried to recall how the Cold Albatross’s anti-grav control panel was laid out. Then I remembered Beverly had only used two of the several crude aluminium levers to control the ship when we accompanied the harriers. There were only three little ‘finger levers’ on the radio box so we agreed that these two should be tried first. Fortunately one lever moved back and forth whilst the other lever moved sideways. We felt we were getting somewhere. Cautiously the Captain stood close behind me ready to grab the box if something went wrong. Then I carefully inched the lever forward. The model behaved impeccably and within a few minutes we had it performing miracles inside the tight confines of the container.

“So what now?” Asked the British captain. “Who gets anti-grav? Us, or you yanks.”

“Beverly would want everybody to have it. The whole world, that is.” I admonished.

“But she’s British. She was born in England. Surely that makes it a British invention.”

I harked back to Beverly’s bitter childhood pain and had to bite my tongue at the captain’s parochialism. After gathering my thoughts I spoke.

“Captain; She hardly even considers herself to be human anymore let alone British. If this miracle is to take mankind to the planets then it is all of mankind or none. There’s a lot more in these other boxes and it’s all mine. I did a deal with the amphibians and they have given me some of their medical technology.

The anti-grav model is entirely Beverly’s idea and I suspect we are being tested. We’d better deal with it philanthropically. I’m on trial here, I’m certain of it. So are you and the rest of humanity. If we get it right, then the human race might get it right and she might even come back. You can bet your bottom dollar she’ll be watching.”

Uniquely the captain was a military man with a modicum of conscience. He finally concurred and we opened the doors of the container again to a row of worried faces. The situation was explained to the senior officers and contact was swiftly made to the relevant political leaders. Now I had to wait with the rest of the crews and ships while the politicians argued and traded. I had to admire Captain Rawlin though; he was adamant about my having control of the model while the politicians argued and wrangled.

After several weeks, agreement was eventually reached but not before I had to ‘bash a few political heads together. Finally Captain Rawlin and I accompanied the model to neutral Switzerland for examination and experimentation. Once I was assured that the model was available for international assessment I paid my last respects to the British captain and returned home to indulge my
own interests with the bio-engineering of spare limbs. The work proved easy. Beverly and her amphibian friends had left copious notes and it was an easy task to simply follow the dotted lines.

Additionally I also found a virtual lexicon of all the abusers Beverly could remember from her childhood and it made for some disturbing reading.

The names read like a ‘who’s who’ of the British establishment. Unfortunately I was so engrossed in my new bio-company that the abuse issue had to be left on the back burner but it was always at the back of my mind. (It was the horror of the maimed hand that did it for me.) Within a year I was well on my way to my fortune.

The company I had formed soon proved extremely successful and I was kept extremely busy travelling the world on business. After that first year I was beginning to wear out and I found it necessary to return each weekend to the peace of my remote cottage to recharge my batteries. It was during one of these weekends that I received an unexpected visit from a group of international scientists with a grave concern written all over their faces.

The upshot of their problem was that they were getting nowhere with the model of Cold Albatross. Despite the world’s leading physicists bending their deepest concentration to the concept of gravity they were no nearer to understanding the principles of the model’s drive. As they laid their cards out on the table I began more and more to respect Beverly’s intellect.

“So why come to me gentlemen. I’m just the messenger. I don’t know the first thing about gravity, I’m a biologist.”

A depressing mood settled on the group until a self appointed spokesman eventually broached their ideas and hopes.

“We were hoping perhaps there was some way you might be able to get in touch with your friend and give us some pointers.”

I shook my head resignedly.

“She’s gone. She told me she was never coming back. In fact she intimated suicide.”

A low shocked gasp whispered around the room as they exchanged disappointed glances. The spokesman caught my eye again and frowned.

“Why on earth was she suicidal?”

I realised that the naval staff had not divulged Beverly’s full story and I debated telling the scientists myself. Then I decided there could be little harm. If she was billions of light years away committing suicide then no harm could be done.

Anyway it was about time that her guilty tormentors were brought to book- that is if they were still alive after forty odd years. I invited the scientists into the kitchen and made coffee for them all before playing the tapes. They listened with deepening horror as the silence became oppressive. When her tale ended I clicked of the tape. The only part I had erased was her declaring herself to be a transvestite. That was to forever be our little secret and we would take it to our separate graves.

“There you arer gentlemen. Now you know why that poor tormented sould is suicidal! I thought you should have heard that. Now that my company is thriving and the money’s rolling in I’m going to devote myself to exposing those bastards. I’m afraid gentlemen Beverly’s going to get her revenge and I’ll be her sword. There’s nothing I can do about the gravity drive but I can certainly do something to redress the injustices of her childhood.”

The scientists left and I heard little about them again. My business however, was going from strength to strength whilst I indulged a whim and rooted out the perpetrators of the childhood atrocities. Many had died; some had risen to positions of considerable power whilst others had sunk to become robber barons in the twilight world of the criminal underworld. As my activities gathered momentum, the writs and court orders started to fly back and forth like flocks of birds as judges, doctors, politicians, criminals and powerful industrialists moved heaven and earth to cover their tracks. It was all to no avail however. With the evidence Beverly had left me and that all-powerful tool called money; the corridors of power were soon ringing to the hammer of justice. Within months the British government had fallen and my final crowning victory was to stand on the court steps and declare the guilty names to the world’s media. Within seconds the news was flashing around the world. My debt to Beverly had been paid.

In this chapter, Ruby is shocked and delighted to learn that Beverly has not commited suicide as she returns to earth with a delightful surprise for Ruby.

---

NEW SPACETRAN 7

Chapter 7.

Relieved at last I returned to my cottage for a well-earned rest. It was my old family
home and had been in Danby possession almost since the War of Independence. I now only visited my office for three days per week and spent most of my spare time at the cottage wondering if Beverly had finally killed herself. It played on my mind especially when I received repeated unwelcome visits from the ‘rocket scientists’ begging me to get in touch with her. They just would not seem to accept that there was no way I could reach her. Unable to help them with their gravity conundrums I started to sink into depression. As the years passed I was missing the stimulation of Beverly and I was accused of having become a recluse by the press. It was during one of my black introspective periods that she reappeared.

Late one frozen winter’s night I was sitting reading some notes about a new bio-growth process my company was developing but my brain was simply too tired to digest the information. I dropped the pages sleepily on the floor before finishing the dregs from my sherry glass and shuffling to my bedroom. I still lived alone and had now bought much of the land surrounding my cottage so I lived in a sort of splendid isolation. Once in bed I switched off the light to savour the absolute silence of the still winter’s night. Even the trees seemed to be stunned by the bitter cold and the snow lay like glowing pewter in the brilliant moonlight. It was a full moon and I couldn’t help but watch and wonder if Beverly was perhaps lurking behind it.

‘No,’ I told myself, ‘she had probably killed herself,’ my last vision of her deep haunted eyes and pinched pale face was an image that would never leave me.

Suddenly there was a soft tapping on my window and I shivered with fear. My primordial fear of rape surfaced and I reached for the automatic machine pistol that I always kept beside the bed. I set the bolt with a comforting, almost deafening ‘clack’ and stepped back into the darkest corner of the bedroom to await the intrusion. Fortunately my bottle green robe was also dark and as I crouched down in the deep shadow of the corner below the moonlit window, I was virtually invisible to any intruder.
The soft tapping was repeated but I was not to be tricked. As a multibillionaire I was dangerously vulnerable to kidnap and my friend the local sheriff had begged me to get better protected. The machine pistol was my only concession to his beseechment. I crouched tighter into the corner and waited, as the tapping became louder and more urgent.

Then there was a sharp scratching noise and I wondered if some sort of animal was trying to get in. Cautiously I crawled along the floor and slithered up the wall like a cobra preparing to strike. The scratching continued and I suddenly realised it sounded like a diamond on glass. Somebody was trying to cut through the window. This puzzled me and frightened me. The sound of broken glass would not have been heard beyond the boundaries of my estate so why would a burglar take such pains to be silent.
The scratching suddenly stopped and a tinkling of glass followed the last urgent tap. I cursed as the glass dropped at my knees; if I had been nearer to the window it would have cut my head or face. Ifroze before an admonishing voice rang on the freezing air.

“Ruby! I know you’re in there! Why aren’t you bloody answering? It’s me Beverly!”

A rush of pure, unmitigated joy flooded my body as I recognised the urgent feminine squeak immediately and I almost fired the pistol in my excited attempt to secure the gun’s safety catches.

“Beverly!” I shrieked ecstatically. “Go round to the front!”

I heard her heels clicking on the boardwalk around the house and I almost broke my toe as I stumbled blindly for the switch. Then I had the sense to leave it off and the house in darkness. ‘If Beverly had arrived in the freezing darkness of the small hours she obviously wanted to keep her visit secret.’

I gathered an extra robe around me before opening the door to a freezing wave of bitter air. I could not fail to recognise her. She was standing in her inevitable winter attire a mini dress, a short fur trimmed coat, a pair of sixty-denier glossy tights and thigh length heeled boots. A picture of femininity and apparently she still didn’t feel the cold.
Flinging my arms around her I tried to drag her inside but she resisted my efforts and turned to indicate with her hand.

“We’ve got company.”

For a moment I froze but Beverly had lowered her hood and the brilliant moonlight glinted off her blond hair as it revealed her calming smile.

“What company? Who’s out there?”

“It’s OK. You’re quite safe. They’re our children, yours and mine.”

For a second I didn’t understand her. I didn’t have any children. Then my stomach churned.

“The amphib-.” I gasped. “Oh my God!”

Beverly sensed my nervousness and gently hugged me to her.

“Don’t be frightened. They’re not freaks. D’you want to meet them?”

“Of course I want to meet them! Are they in the Albatross?”

“Where else dear? D’you want to go and meet them or shall I invite them here?”

I swallowed nervously. This was a real historical gem! The first proper known alien visit to Earth and some of the aliens were my own children! Just how bizarre was that! I decided to invite them into my own house. It was their absolute right as my children.

“How many are there?”
“Twenty.” Replied Beverly. “Eighteen girls and two boys. We’ve each got nine daughters and a son.

“What do they look like?” I asked feeling guilty that a mother should not be able to recognise her own children.

“Much like you and I. Their amphibian features are essentially internal. They would ‘pass’ on the streets of Earth. They enchant Thlom and his colleagues and I think you’ll be pleased as well. They’re also like us in that they can stand the cold better than amphs. Thlom has come as well and they’ve got a female amph chaperone.”

I gasped at this piece of news and Beverly grinned as she expanded.

“The chaperone is Thlom’s sister but then he’s got hundreds of sisters.”

I remembered their amphibian breeding equation and completed dressing before stepped out into the freezing silent night. I didn’t recognise the much larger spaceship and Beverly turned before I could ask.

“Might I present Cold Albatross 3. It’s more like a bus than a car. The family’s growing.” She grinned.

The new craft was much bigger and the only recognisable feature was the larger radius warp ring. I wondered what had happened to ‘Albatross 2’ and I asked Beverly. She grinned and nodded towards the stars.

“She’s in Stasis off-world. She’s parked behind Pluto to avoid vandalism in case someone has cracked the interstellar drive, although we haven’t seen any ships beyond Pluto as we came in. We’re a ‘two-car’ family now.”

“Who drives Albatross 2 then?”

“Only me and Thlom. She fits inside the hold of Cold Albatross 3.”

Albatross 3 was not hovering like Albatross 2 had done. She was sitting firmly on a set of stout extended legs. Beverly behaved like a gentleman towards me and courteously helped me up the steps but it seemed a bit incongruous that a smaller, weaker, more feminine person should be somehow offering me help. Nevertheless I accepted it graciously and we joined the children inside.

Beverly had been right. To all outward appearances the children exactly resembled humans, indeed I could even see my likeness in each of my own. The only difference outwardly being that they had slightly sallow complexions. A doctor might have thought them slightly jaundiced. Beverly’s were all fair-haired whilst mine varied from fair to dark brown and one redhead. The children gathered round me eager to see their genetic mother and I was overwhelmed with emotion as I tried to hug each and all together. Then I turned to Thlom and their chaperone.

“How do your people take to them.”

“We muddle through and it isn’t easy.” He confessed.

I felt my stomach tighten slightly.

“They don’t suffer any discrimination do they?”

Thlom frowned and spoke softly.

“We see them as our future Ruby, not as a threat. Inside they’re mostly amphs and our people recognise that. We chose the mammalian human skin type because they can better survive the cold for space travel and colonising our other worlds. The hair followed naturally.”

“Will they be able to have babies?” I asked curiously.

“They’ll lay eggs just as we do but only one or two at a time, just as you do.”

“What about mothering?” I wondered aloud.

“We expect their children to hatch as partially limbed tadpoles then they’ll be fed with the nourishment that secrets from those globular glands you female earth-people have on your upper abdomen.”

I squirmed inwardly at his reference to my breasts and I noticed Beverly give a self-conscious twitch. Thlom, ever sensitive, noticed our reactions and smiled.

“What would you prefer me to call them?”

“Breasts Thlom.” I whispered embarrassedly. “We call them breasts.”

“They’re quite important to you aren’t they?” He smiled.

“Yes.” Interrupted Beverly. “Feeding from the breasts is an important part of parent child bonding. They are also very important socially. Like your neck frill.”

At this stage the chaperone spoke. She was a leading geneticist and had been a major influence in engineering the children.

“It’s strange Ruby, but the birth and rearing process is akin to your birds. It seems as if our biological ‘halfway house’ development is parallel to the historic development of life on your Earth. Birds lay eggs and yet bond to their young and care for them. We studied Earth’s birds from wildlife videos that Beverly supplied. It seemed the most practical way to go.”

“So what sort of ‘nest’ will you adopt?”

“Each family will need a small swimming pool. It’ll be as much a part of our houses as a nursery or a crib is for you.”

I smiled then suddenly had a strange thought.

“Wait a minute. With birds, both parents share the rearing equally. How will the father’s bond to their children?”

“Same as the mothers. They will also have glands-, I mean um, breasts to nourish the young.”

I glanced significantly towards Beverly and raised a suspicious eyebrow. She shrugged and raised her hands in innocence.

“Don’t look at me. I had nothing to do with it. They reckoned it was the easiest way to go genetically. An easy way to bond the fathers.”

“But why do they have to bond the fathers. If they come from amphibian herbivorous stock and they’ve never bonded before why start now?”

“We think it’s important if we’re going to colonise our other planets.” Replied Thlom. “There’s lots of dangers on those planets and bonding creates a more efficient unit, the family unit. You have a long-standing religious basis stemming from your anthropological roots don’t you. What was it again? ‘Honour your father and mother’."

I caught Beverly staring tensely at the floor and finally realised her claims of innocence must be true. Beverly understood nothing about families and family values except painand rejection. It was quite obvious that all the genetic anatomical decisions had been based on anthropological and generic factors based on deep studies of both our species’ histories. So the males would have breasts then. I grinned at Beverly and wagged my head.

“Your transvestite wishes have come true then.”

“How so?” She snapped.

“The boys will be able to wear bras and stuff.”

“You don’t get it do you.”

“What d’you mean?”

“They won’t be ‘cross-dressers’ will they. They’ll need to wear bras just like the girls. There’ll be virtually no sexual dimorphism. Just look at the children now. Can you tell which two are the boys?”

Stupidly I gaped at the children and realised there were virtually no telltale signs. Again Thlom seemed to read my thoughts and expanded further.

“There won’t be much sexual dimorphism when they’re adults either. It would take an intimate investigation of their internal primary sex organs to exactly determine their gender.”

“What about their behaviour patterns?” I asked. “Human children often demonstrate their gender by their behaviour.”

“We’re not wholly certain about that. We’ve noticed a few small behavioural differences but essentially expect them to be as unassertive and passive as we are, however there’s no absolute certainty that they won’t have some human other behavioural characteristics. After all we have striven for some like parenting and bonding. Other genetic traits might have spilled over into the test tubes.”

“I hope you haven’t sprung a race of ‘killer bees’ upon the rest of the universe.” I whispered as I studied my children and still wondered which one was the boy. They certainly all seemed to be quite gentle and sociable at the moment. Eventually the one with the red hair squirmed onto my lap and admitted to being the boy. I wondered if the hair might be a gender factor and asked Thlom’s sister.

“We don’t think so. It was just a happy accident. Does red hair run in your family?”

I was forced to confess that I had bright red hair but I dyed it a darker russet colour regularly. Genetic engineering could be such a complex subject and it was possible that other factors might have activated a sexual trigger. His hair was certainly a rich dark Titian red and beautifully groomed. Thousands of earth-women would have died for it. He slid happily off my knee and Beverly’s blond haired son occupied the vacant space without a single spark of envy or animosity. He was the last one and after cuddling him I stood up to let my damp eyes wander affectionately over Beverly’s children and mine.

It seemed Thlom was right; there were some behavioural differences but they were pleasing ones. The boys had chosen to be last to share their affections with me and obviously treated their sisters with a gentlemanly concern. I smiled with gratitude for being allowed to have my own family without all the heartache and stress of motherhood. As a lesbian I knew I would have suffered ostracism if I’d had children on earth. Grateful for the fulfilment of a fundamental female urge I invited them into my cottage. Thlom and his chaperone sister agreed and the children chattered excitedly as they scampered into Albatross three’s dormitory area and donned their anoraks.

As I studied them, they looked exactly like a junior school party on their first school skiing trip. Thlom and Dumia his sister dressed as they had at the breeding ponds and this emphasised the human differences between the amphs and their chosen successors. I felt for the amphs and wondered just how the human race would have reacted to having to alter their whole genetic makeup and interbreed with an alien species. The children shrieked and played in the moonlit snow while Thlom watched them enviously as he huddled from the cold and scuttled with his sister to the warmth of the cottage. Once there we four adults shared a hot drink as the children arrived in dribs and drabs until my overflowing cottage rang to the sound of laughter.

“So Bev.” I asked. “What brings you back to earth?”

“Only your children wanting to see the other genetic half of their origins.”

“Will you be staying long?”

“As long as we dare.”

“But Thlom and Dumia won’t be able to wander about will they?” I remarked feeling guilty for not being able to reciprocate the generosity they had shown me on their world.

“They’ll take the Albatross 3 back to Pluto because it’s too big to hide then they’ll return with Albatross 2 and hopefully hide it in your barn. Thlom’s a good pilot. This cottage is pretty remote so when they return they’ll be pretty safe here.”

The plan sounded sensible. I did not encourage callers to my private hideaway and even the executives of my bio-company avoided contacting me when I was ‘up country’. I had cultivated my reputation as a recluse. The plan was for the children to appear as a school party whilst being driven around and shown the sights. I joined in enthusiastically and within two days we were driving a pair of mini-buses towards New York. The trip passed without incident and we returned back to my cottage cock-a-hoop at our success. It was then that I pleaded with Beverly to explain how the anti-gravity drive worked on the model. She explained that each of the little titanium panels on the model’s hull contained a super-conductive ceramic amalgam core and she downloaded the details from her computer.

“That’s everything. It’s the formula for the ceramic compound, the atomic frequencies and how the power source is harmonised. There’s everything you’ll need and it’s all you’re going to get. All I ask is that once again you make sure that it goes international.”

I gave her my promise and she went to bed early leaving Thlom, Dumia and me to organise sleeping arrangements. My ‘cottage’ was really misnamed for it had several large bedrooms and the children had come well equipped for camping and outdoor activity. They sorted themselves out quickly and before midnight the cottage was silent. Only Thlom, Dumia and I sat up quietly talking genetics and space travel into the small hours.

“D’you think Beverly will ever share her time warp secrets with anybody. It would be nice if our two races could meet and get acquainted.” I asked Thlom.

“She’s said she’ll leave a time-locked capsule to reveal it all after she’s dead.”

“Where does she store all her secrets?” I asked curiously.

“In her head Ruby. It’s all in her head.”

“I’ll bet she’s got a secret information stash hidden away on some remote planet.”

“Well if she has, none of us are going to find it are we. We amphs are not interested anyway. It puzzled us at first, that the children were so keen to find their mother and even more intriguing that Beverly’s children should want to tag along. They have obviously got a human curiosity. We are only here to act as chaperones. We’re not at all interested in space warping and anyway, there are countless billions of planets, orbiting countless millions of stars so the chances of any Earthmen ever finding Beverly’s secret information stash are virtually nil. That is even if she had one.” Finished Dumia with a depressing finality.

She was right of course. Beverly’s secret would remain forever safe unless she was good and ready to reveal it. Defeated I crept up to bed and left Thlom and Dumia sleeping in the old granny bedroom downstairs by the old fashioned pot-bellied stove. Once again I heard Beverly whimpering in her room. This time of course I did not disturb her I but left the landing light on and my bedroom door ajar anticipating a nocturnal visit. I was not disappointed. And she awoke in the morning startled to find herself in my bed. I felt her tense as she suddenly realised she was curled up and ‘spooned’ inside the curve of my body.

“H- how did I get here?” She squeaked nervously.”

Beverly obviously had ‘suppressed memories’ and emotional needs that she knew little or nothing about. My eyes teared up as I explained.

“You sleep walk Bev. You entered my room last night and curled up exactly where you’re lying now. As I spoke I remained perfectly still leaving it for her to decide the next move. She remained tense for nearly a minute before slowly uncurling as our nighties whispered and slithered invitingly against each other. Her soft curves stiffened again as she sensed the tension.

“What’s happening?” She gulped.

“Nothing Bev. Nothing at all.”

“What d’you mean nothing. I meant what’s happening to me? Why am I here?”

I was silently puzzled. I had no idea what was happening to Beverly. My extended ‘lower’ arm had become stiff under her pillow and I dragged it towards me to relieve the aching. Beverly grabbed it like a kitten seizing a piece of string.

“What’re you doing?” She whispered hoarsely. “Leave that hand where I can see it!”

“I’m getting a cramp in my elbow. I was just easing the muscles.”

“Oh. Oh okay then, but no funny business.”

She released my hand and I slowly withdrew it until the aching eased and I was able to rub my arm. As I sighed with relief I stretched my legs and yawned then lay on my back looking at my ceiling. Slowly Beverly uncurled and turned to study me. As she lay resting on one elbow I felt her curious eye’s boring into me.

“You’re quite pretty. Why have you never married?” She whispered.

I turned to face her; afraid to admit my sexuality so I shrugged.

“Dunno. I was busy making my way as a science correspondent when I was younger and brainy girls frighten men off. Then when this bio-company started I never had time for courting.”

I was too terrified to confess I was bi but mostly gay.

She settled with her head deep into the pillow but continued staring at me with the one visible eye. I turned to ask her.

“Now what are you looking at?”

“You. That colour nightie suites you.”

I glanced down at the bottle green nightie and shrugged. I had never thought about it before. I had become so preoccupied with science and my bio-company that I had turned into something of a sartorial bombsite.

‘Maybe it was a way of giving out clear signals to men.’ I thought. I turned to face her and studied her beautiful features framed in the soft blond hair. It was an image that any man would have loved to find on his pillow in the morning. She slowly extended a nervous right hand and searched for mine before insinuating her delicate fingers. I sensed she was worried about something but I had not an inkling of what it was. I felt at once both like a mother with a frightened child and a lover with her beau.

“What’s worrying you?” I ventured cautiously.

“Why d’you think I sleep walk?” She asked.

“I don’t know. D’you do it when you’re alone?”

“I’ve no idea. I always wake up in my own bed.”
“

What about when you’re with the amphs?”

“No. Same thing. I wake up in my own bed.”

“So it’s only around me that you crawl into other people’s beds.”

“It’s only the once.” She objected.

“I beg your pardon Beverly. You did it while we were travelling on the Albatross.”

“What!”

“I said you crawled into my bed when we were space warping. I carried you back to your own bed in the morning so that you wouldn’t be shocked.”

Beverly stared at me with a stunned expression.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She demanded.

“I was in a pretty tricky situation. I didn’t know what to do. Now you’re on my patch and you seemed like a frightened child so I left you to sleep. Anyway it’s nice sharing a bed and I haven’t done it for years.”

“Nice?” Queried Beverly.

“Yes nice. It’s nice to just cuddle up and feel another’s close company.”

“D’you think that is what I was trying to do.”

“I’m not a psychiatrist Bev. With your background there’s no knowing what you were trying to do. You’re definitely distressed during the dark hours and I must say I’m not surprised. Maybe your subconscious was seeking some sort of comfort, - motherly love or something. As I say, I’m not a shrink.”

”If I squeeze up to you, you won’t try anything will you?” She whined softly.

“I’m not stupid Bev. You’d probably bolt out of an embrace like a frightened fawn.”

I felt her hips gently squeeze up to mine then her soft breasts followed suite and after a minute her whole lithesome body was insinuated in a tight embrace that left me roused, puzzled and embarrassed. For me to find such a beautiful soft feminine companion in my bed was one of my wildest dreams come true. As a lesbian I could not have wished for more. Then I remembered Beverly was actually a man, what was more there was definitely some activity where it mattered. I froze nervously and she released her embrace.

“What’s wrong?”

I nudged her erect organ with my hip and croaked nervously.

“That’s what’s wrong.”

She separated and turned out of bed to stare guiltily out of the window.

I’m sorry. I got carried away. I’ll go to my own bedroom.”

I gaped greedily at the beautiful feminine form framed in the window and swallowed nervously. The temptation was just too much. Gathering courage I whispered hoarsely.

“Don’t do that. Come back to bed. It was just so unexpected.”

“I didn’t expect that to happen either. I’d better go.”

“No. Please stay. It’s lovely having someone to cuddle up to.” I pleaded.

The recent years of being a virtual recluse had had their toll and I now found the pleasure
of sharing a bed overwhelmingly attractive. Even if that other woman was in fact a man. Beverly’s nervous eyes followed my gaze to her groin and she self-consciously lowered her hands like a naked girl. Silhouetted in the window her beautiful body was clearly outlined through the sheer nightie, what’s more the bulge in her panties was painfully apparent. I felt a strange rush of anticipation sweep through my body and reached eagerly across the bed to drag her back under the duvet. She squeaked with fear and struggled briefly before my superior strength overwhelmed her and I pinned her to the bed.

Under her nightie her stiffening nipples were like organ stops and I gently brushed them through the flimsy diaphanous fold. She let out a low moan and squirmed lasciviously as I manoeuvred my dampening groin over the rock hard lump jammed uncomfortably into the crotch of her panties.

“Wait!” She groaned softly as she wriggled her hips until the lump unfolded and straightened up to peep bravely out of the top of her panty waistband.

I realised she was all man in that department and savoured the exciting novelty of a session with the sort of beautiful woman that a lesbian could only dream of yet sporting a splendidly hard erection better than the finest shared dildo.

Once again she winced as I positioned myself and I hesitated uncertainly.

“You’re too heavy. Can I go on top.” She whimpered.

I did a double take for a moment. Normally it was the greedy selfish man that was ‘too heavy’, and who usually took his pleasure without any consideration for the bruised and crumpled woman beneath him. Now I realised I had reversed the roles exactly. I was being the ‘selfish brute’. Apologetically I rolled off her and invited her to reverse the rolls. For a moment Beverly caught her breath then slowly reached across and gently investigated my urgency. I suddenly realised that because of Beverly’s horrendous carnal childhood, she knew nothing about love and affection.

I was dealing with a novice in the art of proper lovemaking. This girl knew nothing about affection, care or compassion. Gently I took her inquisitive fingers and guided them to the proper places as I slowly tugged her head down and crushed her lips to mine. With softly whispered instructions I led her up the path to my nirvana. As her fingers busied themselves on my ‘love button’, my back arched and I squealed with delight Beverly gaped nervously and cautiously withdrew her fingers like some child who had just been caught with its hand in the honey pot. I gently took her hand again and guided it under my nightie for her to rest it lightly on my breast and feel the thundering heartbeat beneath. For several minutes it lay there as my years of frustration evaporated and my heart eventually subsided to a normal rhythm.

“Now it’s your turn love.” I whispered.

Beverly knew what an orgasm was but she had never actually witnessed the full-blown explosive passion of a woman’s climax before.

She burrowed nervously under my nightie and cautiously rested her head on my breasts as I gently massaged her back and shoulders. Once more it was the frightened child syndrome. Incongruently her penis was still as stiff as iron and, more importantly, well sized. I had anticipated that it might be somehow shrunk in parallel with all the other atrophied male features that her body had long ago shed. Gratefully, I gently ran my appreciative fingers up and down her penis’s entire length and she squirmed nervously.

“Don’t hurt him.” She whispered.

“Hurt him? Hurt him?” I giggled kittenishly. “Why he’s the most delicious dessert I could have wished for. I’m desperate for you to try him and I’d never ever hurt him. He’s mine, all mine.”

Possessively I ran my hand down its hard length and carefully insinuated my leg under Beverly’s hips to lever her into the expectant ‘vee’ of my parted thighs. Her tiny frame rolled easily over my leg and her breasts gently brushed against mine. I felt her rigid nipples scrape gently against mine as we let out mutual gasps of ecstasy as I sensed the waves of delight go fluttering to my core.

Simultaneously Beverly’s penis twitched and she gave a little squeak of nervous delight. I felt her rigid incongruency making fruitless attempts to pleasure me so I gently grasped it’s satisfactory girth and carefully guided it in. I was in complete control and carefully allowed it’s rippled length to only enter me bit by tantalising bit. Beverly started to squeak and whimper with delight.

For me it was the ultimate satisfaction of securing a proper guilt free pleasuring with a
real penis whilst simultaneously savouring the lesbian delights of another woman’s body. Strangely Beverly took a long time to climax and I was able to relish several orgasms before she finally exploded into action. Her unexpected screech of delight caused me to tense suddenly in anticipation of a worried thumping on the door.

It was not long coming and Beverly buried herself in a fit of terror as the banging persisted. It was Thlom’s nervous concerned call.

“Ruby! Are you all right?”

“Yes. Go away!”

“Beverly’s gone!”

“What d’you mean gone?” I cursed as Beverly’s terrified fingers dug nervously into my breast. “Stoppit! You’re hurting.” I whispered hoarsely.

“She’s not in her room!” Yelled Thlom.

“It’s OK!” I snapped angrily. “She’s in here with me. She’s alright.”

“What happened?”

“She got frightened last night and came to me for comfort.”

“Is she OK now?” Pressed Thlom.

“Yes she’s fine.” I replied as I caressed the soft blond hair and winced as I gentlylevered the terrified fingers off my agonised breast.

“It’s OK love. They’ve gone. Nobody is coming through that door.”

I had realised what Beverly’s problem was. Throughout her childhood time in care the sight or sound of a bedroom door being opened was a sure sign that some form of night-time abuse was imminent. This was her hangover from the childhood horrors. It was OK for her to instigate a visit to another bedroom but all through the care years her bed and her room had been nothing less than a torture chamber. Even a soft knock on the bedroom door was enough to send her over the edge.

Gently I squeezed her tight to me and was surprised to find a soft pair of lips investigating my nipple. She apparently had a suckling complex when she was afraid. It was hardly surprising considering she had never had a mother.

Eventually she ‘uncoiled’ and appeared from under the duvet. I smiled into her tearstained eyes and gently hugged her to me.

“It’s OK. You’re safe. There’s nobody on the other side of that door.”

Beverly stared at the door with terror in her eyes so I tried some therapy.

“D’you want me to open it and leave it open?”

“Don’t touch it!” She squealed. “I’ll open it when I’m ready.”

I shrugged and clambered back into bed. She immediately snuggled up to me and buried her face into my breasts. I let her indulge her fear and she stayed embedded between my breasts until the smell of cooking wafted through the house. Her head suddenly popped up and she sniffed appreciatively.

“That smells like breakfast.”

“It is, and we should be down there helping.”

With no more ado Beverly slipped out of bed, flung on a dressing gown and ran helter-skelter down stairs to lend a hand. I was left floundering and puzzled by her volte-face then I realised that perhaps the smell of breakfast was some sort of olfactory ‘all-clear’ signal.

When she was in ‘care’ it would have been the first definite sign that the safety of morning and daylight had arrived. I crawled downstairs to find her setting out the cereals on the sideboard as the children started appearing. The two boys were dressed but all the girls were still in their nighties and I cast a curious glance towards Dumia. She shrugged and smiled before commenting on it.

“The boy’s simply rise earlier. It’s a gender thing. The girls take much longer to appear. The boys have already been playing out in the snow while the girls are still dopey with sleep. We couldn’t predict everything. It’s a harmless enough behavioural dimorphism. Rather like the cockerel’s crowing in the morning. I expect we’ll discover some more as they grow.”

I shrugged and sat next to Beverly as the boys promptly joined us and started asking questions. The breakfast then quickly developed into a lively question and answer session and my chance to talk to Beverly was lost. I would have plenty of chances however in the nights ahead. With the Albatross 2 safely hidden in the barn we planned a long motoring tour of the U.S.

In this chapter Ruby takes her 'alien children' for an educational tour of America that ends up with an accident having unforeseen consequences. Beverly's return with their Amph/Human children becomes news and the Cold Albatross has to 'Skeedaddle' from earth to avoid all the 'hoo-ha' and military paranoia.

 

SPACETRAN 8

Chapter 8.

The planned months of touring would probably have gone off without a hitch had not one of the two boys had a minor accident during a trek in the Grand Canyon. Like all boys he liked to test his abilities and he slipped and fell from a small cliff. Despite our strenuous efforts the boy had to be hospitalised and I was forced to accompany him to the hospital whilst Beverly cared for the remaining nineteen. It was a minor break to his wrist and we foresaw no complications so I was sitting quietly in the hospital waiting room expecting my son to return with his lower arm splinted up. After what seemed like ages, he reappeared in the corridor accompanied by several doctors and their expressions immediately caused me alarm.

“Mrs Ruby Danby?” Queried the most senior looking doctor whom I presumed to be the
casualty consultant.

“Yes.”

“Is this boy your son.”

“He most certainly is. Can’t you tell by just looking at him?”

“Indeed yes. Could I have a private word please?”

“What about?” I asked suspecting that all was not as it should be.

“Well it’s a little uhhm delicate.”

I frowned and followed him into his private office. He turned and smiled a sickly smile before offering me a seat.

“Uhhm, how did your boy injure himself?”

“He slipped on a narrow path in the Grand Canyon.”

“Well you understand that we always have to double check children’s injuries.”

“So?”

“Well I uhhm examined him quite thoroughly and was disturbed to discover his genital problems.”

A wave of sickening nausea swept over me. I had never inspected my son's amphibian reproductive system and I had no idea what the doctor was alluding to. Now I had a deathly suspicion and searched desperately for a way out. The trouble was I had no idea what the doctor had found. I decided that attack was the best form of defence.

“Are you telling me that you inspected my son’s genitalia without my permission?”

“I- Well it’s normal procedure with children’s injuries. In case there’s some evidence of
abuse.”
“Excuse me. Your own paramedics can confirm they picked up an injured boy at the bottom of a slippery rocky path. The injury was obviously caused by an accidental fall what possible excuse could you have for interfering with my sons’ privates. This sounds like another one of those medical abuse cases to me. I’ve a good mind to call my lawyers.”

“I- I’m sorry Mrs Danby. We intended no offence but I’m afraid I had to mention the circumstances.”

“And I suppose the gory details are all over the hospital by now. I bet it’s the subject of salacious gossip from here to Colorado already. Just look at those nurses staring at us. Whatever happened to medical confidentiality. If my boy’s got a problem with his reproductive organs I don’t see that it’s any business of yours. Your job is to set his wrist not spread tittle-
tattle and gossip. The problem is being attended by our own consultants back east and I’m afraid there’s very little they can do. I would have thought it was quite obvious that the deformities were congenital. Is there any evidence of physical abuse?”

“Well- I- no, I don’t suppose there is.”

“What d’you mean, ‘Suppose’!!!? Does the boy seem cowed or frightened in any way?”

“Well- no. In fact he seems a very alert, intelligent little boy.”

“Exactly. So why were you poking around his genitalia? Are you some sort of pervert?”

“I don’t think that’s called for!”

“I don’t know what’s called for. I’m quite sure the boy has described exactly what happened hasn’t he?”

“Um- yes.”

“And he gave an accurate articulate account.”

“Uh- yes, very articulate; in fact.”

“So why treat him with any less respect than you would treat an adult. If you had a problem like his would you like it bandied about all over the blasted hospital?”

“Well it’s just that it was so unusual.”

“And that gives you an excuse to go blabbing all over the place.”

“It wasn’t like that. The nurse discovered it and reported it to me.”

“So your blaming your nurses now. ‘Shit rolls downhill’ does it? Let some underling be the fall guy is it? I suppose you do that all the time.”

“I must protest! I think you must agree it’s an extremely rare condition.”

“Of course it’s a rare condition! I couldn’t agree more and that’s all the more reason for you to respect the child’s’ feelings. Who else knows about this?”

“Well there’s my registrar, and the casualty sister, the radiologist, the residents, the
internees-.“

“And Uncle Tom Cobbley and all!” I finished angrily.

He fell silent and I realised I had won a temporary reprieve. It simply remained to get my son out of there before the consultant recovered his composure. To this end I invented an important appointment back east.

“Is the boy fit to be released?” I demanded.

“Well- yes. I-“ He stammered.

“Good! I’ll thank you to sign the release forms because I’ve a plane to catch. And you’ll be hearing from my lawyers if any of this becomes public.”

We returned to the group ASAP and when Beverly learned of events she cursed as angrily as I had.

“And you had no idea that their reproductive organs were more amphibian than mammalian?”

“Well yes, you and Thlom mentioned it when they came but I’d never checked.. Though I’m angrier with myself for not having realised the danger when we took him to the hospital. We’ll have to get back to the cottage before this gets out. You know what doctors are like.”

Beverly shuddered and almost glanced furtively over her shoulder as a private, long buried memory shadowed her face. God alone knew what had just flickered through her tortured mind. The very mention of the word ‘doctor’ made her seize up with fear.
We broke camp immediately and made for the nearest airport as I organised a private jet on my mobile phone. This was one of the rare occasions when I was grateful for my wealth and reputation as a lesbian recluse. As we arrived at the private field the hired plane was already landing and we were airborne almost immediately.

My fears were justified for when we arrived at the cottage there was already a sheriff’s car waiting to meet us. He was our local sheriff and I knew him well.

“Evening Miss Danby.”

“Good evening Sheriff. What can I do for you?”

“I’m afraid we’ve had some disturbing reports from Arizona.”

“What about?”

“Some children you had as party guests.”

“Yes. Twenty of them they’re in the minibuses. With my friend.”

The sheriff entered my bus to confirm my words then returned to confront me. Yes Ms Danby. Whose children are they?”

“Mine and Ms Beverly’s. I openly declared.”

“What all twenty of them?”

“Yes- well ten of them anyway. The other ten are hers’.”

“But they’re all about the same age though they certainly have your looks!”

“Well of course they look like me, they’re mine aren’t they?”

He fell silent, suspicious of the circumstances but puzzled by my openness.

“Well they certainly couldn’t deny you, I didn’t know you had any children Ruby.”

“I live as a recluse Jack. When did you last come round my property to find out?”

Once again he was forced to confess he had been slightly remiss in his duties. The reason being that despite my fame and wealth I had brought none of the problems normally associated with a famous person living on a sheriff’s patch. In fact he was actually glad to have me around. Provided nothing sensational happened and my reclusive life followed a normal humdrum
existence he was happy enough to exchange a few pleasant words with me when I occasionally visited the store in town. He referred to some notes he was holding and glanced suspiciously at the children again.

“The hospital in Arizona was concerned about one of your um- boys.”

“I know all about that. If they’ve reported it to the police then they are in clear breach of medical confidentiality. I’ll bet that report is not a regular formal charge but an informal hotchpotch of innuendoes and suggestions.”

I could tell I was right for the sheriff fell quiet and scratched his head. As if on cue, a noisy convoy of press vans made itself heard. I realised things were getting out of hand so I invited the sheriff onto my property. He was a sensible, small town sheriff who had long forsaken the noisy city life. A raucous media circus was the last thing he wanted as a single man trying to uphold the law. The press were notorious for sensationalising everything so he swiftly accepted my offer and I opened the large metal gates as Beverly herded all the children into her bus and gunned through the open gap. The sheriff followed us and I swiftly closed the gates thus clearly marking the boundary of my property. He turned to face the spilling crowd of pressmen as Beverly turned to squeeze my hand.

“You stay with the sheriff while I get the kids back to the Albatross. I’ll be back soon so don’t be afraid.”

I kissed her desperately and stepped down from the bus as the yelling pressmen surged frantically against my gates. The sheriff had already drawn his pistol and stared nervously at the creaking latch. He motioned to me with a question in his eyes.

“What the hell’s all this about Ruby?”

“I’m not sure sheriff. I’m about to find out.”

So saying I faced the media. Inevitably the questions inundated me and it was several minutes before the sheriff could restore some sort of order. Those minutes were precious for as calm finally settled over the media I sensed that familiar eerie light. Beverly had saved the day and provided me with the best answer possible. Cold was hovering silently above us.

As one, all the cameras turned skywards whilst the sheriff holstered his gun and frowned at me.

“You lied to me Ruby.”

“I didn’t Jack. They really are my children. Well, ten of them anyway. The other ten are Beverly's and she's piloting that space ship."

The sheriff knew my story well. When I had bought up the surrounding properties and created a private retreat for myself he had made his acquaintance and I had told him everything in the strictest confidence. He had always respected that confidence and we had maintained an excellent relationship. By way of saying ‘thank you’ I had even built a small prosthesis factory in the county and provided work for the local citizenry. It had brought stability and security to the small town and the sheriff’s job had been made that much more secure and pleasanter. He was firmly on my side without any of the sleaze normally associated with ‘buying the sheriff’.

“What now Ruby? If that thing lands I won’t be able to hold this lot.”

“It’s not going to land sheriff. In fact I’m not sure what my friend is going to do. Let’s just wait and see.”

As I spoke the Cold Albatross silently descended until it was only a few feet above the sheriff and I. The cargo door slid back and Beverly appeared trying to restrain the curious children who had realised that we had been discovered.

“What d’you want to do Ruby?” She called loudly and clearly for the media’s benefit.

I glanced at the sheriff who was staring open mouthed at Beverly and the hovering craft.

“Well? Are you going to arrest me?” I asked Jack loudly for the media’s benefit.

He shook his head confusedly.

“Hell Ruby. This is bigger than I can handle. What the hell’s going on?”

I whispered a brief explanation and he gaped stupidly at me.

“What! You’re saying there’s two aliens aboard there now?”

“Yes.”

I called up to Beverly and she returned to the controls whilst Thlom and Dumia appeared in the doorway with a doughnut of children’s faces framing them. An explosion of flashlights startled them briefly before Thlom called down.

“Are you coming with us Ruby?”

“Not this time. There’s the anti-grav drive to sort out. Give my regards to Beverly and tell her I expect to see her soon. Tell her not to leave it so long next time. I want to see my children again.”

Dumia gave a wide smile as Thlom ordered the children to their seats. The door whispered shut and the Albatross silently departed. Within moments it was a dot then it was gone. The sheriff gave me a knowing grin and motioned to his car for a private chat. As I settled in the seat he gave a few brief words to the growing crowd before joining me.

“Well thank God the spaceship’s left. D’you feel like facing that lot?”

“I’ll have to unless you want to arrest me.”

“I’ve no intention of that. You haven’t committed a crime as far as I know."

“What about the ‘illegal aliens’?”

“If they’re your children then they’re U.S. Citizens. They ain’t aliens.” He reasoned with a disarming logic that took semantics to a new level.

“What about Thlom and Dumia?”

“As I recall, I didn’t actually see them ‘land’ in the U.S.” He smiled knowingly.

I grinned at his helpful deviousness.

“And Beverly’s children?”

“Beverly! Beverly! She’s a citizen of Earth ain’t she? She’s got a right to land on Earth.” He finished easily having expanded his earlier logic with a beautifully elegant, legal extrapolation.

I thumped him on the arm affectionately and he smiled as he recognised my clear message of gratitude. The least I could do for him was face the press and I stepped outside as the gates creaked with strain. I was quietly glad that only the press seemed to be around. No military or FBI figures seemed to be creeping about.

In half an hour I had related the basic facts then I made my excuses and retreated to my cottage. I had some E-mail to send to Switzerland concerning the anti-grav drive and it behoved me to get it away before any government agents tried to prevent me. As it was they appeared within hours of my having sent the gen and seemed quite antagonistic until I showed them the copy of the agreement that the British Naval captain and I had hammered out with the international community in Switzerland. There, clearly visible was the U.S. signatory. All the information and knowledge about anti-grav propulsion was to be disseminated and shared. Nevertheless, despite my having stuck to the narrowest letter of the international law, there were still some agents who felt I had somehow committed treason. It took the local sheriff all his authority to finally remove them from my cottage and he returned later that evening to share a well-earned supper.

“Jeez Ruby! Don’t do that to me again. The town’s alive with agents, reporters, cranks and all bloody sorts.”

“Sorry sheriff. I didn’t foresee what such a minor accident to a single little boy could result in such a circus.”

“I’ve had to put two of my deputies on permanent patrol of your boundary. The whole world and his dog are out there. For God’s sake go and give them a proper press conference and let’s get the whole bloody thing finished with.”

“I’ll do it tomorrow and I’ll pay for the deputies overtime.”

“Thanks. I’ll give you an escort at about ten, is that OK?”

“Fine by me. See you tomorrow.”

I spent the whole of the following day giving press releases and interviews until darkness fell and I made my weary way home. I was aghast to find the whole perimeter of my estate virtually surrounded by cameras except for a few loyal neighbours, including Jack Johnson the sheriff,who had foregone the huge bribes. There was no way Cold Albatross 2 was going to get back
without being spotted. The only chance Beverly had was to get in and out before the hysterical masses detected her then broke every trespass law to invade my property.

To this end, I painted a huge cross on my roof with an arrow to my highest attic window. Despite it being seen by hundreds of persistent helicopters, I hoped she would be ‘in and out’ before they could respond.

Beverly remained true to her word. Weeks later as the intense curiosity was getting to me I received a ‘coded’ E-mail advising me of the time and place. She arrived dead on cue and I hastily flung my luggage through the cargo door and clambered aboard just as the waiting helicopters came clattering into view. Even so it was a narrow escape and one of the helicopters crashed as it’s rotor got too close to the hovering Albatross and crumpled itself on the super-tough titanium covered warp ring. It only fell a few feet and the sheriff was waiting to charge the occupants with trespass as they crawled from the wreckage. From the cargo door I waved my thanks to him before it slithered shut and we warped away just as the inevitable squadron of F-16’s tried to tail us.

Beverly grinned and deliberately loitered like a wounded bird to emphasis their impotence. Suddenly a reddish flame erupted under the wing of the leading aircraft. To my chagrined astonishment I realised the first aircraft had actually fired a missile at us.

Beverly cursed angrily then slammed the levers and warped away to disappear from their screens. She turned to me with the familiar angry white spots on her cheekbones as the moon whizzed past.

“See! That’s bloody Earthmen for you! They’ll never learn. I have rescued their spacemen, I have given them the biotechnology, I have given them anti-gravity drive and I have never shown or done a single aggressive act but they still bloody shoot at me. What sort of pigs are they?”

I had to admit it made me feel guilty being an American. I fell silent as the huge bulk of Jupiter and it’s moons fell astern and we streaked away to the outer planets. In her fury Beverly forgot to warn me and I suddenly felt a retching nauseous sickness empty my guts as the stars flashed blue for an instant before disappearing from sight. She had warped as soon as it was possible and we were already on our way to see the children. This time she was travelling with all the stops out and I could feel The Cold Albatross actually shaking as unimaginable and immeasurable forces were harnessed to speed our journey.

“We’ve got a night to ourselves and we’ll be there by morning.”

It amused me that she still related to ‘night and day’ in the infinitely vast blackness ofspace. ‘But then,’ I concluded, ‘what other points of reference did she have?’

Eventually we ‘levelled out’ and Beverly uncoiled from the pilot seat. She visibly shuddered as her anger finally subsided. She had obviously vented her spleen by thrashing her faithful little craft through the boundaries of reality. Gently I grasped her hands and whispered.

“Can the Albatross take that sort of punishment?”

She studied me through nervous tearful eyes before speaking.

“She’ll never betray me and I hope you don’t either.”

I was stuck for words. I desperately wanted her but I also wanted to live on Earth. After the last hostile ‘farewell’ however, it seemed we would never be able to return.

“What are we to do?” I whispered.

“Let’s sleep on it.”

Thus encouraged I nodded towards her bedroom and raised a questioning eyebrow.

“You go first please. I’ll join you.” She suggested.

Eagerly I slipped into her room and stripped naked in anticipation before burrowing under her duvet. Suddenly Beverly switched off the gravity and I found myself unexpectedly floating
with the duvet tangled around me.

The thrill of sex without gravity sent a nervous tingle through my body as Beverly drifted through the door and started to strip as I watched. Within minutes we were floating in an erotic twosome as our weightlessness caused our bodies to touch tantalisingly then drift provocatively apart. As a form of foreplay it surpassed anything I had ever experienced and it excited both of us to see our full ripe breasts regain their youthful teen-aged buoyancy. The novelty accelerated our appetites and soon our urgent clutches forced our bodies together as we consummated our needs. I literally hooked myself onto Beverly’s desperately hard organ and we drifted off into ecstasy both literally and figuratively.

Strangely after completing the act it was difficult to relax without gravity and Beverly slowly increased the power until we settled gently on the bed. Once we were comfortable she curled up once more with my nipple gently held between her lips. I felt a tingle of pleasure flutter down to my loins but she was already asleep. In the low gravity it was no discomfort to squash together with her head resting lightly on my breasts like a nursing child.

We awoke in the same position and I felt her curious fingers gently exploring my other nipple as her tongue delicately rasped the covered one. The sensation made me shudder with delight and I gasped as my groin dampened. In response I gently fingered her own stiff little strawberries and she squeaked softly as I felt her penis stiffen and twitch appreciatively. Within moments we were locked together and eagerly indulging ourselves again whilst savouring the reduced gravity as our turgid nipples lovingly fenced with each other.

Eventually we satiated our passions and duty required Beverly to attend to her navigation. I prepared a light brunch while she brought us to the amphs’ planet and I met the familiar reception committee. In addition to the ‘ambassadorial’ ship and the two accompanying patrol craft I also saw the familiar shape of Cold Albatross 3 and I presumed Thlom was at the helm. The thought of my children brought an unexpected tug at my heart-strings and my mothering instincts warmed my heart. Fortunately Thlom had finally managed to persuade Beverly to get some communications fitted to Albatross 2 so we arranged to meet in the ambassadorial ship and enjoyed a splendid family reunion before going planet-side.

There a veritable mansion had been prepared and I indulged myself like an eighteenth century lady with my family around me. The next few months proved idyllic. I also met each of my children’s different genetic fathers and was persuaded to part with some more of my eggs. I also discovered why Beverly’s children were all the same colouring. The genetic engineers had not had the same success with her sperm as with my eggs and her sperm had only been used successfully in conjunction with same batch of eggs. All of Beverly’s children were full blood brother and sisters and I was not surprised to learn that Dumia was their mother.
After a month upon the planet during which time our relationship had blossomed, Beverly approached me nervously. She wondered if we could make our relationship permanent and I was quite taken aback by her turn-around. Under Amph law there was no such thing as marriage since the overcrowding crisis and strangely Beverly wanted to make our relationship legal. Once again her insecurity was surfacing to affect her life. When I pressed her I was surprised to learn that she was angry about never having existed legally as an adult. No social security number, no tax coding, no health number, nothing.

“It’s as though I never existed on Earth- a ‘none-person’.” She muttered sadly.

“Oh you exist Beverly. Believe me you exist.” I smiled. “Everybody on Earth knows that you exist!”

“Yes but I could never go back there. They could put me away again and nobody would
ever know I existed.”

“Don’t worry Bev, they know you exist. If only because the doctors, politicians and judges have been exposed for what they did to you. They’re all either in prison or out of office now. I’ll be there to protect you as well.”

I added the last bit to encourage her to return. I desperately wanted her as my permanent partner and I desperately wanted to live on Earth. She sat staring at the floor as the options were weighed carefully in her brain.

“Will there be a safe place where I can go?”

“Of course there are. Some cities have even got gay areas where any gender disphorics can move about with safety. Anyway you’d ‘pass’ at a beauty contest. Nobody would ever read you.”

“Ghettos! — Gay ghettos.” Observed Beverly ignoring my compliments.

“No!” I argued impatiently. “They’re whole areas, several blocks wide where gays and trannies live and move about with impunity. Clubs, restaurants, apartment blocks, offices, just about everything. The whole area is known as an LGBT area.”

“L.G.B.T., what’s that?”

“Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgendered. It more or less covers all aspects of alternative sexualities. Even the police are friendly. I’ve got a splendid city apartment in New York although I must confess 'I’ve hardly stayed there more than a few times. Your old country England is even more liberal I’m told.”

“I’ve seen gays and transvestites beaten up and killed by the police in Brazil and China.” Beverly Countered.

“How?” When?” I demanded.

“Recently. I’ve been returning quite frequently since we escaped with the children.

It wasn’t safe to visit you because of all the watchers but it’s easy to visit remote parts of the planet.”

“Well maybe you have. I can’t speak for the less developed countries but the advanced countries have come long way.”

I could see her weakening and it was obvious she was missing Earth. After a painfully long silence she nodded imperceptibly.

“OK then, I’ll come back but I’ll go and visit some other acquaintances before I expose myself to those idiots with their jets.”

“What d’you mean?”

“There’s other races out there Ruby. Races that are just as beholden to me for giving them anti-grav as my friends the amphs. There are a million favours I can call in. They are much more aggressive peoples and they have much more advanced weapons. The amphs are a peaceful race they don’t even have weapons.”

“These other races; where are they? Can I meet them?”

“If you wish. It’ll have to be in Cold Albatross 2 though. They might not recognise Albatross 3 and they might take a pot shot at us as we re-materialise. They’ve got their own star systems well sown up and they’re itching to reach out to other stars.”
“Won’t that be dangerous?”

“Of course. They’re just like Earthmen. That’s why I keep them at arm’s length.”

I shook my head sadly.

We returned to Sol to fix the base point for the next voyage then Beverly redirected the Albatross 2 towards a remote galaxy some several million light years away. I studied the navigational hologram and wondered what this new race would be like. Beverly’s nervousness was infectious and we made no attempts at lovemaking during the passage. Our fears proved groundless. The supposedly warlike race welcomed us openly and we arrived on their home world to a rapturous reception.
As a typically dominant race, these people enjoyed all the classic fears of dominancy. Having achieved that primordial dominance by the ordinary tribal mechanisms of confrontation and conquest they inevitably carried a historical burden of racial paranoia. They were still puzzled as to why Beverly carried no protection for her frail craft so they swiftly set to work. Within a few weeks Albatross 2 was sporting a protective shield device and some fearsome looking weapons that resembled a sort of ray gun. We departed to their outer planets and held a few brief ‘firing practices’ before parting on excellent terms with promises to return soon.

The return journey was a much more relaxed affair and we indulged our sexual needs to the maximum. Once behind the moon we debated our strategy and once again found the old ‘aircraft-carrier equation’ to be the least risky. The Spanish Navy had a ship equipped with harriers so that seemed the best option. It simply remained to find it. We eventually did so in The Mediterranean Sea quietly minding it’s own business and not actively launching any aircraft.

In this chapter Beverly reluctantly returns to earth because mankind cannot make sense of the Anti-gravity science. She starts to realise that there may be hope for her returning as she learns that tolerance has moved a long, long way since her traumatic childhood. She also meets her only remaining older sister.

 

---

NEW SPACETRAN 9

.

We warped out of a huge cumulus rain cloud to hide our radar image so we appeared without warning and had alighted on their rain-swept deck before they even realised we were in the vicinity. A startled lookout gaped at the unexpected arrival before screaming to theofficer on watch. Within moments dozens of armed sailors had swarmed onto the flight
deck and nervously surrounded the Albatross.

“Well at least these guys aren’t shooting.” Sighed Beverly.

“They’re European. They’re not so ‘gung-ho’ as us Americans.” I shrugged guiltily. “Look that guy seems to be the senior officer.”

Beverly took the large paper pad and identified herself. The officer smiled and acknowledged us then took out a notebook and invited us onto the deck.

“Shall we go?” I asked her.

“You go. See if there’re any traps. I’ll guard Albatross. They’ll know all about you as well. You’re famous.”

“OK. Here goes nothing.” I shrugged.

I could hardly blame Beverly for her caution. It would have been stupid to let Albatross fall into military hands. This time I wore a sensible ‘all-in-one’ overall to descend the ladder and eventually presented myself to the Spanish Captain. Like many Educated Spanish he spoke several languages perfectly. He was also well aware of The Cold Albatross. After three oceanic encounters all aircraft carrier commanders were fully alerted to any possible future visits.

“So you’ve returned to Earth again ma-am. An aircraft carrier once again.”

“Indeed captain.” I smiled admiring his courteous formal English

“And you’re honouring the Spanish this time. I admire your impartiality.”

“Thank you captain. I might add that yours is a particular honour if you’re agreeable.”

“Please explain.” He replied cautiously but courteously.

We had stepped out onto the bridge-wing and were looking down onto the Cold Albatross. Beverly was clearly visible in the cockpit window and the captain gave her a smart courteous bow before waving amicably. I nodded towards the Albatross and presented the deal.

“That lady is the builder of that craft. She is the genius who actually cracked time travel; a one Ms Beverly who I have finally persuaded to declare herself to you if you will agree absolutely to respect the integrity and privacy of her craft and make no attempt to impound it or imprison her.”

He hesitated for a moment then glanced questioningly.

“What are your plans?”

“My plans are simply to return to my home planet and carry on my life, hopefully with her as my companion. I’m not sure what her plans are. She says she simply wants to return to Earth and live a normal life. Truth to tell I think she’s worn out with Space travel.”

The captain frowned slightly, displaying his uncertainty then he reached for a file right at the end of a lower shelf on the bulkhead of his office.

“I’ve got a full dossier here containing all we know about you and that lady. Am I to presume she’s changed her mind about us humans?”

“I don’t think she’s gone that far. She still wants to keep you at arm’s length and she intends to continue travelling the stars, and the galaxies for that matter; it’s just that she needs a place to call home. Don’t interrogate her about it. Under that exquisitely beautiful exterior at the very core she’s a very frightened, uncertain, little child covered with a veneer of angry unrequited adulthood.”

“So what now. What d’you want me and my ship to do?”

I indicated that I wanted to chat outside on his personal promenade space where Beverly could see us negotiating. He opened his weatherproof door and we stepped out; it was still raining but Beverly looked up at us and smiled again. I sensed she felt uncertain when I was out of sight.

“Firstly agree not to harm her or the Albatross.”

“She’s committed no offence. I can agree to that.”

“Thank you captain. I assume I can take your word on that.”

He rankled slightly, obviously a bit offended and hurt at my expression of doubt.

“Miss Danby I am a Spanish Naval officer. My word is my Bond.” He protested.

“I’m sorry captain,” I apologised, “I’m feeling my way here and diplomacy was never my strong suit.”

“Apology accepted Miss Danby, we are all novices here.”

“Excellent captain, the only other thing is to caution your crew not to go poking around inside her. There are forces tied up in that craft that could destroy this planet and our heavenly neighbours.”

The captain’s eyes narrowed nervously.

“Are you saying there’s a bomb or something aboard?”

“Good gracious no! The warp drive is where the energy lies. If some dumb matelot started fiddling with any levers he could accidentally set the world on fire. The Albatross must be strictly guarded. I am quite sure that if you respect these requests Miss Beverly will reward you with a trip around the galaxy. There’s another gentleman who might also be so rewarded. He’s a colleague of yours in the British navy.”

“Ah yes. Admiral Rawlin. The man you took to Switzerland. I’ve met him on a couple of NATO exercises. I think his ships are in The Persian Gulf.”

“I think Miss Beverly would be wary of visiting the gulf. That’s a hotbed of trouble. Her craft is very vulnerable.” I lied. “Is there any way you have of contacting Captain Rawlin, - sorry, Admiral Rawlin?”

“Of course. We are both NATO aircraft carriers.”

He took me in out of the rain and within minutes I was speaking to a familiar voice. After some brief exchanges the Spanish
Captain had agreed to go aboard Cold Albatross if it was required.

The next part was to be the biggest difficulty; persuading Beverly to trust a man. I returned to the Albatross and finally convinced her that the Spaniard was an honourable man of his word. Nevertheless she still freaked out when he respectfully poked his head through the cargo door and I had to virtually nurse her frail shivering body in my arms before he eventually made her acquaintance. As he courteously extended his hand I felt every muscle in her tiny frame lock up with fear. It was only now that I realised how badly she was messed up inside.

Fortunately the captain understood Beverly’s stress disorder relating to the proximity of males and he took no offence at her refusal to shake his hand. Beverly’s very demeanour and trembling body gave mute testimony to her paranoia. I motioned him to sit in the seat in the cargo bay and wait a short while as I gently nursed Beverly back to some form of coherent response. Then I gently placed her in the cockpit command seat and explained events.

“The Persian Gulf!” She squeaked. “That’s a war zone. There’ll be all sorts of Yanks, Ruskies, Brits, Iranians and God knows what else flying around loaded for bear.”

“Well then now’s the time to test that so called defence shield and the guns. Besides the British Aircraft Carrier is expecting us.”

“Well Gee thanks! I thought we could just go straight to Switzerland and declare ourselves to the commission. Besides they should just about have got anti-grav by now. I half expected them to meet us behind the moon.”

“Well maybe Earthmen are a bit thicker than amphs.”

“Look all I want to do is live a normal life, preferably with you in your cottage. Then every few weeks just warp away to visit my friends on other planets. I just want to retire to my plantation like George Washington did.”

“That’s not going to happen unless we co-operate with the authorities. The best way to do that is to get Admiral Rawlin to speak for us. He’s honest and I trust him.”

“Oh; so he’s been promoted then?”

“That’s not surprising is it? It’s been a few years since you were on his ship and things move on.”

“Why can’t they just trust us?”

“Do you trust them?” I countered.

“No! But I’ve got reason not to trust them.”

“Well some of them still believe you’re an alien. Just remember I did when I first met you.”

Beverly fell silent then slowly nodded her head as she accepted the inevitability. I motioned to the cargo bay door and asked her.

“Can the Spanish gentleman come into the cockpit now? I did promise him a ride?”

“I suppose so. You promise too much, this is all turning to rat shit.”

She turned to concentrate on her controls and ignored the captains’ second attempt to courteously extend the hand of friendship. I gently motioned to the man and tapped my skull discreetly to explain that Beverly was not yet a balanced person when it came to men. Then I indicated the observation divan under the cockpit window. Cautiously he sat on it and gazed expectantly out of the window as the horizon started to curve. Suddenly he let out a soft Spanish oath as he recognised the Tigris and Euphrates plus the Arabian Peninsula far below.

“My God! That’s thousands of miles in a few seconds.” He wagged his head disbelievingly.

“Now comes the hard part.” Muttered Beverly nervously as she fiddled with some newly installed controls and a blue tinted bubble enveloped the Albatross.

“Well the shield seems to work but it’s hard to see out. The shield distorts everything.” I observed as I peered myopically at the outline of Kharg Island.

“We’d better switch if off then until we get a definite hostile reaction.”

“You should have had some sort of radar fitted Beverly!” I scolded.

The Captain turned to gape stupidly.

“D’you mean you haven’t got radar?”

“I never saw a need for one.” Beverly declared. “Albatross was never meant for this sort of stuff. She’s a transgalactic, time warper not a bloody search and rescue helicopter.”

Even as she spoke a squadron of Iranian jet thundered past and the Spaniard winced with surprise.

“They’ve picked us up already. They’ll want us to land. We’re over their air-space.” He cautioned.

“Fuck their airspace.” Cursed Beverly. “I’m an Earth woman and this is bloody Earth! I’ll go anywhere I like on Earth and I’ll land anywhere I bloody well like.”

The captain and I exchanged amused glances. Beverly certainly had a very wide perspective. She twitched a lever and within moments we were over Bahrain. The captain gaped stupidly again before wagging his head and smiling. Below I recognised the familiar outline of a huge U.S. Nuclear aircraft carrier and I warned Beverly.

“Expect company again!”

“Before I had finished speaking the roar of jets crashed about us again and suddenly the sky was alive with planes of all nationalities.”

“I think you’ve disturbed the hive.” Grinned the captain.

“Come one, come all.” Shrugged Beverly as she engaged the shield and went lower to find the smaller British aircraft carrier. Within minutes we had acquired a veritable international armada of assorted jets who attached themselves to us until we located the smaller British ship with its distinctive turned up nose. A single pass identified the British Admiral Rawlin and he waved us down onto the deck.

The Spanish captain and I quickly disembarked to make the arrangements and within an hour Admiral Rawlin had joined us in the cockpit. I had cautioned him about Beverly’s dysfunctional neurotic personality so he simply nodded graciously and joined his colleague on the divan.

“So Switzerland it is then Gentlemen.” I advised them.

The Spanish Captain forewarned his British counterpart and they both shook their heads in disbelief as the Alps appeared almost by magic. We swiftly recognised the huge ring of the CERNE project where the worlds’ scientists had decided to pool their research into gravity and we landed without incident or warning in the car park by the main research block.

‘The alien ship had finally landed!’

Blank stares of stunned disbelief gaped at us from a hundred windows before the doors started spewing out the massed concentrated knowledge of humanity.

I smiled inwardly as I calculated that if all the I.Q’s present in that car-park were added up they might not surpass the awesome total accumulated in my dysfunctional friends’ sad tortured brain. Payday had arrived.

The first thing I had to do was separate the few female scientists from the crowd and herd them into an acceptable reception committee.

A brief explanation sufficed and the crowd of disappointed men waited expectantly as the select group of women accompanied Beverly and me into the building. A ‘question and answer’ session quickly developed as insoluble questions were put to Beverly concerning gravity.

The group drifted into a large lecture theatre where she casually picked up some chalk and laid out her explanations on the board. Her handwriting conveyed her mood and fear. There were none of the wildly expansive flowing movements that I remembered of my favourite lecturers when I was at college. Beverly was tense and uncertain as she addressed the board. Her cramped arm rarely left her side and the writing appeared tight and constricted as she continually masked it accidentally with her tense little body. The twenty or so female heads were continually bobbing and twisting to follow her reasoning as the equations appeared on the blackboards. There were also frequent interruptions as some of the finest mathematical brains begged her to explain some inexplicable procedure. I had to stop and remind myself that Beverly had worked all this science out as a fourteen-year-old girl/boy hiding in a frozen cave. The whole exercise was way, way above my head but I think the gist of it was a four dimensional geometry and trigonometry applied to the atomic structure of an amalgam. The amalgam was then ‘drawn’ like an artificial fibre then twisted very precisely like a billion skeins of wool a specific number of times to in effect, create a solid ring like structure only with two plane continuous sides and no ends. The amalgam was then baked in a forge before being immersed into a molten metal casting to make an almost indestructible pad. After the application of a current a concentrated anti-grav field was generated and the existing gravity was reversed upon itself. The bigger or more numerous the pads, the more ‘lift’ or ‘thrust’ was generated.

In three-dimensional terms this is all but impossible to conceive. I must also add that in passing, Beverly had also created some new and original mathematical tools to solve the equations and extrapolate the four dimensional mathematical results to create a physical three-dimensional facsimile. Just as Isaac Newton had invented Calculus to solve some of his problems so had Beverly invented a new maths. It hadn’t yet even got a name.

As I sat silent in my seat I could hear mutterings of amazement growing to a dull shocked rumble amongst the audience. The unexpected noise seemed to surprise Beverly and suddenly she tensed then spun round white with fear. The whole audience fell silent as they quickly recognised her distress. I cautiously approached her trembling form and gently put my arm around her.

“What’s wrong?” I whispered as the audience continued to stare curiously.

“Nothing!” She squeaked as the tension flowed away just as quickly as it had arrived. “Nothing, it was just De-ja-vue.”

“Go on. What d’you mean?”

“I tried to explain all this before; when I was twelve. They screeched and howled then; and now I thought they were going to do it again. Last time they tried to have me put away.”

“That was then Beverly. This is now. They are not condemning you. The evidence of your work is hovering inexplicably above the car park. This time they have to believe you. Try and put it behind you.” I replied trying to reassure her.

She smiled then grinned affectionately before grabbing me tightly and kissing me passionately. The auditorium remained deathly silent as the scientists realised we were ‘lesbian lovers’. As Beverly clung to me, I glanced over her golden hair as my eyes scanned the audience nervously as I tried to convey silently that Beverly was having one of ‘her turns’. Sympathetic smiles and nods came back from the audience and I relaxed with a sigh. Beverly sensed my relief but she ignored them as her eyes closed and her hands burrowed under my blouse.

Fortunately my blouse and jacket combined to make a fairly opaque material so nothing was visible under my suit jacket. She clung to me and groped my breasts like a nursing child for nearly a minute as I tried to signal to the audience to ignore the outburst. Shocked expressions gaped back at me. Then she let go as suddenly as she had grabbed me and swung round to resume her calculations. I was shocked by her sudden changes of behaviour.

The stupefied scientists took this as a signal to return to normality and after a few nervous questions the session returned to its previous lively exchange.

Eventually, after a whole and intense afternoon of chalk and talk, Beverly rubbed her aching shoulder and hitched her bum up onto the desk.

“That’s it. Follow that and you’ll have anti-grav.” She sighed.

The audience erupted into violent clapping and shouting until one older, more sober individual brought some order.

“Well we can’t thank you enough. Would you like to stay and help us build a craft?”

Beverly shook her head determinedly.

“Sorry. No. I’ve a lot of living to catch up on.”

With these words she grabbed me again and kissed me passionately before releasing me and asking for a cup of coffee. As one the women gathered around her to shake her hand and congratulate her on her discoveries. I went to fetch a pot of coffee and was ‘way-laid’ as I sought out the dining hall. It was the ‘older sober lady’ again.

“Miss Danby.” She called.

“Call me Ruby.” I replied.

“OK then Ruby. It’s Beverly. It’s just that she still hasn’t explained space warps and time travel.”

“And I doubt that she ever will.” I finished abruptly.

“It’s all in that big ring around the Albatross, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely. And she ain’t telling. Be thankful for what you’ve got.”

“It would be nice to meet other life forms from other planets.”

“They’re not ‘Life forms’ madam. They’re people. Beverly and I prefer to call them people.” I chastened her.

“But they’re not human.” She challenged.

“Of course they’re not bloody human! But they’re still intelligent and still ‘people’.”

“You’ve got a strange anthropomorphic perspective. It’s not a very scientific view considering you’re a graduate biologist yourself.”

“Don't try and patronise me! Mine's a perspective born of intergalactic travel, what's your perspective..” I finished condescendingly. “If you ever get to meet other ‘life forms’ as you so clinically describe them then you might just change that cold scientific view you call ‘a perspective’.”

I sensed her dehumanised nature and suddenly recalled Beverly’s nightmare childhood.

‘This woman would have been exactly the sort of ghoul who would have carried out the frankensteinian experiments on the children like Beverly in care.’ I silently gave thanks to God that she was a physicist and not a doctor.
I felt a wave of nausea engulf me and turned away as the tray of coffee trembled in my hand. Down the corridor I found a happy Beverly surrounded by the other scientists who were excitedly exploring her ‘permanent make-up’. Mathematics and Physics had been temporarily put aside.

‘Real girls, doing real girl things.’ I observed with relief.

After the encounter with the ‘Bitch of CERN’, I was glad to find myself amongst real girls again, girls furthermore, who were not put off by my relationship with Beverly. They were probably sympathetic anyway after possibly having received enough stick at school and university for choosing the ‘boy’ subjects of physics and maths.

Later Beverly and I invited them into the Albatross where they showed equal interest in both Beverly’s cabin and the drive systems. Once again they made several half-hearted efforts to persuade Beverly to reveal a little bit about space warps and time travel but she remained tight-lipped. Eventually she told them that the maths for Anti-grav was nothing compared with the maths for time and space warps. As they listened, the mathematicians eyed her enviously but not for her stunning looks, no; this time it was for her brain.

I grinned inwardly when I considered that most women would have only envied her for her looks. As a transvestite Beverly would have found the latter more rewarding. Eventually the girls and the naval officers who had stayed behind to guard the Albatross, made their farewells and started to leave in ‘dribs and drabs’ until only Beverly, and I remained with one particularly attracvtive girl.

As a confirmed lesbian I quickly picked up the vibrations. The girl was ‘up for it’. I caught Beverly’s eye and she wagged her head slightly. She had too many hang-ups to even contemplate a ‘ménage-a-trois’ and I ended up having to discreetly advise the girl that we were a devoted ‘couple’. She sighed, smiled and made her excuses without acrimony.

That night Beverly and I discussed our relationship and how we would go about legalising our union. We returned to the CERN centre and surfed the net until we found a suitable location for a discreet secret wedding. Strangely it was the city of Manchester in England and we discreetly departed that night by car to avoid too many curious eyes. On route, Beverly changed her appearance and by the time we reached Manchester the old Beverly had virtually disappeared.

The gay Anglican priest we had chosen specialised in same sex unions but she was amused and delighted when we revealed our true sexes.

“You realise that this makes it completely legal don’t you?” She grinned. “It won’t just be a civil partnership blessed by a priest. You can really, actually marry.”

“I’ll have to locate my birth certificate.” Mumbled Beverly.

“Have you any idea where you were registered.” The priest asked.

“No.”

“Then I suggest the central registry in London. If you can remember your family name and your date of birth you’ll soon find it.” The priest observed.

There was a long silent pause as the priest and I studied Beverly. She was obviously distressed about something then finally she spoke.

“I never had a birthday.” Replied Beverly softly. “The family wouldn’t celebrate it because it was the day our mother died. The day I caused her death.”

“That’s a horrible thing to say!” Gasped the shocked priest.

“It’s true though. If I hadn’t been borne she-“

At this she fell silent and I just managed to catch her before she slumped out of her seat.

The priest wagged her head and watched as I laid Beverly out on the settee. It was obvious that Beverly’s childhood memories were too overpowering. All her life she must have ‘shut stuff out’ but now after the priest’s request she had been confronted with a need for real information coming from a brutal childhood reality. The effort had overwhelmed her. After making sure she was comfortable the priest called me into her study.

“We’ll have to find her birth certificate. I’m used to stuff like this and I know which strings to pull. Since coming out, I’ve learned an awful lot about care victims and abuse. I’m involved with several organisations concerning childhood abuse. Give me a couple of days.”

She left and I sat beside the comatose Beverly until she started to recover.

Using the priests’ advice and directions, Beverly and I booked into a hotel in the gay village. That night we went ‘exploring’ and she was amazed at the freedom accorded to our kind. She was like a child let loose in a chocolate factory as we cruised the bars and clubs.

It was nearly a week before the priest returned with a satisfied smile and an older woman in tow. She had phoned me in advance and warned me. Then she introduced me briefly before making our excuses and separating again. As we drove into Manchester the priest explained.

“It’s Beverly’s older sister.”

“Phew! I gasped. I don’t think Beverly would countenance anything to do with her family. This is dangerous ground!”

“Think of it as therapy.” Argued the priest.

“Your reverend. I don’t know if you’ve studied Beverly’s’ background. The last thing she needs is therapy, or therapists, or psychiatrists or anything. All she wants is be a legal entity and married to me. She knows her own mind believe me.”

“Well will you try? This woman has come all the way from Devon and she says Beverly was born as Bernard Holst in Shropshire in 1946. Here’s the extract from the registry in Shrewsbury.”

The priest had obviously been working hard and I felt I owed it to her to approach Beverly about the woman claiming to be her sister. It seemed incongruous that an old lady in her sixties could be the sibling of such a pretty young thing as Beverly. Time travel certainly did strange things. I returned to the hotel to find Beverly chatting happily to a pair of very passable she-males in the restaurant. It was her first independent foray into the village life but she seemed to be taking to it like a duck to water. ‘There was hope for her yet.’ I joined them and exchanged friendly polite introductions.
Beverly had already ‘declared’ herself and they were enchanted with her appearance. They were also amazed and glad for her having found a suitable partner in me and they begged to attend the wedding.

“You’ll need at least two witnesses. They chirped.”

I was a bit wary of any publicity but Beverly seemed to be getting bolder by the day as she immersed herself in the balmy social waters of the village. After sharing lunch an agreement was finally reached and I informed Beverly about the appearance of her sister. Strangely she was not as paranoid as I first thought.

“What does she look like?” Asked Beverly.

I described Beverly’s third oldest sister who was her nearest living sibling. Her other siblings were dead. This remaining sister was a headmistress of a major public school and had remained a spinster all her life. Beverly pulled a wry smile as she considered meeting her.

“She’s probably intelligent enough to realise she was damaged as well by the family set-up. Maybe she was right not to get married.”

“She seems a friendly educated woman and she desperately wants’ to see you.”

“Everybody wants’ to see me Ruby. If they found out I was in Manchester the village would be overrun with reporters. Where’s she staying?”

I mentioned the name of a small hotel outside Manchester and she shrugged uncertainly.

“I don’t suppose it’ll do any harm to go and look at her. She’d never recognise me as her younger brother anyway. Come on let’s do it now. I’m curious.”

“She’s got a couple of photographs of you as a young boy. She says you’ll recognise them and that’ll prove who she is.”

“Right, we’ll book a couple of rooms there by phone and arrive as residents.” Suggested Beverly. “Then we can arrive separately a few minutes apart.”

With the plan set up I booked in around fourish and settled at a table in the lounge to enjoy an afternoon coffee. Behind my tinted glasses and wig I spotted Beverly’s sister busy on a mobile phone. I did not need to look for Beverly’s arrival. Throughout the lounge heads turned as she trotted up the steps. Male eyes hungrily followed her to reception and I sighed to myself as she disappeared into the lift. Her older sister had also noticed the beautiful young lady arrive but had not the faintest idea who she was. I smiled to myself and continued reading my paper until Beverly returned. She took the table next to me and exchanged a brief discreet glance of recognition before motioning towards her sister. By prearrangement I stood up and walked across the lounge to reveal myself.

“Miss Holst. Miss Angela Holst?”

“The lady stood and offered me a seat as she recognised me again.”

“Ms Danby. It’s nice to meet you again. I didn’t recognise you with your sunglasses on. Have you any word on my brother?”

“Well Yes. But you must prepare yourself for big changes.”

“How so?”

“Your brother is in the hotel as we speak.”

“The lady’s face paled slightly as she peered around expectantly.”

“Where?”

“He’s looking at you. He’s still not sure whether he wants’ to meet you.”

“Oh please! Don’t play games. Where is he?”

“It’s no game Miss Holst. Your brother is a very changed person and a very damaged one. His nightmare childhood left him seriously wounded; mentally that is.”

Once again her face paled as a flash of fear flickered through her eyes.

“He’s not dangerous is he?”

“Oh no. He’s definitely not dangerous. But I think you should be forewarned.”

“Why?”

“Cast your mind back. Why was your brother put into care?”

Her features clouded slightly as she tried to reject the memories.

“He was a- a- transve-.”

“A transvestite.” I finished for her softly.”

“Y- yes.” She whispered glancing nervously around.

“It seems a bit cruel by today’s standards doesn’t it. To tear a child out of its family and dump it into a home for maladjusted children just for wanting to wear his sister’s clothes.”

She fell into a thoughtful silence as realisation flickered in her eyes.

“He hasn’t forgiven us has he?”

“I’m afraid not, and now the boot’s on the other foot.”

“Why?”

“You want to see him, but he’s not particularly bothered to want to see you.”

She frowned slightly as she recognised her own filial needs. As she approached old age and with all her older siblings passed on she was feeling lonely. There were a few nephews and nieces but nobody who might consider her care in her dotage. Once again she peered around hoping to catch sight of some vaguely recognisable man in his fifties. Then she wagged her head defeated.

“You won’t recognise him.” I cautioned her. “Never in a million years will you recognise him."

As I spoke Beverly accepted a tray of tea and biscuits for three then she nodded imperceptibly to me. It was our pre-arranged signal. I stood up and motioned courteously to Miss Holst.

“If you’ll follow me ma-am, I’ll introduce you to your long lost brother.”

She gave the lounge one last uncertain sweep before easing herself to her feet and motioning me forward.
We crossed the few feet to Beverly’s table together then I gently pulled back a chair. Beverly stood courteously in respect for age. Miss Holst stared at me uncomprehendingly.

“What’s going on?”

“Miss Holst, may I introduce your brother, a onetime Bernard Holst now known as Miss Beverly.”

“She stared uncomprehendingly at Beverly then glared at me.”

“Young ladies, don’t play games with me. I’ll call the police. If you think this is some sort of sting or set-up to con an old lady I can assure you I am fully compos-mentis.”

Beverly’s lips tightened viciously as she whispered.

“This is no joke Lolo.”

Miss Holst’s anger evaporated instantly as she recognised Beverly’s private childhood name for his older sister. The colour drained from her face as she slumped into the chair I was still proffering.

“Where did you learn that? Where is he? What have you done with my brother?”

“I am your brother Lolo!” Hissed Beverly.

“Let me see the photos and I’ll tell you where they were taken. If you remember there’s virtually no photos of me. I was the pariah, remember!”

Nervously Miss Angela Holst extracted the two creased and worn pictures from her handbag and held them out for Beverly to see. Beverly snatched the first one and took less than a second to identify the characters.

"That was taken at a picnic in Chirk Castle grounds on your tenth birthday. That’s you, that’s William, that’s Rosalind, that’s father, and those are our two cousins Hazel and Lesley. You’ll notice I wasn’t in the picture cos I’d wandered off. We were all caught in terrible thunderstorm soon after that was taken and I got a beating for getting wet. Let me see the other one."

Miss Holst released the second one as the dreadful realisation bore into her skull. Beverly nodded her head wearily.

“My God! You’ve actually got a picture of me. That’s your friend Jackie Harris’s pony with you and me sitting on its back. She’s holding the bridle. I was put away soon after that. They discovered me with a pair of her knickers on under my trousers. You saw me stealing them off their clothesline behind the barn and you told Jacky’s mother. Everybody said it was the last straw. I never got the chance to thank you for dropping me in the shit. Thanks.”

“That’s not fair.” Whispered the older woman.

“What is fair? Nothing’s fair. Is this fair?” Snarled Beverly as she played her ace card and deftly removed her prosthesis.

Her older sister gasped with shock and horror as the twitching fingers caused the hand to wobble obscenely and creep across the table. I had never seen it remain active after separation before and it looked for the entire world like some giant, loathsome, disfigured insect.

It was obvious that Beverly’s prosthesis was more advanced than the ones that my company made and they were considered a marvel of bioengineering. A few disgusting droplets of blood leaked from the micro-tubes to add a final satanic touch. The elderly woman went white with shock and Beverly realised she might have crossed the line of decency. Hastily she snatched the hand back and ‘clicked’ it back onto her wrist. Nobody else had seen the cameo.

“I can’t forgive you Lolo. It’s no use trying.”

Her sister looked up through tearstained eyes.

“Are you the girl from the space ship?”

“What if I am?”

“But you were a boy. You were my brother. Where did it all go wrong?”

“I was a boy. Life moves on. I’ve moved on.”

Her elderly eyes scanned Beverly’s delightful female form and she shook her head disbelievingly.

“How could you so deform the body that God gave you?”

“God! God! If there is a god then he or she gave me the wrong body. So much for divine infallibility.” Laughed Beverly hollowly.

“So you’ve had the complete op then?”

“What I’ve had is no concern of yours. Any relationship I had with you and that family died over fifty years ago.”

“How have you managed to stay so young looking?”

“You wouldn’t understand and I’m not bothering to explain. Just trust me I was your brother- once.”

Beverly stood up suddenly and stared down angrily at her sister.

“You stay with her if you want Ruby. I’m going back to the village.”

The woman seized my wrist in a desperate attempt to salvage any hopes of reconciliation. It was no use. I motioned to Beverly but she had already stalked off to reception to reserve a taxicab. I was left holding the can as it were and I ordered a second pot of coffee.

“I’d prefer tea.” Sobbed Lolo.

I changed the order then rummaged through my bag for the precious tape machine and laid it on the table. She listened in deathly silence as the tape revealed her brother’s childhood torment and then she remained staring at the table for several minutes before speaking again.

“How did he- I mean she, lose her hand?”

I explained but even my narrative left me slightly sickened by the story.

“The paedophiles used to frighten the vulnerable children by making them lie down on a railway line going past the children’s home. Beverly’s transvestism was a wonderful obvious excuse to bully and she was also small and vulnerable. They took great delight in making her lie down on the track in her frocks as they heard the train coming.

They were mostly slow moving good trains and the children had time to jump out of the way. Then a new warden arrived from the army. He introduced a new variant from his time in training with a special regiment. Apparently they rejected him as unsuitable because he was deemed to be a bully. It’s ironic and typical that the army recognised his failings and personality disorders but social services and the home office didn’t. He brought his knowledge and his cruelty out of the army to the children’s home where the kids were sitting ducks.

Beverly was the first victim - and the last.

They handcuffed her to the rail so that she couldn’t escape from the train and she would have to lie between the rails with her arm under the rail so that the locomotive wheels would run over the handcuff chain and cut her free by separating her hands.
Unfortunately it was the end of the academic term for a large public school that existed in a town further down the track. The train that appeared wasn’t the regular old Puffing-Billy with a few freight wagons but an excursion taking the whole school on an outing. Suddenly a huge express locomotive with a dozen coaches came thundering down the track. Beverly was ten years old and terrified. Inevitably she panicked and forgot what she had to do. The train cut her hand off.

The police found a ten-year-old boy wandering in the country lane in a blood saturated frock trying to squeeze the stump to stem the bleeding. He had the other hand still hanging from the handcuffs in her teeth. He thought it could be sown back on.”

Lolo went deathly white and gulped her tea as the shock took hold. Eventually she whispered.

“But surely the perpetrators-?”

“Where never brought to book. Strings were pulled in very high places. Paedophile judges were blackmailed, senior perverts in the cabinet were corrupted and arms were twisted left right and centre to cover the incident up. Children were being taken from there and other homes all the time. Some were murdered by paedophiles; some were used for unlicensed medical experiments that left them permanently damaged. What difference was one more maimed little transvestite pervert? Another dustbin kid.

Believe me Beverly has nothing to thank you for. It was your reporting her for the clothesline incident that finished it for her. Did you ever see her again after she was put away?"

“No.”

“Did you know she absconded just before her twelfth birthday?”

“No.”

“Did you know she lived as a beggar and prostitute on the streets of Liverpool for nearly two years?”

“No.”

“Did you know she was captured stealing vegetables to eat raw from a field and kept like an animal in a remote barn to be prostituted out to paedophiles by a rich land-owner?”

“No.”

“You don’t know much about her do you- and you’re her only living sister.”

“But I was only a child myself.”

“You’re five or six years older than her. She was nine when they put her away. You didn’t see her for years while all the time she was incacerated at that ghastly home. That would have made you seventeen or even eighteen when she disappeared. Weren’t you curious? Didn’t you wonder where your little brother had got to? Didn’t anybody ask any questions?”

She stared dumbly at the floor, obviously embarrassed at having her insensitivity exposed. My anger swelled up as I continued my attack.

“Don’t you read the newspapers? Didn’t you realise that the paedophile scandal that destroyed the government last year revolved around your own brother? You must have realised from the dates and the names. It was splashed across the headlines for days.”

I hammered out the questions as my anger boiled inside me. It sickened me to think that a person as uncaring as this should be deemed fit to run a large public school. Unable to face her anymore, I found myself mirroring Beverly’s anger and turned to swivel angrily on my heel. The last I saw was a weeping old maid being approached by the waiter to ask if she was feeling all right.

“My God!” I cursed silently as I watched the waiter comfort the old witch. “It was sickening to think how appearances could deceive.”

I had to walk away.

‘You were right Beverly!’ I conceded to myself. ‘They must have been absolute bastards!’

This chapter describes Beverly's slow assimilation of living an alternative life-style on earth. The first steps on her road to happiness.

 

NEW SPACETRAN 10

Chapter 10.

I arrived back in the gay village to find Beverly back in her now familiar seat in the hotel being amused and entertained by her newly found she-male and transsexual friends. All trace of the anger and frustration from the afternoon's encounter seemed to have evaporated as the group noisily discussed dresses and bridal outfits for the forthcoming wedding. They welcomed me with open arms and eyed Beverly enviously before congratulating her once again at having discovered such a wonderful companion to share her life.

“And Ruby’s a ‘lipstick lesbian’ to boot love. You’re a lucky girl Bev.”

“Well not quite. She’s bi but with strong lesbian leanings. Anyway, we’re both lucky girls.” Chirped Beverly, as she made room on the settee for me to squeeze in beside her.

As we sat with our arms loosely draped possessively around each other’s shoulders and chatted, a waitress supplied us with drinks and we spent the rest of the evening being introduced to other residents of the village. Beverly positively blossomed and soon found the confidence to circulate. This proved an excellent situation because everybody she met was sympathetic and supportive. I hugged myself with silent satisfaction as I watched her smile widening with almost every new acquaintance and her circulating freely amongst the she-males, transvestites and transsexuals who regularly frequented the bar. The nicest feeling was to watch her growing in confidence by leaps and bounds and yet often turning to me to give me a shy excited smile.

‘This is the sort of ‘Therapy’ that Beverly needed;’ I told myself, - ‘companionship, support, affection, sympathy; ‘not the brutal shocks, beatings and poisonings of her childhood!’
She even seemed to overcome her dread of men and she spoke with easy confidence to a couple of gay guys who had dropped in on their way home from work just to enjoy a couple of glasses of wine. When I queried her about it later she just shrugged dismissively.

“It’s strange. I just didn’t feel threatened Ruby. In fact I didn’t feel threatened all night. This village is a terrific place; it’s like proper therapy. In fact, I’m going to buy a flat here.”

“I thought you wanted to live in my cottage in New England.”

“We can have a pierre-de-terre’ in Manchester can’t we. It only takes a few minutes to travel across in the Albatross.”

I had forgotten of course. The Albatross had reduced the whole world to a village. I still hadn’t adjusted to the concept and I grinned to myself as I contemplated the grief and heartache it would bring to immigration departments and nation states when world citizens could live in Africa, work in Europe, lunch in Asia and club the night away in the Americas or Australia, - or even the moon!

I grinned at Beverly and hugged her tight as I finally grasped the portent of her remark to the Spanish captain in the cabin of the Albatross. ‘I’m a bloody Earth woman and this is bloody Earth!’

“Whatever you wish Beverly.” I observed with a smile. “With the money I make from the prosthesis business and your income from development of the anti-gravity engines and ships we’ll be able to afford an apartment in every city.”

“I’m not that greedy.” Beverly grinned. I don’t need a house in every town; it’s just that I like it here.”

“D’you intend keeping your transvestism a secret?”

“Originally I did, yes. I felt so threatened, but this place is so cool and people are so friendly. Anyway it’s no matter now. One of those two transsexuals at the bar is lawyer and she’s dead keen to see a tranny make it to the top of the business world. She says that once one of us has got a toehold in the industrial world they won’t be able to sack us from our jobs when we ‘come out’.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Gosh you can be dim sometimes Ruby. Just think if the company that builds the space ships is owned and run by a transvestite and a lesbian; - that is, if you’ll still marry me, - then the whole work force can be what they like. It’ll be like an umbrella to shelter any person who has any ‘problems’ with his or her sexuality. There won’t be any sexist or racist or fascist bastards to persecute anybody for being gay or lesbian or transsexual or transvestite or anything. Just remember how you were made to feel vulnerable and threatened when you came out as a lezzy at the Freethinker’s Journal.”

I thought back to exactly that time. How people made snide remarks behind my back, how hushed conversations were shut down whenever I approached; how little sniggers and titters followed my every step. The worst of it was that I had still had some bisexual leanings and it had wounded me deeply to learn that the one boyfriend I thought I could rely on for support had betrayed me and rejected me out of hand when I had ‘come out’. It had made my life a hell.

Strangely I had not adopted Beverly’s ideas and instigated a ‘positive discrimination’ policy towards gays etc but I had done something similar for maimed, disabled and paralysed individuals. I realised I had been slightly remiss in not doing as Beverly intended and I felt mildly guilty. She had shown me the light. I hugged her tight to me as I whispered to her.

“So you intend to employ only gays and trannies and suchlike?”

“Oh gosh no!” She smiled. “I intend to employ people on merit first. I’ll have to if I’m to maintain standards of workmanship and stuff. Look at how well made Albatross 2 and 3 are. The Amphs are brilliant craftsmen. It’s just that there will be a positive discrimination towards gays and trannies if there’s nothing else to choose.”

While Beverly spoke, the transsexual lawyer rejoined us and we hammered out some important questions. As the evening passed our discussions became more open until it almost became a public meeting. The lawyer was adept at handling such events however and things progressed smoothly. By midnight we were tired and ready for bed and the lawyer studied us enviously as we made our excuses. In fact several envious but grateful eyes watched us leave as our ideas had become common knowledge amongst the clientele. Out of the fifty or so in the small hotel on the corner of Canal Street that night, about forty had lost their jobs because of their sexuality. Most had lost their marriages and the majority had been unable to find another job. Many were going home to a lonely flat with no companion. Many were capable, intelligent, imaginative people who had lost good jobs in high places and were now reduced to low paid menial jobs in the service sector. Beverly’s policies would change all that and if it was multiplied in factories around the planet the social implications were enormous.

Contrary to general preconceptions we found that the one thing we could rely on in the village was discretion. Beverly’s secret transvestism was not going to get out until the legal structure and control of the company was bound up and watertight. The lawyer explained to us with a tight ‘self-satisfied’ smile.

“It’s as simple as this Beverly. Only you know the secrets of the space warp and time warp. How can they ever deprive you of your property for as far as Earth is concerned, it’s locked up only in your head? They cannot use your transgenderism against you for that has proved to be your biggest motivator and empowerment. As long as you hold those warping secrets tight to your chest, none can deprive you.”

We woke the next morning expecting to find the town alive with reporters and gutter press looking for some obscene angle to our forthcoming marriage but we were pleasantly surprised to find all our arrangements still a secret. The village community could be tight lipped and protective when it wished and we were grateful to it.

Beverly and I got married in a quiet, little used inner city church close to Canal Street, the gay village in central Manchester. Even the visit to the registry office attracted little attention although the lady registrar was only convinced of Beverly’s ‘true’ legal sex after personally witnessing a medical examination with a lesbian gynaecologist attending. There were no urologists immediately to hand and the gynaecologist was after all a fully qualified doctor. I also attended cos’ Beverly was paranoid about any (as she called them,) medical invasions of her body.

Even then the gynaecologist was asked to prepare and sign a document attesting to Beverly’s ‘true’ condition. It was the one single unpleasant indignity that Beverly was forced to suffer and although it hurt her deeply, it was a price she was prepared to pay. The registrar had the decency to apologise after explaining she was required by law to make certain the wedding was legal. However, she cheered Beverly up no end when she backhandedly complimented Beverly by observing that she looked far too much like a woman to ever be accepted as a man. We left to indulge in a wedding bash of truly earth-shattering proportions as virtually the whole gay village turned out to celebrate. It was only because of the tumult in the village that the press finally got to pick up the ground waves of some earthshaking developments. It was all too late however. By the time their gutter vultures had arrived, Bev and I were off to my cottage on our honeymoon. We left a very murky trail because we travelled by train via France and Switzerland to call Cold Albatross by remote control down from her ‘hidey-hole’ behind the moon, then, after boarding her from a remote valley in the Alps, we warped to America in secret.

After spending a couple of weeks at my cottage we left for several months amongst the Amphs enjoying the company of our numerous children. We finally left the Amphs to resume our work on Earth but happy in the Knowledge we were never more than a couple of ‘days’ warp time away from our children.

Six months later the first commercial gravity engine was built in Manchester and installed in a spaceship built on the River Tyne. Eight months later after fitting out, the space ship departed from Liverpool for the planets.

We discovered that the huge ‘ship sized’ spacecraft were better handled from large open stretches of calm water because of the supportive equalising forces of water floatation buoyancy. During launching and landing the hugely disruptive forces of accumulating and dissipating anti-grav were best discharged over the same calm ‘displaceable’ water. It was quite a sight to watch the mighty craft imprint a huge ‘footprint’ into the water as they commenced or ended their journeys.
Liverpool, with its wide river Mersey, was the nearest suitably large area of calm water. Old traditions were resurrected in that traditional seafaring city as many dewy-eyed grandfathers revisited their youth by taking their grandchildren down to the banks of the Mersey at The Pier Head to relive the sight of ‘The Big Liners’ once more docking in the river.

Our activities also brought a new lease of life to the old derelict Manchester Ship Canal as freight traffic ploughed to and from the engine factories at Trafford Park to be installed in hulls on both the Clyde and the Tyne. Beverly was keen to spread the wealth around the deprived people of the north. Long dormant and derelict factories came to life again in these cities bringing vibrancy and hope to Glasgow, Newcastle and Manchester, Liverpool’s competitive, sister city further up the same river. Beverly held these cities in huge affection.

Our new venture had returned prosperity to four large depressed cities. Manchester were the gravity engines were built, Glasgow and Newcastle where the ships were built and launched and finally Liverpool were they arrived and departed from a new dedicated spaceport for Mars and Venus. It was Beverly’s way of saying thank you to those two old rival cities; - Liverpool for saving her life and sanity during childhood after her escape from care and in later life; - Manchester when she found a refuge in the gay village. As an anonymous child beggar on the streets of Liverpool, Beverly had much cause to be grateful for the generosity of the Liverpudlians who generously gave her food and money. Then again in the gay village of Manchester as an ‘outed’ transvestite where she found the safety and companionship that she been starved of for most of her life. I had never thought of Beverly being a philanthropist but then there were still many sides to my wounded partner I had still to discover.

The final seal of bliss to our marriage was some years later when I discovered I was pregnant to Beverly. She was ecstatic at becoming a father and yet hugely envious of my condition. It was my first real insight into the duality of her transgenderism and transvestism.

Each night she would fondle my growing lump and squeeze as close as she dared in an attempt to somehow assimilate my condition to herself by proximity. I never realised just how much she envied women until that time. The final delight was discovering it was twins. That particular night as I whispered the news into her ear I suddenly realised how I could alleviate her envy. I suggested that she share in the breast-feeding of the twins. She let out a squeal of delight and her mood improved immediately.
Some months later when she had started taking the hormones to stimulate her milk she visited me in the maternity hospital and secretly revealed the damp patches inside her nursing bra. She had timed her lactation hormone dosage to perfection and the following afternoon my labour pains started. I was delivered of the twins in the small hours of the morning. In the privacy of our private ward our lesbian gynaecologist friend helped Beverly to breast-feed the twins while I recovered from the delivery. Three days later we were released from hospital and returned to the cottage to commence our new life as a family. Every day we could be found sharing in the secondary delights of motherhood as we sat facing each other sharing blissful smiles and each nursing a suckling twin in our arms. Beverly’s happiness was complete. So was mine.

In which Beverly (and a whole stonk of clever Aliens) save the earth from catastrophy.

---

NEW SPACETRAN 11

Chapter 11

A couple of years after the twins were born, we were overjoyed to discover that I was pregnant again to Beverly and this time it was triplets-, two girls and a boy. My bio-prosthesis company was now doing excellent business and Beverly’s spaceship manufacturing business had expanded to Mars and Venus. Trade around the solar system had expanded logarithmically, and we thought all our problems were over.

A viable colony had been established on Mars where millions of meteors and asteroids had been plunged onto the planet progressively increasing its mass. Each huge iron meteor had been carefully crashed into the planet with stupendous force and heat so as to penetrate through the crust and melt into a metallic core that had been ‘ignited’ by injecting vast amounts of Uranium in the same ratios as on earth. The Nuclear reactions helped to ‘kick-start’ the initial melt. As Mars’s increasing mass created more gravitational compression the metallic core eventually remained molten under its own compressive ‘weight’ and slowly, the liquid metallic core started to set up convectional eddies caused by Mars’s own rotation. These eddies started a magnetic field and slowly Mars was able to stave off the sun’s ferocious radiation by dint of the spinning liquid iron core. All this was done under controlled conditions so as not to disturb the planet’s orbit or that of its neighbours. Eventually Mars’s mass and therefore its gravity was increased to the same mass as Earth and therefore the enlarged planet was sufficiently massive to capture and hold an artificially enhanced envelope of imported gasses effectively condensing the old, thin Martian atmosphere to an insulating greenhouse of breathable air. The envelope was similar in composition and pressure to Earth’s atmosphere but contained suitably elevated ratios of greenhouse gasses like carbon dioxide to compensate for the planet’s greater distance from Sol.

Salt-free water ice was then introduced from other sources mostly from the moons of Jupiter and Saturn. This liquid water eventually moderated the planet’s surface temperature variations thus calming the ferocious winds and ensuing dust storms. Mars eventually had fresh water seas whilst excessive salt brought down by run-off was extracted and turned into a third moon for mars, a moon of salt, not green cheese!

Once Mars was successfully made habitable the massed efforts of human kind were next devoted to taming the planet Venus and also making it habitable. This would prove a far more daunting task.

Fortunately the solar system proved to be an excellent ‘quarry’. Little was required of Earth in terms of material. She was a planet already running short of resources anyway. Taming Sol’s other planets without the ‘planetary quarry’ of the asteroid belt, the outer gas giants and their moons would have bankrupted Earth.

Instead, Earth provided the newfound skills whilst the asteroid belt and the remote outer planets provided virtually limitless supplies of water ice, essential gasses and minerals. Almost every week, exploration teams discovered vast lumps of assorted meteoric metal or minerals amongst the countless millions of asteroids in the belt between Jupiter and Mars. More importantly, several of Jupiter and Saturn’s minor moons also contained vast, almost limitless deposits of water ice.

Huge spacecraft were then assembled in space, and they now ploughed between the planets transporting many thousands of cubic kilometres of raw materials mainly to Venus where it’s cruel sulphurous envelope was gradually being substituted with a suitable atmosphere and magnetosphere to deflect the vast bulk of the suns’ lethal rays whilst allowing essential light to filter down and radiate the surface. In orbit around Venus, several huge temporary satellites were busily separating the Hydrogen, Sulphur and Oxygen from Venus’s lethal sulphuric and acidic atmosphere so as to redistribute the elements in a more beneficial pattern for Mankind. To dispose of the excreted sulphur, Venus acquired two new Sulphur moons that would give the planet modest tidal seas when the colonisation was complete. Mankind was finally rid of the oppressive notion that it was forever shackled to its home planet and condemned to suffer the same fate as the Amphs. Beverly had effectively done for humankind as she had done for the amphs, namely freed them from the apron strings of gravity.

The Solar System had become the new ‘Western prairies’ but this time there were no indigenous stone aged tribes to exterminate. Human kind now had two whole new planets to colonise and this time with the benefits of a little wisdom and considerable research. It was a second chance to get it right.

Mankind however, was still denied the secrets of Beverly’s space warping. For all practical purposes, they were limited to the bounds of Sol’s gravity and could only ever expect to visit the nearest stars in their own galaxy. Even then they had to be prepared to endure journeys lasting several tens of years.

I knew that many envious (and official) eyes turned towards Cold Albatross every time we plunged into deep space amidst a violent flash of swirling light and energy before disappearing instantly from view.

Cold Albatross’s secret was well kept however; Beverly had finally admitted to me that in addition to her own head, she had hidden all the records of her work on a remote isolated planet located far across the universe.

This planet and its star did not even share the company of a galaxy of neighbours. The planet was an airless frozen satellite of a dead frozen black dwarf star where temperatures approached absolute zero and little radiation escaped to reveal its location. Its nearest neighbours were hundreds of light years away and it must have been just about the most remote and desolate lump of matter in the whole universe. Beverly had chosen her hiding place well! As added protection, she had never taken anybody (including me) to see her hidey-hole and I only knew of it from her descriptions. For my own protection, that was all I wanted to know. What I didn’t know couldn’t be extracted forcibly from me.

This of course did not stop endless attempts to persuade or trick Beverly into revealing some miniscule nugget that might lead the questioner to a possible solution of the warping question. Their efforts invariably failed. Beverly could be a tight-lipped secretive individual when she wanted but more importantly, there was just too much maths and complex theory involved.
She once told me that if conventional maths were used without a computer, then the paperwork would run to several thick volumes of treatise.

As an uneducated, wounded teenager without access to any computers, she had been forced to invent several completely new mathematical tools to get around the problem and she often frowned as she rationalised the irony of her brutalised childhood and neglected education.

“You see Ruby, if I had been force-fed the ordinary mathematics of mankind, my mind would have been locked into the tramlines of their conventionality and I would never had expanded my original crazy ideas. It was the lack of education coupled with my paranoia that allowed my brain cells to range free.”

Sometimes I had to confess to myself that Beverly and I shared the weirdest ‘pillow talk’.

After recognising the perverse aspects of her inverted success I could only acknowledge her irrational genius and then cast it temporarily from my mind until the next time Beverly chose to resurrect it. The very idea of space warping and subsequent time travel caused my head to ache. The sad part was that despite travelling through time, it was still extremely difficult for Beverly to predict during the first voyage, an arrival time or destination with a satisfactory degree of accuracy. Once the voyage was completed and ‘back-profiled’ however, it was easy to determine the location of the destination, fix it into a conventional three dimensional representation of the universe and then assimilate the voyage for future reference. Thus was a multi-dimensional representation of the universe transposed to a comprehensible three dimensional image. The navigation however could never be represented functionally by a ‘course line’ drawn on some chart. The course was simply a complex warp equation that Beverly stored on the Cold Albatross’s memory files and then drew down as she needed it.

During each new initial voyage however, we could just as easily have ended up returning to the Victorians, the dinosaurs or even the ‘Big Bang’ if one of the quantative equations had amounted to a ‘zero solution’.

Strangely it proved very difficult to go forward a long way in time. Beverly admitted her maths didn’t handle it well and the fabric of the future universe seemed to be accessible only if events were soon to happen and virtually inevitable. Beverly confessed that she had never knowingly gone forward more than about six months but even that idea made me shudder just to think about it. She actually admitted that the very idea left her slightly afraid. Space warping without time travel was more than enough for me.

Her blasé confession about ‘her maths not yet being up to solving accurate time travel’, was, to say the least, bizarre! It simultaneously demonstrated her weird genius, whilst somehow still failing to reassure me.

Nevertheless, once mankind (and other alien acquaintances of Beverly,) knew that space warping was a possibility they naturally put much effort into its solution.

Despite their efforts, none of them managed to crack the secret. It was the efforts of an unknown species that led to my next adventures with Beverly.

We were returning back to our own galaxy after a brief visit to her erstwhile friends the Amphs when Beverly detected a distinct ripple in the space-time continuum. At first she thought it was caused perhaps by Cold Albatross having passed too close to (or even through!) an un-charted black hole. This seemed very unlikely though for Beverly had more-or-less charted every galaxy inside the event horizon electronically. Even if she had not visited a galaxy, she could locate it and fix it on her multidimensional charts. This was achieved by sophisticated physics not maths. Beverly had employed a variant of conventional ‘Chaos Theories’ to extrapolate a reasonable approximation to the physics of ‘The Big Bang’. Beverly could then predict where a galaxy was likely to be even if she had never actually been near it. The vast majority of the galaxies remained ‘unvisited’ by Beverly usually because she had detected no obvious signs of life there.

Naturally when she had detected the inexplicable ‘ripple’ she had become curious and interrupted her return journey to investigate the phenomenon.

It was only then that we learned that humankind was under scrutiny from another alien species. Beverly didn’t recognise them and openly admitted to me that she had by no means covered the whole universe in all her vast journeyings.

“I don’t know who they are Rube’,” she warned, “but they’re out there beyond the periphery of our galaxy. They’ve somehow managed to create a crude warping device but it’s even more rudimentary and inaccurate than the Albatross. They’ve got no accurate navigation system and it appears they are re-materialising many hundreds of light years out from our galaxy.
It’s weird. If they materialise inside our galaxy and get too close to Sol they know they will be detected by Mankind and they seem to be avoiding a confrontation.”

“Why would that be?” I asked.

“I dunno. It looks as though they’re gathering their navy together; accumulating enough forces to launch an attack.”

“Are you going to pay them a visit?”

“Not with the kids on board. We’ll return them to Earth then I’ll investigate it myself.”

”What about me?” I protested.

“It could be dangerous. That’s not a picnic they’re organising. They have created some sort of rudimentary ‘portal’ but it has got a very limited capacity. Fortunately for us, it’s huge and easily detectable but clumsy, inaccurate, slow and all importantly, very inefficient. They can only warp small objects. ”

“But why us?” I pressed. “Why mankind. We’re just a minor species living beside a modest yellow dwarf star in a mediocre galaxy.”

Beverly gave me a strange look as she frowned.

“Speak for yourself dummy. If you include me amongst the ranks of mankind, then humanity has got the one thing that every intergalactic megalomaniac seems to want, namely time warp and accurate navigation to utilise it effectively!”

“But that should make them more afraid of us than we of them.” I countered.

“Perhaps, but I think they have been watching us a long time. They probably know about me and realise that I have not shared my warping secrets with the rest of mankind. I’m just not sure what they’re up to. Perhaps I’m being paranoid or conceited.”

”So what d’you intend doing?” I asked.

“I haven’t a clue yet, but I’m not going to be blackmailed into revealing the warp. I still don’t think humankind is ready for it nor most other civilisations for that matter. It seems that the species best equipped to handle the technology properly are the very ones who don’t seem to want it. Like the Amphs for instance.”

“But if you don’t give it to us, how will we defend ourselves against this alien attack? I think you’re letting your childhood abuse experiences run away with your common sense. Your abusers have been named, shamed and punished.”

Beverly slumped uncertainly as her worried gaze turned to study the bland ‘featureless, beige exterior’ that was the universe when ‘viewed’ from inside interstellar warp. She turned to me with doubt invading her thoughts.

“Well I’m still not too sure about humans. I’ll need to make a few reconnaissance visits and find out about these aliens. God knows what they’re up to.”

By now we had arrived at Sol and changed drive to antigrav. As Earth grew in our viewing window we paid our respects to a departing space liner and skirted one of the unimaginably huge ‘freighters’ waiting patiently above the Earth preparatory to delivering a part cargo of rare earth minerals. Finally, we slipped down to our cottage in New England. Even from our cottage, the vast freighter could be seen like some secondary moon as it held a geo-stationary position prior to delivering a fraction of its mineral cargo by tractor beam to some space dock near New York.

Passports and immigration controls had long since been made redundant, as every soul on Earth could find gainful work taming the planets of Sol. All the planets and their moons had been declared international property as per Beverly’s demands and therefore every human had an absolute freeborn right to visit them and or emigrate to them.

Consequently, we had entered Sol’s space and the Earth’s atmosphere with no fanfare or officialdom. Space was absolutely free. It was now only patrolled by a very efficient interplanetary Police Force that ensured justice, fair play and peace.
After depositing the children and me at the cottage, Beverly prepared to depart again.

“I’ll visit all the alien species I deem safe and try and find out if anybody else has been visited by this species.”

“Well you be careful!” I begged. “We can’t afford to lose you!!”

Beverly shrugged and pulled a wry smile.

“My oh my Ruby! How things have changed. Fifty years ago I was trash, vermin, perverted, transvestite rubbish destined for the garbage tip, not even a proper grave. Now I’m saviour of the world. What were those words in that book they kept ramming down my throat? Something about the meek inheriting the earth. I’d never in my wildest childhood imaginings have believed that would ever come true.”

“Yes,” I agreed, “but that’s all in the past. Please let me come with you.”

“You’ll have to look after the kids.”

“Why?” I objected. “They’ve got all the care they’ll ever need.”

Unexpectedly, Beverly paused for a moment then suddenly changed her mind.

“OK then. Come on. This trip shouldn’t be dangerous. Just a quick peek and then on to the Amphs”

The Cold Albatross 2 was nothing if not a second home and it was no problem to simply step into her and go. There was no packing required for everything we needed was always to be found on board. I left some instructions with the children’s nannies and joined Beverly in the control cabin.

“So what changed your mind?” I asked.

“You.” She replied enigmatically.

I quickly grasped her meaning and grinned knowingly. If the journey were to be a long one Beverly would want company, - and sex!
After discreetly establishing what the aliens looked like we next visited the Amphs and checked what they knew. They had nothing material to offer about this new species but they gave us some useful advice about dealing with aliens. The suggestions they offered seemed to have merit and Beverly invited Thlom and his new ‘wife’ to join us on our search.

Since the advent of Beverly’s help the Amphs had painfully started to modify their social structure and Thlom had naturally been a leader in this (for the amphs) strange new development of marriage. Thlom’s new wife was also a biochemist.

I couldn’t immediately see where Beverly’s mind was going but she quickly explained that Thlom was already well versed in interspecies biological techniques and they both thought that this was one important avenue to be explored.

I then realised Beverly’s reasoning. In HG Wells’ book, ‘War of the Worlds’, it was microbes that did for the alien invaders. I pointed out that if this species had been studying us then they would definitely have addressed the viral threat. Beverly grinned sagaciously and tapped her nose. I knew I would have to wait.

We then journeyed to several other planets before we finally got a lead on the unknown species.

In a far away galaxy there was a pair of twin, yellow dwarf stars that formed a loose binary system. Both stars had their own planetary families upon which evolution had been parallely successful. Strangely, because of the elongated elliptical orbits, about every thousand years the extreme outer planet of each system mutually swapped orbits and exchanged stars.

As life evolved in each system their science eventually advanced to interplanetary travel. With the advent of another forthcoming predicted planet exchange each species had anticipated the event and despatched an expedition to witness and if possible, experience the event. Thus both species had inadvertently become interstellar passengers as the planets crossed over.
It seemed that in one system a particularly aggressive insectoid species took slaves just like certain ant colonies back on Earth. It was basic to their instinct but with their evolution over the usual millions of years they had also developed intelligence. They had become a particularly hostile and aggressive dominant species that had turned their slave foraging into a fine interplanetary art.

Then, because the neighbouring stars were extremely close in interstellar terms, the aggressive species had managed to cross to the next planetary system during an exchange.

We discovered this from a second more peaceable insectoid species from the neighbouring star system who had endured their depredations for countless millennia. The two stars were uniquely less than a light year apart and shared the same characteristics. Consequently, their planet types were similar and very stable having never suffered a meteor or comet strike because of the strange and intense gravitational perturbations caused by the binary profile of the stars.

Evolution had followed similar paths around both stars with no violent upheavals thus the earlier insectoid life forms had evolved to intelligence before dinosaurs and mammals had evolved. The primary intelligent life forms had evolved from these ant-like insects.

It seemed that the aggressive ‘slaver ants’ never actually destroyed the slave colonies because they would always need to raid for new slaves. It was the red ants and the black ants again, but on an interplanetary and interstellar scale.
I learned that the ‘slave ant’ colony had recently evolved a genetically enhanced soldier ‘ant’ thanks in part to a brief single previous visit by Beverly. However, Beverly had never actually met the aggressive ‘slaver ants’ because she had arrived and left during a ‘quiet period’. This explained why she had not immediately recognised them back at Sol.

These new genetically enhanced soldiers were in themselves extremely ferocious individuals who proved to be almost as dangerous to their worker sisters as the invading slaver foragers.

Whilst the slave ants had been vegetarian, their new genetically enhanced ‘soldier ant’ big brothers were greedy carnivores who would devour just about anything that moved.

Even their own larvae were not immune to being eaten and the submissive female ‘nurse ants’ were utterly incapable of defending the nurseries from their hungry soldier brothers. Only the queen ant and her princess daughters seemed able to control her giant wayward sons by their powerful and hypnotic pheromones.

Despite this minor genetic hiccup, the victim slave colonies were still infinitely thankful to Beverly for her previous visit and her help in developing an effective defence force. The down side was that now the original ‘slaver ants’ were forced to look elsewhere for their slaves.

Their previous experience with short interstellar journeys between the two close neighbouring stars had taught them a little about gravity and space thus preparing them for space warping. Eventually they managed to evolve a crude technique.
With the advent of their discoveries they eventually detected Beverly’s warping activities as Cold Albatross left telltale ‘tracks’ streaking through the space-time continuum.

Eventually after some patient detective work, the aggressive ‘slaver ants’ had narrowed the origins of Cold Albatross down to the planets of Sol. Armed with this information and their crude, clumsy, slow, warping technology they had finally started turning up piece-meal on Sol’s doorstep.

We now had a lever on the invaders and a basic understanding of the enemy. The ‘slave ants’ even offered to ally themselves with us but frankly, we all four were slightly afraid of the new super soldier ants. Unlike their brothers and sisters, they weren’t very bright and Thlom likened them to Hannibal’s African Elephants in the Punic wars with the Romans. They were OK until they ran amok and killed their own troops. Then they had to be killed by a spike through the brain driven into the backs of their skulls by their mahouts. The mahouts nearly always ended up dead as well.

There had to be another way.

For several weeks we worked alongside the peaceful slave ants best scientists to research some options. Sadly for us, (though not for them,) their insectoid nature made them almost impervious to all but a few extremely virulent and dangerous viruses. It seemed that we would have to look for another solution.

Fortunately, the slave ants had a few slaver ants held prisoner in a compound since they had been captured in the last unsuccessful foray. This was the final attack that had been driven off and caused the slaver ants to look elsewhere for slaves.

These prisoners provided Thlom and his wife with an excellent gene pool to work their research and they gathered enough information to develop some plausible hypothesis.

As we resumed our journeying we visited several more species then finally returned to Sol after nearly a year of travelling with me little the wiser and no less hopeful.

Fortunately Cold Albatross was not immediately detectable to the ‘Slaver Ant’s’ crude devices. They could only just detect the remains of the Albatross’s warp ripple long after Albatross had passed. They knew somebody or something had passed by but they did not immediately know when or where or what direction they had to work that out be extrapolations. We successfully reconnoitred their efforts without immediate detection and were long gone by the time the ants could react.

We thus learned that their invasion preparations were well advanced and Beverly realised she had little time.

I was returned to our cottage and deposited without ceremony amongst our children, whilst the other three returned back to space. I had to admit I was glad to be with my children again and they were more than glad to see me.

For several weeks I heard little from Beverly and Thlom until reports began to filter back to Earth from the space ship captains returning with their ships.

It seemed that some sort of faint eerie glow was developing somewhere beyond the orbit of Pluto.

Eventually their reports were made self-evident for a thin line of light started to appear in the Milk Way. As it gathered intensity with each passing night an investigation task force was despatched to investigate it.

They returned a very chastened lot. It seemed that about a light year beyond Pluto’s orbit a strange force field had evolved. When the task force’s ships had penetrated it, a strange envelope of energy had overwhelmed them and when they recovered they discovered that they were all women.

Fortunately the sex changes that had affected the men so completely also affected their sexuality so that most of the individuals felt happy with their new bodies and newfound sexual orientations. The only ones who had issues tended to be fathers who had families back on earth. Nevertheless, for mankind, the discovery came as a severe shock. It seemed that nobody could leave the Solar system without first becoming a woman or being a woman to begin with.

I immediately began to smell a rat but I had to wait several more weeks before the whole truth came to light.

Beverly, her Amph friends and some other species had called a council amongst those species who had signed up to a sort of Galactic Federation. The Sol collective was not yet signatory to the federation’s manifesto and charter because Beverly was still not certain about her own species; such was the extent of the childhood damage to her psyche. If a species could not travel 'interstallar' then it was pointless trying to join the Galactic federation.

With the help of these other advanced alien friends the council had finally arrived at a perfect solution to the threat from the Insectoids. When Beverly explained it to me I was filled with admiration.

Once again as we cuddled up in bed, she explained.

“When we left you Ruby, we visited many other species to accumulate ideas and science. Then we had a sort of communal brainwave. We tested it on some of the prisoners from the ‘slave ant’ planet and it worked perfectly.
After that, it was only a matter of expanding the idea to make a complete force field that would envelope a whole star and its planetary system.

The force field is a mild particle dissipater that creates a nanometric miniature change to particulate structures in the cells of living tissue. The ensuing opposite polarities evolve to rearrange the traveller’s molecules.
We scanned body profiles of all the pertinent species we knew about and adjusted the force field to include a series of tight concentric waves where each individual wave would affect a specific species.

The field generators are located inside the envelope so that they are safe from direct attack. Any extraterrestrial visitor passing through the field would be changed into the gender or type of that particular species that is the least belligerent or aggressive.”

I was beginning to get the drift of her tale and giggled to myself as I anticipated her next words and squeezed her to me.

“That’s right Ruby,” continued Beverly as she anticipated my understanding. “For example, the ‘slaver ants’ gathering outside our system are all ‘soldier ants’ with a primarily male gender. Although they are in effect sterile males, they are still aggressive and powerful.

The slaver ants also have sterile females that are particularly submissive and obedient nurse ants that care for the larvae and clean out the colonies. There are also worker ants that are virtually sexless but started out as female eggs. So in effect Ruby these insectoids have five different genders!”

I smiled a nervous smile as Beverly expanded her description of the colonies.

“There are the queen ants, usually a queen and few virgin daughter princesses in each colony who are cared for by the nurse and worker ants. The queen produces eggs whilst the princesses live a life of idle pampered luxury.
There are the male ants that usually number one to a colony. Call them Kings if you will for their only function is to service the queen.

Next there are the sterile female nurse ants that care for the larvae and young. These are a particularly submissive and not very bright group who seem to have a nursing fixation like contented cows. Then there are the sexless worker ants that do all the mundane work and direct the captured slave ants to maintain the colonies. Finally, there are the soldier ants who are sterile males that do the foraging and warmongering. These are the aggressive bastards who are sitting out beyond Pluto gathering their forces. They want human slaves but more importantly, they want the Albatross’s warp secrets. They don’t care if all humans end up dead cos apparently they’re not very good slave material; all they want is the warp technology!

Now if a soldier ant is a particularly successful general, a princess will show interest in him and her pheromones will turn him into a fertile king ant. She leaves the colony with him amidst much hoo-ha and ceremony to form a daughter colony. Nowadays, these colonies are to be found on other planets where the original communities have been exterminated or enslaved. In Sol’s case, the plan is to exterminate us because humans are weak fleshy creatures with poor endurance by intergalactic standards.”

“This is all very interesting Beverly, but how does this affect our chances of defeating them?” I asked.

“Think darling,” smiled Beverly as she snuggled up to me, “when those soldier ants pass through the envelope they will be turned from sterile males into sterile females. That is from Soldier ants into nurse ants.

Not one of those sterile soldiers is a fertile male, a king ant, so none of the invaders will be turned into queens.
What will arrive in our system will be an army of submissive, sterile, obedient nursing female ants tailor-made to become nannies and child minders. D’you follow?”

I smiled nervously anticipating how humankind would react to finding themselves endowed with an alien species of childminder tailor-made to liberate our women. Then I wondered about our own men ever leaving the Solar System and mentioned my concerns. Beverly had already addressed that issue and grinned as she explained.

“Well firstly Rube, I don’t anticipate anybody leaving the system on a regular basis for many decades yet but if they do, then there will be a series of simple, properly controlled portal gateways at strategic positions throughout the envelope placed as and where they are required.

Cold Albatross isn’t affected of course. She already circumvents the envelope by warping before she reaches it. She’s already out of the envelope’s space-time continuum before she’s affected. That’s why the envelope is over a light years distance from Pluto. It gives Cold Albatross time and distance to bend her pertinent environ.”

I nodded ignorantly for I would never understand how the Albatross warped. I also wondered how any such alternative ‘gateway’ through the envelope could be described as ‘simple’. I glanced bemusedly at Thlom who wagged his head apologetically and shrugged his slender amphibian shoulders. It was a strange gesture that he had learned from Beverly and I grinned at its exaggerated motion as his shoulders moved at least a foot up and down. Amphs had no scapulars and their pectoral girdle was remarkably flexible.

Another thought crossed my mind.

“So what about those poor souls who were changed to women?”

“No problem,” shrugged Beverly, “we’re building a reciprocal force field generator that can reverse the condition. It’ll be here in few weeks.”

“So who built that?” I demanded almost anticipating the answer.

“Same people who helped design the envelope. It’s going to become part of a standard protective device for each star system where there’s life to protect from alien invasions.”

I imagined Beverly whizzing between galaxies making connections and swapping information. It was obvious that neither she nor Thlom were going to divulge any more information so I would have to wait until the ‘gender correction device’ arrived from wherever it was coming.

As to the sexually altered crew of the expeditionary force I was lucky enough to visit them and sound them out. Strangely several of the single crewmembers confessed to being quite happy in their new roles and had no intentions of changing back. Most married members however wanted to return to their spouses except for a tiny few who were happy with the new marital situations. Gay marriages were now fully legal of course.

Gender differentiations were becoming even more blurred as mankind learned of other alien species even if they hadn’t met them.
When mankind finally met the insectoids (as they were now certain to do,) there would be a quantum shift in mankind’s perspective of sexualities and genders.

Beverly told of at least one alien species where there were eight organisms that combined to make a whole individual.

Reproduction was a bizarre process involving sixteen separate acts of fertilisation before a sentient intelligent individual was conceived. We giggled as we tried to accord the concept of gender to such a complex individual. Even Thlom was bemused by the description.

The nearest earthly life form Beverly could compare to it was the Portuguese ‘Man of war’ jellyfish and that only comprised four different organisms.

With examples like that, mankind was certainly going to have to revise its ideas of sex, sexuality and gender. That night my juices flowed perversely as I tried to wrap my mind around the concept of sixteen different sex acts before hitting the bulls-eye. The other fantasy that wet my appetite (and other parts,) was of course the new ‘gender correction’ device, but more of that in another tale.

Suffice to say that when the brutal, aggressive, insectoid soldiers did invade, they had a delightful shock as they passed unwittingly through the force field and arrived in the solar system as bemused, submissive, obedient, affectionate and caring nurses.

Beverly could be quite delightful in her perversity.

A chapter where Beverly's life moves on after the universe is offered, (and accepts) space warping and time warping.
This chapter starts to address the family issues of inheritance and sibling rivalry for control of the firm.

 

Spacetran 12

List of our children.

Wendy, William’s twin, our first-born twins

Jessica and Charlotte, Ben’ sisters, our second born triplets.

Dave and Eddie , Sherriff Jack Johnson’s boys.

Linda and Sandra, Sherriff Jack Johnson’s daughters.

In the years that followed Beverly and the Intergalactic Federation’s successful defence of the Sol Commonwealth against the insectoids, the citizens of Mars, Earth and Venus realised that they would slowly have to evolve their natures and behaviours to become acceptable to the intergalactic federation. They learned a lot from Beverly’s old friends the amphs about making major changes to their natures, mores and social habits but the changes were slow and there were many pockets of resistance to change.

The main engine of those changes was access to the solar-system’s vast resources whilst educating all humans that, despite appearances, those seemingly inexhaustible minerals were still actually finite. Mankind could not go on forever growing and grabbing as though the whole dammed universe was theirs for the taking.

This perspective had evolved mainly from the monotheist creeds that portrayed man as ‘lord of creation’ to do with that creation as he wanted. That monotheism in almost every hue had degenerated into a monetarist greed that had precipitated the ‘resource wars’
that had once almost brought Earth’s human population to the brink of extinction.

The advent of contact with other worlds and other civilisations, many much more advanced than man, had stopped that monotheist conceit dead in its tracks. The only saving grace for mankind had been the enigma of the most advanced of all intergalactic technologies, namely time warp and space warp, having been formulated and developed by one of humankind’s own, namely Beverly.
But to mankind’s dismay, that one, sad, dysfunctional human soul had disassociated herself from her own roots. The very means whereby intergalactic civilizations could meet with precision and have intercourse by arrangement was ironically, the same means whereby the original progenitor had kept herself out of reach of her own kind.

Beverly still kept that little bit of technological ‘extra’ up her scientific sleeve to always be able
to stay one step ahead of any hopeful inquisitors looking to acquire those last warp navigational secrets that would enable them to garnish a technological and therefore military advantage.

In short there was always some megalomaniac hoping to become ‘Ruler of the Universe’.

Beverly had by now perfected a very accurate ‘warp navigation’, based upon some even more incredible maths that finally addressed the uncertainties she had encountered in her earlier wanderings. She was apparently the only sentient in the universe able to go where she wanted, when she wanted and how she wanted without let or hindrance. No-one else had demonstrated that ability amongst the dozens of civilisations who were now signatories to the Intergalactic Federation. No others could ever be certain of the precise navigation and times surrounding their warping adventures.

Beverly however, could now warp from one planet directly to another planet in one accurate step between stars and galaxies. All others were lucky to just to make the destination galaxy then they had to ‘dog-leg’ the interstellar section between stars. These ‘dog-legs’ could consume valuable time if one civilisation was seeking to attack another, though now that these civilisations were ‘in communication’ the ‘jaw-jaw’ scenario was superseding ‘war-war’

This accurate ‘warp navigation’ gave Cold Albatross 2 the edge. Yes, even after a lifetime of warping Bev still used Cold Albatross 2. The technology had never been surpassed. Thus were my and Beverly’s lives made happy and easy. We could come and go to any of our many homes spread out across the universe. Nevertheless I still had a soft spot for my old New England ‘cottage’ and because Beverly still had an even softer spot for me, we still tended to think of this cottage as ‘home — home. And a very well protected home at that.

It was a warm late spring afternoon in New England and Beverly was stretched out asleep on our long porch swing with her head on my lap while I just sat taking in the warm sunshine and reading a romantic novel, (though in truth my own life story with Beverly had been a virtual romantic novel). We were idly watching our earthly brood playing in the orchard of my ancestral cottage. Unusually the children were fairly quiet. Our three girls were picking blossom off the trees and making floral tiaras while the boys were doing juvenile gymnastics on the long swing that we had attached to one of the highest branches of the tallest pear tree. As Beverly and I dozed there was a sudden commotion and I lazily lifted one eye from my book to determine the cause. Unusually the boys had started arguing. This was strange in itself for Ben the younger boy was totally besotted by his older brother. Wearily I asked them to play quietly because they were disturbing the peace and calm of the afternoon and their father was tired.

“But he kissed me!” William protested loudly, - loud enough to wake Beverly.

Beverly opened one sleepy eye and grinned at me.

“Well that’s a bit different from ‘He hit me’. Tell him to kiss him back.”

I grinned at Beverly’s weird sense of humour.

“It doesn’t work like that Bev, well not usually; not with boys.”

“Beverly grinned and gave me a ‘cock eyed’ look. I had to stop and remember she had once been ‘a boy’; indeed she was still ‘technically’ a boy, - and a father! Then she added with the womanly wisdom endowed to her later years.

“I think it might for Ben. Haven’t you noticed how besotted he is with his older brother”

I looked hard at Beverly and frowned.

"Are you trying to tell me something?”

“Well he’s very attached to his older brother.”

“That’s just hero worship.” I blustered as the seed of doubt took root.

“You think kissing is hero worship; - between brothers?”

I was about to tell Ben to desist because his older brother didn’t like it when Beverly interrupted and called to our younger son.

“Ben, darling; - if you want to kiss anybody, kiss your sisters or kiss your mother or even kiss me.” I don’t think Billy likes it.” Beverly had used her own affectionate, private nick-name for William.

“You’re too right I don’t dad. Tell him to stoppit. It’s sissyish!” William declared.

Beverly sat up with a sigh and grinned again at me then at Ben who was already approaching with tears in his eyes. She held out her arms and he flung himself into them.

“Billy’s horrible.” He cried.

“Not really darling. Some boys don’t like kissing other boys. They only like kissing girls.” Beverly explained as she caught my eye while hugging Ben to her and looking over his shoulder. Then Ben dropped the bombshell that Beverly and I had been anticipating, ever since all the children had been born.

“But you kiss boys daddy.”

“Yes darling,” Beverly replied, “but only you, Billy and Grandpa George, that’s your mummy’s dad.”

“So it’s okay for boys to kiss.”

“Only if they both like it and agree to it darling.”

“So why doesn’t Billy like it? Why doesn’t he like kissing me?”

“Because he doesn’t darling. Some boys don’t like kissing other boys, even their younger brothers.”

“Why?” Ben persisted.

“Because he just doesn’t darling. Why don’t you like pomegranates when everybody else does?” Why is your sister Wendy the only one who doesn’t like marmalade when the rest of us do?

Ben couldn’t answer this and he finally realised that different people had different tastes. Reluctantly he separated from Beverly’s embrace and trudged across the yard to the orchard gate where the girls were making fruit blossom tiaras. We watched him beg to join them and relaxed when Wendy agreed to allow him. He was immediately given the task of picking the deepest pink apple blossoms whilst Charlotte continued picking the pure white pear blossoms and Jessica picked the creamy apple blossoms from the different breeds of apple tree. Soon Ben was giggling and squealing with our daughters as Billy sidled up to us on the porch.
“He’s turning into a girl mum. Just look at him playing with our sisters.”

Beverly caught Billy’s gaze and gently admonished him as she offered him a hug.

“Well maybe he’s like me darling. I’m a girl but I’m still your father.”

Ben shrugged and turned to me again.

“Can I go and play with David and Eddie?”

“It’s a bit late in the day now darling, besides Sherriff Johnson’s family were going to their maternal grandparents. They’ll not be back until tonight.”

William sighed and separated from his father’s affectionate embrace.

“I dunno what’s got into Ben. He embarrasses me, even at school.”

This was the first that Bev and I had heard of any issues at school. We had decided to send our kids to the local elementary school in the village. Beverly felt it was important that kids grew up ‘belonging to their local community’ so our three daughters and two sons travelled the daily ‘school bus’ to school with neighbouring kids from other outlying farms. Sherriff Johnson also lived out next to our place and had had become a good neighbour. Our sons and daughters played together. They were the only kids for several farms spread out over a couple of miles. Beverly gave me a concerned look as Billy mentioned the issues at school. I dug a little deeper.

“So what’s Ben been doing at school?”

“He’s not been doing anything really, it’s just, well; he plays more with the girls now than the boys. Ask Wendy and Charlotte.”

We both took Billy’s word for it. Our kids weren’t much into ‘sibling rivalry’ at that age, particularly when it came to telling the truth about themselves. Besides the five of them, they also had twenty much older half siblings who regularly visited from the planet Amphia. This very real ‘blood connection’ with alien siblings from a far-away planet had done lots to make our own kids compassionate and tolerant. In the local school they had long ago learned to handle the legitimate curiosity of the other children concerning all aspects of their unusual lives. For example while other kids from schools all over Earth enjoyed educational trips to Mars and Venus, our children often took trips to far away galaxies and regularly ‘week-ended’ once a month on the planet Amphia to visit their half siblings. Sherriff Johnson’s children often accompanied them just to enjoy the experience. Our two families enjoyed a close and warm friendship. David and Eddie were firm friends of Ben and Billy and the four formed a tight union that deterred unwelcome abuse.

The four went everywhere together and several other ‘geeks’ also had cause to be thankful for their tolerance. We knew this because the teachers reassured us and whenever we had a birthday party, it seemed the whole school wanted to come. If our kids were popular then we felt they probably weren’t bullies at school.

Ben’s preference for playing with the girls however could easily invite abuse from the less tolerant children in the school.
Yes, despite all that Beverly had done to advance the cause of transgenderism, there were still people who remained bigoted and intolerant, and what’s more, raised bigoted and intolerant children. I made a note to contact the school on the Monday morning. It was no good expecting Beverly to address any gender issues at the school, she still had issues of her own and was liable to ‘fly off the handle’ if anybody showed the slightest sign of transphobia. The trouble was that with her immense wealth and institutional muscle, Beverly had the wherewithal to ‘back up’ her threats and if she lost it during such a transphobic confrontation, there was no knowing what might happen. It was best for me to handle any homophobic or transphobic stuff in our children’s lives.

My reflections were disturbed by a ‘nurse ant’ reporting that tea was ready so we gathered around the table on the porch and the conversation soon became animated as we discussed Ben’s issues. I was proud that our children could deal with such stuff without recourse to criticism or censure but I was even happier to see the smile of relief, (or was it satisfaction?) on Beverly’s face as Ben sat beside his ‘father’ and proudly showed her the Tiara he had made. Later that evening Ben came down for a goodnight kiss whilst wearing one of Jennifer’s old frocks. Beverly and I could see there were issues ahead. Not issues in our family I must hasten to add but probably issues in the school and in the small town. I sighed as I concluded that I would have to pay a visit to Sheriff Johnson in the morning just to explain the situation. The sheriff was well genned up on transgenderism after having had Beverly as his neighbour for several years.

Thus it was that another transgendered individual came to our family. I must admit, I was mildly and pleasantly surprised to find that there weren’t too many serious issues in the school or the town. Beverly’s status was known word-wide so the town and the school were relatively fore-armed about the new situation with Ben. The only worry I had was wondering if somehow, Beverly’s brand of transgenderism might be hereditary.

Once the issues were sorted we settled back to more years of contentment with now four ‘girls’ and only one son. Billy took to spending more time over at Sherriff Johnsons place to play with Dave and Eddie.

“I’m outnumbered at home now mum, I can’t even get to the bathroom in the morning.”

Beverly and I decided that we’d have to add a small extension to my beloved cottage just to enable Billy to stay clean now that his new ‘sister’ Bennie had commandeered what had once been their shared bathroom. Girls spent so much more time pampering their bodies and each one of our other daughters had their own separate bathroom, Bennie was deemed no different.
Billy was really pleased when he got a new bedroom in its own separate wing and he was overjoyed when he saw the new shaving socket over his own sink. He hadn’t started shaving yet but it was a real sign that the new bathroom was his and his alone. Beverly of course, didn’t shave.

As the years rolled by our children grew. Beverly and I watched them leave home and go to college. Then, naturally as far as I was concerned, they took work in our family business. It was then that the first rumblings of inter-sibling strife emerged. Beverly and I could have kicked ourselves for not having noticed it earlier and it left us distraught that our own children could not see their way to sharing equally the vast wealth that our family business had accrued.

By this time Beverly was becoming tired of running the whole ‘Taff Spaceships’ family business single handed. The children were approaching their later twenties and I could sense the tensions whenever a board meeting was called and this happened normally on the second Monday of every month. Beverly, ever the dysfunctional misfit, totally failed to pick up on the subtle signals that the children seemed to put out as they secretly jockeyed for position; I however started to notice them. The kids would somehow appear at the family cottage often with their long term partners or latest companion and somehow, during the weekend before the board meetings the house seemed to be filled with our kids. The atmosphere noticeably cooled especially if Bev was away and the kids were unable to work their various magics on their ‘dad’. Then, if and when Beverly arrived home, the children would all be vying for her attention. After one particularly exhausting trip Beverly actually snapped at her children and retreated to the bedroom. The children decided to go into town. Wendy phoned Linda Johnson and arranged a shopping trip.

With the house now empty, I seized the opportunity to describe what I was seeing as we snuggled up on our favourite place, the wide double porch swing. At first Beverly ‘poo-hooed’ the idea but slowly she came around to my point of view. I explained.

“You’re going to have to decide who’s going to follow in your shoes. You can’t live forever especially now that you’re spending more time on earth in a normal ‘space-time continuum’.”

Beverly sighed.

“I suppose I’ve been half expecting something like this ever since the kids were born. The trouble is which kid to be chief executive when I hand over the reins? Can’t you do it?”

“What! Me? I’ve got enough to do running the prosthesis business. Besides, I’m not getting any younger either.”

Beverly frowned.

“Well who do you think should run it?”

“If you distribute equal shares between each of them, that’s twenty percent per child. Let them each sit around the table and sort it out themselves.”

Beverly frowned again. She was never good at people stuff which was hardly surprising considering her own childhood.

“I suppose I could invite them each to the board and offer them ten percent each then you and I hold the other fifty.”

“That would be the simple way but would they be happy with that?”

“It’s not their happiness I’m worried about, it’s finding out who best I can trust with the last secrets, the secrets that keep the business in our hands and away from ‘the suits’, the navigation stuff.”

“Can’t you let each of them in on the secret?”

“It’s not a secret then is it. One of them is bound to succumb to temptation. Everybody has their price. I know for a fact that Billy thinks the chairmanship is his by rights, primo geniture and all that crap.”

“How d’you know?”

“I overheard him discussing it with Wendy.”

“And what was her reaction.”

“As you’d expect, - outright rejection.”

I thought long and hard then asked Beverly.

“These navigation secrets, I know the maths is up there in the stratosphere but could anybody else ever work it all out, you know, solve the final equations?”

Beverly shrugged.

“I dunno’ I suppose one day, somebody with a better brain than mine.”

“It’ll be a cold day in hell then before that kid is born.”

“Not necessarily, there’s billions of kids being born to millions civilizations on habited planets all over the universe and a lot have got access to my cruder secrets. It’s bound to happen someday.”

“So it could happen anywhere, anytime.”

Beverly slumped in her chair, disappointment writ large over her face. I’d never seen her show disappointment over our kids before but I think this new sibling rivalry for the control of the family firm after their dad’s passing had left Beverly distracted and vulnerable. She turned to me.

“Well I’d hoped that one of our kids might have inherited the maths gift but seemingly not; don’t get me wrong’ they’re bright kids but, -.”

“Yes and they all have issues with that. All the kids feel a little guilty that they haven’t got your maths genius, you know, it’s the famous father syndrome. They’re as worried as you about the navigation secrets”

“Yeah. I suppose I could wait until a grandchild arrives, maybe the gift skips a generation.”

“You’re not getting any younger Bev.”

“Don’t remind me. In earth years I’m nearly a hundred but with all the time warping and stuff I’m physically only fifty or thereabouts; leastwise that’s what the quack told me at my last medical.”

“So you can wait a bit longer. Wendy looks like thinking this new guy is Mr Right. He passed the main check namely the anonymity thing. Wendy kept her identity a secret until he declared his undying love for her. He doesn’t appear to be a fortune hunter, the guy’s done fairly well for himself and the poor kid went on to describe his prospects to her after proposing. Wendy said it was sweet. She and I used your information network to check him out. It all rings true, she knows how worried you are about ‘gold-diggers’ but this poor guy had genuinely made his own way and built up his manufacturing business all on his lonesome. By his own modest origins, he has done very well for himself. After proposing to her he asked to see her father to explain his prospects and all the old fashioned ‘hand in marriage’ stuff.”

“Don’t knock modest origins Ruby. Mine were as ‘modest’ as they can get. If the guy has done it all by himself, he’s a guy I can respect no matter how ‘modest’ as you put it. I’d like to meet him, does he know about Wendy?”

“He does now, yes, after he proposed, she brought him home while you were off gallivanting on one of your interminable jaunts.
He’s met me and that shocked him, there’s no hiding my identity what with my pictures being in all the papers almost bloody weekly. I can only thank God that Wendy has always been the camera shy one. She’s like you in that respect; few people have seen you to recognise you. There are virtually no public pictures of Wendy since high school. Thank god it wasn’t Charlotte or Jessica they’re both stunningly beautiful and never out of the prurient ‘bimbo press’.”

“Wendy’s just as pretty as them.” Beverly observed.

“Well I’m sure she’d be delighted to hear you say that. But she was always the hard working one, well, her and William; though it’s hard for William to stay out of the limelight being such an eligible bachelor. He’s just so weary of bimbos throwing themselves at him. It’s hard for our kids darling, d’you know even Bennie has girls coming on to her and she’s virtually living cross-dressed, - and yes I know she’s bisexual and the gutter press are always making news of that. Bennie’s just so lucky she’s got you for a dad and the fact that because you live cross-dressed, people don’t actually know what you look like. Makeup is a wonderful camouflage.”

“So what’s with this new boyfriend of Wendy’s then?”

“Really Beverly! She’s been going out with him for nearly three months. You’ve been very remiss as a father since the children left home. Even William knows about him. William’s also checked him out. He’s spotted him at the New York round table meetings doing the networking stuff.”

“Uugh, networking, it’s a load of parasites feeding off each other’s insecurities.” Beverly Declared.

“You may see it like that darling but for the average guy, struggling to make it, it’s a very necessary evil. He’s terrified of meeting you, what with your power, your wealth and your transgenderism. Wendy was going to chat to you about it this weekend.”

“What’s he like?”

“He’s a nice kid. He was terribly embarrassed when he learned who Wendy was, especially after he’d already proposed. He offered to drop it but Wendy really likes him. He’d always felt particularly proud that he’d done his thing all by dint of his own efforts and without a university education. Jenny said it was a bit embarrassing the way he went on about ‘making his own way’. His single mum couldn’t afford to send him to college apparently so he had to leave school at sixteen and make his own way.”

“Well I won’t condemn him for not having gone to college, neither did I. We seem to have more in common than he’s prepared to concede. The only difference seems to be the size and scale of our relative successes. I’d like to meet him.”

“Well speak to Wendy first. She’s down with Linda Johnson in the town at the moment; they’re organising Sandra Johnson’s birthday.”

“Oh! Another party, that’ll be fun then?”

“Yes, those Johnson daughters are the only girls that Wendy and the twins feels they can trust. They’ve been friends since way back in kindergarten. Linda’s mum is with them and their dad Sherriff Johnson’s running them back later in his own pul. In fact talk of the devil; here they are now coming over the orchard.”

Beverly grinned, “I hate that name for them, who the hell invented it?”

“What, - ‘pul’? It just grew Beverly, where’ve you been these last twenty years? I suppose some lawyers were looking for some short of shorthand and the name just grew. Lawyers are always trying to impress themselves with new words and stuff; they're a conceited lot. Anyway, you can’t change it now darling, you gave the things to the universe but mankind invented the name, at least for our solar system.

Jack Johnson’s pul slowly descended onto our landing pad between Cold Albatross 2 and my own pul. (Pulsed utility levitator.) Jack and his family were some of the few people who had carte-blanche landing rights on our ring fenced landing pad. A pul was the latter-day equivalent of the old-fashioned cars. Cars had died a death almost overnight as antigrav became universally available and cheap.

A pul was usually about the size of the old ‘transit’ vans with commensurate carrying capacity. Nearly all families on Earth, Mars and Venus had one for they were as essential as air to a family’s wellbeing. Younger, single people had all sorts of transport solutions based on antigrav. The main benefits had been the removal of the necessity for roads and the end of hydrocarbon fuel. Most people felt Earth was a better place for that. Our fortune had been largely built on the universality of puls. As Jack Johnson’s pul hummed softly to a landing Beverly stepped off the porch to greet them. She and Jack went inside while I helped carry the girl’s shopping inside. They were hiding the stuff from Sandra at our house as a surprise. As we hid the stuff Wendy approached me about her dad.

“Is she in a good mood?”

“Now we’ve had a chat and a snooze, - yes. She’s in the library chatting to Jack.”

“I want to talk to her about Raymond.”

“Yeah, it’s about time. You’ve been going out together for months and your dad’s never met him.”

“Well Ray’s a bit shy. Ever since learning who my dad is he’s been on tenterhooks. He’s terrified that he’ll make some stupid and huge mistake like refer to dad by the wrong gender pronoun or something.”

“Tell him everybody in the family refers to dad as she or her.”

“Yeah, you and I know that as do all the others but poor Ray comes from Harlem. We all know it’s much wealthier now since dad brought prosperity to the Solar system but Ray was reared in a very rough, macho neighbourhood. Brothers are brothers and the bitches had better know that.”

“There’s no need to use language like that. It’s offensive to women and you know that perfectly well.”

“That’s as may be mom but it’s the way it was down in Harlem. Remember this ‘prosperity for all’, thing has only come about in the last ten or twenty years or so. Ray was born in the bad times, he still doesn’t know who his dad was and he was nearly ten before our dad changed things for the blacks and Hispanics. He’s one of the very few of his generation who stayed clear of all the shit whilst not going to college or playing at sport; - avoiding the gangs and drugs and stuff.”

“Good for him then dad will respect him even more. Now when are you bringing Ray out from New York to meet her? Your father’s not a monster! She’s beginning to suspect Ray’s a figment of your imagination.”

“That’s what I want to speak to dad about.”

“Well go on in, you don’t have to stand on ceremony with your own father. You never have before, go on.”

Wendy took a deep breath and knocked gently before stepping into the library. She glanced at Sherriff Johnson who quickly realised Wendy wanted a private word with her dad. The sheriff made his excuses and joined me in the kitchen. Beverly patted the seat beside her on the sofa and Wendy eagerly took the offer whilst giving her dad a peck on the cheek. Wendy was a bit tongue tied so Beverly opened the conversation.

“Is this about your boyfriend Ray?”

“Yes. He wants to come and see you.”

“I’ve gathered that, your mum’s told me about him.”

“You know he’s um Black don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

Beverly stared long and hard at her daughter wagging her head partly through disappointment.

“Have you learned anything from me? In all the years you’ve been growing up have you not learned anything?”

“Well I know you’re transgendered.”

“So you don’t think I know a thing about prejudice then?”

“Well, yes, but you’ve got it made.”

“And how d’you think I got to making it? D’you know; I’m hurt that you even had questions about my feelings towards his race. Your own half sisters and brothers are from another planet for God’s Sake! They are my children and your mother’s and they are only half human!

“Yes, but, - but you didn’t, you know, have sex with them, nor did mom.”

“But they’re still our kids aren’t they, half amphibian, half human but they’re still our kids! So why would I worry if my first grandchild on this planet is half black, - can you be ‘half black’? - Or is it half white? Bloody hell Wendy you’ve shocked me and hurt me. My own child does not even know what I felt while suffering years of prejudice, - and abuse I might add.”

I had to confess that I had been listening at the keyhole and I felt it was imperative to intervene before Wendy dug herself into a deeper hole.

Tears started to flow and I heard my Beloved husband starting to cry. I quickly intervened as Wendy sat there stunned, uncomprehending and yet ashamed.

“You’d better get a cup of tea for her. What did you say to her?”

“I only felt I’d better warn her that Ray’s black.”

“Oh, Wendy, Wendy, Wendy! Did you really think that would have mattered?”

“I didn’t know. It’s different for us kids. It’s not like we’ve ever suffered what dad’s suffered. I just wasn’t sure and I wanted to make sure!”

I wagged my head and hugged my daughter to my breast; the poor kid just couldn’t and wouldn’t ever understand. Beverly looked at us and dabbed her eyes before smiling wanly then offering her arms to her daughter. Wendy just collapsed into her father’s arms and the pair fell to wailing as I concluded that I would have to make the tea. It seemed a mother’s work is never done.

Ray appeared that same evening nervously carrying two bouquets of flowers and two huge boxes of chocolates. Wendy had obviously forewarned him. William opened the door to him and smiled to reassure him as he led Ray into of all places, the kitchen, cos that’s where we were gathered sharing several pizzas that Sherriff Johnson had ordered. Poor Ray looked a bit flustered to see a tall man with a uniform and pistol in his belt sat at the kitchen table sharing the pizza with two families. Wendy grinned as she sensed Ray’s uncertainty; he was a bit un-nerved to be expected to ask for her hand in front of so many people. I decided to take a hand and ordered Ray and Beverly into the library. I could see the gratitude in Ray’s eyes to be offered the privacy. For a moment he paused uncertainly as he debated what to do with the flowers and chocolates. Bennie relieved him of his embarrassment and took them off him with a promise to sort it out. Beverly closed the library door behind them as Ray cast about nervously.

“Take a seat. The fireside chair is as good as any. Sorry there’s no fire. If it was winter, there would be a roaring fire in that grate.”

Grateful for Beverly having broken the ice, Ray calmed down and settled a bit more confidently into the chair. Beverly sat back demurely on the sofa opposite Ray and made a point of arranging her soft chiffon skirt modestly. It was a very feminine movement that sent a loud message to Ray. He was in the presence of a lady despite that lady being Wendy’s dad! Again Beverly opened up the conversation.

“Well Ray, my daughter’s told me all about you. You and I have many things in common; - like only ever knowing one of our parents, bad times as a kid, facing prejudice and danger albeit different sorts of dangers; never going to college, making it on our own despite all the shit in our respective lives; - d’you want me to go on?”

“No sir, sorryee! I mean ma-am.”

“If you marry my daughter, you can call me dad or daddy but as you can see I live and present as a woman.”

“And a very pretty lady if might be so bold ma-am.”

“Well thank you. You know the way to a girl’s heart. I can see why Wendy is besotted with you.”

“And me with her ma-am. Am I to take it then you have no objections?”

“No objections at all, nor reservations save one. If you ever hurt her you’ll have me to answer to and I don’t have to tell you how powerful I am. That’s legitimate power not some criminal bluster or Mafiosi threat. Just don’t ever hurt her! If you marry her it’s til' death you do part!”

“No ma-am. I love her too much for that and if I might say, please, I didn’t know who Wendy's family was before I proposed to her.”

“I know that, my son William checked you out and confirms he overheard you telling your friends in the New York round table club that you never knew until after. Besides, I’ve had you checked out. I apologise for doing that but Wendy is an extremely rich and powerful woman, she shares joint vice-chairmanship with her brother, my son William. In affairs of the heart we women can be very vulnerable. I’ve been lucky, my wife, Wendy’s mum Ruby, has been a very real support to me. Just make sure you support Wendy!”

“Yes ma-am.”

“Thank you, I’m glad to see you’ve got the pronoun right but it’s easier if you call me dad or daddy. All my children do, it saves confusion with their mum Ruby when we are gathered together as we are tonight. I’m going to say that I’m giving your marriage to my daughter my blessing and that’s a very real blessing in every respect, now let’s return to the kitchen and I’ll introduce you to everybody before they guzzle all the pizza.”

Ray had the composure to open the door to let Beverly through then he followed Beverly back into the kitchen. Beverly gave Wendy a little smile and she squealed with delight as her father took the cutter to one of the pizzas while she declared.

“Now, if you gannets haven’t eaten all the pizza I’ll let my dear wife Ruby do the introductions while I grab a bite.”

This chapter addresses Beverly's concerns about 'The Sucession'. Which of her children are to run the family firm of 'Taff Spaceships' after she is gone? How is she to protect those powerful secrets that could enable a megalomaniac to try and rule the earth or even the universe.

 

Spacetran 13.

List of our children and their friends.

Girls,

Wendy, William’s twin.

Jessica and Charlotte, Ben’s (AKA Bennie’s,) twin sisters.

Dave and Eddie , Sherriff Jack Johnson’s boys.

Linda and Sandra, Sherriff Jack Johnson’s daughters.

Ray, Wendy’s husband (Our son in Law.)

Khatia. Bennie’s secret Muslim wife.

In most families once a wedding is arranged the mother of the bride and the bride start going ballistic with arrangements. In the Taff family things sometimes get done a little differently. Normally, the father of the bride stands back, stumps up, and stiffens his upper lip whilst anaesthetising his wallet. Wendy’s dad is a little different; - well, a lot different! Wendy’s dad pitches in. Wendy’s dad is Beverly, and Beverly is now one of the most famous transgendered people in the Solar system. Beverly was determined to give her daughter away whilst wearing a beautiful gown to match but not outshine her daughter’s wedding gown. Even flamboyant transvestites have to sometimes curb their own indulgences.

From having avoided the limelight since leaving school to avoid gold-diggers and fortune hunters, Wendy now felt she could explode onto the fashion scene and let the gossip columns have their day. Wendy was getting wed, - big time.

Poor Ray, the groom would normally have found some solace and support from Male members of both families but there were virtually none. Ray did not know who his dad was; he had no brothers and just one younger sister. His beloved mum had struggled all through their childhoods to keep him and his little sister on the straight and narrow on some of the meanest streets in America.
The only saving grace for Ray was that his mum got to attend one of the biggest weddings of the year as a major player whilst his younger sister got to be a bride’s maid. The only places where Ray could find ‘male’ support was Wendy’s twin brother William and Sherriff Jack Johnson who were the nearest thing to ‘men’s men’ in Wendy’s whole entourage. Dave and Eddie also attended Ray’s stag night along with a crowd of associates from the Round Table where Ray had always networked. Now Ray was being sucked into the Taff clan there would be little need to ever have to network again. People would be trying to latch onto him constantly in their efforts to somehow ingratiate themselves into the so-called ‘inner circle’ of the ‘Taff clan’.

Indeed, it had already started and Ray hardly had time to run his factory because the phone never stopped ringing with invitations from people who would never had looked once at an ‘uneducated’ black kid from Harlem only a few months earlier. Ray realised that despite his detestation of all the vulgar displays of the trappings of wealth, he would have to give up his beloved old cell-phone and keep a personal assistant at his side almost all the time he was ‘working’. The damned phone just never stopped ringing as Round Table ‘mates’ handed out his old number like jewels to be called in as favours to lubricate their own endeavours. Ray had to hand his old mobile to his P.A. who fenced the calls and filtered those that really needed his attention. He was also forced to employ a new manager to take on the burden of immediate supervision and operation of his business. Moving into the ‘Taff Clan’ had completely altered his life.

It was almost as bad as Georgian England where the king had to keep a coterie of retainers around him to protect him from the constant demands on his time. In the evenings, when Ray got home to his mother’s house from the factory in New York, he would simply collapse on his bed and bemoan his fate to Wendy on his new cell-phone. Wendy smiled at his despair for she had suffered such privations all her adult life.

“Welcome to the club darling. Now you know what it’s like.”

“It’s ridiculous Wend’ just as Demona and I were locking up, she got a stupid call from some Boston Dowager trying to organise some sort of bloody party. I’m up to here with party invitations! Demona tried her best to be courteous but the hag wouldn’t be deterred. She obviously thought she had some sort of clout and seemed quite put out when Demona told her I was not available.”

“Are you coming up this weekend?” Wendy asked completely ignoring her fiancée’s laments.

“Weekend! Dammit darling I’ll be up there Thursday just for the pleasure of your company and to get some peace. This life in New York is just getting me down. Everybody but everybody wants’ a piece of me. I can’t even sneak out for lunch but some airhead is snapping pictures. Help mee-ee.”

Wendy smiled to herself and arranged to meet her fiancé on the Wednesday for she had some business with her brother Billy on Wall Street. As joint vice chairmen of Taff Space Ships, they both had to sign some documents. Never was Ray more relieved to meet Wendy and they slipped quietly to his mother’s new house on Long Island. Ray still lived with his mother and they had moved out of Harlem when Ray’s Machine-Tool company had started to take off. His younger sister Chantelle also lived with them and went to college in New York, courtesy of Ray's success.

With the new antigravity puls travelling had become as common as breathing, the only constraints being the computerised control of passages in congested city areas.

In New York Wendy invited Ray and his family to a very private restaurant where they could rely on some privacy. Grateful for some quiet time, they discussed wedding plans until William joined them after some other business he had to attend to. After firming up several issues surrounding the mountain of arrangements they finally ate. After eating, Wendy and William invited Ray’s family to stay the weekend at the guest house in the grounds of the cottage. Now that they were officially engaged, Wendy had become rather coy about sleeping with Ray while his own mother had adopted the same moralistic tone with her son.
“You’re gonna respect the girl boy! She’s a lady. You never heard any gossip about her in the trash papers not like her two younger sisters boy! Heck boy. I hardly knew she existed until you brought her home and even then I didn’t realise she was that ‘Wendy Taff’!”

“Jee’ze mom, Wendy was just a lot more discreet, but she did it just like all the other girls do.”

“Well you’re not gonna do it now until after the weddin’ boy. She’s gonna be respectable an' so are you!”

“What d’you mean by that, - ‘gonna be respectable’?”

“She ain’t gonna’ be knocked up or sump’n! They’s decent people!”

Ray smiled to himself. His mother could be downright contrary at times. Virginity couldn’t be ‘put back in a bottle’! He was almost tempted to make a crack about Wendy’s father and her transvestism but he felt that one was below the belt. Besides his mom thought Beverly was okay and Ray’s mom was a stickler for respectability. To top that, Wendy’s dad had moved heaven and earth to make things just that bit better, - well a whole lot better in fact, - for his people. Ray had come to like Wendy’s dad, the guy was okay and straight. He smiled inwardly as he considered his use of the word ‘straight’, he meant straight as in honest. Then he reconsidered his view and realised it also applied in the other aspect. Wendy’s dad was straight when it came to her feelings for women despite the cross dressing stuff and the total feminisation of her appearance. It was all so weird!
Ray was slowly coming to terms with Beverly’s condition and beginning to respect it. He thought about his movement on such issues and told himself.

‘My god boy, you’ve come a hell of a long way from the macho mores of the ghetto!’

In the guest house, he switched off his bedroom light and lay contemplating his approaching marriage. ‘Things were certainly going to change, - things had already changed!’

On the Thursday he returned to New York and dropped his younger sister Chantelle at the university whilst his mom stayed over at the Taffs to chat about wedding plans with Ruby.

As Ray dropped Chantelle off at the college he asked her.

“Are you staying in New York this weekend or coming up to the Taffs?”

“Are you kidding bro?! I’m coming back to the cottage. I wouldn’t miss this weekend for the world. All the guys in my class are buzzing with news that I’m going to be a bride’s maid.”

Ray smiled. Previously his little sister was always chaffing at the bit to be out of the house and clubbing in New York with her university friends. Things had even changed Chantelle’s life.

Chantelle went to the cottage with him that Thursday evening then chatted some more with Ruby and Ray’s mum about the wedding plans. On Friday she hardly wanted to be in college but lectures had to be attended. Chantelle fully understood about education. She knew just how hard her brother had worked to get his mother and sister out of the ghetto. She had no intentions of missing the opportunity to study law that her brother’s generosity had afforded her.

That Friday evening, she was pleasantly surprised to meet Bennie for the first time as Wendy’s famous, reclusive, transgendered younger brother picked her up from the college library. As she stood on the library steps chatting to her friends she had quite a shock to discover who had come to collect her. When Bennie introduced herself Chantelle’s ratings rocketed as the other girls slowly recognised the attractive but rarely seen ‘trans girl’.

Squeals of surprise and delight surrounded Chantelle as Bennie made her introductions and explained to Chantelle why her older brother was busy with wedding preparations. The other girls just kept squealing with surprise and excitement to find themselves in the presence of such august company. Bennie sighed as she reluctantly signed several girls exercise-books then she made her excuses and invited Chantelle to join her for the lift home. Poor Chantelle was too overcome with pleasure and surprise that one of the ‘Taffs’ had picked her up. She stepped into Bennie’s pul in daze of glamour and excitement. As they flew to the cottage Chantelle chatted to Bennie.

“Is it always like that?”

Bennie shrugged and smiled.

“Yeah, quite often. That’s why I keep out of the hetero limelight. I tend to go out clubbing with my own. Note I’m wearing a wig and dark glasses, people think this is my normal ‘Bennie Taff’ look and I don’t disillusion them. I think the press only have pictures of me in sunglasses and wig so I manage quite easily with disguises. My trans friends understand the issues what with the paparazzi always chasing my sisters. Oh by the way, Jessica is coming over from London this evening while Charlotte is coming from Tokyo.”

“So the whole clan will be there; oops sorry, I shouldn’t use the word clan, it’s a bit derogatory.”

“Not at all darling. It’s the Scottish word for extended family, only the English tended to give it militaristic connotations during the various wars they had with the Scots way back. Clan is fine by us; Americans have given it back its original meaning. Extended family with ties of loyalty and fealty.”

“You’re nice. The press portray you as a surly, stand-offish recluse but you’re really nice.”

“Why thank you, that’s lovely compliment. Though I do have my moments Chantelle but this weekend is not one of them. I actually like coming home because dad and I are alike in many ways, notably the tranny stuff. I’ll especially enjoy this weekend because the reasons are different, it’s not about vying for dad’s attentions and favours and trying to garner advancements in the family firm. . Anyway, I’m not that interested in working directly for dad; I’m dad’s favourite but that would be obvious wouldn’t it?”
Chantelle nodded and that was the sum total of any more discussions about Bennie’s transgenderism. They chatted about wedding arrangements for the remainder of the short flight.

Saturday came and the preparations continued apace. All too soon the weekend of the wedding arrived. Ray and Wendy were on tenterhooks.

The wedding was held in the little church in the town where it was by far the biggest event the town had ever seen. Naturally the press were there mainly to see the reclusive Beverly Taff taking her daughter down the aisle in matching gowns but for once Ruby had overruled her flamboyant husband. Beverly had been forced to tone down her ambitions and been made to wear a beautiful cream two-piece outfit that complimented her daughter’s gown only in colour and patterning. The lace in Beverly’s blouse matched the lace in the bodice of Wendy’s gown. There was a lively debate as to whether Beverley should wear a hat and much amusement arose as different family members debated the ethics of traditional church mores. Beverly looked more like ‘mother of the bride’ except that the only sop to Ray’s opinions being that she sported the same ‘button-hole’ as her soon-to-be-son-in-law instead of the traditional corsage. Some bizarre traditions and customs were ‘coined’ at the wedding.

Finally the bride and groom took off in Cold Albatross 3 with Thlom and Dumia as the pilots and hosts who would take them to Amphia for the first part of their honeymoon well away from earthly eyes. Then they would be taken to a remote, ambrosial planet for a month of total privacy and isolation. So remote and primordial was this planet that they could have wandered naked without fear of interruption or censure. The Planet had been Beverly’s secret for many years and she had been somewhat reluctant to divulge its existence even to her own children. When Ray and Wendy learned of it they were overcome with excitement and anticipation; - a veritable ‘Adam and Eve’ in a Garden of Eden.

For this Ray was eternally grateful, after having lived in a ‘goldfish bowl’ for but a few months, the pressure had already frayed his nerves. He and his new bride did indeed stroll naked at times just to demonstrate to each other that they could. Inevitably in this climate of karma and tranquillity, Wendy fell pregnant. When they returned home they had the joy of telling their parents.

Once again it was twins. It seemed that Beverly’s genetic propensity for creating ‘multiple births’ had been passed on to her daughter though Ray’s colleagues in New York made some jest of ‘the brothers’ having it where it mattered in the baby-making stakes. Everybody was overjoyed but Beverly was particularly concerned. She had not yet publicised her belief that the ideal ‘Chief Executive’ of Taff Space Ships would have the mathematical wherewithal to understand Beverly’s secrets.
After Wendy’s marriage others followed while Beverly sat patiently and reluctantly occupying the post of Chairman and M.D., as she watched the development of her two first grandchildren. She continued to occupy the seat as further grandchildren started to appear.

Next came William’s children then Jessica and Charlotte’s but always after patiently waiting none of her grandchildren seemed to harbour the maths gene.

Beverly’s last hope seemed to lie in her transvestite son Bennie fathering a child but it seemed that Bennie had already begun to distance herself from the family and moved amongst her transgendered friends more and more. Indeed, Bennie had almost stopped coming home to the cottage and Beverly found herself having to come out of her reclusivity to see anything of her younger son. It was something she did not want to do but she was left with no option. One night Beverly secretly visited the club in Manchester England that Beverly had learned Bennie favoured for her pleasures. In her own tight-knit community of Tee-folk friends, very few even knew that Bennie was a Taff of the famous Space-ship-building dynasty and that’s how Bennie wanted it to remain. Only a handful of trusted friends knew her true identity. The less people knew she was a ‘Taff’ the less hassle she got.

Additionally, it was always easier to disguise oneself as a woman; - the opportunities with outfits and make-up were infinitely more numerous and varied. Additionally many people used their transvestism as a disguise and turned up at the club in a variety of disguises with varying degrees of success.

Thus Beverly turned up incognito at the club without any fanfare or publicity for she had become a past-master at anonymity and disguise herself.

Sitting in a dark corner, Beverly watched her son circulating amongst her own coterie of Tee friends and mostly giving it large on the dance floor, - unusually in the company of a beautiful, slender, Asian girl who looked to be Indian or Pakistani. Beverly was intrigued and decided to sit tight and watch the action. As the night wore on Bennie and her Asian partner seemed never to tire of dancing and Beverly secretly wondered if they were taking drugs or something. However when she slipped up close to the dancing pair she concluded that their fun was genuinely adrenaline induced. Beverly was also pleased to see that both kids only drank fruit juice. No alcohol or other drugs seem to be consumed.

By four in the morning, Beverly was getting tired. She was no spring chicken any more but her ‘daughter’ seemed to have unlimited energy and continued giving it large until her Asian Partner finally called it a day. By a happy accident they slumped into a seat with its back to Beverly in the next booth and Beverly was stunned to hear the Asian girl’s words.

“Come on Benjie. The baby-sitter will be wondering where we’ve got to.”

The reluctance in Bennie’s reply was manifest.

“Oh, - okay Khatia I suppose you’re right. Let’s just have one more dance.”

“How the hell d’you do it darling? My heels are killing me!” Khatia complained.

Bennie just shrugged and almost bounced to her feet with enthusiasm as Khatia groaned, smiled and reached out with her arm to be hauled to her feet.

“Just one more darling. My feet are killing me!”

Bennie gave a chuckle and slipped off her heels to reveal bleeding feet.

“Look darling. My feet are hurting but you won’t stop me dancing. I thought you liked dancing.”

“I do!” Khatia protested, “but bleeding feet! Bugger that, you can keep em!”

They took to the floor laughing and danced a final turn close to the disc-jockey’s dais. Beverly seized her chance. She slipped out of the club and took up a station by the taxi rank. Soon she saw her transgendered son emerge with Khatia limping painfully whilst attached to her arm. Beverly stepped back into the shadows and listened as Bennie and Khatia chatted about keeping the baby-sitter up and hoping the babies would be asleep. Beverly was intrigued.

‘Could her transgendered son have secretly fathered a child (or children even!!) without mentioning it to the family? Was there another ‘Taff’ out there that nobody knew about.”

Beverly could hardly contain her excitement and Bennie’s transgenderism gave Beverly even greater grounds for hope.

‘Maybe the math’s gene travelled with a transgender gene or something!’ She thought.

Standing well back in the shadows, Beverly continued eve’s dropping until Bennie and Khatia slowly reached the head of the taxi queue and Bennie gave an address to the pul-driver. Beverly quickly concluded that despite her immense wealth, Bennie chose to keep a very low profile. She lived like any other working Mancunian girl where nobody had the slightest idea who she was.
‘Just another sad little tranny’ making her way in the big wide world.’ Beverly was impressed. Bennie must have literally disappeared through a hole in the metaphorical floor to create another, totally anonymous persona for herself. And yet she turned up bold as brass and clear as day at the monthly board meetings to religiously take her part. Beverly wondered where her ‘daughter’ made the change; she smiled as she envisaged a sort of ‘superman’ thing behind any convenient cover. It was obvious that Khatia had absolutely no idea who Bennie really was. Her partner simply ‘went to work’ each morning and came home each afternoon except that some days she worked late and stayed at the office late into the night The only incongruence being one Monday a month when Bennie came home on the Tuesday. That was the board meeting day.

As the Taxi levitated from the rank Beverly called down her own pul and discreetly followed the taxi to its destination; - the secret address where Khatia and Bennie had their little love nest.

After confirming where her seemingly wayward, transgendered son lived, Beverly slipped away to her own long established apartment just off Canal Street in Manchester. On the scrambler phone she called me that very same morning in a highly excited state.
“Yes Ruby! - a girl-friend and possibly children! They were talking about a baby-sitter and babies. In the plural and you know the Taff twins thing!”

“Are you going to tackle her about it?” I pressed.

“No; well not yet at least. If she’s keeping any children a secret, she’s got her reasons. I’m going to have to move carefully on this.”

“Yes. Do. If Bennie’s kept them a secret she’s probably got her reasons and if the mother’s Asian that might be a factor concerning the secrecy thing.”

“D’you think she might be keeping them a secret because they might have the maths gene?”

“What? You mean because of Bennie’s transgendered condition?”

“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m thinking.

“Well it’s possible,” I concluded, “so far there’s been nothing showing in the other grand-children.”

“So should I confront her?”

“No. Not yet. Try and find some way to get chatting to her next Monday when she’s here for the board. She might even have the same thoughts as we’re having, namely the math’s genius travels on the transgendered genes.”

“Well she’s been really mean not to have told us.”

“Amen to that darling but if she’s frightened it’s hardly surprising is it?”

Beverly closed the call thoughtfully and took the lift to her pent-house suite at the top of the accommodation tower. For years she had never used her suite in Manchester and very few people actually would have recognised her. She entered her apartment, looked around and smiled with satisfaction. The apartment was clean, dust free and well stocked; the agency that maintained it did a good job for their anonymous client.

Beverly wondered, ‘it must be quite dispiriting to clean and restock an apartment every few days and never, ever meet the owner.’ She entered without being ‘discovered’ and slept fractiously as she determined how to approach her beloved transgendered child.
Her stratagems however were not needed. The following morning to her surprise there was a knock on her apartment door. Normally one needed a pass key to get into the building and each floor of the tower was coded for the lift. A visitor either had to announce his or her visit to the concierge or employ their own private pass key to access whatever floor they wanted. When Beverly heard the unexpected knock on her apartment door she knew that only somebody with a security clearance and a coded key could have got so far. She glanced through the armoured spy hole and recognised Bennie. As she opened the door she studied her ‘daughter’ and smiled with genuine delight.

“Bennie; - darling? What are you doing here?”

“Well daddy, I could ask you the same question.”

“Well I’m here to see to some business.”

“Pull the other one daddy. I know that Wendy and William handle nearly all the executive stuff these days. What are you doing, skipping over the traces; and where’s mummy?”

Beverly studied her ‘daughter’ ruefully.

“How did you find out I was in Manchester?”

“What! In the gay village?” Bennie giggled. “Come off it daddy, I’ve got friends everywhere. The lights to your apartment were spotted from the block across the canal. My best friend phoned me when she saw them coming on late last night. She’s one of my few friends who know who I am and I can trust her as I have done these past few years. I decided to check the apartment out and here you are. So what’s with Manchester and where’s mummy?”

Beverly hesitated uncertainly then decided to take the bull by the horns.

“Well to tell the truth I was looking for you.”

“What for. Why didn’t you just phone me?”

“I was going to, - this morning. I just happened to arrive last night and I decided to kick over some old traces. You know, - Napoleon’s, The Rembrandt, The Union and all the others. I was shocked to see you. You were with a young Asian lady so I decided not to embarrass you. If I’d revealed myself to you somebody might have recognised me and therefore you. I could see you had a coterie of friends around you so I left you to it. D’you come here a lot then, to Manchester I mean?”

“Sometimes,” Bennie replied, being careful not to reveal too much, “just like you used to.”

“Yes but all the old familiar faces have moved on I should think. I never recognised anybody.”

“That’s not surprising most of the older girls go to The Pink Lady in Portland Street. The village has grown some since your day. I’ll bet that if you went there for the Sunday lunch time session you’d see them all having lunch. It’s all very genteel and respectable these days on that side of the village. Canal Street still has that earthy, wild side but it’s a bit hectic for the older girls. I’m surprised you went into the old quarter.”

“The old quarter! God is that what you call it now. It sounds like some old continental medieval city when you put it like that.”

“So what’s in a name then? Now what was it you wanted to see me about?”

“Well it’s a bit personal really. It was your mum who asked me to do it cos she knows how much it means to me.”

“Personal in what way?”

“She was wondering if you’d ever considered having children. Well to be honest, I was wondering if you’d ever consider having children, - you are still able to aren’t you? Or is that too rude a question. That’s the question I was reluctant ever to ask you. Your mum pushed me into it.”

Bennie studied her father then slowly a soft smile came to her lips.

“Yes Daddy. Yes, I believe you. You’d never have wanted to invade my privacy or upset my life because I am you and you understand me like nobody else in the family knows. I’d have bet my fortune that it was mum who put you up to it. So you were coming here to try and persuade me to father a child. Oh, I could if I wanted by the way. I still make the boy stuff.”

“Yes. I was pretty sure you could. You’re just like me darling, you’re a shemale.”

Bennie felt a warm wave of pure love for the individual opposite her. Only her beloved dad could ever begin to feel what Bennie felt and it reinforced their tightest bond.

“If we’re going to chat can I have a cup of coffee?” Bennie asked.

“Oh! Sorry darling. I’m forgetting my manners. Of course.”

Beverly turned to the kitchen work-top and made a cappuccino the way she knew her ‘daughter’ liked it. Bennie smiled as she watched her father prepare it.

“You’ve remembered then. That’s nice. Would you remember how the others liked theirs?”

“Not entirely.” Beverly confessed. “You were always that little bit fussier as a child but I loved you for that. It showed your femme side and I could always relate to that. I still do of course. You’re my favourite Bennie, you always were but I could never say that in front of the others. It’s because we are what we are.”

Bennie nodded thoughtfully as she sipped at her drink.

“So you would like me to try and have a baby. Am I right in thinking this is the maths thing?”

It was Beverly’s turn to stare at the floor before she nervously confessed.

“I won’t lie darling. Yes it is. You know how worried I am.”

“Tell me daddy, is it a sort of succession thing or is there something more meaningful?”

“Such as?”

“Well I know, - we all know, that you’d like the business to be controlled by somebody who understood your ideas and theories.
That is after you’ve gone.”

“Yes. Do you think I’m wrong to want that?”

“It depends daddy. It depends what your motives are.”

Beverly fell silent as she stared out over the city. To the east where once had stood the industrial graveyard of Trafford Park, there stood her first factory, the very first gravity engine factory and it was still going strong. Beverly had not been there in something like fifteen years. William and until recently, Wendy had handled all that stuff. Now Wendy’s hands were preoccupied with the children and she had less time to devote to the business. All the family agreed to her having chosen to spend more time with her children but it had not affected her executive position in any way. Bennie followed her father’s gaze then Beverly turned to smile at her as she motioned towards Trafford Park.

“Those are your roots girl. That’s the very first gravity engine factory ever built on earth. Have you ever been there?”
“No. And I’ve no particular desire to. I leave it to my brother and sisters to manage the firm and fight about the inheritance stuff. That way I avoid all the strife and competitiveness.”

Beverly smiled softly at her ‘daughter’. In avoiding conflict Bennie was very much a copy of her dad. It was that fear of confrontation, of being hurt or bullied, indeed the terror of being murdered that had first driven Beverly from Earth and into total isolation. By the same token, Bennie’s abhorrence of confrontation meant she did not side with any of her siblings at the board meetings and she always voted as her conscience dictated. The other children had reluctantly come to accept this but Beverly was secretly overjoyed. If ever she wanted an honest opinion with no self interest attached, it was to Bennie she turned. It was this openness and honesty that so attracted Beverly to her transgendered child. Her openness about her sexuality and transgenderism filtered through into all her dealings. Of all the children, Bennie was the most honest with her dad and Beverly hoped that this would be the case now that she was about to broach the subject of children. Beverly took a deep breath and took the plunge.

“So you’d like to know my motives?”

“If you’re not too coy. What is it that bothers you so much. Why won’t you share the maths secrets.”

Beverly exhaled and bit her lip as she spoke softly. Bennie nodded to herself knowingly, ‘her dad always exhaled slowly and softly when she had something of portent to divulge.’

“Do you know darling that I get offers every time I’m out in public to reveal the secrets. To put the maths down on paper and even if the best maths brains in the world or even the universe cannot yet comprehend the theories, these hopefuls always believe that someday, another genius will come along to understand and therefore reveal the secrets. And do you know something else?”
“No but you’re going to tell me.” Grinned Bennie.

“Yes. I am. It’s nearly always politicians who try to bribe me. They always think I’ve got a price. The fools can’t get it into their stupid heads that I’m too fucked up to ever ‘have a price’; at least that is, - a material price. No single being or group of beings can ever give me what I want, for my price would involve their, and everybody else’s metamorphosis. That is a metamorphosis into philanthropy. It’s a catch twenty two for them.

I’m sick and tired of Politicians who somehow think that if their little coterie of friends and acquaintances can ‘capture’ the equations and the theories then they will somehow enhance their power, their position, and their megalomania. Then if they can control access to the maths, that will secure their route to power and their grip on it.”

“So what’s wrong with us knowing the secrets we’re all your children and you can’t live forever?”

“I just believe that the keeper of the secrets should understand them. Then there can be no internecine strife that could lead to dispute and then war. It’s not about the money Bennie, it’s about the power. If those secrets are to remain secrets at least until human-kind has evolved into something more philanthropic than it is now, then they must stay with one person or group who must have the intellectual and moral wherewithal to understand and protect the secrets. I live in hope that my maths gene will pass on to at least one of my progeny. So far none of my other children or grand-children have proven to have the gene.

You’re my last hope, and yes, I’m thinking that the math’s gene might somehow be connected to transgenderism or travel on the transgender genes. I mean it Bennie. If you don’t produce a maths genius then I’m afraid it’s the lesser plan, the plan that’s vulnerable to bribes and plot; and yes every individual does have his or her price.

At the moment, the secrets are still carried in my head. If I’m not to die as an intellectual intestate, then it means writing down the secrets and that makes them vulnerable to theft and exploitation.
If mankind the politician or mankind the megalomaniac got hold of them, you can bet your bottom dollar they would truly try to lord it over all creation.”

Bennie stared at her father and wagged her head.

“Is that truly your price? — That all men should become philanthropists?”

Beverly nodded dejectedly.

“Yes and I know it’s price they can never raise. It’s their catch twenty two! That’s how I keep a hold on my sanity. The reasoning is simple, the price is impossibly high but bears no relation to greed. If that’s my price, it’s a fair one. The price to me is almost impossibly low but the price to them is almost impossibly high.”

“Oh that’s clever dad, - so simple and so elegant. Though I like your qualifier, - the word almost.”

“There are no absolutes darling. Nothing is absolute or total in this universe; time has taught me that. You see the chronology is subtle. They would have to demonstrate genuine philanthropy before I offer them the secrets. How can they demonstrate their philanthropy without shedding all the trappings and accoutrements of power that they have struggled to acquire?”
Bennie was beginning to see her father in a new light. Everybody had always declared her father to be something of a philistine, a sociopath. It was not the case. Her father had her price, her criteria; - it was just that she didn’t publicise them. If anybody came to her dad with a bribe it was prima-facia evidence that that individual was particularly unsuitable to share the secrets. Catch twenty two!

As they sipped their coffees and looked out over the ever changing Manchester skyline Bennie studied her dad and wondered if it was safe to declare the existence of her two beautiful daughters. She pressed again as her hand rested gently around her daddy’s neck.
“You’re loading me with an unfair burden daddy. What girl would accept me with an onus as heavy as yours? She’d be afraid for her children. They’d be vulnerable to kidnap and all sorts if they were to prove to have the maths thing.”

“All your nephews and nieces faced the same dangers.” Beverly countered. “They still face them because of the family fortunes, just as you five did. Fortunately by reducing poverty world-wide and giving nearly everybody on earth some sort of hope, we managed to keep you kids safe. It’s poverty and inequality that breeds that sort of terror and crime. The problem is there’s no accounting for greed or evaluating it. If a megalomaniac wants power he’ll seek every route to gain it.”

“Exactly daddy, you’ve answered your own question. I’d hate to bring kids into this world with everybody knowing that they’ve got the gene and therefore they would be worth kidnapping. They could kidnap the kids and then mould them to their way.
What did the old Jesuits used to say? ‘Give us the child, you can have the man.’ The kids would be prisoners to all sorts of oppressive security and stuff.”

Beverly smiled softly and sighed as she studied her beautiful ‘daughter’. She understood exactly why Bennie was moving heaven and earth to keep her twins and their mother a secret. The less the world knew of Bennie’s children, the safer they were; especially as they were outside the umbrella of the Taff family circle.

She debated whether to confess that she knew of Bennie’s twins and finally decided she would. In truth Beverly was desperate to see her grandchildren. She sat on the settee and patted the cushion to invite her ‘daughter’ to sit beside her. Bennie smiled with all the affection that a loving daughter could muster for her devoted father. She snuggled up to her dad and tightened her arm around Beverly’s neck.

“What is it daddy? Something’s bothering you, I can tell.”

“Can I confess something to you?” Beverly swallowed nervously.

Bennie’s smile faded. She wasn’t a stupid girl by any measure and she sensed what was coming. She nodded as she placed her coffee on the little side table in anticipation of any shocks.

“You’re not ill are you?” She whispered fearfully. “You’re not asking me to try for a child because you’re shuffling off your mortal coil?”

It was Beverly’s turn to smile. ‘At least her ‘daughter’ Bennie still cared enough to worry for her old dad.’ Beverly took a deep breath and took the plunge as she exhaled slowly. Bennie recognised her father’s peculiar way of breathing whenever she had something important to divulge or she was thinking hard. All the children and their mother Ruby recognised the signs. Bennie sat expectantly on the settee as her daddy explained.

“No darling, I’m not ill but I’m afraid.” Beverly reassured then worried her daughter in that short sentence.

“Afraid of what?” Bennie frowned.

“I’m afraid you might be angry with me.”

“Why should I be angry with you?”

“Well. — well I haven’t been totally honest with you.”

Bennie’s frown deepened and she looked sharply at her beloved dad.

“Go on! What have you done?”

“Promise me you’ll not be angry.”

“I’ll try but until I know, how can I promise?”

Beverly breathed out again, slowly as she anticipated the onslaught.

“Well I found out, - found out about your children, that is. It was an accident mind.”

Bennie did not explode; instead she fell into a thoughtful silence that prompted Beverly to continue.

“I overheard you and Khatia in the club last night. Yes I know about Khatia as well, you sat right behind me in the club and you never recognised me. ‘Thank God for wigs and neurotic transvestites’ is all I can say. Half the girls there were in some sort of disguise. I thought by now, with so much more freedom, things would have eased up. Though I noticed some of them spoke with foreign accents.”

Bennie nodded and explained.

“Yes daddy, lots of girls come over from ‘abroad’ they still face problems in their own countries. Most of them work in your own factory over there, (Bennie motioned her thumb towards Trafford park.) you took a big risk that nobody recognised you.”
“Don’t worry darling, your daddy is a mistress of disguises. Besides, I haven’t been to Manchester for years, fifteen in fact.”

“And yet you still keep the apartment on!”

“Hey, I’m rich! It’s hardly a burden is it? Besides I like Manchester and I notice you do too.”

Bennie stared at the floor as she considered the implications of her dad finding out. She also had fears about the issue; she had been frightened ever since the twin girls had been born. Not only where there issues with Bennie’s parents. Khatia also had not told her parents. The shame and dishonour would have put Khatia’s life in jeopardy. If Khatia’s Muslim Family found out that their wayward ‘disappeared’ daughter had upped and formed a relationship with a non-Muslim and worse still, had children by him, then it was a fair chance that some idiot belonging to the clan would go for an honour killing. Khatia was in as much peril as her daughters. Bennie had even paid for Khatia to have secret facial surgery that had enhanced her already beautiful features. At least Khatia was now unrecognisable as the old Fatima, from Bradford. Now Bennie debated telling her dad the whole story. She continued staring long and hard at the floor until finally Beverly broke the silence.

“You’re worried aren’t you?”

“Yes daddy, there’s more than meets your eyes.”

“D’you want to tell?”

Slowly, haltingly, Bennie explained the events of the past few

This chapter describes how Bennie, (Beverly's Transgendered son,) Meets Khatia the runaway Muslim girl who become's Bennie's bride.

---

NEW SPACETRAN 14.

Spacetran 14.

Bennie’s Story.

List of our children and their friends.

Girls,

Wendy, William’s twin.

Jessica and Charlotte, Ben’s (AKA Bennie’s,) twin sisters.

Dave and Eddie , Sherriff Jack Johnson’s boys.

Linda and Sandra, Sherriff Jack Johnson’s daughters.

Ray, Wendy’s husband, (Our son in Law.).

Khatia. Bennie’s secret Muslim wife.

Bennie poured a third coffee and settled comfortably into the settee to describe the events of the past few years. That was since she had concluded she wanted little to do with the sibling rivalry surrounding the family firm ‘Taff Spaceships’ and the running of it. Bennie had secretly settled in Manchester and grown her new anonymous persona.

Beverly listened to her ‘daughter’ as firstly Bennie described how and where she had met Khatia. The girl was living rough on the streets of Manchester after falling foul of her parent’s strict Islamic customs and running away from Bradford. It was a sad and familiar story. Khatia was an intelligent westernised girl whose parents tried to enforce older Asiatic Islamic standards. They had tried to arrange a marriage to her first cousin back in Pakistan but Fatima, (as she was known back then,) had run away and brought shame upon the family. Fatima was already aware of the congenital problems with her cousins caused by the family’s insistence of interfamily marriage to preserve the family’s modest wealth.

Somehow after running away, she had managed to escape the usual prostitution and drugs traps and Bennie had met her as she was begging off tables in a ‘greasy spoon’ cafe where Bennie was enjoying a quiet coffee alone. At that time Bennie was enjoying her anonymous persona and she was looking for new friends to build a completely alternative life. Khatia, as she had renamed herself, had just been caught by the cafe proprietor stealing left-over’s off the tables and she’d been thrown out into the cold wet Manchester evening. Bennie thought little of it as she finished up her coffee, packed away her laptop in it's reinforced metal case and set off into the drizzle. Then she had seen the same kid bent over a rubbish bin in the alley behind the cafe. She was scavenging food.

Bennie had genuinely thought that begging and other such privations had more or less died a death since her father had moved so much so far to create wealth world-wide and distribute it fairly. But no, it seemed that there were still kids out there with life stories that led to them scrounging food out of garbage bins. Bennie paused on the main pavement and continued staring down the alley as the kid recovered some edible morsels and quickly stuffed them into her shoulder bag. Then somebody appeared from a doorway in the alley and tried to grab the kid. The girl was just too slow escaping from the garbage bin and as she wriggled backwards over the rim of the garbage bin, the attacker caught her. She screamed and struggled but it was obvious what the attacker’s intent was. Bennie was shocked that nobody seemed to be responding to the girl’s screams. She looked up and down the pavement but there was nobody in sight. It was as though the whole city had suddenly become a ghost town for those vital seconds and Bennie realised she was the only witness to the attack.

She gave a loud yell and started sprinting down the alley to try and save the kid. All the Taff children had been taught Martial arts as a matter of course, just in case a scenario as the one unfolding before Bennie happened to them; a kidnap or an attack. Beverly and Ruth had insisted all the kids learn to defend themselves and Bennie, despite her gentle feminine nature had not been excluded.

Her shout had been ignored as the attacker continued assaulting the Asian girl and he did not pay heed to the slightly built girl trotting down the alley as fast as her stylish heels would allow. Bennie decided that it would do no good to shout again. If the thug ignored her first shout he was probably confident he was safe from any attack from that quarter. His confidence was misplaced. Bennie took her lap-top and rammed the sharp, hard corner as hard as she could into the back of the attacker’s skull. He grunted, staggered and twisted unsteadily to confront the new arrival. It was too late; as he paused unsteadily for a moment; Bennie’s heel lashed out and she drove it into that most vulnerable of places. The man went down and Bennie dragged the Asian kid to her feet whilst ordering her to be quick before the thug recovered!

The street-wise girl needed no second bidding and she dashed off up the alley towards the main street and the lights. Her trainers afforded the kid a turn of speed that Bennie could not match in her heels. Bennie followed her as fast as her heels would allow and she finally caught up with her a couple of blocks into the busier part of town as the last of the rush-hour commuters were heading home. The kid was recovering her breath on the busy railway station concourse amidst the safety of the crowds. She saw Bennie approaching and she tensed as if ready for further flight. Bennie hesitated, uncertain of how to reassure the girl from a distance and unable to make herself heard above the clamour of the crowded station. She wondered how to reassure the kid then tried miming a cup of tea or coffee. The girl paused and her expression changed from fear to uncertainty. Bennie pointed to the station cafe and made a ‘drinking sign’ with her hand and then pointed to the kid. The kid stood upright and searched around as though trying to assess if there was a trap so Bennie made a clear and obvious entry into the cafe. There she purchased a couple of coffees and some cakes while the girl watched uncertainly through the window. Bennie emerged and sat at one of the benches while placing the tray some way beside her on the long seat.

The girl paused briefly but the tantalising sight of coffee and cakes was too much. She approached hesitantly as Bennie took a notebook and pencil from her laptop case. She wrote a message and placed it on the tray before finishing her own coffee. Fortunately caffeine didn’t much affect Bennie she could drink cups of coffee or tea all night. After swilling back her own polystyrene cup she stood up, motioned her head to the tray of scones, coffee and the message tucked under the paper plate. Then she moved away and the girl dashed forward. She was starving. Finally the girl read the note.

‘I commute this way each weekday eight a.m. and six p.m., except Fridays. If you ever want me just hang around as you did tonight. Bennie.’ P.S. I like scones with butter and jam.

The girl looked up, smiled wanly and Bennie simply nodded as she turned to leave. Before she had even reached the ticket barrier the girl appeared beside her calling.

“No! Wait!”

Bennie paused and turned to face her as the girl stared with gaunt, hungry eyes.

“Are you real?” The girl asked.

Bennie shrugged.

“Do I look real? Here feel my arm.”

For a moment the girl made to reach out then she let out a squeak as she realised how stupid she looked. She cast about nervously still expecting some sort of trap but her streetwise eyes could see nothing. She motioned to another seat at the side of the main concourse.

“Can you talk? Have you got time?”

“All the time in the world,” Bennie declared, “I see you have as well.”

“Yeah, I’ve got years ahead of me.”

“Well you’d best start by finishing those cakes. You look half starved kid!”

They settled on the seat but the girl still kept her distance as she devoured the cakes. Bennie watched in fascinated silence. It was best not to ask questions. Besides if she asked questions then the girl had the right to ask her own and Bennie was not prepared to divulge anything more than her first name. The last thing she wanted as she grew her new, anonymous persona was to have her full identity revealed.

The last cake disappeared and the girl carefully picked the crumbs off the paper plate before glancing down to make sure nothing had fallen on the seat. Still Bennie kept her counsel for as a slightly built transgendered transvestite it wouldn’t have done to invite animosity. Animosity could lead to violence and violence could lead to Bennie being ‘outed’ if only for identity purposes by the police.

She stood to leave and was about to repeat the message she had written earlier but the girl looked up.

“Where are you going?”

“Home love. I’ve got a cat to feed and cherish.”

“So the cat’s more important than me then is it?”

“No-oo,” Bennie replied carefully. “I’ve just fed you and I’ve also told you were I can be reached; on this station concourse eight in the morning and six at night, usually. Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays I won’t be here. I have another life besides this bloody awful nine-to-five.”

Just by saying ‘nine to five’, Bennie could have kicked herself. She was still learning this dual life thing and slipping in conceited little remarks like that to pretend there was mystery in her life was a stupid thing. Having scolded herself for being too revealing, Bennie looked back once, gave a soft tight smile and stepped through the ticket barrier. The girl was looking at her through frightened eyes and Bennie sighed to herself.

‘Dammit! Why am I such a soft touch? Wendy and William are right, there’s no way I could ever become a big boss in the family firm.’

Reluctantly she hesitated then found more resolve and turned on her heel to finally get on the maglev train. In older cities were the density of housing and population curtailed the free run of puls, licensing laws and ‘congestion charges’ had made their operation expensively prohibitive. The density of privately owned puls would have blocked out the sun so during ‘working hours’ they were heavily taxed. Any puls in the skies over such restricted areas obviously had a good reason for being there and paid a huge charge. Commercial operators with delivery vehicles had to buy a permit to operate toll-free. The costs of operating her own private pul would have been ‘chicken-feed’ to Bennie with her vast fortune but to fly around in her own pul would have risked unwanted recognition. Thus she joined the sweating ranks of the commuting masses just to reinforce her disguise. She stepped aboard the maglev train and glanced for the last time down the platform. The girl had gone.

The next morning she wasn’t there and Bennie made her way to the LGBT charity shop where she put in a few morning hours from Monday to Thursday. She was secretly a little disappointed that the girl hadn’t availed herself of her offer and she busied herself sorting out clothes to be laundered before sale. Despite notices in the shop doorway, there were often a couple of bags of old clothes left by morning commuters. At eleven o’clock she was helping the volunteer delivery boys load the van to send on clothes for preparation and receive new saleable stock from the central warehouse. Having finally done the sorting, she made herself and the boys a cup of coffee then relieved Pauline behind the counter.

Bennie was just checking the volunteer rota when she saw the familiar face step cautiously through the door. She smiled but made no other sign of recognition like standing up or introducing herself. Nor did she leave the counter. Despite it being a charity shop, it had been raided twice in the past five years. All the staff were alert to snatch thieves.

The girl smiled back then hesitantly started looking through the sale-rail. Finally at one o’clock, Bennie was relieved by Pauline and Jackie. The Asian girl was still checking through the sale-rail, she had been there nearly two hours and Bennie realised the girl was trying to keep warm.

With the lunchtime relief Bennie’s turn was done and the rest of the day was hers. She joined the Asian girl at the sale-rail.

“Can I help you miss?”

The girl started nervously then turned to Bennie.

“I need a coat. It’s getting cold out.”

Bennie nodded, the girl obviously had no money. If she had no money and she didn’t have the look of drugs about her, she was most probably running from something. Bennie took a red coat with fitted bodice and flared hem from the ordinary rack and made the girl try it on. It suited her and the girl could not resist studying herself in the mirror before wistfully confessing she had no money.

“This is a designer label, there’s no way I could afford this, even at charity prices.” A tear glistened in her eye.
“Let me buy it for you. It’s only a few credits. It really suits you. Oh; and by the way, how did you know how to find me in the LGBT Shop?”

“I spied on you from the station, just to make sure you were genuine.”

“Yeah, I thought it was that. Well you know now. What did you really come into the shop for?”

“I was only hoping you’d buy me another coffee. Like you said you would.”

“You should have approached me in the station this morning. But I’ll buy you coffee right now. Come on; leave the coat on your back.

The girl stood listening carefully as Bennie shared a laugh and chatted briefly with Pauline about the rota before completing the purchase. Then Bennie went to pee and Pauline turned to the Asian girl and declared with a chuckle.

“Bennie’s a crazy girl. We’re convinced she’s got a rich uncle or something, but she’s nice with her money and that coat really does suite you. Take her offer kid, she won’t harm you.”

The Asian girl had already concluded this.

‘If this stranger worked in a charity shop, indeed was the manager of the charity shop where all the other workers seemed to know her well, then it was an ‘odds on’ shot that the stranger wasn’t working for any pimps or anything.’
Pauline’s words had reinforced the Asian girl’s conclusions. She kept the coat ‘on her back’ and smiled at Pauline.
As she returned from the lavatory, Bennie huffed impatiently and scolded Pauline with a grin.

“Get your hands off her, she’s mine!”

With that she grabbed the Asian girl’s hand and virtually dragged her out of the shop. Outside she released her handhold and turned to the girl.

“D’you want a proper breakfast. There’s a greasy spoon around the corner. It’s the one your were chucked out of just before you were attacked.”

The girl nodded silently; obviously still slightly suspicious. Bennie ignored the girl’s circumspection and within minutes they were sat in the cafe were the ‘big breakfast’ was cheap, plentiful and served all day.

“What d’you want?” Bennie asked as the mandatory large mugs of tea appeared. The owner knew Bennie well and also the other girls from the charity shop for they bought most of their food there.

The Asian girl studied the menu and asked for the full breakfast. Bennie nodded and ordered some scrambled egg on toast for herself. As they waited, the girl kept glancing out of the window. Bennie watched her but said nothing. She was obviously some sort of runaway and a frightened one at that. Eventually the food arrived and the girl hurled herself at it. Bennie noted that the bacon and pork sausages went down with the same relish as the rest of the food so there were no dietary constraints.
‘But then,’ thought Bennie, ‘if the girl was starving, she would eat everything anyway. She tried a discreet probe.

“So, - you’re not a Muslim then. That was three rashers of bacon and two large pork sausages.”

The girl looked up as she munched on a second plate of toast and scraped the remains of Bennie’s scrambled egg onto her plate.

“I am actually, but I’m hungry.”

“Yeah, that’s no secret. Is your name a secret?”

“I’d rather not tell.”

Bennie shrugged, it was no skin off her nose. Bennie remembered the stories her dad had told her of the bad times when she was on the run all those long years ago. A crucial survival skill was anonymity when others were looking for you.

“D’you want some more? Another mug of tea perhaps.”

The girl nodded and finished the last round of toast. As they waited for their second teas the girl looked straight into Bennie’s watery blue-grey eyes.

“Why are you doing this?”

“You looked as though you needed it. You don’t see many kids today scrounging for food in garbage bins.”

“Thanks for last night. That guy is a pimp and he’s been trying to trap me for days.”

“And he will if you hang around in the same neighbourhood for too long. He’ll have cronies looking out for him.”

“So what am I to do?”

“I dunno’,” Bennie admitted. ‘Go to the police, report the crime, I dunno’.”

“Yeah! As if.”

“So what is it you’re running from, or can I not ask?”

“No.”

Bennie shrugged again. “So be it. It’s two o’clock now, I’ve got to go.”

“Where? That girl said you’d finished for the day.”

“So I have and you’ve no right to ask where I go either.”

“Okay. Touché, I suppose I asked for that.”

“Yes you did so cheerio. See you around. The offer’s always open; eight o’clock and six o’clock; Monday to Thursdays.”

With that Bennie stood up and paid at the till while exchanging banter with Eddie the proprietor. She next went to the loo again after two huge mugs of tea and was not surprised to find the Asian girl in the next stall. Having agreed not to ask any more questions, Bennie stayed silent, washed up and left. As she started to cross the street the girl appeared at her arm.

“Will I see you tonight?”

“I’ve no secrets. I told you six o’clock, station concourse as per usual. I’ll be there. I don’t lie.”

“I spoke to the guy in the restaurant; he said you go there most days.”

Bennie shrugged again.

“He’s not lying either; I do, well Mondays to Thursdays anyway. As I said, I’ve no secrets. Not like you; now if you don’t mind, I’ve got to be somewhere, see you later.”

Bennie speeded up her step and made her excuses. There was a new exhibition at the metropolitan museum and she was keen to see the work of a famous local artist named Jack Seymour from the gay village. Jack had started his career in Manchester and he was an old friend of Bennie’s. She liked his work but didn’t want to be seen buying from his studio. Nine-to-five working girls in Manchester could not afford Jack’s latter-day work and she had to maintain her subterfuge. Bennie had a number of Jack’s very earliest bits before he became famous and they were tucked away in her secret flat. Now, as Jack achieved fame, his later work ran to the tens of thousands of credits. He was now famous and his exhibition in the museum reflected that fame. A fame that Mancunians could reflect in. He was one of their gay sons.

The museum and the exhibition were free but the catalogue cost twenty credits so Bennie bought one and looked forward to an afternoon of peace and contemplation. She had changed her wig and clothes again at her secret ‘down-town, gay-village’ flat and donned her tinted glasses. That was one of the useful things about having access to huge loads of wonga. Bennie could buy and sell apartments at the snap of her fingers. Thus disguised she joined the other exhibition visitors who were arguing the merits and debating purchases, mostly as institutional investments. Bennie simply strolled around the exhibition savouring the art and smiling as she remembered her friend Jack when he was struggling to make it. At the end of a long exhibition hall she saw Jack signing some limited edition prints and she debated going over to chat to him then concluded reluctantly that it would do little good to expose her real identity, (which Jack knew from way back when Bennie had helped him out by knowingly buying some of his early pictures for slightly over the going rate.) She shrugged as she strolled slowly along the hall savouring Jack’s much pricier later works displayed on the screens.

‘There was plenty of art,’ she concluded ‘Jack obviously didn’t need her support anymore, though she might call in and purchase one incognito somehow, from his studio. She still liked his work and the more she saw of the exhibition, the more she liked.’

Having made the decision she turned to walk past Jack to study the rest of the exhibition in the next hall. As she turned she crashed into the Asian girl who was rushing somewhere. The collision knocked the slightly built Bennie for six, she crashed to the ground and her wig went flying, along with her tinted glasses and handbag. The girl cursed at first then recognised who she collided with.

“Oh shit! I’m sorry; I was bursting for a piss! Are you okay?”

The dazed Bennie sat up and started to replace her wig, - but not before Jack, her artist friend, had recognised her.

“Bennie! Bennie Ta--, - then Jack remembered, Bennie didn’t like her identity bandied about even though Jack actually knew her as ‘The Bennie Taff’ the transgendered member of the Taff children; - the one who wasn’t seen much or known about. The one who disappeared out of the limelight since some horrendous experiences during her early years at college. Fortunately nobody recognised Bennie as she had turned towards a fold in one of the exhibition screens to replace her wig. Only Jack, sitting facing the queue, had actually seen her face. The Asian girl had carried on for several feet before she recovered her balance and turned to apologise. She had not seen Bennie’s face either but she had heard the artist reveal her name. Even then she had made no connection between the ‘Bennie’ still seated on the floor recovering her composure in front of her and the Bennie Taff of the Taff clan. She apologised again and asked if Bennie was okay.

“Yes. I’m fine thank you, just a bit winded and startled. I’ll get up in a mo.”

“I’m just so sorry, fancy meeting you here.”

“And why would you be surprised to see my friend here?” Jack demanded of the unknown Asian girl as he excused himself from the signings and knelt down to check on Bennie.

“You okay love? I can get you a cup of tea.”

“Thanks Jack. That would be nice. I feel a bit dizzy.”

“Anything for you girl. It’s lovely to see you again and visiting my exhibition no less. You still like my work then?”

Bennie nodded and smiled but remained sat on the floor recovering her senses and the tea duly arrived. As she sipped it, Jack made a final check to see that she was okay then offered to meet her after the signings.

“See you at five o’clock Bennie, usual place and we’ll share one of those big fat beautiful scones we so used to enjoy, - and I’ll pay this time, I owe you.”

Bennie ginned as the old memories returned then she nodded, finished her tea and struggled carefully to her feet. With her balance restored she wagged her head slowly then looked around to resume studying the exhibition. Jack watched her briefly, confirmed she was okay then resumed the signings while explaining to the waiting culture vultures that ‘the girl’ had been an old friend from way back who’d helped him out a bit. Meanwhile the Asian girl had slipped out of the exhibition hall and gone for her urgent pee. She joined up with Bennie again as she studied Jack’s art.

“I thought you said you were going back to work.”

Bennie turned from the picture she was admiring and frowned.

“No. I said I had somewhere else to be. This is it; Jack’s exhibition.”

“Oh. Don’t you have a job then?”

“Yes. You saw me in the LGBT charity shop in the village.”

“But that’s charity work, I mean a proper job.”

“My job is my own private business, so what’s it to you?”

“But you’ve got money, you must have cos’ you bought me that food. Are you going to buy one of his pictures, they’re good?”

“Jee’ze! Where the hell d’you think I’d find fifty grand? You’re some nosey cow aren’t you?” Bennie snapped irritably. “I haven’t asked half as much about you and it’s obvious you’re on the lam or something. I don’t even know your name and here you are wondering if I’ve got money or summat. I don’t, as it happens,” Bennie lied, “well, not much anyway. Though I’m not broke or anything.”

“No, I can tell that by your clothes.” The Asian girl observed.

“Huh! Fine feathers," - Bennie sniffed as she bent down and squinted at a picture with a skewed perspective.

She turned to the Asian girl who had joined her in studying the distorted view.

“D’you think he’s done it deliberately, twisting the perspective like that to force you to look from the lower angle.” Bennie asked her, “it’s clever isn’t it?”

“Maybe he wants it to be hung high up to get the compensation right, like Leonardo did with the last supper and the table.”

“There’s a thought,” Bennie agreed as she silently considered buying the picture.

The view was truly a clever trick with perspective and a brilliant tromp l'oeile. Bennie decided to see Jack after the exhibition for there was not yet a sold sticker on it. In truth she wanted to buy it there and then but the damned Asian girl seemed to have attached herself to Bennie like some sort of hopeful parasite. Bennie would have been furious if the picture got sold before she could sort it without the damned girl constantly hanging by her side. In the end, her patience failed and she bluntly told the girl she had to go. Without brooking any protest, she walked out of the museum fuming to herself as she went and sat in the little park that bordered the Canal in the gay village. Then she slipped to her secret ‘hidey-hole’ apartment and changed her persona again. Thus differently disguised with new wig and tinted glasses, she sneaked back to the museum and checked that the picture was still for sale. She checked that the Asian girl wasn’t still around then she rudely used her friendship with Jack to queue jump and buy the picture there and then. Jack looked up a little embarrassed by his friend’s intrusion but he still had a huge soft spot for Bennie, ‘after all it was Bennie’s generosity in his early years that had kept him solvent and fed!’
As Bennie offered to pay for the picture Jack was rather embarrassed to have to tell her to see his agent by the exhibition entrance. Bennie snorted contemptuously.

“Bloody hell Jack. I never used to have to go through an ‘agent’ when you were starving!”

“It’s not that Bennie, it’s just she has to keep track of stuff that’s sold and what-have-you. It’s for commissions and the bloody tax man, you know what I mean.”

Bennie ginned her realisation, nodded and stalked off to see the agent. After buying the picture, she was further peeved to learn that even after she paid for it, it had to remain in the exhibition until the show closed on the Friday. Reluctantly she watched the agent mark the picture as sold in the inventory then followed her onto the exhibition floor to make sure the ‘sold’ sticker was firmly stuck onto the picture. As the agent stood back to study the picture she turned to Bennie.

“You see the trick he’s done don’t you?

“Yes,” Bennie replied, “that’s why I want it, it’s clever.”

“So obviously you like his work, I’ve never seen you before at the studio. How come he knows you?”

“Oh we’re old, old friends, I’ve been away.”

“Oh so you knew him before the good times then.”

“Long before the good times. I was his first customer.”

“What!!” The agent gasped.

“Me. Yes, I bought his first painting; it shows Canal Street in the spring just after the trees had budded. I’ve got about twenty of his very earliest paintings including that one, his first ever sale. ‘Spring on the canal’, it’s called and he painted it with me sitting outside on the pavement reading a magazine while my friend was doing her makeup. He said he’d chosen us because I had my favourite royal blue frock on and Denise had a cream blouse and red skirt. He wanted to capture the gay mood of the village and we were the two brilliant splashes of colour amongst the greens and the city street colours. Denise and I didn’t know he was
doing it until I got up to get two more coffees from the upstairs bar. I spotted him sitting inside the Rembrandt upstairs doing the picture as he looked down the street through one of the fancy upstairs gallery windows. He’d more or less finished it and I recognised myself so I told him I liked it.

He was a bit rude to me saying, 'If I liked it that much, why didn’t I fucking buy it?' So just to spite him, I did.
He wanted twenty quid, so I gave him twenty five and told him to,’ bring the ‘fucking coffees’ to me at the table and keep the fucking change.’ To my surprise he did. I thought he would have done a runner with the money. He stopped to chat to us and after that our friendship grew from strength to strength. We still laugh about it.”

“Oh my God!” The agent squealed again. “So you’re that Bennie!”

“Yes and don’t spread it around. You could ruin a beautiful friendship not to mention losing an excellent artist from your stable. Jack knows I don’t like to be bothered when I slip into Manchester incognito. I’m not here officially, okay!”

“Okay, mum’s the word. Did you say you had twenty of his earliest works?”

“Yes. Something like that, I’ve never counted them. I’ve got his very first sale, certainly; maybe his second and third as well. I bought them from him directly up in the Rembrandt bar that overlooks the street. I even sat with him sometimes, plying him with strong coffee to sober him up until he was fit to paint. Happy days those. I’ve certainly got his first sale and also his first ever effort to capture Manchester pride on canvas. That one’s a riot of colour, - always makes me cheerful.”
The agent looked stunned.

“My God d’you know what you’ve got there?”

“Yes. Jack’s first successful paintings. His first sales.”

“Jesus Christ Bennie! They’re not even catalogued! Did he sign them? Please tell me he signed them!”

Of course he bloody signed them. I made him. Some of the signatures are a bit shitty, when he got drunk and stuff but I still made him sign them, and date them. I wrote the titles on the back because I watched him paint most of them. Sometimes he was so pissed he could hardly remember. Often as not he sofa-surfed in my old flat and he signed them the next morning after he’d sobered up. Happy days those.”

The agent’s jaw just sagged further.

“Do you know the whole bloody art world is going cuckoo trying to find the original Manchester pictures? People knew they existed because lots of people saw him in the Rembrandt with a girl friend. Was that you?”

“Yes. And?”

“Well don’t you see!? They’re not just Jack’s earliest but they’re historical documents, the gay village through the eyes of Jack Seymour way back when!”

“Ha!! Well he was a very drunk Jack Seymour.”

“That’s immaterial, it all adds to the provenance. This is fantastic news!! Plee-eease can I see them?”

“Not now. I’ll bring them from my apartment to your studio. I don’t like people knowing where I live. It’s my secret hidey hole.”

“Does Jack know where it is?”

“No I sold the old place, the place where he used to flake out. Does he still get pissed?”

“No. He’s a changed man since his liver problems and his liver transplant.”

“I’m surprised he lived this long, God he could drink, - and fuck!” I smiled enigmatically.

The agent gave me a knowing look and I made my excuses before she could ask anymore. I went straight round to my downtown apartment in the village and changed into another ‘anonymous mode’ in case the Asian girl turned up to early. If we were to meet that evening, I would have the advantage.

At five, Jack turned up in our favourite cafe; the old ‘greasy spoon’ and we chewed the fat whilst enjoying one of Eddie’s famous plate-sized giant scones. Eddie recognised Jack but did not remember me for I was wearing a different outfit and wig from the morning. Besides, Eddie was too busy with the ‘going home’ crowd. As we chatted I spotted the Asian girl walking across the road towards the greasy spoon.

“Hey-up Jack. It’s the Asian kid again. My name’s still Bennie but I’m not you-know-who, okay.”

Jack nodded his understanding as she spotted him and walked into the cafe. Eddie gave her a cursory glance then ignored her as he saw her join Jack and me at our table.

“Are you that artist friend of Bennie’s?”

“Yes.” Jack replied. She looked hungrily at the giant scone and then at me then gasped with surprise.

“Oh shit! It’s you!”

“Yes it’s me. What d’you want?”

She eyed our giant scone and made a sideways motion with her head. It was a silent beseechment for a similar giant scone.
I nodded and caught Eddie’s eye as she returned eagerly to the counter to collect another scone along with butter, cream and a large dollop of raspberry jam. The inevitable huge mug of tea accompanied the order. The giant mugs of tea were a given in Eddie’s cafe.

As she munched her way through the scone, Jack and I talked art and about his agent’s wish to see my early purchases.

“She told me about you’re not wanting her to come and see them. Still cagey eh girl.” Jack grinned.

“Gorra’ be have’n I? You know the score.”

“Well I’ll be in her studio tomorrow, bring them over and I can authenticate them for her. She’ll want to catalogue them and that will bring her studio a bit of notoriety. The Museum staff are running the exhibition for the rest of the week. I’ve got to go, another bloody reception tonight, another bloody night of refusing the drinks. This bloody liver, - you know.”

“Thanks Jack, see you tomorrow afternoon. Byee-ee.”

As Jack left, the Asian girl eyed the remains of our shared scone. I took a little bit then pushed the plate towards her. As
she smeared butter, cream and jam over it she spoke.

“What was all that about. He’s that famous artist. How come you know him?”

“There you go again. Questions and more questions. Why should I tell you when I still don’t know your name?”
She paused thoughtfully.

“Well you can’t be some sort of agent sent to find me, everybody seems to know you around here including that Jack bloke and he’s famous. I know cos of the exhibition at the museum. My name’s Khatia and I am a Muslim.

“Yeah that explains a lot. What you running away from, an arranged marriage?”

“Yes. Exactly that. They want me to go to Pakistan and marry my first cousin. He’s horrible.”

“Well you don’t have to. You’re a UK citizen.”

“Yeah, tell that to my grandfather.”

“So that’s why you’re always on the look-out.”

“Yeah. They think I’m in London but this place is the best hide-out. They’re so bigoted and narrow-minded they wouldn’t even be seen dead around here. They probably think they’ll get infected with the ‘Gay Bug’ or something.”

“Are you gay?” I asked quite openly, to emphasise my total impartiality.

“I’m bi.”

“Well here’s lookin’ at you kid so am I. I’ve got to go now, my cat‘ll be wondering where I am.”

As I said this I realised I had inadvertently declared my status, - single! She must have picked up on this because her next words said it all.

“And I’m lonely,” she added, leaving the heavy hint hanging in the air.

I didn’t bite despite her stunning good looks. For all I knew she could still be a working girl or the bait in a honey trap so I stood up and made it obvious I was ‘not interested’ as I replied.

“Well, cities are lonely places. I won’t suggest you find a sheltered hostel or something because your family will possibly have feelers out in every big city. Bye for now. If you want a breakfast tomorrow, be here eight sharp. I’m opening up the shop at nine tomorrow, there’s a big event on.”

She looked at me with the disappointment writ large. Her effort to latch on to me had failed. For a moment I almost failed but
I stiffened my resolve and decided to wait this one out. Street-wise and hard bitten, that was me. I’d left her an ‘in’ with a further offer of breakfast. If she took it, things might progress, after all she was a stunning looker and I had heterosexual tendencies despite my partial transgenderism and transvestism.

On the maglev train to my out-of-town suburban apartment I reflected on our having met. I concluded she was looking more for a safe place to sleep than any form of relationship. Once home I fed my best friend MacDoolittle and set about my laundry. Wednesday was laundry night. I had to keep a fairly rigid schedule otherwise I would soon descend into a life of chaos. After loading the washing machine I gave the out-of-town apartment a quick clean and finally settled on the settee. As I stretched out and ate my bunch of grapes (Bacchanalian Style,) with my snuggle wrapped around me, MacDoolittle arrived, sniffed me out then curled up between my legs. It was a nightly routine we had grown to enjoy. Even immensely rich transgendered people couldn’t go out clubbing every night.

I switched on to the documentary channel and would you believe, there was a programme about homeless young people in the north of England with Manchester featuring heavily. It unsettled me and I couldn’t sleep properly that night wondering if Khatia was okay. I even forgot to empty the washing machine and only just remembered as I was freeing the cat-flap for MacDoolittle to ‘in and out’ during the day.

MacDoolittle had the run of the roof and he had worked out how to wait for the lifts and also use the back fire escape. The other residents knew him well; MacDoolittle was a far better socialiser than I was. A loud plaintive meow would usually bring somebody to open the lift and everybody knew he lived in the Penthouse. Only the best would do for MacDoolittle and he had made a particular friend of the concierge. ‘As far as MacDoolittle saw it, ‘he owned the concierge’ and brought him at least one mouse a week. The concierge didn’t mind, thanks to MacDoolittle’s efforts the whole block was mouse free in a suburban neighbourhood plagued by the field variety.

On the Thursday I was surprised to find myself relieved and pleased to see Khatia loitering on the station concourse. She spotted my short green winter coat, golden scarf and red bobble hat and smiled.

“Did you dress in those colours deliberately? I couldn’t miss you; you look like a traffic light.”

“Well you look like you slept the night in a shop doorway.”

Khatia’s face clouded and I realised I had said totally the wrong thing. She probably had, or at least something like.

“Sorry love, that was stupid and insensitive of me. Come on, let’s go and get that breakfast I promised you.”

Her mood didn’t perk up but she walked with me and we ate heartily. I had deliberately foregone breakfast in anticipation of stoking up at Eddie’s Greasy Spoon. He grinned at me as we entered then his knowing eye fell upon Khatia. He raised one eyebrow to me to check she was with me and I nodded discreetly. His response was to come from behind his ‘Jewish Piano’ and place two of the obligatory ‘industrial sized’ mugs of tea before us.

I caught Khatia’s eye and ordered two full breakfasts with extra toast. She smiled for the first time that morning and her winsome modesty simply tore down my resolve to remain dispassionate. Her breakfast disappeared at an alarming rate then I let her finish mine.

“You’d better go and wash up,” I suggested, “before the crowd starts.”

“Will he mind?”

“Who Eddie? No, not if you’re with me. Just speak to him and he’ll lend you the key to ‘The executive bathroom’.”

“What’s that?” Khatia frowned uncertainly.

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, just ask him and say I sent you.”

She eased herself stiffly from the booth and glided over to Eddie. A few whispered words, a glance in my direction and a smile from Eddie garnished her access to Eddie’s personal washroom. Eddie was gay and fastidiously clean. He lived in a beautiful apartment ‘over the shop’ and had an additional lavatory and shower room down stairs just off from his stock room. I knew because I had helped Eddie buy the place and the rest of the block. I owned eighty per-percent of the building and Eddie had the remaining twenty. The rest of the block was successfully rented out. As with Jack the artist, I had known Eddie for years. He also owed me favours. I had just called one in.

I left before Khatia emerged from the bathroom but she met me again in the LGBT Charity shop.

“What are you doing this afternoon?” She asked as I dealt with a customer.

“Going to see Jack and his agent at the studio. What are you doing?”

She gave me a fatuous look and wagged her head.

“Same as every day, just hanging loose.”

I concluded she might be some use helping me carry the pictures so I invited her to help me. She jumped at the chance; it was something to fill the mindless, soul destroying ordeals of her days on the streets.

“Be back here at one. I’ll have to get a taxi.”

Khatia grinned hugely. She was waiting for me at twelve forty five precisely. I was getting to like Khatia and I decided she had as much to lose as me if her whereabouts became generally known. If I let her know I sometimes lived in an inner city apartment on Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays, it would do no harm. If she told other people, I warned her that I would bloody soon let her relatives know where she was. Her face went grey.

“You wouldn’t! Would you?”

“Yes.” I replied bluntly. “My secret life is as important to me as yours is to you, so I don’t live here okay.”

“She looked up at the converted warehouse and her eyes widened.”

“Is this where you live!?”

“Yes. And mum’s the word! Or I’ll tell your family where you are.”

“Good God! You must be loaded; this is one of the most expensive apartment blocks in Manchester!”

“Now! Shut it! I warned you; mum’s the word!”

She looked at me still with disbelief until I swiped the electronic key and the door swung back then she followed close on my heels. I gathered the twenty paintings and placed them into protective canvas bags before we hailed a cab and made our way to Jack’s agent’s studio. Jasmine his agent squealed with disbelief when she recognised me and realised I hadn’t been bull-shitting. Eagerly she peered into the bags then gasped with ever increasing excitement as she took each picture out.

“Oh my God. These are fantastic. Jack only ever spoke of these occasionally. Just wait until he gets here I’ll give him first ever sales. You do realise what these are worth don’t you?”

“Not really,” I confessed as Khatia stood behind me slowly grasping the truth while the agent carefully removed each painting from its canvas protector.

“There must be upwards of a million credits worth here. Ahh! Here we are; this must be Mardi Gras!”

I peered at the colourful painting and frowned.

“So what’s so important about Mardi Gras?”

“Don’t you know? Jack has painted a version of the parade every year since he started painting. The whereabouts of every other one is known except this one, the very first one. This is bloody history Bennie! Look at the detail Bennie; those two buildings have gone. There’s a high rise there now. This bloody painting is almost priceless!!”

As the agent’s voice rose an octave, Jack eventually appeared in the doorway.

“What ho Bennie. Are these all of them?”

I nodded as Jack studied them then turned to me.

“Can I ask you a big favour?”

“Anything for you big-boy, I grinned coyly.”

Jack blushed and the agent gave him a sharp stare as she caught my drift.

“So you were having a relationship!” She charged.

“Something like that.” Jack replied as she held the very first painting in his hand, me in my blue dress and Denise in her cream and red.

“D’you know Bennie, this is still my favourite. D’you remember me swearing at you?”

“Yes and me at you. I never got my bloody change back.”

“You told me to keep it!”

I grinned hugely. Jack had remembered every detail and that pleased me. I continued.

“So what’s the big favour?”

“Can I put these in the exhibition? Now, this afternoon.”

“Will the museum let you do that? Don’t they usually have some arty-farty twat poncing about and rabbiting on about the layout?”

“It’s my exhibition. Besides, it’ll be the first time ‘Mardi Gras One’ has ever been exhibited in public. It’ll be a huge feather in their caps. Most of that series is in the National; - on loan from various owners.”

“What about insurance?”

“That’s no problem,” squealed the agent, “oh this is just so fabulous!”

I shrugged and agreed to it. Jack smiled and promptly endorsed the back of each of my paintings. He grinned at some of my ‘captions’ and suggested I change the titles.

“I wouldn’t have called it that.”

“Bugger off,” I snapped, “you couldn’t have called it anything; - you were too pissed to call a fucking taxi. After you’d finished the painting, you spent all night in my bed; - snored your bloody head off after fucking me stupid!”

“Yeah but it was nice wasn’t it?”

I grinned from the memories and agreed with him.

“Yeah. The whole bloody year was nice wasn’t it?”

jasmine the agent blushed slightly as also did Khatia.

“Right gentlemen, now that the seedy reminiscing is over shall we sort these pictures out and catalogue them.”

"Hey. less of the seedy! It was a wonderful time for us, Jack was probably at his most creative! Now; here are my stipulations. The titles remain as I described them. I paid for them, I even bloody commissioned some of them and I still own them. My pictures; - my titles! Anyway he was too pissed to give them titles!”

Jack nodded and smiled.

“Okay, have it your way. I was only winding you up Bennie. Besides, the Titles are already on the back. Did you do that?”

“Yes and if you can’t remember, it shows just how pissed you’d got after finishing them.”

Jack shrugged and had the decency to be embarrassed then we catalogued the paintings, photographed them and enlightened the museum. The head curator and his art associate were around in less than fifteen minutes. They were every bit as excited as Jack’s agent. We packed all the paintings then with my permission and company we took them to the museum. With this job finished I returned to my village apartment and decided to invite Khatia in. I thought she would be hesitant but she almost tore my arm off.

In the apartment I could tell she wanted to pump me about a thousand questions but I gave out clear vibes that I was not in a divulgent mood. Instead, I made coffee and settled into my favourite settee. Khatia settled on the opposite settee and within moments she was fast asleep. I carefully untied her shoes and grimaced at her filthy feet; the poor kid probably hadn’t bathed properly for ages. I lifted her in my arms, ‘God she was light, - probably malnourished!’ then I carried her into the spare bedroom and laid her on top of the bed. Finally, I took a blanket from the linen cupboard and let her lie; it was probably the first soft bed she’d slept on in months. There were some good programmes on the telly that night and that, coupled with a few hours surfing the net, finally sent me to sleep. In the morning, the sound of the shower in the second bedroom gradually dragged me from my slumber. I showered quickly, slipped into my bathrobe then made some breakfast before she finally emerged. She had obviously indulged herself in the hot water and abundant shampoo. I turned from the stove as she appeared with a bath towel tucked over her breasts and another towel turbaned around her hair in true girly style. I smiled.

“Sleep well?”

“Yes. Thanks for everything.”

“You’re welcome, d’you need clean underwear?”

She blushed and nodded.

“My bedroom, dressing table, right hand first drawer. We’re about the same size. The cotton ones in cellophane are obviously unused. Don’t know about the bras though.”

I finished looking pointedly at her impressive boobs then glancing at my own modest efforts.
She grinned then asked.

“Can I borrow a skirt and top? We’re about the same size.”

“Okay; if you must but you’d better eat this first. My blouses will be a little tight on you. You’d better choose something stretchy.”

I set out the scrambled egg, fried tomatoes and toast and she smiled wryly.

“No bacon or sausages I see.”

“You can’t be that hungry any more or are you unconcerned?”

“I eat it. The dietary rules shouldn’t apply to me anymore. It was all to do with genuinely unclean meat. Modern hygiene means pork is safe.”

“That’s very advanced thinking for a Muslim.”

“Hey! We’re not all blind adherents to outdated medieval mores. That’s why I ran away. My grandfather’s blind adherence to almost every single thing just wound me up. Bacon may have been Harram years ago but for God’s sake. Besides, it tastes good, especially sausages.”

I shrugged and drunk my coffee. Almost as soon as I realised that the religions still tended to condemn me for being transgendered I’d never ever bothered with religion. Oh the churches paid lip service to transgenderism but there was an underlying antagonism. For transgendered people the whole religion kick was devastating.

After finishing her breakfast, Khatia looked around my flat and frowned.

“I think you’ve been lying to me.”

“How?” I demanded.

“You must be loaded to own this place. You said you didn’t have much money.”

“’Much’ is a relative word.”

“Okay then what about those paintings. That agent said they were worth maybe a million.”

“They weren’t when I bought them. Jack Seymour was a down at heel bum when I bought them off him. It’s just that I spotted something in his work and then everybody did. I bought those paintings for twenty credits apiece and even then I paid him over the odds. Plus he got to shag me. We were lovers then. He’s moved on, so have I.”

“So what d’you do now that you can afford this place? D’you do drugs or something?”

“No.”

“So how can you live here? These places cost an arm and a leg.”

“I get by. I’ve got a job, anyway! It’s no concern of yours. You’re nothing to do with me. You’re just a kid off the streets. I don’t have to explain myself to you!”

Khatia finished the last of her coffee and shrugged.

“Be like that then. I’ll hold you to the clothes thing and go.”

I shrugged again and switched on my lap-top while I waited for Khatia to finish dressing. Then she dressed herself. When I emerged from my bedroom, Khatia was gone but a quick check confirmed nothing appeared to be missing. I locked up and went to work. I didn’t expect to see Khatia again and this saddened me. I had secretly hoped the girl might come to the shop.

‘The girl seemed to be getting under my skin.’

This chapter addresses Bennies slowly developing relationship with Khatia as she brings Khatia out of her shell to address her bisexualism.

 

NEW SPACETRAN 15

Spacetran 15

List of our children and their friends.

Girls,
Wendy, William’s twin.
Jessica and Charlotte, Ben’s (AKA Bennie’s,) twin sisters.

Dave and Eddie , Sherriff Jack Johnson’s boys.
Linda and Sandra, Sherriff Jack Johnson’s daughters.
Ray, Wendy’s husband, (Our son in Law.).
Khatia. Bennie’s secret Muslim wife.

At lunchtime Bennie handed over the till to Paula and went to meet Jack at the museum. He had texted her to say her loaned pictures looked superb and they were causing a huge buzz. His agent had even compiled an addition to the catalogue just to describe the new finds. They met at Eddie’s ‘greasy spoon’ then went on to the museum. The exhibition was crowded and Jack’s agent had done a deal with the museum authorities to make the extra display a paying one. The entrance was 10 credits and the emergency exhibition space was buzzing with excitement...

At first the lady asked them to pay until Jack’s agent and the Museum’s chief art curator came rushing to clear up the misunderstanding. They all chuckled at the thought of Bennie being expected to pay to see her own paintings.
The curator enthused to Bennie.

“This is just so fantastic, and you’re saying these priceless artefacts have been lying around in your flat for years.”

“Uuhhm, - no! They weren’t lying around miss; they were hanging on my walls. I’ve always liked Jack’s work.”

At this Jack reached around Bennie and cuddled her to him. Bennie allowed herself to fall into his one-armed embrace as the curator continued.

“Can I take a photo of that cuddle? It just adds so much to the provenance for the exhibition.”

For a moment Bennie was uncertain then she decided little harm could be done and she nodded. Her disguise was pretty secure and she demanded control of any press releases. As the curator clicked away she continued excitedly.

“Miss Thomas the agent here says you’re prepared to loan the whole series to the museum.”

“Series?” Wondered Bennie loudly. “I never thought of them as a series. They were always just Jack’s paintings. I knew he’d moved on but not like this, - all this, this uuhhm, - fame! I’ve moved on as well. I honestly can’t remember if they were numbered one to twenty.”

She turned to look up at Jack from his embrace.

“Were they the first twenty Jack? I can’t remember; I know I wasn’t always there when you were painting.”

“I don’t think so; I think I sold a couple to some passersby on Canal Street on the odd Saturdays. You occasionally disappeared on weekends about once a month as I remember rightly.

Bennie felt Jack’s embrace tighten secretively as they shared their private secret namely Bennie’s true identity and the monthly absences to attend the board meetings.

“Well that’s not important,” the curator observed, “the important thing is that these pictures are dated, signed and described by the original buyer. That makes them a wonderful themed series with priceless provenance. I mean the fact that the very first picture actually has Bennie and a friend in it makes it just so exciting. It’s like a love story! The museum is just so grateful to you. Are you lending them in perpetuity?”

Bennie nodded and shrugged.

“I can’t see why not. They’re just pictures to me, albeit pictures with lovely memories, pictures that I love, - beautiful pictures. It was a love story.”

Again she savoured Jacks tightening embrace before they parted and the curator took out a recorder.

"I’d like the two of you to take us through the paintings as we go around this new bit.”

“Who’s we!” Bennie asked.

“Well me, you two and probably this crowd.”

Bennie and Jack turned to see the gathered crowd nodding and murmuring. For a moment Bennie stiffened,

‘Would somebody recognise her?’
‘Poor kid; if she only knew! She’d probably throw a Muslim fit if she found out!’

She looked directly at Khatia and smiled wanly.

“No, I’m not gay, I told you before, I’m bi; but that doesn’t mean I’m going to pounce on you and torment you with lesbian sex. I’m not that sort of a girl and it’s something I just couldn’t do. The offer of a room, bed and shower is there if you want it. Take it or leave it.

I’m going clubbing later tonight. I’ve no work tomorrow, and I’ll probably meet Eddie with his boyfriend in the Rembrandt. I suggest you have a night in and spend it on your hair it looks like a rat’s nest! You should have brushed it this morning after showering instead of rushing off.”

“Have you got a steady partner?” Khatia asked bluntly.

“No. I live alone and keep myself very much to myself. I get my kicks mainly from the crack in the village at weekends. I won’t be bringing any partners home if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

“So I’ll be safe will I? In your apartment that is.”

"Look kid, don’t you remember? You slept there last night! The spare bedroom’s got its own bolt on the inside and you have your own en-suite. Take it or leave it."

Khatia let out a long thankful sigh.

“You’ve got a weird, back-handed way of being charitable. You should have been a Muslim though you’d make a bloody peculiar one.”

“Not bloody likely. I won’t truck with any of those nodding and bobbing bastards, Christian, Jew or Muslim; Sikh, Hindu or Buddhist. If there’s one thing I learned from my dad it was to steer clear of religious freaks! — bloody fanatics!”

“Your dad?”

“Yeah. Dad had the same issues. I’m very close to my dad.”

“Mmm. Lucky you.” Khatia replied thoughtfully. “D’you ever see him?”

“Yes, once a month, next Monday in fact.”

“Oh so you’re not some sort of odd-ball who made it to the top despite your family then?”

“No. What made you think that? And why d’you think I’ve ‘made it to the top’?”

“I dunno, I just thought, - this apartment; - and, I mean you’re so secretive and everything.”

“That’s my privilege. Though I owe my dad a lot. We’re two of a kind.”

“Chip off the old block then.”

“Summat like that. Ah good. Here’s a taxi. Are you getting in?”

Khatia needed no second bidding. The idea of a warm, dry clean bed with apparently no strings attached was just too much. She stepped into the pul and pressed herself into a corner where the hot air warmed her legs. By the time they arrived at Bennie’s apartment the aching chill in her bones was slowly receding. Once in the apartment, Bennie made some tea and Khatia eyed the contents of the fridge as Bennie took the milk out. Bennie followed Khatia’s gaze.

“What? Fancying the cake or something?”

“Mmm. It looks delisch’.”

“I think you’d best shower first. I’m going to but I’m not washing my hair. I usually do that Friday mornings. If you hurry, you might have time to come clubbing; that is if your Muslim mores will allow.”

Khatia relished the idea of clubbing. She had several times strolled through the village savouring the wild scenes and strange sights but she’d never plucked up the courage to enter a club. Old religious admonishments still chiselled away at her psyche. She disappeared into the second bedroom and indulged herself then she was pleased to find Bennie ready and waiting with her hair dryer.

“Come here, your hair won’t take long with this. Gosh you’ve got beautiful hair, so thick and straight.”

Khatia sat at the breakfast bar and ate the cakes while Bennie dried her hair and brushed it. Khatia felt as though she was being pampered.

“Mmmmm. That’s just sooo-oo nice!”

Her hair dried quickly to a rich, blue-black lustre that even Bennie envied. Khatia was reluctant to forego the brushing and blowing but if it meant she could accompany Bennie to the village she realised she would have to give up the sensuous head massage. She was doubly pleased when Bennie produced an exciting outfit and a pair of boots to address the rain.

“I got these in the charity shop this morning. I hope the boots fit.”

Khatia tried them on and they only just fitted. A teeny bit tight but nothing that a determined girl couldn’t tolerate, - and heels to die for. Khatia dared to allow herself that delicious thought.

‘Mmm fuck me heels and then some. This Bennie was one hell of a girl!’

Bennie grinned. As Khatia loosened the towel and stood naked before her except for the teetering heeled boots.

“Are you going like that?” Bennie chuckled.

“No cheeky! Your outfit’s a bit risqué though isn’t it?”

“I love tarty. Call me crazy but I can look after myself. Remember your pimp in the alley? Now hurry up and dress girl the night’s a-wastin’!”

Khatia wagged her head in disbelief for under Bennie’s indecently short mini-skirt she was wearing a micro-thong that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Then the patterned hold-ups emphasised the hemline for they stopped exactly level with the skirt. Bennie resembled a ‘dockside whore!

‘Ah well, in for a penny, in for a pound’ she decided and she plunged into Bennie’s extensive wardrobe.

‘By Allah’s will, this girl indulges herself!’ Khatia concluded as she searched through the racks of clothing and finally chose a stretchy minifrock almost as daring as Bennie’s ‘fanny pelmet’. She chose some black, high-gloss tights to complement the scarlet dress and studied herself in the mirror. She had never felt so vampish as she thought back to the oppressive family childhood and the way her father and grandfather had controlled her and her younger sisters whilst allowing her brothers free rein! Khatia stared excitedly into the mirror and thought to herself.

‘You’ll do Fatima Aziz; bugger grandpa and his oppressive ways.’

With her beautiful looks it took but an instant to put on some ‘lippy’ and Fatima felt ready for the fray. When she emerged from the bedroom Bennie’s eyes widened and her jaw sagged as the dress strained over Khatia’s breasts.

“My God girl, you could straighten a gay-guy with those!”

“D’you think so, that’d be fun wouldn’t it?”

Being as it was after ten o’clock the village was beginning to come alive and Khatia began to realise the advantages to having an apartment on Sackville Street. The main drag, Canal Street was but a few metres away. A few short mincing steps in their ‘fuck-me’ shoes and Bennie was chatting to the bouncers at the door to Rembrandts. Despite the queue Bennie sailed in and promptly headed for Eddie who sat upstairs. Khatia followed and for the first time savoured curious eyes following her exposed butt as she ascended the stairs. It felt both exciting and daring to be wearing such a short frock. Eddie was chatting with his boyfriend whilst Bennie was surprised and pleased to meet Jack sketching a portrait of his agent Jasmine Thomas.

“I thought you were at a reception?” Bennie charged.

“It’s finished so Jasmine and I decided on a night in the village. Jasmine’s never been here before. D’you realise what time it is, it’s almost eleven.”

“We keep late hours,” Bennie grinned.

“We?”

“Yeah, this little stunner and I, Khatia.”

“Oh. I can see the attractions; have you become an item then?”

Khatia snapped angrily.

“Certainly not. I’m not a lesbian!”

The bar went silent and Khatia suddenly realised where she was. She suddenly felt vulnerable and found herself squeezing between Jack and Bennie. Bennie quickly moved to defuse the tension.

“No darling your bi and that’s something different. Everybody’s different here love. So watch your manners.”

Bennie said it loud enough for nearby ears to hear and the tension noticeable eased.

Jack forgot himself for a moment and asked Bennie.

“Doesn’t she know?”

Even as he said it, Jack could have kicked himself. Nobody there knew that Bennie was a partially transgendered transvestite just like her illustrious father.

Bennie was about to protest but Khatia, with her senses now at ‘hyper’ level, spoke first.

“Know what? What don’t I know?”

Jacks eyes rolled with apology as Bennie glared at him. It was an easy mistake to make and Bennie knew she would always run the risk of discovery, especially if she got close to someone. She took Khatia’s hand and led her to a quiet corner that another couple had just vacated. Jack and Jasmine had been waiting to claim the seat the moment it was vacated because the corner window made a good setting as a backdrop to the sketch of Jasmine. Seats were re-arranged and Khatia found herself sitting in a very private corner as Bennie took her hand.

“D’you want to know what you don’t know?”

“Will it upset me?”

“I don’t know. You did tell me you were Bi though.”

“I am,” Khatia confirmed, “and you said you were.”

“Well, yes, I am, but there’s something else. Something that might affect you.”

Khatia’s brows knitted uncertainly.

“What d’you mean?”

Bennie hesitated as her heart thumped furiously. This was the biggie and she had no idea how Khatia might react. Fortunately Eddie and his boyfriend were to hand if Khatia attacked her. It wouldn’t do for Bennie to be seen beating Khatia if she took offence. Bennie opened the conversation very cautiously and slowly.

“You know I told you I was bi?”

“Yes, what of it? So am I.”

“Well I’m a bit different as well.”

Khatia sat silent, studying Bennie as she obviously seemed to be mustering some courage. The tension prompted Katia to break the silence.

“That difference being?”

Bennie looked at the floor, then out through the windows and finally at Khatia.

“I don’t want you to be frightened by this.”

“Oh get on with it. So what’s this big secret?”

“I, - I, - I’m not a girl.”

Khatia sat silent, staring hard at Bennie as she tried to make sense.

“What d’you mean, ‘not a girl’?”

“Exactly that! I’m not a girl, - - - I’m technically a boy.”

Khatia fell silent again as she studied the ‘girl’ in front of her.

“You’re joking!”

“I’m not,” Bennie replied, sagging with relief that Khatia hadn’t blown a gasket.

“But you’re, - you’re, - you’re just; - no you’re a girl! I mean just look at you.”

“Looks can deceive Khatia. Truly, - I’m a boy, at least my plumb-, no my bits down there, my dangly bits, - they say I’m a boy.”

For a moment, Khatia’s gaze locked, mesmerized onto Bennie’s ultra-short skirt then she recovered her composure. Bennie crossed her legs uncomfortably tight and made a lamentable attempt at tugging her skirt hem before Khatia looked up and grinned.

“That wasn’t a boy move. That was pure girly. You’re a girl; - inside your head you’re a girl. I mean look at those boobies, and that arse! I saw all the boys following your arse up the stairs, before they spotted mine. And they were the gay ones; they are all gay in here aren’t they?”

“Not all,” Bennie replied, “some are tourists looking for a thrill. Some are ‘Tranny chasers’; look out for those, they tend to think a tranny has no right to say ‘NO’””

“Yes they must have been the ones giving you and I the once over.”

Bennie frowned. She wondered if her information had even registered with Khatia.

“Aren’t you upset? Aren’t you angry, - I mean, - I’ve deceived you haven’t I?”

“Well, yes, a little bit but I’m more surprised and amused than angry. I mean I’ve slept with you!”

“No you haven’t, you’ve slept at my apartment but you had your own bedroom and shower. We haven’t slept together.”

“And you didn’t try it on. I’m impressed. Boys are always trying it on.”

“What, even Muslim boys?”

“Especially Muslim boys! The moment the news got out that I was refusing to wear the burkah and the hijab they all thought I was some sort of slag. It got to be a real pain for if I slapped one of them they deemed me the abuser because I was ‘leading them on’. In truth, that’s the main reason I ran away, the hassle on the streets was as bad as the strife at home. I just got sick of it.”

“So living rough on the streets is better than a nice, safe, warm home.”

“Correction Bennie, the only word that’s right there is warm; - it was neither safe nor nice.”

“How come?” Wondered Bennie who’d never experience anything but love and tenderness at home. Bennie worshipped her parents but then Bennie’s parents were very special people.

“You don’t really want to know.” Khatia continued. “They tried to beat me into a burkah. For me living on the streets is infinitely better than home as I knew it. Out here I’m a free spirit; in danger, yes, probably but at least I’m free. Look at me now, out in a gay bar, drinking my chosen non-alcoholic tipple with a; - what are you anyway; what d’you call yourself?”

“I’m a partially transsexual, bisexual transvestite.”

“Partial? You mean sort of a bit of both?”

“Well more a bit of everything. I suppose you Muslims would say that when Allah had finished making my brothers and sisters he lumped all the left over bits and made me. I was the youngest.”

Khatia grinned at the last remark.

“They say mixing the genes is the best way. You should see the genetic problems in my family with everybody marrying their first cousins. Two of my second cousins are polydactyl. It’s getting bad in my town. You’re a good healthy mongrel; I bet you never get ill.”

“Hold on Khatia, I’m transgendered. Most people would say that’s not healthy.”

“It’s healthy in your body, just not out there; on the street, unless you pass.”

I looked down and felt a warm feeling. At least I passed. I looked up again and smiled as Khatia recognised what I had just done and confirmed it.

“Yes you pass, easily. D’you want another orange-juice?”

With this one simple question I sagged with relief. Khatia had accepted my condition and moved on without it seemingly affecting our friendship one iota. I nodded as Khatia stood up then grinned as she held out her hand.

“Who d’you think's paying for this, I ain’t got any money. You're the boy, you just said it."

I handed her a twenty and suggested she buy a round. She came back cock-a-hoop.

“What are you so happy about?” I asked.

“I just got about four offers between here and the bar. This place is crazy.”

“Were they good looking?” I pressed.

“Well the boy was. Two of the other’s were beautiful and the fourth was a butch as they come.”

I grinned as I helped her take the glasses off the tray.

“Were they all gay then?”

“I hope not,” she grinned. The guy was real eye candy.”

“Oh-oh. Now you’re making me jealous.”

“Don’t worry love, I can trust you, I know you’re safe.”

I felt a warm inner glow. Khatia had just referred to me as ‘love’.

As we sat and chatted, neither Khatia nor I noticed Jack looking up at us frequently. It was Eddie that spotted it as he stood up to go for a wee’ and got a glimpse of Jack’s portrait of Jasmine.

“Oh that’s clever Jack! That’s a better backdrop than the Mona Lisa!”

“Let’s have a look!” I begged as I stood up and craned my neck. Jack frowned and declared it unfinished but I could already see the pencil work. Jasmine was drawn turning slightly as though smiling at somebody across the table while Khatia and the rest of us were drawn into the background. Everybody was enjoying themselves.

“Are you going to paint that?” I asked him, for I had seen many of his pencil sketches.

“He’d better!” Jasmine declared. “It’s my portrait.”

As Jasmine spoke Khatia had stepped forward from her corner seat to get a look.

“Is that me looking sideways?” Khatia demanded as she studied the back drop.

“Yes. You said you didn’t want your portrait so I’ve done you like that. Nobody can recognise you.”

Khatia looked long and hard at the sketch before finally conceding that Eddie was right. Her partially profiled features could not be recognised but it was obvious that the girl in the back ground was very beautiful and laughing at something as she turned her head to respond to a remark. The curve of her neck showed beautifully. The reactions of all the boys in the back ground demonstrated this as lust or affection or amusement reflected in their eyes. Jasmine stood up to look at it and she gasped.

“That’s clever. Who are the boys looking at, me or Khatia?”

“Take your pick.” Jack replied. “I haven’t included Bennie yet. I was thinking of just including her head and face, three-quarter turned on the bench, in the corner behind and between you and Khatia. People will think perhaps it was Bennie who made the remark that caused Khatia to turn and laugh. You’re the only one quarter frontal, it’s your portrait and I’ve got you with your hand on Bennie’s shoulder just about to turn and speak to her. You’ll like it, I promise. It’s full of activity.”

“You’ve captured the view overlooking Canal Street rather well,” Jasmine offered.

“I had to do it like that. It gives me the right sort of street lighting to capture your natural colours. It doesn’t do Khatia’s hair much justice though.”

“Well it’s not her portrait but you’ve captured her happiness really well. You can tell she’s very vivacious and amused at something. I like it. It’s happy picture, I’ll cherish this.”

“Can we see it when it’s finished?” I asked.

“Of course!” Jasmine replied. “That’s what pictures are for silly!”

“Will it be hung publicly?” Khatia added as concern still lingered.

“No. This one’s for my apartment. Jack owes me this.”

Khatia visibly relaxed and I squeezed her hand to reassure her.

“D’you fancy dancing?” I asked her.

Khatia looked at me solemnly and declared that she’d never danced with a boy.

“What!” I gasped. “What! Never? Not even as a little girl in party games and things?”

“No. Grandpa was very strict.”

“Bloody hell. Girl you don’t know what you’ve been missing. Out on the floor now!”

It was that night that Bennie Met Khatia.

Khatia had never come so intimately close to a boy before and yet that boy so resembled a girl that nobody watching would have believed it was anything but a pair of ‘Lipstick lesbians’ deeply in love. Bennie taught her to jive; a task that took most of the night as Khatia learned different moves. Finally as the morning sun gradually filtered through the grey Manchester morning Khatia slumped into her chair.

“That’s it! I’m bushed. I’ve got to go to bed.”

“Oh so soon,” Bennie teased. “The dawn is but young.”

“Exactly!” Khatia squeaked. “That’s just it. It’s dawn and my feet are killing me. D’you realise we’re the last pair standing. I’ve only just realised, the place is virtually empty. Where are Jack and Jasmine, where’s Eddie?”

“Home in bed I shouldn’t wonder.”

“Well that’s where I need to be. I’m whacked!”

“Well you must have enjoyed yourself not to have noticed we’re the last couple here.”

Khatia struggled to her aching feet and nodded towards the door.

“Home you crazy bitch. Haven’t you had enough?”

“Of you my lady I could never have enough. Have you enjoyed tonight?”

Khatia sighed, smiled and suddenly found herself stealing a kiss. It started as a tentative meeting of lips then quickly ascended into a meeting of souls as lips and tongues struggled eagerly to become as one. Eventually Bennie felt a slight tap on her shoulder. She turned to meet a bleary-eyed doorman.

“It’s closing time girls. It’s nearly seven.”

“Yes, we’re on our way home now.” Bennie replied as she wrapped her arm around Khatia’s waist and they limped painfully the few metres to her flat on Sachman Street.

The instant they entered the apartment, Khatia flung herself on her bed and within seconds she was asleep. Bennie removed her boots, checked that her feet weren’t bleeding, then pulled the duvet over her. Khatia knew little else until she woke in the early afternoon. The flat was silent and she decided to look in on the strange person who had given her such a fantastic time. She found Bennie still fast asleep with her long blond hair fanned out on the pillow. She debated taking a peep under the duvet to see if Bennie really was a boy then she desisted. It would have been a breach of trust every bit as unfair as Bennie sneaking into her bed.

For Khatia the nicest thing was not feeling threatened or scared. Here she was, waking up in a boy’s apartment and not having been touched or offended. Instead she made a cup of tea and gently woke her newfound friend with a gentle kiss on the forehead.

“Mmm. What time is it?” Bennie murmured.

“Nearly one o’clock.”

Bennie sprang awake and dashed to the shower. She emerged and started dressing immediately. Khatia watched as Bennie chose a very reserved and sombre outfit. A smart silk, grey suite with a matching dove-grey blouse. Grey tights, grey shoes and a contrasting black and grey handbag. Bennie looked every inch the executive. Once she was dressed she asked Khatia.

“Oh, d’you fancy Sunday lunch across the block? The Taj does a fabulous Indian Lunch.”

Katia wagged her head.

“Bloody hell girl, don’t you stop? Is life just one long round of parties and work with you?”

“No. If you want a quiet afternoon, you can stay in and watch the telly. I haven’t got much food in; I wasn’t planning on being in tonight.”

“Oh where are you going?”

“To work. Part of my job is that I have an appointment every month. It’s very private. It’s to do with my transgenderism and other stuff. I sometimes see my dad but it’s strictly private and I won’t brook any questions about it.”

“Oh. So you won’t be here tonight.”

“No. That’s why I usually have lunch at The Taj then go to work. Duty calls I’m afraid.”

“Are you a spy or something?”

“What did I just say? No questions.”

“Sorry.”

“Look Khatia. One thing you’ll have to learn is that I have secrets. They’re not state secrets but they are very private and very personal. They’re important to me. If you are even considering having a relationship then you won’t ever delve into my secret life. I won’t tolerate it. It only impinges on my time here for a couple of days a month. That’s not much to ask is it?”

“Is it dangerous?”

“No.”

“Will it affect me; you know; the family and stuff.”

“No. It might even help you. Provided you respect my secrets yours will remain safe as well. This is as safe and secure an apartment as you could wish for.”

Khatia slowly realised, ‘Bennie was hiding from something as well!’ She asked Bennie bluntly for she had been sick of being fed lies all her life.

“Are you on the run or something?”

“No. I’ve never broken any laws. Surely the fact that I meet my daddy once a month is proof of that. The law is not looking for me.”

“But you are hiding; you’re hiding from somebody or something.”

“Yes. But my life is not in danger. Provided I remain anonymous and fairly low profile, I can live in peace.”

“So you won’t tell me.”

“No. Nobody knows me and if you don’t then I’m safe and so are you.”
Khatia decided she would go for lunch and smiled to herself as she contemplated the comment and curiosity it would cause when the waiters saw her, an Asian girl, out alone with a lesbian lover in the gay village. Then she corrected herself. Bennie was not her lover, Bennie had shown the utmost consideration and kindness, a friend in need yes, but a lover no, - well not yet anyway. This transgender boy-girl thing needed further explanation.

In this chapter. Khatia gets to know bennie better and things move forward as bennie proposes.

NEW SPACETRAN 16.

Spacetran 16

List of our children and their friends.

Girls,

Wendy, William’s twin.
Jessica and Charlotte, Ben’s (AKA Bennie’s,) twin sisters.
Dave and Eddie , Sherriff Jack Johnson’s boys.
Linda and Sandra, Sherriff Jack Johnson’s daughters.
Ray, Wendy’s husband, (Our son in Law.).
Khatia. Bennie’s secret Muslim wife.

“What time do they finish serving lunch?” Khatia asked.

“This is the village Khatia,” Bennie explained. “You can eat almost round the clock.”

“Have I time for a shower?”

“Okay, be quick. I’ll phone them and tell them I’ll be a little late today.”

Khatia slipped into her own bedroom, ‘funny how she had already come to think of it as ‘her’ bedroom’ and whipped her own bra off the shower rail where she had washed it through. She put it on the radiator to finish drying and quickly ‘scrubbed up’. By the time she was clean the bra was almost dry and she called to Bennie to fetch her some clean knickers. She was doubly pleased when a new pair still in their cellophane, came flying around the door. She grinned as she recognised the subtle change in the relationship. Yesterday she had stood stark naked except for a pair of boots in front of Bennie. It was funny how a little bit of skin and gristle could so change a relationship. She smiled to herself. ‘Bennie was a perfect gentleman, or was that a lady?’ She wondered.

She slipped easily into her own properly fitting bra and stepped into her knickers. Then she had a licentious thought. ‘Should she appear like this and raid Bennie’s extensive wardrobe?’

She smiled to herself and decided to risk it. It would be both a test of Bennie’s intentions and a statement of her own perceptions about where this relationship might be going.

Bennie was checking something on her lap-top as Khatia emerged. She looked up and Khatia was gratified to notice that her eyes just briefly scanned Khatia’s breasts before being snatched up to meet her eyes.

“I saw you,” she scolded with a gentle smile, naughty boy.”

“Well they are nice,” Bennie replied without removing her eyes from Khatia’s gaze, “and I am a bi-boy.”

“But a transsexual bi-boy, that’s a bit of a handful.”

“I told you, God took all the left-over bits when I was made.”

“Now I see what you mean. Can I raid your wardrobe?”

“It’s the only wardrobe on the block; be my guest. Just remember this is Sunday afternoon, look how I’m dressed.”
Khatia wagged her head and smiled.

“Going to Church are you?”

“Going to meet my dad. Much the same thing.”

Khatia nodded and set about burrowing through Bennie’s wardrobe. She found a lovely woollen royal blue two-piece suit and set it off with a pale cream cotton body. Some neat pearl ear-rings and a short pearl necklace completed the outfit then she chose some brown court shoes and a brown bag. She would have chosen the cream heels but her choice of shoes was directed by fit. Bennie’s feet were a size larger and she knew she would have to get some more shoes; her old trainers had been excellent for the street but this was different. She stuffed some tissues into the toes and determined herself passable. Her usual stunning looks needed little make up and she chose some understated dark red gloss lip enhancer. She emerged to receive an approving look and a broad smile from Bennie.

“That’s beautiful darling. Lovely choice and you do it so much justice. Come on, I’ve ordered the fixed lunch for two, I hope you like it, there’s a choice of meats, lamb, beef, pork or chicken. The Taj caters to all tastes and faiths.”

It was again just a short walk around a corner and one block to The Taj so the overlarge shoes proved no problem.

‘This apartment was just soo-oo central!’ Khatia surmised as Bennie exchanged pleasantries with the staff who knew her for a regular Sunday customer. The doorman studied Khatia appreciatively despite his sexual preferences.

“Ooh hello Bennie, you have company I see.”

“Yes Rhaj, what d’you think, pretty or just plain stunning!?”

“You have an excellent choice in companions; this way ladies.”

Once they were seated Khatia asked Bennie.

“Do they think we’re lesbians?”

“Let them think it, we’re both bi anyway so they’re half right.”

“They don’t seem to mind.”

“They’re all gay in here. Tarique the chef is gay so they understand. He owns the place. Khatia can’t you get it? This is the gay village. If we can’t be safe here where can we be safe?”

A tiny tear leaked out of Khatia’s eye. She had never felt so happy, or safe. Bennie passed her a tissue then realised there was no real problem. Khatia wasn’t wearing any makeup save her lip-gloss. Khatia dabbed her eyes and smiled with a deep sigh.

“This is just so nice. A lovely restaurant, a beautiful meal and a really beautiful, kind companion. This is how it should be; this is how I always wanted it to be.”

They reached across the table and squeezed hands, ignoring the knowing but compassionate eyes that looked on from several other tables. Bennie and Khatia looked for all the world exactly what they were, two companions who were discovering something deeper, something more meaningful. Something that transcended sexuality, race, faiths and backgrounds. That something was love.
The staff added to the ambience as they realised Bennie had brought a very special guest. Even Tarique came out to speak to them.

“I’m so happy and honoured that you have brought her here. Are you going to propose?” he asked loudly.

Bennie giggled nervously, afraid she might offend Khatia by declaring.

“I’m sorry Tari’ I didn’t think to bring a ring.”

Khatia defused the tension by adding.

“We’ve only known each other a few days, what would our parent’s think?”

The whole restaurant had been eves-dropping and a soft titter rippled around the tables. Almost every diner present had had issues with their parents.

Bennie’s smile almost split her face as she squeezed Khatia’s hand even tighter.

“Would you even consider such a big step?” She whispered.

Khatia caught her breath.

“Is this an offer? An offer of marriage?” She replied in the same low whisper.

“Is that an acceptance?” Asked Bennie continuing in the same silent vein.

“You’re saying you want to marry me?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Oh Allah! This is just so sudden.”

“Never mind God, go with your heart. Do you love me enough to marry me?”

Khatia hesitated and for a dreadful moment Bennie thought it was a refusal, possibly because of the Wahabist strictures preventing a Muslim woman marrying out of the faith.

Then Khatia slowly nodded her head and Bennie’s heart leapt. Bennie gave a short squeak of delight but the people on the immediate tables sensed what had just occurred and the mood quickly spread around the restaurant. A party atmosphere soon ensued and the neatly laid out tables were quickly re-arranged into a long double line. Bennie and Khatia were placed at the head and congratulations were offered from all quarters. Tarique had a quick word with Bennie and a celebratory menu was quickly prepared. Indian restaurants were nothing if not flexible.

The meal lasted into the evening when Bennie had to finally make his farewells. The job called and he had to attend in New York on the Monday morning. Khatia stood by Bennie’s pul and frowned as Bennie made ready to leave from the roof garage.

“I’ll be back by Tuesday morning, use the flat as if it’s your own. Here’s some cash and the spare pass key. Do yourself a bit of retail therapy.”

“I wish I could come with you. Can’t you tell me anything?”

“No darling. The less you know, the less danger you can be put in. Bye now; I’ll be back Tuesday.”
Khatia watched the pul rise with a soft hum, thread its way into the local traffic then ascend to the higher commercial levels and promptly slide away to the west. She turned to face the empty flat. Already she was missing Bennie and she hadn’t been gone a minute.

Monday found Khatia taking Bennie’s advice. She made herself some breakfast then took herself around to Jasmine’s studio to see how the portrait was coming along and to spread the news about Bennie’s proposal. Jack was in the garret in the loft painting in the figures so Jasmine invited her up.

“Won’t Jack mind? Being interrupted that is.” Khatia wondered, having heard numerous tales of artists hating to be watched while painting.

“Heaven’s no. Any friend of Bennie’s is a friend of Jack’s.”

They climbed the narrow spiral stair until Khatia’s face emerged through the floor to surprise Jack. He turned slightly startled then smiled.

“Oh hello Khatia! Lost for something to do?”

“I’m going shopping but I just had to tell you the news. Bennie’s proposed to me!”

“And did you accept?”

“Yes.”

“Good. She’ll be a very happy girl. She must really love you; she’s never proposed to anyone else.”

Khatia sighed wistfully.

“I just wish she was here. D’you know what it is she does on these monthly trips?”

“Yes, but I’m not going to tell you. I found out by accident and it’s been a strain keeping it secret. It still is a strain so please don’t ask me, it will only upset me to refuse.”

“Just tell me, it’s not illegal is it, you know, drugs or something?”

“No Khatia. It’s definitely not illegal.”

“Then in that case I’ll ask no more.”

“You’re a wise girl,” Jack counselled.

With the issue agreed Khatia stepped behind Jack to join Jasmine studying the painting. She was very impressed.

“Gosh you’re good. Somebody in the Rembrandt said this was your very first portrait is that true?”

“Yes it is. It’s a special one off for my best female friend, Jasmine. It’s a thank you for organising the exhibition. I’ve received over thirty commissions.”

Khatia did the mental maths and gave a silent gasp.

“But how can people afford that sort of money?”

“They’re mostly corporate commissions. You know, the company factory or some such thing showing their industry in a particularly good light; or the street where the bank’s head office sits showing the busy street scene, that sort of stuff.”

“But this portrait’s good,” Katia pressed, “and you’re quick. Why don’t you do more portraits?”

“Nah, it’s usually a sop to people’s vanity. If the public ever see this one of Jasmine and ‘the gang’ I’ll be harried from pillar to post by hordes of people wanting a ‘Jack Seymour Original portrait’.”

“Is that what you’re going to call it, ‘Jasmine and the Gang’?”

“Well it is isn’t it,” Jasmine replied, “the gang was there wasn’t it.”

“So I’m included in ‘the gang’ now am I?” Khatia smiled at the thought of genuinely belonging because she was liked and treated as an equal and not regarded as some sort of breeding property to be matched to some revolting relative for family purposes and politics.

“You’re in the picture love, though only we know it,” Jack added then continued, “and don’t worry about it. Bennie’s also plainly in view over Jasmine’s shoulder. She’s also got issues with being recognised as well. This picture hangs in private on Jasmine’s wall.”

Khatia turned to Jasmine and the agent nodded a vigorous confirmation of Jack’s words. A closer look confirmed to the nervous Asian beauty that the girl, who sat three-quarter turned to chat to Bennie, was indeed her but it would only show to somebody who had an intimate knowledge of Khatia’s left ear and the tiny mole on her neck just behind her left ear. Normally this mole was invisibly tucked away behind her ear and covered by Khatia’s thick lustrous hair but Jack had portrayed Khatia casually flicking her hair as she laughed at Bennie’s remark. In the background, illuminated in the side window by the outside street lights and just coming into view, was a recognisable Jack with a tray of drinks. It was a rare ‘self portrait’ of Jack that gave the whole picture a rare and valuable provenance as well as telling a story.

Khatia could sense Jasmine’s excitement and it was infectious. Khatia wondered if she could ever have such a picture to hang privately on her wall; her and Bennie’s wall. She debated whether to risk asking then decided against it. So much depended on Bennie’s agreement. After sharing a cup of tea up in Jack’s loft, Khatia finally went shopping.

She saw lot’s of beautiful stuff but had to ‘cut her cloth’. Bennie had only given her a thousand credits cash. Khatia wondered if this was to keep the purchases untraceable. She was in a bit of a quandary should she go for lots of cheap stuff or a few classy expensive items.

Finally she chose cheap and cheerful. If Bennie wanted her to look good then she could shop again, with Bennie’s credit cards. Besides her immediate needs were a useable wardrobe for everyday wear. Towards the end of the day she remembered to stock up the fridge. Bennie had previously lived alone and didn’t keep much in her larder. Khatia was grateful to have enough left to hire a taxi to get all the stuff home and further grateful that the front door opened directly onto the street. She only had to cross the pavement with her purchases and she was safe behind the security door. For the rest of that evening Khatia indulged in an impromptu private fashion show as she indulged her feminine feelings and matched her outfits. She was ‘between outfits’ and sitting in a skimpy bra and panties when the phone rang. She hesitated nervously until the digital pad identified the caller as Bennie then she snatched the phone up eagerly. To her surprise and amusement the screen on the wall behind the phone table suddenly showed Bennie’s smiling face as it turned into a salacious grin and he spoke.

“Darling, if you’re going to answer the phone dressed like that, might I advise you to press the red button to switch off the camera. You can see me and I can see you, - all of you!”

“Oh shit! You can see me!” Squealed Khatia as she cast around for a shift to cover herself.

“Yes, and you’re very beautiful!”

“You are not offended then?”

“No, provided you haven’t got another boyfriend or something with you.”

“No! No! No I haven’t.” Khatia squealed nervously.

“Okay, okay, calm down girl. I was only joking. You can stay like that if you wish; it’s a pleasure for my eyes only.”

Khatia relaxed and slumped with relief onto the settee then asked when Bennie was coming home.

“I’ll be there in the early hours of the morning darling, ‘bout fourish’.

“I can’t wait. Hurry home!”

There followed a series of passionate electronic kisses then the line closed. Khatia debated having a breakfast ready for her new partner but decided a cup of tea and toast would suffice. She had no idea where Bennie had been or whether her ‘body-clock’ would be on morning, afternoon or night. Mind you she had only been gone for a little over thirty six hours. She would be on Manchester time. She decided to go to the village and check out all the clubs. Her previous visit with Bennie had emboldened her and additionally she had got to know a few people on the doors.

Monday night was relatively quiet but she was pleased when one of the doormen from Rembrandt’s recognised her and bid her a pleasant ‘good-evening’. She had no idea that the crazy ‘wild-west’ atmosphere of the weekend could change so dramatically into a pleasant ‘continental style’ bourgeois neighbourhood. She took a cup of tea on one of the pavement tables and savoured the quiet evening traffic. She was thankful for the ‘designer label’ coat that Bennie had bought her in the LGBT Charity shop for it kept her warm from the chill Manchester wind. The village was just such a friendly place and everybody seemed to be walking around with smiles on their faces. Khatia was truly content for the first time since learning she was to be married off to her revolting first cousin from Pakistan. The village had become a sort of sanctuary. She particularly liked the situation where she could sit alone at a table and watch the passing traffic while the doorman from the Rembrandt just kept glancing her way occasionally to see she wasn’t being hassled. Later she was pleased to get chatting to a gay couple who had taken the next table and soon she was chatting away safely whilst still enjoying the watchful gaze of the friendly doorman.

‘Where else could a girl sit alone on a busy street full of clubs and music and enjoying her tea without getting all the usual hassle?’ She kept asking herself.

At two in the morning she strolled happily and safely back the few yards to Bennie’s apartment and let herself in. It had been a wonderful evening and put her in the perfect mood to receive Bennie later that morning. She borrowed Bennie’s bathroom and took a shower then savoured the luxury of a long hot soak with bubble salts. Eventually her toes and fingers started to dimple and she had to climb out of the bath. A quick final rinse with the shower and then she chose the special lingerie she had bought that afternoon and prepared for her fiancée’s homecoming. To her chagrin she fell asleep on the settee and woke with a start to find Bennie bending over her as her delicate kiss disturbed Khatia’s slumbers.

“Ooh! You’re here. I’m sorry, I had your homecoming all planned.”

Bennie smothered Khatia’s lips with a passionate kiss and they fell into a desperate embrace right there and then on the settee. It was several minutes before the pair emerged from their embrace and Khatia finally got to preparing a meal.

“What d’you want to eat?”

“Nothing darling, my pul has got its own kitchenette. I ate on the way over.”

“Ooh. You shouldn’t have. I’ve got stuff ready so you only had to ask.”

Bennie recognised Khatia’s crestfallen expression. The girl had done what most normal Muslim girls would do and prepared a meal for her man when he came home. Bennie decided to accept a meal and they decided what they would eat together. Khatia was glad to feel useful and eagerly prepared a full English breakfast including black pudding, bacon and kidneys. Bennie waited eagerly then wondered why Khatia did not join her.

“What’s wrong? Why aren’t you eating?”

“I will, after you.”

“Let’s not start that nonsense darling. You eat with me not after me or even before me. We are equals in this partnership. Just because you’ve learned that I’ve got a teeny-weeny bit more than you in my knickers does not make me better than you or higher than you. We eat together.”

Khatia could have kissed her and promptly produced her own plate as Bennie poured them each a cup of tea. They sat down at the breakfast bar and Khatia kept gazing into Bennie’s eyes like a lovesick ewe.

“Will you be sleeping after we’ve eaten?”

“Please, yes, it was a hectic session.”

Khatia smiled then blushed coquettishly.

“Can I sleep with you?”

“Bennie smiled softly and gently stroked her cheek.”

“Why d’you need to ask. We are engaged now, it is your right but only if you wish. Are you not worried about waiting until we get formally married? I mean; the Islamic strictures and all that?”

“Huh! I have left all that cruelty behind me. Grandfather will never bully me again. Other girls sleep with their boyfriends before they wed so why shouldn’t I?”

“Are you on the pill Khatia?”

“Uuuhmm, no.” She confessed.

“Are you sure you want to risk sleeping with me?”

“What d’you mean risk?” Khatia pressed.

“Well, the risk of getting pregnant for one thing.”

“Is it not my duty to get pregnant?”

Bennie was flummoxed. ‘This girl was severly constrained by primitive Wahabist mores.’ He explained softly.

“Look Khatia the girl I marry becomes my equal and I become her equal. Now that means equal in everything.”

“But you are a man, you are stronger.”

“Uuhhm, not me Khatia; look at me, I am a woman in all respects save one.”

Khatia studied Beverly and slowly nodded.

“Okay then, so you are a womanly man but Allah gave you those manly parts and the Koran says,-“
Bennie put her finger to Khatia’s lips.

“Stop right there darling. Listen, we are equal. If Allah, or God as we call the deity, made us then we were all made equal.”

“But we are not equal are we? Look about you.”

“I cannot speak for others and I won’t speak for others but this is what I think.

Man and woman if God created them then God created them equal and good. God does not judge the flesh for if God designed the different flesh then God chose it to be that way and God would never judge that flesh just for being the flesh. The flesh has no say in its existence and therefore no God could judge their own creation. The flesh can be neither good nor bad; the flesh is simply the flesh!

If there is a god then the only possible thing that god could judge is the soul, that is if there is such a thing as the soul.
Now if men or women make laws and create a society that differentiates in any way between man and woman, that effectively differentiates between the flesh and then that society is setting itself above the very god that same society worships. Ipso facto, that society is setting itself above its god.

If you want it in primitive Biblical or Koranic words my feelings would run something like this, that is if I actually believed in your god.

Man and woman, god created them both, equal and good in the eyes of god because god judges the soul not the flesh.
They that would judge the flesh have set themselves above god and are therefore blasphemers. That is by their own primitive mores. I can’t put it clearer than that.

A silence descended as Bennie stirred her second cup of tea thoughtfully and Khatia studied her. Eventually Khatia spoke.

“You’ve thought about this a lot haven’t you?”

“I have a lot of time to think.” My dad used to influence me a lot.”

“Yes,” Khatia agreed, “parents do that, - and grandparents. It’s hard to shake off.”

“When did you start to fall out with them?” Bennie asked.

“When I saw my brothers going out enjoying themselves and doing nothing whilst I became a drudge at home, never going out except when the whole family went out. I was chaperoned everywhere like some sort of prize specimen. I got to hate it and I ended up escaping through my bedroom window. I’ve never been back.”

“Yeah, that figures. My father ran away. He learned a lot and he’s taught me loads.”

“But he doesn’t know where you live though.”

“He doesn’t need to. I see him once a month and if he’s got any issues we resolve them then.”

“Has he asked?”

“No, he respects my needs for privacy because of my transgenderism.”

“What about your mother?”

“She’s the same as my dad. I meet her when I meet dad. She’s also got my phone number. Mother’s are always that bit closer to their daughters.”

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“Yes and they all know about me. So no problems there either. No bullying by my brother and my sisters treat me like one of their own. As I said, I’ve been very lucky. I had a wonderful childhood. Now no more questions please. If you want to come to bed with me you’re more than welcome.”

Khatia felt a warm gooey feeling surge through her body as she wondered what it would be like sleeping with a man. Then she did a double take. ‘Bennie wasn’t a man in the physical sense, she had the soft rounded feel and shape of a girl and two beautiful breasts not to mention the fine delicate features of a girl. Her hands and feet were also small. The only part of her that was a man, apparently, was her male bits and those Khatia had never seen.’

In fact Khatia had never ever seen a set of adult male organs only those of her brothers when they were small. Anticipation tingled through her nerves.

They cleared the table and put the dishes to wash in the machine then Bennie gave a sigh and a long yawn as she delicately put her fist to her lips.

“Ooooohh. I’m ready for bed darling, are you joining me?”

Khatia smiled, turned a deep scarlet and nodded bashfully.

“If I get frightened will you stop?”

“Darling, I won’t even start unless you make the first moves. Besides, I’m bushed. It was a busy meeting. Now I’m going to shower. By the way, in my overnight case you’ll find some presents. Couldn’t go all that way and not bring you back a memento.”
Khatia’s eyes widened with delight and she grabbed the case eagerly while Bennie slipped into the bathroom. Bennie smiled as she heard the squeals of delight coming from the living room. As she savoured the hot soothing spray Khatia stepped into the bathroom.

“These are lovely. They must have cost the earth. There’s no receipts or anything though. Where did you buy them?”

“You don’t need to know, that’s why I removed the price tags. If you want, put them on and tantalise me.”
Khatia needed no second bidding and she swooned as she savoured the silky sensations of the perfectly fitting bra. The matching panties also hugged her curves as though tailor made. She studied herself in Bennie’s full length mirror then slid onto the bed and waited for Bennie’s appearance. She didn’t have to wait long and she grinned appreciatively as she noted that Bennie had a similar pair in a different colour and bra size.

“Snap!” Khatia giggled as she slid under the duvet and stared up at Bennie.

Naturally her eyes were drawn to the incongruous ‘bulge’ in Bennie’s panties and she smiled again as she gazed into Bennie’s eyes.

“You’ll not hurt me will you? I’ve heard some awful tales amongst my cousins about the first time.”

“No. I’ll not hurt you. I’ll most probably not even do it tonight. You are the one who must decide when you’re ready. It’s bad idea to let the first cuddle be the ‘first time’.

Khatia smiled gratefully then her eyes were drawn again to the ‘bulge’

“Can I look at it? — And I mean just look.”

“Be my guest,” Bennie replied, “shall I remove my panties or do you want to?”

Khatia nodded slowly then motioned with her head for Bennie to sit up. As Bennie rose to an upright kneeling position, Khatia gently peeled down the panties and stared transfixed at the soft fleshy appendages.

“So that’s what a cock and balls look like. They don’t seem to be all that dangerous.”

“Not yet,” Bennie smiled, “you might see the dangers another night, or more likely feel them. Come on lets cuddle up, that’s always nice and no sex for now, just cuddles.”

Khatia reached out to touch the flaccid, vulnerable bits of flesh but Bennie pulled away.

“Ah, - ah, - aah. Don’t tempt fate darling. Let’s just cuddle tonight.”

Khatia peeled back the duvet invitingly and Bennie accepted her invitation into what had previously been Bennie’s bed. Bennie pulled up her panties as an indication of her honest intent and Khatia reached up to kiss her. They burrowed under the duvet and Khatia spooned herself into Bennie’s tummy where she sighed thankfully as a tear came to her eye.

“Thanks Bennie, your sweet.”

An arm gently reached over and rested lightly across the crest of Khatia’s hip and down her thigh. It remained there neither inviting nor rejecting further ‘progress’ except at Khatia’s express desire. She let her own hand rest beside Bennie’s and savoured the gentle squeeze on her fingers, especially the ‘third’ finger.

“We’ll get a ring on that this afternoon.” Bennie whispered as she kissed Khatia’s neck.

Khatia had never felt so happy. There had been none of the fear, or the pain or the tears that her cousins had talked of when clumsy, brutish bridegrooms had virtually raped them on their first bridal nights.

‘This guy is really special,’ she concluded blissfully as sleep overtook them both.

Spacetran 17
This chapter continues the story of Khatia and Bennie's burgeoning relationship. Rather a sweet chapter describing their progress towards marriage and parenthood.

 

NEW SPACETRAN 17
Spacetran 17

List of our children and their friends.

Girls,
Wendy, William’s twin.
Jessica and Charlotte, Ben’s (AKA Bennie’s,) twin sisters.
Dave and Eddie , Sherriff Jack Johnson’s boys.
Linda and Sandra, Sherriff Jack Johnson’s daughters.
Ray, Wendy’s husband, (Our son in Law.).
Khatia. Bennie’s secret Muslim wife.
Farina & Francine. Khatia and Bennie’s twin daughters.

Khatia woke to find her bed inexplicably lit by the bright noontime sun. For a moment she was disorientated as she forgot where she was. She still thought she was under the station platform in the secret recess she had discovered. Then she remembered and savoured the warm comfortable bed. For a moment a tear threatened her happiness as she realised she had slept so long because she had slept in a warm, safe, comfortable bed. She was pulling the duvet about her shoulders and cuddling into a tight sensuous ball when Bennie appeared with a tray of tea.

“Come on sleepy. We’ve got some serious shopping to do. Have you slept well?”

Khatia yawned with the sensuous grace of a cat and smiled ecstatically as she sat up, nodded and reluctantly peeled back the warm duvet.

“Never better! Oooh what’s that?” She squeaked with surprise as she felt an unfamiliar movement behind her on the bed.

The duvet slipped off her legs as she turned to meet a large black cat with penetrating green eyes staring at her.

“Oh hello-oo. Who are you?” She asked.

Bennie answered for the cat.

“This is MacDoolittle. He’s my best male friend.”

“Where’s he come from. He wasn’t here yesterday and I haven’t seen any cat bowls or food around.”

“MacDoolittle normally lives in my other home, the one in the suburbs. I’ve just been to collect him while you slept on. You obviously needed your sleep.”

Khatia reached out tentatively to stroke MacDoolittle and the large tomcat leaned into her fingers appreciatively. Then he stepped gracefully forward and placed himself on Khatia’s bare lap. Khatia savoured the rich, soft, glossy, black fur against her bare thighs and grinned.

“He’s very friendly.”

“Don’t I know it? He rarely comes to the city and he’s never normally allowed on the bed. This is a rare treat for him and I think he’s taken advantage of your good nature. Come on cheeky, off the bed!” Bennie ordered somewhat hopefully.

MacDoolittle just looked up dismissively and Khatia could almost sense the cat pressing closer into her lap. It was obvious to Khatia who was the boss. MacDoolittle was going nowhere. Khatia smiled and giggled.

“I think I’ve got an ally here.”

“Why, have you got a lot of enemies?” Bennie asked darkly.

Khatia ignored the remark. To respond might have opened up too big a can of worms. She stroked MacDoolittle some more and rubbed behind his ears.

“He likes me.”

Bennie smiled indulgently. She knew Macdoolittle a little too well.

“MacDoolittle only likes food, cuddles and warm places; you’re providing two of those criteria at the moment. That’s why he’s your friend.”

Khatia grinned then pouted her disagreement as she bent down and spoke to the cat.

“That’s not true is it MacDoolittle?”

The cat looked up with a typically enigmatic, feline smile and purred softly.

“There!” Khatia claimed. He’s just said he’s my friend for life.”

“Wait until he ladders your best tights just before you’re going out,” Bennie chuckled.

“You wouldn’t do that would you MacDoolittle?”

For an answer the cat extended his claws and gently dug them into Khatia’s bare thighs.

“Ouch. Stoppit!”

The cat immediately desisted but not before Bennie let out a victorious laugh.

“There! What did I tell you? He thinks he’s the boss and you have to keep your distance, don’t get too familiar.”

Khatia looked down at the cat who had now rolled over on his back and extended his paws playfully whilst still lying in her lap. Khatia again savoured the rich soft fur on her thighs as the cat’s tail was flicking gently and tickling Khatia’s naked tummy above her panty elastic Khatia giggled.

“How familiar is that?”

“He’s being familiar with you; just don’t try getting familiar with him, leastways not until he knows you a lot better. He’s picky about his friends.”

“And you’re saying this isn’t friendly?”

“I’ll reserve judgement. Come on, we’ve got some serious shopping to do and Jasmine wants to come.”

“Eh! I thought we chose the ring ourselves.”

“We do, but for the clothes it’s much more fun as a gang and I value Jasmine’s opinions, she was an art and fashion designer before
she opened her art studio. When Jack left for London she stayed behind to run her studio and for a while, she and Eddie of the greasy spoon were the only true friends I had in Manchester, except of course for himself sitting there like lord muck. Come on you! Off the bed.”

Bennie gently forced the reluctant MacDoolittle off the bed and then prepared a well large, well-worn cushion by the radiator on the wide, south facing window sill. It was MacDoolittle’s own personal cushion and Bennie had brought it along when she had fetched MacDoolittle that morning.

During the day the window sill was the warmest spot, indeed the hottest spot in the apartment. It was obviously MacDoolittle’s favoured spot and the cat was happy to curl up on the familiar cushion as Khatia got dressed.

As she prepared to leave she looked back to bid the cat goodbye but MacDoolittle simply opened one eye disdainfully then resumed sleeping. Khatia concluded that Bennie might be right and grinned to herself.
‘Know thy place girl!’ she told herself, ’it’s obvious who thinks they are the boss in this apartment.’ Khatia knew that would change. ‘Family cat, mother’s cat.’ She told herself. MacDoolittle would learn.

Bennie closed her laptop and joined Khatia at the door. The rest of the afternoon was an eye-opener for Khatia. They met Jasmine in the town centre and the first place they made for was the new diamond quarter. This part of Manchester had grown out of Manchester’s proximity to the Liverpool Spaceport. Raw material virtually cascaded down to Liverpool’s vast new sea-island set in the Irish sea and the sheer volume of industry had caused commercial activities to expand all over the North West of England. Among a lot of other high-value commerce, diamond cutting and setting had found a new home in Manchester. As with London, the now conjoined ‘Twin Cities’ of Manchester and Liverpool had become one huge super-city. Liverpool had become the equivalent of ‘The City’ where commerce, banking and commodity trading flourished while Manchester had become the equivalent of ‘The West End’ namely the retail, entertainment and administrative centre. The old friendly rivalries still persisted but the wealth was spread more or less evenly throughout the whole north western conurbation.

Khatia now found herself being taken gently by the arm to study all sorts of engagement rings.

“D’you see anything you like?” Bennie teased her.

Khatia just wagged her head and sighed. The sheer amount of glitter had overwhelmed her. She was now glad that Jasmine had tagged along and she turned to her while Bennie had tactfully slipped out while she tried to decide. Khatia held up a beautiful ring and sighed.

“I like this one but look at the price tag! She’ll think I’m some sort of gold digger.”

Jasmine smiled. She and Bennie had already anticipated Khatia’s sincerity. That was exactly the reason that Bennie had ‘just popped out’ from the shop. While Bennie was diplomatically ‘absent’, Jasmine enlightened Khatia.

“Look I’ve known Bennie a long time; believe me she truly wants you to have whatever you want! If you like that one tell her. She wants you to be happy. She’s smitten with you. And here’s a little tip, don’t worry too much about the price tag. Bennie’s not short of a credit or two. You’ve seen the apartment she lives in and that’s just her weekend pad. She’s got another even bigger apartment in the suburbs. Has she taken you to it yet?”

“No.”

“Well when she does, you’ll understand. If that’s the ring you like, take it. Bennie will be back in a minute.”

“Yeah. Where’s she gone?”

“To book a table. We know a lovely restaurant just around the corner. You’ll like it girl, just go with the flow and take that ring if you like it.”

Khatia hesitated. It wasn’t the most expensive ring in the shop but she had set her heart on it. She looked expectantly at the jeweller and asked what he thought. He answered with a smile.

“It’s lovely ring. The stone is perfect even if a little smaller than the others and this is the best tray in my shop.”

To demonstrate, he exposed all the rings to the laser light magnification and the flaws flashed up as microscopically sooty imperfections. Years ago, even a skilled jeweller of long experience might have missed them but the new laser magnification exposed every tiny flaw. The stone Khatia had chosen was truly flawless. Diamonds were now also mined on Mars and Venus and they were an amazing variety. Only the ring Khatia had favoured showed no imperfections and the jeweller explained.

“You’ve got good taste in stones young lady. That’s why this ring is more expensive per carat. It genuinely is a perfect stone. Are you taking it?”

Khatia was about to say yes when Bennie appeared behind her and spoke for her.

“If that’s what my lady wants then she shall have it.”

“Very good madam, do you want it in a presentation box or is the lady wearing it out.”
Bennie looked At Khatia.

“Which d’you want darling the bended knee in the restaurant around the block, or to walk out wearing it on your finger right now?”
Khatia smiled tearfully.

“You already proposed to me in the Taj and everybody was soo-oo nice there. I think I’d better put it on now.”

Bennie glanced at the Jeweller who was well used to gay couples coming into his shop. He was gay himself. He locked the front door then invited the three of them into his little workshop and measured Khatia’s finger. Then he carefully heated the platinum ring to expand it ever so slightly without affecting the setting of the stone so that it became a perfect fit. Next he waited for it to cool and handed it to Bennie whilst explaining.

“I want you to place it formally on her finger. That’s your duty.”

Bennie did as instructed and kissed Khatia softly as she savoured the moment. Then Bennie plucked the cash notes out of her purse and paid across the counter. The jeweller was also well used to this and simply put the money in the overnight safe. After a congratulatory glass of champagne with the jeweller, Bennie, Khatia and Jasmine left the shop and made their way to the restaurant. Khatia felt as though she was walking on air.

After the meal they resumed shopping in Manchester’s city centre before finally returning to the apartment loaded with goods. Khatia simply couldn’t believe how much Bennie had spent on her.

‘The girl must be bloody loaded! I hope and pray she doesn’t think I’m a gold digger.'

Jasmine helped them carry the shopping up to the apartment and they settled down to share a pot of tea. Khatia only then noticed that there were only a couple of bottles of table wine in the whole apartment, no drinks cabinet, no hard liquor anywhere, not even tins of beer. She realised she had never seen Bennie drink except for a glass or two of wine at the occasional meal out.

‘For a girl so rich, Bennie seemed to lead quite a Spartan existence.’ Khatia concluded. ‘She could almost be a Muslim!’ She thought.

However, Bennie had made it abundantly obvious that she would not truck with any church or faith. Khatia was privately amused that somehow, by implication, Bennie seemed to commune privately with Allah, that was if she communed at all.

After finishing the tea Jasmine made her excuses and Khatia found herself alone with Bennie again. She could feel the tension but Bennie seemed to ignore it as she tapped away industriously on her lap top. Finally Khatia could stand it no longer.

“Aren’t you coming to bed?”

Bennie looked up, smiled and folded away her computer.

“I thought you’d never ask”.

“I thought you’d do that. The men always seem to in our family.”

“This is not your family, this is our family. It’s your right to ask and your right to say no; just the same as it’s mine the difference is we honour those rights. No means no and that goes for both of us. At least that’s how I understand it.”
Khatia’s heart melted.

‘God! This girl was good. Thank you Allah for sending such a wonderful companion!’

She gently took Bennie’s hand and pulled her towards the bedroom. In the doorway she encountered a slight resistance by Bennie so she paused and turned to her.

“Are you saying no?”

“No. Are you saying yes?”

“Yes.”

The fell into a long embrace before moving to the bed and gently undressing each other. After finally unclasping Bennie’s bra Khatia reached around and fingered Bennie’s turgid nipples. She recognised the signal and her fingers drifted lower to fetch up against an unexpected hardness. She squeezed her long slender fingers around it.

“Oh gosh! It’s hard! That’s nice, you’re ready this time. Can I see it?”

“If you must but let’s get into bed first.”

“Are you shy Bennie?” Khatia gasped with surprise.

“A bit, yes.”

“Am I the first?”

“Yes; - well the first girl. Jack’s had me many times but I never had him.” Bennie swallowed nervously

.”Well we’re the same then!” Khatia grinned. “You are my first boy; one of my female cousins and I once did it but I’ve never had a boy. We’re really starting this marriage as equals aren’t we?”

Their fears and feelings briefly overtook them and both tasted nervous, salty tears on the other’s cheeks. They were tears of joy that were to bond them for life. That night Bennie and Khatia consummated their engagement.

When Khatia awoke the next morning she was mildly peeved to find her bed and the apartment empty. Then she found a note on the dining table and she realised the time. Bennie had ‘gone to work’.

The note read.

‘You looked so contented and blissfully happy with your hair spread out on the pillow; it seemed a shame to wake you. I’m in the charity shop, see you in Eddie’s for lunch, if you wish; take a cab.’ Love you forever and ever, Bennie.
P.S. You have beautiful hair not to mention a beautiful body and a beautiful face. But most of all you have a beautiful personality. I love you, I love you, I love you!”

Khatia held the note in her hand for long tearful seconds as her heart turned over with joy. ‘Bennie had thought of her; - even left a note explaining exactly where she was and where she could meet her later.’ Nobody had ever shown Khatia that sort of consideration and respect before. Before it had always been ‘you must go there and do this’, - obey, obey, obey! Now somebody had simply explained where they would be and if Khatia wished to meet them she had only to decide for herself. She dried her tears and smiled at MacDoolittle as she fingered the note affectionately while she held it in her hand thinking of the thoughtfulness that Bennie had shown.

‘Of course she would meet Bennie in Eddie’s greasy spoon!’

It was already ten thirty so she made a quick breakfast and realised that for the first time in several months she wasn’t feeling hungry. Yes she wanted something to eat but it wasn’t the desperate gnawing hunger that could force you to eat out of garbage bins and drive you to lose all self respect. Not only had Bennie shown her consideration and respect but she had given Khatia her self-respect back. As she sipped the percolated coffee that Bennie had thoughtfully left on automatic, a tear came to her eye again. She was drying those tears on the hem of her dressing gown, - (dressing gown for heaven’s sake!), when she felt a warm soft silky caress around her legs.

She looked down smiling to see the now familiar shiny black coat and tall upright tail weaving delicately around her calves then MacDoolittle invited himself onto her lap. She sat contentedly stroking him for a full five minutes before reluctantly expelling him by lifting him gently back to the floor. She had to get ready to meet her new partner; - even the word partner had special connotations. Here, now, she was being treated as an equal and the feeling was one of pure joy. She poured herself another cup of coffee, boiled an egg and made a round of toast before showering. At a quarter to twelve she met Bennie at the counter of the charity shop before they went to Eddie’s ‘Greasy spoon’. For the first time since dining in Eddie’s cafe, Khatia did not choose a full English breakfast. Bennie smiled indulgently as Khatia nibbled delicately on a sausage, finished her egg and tomatoes then left her meal only part eaten.

“You’ve come a long way darling,” Bennie observed, “last week that would have been a clean plate.”

For an answer Khatia squeezed Bennie’s hand then kissed her passionately on the lips. This was clear demonstration that she had finally left her cultural strictures about public modesty behind her. From now on she was free to express herself as only she felt.

Thus Khatia found herself living a life of relative luxury and sharing it totally with a soul-mate who utterly complemented her in almost every aspect of their sexualities.

Several months later she told Bennie that she was about to become a father.

“Are you certain; - absolutely positive?” Gasped a delighted Bennie.

Khatia beamed with contentment.

“Yes, pretty much. I saw the doctor today. I’ve missed two periods so I think I’m two months gone but they’ll confirm it on Thursday afternoon. I arranged the scan so you could be there. You do want to don’t you?”
“Well that’s a silly question! Of course I do.”

And so it was confirmed.

Khatia was reckoned to be ten weeks along but the even better news was that she was having twins and it looked like twin girls. Bennie was ecstatic and revealed to her that his family were notorious for twins.

“I wish I could meet them!” Khatia sighed.

“I wish I could meet yours.” Bennie countered.

Khatia’s face paled as fear shadowed her eyes.

“That’s a no-no! If they found out we were engaged that would be enough to justify an honour killing in their twisted minds; - but if they found out I was pregnant as well, I just can’t imagine what evil end they would plan for me. You just can’t believe how murderous and wicked they can be when they think the family name has been dishonoured. They must never, never find out.”

“Then I cannot reveal my family to you, for if they learn of us and our children they will thrust huge expectations on our babies and I do not want that burden on their shoulders.”

“What expectations are those?” Khatia asked nervously.

Bennie reassured her.

“Not yet Khatia, not yet. I must know our children first and so must you before I can tell you the truth.”
Khatia shuddered fearfully as she thought of the inbreeding in her own family. Having polydactile cousins of her own, she just had to know what fears Bennie had about her own children.

“Is there, - is there some sort of inherited flaw in your family? Please tell me my children are healthy!”

Bennie smiled to reassure her.

“Well the doctors seem to think so. Believe me Khatia, when the time is right, we will know soon enough and if they do display the family trait you will not be ashamed or disappointed. It will not disable our daughters."

Khatia sagged with relief and savoured the comfort of MacDoolittle’s affections as the black tom-cat settled comfortably on her lap and seemed to nose knowingly at the exact spot on her tummy. Khatia looked down and smiled at MacDoolittle as Bennie brought her a hot chocolate drink.

“He’s worked it out as well; d’you think he will be jealous?”

“Not if he knows what’s good for him.” Bennie grinned as she settled on the settee beside her beloved partner and lifted her legs onto her lap. Khatia lay back into the cushions and savoured the double dose of attention from Bennie and MacDoolittle.
“Are we going to make them legitimate?” Khatia asked.

“You mean get married; I hope so, d’you want to?”

“It might at least mitigate the punishment that those primitives in my family would see used to kill me, - a faster death for instance.”

“Can it really be that bad?” Bennie wondered aloud.

Khatia nodded despondently then asked Bennie to bring her the new laptop that Bennie had bought her as one of the earliest presents. Bennie obliged and Khatia immediately opened up a website that listed all the known and suspected honour killings that had recently been and were still being perpetrated. She showed Bennie the page causing Bennie to shudder and nod with disappointment. Even with the advent of prosperity and learning world-wide, some primitive cultures still clung to their cruel and oppressive ways. Wahabist Islam was one of those cultures and Bennie was sickened by what she read.

“But Muslims; they’re not all like this,” Bennie countered, “I’ve met dozen’s of good Muslims.”

“Yes, of course,” Khatia agreed, “very few of today’s Muslims have the time for honour killings; sadly there are some who refuse to move forward. My bloody family is one of them. I hate them.”

Bennie nodded sadly and uncomprehendingly as she considered her own family and her own happy childhood.

‘At least she, Bennie loved her mum and dad, she was just too afraid to expose her children to the burden of her father, Beverly’s hopes and ambitions.’

Thus were the couple locked for the present into a life of anonymity and subterfuge. The hardest part was keeping that anonymity when they came to getting married. Bennie found a little church close to the gay village and even contacted the elderly lady pastor who agreed to marry them according to law. Had Bennie but known it, - it was the same pastor who had once married her own father and mother but the lady understood Bennie’s fears once she had secretly expressed them. Khatia’s fears were also fully understood and the pastor once again worked in a secular mode when she helped Khatia change her name by deed poll to make her marriage legal.

Khatia still hadn’t ‘twigged’ that the ‘Bennie Taff’ she was marrying was the same Benjamin Taff of Spaceship building fame. However the most important aspect was that the Pastor did not inform Bennie’s famous parents of their transgendered child’s forthcoming union. The quiet unpublicised ceremony took place one wet midweek morning in the little church close by the gay village with Tarique the chef helping with Islamic aspects of Khatia’s deeply embedded faith whilst simultaneously supporting her when her very being and sexuality came into conflict with the cruel and ungodly strictures that Khatia’s Wahabist family had encumbered her with. The wedding was both an ordeal and a release for Khatia and she found infinite support from Tarique who had also endured similar turmoil because of his homosexuality. Khatia would not have been able to get through it without Tarique’s support for nobody knew better than Tarique the real risks that Khatia was running.

Jasmine, Eddie and Jack Seymour acted as the only witnesses and guests to keep the numbers small and the anonymity secure.
It was exactly as both Khatia and Bennie wanted it.

Khatia carried her babies to full term and after a normal delivery complete with the cries of pain and anger at her horrible husband for putting her through such an ordeal, the babies duly arrived.

It being a private ward, Khatia enjoyed the luxury of some several days pampering before finally returning home to a new house that they had chosen with a view to child-rearing.

The next few years were an idyllic existence for parents and children. Bennie gave up two days work at the Charity shop so that she could devote much more time to ‘mothering’ her children for in her heart and head, Bennie was more woman than man. So indulgent was Bennie that Khatia hardly even needed the services of the two nurse ants who had been hired to help. The only time that Khatia was alone for longer periods was when Bennie made her monthly visit to the board meetings of Taff Spaceships.
Finally the time came for the girls to be schooled. Farina and Francine were enrolled in the local village school just as their parents had been in their own respective childhoods. Bennie felt it was important for the children to keep the common touch and Khatia agreed that two ordinary children in an ordinary village school was one of the best ploys to perpetuate their anonymity. There were to be no pretensions of grandeur. Bennie had long ago learned that anonymity was best maintained amongst
the ‘ordinary’ and ‘mundane’. The twins settled into a typical village school that had no particular aspirations to be anything more than what it was, namely a village school.

In the end however, ‘intelligence will out’, as people in the north of England are want to say. Beverly’s genes had finally carried through. The twins soon showed a devastating mutual gift for mathematics. By the time they were five they had already left their teachers far behind in Mathematics and they were becoming known locally for their amazing abilities.
Khatia was at first amazed and pleased that her beloved twins should have been born with such a wonderful gift but she was often puzzled when the topic came up for discussion amongst their small circle of friends in the village. Bennie just seemed to always be trying to play down the issue until one day, at their daughter’s seventh birthday, Khatia caught her actually declaring that such a gift could be as much a curse as a blessing.

To Khatia who had had to forego her own educational advancement because of the ‘arranged marriage’ expectations and her subsequent running away, Bennie’s observations were anathema. She snapped at her partner.

“How can you say that? Our kids have a gift that will most certainly keep them out of the realms of poverty and guarantee them jobs for life and yet you say it’s a curse. How so?”

She asked this with such venom that it took Bennie aback. Bennie stared at her as her jaw sagged then she took a deep breath and slinked away to avoid any further confrontation. Khatia was having none of it, she felt the issue needed to be addressed, ‘why was her partner so circumspect about their own daughter’s amazing gifts?’

She followed Bennie through the unlit conservatory and out onto the patio wall where the late afternoon, autumnal northern chill was beginning to bite as they sat arguing. In suppressed angry whispers the argument continued at some length until Khatia lost her temper. She challenged Bennie outright.

“Just what is it with you? Why is this wonderful gift such a curse? They are only seven and already they surpass their teachers, even you have a hard time keeping up with them. They will each have their maths A levels by the time they are nine and then who knows, - a degree by the time they’re sixteen. What is wrong with that? Aren’t you proud of your daughters?”
Bennie bit her tongue before finally replying.

“Of course I’m proud of my children, every bit as proud as you. But I know more of this than you do. I was brought up with this anticipation all my life. I can assure you if Farina and Francine carry on as I expect them to do they will have their degrees long before they are sixteen; more probably by the time they are twelve. In this they are following their grandfather. Once their fame becomes known, my father will become curious.”

“Why? Who is this man? Your father, - their grandfather.”

The time had finally arrived. Bennie’s beloved partner would have to know the truth for the facts were beginning to cause a rift. The showdown had arrived. Bennie stared nervously at Khatia who, despite her anger, was still astute enough and sensitive enough to realise something big was about to be revealed. Bennie gently touched her partner on the forearm and invited her to sit on the garden seat under the apple trees in the orchard. In the fading early evening twilight, Bennie looked around to make sure nobody was near then she finally opened up.

“Darling, have you ever heard of the Taff Spaceship foundation, you know, the family who -.”

“Yes, of course I have!” Khatia snorted. “The people who build all the puls and the space ships. They say they’re the richest family in the universe, - they probably are. Who hasn’t heard about them? They’ve got factories all over the universe and that Beverly Taff, well isn’t she some sort of intellectual freak, - brilliant at science and a transvestite? What about them?”
Bennie stared into Khatia’s eyes but Khatia failed to see the connection and Bennie had to explain further.

“Don’t you remember, the fifth child, the one who doesn’t get mentioned? The one who never appears in the press. D’you remember her name?”

“No. He was the weird one; - they say he was a tranny just like his dad.”

Bennie nodded slowly.

“Yes, he was but do you remember his name?”

Khatia knitted her brows as she tried to recall the last child’s name but it escaped her. The boy had literally sunk below the fame horizon, so much so that few people could recall his name. Indeed, Khatia hadn’t read about him for several years. She counted off the names of the other four who were regularly reported in the press

“They were William, Wendy, Jessica and Charlotte and’ — and, - oh I can’t remember. There were some sort of issues with him in college I remember that. The press made some issue about his transgender thing and there were allegations against him from some other students. Something happened in the halls of residence, an assault of some sort and the girls accused him of masquerading as a girl to get into their rooms or something. They say that the family tried to disown him, cut him out and stuff. Nobody knows what happened to him. He’s disappeared.”

There was a long pregnant pause as Khatia tried to fill the silent void. Bennie could almost hear the gears cranking as she waited, patiently to see if Khatia could recall anything else. Slowly the dawning inched its way into Khatia’s brain until she turned and stared with disbelief at her partner.

“Oh my God! Oh no! That was it! His name was Ben, Benjamin. Oh no! No it can’t be! Please tell me it’s not you! You didn’t rape those girls surely!”

Bennie only spoke of the alleged assault.

“I didn’t assault any girls Khatia, you know me well enough by now. D’you think I could harm another girl? One bitch tried to get inside my knickers for a bet. She had made the bet with her stupid jock boyfriend. She tried it one night during a party in the sorority house. She grabbed me and tore at my knickers with her boyfriend helping her while the whole bloody football team were watching. It was nothing short of a sexual assault, - her assault on me! Well you know I am trained to defend myself and so I did. The girl and her boyfriend got hurt, they deserved it! Then the thing blew up out of all proportion.
She claimed I attacked her and her boyfriend just had to support her didn’t he? He couldn’t admit he had been beaten by an effeminate little tranny in front of all his jock team-mates.”

Khatia continued staring uncomprehendingly; - refusing to believe what was being revealed to her. Eventually the silence broke as she responded.

“So it is you. Your name is Bennie, Bennie Taff; you’re that Bennie Taff! — Benjamin Taff!”

“The very same,” Bennie nodded, “and I’m afraid our daughters have got their grandfather’s gift.”

For long moments Khatia stared at Bennie as she tried to make sense of the issues. Then through tearful eyes she asked Bennie.

“So why our children? Why not the other grandchildren?”

Bennie swallowed nervously as she prepared to confess the truth as she understood it.

“I’m afraid to say this but my father and I think there is a hereditary issue. We think the math’s genius is somehow connected to the transgenderism. My dad thinks it’s because we might use our brains like women do, you know, both lobes left and right for cognitive functions. My dad thinks that the cognitive reasoning powers of male logic are doubly enhanced by the ‘two-sided’ female brain utilisation. We enjoy the advantages offered by both feminine and masculine aspects of brain utility.

“So why aren’t you a math’s genius then?” Khatia demanded quite reasonably.

“I just don’t know, maybe the gene skips a generation or something. I just don’t know. I’m good at maths of that you can be assured; much better than my brother and sisters but I’m nowhere near as good as my daddy. She’s in another league but everybody knows that. Nobody has yet managed to understand her maths and more particularly the physics surrounding space warp and time warp navigation. I believe Francine and Farina have the intellect to make that vital step; - they equal their grand-pappy. Our twin daughters have got her gene.”

It was the first time Khatia had ever heard her partner refer to her father Beverly in the feminine and she squinted as she considered the next question.

“Why did you call your dad ‘she’?”

“All of us children do. My Daddy is a woman just like me. You know the deal, inside our heads both daddy and I are women but we don’t want to lose our little boy bits. Come on darling, we’ve chatted about this hundreds of times.”
Khatia nodded unreservedly.

“Yes, I know that. I still don’t understand it fully but I know and accept it. But why d’you call your dad ‘she’?”
Bennie smiled.

“It’s to avoid hurting her whilst avoiding confusion as we grew up. We call dad daddy to differentiate her from mum. As kids we could hardly go around the house calling for mummy when both of our parents were feminine. So to avoid the confusion we called dad daddy and mum, mum or mummy. We still refer to them in the third person feminine. Daddy is just like me, in our heads, we’re both women.”

“But lesbian women because you like girls.” Khatia added.

Bennie nodded without reservation as she grinned.

“Weird or what? A lesbian with a dick!”

Khatia advanced her observations and asked.

“So why are you so reluctant for your father to learn of the girl’s gifts?”

Bennie explained all about her father Beverly’s hopes and desires that the new chief executive would have the same deep understanding of all the secrets of warping, especially the ‘accurate navigation’. The moment Beverly learned of Farina and Francine’s gifts, she would be desperate to induct them onto the board and groom them for executive control. Khatia listened with bemused curiosity until finally she asked.

“But why are you so against it? The girls would be made for life if they became the chief executives.”
Bennie paused and explained further.

“Don’t you see? My daddy would move heaven and earth to get the children into the family fold early, to mould them as she thought fit? I don’t want that. I don’t want our children to be burdened with expectations. I want our girls to grow up happy and balanced. Okay, I know now that they’ll never be normal, but at least let’s give them a decent childhood. Let them be kids as long as they’re old enough to be kids. If the family found out, they might even take legal steps claiming the greater benefit to mankind and the universe. Just remember, nobody so far, in the whole wide universe has equalled what my dad did. It’s an awesome thing and our kids might just be tantamount to the coming of the next messiah, at least in my daddy Beverly’s eyes. She’s desperate to retire.”

Khatia frowned then said.

“But she’s bound to get wind of them. Once their math’s prowess becomes widely known people are even going to approach them with invitations to try and work out the navigation theories even without them knowing they’re Beverly’s children.”
Beverly frowned and sighed impatiently.

“But what about their names? Other people are not going to be as slow as you were on the uptake. Two brilliant twins, both incredible maths geniuses and having the family name ‘Taff’! The girls themselves are going to put two and two together; if that is one certainty they’re going to get right it’s the surname thing.”

Khatia thought long and hard.

“We have to get your daddy on board. We have to get her to understand that the children are ours until they reach their majority. You’ve got to speak to her and she’s got to learn of us, me and the girls.”
Bennie sighed.

“Daddy’s desperate, she’s getting on in years and she thinks she doesn’t have long to live.”

“Why? Is she ill or something?”

“Not to my knowledge. Though I’m beginning to think you may be right. The trouble is once the girls understand about grandparents and things they’re going to also wonder where yours are.”

Khatia frowned thoughtfully.

“I hate to say this darling but they’ve already asked me.”

“What did you say?”

“I told them that my parents were cruel and I ran away. They’ve read enough nursery rhymes and fairy stories to understand about cruel relations. You know; wicked step-mothers and stuff.”

“Have they asked you about mine, they’ve never asked me?”

“Funnily enough no. I suppose it’ll come though and sooner rather than later.”

“You’re going to have to speak to your dad.” Khatia concluded thoughtfully.

The opportunity came to Bennie but a few weeks later when her father turned up unexpectedly in Manchester.

This chapter leads up to the kidnapping of Khatia.

NEW SPACETRAN 18.

Spacetran 18.

List of Beverly’s children, grandchildren and their friends.

Girls,

Wendy, William’s twin.
Jessica and Charlotte, Ben’s (AKA Bennie’s,) twin sisters.
Dave and Eddie , Sherriff Jack Johnson’s boys.
Linda and Sandra, Sherriff Jack Johnson’s daughters.
Ray, Wendy’s husband, (Our son in Law.).
Khatia. Bennie’s secret Muslim wife.
Farina & Francine. Khatia and Bennie’s twin daughters.

Beverly stared silently for a long time after her transgendered son Bennie had related the secret events in her life over the past several years.

‘Grand-daughters!' Beverly could hardly believe it. ‘For God’s sake, twin grand-daughters!’ Who would have believed it?’
After having learned of the full story behind the risks to Khatia’s life Beverly was all concern for both her children and grandchildren.

“Are they gifted?” Beverly asked almost in a whisper.

Bennie nodded wearily. Keeping the family secret had taken its toll; she was worn out with secrets.

“Will I be allowed to meet them? Has Khatia agreed?”

Once again Bennie nodded as she sagged into the seat and let out a long weary sigh.

“Yee-eess. Khatia’s agreed. She’s afraid, curious and a little angry with me.”

“I’m not surprised,” Beverly replied, “but I can see why you did what you did. What are the girls, - no correction, - what are my grand-daughters like? Come to that, what’s Khatia like, I mean yes I’ve seen her and I know she’s beautiful but what’s she like as a woman, - as a mother?”

“Katia’s my wife.” Bennie stated bluntly. “I love her because she’s beautiful in mind and body. She loves the girls, more even than maybe I do but then she would, she’s their mother. I’m a very lucky girl.”

“And the girls, my grand-daughters? What are they like?”

“They’re typical seven-year-old rich-kids. Playing with dolls, building dens, riding their ponies, - oh! and mixing with the other village kids; - squabbling.”

“Squabbling; what over? Surely they want for nothing?”

Beverly wagged her head.

“Really daddy, you can be naive sometimes. They squabble for our affections; - Khatia and my attentions. They hardly notice they’re rich. We live on a farm just outside a pretty village, they want for nothing materially, - and they want for nothing emotionally either.” Bennie ended softly.

Beverly frowned guiltily as she sensed the censure in her transgendered son’s words. She confessed her guilt.

“Yes. Maybe I was a bit remiss with your mum; I should have spent more time with you kids.”

Bennie scolded her father gently.

“Yes, maybe you could have but you were admittedly a rather busy bee what with having a business to run all over the universe. Well, you can rest assured, Farina and Francine don’t want for our attention. Khatia and I spend all our time with them. The girls see both me and Khatia every day and we play with them every day except when I come to the board meetings. The twins understand that and accept it.”

“So am I going to meet my grandchildren?”

“Only if you promise not to interfere.”

“How so?”

“You can meet them, you can play with them, even play math’s games with them, they’ll like that. It will be a novelty for them to meet an adult who should be able to best them at maths.”

“Are they that advanced then?”

“They tend to treat their teachers with disdain, at least, their math’s teachers that is.”

“They’re not arrogant are they?” Beverly wondered as concern cracked her voice slightly.

“No, they wouldn’t be allowed to get away with that, Khatia would soon tan their hides. They’re more patronising towards them, their maths teachers that is. Come to think of it; it might do them good to be taken down a peg or two and you’re the one to do it.”

“I didn’t want our relationship to start like that. I wanted it to be friendly and loving.” Beverly objected mildly. “It’s a chance for me to get to know my newfound grand-daughters.”

“Well then I’ll just introduce you to them as their grandpa and tell them you’re just like me or more properly, I’m just like you. We won’t tell them about your maths thing. Would you like to do it tomorrow? It’s the weekend and they’ll be out on their ponies roaming the Pennines.”

“I’d like to meet them right now if I could. I can’t imagine me out on the moors riding a pony; I don’t ride that well; do you?”

“Not as well as Khatia and the girls. Saturday’s their special day; they get out on the hills and savour the gallops. I usually meet them with the horse carrier at some pub or cafe in one of the many Pennine villages; then we fly home.”

“Can I not meet them today?”

“It’s Friday, they’re probably busy tormenting their tutor, she’s a maths professor from Leeds University and she has a hard time teaching them anything. As fast as she shows the girls some new math’s principle they soak it up and want to move on. The poor professor is coming to the end of her A ‘level repertoire. It’ll be degree stuff before long. I’m beginning to see where you were coming from now. My own daughters leave me so far behind it’s embarrassing.”

Beverly felt a sudden cold shiver as she thought back to the cold cave of her desperate childhood. She hated being reminded of it but she was determined not to let her own brutal childhood experiences affect her relationship with her newfound grandchildren. She had been successful with the other grandchildren and she was determined to be equally successful with Farina and Francine.

“Maybe I could sit in on one of their lesson.” She suggested to Bennie.

“You’ll embarrass the poor teacher; she’s very bright; you don’t get to be a university professor of mathematics at twenty five without being really good. She’ll shrink if you walk into the room, plus she’ll make the connection immediately. Her special pupils are related to ‘Beverly Taff, the famous Space Tran transgendered woman’. That would ‘out’ the girls to the rest of the world and I don’t want that yet. Best you meet them tomorrow while they’re out riding and alone with their mum and there are no witnesses. I’ll arrange the rendezvous with Khatia. You can meet her right now. She’s having coffee with an old friend of mine who knows us from when we first met.”

“I’d like that. Is that Eddie the restaurateur?”

Bennie grinned.

“Yes, the very same. It’s hardly a restaurant daddy, we actually call it ‘The greasy Spoon’ but the food’s good and the hygiene belies our name for it. It’s spotless. Eddie keeps a good establishment. Khatia and I both have a soft spot for it and people don’t realise who we are. Taxi drivers use it and the staff from the station nearby but it’s not a posh place. The food is plentiful, cheap and good. If the paparazzi ever went looking for us, God Forbid!’ the last place they’d think of looking is Eddie’s place.”

“Yes,” Beverly observed thoughtfully. “You’ve managed to sink below the radar rather well. I applaud you for that. Give Khatia a bell, I desperately want to meet this remarkable girl who captured my transgendered son’s heart and then went on to accept that transgenderism.”

“It’s not a one-way street daddy. Khatia’s bisexual as well. That’s partly what caused the rift with her family and the reason she accepts me totally. We’re birds of a feather.”

Bennie arranged a rendezvous at Eddie’s then offered her father a change of clothes at her inner city apartment on Sachman Street, to help her father’s disguise. They were much the same size and Beverly knew full well the benefits of frequent changes of outfits. Within half an hour both ‘girls’ were taking a taxi to the maglev station but instead of catching a train they ‘doubled back’ and walked the few blocks to Eddie’s cafe. Beverly was every bit as astute as her son at avoiding being followed.

That lunch time, Beverly met her beautiful Asian Daughter-in-law to talk directly to for the very first time. It was a meeting of minds. Two free spirits who had escaped from oppressive childhoods to finally make good. After each enjoying one of Eddie’s famous ‘all day breakfasts’ they returned to the gay village apartment on Sachman Street and fell to chatting long into the evening. For both Beverly and Khatia it was a catharsis of similar experiences. By the end of the night, Bennie was beginning to wonder why she had ever avoided introducing Khatia to her father in law. It had been one of the happiest evenings of Khatia’s life. Later that night they flew with Beverly to their Yorkshire farmhouse to find Farina and Francine fast asleep. A nurse ant lay half sleeping but guarding their beds while the maths professor had worked late with the twins and thus stayed over in one of the several spare bedrooms. One of the two housekeepers was still up when they arrived so Khatia sneaked Beverly to a back bedroom far removed from the professor. Neither she nor Bennie wanted Beverly’s meeting with her grandchildren to be witnessed.

A meeting on the remote moors would be by far the best arrangement. Beverly went to bed immediately because she was tired. In the morning Beverly stayed in her room until the professor had given her weekly confidential report to Bennie and Khatia. Then after the professor had left along with the housekeepers who did not stay at weekends, Beverly emerged from her room just as Khatia, Francine and Farina were making their way out of the farmyard gates. They were to meet near the old farmhouse that was reputed to be ‘Top Withen’s’ from Emily Bronte’s novel.

For the rest of the morning transgendered father and transgendered son sat in the farmhouse drawing room where Bennie explained their lifestyle to Beverly as she explained the discreet tactics they employed to avoid coming into any potential contact with Khatia’s relatives.

“We live on the Lancashire side of the Pennines but the children and Khatia range far and wide on their weekend pony treks,” Bennie explained.

Beverly had her concerns that they still lived within contact distance of Khatia’s family but she kept her counsel. The arrangements that Khatia and Bennie had made seemed to work and there hadn’t been a whisper of a threat. Just before noon, they took Bennie’s pul and flew to the rendezvous to await the arrival of Khatia and the girls. Beverly was relishing the meeting with her grandchildren. They settled by the ‘Pennine Way’ footpath that ran right by the derelict farmhouse and chatted amiably awaiting the arrival of mother and daughters.

At noon there was no sign of the trio and Beverly began to sense some tension in her transgendered son.

“Are they sometimes late?” Beverly asked.

“No. Khatia’s pretty good about time-keeping, we both understand the risks and the concerns it causes.”
By one o’clock Bennie decided to go searching. She had an excellent knowledge of the layout of the moor and more or less knew which path her wife and children would have chosen. Bennie had often ridden with her and knew that Khatia always loved the autumnal colours as they started riding out through the woods just above the farm before emerging onto the wide open moor. Flying at almost ground level they searched the moor with the pul until they spotted two children on ponies and a riderless horse. Both girls were crying piteously and Bennie felt a sick lump of pure dread settling in her belly.

The girls quickly recognised their father’s pul and horse carrier and they screamed with joyous relief as it settled in the heather beside them.

“Where’s mummy?” Bennie asked.

“The men took her!” Francine wailed as the pair flung themselves hysterically into their father’s arms.

For long seconds Beverly fretted impatiently as the children screamed and sobbed in their father’s arms. Eventually they calmed down and Bennie was able to garnish some useful information.

“What did they look like?”

“They looked like Musah’s father in school.” Farina added.

Bennie could not remember ever seeing an Asian child at the village school and she frowned.

“Musah. Who’s Musah?”

“He started this term. They moved from Bradford. His mum and dad wear those old fashioned clothes.”

Bennie realised the girls were talking about the tribal traditional clothes but he had not picked the girls up since the beginning of term for it was only three weeks earlier and Khatia usually enjoyed the motherly task. It gave her opportunities to gossip with the other mothers about mundane, ordinary aspects of the village life. Bennie pressed the girls for the smallest clues.
With every snippet of information Bennie’s heart sank lower. It was obvious that Khatia had been kidnapped by her family. There was no time to lose. There was no knowing how quickly they might resort to an honour killing

”Which way did they fly off?” Beverly asked the twins.

They both pointed towards the radio mast that marked the moors above Bradford, this confirmed Beverly and Bennie’s suspicions.
Fortunately the horses proved easy to handle. They instinctively knew that when the pul and horse-carrier met them after a ride it meant a comfortable trip back to the farm and a warm, well stocked stable. Before they left the scene the police puls had arrived to take forensic samples and garnish as much evidence as possible. When they realised who Beverly was, things began to happen at a frantic pace. Bennie realised that now the Bradford family knew who Khatia was there was no longer any use in maintaining their subterfuge. For once, Bennie was glad of her father’s fame. However fame was not the issue here, time was.

Khatia has been kidnapped and Beverly pulls out some stops to find her.

 

Spacetran 19.

List of Beverly’s children, grandchildren and their friends.

Girls,

Wendy, William’s twin.
Jessica and Charlotte, Ben’s (AKA Bennie’s,) twin sisters.
Dave and Eddie , Sherriff Jack Johnson’s boys.
Linda and Sandra, Sherriff Jack Johnson’s daughters.
Ray, Wendy’s husband, (Our son in Law.).
Khatia. Bennie’s secret Muslim wife.
Farina & Francine. Khatia and Bennie’s twin daughters.

When they got home the police at least realised the urgency of the case and efforts were soon in hand to try and trace Khatia. Bennie had her doubts however; the Wahabist Bradford Muslim Community where Khatia hailed from was essentially a small, tight-knit, ‘closed shop’ because of the origins of the founding immigrants. They were mainly Wahabist tribal peoples from Northern Pakistan. As a community, they had been one of the very last to even consider integrating into British general society and so far they had still failed to do it. Some who had either fallen foul of the oppressive culture or simply concluded it was too hard to endure, had left the village and lived their lives elsewhere. These were mostly men for women found it much harder to escape the strictures. The very real threat of abuse in some form or another even up to the extreme sanction of kidnap followed by ‘honour killings’ usually served to terrify women into submission. Khatia had been a very rare exception and she had done it without external help. That was why the Wahabist village had worked ceaselessly to find her and drag her back. In this they were worse than many cults.

Even the mainstream Muslim community deemed them to be primitive and backward in their utter refusal to move with the times. Honour killings were thus still occasionally practised. This area of Bradford had become a virtual tribal zone mirror of North West Pakistan. Wahabism ruled like a poison through the whole ‘village’. Beverly learned of it and quickly hated it. She immediately put her own resources to the task and vast resources they were.

Firstly that same evening, she fell upon Musah’s family and determined that the family were not the rogues she had first presumed them to be. Indeed the family had done exactly the same as Khatia insofar as they had moved out of the Bradford community to escape the same oppressive atmosphere. The women in the family, both mother and daughter dressed very much in the western style except the mother wore her Hijab even when wearing a sleeveless knee-length frock. She also wore the Burkah when delivering the children to the Lancashire village school for it was there that the Bradford village elders knew she would be attending when delivering and collecting her children. She wore her Burkah simply to avoid the hassle of some interfering Imam from the Bradford Wahabist village harassing her.

Musa’s parents were distraught when they learned of the kidnap for Musah’s mother and Khatia had grown fond of each other as they gossiped at the school gates. On learning of the kidnap, they immediately gave all the information they could, - including the locations and descriptions of all of Khatia’s relatives in the ‘village’. They could only offer that somehow, somewhere, the constant stream of village elders who had harassed the family for forsaking the village and its narrow religious strictures, had somehow learned that the ‘other Pakistani woman, who chatted at the school gates was the missing ‘Fatima’ who had run away after dishonouring the family by refusing to take the hand of her first cousin as her husband. Somebody had identified Khatia outside the school despite the surgery Khatia had had done to her face. However, now that Khatia’s family had apparently learned of Khatia’s whereabouts, the damage was seemingly done. Armed with this information Beverly was already in action that same Saturday afternoon.

Firstly her beloved ship Cold Albatross came to Beverly’s coded call from her usual secret ‘parking place’ beyond the rim of the Milky Way. Albatross arrived obediently on ‘automatic pilot’ like some faithful steed and Bennie sighed with relief as her father invited her and the twins to accompany her.

“So what’s the plan daddy?” Bennie asked.

“Firstly we must punish those who have kidnapped her.”

“D’you mean kill them Grandpy?” The twins chorused hopefully.

“No! Certainly not my little beauties. There are far more effective punishments than that.” I do not knowingly kill people.

Let that be my first lesson to you. Your mummy would call it Harram.

The girls fell silent but Bennie wondered at her father’s plan.

“So how are we to first find them and then punish them, and will that bring Khatia back?”

“Be patient Bennie, I’m trying here.” Beverly replied as she pushed the Albatross to her limits and streaked through the warp to the rim of the galaxy. “Here, take the con while I contact my friends.”

Bennie knew fully of her father’s immense pantheon of intergalactic friends so she asked what the strategy was. Beverly explained as the sub-ethereal communications webs hummed busily..

“You know of the protective shield, the gender-bender-belt that surrounds each civilised stellar community.”
Bennie smiled as she quickly caught on.

“You mean you’re going to use it? Isn’t that a bit of a sledge-hammer to crack a nut?”

“Yes. Frankly it is, but it’s small beer compared with what other means I have at my beck and call. However, I’m going to use a microscopic version around the Bradford Wahabist district. It’s like a primitive North-west Frontier village in there. They haven’t moved forward one iota even since learning of other peoples from other worlds. I mean just how bigoted can a community be? How blinkered; - how blind can such people be? If they won’t heed my words, I’ll have to use other ways to persuade them. So I’m collecting a cluster of micro-generators from the manufacturers on the Planet Toros and I’m going to set them up around that accursed village in Bradford. A few pulses of ‘gender-bender-blender’ and we’ll see what their Wahabist strictures will make of it.”

Within a couple of hours, even before the Sunday dawn, the system was in place. Bennie could only marvel at the resources her father owned but rarely referred to and had never employed before; leastwise not on Earth. Even more impressive was the speed with which her father had gathered and disposed her resources. Bennie quickly realised how much importance her father attached to Khatia’s safety.

With skills long ago learned during her knicker-stealing days, Beverly secretly tractor beamed each gender-bender generator down to the planet surface at critical secret locations surrounding the suburb of Bradford that had become the Wahabist Village. Very early on the Sunday morning before anybody was around, Beverly activated the ‘gender ring’. The whole district was now encircled by a ‘cordon-sanitaire of gender blending whilst mobile controllable hot-spots could be moved and relocated at the touch of a button. That button was in Beverly’s hands. Having exactly established the determinant positions she wanted, she set about searching the village in a provocative outfit that even Bennie was embarrassed by.

“You can’t walk around like that daddy. They’ll have a fit. That micro denim skirt is obscenely provocative. I can see your bum cheeks! You should have worn tights not those black ‘hold-ups’. And that top! You haven’t got a bra and you’re showing everything you’ve got. You look like some old tart! Somebody is bound to take offence.”
Beverly raised an enigmatic eyebrow.

“That’s the plan silly. I want to draw them out.”

Bennie regarded her father again as Beverly glanced down at her ‘dockside whore’ outfit.

“Nice boobs though, you must agree for an old tart!” Beverly grinned widely.

At a second glance Bennie was forced to confess, her mother wasn’t at all bad looking. Quite provocative in fact, - especially considering she was well into her sixties. She had far fewer wrinkles than other women of her age in fact she only looked about fortyish. However she did look exactly like a dockside tart plying her trade.

“Just watch darling,” Beverly replied as she pointed to a stray dog attempting to mate with another unwilling bitch in the street. The bitch was obviously not ‘in season’ but the dog continued to press its claim and the bitch was succumbing.
Beverly tapped in some figures to a tiny ‘controller’ then placed the controller in the tiny pocket of her micro-skirt. As the dogs finally ‘tied’, she casually slipped one slender hand into the pocket of her ‘fanny pelmet’ and pointed her other hand and fore-finger at the dogs. A soft green glow momentarily surrounded the pair and suddenly the male dog let out a whimper of surprise. Bennie stared stupidly and realised the male dog had been turned into a bitch. There were now two confused bitches wandering aimlessly along the pavement. To somebody uninitiated with the gender-blender technology it looked as though Beverly had simply cast some evil spell on the dogs.

Beverly briefly explained but Bennie had already grasped the idea.

“You’re going to do that to them?”

“Only if they offend me or try to be abusive. I’ll give them bloody misogyny! They’ll rue the day!”

This done Beverly chose to enter a cafe and order a pot of tea. It was early morn and few people were about but as men started to gather to go to mosque, Beverly immediately received censorious, accusative glares. Bennie could feel the aggression already beginning to accumulate. This was right in the centre of the Wahabist village. Even as they sat drinking their tea, a group of traditionally dressed men gathered outside the cafe and clearly demonstrated their dissatisfaction. Finally, as Beverly had hoped, an Imam appeared dressed in the traditional robes of the Wahabist clergy. Immediately he entered the cafe and started haranguing Beverly for her immodesty whilst demanding that she ‘leave their village’.

Beverly firstly tried to reason with him, claiming that they were in England and she was free to go wherever she liked in England and free to dress as she wanted. He would not listen to a single argument that Beverly offered. Finally he started verbally abusing her and accusing her of being a whore. For a moment Beverly smiled with quiet satisfaction; everything was going to plan. Then the man actually tried to manhandle her out of the cafe. Beverly put up a token resistance just as a ‘weak and feeble woman’ might but secretly she was pleased. The Imam had now physically assaulted her. She concluded he was a physical as well as a mental bully and an example perfectly ripe for the treatment.

It was obvious that the man thought he had the whip hand on his own turf amongst his own primitive, bigoted supporters and he started to push Beverly along the sidewalk as though trying to ‘expel the whore’ from the sight of Allah. Finally, after several painful shoves to her slender feminine shoulders, Beverly decided that she’d had enough. She stopped right next to one of the pre-arranged co-ordinates and cursed the man loudly for a blasphemer. In a self righteous rage the man roared at Beverly and stepped forward to strike ‘the whore’ with all his might. He raised his stick to her like a man would to a beast but it was his last act as a man.

As he stepped into the zone of the pre-calculated co-ordinates Beverly cursed him once again for a blasphemer and pressed the button of her tiny ‘zapper’ inside the little ‘money pocket’ of her cut-away ‘fanny pelmet’. The man visibly shrank before his followers and let out a pathetic, high pitched feminine wail as his hand plunged down to his groin for that was where the most pain was coming from. Then when he finally realised he was missing that which was so important to him, he let out shriek of despair and sank to the pavement. His/her followers stopped dead in their tracks and stared stupidly at the ‘woman’, still in an Imam’s apparel’ that now lay curled up in pain before Beverly.

Bennie looked on in admiration as her father faced the crowd.

“You who would abuse women thus shall suffer thus! He that strikes a woman shall become woman himself.”

“The babbling crowd became silent so Beverly seized her chance.

“There is now a curse upon this district and those who live here. Any who approach a woman with malice in their hearts shall be punished thus. From this day forward, any in this district, who maltreats a woman, shall suffer much worse! Heed the true spirit of Islam. Your sisters are truly your equals not your chattels!”

One of the elders stared down at the woman who had been their Imam then stared again at Beverly as though he was facing the angel of death.

“Who are you?” He croaked as fear cracked his voice.

“To you, I’m the angel of retribution. That is enough for you to know.”

A shout came from deep within the crowd.

“She’s that abomination, that half man, - half woman thing; - the creature who builds the space ships! The one who brought the obscenities from other planets, the devil’s creations, those who do not resemble Allah!”

Beverly was ready for him.

“They are as Allah in the spirit for Allah is not of the flesh!”

So saying, she activated the ‘zapper’ to locate the heckler precisely then she ‘zapped’ him with a deadly precision. The man let out a scream of agony as his genitalia felt as though they were on fire. Then Beverly spoke again.

“Yes. I am Beverly, Beverly Taff but I am still your nemesis, your angel of retribution. Remember that none shall leave this village as a man until the curse is lifted. Find for me the girl known as Fatima, find for me my daughter-in-law, the mother of my grandchildren and bring her here unharmed.”

“But there are many Fatima’s in the district. Who is to know?” Pleaded the elder nervously.

Beverly looked at him contemptuously.

“Those that know, - know. They have until noon to produce her or the curse will become fixed. Then all amongst you will be sisters!”

Another elder protested bravely.

“This is an evil thing!”

Beverly shrugged and smirked condescendingly.

“This is a Godly thing. Be thankful you are not all dead. Allah is merciful. Allah sends you a lesson. You could just as well be turned into pigs or dogs! Worse still, you could be killed and your souls despatched straight to hell!”
Bennie swallowed and glanced at her father for she knew it was not true. The technology only changed genders not species. Beverly was stepping out on a limb.”

However, Beverly’s gamble paid off. The crowd fell silent and quickly started to disperse as Beverly repeated her final warning.

“Remember, no men shall leave this district but they shall become women, - permanently! Only your sisters will go abroad. That curse will remain until the girl Fatima is returned unharmed!”

With these words ringing in their ears the last of the crowd dispersed while Bennie returned to re-visit her children. Beverly chose to await Khatia’s re-emergence and she returned ostentatiously to the same restaurant where the situation had started.
By ten o’clock, some women approached her including one very contrite woman who had once been an Imam. This particular ‘woman’ found herself staring licentiously at Beverly’s revealing outfit and bit her lip as she realised that her own sexuality was still male. Beverly had played an evil trick and the Imam had become that abomination in the eyes of Wahabism, namely a lesbian!
One of the other women approached Beverly with contrition writ large across her face as she confessed to the ‘Angel of retribution’.

“Please,” the woman pleaded, “my daughter was taken last night to be punished.”

“Punished; - how?” Beverly demanded as dread seized her heart and she realised she was talking to Khatia’s mother.

“She was to be beaten then stoned.”

“Where!” Beverly almost screeched.

The woman lost her voice and could barely croak her reply.

“I don’t know. She was to be tried by a Wahabist Sharia court and punished for her sins.”

“And what where those sins?” Beverly softened her voice but the menace endured, even more threatening for its message of implied vengeance.

The woman listed the ‘Sins’ but at each expression, Beverly shook her head angrily and countered with a snort or a contradiction. Finally she warned the woman.

“You have mobile phones. Warn your husband and whoever of her relatives has Khatia in their custody that we will not cease to pursue them to the very bowels of hell. Bring your sons and your husband here immediately!”

She glared at the ‘once-was Imam’ and added as a final warning.

“Take that perverted monstrosity with you as further persuasion and tell your men-folk that if they are not here in ten minutes they will be turned into women!”

Khatia’s mother and sisters needed no further persuasion, nor did the ‘once-was Imam’ for she was already suffering terrible pain as ‘The woman’s curse’ began to clamp her belly and it was a dreadful interlude. Beverly smiled evilly at the ‘once-was Imam’ doubled up in womanly pain’.

She spoke again softly to the ‘Imam’

“That is how it will go for you. The curse will pain you more than any ordinary woman and you will know of it every month! Thus you shall learn of womanly ways! Go and get Khatia’s father and brothers for I know that they were cunning enough not to be implicated in the kidnap or killing!”

The ‘woman’ scurried off with the other women and returned within minutes. Amongst them, Beverly clapped eyes on Khatia’s father and brothers for the first time. She felt a wave of revulsion sweep though her very core for if these evildoers had not actually committed the act, they had certainly organised it.

Beverly wasted no time on niceties. As the men were forced to approach her she spoke with a soft but definite menace.

“Where is she? Where is my sweet daughter in law?!”

“She is not in our village.” The father mumbled fearfully.

“So where is she?” Beverly pressed again.

They stood exchanging fearful looks but none seemed willing or able to give an answer. Beverly waited for what seemed an age but was in fact less than a minute then she lost patience.

“Very-well then. So be it.”

She discreetly lowered her fingers into the tiny skirt pocket and ‘zapped’ the father and his three sons. With screams of agony they collapsed to the floor and clawed with terror at their genitals. Beverly waited a further minute but nothing was forthcoming. With fear for Khatia rising like bile in her belly Beverly concluded she would have to move to plan ‘B’ She stalked away leaving Khatia’s male relatives screaming out in womanly pain as they not only changed sex but were flung instantly into a menstrual nightmare of pain.

This time she took off for the stars alone as Cold Albatross sped away to another galaxy to meet with and bring back a race of telepathic beings who would readily find Khatia provided Beverly could return in time. The Galaxy was a long way away and time was of the essence. Beverly realised she might have to exercise her most advanced warping technology.

The one avenue that Beverly always regretted in circumstances like this was that she could not ‘go back in time’ for it interfered with the present time line and caused unpredictable consequences.

Once again Beverly’s favours were called in as the telepaths quickly realised what was afoot. By the Monday afternoon, the telepaths were with Beverly back on earth but the question was, - Where they too late?”

This time Beverly did not tell her son Bennie what was afoot for if Khatia’s kidnappers got wind of the telepathy situation they might kill Khatia immediately to hide any evidence.

Beverly’s telepathic friends had agreed two different tactics.

Firstly was to try and seek Khatia by telepathy and if she was still alive, this was the most likely route to success. If, and the dreadful thought haunted Beverly; - Khatia was already dead, then Beverly’s telepathic friends would have to seek out the murderers and give Beverly the empty satisfaction of punishing them even though it would never compensate for the loss of Khatia.
During the remainder of Monday Beverly and her friends cruised the Wahabist village in several anonymous puls that prevented outsiders looking in whilst enabling the telepaths to quietly probe many minds whilst seeking the first leads. It was a long time coming and took some considerable telepathic, forensic profiling by Beverly’s friends. Eventually, after profiling the whole of Khatia’s extensive family and their friends, the aliens were able to construct several accurate profiles from the friend’s and relative’s memories. These could be used to create telepathic images of the kidnappers so that they could scan further abroad to identify and locate the kidnappers. Whilst the telepathic aliens were doing all this, Beverly made several more journeys to the far galaxy and collected several hundred more telepathic ‘foot-soldiers’ to add to the telepathic search parties. If Khatia was alive and still in Britain, they would soon find her while the telepaths were already hot on the trail of the kidnappers. Radiating outwards from the village the telepaths commenced their searches. Memories were secretly probed and tested and any pertinent information was quickly passed to a central telepathic ‘committee’ that processed the info and threaded it into the rapidly expanding ‘picture’.

Within hours the telepaths had a location and it only remained for Beverly to take the right steps. Khatia was alive but her signals were weak! She had obviously been badly wounded. Beverly developed an abiding hatred for her kidnappers.

This is the penultimate chapter of Spacetran. Beverly's hopes look like being fulfilled thus freeing her of her self imposed obligations.

 

Spacetran 20.

NEW SPACETRAN 20

Girls,

Wendy, William’s twin.
Jessica and Charlotte, Ben’s (AKA Bennie’s,) twin sisters.
Dave and Eddie , Sherriff Jack Johnson’s boys.
Linda and Sandra, Sherriff Jack Johnson’s daughters.
Ray, Wendy’s husband, (Our son in Law.).
Khatia. Bennie’s secret Muslim wife.
Farina & Francine. Khatia and Bennie’s twin daughters.

Having finally detected Khatia’s feeble brain patterns it was easy work to locate her. The telepathic search team now numbered thousands and as they spread out in an intensive pattern all over Britain, they quickly located Khatia being held in a tiny ramshackle barn high up in the North Yorkshire Dales, this was a bleak, remote country. The issue now was how to approach her without alerting her captors who would probably finish her off in a fit of hysterical bigotry if they thought they were going to die. Fortunately, the telepathic aliens were able to monitor the captors thought patterns and they simply had to wait until nightfall.

The bizarre, bigoted logic of her kidnappers had convinced them that there had to be ‘due process’ according to their misconceptions of Sharia Law. To this end they were holding the injured Khatia captive until a formally convened court could sit. The events in the village had curtailed the arrival of their preferred local judge because the man could not leave the village without being changed into a woman. In their eyes, the presidency of this particular judge would have made the outcome of the trial a foregone conclusion but he was now trapped in the village. As the telepaths enlightened Beverly with this news, Beverly smiled grimly. Her earlier actions had inadvertently delayed Khatia’s trial but they still had to rescue the girl before events got out of hand. Some of the kidnappers were becoming frightened and fear often precipitated stupidity. Khatia had now become a liability and some were all for disposing of the body immediately. The idea was gaining support amongst the half dozen kidnappers. Beverly was getting worried.

She held a council with the senior aliens and they concluded that there was still time. Only two kidnappers had decided on the former course of immediate murder whilst a third was wavering in favour. As the afternoon wore on the Aliens prepared a plan.
Beverly had approached the local farmer who owned the barn and she had explained the situation.

“You understand Mr Pritchard, my daughter in law is being held hostage in that barn. The police will take ages to get here and an approach with a patrol pul would only alert the kidnappers. They are on their way though.”

Jim Pritchard nodded and smiled as Beverly explained her plan.

“Perhaps you could approach with your dogs and a flock of sheep with a view to pretending to use the barn. How fast could you assemble a handy sized flock?”

Jim grinned.

“It’s mid autumn missus. At this time of year I’d only ha to rattle a bag of food nuts and the whol’ dammed flock’d cum runnin’. Minutes it’d take tha’s all.”

“Can you do that then? I’ll make it well worth your while.”

“Are they armed?” Jim Asked.

Beverly shrugged then glanced at the senior alien who wagged her head. Their telepathy had determined that the kidnappers had no weapons. The plan had been to execute Khatia simply by the brutal, ritualistic, blasphemous act of ‘stoning’.

The aliens were not powerfully built individuals for their telepathy had been one of the main evolutionary survival devices in their planet’s faunal evolution. Jim Pritchard could see that the strange little beings would be useless in a physical fight but he was surprised and impressed by their strange telepathic abilities. He was ex military and understood the value of perfectly accurate intelligence. With a smile he invited Beverly to ride in his ‘agri-pul’ as a short whistle brought a pair of willing sheepdogs from the barn and always eager to run the hills. They stacked a few of bags of sheep-nuts to make it look realistic then invited one of the aliens to hide in an empty bag to collect information telepathically as they approached the barn.

Within minutes the agri-pul was hurtling over the rough pastures from the farmhouse to the high barn. Then in plain view of the barn they dismounted and Jim set his dogs to herding the sheep. Beverly was pretending to be the farmer’s wife as she casually dipped her hand into one of the food bags and spread the nuts around the field. At the same time the telepathic alien was keeping up a running commentary on the kidnapper’s thoughts and behaviour. They were staying hidden in the barn on the assumption that they had not yet been detected. The alien telepath described their conversations.

“They’re nervous. They don’t see us as any sort of attacking force but they’re frightened of discovery. They are wondering what to do with Khatia. They think they can pretend to be a group of hill-walkers who have taken temporary shelter in the barn but they are afraid that Khatia will scream.”

“Well they’re right on the hill-walking story,” Jim concurred to Beverly. “There’s a footpath running through t’ gate beside barn. Walkers often use t’ barn if weather turns.”

“But they still outnumber us.” Beverly observed.

Jim gave Beverly a slow soft smile.

“I don’t think so Missus.”

Beverly looked puzzled.

“How d’you mean?” She asked.

“They’s thee, me, two dogs ‘n a couple o’ thousand sheep not to mention yon telepathic one in t’bag. You’d be surprised what a flock of sheep can do when they’re gettin’ lively.”

A slow tight-lipped smile crossed Beverly’s lips.

“You mean drive the sheep at, -“

“Precisely love. I’ll herd sheep into’ barn and that’ll fettle em’.”

“But what if they harm the girl? The sheep that is.”

Jim turned to the alien for a situation report.

“The girl is in some sort of side room and the door is secured.”

Jim smiled at Beverly again.

“I thought that’s where they’d be holding her. Don’t forget lady, tha’s my barn an’ I know my own buildings. The barn used to ‘ave a small stone built stable in it, that’s the stone enclosure they’ve got the girl secured in. There’s a stout wooden door and it’d make a fine prison. Some walkers have even overnighted in it. It used to be a sort o’ loosebox but fell into disuse. I leave t’ barn open now and the sheep take shelter there just like t’ walkers but I usually leave t’stable door closed though not locked. Sheep can’t open it but people can; i’ss not locked now. The loosebox is a useful space if I ever need storage but I don’t much need it. Makes a perfect prison cell though.”

Beverly sighed with relief as the alien gave a situation update.

“She’s lying on the floor of the stable and she’s trussed up like a chicken. The kidnappers are content to sit in the barn and ignore her. It seems they know not to develop any sort of ‘relationship’ with their victim. They’ve done this sort of thing before. It’s in their memories.”

“So what’s the plan then Mr Pritchard?” Beverly asked the farmer, content to see if the sheep flocking thing worked.

“Well I’ll set t’ dogs to gatherin’ em and then I’ll get them a little agitated before driving ‘em into barn. They’ll be invisible from the front of the barn and there’s no windows at t’ back cos that side faces north an’ east. Once I’ve got ‘em good and restless I’ll drive ‘em through side gate and herd them into barn. They’ll not all go of course but that’ll set um up all frettin’ and jumpin’ It gets pretty lively then. If they’m city folks, they’ll get a shock! They’ll not like it. Jumpin’ sheep can knock yer f’ six’ if’n you’re no familiar wi ‘em. An’ it’ll all seem like an accident cos we don’ know they’re in there, do we?”

Jim smiled evilly.

“Sounds like a plausible plan,” Beverly nodded approval.

“Right soonest done, soonest mended.” Jim finished as a he whistled off the dogs to start the round up.

Beverly watched fascinated whilst occasionally scattering a few desultory handfuls of sheep-nuts to look as though she was used to the whole scene. Soon the paddock behind the barn started to fill up with milling bleating sheep. Eventually one of the kidnappers noticed the noise and he emerged from the barn. Jim hailed him in his thickest ‘North Yorkshire’ accent to create the illusion that he was a dumb ‘country bumkin’.

“Eee, laddie, they’ll nobbut be safe there lad if’n woollies come at yer. I’d be scarperin’ ifn I were you.”

The kidnapper just stared uncomprehendingly so Jim decided to advance the plan. He gave another couple of whistles and the dogs immediately stopped circling the sheep before driving the excited flock through the side gate. Then the dogs snapped at the sheep’s heels and the panicked animals immediately sought the sanctuary of the barn. A barn only big enough to hold perhaps a few hundred sheep was now under siege from a thousand. Chaos ensued as animals struggled to get in whilst the kidnappers struggled to get out.

In the melee some of the kidnappers got knocked down and failed to get up again as thousands of ovine hooves kept prodding and kicking them down again. By Beverly’s reckoning the remaining pair of kidnappers had already scrambled to safety and were standing nervously by the wall of the paddock undecided what to do. Jim went over to them under the pretence of concern for their downed friends.

“I’ll try an' get t’ dogs te’ dig the sheep out of the barn. I didn’t realise they was half a dozen oy yus’ in there. Why did’n ye’ say?”

So saying the dogs were ordered to scramble over the panicking sheep’s backs and eventually the whole flock scattered back into the field. Lying injured in the mud were four of the kidnappers all looking very much the worse for wear as they eventually got to their feet. Once more Jim made a pretence of solicitousness as he invited the kidnappers down to the farmhouse to recover from their ordeal. They were too disorientated and injured to refuse; indeed a couple of them had broken ribs where the sheep had scrambled frantically over their prostrate bodies. With these words he phoned his wife on his mobile and suggested she ‘put t’kettle on lass’ as he motioned to Beverly to secretly go and check the stable under the pretence of staying behind to continue scattering the sheep nuts.

“Just carry on spreading these nuts to yon woollies love while I see these men safe.”

Beverly made a show of scattering sheep nuts and lifting the bags off the quad-bike whilst making sure her telepathic alien friend was still safely hidden in one of the bags. She remained on the hill with one of the dogs ‘tending’ the flock while Jim led the kidnappers off the hill. As soon as they were out of sight she dashed into the barn and found Khatia trussed up like a chicken scrabbling helplessly in the dirt of the stable floor as she squealed behind her gag.

“Mmmmph! Mmmmmm!”

Beverly immediately untied the gag then addressed the ropes as Khatia let out a huge squeal of joy at seeing her.

“Oh thank you Beverly. Allah be praised. Ouch!”

“Sorry love. Where does it hurt?” She asked as she stared stupidly at Khatia's battered face.

“All over.” Khatia replied as she slowly flexed her legs and arms that were stiff with cramps.
Beverly freed the last knots then massaged Khatia’s legs and arms as the girl continued sobbing with unadulterated relief.

“The police will be here shortly, you’re safe now.”

“Even as she spoke they heard Yorkshire voices calling as they approached the Barn and Beverly answered them.”

“She’s okay. We’re inside the barn! In the little stable thing.”

A police woman’s head appeared through the stable doorway and smiled reassurance as she called to her colleague to fetch the blanket.

“My God girl! Are ye’ fit t’walk lovvie?”

“In a minute,” Khatia replied, “my legs are still a bit wobbly.”

“J’want a stretcher?”

“No, I’ll be okay just let me get the circulation back.”

Beverly gave the police woman a knowing look and nodded towards the extensive bruising. The kidnappers had given her a violent beating. The police woman nodded agreement and spoke to Khatia.

“We’ll need to get you to the hospital. Those are bad bruises, you might have some fractures. Do your ribs hurt?”

Khatia nodded as she tried to get up. The effort defeated her and she collapsed in pain so the stretcher was quickly brought.
An hour later she was in a warm comfortable hospital bed being checked out by a lady doctor, a Muslim lady doctor, - a doctor who made an issue of Khatia, a Muslim girl, being married to a Christian man when she later realised that the visiting husband was not only a white, Christian man but a transgendered individual to boot.
When Bennie later decamped to the visitor’s room she censured Khatia for the actions.

“You are a beautiful girl; you could have had the pick of all Islam! Why on earth did you pick such a, such a, - revolting creature, a freak, - a blasphemy in the eyes of Allah? You have committed apostasy, it’s no wonder your family were worried! ”

Khatia almost spat at her like an angry cobra. Her eyes blazed and she called nervously for Bennie who came running from the visitor’s room. Her heels clicked an urgent tattoo down the corridor as she trotted into the ward. Khatia turned to Bennie in desperation then pointed to the doctor.

“I don’t want her treating me anymore.”

Bennie’s eyes widened with incomprehension.

“Why not darling?”

“She’s every bit as bad as the village. She just condemned me for marrying you!”

It was Benny’s turn to be angry.

“Why, you cheeky cow. From now on, you are not to go near my wife! Is that clear?”

Bennie wanted to go and tackle the senior consultant there and then but Khatia dissuaded her.

“Leave it Bennie. Just stay with me through the night. I’ll be discharging myself in the morning, broken bones or not.”

“If that’s what you want darling, okay.

“You can’t stay in the ward overnight.” The doctor challenged.

“This is a private ward, we are paying for it so I’ll stay where I bloody well like!”

The lady doctor stalked off in high dudgeon and returned later with the senior consultant who, as it happened, was also a Muslim.
That was the last straw for Khatia; she struggled to get out of the bed and demanded that Bennie take her home. The consultant gasped with dismay and turned to Bennie.

“Your wife is very ill Mr Taff. Please accept my advice and urge her to stay at least through the night.”

“Only on the condition that I sleep here in this room with her and a police guard is posted at the door. Don’t worry about the cost!”

“What is the danger?”

“Ask your colleague! I have rarely encountered such an insensitive individual and one who’s supposed to belong to the caring profession to boot! My wife has just suffered the most traumatic events at the hands of your co-religionists and you ask what she is afraid of!”

The consultant’s brow wrinkled with incomprehension.

“What d’you mean exactly?”

“The woman was abusive to my wife about marrying a Christian.”

The consultant hesitated as he tried to consider the situation.

“Well, it is forbidden for Muslim women to marry outside of the faith, the children you see, -“

“Can choose their faith once they’ve looked at the different options, - there are options Mr, - (Bennie glanced at the surgeon’s name tag,) Mr Aziz. This is Britain, not Saudi Arabia.”

“But the children need to be immersed in, -“

“Love care and understanding, not bigotry and scriptures.” Bennie finished again, “besides our children read, write and speak fluent Arabic, do you?”

“Well, - no, - not as such. I’m from West Pakistan, we normally speak Urdu.”

“Precisely, so if our children choose to, they can readily ‘immerse themselves in Islam’ if they choose. Better perhaps than many British Muslims.”

“Who taught them Arabic?”

“Their mother, who else, that beautiful but brutalised woman lying fearful in that bed, - my wife!”

So saying, Bennie called her father Beverly and organised a police guard that very minute. There would be no uninvited visitors during the night. Khatia slept peacefully after a strong sleeping drug administered by a very contrite consultant, especially after he learned just who Khatia’s father-in-law was.

In the morning Khatia was delighted to be woken by her beloved daughters and father-in-law and by mid morning she was discharged still aching but glad to feel herself amongst true friends. Bennie and the twins were sickened by the bruising their mother suffered for she had been brutally beaten by her abductors. It was hard for Bennie not to beg her father Beverly to invoke further punishment on the village. The bruising was so severe that Khatia was hardly recognisable as his wife. Khatia however showed the nature of a true Muslim by offering forgiveness and peace to her abusers. Bennie found it hard to reconcile her beautiful wife’s forgiving nature with the background to the family where she had been brutally raised. There were further surprises in store for both Bennie and Beverly.

To Khatia’s surprise, her mother and two sisters had made it their business to visit her at the hospital for the lady registrar had contacted Khatia’s family. More importantly, her mother and sisters were contrite and friendly so Khatia invited them to her home which was where Beverly was taking the family. It was no longer a secret where they lived; the kidnap had made that obvious.

The mother and sisters enjoyed the rare privilege of a trip in Cold Albatross out to the Pennine farm. Once safely ensconced in her home again Khatia enjoyed a devoted reconciliation particularly with her younger sisters. They were upset that Khatia had ‘fled’ without them for since her disappearance they had been subjected to unbearable oppression from their father and brothers, hardly able to leave the house without a permanent and intolerable chaperone. Things had changed dramatically since the advent of the ‘sex-change’ situation in the village. Women and girls went freely everywhere whilst men and boys moved with circumspection; fearful of crossing some ‘invisible barrier’ that might plunge them into womanhood.

At first it had raised much humour amongst the women but now the situation in the village was becoming intolerable. Many of the men worked as taxi-drivers and they could not get to work driving around the city. Many innocent families of wives and children were beginning to suffer the consequences.

Beverly smiled inwardly as the sisters described the situation.

It might be time to raise the barrier,’ Beverly decided,‘the lesson was well learned by now and it could always be re-introduced.’

Khatia’s father and brothers had been the first to learn of the peril when the youngest son had taken the dog for a walk and it had returned a Bitch after crossing an invisible boundary near the edge of the canal. Fear stalked the once oppressive men of Khatia’s old family. Lessons had been learned.

After a couple of weeks with Khatia’s mother and sisters dancing attendance upon the injured Khatia and also getting to know of Khatia’s most fortunate change in circumstances, namely her marriage into one of the most illustrious families on the planet, the Muslim women finally conceded that they had better return to attend the men-folk.

Khatia’s brothers and father had been unable to go to work or attend the local social security office to collect their state benefits. The local S.S. (Social Security to our American sisters.) office was outside the ‘sex-change’ perimeter and men could not leave the village. Things were becoming intolerable.

Before they returned, Beverly discussed with the women the solution to the situation in the village. It was going to take a serious culture change amongst the residents.

The following Friday when the men had gathered for Friday prayers, Khatia returned to the village with her Christian Husband, her mother and her younger sisters and most importantly, her illustrious father-in-law, Beverly At eleven that morning Khatia appeared accompanied by her mother and sisters at the entrance to the cafe where Beverly had instigated the events of that auspicious morning. At first Khatia was fearful of exposing her kin-folk again to Beverly’s anger. With the advent of the ‘sex-change’ cordon on that first day, her father-in-law’s wrath had become instant news throughout the Wahabist community.
Sheer unmitigated terror had betaken the whole community and the news had spread like wildfire around the city. Outside of the ‘village’ amongst the wider, educated Muslim community there was much amusement and relief. There would be far less bigotry and intolerance emanating from the village in future. Muslim women in the village in particular, were now free totally to decide how they should appear. For most they continued to dress in their traditional burkahs and Hijabs for that was what they were comfortable with, but now it was totally voluntary and if one chose to appear in western style then there was certainly no censure on the streets or even in the homes.

The bigots had become fearful and with that fear came uncertainty and with that uncertainty came change and with that change came advancement. Within days, younger Muslim daughters were expressing their free will. Not being excessive in their dress nor even immodest but by simply renouncing the Burkah, the Hijab and above all the Nicab. Girls still went abroad with their arms covered and wearing leggings or tight jeans so they were not ‘immodest’ even by the narrowest Islamic mores but now they definitely considered themselves ‘western women’. As these events unfolded Beverly was relieved and pleased to see progress.
That Friday morning Beverly waited inconspicuously outside the mosque as Khatia made it known she was going to enter even though it was ‘Friday prayers’. Muslim women were obviously allowed to normally enter mosques but in the intolerable Wahabist misinterpretations of ‘The Word’ many cultures frowned upon women attending Friday prayers when men gathered in great numbers.
This Friday though, things were very different. Khatia’s beauty had been a talking point throughout the village before she had ‘absconded’ and now she had returned there was much discussion and argument amongst the men, not to mention remorse.

Outside the mosque as the mid-day prayers were ending, Beverly and Bennie waited with Farina and Francine as the twins watched their mother casually and skilfully fling a newly bought hijab over her head to cover her beautiful hair in one easy effeminate motion. She caught Beverly’s mildly puzzled expression and grinned at the father-in-law she had come to love.

“Look daddy, Christian women cover their heads when they go to church, so why shouldn’t I? Besides this is my mosque, it’s where I attended Madrassar and the Imam knows me well even though he is, or rather was, one of the most conservative Imams in Bradford.
I have no intention of insulting Allah by entering Allah’s house uncovered. Besides I think this hijab suites me, don’t you?”

So saying, Khatia ‘peeped’ coquettishly out from under the delicate lace edging of her white hijab and Beverly was forced to smile. Khatia did indeed portray all the mystique of oriental beauty and femininity as she allowed her father-in-law a ‘tantalising glimpse’ of her temporarily hidden beauty. Bennie also fell for the evocative ploy and reached out to hug her beautiful wife. A couple of obviously conservative old men looked nervously at the cameo but dare not to comment for there stood the village’s nemesis, the dreaded Beverly Taff!

Beverly turned and smiled at the men and their tensions eased as Khatia boldly stepped into the mosque slipped off her shoes and performed Shufu with an easy familiarity before entering the mosque to address the congregation. Once inside she caused much commotion but non dared to challenge her. As a natural courtesy, Khatia spoke privately with the old Imam first then addressed the conveniently assembled men.

She explained that her ‘Christian’ father-in-law was prepared to show forgiveness just as a proper Muslim would, then she went on to explain how that forgiveness would manifest itself. The male congregation departed their prayers that day much relieved and happier.

As a mark of her ‘forgiveness’ Beverly had decided to put a small factory near the village providing more work to the ‘villagers’. Both Bennie and Khatia were forced to wonder at Beverly’s magnanimity but that magnanimity brought rapid reconciliation between Khatia and her brothers and father. After watching their own cousins; the very men who had kidnapped and beaten Khatia, being changed into women Khatia’s father could not have been more contrite or scared. He was truly a changed man.
For Khatia’s mother and sisters it was a delight to learn they had two new nieces and granddaughters. Farina and Francine were at long last able to freely meet and savour their maternal relatives. The women of Khatia’s extended family even took to visiting Bennie and Khatia at the farm where they quickly learned to show tolerance and respect for other peoples and other lifestyles. They were also stunned to learn that their family had become connected to the most powerful and wealthiest family in the universe.

Unfortunately some of the relatives deemed that this gave them some sort of entitlement to ‘lord’ it over their Muslim community in the village and it came down to Bennie to put them right.

Yes, Khatia’s family could certainly meet and enjoy the twins, even have them as guests in their homes as cousins and nieces and granddaughters properly should, but any attempt to somehow influence the girls, or inculcate Wahabist mores would bring short thrift from Bennie and especially Khatia. The maternal family were left in no doubt as to what the consequences would be. However, Bennie was not a total Islamaphobe. She was prepared to let her children attend a Madrassar if only to let the girls understand their own roots. Nevertheless, Khatia made sure she attended the lessons as well to openly debate the theological arguments in front of not only her own but other children as well. She had a shrewd logical head on her shoulders and gave the old conservative Imams a perilous time when debating moral strictures and Koranic interpretations. At these ‘debates’ the children would listen with rapt attention to wonder at a mere woman taking on and as often as not, beating the Imam’s at their own theology. The debates soon became popular with older children and adults as news of the quality of reasoning and argument spread. To the old Imam’s surprise, his Madrassar was soon a popular place of lively debate and discussion not some ‘dead-man’s handle’ that suppressed all intellectual advancement. He even found himself beginning to actually enjoy Khatia’s attendance each Friday after evening prayers. Her intellect and beauty had made his once oppressive mosque one of the most popular centres of learning in the north of England. Muslim scholars from far and wide came to discuss and debate Koranic philosophy and in Arabic to boot for Khatia’s linguistic skills were superlative.

Of the twins however the story was now very different. Their mathematical skills were now too advanced to be ignored. Khatia and Bennie were forced to concede that only one adult had the wit and wisdom to take the twins to the very highest levels of attainment and that was their own grandfather Beverly.

While their mother enjoyed her Friday night discussions at the mosque, the twins played mathematical games with their grandfather Beverly, who baby-sat them back at the farm. Their father Bennie was usually down in the Manchester gay village helping to run the new hostel and advice centre that had funded and opened to advise young, gay and transgendered people with particular attention to those who’s faiths had brought them despair and confusion.

This chapter dwells upon beverly's retirement and the handing over of control to her superintelligent twin grand-daughters.

 

Spacetran 21.

Girls,
Wendy, William’s twin.
Jessica and Charlotte, Ben’s (AKA Bennie’s,) twin sisters.
Dave and Eddie , Sherriff Jack Johnson’s boys.
Linda and Sandra, Sherriff Jack Johnson’s daughters.
Ray, Wendy’s husband, (Our son in Law.).
Khatia. Bennie’s secret Muslim wife.
Farina & Francine. Khatia and Bennie’s twin daughters.

With peace and stability now returned to Bennie’s little family, she was happy to allow her father Beverly to take a hand in raising her beloved daughters. For Khatia it was a whole new world to find herself mixing with the great and the powerful as illuminati from all over the universe regularly called upon her humble, farmstead, Pennine home. She quickly realised that the visits were little more than unofficial ambassadorial visits to meet the future inheritors of Beverly’s vast power. For Khatia, born in one of the poorest parts of Bradford, it was at once both humbling and uplifting to encounter so much interest and concern for her beloved daughters.

Fortunately her motherly rights and feelings about her daughters were thoroughly respected and supported by her father-in-law. Apart from the incredibly complex mathematics lessons with Grandfather Beverly as their tutor, the children’s time was otherwise taken up with ordinary school lessons in the village school and spending the remainder of their childhood with their parents and their school friends. Indeed except for Beverly’s indulgences on the maths front, the girl’s lives continued as they always had. Except sadly for the ring of alien, telepathic protection that remained discreetly in the background to ensure the girls suffered no unwelcome attacks or kidnappings. Khatia thought at first that this was an unfair burden to place upon the delightfully intelligent and entertaining aliens but she soon learned that they considered it an honour and a privilege to be guarding Beverly’s grandchildren with their lives. During these earthly years Khatia also came to know not only the women of her own extended family but also the women of her husband Bennie’s family.

At first she thought that Bennie’s siblings and her daughter’s cousins would resent the fact that her daughters were set to inherit the control of the firm with their grandfather Beverly’s passing. But to Khatia’s delight she found her children were loved and protected by Beverly’s family. She was delighted to be automatically invited to attend and indeed expected to attend any and all the family functions she could. She was also stunned, surprised and amazed to meet the Amphs who where her family by marriage to Bennie. For the amphs were Bennie’s half brothers and sisters. It brought her a bit of a visceral thrill to relate to her own Muslim family that she was actually related by marriage to a whole clan of aliens from a faraway planet.

Most importantly was that Ruby, Beverly’s wife and Khatia’s mother-in-law went out of her way to make Khatia welcome for she doted on her youngest and recently discovered grandchildren. The girls Farina and Francine had brought her husband Beverly much peace and release at last from the unrequited torment of not having suitable heirs to hand on the business to. Every time Beverly came home with her grandchildren, Ruby could see her husband glowing with pleasure and relief as she related the events of yet another intergalactic visit for the girls to learn of their vast enterprise and meet with employees from hundreds of faraway worlds. Beverly related joyfully to Ruby.

"They will have it much easier than I did Ruby darling for there are two of them to share the burden."

“Do they fight or squabble?” Ruby asked, fearful that they might fight for supremacy after taking over the enterprise.
Beverly wagged her head with a joyous smile.

“Not as far as I can see. Khatia appears to have done a remarkable job with her daughters. They appear neither jealous nor competitive towards each other. Every time I have allotted them a task they have divided the work harmoniously without rancour or dissent; - and they co-operate so well. When I think back to the squabbles between the triplets Bennie, Charlotte and Jessica I just can’t believe how well Farina and Francine get on. Sometimes it seems uncanny but they just don’t seem to argue.”

“Are they happy?” Wondered Ruby.

“Well they seem so, though they can’t wait to get home after one of our trips. However I think that’s an indicator that they are well balanced and rounded children. They rush to see their ponies while Khatia returns to her beloved farm to greet the servants and they are happy to see her. All in all it seems to me to be an idyllic childhood for them. Sadly, I’m the last person on earth to adjudge childhoods. You know my story well enough. D’you know the girls often take their school friends on the trips and sometimes the whole class. Talk about educational trips, the village school just doesn’t know what’s hit it. Sometimes the whole school gets to go on an intergalactic trip; the kids do better than the most expensive schools in England.”

Beverly rattled on enthusiastically about the benefits to the little village school and Ruby smiled, it was so wonderful to have her original Beverly back now that the question of inheritance had been resolved. Thus were the girls childhood years filled.

After a few years, as the girls approached their sixteenth birthdays, they were finally delighted to learn and, more importantly, understand the secrets of their grandfather’s intergalactic travel and navigation.

The time had come for the girls to spread their intergalactic wings and become known to other civilisations on other worlds as the inheritors of Beverly’s universally acclaimed legacy..

For Khatia the next few years were to be sad yet happy times as the girls embarked upon an odyssey around the universe to meet and greet the many different alien civilisations who had long ago befriended their beloved grandfather. Khatia accompanied them of course; - what mother wouldn’t? No intelligent person would pass up such an opportunity. For her own satisfaction she took to studying alien languages and this gave her fulfilment. On the family front though, she found herself increasingly being edged tactfully into the background as her girls fulfilled their destiny and slowly started to assume the mantle of responsibility that their grandfather was so happy to shed.

Even Khatia could see that despite her inner happiness, Beverly was growing old and stooped. She discussed her father-in-law several times with her mother-in-law. Ruby wagged her head and sighed as she explained to Khatia.

“She explained to me many years ago when I first met her. She tried to commit suicide you know.”

“Yes,” sighed Khatia tearfully as she recalled her father-in-law’s history. “She’s told me about it and the girls know. They always want to cuddle her and make her happy but they’ve only slowly begun to realise that just by being, Farina and Francine, they make their grand-dad utterly happy. Beverly’s at her happiest when she’s got the girls beside her.”

“Yes, she is Khatia and do you know? I’m not even jealous.” Ruby smiled. “Just to see the girl I married back with us again is reward enough. Our grand daughters have brought me endless joy thank you for being such a wonderful daughter to me.”

The two women hugged each other with tears of joy and that is how Beverly found them as she and the girls bounced in unexpectedly one Thursday afternoon a day early.

Farina and Francine immediately became solicitous of their mother’s tears and rushed to give both women a hug as Beverly also realised it was a girl thing and so joined the session.

After the group session was over and tears dried, Beverly was pleased to make an announcement.

“Both my grand-daughters are fully qualified to navigate anywhere in the universe. They brought us back in double quick time and that’s why we’re back so early. I’m perfectly happy with their skills. So now they are technically equipped to start taking over the reins of the family firm.

It only remains now for our son William to start introducing them to the boring admin part, the part I always hated but he always loved. I’ll leave them in his tender care while I start to take a back seat as it where. I’ve discussed all this with my beautiful girls while they were bringing us back. They attend their first board meeting on Monday when they can meet all the family and see how the operation works.

Ruby smiled joyfully as she watched her husband physically unbend and straighten her shoulders in some sort of symbolic shedding of the burden. Khatia had less joyful feelings but she was nevertheless happy for her daughters. At least their burden would be halved by being twins. She was slightly sad to see them finally ‘leaving the nest’ but also glad to see her beloved girls finally fulfil their immense potential.

Within a few years the girls had filled Beverly’s worn out shoes. They had developed the same co-operative and friendly relationship with their uncle and aunts as their grandfather had and they steadily acquired the knowledge and skills to guide Taff Spaceships through the next era of its evolution. It was a relieved Beverly who one day finally vacated her seat at the head of the boardroom table then dragged her old chair away and replaced it with two similar chairs to symbolise the shared control.

Beverly had finally managed to unload the burden and take up her well-earned retirement.

For several more years she savoured and indulged the position of ‘elder statesman’ or more correctly ‘elder stateswoman’ until finally her tired old body started to fail her. Then in one secret quiet voyage that she announced to nobody, she and her beloved ship Cold Albatross disappeared without a trace to leave the family distraught but well fitted to continue running the firm.

Beverly was no more.

The End.