The QT Diaries Episode IV: A New Hope by Denise Miles

Detective Grant Stone is forced to take vacation after years on the Space Patrol. On the way home his cruise ship is attacked by pirates and he's forced to escape in a faulty rescue pod. As his life support fails, he prepares for death. Little does he expect what happens next.

The QT Diaries

Episode IV: A New Hope

Copyright © 2011 Denise E Miles. All rights reserved. May not be copied in any form without written permission of author. Permission granted for exclusive posting on the Big Closet web site.

Well, I’m finally getting that dream vacation. The fake simulated sun reflecting off the perfect ocean hologram. Yep, I know it's not real. Reality really sucks. I know I wont get sunburned, attacked by flying rats (sea gulls) or nibbled by fish. There are no slimy anythings in the water. Once a day some bikini babe slaps tanning lotion on my white hide. Drinks featuring fruit and umbrellas are served as requested. I smell like cocoa butter. The artificial life support floods my room with ocean smells, minus the real salt taste. My eyes close as my mind jumps back to last month.

I am Detective Grant Stone, Granite to my friends and Stone to everyone else. Most parents given half a chance will inadvertently give their kids an embarrassing name. Why should I be any different? I am a long standing force of the Space Patrol. I never saw any reason to take a vacation. My job is more fun and excitement then a roller coaster. The brass in charge of life decided that I needed to pursue happiness since love had already eluded me. New rules this year force you to use your vacation time or else. So, I have about a couple month's time to use.

So here I am on a space cruiser going to some exotic location to drink too much and make an ass of myself. The cruiser beats the hell out of that hole in the wall called home. I never thought to update the programs in my unit. Why? All I do there is sleep. I live at work. This vacation is really sweet.

I glance at the mirror; a lined face that I call experienced, gray hair that I call distinguished, and a body that is still more muscular then paunchy. What I love are my steely gray eyes. Criminals have crumpled at my stare. I look at my hands weathered with age, calloused from years of weapons training. A hard life leaves a bitter spirit.

We spent two weeks at the imitation beach until we reach the real vacation spot, as the cruise ship cuts through space on the well traveled path with its current load of tourists. Time's up and we are on final approach to the pleasure world. Time flows way to fast between entertainment, sex and booze.

The next thing I remember is waking up on that stupid pleasure cruiser heading home. Smooth sailing home from several months of much needed indulgence.

Blaring horns. Flashing lights. ”What the hell is going on?” I yell at the computer assistance program.

A droning voice replies, “We are being boarded by person or persons unknown”. Here I am trapped in a holographic room with out my badge, laser or space suit. The voice continues in a firm, but pleasant voice, “Please step over to the control panel. Press the green button.” I know what the green button does. I have been in space for longer than this ship's been sailing. The green button opens the door to the life pod designated for this room. Each person has a life pod or, as we call them, flying coffins. The chance of being found alive is slim to none.

I also know what the person or persons unknown will do to anyone still on board. I pity the poor captain who can't leave the ship. What's left of him or her will be scraped up and sent back to the family. On the box will be, “Sorry your (Fill blank with appropriate noun) died in the line of duty. Here is a check to make us look good. Our funerals will be covered by the company's insurance core.” My next of kin will get a fat feel good check. I will still be dead.

I step to the control panel and press the green button. Today is not a good day for heroes. Yeah, I could use my hand to hand combat training and subdue a person or persons unknown. The fact is the main air seal is broken, open to space. Each room is an encapsulated environment. If I open the door without a space suit, I'm dead. If I get into the life pod, I may die. If I stay in my room, when they open the door there will be no more air to breathe. Dead! I'll take my chances with the flying coffin.

I take the last swig of my scotch on the rocks, ease into the life pod, seal the door and relax. The computer registers my bio pattern as programed into the pod at the beginning of the trip. This saves time identifying the victims. There is a slight pressure as the pod is jettisoned into space. The count down begins. I now have three days of life support or a new coffin. Time starts now.

The pod is simply a thick shell with a comfortable seat. Nutrients are delivered through a tube dangling next to the mouth area. Time passes slowly in this small confined space. I wish I could see outside. I love looking at the stars. There is a retractable shield on the pod so I could see the stars, but the shield does not protect from the harmful rays that permeate deep space. So I wait in the pod, counting down the minutes of my life.

The three months on the pleasure world passed like a wave. These three days are passing like a snail. Never has time moved this slowly. I don't know why I am still taking nourishment. I want a real drink, a nice cold beer with droplets of condensation running down the side accompanied by a rare steak covered in mushrooms and surrounded by onion rings. Yep, my last meal is sludge in a straw. Just my luck!

The distress call radiates into deep space. Time is running out. The pod's gauge reads one hour of life support. The needle is in the red zone. OK, time to drop the protective shield. I will be dead in sixty minutes, so I might as well enjoy the sights. The shield retracts into the pod. “Indoor lights, off,” I said with a voice rough with emotions I didn’t know I even had anymore. The darkness of space exploding with lights of far away stars, galaxies and man-made debris. The pod is irradiated with cosmic dust from the beginning of time. My eyes slowly close on the world of Grant Stone. The soft alarm indicates life support gone in nine... eight... seven... six...

This is the end of Grant Stone, officer, detective, hero, drunk, and a royal pain in the ass.

It's common knowledge that when you die several different things can occur. First, come the flash backs of your life. Second, comes the old train tunnel joke followed by a meet n' greet with friends and family.

As my eyes closed for the last good night, I saw my younger self playing cops and robbers. I was always the cop. My granddad was a cop, dad was a cop and I am a cop. I saw my mom put up with the fact that work was dad's first and only love. Reflections change to loves and lovers of my past. I never committed because my first and only love is the Space Patrol. Why should I subject my loves to a bitter existence living in the shadow of a heartless job? No wife to turn to a bottle when faced with another cold bed, her youthful beauty ravaged by worry, her loving spirit squashed by neglect bordering on abuse.

No children to ignore in the line of duty, little ones idolizing their absent parent, knowing they are in the shadow of an all consuming job, watching their mother fall from grace head first into a bottle.

No hope to change the past now. No hope for the future. No hope.

Do I regret? Yes. Would I change? I don't know. Besides, it's too late. I'm as good as dead. I feel so old. I wish there was a reset button for life. I thought when you die, things just stopped. The life of a space cop never leaves room for the hereafter. Never did the tunnel thing. Never saw lost friends or family. I just closed my eyes to the surrounding cosmic beauty. The cosmic dust settled on the pod, gently bathed in cosmic rays.

* * * * *

Space Patrol quickly received the distress call from the stranded pleasure cruiser suspended in space. Quickly arriving on the scene, they pick up distress signals from a dozen life pods. Stone is the not the only survivor of the pleasure craft. He is the only survivor to open his craft to the cosmic storm that engulfed his life pod. Stone is removed from the coffin and rushed to the primary Space Patrol hospital in Delta City. The other passengers are revived without incident and processed by Space Patrol. A medic checks their health status. Space Patrol arranges for the passengers' passage home. Stone is the only exception.

The gurney is pushed into emergency. The nurse looked up from her station, “What can I do for you, officer?”

“We found a life pod with this survivor. Unconscious female, around twelve years old. The computer identifies the passenger as Detective Grant Stone of Space Patrol, male, fifty-six years old. Don't ask me, I just fished this thing out of deep space. She's all yours.”

Nurse Flo looked down at the strange girl on the gurney. She notified the doctor on staff, then started the admission process of Jane Doe. The blood draw required for identity was followed by a finger print scan. Results of both tests confirmed the identity of Jane Doe as Detective Grant Stone.

“Doctor, we have a problem here with this child's identity. According to finger print scan and blood markers except for gender, this girl is Detective Grant Stone, a fifty-six year old male.”

“Flo, I'll give our results to the authorities. This will be their headache. I need you to get Ms. Stone into room 3467. Get her stabilized first and keep her unconscious for now. I will contact the appropriate people. Get to work.”

What started out as a long day for Flo was just getting longer. Flo's temples started to pound in time with her heart beat. She went to the first aid station to ingest some analgesics, maybe an antacid might help. Fortunately, this problem was now out of her hands. Flo grabbed a couple aides to help her transfer Ms. Stone into a hospital bed. Once settled, Flo started the equipment to stabilize her odd patient.

Doctor Yoto sat down in front of his communication screen. An AI face appeared on the screen, ”Space Patrol central communications, How may I direct your call?”

“This is Dr. Yoto of Delta City Hospital on Retulos. I have an officer Grant Stone as one of our patients. I need to speak to his supervisor.”

“Just one moment please,” the screen flickered to a strand of some vegetation with music dating back to elevators. Doctor Yoto completed his reams of reports just as a man appeared on the screen.

“Whatever Granite told you, the answer is NO. I need him to report for duty ASAP.”

“Sir, I am Dr. Yoto from Delta City Hospital. There has been an accident. Do you have the contact information for Mr. Stone's family. I was unable to locate the information in the computer database.”

A disgusted snort emerged from the officer, ”Look, Doc, we are his family. He never did have a steady anything except work.”

Dr. Yoto closed his eyes in frustration, ”I need someone here to authorize the identity and rehabilitation of Officer Stone. He is in a drug induced coma until family can be located. I do not want him to be facing this problem he has alone. I have seen his condition before and it is rare.

“He is going to need all of the support he can get. Unfortunately, I require the legal documentation chip of relationship.

“So, who can you send and how soon can they get here?”

Chief Patrick closed his eyes, 'this is not good,' he thought. “I'll send Bob Prentiss and his wife Carol. They have Grant's legal chip. I'll contact you with their arrival time. Chief Patrick signing off.”

Chief Patrick shook his head and flipped a switch on the council. “Bob, get your ass down here now! Granite's being a pain at Delta City Hospital. This will involve Carol.”

A few minutes later, Bob charged into Patrick's office. “What is going on?”

Pat looked up, ”I don't know much. I think Granite is creating payback for the brass making him take a vacation. He's convinced some doc that he has some stupid condition. Grab Carol, his legal chip, and pack some bags. Here are your flight passes and transport rental. Call me when you have Granite in your sight.”

“OK, see ya soon.”

Bob tapped his communicator. “Sweetheart, how about a little trip to Delta City Hospital? Pack bags for couple days and grab Granite's legal chip. He is giving the docs a hard time. Be there in a minute.”

Later that day, Carol and Bob walked through the door of the hospital. The android at the reception desk directed them to Dr. Yoto's office.

Dr. Yoto heaved a deep sigh, ”May I see Officer Grant's legal chip, please.” Carol held open her hand to have the chip scanned.

Dr. Yoto closed his eyes, “A pleasure cruiser was attacked by pirates. Everyone opted to use the space pods, including Detective Stone. Detective Stone is the only person on this trip to open his protective shield. Why he chose to do this is something we will have to ask him when he wakes.

“The investigators on this case noted that the internal clock in his pod was defective. At some point Detective Stone opened his shield exposing himself to the cosmic storm. This created a disorder called quantum transmutation syndrome or QT.”

Carol gave Bob a worried glance and asked, ”So, what happened?”

“Detective Stone has been transformed into a twelve year old girl. Would you like to see her?”

“Of course!”

Dr. Yoto guided them to room 3467. There curled up in the bed was a petite young lady with a crew cut and space patrol tattoo on her arm.

“That's Granite?” Bob looked closer, “Yep, that’s Granite. I'd recognize that haircut anywhere. She looks like her mother. So, when do we wake him up?”

Carol blinked, “Don't you mean her?”

“Let's return to my office while the nurse starts the awakening procedure.” Dr. Yoto lead the couple down the hall to his office.

Dr. Yoto took a deep breath, ”Let me explain our procedure for her absorption into society. She will be here for two weeks after she is revived. You will be here for a couple days with our support team to help you with this change in your lives. Then, you can return home. This will give you time to create a living space in your house for her. As her legal guardians you will have a young lady to raise. Our department will give you as much support as we can to get her adjusted to her new life. Then she will be sent to your home.

We will arrange for therapy and visitation from a QT that works out of our office. We average one living QT every four to five years. Failure occurs when the person affected is under the age of forty-two. Failure is fatal. There is always some DNA material left behind to identify the victim.

The strange thing about the syndrome is no matter how old the person is, she or he ends up as a twelve year old. Adult women end up becoming twelve year old boys. Adult men end up becoming twelve year old girls.

The first QT was Major Kiev Sven-son, a deep space pilot over a thousand years ago. The government locked her up in a secure location. She committed suicide after being denied relocation or adoption.

Stress from improper environment could cause a QT to be unhappy enough to turn to drastic measures like substance abuse, emotional spiral, or suicide. We have a formula that helps prevent stress. She will be awake soon. Let's go to her bedside.”

The com on the Doctor's desk chirped, ”Doctor, your patient is reviving.” Three people left the doctor's office and proceeded to Grant's room. The door opened to a hospital room with one patient laying in the room.

* * * * *

Granite thought to himself, 'If this is death, it's not so bad. The air doesn't have that metallic taste of a space ship. I can feel warmth surrounding me like a cocoon. So, this is what it feels like to be encased in cotton candy? I love cotton candy. Death reflects all of your positive feelings and memories. This is cool. I see a dim light through my eyelids. A soft murmur of voices in the distance. Wait, oxygen, warmth, light, voices. Oh, I'm alive. Yes, I survived! You the man, Stone!'

Four people waited patiently around former Detective Stone's bed. Her breathing deepened as she progressed from forced sleep to real sleep. Color flushed her cheeks making them look rosy. Her eyes making rapid movement under her lids. A moan escaped her lips. Suddenly, her eyes opened and she tried to quickly sit up.

Nurse Flo placed a hand on Grant's shoulder, ”Detective, you are at Delta Hospital. Please relax. You'll be fine.” Grant looked around to see a nurse, a doctor, and his close friend Bob with his wife, Carol.

“Bob, what are you doing here?” a quiet soft voice emanated from the Detective. For just a second panic was reflected in her eyes. 'This is not my voice. I just need to be processed like any other pod survivor. Why are my best friends playing vulture over my bed?'

“Granite, you had an accident in the escape capsule. This is Doctor Yoto, He contacted the boss as soon as he confirmed your identity. Grant, can you hear me?”

* * * * *

I bobbed my head afraid to talk with my damaged vocal cords. Carol picked up my hand to comfort me. 'My hand is smaller then Carol's? What on earth is going on here? '

I closed my eyes ready to hear what really happened to me. The three of them related the facts in order of occurrence. Carols calm voice asked the only question I could answer. “Granite, why did you open the shields to the life pod?”

My mind traveled back to when I was a young, idealistic space patrol officer. The space cruiser had had technical difficulties and everyone jumped ship into life pods. One life pod had faulty shielding and the 60 year old pilot was transformed into a twelve year old little girl. We dropped her off at Delta City Hospital. I remember the doctor calling her another QT. I almost forgot that day. For several years I continued to visit Sarah. I should get a hold of Sarah, she'll have a great laugh. She is around 40 now. I still get holiday cards from her every year with family pictures. She is married with 2 children. I forgot that she started out as a 60 year old man. Now I know that I'm a normal twelve year old girl.

I now knew that my voice is fine for a twelve year old girl. “Well, according to the clock I only had an hour to live. I wanted the last minutes of my life to reflect on the great cosmos. I could have kept the shields up and die in the coffin. I just wanted to see space one last time. I had no idea the pod's clock was messed up. I would never had exposed myself to this if I knew I'd survive.”

Grant closed his eyes then took a deep breath. “Can I see myself? Please?” Carol handed me a mirror. I remembered back on the ship really looking at the man I had become. Now I look at the girl I've become. My hands are soft, supple and delicate. Nothing like the callous hands of Detective Stone. I finally look at my face. My hair is still in a stylish crew cut, though it's grown out just a bit. My hair stayed the same color during transformation, but the roots are now a soft reddish brown. My eyes, once a hard steel, are now a soft dark blue. I can see Grant in this child. I see my mother in this child. I am this child. “OK, what do we do next? I want to get outta here, like yesterday!”

Doctor Yoto smiled, “Well, the first thing we need to do is start your therapy so you don't keep acting like a fifty year old cop.

“We'll set you up with a new identity. Grant is a good name, but not a name one usually associates as female. We have a list of names that might work for you to go through at your leisure. Here is some literature about the QT syndrome.

“In a day or two our transition team will meet with you and your guardians. I hope you like the food and remember you are twelve years old, no alcoholic beverages,” the doctor quipped over his shoulder as he left the room.

“No alcohol? Just kill me now. What can I drink? Plain fruit drinks with an umbrella? Ice without the scotch is just a cup of ice. I was hoping for a nice cold bottle of beer. Now what happens?”

Carol smiled for the first time and whispered something to Flo. The nurse left. Twenty minutes later comes a rare steak with sautéed mushroom, onion, and garlic; surrounded by a mound of onion rings and a dark bottle of cold root beer with a drop of condensation running down the side. This can't be all bad. I ate everything on the plate. The root beer tasted fine. Beer is definitely better, but beggars cant be choosers.

The nurse gave me the remote control panel for the room computer. “If you need anything, press the button. Before I leave, let's try to use the restroom.”

The nurse had me dangle my legs off the side of the bed for a few minutes. My legs are so thin. I'd lost the muscle structure developed during years of gym work. All that work wasted in minutes. Oh well, at least I'm alive to go back to work soon.

I stood up with out a problem and walked to the bathroom. The nurse directed me to always sit on the toilet. No reason to stand anymore. It suddenly dawned on me. “I don't have little Grant between my legs. The boys are gone. I am nothing more than a hole. What did you do to me?”

Flo expected this outburst, ”Remember, the accident turned you into a twelve year old girl. You will mature into a woman.” Flo held my hands and looked into my eyes. Tears reflected in their depth. “You are very lucky to have your life reset. You have an opportunity that some people would kill for. The chance to do it all over again.

“With the knowledge of your past life and the money you've saved, including the money from any legal settlements, Detective Grant Stone is going to have the time of her life. You are a lucky girl.

“Let me get a mirror so you can see yourself.” Flo came back with the hand mirror. She placed the mirror between my legs. For the first time I saw my new private area. The pink skin showing a small mound, slit with two folds of skin. My boys are gone for good. “Where is my hair?”

Flo smiled, “You have to go through puberty. Your breasts are not developed and your body hair has not started growing yet. Extreme changes are coming in the next year or two. Now let's get you back to bed. You've had a hard day.”

I didn't want to close my eyes. The next thing I remember is Flo opening up the drapes to let in the morning sun.

* * * * *

Bob opened the door of the rental room and sat down hard in a chair. He put his head in his hands as if fighting a headache. Carol brought both of them a beer and pain relievers. Bob looked up, tears streaming down his face. Carol placed her arms around Bob to let him cry himself out for the first time sense they got word that Granite was hurt.

The next morning, Bob called the Chief. “Bob, what joke was Granite playing this time?” Then the chief noticed Bob's ruddy cheeks and bloodshot eyes. “What happened?” the Chief asked, taking a serious tone.

Bob took a deep breath, ”Grant is going to live. The complication is called Quantum Transformation Syndrome or QT for short. Detective Grant Stone is now a twelve year old girl. There is nothing the medical team can do but provide support. She will be moving in with us in about two weeks. We are now her legal guardians. I never thought this would happen. Lucky I have a laser, she is going to be a knock out when she grows up.

“I am taking a month off for family medical reasons. I want to get her settled before I go back to work. Sorry, Chief, this is out of our control.

“Today, I get to meet another QT victim. I will keep you updated. Later, Chief.”

The Chief called his assistant, ”Matt, pack up Stone's desk and give me any case files left. He is on extended sick leave. Then, give me all of the case files on Bob's desk. He is on emergency family leave. Announce a group meeting at 1 o'clock. Now scoot.”

The Chief swiveled his chair to face the realistic holographic window. Tears ran down the creases in his cheeks as he started grieving for the loss of his good friend. Chief Patrick took a deep breath then gave thanks to an uncaring world that at least he... no, correction: she... is still alive. 'Back to work, now. I have to contact the main office to arrange a replacement for Stone. Nothing left to do until the new transfer arrives. I'll wait until Granite gets settled to visit her. In the mean time...'

* * * * *

I woke up at my normal time of five am. Some things never change. Time to put this new body through some light calisthenics to see how she can perform for duty. This body is definitely more limber. Stamina needs improvement, though. Strength will always be a problem. When I get access to the Patrol's training grounds, I can put this babe through her paces. This might not be so bad after all.

I made my way to the bathroom, took a quick shower, and hit the call button to attract a nurse. I heard someone step into the room. “Can I get a new gown, please?” my strong soft voice echoed from the bathroom.

“Of course, Darling. Do you want breakfast now?”

“Yes, please”

I was finished with breakfast when Carol stepped into the room. “Morning, Granite. The doctor gave me your new measurements, so I stopped by the store to pick up some clothes.”

Carol handed me several bags. Carol had picked out several pairs of plain underpants, three training bras, several shirts with faint swirl patterns, plain pants, shoes and socks. The last bag held the standard dress uniform of a female junior space patrol student.

She helped me quickly change into a nice outfit.

A tall ebony beauty walked into her room. “My name is Monica and I am your therapist. I am also a QT. Just like you I was an older man when hit with cosmic rays.”

Monica sat down, “I am happily married to a wonderful woman who always wanted a daughter. Our relationship changed drastically after the cosmic joke. I ended up being raised as my wife's child instead of staying her husband. It's hard watching her grow old. I know that you've been physically transformed to female, including your brain. You have a female brain with male past life memories. Don't be afraid when you start acting more emotionally. You'll find as time goes on that you'll accept female concepts faster because you are a hundred percent female.

“Just relax, you'll feel overwhelmed once in awhile. Just remember to relax.”

“I'm lucky. I'm a confirmed bachelor. In my field it doesn't make sense to have long term relationships. Bob is the exception to the rule. Carol is a strong woman who can handle the stress of his job.”

For the next eight hours Monica tried to prepare me for the long road ahead. I knew in my heart that I was not into becoming a girl. You can't teach an old dog new tricks and this is a really old dog. At least mentally I'm the old dog on the block. Physically, I'm the new bitch on the streets. I have a problem respecting ladies. I'm gonna have a problem respecting myself. Personally, I don't see any see any reason to change.

Carol spent a long day with the transition team, learning everything from interior design to incorporating Grant's personal items into the house to increase her comfort.

Two weeks of intense therapy just confirmed my thoughts that it just wasn't gonna work. The therapist wanted me to dress as a girly girl, but that is just not me.

Carol looked at the dresses and skirts the therapist wanted me to wear. “Granite, you need to get used to skirts.”

“Why? I won't be caught dead in a skirt!”

“I'm sorry, but the female dress uniform for space patrol officers includes 2 inch pumps and a skirt. I brought you your new uniform with your first clothing selection.”

“Okay, Carol, I'll try to dress like a girl.”

“When we get settled, you and I will go shopping.”

* * * * *

Today I get to go to my new home. I put on dress slacks, training bra, top, socks and shoes. The entire treatment team gathered in my room for farewells.

“Goodbye, Flo, Dr. Yoto, Monica. I will keep in mind everything we talked about this week.

“Monica, I'll call you to update you on how I'm feeling. Carol set up a therapist for me near their house. Thank you for everything.”

As Carol and I walked out of the main door, Bob was there with his private ship to take me to my new home.

Bob and Carol's house looks just like it did during the last holiday. Holiday meals always tasted better when Carol cooked. Clutched in my hand is a list of names. I can't stay Granite as a girl. This is the hardest choice to make. During dinner the conversation turned to picking out a new name.

“I have decided on the name Amber. My hair has red tones like the crystal. Besides I am keeping my last name. I love the joke that both names are really stone. At least I wont be taken for Granite anymore.” A silly grin spread over my face followed by the first laughter in forever. Grant could never be silly, but Amber is a natural. This is different, I wonder what else changed? The other QT told me that the changes weren't just physical. Well, I have time to explore my new world.

The next morning I woke up in my own room. The motif is flowers and butterflies. The colors are soft pastels. Not too girly girl, as much green as pink. Still, the room screams girl lives here. Well, I am a girl.

My old apartment screamed bachelor lives here. I never decorated the place. The furniture was all purchased second hand. Nothing really matched because I didn't care.

Now my drapes match my comforter. Decorative accents on the walls form a cohesive flow. I just might like being a girl. Bob and I went to my old apartment to gather the few things that I wanted. The rest was given to charity. We contacted the landlord to terminate the lease due to medical emergency. Most of my family heirlooms had never left their boxes. I am the only child of an only child. All I saved were the heirlooms.

Later that day I opened each box and started to decorate my room with little objects from my past. A past I'd largely ignored. I filled my jewelery case with pieces from both my mother and grandmother. I'd saved them for the daughter I would never sire. Carol smiled as she opened a box with old china.

“Finally, we have an an heirloom set for holidays! All we had before were my everyday set of dishes and the good dishes I got for my wedding. Carol took Grandma's china to replace the dishes stored in her china cabinet. Bob took all of my awards and trophies and those of my dad and grandad into the study for display. Amber is becoming a member of this household.

Quietly, I returned to my room and tossed myself onto bed, the pillows muffling my sobs. Suddenly, I have a family, something I'd lost such a long time ago. Carol came in and sat on the edge of my bed. Instinctively, I wrapped my arms around her and sobbed on her shoulder.

Anguish resonated through my bones as I cried myself to sleep.

* * * * *

Carol left her side and went back into the living room. ”Bob, I've never seen Grant cry before. It's a little unnerving.”

“I think seeing her parents treasures properly displayed took it's toll on her delicate mental status. Amber is going to be very emotional. The therapist was hoping she would breakdown during one of their sessions, but she was just too stubborn. I told her I didn't think it would ever happen, because she's not family. Sorry, I should have warned you of the needed meltdown. We'll let her sleep and wake her up for dinner.”

The first week turned out to be a smooth transition from hospital to home. One morning, the video com signaled an incoming transmission. The Chief smiled through the screen as Bob answered the com.

“Bob, can I invite myself for lunch about eleven? I would like to talk to the three of you.”

“Certainly, Chief, see ya at eleven.”

“Carol, Amber, the Chief is coming around eleven for lunch and a chit chat.”

Carol led Amber into the kitchen to set up a quick lunch. At eleven the Chief showed up at the door. “Thanks for letting me barge in on your lunch. Who is this lovely young lady?”

“Chief, don't patronize me! I know that Granite is gone and replaced by Amber Stone, but I'm still your biggest pain in the ass. Glad to see you, Chief. What brings you to this part of the world?”

The Chief got up, hugged Amber, and started to quietly cry. “You scared the crap out of me, Stone. Good to see ya alive.”

After a quick lunch, Amber and Carol cleaned off the table.

“Carol, the training grounds are open for you and Amber. We need her to be retrained for her body structure. We have also set you up for lessons three times a week on how to act like a young lady. I need you to act like a twelve year old. Space patrol has enrolled you in the junior space program for next term.

“There is something wrong going on at the training center and I need you to investigate. You have eight months before the start of next term. Amber, we need to get you up to speed. I always have case files that require an experienced, young adult. You have your orders. I will update you on your assignment when you get closer to your enrollment date. See ya at the training center.” The Chief left after giving Carol a copy of her orders and the training schedule.

The next months left me exhausted. Carol, renamed the slave driver, has been relentless in her training schedule. I now know why Bob fell in love with her. She is even more deadly than beautiful. I have grown to respect her for her skills. I want to be just like her when I grow up. After a grueling work out, we have lunch then go to acting lessons or therapy. When we get home, the real work starts. I set the table and help Carol in the kitchen cook dinner for Bob. Tonight is boys' night so we made tacos, nachos, popcorn to go with a cold case of brew.

I like cooking. This surprised me more than actually liking skirts. Yep, I am a girly girl and I'm loving it. Next month my hair will be long enough to do a short pixie style. I wish my hair would grow faster.

After dinner I retreat to my bedroom. I have homework from everyone. I have to write an essay about how to act at the mall, yoga exercises from Carol...

The therapist wants to find out how I am really feeling. Actually, I am happy and feeling like I am part of a family. Today I called Carol 'mom'. I think I made her day. Tomorrow I will call Bob 'dad' to see how it feels. The therapist thinks this is the next step for personal identity and boundaries. My background story is that I am the illegitimate daughter of Grant Stone. My mother died in a transport accident. The authorities performed a DNA search for my biological family. My mother's family did not want me. They located my father after his death in a space pod. His pleasure ship was attacked by pirates. I was then legally adopted by Bob and Carol Prentiss, the legal chip holders for my father, detective Grant Stone.

* * * * *

Whew, Mom just put me through the ringer. I have improved so much in the past four months. I have four month's left to go before my assignment starts and Mom has just stepped up the training level, again. Still, I am having the time of my life.

Grant was never that good at self defense and Dad has started to assist with my training. Today after training, the shower shows bruises beginning to darken and others in various stages of healing. I sure could use a nap. We are having lunch at the mall, then shopping as mother and daughter. The acting coach is grading me today on social behaviors. This will target areas that need improvement in acting like a young girl.

“Mom, do you realize that the label on my uniform will say A. Stone? I think I want Grant back as my first name.”

Carol had a distant look in her eyes. “That's it!” she snapped her fingers. “You'll collect stones and study their metaphysical uses. The therapist thought you needed a religious base. Let's study the cosmic healing of stones. We can even get you a pet stone that seconds as a recorder, camera and communicator. Let's go to a crystal shop and start your training. I'll call Bob to meet us at the restaurant at seven.”

At the crystal store Carol purchased Chakra stones, incense, a sage bundle and an amber stone necklace with a trapped moth. The moth, like the butterfly. is a universal symbol of transformation.

Over the next week every night after six, I worked with a healer to train in Tarot and other mystic arts. It helped me develop my cover and redefine my religious beliefs. By the end of the month, I became a fledgling Priestess of the Cosmic Storm. The same force that changed me from Grant to Amber. Time was getting tight. Next month I start my undercover job at the junior space program.

* * * * *

“AMBER, we need to go now! You have an appointment with the doctor.”

I sulked into the room. ”Do I really need to remove my tattoo?”

“Yes. A young lady would not have that tattoo, especially a sensitive girl like you're supposed to be. Remember, you were not raised by Grant. Sorry, it has to go today.”

I sat on the cold plastic cushion in a paper gown later that day as the doctor removed my tattoo.

“What a beautiful birthmark you have on your back,” the doctor observed.

“What birthmark?”

“It looks like a small galaxy created from freckles.” He took out his portable camera, snapped a quick picture and showed it to me. I'd never seen anything like it before.

“Well,” he said, “you're in perfect health. Here is your health chip for school.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

When I got home I called Monica, the QT from Delta City hospital, “Monica this is Amber Stone, formally Grant. Do you have a birthmark on your back that looks like a galaxy made of freckles?”

“I don't know. Let me ask my wife to look. Having dark skin makes freckles difficult to see. I'll be right back.” She came back on the line after a few moments. “Yes, I do. How did you know?”

“I had my tattoo removed today and the doctor noticed the birthmark. I have a hunch. Are there any other QTs that you know to see if this is a universal QT birthmark?”

“Let me make some calls and I'll call you back this time tomorrow.”

The next evening Monica called back. “Amber, you're right! Every one I was able to contact has the same birthmark as we have on our backs.”

“Well, that's one mystery solved. Thanks, Monica.”

The Chief stopped by the next night for dinner. “Carol, your roast smells wonderful.”

“Thank you, Chief, I hope you like it,” I said, smiling sweetly.

“Now wait a minute, Amber, I know for a fact that Grant couldn't boil water.”

“Carol is a wonderful teacher. She says all girls need to know how to cook for their hubbies. I hope you enjoy my cooking.”

* * * * *

“Amber, that was wonderful. You are a great cook. Thank you,” the Chief paused.

“I have your orders for your first undercover assignment as Agent Amber Stone. Here is the problem. There are an unusual number of dropouts in the Junior Space program. The major complaint is harassment from other students.

“The facility just say that the students leave because of their inability to handle the stress of Space Patrol. The result is that we are only getting poster child space patrol officers with mild to severe aggressive streaks. A few years ago we were getting all physical types of cadets. Now, we are only getting the cream of the crop.

“To be truly effective, we really need a cross section of society on our roster. You were not the picture perfect cadet. But, you were the most dedicated officer I have ever known. It's been a pleasure and an honor working with you.

“The poster child officers with mean streaks never last more then a year or two in the real world. In a few years we will be short handed due to a lack of reliable officers. Your job is to find out how far the rot has traveled. The next phase is to document any patterns of abuse, who's doing it and who's promoting the abuse.

“Pack your bags. You'll be leaving next Monday for the junior space program. Remember, anyone who washes out of the junior program can't enter the actual program.

“Your next time home will be in six months for winter break. If you need to be rescued before that then mail your parents a drawing of a stone. That should pass through security. Send them drawings on a weekly basis. This will be a good cover for your communication.

“Good luck, Officer Stone.”

“Thank you, Chief. I won't let you down.”

That night Amber, Carol and Bob sat down to create a system of drawings they could use for secure communication. The stone image was for immediate rescue, a bent tree if she were being picked on. A house with four windows indicated she was safe. A house with more or fewer windows meant she was not safe. A dog would represent she was being hounded. A person drawn in the house meant that an adult faculty member was safe for us to question. One shown outside the front of house was suspicious. One outside the back of the house was actively dangerous. A lake meant danger. Swimmers or boaters in the lake indicated the number of students or faculty in danger.

Carol admonished me, “Now, write to us every week. Just every day stuff. If you start getting picked on, write to us. We'll talk to the head master to see what he says. We'll be supportive and agree with whatever he says.

“I'll see if I can get on the parents' board to see if they support the hazing. Unless we get a picture of the stone, we will support the school's best interest.”

The next day, we showed up at the Space Patrol offices. Carol lead me to a larger cubical deep in the bowels of the office complex. “Hank, are you busy?”

“Not right now, Carol, how can I help you?”

“My daughter, Amber, needs some drawing lessons before her next term. I was hoping you could help her. Then, I thought I'd take her shopping for art supplies.”

“I would love to take her to the art store. It is my favorite place to go shopping.”

After twelve hours of lessons with the criminal sketch artist, I was able to develop my drawing skills, concentrating on the art we needed for our covert communications. After five days I felt I was pretty skilled as an artist.

After another day of shopping, Carol and I packed my new suitcases. A vanity case was filled with personal items, make up, and hair clips. I carefully packed my crystals, incense, tarot cards and art supplies. In the second suit case we packed my clothes, including my school uniforms.

The next morning I boarded the ship to the space program school. I decided to sit in the middle of the ship next to the window. As soon as I boarded, Carol and Bob turned to walk away without waiting to see me off. We did this is according to plan to indicate that I was an unwanted child.

A girl with blond hair sat in the seat next to me. “My name is Susie. My dad is on the SWAT team.”

“My name is Amber and my dad was a detective. He died in the line of duty eight months ago. I live with his chip holder.”

The doors on the ship sealed and it lifted off. I was on my way to a different life.

The QT Diaries The Lab Rats by Janet Nolan Miles

There is sabotage on the Space Patrol Research Ship Ponce de Leon and the targets are a pair of researchers. Who is trying to stop research into the Quantum Transformation Syndrome? Is it possible to live forever?

Copyright ©2011 Janet N Miles. All rights reserved. May not be copied in any form without written permission of author. Permission granted for exclusive posting on the Big Closet web site.

'Momma said there'd be days like these,' kept running through my head. I am sitting alone in the meeting room waiting for the others. I tend to be early and this is no exception. I suppose that it was good that I was ruminating on an ancient song. The meeting was more like a disciplinary hearing and thinking about that was only going to make me angry. And 'you wouldn't like me when I'm angry.'

These practical jokes in the lab had to stop, though. At first they were pretty harmless pranks, but lately they are really interfering with our work. This last one was actually kind of dangerous.

I am the head of a research team on board the Space Patrol Research Ship, Ponce de Leon, currently outside the Oort cloud of the Sol system conducting critical experiments to learn more about the Quantum Transformation Syndrome. Evidently, the powers that be want to determine if it could be used as a bizarre way to continually extend one's life. The thinking is that one could undergo the process every forty-five years or so, and effectively live forever. An intriguing thought, I suppose, but it strikes me as a bit odd to want to undergo a sex change just to extend one's life span.

So, here I am, waiting, so far alone in the meeting room.

I guess I forgot to introduce myself. I'm sorry. I'm so upset I've forgotten my manners. I am Ken Ohkawa, DrEng in Aeronautics and Astronautics from Tokyo University, and PhD in Astrophysics from London College University. At age fifty-five I have been with the Space Patrol Research Division for over thirty years. I was born and raised in Ikebukuro on the northwest side of Tokyo. I am single, due more to being married to my work than anything else, and keep myself fit by swimming. In my spare time I play guitar and keyboard and credit myself with a fair singing voice.

My ruminations are interrupted as the door opens and my boss, Chief Science Officer Commodore Marsha Anderson, enters. At about five feet, four inches, she is not an imposing figure, but there is no doubt when you meet her who's in charge.

Following her into the room is the reason for my current discomfort, my research partner, Steve O'Connor. He's alright, I guess, it's just that he has this rebellious streak. He grew up in California and studied veterinary medicine at Texas A&M. After that, he went back home and got his MD at UCLA.

I frowned as I saw the sandy-haired prankster enter the room.

As soon as they were seated, the Commodore took charge. “Okay, guys, what's the problem this time?”

“These practical jokes just have to stop,” I said. “It was funny for a while, but now they are starting to disrupt the lab, and this latest one was potentially dangerous.”

“But I didn't do this one,” Steve protested. “I would never put the lab or any experiment at risk. Commodore, you know that I am a consummate professional in the lab. All of my pranks have been in the common or break areas.

“I mean, yeah, I set up the holographic projector over the plate of donuts that time. It was funny to see folks grab for stuff that wasn't there. And maybe using liquid nitrogen to freeze Ken's tea was a bit over the top. But this? No way!”

“So how do you explain all of the test birds being freed from their cages and let to run around loose like that?” Marsha asked.

“I can't. I was in my room last night. You can see that on the security record.”

“Yes, but someone tampered with the files. They showed you in your room, but they also indicated that no one was in the lab, either. And you saw the mess those birds made. It took hours to sort them all out and clean up the lap!” I was pissed.

“Well, I'm no hacker. I have trouble getting vending machines to work for me. Do you really think I could pull off hacking the ship's security system?”

“He does have a point, Ken,” Marsha said gently.

“Well, I guess you're right. I still want this investigated. If it isn't a practical joke, it's sabotage and we need it stopped,” I huffed and rose. “Our experiments are reaching a critical stage and we can't afford any screw-ups.”

I had worked up a good head of steam and was stomping down the corridor when Steve rushed up behind me.

“Ken... Ken, look. I'm sorry, but please believe that I had nothing to do with that mess. I would never interfere with a project like that. Please believe me.”

I looked into his striking blue eyes and realized that he was telling the absolute truth. My anger, at least where he was concerned, evaporated.

I heaved a sigh and the tension I'd been carrying released. “Okay, Steve. I believe you.”

“So, what do we do? I've noticed that it seems that stuff in the lab's been messed with. Do you think someone is trying to sabotage us?”

“I don't know. This is a pretty messed up experiment, anyway. This whole ship commissioned for the purpose of QT syndrome research is a bit strange in itself. And I'm somewhat afraid that if we do find the fountain of youth that it would be a way for the rich and powerful to further secure their positions.”

“Well, we should know soon. Our next test is to expose the birds that were transformed forty-three years ago. I'm thinking that we should double check the exposure pod to make sure that no one's messed with it. You game?”

“Yes, I think you're right. Meet you there at 1500, okay?”

“See you then.”

* * * * *

We'd been in the test pod for about twenty minutes checking all the systems, when the lights flickered. The airlock door closed, trapping us in the pod. I tried the over-ride system, but it wouldn't work. The pod was deploying with us in it.

“Any ideas, Steve?”

“Not a one. Looks like we're gonna get some first hand experience with QT.”

“Are you old enough?”

“I hope so. I'll be forty-six in a couple months.”

I chuckled, “Only on paper, my friend.”

The pod was now fully deployed and the shields opened. I didn't feel anything, but I knew that I was being radiated by the Cosmic Storm.

Steve sighed, “It is a beautiful sight. Hope it's worth the cost.”

I felt an increasing languor and as I slumped to the floor, noticed that Steve was crumpled in a corner.

And then...

* * * * *

I came to. I had fleeting feelings of being tucked in to clean, crisp sheets... the quiet chirp of a monitor. I cautiously opened my eyes and moved my head slightly. I was in sick bay. Sighing, I closed my eyes. But then, it seemed like my eyes had opened again and my head turned, but it turned the other way.

My eyes flew open. 'What was going on,' I thought. But it was strange. It wasn't like what my internal voice usually sounded like. It was like there were two voices saying the same thing at the same time!

I took a deep, cleansing breath. I started to wonder how my partner, Steve, was, and in the same flash of an instant I felt a message, 'I'm fine.'

It was the strangest sensation as I began to realize that my thoughts and Steve's were seemingly occurring simultaneously... that my thoughts were his and his were mine.

I don't know how long it took or how we managed it, but we finally figured out a way that we could sort things out between the two of us and worked out a means of communicating so that we weren't tripping over each other's thoughts.

Then we had a lengthy 'discussion' about whether we would tell anyone about this. The result was a resounding, 'NO WAY IN HELL!'

It was bad enough that someone had an unhealthy interest in possibly using QT as a fountain of youth. No way were we gonna tell anyone about this.

It did make us wonder, though, what else had happened in the transformation. We decided on another experiment. We figured that a corpsman would be in soon to check on us and free us from the monitors. Once we were ambulatory, whoever was first would make his way to a mirror and see how he turned out. Then, he would sit down and close his eyes and the other would take a turn at the mirror and share what he saw. We were afraid that if we tried it together the information overload might be bad for us.

While we waited, we had a constant communication link going, sharing information. Steve discovered that he could readily access my Japanese language and cultural skills. I realized that I had all of his medical experience. I could feel my hand respond as I 'felt' his drawing skills. I could feel his appreciation of my music skills as his hands played an air keyboard. It was clear that this was something unprecedented.

We 'wondered' about memories and how much we shared. While we weren't sure, we had a feeling that whatever this phenomenon was, it was permanent and we had to learn to live with it. I giggled (giggled?) when he commented, 'I mean, I've had roommates before, but this is ridiculous!'

As it turned out, the corpsman (a cute brunette) visited my room first and unhooked me from the monitor. She helped me get out of bed, slowly, and let me totter to the mirror. I quickly grabbed a nearby chair and sat heavily. I knew what to expect from QT. I didn't expect this. I felt Steve echo my shock.

I collected myself and made another attempt. I wasn't just short, I was tiny! I looked to be about four foot, six inches tall and about sixty-five pounds. I started to look more closely. I still had most of my Japanese facial features, almond shaped eyes, epicanthal fold... The surprise was their colors. Yes, colors. My right eye is bright blue and my left is an amazing green. Having different colored eyes is rare and, as far as I knew, never seen before in a QT.

My link with Steve was filling me in on the possibilities and he was getting a strange feeling about what he'd find.

I went back to bed to rest for a while and let the corpsman move along to Steve. Time for him to get up and me to observe.

As I watched through our link, Steve got up and went to the mirror. We were almost identical! The only difference we noticed was that his right eye is green and the left is blue. We realized that when we looked at each other it would be like looking into a mirror.

When the corpsman left Steve's room, we began discussing our futures. It was obvious that we were more than twins and separating us would likely be detrimental to us both. We knew from our previous research that we would be 'benched' for a few years as we got acclimatized to our new gender and grew up again. We also felt that we somehow had to put a stop to this fountain of youth fascination.

About half an hour later Commodore Anderson came in to my room. The corpsman was leading Steve. After the corpsman left and we were all settled, the Commodore began.

“The preliminary report on the incident has come in. This was definitely sabotage, no question. We found that the pod was tampered with so that on a power fluctuation it would deploy. We have found an engineer in the power section who caused the power glitch and we are questioning him. Evidently, you were being monitored by the security system so they knew when to pull the plug, as it were.

“The security system is being analyzed and we hope to identify who was working on this.

“The big question at this point is what to do with the two of you. Protocol says to transfer you to Delta City Hospital as soon as possible. But, I don't like the idea of having my two top researchers shipped off with our primary mission incomplete.”

“Well, Commodore, if you'll allow us, once the pod is operational, we can proceed with the final test and we can pack up and go home. May we have your approval for that?” I was speaking for both of us, but I didn't even have to look at Steve to know he was in agreement.

We had a concurrent thought that our names no longer fit and we'd have to do something about that.

The Commodore nodded slowly. “It's possible, I suppose, what is left to do?”

“We have to put the QT'ed birds into the pod, expose them, and examine the results. At this point it either works or it doesn't.”

“Okay, we'll do it at 0900 tomorrow. In the mean time I am going to have the corpsman get you some clothes, though I doubt we'll have anything that fits. I'll have the techs completely check out the pod and make sure that the birds are ready.

“I want to observe this test myself, so I'll see you there in the morning.” She turned and left.

I turned to look at Steve and our link went into overdrive.

“Weird... tell me about it... so what about? Sounds good... names?”

It could have been hours, but was probably less than a moment or two. We had a plan and new names.

We decided that I would be Lora, and she (yes, we agreed on new pronouns, too) would be Lisa, even though those names would be a bit strange for our Japanese friends and family to say. We also decided that we should be twins with the same family name, so we adopted the name Futago which means twin. The kanji for the name are quite elegant and the stroke total is very lucky.

We debated the possibility of trying to sabotaging tomorrow's experiment ourselves to hedge the result, but we ethically couldn't bring ourselves to do it. Besides, we had a feeling that it was going to fail on its own. We were sure that as a people, as a society, we weren't mature enough to use the QT syndrome wisely. It was better just to let it be a rare phenomenon and let it go at that.

They did manage to scrape up some clothing for us. It turns out that in the emergency rescue stores they have a supply of children's clothing. It wasn't anything fancy, but just adapting to panties and buttons on the wrong side of the blouse were enough of a challenge for the moment. At least our clothing was not identical. It was difficult enough for people to tell who was who without being dressed the same.

It was difficult to sleep that night. We were both nervous about the test and we didn't have enough control over our link yet to keep us from keeping each other awake. So, we used our nervous energy to our advantage and worked on our communications and skills sharing.

We decided to arrive at the lab early to do our own checks, so we arrived at 0800. There were a pair of marine guards at the door in full battle dress. It was a strange, almost Dickensian, scene, two seemingly undernourished waifs appearing in front of two massive guards, begging for entry.

The lead guard glared down at us and gave us a look that would make lemons pucker. “Who are you and why are you here?”

I glanced at his sleeve to see his rank. They weren't messing around with this at all.

“I'm Ken Ohkawa, Master Sergeant. This is Steve O'Connor. We got QT'ed in the pod accident. We're supposed to meet Commodore Anderson here at 0900 and wanted to go over some things first.”

His eyes narrowed, but at least he hadn't shot us, yet. “I'll have to confirm.”

He mumbled into his comm link and paused. I could see he had activated his video system, sending our images to his command.

After a few moments he said, “Okay, the Commodore is on her way. You are to wait here until she arrives.”

We shrugged. It made sense that if anyone were to suspect us as complicit in the sabotage that we should be supervised by someone who knew what was going on. There weren't many on board who had the knowledge to keep us honest. We didn't think of this as an accusation. This was a big CYA that the Commodore was helping us with.

She walked up about ten minutes later. “So, you couldn't wait?”

“Not so much that, as we wanted to make sure that we personally checked everything over ourselves. It hadn't occurred to us until the Master Sergeant called you that it would be a good idea for us to have a knowledgeable witness there to protect us from accusations of sabotage.”

“Well,” she grinned, “you may have lost a lot of size, but you haven't lost any smarts.” We giggled at that. “Sergeant, you may let us in.”

The guards stepped to each side and opened the door.

The lab looked normal enough. Everything seemed to be in place. But we knew that looking normal was not enough, not by a long shot.

Since it was getting difficult for us to maintain two names, we told the Commodore our new names. We also said that if she slipped, that it was okay, but we had to move forward.

After about twenty minutes of running diagnostics and poking into panels, Lisa called out.

“I think I found something!”

We gathered around the open panel as she pointed to a strange tangle of wire.

“What is that?” the Commodore asked.

“It looks like a bypass of the safeties on the environmental controls,” Lisa replied. “I think that when the pod is activated, it vents the lab to space. It would kill us all before the experiment could be completed.”

“Somebody is going to a lot of effort to make sure we don't know the answer to this,” the Commodore said. “Lets get the CSI people on this to see if there is any evidence of who did it.”

The three of us adjourned to the lounge area while the crime scene techs did their thing. Lisa and I enjoying some tea, the Commodore her usual black coffee. I never did understand how anyone with a decent palate could like that stuff.

“This confirms something I had suspected,” the Commodore began. “I think that not only are our saboteurs trying to stop the research, I think they're trying to kill you two, as well.”

The chill running up my spine had a weird echo as I knew that one was running up Lisa's at the same instant.

“So... what do we do?”

“Well, most everyone on board knows that we had a QT accident, but few know what you look like. I'd like to get you off board as soon as possible, but I doubt that I can get Space Patrol to get another ship out here that quickly.

“I think that the only thing we can do until we make port is to keep you under wraps. Limited contact and only with highly trusted personnel. I'll have the corpsman in sick bay checked out. I know that the guards you met are trustworthy.

“I'm afraid that the only way to keep you safe is to keep you sequestered and limit your contact with the ship's crew to a very limited few.

“Until we get you groundside and with your chip holders, that's about all we can do.”

Chip holders? Ooops. We'd forgotten about that.

All Space Patrol personnel are required to establish someone to hold a power of attorney, authority to act on that person's behalf in case of death or incapacitation. Since QTs restart at age twelve, the regulations reset the person to being a minor needing a guardian. In our case, that means our chip holders.

It may seem backward and cruel, but there is some logic behind making QTs minors. Society just isn't used to having a bunch of emancipated twelve-year-olds running around. So, it makes it easier for them to have guardians. It is also for their protection. It could be very easy for the unscrupulous to take advantage of these child-savants. I mean, what would you do if you saw a twelve-year-old step up to a bar for a drink? See? So, it's a pain for a few years, but it's the best compromise they could come up with.

One of the guards came up to announce that the lab was clear once again.

We did a quick check of all systems and panels and everything seemed in good order.

One by one we took the parrots that were QT'ed forty-three years ago and placed them in their cages in the pod. Why parrots? Simple. They are one of the few easily portable animals with extremely long life spans. Parrots have been known to live for a hundred years. We had three sets: a control group, a group which we had recently QT'ed, and the group we were now putting in the pod, the forty-three year old QTs. We went with a year older than the sparse statistics we had about age forty-two being the 'magic' number. We really don't know why the answer turns out to be forty-two. We don't even know the question.

The birds were safely in the pod and we were ready to begin. Lisa and I looked at each other and we both pushed the button to start the experiment. The pod deployed properly and the shields opened.

We watched the video feed anxiously as time seemed to crawl. The birds gradually lost consciousness and fell over in their cages. Then, slowly, they began to dissolve.

Lisa and I tripped over each other in a mad dash to the toilet. Ick!

At least we had our answer. Quantum Transformation was a one way trip. Lisa and I are okay with that. And maybe it will take the heat off of those who've been trying to get rid of us. We can't see where there is much of a threat now.

The Captain decided that it wasn't worth asking for another ship to pick us up. We were headed home, anyway. Still, the Commodore decided to keep us under wraps until we arrived at Delta City Hospital. And we were cool with that.

Our checkups at the hospital were pretty much pro forma. We were all awake and functioning and over the first shocks of our transformations. We really had things pretty much together. All that remained was to work out who our guardians would be.

One of what worked out to be determining factors was our hair. By now it had started to grow out. Lisa's blonde was turning strawberry blonde. And, big surprise, by black was turning the same color.

Lisa's chip holders had a daughter who was also twelve, so we decided that would be a good place for us to get re-acclimated to our new roles and lives. The plan was to acclimatize for a year or so and then resume service in the Space Patrol with new assignments.

Our only requirement, we had to stay together. After all, we're twins! And twin strawberry blondes in LA? Look out world!