The Morphic Adaptation Unit (MAU) Stories
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The MAU story universe and characters contained therein are copyright by ElrodW, all rights reserved. Use of the story universe or characters without the express written permission of the owner is a violation of copyright law.
MAU: All Alone
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Elrod
A forest ranger in a remote cabin finds an MAU. After experimenting a bit, he finds a way to alleviate his loneliness. This story was posted several years ago on another site. This is its debut on Big Closet Top Shelf. It's a light-hearted little romp, but a bit explicit in points. Enjoy.
The MAU story universe and characters contained therein are copyright by ElrodW, all rights reserved. Use of the story universe or characters without the express written permission of the owner is a violation of copyright law.
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Rick stood atop the fire tower and sighed for perhaps the thousandth time. The perfect blue sky, the deep green of the pine forest, the gentle breeze in the 80 degree day — none of that seemed to penetrate the visible funk he was in. To Rick, even the singing of the birds mocked him. True, as a ranger in the forest service, he'd chosen a life near the wilderness, near the nature he so loved. But it was a lonely job. He worked in this remote cabin, all alone most of the time, five days out of the week. The nearest habitation was almost a hundred miles away, and apart from the occasional hiking and camping group, his days on the job were solitary.
Rick knew his social skills were lacking; in part, it was because he was isolated so much of the time. A larger part, however, came because of his deep unease at being around women. Rick wasn't unattractive to the ladies; he had a rugged manliness about him. Just over six feet tall, well-toned body from all his outdoor exercise, tanned, Rick had a movie-star physique. Penetrating blue eyes and a firm jaw gave him a 'Mountie' look, especially when he was wearing his broad-brimmed Ranger hat.
The problem was that Rick didn't feel attractive, or even interesting to women. Sure, with the guys he could laugh and joke and have a good time. But whenever a woman came around, he felt cold and clammy, and his tongue seemed to swell so it was impossible to talk, even if he could think of anything to say. In short, Rick was inept around girls. A come-on from a woman, which happened frequently due to his rugged handsome looks, inevitably resulted in Rick becoming petrified with fear just before he turned tail and fled. And that simple fact made his life miserable. While the woods were his friend, he needed a lover, someone to share his interests with. And even more, Rick needed someone to share his physical needs with. At thirty-two, Rick was among the rarest of creatures, a male virgin. It wasn't for lack of desire, but simply because he lost his nerve whenever a girl came within fifty yards.
Most of the time, Rick was bored doing the routine fire watch. This time, however, he was fighting to keep focused on his job. Earlier in the day, he'd spied a dark column in the forest. Fearing fire, he went to investigate. But there was no fire; what he found was a newly-blasted crater, and in its center, half-buried in the dirt, a strange metal box, sort of like an attaché case.
Right now, the case was in the cabin, just a few yards from the fire watch tower, and Rick was so eager to look at it more closely. But he had a job to do, and he painfully forced himself to set aside his curiosity. Finally, he finished his scans, and he dropped his binoculars, letting them thump against his chest as they dangled from the neck strap. Slowly at first, Rick started down the rustic stairs of the wooden tower, but by the time he got to the bottom, he was taking the steps in twos and threes.
**********
Rick's stomach growled with hunger, but he ignored it. In front of him, on one of the few pieces of furniture in the cabin, was the strange metal case. He turned it over carefully, for perhaps the tenth time, each time scrutinizing the sides. Rick was stumped; the box was too light to be solid, but he could find no evidence of any seams or openings, or even of welds in the metal. It was like it was formed from one solid piece. And the metal — even his screwdriver hadn't made so much as a scratch on the smooth surface.
Rick turned it back over and stared at the symbols on the top, or what he presumed was the top. The dirty markings were strange to him, and as he wiped them to clean away some of the mud, the box began to quiver. Slowly at first, it seemed to stretch. Rick backed away — he'd seen the B-movies where brain-sucking aliens and other equally gruesome fates befell the unlucky. He watched, wide-eyed and half paralyzed with fear as the box, still stretching, slid onto the floor. For a brief moment, it stopped, then mysteriously, it simply flipped, then continued to grow, as if it knew up from down.
When it stopped growing, it was bigger than a good-sized phone booth, and almost completely plain. Rick watched carefully, ready to bolt for the door should anything strange happen. Finally, after nearly twenty minutes, he was convinced nothing bad was going to happen. He approached the box and began to examine it more closely.
Rick found the black display and red crystalline touch plate almost immediately. The purple jewel-like button beside the touch plate was also hard to miss. Apart from those features, however, the box was plain, a dull silvery metal with no trace of a seam or joint. Rick scratched his head and returned to the few features on the box. It took only a few seconds before Rick touched the red plate, and the box responded. The display changed instantly, from the flat black of nothingness to a scrolling page of the strange alien symbols. Rick flinched, half-expecting the box to open and reveal some weird alien. He was both relieved and a touch disappointed when nothing of the sort happened. The display merely continued its scrolling, until after a few moments, it quit. The last page was left flashing, and Rick crept closer. Not knowing what else to do, he touched the plate again.
This time, the display blanked, and then slowly, a figure began to form on the display. It was hazy at first, and then it cleared, displaying a strange hybrid of a tabloid silver alien, ET, and a few other B-movie space aliens. Rick stepped back, and the display froze. He stared at the image long and hard, and finally, something clicked. His fears had conjured up the hideous combination of aliens, and the machine had made the display match. Rick stepped to the plate again, and this time, he knew what to try. Once more, the image shifted, until at last, it displayed a woman. And not just any woman, but a fully nude image of a young Raquel Welch that Rick had seen as a boy and had fantasized about ever since.
In short order, Rick tired of the nude woman game and conjured up an image of himself. Every thought he had was translated onto the display, Rick had realized, and now, he thought of improvements to his body. His chest expanded, becoming more muscular. Likewise, his biceps improved. Rick smiled, then he frowned. Another quick touch and his manhood was larger. Rick continued to sculpt his image until he figured it was perfect. He stepped back to admire his handiwork.
After a few moments admiring the image, Rick stepped back to the plate. Or rather, he tried. The toe of his shoe caught on the rug, and he nearly sprawled face-first against the alien box. By chance, his hand, flailing for a handhold, touched the purple button. Just like that, an opening appeared in the side of the box.
After regaining his balance, Rick peered cautiously into the box. If he'd expected anything, he was disappointed. With the exception of the glowing yellow circle at the top and the purple crystal on one inside wall, it was as featureless as the outside of the box. Rick stepped into the box, and driven by curiosity, touched the purple crystal to see what it might do.
Moments later, Rick backed out of the box, his face ashen. He'd been trapped inside, and then the strange red light washed over him, leaving him feeling faint and tingling. His imagination was conjuring up frightening scenarios, most involving alien kidnapping or brainwashing or brain parasites. He backed away from the box, his eyes fixed on the devilish machine.
And then he happened to glance down at himself. His jaw dropped open as he admired the body which the machine had given him. He stepped back toward the machine, to the image frozen on the display. His gaze alternated between his body and the image, until he finally realized that in every detail his body matched the image on the display.
**********
His shirt strained by his new bulging muscles, Rick strutted back and forth on the observation deck. He'd done his campground rounds, and checked in on a logging operation, and now he was doing his evening fire watch. He was both thrilled and frustrated; at one campground, a couple of young ladies had really flirted with him. He attributed it to his new movie-star looks. Unfortunately, the machine hadn't given him any self-confidence, and as usual, he'd become terrified when the women started getting suggestive.
He strode into the cabin, and as he ate his dinner, he flipped on the television. Rick was only too grateful for the dish television receiver; until that had been installed, nights got long and boring. He flipped through the channels, and after a while, he settled on one of the adult channels.
Rick suppressed a scream of frustration. The movie was quite explicit, and Rick felt his own physical needs surging. His large manhood became almost painfully erect, begging for attention. The irony was lost on Rick; with but a word, either or both of the young ladies would have been only too happy to do with him as much as, or more than, the girl in the movie was doing to the man. But the word wouldn't come, and Rick was left sitting alone on his couch, rubbing himself frantically to relieve some of his sexual tension. Finally, he exploded in a bigger, more intense orgasm than usual, and after a few seconds to calm down, he turned off the television and went to bed.
**********
It was quite late when Rick arrived back at his cabin; a camper had phoned in an emergency when his son and the son's friend got lost. Rick spent some time calming down the man to get the particulars. After that, it was pretty straightforward. All the time in the woods hadn't been lost on Rick; the boys, fourteen and fifteen, had left a painfully obvious trail. Rick tracked them for a couple of hours; the boys had stupidly decided that they could find their way back to camp after they'd realized they were lost. Another hour to return them to their camp, a good stern lecture about getting lost in the woods, and Rick headed for his cabin.
Rick flipped on the television as he wolfed down his dinner. He flipped the plate to one side as he began to channel surf once more. And once more, like usual, the channel ended up on an adult channel. Rick groaned in frustration as he watched the carnal acts, wishing that he could somehow muster some courage around women. Then, maybe, he'd have a chance.
He whacked off again, but this time, he was left feeling somehow unsatisfied. And he was wide awake. Rick found himself watching the movie much more closely, and he noticed, for the first time, how the women were reacting. He leaned forward, intently studying the screen. It was as if the women were having non-stop orgasms, even after the guy was spent. Funny, but he'd never noticed that before.
It got Rick thinking. Eventually, his thoughts converged on a strange idea. He glanced at the screen, at the big-titted actress getting dorked, and then at the silver box. Back at the screen, then the box again. Finally, he couldn't take it any more. He stepped to the box and pressed his hand against the reddish plate. A bit of mental work to concentrate on an image, then he touched the purple crystal.
When he emerged, he was already feeling up the large breasts on his chest, marveling at the sensitivity of the nipples. Rick had become the large-breasted girl in the porno movie, a five-foot three curvy girl of about nineteen, with huge boobs (F-cups, he would have been interested to note), a wasp waist, and wavy blonde hair falling to nearly his round feminine ass.
Rick sank back onto the couch, a touch annoyed at how his boobs bounced on his chest. Still, he continued to caress his nipples, and he was quickly moaning at the wonderfully warm feeling radiating from his nipples into his body. It was a feeling unlike anything he'd ever known. Then, slowly, as if afraid of what he was doing, Rick let one hand slide toward his waist, toward the 'forbidden' zone, the place he'd only dreamed of going. And now, through this strange alien technology, he was going to explore that zone — even if it was on his body.
To say that Rick was clumsy would have been an understatement. He knew nothing of female anatomy. His pace rushed by the ongoing and erotic stimulation of his big brown nipples, Rick began to touch his new sex, looking for what turned him on. His finger slid between the outer lips, and then as he explored his new body further, he rubbed over his new clitoris. The pleasant sensation from his nipple was overwhelmed by the powerful new feeling which seemed to explode inward from his clit. His crotch began to feel hot as he touched himself again, then again. His mind ached to explore this body further; he knew there was a vagina down there — somewhere. But his baser instincts kept his hand firmly planted, his finger caressing his clit until the pleasure built to a crescendo. A tidal wave of passionate energy burst upon Rick, and he felt his entire lower body pulsing with the spasms of his first orgasm. And unlike his male orgasms, which centered on his external organ, this seemed to reach inside him to engulf his entire body.
The orgasm died down, and Rick gasped for breath. It had been powerful, that was for sure. And then, as he continued to explore new territory, he touched the clit again. The sensual pleasure returned, almost instantly renewed. Rick's eyes widened as he touched himself again, and again he pushed his body into the throes of a major orgasm. And then another, and another. On and on he went, driving his body wild with a passion he'd never known. He felt himself weakening, his vision slowly blurring, but his primal drive couldn't let up, couldn't stop the wonderful pleasure he felt. As one last crest broke into an orgasm, Rick's consciousness slowly faded.
**********
His daily duties were painfully long to Rick. He wanted to get back to his machine, to the joyful sex he'd discovered it could give him. He'd awakened in the middle of the night, and after getting a couple last orgasms, he changed back to his own body, then got a couple hours of sleep. And now, he couldn't wait to repeat the entire process.
This time, he cut down on the breast size. While he really admired the large boobs on women, he'd discovered that they were really a pain to bear on his own body. A-cups were enough — a little bounce which was sexy to watch and feel, and ultra-sensitive nipples. What Rick hadn't realized was that his thoughts — of nearly orgasmic nipples, were read by the machine, which dutifully made the smaller tits super sensitive, just as he wanted. The rest of the body was pretty much the same. This time, he managed to control his urges for a few moments, at least until he was ready. He flopped down on the couch, turned on the sex channel, and as he watched the on-screen boffing, he reached beside himself and retrieved a large cucumber which he'd taken from his 'fridge.
Rick's mind was fighting against very powerful primitive impulses. On the one hand, he was having this repulsive thought of shoving the large foreign object up inside the pussy which he wasn't supposed to have. On the other hand, he needed it. He really, really needed to feel the sensation of sex, even if it was from a woman's perspective. While he played with one nipple, Rick rubbed the vegetable up and down across his clit, and he felt himself getting hot and moist. Finally, as he felt his orgasm coming on, he moved the cucumber down slightly, and with some pushing, he felt it slide almost effortlessly inside him. Rick gasped in shock — the firmness was unlike he'd expected. And once more, his misunderstanding of female anatomy caught him. Rick didn't know that the inside of a vagina was not nearly as sensitive as the clit or a woman's nipples. He'd mistakenly assumed it was just sensitive, just as erogenous, as the clit. The machine, reading his brain waves, found no reason not to give him a super-sensitive cunt. As a result, as the cucumber slid into him, Rick's entire body shook with the massive orgasm which rocked him. In and out he pumped the makeshift dildo, while he screamed uncontrollably as orgasm after orgasm wracked his delicate feminine body.
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When Rick awoke, he realized he'd passed out with the cucumber still inside him. He grasped the vegetable, and as it slid out, Rick felt his arousal instantly return. He slid the cucumber over his clit as he teased his nipple, and soon, another in a long chain of orgasms washed over his body.
The first rays of sunlight caught Rick's attention. Reluctantly, but with a very contented look on his face, he padded to the machine and touched the pad. He quickly conjured up his old body, and with a quick change and shower, he was ready for his daily grind.
The first thing Rick did when he got home was to turn on the television. In the few seconds it took for the set to warm up, Rick conjured up the female body, changed, and emerged, nude and ready for some serious masturbation. And the night's TV fare was kinkier than the previous evening. A shemale, a pre-operative transsexual, was doing another woman. Rick found the concept both interesting and disgusting. He couldn't stop staring at the large dick on the shemale; he'd had the cucumber inside him the night before, and he was curious as to what a real dick felt like. He brought himself to a few quick orgasms, and then sat back, watching the TV.
A strange thought occurred to Rick, and he padded to the control plate on the alien box. It took some serious doing, but finally, he got the image he wanted. He stepped inside the box...
...only to emerge nearly unchanged. Unchanged, that is, except for the large male member in his groin. He went back to the couch, and as he watched the shemale on the TV getting a blowjob, he caressed one tit while stroking his dick. The arousal of the shemale on TV drove him, and as she came, he felt his own organ stiffen and shoot its load all over his chest and belly.
Once more, Rick sat with a contented look. And then, he padded to the control plate again. This time, the display didn't change immediately. Instead, more of the alien characters scrolled across the screen. Rick frowned, then he touched the plate again. The symbols vanished, and he once more could make his thoughts appear on the display. More fiddling, and he let the box change him. This time, he had both sets of organs — a large masculine dick above a neatly formed vagina, taking the place of the clit. His balls were higher, spread apart to make room for the opening, and as usual, the machine had made all of his parts as sensitive as he imagined. Plus, as a hidden bonus, Rick's thoughts of being able to have more stamina and multiple orgasms in his male organ was a wish fulfilled. The machine had done a little custom tailoring to match his mental images: a little change to the circulatory system within his penis, a little neural rewiring, and Rick's organ was everything he'd ever imagined a dick should be — super sensitive, capable of multiple orgasms, and able to last time after time after time with very little recovery time.
Rick stroked himself, and felt himself getting aroused both inside and out. He sat down, and the cucumber nearly vanished up his hole. In and out, faster and faster, he moved the vegetable, while his free hand stroked vigorously up and down his firm shaft. With one last shove, one last tight stroke, his body arched and he exploded. As his pussy contracted madly about the large firm cucumber, his cock pulsed, squirting his cum high on his chest. On and on his cock squirted, and whenever he added stimulation to his pussy, his cock pulsed some more.
When Rick came to, he looked at himself. He was in a tiny, petite feminine body, with small tits, a huge dick, and a super-sensitive vagina. And it had given him the orgasm of orgasms. He smiled. Still, inside, there was something that wasn't quite satisfied. Something was missing. He'd masturbated up a storm the past few days, including in ways he hadn't dreamed of. But it wasn't quite the same.
Rick went back to the display. He thought long and hard, and the machine read his thoughts. It was strange, what he was asking the machine to do, but not impossible. Slowly, it tailored the changes to suit Rick's mental image. When the display stopped, Rick stepped inside.
The Rick that emerged was similar to the other body, with one major exception. This time, the machine had arranged his groin so that his cock was below his vagina. Not only that, but he had a clit as well! And there was something strange about his dick — like it was hinged or something.
Rick touched his female parts, and his body shivered with anticipation of the pleasure. At the same time, his dick began to stiffen, responding to the same sensual inputs.
Rick hastened to the sofa and sat down, his legs spread wide apart. With one hand, he cradled his dick, while he began to touch his clit with the other. He felt the rising heat, the passion within his loins, the need. And as his dick stiffened, he guided it — inside himself! The dick, still stiffening, touched his own pussy lips. The feeling of the moist heat on his dick head heightened Rick's arousal, and the frantic stimulation of his clit added to his growing excitement. The growth pushed the dick inward, until Rick felt himself inside his own pussy, a bizarre sexual act if ever Rick had seen or heard of one. And yet, unknown to Rick, the machine had made a very minor mental adjustment in his brain. Despite the odd nature of his genitalia, to Rick, it wasn't strange. He was comfortable enough with them to use them; in fact, his thoughts of being horny had been read by the machine, and now he was more aroused by his dual-sex nature than he otherwise would have been.
One aspect of the genius of the machine became evident to Rick. He'd imagined the ability to fuck himself. The machine gave him just that. His dick had unusual flexibility, a pair of folding joint-like constructs, and a new set of muscles, with the neural adaptations to control them. These new physical attributes gave Rick the ability to pump his dick in and out of his own pussy.
In and out, using the new muscles, Rick thrust himself, feeling both the warm heat around his dick and the firmness of a penis inside his ultra-sensitive pussy. Faster and faster, with ever increasing levels of pleasure, Rick pumped. For the first time in his life, Rick was having sex, and the power of the sensations pushed to the forefront of his mind. His imagination, fueled by lack of experience, had allowed the machine to make his new organs wonderfully sensitive. Even had he wanted, had he found his situation objectionable, Rick would have been unable to contain the sheer power of the sensations. The sex had become a burning need, the pleasure a trap. He was a helpless slave to his sexual needs and desires.
As he continued to thrust, Rick's eyes suddenly widened, and he willed his muscles to pump a long last stroke. Then his dick exploded, at the same time as Rick's vaginal muscles rippled with their own orgasm around the male organ, as if milking it dry. Rick squirted a load of hot cum inside himself, and as his dick pulsed, it stimulated his pussy more. The coupled neural stimuli caused his dick to pulse anew. Over and over he shot inside himself, and when the waves of pleasure died down enough that Rick could catch his breath, he experimentally flexed the new muscles. A new set of orgasms cascaded through his neural system.
Many hours later, Rick sat wide-eyed on the sofa. He'd just experienced sex. Not just once, but multiple times. And as both a woman and a man. He shivered at the memory of the pleasure. But as he watched the skies begin to lighten, the golden rays of sunlight starting to brush the tops of the pines with their yellow hues, Rick knew it was time to change back.
With deep regrets, he stepped to the control plate of the box. The evening's experience had left him nearly exhausted, but very satisfied, and he really didn't want to stop. Nevertheless, he had a job to do. Rick touched the plate and allowed his mind to imagine the modified male body.
Rick sighed as he reached for the purple crystal. He really didn't want to change back, so good had his changes been. But... Rick stopped suddenly. His mind, driven by the primitive passions he'd felt and the utter joy they'd given him, made him think. He slowly reached back to the red control plate.
When the door reappeared, Rick stepped out, tall and muscular and ruggedly handsome. And...strange. He reached his hands down and caressed the large dark feminine nipples capping the tiny breasts on his chest. He marveled at how wonderful they felt, and yet, they were small and would be hidden by his shirt. His hand slipped down to his waist and his gaze followed. His dick hung, at an odd angle, large and limp. But above it was the woman's sex he'd had in the feminine body, a full vagina and clit. Rick touched the clit, and his eyes closed involuntarily as a shudder of pleasure shot through his body. At the same time, his penis reacted by starting to swell, stiffening with his body's excitement. He began to rub his clit with vigor, while his other hand played with his firm nipple. As he felt his arousal growing, his subconscious began to pump his rod up and down, the heat of his pussy adding to his now fully horny state. He felt his pussy tingling with sexual energy, and Rick flexed his new muscles. His dick dipped, then rose again, pausing momentarily at his pussy lips. As his muscles continued to flex, his shaft slid deeper and deeper into his hot waiting hole, until he was moaning softly with pleasure, his dick thrusting like a piston in and out, and all the while, his hands caressed his erect nipples and his clit.
**********
Rick walked stiffly out to his ATV. His body still tingled with the aftereffects of his morning sex, and his dumb grin reflected his overall state of mind. He started the four wheeled ATV and climbed aboard, and as soon as he did, his body trembled. The vibration of the engine seemed to go straight to his clit, re-stirring the fires that had only recently died out. He glanced down, and saw the bulge forming in his pants. At the same time, his nipples grew firm, and Rick gasped at just how large — and obvious — his erect nipples were, even through his shirt — little nubs like thimbles protruding into the fabric as if they were trying to tear through the cloth. He felt his dick snag on a fold in his pants, and without thinking, he flexed his new muscles, freeing the firm organ. It was a mistake, Rick realized, as his rod flopped against the wet lips of his pussy. He tried to move it, but it rubbed on his already-stimulated clit, adding to his heightened state of arousal. Rick fought a brief mental battle, then he gave in. With a quick flex of his new muscles, his dick pulled down, then came back up, shooting like a laser-guided missile straight into his waiting cunt. A massive surge of pleasure coursed through his body as he began to pump himself. Slowly, so as not to interrupt his self-sex, Rick began to drive his ATV down the logging road, all the while fucking himself, a silly enigmatic grin frozen on his features, even as he gasped for breath between orgasms.
**********
Rick hobbled awkwardly toward the fire tower. His contented grin hadn't abated; in fact, if anything, it was more prominent. Down in his trousers, his dick pumped in and out of his pussy, stroking over and over, keeping his the orgasmic fire burning. His legs were wobbly as he climbed up the stairs, and he had to pause, clinging tightly to the railing as yet another orgasm swept through him. He gasped for breath, then after a few minutes, he resumed his climb. At the top, he took his binoculars, and as he slowly scanned the forest, he felt his limp dick flop out of his pussy. He felt a little sad at that, but he knew that it would only be a matter of time before he was ready to fuck himself again.
As he swept his view over the trees, he thought about the day. What a strange day it had been. He'd nearly wrecked on the ATV a number of times. Not only did the engine vibrations make his clit excited, but his dick got aroused too, and it seemed to have a mind of its own. And, to Rick's delight, his pussy was just as sensitive as his clit. No sooner did he slide his dick inside than the orgasms started, burst after burst of raw sexual pleasure, both within and without him. Even as his dick softened and started to slide out, it stimulated him, causing new orgasms in his pussy. And after a brief rest, his dick was stirring anew. He'd spent the entire day in heat, and he couldn't count how many times he'd screwed himself.
As he walked into the cabin, Rick glanced with a grin at the metal box. It had given him so much by allowing him to design his body this way. But now, he realized, he had to stop. At least for a while. Just for a night's rest, he convinced himself. He could change back for the weekend. Or for another night. Rick knew he was trying to convince himself to change, and he felt powerful, unseen forces fighting against him. Parts of his brain that he didn't understand didn't want the change back, were enjoying the unique configuration too much. Rick was weak and needed some respite from the non-stop copulation, and he used that argument against his primal desires. But first....
When he finished yet another self-fuck, Rick stepped to the machine. He lifted his hand, albeit very reluctantly, to the control plate. Even as he reached for it, he knew his heart really wasn't in the change. He really wasn't sure he wanted to give up the unique body he had, the means of making up for long years of virginity. Rick forced himself to touch the plate, to activate the machine and restore his body.
The machine refused to respond. The display stayed frozen, no matter how many times or how insistently Rick touched it. The only response Rick could elicit was a display of the strange and unintelligible alien characters. Even as his higher brain functions began to panic at the fact that the machine wasn't working, deep down, his subconscious thoughts were ecstatic. The thought of being stuck stirred a strange combination of feelings within Rick, and his dick began to stir anew. He cried in frustration at what he'd become, but even then, his body was moving to take advantage, his dick reaching slowly, inexorably, for his hot wet pussy. The anguish quickly transformed into pleasure and passion, and the thoughts of being stuck were forgotten, at least momentarily, as Rick penetrated himself once more.
**********
C sat in the passenger seat of the station wagon and carefully folded up the paper. He glanced at his partner, the man driving the car through the forest. "You think this is for real?" he asked skeptically.
D didn't glance at C, concentrating instead on his driving. "You know this tabloid's record," he reminded his junior partner. "They don't make this shit up very often. Not since the boxes started showing up."
C shook his head. "Yeah," he answered, "I know. But a hermaphroditic hermit, living in the woods, giving birth to his own baby?"
D laughed dryly. "It sounds silly. Still, it's just the kind of warped kinky thing someone would do with a box."
C snorted. "Yeah," he finally agreed. He watched the trees go by for a few moments as he contemplated the situation. "You know, a year ago, I wouldn't have believed any of this. Especially a man screwing himself and knocking himself up. Let alone an ex forest ranger now living like a hermit. But those damned boxes..." He didn't need to finish his sentence. "I just don't understand why," he finally said.
D shrugged. "If you lived all alone, wouldn't you want to have sex once in a while? Seems like he found the perfect solution to his problem." His answer left his partner staring at him, wondering just what kind of motivation kept D in their strange line of work, whether D just found this amusing, or whether he was driven by other forces that C would never understand.
FIN
MAU: Sams Revenge
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ElrodW
A man finds a strange alien device, and after tinkering a bit, discovers that it allows him to change his body. He comes up with a great idea to get back at a friend.
NOTE: This is a repost of a story from another site. This is the original MAU story, and as such, some background info is included in the prologue.
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Prologue
First Tm’skor was having a bad day. This had started as a very routine day on another routine freight run on just one more routine Fwirthian freight ship. He was looking forward to a peaceful retirement after 84 cycles of dutiful, if boring, service on the Fwirthian merchant fleet. Of course, as a member of the merchant caste of Fwirthi, he lacked the imagination to see how dull and boring his job really was.
That was, until this morning, when his ship was suddenly surrounded by warp holes, each one spitting forth a M’Platwiri attack cruiser. Even as the bells rang the alarm of the pirate attack, bolts of energy splashed against his hull plates. The ship groaned in protest as his pitiful crew, soft and helpless, shrieked their terror, dashing about in confusion and abandoning their duty stations. Even Tm’skor was frightened and confused. Fwirthian merchant ships were not crewed by the military caste; as such, they were easy prey for the M’Platwiri pirates.
Rather, they should have been. The fates stepped in, and spared Tm’skor the fate of being captured by the pirates. As he stumbled about his bridge, confused and frightened like the other Fwirthian crewmembers, he collided with his navigator, and the pair smashed into the navigation controls. Of the buttons depressed randomly by the flailing captain, one commanded the engines to engage, and the warp generator to activate. The ship, still drawing fire, vanished into a warp hole.
Wounded, spewing freight containers from the ugly gashes in the hull, the ship popped out of its warp hole in a backwater of the galaxy, an uninteresting, backward system with one nondescript yellow star and only one reasonably habitable planet. First Tm’skor and his crew ignored the system. It wasn’t on their route, and as such it held no interest to their unimaginative minds. And because their orders said nothing about recovering cargo lost from battle damage (such conditions couldn't have been imagined by the traders commissioning the cargo!), they ignored the countless canisters trailing their ship like a ribbon of confetti, each carrying nearly three thousand cubic meters of cargo . As soon as the essential systems had been repaired, they swung around the sun, set a new course, and dropped into another artificial warp hole. Behind the ship, a trail of cargo canisters, not having a warp hole as a destination, felt the tug and pull of the tiny sun and its tiny planets. Some fell almost immediately into the sun. Others were smashed against asteroids or moons or planets. For centuries to come, though, most of the cargo canisters would drift through the system, lost forever to the shipping company and its customers.
Eventually, a few of the cargo canisters, bearing the legend of the Glamafi Company, skimmed the atmosphere of the third planet. The canisters broke up quickly, disintegrating in the awful heat, but some of the cargo itself was made of sterner stuff.
**********
1. Discovery
Sam Burns was hiking through the backwoods of his native Arkansas. It was his habit, born of a lifetime of living in these poor Ozarks, of hiking alone whenever the mood suited him. Well, not really alone. At least one six-pack of Bud was always at his side, a true friend to Sam. Be it melancholy, anger, depression, or just plain cussedness, Sam hiked whenever he felt like being alone.
Sam had reason to be angry on this hike. He was fit to kill his two best friends over a gag they’d pulled. The three, Sam, Harley, and Skeeter, were always playing tricks on one another, and the local folks got their amusement at the trickery. Only this time, Skeeter and Harley had gone way overboard. It started while they were watching the Razorbacks play in their first game of the season. The game was close, close enough that the camera didn’t spend near enough time on the cheerleaders for Skeeter’s taste. As the trio watched the game, they drank their usual quantities of beer, so that by the end of the third quarter, Sam had passed out in his chair.
Seeing an opportunity too rich to ignore, Skeeter and Harley let the beer cloud their judgement. The next morning, as Sam’s tired and bloodshot eyes pried open, his ears detected laughter. That was soon confirmed, as was the source of the laughter. Sam was sitting in his lounge chair, in underwear, in the back of his pickup, and parked in front of the courthouse. But that wasn’t the worst of it. The underwear he was wearing was from Skeeter’s sister. Sam’s hairy stout legs stuck out from her lacy pink panties, while his considerable beer gut hung over the waistband. And the cups of the white satin bra were stuffed with a pair of small cantaloupe, giving him a bustline almost equal to Skeeter’s sister.
Sam wanted to do great bodily harm to Skeeter and Harley; he’d threatened as much to everyone who dared laugh at him. The deputy decided he was serious, and so Sam was carted off to the hoosegow for a day to cool off. The deputy, not being too bright, however, didn’t get Sam anything to wear for several hours, and the taunting and jeering only made his determination for revenge more intense.
As Sam hiked, he happened to glance at the night sky. Unlike the denizens of urban areas, these deep woods gave a spectacular nightly show of the heavens. Sam paused to glance up at the stars. He blinked, and stared hard. He hadn’t been mistaken — there was another shooting star. And another. And then a cluster of three or four! This was a real good display. He stopped his slow walk and stared upward, watching as meteor after meteor lit up the sky. A large one disintegrated in a shower of sparks, and Sam sank to the ground, still gazing skyward as he pried open a Bud.
Finally, it seemed that the show was over. Sam levered his bulky frame upright, tossed his beer can aside, and began his long walk back to his rickety cabin.
A bright flash and small explosion of sound nearly knocked Sam off his feet. As it was, it stunned him for several seconds. When his senses cleared, Sam found himself standing a few feet from a small crater. He peered into the darkness, and as the dust settled and moonlight began to filter to the tiny clearing, the faint light illuminated some kind of metal box at the center of the crater.
A smarter man might have left the strange box alone. One thing Sam had never been accused of, though, was intelligence. He clambered down into the crater, to the box. He reached out his hand gingerly, seeing if the thing was hot. Much to his surprise, it was cool. Sam touched it, and then turned it over. It was made of some kind of metal he’d never seen, and there didn’t appear to be any seams or buttons. Only a few strange symbols were visible, strange angular figures arranged as if they were some type of writing.
Sam sat back on the rim of the crater. He popped open his last beer and studied the box while he guzzled the amber liquid. As the last trickles slid down his throat, he experimentally tossed the can at the strange box.
Nothing happened. Just a dull clang as the aluminum can bounced off the strange metal. Sam thought some more. Finally, he realized he had to do something. The box had captured his curiosity, so he hefted it. The lightness of the device was surprising, and he easily climbed out of the crater. It was a long but easy walk home.
2. First Experiments
Sam groaned in agony as he shielded his eyes. Bright rays of light stabbed at his unshaven face, and he rolled his body in a futile attempt to escape the brightness. After a few seconds, he slowly pried himself up off his bed. "Damn," he muttered to himself. "What a dream!" He lurched out of bed, dressed only in an old pair of boxer shorts, and staggered to the bathroom. Moments later, now clad in an old T-shirt and a faded, patched pair of jeans, he stumbled back through his bedroom.
He halted almost immediately when he entered the living room. "It wasn't a dream," Sam said to himself as he stared at the strange metal box sitting atop an old pile of titty-magazines on what passed for a coffee table. Sam walked carefully, silently, as if it were live dynamite, and looked more closely at the box. He saw the strange markings, but that was all. No seams, no buttons, nothing. Sam snorted, venting his dismay at the mysterious box. Then, feeling his stomach rumbling, he turned his back on the box and stumbled into the kitchen. Eating took precedence over curiosity.
Holding an open beer can, from which he took an occasional sip, Sam flopped down in front of the box. It was some type of silverish metal, not perfectly shiny, but not dull either, and about the color of tin. The markings were some strange set of figures, alien and cryptic. Sam only studied them for a second before he realized he wasn't going to figure them out. He thought for a moment, and then he took another swig of beer, set the can on the coffee table, and picked up the box.
Sam was surprised by its lightness. He'd expected a box this size to be considerably heavier; the thing was no heavier than a shoebox. Sam hefted it once or twice. Then he turned it over and over again to see if he could find an opening. This was an exercise in futility, so he paused for another sip. He was trying to determine which tool he'd attack the box with first when he rubbed his hand across some of the strange symbols.
The symbols on the box began to glow, and the box began to hum, softly at first, then louder and louder. Sam dropped the box like a hot potato and scrambled over the back of the couch, staring like a frightened child at the shiny, humming box which had landed on the floor amid the strewn magazines which had fallen with it.
The box...grew. Without opening or splitting, it simply grew, as if the material itself were being stretched. The sides extended outward until it was nearly a yard square, and then it began to stretch vertically. Slowly but inexorably, the box stretched, until finally, the figures stopped glowing and the humming noise vanished, leaving a metal phone booth in Sam's living room.
"I'll be damned," Sam muttered to himself over and over as he slowly emerged from behind the couch. He retrieved the half-empty beer, took a big gulp, and started to look more closely at the box.
The side facing Sam was perfectly blank, more of the smooth featureless metal of the case. Sam started to walk around the object, and the next face was as smooth as the first. So was the third. Sam snorted in disgust as he killed the remaining beer. This was going to take some power tools after all. Then he rounded the corner and saw the fourth side.
Where three sides had been featureless, the fourth more than made up for them. Half the side seemed to be some sort of door; there were lines clearly visible around it. Another of the alien symbols, this time a glistening purplish in color, was placed where one might expect a door pull or handle. The other half was more confusing. A black panel, about twelve by eighteen inches, was centered, its matte surface seeming to absorb every bit of light which struck it. Below the panel was another panel, smaller and reddish, although calling it red was like calling a ruby red. It was less like paint than like a flat crystal, kind of transparent and faintly glowing at the same time. While the black panel was rectangular, this one was oddly shaped, like an elongated circle with three long and mismatched projections pointing upward at different angles.
Even Sam, dull as he was, realized that had there been five projections, it would have looked like a handprint. It was as if the designer of this weird contraption only had three fingers. Sam reached his hand toward the plate, ignoring any mental warnings that common sense were trying desperately to send.
As soon as he touched the plate, Sam was startled by a warm tingling feeling passing into his hand. At the same time, the flat black rectangle shifted, displaying a wealth of the alien symbols in neat rows. Sam drew back like he'd been snake-bit. And as soon as his hand left the ruby plate, the display panel froze. Sam touched the ruby plate again, and the display resumed, filling itself with the alien symbols, then it started to scroll, constantly adding new figures to the bottom. Finally, the display stopped.
Sam stared at the alien writing, for there was no other way to describe the contents of the display. It was totally indecipherable, and except for the blinking characters on the last row, quite unattractive. His finger instinctively reached for the block of blinking characters, to touch or trace them to see if they were somehow different. But as soon as he touched the display, the characters vanished.
Sam cursed. This was getting maddening. He stalked away from the infernal box to his kitchen. The sound of a beer can opening punctuated the silence of his house, and then Sam came back to his mystery box. He took a long swig, and then placed his hand against the plate. The display started to change again. Like a bad television signal being slowly tuned in, a picture clarified.
"Well, I'll be damned!" Sam's astonishment was total. The panel was displaying a human body. Though it was fuzzy, and the features were very imprecise, it was recognizably the image of a human. Correction, Sam realized. A naked human. As the picture continued to clarify, Sam realized that it was his body, down to the beer belly and the receding hairline. Sam let go of the plate, leaving his image frozen on the display.
Sam slumped onto the couch. So far, this was a mystery. Touching the plate brought a display of himself. So what? He gulped his beer, and then set the empty can on the coffee table. And as he set the can down, he noticed the centerfold of one of the magazines which was, in the strangest of coincidences, open on the coffee table. A leering grin crossed Sam's face. Miss July. He recognized her instantly. One of his favorite Playboy centerfolds. Many a night he'd gone to sleep to fantasies of being with Miss July.
Sam sighed. This wasn't helping at all. He stood back up and touched the plate again. This time, the image shift was fast, and when the picture stabilized, Sam's mouth hung open. It was the spitting image of Miss July. Sam backed away, his gaze alternating between the picture on the table and the image in the display. For long moments, he stared, his mind working as feverishly as it could to forge the link between the events. Finally, what would have occurred to others in seconds crossed Sam's mind.
"I wonder," he mumbled to himself as he stepped back to the box. Touching the plate, he again thought of Miss July. This time, he let himself wonder what she'd look like with longer red hair. And when the image froze, Sam's jaw hung again.
Inadvertently, Sam had stumbled onto the secret of this alien technology. The user interface was so painfully simple that even a child could successfully use it. Whatever the user was thinking of when he or she touched the plate was deciphered from the brain and constructed as an image.
Sam's curiosity started working in double time. He practically leaped back to the plate. The model grew larger breasts. Her waist narrowed. Her hair lengthened and got curlier. She grew a bit shorter. Her lips got full — too full, Sam realized, and he corrected his error. He was slowly making her into his ideal woman.
Then Sam's imagination got creative. Somewhere from the dark recesses of his mind, a prankish thought emerged. The image sprouted a third breast, centered between the first two and equally as large. Sam saw this and he laughed so hard he had to sit down. The image was perfect in every way, save for the absurd third boob.
3. Accidental Changes
Sam stood slowly after getting his guffaws out. This box was entertaining after all, he realized. But still — there was something about that third breast that just didn't quite seem right. Some men would have found a third boob enticing; to Sam, it was...weird. He wrinkled his nose, then touched the plate and thought about making it vanish, which it promptly did. To make up for it, however, he thought about increasing the other two, making them bigger, giving the girl in the image breasts that were naturally pressed together. Sam liked cleavage. He stood back and admired his handiwork. Then a thought struck him. There was still that other button...
He gingerly reached for the purple button, and as soon as he touched it, the metal side simply vanished, as if it weren't there! Sam flinched, then he peered into the inside of the box.
If he'd expected to see lots of gadgetry and high-tech looking things, he was sorely disappointed. With two notable exceptions, the inside of the box was as plain as the outside. Those two exceptions were, first, a purple crystal button on one wall, and second, a lightly glowing translucent yellow crystal on the ceiling. Sam looked at the yellow crystal first, since its glow seemed more interesting to him. About a foot in diameter and an inch thick, it seemed to be part of the ceiling rather than attached to it. Its soft glow thoroughly illuminated the interior of the box without being too harsh. Sam gave up on the ceiling and turned to the purple crystal. It was shaped exactly like the one on the door.
It is said that curiosity killed the cat. It has also been known to get humans in a great deal of trouble, and this occasion was no different. Without a thought as to what might happen if the door closed, Sam touched the purple crystal. Instantly, the opening vanished, replaced by the solid metal wall. More disturbing, the purple crystal lost its glow, as if it were now inactive. As Sam turned toward the now-missing door in alarm, he noticed that the glow had changed. He glanced up just in time to see the faint yellow change to a bright red light.
For several seconds, Sam felt frozen in place, bathed in the intense red glow. And then, just as suddenly as it had come, the red color vanished and the faint yellow glow returned. At the same time, the missing door appeared, his escape from this strange box. Sam saw the light coming into the box, and he turned instinctively toward it.
The motion of hair swirling about his face caused Sam some small confusion. So did the seeming change in the size of the box — the purple crystal seemed higher than it had been before. And something was pulling at his shoulders, swaying and tugging with his motion. Sam glanced down.
His next action was probably perfectly normal for a man who sees long red hair cascading off his shoulders onto two immense boobs, with seemingly nonstop cleavage between them, all displayed on his now smooth and hairless chest. Sam screamed, a high-pitch and definitely not masculine sound, which tapered off as Sam fainted and crumpled to the floor, half in and half out of the strange booth.
When Sam regained consciousness several moments later, he found himself lying in a very awkward position, face down on his floor. He pried his eyes open slowly, his mind refusing to accept that he'd had anything other than a bad dream. Unfortunately for Sam, the long red hair bunched about his face and blocked his sight. He reached slowly, fearfully, toward his face, and winced when his hand felt the long locks. Slowly, they parted, giving Sam back sight, but he moved very slowly, dreading what he was going to see. As if the hair weren't bad enough, Sam gazed long and hard at his hand. It was small and delicate — and sporting long feminine fingernails. Sam's mouth opened, and the small whimper that escaped was soft and high and girlish. Sam knew he was in trouble, even without the strange sensation of something — things, actually — pressed between his chest and the floor.
Sam rolled, and he flinched as he felt the masses flopping and tugging on his chest. It took a few seconds for Sam to work up the courage to look down, to confirm what he'd seem before and seemed to be feeling now. But look down he eventually did, and he gasped in shock at seeing the breasts — voluptuous mounds — hanging from a hairless, soft woman's torso! Sam rolled onto his butt, and felt the distinctively strange sensation of not being on his own ass — yet another difference that threatened to overload his already battered mental faculties. And yet, he hung on, barely managing to not faint a second time.
Between his legs, as Sam dreaded yet knew with certainty he'd find, was a vagina, a fully-formed woman's sex. It was hard to see, given the configuration of his chest, but he managed to bend and twist and pry apart his mammaries enough to see that he had a pussy. Sam gasped again, a soft scream of shock.
For a long time, Sam sat on the floor, his legs spread and his neck craned to see around or between his massive jugs. He contemplated what had happened. The initial shock was slow to wear off, leaving him dazed and unable to think clearly. Finally, as the mental fog began to lift, Sam glanced upward, at the control panels of the box.
The picture displayed on the panel was exactly what Sam was, he slowly realized. A perfect pair of boobs, cleavage to drool over, long red hair, and curves that didn’t stop. Sam had somehow become the woman on the picture.
The designers of the alien device had tried their best to make the entire apparatus idiot-proof; Sam tested their design to the limits. It took a long time, but slowly he came to realize that not only did the box display a picture of the form he was thinking of, but it also had the power to turn him into the image!
Slowly, carefully, Sam stood, wincing at the jiggling on his chest and the unfamiliar center of gravity, what with the wider hips and shorter height. Now that he thought he knew what had happened, he had to see if it could reverse the damage. Sam reached his hand to the plate, amazed at the sheer femininity of his hand as he touched the ruby crystalline plate. He concentrated — on his own body, on the form he had until recently occupied.
Within seconds, his own body reappeared in all its lack of glory. From the large beer gut to the receding hairline, the flabby arm muscles and the unshaven face, Sam was able to get his body to reappear in the display. Satisfied, Sam touched the purple crystal on the door and stepped into the box. A touch, a bath of red light, and Sam emerged, restored to his own form. His hands involuntarily gave his body a once over, as if to verify that he had come through the ordeal unscathed.
With a shudder of relief, Sam backed away from the box and went into his bedroom. A few moments later, he emerged, fully clothed. He picked up a rifle from the kitchen table, and he headed out the door, pausing only to glare at the alien contraption.
4. Further Experiments
Sam sat on his couch, watching the television and drinking a beer. His hunt had been successful; the rabbit had been tasty, and as usual, he found it went quite well with beer. Like just about everything in Sam's life did. He was diligently ignoring the box, having been surprised once by the infernal thing. But there was little on the tube to hold his interest, and curiosity was proving too powerful for him to resist. Eventually, he rose, turned off the television, and sat down to study the box.
Slowly, Sam's mind began to think of the possibilities that this box had given him. It had changed him into the image of the woman he'd thought of. Then it had changed him back to his normal self. Sam frowned at that thought. He harbored no illusions that he was attractive to the fairer sex. His hair line was fast receding, and his gut was huge. He frowned, thinking of how the girls fawned over the movie stars, with their muscular trim bodies and full heads of hair. And then two and two came together.
Sam wondered. He set down the beer and stepped to the machine. Touching the plate, he conjured up his own image, and then began to think of changes he'd like to make to himself. First, the beer gut had to go. And as he thought of a trim waist, the image changed, until it was trim as Sam had once been. Sam stepped back and admired the new tummy. Then he stepped back to the plate. Again, he thought of a change, and again the display complied. For several long minutes, Sam resculpted his body, regaining his hair, toning his muscles, losing fat and flab, and even replacing the missing upper front tooth that Harley had accidentally knocked out years ago.
Sam stepped back, smiling. Then he frowned. Something just wasn't quite right. And Sam slowly realized what it was. His organ. His manhood. While it was perfectly adequate, Sam felt very self-conscious in the size department. The laughter he'd endured as a teenager now played into Sam's mind. He stepped back to the plate, a determined look on his face. And when he finished, his idealized self sported an organ that was almost ridiculously proportioned, although to Sam's mind, it was perfect. Almost an inch and a half in diameter, it hung about eight inches long — in its flaccid state. Aroused, it would no doubt have been a pike to impale some hapless vagina; no woman alive could have possibly received the full length of Sam's redesigned manhood.
Sam stepped back, then smiled and pressed the purple crystal. He stepped through the door, and confidently touched the crystal on the inside. It was with eager anticipation that Sam basked in the reddish glow, and when it was over, he stepped out of the booth. With a huge grin, Sam touched his enormous member, then bent over and picked up one of his favorite magazines. He plopped down on the sofa, one hand pawing the magazine open, while the other began to fondle his newfound biggie.
Sam quickly discovered two things. First, his new organ was far more sensitive, and produced one of the most amazing orgasms that he'd ever had. Second, and far more importantly, in its erect state, and with Sam slouched as he was on the sofa, the tip was but an inch or two from his mouth. The explosion of semen took Sam completely by surprise, and with disgust etched on his face, he waddled to the bathroom, one hand holding the dangling monster, to clean up the big sticky mess.
In the middle of the night, as he lay in bed after yet another organ solo, Sam's curiosity began to stir. Sure, he had a perfect body now, but his few minutes with a girl's body now had him thinking. And what Sam was thinking was, to one part of his mind, perfectly natural to wonder about. To his macho side, however, it was pure treason. A guy might be permitted to wonder what sex was like for a girl, but there were strict limits. And changing into a girl to find out was past those limits. Sam went to sleep, torn between primitive desires, and hounded the rest of the night by strange and erotic dreams.
Sam gave the box a curious look, then shoveled down his Wheaties and headed for the back door. Like most mornings, he was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt; this morning, the clothing fit him oddly. The pants were many sizes too large around the waist, and the T-shirt clung to his muscular torso like it was spray-painted on. With the rifle slung over his shoulder, Sam appeared the perfect hillbilly. Since there was nothing on the television — no stock car race, no football, and he sure didn’t get into baseball — Sam headed out toward the beckoning hills for a little squirrel hunting. And maybe, just maybe, he’d stop by Hank’s store and see if there were any ladies about to appreciate his new body.
The sound of the pickup door slamming shut preceded Sam’s entrance; he straggled in, hot and sweaty and dusty, and as was his habit, grabbed a cold beer from the fridge. He brought his dinner, a bag from a fast-food restaurant, and his beer, and sat down on the couch. Hunting had been a bust, so he’d decided to drive into town. But that was a humiliating mistake; it seemed that all anyone had done was laugh at him. All because of Harley and Skeeter. Even Mary Beth, with her huge knockers, had snickered at him. At the thought of Mary Beth, Sam felt his member starting to get aroused, and as he pulled it out, he grinned in anticipation. Dinner was temporarily forgotten as he satisfied his lust.
Sam drifted to a fitful sleep again. Damn, but he'd really been hoping for some action — and with someone like Mary Beth and her enormous hooters. And to Sam, there was nothing as enticing as sliding his member between a large pair of mammaries.
From afar, a thought permeated his semi-consciousness. If he really wanted a titty-fuck, why just the other day he'd had a perfectly suitable set on his chest! His macho mind fought that strange thought. No man would want tits! But Sam's strong attraction for tits counterpunched. Why not? It couldn't be any worse than masturbating! And it wasn't like Sam was going to fit himself with a pussy, now, was it? On and on the two thoughts struggled, leaving Sam tossing and turning as his subconscious duked it out with itself.
Finally, half awake, Sam rose from his bed. It was two in the morning, and he'd barely gotten any sleep. Flipping on the light, he staggered out to the living room, to where the box stood silently, beckoning with it's strange powers, looking all the more alien with only the light spilling from the bedroom illuminating its strange metal surfaces.
Perhaps if Sam had been fully awake, he could have resisted its siren call. As it was, with his macho manliness thoroughly drubbed in a nine-round mental TKO, he gazed at the machine, then at a magazine displaying a large-breasted girl, then back at the machine. All the while, he held his semi-erect member, knowing that it needed some relief, and soon. Finally, he stepped to the machine and placed his hand on the panel. It took a few seconds for Sam to stabilize his own image, and then he glanced at the magazine, visible in the dim light. He gulped, and thought of how nice it would be if he could titty-fuck himself.
In seconds, the image on the display showed his body — with a nice rack. Sam's eyes widened, and he gulped, but he managed to not be intimidated by the strange picture. And as he looked at the picture, he realized one thing — the tits weren't big enough. Of course, as he had those thoughts, the machine reacted by reading his very thoughts, and the breasts on the display grew in response to his desires. Larger and larger they grew, and, in the fog of his half-sleep state, Sam found it easy to ignore what he was about to do to himself. All he could think of was the pleasure he was going to get from wrapping those melons around his firm shaft. And how much a girl with bosoms like that should enjoy having a dick rubbing between them. Sam touched the purple button and stepped into the booth.
A stunned cry came from Sam as he staggered out of the box. The tits were far bigger than he'd thought they would be. Bigger, and heavier. They tugged fiercely at his shoulders, each motion of his body sending the beach balls careening around on his chest. He looked at the magazine that had been his inspiration and puzzled. The girl — she didn't have tits that big! What Sam failed to account for was proportionality. F-cups on a model, when scaled up to match Sam's larger torso, came out as J-cups on him. And even as part of his mind rebelled, screaming at him for having done such a stupid thing, his primal instincts and his love of breasts caused his member to rise anew. His eyes started to glaze and his breaths deepened as he pulled the long member into the waiting crevasse between the orbs. He sank to the couch, marveling at how good his dick felt, and how wonderful the tits felt having a large hot shaft nestled between them.
5. Revenge
Sam awoke on the couch, a broad grin on his face as if etched permanently on his features. His eyes opened slowly, rousing himself from a dreamlike state, and he felt his member demanding attention. His dazed mind imagined that the warm flesh surrounding his dick was Mary Beth’s big hooters, but as consciousness drifted back to his mind, he suddenly got an alarmed look in his eyes. He bolted upright, and felt the massive jugs bouncing on his chest. With eyes wide open, he gazed down to see his rod protruding up from between the biggest pair of knockers he’d ever seen, bigger even than Mary Beth’s, and covered with his own semen.
Good grief, Sam thought to himself. What had he done? He’d dreamed that something like this had happened, but it wasn’t a dream — it was real! The pendulous weights tugging at his chest were more than enough evidence of that! Sam’s mouth hung agape as he stared in shock at the orbs.
Sam bolted upright, sending the boobs bouncing dangerously as he staggered to the machine. The damned machine! It had done this to him! And even with his determination to undo the damage, he couldn’t help but feel erotic sensations from his rod, nestled as it was between the bouncing breasts, and from the boobs adorning his chest. Both sent powerful waves of carnal desire to his mind, short-circuiting his urge to reverse the changes. Within seconds, he was writhing again, playing with his nipples and squashing his boobs around his erect shaft. With a knee-shaking explosion of passion, he added one final load to his boobs. Weak-kneed, he touched the plate, bringing the display to life. Sam resculpted his body, eliminating the boobs and restoring his manly chest. Then, still quivering, he stepped into the booth, emerging moments later with a normal-appearing body.
Sam tried to avoid the machine the rest of the day, but the effort was as futile as a getting a starving man to pass on a meal. By dinner, he was sitting on the sofa, staring at the machine. His dick was almost permanently aroused now, a stiff shaft begging for attention — and unfortunately for Sam, his love of sliding the shaft between breasts was pushing him, subtly, subconsciously, toward a repeat of the past night’s performance. Finally, he gave in, and picking up one particular magazine, he stepped to the single control.
If the rod emerging from his waist were out of proportion, the breasts Sam attached to his chest were absurd. The picture he’d used as a model was Zena Fulsom, a porn star with extremely large boobs. What Sam didn’t realize was that the immense orbs were really prosthetics, skillfully applied for the photo shoots. All he saw were enormous tits, and his compunction toward titty fucks drove him to select the largest breasts he could find. And the silly machine didn’t know that the breasts were artificial, either. Sam’s mind designed the augmentations, and the machine dutifully complied, sculpting his body into the desired form.
Sam staggered as he emerged from the booth. These monsters were heavy! He turned, and they swung dangerously, the shift of mass threatening to pull him over and the tits themselves almost hitting the machine and the wall. Sam gasped, wondering what he was doing, even as he felt his organ enjoying its ride between the bouncing orbs. Sam felt a contented shiver course through his body as he prepared to satiate his carnal lust.
By morning, Sam was tired of the huge boobs. Quite frankly, Sam was tired. He hadn’t slept much in the preceding nights, having been busy masturbating between his tits about once an hour. And these monsters! They were heavy, they were uncomfortable, and despite the incredible sensitivity, or possibly because of it, they were impossible to keep from being sore. Either his shoulders hurt from lugging around the weights or they bumped into doors and tables and chairs. He tried lying down to rest; on his back, the things were crushing him. On his belly — well, that was an incredibly failed experiment, too. And on his sides? It felt like he was attached to a pair of small beanbag chairs, and whenever they shifted, they pulled his body along. It was with profound relief that Sam stepped from the machine, relieved of the burdens and restored to a proper manly body.
By nightfall, Sam was a little tired of the monster between his legs as well. The workday at the plant had gone reasonably well, except for a couple of things. First, Harley and Skeeter and the others were laughing at him, even the ladies, who should have been awed by his incredible body. And Mary Beth laughed right along with them. The teasing had left Sam in a foul mood to begin with. Second, and more importantly, every time he started thinking of a woman, his dick begged for attention, and with its size, it was very difficult for Sam to ignore. In fact, given the size of the bulge in Sam’s pants, it was hard for anyone to ignore. And so, despite the fact that it was great for playing, Sam slowly concluded that it was simply too big. A quick bout with the machine, and he’d shortened it, with great regret, but he knew it was getting in the way and was so utterly sensitive that it was demanding too much attention.
At the same time, Sam began to realize something else. Perhaps it was the freakish nature of being in a man’s body with big tits — which was exactly what his ‘friends’ had done to humiliate him. Perhaps it was because he used the machine to reduce his large manhood. In any case, the taunting of the day had gotten his dander up, and he really, really wanted to get revenge on Harley and Skeeter. And his experiences slowly began to gel into a plan. If they embarrassed him by giving him fake tits, then Sam would see how they’d feel with real tits — and not just any tits, but monsters like he’d sported the night before. That would serve Harley right for what he’d done to Sam. As for Skeeter, Sam started thinking. Sure, giving Skeeter tits would be funny, but if he did that to Harley, well, Sam knew that just wouldn’t be as funny to repeat Harley’s punishment. Sam sat back with a magazine and thought, pausing to play with himself.
The idea hit out of the blue. Skeeter claimed to be a ladies’ man, and was always bragging of his conquests. Well, maybe Sam could fix that. If the machine could shorten his dick, maybe — just maybe — it could do the same to Skeeter. Sam laughed to himself — Skeeter and Harley were going to be so embarrassed. But then Sam thought again. Harley’s changes would be visible; Sam intended to give him a rack that he couldn’t possibly hide. But Skeeter? He could pretend nothing happened. No, Sam needed to do something visible to Skeeter as well.
The magazine sitting on the coffee table gave Sam the idea. He’d rearrange Skeeter’s face, giving him full sensuous girl’s lips and cheeks and nose. Skeeter would look like a girl. Sam grinned wickedly.
After downing a couple of beers, Sam gave Harley a call. He had something to show him, and since the next day was a holiday, could Harley come over? Harley, wisely, deferred. He suspected Sam was up to something — Sam had never been know to be subtle in his life, and his eagerness to have Harley come over tipped off his friend. The same scene repeated for Skeeter. Sam went to bed dejected. How could he lure his friends into his trap?
The answer occurred in a very erotic and strange dream. Since he’d had the tits, Sam’s libido had started working on his brain, egging it on with the tiny question of what would the rest of a woman’s body feel like? It was a question most men wondered at some point in their lives, and Sam had been no different; at an early age, Mary Beth had shown him the difference between boys and girls, and he’d gotten curious. He awoke with a start, and had to feel his body to reassure himself that it wasn’t a dream. No, he discovered, he was still normal. But the dream….
Morning found Sam very pleased with himself. He pored through his magazines, searching for something. Slowly, he began to identify those features of girls that he found most attractive — eyes here, boobs there, sexy legs on yet another. And slowly, as he searched, a composite girl began to form on the display. Finally, Sam stepped back to admire his handiwork. The girl was a knockout — long honey-blonde hair, hourglass figure with heavy emphasis on top, long sexy legs, full sexy lips. Perfection, at least according to Sam’s desires. He grinned — this disguise should make it easy to lure Harley and Skeeter to the machine.
Sam pressed the purple button, and then frowned. The door didn’t appear. He glanced at the screen, and saw some of the strange alien symbols scrolling across the screen. Sam pressed the button again, and the stupid symbols disappeared. He thought nothing more of it and stepped into the booth.
The girl that emerged was every bit as sexy as Sam had imagined her. This, of course, was demonstration that the unit was working perfectly; if he hadn’t imagined her, the machine couldn’t have read his brain waves and designed the transformations. Sam couldn’t resist rubbing his hands over his generous bosom, marveling at the way they responded, the way they sent an intense pleasure radiating into this chest from the large nipples. He paused, reveling in the pleasure. What Sam didn’t quite understand was that the machine not only designed the body, but it also had the power to make slight adjustments in the mind as well. Not huge, but slight. Like increasing the libido, or making a body comfortable with the changes. And since Sam’s dream girl was extraordinarily sexy, including in her attitudes and desire for sex, the machine had faithfully made the mental adjustment in Sam. He continued his ministrations to his breasts, and slowly let one hand slide down into his crotch.
Once more, a brief skirmish was fought in Sam’s mind. The rational male half ordered his body to stop, protesting that this action was weird at best. The libido, enhanced by the mental adjustments, repelled that feeble attack and made its own thrust. This was just too nice, wasn’t it? Sam’s mind forgot its objections as the pleasure of his first female orgasm swept over him.
It was after lunch when Sam was able to stop masturbating. He staggered to the bathroom and cleaned himself up, then scrounged around the house for some suitable clothing. He ended up with a pair of his shorts, which were far too large in the waist and tight as hell in the hips. A T-shirt was easy to put on, but his boobs stretched the fabric to the limit. He pushed his mane back over his shoulders, and then picked up the phone.
Sam felt a little cheated when he found that Harley and Skeeter were out hunting. But then, if he hadn’t been so mad at them, he’d have been with them. As it was, he had to wait for them to come back, which would be sometime around dinner. Give them a chance to eat, and Sam figured they’d be available about seven or eight.
After dinner, which had itself followed an afternoon of self-play, Sam gave Harley another call. This time, he was at home. Sam passed himself off as Sam’s cousin, Betty Jo, and did his best to sound like a sexy girl, which wasn’t too hard given the changes that had been made to his voice box. Harley sounded interested, until Sam suggested Sam’s place. Harley immediately became suspicious. Sam had to think, and quickly. Not being his strong suit, Sam lied that Sam had been called to visit his sick uncle, and that she had to watch his place for a couple of days. And located as it was, she was lonely and needed some company. Harley fell for it. As did Skeeter a few minutes later.
Harley would be here first; Sam might have to knock him out after the change, lest he warn Skeeter. Plus, with Sam in this girl’s body, he knew he was weaker than Harley. All Harley had to do was to overpower her, and then he could run the machine. Sam trembled at that thought.
A knock sounded at the door, and Sam eased the door open. Harley stood outside, peeking inside warily, but when he saw Sam’s body, his eyes widened and he got a grin of anticipation. After all, Sam had practically begged for company, and Harley had a firm idea of what company meant when alone with a single girl. Harley was all too eager to come in. It took all of three seconds for Harley to notice the booth. “What’s the box?” he asked simply.
Sam smiled. “That’s what Sam found. Some kind of funny gizmo, he said.”
Harley shrugged. He wasn’t nearly as curious as he was horny, and he wasn’t about to let a silly little box distract him from some serious sex, especially with a knockout like Sam’s cousin. “Huh,” he grunted. Then he tried to encircle Sam with his arms. “How about you let me keep you company now?”
Sam forced a smile. “I dropped…uh…something inside when I was looking. Can you see if you can find it for me?” He’d left the box sitting, its door open.
Harley smiled and gave in to the lady’s request. He stepped into the box, bent over and looking down. “Sure, honey,” he assured her. “Then we’ll have some fun.”
Sam sprang to the side of the cabinet. He pressed his hand on the plate…and nothing happened! He pressed again, and the display remained blank. On the third try, as panic started to set in, a set of symbols blinked into view. Sam suppressed a scream as he tried again and again to activate the display. But nothing he did would work.
A second knock sounded at the door. Sam turned, blanching. Dammit, Skeeter was early! He glanced once more at the controls, and still they refused to work!
Harley emerged from inside the box at the knock. “Nothin’ inside,” he reported. Then he glanced at the door. “Ain’t you gonna answer it?”
Sam felt trapped now. His transformation of Harley wasn’t done because this stupid machine was acting up, and now Skeeter was here. His plan was falling apart. “Uh, yeah,” he muttered, then he turned to the door. It was Skeeter. “Hi. You must be Skeeter,” Sam said, trying hard to contain his panic.
Skeeter barged in, eyes wide with appreciation and wearing a broad grin. “Sure am. And you’re Betty Jo?”
“Hey, Skeeter!” Harley called in a friendly but curious voice. “Fancy finding you here.”
Skeeter got defensive. “Well, I was invited,” he retorted.
Harley stepped to Skeeter, nose to nose. “Yeah? Well, so was I!” The two men eyed each other, trying to figure out who was lying, both wanting to claim this sexy girl for their own prize. And then Harley grinned. “I guess she figgers it’ll take the both of us to satisfy her, huh?”
Skeeter processed the new thought, and a grin lit his face. “Sounds good to me,” he agreed. The duo turned to see the girl, and saw Sam, panic-stricken, nearly in tears, pressing a ruby-red plate on the strange machine. “No,” Sam cried over and over. “No! It’s got to work!”
Harley glanced at Skeeter, then he walked to the girl and took her arm in his hand reassuringly. “So Sam found this funny thing. It’s not important.” His hand wandered to one of the huge breasts. “Now how about we keep you company, like you asked?”
Sam felt the pleasant tingling on his boob, and knew that he was starting to feel aroused. He also knew that the damned machine was broken, and because of it, not only was he not going to get his revenge, but he was going to be dorked by Harley and Skeeter. Even though Sam tried to muster all his willpower to resist, a soft moan of pleasure slipped from Sam’s lips. The warmth spread rapidly, and slowly, the two men began to minister to the sexual needs of this very sexy girl. And all the while that they ravaged Sam, the stupid display blinked its alien symbols, symbols that were unintelligible to any human.
Perhaps if Sam had understood Fwirthian, he would have understood the symbols blinking just before he made his last change. And he would have realized just what kind of predicament he was in. Over and over, the alien machine blinked its message, waiting for an answer that never came.
We are sorry, but your four-day evaluation license has expired. To continue using the Mark 5 Morphic Adaptation Unit, please remit 52,495 Fwirthi Rakburs to the Glemafi Corporation within eight Febulons. Thank you for trying the Mark 5 Morphic Adaptation Unit.
On and on the message blinked, until, after almost twenty hours, it assumed that payment was not going to be forthcoming. The unit refolded itself into its shipping configuration, the compact little box with no seams that Sam had first found, oblivious to Sam’s screams of pleasure and agony as his body betrayed his mind, giving in totally and completely to the engineered body made so perfect by the Morphic Adaptation Unit, Mark 5.
FIN (of this episode only)
MAU: Sisters of the Night
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This is a repost of a story I wrote and posted long ago to FM. Since Halloween is approaching, I thought it a fitting time to post on Big Closet.
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A couple of roommates stumble across an MAU and decide to use it to get really great Halloween costumes to crash a Fraternity party. When the big night comes, they can't get in. Then one of the guys lets his fascination with creatures of the night run amok, and they end up with costumes no-one would ever believe. The MAU, however, has a way of making Halloween go on forever...
This story and the MAU universe are copyright by the author 2001, all rights reserved. It may be posted at Fictionmania and any free site with the permission of the author.
**********************************************************************
The hiss of the beer can opening shattered the silence of the apartment. Brad stared into nothingness as he lifted the can to his lips and took a long sip. A contented sigh was the result, the only result and the only noise.
Across the room, his roommate Eric didn't seem to notice. With due care, he selected a CD and removed it from its protective case, then placed it gingerly on the tray and let the machine swallow it. Even as Eric rose from his awkward crouch, the player read the plastic and aluminum disk and began to emit an eerie, otherworldly noise.
"So what are we going to do?" Brad asked from behind his beer can. "We've got to get some awesome costumes for the party."
Eric slumped into an overstuffed chair and retrieved his own container of the magic amber elixir. He took a big swig. "Don't know," he admitted. "But you know we've got to find a way to crash the party."
Brad nodded. The Phi Delta house had _the_ Halloween party, and for them to get in with outstanding costumes was a sure way to be invited to join. Every guy wanted to join the Phi Deltas.
"And we've got to be sure we aren't recognized until the unmasking," Eric added needlessly. Getting into the Phi Delta party was tough - too tough for most. And of course, that fact made it the true test. Even if you'd been turned down in their normal rush, getting into the party was a sure-fire invitation to join.
**********
"I don't know what you think," Eric moaned as they wandered through the second-hand store, "but I don't see anything that gives me any ideas."
Brad glanced around the warehouse-like store. "Yeah," he said glumly, "I think you're right. Damn," he muttered loudly, "I knew we shouldn't have waited until the last week."
Eric knew exactly what Brad was talking about. They'd checked out the costume stores - both of them - and come up empty-handed. The good costumes were long-since gone. And that little shit Jones was going to get in, too! That was the worst part - Lloyd Jones was the most annoying little twerp - and he already had a killer costume. They both knew that if Jones got in and they didn't, they'd never hear the end of it.
Brad turned for one last glance. Coincidentally, or through the devious acts of the fates, a large woman in the next aisle bent over, and in so doing, bumped the table behind her, sending a torrent of stuff crashing to the floor. A strange metal box nearly hit Brad's foot as it clanged to the floor.
He almost left it laying on the floor. It would have been natural, since the two young men were looking for costume ideas. But something about the box caught Brad's attention, and he picked it up. That same strange compulsion caused Brad to examine the box, and finally, to tuck it under his arm and carry it to the checkout stand and then to his car.
Eric shook his head when he saw the box. "What's that?"
Brad shrugged. "Don't know," he answered.
"We're looking for costumes, not metal boxes!" Eric sneered. "Unless that is your costume - dork with a metal box!"
"I know it's not a costume, stupid!" Brad answered sharply. "But I can probably make a cool case out of it. Or something."
**********
"So what is it, Einstein?" Eric asked Brad sarcastically. Brad had seemingly lost interest in the costume hunt and was examining the strange box.
Brad ignored his roommate. The box was about the size of an attaché case - roughly eighteen inches by twelve inches by four inches - and made of some incredibly light metal. More baffling was the lack of obvious seams or weld marks. It was as if the box were one solid piece of metal - but it weight almost nothing, like it was empty. There were some strange symbols on the top. Absently, Brad's finger traced the outlines as he thought about what they could possibly mean.
The box quivered. Brad's eyes shot open as he looked at the metal object in his lap. It was - growing! Slowly, but undeniably, the box was stretching from its original dimensions.
Brad practically leaped out of his chair, dumping the box onto the floor as he backed hastily away from it. Despite his best efforts at escape, however, he stumbled backward over the second-hand coffee table, ending up falling onto his back with a dull thud.
Eric spun at the sound of the clattering. He saw Brad trip and fall, then he saw the strange metal box on the floor. Somehow, it held his attention, riveting him in place.
On the floor, the box grew and stretched, the metal seeming to stretch seamlessly. When it had about doubled in size, it stopped growing, then, with an incredible ease, it flipped itself over, landing with the strange symbols on top. Then it resumed its growth.
On the floor, Brad backed away from the box, pushing himself blindly into a corner. His eyes were wide and filled with fear.
Finally, when it had grown to the size of a telephone booth, the box stopped growing. For several long moments, the two boys remained fixed in place, Brad frozen by fear, and Eric watching in rapt fascination. The silence in the room was total as the two contemplated the eerie behavior of the box.
"What the hell is that thing?" Eric finally asked. Slowly, as if drawn by a strange magnet, he crept closer to the box, his eyes fixed on the dull gray featureless surface.
"Watch out!" Brad cautioned in a shrill, frightened voice. "It's got to be some kind of alien contraption!" He didn't know just how right he was.
Eric glanced at his terrified roommate, then he resumed his examination of the device. He slowly rounded the box, then his motion stopped. "Hey, cool!"
Brad levered himself to his feet and slinked over to the box. Slowly, carefully, he peeked around the corner to where Eric was standing. "What is that?" he asked in a soft, almost awe-struck voice.
Eric shrugged. "I have _no_ idea," he answered honestly. He was examining the only features on the entire box - a black rectangular panel about eye-height, a red paw-shaped crystalline pad below the black panel, and a purple crystal which resembled a doorknob more than anything else. "These must be the controls," he guessed. He reached for the black pad and cautiously touched it. Nothing happened, except that Brad flinched visibly. Eric moved to the red pad and touched it.
This time, the box reacted. The black display changed, lighting up and showing row upon row of the same type of alien symbols that were on the top of the box. When the pad was filled, the symbols began scrolling like a computer display. The two watched the display for several seconds, until finally, it stopped, leaving a few symbols at the bottom of the screen flashing.
Eric's hand dropped from the display and he glanced at Brad. He shrugged, then he touched the display again. The display blanked, startling the two. Then, as they watched, a shadowy figure began to form. Slowly, it coalesced into the alien mother creature from the Alien movie series.
Brad stepped back sharply. "I _knew_ it was some kind of alien thing!" he hissed, staring wide-eyed at the display.
Eric dropped his hand, then stared intently at the display.
"Don't touch it! It'll probably release that ... thing!" Brad warned.
Eric glanced at his roommate. He sighed - sometimes, Brad could be such a coward. He deliberately turned back to the display and touched the red pad again. The alien monster vanished, only to be replaced by a slender black-eyed, gray-skinned UFO alien. Eric turned to Brad, a triumphant grin on his face. "It's like it's reading my mind or something, and making the display match," he observed.
Brad crept to the panel. Slowly, he reached up and touched the plate. The UFO alien vanished. In its place, the image of a nude girl began to form. When it was completed, Brad turned to Eric. "You're right! It is reading my mind!" He glanced back at the display, leering at the naked girl centered on the screen. "So you don't think I wasted a couple of bucks?"
Eric closed his eyes and sighed. Brad had him on that point. "Okay, so it was probably worth the three dollars," he admitted. "So what else do you think it does?"
Brad shrugged. "I don't know," he admitted, "but just think of the costume we can design with this thing!"
Eric snorted. "Yeah, design is one thing. But we still have to _make_ the costume!"
Brad sighed heavily as he realized that Eric was right. "Oh, yeah."
**********
It was late that evening, and the two were still playing with the box. The display had shown everything imaginable as Halloween costumes - vampire, werewolf, mummy, Creature from the Black Lagoon (Eric had no idea what _that_ was, and Brad had to explain, adding snide comments about Eric's lack of cultural upbringing), a Romulan from Star Trek, a Wookie, Darth Vader, Darth Maul, a Gungan, an elf, a dwarf, a knight in armor, and even a centaur. While the two were enjoying the game of displaying creative costumes, they were no closer to their goal of a workable costume.
Eric pulled a slice of pizza from the microwave and flopped it on a plate. "So, are we going to get back to searching for a costume?" he asked sarcastically.
Brad glanced at the display, then slowly nodded. "You have to admit, though, that this is pretty cool."
Eric walked to his chair and flopped down. "Yeah," he agreed. "It's too bad it can't make the costumes from the display."
Brad nodded glumly. They were no closer to getting into the Phi Delta house than they had been that morning - and precious time was wasting. Halloween was only three days away. He glanced at the box one last time. "I wonder how you fold it up. Maybe this ..." He reached for the purple knob and touched it.
The gasp from Brad alerted Eric that something had changed. He stopped mid-bite and pulled himself out of his chair, quickly circling the box to see what had startled Brad.
Brad was inside the box, visible through an opening which hadn't been there before. Through the opening, Eric could see a second purple crystal on one inner wall, and a soft yellow glow emanated from a round panel in the ceiling.
"What did you do?"
Brad shrugged. "I just touched the purple knob, and it opened . Like this ..." He reached for the inner knob and touched it. The opening ... vanished.
Eric's eyes widened. "Brad?" he called in alarm. "Brad?" He grabbed at the knob, the one that Brad said had caused the door to appear. Nothing happened, however. Eric started to feel a bit of panic. Was Brad trapped in this alien box?
Even as that terrifying thought began to form, the box opened again. Eric started to breathe a sigh of relief, only to gasp in shock. It wasn't Brad that stepped out. It was ... Frankenstein's monster!
"What?" Brad asked as he saw the shocked expression on Eric's face. Then his face screwed up as he realized that he was looking _down_ at Eric. "What are you staring at?"
Eric backed away quickly, and repeated Brad's earlier trip over the coffee table. "What did you do to Brad?" he stammered.
The monster's face screwed up in confusion. "What are you talking about?" it asked. "I am Brad. Don't you recognize me?"
Eric was in the corner now. "No," he squeaked. "You're not Brad."
Brad the monster froze in his tracks. "What do you mean, I'm not me?" He turned and walked into the bathroom, clunking clumsily and heavily as he walked. "Holy shit!" the surprised exclamation came from the bathroom. He clunked back out to the living room. "Wow!" he exclaimed softly. "It changed me! It really changed me!"
Eric stood, petrified with fear. "What are you talking about?" he managed to ask.
The monster grinned. "Check out the display," he offered. "This is what was displayed. And when I went inside, it changed me into the monster!"
Slowly, Eric overcame his fear, mostly because the monster was acting unlike any monster he'd ever seen - in the movies. Eric crept cautiously toward the display. His gaze alternated between the monster that claimed to be Brad and the display. Finally, he slumped back into his chair, his eyes wide open in disbelief. "It really _is_ you!" he muttered over and over. "It really did change you!"
Brad grinned. "Yeah. And you know what that means, don't you?" He didn't wait for an answer. "It means that we're going to have the most awesome costumes ever!" He stepped back to the panel and conjured up his old body, then stepped into the box. A few seconds later, he stepped out again, restored to his original form.
Eric watched the process with interest. A grin slowly crept over his face. "Yeah," he admitted slowly. "I wonder what else it can do ...." He pulled himself up, then stepped to the display panel. In a few seconds, he had conjured up an image. He touched the purple knob, then stepped inside. "I just touch the knob in here?" he asked, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.
Brad nodded. "Yup. The door will open when it's done."
Eric gulped, then touched the knob, and the door vanished. In a few seconds, the door opened again. Out stepped the campus' most desirable cheerleader, Cindy Rankin, complete down to the pom-poms in her hands and the tightly stretched sweater across her ample chest. Her eyes were wide with surprise as she stepped cautiously from the box. The pom-poms slipped from her hands, which slid up to her ample bosom. "Wow!" she exclaimed. "This thing really works!"
Brad's eyes widened with lust. "Eric?" he asked in surprise. "Is that you?"
Eric glanced up. "Yeah," he said, his voice altered to the sexy, breathy voice of Cindy. He glanced back down, to where his hands were rubbing his chest, to the hardening nipples visible under the sweater. "This thing really works!"
"Are ... are they ... real?" Brad asked as he reached out a hand toward one of the breasts.
Eric glanced up, alarm on his face. He shoved away Brad's hand. "Get away from me!" he snarled. He turned quickly to the panel and conjured up his own body. While Brad stood, drooling, Eric stepped quickly into the box and slapped the knob. A few seconds later, he re-emerged in his own body. He glanced at Brad, his eyes narrowed and angry. "What the hell were you thinking?" he demanded.
Brad shrugged and grinned. "Hey, if I turned into Cindy, you'd probably try to paw my tits, too!" he answered with a leer.
**********
Eric was having difficulty sleeping. Strange dreams of the alien box ran through his mind, changing him over and over again into different forms, leaving him stuck for a while before another change occurred, and every change was outside his control. Mostly, he was being changed into horror monsters, but occasionally, the leering faces of the Phi Delta members forced him into Cindy or one of the other cheerleaders, and then they made him do cheers for them in the nude. He awoke covered with sweat.
Eric glanced around, wondering what had caused him to awaken. Slowly, he became aware of the noise from the other bedroom. He swung out of bed and padded softly to Brad's door, his ears listening intently. The noise was some kind of soft moaning. Eric frowned, wondering what was going on. He was about to turn the knob when the moaning changed, getting faster and louder, until it erupted into fast shallow screams. Woman's screams. Eric flinched, recoiling from the door. His mouth open in shock, he padded to the living room. There, he looked at the box. In the dim light filtering through the front window, he saw the display. And on the display was Cindy Rankin, albeit nude and with larger breasts.
Shaking his head, his mouth hanging open in stunned surprise, Eric padded back to his bedroom. He buried his head under his pillow in a futile attempt to drown out the screams of primal passion.
**********
After classes, Brad returned to the apartment. He expected to find Eric, but he didn't, which surprised him. Instead, he found the door to Eric's room closed. As he put an ear to the door, he heard the noise. A knowing grin pasted itself on Brad's features. He walked back to the box, and his eyes lit up with admiration at the woman illustrated on the display.
**********
Eric glanced up from the television. "So are you going to get serious about the costume now?" he demanded.
Brad nodded slowly. "Okay." He pulled himself out of his chair and walked to the machine. After thinking for a second, he touched the plate, conjuring up an image. In a few seconds, he emerged as a classic vampire in the Lon Chaney tradition. "So what do you think?"
Eric shrugged. "I don't know," he said slowly. "It's lacking something."
Brad changed back, then Eric tried. He emerged as a Klingon warrior from Star Trek.
"Kind of geeky, isn't it?" Brad observed carefully. He knew that Eric like sci-fi, and didn't want to insult his roommate. "Even if you fool them, I don't think the Phi Delts will go for a Trekkie."
Eric sighed. "Yeah, I guess you're right." He used the box to turn back into himself.
The two went back and forth several times. None of the costumes were quite right - not up to the standard they knew would be required to sneak into the party. Finally, Eric went to bed, still not knowing what he'd be wearing for the big party the next night.
**********
"Okay, I think I've got one."
Eric looked up sharply. "What?"
Brad grinned. "The Black Knight from Monty Python and the Holy Grail."
Eric frowned. "You're kidding, right?"
Brad shook his head. "No, I'm not kidding. What have you got?"
Eric sighed. "I think I'm going as a Tusken Raider from Star Wars."
It was Brad's turn to frown. "Isn't that kind of nerdy?"
Eric shrugged his shoulders. "Well, it meets all the criteria. It's a full disguise, the mask will come off so I can reveal myself when the time comes, and until then, there's no clue who I am."
Brad sighed, then nodded slowly. "Yeah, I guess you're right. That's the same line of thought I used."
Eric touched the display, conjuring up the image he wanted. A few seconds later, a Tusken Raider emerged from the box. With a wave and some mock howling, he showed off his costume. Brad just shook his head, then worked the display for his costume. Within moments, the Black Knight and a Tusken Raider left the apartment.
**********
"You guys have an invitation?" the burly doorman repeated. His arms were crossed menacingly, and he blocked the door to the Phi Delta house.
Eric glanced at Brad. "Um, yeah, but we left it back at the apartment."
The doorman shook his head. "No invitation, no entry. No exceptions."
"But..." Eric started to protest.
The doorman glowered at him. "No exceptions," he growled.
Eric and Brad decided that discretion really was the better part of valor - at least in this case. Glumly, they turned and trudged away from the Phi Delta house. A very short while later, they were at the Omega house, one of the rowdier and less selective fraternities on campus. Everyone was welcome at an Omega party.
Brad took off his helmet and sipped a beer - the latest in a long string of beers. "What gives?" he asked Eric. "Did they change the rules or something?"
A bystander overheard Brad's comment. "I take it you're referring to the Phi Delta party?" he interjected.
Brad spun, then he nodded glumly. "Yeah. We tried, but no luck."
The bystander laughed. "Me neither." He pried off his mask and snagged a drink from a passing host. "Bunch of stuck-up assholes, if you ask me."
"So why were you trying to get into their party?" Eric asked innocently.
The bystander glared at Eric, then he laughed aloud. "Got me, I guess." He took a big drink, emptying his glass. "Word is that they've been having too many guys crash their parties. Only letting women in, so they've got a better chance of scoring." He reached out his hand and grasped Brad's hand. "By the way, I'm Mike."
"Brad. My pal is Eric."
Mike nodded his greeting. "Anyway," he continued, "it looks like we're not properly ... equipped ... for their party."
Eric shook his head. "At least Jones won't be there," he consoled himself.
"Lloyd Jones?" Mike asked, surprised. "Yeah, he's there. He got an invitation."
"That little ass-kissing shit?" Brad spat. "Just like him to suck up."
"Yeah, well unless you can magically change yourselves into girls, you guys aren't going to get in to that party." Mike snagged another drink and took a big gulp.
Brad's eyes widened, then his head snapped toward Eric. Not surprisingly, Eric's eyes had the same look. "You thinking what I'm thinking?" Brad asked knowingly.
Eric grinned. "Probably. The box?"
Mike's head swiveled back and forth as he tried to follow the conversation. "What the hell are you guys talking about?" he finally asked.
Brad glanced at Eric, then he grinned. "You want to get into that party like we do?" he asked with a twinkle in his eye.
**********
"So ... it's a box," Mike observed as he stared at the device. "So what?"
Eric grinned. "It's far more than just a box," he answered. "Watch." He went to the display, then conjured up an image. He entered the box, only to emerge a few seconds later in a body that perfectly matched the displayed image. "Ta da." In this case, the body was the Frankenstein monster again.
Mike stared and slowly shook his head as if to clear the cobwebs. "That's some kind of trick," he finally said in admiration.
Brad grinned. "It's no trick. We figure it's some kind of alien technology. It changes you into whatever you display."
Mike glanced at Brad in disbelief, then he stared at Eric. It took a few seconds for his alcohol-laden mind to grasp the facts, but finally he put the entire picture together. "So this thing can changes us - so we can get into the party?" he asked. Then another fact arose. "But that means we'd be ... "
Brad nodded. "It can even change a guy into a girl."
Mike glanced between Brad and Eric. "You guys have done this before?" he asked, feeling suddenly very uneasy.
Brad glanced at Eric, then nodded solemnly. "Just to see if we could change," he answered, shading the truth just a tiny bit. "So, you want in?"
"But spending the whole night ... as a girl? In _that_ place?" Mike asked, finally voicing the big concern. The Phi Deltas were known as being very aggressive in getting their way with the ladies.
Eric frowned. "That could be a problem," he observed. "So how about we take the box with us, and change back after we're inside?"
Brad nodded. It sounded like a good plan. "What do you want to go as? Cheerleaders? Nuns? Vampiresses?"
Eric grinned. The way Brad had spoken, he knew what Brad wanted. Besides, they could have some fun. "Vampiresses."
Brad grinned, then he stepped to the control panel. It took some long concentration, but he eventually conjured up the image he wanted. Pale complexion, tall and slender, large-breasted with huge cleavage showing through a very low neckline of a black dress, with a black shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Long straight black hair. Long blood-red fingernails. Full, sexy blood- red lips. When he finished, the girl looked like a cross between Elvira and a classic vampire lady. "Well?"
Eric glanced at the display. "Cool," he said. He turned to Mike. "You in?"
Mike stared at the girl, then he slowly nodded. "Yeah, I guess so. But are we all going to be the same?"
Brad scowled. "Good point." He frowned, then his face lit up. "I'll tweak the displays for how you guys want, okay? That way, we'll all be different."
Mike and Eric quickly agreed. With grins of anticipation, the trio set about making the changes they desired.
**********
The bouncer watched cautiously as the three girls approached the house. All were stunning, and all were dressed in the same black outfit covering - barely - their feminine charms. There was something about these three girls, he thought to himself. Something almost ... magnetic. "Can I help you?" he asked as they approached.
Brad glanced at Eric. "We are here for the party," he answered in a rich alto voice tinged with an Eastern European accent.
The bouncer nodded vigorously. "Of course," he acknowledged as he moved to the side. "You can leave your case with me, if you don't mind. Security policy, you know."
Eric glanced at Brad, then handed the case to the bouncer. "We may need some things from it later," he said, his own voice soft and soprano. They also shed their shawls, leaving them with the case.
All three had similar dresses - simple black with very scoop necklines and moderate length. Though the skirts were tight around their thighs, they were slit to allow easy walking, and also to display shapely legs in the process. The hemlines were uneven, looking a bit ragged and befitting a horror movie. The differences among the trio started there. Unlike Brad's straight black hair, Eric's hair was long wavy brunette, and his breasts were a size smaller. Mike, the third in the group, had selected short auburn hair, and being drunk, he'd allowed Eric and Brad to talk him into truly stupendous knockers.
The three girls strutted into the party, aware that all eyes locked onto them the instant they entered the house. Within moments, several guys were offering them drinks.
As he sipped a drink, Eric started to feel funny. The guy he was talking to was having some kind of strange effect on Eric. He felt ... hungry. And in a strange way he'd never felt hunger before. When the guy suggested they slip away for a moment, Eric felt some instincts guiding him. He readily agreed, and the guy led Eric upstairs to a dark bedroom.
As the guy began to kiss Eric's neck and fondle his breasts, Eric felt himself getting powerfully aroused. At the same time, the hunger grew. Finally, he could resist the overwhelming urge no longer. He opened his mouth as if to kiss the guy's neck. Even as he felt the shock of what he was doing, he felt his jaw closing and the fangs in his mouth piercing the skin of the guys neck. A strange energy seemed to flow into Eric with the guy's blood, an energy which made him hotter than he'd ever felt. After drinking for a few seconds, he was uncontrollably horny, and he found himself tearing off his clothes to ravish the dazed guy.
In another room, Brad found himself sipping the lifeblood from another of the Phi Delta guys even as he rode him for sexual pleasure. When that one was spent, he found another, and then another. Each drink seemed to spur his passion to a new height, and at the same time, to increase his thirst, his need to drink. The cycle continued through guy after guy.
Down in the main hall, Mike cornered a guy. As the poor guy watched, stunned as if hypnotized, Mike bared his fangs and pierced the guy's neck. Another guy saw what appeared to be a lady vampire feeding, and chalked it up to the beer and a great costume. A second witness didn't - he grasped Mike's arm to stop Mike.
Mike spun, his teeth bared and long fangs exposed as he hissed viciously. He grasped the would-be rescuer, easily lifting him from his feet and tossing him like a rag doll. The guy crumpled in the corner, and Mike turned his attention back to his feast.
**********
Eric was the first to awaken. What a nightmare - going to a party as a vampire girl and actually feeding on the blood of the guys! He glanced around, and any relief at thinking it had been only a dream vanished. He was sprawled on the couch, and he was wearing the vampire costume he'd dreamed of. Further, another vampire girl was passed out in the chair, and a third lay flat on the floor.
Slowly, Eric struggled to his feet. Carefully, to avoid the pounding in his head, he walked to the bathroom. A muffled scream from Eric stirred Brad to life. Eric walked from the bathroom, his face absolutely white and his eyes wide. He glanced at Brad.
Brad looked at Eric. "What's wrong?" he finally asked, confused. His voice retained the Eastern European accent of the night before - even without his trying.
"This is ... real!" Eric said softly and slowly. "I thought it was a dream, but it's real!"
Brad looked at Eric, then he examined his own body. "Oh, shit!" he finally said softly. "It really did change us - entirely!"
"What are you talking about?"
Brad's eyes were wide with fear. "Do you ... remember drinking ... blood?" he asked slowly. The look on Eric's face was confirmation enough. "And feeling very ... horny when you did it?"
Eric glanced away, feeling his cheeks flushing at the faint memories trying to resurface. "What are you saying? That it changed us into _real_ vampires?"
Brad swallowed. "That's what I was thinking about when we changed last night. Not being girls in costume, but being real vampires!"
"But we can't be!" Eric protested. "I ... I saw myself in the mirror!"
Brad ran to the bathroom, then returned. "Maybe you're right," he said slowly. "When we change back, everything will be okay." He glanced around the room. "Where's the box?"
Eric glanced around the room, then looked, panic-stricken, at Brad. "Didn't you get it?"
Brad shook his head. "If I had it, would I be asking you for the stupid thing?"
As they talked, Mike struggled to regain consciousness. "I'm hungry," he finally said. Then, as if a light bulb had snapped on, he realized the sound that had come from his mouth. "Holy shit!" he exclaimed softly. "I'm a ... girl!" He glanced at the other two girls, then he took a deep breath. "Okay, let's see if I'm dreaming. I met a couple of guys at a party, we changed into vampire girls, and now we haven't changed back?"
Eric nodded slowly. "We might have lost the box."
"Are we ... real vampires?" Mike asked slowly.
Eric shook his head. "I don't think so," he answered. "At least not all the way. We can see our reflections."
Brad glanced around the room, his eyes settling on the sliver of sunlight on the carpet. "And if we were, the morning light would have killed us."
"But ... " Eric thought for a second. Things weren't making sense. Then he thought of eating. He opened his mouth - only to discover that his fangs were now extended. "We're some kind of partial vampires, it seems."
Brad nodded slowly. "So we've got to get that box," he announced.
**********
"What do you mean, it was taken away?" Brad hissed menacingly. The chapter president of the Phi Delta house, his neck bearing two mysterious bandaids, stood in the doorway looking very uncomfortable.
"We, um, didn't know if it was a bomb or something," the president said, feeling very awkward. "No one claimed it, and we couldn't open it to search it, so we called campus security. They called the city bomb squad."
Eric looked at Brad and Mike, then the trio ran back to Brad's car. They drove frantically to the police station, only to discover that, in accordance with procedure, the bomb squad had blown up the case to detonate any explosives which might have been inside. What wasn't said was that the case had _not_ exploded, and to protect the community, the feds had been called in to help the investigation.
It was the end of the day when the trio drove dejectedly back to Eric and Brad's apartment. "It looks like we're stuck like this," Eric finally observed, stating what all three knew but none wanted to voice.
"So what do we do?" Brad asked, sounding a little less than composed.
Mike shook his head. "And I'm getting hungry." Even as he spoke, he was caressing his enormous tits. All three knew what kind of hunger Mike was talking about.
"I know," Eric complained, glancing at his erect nipples. "Me, too."
"The Brass Rail?" Brad asked. All three knew it was a place where the guys hung out - mostly a sports bar. The selection should be pretty good. They drove silently through the early night, ignoring the stares of the guys in cars around them. They strode nervously into the bar, all of them feeling cheap at being girls but driven by needs deep within them and unable to stop. As the eyes turned to watch them, they felt the hunger burning within them, overpower their mental objections. Tonight, the new sisters of the night would satisfy their new sexual desires as they feasted again.
**********
D shook his head as he dropped the folder back on the table. "The imagination of some of these guys!" he asked rhetorically.
C finished pouring a cup of coffee, then sank into his chair. He glanced at the file. "Vampire chick fantasy. Kind of original, don't you think?"
D shook his head in disbelief. "Is that all you can say about it?"
C shrugged and took a sip of joe. "They're lucky. It appears to be a pseudu-vampirism." He took another sip. "What else does it say?"
D glanced down and opened the folder. "Three guys turned into vampire girls." He glanced up at C. "Of course, they aren't really true vampires." He looked back at the folder. "They do get a significant portion of their nourishment from blood - through their fangs. When they do eat real food, it's mostly very rare meat. And apparently, they have some kind of hypnotic pheromones that make it easy for them to catch their victims." He flipped a page. "They don't melt in the sun, but have very fair complexion, so I'm guessing they burn very easily. And they can be seen in a mirror and they can't turn into bats."
C laughed. "What did they expect - that the box was going to alter the laws of physics?" He took another sip. "What about their strength? Vampires in the movies are always strong."
D shuddered inwardly. "Well, they got that one right. One of them tossed a three-hundred pound bar bouncer through a solid door."
C nodded slowly. "Well, you'd better go check out a car. We're going to have to pay these ladies a visit."
D cringed. He knew his partner was right, but this was one visit he definitely did _not_ want to make.
FIN
MAU: The Typhoid Mary Syndrome
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ElrodW
Synopsis: A bitter but brilliant and attractive woman who feels her career has been sidetracked by men finds an MAU. She figures out a clever way to use the device to get back at some of the men who she feels wronged - or will wrong - her.
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Author's notes:
I've watched the evolution of MAU with mixed emotions. On the one hand, it's been quite popular for authors, which is rewarding to watch. On the other, well, one thing I really didn't want to create was a universe based on fantasy, and I hoped the rules would help contain that. Unfortunately, my fears have been realized as stories have strayed into the fantastic and beyond. I could be like Bill with SRU and consider anything not by me to be non-canon. I could close the universe. Both of those seemed inadequate, or unfair to those who chose to play by my rules. The final straw was the theory that the agency had become a dark X-files-like conspiratorial evil group, as opposed to the light-hearted MIB spoof, powerless to do much beyond simple investigation and offering some help to victims.
Consider this a creator's slap at the big red RESET button. Please, authors, respect the rules of the universe I created, or create your own. There has to be some scientific rationale behind a change, not some weird fantasy. The agency is not some conspiratorial evil group. Thank you.
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This story is copyright by the author. It is protected by licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Leslie Thomas sat in her chair silently fuming, her attitude in marked contrast to staff from her work companions. The group was loud and happy and celebratory. Despite her seething anger, Leslie forced herself to put on a fake smile to try to fit in.
Everyone was dressed in business-casual attire, and given that it was late afternoon, one could reasonably, and accurately, guess that they'd come from their office to the pub for their gathering. Leslie wore a modest skirt and blouse, which did little to camouflage her very curvy figure. The other woman wore slacks and a blouse. The five men all wore a mix of buttoned shirts and polo shirts; only one wore a tie. From appearances, the group was in their late twenties to mid-thirties, save for the balding slightly overweight man with the tie, who was in his mid-fifties.
The older man, Leslie's division manager, stood and raised his hand, gesturing for silence. "This has been a long time in coming," he began, "but today we mark a huge milestone in the company. Jerry's patent has been approved, and we got preliminary FDA approval to begin trials."
The group cheered loudly - except Leslie. Her eyes burned with an intense anger that was difficult to hide. "Thieving bastard!" she muttered to herself between clenched teeth.
Jerry Robbins, the recipient of the remarks and good wishes, stood and grinned, not even trying to look modest. "Thank you, thank you," he grinned. "It's great to be able to work with you all. I couldn't have done this without you."
Leslie wanted to gag. This was sounding more like an Oscar acceptance speech than she could stomach. And most of it was _her_ work!
Warren grinned as well. "There's one more bit of news," he said, leaving some questions as to what else he had to announce. He didn't wait long. "When this started, I started some paperwork, which I found out was approved yesterday. As of Monday, Jerry will be Senior Scientist and group lead."
The group cheered loudly as Jerry stood, grinning like a Cheshire cat and holding both arms up, fists pumping in celebration.
Leslie couldn't take it any longer. She pushed her chair back and stood. "Back in a minute."
The other woman glanced at her, then pushed her chair back also, quickly following Leslie toward the ladies' room.
"Son of a bitch!" Leslie swore as soon as the door was closed.
The other woman was surprised by the vehemence of her outburst. "What's wrong, Leslie?" she asked, confused.
The two women were as different as night and day. Stephanie Lewis, the group's administrative aide, was short and slightly chubby; Leslie was five foot nine and looked like an athlete - an incredibly endowed athlete, to be precise. Stephanie wore her blonde hair in a stylish short cut. Leslie's hair was long and brunette, though it was currently styled in a bun. Stephanie had girl-next-door looks; Leslie was very attractive, even with the librarian hair style and her plain glasses which sought - but failed - to downplay her looks.
Leslie's face was a mask of rage. "That son of a bitch stole my work! _My_ work! Every goddamn thing he did was _my_ work! And _he_ gets the credit, and the patent, and the promotion!"
Stephanie sighed. "I know," she said softly. "It's not right."
"That's an understatement," Leslie snarled. "It's sexism is what it is. You know what else? Last month, Warren hinted that I might really help my career if I slept with him?"
Stephanie's jaw dropped. "I didn't know that. I mean, everyone know's he a lecherous old bastard, but I didn't think he was _that_ bad!" She glanced around the ladies' room to be certain that she wouldn't be overheard. "Did you report him?"
"To whom?" Leslie asked facitiously. "HR? They're his friends. And there's no evidence, so it's a ‘he said, she said’. Who are they going to believe, especially when I look like ... some kind of sex-kitten?" She shook her head angrily. "Because of how I look, and how big my boobs are, no-one takes me seriously!"
Stephanie nodded slowly. "I see your point." She sighed. "Have you thought about getting a reduction?"
"Insurance won't cover it," Leslie countered. "And someday I want to have children and nurse them - if I can ever find a guy who treats me like a person and not like a pair of walking boobs. From what I've researched, sometimes reduction can cause problems with nursing, and with reduced sensitivity." She shook her head. "I don't want to take that chance." Leslie closed her eyes for a moment and sighed heavily. "I'm going home - before I say something I'll regret," she announced. "Or _do_ something - like kill Jerry and Warren."
The hatred in Leslie's voice unnerved Stephanie. "Um, everyone is going to ask why you're leaving."
"I don't care," Leslie replied angrily. Instantly, she regretted the harsh tone toward the one sympathetic ear in the group. "Tell them I'm not feeling well. Tell them - I don't know? The snacks made me sick? The salsa upset my stomach? Just something," she snarled.
This latest frustration, coupled with a long series of sexual harassments dating back to her high school days, all the years of being treated as nothing more than a sex object, the repeated incidents of losing work or awards or recognition to men in the group - all of it combined, and Jerry's promotion was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. Something inside Leslie snapped. The Rubicon had been crossed; her innermost conscious couldn't take any more.
Stephanie nodded sympathetically, unaware of the true extent of Leslie's psychic pain. "Okay," she agreed.
**********
Though it was barely six-thirty, the street was dark by the time Leslie pulled her car into her garage. She was still cursing - at Warren, at Jerry, at men in general. It just wasn't fair. She was twice the researcher as Jerry. Everyone knew it - except for Jerry and Warren.
As she unlocked the door into her townhouse, she noted that her garbage cans were still outside. She shook her head in frustration at yet another annoyance. It wasn't cold, but it was a bit windy, and with the cool air and the darkness, retrieving the garbage cans wasn't the first thing she wanted to do. She decided to get them in the morning. It wasn't like they were full, anyway. At least she wouldn't have to worry about dogs and cats and other critters getting into the garbage and making a mess.
As she stretched out on her sofa, clad in her robe, a glass of wine in her hand, Leslie started contemplating her options. She _could_ try to make a fuss through the company's HR and legal offices - which would lead to subtle but hidden retribution in the good-old-boys network. She could complain directly to the EEOC, which would probably have the same short-term result. She sipped her wine. She could just look for another job. Normally, she realized, that would be easy, but with the economy the way it was, jobs weren't exactly plentiful. And since Jerry had gotten credit for _her_ work, she didn't really have the type of star-performer record that would help her get another job. The last thing she wanted to do, but what she was starting to realize was her only viable option, was to shut up and live with her frustration until the economy was better.
A metallic crash outside her townhome stirred her from her self-pitying thoughts. Leslie pulled herself up from the sofa, shuffled to the window, and peered out into the darkness.
"Damn dogs," she snarled. "The garbage cans are empty!" she shouted to herself; any lingering animals wouldn't be able to hear her through the walls anyway. Not only was she still angry, but after a few glasses of wine, Leslie was a bit drunk. She sighed to herself. Now she was going to have to get the empty garbage cans back into her garage to stop the prowling animals from making a racket all night long.
She pulled on a jacket, slipped on her fuzzy slippers, and strode angrily out into the darkness.
"Oh, crap!" Leslie cried in frustration as she spied the toppled metal garbage cans. One was smashed, possibly beyond repair, and the other was knocked several feet from where it had stood, and badly dented. "What _else_ is going to go wrong today?" she asked in frustration. She sighed and stepped toward the errant can to retrieve it.
"Ouch!" Leslie hopped awkwardly on one foot as she held the other, rubbing the suddenly-sore spot where she'd kicked into something unexpected. "What the hell is this? Get Leslie Day?"
When the throbbing in her toes subsided some, she stood on both feet, then bent down to see what she'd tripped against. In the dim light, it was difficult to see more than the shadowy outline. "Hello," she muttered to herself. "What do we have here?" She reached down to the box, half-buried in her lawn, and pulled. Given the size of the box, she expected it to be heavy and difficult to extract. Instead, it was surprisingly light, and slid from the dirt as if it had been greased. She nearly fell over backwards. "Where the hell did this come from?" she asked as she pondered the metallic case. Realizing that she still had to get the cans inside, she set the strange box down and refocused her efforts on her first priority.
In short order, Leslie had straightened out the mess with her garbage and was sitting on her sofa, her wine glass refilled and the metal case on her coffee table. She took a sip of wine, put the glass on the table, and began to examine the box.
It was a curious thing, she decided quickly. About the size of a briefcase, it seemed to be made of seamless gray metal, and it was incredibly light weight. If it had smashed the garbage can, it certainly had sustained no damage to itself.
When she turned the box over again, she noticed the light etched symbols on one face. Arranged in rows, they seemed to be some type of lettering, but it wasn't anything she recognized. It certainly wasn't Cyrillic; Leslie had studied Russian for her foreign language requirement. And she was pretty certain it wasn't Arabic or any of the Asian character langages. She ran her fingers over the figures, wondering what they were and what they meant.
Quite unexpectedly, the strange little box started to grow. Silently, the seamless metal stretched as it enlarged itself. Leslie sat back suddenly in shock as the box continue to expand. When it reached a certain size, the growth stopped, and flipped itself off the coffee table, then resumed growing, stopping only when it was a little bigger than a telephone booth.
Leslie stared wide-eyed at the strange metal cabinet, her mouth hanging open in shock. Eventually, her curiosity overcame her sense of surprise and fear. She rose to her feet, and only then did she notice that the box, in its self-propelled acrobatics off the coffee table, hadn't even spilled her glass of wine. She picked it up and took another sip, as much because she felt thirsty as for the alcohol to steady her nerves.
Only one side of the box bore any markings - a plain black screen that looked vaguely like an i-Pad, a purple knob, and a raised red crystal that looked a three-toed giant bird print. Leslie touched the screen, hoping it was some type of user interface like an i-Pad. It wasn't; the box did nothing. She touched the red crystal, and the screen came to life.
Leslie leaned closer to peer at the scrolling symbols. To her, they looked like some type of instructions, but they were in the same unintelligible script as the symbols on the top of the box. Eventually, the display halted.
Leslie touched the red crystal again, hoping for more information. Instead, the screen blanked. After a few moments, much to her surprise, a shadowy figure began to coalesce on the display. As it solidified, Leslie realized it was a strange bird-creature, somewhat like a cross between an ostrich and a person. She stared at it in fascination, wondering if it were an alien creature that had made this strange device.
Eventually, reason penetrated Leslie's alcohol-impaired brain. She glanced at the red crystal, and realized that she'd been wondering if it were a bird-person race that had made the box. A new thought formed - did this device read thought patterns? It was time for an experiment.
The first thought was to imagine what her hated nemesis would look like if Jerry had the same career obstacles at work that she did. She got a wicked grin as she thought of Jerry, and his image appeared. Then the figure began to shift. At first, the changes were subtle, but then it became obvious as Jerry's chest swelled out and his waist narrowed. Below, the image of Jerry slowly changed to include wide feminine hips with a very rounded derriere.
Leslie stepped back, looking at her handiwork, and laughed aloud. The image she'd created of Jerry had enormous breasts, much larger than her own, a tiny wasp waist, and an unmistakeably round woman's hips and butt. To top it off, Jerry's hair was long and wavy and blonde.
Leslie took a drink of wine and laughed. "I'd love to see how _you_ deal with sexist comments looking like _that_!" she sneered. She touched the crystal again, and Jerry's shirt changed to a very low-cut blouse that revealed ample cleavage. She laughed again.
Leslie continued to experiment, this time with the image of the lecherous Warren. He got the same treatment, but with his balding head and portly belly gone, the look was even more radical - and pleasing to Leslie.
The function of the as-yet-untouched purple knob tugged at Leslie's curiosity. With the image of the mutated Warren still on the screen, she moved to the purple knob and gingerly reached out to it.
When half the side of the booth disappeared, Leslie jumped back in shock. One moment, the booth was intact, and the next, there was an opening, like a door, in the side.
Hesitantly, Leslie stepped back to the mysterious box and peered inside. It was plain, like the outside, save for the warm yellow light emanating from a panel in the ceiling, and another of the purple knobs. Out of curiosity, she stepped inside and slowly reached out to the other purple knob.
As soon as she stepped out of the box, after having been bathed by a sharp red light and feeling pinpricks of energy coursing through her, Leslie shuddered, wondering what had happened. She looked down at herself - and screamed.
Leslie's chest was significantly larger than before, which startled her. As she looked down, she noticed that the wisps of hair around her face were blonde, which was another shock. And when she lifted her hands toward her expanded boobs, she got a third surprise - her hands weren't fine and delicate. They were a man's hands. She screamed - and got her fourth surprise. It was a deep male voice that emanated from her.
Leslie ran to her bathroom, to see in the mirror what had happened to her. As soon as she flipped the lightswitch on, she stopped, and her eyes widened in horror.
Leslie was the image of the hyper-feminized Warren, with long wavy blonde hair, a tiny wasp waist, super-large boobs, and an exaggerated derriere. She screamed again, and heard once more Warren's voice echoing in her ears.
Leslie ran back to the alien box and stared at the image. She slowly realized that the device had transformed her into what she'd imagined on the display.
Frantically, she slapped the red crystal and began to imagine herself as _herself_, large breasts and sex-kitten figure and all. She concentrated on the body she was too familiar with, even if she was sometimes contemptuous of her assets and what they'd done to her career. That didn't matter at the moment. They were hers, her true body and self, not this feminized freak version of Warren. As soon as she got a satisfactory image, she grabbed the purple knob and dashed into the machine.
When it cycled, Leslie emerged as herself, albeit nude. A quick examination with her hands was confirmed by the image in the bathroom mirror. Leslie sighed with relief, then shivered in the cool air. She realized she was nude.
No sooner had she started toward her bedroom than she suddenly stopped mid-stride. Pieces were coming together in her mind as her rational brain considered all the facts she'd uncovered. When she went into the machine, she'd been wearing her robe and her underwear. After it changed her, she was nude. The machine had recreated the image _exactly_, down to the clothing. Maybe....
Leslie strode purposefully back to the machine. Her own nude image was still displayed. Leslie touched the red crystal again. Slowly, clothing formed on the image. She stepped inside, and emerged clothed in her original robe. Now, even more curious, she again experimented. This time, she changed her hair style, changed to a sultry evening gown with sexy high heels, and added extravagent jewelry to the image. Once more, the machine complied and she emerged exactly as she'd imagined.
Leslie stared at the jewelry in fascination. She wondered just _how_ precisely the machine worked. Suppose the diamonds in the bracelet were real. Based on her imagination, they'd be fabulously expensive. But how to test? She picked up her wine glass, still half-full, and scratched at the glass with the bracelet.
"Wow!" she muttered as she saw the tiny scratches in the glass. The diamonds _were_ real. Which meant...
Leslie removed the jewelry she was wearing, worked the red control and screen again, and stepped into the machine. She emerged, clothed back in her plain robe, but holding a small bag while even more jewelry dangled about her neck, her wrist, and from her ear lobes. She opened the bag and dumped a large quantity of sparkling precisely cut diamonds onto her coffee table. Leslie realized that she'd never have to face any of those assholes in the office ever again if she didn't want to; with the power of this machine, she had all the financial resources she could ever need. She laughed to herself, and the sound was eerie instead of joyful, as if it was the maniacal laughter of a very disturbed mind. Leslie grinned wickedly at the knowledge that she now had the resources to start her _own_ company, a place where _she'd_ be the boss, where none of the guys would dare treat her as a sex object. A place where _she_ could get the credit she'd earned through her work.
As she made yet another trip through the machine, amassing yet more diamonds and saphires and rubies, a nagging thought began to push its way forward from her subconscious. She still had the "killer bod", and guys were _always_ going to look at her as a sex object because of her figure.
Leslie sank onto the sofa, feeling the initial twinges of despair. Sure, she now had a fortune; by her guess, she had between forty and sixty million dollars' worth of precious gems spilling over her coffee table. Sure, she could start her own company. But she was still hampered by her looks. No matter how wealthy she was, guys were going to judge her by her sexy appearance, not by her own qualifications.
She finished her wine, then slogged to the kitchen to refill the glass. As she sat on the sofa, pondering, Leslie tried to imagine what she'd look like if she was a little less ... shapely. Maybe then she'd be treated as an intellectual equal. After downing half the wine from her glass, she stepped back to the machine. She imagined herself as she was, and the screen complied. Next, she reduced her breasts and her derriere. She stepped back and admired her handiwork - it was completely satisfactory to her. In the image, her double-D cups were reduced to B-cups, and she had less of an hourglass figure.
When she emerged, she immediately looked down, and was rewarded by seeing a lot less cleavage. She ran to the bathroom, and was initially delighted at the figure she saw. She was far less endowed, less curvy, more plain. She looked like a librarian. Plain, unsexy, normal. Delighted, she practically skipped back to the sofa, where she sat for several minutes, alternately sipping her wine and playing with the small mound of precious stones and expensive jewelry.
The depressive nature of alcohol, and the growing self-doubt of her new body, slowly ate at Leslie. She walked back to the mirror, and her expression slowly changed to rage. _This_ wasn't who she was! Despite the fact that it would reduce the incidence of sexual harassment, her anger grew, until she flung her wine glass at the mirror, shattering both. "It's not fair! I'm not the one who's wrong!" she screamed at her reflection.
Leslie ran from the bathroom crying, and after a quick stop at the machine to change, she ran, in her original body, to her bedroom and flung herself on her bed, sobbing hysterically.
In the middle of the night, Leslie emerged from her bedroom, her hair dissheveled from a very fitful sleep. She slumped on the sofa, staring bitterly at the machine. It was _so_ powerful, capable of creating for her untold wealth, capable of shaping her so as to reduce the liklihood of unwanted sexual advances, and yet helpless to punish the true offenders, the boorish men who thought they had a right to treat her like a sex toy.
No, Leslie thought, what the machine _should_ do, if there were cosmic justice, is punish the guilty, to make _them_ the ones on the receiving end of sexual inuendo and unwanted advances. The machine should punish the _men_. She shouldn't have to change because _she_ wasn't the one in the wrong. It was, she decided firmly, justice.
Slowly, an idea began to form in her head. She took a pad of paper, and began to make notes to herself. At a certain point, she stepped to the machine and recreated the image of the hyper-feminized Warren. Again, she made notes, then touched the pad.
For a long time, nothing happened. Leslie was starting to worry about whether the machine was powerful enough to comply with her request. For several long minutes, nothing happened. Then, just as she was about to give up, an image began to form on the screen. When it finished, Leslie touched the purple knob and stepped into the machine.
It was nearly the same Leslie that emerged. The only slight difference was that her breasts seemed much firmer. What the machine hadn't done, however, was more evident - Leslie's eyes burned with an almost evil determination, and her grin was positively unsettling in its sheer wickedness.
**********
Leslie took a sip of wine and stood up from the barstool on which she'd been perched. She wore a very slinky outfit, showing a valley of inviting cleavage above, and the slit skirt showing her shapely legs as she walked. Her hair was down and wavy, and she had her contacts in. With her carefully-applied makeup, the result was stunningly attractive and sexy.
Slowly, deliberately, with full awareness that many eyes were tracking her every move, she walked across the bar toward a man who she'd seen eyeing her.
The man's eyes widened as she neared.
"Hi," she purred in a sultry voice. "I couldn't help but notice that you were looking at me."
"It'd be hard _not_ to stare at such a beautiful woman," the man responded smoothly. His gaze alternated between her eyes and the vast valley of cleavage showing above her low-cut dress.
"Are you here all alone?" Leslie asked in a hopeful, sultry tone.
The man smiled. "I was," he replied. "Can I buy you something to drink, and we can sit here and ... talk."
Leslie slid onto an adjacent bar stool. "That would be very nice," she cooed. "I was feeling a bit lonely tonight."
The man didn't miss a beat. "How on earth could anyone let such a lovely lady get lonely?"
Leslie let one hand slide down onto the man's leg. She noted with an evil satisfaction that he squirmed at her motion. "I'll take a glass of white wine. For now. And maybe later, you can get me something else." She licked her lips seductively.
The man grinned. He was going to get far luckier than he'd ever imagined - and with a lady that was drop-dead-gorgeous. This was going to be a big night.
**********
"Hmm," the doctor repeated as he probed the man's chest. "This is ... unusual."
The man nodded. He was seated on the exam table in only his shorts, and he winced, red-faced, as the doctor pressed at the tiny sensitive mounds on his chest. "Tell me about it," the man confirmed.
The doctor finished his exam and indicated that the man should pull his shirt back on. He picked up the tablet PC and scanned the man's medical records. "Are you taking anything other than what's on here?" he asked. "Propecia, for example. Steroids?"
The man shook his head. "Nope."
"Anything else changed in your lifestyle? Any ... illicit ... substances?"
"No," the man answered sharply. "I've never ..."
The doctor cut him off with a shake of his head. "Gynecomastia, or male breast growth, can result from frequent use of marijuana, or steroids by body-builders. It also can be a side-effect of DHT-reducing drugs, such as those used to halt and reverse hair loss." He saw the surprised look on the man's face, and continued. "It's quite common - a lot more common than most people realize. Our job is to figure out what's causing your case."
The man shook his head. "What about _this_?" he said as he grabbed a clump of his four-inch long hair. "You're not going to believe this, but I had it cut two days ago."
The doctor frowned. "That doesn't make any sense." He looked at the chart again, shaking his head. "You say your waist is smaller, and your hips are larger?"
The man nodded glumly. "I'd say two inches less in my waist, and two inches more in my butt. My pants don't fit well any more."
The doctor sighed. "Well, let's get some lab work done, to see if there's anything abnormal with your hormones. That's a start to see what we're dealing with." This case was a total mystery to him.
**********
Warren looked up at the sound of the knock on his open door. "Ah, Leslie. What's up?"
Leslie leaned against the door. "I'd like a chance to talk about my career path," she said carefully. "I'm not sure it's going the way I was hoping."
Warren shrugged. "Come in and sit down."
Leslie shook her head. "I can't talk much right now. I just had a few seconds between sample runs. I thought I'd get on your calendar and we can talk later."
Warren looked at his computer monitor. He made a show of wincing. "My schedule doesn't look too good for the next three weeks," he said, feigning concern. "Can it wait?"
Leslie frowned. "I was hoping to discuss this sooner."
Warren sighed, then he made a show of 'coming up with an idea'. "Is it something we can talk outside of the office? Say, over lunch, or over drinks after work?"
Leslie felt a thrill building inside her. He was taking her bait. "Tonight isn't very good, but maybe after work tomorrow?" she offered.
Warren smiled, trying his best not to grin. "That'll work with my schedule. Five o'clock, at O'Malley's Tavern?"
Leslie pulled out her smart-phone and checked. "Yeah, that'll work." She put her phone away. "See you then."
As Leslie walked from Warren's office, she was oblivious to the shocked stare from Stephanie. She just smiled wickedly. "Two down," she said softly to herself.
**********
"You've _got_ to read this one!" D chortled as he read his computer monitor. He was laughing so hard he was near tears.
His younger partner, C, was also sitting back in his office, reading. "Can't be better than mine!" he retorted. "Get this - we're some kind of evil organization that uses the boxes for profit and kills those who find them!"
The older agent, D, laughed aloud. "Where do these people get these ridiculous ideas?"
"Too much X-files," C answered with a chuckle. "According to this, there was an internal civil war in the department, and the evil agents won!" He was nearly hysterical with laughter.
"As if anyone in the government could hide a conspiracy like that!" said D through his chortles of laughter, laughter so hard he was almost in tears.
"So what's your latest story find?" C asked, curious.
D looked at his monitor. "Get this - making humans into vampires."
C's eyes widened. "You mean, like the Slayer, and Twilight, and all that? Can't go out in the sun or they'll melt, super-human, can't be killed except by a wooden stake?" He shook his head in disbelief.
D laughed. "Yeah, just like that!"
"Next thing you know, we'll find a story where one of the devices turns some unsuspecting person into Merlin the Magician, complete with magical powers - or Harry Potter!" C roared. "Or some kind of flying bullet-proof superhero, like Superman or Wonder Woman!"
D grinned. "I'd like to see someone do Wonder Woman."
C shook his head, still laughing. "You're stuck on that seventies Wonder Woman show with, what's her name, Linda somebody?"
"Lynda Carter," D corrected. "And you've got to admit - she has fabulous boobs!" He glanced at his partner. "And I know you've got a thing for nice boobs!"
C frowned. "Getting kind of personal, aren't you?"
"Sorry. Anyway, while we're on the subject, tell Trish thanks for dinner. It was fabulous."
The frown faded. "I will. She loves having you come by."
"So when's she due?"
C grinned. "Six weeks."
D nodded. He decided to keep the rest of his comments to himself. He knew that his partner had a strong attraction to Asian women, and a strong attraction to large-breasted women. When they'd found the victim of a loan shark who'd been turned into a big-busted Asian prostitute, C couldn't help but be attracted. And D wasn't surprised - often, people who had changed accepted the permanence of their situations quickly. In this case, with C's personal help, Trish had come to love being a woman, so much so that _she_ proposed to C. The two were very happy together, and were expecting their first child.
"Hey, what's with the laughter?"
D and C looked up from their PCs at the interruption. "Hey, boss," C quickly replied. "What's up?"
"I _told_ you to quit calling me that," the woman standing in the doorway frowned. "You tell me what all the laugher is about," she finished her thought. "They can hear you three offices away."
"Just reading some of the stories that are going around the Internet like wildfire," D answered. "Can you believe some of the things people are writing about the devices?"
P nodded sadly. "It's making our lives difficult," she agreed. "I had to brief the National Security Agency yesterday about all of these ... rumors and stories. It's making our job harder trying to figure out what rumors are true and what are just someone's fantasies. One the one hand, with these kinds of wild stories getting out, people might be a little more fearful of the devices, and we might get one that's never been used. On the other, it might make people more ... adventurous." She pulled a folder from beneath her arm. "Speaking of changes, I've got something here that might need investigating."
D sighed. "Another case?"
P shook her head. "More than one. And they're very ... curious."
D took the folder - it was already quite thick. "Wish we could use the computers. It'd help tracking and data sharing."
P nodded. "But with all the cyber-spying going on, we are under orders that no case information can _ever_ go on a computer." She sighed. "Most of the security agencies' computers have been penetrated, and if it's a foreign agent we don't want them knowing _anything_ about what _we_ know about the devices."
"You know, we _could_ always try to get that smart Trek girl on our side. Between her and that cybernetic hive thing, they might be able to help. It certainly couldn't hurt," C suggested.
P nodded. "I'm not sure that I agree with you. I know the directorate says no. So we go on doing the best we can. Now put away the Internet stories and rumors and get on this case." She strode from the office.
"Someday, they're going to realize that that girl may be the best ally we've got," C muttered as he opened the file.
**********
C and D sat in their non-descript car outside the building. "Did you get a lab report?" C asked as he scanned the files.
D nodded. "The lab says there's no single agent that they know of that can do this. Some of it, there's no _way_ to do. No chemical, no drug, no pathogen."
C sighed. "That's what I figured. So we've got ..."
"Extreme gynecomastia - breast growth - in men. Loss of body fat around the waist, with extreme slimming. Distribution of fat around the hips toward female proportions. Loss of all body hair except the eyebrows and scalp, and that grows quite rapidly."
"You think this is caused by a device?"
D shook his head. "That's the part that doesn't make sense. You read the case info?"
"Yup."
"Twenty-five cases _reported_ so far. And the time frame is well over the known active period of a device."
C nodded grimly. "The only think I can think is that someone broke a device and it's still active."
"It would be nice to find one still working," D sighed. "Let's go talk to the guy."
The two agents climbed from the car and walked to a particular apartment. C knocked firmly on the door.
The door opened a tiny crack, and a pair of eyes peeked out of the darkness. "Can I help you?" a man's voice asked.
"We'd like to talk with you," C replied.
The man's eyes widened fearfully. "Go away," he said quickly.
D gave a quick glance at C. "It's about your ... condition."
"I ... don't know what you're talking about," the man stammered. "Go away."
"We _know_ about the things that happened to you," C countered. "We're here to ... investigate."
"Who are you? Are you ...?" There was panic in the man's voice now.
"We're not here to harm you. We only want to talk so we can help figure out what happened." C flashed an ID in front of the door.
The man sighed heavily. "Do you have a cure for me?" he finally asked hopefully.
"No," D answered, "not yet. But if you don't help us, we won't have any chance of finding one."
Both C and D could tell that the man was considering a variety of conflicting emotions and feelings. C glanced at D, wondering if they'd overplayed their hand.
Slowly, the door opened, and the two agents stepped into the darkened room.
"Sit down, if you'd like," the man offered. "I hope you'll excuse the darkness. It's just ... well, I don't like to be seen like ... this."
C and D walked in and sat on a well-worn sofa. "I think I understand," C affirmed. "I hope you'll understand that we would like to see the ... extent of your symptoms."
The guy slowly nodded. "I kind of figured that you would." He turned on the overhead light.
C and D struggled to control their shock. They'd seen a lot of different transformations caused by the devices, but this was unsettling to them - if it was indeed caused by one of the devices. The man had wavy blonde hair reaching to his mid-back. His chest was very large, with two extremely large, rounded mounds that had a very luscious feminine shape.
The man saw their stunned looks and sighed. "Yeah, I know. It's ...." He couldn't finish his thought. "It sucks." He lifted the bottom of his shirt up so the agents could see his waist. Inadvertently, he lifted it high enough to show his very large brown nipples as well.
His waist was tiny. There was no other word for it. If a woman thought a twenty-four inch waist was too big, she'd have been envious of this man's wasp-waist. D guessed it couldn't be more than eighteen to twenty inches.
Below the waist, more changes were evident. His rear was wider than it should have been, and rounded into a delicious feminine ass. If one looked between his neck and his thighs, the man's general shape was very feminine.
He let his shirt drop back down and flopped in a chair. "You want to talk? So talk."
C took out a notebook. "When did you first notice symptoms?"
"About two months ago," the man said. "I felt some tenderness in my chest, and it seemed a bit swollen behind my nipples."
C's and D's eyes shot up. Two months? This was a very fast-acting thing, whatever it was. C noticed that D was squirming nervously; like his partner, C was also afraid of what would happen if this were an airborne agent. He and C would end up looking like this man.
"Your hair is growing faster?" C asked.
The man snorted. "Faster is an understatement. Until it gets about this long, it grows about two to three inches a day! I get a haircut in the morning, and I look like a woman by the time I go to bed!"
"Are you still changing?"
The man shook his head. "Except for my hair still growing fast, I don't think so. Nothing has changed for the past week anyway."
"Does anyone else you know have these symptoms?"
The man shook his head. "Not that I know. Besides, if you were changing like this, would you tell your buddies?"
"Good point," D agreed.
"Any unusual foods or medications?" C continued.
The man shook his head. "The doc went through all of that. Nothing unusual. It just ... happened."
"You work in a chemical plant, right?"
"Used to," the man said bitterly. "You think I'm going to show up in the plant looking like this?" He shook his head. "I got the doc to sign for long-term medical leave."
D consulted his notebook. "The plant produces pretty conventional chemical products, so it doesn't look like that's a lead."
"Doc tested for everything at the plant. Besides, I don't think anyone at the plant is having the same ... thing that I've got," the man added.
"How about contact with other people? Before the symptoms began. Anything unusual? Any sexual contacts that were ... .out of the ordinary?"
The man shook his head. "Everything was normal until these," he glanced down, indicating his breasts, " started growing. And no, nothing unusual in my sex life."
"Do you have an active sex life?" D asked.
The guy nodded. "I _did_. Not any more. I doubt any woman would want to have anything to do with me _now_!" he said bitterly.
"And nothing ... unusual? No foreign women? No prostitutes?"
The man shook his head. "Nope. Just a normal life - go to the bar, shoot some pool, occasionally get lucky."
D sighed. So far, there was nothing in what the man said that was giving them any leads. "One more thing," D added. He pulled a photo from the folder and showed it to the man. "Have you ever seen anything like this?"
The man looked at the photo of the MAU, then he shook his head. "Nope. Never seen anything like it. What is it?"
D shrugged. "It's nothing, really. Not if you've never seen one."
The man shrugged, seeming to accept D's answer. "Okay."
C glanced at D, who nodded imperceptibly. There was nothing more they could discover here. "We'll be in touch. We have some more leads to run down." They stood and turned toward the door.
The man looked up from his chair, his eyes pleading. "You guys are going to cure me, right?"
C glanced nervously at D again. "We'll see what we can do. First, we have to figure out what's causing your problems." The two agents let themselves out and strode slowly to their car.
C leaned back, breathing slowly as if to compose himself. He noticed his partner was doing the same. "Was it just me, or was it kind of warm in there?"
D shook his head. "I was wondering the same thing." He winced and adjusted his trousers. "But I don't think it was the climate control."
C looked at him and nodded his agreement. "With all those other changes, he's probably emitting a ton of female pheromones, too!" He sighed. "Damn, this is a weird case."
**********
Leslie strolled confidently into the bar, her short skirt showing lots of sexy leg, and her top barely containing her breasts. Her makeup was more than she would have normally used, far more toward the slutty look. With confidence shining from her eyes, she looked like a woman on the prowl. She _knew_ that lots of men were eyeing her, mentally calculating their chances to score with her. She found that exciting.
Leslie eased herself to the bar and slid onto a stool. It didn't take long before one of the guys came up offering to buy her a drink. With a wicked grin, she accepted his drink and offer of company.
**********
C sighed as he read through the stack of reports. "This is like an epidemic," he complained. "Forty reported cases over the last four months. All have the same symptoms - rapid and extreme breast growth, rapid hair growth, even when the victim was partially bald. Thinning waistline, feminine shaped rear. Loss of body hair." He shook his head. "Anything but the tiny waist would be most men's ideal shape in a woman."
"This is our third trip down here, and we're not coming up with _anything_!" D pored over his notes yet again. "We've interviewed eight of them, and there's nothing in common. Nothing!" He slammed his notebook down. "Dammit!" he cursed. "This doesn't make any fucking sense! None of it does!"
C sighed. "Yeah, I know what you mean." He shook his head. "There _has_ to be an answer in here somewhere."
"This _can't_ be caused by a device," D snarled. He rose and started pacing around their hotel room. "The time span is too long."
D's junior partner nodded his agreement. "Let's go down the possibilities. The change is happening so slowly that it _can't_ be a device, agreed?"
D nodded. "That _seems_ reasonable."
"The Center for Disease Control has gone over the samples from the victims, and can't find anything chemical that would cause these types of changes."
D nodded again. "And our labs couldn't find anything, either. A chemical agent could cause the breast growth, but not to the extreme seen. Some pharmaceuticals _could_ cause hair growth, but not to the extreme seen. Nothing we know of could cause the loss of body hair. Nothing could cause the thinning of the waist. And, here's the kicker, there's nothing in known technology that could cause regeneration after a reduction surgery."
C sighed and nodded. "Those last two are the real sticking points. How the _hell_ do you do that, and in something that is spreading?"
"Maybe a malfunctioning device that had an area effect?" D speculated.
C shook his head. "The onset of symptoms is too varied, and we haven't found any common 'point of exposure'." He sighed. "So far, there's _nothing_ the victims have in common. But there _has_ to be!"
D agreed. "Based on the reactions - depression, one suicide, shame, withdrawing from public interactions - we can be pretty sure that these guys aren't doing this on their own."
C looked at his notes again. "Their blood chemistry is normal; normal male hormone levels, no elevated female hormones, no symptoms of any infection - it's all normal."
"And if there _were_ any female hormones being introduced, it _couldn't_ cause some of the symptoms."
C sighed. "Agreed. There's nothing that makes this our case. So why is P keeping us on this?"
D shook his head. "Maybe she's still pissed that we asked that Trekkie chick to help with the data correlation on this."
C nodded. "That's probably it. I wish she _would_ have helped. It beats trying to sort through all the data manually." He sighed. I've got the feeling that we're going to need her help someday, but if we treat her like P and the directorate expect, we're going to make an enemy when we could use a friend."
"Thinking about _that_ isn't going to help us with _this_ case." He stood, picked up his coffee cup, and walked to the window of the hotel room, staring outside as he sipped his coffee.
C leaned back and stretched. So far, it had been a long morning - two interviews and this long discussion about what they hadn't found. "It's ... weird. The combination is...." He shook his head.
"If you wanted to make someone more feminine looking, you couldn't design a more perfect way to do it," D commented as he watched a woman walking to her car in the parking lot below their window.
C's eyes widened. "Design...." His mouth hung open for a minute as his mind raced. "That's it!"
D was confused. "What?"
"Don't you get it? If you wanted to be more feminine, like transsexuals, then you'd dream of having something like this!"
D shook his head. "Doesn't fly. Maybe someone _could_ put together some hyper-hormones or stuff like that, but these guys didn't _want_ to be changed! Besides, some super-hormones couldn't do _all_ of this. "
C's face fell. "Good point."
"Besides, if someone did that, wouldn't it take a lot longer? And wouldn't it also affect women?" D shook his head. "Unless someone is giving this only to men? I can't imagine that it's a pathogen. Any kind of communicable disease would affect women, too, and it would spread much faster."
"Then it _has_ to be something that's spread slowly, to men only. Like an STD! Some kind of mutant STD?" C's jaw dropped open, as if a light bulb had suddenly illuminated in his brain. He dropped his folder and pulled out his cell phone. Frantically, he punched in some numbers.
D watched him, wondering what his partner had suddenly found exciting. "What ..."
C gestured for him to shut up. "S? Yeah, it's me. Listen, I need you to find a number for me from my desk. Walker. Dr. Mort Walker." He paused. "Yeah, I'll wait." Another pause, this one longer. "Okay, shoot." He scribbled some numbers on his notepad. "Great, thanks."
"What the heck are you thinking?" D asked, curious about the sudden phone call.
"You might have said the key word," C answered. "Disease. What if this is a residual of someone's change, a disease that causes these changes? What if someone accidentally created a new disease by carelessly using one of the devices?"
D felt the blood drain from his face. If that _were_ the case, it would mark a very dangerous escalation in the known capabilities of the devices. "That might explain why P won't let this one go."
C let his fingers dance over his cell phone and then put it up to his ear. "Hello, Mort? It's me - Sidney." He paused a bit, while D's eyebrows rose. "No, I'm not working on that anymore. I'm working for the government." Another pause. "Look, it's a long story. I need to ask a favor." Pause. "Okay, it's more than a favor. I need some serious help with a problem we've got. I'll put you on retainer so you can get paid, too." Pause. "Yeah, it's _that_ serious. I want you to get your butt on a plane and get down here." He rattled off their city and hotel. "No, not tomorrow. If there's an afternoon flight or a red-eye tonight, take it." Pause. "No, don't bother packing. We'll cover things on the expense account when you get here. Okay. See you." C hung up the phone.
"Okay, you're going to need to explain..." D started.
C cut him off. "Dr. Mort Walker. He was one of my professors while I was working on my Masters' degree. Wiz in molecular biology."
D nodded grimly. "Okay, that part is good. But ..."
C shook his head. "He's been a consultant for _top_ agencies, with a higher level of clearance than you or I have. He's good. Very good. And he's on our approved consultant list." He shook his head, feeling a shiver course down his spine. "I always hoped I'd never have to call him."
**********
"Look, we've got time to get one more visit before we have to meet your professor, right?" D pleaded.
C sighed. "Call me a pessimist in my old age, but I don't see what one more interview is going to get us." He shivered. "Besides, I'm getting really creeped out by getting ... aroused by these guys. It's ... weird."
D nodded. "Yeah, I know what you're saying."
"Okay, pick one. Let's get it over with."
D started to look through his files to find a candidate. "This guy looks like a good candidate. Warren Knight. Address is ... " He halted and frowned. "Wait a second. This is ..." He flipped to another file. "These two guys have the same work address. And I'm sure ..." He flipped some more. "Bingo! Three at the same work address." He paled. "It's a biotech firm."
"A common thread, maybe?" C speculated. "You know how quickly we could have found that if we could use our computers for something besides surfing the web and playing games," he added bitterly.
D sighed. "Yeah, I know. Damned hackers!"
A few minutes later, the two agents walked into the reception area of Warren's company. Stephanie Lewis looked up at the agents. "Good morning, gentlemen," she said with a smile. "May I help you?" She realized the two were wearing black suits, white shirts, and black ties. She swallowed nervously; she wasn't used to very formal unannounced visitors to the company.
"We're here to see Mr. Knight," C announced.
Stephanie checked her computer. "I don't' show any appointments," she said. "I'm afraid he's not available at the moment."
"He's available," D said. "And he _will_ see us."
Stephanie frowned. "I'm afraid you can't see him without an appointment."
C flashed his badge. "We _will_ see him. Now."
Stephanie's eyes widened. She wasn't used to federal agents flashing badges and demanding access. "Uh..." she stammered. "I'll have to clear it ..."
D shook his head. "No, ma'am," he said. "We'll go talk to Mr. Knight, and you will _not_ call security."
C nodded. "Do you know the penalty for obstructing a federal investigation, young lady?" C asked evenly.
Stephanie swallowed - hard. This was not what she'd expected; her day had started out so nicely. Slowly, she realized that she had little choice, and showed the two men to the door of Mr. Knight's office.
As they walked in, Mr. Knight called out from his chair, which was turned so the back was toward the door. "Steph, I don't want any visitors."
"Mr. Knight," C countered, "we're not your secretary. We're agents, and we're here to talk to you."
C and D saw the chair move a bit more upright, a sign that Mr. Knight reacted to their presence.
"I don't want to talk to anyone," Warren Knight said firmly.
"Would you like me to describe your changes?" D asked evenly.
Slowly, the chair turned. C and D had seen eight cases already, so they weren't surprised. He had the same symptoms - long hair and very large breasts; his waist and hips were still unseen behind the table.
C's eyebrow rose when he saw that Warren was wearing a woman's blouse with darts to allow for breasts, and under that, it appeared that he was wearing a bra. His hair hung down behind him; C suspected it was just as long as the other cases.
The conversation was the same as the previous eight. The symptoms started a few months ago, the changes ran their course, and then stopped, leaving Warren Knight looking like a hyper-feminized freak.
"So, based on your reactions," Warren said in a weary voice, "I assume that you're not surprised by what's happened to me?"
D nodded slowly. "We've seen other cases."
"Sit down, gentlemen," Warren said politely as he gestured toward some chairs opposite his desk.
"From the reports I've gotten, this has affected three or four men in your company?" C asked as the two agents sat.
Warren nodded, a glum expression on his face. "I lost my chief researcher and two other guys to this. And so far, nobody can tell me anything about what caused it or whether there's a cure." He looked at the agents with an eyebrow raised, as if asking them to tell him that they had a cure.
D noticed his expression. "We're still working on the "what causes it" problem. The cure ..." He shook his head. "We don't have one."
Warren's expression fell. "That's kind of what I figured, but I had to ask."
When they finished talking to Warren Knight, C and D felt no closer to answers than when they'd started. The only thing they'd discovered is that the biotech firm _was_ working on new genetically-engineered therapies, and that the CDC had already talked to them and gotten the technical data.
**********
Leslie strolled confidently through the park, her short skirt displaying as much leg as was legal, while her scoop-necked blouse showed her inviting valley of cleavage. As she strolled, she was aware of guys eyeing her. Before, it would have angered her. Now, it felt powerful.
She sat casually on a park bench, crossing her legs slowly. Every single move she made was coldly calculated to maximize sex appeal.
It wasn't long before a guy jogging in the park made a lame excuse to stop and rest, and to chat with her. From the way he kept staring at her chest, Leslie _knew_ he was a lecherous bastard. He deserved what he was going to get.
She dropped a few casual but suggestive hints, knowing that the guy would pick up on them. Not long after, they both rose from the bench, and with Leslie hanging on the guy's arm, strolled from the park toward an evening of dinner and 'fun'.
**********
"Professor Walker, this is my partner," C said as made the introduction. "We just call him D."
Professor Walker started. "That sounds kind of ... conspiratorial." Then a huge grin crept over his face. "Could be quite fun! But I have to insist you call me Mort," he added. "I'm not one for formality." Mort turned and glanced at C, looking over the top of his glasses in a somewhat reproving gesture. "You know that."
D quickly scanned Dr. Walker. He was short - perhaps five foot six, a little portly, with gray hair that came with his sixty-eight years of age. His eyes burned with an energy that gave away his passion for his work. He wasn't quite the stereotypical professor that D had imagined. "Mort, you probably want to start reviewing the case files."
"What are we going to do? Interview more victims?" C asked, puzzled.
D shook his head. "No. I'd like you to stay with the professor. I'm going to take the secretary of the biotech company out for lunch. There's something going on there that Mr. Knight wasn't telling us."
**********
"Well, did you find anything?" D asked as he came into the hotel room, where Mort and C were looking over the case files.
Mort glanced up, peering over his glasses as was his habit. "Nothing that makes sense."
"How about your little errand?" C asked. "Did you turn up anything?"
D slumped into a chair. "Maybe. It turns out that there were rumors that three of the men in the company, including our Mr. Knight, had affairs before their symptoms started."
C shook his head, frowning. "That's not much to go on. That applies to a lot of men."
D shrugged. "Have you found a better lead?"
Mort looked up at D, peering over his glasses again. "Are you suggesting that this might be a disease organism that's transmitted sexually?" He sounded dubious of D's comment.
"Have you found a better theory?" D asked defensively. "We've been chasing this for almost three months, and there aren't _any_ common threads. This _might_ be one."
Mort stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Are you suggesting a new pathogen that's spreading this?" He shook his head. "There's no _way_ we could create a pathogen that could do all of this! Targeted hair growth and hair loss, mammary growth far in excess of genetic potential, reshaping of waist and hips to feminine proportions? And regeneration capabilities of the breasts if the victim has a reduction?"
"I take it you don't think it would be possible to engineer a virus to do all of this?" D asked.
Mort sighed as he leaned back and took a sip of tea. "Some of this, yeah, we could do it - in ten or fifteen years! I mean, it might be feasible to make a body react to testosterone as if it's estrogen, and thus cause male breast growth, but not to the extremes seen in the case reports. Hair growth? Sure, we could maybe make the hair follicles more active, but not selectively. And some of the symptoms, like regeneration?" He shook his head. "I could only _imagine_ creating an organism that would cause that!"
C and D winced simultaneously, and Mort noticed. "What?"
D glanced at C and got a confirming nod. "How much do you know about what we do?" he asked.
Mort frowned. "I take it you guys don't work with the CDC?"
D shook his head. "This is highly classified, but we checked, and you have the clearance for it." He reached in a folder and pulled out a picture - a clear color photograph of a dull gray metal attache case. "We investigate ... unusual changes in people. Changes caused by this type of device."
Mort took the picture and examined it. "This looks like some type of metal attache case."
"It's not. Believe me, it's far more than a simple metal box. We believe it's an alien device that has the power to ... alter people."
"Alter?" Mort's eyebrows raised. "As in ...?"
"As far as we know, the device has the ability to be programmed by mental imagery, and then to rearrange matter into that image."
"Which could cause some of the changes..."
D shook his head. "Except that the devices deactivate after about four days of use. The spread is following a pattern that's way beyond the known time limit of the devices."
"If someone accidentally created a new pathogen," Mort speculated, "then it _could_ have been caused by one of your devices."
"How would it spread, though?" D asked simply.
Mort shrugged. " Airborne, body fluids, STD - anything is in the realm of possibility. But I really think it's sexually transmitted."
D's eyebrows raised. "Why?"
Mort smiled. "Because the spread is slow. If it were an airborne pathogen, it would have spread very widely, and there would be a shortage of large bras."
**********
The bar was mostly quiet; Mort enjoyed the tranquility as he sipped his beer. He was disturbed by the implications of the cases he'd been studying all day, and by the information about the alien devices that C and D had shared with him. A break was definitely in order.
He watched a woman saunter confidently into the bar. She came to the bar, paused to look around, and sat down on a barstool. The woman wore a short dress with a low-cut top, showing both her long sexy legs and a vast valley of cleavage. There was an air about her, a calm certainty of purpose, that seemed out of place. She seemed to be on a mission rather than here to relax.
Mort watched, knowing that he'd seen her before. His brain shifted into high gear as he took another sip of his beer. The woman's identity was a known quantity, hidden somewhere in the storehouse of other information in his brain.
The woman noticed him staring. Instead of frowning, she smiled, licked her lips seductively, and strode to him. "I noticed you were looking at me," she purred.
Mort nodded slowly. "I was trying to figure out where I'd seen you before," he answered.
The woman laughed. "That's a new line."
The answer slowly dawned on Mort. He simply smiled. "I was pretty sure, but now I know."
The woman's confident air vaporized. "Know what?"
"I know who you are." He watched the woman's shocked expression. "The surprise is that _you_ don't recognize _me_! I have to say that I'm disappointed, Leslie."
Leslie's jaw dropped as her eyes widened in surprise. "How ... how do you know who I am? Who _are_ you?"
"Ah, I thought my classes were more memorable," Mort clucked. "I didn't think _any_ of my grad students would ever forget me!"
Leslie looked again. "Professor Walker?" she stammered. "It's been ...." She shook her head in disbelief. "What are you doing here? Did you retire? Are you attending a conference?"
Mort smiled and shook his head. "No, my dear girl. I'm in town ... doing a favor for another of my old students."
"Oh."
"It's nice to see you again, too," Mort added with a touch of sarcasm in his voice.
Leslie was taken aback. "I'm sorry," she stammered. "It's just ... I wasn't expecting to see you." Her air of confidence had completely vanished.
Mort shrugged. "It's not every day that a person's old professor drops by, especially after, what, ten or twelve years?"
Leslie tried to smile. "It's been thirteen years," she acknowledged. "I'd almost forgotten."
Mort looked disappointed. "Forgotten? Me? How could that _ever_ happen? I tried to make the experience very _memorable_ for my grad students!"
Leslie laughed. "Oh, believe me, you succeeded. How could I ever forget your constant hectoring over my slightest mistakes?"
"It wasn't personal," Mort admitted with a sly grin. "It's in the secret blood oath professors take - we are sworn to make the lives of grad students miserable! So, what have you been up to? The last I knew, you were a researcher at a biotech firm here in town."
Leslie's features clouded. "I ... had to quit."
"Oh?"
"Let's just say that other people were taking credit for my work." Her words seethed with anger and resentment.
"I know what that's like," Mort admitted sympathetically. "Unfortunately, it's too common, both in universities and in industry."
"Thanks for being so understanding," Leslie admitted softly. "It doesn't make it suck any less, but at least you know what it feels like."
"You know, I really wanted you to stay and work on your doctorate." Mort changed the subject. "You were one of my best students."
Leslie laughed, a hollow sound. "Maybe I should have," she admitted. "Things might have turned out differently."
"How about we sit here, have a few drinks, and reminisce about the fun times?" Mort suggested.
Leslie's laugh was genuine this time. "Like when you were lord and master, and I was a naive subservient grad student?" She paused for a moment, a wistful look in her eyes. "You know, those times were a lot of fun. Tough, but still fun." The laugh returned. "You had a reputation as being one of the toughest professors on campus. I was scared to death when I started with you."
**********
C met D in the hotel lobby. It was late, and both were tired, but from the expression on C's face, D knew he'd found something. He also knew he'd have to talk to his partner - again - about keeping a "poker face".
"Okay, what did you find?" D asked before C could start.
C was disappointed that he didn't get to spring his news. "I think I found a common thread. Of the five guys I talked to, four described one of their encounters that seemed to match pretty well."
D took out his notebook. "Let me guess. Tall. Five foot eight or nine. Long brunette hair. Very curvy figure. Also very confident of herself, and a willing partner?"
C frowned. "Yeah, that sounds familiar."
"I found out one other thing."
"Oh?"
"It may be the woman from the biotech firm that left, just a little before the symptoms started," D continued.
"Interesting," C commented dryly. "Do you suppose they're up to something they didn't tell us about?"
"Maybe," D observed, "but not likely. Mort has gone through all their data and projects, and he's convinced they're clean. But there is one interesting fact that the secretary told me."
"Go on."
"It seems that the rumors of affairs at the company all centered on one ex-employee."
C's eyes narrowed as he frowned. "Don't tell me - five foot nine, long brunette hair, rather well built?"
D nodded silently.
"Let's go talk to Mort. I think we've got a solid lead on our "Typhoid Mary"," C said.
**********
There was no answer to the knock on Mort's door. C grimaced, while D knocked again, louder.
"Just a minute," came a muffled reply from behind the door.
In moments, the door opened a crack, and Mort stood, peering through the opening, clad in a robe. "What?" he asked bluntly.
"We think we may have found the lead," D said simply.
Mort's eyes widened, then he nodded. "Just a second." The door closed again, and there was a bit of commotion behind it, then Mort opened the door fully. "Come in, come in," he insisted. He led the two agents to the sofa in his suite, while he slumped into a large overstuffed chair.
As he sat, C noted that Mort's hair was dissheveled, and he was a bit sweaty.
"So," Mort continued, his eyes dancing with eagerness, "you say you think you found the vector? A "Typhoid Mary" single common contact?"
D nodded. "Both C and I interviewed several of the victims. After a few, we started noticing a common thread, a common partner that the men had had sex with."
"Aha!" Mort gloated. "I _knew_ it was probably sexually transmitted!"
"C took notes. I got a picture from the biotech company's website, and two of the men I spoke with confirmed that it was the same woman they'd encountered."
"Good! Now we'll need to get samples to see if we can isolate the pathogen." He seemed gleeful to be helping solve the mystery. "Let's see."
D pulled out his smartphone and called up the picture he'd saved. "We _think_ this is her."
Mort's mouth dropped open. "Leslie?" he asked, stunned.
It was D's turn to have his mouth drop in stunned surprise. "You know her?"
The sound of the bedroom door opening stunned C and D. They turned quickly.
"Yes," Leslie said simply. "We know each other." Like Mort, she was clad in only a hotel bathrobe. Her generous cleavage made a deep vee in the neckline of the robe. "He was my thesis advisor." She glided easily across the room and eased down onto the chair on Mort's lap, her head leaning on his shoulders and she wrapped her hands around one arm.
"Oh, shit!" Mort said softly. "What have I done?"
Leslie stood looking at Mort with adoring eyes, wondering what he was babbling about. "What are you talking about?"
"She's the carrier," D said simply.
Mort looked up, then he shook his head. "She _can't_ be! My students wouldn't do something like that!
"What are you guys talking about?" Leslie asked, but her tone was getting an edge. "Carrier?" She sat a bit more upright, her expression less adoring and more suspicious of the two intruders.
"Oh, shit!" Mort said over and over. "What have I done?"
C looked at Leslie. "If she's the carrier, you're infected."
Mort was shaking his head in denial. "She _can't_ be! I taught my students better ethics than that! You have to be mistaken!"
D shook his head grimly. "I don't think so." He pulled out his smart-phone and called up a picture, showing it to Leslie. "You used one of these, didn't you?" His words were less a question than a statement of fact.
Leslie's eyes narrowed, and her lip trembled for a moment. "I _had_ to!" she hissed angrily. "They _stole_ my work, my ideas, my promotions and raises! They treated me like I was just a pair of tits, and they got away with it - all because I'm a woman!"
C shot a quick sideways glance at D; Leslie sounded irrational, possibly even dangerous. "There are ways to see justice done - without resorting to bioterror," he said evenly.
D caught his partner's glance, and knew what he was up to. C was baiting her, trying to distract her. D nodded silently and slipped his hand into his pocket, fingering the 'device' he'd acquired from the head office.
"You decided to be judge, jury, and executioner, didn't' you?" C continued. "You decided to take it upon yourself to design and extract revenge, didn't you?"
Leslie practically leapt off Mort's lap and drew herself up to full height, leaning a bit forward as she advanced on C. "They _deserved_ what they got! They needed to know what it's like, so they can learn their lesson!"
As Leslie passed D, stalking toward the retreating agent C, D slipped behind her and slapped the device in his palm against her arm.
"Ow!" Leslie cried as she spun toward D. "What did you ...?" Her eyes glazed into a confused stare, and her voice faded as she tottered uneasily and then crumpled to the floor unconscious.
D looked admiringly at the palm-tranquilizer injector in his hand, then he slid it back into his pocket. "Handy," he observed dryly.
Mort sat in the chair, stunned by the spectacle he'd just observed. "What have I done?" he mumbled to himself. He looked down at Leslie, then involuntarily glanced down at his own chest. "What have I done? How could she have turned so ... irrational?"
C shook his head. "It wasn't your doing. Something inside her snapped. She lost it."
"So now what?" Mort asked softly, looking down at Leslie, his eyes filled with pity for the deranged girl.
D shook his head. "She's going to have to be isolated. We can't let her loose - not with the bug she's carrying."
"But ... isn't that cruel?" Mort asked cautiously. It was clear that he was very fond of Leslie, probably starting from way back when she was his graduate student.
"Compared to the 40 or more cases of men who now have large breasts? I don't think any of _them_ would say it's cruel," D replied.
C nodded his agreement. "At least two of the men who caught the bug are bisexual. I suspect we're going to see a plague of big tits in the gay and bi community _very_ soon."
Mort sighed. "At least from the pattern we've seen, it doesn't appear to be transmissible from men to women." He shook his head. "And now I've got it."
"Probably."
Mort glanced down again. "I suppose I'm going to have to get used to wearing a bra, aren't I?" His attempt at humor fell flat. "Serves me right for being naive about Leslie, though, doesn't it."
"So what do _you_ do?" D asked.
Mort sighed. "I suppose I'll retire," he said softly. "I doubt I could be an effective teacher once I have an exaggerated female figure. It'd be hard to be taken seriously."
"You could go to work for the agency," C noted. "In the short-term, at least. Someone's going to have to try to develop a vaccine."
"You think your boss would go for that?"
D nodded. "We have enough ... resources," he said confidently.
"What about Leslie? Is she just going to ... disappear?" Mort sounded fearful for the future of his student.
C shook his head. "Contrary to some popular Internet legends, we don't operate that way. Until we get her 'neutralized', she'll have to be confined. Probably a minimum-security prison or such."
Mort dropped his head, nodding slightly. "I understand," he acknowledged. "She's a threat. But that's not much of a life."
"What else are we supposed to do with her?"
Mort glanced at the two agents. "Could you leave her in my care? She's a brilliant researcher, and she'd be invaluable in trying to find a cure."
D glanced at C, a worried expression on his face. "That's a decision way above our level," he replied. "But if you think you can work with her, and control her, I'll ask." He dug out his cell phone.
While D argued with the boss, C and Mort lifted Leslie gently to the sofa. In a few minutes, before D had finished his call, she began to stir.
Leslie looked up, feeling confused, until she saw Mort. Her expression softened momentarily, and then she saw C. Anger clouded her face as she tried to bolt upright.
Mort sat beside her and held her shoulders gently. "Easy," he said soothingly. "These guys aren't the enemy."
Leslie stared at C, then back to Mort. "But ... they ...." She turned to C, confused. "What did you do to me?"
"Just kept you from hurting yourself," C lied.
Mort continued, "Can I talk to Leslie in private?" he asked.
C nodded, turned, and left the room.
Once he was gone, Mort continued. "I'd like you to help me with a project."
"What kind of project?"
"I need to find a vaccine to protect against the organism you created," Mort explained simply.
"You want me to help?" Leslie asked, incredulous. Her eyes widened in surprise. "Did we ...?" Her hands lifted to her open mouth. "Oh, my god, oh my god!" she started exclaiming softly. "I didn't mean to do it to you!" she babbled as tears started streaming from her eyes. "Not you!" she cried. "You're the only man who ever treated me like I was a peer, and now look what I've done to you!" She buried her face in Mort's shoulders.
Mort gently patted her head. "You didn't mean to," he said softly. "You can make it up to me by helping me find a vaccine." He smiled. "Among other things. Since I'm already infected, you won't have to worry about _that_ any more."
Leslie lifted her head and stared at Mort. "Are you serious? You _really_ want me to help you? After what I've done?"
Mort nodded. "I always found your company very pleasant."
"But..."
Mort got a mischievous grin. "Besides, if you ever harbored any lesbian fantasies, you'll soon have plenty of opportunity to play with all the breasts you can handle! That is, if you enjoy my company as much as I do yours."
Leslie stared at him for a moment, then she kissed Mort fully and passionately, in a way she'd never kissed a man before. He was accepting of her, faults and all, and she found that incredibly nice and powerfully sexy.
**********
"Now what?" D asked as he closed the car door.
C turned the key and started the engine. "Mort will take her to the safe-house tomorrow. P has already started setting up a lab for them."
"He's head over heels for her,"
C nodded. "Yeah. That _should_ help her. Between his love and the psychologist we've got lined up for her, she might recover."
"Let's get to the airport. I'm ready to get back to a normal case."
C laughed. "Is there anything we do that strikes you as even remotely normal?"
"Good point. At least this one wasn't as bad as it could have been."
C frowned. "I don't follow."
D's features got somber. "Imagine if someone made themselves a carrier of a virus like Ebola that was airborne. Image what that would have been like." He paused for effect. "Yeah, it could have been a _lot_ worse."
**********
FIN
MAU: The Ultimate Costume
Author:
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Permission:
ElrodW
Synopsis: A couple are planning to go to a Halloween party, but can't decide on a costume. At the last minute, the host offers to let them use his newest 'toy', an alien device that can change people. The two put their heads together and come up with a very unique 'costume'.
This is a modified version of a story I posted years ago.
**********************************************************************
This story is copyright by the author. It is protected by licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Jeff turned the last page of the catalog, then set it on the end table and sighed. He glanced across the room at his girlfriend, Holly, who was similarly looking through a catalog. "Nothing," he reported with disgust when Holly glanced up at him.
Holly frowned. "There's _got_ to be something," she protested. "Vampires?"
"Done it," Jeff snorted. "Besides, it's not very original."
"How about Frankenstein and the Bride?" Holly asked hopefully as she scanned a page.
"Three years ago, remember?"
"Oh, yeah. I forgot." She flipped a couple of pages, and her face lit up. "What about this?" she asked excitedly, holding up the catalog for Jeff to see. "Pirates?"
Jeff shook his head. "Dan and Angela are going as pirates," he sighed. "And Marty, and John."
"Star Wars?" Holly offered hopefully.
Jeff shook his head. "Nope," he said with finality. "Remember, Fred invited some of the guys from the 501st." The 501st was a Star Wars fan group that made fantastic replica costumes from the movies. Jeff knew that anything he and Holly could do would pale in comparison to the near-professional costumes of the 501st.
Jeff leaned back on the sofa, stretching his arms and legs. Tall and muscular, Jeff prided himself on his well-toned body. With his reddish-brown hair, beard, and mustache, he bore more than a little resemblance to a Norse or Germanic warrior of old.
The resemblance struck Holly quite suddenly. Unlike Jeff, she was petite - about five foot four - and lusciously slender. "What about Viking warriors?" she offered.
Jeff scratched his beard for a moment. "It might work. But it's not that elaborate. It'd be hard to win."
Holly sighed. Jeff was taking this costume contest much too seriously, just like he did every year. "Well, I'm out of ideas. And we're almost out of time."
Jeff sighed and picked up his beer bottle. "I know."
Holly glanced at Jeff. "You need another one?" she asked when she saw the bottle was nearly empty.
"Yeah," Jeff grunted. "Thanks, sweetie."
Holly stood in her usual graceful manner; Jeff watched her every move, amazed and delighted that she could make a simple stroll across the kitchen into an art form. He knew he was lucky to have her, and he tried to make sure she knew how he felt. At the sound of his wolf whistle, she added a little extra wiggle to her butt.
Just as she bent over to open the refrigerator door, her round sexy rear pointed deliberately at Jeff, the phone rang. For a moment, she debated letting the answering machine take the call, but then she picked up the receiver. "Hello?" she spoke, her word half greeting and half question.
"Oh, hi!" Her features lit up with delight. She pulled the phone down from her mouth, her hand covering the mouthpiece. "It's Fred," she announced to Jeff.
"Great," Jeff muttered. "As if I didn't remember the party is tomorrow night."
Holly's scowl hushed him as she returned the phone to her ear. "Yeah," she said after a moment, "we're planning on it. But we're having problems coming up with a good costume."
Jeff scowled. He could imagine the look of triumph on Fred's face; he and Fred had been friendly rivals for as long as either could remember. In fact, both had competed for Holly's affection, and Jeff knew that Fred wasn't happy that he'd lost.
"Really?" Holly asked, her voice rising in excitement. "You're not kidding, are you?"
Jeff pondered. Had Fred just offered to partner with Holly for a costume? Almost as fast as it had come, the jealous thought was banished from Jeff's brain. Holly wasn't that type. She was loyal to Jeff. Even Fred wouldn’t stoop so low as to try to steal Holly from him.
"Okay, we'll see you tomorrow then," Holly said cheerfully. "Bye."
"What did Fred want?" Jeff asked quickly.
Holly read Jeff's impatient tone of voice and decided to let him stew for a bit. Instead of answering, she slowly and deliberately retrieved a beer from the fridge, then opened it and strolled leisurely back to the sofa. "Here you go, honey."
Jeff knew the game. "Thanks, dear," he said graciously as he took the cold bottle. "I assume Fred called about the party?"
Holly smiled to herself. She had a knack for taming Jeff's impulsive actions. "Fred said that a lot of people are having trouble with costumes this year. Everyone wants to do something really special."
"Really?" Jeff asked, feigning bored surprise. The game was truly engaged; he had to appear indifferent to the news, even though his curiosity was gnawing at him.
"Yes," Holly answered, her voice deliberate and emotionless as she precisely metered out the information. "The costumes last year were so good that everyone feels the bar has been raised for this year."
"You don't say," Jeff tried to keep in the game. In fact, he was nearly ready to burst from curiosity.
"Yes. But Fred said he found something that could help."
Jeff gave in. "Okay, what did Fred find? And how's it going to help our costumes this year?" he blurted; impatience and curiosity had beaten him once more.
Holly smiled sweetly, her only display of her little victory. "Fred said he found some kind of magic box. He said it can change a person into whatever they think of."
Jeff's eyes narrowed. "Yeah, right," he snorted.
**********
"Hi, Jeff. Holly!" Fred, standing in his robe, seemed surprised to see his friends here at this late hour. Especially since he'd just talked to Holly an hour ago.
Jeff pushed past Fred. "Okay, Fred," he demanded as he scanned Fred's apartment. "Where's this so-called magic box?"
Fred sighed, shrugging his shoulders for Holly to see his exasperation, then he let her inside and closed the door. "You could have at least called," he rebuked Jeff.
Jeff ignored Fred's protest at the intrusion. "So, where is it?"
Fred shook his head. "Always the non-believer," he clucked. "Always the doubter." Shaking his head, he led the two into his den.
Jeff blinked when the light turned on, then he frowned. "That's it? A gray telephone booth? _That's_ your magic box?"
Fred shook his head again. "Okay, smart guy. You don't believe it? Watch this." He stepped to the side of the box, to a panel that looked like an LCD computer display above a red dinosaur paw print. He gave Jeff one final stern glance over his shoulder, then he touched the crystalline paw and began to concentrate on the display.
As Jeff and Holly watched, the screen began to change. Slowly, a figure began to appear - fuzzy at first, then gaining in definition and clarity. Finally, when it looked very realistic, Fred dropped his hand from the red crystal and touched a doorknob-shaped purple crystal.
Just like that, with no visible or audible clues, an opening appeared in the side of the box - as if by magic. Fred gave Jeff a smug look over his shoulder, then he stepped into the box. The opening vanished as instantly as it had appeared.
Jeff glanced at Holly, his features reflecting his confusion. Things like this - a box with doors that just appeared and disappeared - weren't normal. As he glanced back at the strange box, the door reappeared. Jeff's eyes narrowed as he craned his neck forward to see what was happening.
Neither Jeff nor Holly expected to see the alien hunter from Predator step out. Jeff started, while Holly let out a tiny scream. As Jeff's eyes widened, the creature stepped menacingly from the box, stalking them slowly. Just when they were backed against the wall with nowhere left to retreat, the creature tilted back its head and laughed. Jeff's eyes widened. It was Fred's laugh.
The creature pulled off its helmet, showing the unworldly visage, while Fred's laughter echoed. "You should have seen your face," the creature chortled in Fred's voice. "I got you good!"
"Fred?" Jeff asked cautiously as the creature assumed a less menacing stance.
The creature laughed again. "Yup!" Fred confirmed.
"That's some costume," Holly said cautiously as she eyed the creature.
The creature went back to the controls, and after another few seconds in the box, Fred reemerged. "It wasn't a costume," he explained to his confused friends. "It _changed_ me - into the creature."
Jeff shook his head even as he examined the box. "That's not possible," he declared.
Fred's features changed from amusement to annoyance; his lips pursed and his eyes narrowed. "Always the skeptic, weren't you," he muttered with a hint of disgust in his voice.
Holly elbowed Jeff. "It looked pretty real to me," she chided her boyfriend.
Jeff shook his head. "Yeah? He hides the costume in the box, then expects us to fall for the quick-change gag?"
Fred glared at Jeff for a moment, then he sighed. "Okay, I'll do another one." He spun back to the control pad, and after a moment's work, he again touched the purple knob. Once more, he stepped in, the door vanished, and then it reappeared.
It wasn't an alien that emerged this time; rather, Fred's head popped through the door, obviously ducking a bit, then his nude torso appeared, followed seconds later by ... the forelegs and torso of a horse!
Jeff's jaw dropped once more. "Fred?" he asked, incredulous, as an entire horse's body appeared. Fred was a centaur, with his own human torso atop the body of a horse.
Holly glanced up and down, then back along the entire horse. Her mouth hung agape in disbelief. Then her eyes widened as she spied the horse's equipment, protruding huge and hard and red from the sheath beneath the horse's body. Her hand clasped over her mouth in a futile attempt to stifle the gasp of surprise. Quickly, with her face reddening, she turned quickly back toward Fred's head and face, away from the embarrassing sight.
"Well?" Fred asked Jeff, his face bearing a triumphant grin. "You going to say I'm faking this one, too?"
Jeff walked slowly around the centaur, closely examining what he believed to be a costume. "I don't know how you did it, but this is one fantastic trick," he mumbled.
Fred frowned, then he reworked the box. In moments, he emerged as himself. "You just don't believe, do you?" he asked angrily. "I show you some ... fantastic ... alien contraption that can _make_ you into whatever costume you want, and you don't believe?"
Jeff shook his head warily. "Sorry, Fred, but no. You've pulled some good ones on me, so you'll understand if I'm a bit skeptical."
Holly elbowed Jeff in the ribs yet again. She just couldn't understand Jeff and Fred and their constant rivalry. "You have to admit that if it isn't real, it's a pretty good trick. And I don't see how it could be a trick."
Fred suddenly got a wicked grin. "Okay, Mister Skeptic," he said, "I'll prove to you that it's real." He turned back toward the controls, and after a moment's manipulation, he touched the purple knob again.
"What are you going to change into this time?" Jeff asked sarcastically.
"Not me," Fred answered with a smug smile. "You." He gestured to the opening, indicating that Jeff should enter the device.
Jeff's jaw dropped. "You ... want me ... to go in there?" he stammered. His confidence that it was all a gag was evaporating quickly. And yet...
Fred knew he had Jeff. "Just step in and touch the purple crystal thing. The rest is automatic."
Jeff gulped. He was on the spot, and he knew it. But ... this had to be a trick. It had to be. There was no way Fred could have gotten a machine that actually _changed_ someone! He clenched his jaw and stepped into the box. He gave Fred a determined 'I'll show you' glance, then he touched the purple crystal, just as Fred had indicated. The door vanished, just as it had before.
The door opened, and Jeff staggered out, his blue eyes wide as saucers and his full red lips parted in surprise as his delicate hands cupped the large, no _enormous_, breasts hanging nude from his chest. Below the orbs, his waist was tiny, with wide round feminine hips completing the exaggerated hourglass figure he now had. "What ..." his eyes widened even more at the sultry contralto voice emanating from his mouth, "what the hell have you done to me?"
"Convinced?" Fred asked with a smug grin.
"You ... you changed me into a ... " A sudden thought entered Jeff's head, and with a panicked glance, he struggled to peer between his huge bosoms, a nearly impossible task given the size of the bosoms, while his hands dropped from his big erect nipples to the pink G-string bottom. He patted frantically, his eyes widening with each passing second as he realized that something was missing.
"Yes," Fred beamed. "You're a woman. And not just any woman, but ... you remember that stripper at Dave's bachelor party? Bobbi Bazookas?" He reached out to tweak Jeff's nipple, causing Jeff to flinch and slap at Fred's hand. "Well, you're her now."
"But ... he's ... a girl?" Holly finally managed to stammer. "All the way?"
Fred grinned. "Yup." He turned to Jeff. "You want to find out how well your new equipment works?" he said with a leer as he reached for Jeff's mammaries yet again.
Jeff backed away, against the box, as his eyes filled with terror. He knew what Fred was talking about, and that his body was far too tiny and weak to fight if Fred really did try something. Which, given the circumstances, Jeff wasn't sure if Fred would or would not! "Get away from me!" Jeff croaked as he swatted at Fred's groping hands.
Fred stopped, then he turned to Holly. "Of course, now that Jeff's a woman, I guess you'll be in the market for a boyfriend," he said playfully.
"Turn me back," Jeff pleaded, trying hard not to sound sexy in the new ultra-sexy feminine voice he possessed. It was a near impossibility.
Fred glanced at Jeff and wiggled his eyebrows Groucho style. "Are you sure you don't want to try anything first?" he said with yet another leer.
The suggestion fell flat. In a few moments, Fred showed Jeff how to work the controls, and after another cycle in the machine, Jeff was restored, complete to his clothing.
As Jeff staggered from the box, patting himself none too modestly to make sure that everything that was supposed to be there was, and that anything that _wasn't_ supposed to be there wasn't. Jeff sat close to Holly, trying hard to look macho and brave, while he trembled inwardly. Being changed into the likeness of a big-boobed stripper by his old friend and rival had thoroughly rattled him.
"So, are you ready to admit that it works?" Fred gloated.
Jeff glanced at Holly, then the two nodded. "I don't know how you did it, but yeah, it was real."
"So what you're suggesting is that we ... use the box ... to make ourselves into something for the party. Not just wear a costume, but to change completely!" The pieces clicked into place for Holly and Jeff about the same time; she beat him to the words.
"Yup," Fred nodded. "A few of our friends are already planning to use it. Should be a great party this year."
**********
"You remember what Fred said — it reads your mind. So if I make the werewolf able to change at will, it should work." Jeff sat on the couch, with Holly cuddled in his lap.
"Yeah, but a werewolf?" Holly sounded unsure. "I thought it would be something we could _both_ go as. Maybe something cute."
"Cute?" Jeff's voice echoed his disbelief. "Cute? This is Halloween!"
"Yeah? Well Mary and Ron are going as MASH medics. And I heard Harry and Simone are going to be cute space aliens."
Jeff sighed. "Yeah, but I wanted something really different. Something ... unique."
"You want?" Holly asked with distaste in her voice. "I want something ... together."
Jeff shut up. Then, suddenly, a thought jolted his mind. "Together? How about if we go as a two-headed person?" he asked, enthusiasm rising in his voice.
Holly frowned. "That sounds kind of ... weird."
"But _together_," Jeff replied. "In a way we've never been. A very unique costume, and we'll be together."
"But..." Holly sounded very unsure.
"You wanted something together," Jeff argued quickly. "It's be really cool," he added.
Holly glanced at him, then she sighed. When Jeff got this enthusiastic, he was hard to dissuade. "Well..."
Jeff grinned. "Besides, it's just for the party tonight." The two clambered from the couch to the box, on loan from Fred and sitting in their living room.
"How does it work?" Holly asked cautiously as she stood half-behind Jeff. Based on the previous evening, she harbored some fear of the strange device.
Jeff touched the plate. "Simple. It reads your mind." He frowned, struggling to get the display to show the two-headed creature he was envisioning. "Hmm," he muttered after a few seconds. "It doesn't seem to be working."
Holly frowned. If it wasn't going to work, Jeff would be frustrated, and then he'd sulk for a few days. It wasn't a pleasant experience, she knew. "Let me try." She touched the plate to move Jeff's hand.
Instantly, the display showed a second head on the torso. Jeff's eyes lit up. "Of course! Since it's our heads, we have to both be working to design it!" He thought for another moment, and the body changed until it resembled Arnold Schwarzenneger.
"Jeff!" Holly scolded. "What are you doing making us look like that?" She thought for a moment, and the body changed. The waist narrowed, and the hips rounded to a decidedly feminine shape.
"Hey!" Jeff countered. "What's that about?"
Holly smiled sweetly. "If I'm doing this with you, I get to help design the body. And it needs a bit of a ... feminine ... touch."
Jeff scowled, then he focused on the display again. The crotch bulged noticeably. He turned to Holly with a triumphant grin.
Holly watched the bulge grow, and her eyes narrowed. "Okay, smartie pants. You want to play that way?" She focused on the display, and the chest rippled and bulged outward until the torso clearly bore tits — modest, to be sure, but round and definitely feminine.
"What the hell are those doing there?" Jeff asked in astonishment.
"If it's a science fiction experiment that merges two bodies, one male and one female," Holly said defiantly, "then it should have some of the characteristics of each one. And for the female half, it needs breasts."
Jeff scowled, trying for a moment to think of a way to argue with her impeccable logic. As usual, he failed. Instead, he turned back to the display. The tits she'd placed swelled quickly until they were very prominent. He turned to her with a smug grin.
Holly shook her head. "Too big. They'll be too heavy. I guarantee you won't like them bouncing around on our chest."
"Well, if it has to have tits, they should be noticeable."
Holly frowned. She took a turn, and the bulge vanished, replaced with the flat smoothness of a female crotch. She gave Jeff a sweet little smile as she saw his jaw drop.
Jeff scowled anew. The model's clothing vanished as he concentrated, then an organ grew upward from the crotch. As Holly's eyes widened, the figure grew a penis _above_ the vagina Holly had given it. "Now it's _really_ got both!" he argued with a tone of finality.
Holly stared for several long seconds. Finally she turned to Jeff. "Aren't we getting a bit carried away here?" she asked softly.
Jeff grinned. "That's the whole point," he said enthusiastically. "It's Halloween. We're _supposed_ to get carried away."
Holly felt a chill — something about this just didn't quite feel right. "I guess you're right," she answered.
Jeff gave her a quick grin, then he turned his attention back to the display. On the display, the hair on Holly's head turned from sandy brown to very blonde, grew in length, and got very wavy. Her lips swelled a bit, becoming more full and pouty.
Holly shot Jeff a frown of disapproval. "Are you implying that you'd like me to look like that?" she demanded.
Jeff tried to look innocent. "It's just for the night," he tried to explain. "Just for something different."
Holly thought for moment, then she turned to the display. In a few moments, she altered the image of Jeff's face. The eyes turned steely blue, the chin firmed, and the hair changed to a short brown style. The image was still Jeff, but altered to look more like a macho Marine drill instructor.
Holly met Jeff's accusing glance and smiled sweetly. "It's just for the night."
Jeff glowered at her, then he turned back to the display. Nothing visible changed, and Holly began to look puzzled. "What's that about?" she asked.
"You'll see." Jeff leaned back, removing his hand from the control plate, and gazed at their handiwork. "That looks good," he said with a grin.
Holly looked at the image. Unlike Jeff, she was losing her enthusiasm. "I don't know," she muttered. "Something doesn't seem right."
Jeff held her hand. "You say we should get closer. What could be closer than this? Besides, it's just for tonight."
"Okay," Holly finally agreed, albeit with more than a hint of reluctance in her voice. Together, they touched the purple crystal, and when the door appeared, they both stepped in.
A few seconds later, but what seemed an eternity to Holly, the most bizarre creature stepped out of the box. He ... she ... it, for it was all of them together, was over six and a half feet tall, with broad shoulders. Strong masculine arms tapered to dainty feminine hands with long fingernails colored bright red. Its barrel chest held a pair of very large — huge - mammaries which stuck out prominently, capped by big brown nipples that immediately got erect as they were exposed to the air. Below the tits, it's waist tapered to a narrow twenty inches, and below that, wide feminine hips and a very round derriere tapered into sexy curvy legs which ended in large manly feet. At the waist, an enormous male organ hung awkwardly, with a visibly hint that a feminine slit was tucked neatly beneath it. But the strangest features of the being were the two heads perched atop the shoulders — one male and the other female.
"Wow!" the Jeff head exclaimed as he felt a rush of new sensations from the merged body. "This is so cool!" Slowly, the arms raised, the hands cupping toward the erect nipples.
"What are you doing?" the Holly head demanded sharply. The motion of the arms halted, then they flapped about for a moment as if undecided as to what to do. "Trying to feel us up?"
Jeff blushed. "Well," he admitted sheepishly, "you can't blame me, can you? It's not like I've ever had tits, you know."
Holly considered his statement for a moment, then decided that while his actions were weird, they were understandable. After all, she could feel the strange sensations of their male organ.
The hands reached up again, this time completing the voyage to the big nipples. Almost immediately at the touch, they hardened, growing big and firm. "Wow!" Jeff muttered softly as he played with them.
"What's ... what's going on?" Holly asked, alarmed. "Something's ... wrong."
Jeff paused, then he grinned. "No," he answered with a grin, "we're just getting horny."
Given the strange configuration, it was difficult for Holly to peer between their tits. She did manage to see that their organ was slowly enlarging, getting firmer and bigger. Her eyes widened at the sensations coursing through their nervous system.
Slowly, as if struggling against itself, one hand detached itself from a nipple and moved downward, until it wrapped its fingers around the massive shaft.
"What are you doing?" Holly exclaimed in shock. Her brow furrowed, and the hand stopped moving.
Jeff grinned. "Giving you a taste of what guys feel."
"That's ... sick!" she protested strongly. The hand's battle continued, then reluctantly, Jeff quit trying to control it and the hand slumped to the side, followed quickly by the other one.
"But you _are_ curious, aren't you?" Jeff asked, more as a statement of fact than a question.
Holly ignored him. "You should have made us with clothes. I'm getting chilly."
Jeff's jaw dropped; he hadn't considered clothing. "Uh, okay. Let's see if we can get some clothes?"
Holly nodded, and the two stepped back to the control panel. Jeff quickly put pants and a normal man's shirt on the image. Holly frowned, then she touched the controls. The pants changed to a short skirt to show off the legs.
"Hey!" Jeff frowned. "I'm not wearing a skirt!"
"But the legs and butt are more female than male. A skirt makes sense!" Holly countered.
"But it's ... weird!"
Holly grinned. "So is this whole idea! So what's a little more?"
Jeff thought for a moment. "Well, okay." He lengthened the skirt to past the knees.
Holly shortened it again to mid-thigh. "No longer than that, okay?" she announced.
Jeff frowned, then he begrudgingly accepted. "Okay. Hey!"
"What?"
"Panty hose?" Jeff asked.
"Female legs," Holly retorted quickly. "They fit."
Jeff felt like he was losing the battle. "Okay. Then we drop the panties. We've got a dick down here, you know, and we can't smoosh it into a pair of panties."
"Why not?"
Jeff half blushed. "You want to find out the hard way?" he asked with the voice of experience. "With the size of our ... thing ... we need all the room we can get downstairs."
Holly nodded. "Okay." She touched the controls after Jeff had dressed it in men's briefs. The shirt disappeared, and a bra formed over the breasts.
"What?" Jeff's voice rose sharply as he saw the bra.
Holly answered by making the body bounce, which sent their large breasts careening about.
"These things are heavy," Jeff protested when he got control of their arms and could grasp the boobs to stop the bouncing. "Hey, stop that!" Holly was trying to sway to make them bounce more. "They bounce around too much!"
Holly gave Jeff an 'I told you so' look, but wisely, she kept that thought inside. "If you don't want them to bounce so much, we have to have a bra."
Jeff's face showed his anger at the thought, but he'd felt the massive hooters bouncing and swaying, and he knew that Holly was right. "Okay." As Holly added a bra, Jeff frowned. "Not so frilly!"
Holly stuck her tongue out at Jeff. "I'm not wearing some kind of granny bra!" she pronounced. "So there." She finished the bra — a lacy, cream-colored and very sexy bra that pushed the tits together to create more cleavage.
Jeff felt out of control. He protested by adding a flannel work shirt that hid the bra beneath the plaid fabric. It was loose enough that the curves of the huge tits were muted.
Holly frowned. "That's so ... plain!" she protested. The flannel vanished, replaced by a scoop-neck lacy knit top, one that emphasized rather than hid the curves of the breasts. As a finishing touch, a necklace appeared.
Jeff made the neckline move higher, and some of the lace disappeared. Holly lowered the neckline again. Finally, Jeff dropped his hand. "I give up. You're going to make us look feminine no matter what I do."
"Well I'm not going to wear anything so ... butch!" Holly argued back.
Jeff sighed. This _had_ been his idea. "Okay," he finally agreed. "We'll go with that."
Holly beamed, having won again. They touched the knob, went inside, and emerged again, clothed this time.
Jeff glanced down at the valley of cleavage on their chest. As he did, he felt something against his cheeks and around his neck. His hands shot up, and he discovered that, somehow, Holly had sneaked hoop earrings on pierced ears onto _his_ head, and a necklace to match hers around his neck. "Hey! I didn't want the earrings!"
Holly tried to shrug — a move that was only half-successful given the fact that their two heads shared control of the one body. "You didn't argue before, so I thought it was okay."
Jeff scowled. "You're making me look like some kind of ... weirdo!"
"I thought that was the idea."
**********
Jeff and Holly staggered toward his car. "Would you let me walk?" Jeff protested as they nearly tripped over a sidewalk crack.
Holly frowned. "But you're walking so ... clumsy. Like a guy."
"I am a guy!" Jeff retorted.
Holly's mouth dropped open, and then she grinned wickedly as she forced a hand up to cup one of their boobs. "Yeah? And these are guy things?"
Jeff frowned. As usual, Holly had a point. He decided to change the subject. "I'm hungry. Let's pick up something on the way to the party, okay?"
"A chicken taco salad," Holly immediately replied. It was her usual evening meal, which explained a lot about how she kept her figure.
"I was thinking more of a mega-burger," Jeff answered.
"Why not one of each?" Holly figured out the answer to their dilemma. "After all, we have two heads, and two mouths."
"Good thinking, sweetie." They lurched to the car, and with some fumbling, got the door unlocked and clambered inside. The keys started the car, but they over-revved the engine. "Watch the gas," Jeff said as he winced.
"Sorry."
They shifted into reverse, and with lurching and screeching, the car backed out of the parking spot. As the car approached a stop sign at the apartment complex's entrance, Jeff popped in the clutch to downshift, but the engine raced. By the time he controlled their right foot to get off the gas, and while he was moving the shifter, the left foot moved from the gas to the brake, resulting in a terrible grinding noise when Jeff tried to shift into gear. The clutch popped back in, and the brake was applied, albeit clumsily and with too much force. The car jerked to a stop.
"Would you let me drive?" Jeff asked icily as he glared out the windshield, not wanting to look at Holly at the moment.
Holly knew the source of Jeff's frustration and anger; he loved his car, and their common body - and their lack of experience coordinating actions - had just tortured the poor thing horribly. "I'm trying," she protested weakly. "But it's hard. I mean, I'm in the driver's seat, and, well, it's kind of ... automatic. When I'm in the driver's seat, I drive."
Jeff tried to force them to take a deep breath. "I know," he muttered apologetically. "This isn't easy. But could you please _try_ to let me do the driving?"
"I'll try."
The car lurched back into motion, turning awkwardly onto the street. With uneven shifts, grinding gears, and over-revving motor, the car drove off toward the party.
**********
"Let me do the talking, okay?" Jeff hissed. His face flashed red in time with the lights of the police car behind them, the bright ruby flashes reflecting from the mirror to illuminate them.
"But..."
"It's my license, and my car. So please be quiet."
"What are we going to tell him?" Holly asked softly.
Jeff sighed. "Halloween costume, that's what. Now hush - here he comes." Jeff rolled down the window as the dark figure stepped beside the car. A flashlight in the cop's hand was already pointing through the window, illuminating Jeff. "Happy Halloween, officer," Jeff tried to say cheerfully. "Can I help you?"
The cop shone the light over Jeff's face, then over Holly's head, which she somehow managed to keep perfectly still. Then he let the light drift down, illuminating the valley of cleavage and the odd clothing Jeff was wearing. The beam probed around the interior of the car for a few more seconds. Jeff could almost hear the officer's eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Can I see your license, please?" the officer demanded as he moved the light back to Jeff's face.
"Sure," Jeff answered. Inwardly, his nerves were jangled. The cop had seen their entire body. He handed his license to the cop.
The officer shined his light on the license, then on Jeff's face. "Mr. Hardy? You were driving rather erratically back there."
Jeff forced a smile. "Yes, sir. It's my costume. It's kind of hard to drive like this. I guess I should have waited until I got to the party to put it on."
The officer frowned. Jeff could tell that he was breathing slowly, deeply, trying to smell if there was any alcohol on Jeff's breath or in the car. After a few well-practiced sniffs, the officer nodded curtly. "You haven't been doing any pre-party warmup, have you?"
Jeff's eyes widened. "Uh, no sir," he answered honestly.
The officer nodded again, a single nod of minimal motion and exertion. "Well, you see to it that you don't try to drive home if you have a few drinks. If you're having this much trouble driving sober...." He let the idea hang for emphasis.
"No, sir," Jeff said solemnly. "I'm planning to stay at the hotel."
"Good." The officer clicked off his flashlight and turned away, then he turned back. "Just out of curiosity, what the hell are you supposed to be, anyway?"
Jeff gulped when the officer turned back. "You ever see any of the old science fiction movies where a mad scientist joins two bodies into one?" He watched the officer shake his head. "Well, I'm that experiment."
The officer shook his head as he handed the license back to Jeff. "Damned weird if you ask me."
Holly couldn't hold her tongue any longer. "That's what I told him," she said. Then she realized what she'd done. She clamped her mouth shut and turned back ahead.
The officer clicked the light back on and pointed it at Holly's head. "Who said that?" he asked as he shined the light right at her.
"Uh," Jeff stammered, "I did. I've been practicing ventriloquism for this costume."
The officer's eyes narrowed. "Are you sure there isn't something funny going on here?"
Holly knew she had to do something. She just hoped Jeff would follow along. "Just this damned costume," she said, trying to move her lips in a mechanical fashion. "It's bad enough that I have to have this ugly head for company all night long. He probably even snores!"
Jeff had picked up on Holly's intentions almost instantly. He let his lips tremble and move slightly as she spoke, and when she was done, he glanced up at the officer.
The officer moved his light back and forth between Jeff's head and Holly's. "That's pretty good," he finally said. "Your lips were moving, but not very much." He clicked off the light. "Probably the best costume I'll see all night. But what's with the fake tits?"
Jeff knew the officer had been peering at their cleavage. "Uh, you know the old B-movie science fiction stereotype, don't you? Bit boobs, blonde, and bimbos."
"What do you mean, blonde bimbos?" Holly demanded sharply. "And what's wrong with how big my breasts are?"
The officer gawked again, then he laughed aloud. "If you don't win a prize with that costume, there's something wrong with the judging!" he roared. "Now remember, be careful driving." He walked back to the patrol car.
Still trembling inwardly, Jeff sighed. "Oh, shit, that was close!" he muttered.
"Blonde bimbo?" Holly hissed. "Big-titted blonde bimbo?"
Jeff winced. "It was all I could think of," he stammered. "Besides, would you rather try to explain our looks to a judge?"
Holly glared at him, then she turned sharply away. Jeff sighed again as he put the car into gear and eased back into traffic.
**********
"What do you want for dinner?" Jeff asked softly when he spied a Burger Barn. "Burger and fries?"
Holly glared at him. "No. You know I hate burgers." She turned away again.
Jeff sighed again. He fought the conflicting nerve impulses to control the body and bring the car to stop at the red light. "I said I was sorry," he protested weakly. He got no answer. "Look, it _is_ the stereotype, and I had to get him to leave." Still no response. "Holly, you _know_ I don't think of you as a bimbo. I've never treated you like that!"
Holly turned to look at Jeff, and she saw the pained expression he bore. She knew he really hadn't meant what his words as a reflection on her. And she knew that the 'blond bimbo' really _was_ the stereotype for old B sci-fi movies. She melted. "I guess I was a little sensitive," she admitted softly. She sat for a few moments, then she started chuckling. "We really pulled one over on that officer, didn't we?"
Jeff smiled. "Yeah. I bet he'll be talking about this for years!"
Holly grinned. "Did you see the way he was gawking at our cleavage?"
Jeff winced at the memory. "He probably thinks I'm some kind of queer or something." He suppressed a shudder. "Anyway, I bet he thinks they're fake."
Holly's eyes sparked mischievously. She grabbed control of one hand and cupped one of the breasts. She felt the tremble of excitement course through their body, and she felt the stirring down in their crotch. "Does this feel fake to you?"
Jeff fought for control. "Stop it!" he snapped. "I'm trying to drive!"
Holly grinned. "Are you saying I was distracting you?"
"Yes! You made them too sensitive. You're making it hard to concentrate on driving."
"Well, it's not my fault. You were the one who made them so big and sensitive."
Jeff frowned. "I did not!"
Behind them, a horn honked. Jeff glanced quickly over one shoulder, while Holly tried to glance over the other. Then Jeff spied a very faint green glow on the hood. He looked up and saw that the light had turned green. "Damn," he muttered as he eased out the clutch. Again, because of the dual control issues, the car lurched away from the light. Behind him, the horn honked again, then the impatient driver swerved around them, shaking his fist and wordlessly cursing as he passed. "Son of a bitch!" Jeff cursed angrily at the rude driver.
"We _were_ blocking the intersection," Holly reminded him gently.
Jeff mumbled something under his breath; Holly guessed it had to do with the probable ancestry of the other driver. She decided to let it go. "There's the Burger Barn." Jeff welcomed the distraction.
"I don't want a burger," Holly protested. "I hate burgers."
Jeff sighed as the car pulled into the parking lot. "So what _do_ you want?" He seemed to have forgotten their earlier discussion of dinner. Then again, the drive had been a very interesting adventure, and they had been stopped by the cop. It was only normal that Jeff might have forgotten.
"A chicken taco salad," Holly answered simply. She opened her mouth to add something about the fact that she'd said so earlier, but at the last moment, she decided against it.
"Well I want a burger." Jeff pulled into the drive through. A few moments later, with a mega-burger in hand, Jeff drove out of the parking lot. "Okay, now we'll get your salad."
Holly forced their raised hand to stop, the burger inches from Jeff's mouth. "Not so fast," she complained. "We've only got one stomach, and I don't want it full of burger before I get a chance to eat some salad!"
Jeff sighed. "I guess you're right," he said reluctantly. "But I'm hungry."
"You'll just have to be polite and wait until I've got my food, too."
**********
The car lurched to a stop in the hotel parking lot, and Jeff gratefully shut the engine off. The drive had been somewhat ... difficult.
"You ate fast on purpose," Holly accused again.
"I did _not_!" Jeff rebutted. "I was busy driving. You were the one cramming salad into your mouth!" He glared out the windshield.
"Yeah? Well, tell me who ate a mega-burger in three bites." On the passenger seat, three fourths of Holly's salad sat uneaten.
"I _had_ to gulp it down. Between driving and you shoveling in your salad, you weren't giving me a chance to eat anything."
Holly stared at him for a few seconds, her jaw hanging open, then she turned away.
From the way their body was breathing, and from the mild shaking, Jeff knew she was sobbing. He felt a sharp pang of guilt. "I'm sorry," he said after a few silent moments. "Maybe I did eat too fast. Maybe I didn't think that we were sharing a stomach."
Holly reached up a hand; from the sensation of cool moisture, Jeff knew she was wiping away her tears.
"Please, Holly," Jeff continued, "I know this is hard — for both of us. But you have to believe me when I tell you I'm not trying to be insensitive or mean."
Holly turned back; her cheeks glistened with the moisture of her tears. She stared into Jeff's eyes for a few seconds, and she saw the sincerity backing his words. "I'm sorry, too," she finally said. "
**********
"Fred? Is that you?" Holly and Jeff both asked the question at the same time, with the result of a strange harmony in their voices.
Fred, or rather what appeared to be Fred, sauntered up to the two-headed creature. "Hi Holly, Jeff," Fred said in his usual voice. It seemed strange coming from his body. Fred was attired as a satyr, a half-goat, half man creature of mythology. Horns sprouted from his head, and a beard and goatee adorned his face. He was bare-chested, more muscular and with more chest hair than was normal for Fred. From the waist down, he appeared to be goat, with furry legs ending in hoofed feet. At his waist he carried a pan pipe, the traditional musical instrument of a satyr.
"What the hell are you? Some kind of goat boy?" Jeff mocked.
Fred frowned. "I was going to compliment you on your 'costume'," he said, "but if you're going to be rude..."
"Ignore him," Holly laughed. "He woke up on the wrong side of the bed." She raised a glass of wine and took a sip.
Fred chuckled. "I can see that _one_ of you would always be getting up that way."
Jeff reached up and wiped his brow. "Is it hot in here?" he asked with a puzzled frown. Holly, too, wiped her forehead, then took another sip of her wine.
Fred grinned. "Probably just me," he said. "After all, I'm a satyr, and I kind of have that effect on women."
"But..." Jeff started to protest. Then he realized that he was starting to feel a bit aroused - their manhood was getting firm, while he could visibly see their nipples standing fully erect. "I'm not a woman," he argued.
Holly frowned again. "You mean to tell me that just being around you makes women horny? What did you do? Add some kind of pheromones when you changed?"
Jeff caught on a bit more slowly. "You used the box to change into that?" He picked up his beer from the table beside them.
Fred smiled. "All I did was think of a satyr and the effects they were supposed to have on women. And it works," he added with a grin. "Something about my body chemistry makes women uncontrollably horny. I've gotten laid three times already tonight!" He made a show of staring at their breasts. "And I have to say, those tits of yours are making me feel kind of horny right now!"
Jeff scowled, then he wound up to slap Fred. Holly, however, blocked that impulse, and their arm just swatted the air by Fred's head. "Are you queer or something?" he demanded. "It's still me in here!"
Fred leered. "You never had tits like that before," he observed.
Holly laughed. "Serves you right," she said to Jeff. She turned back to Fred. "The large ... breasts ... were his idea, not mine!"
Jeff scowled at Holly. "You try anything, goat boy, and I'll knock your head through the wall!"
Fred laughed anew. "Oh, are you implying that you've got _all_ the equipment that I _could_ try something?"
Jeff's face flushed red, and he turned away from Fred's leering gaze. Holly, however, met his gaze levelly. "You keep this up," she said calmly, "and _I'll_ be the one tossing you through a wall."
Fred realized he'd pushed way past the point of humor. He decided that it was time to be discrete. "Okay, okay," he tried to sound like a calm voice of reason. "I get the message." He shook his head. "Sheesh! Must be that time of month for the two of you!" Before they could react, he scampered away, his hooves making a strange clicking sound on the floor.
Jeff guzzled the remaining two inches of beer in his glass, then as a waiter passed by, he deposited the empty and grabbed a fresh one.
"You're drinking too much," Holly observed as he took a sip.
"No, I'm not," Jeff countered as he lowered the glass from his mouth.
Holly frowned. "Yes, you are. Remember, I'm in this body too? And I can feel a buzz."
Jeff raised his arm to take another drink, but Holly fought the arm, with the result of beer sloshing from the glass onto their blouse. "Look what you made me do!" Jeff hissed. The hand without the beer glass reached up and patted uselessly at the wet fabric of the blouse.
"All I asked is for you to slow down the drinking," Holly insisted. "It's not my fault you're so drunk you spilled your beer."
"Great costume, Holly, Jeff!"
The two turned to see the source. "Uh," Holly stammered as she gazed at the pair approaching them, "I'm not sure..."
The woman laughed in a familiar voice. Every inch of her body, including her low-cut gown, was familiar. She took a sip from her wine glass. "You don't know who we are, do you?"
Jeff frowned, then he shook his head. "You're Raquel Welch," he said slowly. "Or at least that's who you're supposed to be." He glanced at the man accompanying Raquel. "And Clint Eastwood?"
The two nodded, smiles on their faces.
Holly shook her head. "But you're younger - like from the early seventies?"
Clint grinned. "But you still don't know who we really are, do you?"
Jeff shook his head. "I give up. Your makeup and costumes are ... too good."
Raquel laughed, a pleasant friendly sound. "We can thank Fred for that." She glanced up at her partner. "Right, Amy?"
Holly's and Jeff's jaws dropped. "Amy?" they both asked, staring at Clint. They turned to Raquel. "Rich?"
The two stars smiled. "We decided to ... swap ... for the evening. To make it harder for people to guess."
"So," Holly said slowly, "how ... far ... ?"
Clint smiled knowingly. "Do the changes go?" she finished Holly's unspoken thoughts. "All the way." Clint leaned closer to Holly. "To be honest, I'm going to try to get her drunk so I can seduce her later!" he said with a wicked grin and a laugh.
Raquel grinned. "I heard that," she giggled. Then she turned to Holly and Jeff. "You know, I'm having a lot of fun. You know - all the attention because I'm a sexy broad." Then she frowned as she glanced at Jeff and Holly's breasts. "But somehow, now I feel kind of ... inadequate!" She arched her back to make her breasts jut forward. Even then, they paled in comparison to the large bosoms of Jeff and Holly.
"So what, exactly, are you?" Clint asked in a perplexed voice. "Some kind of Star Trek transporter accident?"
Jeff grinned. "There was an old B sci-fi movie where a scientist merged two bodies. I thought the two heads would be a nice added touch."
"So how far did you go with the merger?" Raquel asked with a wink.
Jeff's jaw dropped momentarily, then he frowned. "That's kind of personal."
Holly just laughed. "This is going to sound really weird and kinky, but we've got both."
Raquel's eyes widened, as did Clint's. "You're a lot more creative than we were," Raquel said in an awed voice.
Clint peered up and down their body. "Can I see?" he finally blurted plainly.
"What?"
Clint glanced at Holly and shrugged. "Can I see?" he repeated. "I mean, we went to school together," he said to Holly. "We did PE together. Remember, it's Amy in here," he added.
Raquel took another sip of wine, then she grabbed Clint's hand. "Listen, you lecherous bastard," she said in a sweet yet firm tone, "if you're going to start gawking at anybody's body around here, it better be mine!" She took Clint's arm and the two melted into the crowd.
"I'm not feeling so good," Holly said after a moment's quiet. "My stomach feels a bit upset."
Jeff rolled his eyes. "That's because you're mixing wine and beer," he answered sarcastically.
Holly turned and glared at him. "Who's mixing? Seems to me I was the first one to get a drink. And it wouldn't be so bad if you weren't pouring the beer down."
Jeff ignored her comment. He gazed over the crowd. "I'd like to dance." He started walking toward a girl standing alone.
Holly frowned. The walk turned to a drunken stagger as she fought Jeff for control. "You only dance with me," she protested. "Or that's what you said!"
Jeff stopped. "And I'll still be dancing with you," he said, trying to sound reassuring. "But right now, we kind of need a partner."
"So why does it have to be a girl?" Holly asked, her words slurred ever so slightly. "Why can't it be a guy?"
"I'm not dancing with a guy!" Jeff protested. He turned back, and saw that the girl was gone. "Now she's gone," he complained.
"Serves you right," Holly said sternly.
"Okay. Can we please ask someone to dance?" Jeff changed tactics quickly.
Holly seemed taken aback, then she nodded slightly. "Okay. That's better." She glanced around the room. "Yes, we can dance."
"Excuse me," a sultry voice said from beside Jeff, causing he and Holly to turn quickly. With the alcohol in their system, they swayed and staggered just a bit. They found themselves staring at a lithe dark-haired girl with Goth makeup and wearing a sexy low-cut long black dress. She looked like a vampire, complete to the red stains around her lips. "Would you like to dance with me?"
Jeff's eyes bulged out at the valley of cleavage the girl was showing, and he nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah," he said. He offered an arm to the girl.
"Wait a minute," Holly protested. "Don't I get some say in who we dance with?"
Jeff stared at her for a moment; it was clear he hadn't considered _that_ angle. After all, he had asked if they could dance with someone, and she'd agreed. "Oh? I suppose you want to dance with some guy?"
Holly glared at him. "You could at least ask."
Jeff glanced defiantly at her. "I _did_ ask. And you said okay." He turned back to watch the backside of the vampire girl, who was holding their hand and leading them to the dance floor. She had a shapely figure, and Jeff was finding himself getting turned on just following the wiggle of her rear.
Just as they reached the dance floor, the song ended. The vampire smiled, indicating that they should wait for the next song. As soon as it started, the vampire girl started swaying to the music, dancing rhythmically and seductively beside Jeff and Holly. Jeff tried to dance as well, but he could tell Holly was not cooperating. The result was some kind of monstrous drunken stumble around the dance floor. Given that it was Halloween, and given their 'costume', it somehow seemed fitting.
"She's a little tramp!" Holly hissed in Jeff's ear. He ignored her, watching the girl dancing instead. "Oh, great!" Holly sighed bitterly. "Now you're getting horny watching her dance!"
Jeff turned briefly to Holly. "No I'm not," he protested.
Holly rolled her eyes. "Then what are we doing with a hard-on?" she asked sarcastically. "And why are our nipples firm? Or are you going to say something lame like it's cold in here?"
Jeff glanced at Holly, shooting her a look of disapproval. "You said we could dance. So why don't you just enjoy yourself?" He turned back to the vampire girl.
Holly turned away from the girl, a pout frozen on her face. She scanned the crowd, looking at the costumes, scanning for faces she recognized, and generally doing anything and everything to avoid having fun dancing.
The music changed again, and Holly was caught by surprise by a whiff of perfume wafting about her face. She turned and saw the vampire girl held close in their arms - or rather, as close as their bosom would allow. The girl's eyes were half-closed, and she was swaying very seductively, rubbing her own breasts and body against theirs in a very intense manner.
"What are you doing?" Holly hissed at Jeff. She could feel the girl rubbing against the bulge in their pants, and it was alarming her.
The girl looked up at both faces. "You know, I'm really glad I met you tonight," she said softly. "I can tell I excite you."
Holly's mouth dropped open. Jeff's eyes widened, but he said nothing.
"In fact," the girl admitted, "you excite me."
"I don't follow," Jeff said cautiously. He wasn't quite sure, given their semi-drunken state, what this girl was implying.
"I want you. Both of you," the girl said plainly. "You see," she blushed a bit, "I'm bi, and you two are so ... exciting to me." She rubbed insistently against their crotch again.
Holly felt the surge of energy from their aroused member. It was startlingly powerful, strong enough to distract her.
"You want to go to my room?" the girl asked seductively as she rubbed her breasts against theirs.
Jeff glanced at Holly, and he could see that she was conflicted. The sexy perfume, the erotic rubbing disguised as dancing, the unfamiliar and strong sensations from their crotch - all of these were confusing Holly.
"Let's go with her," Jeff whispered insistently to Holly. He, too, felt the powerful arousal, and he wanted - no, needed - to get some relief from his nearly overwhelming desire.
Holly's mouth dropped open again. "But ... she's a girl."
"So?"
"So am I."
"So?"
"So, I'm not a lesbian!" Holly hissed.
"But she wants _us_. And we're part guy."
"We _can't_! It isn't right!"
"Why not? We're horny. She's horny. She's willing. What else do we need?"
Holly stared, open mouthed, at Jeff for a moment. "Just like a guy!" she snapped. "Thinking with your little head instead of your big one!"
"And you know you're curious. Aren't you?" Jeff continued to plead his case. Alcohol had dulled his sensibilities, and he was being ruled by his passions. "You should try it!"
"You're sick!" Holly hissed. "And I'm _not_ curious!" She turned away angrily. Then she turned back for a moment. "And anyway, it'd be cheating on me. Kind of. Somehow." Her last words were soft, stammered, uncertain, as if she were groping for some kind of sane argument.
The vampire girl watched the argument as she swayed against them in time to the music. As it ended, she pulled herself up on her tiptoes. "I can see your other half isn't ready. Yet." She gave Jeff a kiss on his mouth. "But remember, I'm available if you change your minds." She lowered herself and sauntered away, her hips swaying sexily. She turned and blew a kiss over her shoulder at them.
Jeff stood, watching her walk away, one hand absently rubbing their crotch.
"Stop that!" Holly hissed at him.
Jeff glanced angrily at Holly, then he reached up and pinched their tit. "Ow," he said softly, wincing at the same time Holly did. He'd forgotten, in the heat of the moment, that he was attached to the breasts as much as she was.
"Good riddance," Holly said, her words dripping with venom. She made them turn and walk slowly from the dance floor. As they passed a waiter, Jeff snagged another beer. They walked awkwardly to a table and slumped into a vacant chair. Jeff set his beer down on the table.
"You were going to cheat on me, weren't you?" Holly demanded.
"But ... it wouldn't have been ... it was _both_ of us!" Jeff protested weakly. "It wasn't like ...." He stopped as he realized, slowly, how pathetic his excuse sounded.
They sat in silence for a couple of minutes. Finally, Jeff turned to Holly. "I guess I did want to screw her. I would have, I suppose," he admitted. "I don't know why."
"Because you were horny as hell," Holly answered.
Jeff thought for a moment, pausing to sip his beer. "But I've never ... I mean, no girl ever got me so horny that I even thought of cheating on you!"
Holly's anger lessened. "You're not used to having sensitive nipples that make you horny. And you're drunk."
"_We're_ drunk," Jeff corrected.
"We're drunk," Holly agreed.
"But still..."
Holly kissed him before he could do anything else. Given the proximity of their heads, it was easy for her. Her lips parted, and they began to kiss more and more passionately. As they kissed, a hand slipped up and began to caress one of their breasts, causing the nipple to instantly harden. Their breathing started to get ragged, and after a moment, Holly slid the other hand down to rub on their crotch.
Jeff broke the kiss for a moment, and he burst out laughing uncontrollably, despite his best effort not to.
"What?" Holly asked, annoyed that he was laughing in the midst of their rising passion.
"How are we supposed to 'make up' with this body?" he chortled.
Holly's eyes widened, then she started snickering too. "I hadn't thought of that. It's a good thing you stopped when you did. Before you got us too horny, that is!"
Jeff laughed. "Unless you want to go find the vampire again," he suggested playfully.
Holly grinned wickedly. "You keep up that touching and kissing, and I just might go looking for her," she answered.
Jeff's mouth dropped open.
Holly laughed softly. "I'm only joking. And anyway, you're getting turned on by our tits, so is it any wonder I'm getting turned on by our ... thing?"
"Speaking of our ... thing," Jeff interrupted, "we've got to get to the bathroom before we have a problem."
Holly frowned. "Yeah, I see what you mean." Then she wrinkled her forehead. "Which one do we use?" she asked.
Jeff thought for a second. "The men's room," he answered as if it were obvious.
"With tits and legs like this?" Holly asked incredulously. They started walking in the general direction of the restrooms.
Jeff frowned. "But we've got a willy. We _have_ to use the men's room."
"Why?"
"Why? Because ..." Jeff thought for a moment, but no answer came to him. "Well, just because."
"But we look like a woman, too," Holly protested.
"The men's room is right here. And we need to go bad."
Holly started to protest, but she, too, felt the pressure in their bladder. "Well," she said reluctantly as she let Jeff walk them into the men's room, "I guess so."
Fortunately for Holly's sense of modesty, the rest room was empty. Jeff stepped to the urinal and, despite the handicap of having two brains trying to control the one body, and the unfamiliar pantyhose and skirt, he quickly got their willy freed from their briefs. A profound sense of relief flooded them as their bladder gushed its contents into the urinal.
As the last few drops fell, Jeff noticed something. "What are you doing?" he asked.
Holly's eyes widened. "What?" she shot back, her voice innocent.
"You were ... playing!" Jeff accused. "You were going to whack off!"
Holly's mouth hung open for a second, then she shook her head. "What are you talking about?" she protested.
Jeff's eyes narrowed. "Don't give me that. You were going to whack off!"
Holly felt her cheeks burn, and she started to protest, then she shut her mouth. As Jeff tucked things back in and pulled up the panty hose, she sighed. "Okay, so I was. So what? Can you blame me for being curious?"
**********
"That was fun. But weird," Holly mumbled as they walked unsteadily off the dance floor. On her side of the body was Clint, while Raquel was on Jeff's side; the two were bracing Jeff and Holly to help them stay standing. The trio had danced — it was Holly's idea that they do a 'group dance' since they were both man and woman. Clint and Raquel had gotten a big kick out of it, as had most of the other party-goers.
"An eminently practical solution," Jeff slurred with a grin. They sat down at their table and Jeff picked up his beer. "I especially liked the slow dance."
"Well, they're playing another one. Want to go again?" Holly said, carefully forming each word. Her eyes were a bit glazed and her tongue felt numb, making it hard to speak coherently. She picked up her wine glass. "Too late," she observed. Clint and Raquel were already making their way back on the floor, and from the way they started grinding their bodies together, they appeared to be having sex while dancing.
"May I join you?" The sultry voice was back.
Jeff turned, and after taking a moment to steady himself and to focus, he saw the vampire girl again. "Sure," he said.
The girl saw Jeff's eyes, then she looked at Holly. "Are you guys okay?"
Jeff grinned stupidly. "Sure! We're just ..." His voice cut off and he sat trying to focus. The effort of simultaneous conversation and staring were too much for him.
"Never mind him," Holly stammered. "He's drunk." She giggled. "s'matter of fact, so'm I." She giggled some more. She leaned close to the vampire girl. "We had a little bet," she whispered, as if conveying state secrets. "We wanted to see who passed out first." She giggled again. "Know somethin'? I'm gonna' win!" She grinned.
The vampire girl frowned. "I hope you're not driving tonight."
Jeff stirred for a moment. "'S okay," he muttered. "We're staying here tonight." He let his gaze drop to the girl's chest. "We got a nice comfortable ... cleavage to sleep in!" He grinned again, then fell silent.
"Know somethin'?" Holly whispered to the vampire girl. "We've got a willy in our pants!" She giggled. "I bet you thought we were just a girl!" She leaned toward the girl's ear again. "Know somethin' else? Jeff wanted to screw you earlier. He wanted me to, too!" Holly straightened her head and stared at the girl. "What's your name, anyway?"
The girl shook her head. "Carol," she answered. "Let me help you to your room," she offered, standing and helping Holly lever their body upright. "You're pretty drunk."
"Carol?" Holly mouthed. "Why isn't it something like Draculina?" She giggled at her little joke. Then, with Carol's help, they staggered slowly from the party.
****MODIFIED******
A fierce pounding greeted Jeff's mind the moment consciousness started to return. He winced, then he pried an eye open. The sunlight streaming in the open curtain nearly blinded him, and he clamped his eyes shut again.
Slowly, coherent thought returned to Jeff. There was the party. Fred's annual Halloween party. He and Holly had gone. And the box. The strange silver box that Fred loaned them.
"What a dream," Jeff muttered to himself as he began to collect his thoughts. Slowly, however, strange sensations intruded on his mental awakening. He heard breathing close to him, and he risked opening his eyes again. He saw a platinum blond mass of hair beside him on the pillow. At the same time, he felt something heavy on his chest. "Oh, shit!" he muttered as he lifted a hand toward the blanket covering himself. Wincing, Jeff pulled the blanket back, and he flinched when he saw the soft rounded mounds rising and falling on his chest with each breath. He let the blanket fall.
Slowly, to avoid the jackhammers pounding his brain, Jeff turned his head again. The mass of blond hair, he knew with certainty, was on Holly's head. Which, thanks to Fred's weird machine, was on a joint body. Which had tits. Jeff looked at Holly again. "It wasn't a dream," he muttered softly.
The soft sigh on the other side startled Jeff. The quick turn of his head was rewarded by a ferocious burst of pain, and he closed his eyes and locked his muscles to prevent further motion. Slowly, the pain subsided. "How much did we drink?" Jeff thought aloud. His eyes pried open again.
Jeff's heart leaped to his throat at the sight that greeted him. There was a girl next to him in bed. A dark-haired girl with vampire makeup. And she was naked. Jeff felt panic swell within him. What the hell had happened? And how was he ever going to explain this to Holly?
Jeff closed his eyes and thought. The box. It had changed Holly and him. They'd gone to the party - as the two-headed thing? The pounding in his head made it more than clear that he'd had a few beers. Enough to black out? Or was his memory just slowed by the alcohol? Though he remembered the vampire girl - had she been trying to hit on _them_? - he couldn't remember _how_ he'd gotten into bed with her. But he must have. Somehow. The world was very confusing to Jeff.
He felt stirring beside him, and he turned back just as Holly's eyes opened. They looked as bloodshot and battle-worn as his felt. Slowly, she adjusted to her surroundings, although she seemed less hung over than he was. "Morning," she muttered as she lifted her head to kiss him.
"Morning," Jeff answered uneasily.
"Great party," Holly tried to make small talk. "But I think we drank too much." She felt the bed move, and she lifted her head. Her face was unreadable to Jeff as she saw the girl next to them.
"Uh," Jeff sputtered quickly, "I ... that is, I'm not sure ... I don't know how she got here!" he finally blurted out.
Holly frowned. "Uh huh," she said evenly.
"Honest!" he protested. "I don't remember anything! I didn't do anything, either!"
Holly let him babble for a few moments, then she shook her head, cutting off his words. "What _do_ you remember?" she asked cautiously.
Jeff frowned as he thought. "You got mad at me for wanting to dance with her. I think. And we were dancing with ... Raquel Welch?"
Holly nodded slowly to avoid causing pain in her own head. "Yeah, it was Raquel. You don't remember talking to her," she nodded toward the sleeping girl, "after dancing with Raquel and Clint?"
"What's going on here?" Jeff finally demanded. "I don't remember anything."
Holly smiled thinly. "You passed out. She helped us get back up here."
Jeff nodded; a bit of the night was being revealed. But there were still mysteries. Such as .... "Who is she? And why is she still here? And why is she naked?" he decided to start with the obvious.
Holly winced. "I think we kind of, you know," she looked down, and her face was reddening, "had ... sex."
**** MODIFIED ******
They were more than halfway to Fred's house, and Holly noticed that Jeff still wasn't talking. "You seem awfully quiet," she observed, hoping to stir some conversation or discussion.
"Just thinking," Jeff answered. Simple and short.
Holly watched him for a moment. He was lost in thought.
"So what did you think?" Holly prodded softly. "About being so ... close?"
Jeff shrugged, but didn't answer. His lips seemed to purse more tightly together.
Holly was getting worried. This wasn't like Jeff. He seemed — distant, remote, even unapproachable. "You're mad because I ... had sex," she suddenly bawled. "Aren't you?"
Jeff spun and glanced at her. His chin dropped in shock at her words.
Before he could say anything, Holly blurted, "You're going to dump me because of it. Aren't you?" It was less a question than an accusation. Her tears started flowing, and with their hands on the steering wheel, she couldn't wipe them away. Instead they just streamed down her cheeks.
Jeff swallowed and took a deep breath — no small feat given that Holly was blubbering with their body and he had to fight that. "I was thinking about how close we were," he started to explain.
"And we blew it," Holly interrupted. "Didn't we? All we did was argue and fight!"
Jeff sighed. He drove for a few seconds, not looking at Holly, which was obviously adding to her anxiety. It was clear that he was trying to figure out how to say what he was thinking. "I didn't realize how hard it was to be so close. It got a little ... tense ... a couple of times. But we worked as a team and got through it." They pulled up to another light, and he stopped. This time, he turned toward Holly. She could see ... something ... in his eyes. Some emotion, some thought, that she'd never seen before. "I was thinking that maybe it's time we got a little serious," he said softly.
Holly's mouth dropped open. "Are you serious?" she asked, stunned. With one hand, she reached up and wiped at her tears. "You're serious?"
Jeff nodded solemnly. "Yup."
Holly stared at him for a few quiet seconds. "But I betrayed you," she finally said in a hushed voice. "I," she turned away, "I had ... sex ... with someone else." There. It was in the open. She closed her eyes, afraid of how Jeff was going to react.
Jeff sighed and nodded, his face displaying a strange sadness. "You got a chance to learn something about guys," he said slowly. "You understand me a little better now." Then he continued, in a very soft voice, "But I didn't get to learn anything about you."
Holly heard him - barely. Something didn't seem quite right in his reaction. "Are you okay?" she finally asked.
Jeff nodded. "Yeah," he answered, but his voice lacked conviction.
"But I had sex with someone else!" Holly protested again.
Jeff shook his head again. "I can't blame you for being curious," he answered.
"But it wasn’t with you!" she added. "We promised each other! We _promised_!"
Jeff blinked slowly, then he shook his head. Holly couldn't see the look in his eyes, the haunted sadness. "It was us. Both of us."
"You were passed out!" Holly nearly screamed. "And I took advantage of that! I had sex with her!"
"Was it good?"
Holly blinked in surprise. "What?"
"Was it good?" Jeff repeated the question.
"What the hell does that have to do with _us_?"
Jeff sighed yet again. "Do you want me to be angry? Do you want to have a fight over this?"
Holly started to speak, then she stopped and her mouth closed. After a brief pause, she dropped her gaze. "Maybe," she admitted. "I don't know what I'm feeling."
"Was it good?"
Holly nodded slowly. "Yeah," she admitted.
Jeff nodded, then he turned his attention back to driving.
A few blocks later, Holly turned to him again. "And you didn't get a chance to experience it the other way," she said softly.
Jeff fought his emotions. Guys weren't supposed to cry, and he felt betrayed by the tear leaking from the corner of his eye. "Nope," he said very softly.
"Because it would be a fair trade for what I did?" Holly postulated.
Jeff shook his head. He could feel his cheeks reddening. "Nope. I'm just ...." He turned away from her so she couldn't see his expression, "I'm just curious."
Holly's jaw dropped. She stared at Jeff for a long time, digesting what had to be, for him, a painful admission. She didn't know what to say.
"You feel guilty about last night, don't you?" Jeff asked her, saving her from the other line of thought.
"No," Holly said quickly. Too quickly. Her lie was transparent. "Yes," she admitted a second later.
"Because of me? Or her? Or both?"
Holly bit her lip, stunned. Jeff understood her feelings a lot better than she'd ever given him credit for. "Both, I guess," she admitted.
"You're afraid that I'll think you're some kind of tramp because you dorked a girl you didn't even know, right?" He saw Holly's astonished nod. "And you're feeling bad because you don't know her, and will never see her again after being intimate, right?"
Holly nodded. "Yeah, I guess that's it."
"And that by dorking her, you cheated on me, right?"
Holly nodded yet again. "I _did_ cheat on you."
Jeff shook his head. "Remember, I was the one who wanted to dance with her first," he reminded Holly. "So I was tempted, too." He lapsed into silence again.
Holly thought about Jeff's words for a while. "But you feel left out," she observed. She watched Jeff's jaw muscles tighten, and she knew she'd guessed right.
"Do you ... want to be ...?" Holly couldn't complete the question.
"No," Jeff answered quickly, his voice firm.
"Are you sure?" Holly's voice echoed her sudden doubts. Was Jeff really happy as he was? Why else was he reacting so strongly to the fact that he didn't get to experience the changes the way she had?
Jeff sighed. Now he _had_ to tell Holly the one deep secret he'd kept from everyone. "It's just that, well, from the first time I had sex, I _knew_ it was different for girls." He gulped, feeling his cheeks blush as he was forced to admit his innermost curiosity. "I ... always ... wondered. What it was like. Why it seemed so much more important for the girl." He shook his head slowly. "I mean, for the guy, it's kind of a one-shot deal, then it's over. For the girl, it seems to ... end up in a ... long glow. Some kind of extended happy feeling." He swallowed again. "I guess I just wondered how it felt."
In the dark corners of Holly's subconscious, away from her cognitive mind, a thought rang out. That was the key! That was the way for Holly to escape her guilt! If Jeff had experience sex as a woman, then he would understand the 'glow', and he'd be upset with her at the fact that _she'd_ had sex! Then he'd get mad, and everything could be made whole again! Holly didn't know it, but her subconscious was trying to find a way out of a self-imposed bind. Her guilt wouldn't go away, no matter what Jeff said. Her subconscious couldn't rationalize it away. And since she was feeling guilty, Jeff had to be angry at her behavior. But he wouldn't. Unless....
"You know," Holly said softly, "we could make a little change when we undo our costume." She looked at Jeff hopefully.
Jeff thought, then his eyebrows rose fractionally. "You mean..."
Holly nodded. "At least for a day or two." She saw his reaction; she heard the uncertainty in his voice. "You could find out what it's like. And with me."
Jeff's resolve was wavering, and Holly could sense it. "You said you always wondered what it was like..."
***** MODIFIED *****
The car lurched to a halt against the curb. It was by no means a graceful stop, but neither Holly nor Jeff seemed to care. They both moaned at the way the jolt of the sudden stop had slammed into their tender heads which still smarted, despite aspirin, from the hangover they had. Slowly, they crawled from the car and walked toward the house.
When no one answered the doorbell, Holly frowned. "Try again," she suggested to Jeff.
Jeff gave her a curt glance which said 'thanks for telling me the obvious', then he rang the bell once more.
They were rewarded with the sound of the bolt being unlocked, and the door creaked open. Fred, still a satyr, winced at the bright sunlight. "Hi," he said softly, as if the noise of his voice was painful to his ears. "Come in."
Holly and Jeff stepped into Fred's house, shutting the door behind them. "Good party," Holly said tentatively.
It seemed to take a second for Fred to comprehend what Holly had said. "Yeah," he agreed. "But I've got a bit of a hangover right now."
Holly glanced down at Fred's goat legs, then she blushed and looked back up. "Okay, if that's what you want to call it."
Jeff wasn't so discrete. "Sorry we interrupted. We'll just change and get out of here so you can finish up."
Fred frowned, then slowly a grin spread over his face. "I needed a bit of a break anyway." He walked back toward his bedroom, his hooves clicking on the floor.
Holly and Jeff walked into the den, where the alien box stood. As Holly reached out to touch the control pad, she frowned. "What's this?" she asked as she spied the strange symbols flashing on the display pad.
Jeff leaned a bit closer and looked. He frowned as he studied the flashing figures. "I don't know."
Holly shook her head. "I don't like it," she said, worry in her voice. "What if it means something is wrong with the box?"
Jeff nodded. "Let's get this over with." Together, they touched the control pad, and the flashing figures disappeared. Slowly, they reconstructed their original bodies, assisting each other as they did so. Done, they reached for the purple knob.
"Wait a sec," Holly interrupted. Her voice was filled with uncertainty.
Jeff stopped. "What?"
Holly moved their hand back to the control plate. After a moment, the display changed. Holly looked at Jeff, her face tinged with the red of embarrassment and the wrinkled brow of uncertainty.
"Are you sure?"
Holly gulped, then she nodded. "If you are," she answered softly.
Jeff nodded, then he touched the purple knob. The door appeared, and they stepped in. "Ready?" he asked Holly as he held their hand an inch from the inside control knob.
Holly gulped again, then she nodded. "Yeah," she agreed. The hand lowered. The door vanished. Moments later, the door reappeared and they stepped out, now separated as Jeff and Holly, and clothed as they had been the previous evening.
Jeff reached out his hand to Holly, who was caught by surprise. She took his hand in hers, and together they turned away from the alien box. "I'll just tell Fred that we're leaving," he said softly.
"Okay," Holly said. "I'll just wait in the hall." She detached her hand from his, then she leaned against the wall. She gazed into the den, to the strange box that had really changed their lives for the past day. She thought about what had transpired between she and Jeff during their forced intimacy. Then her brow furrowed. She levered herself from the wall and walked into the den.
"Holly?" Jeff's voice echoed lightly in the hall. He walked down to where she'd been, then he glanced into the den, to where Holly stood staring at the display. "What's going on?" he asked.
Holly shook her head and frowned. "I don’t know. But the display froze with these characters on it, and it's not working now."
Jeff scowled, then he tried touching the control. As Holly had said, it didn't respond. He tried again. "I better tell Fred." He rushed back down the hall.
Moments later, Fred followed Jeff into the den, followed by a buxom redhead with a sheet wrapped around her torso. "What did you do?" he demanded as he approached the box.
Holly shook her head. "I was in the hall when I saw the display freeze. So I came in to look at it."
Fred pushed past her and gawked at the display. "Hmmm," he muttered, then he touched the pad. Nothing happened. He touched it again, with the same result. His taps on the pad became more and more frantic, more panicked, and he fought to get the box to respond to him. "No!" he screamed as he began to beat on the red crystal in a futile attempt to get the box to operate.
"Are you ... saying it's broken?" the girl asked. Her eyes were wide and panic-stricken. She saw Fred's frenetic efforts to make the box operate. "You mean, I'm stuck? Like this?" She was getting quite hysterical. "I can't be stuck! Not like this!" she screamed over and over.
Fred joined her wailing. "It's _got_ to work!" he screamed. "I _can't_ be stuck! I can't!"
Holly and Jeff stood, speechless, watching their friend, realizing slowly that he was stuck in the body of a satyr, and unable to do anything about it. And neither of them knew what they could do to help.
And then Holly glanced down, at Jeff's crotch. At the smooth pants devoid of the usual bulge. At the same time, he was glancing at her. Their eyes lifted and met at the same time, both of their mouths open in shock, and their eyes wide.
**********
"Amy and Rich took the news pretty well," Holly observed as they pulled up to a stoplight.
"I'd say that Amy took it better than Rich," Jeff corrected. "Especially when Rich realized he was going to have periods."
Holly nodded. "Did you see him blush when Amy said he'd be stuck having sex as a woman?" she asked with a wry grin.
Jeff laughed. "It seemed to me that they'd already tried it, and that he liked it."
"What about Fred?"
Jeff shook his head. "I don't know." The light turned green, and he was distracted for a moment with the clutch and shifting gears. He shook his head again, sadly. "I don't know."
"I can't believe he's stuck as a satyr," Holly said softly.
"I can't believe Al would have let himself be talked into changing into a girl, and then would have sex with Fred!" Jeff added. He shuddered. "It's so ... weird!"
Holly shrugged her shoulders. "Remember, there was something about being a satyr that had a ... strange ... effect on women."
Jeff shuddered. "Don't remind me."
"So maybe it wasn't really Al's fault that they were having sex."
They were silent for a couple of blocks. Then Holly turned to Jeff. "You realize we almost got stuck ... like we were."
Jeff felt a chill go up his spine - again. "I haven't been thinking about much _besides_ that!"
A smile slowly spread over Holly's face. "And we're stuck ... the way we are now. It's not just for a few days like we'd planned."
"But it could be," Jeff said softly. "Maybe the box needs to recharge or something." He looked worried. "Fred used it a lot the last couple of days. Maybe it only works so many times a day or something." Though his words sounded hopeful, they lacked conviction. Jeff was clearly trying to convince himself as much as Holly.
Holly thought for a moment. "I guess it is possible." She glanced out the window, then she glanced back at Jeff's crotch. "But what if it isn't?" She looked at Jeff's face, searching for some kind of emotional response. "What if it's really broken?"
"I'm trying not to think about that," Jeff said. After a moment, he grunted. "Who am I kidding? Fred tried everything. It wouldn't work!" He shook his head. "We're stuck!" He lapsed into silence.
"You're being awfully quiet," Holly observed after a bit. "Are you okay?"
Jeff glanced down at his crotch, then he nodded slowly. "Yeah, I guess so," he answered weakly. "As good as I can be, anyway."
"Are you mad that I suggested it?"
Jeff glanced at Holly, then he shook his head. "No. Because, to tell you the truth, if you hadn't, I probably would have."
Holly smiled. "Well, just in case the box still works, I'm going to have to show you what it means to have sex as a woman right away, aren't I?" She put her hand on Jeff's knee. Slowly, her hand moved up his thigh.
Jeff felt something warm in his crotch - warm and tingly and ... wonderful. His pulse quickened, and he felt his body tremble. After a second, he reached down and stopped her hand. "This feels weird," he said slowly.
Holly grinned. "It's called being horny."
Jeff glanced at her, then he glanced down, to where a large bulge was visible in her slacks. His eyes widened, and he gulped. "I'm driving, remember?" he said hesitantly. His voice cracked with his fear and uncertainty.
"So I'll wait until we get home," Holly said as she removed her hand. "And then," she added in a breathy voice, "I'm going to have you." Holly could plainly see the conflicting emotions tearing at Jeff. His fear of the unknown, his intense curiosity, the desire kindled by her not-so-subtle overture. She grinned - they were going to have fun when they got home.
Jeff bit his lip, then he nodded. "As long as it's you," he finally said. "But it's going to take some getting used to. I'm not used to the thought of a dick going in _me_!" He swallowed, trying to choke down his fears of what it would mean to have a pussy. To be on the receiving end of a dick. And to Jeff, that felt ... wrong. He shuddered, worried that if he got to like it _too_ much, it would mean he was gay. "And besides," he added uneasily, "you seem to be pleased."
Holly smiled. "And I think you're going to like it, too. I'm pretty sure I can convince you of that."
"You think so?" Jeff sounded nervous - and justifiably so.
Holly grinned. "I can say, with certainty, that you're going to _love_ it!" She smiled. "You know, this is going to be strange for both of us. It may get awkward. You know, work, social life."
Jeff nodded. "Yeah, I thought of that." He forced a smile. "But with you, I think I can get through it."
Holly squeezed his hand. "Me, too."
"I'm glad Halloween's over," Jeff said after a short pause.
"So am I," Holly agreed. "But next year?"
Jeff glanced at her. "What?"
"Simple costumes." She started laughing, and Jeff joined her.
**********
Epilogue
Holly was just about to sit down with the paper when the doorbell rang. She glanced at her seat, then she dropped the paper and walked to the door. She glanced through the spyhole, then she opened the door.
"Ma'am?" a dark-suited older man said firmly, "Are you Holly Daniels? Or is it Holly Hardy?"
Holly nodded slowly. "It's Hardy." She saw another man, similarly attired, standing behind his partner. "Who are you?"
The man held up an ID card. "We're with the government, ma'am."
Holly looked at the card. It all _looked_ official.
"May we come in?"
"What's this about?" Holly asked cautiously.
"We're investigating some strange goings on associated with a friend of yours," the man answered. "May we come in?"
Holly nodded, then she undid the safety lock and opened the door. The two men came in. "Sit down. Please," Holly offered as she shut the door. She sat down in Jeff's chair opposite the agents.
"Is your husband home?" the older agent asked.
Holly nodded. "Jeff?" she called. "Some government men want to talk to us."
Jeff glanced into the room, then he glided in and sat down in a vacant chair. "Who are they?"
"We're with the government," the older man said simply.
The younger agent, set a manila folder on his lap and opened it. He extracted a picture and passed it to Holly, who glanced at it and passed it to Jeff. "You know him?"
Jeff and Holly nodded. "That's Fred. Fred Richards," Jeff answered. "We've been friends since school."
The agent handed Holly another picture. Her mouth dropped when she saw it. Jeff reached over and took the picture. His eyes widened in surprise.
"And that?"
Holly glanced at the picture once more. "That's Fred, too," she said softly.
"What's this about?" Jeff asked.
The agents ignored him. The younger man retrieved a third photo and passed it to Holly. "I presume you've seen this?"
It was a picture of the strange box Fred had let them use. Holly sat in stunned silence, but Jeff nodded mutely.
"Is this some kind of top secret thing?" Holly asked fearfully as she looked up from the picture.
The agents exchanged a quick glance. "You two were changed by the box, correct?"
Jeff nodded slowly. "What's this about? Is this some kind of X-files thing? What's going on?"
The older agent continued. "We're investigating this device and the changes it makes to people."
The younger man nodded. "Since you two were changed by the device, we're interested in finding out what you observed while using it and if there were any ... aftereffects."
"Is this ... some kind of alien thing?" Holly asked cautiously.
The older agent nodded. "Yes, ma'am, we believe it is."
Jeff grinned. "I _knew_ it!" he said softly but insistently. "I _knew_ it was some kind of alien device!"
"Last Halloween, you two used the device to make yourselves into two independent heads on a single body, correct?"
Jeff frowned. "Yes," he said softly. "What does that have to do...?"
"And you restored yourselves without any side effects?"
Jeff glanced at Holly and saw the uncertainty on her face. "Yes," he answered slowly.
"We'd like you to describe your experience with the device. How you operated it. Any constraints you observed. How you were able to control one body with two independent minds. What you observed when it ceased functioning. Anything you remember."
Jeff glanced at Holly. He had the uneasy feeling that these guys knew a lot more about the device than they were letting on.
**********
"You're sure you don't want our doctors to examine you?" the younger agent asked, puzzled. "To make sure there weren't any ... side effects?"
Jeff glanced at Holly, then he shook his head. "No thanks," he said with certainty. "We're okay."
"If you think of anything else you'd like to add, you have our numbers." The older agent stood and walked to the door, with his junior partner following him.
"But..." Holly seemed puzzled.
The younger agent stopped. "Yes?" He saw her bewilderment. "You're wondering if we'll do some kind of Men-In-Black thing to make you forget, or something like that?"
Holly glanced at Jeff, and then nodded. "Yeah, something like that."
The older agent shook his head. "I _hate_ that movie," he spat.
"No, ma'am. We don't operate like that."
"Oh." Holly watched them walk down the steps as she shut the door.
Jeff came up behind her and put his arms around her. "How many people _did_ Fred change?" he asked softly. "And how do these guys know about everything that happened?"
Holly shook her head. "I don't know." She glanced at Jeff. "You didn't tell them about ..."
Jeff shook his head. "Neither did you."
Holly smiled. "I didn't think they needed to know." She reached up and gave her husband a kiss. She felt herself getting aroused at the passionate way he responded to her lips.
Jeff's eyes widened, then he smiled and backed away from her. He dropped his gaze, and he saw the bulge in her crotch. He kissed her again, while Holly began to unfasten the buttons on his shirt.
As Jeff's shirt fell off his shoulders, Holly's hands began to caress his chest, focusing on his large dark nipples. Though the underlying breasts were small, judging by Jeff's reaction to her touch, they were very sensitive. She disengaged from his lips and lowered her head to kiss and caress his nipples with her tongue. Jeff sighed with pleasure.
Holly glanced up. "I see you like that," she said with an impish grin. "You know, they're going to keep growing," she said as her fingers continued to touch his budding breasts.
Jeff sighed contentedly. "Good," he said with a grin. "I like the way they feel when you touch them."
"With your pussy pumping all those girly hormones through your system, your boobs are going to get big enough that someone's going to notice." Holly kissed them again. "And if they keep growing, we're going to have to get you a bra." Holly grinned wickedly. "In fact, since your chest is growing like a twelve year old girl's, maybe we should get you a training bra now!"
Jeff frowned. "I don't think so," he said. His frown vanished under Holly's careful ministrations to his chest.
Holly stopped and glanced up at Jeff's contented face. "Do you ever miss your dick?" she asked simply.
Jeff smiled. "Only during my period," he answered.
"That reminds me. You're going to have to go to the doctor pretty soon to get your own prescription for birth control," Holly observed in a serious tone. "My pills are almost gone, and I'd have to go to the doctor to get a refill."
Jeff grinned. "Somehow, I don't think a doctor's going to write you a prescription for pills."
"I'm serious," Holly protested. "You don't want to get pregnant, do you?"
Jeff put his arms around Holly and pulled her closer to him as he sank to the couch, slowly pulling her down on top of him. "As long as it's with you..."
Holly grinned. "You're insatiable."
Jeff nibbled her ear. "So are you," he said as he rubbed his crotch against hers. "And I _like_ it that way!"
FIN
MAU: Trekkies
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MAU: Trekkies
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ElrodW
A stereotypical nerd and big Star Trek fan is having major problems fitting in, let alone getting treated as a real person. Then, at an SF convention, he discovers an alien box, and it transforms his life, and the lives of many of his acquaintences.
(NOTE: I know that the preferred term is Trekker. I am one. This title sounded better to me, okay?
Another note: This started as a short little piece about one character. But sometimes, stories have minds of their own. It just mushroomed, and refused to be so confined. And it was much more fun to write this way.)
This was posted years ago at another website. I figured it was time to take a short BB break (while I'm in writer's block) and share some of the oldies. I hope you enjoy it.
************************************************
This story is copyright by the author. It is protected by licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
"Well I don't care what you think!" The shorter lad thumped his finger in Danny Long's chest. "Major Kira is the hottest babe ever!"
Danny glared down, offended at the little twerp. "Hands off the uniform!" he glowered, brushing the Star Trek jacket smooth. He wore the jacket and trousers of the Voyager series, the black pants and jacket, shoulders capped by signature deep red of command staff, and a communicator pin proudly displayed on his chest. Star Trek fans could easily recognize it as the uniform of the last season of Voyager, modified from when the show first began its run. The uniform, though, looked awkward on Danny's tall skinny body; instead of a commanding Star Fleet presence, the uniform looked out of place.
The twerp confronting him, on the other hand, was maybe five foot six inches; Danny easily gazed at the top of the kid's head. The kid was heavyset, easily outweighing Danny, giving him a rather rotund appearance. Unlike Danny's tailored Voyager costume, the interloper was dressed in an ill-fitting off-the-shelf knock-off uniform of a Bajoran security officer from the Deep Space Nine series; it added greatly to the kid's sloppy appearance.
"You're both wrong!" a new voice interjected. Danny turned his head and saw Mike, a longtime friend and roommate. Mike strode noisily across the back of the conference room toward them, his Klingon armor clapping and clattering. "They're both scrawny little females with no...appeal!" He said the last with gusto, his hands clasping in front of his chest as if hefting large breasts. "They know nothing of fighting or pleasing a man!" He growled at the short intruder, causing the twerp to flinch visibly. "Take Lursa," he grinned. "Now there's a real woman!" Mike towered over even Danny; six-feet six, two hundred twenty pounds of muscle, Mike cut an imposing figure.
Danny watched the twerp scamper off, intimidated by the sheer physical bulk of Mike. "Hey, Mike," he smiled, reaching out his hand, then wincing as his large buddy clenched it painfully. "I was wondering where you were!"
Mike grinned, showing off his teeth. With the Klingon teeth caps, the armor, and the prosthetic headpiece nearly perfectly attached, he looked every inch a true Klingon warrior. All that was missing was a bat'leth; then again, here, as at most conventions, weapons were prohibited. "How could I miss today's sessions? I mean, Gowron!"
Danny smiled. Robert O'Reilly, the actor who played Chancellor Gowron on both Star Trek: The Next Generation and on Deep Space Nine, was the featured guest, and he was speaking today. Someone like Mike, a huge fan of anything Klingon, wasn't going to miss this for the world. "Yeah, he should be good." Danny didn't sound too enthusiastic.
Mike clapped Danny's shoulders. "But I know you wanted to see _her_." Though her name was unspoken, Mike knew, from their long friendship, who Danny had hoped to see. Unfortunately, due to a bout of flu, she'd had to cancel her appearance.
Danny shrugged, then he glanced at his watch. He pulled out his program book and rifled through the pages. "Gowron's not on for about three hours." He grimaced. "There's a panel discussion on the future of Star Trek," he read. "And I'm on a panel on nanotechnology right after that."
Mike grinned as he shook his head. "There's a seminar on advanced Klingonese for the next hour. But I'll catch you for the nanotech session."
**********
Danny trembled as he walked nervously from the meeting room, where he'd been on the panel. He blindly followed the throng of people meandering toward the main room, until he spied a vacant chair. Danny slumped down in the chair, his nerves jangled from the discussion, his hands trembling visibly.
"Great job!" Mike's voice boomed from above, startling Danny.
Danny sighed with relief as he recognized his roommate. "I'm not sure..." he said hesitantly.
Mike flopped down on the floor, his armor clattering. "Bull! You had them all, including that pompous ass from Stanford!"
Danny shook his head. "That was worse than the orals for my masters," he mumbled. Then he looked at Mike. "You really think I did okay?"
Mike laughed, a deep hearty laugh that would have been worthy of a true Klingon. "You nailed it. And everyone in the room loved how you stumped the so-called expert with your discussion of active versus passive nanobots."
Danny permitted a slight smile. "Well, having done a masters thesis and studying the subject for my PhD helps," he admitted. "And I'd read Kachanski's writings." He shook his head. "I just didn't expect him to be on the panel."
Mike roared again. "Well, you acquitted yourself well. So how about going to dinner after Gowron?"
Danny looked thoughtful for a moment, then he nodded. "Sure. If you can wait a bit so I can stop in the dealer's room on the way."
********************
Danny strode slowly out of the main hall. He clutched an autographed picture of Robert O'Reilly, but he wasn't really smiling. A couple of girls, dressed in normal street clothes and without convention badges, watched him walk, and he thought he heard one of them giggling. Danny shook his head, sighing heavily to himself. Why couldn't they ever accept him for his hobbies and interests? No one made fun of sports fanatics, of guys who dressed in the uniforms of overpaid athletic stars. So why were Trek fans such fair game?
Danny glanced at the strange box tucked under his arm. He'd run across it in the dealer's room, and from the strange symbols, he figured it was something that might interest Mike. The symbols etched onto the top vaguely resembled the strange Klingon script writing Mike was always practicing. Mike's birthday was coming up soon, too.
Danny sighed as he walked through the connecting tunnel from the convention center to the prime hotel. Like most big science fiction and Star Trek conventions, the main hotel was the site of the party rooms and suites, the hospitality lounge, and most of the unofficial 'action'. Being a struggling PhD student, he had to make the salary from his part-time job stretch, and he'd had wanted to stay in one of the cheaper outlying hotels, but Mike had insisted.
Mike was sprawled on one of the beds when Danny came in. He glanced at Danny, then at the box. "What'd you find?"
Danny shrugged. "I'm not sure. But it's got some neat figures on it that look kind of Klingon."
Mike sat up, suddenly very interested. "Let's see." He leaned over Danny's bed, studying the strange metal box and especially the intricate symbols in the top. "Hmm," he mused, "they _do_ look Klingon." Mike not only spoke fluent Klingon, but he also could write - with difficulty - the elaborate script. His nearly fanatical devotion to Star Trek, with his inherited wealth and his remarkable intelligence, allowed him the time and resources to become what others might call an obsessive fan.
As Mike traced the symbols, the box suddenly started to quiver, and then its metal began to stretch. Slowly, it began to grow. Mike scooted off his bed, backing away from the strange box, his eyes wide with surprise and his mouth hanging open. Danny, on the other hand, sat watching the box, his eyes narrowed as he studied it. The box suddenly stopped growing, and then it flipped itself neatly off the bed and landed right-side up.
"What the hell is it?" Mike asked, his voice sounding small and fearful.
"I don’t know," Danny answered softly, still watching the amazing little box. The box resumed its growth, now stretching vertically as well as horizontally, until it finally stopped. It now resembled a good-sized phone booth, but with plain gray sides.
"How...how did it grow like that?"
Danny shook his head as he walked to the device. "I don't know," he answered, his voice hushed. "Maybe some kind of dimensional gateway? Or nanobots?"
Mike read the excitement rising in Danny's voice. For the box to have done what it did, some very advanced technology was at work, and the potential of some kind of nanotechnology was too enticing to Danny.
Danny started around the device, curiously examining the strange metal. "Hey, this looks like some kind of control," he reported mere seconds later.
Danny's guess was quite accurate. Mike looked at the odd red plate, looking like a dinosaur paw, and the odd purple knob, then at the flat black panel. "Some kind of display panel maybe?"
Danny reached slowly for the purple knob. He winced as he touched it, as if expecting something bad to happen. But the box sat, silently concealing its secrets. "Hmm," he mumbled. "Maybe this one..." He touched the reddish plate. Instantly, the black display changed, and row after row of the alien symbols appeared, finally beginning to scroll. Danny removed his hand, and the display froze. He touched it again, and the scrolling continued. "Some kind of readout, you think?"
Mike nodded slowly. "But what does it say?"
Danny shook his head. "I don’t know. Too bad we don’t have a camera to record it."
Mike started to speak, then he pulled Danny's hand off the display, causing it to freeze once more. "Wait a sec." He bent over his suitcase and fumbled around. A moment later, he had his digital camcorder out, and he activated it. "Okay, go."
Danny grinned, then he touched the panel again. Once more, the display began to scroll, this time captured on video. Finally, it froze, and the final row of symbols blinked at them. Danny glanced at Mike, shrugging. "What do you think that's about?"
Mike frowned. "You think it's trying to ask if we want to continue? You know, like a computer display?" His guess was pretty accurate.
Danny touched the red crystal again, and the symbols vanished. As the two watched, the display began to change, and slowly a ghost-like figure began to appear. As they watched, the image began to solidify, acquiring substance as details began to form.
"Holy shit!" Mike exclaimed as he began to recognize the figure. "It's...Gowron!" His jaw hung open in disbelief as the image finally coalesced.
Danny dropped his hand, his own mouth agape. "Incredible!" he said slowly.
Mike stared at the image, then at Danny. "What?"
"Just a sec." Danny reached for the red plate again. The image of Gowron vanished, and slowly another image took its place. Danny let the image finish, then he turned to Mike smiling. "This thing...reads your mind!"
Mike stared at the image of Seven of Nine, the Borg beauty from the Voyager series. Her image was displayed in perfect detail. Mike pushed Danny aside. "Let me try," he insisted. He touched the plate, and again the image shifted. This time, the figure had the ridged forehead of a Klingon, but with the vast cleavage of a well-endowed woman. Any Trek fan worth his or her salt would have immediately recognized the image as Lursa, from The Next Generation series. Mike leered at the extremely chesty Klingon woman, clad as she was in her low-cut armor and exposing her generous cleavage. He turned, grinning broadly. "It really does read your mind!"
"I wonder what this does," Danny said to himself as he reached for the purple knob. While staring at busty Klingon women was interesting, he was more curious about the strange box. He reached out and touched the knob....
With no sound or motion, a door appeared - or a part of the side vanished; it was hard to tell which. One second, the side of the box was the plain gray metal. The next, it had a neat opening, like a door. Danny and Mike flinched.
Mike recovered first. He peered cautiously inside the box. "Hey, there's another one in here," he reported. He stepped into the box and reached for the other knob.
The door vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Danny felt a surge of panic; this was very advanced technology, and he had no idea of what it was capable. Now, Mike had vanished. Danny touched the purple knob frantically. Nothing happened. He reached for it a second time, but the door appeared before he could touch it.
Out of the box stepped Lursa, her mouth open in astonishment and her hands cupping the curved Klingon armor restraining her massive breasts. She looked identical to the picture, down to every little detail. "Wha....?" she was trying to ask. She looked up at Danny, her eyes wide. "Danny?"
Danny stood gawking at the woman, concern for his friend replaced by the surprise at seeing a voluptuous Klingon woman staring at him and holding her boobs. He felt himself starting to get aroused by the woman. "What did you do to Mike?" he finally managed to stammer.
"I...I am Mike," the woman replied. "It's me!" She looked down again, at the breasts she was cupping. "The box changed me!"
Most people would have immediately dismissed such a notion as absurd, writing the change off to a remarkable illusion or trick. Proof would have been required. Danny and Mike, however, were definitely not ordinary people. "Mike?" Danny asked; even as he asked, the last lingering doubt vanished. He knew. "It...changed you into the image? That's incredible!" He alternated his gaze between Mike and the image frozen on the display. "So is it an image projector, or did it actually alter your body? And does it work down to the genetic level? How deep are the changes? Does it have any effect on your mind?" The questions spurt forth as from a machine gun.
Mike shook his head. "I don't know," he answered, still cupping his boobs. "But it's not an illusion," he reported. "This feels...real!" He felt his body shiver, and then he glanced back at Danny. "It must be an actual alteration. It feels like my whole body is changed." He trembled again, and his eyes narrowed as he wondered why. He glanced at Danny, at the bulge in Danny's pants.
Something stirred in Mike, some vestige of his image of Lursa and Klingon women. They were the aggressors, according to the Star Trek universe. They took their men. Knowing this, Mike had been thinking subconsciously the same way every Trek fan imagined Klingon women would act. The thoughts were picked up by the box, and subtle changes were made in Mike's body as it was rearranged to the Klingon form. His libido, already high, was greatly enhanced. At the same time, his aggressive tendencies were heightened. A powerful combination was formed, and Mike felt some primitive instincts take charge of his body. Needs that he didn't know now burst forth, and with the combination of mental changes, Mike lost control to the base lust of this body.
Mike turned at Danny, then lunged at him. Danny was caught unaware, and fell backward onto his bed with Lursa atop him. The wild woman who'd been his roommate kissed and bit aggressively at him, her hands tearing frantically at both their clothes. Danny tried to protest, but Lursa was out of control with lust, and even though she was a woman, she was still much stronger than Danny. Fear of being hurt, coupled with lust at the very endowed and horny woman, caused him to quit protesting.
********
Danny sat on the bed, dazed and confused. His jacket was torn, and his skin bled in dozens of placed where Mike's claw-like fingernails had torn into his flesh. He'd been virtually raped by the Klingon woman.
Mike sat across from him. "I couldn't stop myself," he muttered to himself. "I couldn't stop!" Still in Lursa's body, he sat dazed, and yet strangely contented. He looked down at the floor, embarrassed by what he'd done, unable to look directly at Danny. "I couldn't stop..."
Danny felt conflicting emotions. On one hand, he'd just had fantastic sex. On the other hand, it had been with his roommate, albeit in a Klingon woman's body. Still, it was Mike. He had a sudden, almost terrifying thought. "So the box alters a body, and changes mental capabilities to match." He stood slowly, feeling his sore muscles complaining and the burning of the minor cuts and scratchs, and crossed to the box. His hand touched the plate, and slowly, an image of Mike appeared. "I guess the trick is going to be seeing if it's reversible."
Mike's head snapped up, and a new fear crept into his eyes. He'd not considered the possibility of being trapped in this body. Slowly, he stood, his breasts hanging free and jiggling. "You think I might be stuck?"
Danny shrugged, feeling sudden sympathy for Mike. If this weren't reversible, he'd be stuck as a horny Klingon woman. "I don't know. I guess there's only one way to find out."
Mike shuddered, then he touched the purple knob. The door reappeared, and with a quick glance over his shoulder at Danny, he stepped into the box. The door vanished as Mike touched the inner knob, only to reappear moments later. Mike stepped nervously from the box, his hands patting his body to reassure himself that he was indeed a human male again. He sat down on his bed, still nervous about meeting Danny's gaze. "At least the thing works both ways."
Danny slumped to his own bed, wincing at the tiny stabs of pain from some of his lacerations. "This thing has some incredible possibilities," he said softly, his mind racing as he contemplated some of the things this machine could do. For long moments, the two sat in awkward silence. "So how was it?" Danny finally asked with a grin.
Mike glanced up, and when he saw Danny's grin, he started to laugh aloud. "It was...interesting," he finally sputtered through his laughter. "But I don't want to do it every day."
"So," Danny asked casually, "you want to experiment with this box some more, or do you want to hit the party suites?"
Mike's mouth dropped open, then slowly, a grin spread across his features. "Party rooms." He glanced at the box. "But first..."
**********
The suite was noisy, a sure sign of a good party. A line of people waited at the door for their party stickers; every decent party had a unique sticker to affix to the attendee's badges. (To some convention attendees, the most important was getting the best assortment of party stickers.) Mike glanced at Danny and smiled. Already, heads at the door were turning their way, faces changing from bored curiosity to amazement and surprise. The two walked casually down the hall toward the party entrance. Around them, con-goers backed away, clearing a path and watching in stunned silence as the two strode confidently toward the door.
Mike reached the door first; the hapless door guard glanced up nervously. "Your badge?" he asked. Most door guards checked badges as they offered the decals.
Mike glared down at the guard and snarled. "I don't need a badge," he growled. He stepped past the awestruck young man into the party. He tilted back his head and roared, a deep booming sound that silenced the room. Heads snapped to see what the disturbance was. The sight that greeted them was imposing. While some party-goers were wearing their costumes, they paled next to Mike. From head to toe, Mike was the spitting image of Kahless, the Klingon warrior of legend. Beside him, Danny stood, his image that of Kern, brother of Worf and another Klingon warrior of repute.
"Who will bring us drink?" Mike demanded, glaring about the room angrily. "We are thirsty warriors in need of blood wine!"
Some of the crowd laughed at the display. It was perfectly in Klingon character, and these two newcomers, with their fantastic costumes, were really acting the part. A couple of party-goers in Klingon attire approached the duo. Danny watched with amusement as they tried to draw themselves up. They fell woefully short of Danny and Mike. The prosthetic headpieces were skillfully applied, but they were still visibly fake. The armor was fabricated from plastic, and it rattled like plastic rather than the metal-on-metal clanking of Mike's and Danny's armor.
In mere seconds, Danny and Mike had drinks in their hands. Curious onlookers found an excuse to talk to them, and left just as curious as to how they'd managed such convincing costumes. Serious Klingon fans sized them up, recognized the faces, and left, impressed by the skillful impersonation of the two. If it was an impersonation. Mike and Danny gave no clues.
**********
Mike rubbed his eyes, fighting the sunlight streaming into the room and the pounding aftereffects of the alcohol. He frowned, then he shook his head in an attempt to clear some cobwebs. He felt a weight on his arm. Instinctively, he glanced down, then he smiled as he recognized the brunette from last night's party. She'd been very taken with his costume, and it hadn't taken much to convince her to join him for the night.
The knock sounded again. Mike gently slid the girl's head off his arm, then he slid out of the bed, pausing to pull on a pair of shorts. Still feeling the pounding, he glanced through the security peephole. He slid open the lock and let the door open as he shuffled back into the room. Behind him, Danny, still clad in his Klingon armor, shuffled noisily into the room, shutting the door with a loud bang behind him. Mike and Danny both flinched at the loud noise.
As Danny clanked into the room, he heard a sigh on Mike's bed. Slowly, a girl sat up. Danny saw she was mostly naked - and quite unembarrassed about it - and turned to talk to Mike. Then he did a double-take. The girl was Klingon. She had the telltale ridges on her forehead. She glanced at Mike, and she made a contented growl, kind of like a purr. As Danny watched, she slid off the bed and began to pull on her garb, a perfectly fitting suit of Klingon armor. Mike stood watching in appreciation, and Danny watching in disbelief, as the girl finished dressing. She walked boldly to Mike, and reaching up, she yanked his head down and brazenly kissed him. She let go and started for the door, then she stopped and glanced at Danny, and more specifically, at the bulge in his pants. She licked her lips, a bold and seductive act that made Danny feel somehow nervous. "I may come back for you," she said, speaking as if seducing Danny were nothing more than eating a burger. She turned and strode out the door.
Danny shook his head. "I guess I don't have to ask how your night was, do I?"
Mike laughed. "She was quite...enjoyable!"
Danny glanced at the box. "Was it my imagination, or did you change her?"
Mike shrugged. "Okay, so I used the box to change her. She wanted to, anyway," he added defensively. Then, slowly, he got a sly look. "Besides, it made her all that much more grateful."
Danny shook his head, laughing softly. "If it works..." He stepped to the control panel and brought up his normal body. Seconds later, he emerged, clad in a clean fresh uniform which the box had dutifully created. "You going to change?" he asked Mike.
Mike grinned as he shook his head. "Partly." He stepped to the plate, then he ducked into the booth. He emerged, not as Kahless, but as a Klingon version of himself. "Being Klingon is a lot of fun." He eyed Danny. "You sure you don't want to try something a little different?" He saw Danny shaking his head. "Could be interesting..." Danny was thinking. Mike decided to take control of the situation. "Look, why don't you try? It couldn't hurt, and it could be a lot of fun." He stepped to the control plate and got an image. When it was done, he touched the purple crystal. "Come on," he prodded. "Give it a try."
Danny's curiosity was running full speed. He frowned at tried to see around Mike, to see what the image was.
His friend smiled and blocked the view. "You'll have to trust me on this one," Mike said mischievously.
Danny finally relented. He let Mike guide him into the booth, then with one last pleading glance at Mike, he touched the crystal. The door vanished as the machine started its work.
The door opened, and out stepped what appeared to be Seven of Nine! Only it was Danny, with his mouth hanging open in shocked disbelief, his neck gazing downward at the soft mounds on his chest, his hands cupped as if he wanted to touch them but was also deathly afraid. He looked up at Mike. "What...?" His voice was soft and wonderfully sexy, the same as Jeri Ryan's. "Why...? He was having terrible trouble focusing on forming questions with the strange sultry voice echoing in his ears.
Mike just smiled. "You weren't too happy that she couldn't make an appearance. Now she can." He saw the mixture of wonder and doubt on Danny's face. "Look, just give it a try. If you get uncomfortable, you can always change back."
Danny lifted his head to look at Mike. His eyes were wide with astonishment at what he'd become, and more, at what Mike was suggesting he do. "But...." He gazed down again, to where his hands - _her_ hands — were cupping his breasts. It wasn't right. "But this is...weird!" Danny protested. "I mean, I like her. But not being her!"
Mike tilted his head back and roared with laughter. "Why not? It's the ultimate chance to get to know her better!" His eyes twinkled mischievously. "Besides, think of how much fun you can have at the con."
Danny's will was flagging; Mike knew too well his weak points. "Well," Danny finally said, examining the dainty hands and the prosthetic Borg implants, "I guess I can give it a try."
**********
Danny felt very self-conscious as he strolled toward the main hall of the convention center. His reformed body felt awkward; shorter, with wider hips and wearing high heels, he was struggling to maintain a steady pace, with the predictable if not-yet-known result that his hips were swaying alarmingly in an effort to maintain balance. The heels, terrifying as they were in the first few moments, were not as much of a problem as Danny had feared. The machine had quite properly done its job, and since the image had high heels, it slightly altered Danny's neural pathways to allow his body to move in the silly things.
Around him, Danny knew heads were turning. One guy turned, and instantly his jaw dropped, followed immediately by the books he was holding. Still, the guy stood, dumbfounded, a mixture of disbelief, admiration, and outright lust displayed for all to see. As Danny sauntered past the poor guy, he saw the guy's head tracking his every move. Danny felt a sudden impulse to do something mischievous; he gave one hip an outward thrust toward the poor guy. Danny struggled to keep a straight face when the smitten guy tripped over the edge of a rug and fell to the ground. And even then, his eyes stayed riveted on Danny.
Danny strode lightly toward the green room, the antechamber where panelists and special guests could grab a quick snack, rest before or after a presentation, get updates on program changes, and just generally hang out away from the bulk of the convention goers.
At the door sat a guard, watching carefully to make sure that everyone who entered had a 'presenter' or 'special guest' badge. Green room hospitality cost a lot, and no convention had any money to waste giving free food to normal attendees. The guard looked up from his novel, scanning in a well-practiced glance for the badge. He saw no badge on Danny, so he tilted his head up a bit more. "You have to have...." The words froze in his mouth as his eyes widened.
"I seem to have misplaced my badge," Danny said calmly. Inside, his nerves were jangling; this was the do-or-die test of his appearance.
"Uh," the guard stammered, recognizing without question the body Danny was wearing, "that's okay. You don't need a badge." He jumped to his feet, his book falling to the floor. "If you lost it, you know," the guy stammered, "I can...uh...get you a new one."
Danny smiled, then bent over very deliberately and slowly picked up his book. He handed it to the wide-eyed guard. "That would be nice, thank you." Danny turned and sauntered into the room, leaving the stunned guard standing watching him.
Danny glanced around; since he'd been a panelist yesterday, he knew the layout of the room. He strolled over to the food table and began to select a few hors d'ouvres.
"Jeri," a familiar voice called loudly, catching Danny by surprise. His head snapped up, and he glanced around frantically. Across the room he spied the source of the noise — it was Ethan Phillips, the actor who played Neelix on Voyager. Danny felt a chill run down his spine; Ethan Phillips would catch on that he was impersonating Jeri Ryan.
"I heard you weren't going to make it," Ethan said as he strode across the room. For a shorter man, he had a tremendously quick stride. He reached out his arms to welcome a hug.
His heart in his throat, Danny embraced the actor. He knew he had to say something, anything, but the words wouldn't come out.
Ethan Phillips stepped back from the embrace. "I'm glad did, though," he said with a smile. Then his features clouded. His eyes roamed up and down Danny's figure, pausing noticeably at the prosthetic Borg implants Danny was wearing. He frowned. "I thought we couldn't wear that stuff," he finally observed.
Danny gulped. "Uh, I got permission," he managed to croak. "Since I had to cancel a day, I wanted to make it up to the fans." His head was spinning as he tried to fabricate a reasonable lie. Inwardly, he was cursing himself. Of course the actors and actresses didn't wear their costumes to conventions. Danny knew that; hell, he'd organized a few conventions himself. The character was the property of the studio, including the costume and any makeup.
Ethan nodded slowly, and Danny knew he wasn't convinced. "Well, I guess if they said it's okay..."
Danny knew he had to distract the actor. How, though, was his big problem. "I bet you're glad they didn't try to get you to appear in makeup. Especially without glasses!"
Ethan laughed. He was literally as blind as a bat without his glasses, and his makeup took hours to properly don. "You got that one right," he answered. He glanced at Danny again. "Are you sure you're okay? You look a little under-the-weather, if you ask me."
Danny was certain he could feel the beads of sweat standing out on his forehead. "Since when is Neelix helping out in sickbay?" he said light-heartedly. "No, really, I'm not at one hundred percent," Danny lied. "I'm taking it easy today." He turned back and picked up his plate. "So what's your schedule look like?"
**********
Danny sank against the door with a heavy sigh. The day's program was over. Now he could change back.
"Sounds like you had a tough day," Mike boomed.
Danny glanced up, then he sighed again. "You said it. Everyone wanted my autograph. _Her_ autograph." He sidled to his bed and sat down, instantly reaching down to take off his heels. "I bumped into Ethan Phillips, who started asking questions. The organizing committee came en masse to meet me. Everyone wanted a picture or autograph." He held up one of the high heeled shoes. "And these things are killing my feet!"
Mike laughed heartily. "And you loved it, too," he accused. "Didn't you?"
Danny felt his cheeks redden. "Yeah," he said through his embarrassment. "It was pretty cool." He neglected to mention the other factors — that all the guys were visibly lusting after him, and that that fact had made him feel quite...strange. Almost like being horny, but in a very different way. Danny was afraid that he'd enjoyed this body too much.
"So you want to make the party rounds? You as Seven, and I'll be Martok?"
Danny shook his head no. "Nah," he said. It's kind of fun, but I want to be back to me."
Mike picked up on Danny's unenthusiastic answer. "I think you really do want to go out as Seven," he said with a smug little smile. "You just don't want to admit it."
Danny glared at Mike, then he turned away. He didn't want Mike to see him trembling. He bit his lip, wondering why he felt so conflicted. Was Mike really right? Did he enjoy being Seven? And if so, did that mean he was...weird? He'd been a virgin until the other evening; girls just didn't seem to have any interest in geeks and nerds, especially Trekkies like him.
Suddenly, Danny realized something. Being Seven gave _him_ the power. He could make the guys squirm and feel inadequate. He had the control, power over even minor details like conversation. Just as the girls had had over him for all those years. It wasn't that he wanted to be a girl, or Seven. It was about feeling like he had some control over the situation. That was what was appealing to him. And as soon as he realized that fact, being Seven became the obvious choice.
**********
Danny pried his eye open. The light _hurt_. A lot. A fog engulfed his mind; memories were hazy at best, and as he tried to think, a process slowed considerably by the drum corps practicing inside his head, it became obvious that there were some blank spots in his memories of the evening.
Slowly, to avoid the banging of the bass drum, Danny sat up. He felt the blanket slide off him, off his chest. Off the boobs on his body. He glanced down, a sudden move which resulted in major throbs of pain from which he visibly flinched.
As the pounding eased, Danny realized that he was naked. And still in Seven of Nine's body. And slowly, Danny realized something else. He wasn't alone in bed. He turned his head, slowly so as to avoid more pain, and with a sickening dread, looked.
Mike lay on the bed, his back to Danny, his body rising and falling with each breath. Danny shuddered; through the haze, he had faint images of having had sex. He turned his legs off the bed to stand.
Despite the hangover, Danny felt like whistling at the shapely, lovely legs attached to his body. He stood, and despite the throbbing in his head, he marveled at the feeling of the cool air on this magnificent nude body. Danny's hands wandered on their own to his shapely thighs. He felt the soft smooth skin beneath his delicate feminine hands. Slowly, his hands slid up to his hips, widening around the shapely curves, and on up to his waist. His tummy was flat and satiny-smooth, flowing upward gracefully to the marvelous breasts hanging on his chest. Danny gasped at the utterly sensuous feeling as his hands automatically cupped his breasts, feeling the soft voluptuous mounds in his hands.
Like a light turning on, Danny suddenly realized that he was being watched. He turned, feeling his face reddening as he saw Mike sitting up in bed, staring admiringly at him and his self-exploration. Danny turned away sharply, and paid for the sudden move in a fresh burst of pain. He took a couple of steps, and flinched at how his body moved; nude as he was, he knew that every motion was utterly and completely sensual. He hastily donned his robe. He sighed to himself; the robe was ill-fitting, with its long sleeves hanging as they would on a chimp, while the chest was pulled tight across his generous breasts and the V of the neck displaying his cleavage. He tied it shut around him, then sank into a chair, his legs splayed in a most unladylike fashion. He stared at Mike, unsure of what to say, if anything.
Mike finally broke the awkward silence. "Uh," he started to stammer, "this is kind of weird."
Danny's eyes narrowed. "We were drunk," he snapped, flinching visibly at the sultry sound of his voice. "That's all."
Mike nodded slowly. "Uh, okay." He looked down, unsure of what else to say. "Are you sure we...?"
Danny knew. The feelings in this body confirmed the answer. "Yeah," he answered quickly, looking away from Mike.
Mike nodded slowly. Then he looked up at Danny with a curious expression. He waited until Danny looked at him. "So how was it?"
Danny blushed even redder. He started to open his mouth to answer.
Mike smiled. "Hold it," he admonished sharply. "I was there, remember? You did me, too, remember?" His grin broadened. "And I don't have the excuse of having been drunk."
**************
Danny's insides were churning as he wandered through the dealer's room. On one hand, he'd really enjoyed the extra attention of being Seven. Yesterday, everyone had paid attention to him, even going out of their way to do nice things for him. Today, he was nobody, just another convention attendee. While his speaker badge still got him into the green room, it wasn't as much...fun...as yesterday. The word hit Danny like a thunderclap - being Seven had been fun.
"Hey, Danny!"
The voice calling from behind him was somehow familiar. Danny spun, his confused mood reflected in his expression. As soon as he recognized the caller, his features lightened, even though his head still hurt a bit. "Oh, hi Darla."
Darla swept up to Danny and gave him a quick hug. Like Danny, she was attired in a Star Trek uniform, but hers was from the Next Generation television series. Tall and slender, with her bangs cut straight and her long dark hair sweeping behind her fake Vulcan ears and falling loosely about her shoulders, she looked quite like the popular aliens from Star Trek. Even her eyebrows were done in the upswept style of Vulcans. As much as Mike liked Klingons, Darla liked things Vulcan. "I figured you'd be here." She looked him over, then she shook her head. "You don't look so well."
Danny sighed, trying to smile. "Bit of a hangover. Mike and I did the party circuit last night."
Darla's eyes widened. "Oh, then you saw her!"
Danny frowned. "Her?"
"You didn't?" Darla shook her head. "Jeri Ryan made it after all," she said, stunned that she was telling Danny the news. "She was even in costume, and out on the party circuit. She was with some guy dressed as General Martok."
Danny's eyes narrowed. He was thinking seriously; Darla believed that it had actually been Jeri Ryan. He'd done a much better job of fooling people than he'd first thought.
Darla misinterpreted his look. "No, really!" she insisted. "It was her."
Danny sighed. "My dumb luck that I missed her." The news added to his inner turmoil. People actually liked the impersonation. He'd been popular as Seven, far more so than he was as Danny. But he'd been a woman.
"Hey, Danny." Another voice called him. He and Darla both turned, and they saw a Klingon girl approaching. Danny's eyes narrowed as he recognized her - it was the girl Mike had changed into a real Klingon girl.
"Uh, hi..." Danny stammered. Even though he recognized her, he didn't know who she was. Darla was staring at her, curious as to the identity of Danny's new friend. Danny glanced and saw the look on Darla's face. For the briefest of moments, he considered that she might be jealous. The thought passed quickly.
The Klingon girl smiled, showing her teeth. Her armor exposed a lot of cleavage, and she seemed to be proud of that fact. She saw Danny's confusion and laughed. "Oh, that's right. I never did introduce myself. I'm Sandy." She laughed again, especially when she saw the look on Darla's face. Then she wrinkled her nose. "But Sandy just doesn't sound too Klingon, does it?"
Poor Danny stood with his mouth agape, stunned at Sandy's forwardness, and humiliated by the implications of what she was saying. Danny knew that Darla thought he was some kind of slimeball, picking up and dorking girls he didn't even know. He glanced at Darla, and from the look in her eyes, he knew that was exactly what she thought. He glanced back at Sandy.
Sandy's eyes had something else in them. She grasped Danny's hand and lifted it slowly, palm toward her. As Danny stood, stunned, she smiled. "Maybe I should properly thank you," she said. She bent her head forward, and kissed Danny's hand, and then, suddenly, she bit it, albeit not hard enough to draw blood. She glanced up, and Danny saw a fire in her eyes; she was definitely coming on to him, brazenly and in public.
"Uh..." Danny was stunned beyond words. On one hand, the girl was attractive, and having a girl attempting to seduce him was very intriguing. On the other hand...
"Stop!" Mike's voice was strong and angry; he grasped Sandy's shoulder roughly. She responded by balling her fist and swinging at him - hard. Danny could easily see the anger in her eyes. Surprisingly, Mike caught her fist, and he clasped her hand - painfully so. She began to wince, then she grasped his hand with both of hers, and the expression in her eyes changed. The anger was gone, faded as quickly as it had appeared, replaced with the same lust that Danny had seen only a moment before. Sandy bared her teeth, then she bit Mike's hand. In response, Mike growled, a rumbling purr.
Danny turned away from Sandy and Mike as they started to walk away. He glanced at Darla, trying to smile as if nothing had happened. "So, Jeri was here, huh?"
Darla didn't fall for his attempt at changing the subject. "What the hell was that about?" she demanded, hands moving to her hips in a rather impatient pose.
Danny sighed. "It's a long story," he finally said. "She's Klingon."
Darla frowned. "I can see that, stupid." Then she thought for a second. "But that's one of the best makeup jobs I've seen in a long time."
Danny shook his head. "It's not makeup," he finally said. Time to level with Darla.
Darla's frown deepened. "You're suggesting she's really Klingon?" She shook her head and started to laugh. "That's a good one." The laugh died in her throat when she saw Danny's expression.
"Maybe it'd be easier if I just showed you."
**********
"So you're saying that box can change people? Into whatever they want to be?" To say that Darla was skeptical would have been an understatement.
Danny expected her reaction. "That's how Jeri Ryan was here. It was really me. And Martok - that was Mike. Just like, what was her name? Sandy? The device changed us into what we wanted to be."
Darla shook her head. "Mike - as Martok and a real Klingon - that part I can believe. But you - as Seven? That's a little hard to swallow."
Danny felt his cheeks burning. "It was Mike's idea," he said defensively. "Kind of a joke. He wouldn't let me see what I was changing into."
Darla stared at Danny for a few seconds, then she started laughing. "Okay, I admit you got me. For a few seconds, I actually believed you."
Danny had expected this. He stepped to the panel and touched the red plate. In seconds, he'd brought up an image. He touched the purple crystal, and the door appeared. One glance at Darla, and he saw her expression. She'd seen the door just appear; she was almost convinced. Danny stepped inside and touched the crystal. Once more, the door vanished. When it reappeared...
Spock stepped out. It wasn't the old Spock from the movies, but the younger Spock from the original Star Trek series. Danny raised an eyebrow, amazing himself at how easily he did that. "Fascinating," he said as if it were second nature.
Darla's eyes widened, then they narrowed. "I don't know how you did this trick," she said skeptically, "but it _has_ to be a trick!" She stepped closer, and slowly she circled Danny, peering intently at his ears and face.
"You seem to believe that this is some kind of cheap parlor trick," Danny said as she studied him. "I assure you that this is no trick. The machine altered my structure to match the displayed image. Surely you would find it illogical, if not impossible, for me to have contrived such a trick. After all," he said plainly, "there is no reason for me to deceive you."
Darla finally stopped, and as the facts slowly made their way past her mental objections, she sank back on the bed. Her expression slowly changed from skepticism to awed acceptance. "Wow!" she finally stammered. "It really did change you!"
Danny stepped to the interface and got his own image back. In a few seconds, he'd changed back to his own body. He sat down opposite Darla. "Uh huh," he smiled at her disbelief. "It really can change you — into whatever you can imagine."
"You... _were_ Seven!" Darla exclaimed. "And Mike...Martok?" She shook her head slowly. "And Sandy? You changed her, too?"
Danny shrugged. "Sandy was all Mike's doing."
Darla began to analyze the data she'd collected so far. "So how far do the changes go? Beyond just appearance, I mean." She glanced at the box. "Is it genetic? Does it affect the structure? When you were Seven, were you really a woman?"
Danny felt his cheeks redden. "I don't know, but I suspect it is genetic. And structure is totally, completely changed." He stared at the floor. "And I was really a woman."
Darla ignored Danny and stepped to the interface. "How does it work? Do I just touch the panel, like you did? Or can only you use it?" She touched the reddish plate, and instantly the image changed. "Oh!" she exclaimed, flinching a bit. "I guess I can use it, too?" She ignored Danny and began to think of an image. Slowly, a tall, slender woman, with straight dark hair, upswept eyebrows, and pointed ears, appeared. The image stabilized, and then Darla concentrated some more. With agonizing slowness, the machine contemplated her inputs. Darla was as much a fan of Vulcans as Mike was of Klingons, and as Danny was of Seven. She knew _everything_ there was to know about the race, from the average lifespan of well over two hundred years to the copper-based hemoglobin, from the acute hearing to the extraordinarily logical mind. Every detail of her 'knowledge' of Vulcans, the stuff of science fiction and serious discussion among the Star Trek fans, all that data was captured by the alien box, and its computers thought long and hard about the image in her mind. To Darla, Vulcans were real; ergo, the alien box had to create the suitable alterations.
Finally, just when Darla and Danny were about to give up, the image on the screen adjusted slightly. Darla stepped back, gasping slightly. It was a hybrid of Darla and Dr. Selar from the Next Generation, a Vulcan doctor from the Enterprise. The image seemed to be taller than Darla, lithe and athletic in build. Her dark hair was just above her shoulders, with straight high bangs that clearly displayed the upswept eyebrows of Vulcans. Her features still strongly suggested Darla's, but with a very slight Vulcan twist. What was more, Darla's skin had a very slight greenish cast to it, the result of her blood being based on copper rather than iron; whereas oxidized iron was red, oxidized copper was green, and so her blood was green, and that pigmentation carried through to her overall complexion.
She raised an eyebrow as she examined her body. Seeing Danny's reaction, she stepped to the sink and peered into the mirror. "Interesting," she said in a voice curiously devoid of emotion. "The change appears to be complete." She turned back to Danny and observed him. "I suppose you will now ask for some expression of gratitude," she said, cocking her head slightly.
Danny shrugged. "A 'thank you' is customary." He smiled at Darla; she was very attractive as a Vulcan. "Or more, if you're really, really grateful..." It was a joke, and Danny said it with the tone and levity that he usually used with Darla; the two were friends, and though Danny would have jumped at the chance to sleep with Darla, the two knew nothing would ever happen.
Darla cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. "Ah, yes. You are insinuating that you would enjoy an act of copulation as a reward for changing me into a Vulcan, as you perceive that I had always desired." She looked genuinely puzzled. "First, I am not currently in Pon Farr, and as such, I find no logical reason to couple with you. Second, you and I have been friends, and there have never been occasions where such an act would have been appropriate. Third..."
A stunned Danny lifted his hands, palms outstretched toward Darla. "Okay, okay already! I give up!" He shook his head as he gazed at Darla. "Sheesh, it was just a joke!"
Darla opened her mouth slightly. "Ah, a joke. Humor." She contemplated this for a moment. "It is a most inappropriate subject for human humor, even though my memories suggest that we have 'joked' about copulating on many previous occasions."
Danny gave up. "Okay. Let's go back to the convention. Is that a safe suggestion?"
Darla canted her head. "Indeed. It would be a most logical use of time, in that we have paid a not inconsiderable sum of money to purchase memberships at this convention."
**********
The bid party was in full force when Danny arrived. Major conventions rotated their locations, and prospective host groups usually put together a bid party in an effort to entice people to support their bid for host. This was a World Con bid party, and drinks and munchies were well-represented. Sometimes, bid parties included sales of trinkets and souvenirs, all in an attempt to help defray the expense of bidding, and ultimately, of hosting the convention. Danny threaded his way through the crowd to the drink table. After getting a soda, he began to circulate, looking for friends and acquaintances.
"Man, you should have seen it. It's the best costume I've ever seen!" One guest sat on the arm of a sofa, talking with his standing mates.
A second guy chimed in. "Something's going on here," he observed quietly, but not so quietly that Danny didn’t hear. "I've never seen costumes this good! It's almost like they're real!"
A third guy shook his head. "You're drunk," he chided. "All I've seen are the run-of-the-mill costumes."
The first guy wasn't going to back down. "No way! Look, those Klingons — I tried! I looked for the makeup and stuff!" He glanced at the second guy for confirmation. "Those guys aren't wearing any makeup or prosthetics! They're real!"
The third guy shook his head. "You're drunk," he clucked. "They're costumes." His eyes narrowed and he leaned toward the first guy menacingly. "Unless you're trying to suggest those guys had plastic surgery done!"
Danny felt a nudge, and he was pushed into the second guy. The guy started to glare at Danny, then his features lit up. "You," he said almost accusingly. "Have you seen the costumes? Do they look real or not?"
Danny smiled thinly. "Yeah, they look pretty realistic to me."
The first guy smiled. "See!" He pushed out his chest in triumph. "The Klingons and that Vulcan girl — they're real!"
**********
Danny tossed and turned as he tried to get some sleep. Unlike the preceding night, he'd taken it easy in the party rooms and had gotten back to his room early. He finally gave up on sleep and turned on the light. As he sat in bed, he stared at the Morphic Adaptation Uunit. It had started so innocently; it changed forms for him and Mike. And then the girl. Danny tried to concentrate, to put his finger on the details he'd overlooked. Sandy. What was it about her? And Mike. And Darla. There was a common thread, but Danny couldn't figure it out.
The raucous voices in the hall, a gruff male and a rather intoxicated and loud female, alerted Danny to Mike's return even before he heard the key card in the door slot. The door opened, and Mike and Sandy staggered in. Mike flipped on the light, and seemed stunned to see Danny sitting in bed awake.
"We'll go elsewhere," Mike snarled to the girl.
She shook her head. "He's unimportant." She grabbed Mike's hand and bit his palm, roughly grasping him and pushing him toward the bed.
Danny watched as Mike let himself be pushed onto the bed. It was as if Danny didn't exist; the two were ripping off their armor and getting extremely passionate. Embarrassed at the spectacle, Danny slid out of bed and pulled on his trousers and a T-shirt. Grabbing his shoes, he headed quickly for the door. "I'll just leave you two alone," he mumbled. As expected, he got no response except for the primal sounds of mating Klingons. He shook his head and exited his room.
As Danny walked down the hall, he could still hear Sandy's screams echoing through the door and down the hall.
Like a thunderclap, the pieces assembled themselves. Mike's behavior in nearly raping Danny when he was a Klingon woman. Mike's actions when in his male Klingon body. Sandy, and her uncontrollable passion and anger. And Darla — cold and unemotional. Logical. The pieces all clicked into place.
Each person changed, every one, had mental characteristics and behaviors that matched what their mental pictures of the target was. To Mike and Sandy, who loved things Klingon, their passions had been unleashed, and their behavior coarsened to the Klingon norm. On top of that, Danny had seen Mike doing some mock hand-to-hand combat with a guy in a Klingon costume. Danny had seen Mike nearly tear the guy's arm off, and he saw the look in Mike's eyes — it was combat, battle, and to a Klingon, battle was the ultimate rush. In retrospect, Danny realized that Mike had barely been able to control himself.
Then Danny had another thought about the changees' actions. On the shows, Klingons had a good deal of self-control. But the changees were all acting as if they had no self-control. This had puzzled Danny; now, the answer dawned on him. The change was a fantasy come true, and they _knew_ it was going to end in a couple of days, so the changees were taking advantage of their changes, living as fast and hard as they could to make the most of every moment as a Klingon.
And then there was Darla. So logical and emotionless after her transformation. Just like Vulcans. And she was living her fantasy, being colder and less emotional than even a Vulcan because she finally could.
Danny was too tired to completely assemble the picture, even though its answer was tantalizingly close. In a near dreamlike state, he wandered back to the party floor, to where he could hopefully find a relatively quiet corner free of copulating Klingons and maybe get a bit of rest.
**********
Danny crept back into the room around three. He saw Mike and Sandy asleep on Mike's bed as he quietly slipped into his own bed. He was weary, and his eyes were closed in sleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.
Danny awoke late, and he gingerly pried an eye open. Slowly, quietly, he turned, and saw that Mike and Sandy were already gone. He sighed in relief.
As soon as he toweled himself dry, Danny stared at the machine. Everyone had been having a lot of fun with the machine — everyone, that is, except Danny. So far, he'd been very reluctant to use it; in fact, Mike had had to push him every time he'd changed. Danny realized that he was missing out. And Mike knew it - he'd left an image of Seven on the display, a taunt to Danny to change and enjoy. Or a hint. Whatever Mike had intended, Danny reached for the purple knob, determined to fix that situation.
**********
Seven of Nine strode confidently through the halls of the convention center. Around her, heads turned and mouths dropped open in surprise. And Danny was thoroughly pleased with the fact that not one person suspected that Seven was really Danny. He spent the day dropping in on sessions, wandering through the dealers' room, and generally being seen and enjoying the attention.
After the last session of the afternoon wrapped up, Danny went back to his room and changed back into his own body. A check on funds, and he ran to the elevator. His circle of friends was getting together for dinner, and he didn't want to be late. Danny smiled; the machine had been quite useful in that regard; he imagined himself in his own body, cleanly bathed and shaved and wearing fresh clothes, and the machine happily transformed him. Quite a time-saver, too, Danny thought to himself.
Danny walked into the restaurant a few minutes late, and even before the hostess could get to him, he spotted his group. The group was really easy to find: Mike, Sandy, and a few others were still attired as Klingons and acting as noisy as their reputation suggested. Danny joined them, and as he glanced around the table, he slowly realized that every single one of the seven Klingons was truly a Klingon; there wasn't a dab of makeup anywhere in the group. Sandy wasn't the only girl; there was one who looked remarkably like Lursa, and another resembled her sister B'Etor as well.
And the Klingons weren't the only thing. There were two Vulcans as well. Danny leaned over toward Mike. "What the hell are you doing?" he hissed.
Mike grinned and slapped his back — hard! "Celebrating," he answered loudly. "And why not? We have the means to be what we wish — so we are merely taking advantage!" He hefted a large goblet of wine and began to quaff it.
Danny frowned. "But what if..."
Mike shook his head, lowering the goblet and wiping the dribbling wine from his mouth with the back of his hand. "Bah! We'll change after the convention is over. Maybe!"
The other Klingons roared their approval of his comment. Danny had the sudden feeling that some of the Klingons weren't going to change back.
"So why haven't you changed?" Mike demanded suddenly, a toothy grin interrupted for another swig of wine. "Not feeling like enjoying life? Or are you going as Seven again tonight?" He had a leering grin that made Danny a bit uneasy.
**********
Seven of Nine walked into the bid party, and instantly heads turned. Danny smiled to himself; he was starting to enjoy this attention. The crowd parted as he strutted toward the drink table; girls' stares were clearly of envy or dislike, while the looks from the guys were almost universally lustful leers. Danny knew what they wanted to do to him, and somehow, it made the experience exciting. And even as he walked around, Danny had the vague feeling that something was...different. He couldn't quite figure it out, but it was as if this body was better. Enhanced somehow.
As the bartender handed Danny a drink, he sensed — again without realizing how — another person nearby who was paying him close attention. Danny turned. And the guy was there, exactly as Danny had known he would be. He felt puzzled; how had he known?
The guy was dressed as an ensign from Voyager. "Hi, Seven," he said, being both forward and familiar.
Danny instantly disliked the guy's demeanor. "Excuse me," he said brusquely. "I have other duties to which I must attend." He turned and started to walk away.
The Voyager crewmember was clearly inebriated, and his sensibilities were AWOL. "Oh, come on, Seven. How about some behind-the-scenes info about the upcoming movies."
Danny stopped, his shoulders stiffening. He didn't bother to turn. "I believe I said excuse me," he answered coldly. A few people were taking notice, and Danny didn't like this one bit.
The crewman made a mistake. "Oh, come on! It was just an innocent question. Or are you too good for the rest of us?" The bartender came from behind his table and took the guy's elbow, but he shook it off. "Are you as stuck-up as the rest of the cast?"
Danny spun, feeling an odd combination of determination and anger. "You wish me to answer some of your questions?"
The guy inflated his chest smugly. "Yeah. I heard Seven was going to assimilate one of the male crewmembers into a romantic situation." He glanced around, not recognizing that the looks being given him were not respect but disgust. "Tell you what, if it were me, I'd let you assimilate me any day!"
Danny felt a compulsion come over him that he couldn't control. He reached out his arm toward the guy's shoulder...
...and as everyone watched in horror, most especially Danny, twin tubes extended from Seven's forearm toward the guy, intercepting his neck and visibly puncturing the skin. The guy started to scream in pain and reach for the assimilation tubes, but he froze, a look of horror on his face.
Within seconds, his skin began to pale, and then something vaguely resembling a mechanical spider pierced the guy's cheek from the inside, spreading outward over his skin like the prosthetic devices Seven wore. His eyes glazed, and mechanical contrivances sprouted from them as well. His expression changed considerably as well, from shock and pain to neutral acceptance.
'We are Borg,' Danny heard in his mind. His eyes widened, and he glanced at the guy even as the changes continued. 'You hear my mind?' Danny asked mentally.
'We are Borg,' the voice in Danny's head answered.
'We must leave,' Danny thought. He glanced around quickly, and saw the crowd. Their expressions were disbelief, horror, and admiration. Danny nodded deferentially toward the bartender and the crowd. "You must excuse us. This...trick...is extremely tiring. We require rest."
The stunned crowd burst into applause; somehow, everyone had known it was a trick of special effects, at least after the fact. Danny led the new Borg quickly from the party suite.
**********
Danny trembled at the memories; they were still extremely vivid, and Danny suspected it had something to do with his body. He'd felt each and every sensation of the drone _and_ his own body; the sex was a jumble of mixed feelings from both their bodies. Danny awoke, feeling the quiet in his mind. Since the assimilation, he'd experienced every thought and memory of the drone, once known as Pete and now Adjunct One of Unimatrix Zero, and the flurry of thoughts had been quite disconcerting.
Danny's head spun. How? How the hell had he assimilated Pete? That wasn't possible! He wasn't _really_ Seven of Nine, former Borg drone and still partially Borg. Was he? How could the machine have made him into a _real_ Borg? That was absolutely impossible. Wasn't it?
Pete the drone awoke, and Danny knew. Before he even turned, he could feel the change in thoughts as Pete woke up. Danny knew he had to do something — anything! This wasn't exactly fair to Pete, and Danny knew that listening to someone else's thoughts would drive him nuts.
'We are Borg,' came the thought from the drone. Danny glanced; while Pete had rested', more of his body had been 'Borgified'. His right arm now ended in the multipurpose mechanical tool of all drones. One eye was covered with the multi-faceted drone sensor. Danny realized that the nanoprobes in Pete's body were probably scavenging anything and everything they could find as raw material for the Borg implants and attachments. Pete was definitely thinner. Except for the black Borg outergarment, Pete was thoroughly a drone.
Danny turned to the drone. "I will change you back."
'We are Borg,' came the unspoken and unemotional reply.
Danny felt a flash of frustration. "You will comply." He fought Pete's thoughts, his resistance to changing, fought to force Pete to comply.
The drone arose and walked to the alien box. In response to unspoken commands, the drone touched the plate. The former figure of Pete was quickly displayed. The drone glanced at Danny, then he touched the purple knob. He stepped inside, and the door closed.
Danny felt the drone's actions. The light was washing over the drone, starting the change. Then Danny gasped. The drone's defenses activated, shielding him from the ray. A whining screech began to sound in the box as it increased the power of its ray, but still, the drone's shields held, protecting it from the transforming effects. Finally, the box gave up before it could damage itself, and the door opened.
The drone stepped out, unchanged. 'We are Borg,' it thought to Danny.
Panic washed over Danny. Somehow, he'd created a Borg drone, complete down to the mechanical tools and collective communications. Danny had no idea how that had happened. But somehow, he had to undo the damage he'd done. Somehow.
A memory stirred in the collective consciousness. Danny focused, and an idea began to form. What Danny had seen so far had confirmed his suspicion, voiced over objections at the nanotech session, that the nanoprobes could be partially controlled by the host body. Maybe, if that fact had been part of the data used to design this body, the machine had given him the means to control his own nanoprobes. Maybe the box couldn't change Pete back, but, if his theory was correct, Danny could inject some of his own nanoprobes into Pete, programmed to reverse the Borg changes. At least, as many of the changes as possible. He reached toward the drone, and once more, the assimilation tubes extended, piercing the skin of the drone.
**********
Pete was still noticeably different, having some spider-like patches on his skin, but he was no longer the white half-machine drone he'd been. The second assimilation had worked — somehow — to reduce the degree to which the guy was a Borg. Danny couldn't remove all the Borg implants, but Pete looked human again. And the collective link was gone. Silence had returned to Danny's thoughts — at great relief to Danny.
"That was...weird," Pete said as he stared at his hand, covered as it was by the spiderweb of mechanical implants.
Danny felt bad, but strangely, the regret was very muted — as if his emotions were dampened. "I...regret that I was unable to restore you completely."
The former drone looked at Danny and smiled. "No. I...prefer it this way. The implants are...interesting." He smiled as he flexed his hand, feeling the new sensations the hybrid body was providing. "This is the coolest thing that's ever happened to me." He stood, then walked toward the door. He paused and glanced back. "And thank you."
Danny furrowed his brow. "For what?" The guy smiled, and Danny blushed as he realized what Pete meant.
"You're not really her, are you?" Pete asked with certainty.
Danny looked at him, then he smiled. "No, I'm not."
Pete canted his head, then he smiled. "You were Danny. You were changed by the alien device," he glanced at the box again, "into Seven of Nine."
Danny dropped his head, feeling his cheeks burning. It was bad enough to have been changed from Danny into Seven, but now Pete knew his secret as well. Pete turned and let the door close, leaving Danny alone in the room.
Danny flopped back on the bed, confused. And even that was a mistake — it made his breasts jiggle, reminding him that he was still in Seven's body. He took a deep breath, ignoring the heaving masses on his chest, and levered himself back up. He glanced at the box. He knew what he had to do.
**********
"What the hell are you saying?" Mike asked, confused. He sat across from Danny, staring at his roommate. "It won't _let_ you change back?" Alarm had crept into his voice; if it wouldn't let Danny change back, it might not let him and the others change back either.
Danny shook his head. "Not quite. My body won't let me change back," he answered slowly.
"Your...body?"
Danny dropped his head, nodding in agreement. "Somehow, this body _is_ Borg." He lifted his head to watch Mike's reaction. "Yeah, I know it sounds weird, but last night, I assimilated a guy."
Mike started to speak, then he stopped, his mouth hanging open. "I heard about it. Everyone's been talking about the special effects. But it wasn't an act."
Danny shook his head. "No, it was real."
Mike's eyes narrowed. "But that's..."
"Impossible?" Danny closed his eyes, letting his head droop wearily. "That's what I thought. But somehow, this thing has changed me more than we thought. I'm partly Borg."
Mike thought for a second, then he nodded. "That explains a lot, then."
"Explains what?" It was Danny's turn to be curious.
"Do you think I've — and Sandy and the others — have been acting a little _too_ Klingon?" He watched as Danny was reminded of this bit of data. "And Darla — she's the picture of Vulcan, including her hearing, her green blood — yeah, she got a scratch and we saw it — and her strength. Hell, she's stronger than I am! To say nothing of her mind. She's...different. Very logical. Very unemotional. Just like Spock claimed to be, like the Vulcan ideal."
Danny was starting to put the pieces together. "I thought you were all just living your fantasies. Except..." He thought for a few moments. "Just exactly like the transformee was thinking when he or she changed."
Mike nodded. "Only in your case..."
The last piece clicked into place. "Because I have a background in nanotechnology, and with all my interest in Seven, it made me into what she is. Including the implants and nanoprobes."
"Into what you _thought_ her nanoprobes and technology should be able to do, based on everything you've learned and watched on the show. Yup, it looks that way. So when you said it wouldn't let you change..."
"Seven's Borg defense systems read it as an attack and protected me." Danny dropped his head as the facts hit him. "So I'm stuck, because my mental picture was of a very accurate and complete Seven." He thought for a moment, then he looked up suddenly. "So how..."
Mike grinned. "...did I make you Seven and you didn't get stuck?" He laughed, the hearty roar of a Klingon. "Because I don't know as much about her as you do."
**********
The dinner group was larger than the one from the previous evening. Heads turned as they walked by; Trekkies looking to admire the costumes and the person they thought was Jeri Ryan in costume, and non-Trekkies to stare at the strange group. Danny shook his head as the group assembled. There were now seven Klingons, four Vulcans and two Bajorans in the dinner party. Elsewhere in the convention were handfuls of other aliens, including Romulans, Cardassians, a Tellarite, a few other Vulcans, two Spock impersonators, a Kirk, a Sisko, two Kiras, and a Jadzia Dax. Mike had been busy.
"You did pretty good on the panel," Mike noted as they walked.
Danny smiled. "It helps to have a friend in the preproduction department. Otherwise, I'd have bombed." He and Mike were referring to the afternoon panel on the future of Star Trek. With a couple of cancellations, the organizing committee had implored Danny to participate, a desperate attempt to salvage the session. A few vague rumors, a little misdirection into what it was like to work on the set, and the group was happy.
"And you promised to autograph a picture for me, remember?"
Danny feigned a frown. "Yeah, well I wasn't any too happy when you _volunteered_ me to sign autographs."
They walked a bit more in silence. Danny's silence, that is. The Klingons were far from silent, and Danny winced at their antics. They were loud, rude, and quite unmannered. They ate with their bare hands, and two waiters couldn't keep enough wine on the table. It was, all in all, quite a spectacle. Danny had to laugh — to himself — when the head waiter had tried to insist that the group use some manners — and keep it a little more quiet. Two of the Klingons had reminded him, by dangling him over a railing, that they were paying customers, and it was his responsibility to see that _they_ were suitably entertained. Danny feared that the little man would call the police, but some of the other patrons, also from the convention, found the entire episode hilarious, and besides, the head waiter was a wimpy little man who probably lacked the nerve to call the cops.
Danny and Darla walked back to the hotel separate from the group. Danny was curious about Darla's experiences and thoughts on the changes. But before they could discuss things, a couple of men decided they should accompany the girls. Despite Danny and Darla's protests, the guys wouldn't be dissuaded. They were drunk and a little forceful.
While Danny gave some serious thought to assimilating the offensive boors, Darla slid her hand up on one guy's shoulder. With a little pinch, he crumpled like a rag doll. His compatriot joined him a moment later. Danny's eyes narrowed as he stared at Darla. "How did you do that?"
Darla's head tilted. "It is a standard Vulcan technique," she said, perplexed that Danny would ask.
Danny frowned. "Yeah, but when did you learn it?"
Darla started to answer, then she paused. "Interesting. I have no recollection of learning the technique," she finally answered. The two resumed their walk back to the hotel.
"Do you recall any emotions? Or other 'illogical' thoughts?" Danny asked, prying for more information.
Darla thought for a moment. "I recall many illogical and confused thoughts. Much emotion." She glanced at Danny. "It seems as though I underwent a significant change recently."
"When you changed from human form into the Vulcan form? Is that when the change happened?"
"Yes, that makes sense. When I was changed to Vulcan, my thoughts were organized as well. Yes. That is the precise moment of my change."
Danny nodded. Darla had added yet more confirmation to his fears about the power of the machine. "The machine...changed you. Into what you were thinking of. Just as it changed me into Seven of Nine."
Darla nodded slowly. "The change extends to mental processes as well," she confirmed. "That is why things are so logical since I was changed."
Danny nodded. "And the changes seem to go deeper. Mike mentioned that you have green blood. Copper-based, I'd gather. And you are probably considerably stronger as well."
Darla nodded confirmation. "Those are the parameters of normal Vulcan physiology. As is significant longevity," she added.
Danny's eyes widened. "If that's true, then...my nanobots should be programmed to maintain my DNA and cellular structure in perfect working order...indefinitely."
Darla raised an eyebrow. "Assuming, of course, that your mental image of the nanobots was..." she paused, and the other eyebrow raised as well, "consistent with the data and conjectures you posed during the nanotechnology session." Darla glanced at Danny and knew that Danny had indeed been thinking about those parameters. "Fascinating."
**********
Danny was beat. He wore the fatigue like a mask. The convention organizing committee pressed on him to emcee the costume contest, and he'd agreed, simply because he didn't know of anything else to do. And it was fun, even if it was long and rather tiring. Still, the convention-goers seemed quite pleased to have Seven of Nine taking such an active role in their con. Danny smiled to himself at that one — the publicity department of Viacom was going to get some very strange thank-you letters. And Jeri Ryan's reputation with the fans was probably going to skyrocket — even if she never quite understood why.
Then came the party circuit — again. Danny had tried to duck out early, only to find that his room was occupied by a group of Klingons intent on making the most of their last evening as Klingons; in short, it was a major orgy. Danny had been invited to join by not fewer than four of the Klingon men, but he'd declined. That left going back to the parties, and when they wound down, Danny found Darla. The one up side to Darla being Vulcan was that her interest in illogical activities such as partying and sex was practically nonexistent; Danny got some rest — finally.
When he woke up, he slowly realized that Darla was showering. Danny sat up slowly, feeling the fatigue; for some reason, she was far more tired than she should have been.
Darla emerged from the shower and slowly padded to her suitcase. Danny sat on the bed and watched. Finally, he laughed.
Darla spun. "Is there something humorous about seeing me nude?"
Danny smiled. "A week ago, I'd have given anything to see you like this." He shook his head. "Now, it just doesn't do anything for me."
Darla canted her head and raised an eyebrow. "Interesting. One week ago, you would have been male, and I would have been a human female. Are you conjecturing that, under those circumstances, you would have become aroused by my body?" Darla watched Danny's reaction. "Or that you would have attempted to seduce me?"
Danny laughed. "Yeah, I guess I would have. Both, that is."
Darla's mouth opened and she nodded her understanding. "Ah, but in the current circumstances, with a fully functional female body, you do not find me arousing."
Danny smiled and nodded. "That about sums it up." He quickly dressed, then with Darla's help, got his hair arranged. "Thanks, Darla. I appreciate having a place to rest."
Darla nodded deferentially. "It was logical. Especially given the activities in your own room." She walked Danny to the door. "Have you considered a future course of action?"
Danny shook his head. Her head. He was going to have to get used to that. "I don't know," he said softly. "It looks like I was too clever for own good. My own mental image of Seven made her too much a Borg. The implants include defensive shielding which prevents the transformation device from affecting me." He lowered his eyes. "I've tried." His head shook slowly. "No luck. I'm afraid that I'm stuck like this."
Darla nodded. "It is logical, since the machine read _your_ pattern, it automatically would have incorporated all the features of Seven of Nine that you knew, including the defenses. However, have you considered the advantages that you have gained with the change?"
Danny tried to laugh, but it rang hollow. "I'm sorry, but I can't see anything good that can come out of being a sexy Borg like...." He stopped abruptly, and his eyes widened; Darla's question had stirred new thoughts. Danny would have to consider the possibilities.
**********
"What do you mean, it won't work?" The Klingon girl, Lursa, sounded rather alarmed. "You mean it can't change me back?" Mouth hanging open in disbelief, she pushed past Mike and stepped to the box. She pressed her hand to the plate, and nothing happened. She pressed again, more insistently. After a few more tries, she was practically beating on the plate, and cursing in fluent Klingon.
Mike stepped to her and grabbed her hands. "It's no use. It won't work," he snarled. Lursa turned and threw herself at Mike, but he easily parried her attack. "Stop!" he roared. His voice had the desired effect; the girl quit attacking the machine and him.
"I don't know why it's not working," Danny explained simply. "You've all seen it. When you touch the plate, nothing happens." He glanced around the very crowded room. Besides Mike, there were eight Klingons, six Vulcans, two Bajorans, a Romulan, a Cardassian, a Tellarite, two Spocks, a Kirk, a Sisko, two Kiras, Jadzia Dax, and a green Orion slave girl. The girl who'd changed into shapeshifting Odo was nowhere to be found; Danny suspected that the girl might have gained some shapeshifting powers. All told, counting Mike and Danny, there were thirty persons changed by the box.
Darla cleared her throat. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I have no reservations about remaining Vulcan." She glanced around the room. "It is the form which I desired for many years, and now that I have achieved it, it would be illogical to seek to change back."
Mike glanced around and saw a few nods of agreement. "I agree. I am a warrior at heart. Now I am one in body as well."
Danny glanced around, then he took a quick poll. Sixteen of the people were happy as they were and didn't want to change back. Of the remainder, one Spock, Kirk, Sisko, and a Bajoran were afraid of having to resume their normal lives with the changes. The others — Danny understood their reasons.
Danny was stuck as Seven. Jadzia, the Orion slave girl, Lursa, B'Etor, the female Romulan, a Kira, and one of the female Vulcans had all been guys. Now, like Danny, they were stuck in female bodies, and in most cases, very curvy sexy female bodies. And one of the Klingon warriors had, until very recently, been a petite curvy blonde. Now she was stuck as a hulking warrior, and none too happy about the situation. At least, though, her boyfriend was the one stuck as the Orion girl.
For some of the group, the future was going to be grim. Mike glanced around the room. "Well, Danny, er, Seven, and I got you into this mess. We shall see it through." He gave out his card to the assembled group. "If you find any difficulties, give me a call or e-mail. I have, um, access to resources."
Slowly, the group dispersed. There was, after all, packing to be done, planes to catch. The convention was officially over the night before. One and two at a time, the changees drifted from the room. Mike and a couple of the Klingons eagerly sought out the bar, where Mike had promised a round of drinks. Some of the others, the reluctant ones, paused, as if trying their luck at the machine might, by some remote chance, make it work again. Disappointed, they drifted off.
Danny noticed a pattern. The ones who weren't leaving were precisely those who, like him, had changed gender. Finally, all the others were gone.
"This is going to be...tough," Danny began, glancing around before looking down, embarrassed. "I...I haven't started thinking of myself as a...girl. Yet." He looked up and glanced around the room. "But I'm going to have to. All of us are going to have to." Danny realized that the guy who'd become Kira was the very same twerp that had argued with him on the first day. He wasn't surprised.
Lursa spoke. "I...find myself...easily aroused," she said, turning her face downward. "It's...weird."
The Orion girl nodded. "Like, this body is designed for sex," she agreed. "I'm always...hot! Horny!" She looked down and Danny could see her shoulders shaking as she sobbed. "What am I going to do?"
Jadzia Dax wrapped her arm around the Orion girl. "The same thing as the rest of us, honey," she said soothingly. "We'll pull through. We'll get used to it."
The Vulcan girl who had been a guy raised an eyebrow. "I fail to understand why being in a female bodies would be so much different than the male bodies we formerly occupied," she observed, trying to soothe the group.
The Orion girl looked up, tears streaming down her cheeks. "That's because you don't go into heat except once every seven years!" she wailed. "Try it when you get horny every time you see a man! It's not so easy to adjust when all you want to do is get laid!"
"Or throw things!" Lursa added.
Danny nodded slowly. "We'll get through this. Together." He — she — looked around the room, at her fellow gender changees. "Okay?" Danny — Seven - saw the slow nods. Just like that, Danny vanished in his mind. He — she — was Seven now. Like the others, from here on out she was stuck with this body. A woman. "We can get together at all the cons, right? Compare notes, support each other?" Seven felt a bit of hope. She had sisters, others like her who were now stuck. She had someone to share her trials and tribulations with. She smiled. "Besides, when Mike said he had resources, believe me, he had resources. I'll get him to set it up so we can all go to at least one con a month."
**********
Seven sat in front of her computer, finishing up her work. For some reason, since the convention, she'd found computer work so much easier. As the project started to compile, she glanced to the side. At it. The box. It sat on the shelf, where it had been for the last three months, still and silent. Seven shook her head. She was past cursing the thing, as were most of her fellow changees. For all but a few, it was getting easier to deal with the changes. True to their word, the gender changees had been getting together monthly at a major convention.
The Vulcans had paired off; Darla had pointed out to the group that with their unique characteristics, including longevity and seven-year mating cycle, that pairing off would be the most 'logical' course of action. She and her partner, who had once been a girlfriend, quickly learned to perform mind melds and were 'bonded', joined together mentally. They knew it was only a matter of time before the other Vulcans entered into their own melds.
The Orion girl, who had been a guy and now went by Trish, was now pregnant by her Klingon boyfriend, who had been a girl. Lursa and Seven were sharing the basement apartment of Mike's house; he and Sandy had just been married in a full, formal Klingon ritual, of which her parents strongly objected but attended nonetheless. With makeup, Jadzia could pass as a normal human. All in all, it could have been far worse. At least no one tried to change into a Mugato.
And Seven had realized that, as a partial Borg, she needed to regenerate, just like in the series. This had scared Seven a bit, until she realized that she - or her nanoprobes - had the programming to create a regeneration unit. Now, daily regeneration was part of her normal routine, just like eating.
Still, there was something about the entire situation nagging at Seven's mind. Something about her....
With an almost electric jolt, it hit her. Her eyes widened, and she stared back at the box. Slowly, she retrieved it from the shelf and set it on her desk. Then, with a strangely easy move, her assimilation tubes shot out from her arm and intercepted the strange symbols on the top. The tubes easily penetrated the otherwise impenetrable metal.
Slowly, Seven's eyes widened as her mind was assaulted by a flood of alien data. For several minutes, she sat, rapt, digesting the information. Finally, she relaxed visibly, and as the assimilation tubes retracted, she started laughing aloud.
Lursa heard Seven and peeked into her study. "Is something wrong?" she asked, concerned. She spied the box sitting on the table.
Seven fought to control herself. "No, it's...it's perfect!" she cried. "It's the most perfect joke in the universe!"
Lursa frowned. "What?" she demanded.
Seven wiped the tears from her eyes. "It's a demo unit!" she laughed. "The symbols — they were a user agreement, saying in very specific terms that this was a four-day demonstration unit, and that to keep using the box, we needed to submit payment to the Gamalfi corporation!" Seven's sides hurt from her laughter.
Lursa shook her head and then laughed. "It serves us right." She glanced at the box. "So now what?"
It took Seven a while before she could speak again, she was laughing so hard. When she'd regained her composure, she glanced evenly at Lursa. "Would you change back? If you could, I mean?"
Lursa frowned. "But...." She looked down for a long time. Finally, she looked back up, directly into Seven's eyes. "No, I don't think so." She looked down again. "I mean, it's not fun sometimes, being like this. Being not only a woman, but a Klingon woman as well. But even with that, no, I wouldn't." She looked up at Seven. "Does that make any sense?"
Seven smiled. "Yes, it does. And I know what you mean. I...I don't think I'd change back either. If I could, I mean."
Lursa frowned. There was something about Seven's question. "Why do you ask?"
In answer, Seven just grinned.
**********
Epilogue
C sighed as he drove the car. Beside him, D was busy studying a convention program. C sighed again. "So why are we going to a Star Trek convention?" he asked.
D glanced up from the program. "Because there's something going on," he explained, as if at the end of his patience. "Like I said, there have been some, um, odd happenings in the last few months."
C frowned. "So? Why haven't I heard about them, then?" He hated to admit that his junior partner might have some information he lacked.
It was D's turn to sigh. "How much do you know about Star Trek?" he seemingly changed the subject.
C's frown deepened. "Not a lot," he admitted. "Why?"
D shook his head. "All of these things center around Star Trek and science fiction conventions." He rummaged around on the seat between them and pulled up a handful of files. "Item: a doctor delivers a baby that, according to the nurse, has a seriously deformed and ridged skull, not unlike the parents. Item: a doctor at an emergency room reports treating a patient with minor injuries; the patient, according to the report, had deformed ears and green blood. Item: a new computer company, referred to as The Collective, is growing at a pace that makes Microsoft look like amateurs. They have some highly advanced software and hardware, and are poised to dominate the market. Competitors are mysteriously convinced to join them. Item: at the last Star Trek convention, police broke up a riot at a local bar; the rioters were all dressed as Star Trek aliens, and it took seventeen police to subdue four of them. Item: a ranch in Wyoming was recently purchased for cash by an unidentified buyer. Shortly after the purchase, wild boars, bears, and other rather...nasty...wildlife were introduced, and continue to be introduced at an astounding rate. The Forest Service was anxious to investigate, but they report that there is some kind of force field around the ranch, and they can't get in. They suspect it's being run as a private game preserve. Item:..."
C held up a hand to stop his junior partner. "So what do all these have in common? Why are we going to the Star Trek convention?"
D shook his head. "The Collective is a term for a group mind, centered around a cybernetic race known as the Borg." He glanced at C, his face somber. "You better hope no-one decided to change into a Borg."
"Why?"
D was grim. "They're highly adaptable. And quite indestructible." He felt a shiver run up his spine, then he continued. "The ridged foreheads are characteristic of Star Trek aliens known as Klingons. And the Klingons love to hunt wild things."
"I thought Klingons had the silver sashes," C interrupted.
D rolled his eyes and sighed. "In the original series. Not in the new series."
"Oh."
D shook his head. "All of these events describe people who resemble Star Trek aliens or characters." He glanced at a file. "Do you know that Viacom brought a lawsuit against a couple of actors, only to have it mysteriously dropped weeks later? Or that they are secretly filming new scenes from the original Star Trek series?"
C frowned. "The actors are too old!"
D shook his head. "The scoop from the convention insiders is that there are some remarkable impersonators out there, and that Viacom is paying the original actors quite handsomely."
C was starting to see the light. "So what you're suggesting is that some group of Trekkies got a box and made some changes? Like changing themselves into the characters and aliens?"
"Half right," D said evenly. "But the events can't all be traced to one convention."
C frowned. "That means..."
D nodded solemnly. "That means that someone may have figured out how to use the box repeatedly."
C drove silently for a while. "You know," he finally said, "you better catch me up on all the Star Trek stuff if we're going to get anywhere with this bunch."
**********
(Despite all their attempts to fit in, C and D never quite gained the confidence of Seven or her group. And as outsiders, they never did learn the secrets tucked away inside Seven's pretty head, despite years of effort and persuasion. As far as the Collective went, agent Q started working on penetrating the organization, but after a few months, just after he'd reported that he was getting near paydirt, he mysteriously vanished.)
FIN (maybe)
MAU: Would the Real Jeri Ryan Please Stand Up
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Synopsis: Danni - changed by an MAU into an exact replica of Seven of Nine - faces what may turn out to be her ultimate challenge.
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This story is copyright by the author. It is protected by licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
She walked down the hall with a grace that screamed feminine charm. Her clothing seemed less closely fit than spray-painted on, and in her heels, her entire body moved with an allure that seemed to dare men to ignore her. She held her head erect, but not snobbishly so, as if to announce that she knew she was attracting attention and chose to ignore it. And even that seemed to challenge men to get her attention.
As she turned the last corner, Danni glanced over her shoulder at the fen gawking after her, and she sighed. With a little extra snap in her step, she left sight of the main corridors of the convention center. Few fen deigned come this way - it was the site of the Green Room, the hospitality suite for the special guests of the convention. The room was off limits for normal convention members.
Danni paused briefly at the door; the volunteer guard had to check her ID to make sure she was allowed into the room. He smiled and nodded. "Just checking," he explained needlessly.
Danni nodded. "I know," she answered without enthusiasm. She stepped past the guard into the expansive room. A little peace and quiet was in order, and possibly some refreshments, and at a crowded science fiction convention, the Green Room was the place to get both. Several tables, surrounded by chairs, sat on once side of the room, a place for last-minute preparation for panel speakers. Across the room, nearly lining one wall, stood a row of tables; soft drinks, bottled water, coffee, tea - all for quenching the thirst of speakers. And in the center of the room sat the most coveted positions of all, a large number of comfy, overstuffed chairs and recliners - the perfect place to take a load off the feet and relax, even catch a quick nap.
The guard called after her. "By the way, that was a pretty quick change of costumes," he said.
Danni turned, surprised. He had a smile on his face, but before she could ask him what he meant, he turned to another guest entering the Green Room. She shook her head and turned back toward the refreshment table. 'He's probably confused,' she thought to herself.
**********
"Danni, wait up!"
Danni paused mid-stride and turned to the voice calling behind her. "Oh, hi, Shelby," she said as she recognized the girl running to catch her.
"You going to the Treknology panel?" Shelby panted as she caught up to Danni. Unlike Danni in her gray catsuit and her Borg devices on her eye, her cheek, and her hand, Shelby seemed rather plainly attired in a Star Fleet uniform from the Next Generation. Such sights were not atypical at science fiction conventions.
Danni nodded. "I'm on the panel," she said without boasting.
"I kind of figured you'd be," Shelby said with a grin. "Who better than the resident expert on Borg for the panel?"
Danni shrugged. "Well, it should be a fun discussion."
Shelby laughed. "You always manage to make your panel sessions ... interesting." They turned the corner into the meeting room. "You going to the bid parties tonight?"
Danni nodded. "Of course."
"You going with or without your ... makeup?" Shelby asked. Danni started, and glanced at Shelby with a confused look on her face. "I can see wearing it for this forum," Shelby continued, "but it's got to be a pain, and hard on your skin, to keep it on all the time." She shrugged. "If it were me, I'd skip it for the parties. Besides, I thought you looked enough like Seven without your makeup." She spied another acquaintance and stepped quickly into the sea of chairs. "Hi, Fred!" Shelby called. "Save me a seat!"
Danni stood, her gaze following Shelby, and a confused expression on her face. Shelby's words made absolutely no sense. She _wasn't_ wearing makeup. The Borg devices everyone thought were props really were, thanks to a strange alien device, a part of her. Finally, she shook her head and decided that she'd better get to the table before they started the panel without her.
**********
"Great job, as usual," Mike snarled. Around him, other Trek fen glanced up in both admiration and nervousness at Mike's costume. The costume and his makeup were so authentically Klingon that people couldn't help stopping and staring.
Danni smiled, both at Mike's compliment and at the way people were gawking. They all figured that Mike, and his wife Sandy beside him, were in costume. Few people realized that they weren't. Their foreheads were exposed and covered in bony ridges and knobs. Their hair _would_ have been straight, but for the tangles and snarls. Their teeth looked to be a bit sharper than normal, as if they were partly carnivorous animals. The pieces of their armor, intricately placed on their tunics, rattled when they moved suddenly, lending a martial air to their movements.
Sandy snarled. "We have to help Darla prepare."
Danni nodded slowly. "True," she agreed. "So I guess we'll catch up to you at the parties later."
Mike laughed. "I won't promise to save any blood wine for you!" He turned to leave.
Sandy grasped his arm and spun him violently around. "You will behave!" she snarled.
Mike snarled back at her, and he looked ready to strike her. Before he could, however, Sandy grasped his hand and raised it to her mouth, biting into his palm. "I _will_ be at the party ... when we have finished helping Darla!" she said, half snarling and half cooing.
Mike's angry snarl turned into a leering grin. With a clatter of his Klingon armor, he spun and stomped off toward the convention hotel and the party suite.
Danni and Sandy turned and walked casually out of the meeting room. Around them, some convention members gawked, while others puffed themselves up in a futile attempt to make their own costumes look as impressive. Sandy laughed at their efforts.
As they strode through the hotel atrium toward the glass elevator, Danni was aware that two young men sitting in the hotel lobby were staring at her. Their eyes seemed riveted on her as she and Sandy waited for the elevator to descend to their level. Danni glanced up the atrium, to the glass elevator. It seemed to take forever for the infernal machine to descend to the lobby, and as soon as the door opened, Danni and Sandy stepped in.
"I thought she went _up_ just a minute ago!" one of the young men said, allowing his voice to rise more than it should have.
The other one stared after Danni. "Couldn't have been. She wasn't in costume, and no one can change that quickly."
Danni stood silently as the elevator doors closed, wondering what the two had been talking about.
**********
"Are you _sure_ you're not nervous?"
Darla, the girl being addressed, took no offense at the question. It was as if she was used to hearing such questions. The only reaction was that one eyebrow, a sloping eyebrow beneath straight black bangs, raised ever so slightly. "Should I be?" she asked calmly. From all outward appearances, she was a stereotypical Vulcan from Star Trek, from a very faint greenish tint in her complexion to her straight black hair which masked - barely - her pointed ears. Only upon closer examination would one discover that the girl wore no makeup, and no prosthetic earpieces. The ears and eyebrows and complexion were - somehow - a part of her. Even her clothing was perfectly suited to the Star Trek characters - a traditional and simple Vulcan robe layered over a kimono-like gown of finely woven tan cloth.
"Yes!" Sandy said. "Tomorrow's your _wedding day_, Darla! For goodness sake, you act like it's nothing special!" Her armor rattled as she spoke, as if to emphasize her words.
"On the contrary, Sandy," Darla answered evenly. "It is _not_ a wedding day in the sense that you know. To be precise, it will be our _bonding_ day, when we are bonded as partners."
"Bonding day, wedding day, what's the difference?" Sandy asked, exasperated. She threw up her hands in frustration and stomped out of the room, her armor clattering with every step.
"I suspect that the Klingons will find the ceremony ... less than entertaining," Darla said to the remaining girl in the room.
"That's another of your understatements," Danni said simply. "And you're right." She shook her head with a smile. "Unless the celebration has a lot of strong drink, roast Targ, and hand-to-hand combat, the Klingons will be bored." Danni did a check of the robes, pausing to carefully smooth out a wrinkle in the back.
An urgent banging at the door interrupted the two. Danni frowned. "I thought you said this was a private suite."
Darla nodded. "It is. The only persons who know of this are the other Vulcans, Mike, and Sandy."
Danni sighed, then opened the door. It was Mike, Sandy's Klingon husband and Danni's former roommate. He looked a bit unsettled - his scowl seemed deeper than normal. "We've got a problem," he announced as he walked into the room, closing the door behind him.
"Oh?" Darla asked as her left eyebrow rose fractionally. "Is this a problem for all of us, or for some of us, or are you using the first-person plural possessive pronoun as an indicator of the severity of the ..."
Mike glared at Darla. "_We_ have a problem." He turned to Danni. "_She's_ here."
Danni paled. "She's here?" Danni suddenly felt weak. Mike could only mean Jeri Ryan herself. "She can't be. I ... we ... I checked her schedule! She hasn't been doing many cons since she started Boston Public. I know she's not booked for this con!" She glanced at Darla. "Maybe this is just a coincidence?"
Mike shook his head. "She's looking for you."
Danni eased herself into a chair. "Oh, shit!" she mouthed softly.
Darla looked puzzled. At the same convention all those months ago where Mike and Sandy become true Klingons, Darla had become a true Vulcan. Since that event, a number of other fen had been transformed into a wide variety of science fiction characters. "We all knew that, eventually, she was going to search for you. You have taken great care to avoid conventions where she is a scheduled guest, but it was inevitable that she would notice _your_ appearances. I fail to understand why this news should be so ... troubling. "
Mike shook his head. "Vulcans!" he snarled. "So what are we going to do?" he asked Danni. She was quite clearly the de-facto leader of the group, all the more so since she had learned, with her Borg implants, to reactivate the alien box responsible for all the changes.
Danni sat in the chair, her body covered in the silvery suit familiar to Voyager fen, one leg cross sloppily over the other. Her elbow rested on an arm of the chair, and her forehead rested in the palm of that hand. She shook her head a bit. "Where is she?" she finally asked.
Mike frowned. "She's outside."
Darla's eyebrow raised again. "How much does she know?"
Mike shook his head. "Not much," he scowled. "Only that you look like her and you're seen a lot at conventions."
Right after they'd discovered the alien device, Danni and Mike had done a variety of changes to themselves, and to other Trek fen. A small number, including Danni, had deliberately or inadvertently changed genders. Feeling responsible for the problems the changees were experiencing, Mike had opened his large bank account, a result of a multi-million dollar inheritance, to support the transformed fen. They were now regulars at the Trek conventions, and since Danni had learned how to reactivate the device, the group's numbers had increased. Surprisingly few had changed back.
Danni nodded glumly. "I guess you should show her in."
Mike frowned. "Is that ... wise?" he asked tentatively.
Danni frowned. "Unless you have a better idea," she replied acidly.
Mike snarled at her reponse. It was a challenge to him, and Klingons were not known to take challenges lightly. But Mike backed down quickly. Being partially Borg gave Danni a large number of advantages if he were to try to pick a fight. He'd learned that fact the hard way. "No," he grudgingly admitted.
"It may be wise to invite your mate," Darla suggested to Mike. "Her reaction may be ... unpredictable."
Danni shook her head. "No. I think I should meet her alone."
"Is _that_ wise?"
Danni closed her eyes, letting her head hang as she sighed. "I don't know. I've known this day would come for a long time." She looked up at Mike, her head shaking from side to side. "I should have been prepared. But I'm not."
"Are you sure?" Mike offered.
Danni shook her head. "No." She sat upright, pausing to brush the wrinkles from her silvery catsuit. She winced as she brushed over her prominent breasts. Even nearly a year later, Danni was having trouble adjusting to having them. "I've got to talk to her ... alone."
**********
The knock was hesitant, almost weak, as if the visitor were uncertain or shy. Without rising from her chair, Danni called out in a firm voice, "Come in. It's open."
Slowly, the door edged open. A head appeared, glancing inside the room, followed by shoulders and then the rest of the attractive woman. She instantly focused on Danni. "Oh, my God!" she mouthed softly. "You look exactly like ...."
Danni nodded without smiling. "Like you." She stood and held out her hand to the newcomer. "Come in. Have a seat. I'm Danni. And I bet you have a lot of questions."
Jeri Lynn Ryan, star of Voyager and portrayer of the television version of Seven of Nine, took Danni's hand and gave it a very tentative squeeze. "Thank you," she said, trying to sound gracious even though her eyes were wide with her surprise. Following Danni's lead, she sat down in one of the suite's large overstuffed chairs.
"Can I get you anything? Soda? Water?" Danni offered graciously.
"Diet Seven Up," Jeri replied. She was busily studying Danni, scanning up and down her body.
Danni handed the soda to Jeri. "Now, where would you like to start?" She tried to smile, but inside she was a bundle of nerves.
Jeri wrinkled her nose. "I don't really know _where_ to start. Are you ... have you always ... I mean, did you always look like me? Or have you had some kind of surgery?" She knew the question might be offensive, but on the other hand, she'd known fen to go to some extremes to be like their screen idols.
Danni laughed as she shook her head. "No. In fact, I used to look a _lot_ different." She saw Jeri's eyes narrow slightly. "And you needn't be alarmed," Danni added hastily. "I am not an obsessed fan who went under the knife to look like my idol."
Jeri started; somehow, Danni had known exactly what she was thinking. "The Borg makeup. How'd you do that? It looks real."
Danni nodded, a somber expression on her face. "It _is_ real."
Now Jeri was thoroughly confused. "But ..."
Danni sighed heavily. "Let me tell you the whole story. It's going to be _very_ hard for you to believe, I'm sure, but I have to tell you. Then if you still have questions, I'll show you what happened. Okay?"
Danni bit her lip, collecting herself for a brief moment. "About one year ago, I was a promising young PhD student and ardent science fiction fan attending the World Science Fiction Convention with my roommate. In fact, among my friends, I was considered to be a very large fan of _yours_." Danni watched, looking for some reaction from Jeri. "There, I found a gray metal box that had some ... unusual properties. As hard as it sounds to believe, the box was some kind of alien technology which allowed the user to transform his or her body into whatever he or she wanted." Danni paused, watching the disbelief spread slowly on Jeri's face. "Mike chose to become a Klingon. And since you'd missed the convention, he tricked me into becoming you."
Jeri frowned. "Wait a minute. You didn't used to look like me? But this alien ... thing ... transformed you?"
Danni nodded slowly. "Correct." She waited for Jeri to react, but when she didn't, continued. "Since you were not there, Mike suggested that I could go to the events as you. Eventually, I used my knowledge of Seven of Nine to change my body once more. " Danni watched Jeri's face closely.
Jeri Ryan's surprise was quickly metamorphosing to disbelief. "That's ... impossible!" she said. She studied Danni's face closely, looking for any sign that Danni was either insane or was pulling her leg. She saw none. "Okay, then why don't you use your alien contraption to change back?"
Danni shook her head wearily. "I can't." There was an air of resignation to her voice that couldn't be missed.
You _have_ to!" Jeri insisted. "You can't be me!" She studied Danni's face and saw the resigned look. "Why not?"
Danni shook her head sadly. "I can't. The problem is that I apparently was far too thorough in ... replicating you as Seven of Nine. When the device made me partially Borg, I had all the Borg implants and nanoprobes, precisely as your character on Voyager. The Borg implants ... shield me from any further transformations." She shrugged. "I'm stuck."
"As me. As Borg, like on the show." Jeri shook her head. On the one hand, Danni was very sincere. But on the other hand, the tale she was telling was impossible. "You need to understand one thing. I get _paid_ for doing these conventions. I get paid quite a bit! And now you're going to ruin it for me!" Jeri frowned. "Did you know that since you showed up, Viacom has quit booking me for these conventions?"
"I take it, then, that you're here because Viacom asked?" Danni asked cautiously.
Jeri started at the question, then she shook her head. "No. They don't have anything to do with me being here. I'm here because I_have to find out who's impersonating me, so Viacom will start booking me again." She leaned back. "I thought about hiring an investigator to check up on you."
"But?"
Jeri smiled thinly. "But if word got out, well, there are those who would make it into a big scandal, and I don't want bad publicity. Second, do you know how expensive it would be?" She shook her head. "After my agent started getting calls from Viacom, and some of my co-stars from Voyager started telling about how nice it was to see me at the conventions...."
Danni sighed. "I ... suspected that my appearance was causing some confusion. But I thought the ... scarcity ... of your appearances were due to filming on 'Boston Public'."
Jeri frowned. "That _does_ keep me busy, but Viacom told my agent that they're blocking my appearances until this ... situation ... gets cleared up!" She shook her head, her expression clearly unhappy. "They've essentially accused me of using 'Boston Public' as an excuse to avoid them booking me, then doing the appearance on my own so I can get more of the fees. You know what that kind of ... accusation ... could do to my career?" She sounded understandably angry. "You _have_ to put an end to this ... farce!"
Danni sighed again. Then she reached beside her and lifted a gray metal box about the size of an attaché case. "If I could..." She set the box on the floor. "This ... is the device we found."
Jeri frowned skeptically. "It looks like a gray briefcase. So?"
Danni nodded. "Watch." As Jeri watched, Danni extended her left arm toward the box. Almost quicker than the eye could follow, twin dark metallic tubes shot from her arm, intersecting with the side of the box. Danni concentrated for a brief moment, and then the box began to grow.
With a very nervous, even frightened expression, Jeri watched the box begin to grow. First of all, she'd seen the tubes - the Borg assimilation tubes - shoot out of Danni's arm. Just like on the show. And then, slowly, the box stretched. There was no unfolding, no bending. The metal just ... grew! When it finished, the box was about the size of a telephone booth, with plain gray sides.
Danni watched Jeri carefully through the entire process, as if operating the box were so automatic that she could do it with no effort. She saw a bit of fear, and some genuine curiosity. Danni rose and turned the box.
Her curiosity getting the better of her, Jeri Ryan rose from her chair and examined the box, focusing in particular on the red three-digit crystal and the flat black panel above it. It looked like some form of rudimentary control panel. To the left of the red 'paw print' thing was an ornately shaped purple crystal. After examining it for a moment, Jeri glanced at Danni. "Okay, I'll admit this is ... interesting."
"Interesting is an understatement," Danni said with a wry smile. "At least, that's what most people think." She laughed. "And that's exactly what my friends the Vulcans would say."
Jeri nodded. There was something about Danni that was refreshingly honest. "Okay, it's neat," she said with a smile. "And I know a few people in Hollywood would kill to find out how you do this trick."
Danni shrugged. "It's not a trick," she said confidently. "And we'd rather ... keep it a secret."
Jeri's amused look flitted away - for a moment. Danni's statement sounded guarded, even sinister. "Okay. I agree this is an interesting trick. But ...?"
Danni smiled warmly. "It is very simple to operate. You touch the red crystal and think of a form. It can be a person, or almost anything you wish. When the form on the display matches what you wish, touch the purple crystal. That opens a portal. On the inside is the activation control. When you touch it, the machine will make the transformation."
Jeri was about to touch the red crystal, but she stopped. "It sounds ... like science fiction."
Danni smiled again. "Yes, it does, doesn't it." She gestured to the pad. "Would you like to see for yourself?"
Jeri stiffened. Something about this didn't feel right. She wasn't sure she should trust Danni and her fanciful tale. "Why don't you show me?" she said cautiously.
Danni sighed. "As I said, my Borg implants shield me from the device. I _can't_ change."
"Oh, yeah." Jeri didn't sound convinced.
Danni sat back down in her chair and gestured for Jeri to sit as well. She bit her lip, and Jeri flinched at just how much the action matched her own actions. "I understand that you're a bit ... leery," Danni started. "You find someone who's your twin, who tells you a very interesting ... and frankly, quite unbelievable ... tale about alien technology, and then shows you a device that _could_ be some kind of trick or trap." She laughed. "I guess I'd be nervous, too."
Jeri sat down again and took a sip of her soda. "I ... I'm glad you understand."
Danni shrugged. "Believe it or not, I've come to be a bit suspicious of ... fen ... over the last year." She laughed again. "Being you isn't always easy." She suddenly reached for the phone. "I know what we can do, though. To demonstrate the box to you."
Danni picked up the phone and quickly punched some numbers. "Mike? Danni. I need a bit of help here. No, not like that. Have we got any volunteers? Um, hmm. Did you check? They said she's clear? Good. That should be perfect. Send her up." She replaced the phone in the cradle and turned back to Jeri, a smile on her face. "In case you hadn't noticed, science fiction fandom is a rather close group."
Jeri nodded and smiled. "I've noticed."
"Well, you can imagine how news of this box has spread through the community. Every convention, we have fen who want to change."
"Fen?" Jeri's eyebrows raised.
Danni laughed. "Plural of fan."
"Oh."
"Anyway, we are rather careful about who we change." She smiled, but there was a flash of warning in her eyes. "We can't let the knowledge of this device get out to just anyone."
Jeri suppressed a shudder. If the device were as powerful as Danni was hinting .... "I think I understand."
"Anyway, the Collective and I do a pretty thorough job of screening ... applicants," Danni finished.
"The Collective? As in 'Borg Collective'?" Jeri's eyes widened.
Danni laughed. "Yeah, we've got our own community of Borg." She saw the fear on Jeri's face. Jeri knew the plot lines. She knew how fearsome of opponents the Borg could be. Danni waved her hand nonchalantly as if to dismiss Jeri's concern. "Oh, don't worry. They're not dangerous."
Jeri didn't look too convinced. She nervously sipped her soda.
"Anyway, as I was saying," Danni continued, "when we find a suitable applicant, we let them change. Sometimes, it's for the duration of the con. Sometimes it's permanent."
A visible wave of relief coursed through Jeri's body. "Oh. So it's not a one-way change then."
Danni laughed. "Except for me, no."
"And all these ... others? They _choose_ to stay - as Vulcans and Klingons and such?" Jeri sounded amazed.
Danni smiled. "You've met fen. You tell me."
Jeri broke into a grin. "Okay, I see your point. I've met more than a few girls who would have given anything to look like me." She saw Danni flinch. "Oh, sorry," she added quickly. "I didn't mean ..."
Danni shook her head and tried to brush off the comment. "Don't worry. I wasn't one of those girls."
The cryptic answer was confusing to Jeri, and she opened her mouth to follow up, but a knock on the door interrupted before she could speak.
"Come in," Danni said, almost relieved at the distraction.
The door opened, and Mike came in, followed closely by a plump young lady. The young lady glanced nervously at Jeri and Danni.
Mike stood to one side. "This is Kayla," he growled. "She wishes to change." His role done, he turned and stomped back through the door, closing it behind himself.
Kayla looked nervous. She glanced at Danni, then at Jeri. "Oh, my gosh!" she exclaimed suddenly. "You're _really_ Seven! I mean Jeri Ryan!"
Jeri pasted on a smile, covering her surprised and even troubled expression. "Yes," she said simply.
Danni shot a quick glance at Jeri, then she looked back to Kayla. "Mike told you how the machine works?" she asked simply.
Kayla glanced at the silver box, then she nodded. "Yeah," she said. "He said it's pretty simple."
Danni nodded. "Very well," she said. "You may use the device."
Kayla, with the look of a kid opening Christmas presents, sprang
to the control panel. With a glance over her shoulder at Danni,
she set to work. In short order, a familiar figure was displayed on
the panel. She glanced at Danni. "Is this okay?" she asked.
Danni smiled. "It's your choice," she said simply.
Kayla nodded, then with a nervous glance at Jeri, she touched the purple crystal. She flinched when the side of the box simply vanished, as did Jeri. Then she stepped in and reached for another control. The side reappeared.
Jeri straightened in her chair, watching the box intently. So far, it was doing exactly as Danni had said it would. But she was disappointed - there was no strange hum of alien machinery, no unearthly screeches or pops, just a strange silence from the contraption.
It only took a few seconds for the machine to complete its work. The opening reappeared, and a figure emerged. Jeri's eyes widened as she beheld the spectacle.
The figure slowly glanced down at itself, an awkward task given the helmet on its head. Then, slowly, it reached up and removed the helmet.
Jeri's eyes, already wide with surprise, widened more. "That's ... Jango Fett!" she exclaimed softly.
Kayla - now Jango - grinned as she examined her new body and the Mandalorian armor she now wore. "Cool!" she declared in a voice that sounded like Jango rather than a young lady.
Danni held up a hand in warning. "Remember the rules. Your weapons are simulated only. Your backpack is not functional, but some of the less ... lethal ... weapons, like the grapple line, are. You must be careful. If you misuse the change in any way, we _will_ change you back. Understood?"
Kayla nodded, then pulled on the helmet. "I understand," she said in the muffled voice of Jango Fett. With a confident air, she strode from the room.
Danni watched the door close, then she turned back to her guest. "Convinced?" she asked with a sweet smile.
Jeri sat fixed, staring at the box. "It seems so ... real!" she exclaimed softly.
Danni shook her head. "Still a skeptic?" she asked.
Jeri slowly nodded her head. "Sorry, but I work in a profession where fooling the eye is a way of life."
Danni smiled. "I understand." She stood and walked to the control panel. "But now that you know it's safe, why don't you give it a try for yourself?"
Jeri knew it was time to put up or shut up. The demonstration had been so convincing. Still .... She rose abruptly and walked to the box. "So what do I do?"
Danni stood beside the controls. "Just like Kayla did. Touch the red crystal and think of what you want. Then you touch the purple crystal to enter. A similar crystal inside activates the device."
Jeri placed her hand on the red crystal, and was surprised that it felt warm. A ghostly image formed on the screen, and its features morphed quickly as Jeri found herself unable to decide precisely who she wanted to be. The image remained a blur. She dropped her hand and glanced at Danni. "I ... can't make it work."
Danni nodded. "That's because you aren't focused on one person. Think of just one person. A co-worker. A cast member, perhaps. It could be someone from Voyager or from Boston Public, or anyone else. Roxanne Dawson. Sharon Leal or Jessalyn Gelsig. But you have to focus on just one."
"Anyone?" Jeri asked carefully. "Even Chi McBride or Robert Beltran?"
Danni nodded carefully, her expression very deliberately neutral. "If you want, the device could change you into either of those ... men."
Jeri bit her lip, exactly as Danni had done earlier, then she turned back to the screen. "Uh, _that_ might be a bit much. I think I'll try something a little less ... radical." Now, the image firmed up, coalescing into one figure. "Since this is a science fiction convention, this should be appropriate." When it was done, she glanced back at Danni, then she touched the purple knob. She straightened her back, stiffening her resolve as well, and stepped into the device. The side vanished, and a few moments later, it reappeared.
Captain Janeway stepped out, dressed in full uniform. Her head bent forward, and her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open as she stared down at her body. "It ... it really _does_ work!" she said, and her mouth widened more as she heard the voice echoing in her ears.
Danni stepped beside her and gently touched her arm. "Have a look," she said as she guided Jeri toward a mirror.
"Oh, my God!" Jeri exclaimed. "I _look_ like Kate! I even _sound_ like her!" She touched her face and her hair. She turned to Danni, her eyes wide and an unreadable expression on her face. "It really does change a person!"
Danni nodded. "Yes, it does."
Jeri walked back to the machine. "It'll change me back?" she asked nervously.
Danni touched the control plate. "I ... added a few features. It stores previous patterns so it can restore people more exactly." She grinned at Jeri. "Some people were changing back with a few added ... enhancements." She couldn't help glancing down at her own breasts, then back at Jeri.
Jeri didn't understand why _she_ blushed; it was Danni's breasts. And yet, in a way, it was her own body that Danni had made the joke about. "Uh, no thanks," she said quickly. "I'll just change back the way I was."
Danni smiled and touched the control. Jeri's body, exactly as it had been, down to the last stitch of clothing and dab of makeup, came up on the display.
Jeri glanced at the image, and satisfied, she stepped into the box. As soon as she stepped out, back in her own body, she nervously patted herself, checking to reassure herself that she was unchanged. Danni touched the control, and the device refolded into the compact gray box.
**********
Jeri set down her fork. "So how complete are the changes?" she asked between bites. She picked up her glass and took a sip of soda.
Danni shrugged. "The changes go all the way to the genetic level."
Jeri's eyes widened, and she glanced at Mike and Sandy, both Klingon. "So ... if ...?"
Danni grinned. "The group has already added one Klingon baby and one Vulcan baby."
Sandy looked up and sloppily wiped the wine from her lip. "And if my mate would be a little more willing, I would add my own warrior child!" she said with a growl at Mike.
Mike laughed and tore a hunk off his roast with his teeth. "Bah!" he roared. "If you were as sensuous as some of the other Klingon females ..."
Danni glanced at Jeri, then at Darla. Darla caught her look. "It would be a convenient time to leave," Darla suggested.
Jeri looked confused. "Why?"
Danni laughed. "You've never seen Klingons mate, have you?"
"It will soon be rather noisy. And if they follow form, a large number of glasses and plates are about to be thrown and broken," Darla observed.
Jeri mouthed an 'oh.' She dabbed her mouth with her napkin and rose. Quickly, as the bickering between Sandy and Mike rose in volume and intensity, the trio of ladies exited the restaurant. "Won't they get thrown out?" Jeri asked as she caught up to Darla and Danni.
Darla shrugged. "Quite probably," she observed. "It is the most frequent outcome."
"Oh." They walked in silence for a while. "The girl today," Jeri broke the silence, "that changed? You said the changes were ... genetic. Does that mean she ... um ...?"
Danni knew the direction Jeri was going. "She's a man. Until she decides to change back."
Jeri's eyes widened. "But ...." She shook her head in confusion. "Does that happen a lot? Women changing to men? And vice-versa?" Jeri noticed Danni stiffened. She glanced at Darla.
"Yes," Darla said easily. "There are a number of transgendered changes in our group." She shot a glance at Danni.
The trio walked in silence the rest of the way back to the hotel. Even in the elevator, no additional words were spoken. Jeri felt uneasy, as if there was still something hidden.
"Aren't you going to your room to meditate?" Danni asked when Darla didn't get off the elevator at her own floor. "You have a big day tomorrow."
Darla shook her head. "I believe that my presence will make things ... easier for you."
Jeri glanced between the two women. "What ...?" she started to
ask.
"It would be better to complete the explanation in private," Darla said.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Jeri turned to Danni. "There's something you haven't told me yet. Isn't there." It wasn't so much a question as a statement of certainty.
Danni nodded slowly, then she sat down on the sofa. "It's ... kind of hard to talk about." She bit her lip.
"It would perhaps be best to simply state the facts," Darla said evenly. "It would minimize the chance for confusion."
Jeri's eyes narrowed. "I'm not sure I like where this is heading," she said warily. "If I put the pieces together, then ..."
"Before I changed, I was a male grad student named Danny," Danni blurted out. "Okay?" She turned away from Jeri and Darla, embarrassed at the admission.
Jeri sat in her chair, her mouth open and her eyes wide. For several awkward moments, the trio sat. "So ... why?" she asked finally.
Danni shook her head. "I know this sounds weird," she said softly. Her voice was straining, and she dabbed at the tears on her cheeks. "I'm not weird or anything. I'm not a homosexual, or a transsexual, or anything like that. It ... just happened."
"Danny is a very bright student of nanotechnology. He was working on his PhD, and he found the subject of the Borg ... fascinating," Darla interjected. "His interest in you was, I believe, primarily from your screen character as a cybernetic being."
"Oh," Jeri said, sounding a bit deflated.
"Look, it's not that I didn't admire your talent as an actress and your ... looks," Danni said defensively. "I mean, you're a ... a very attractive woman."
"I believe what Danni is saying is that, as a young man, it was normal for him to find you attractive," Darla added.
Jeri shook her head, unsure whether to laugh or not. "I got the message," she said to Darla. "It's all quite ... flattering. But ..."
Danni shook her head. "When we first got the box, Mike was thinking of Klingon babes, and he got accidentally changed into Lursa. After we figured out how the thing worked, he ... we ... disguised ourselves to go to parties. He tricked me into going as you."
"I see. I think. So you got stuck."
Danni sighed. "No. I just played you at the parties and the next day at the convention. Then I changed back."
"I thought you said you _couldn't_ change back." Jeri's voice sounded a touch angry.
"Later, Danni decided to make another appearance at the convention as you. This time, _he_ designed the changes. And with his background in nano-robotics and knowledge of Star Trek, he designed the body as a complete Borg. As Seven of Nine."
Jeri glanced at Darla, then at Danni. "Why?" she asked simply. "Why did you change a second time?" Her voice was devoid of anger or accusation; it sounded strangely compassionate.
Danni shook her head. "I ... liked the attention," she admitted. "It was nice to have people treat me like I was important."
Jeri closed her eyes momentarily, imagining the scene. She opened them and nodded slowly. "I think I understand. You wanted to be as popular as you thought I am." She saw the sad nod of Danni's head. "But it's not easy being a celebrity," she added. "Being recognized as a star, losing part of your privacy. It's not as glamorous as people think."
Danni nodded her agreement. "Don't I know it."
**********
"We have a problem."
Danni looked up suddenly at Darla. "What?" she asked. Her mind had been miles away, preoccupied with other thoughts. Most of her thoughts were focused on Jeri, hovering about curiously as she observed the proceedings as a 'special guest'.
"I said that we have a problem," Darla repeated.
Danni frowned. "What now?"
"I have no escort matron. If you recall, I intended that honor to be yours." She shook her head slightly. "However, as I was reminded only a few moments ago, tradition dictates that the escort matron must be Vulcan."
Danni closed her eyes and sighed. "What about the other Vulcan women?" She saw the look in Darla's eyes. "I suppose they're all taking part in the ceremony in other roles, right?"
Darla nodded. "Precisely."
Danni frowned. "You know, you're all making up half this stuff as you go along," she muttered. "There aren't any 'Guides to Vulcan Bonding Rituals' anywhere."
Darla tilted her head. "Perhaps not," she agreed evenly, "but there is a large volume of data on Vulcan ceremonies and rituals that is accepted canon for such events. It is a simple extrapolation of facts to determine the parameters of ..."
Danni held up her hands, palms outstretched toward Darla in a gesture of surrender. "I give up!" she said, shaking her head. "You believe you have a logical extrapolation of ceremonies, so you have to precisely follow protocol! You can't make an exception, can you?"
"It would not be logical to deviate from accepted practices."
"Excuse me," sounded over Danni's shoulder. Danni spun, surprised. Jeri was standing close beside her, listening attentively. "If you need a Vulcan, maybe you can get someone to change?"
Darla's eyebrow raised. "A logical solution," she said.
Danni sighed. "We don't have time to find a volunteer, do a background check, make the change! Not if the ceremony is to start on time!" She shook her head. "And if we don't do the ceremony today, we won't have a chance for another three or four weeks!"
"Could _I_ serve as the escort matron?" Jeri asked in a small, hesitant voice.
Danni stared open-mouthed at Jeri. "Are you serious?" she asked, stunned.
Darla raised both her eyebrows, a Vulcan indication of extreme surprise. "It is a logical solution, although not one I would have considered."
Danni stared at Jeri. "You're serious?"
Jeri glanced back and forth between Danni and Darla. "Uh, yeah," she answered meekly.
Darla nodded. "Your offer is acceptable. I would be honored to have you as my escort matron."
Danni suppressed a laugh. "We'd better hurry up, though, before she changes her mind!" She took Jeri's arm and turned toward the door. "You finish getting yourself prepared. We'll go change in my room. Meet you back here in a few minutes." Before Darla could answer, Danni led Jeri out of the small room.
Fortunately, Danni's room was only a few doors down from Darla's. Even with that short walk, a large number of fen noticed the two Jeri Ryans - one plain and one as Seven - walking together down the hall. Heads turned, and more than one hapless young man bumped into a corner or wall because he was watching the Jeri 'twins' instead of watching where he was going. Jeri was chuckling as they stepped into Danni's room.
"Don't you ever find that ... upsetting?" Danni asked uneasily.
Jeri thought for a moment. "No, I guess not. I've been in the spotlight for most of my life, so I guess I've gotten used to it."
Danni couldn't stop the shudder. "I don't think I'll ever get used to it," she said. She picked up the box and interfaced with it, causing it to grow.
Despite having seen it before, Jeri was still unnerved watching the box grow. "Okay," she said as she stepped to the control panel, "how do I make myself a Vulcan?"
"Just think about being a Vulcan. I programmed in the Vulcan physiological parameters," Danni instructed. "The first thing, the display will show you simply transformed into the closest Vulcan genetic match. After that, you can adjust parameters as you like."
Jeri followed her simple instructions. In seconds, a very Vulcan Jeri Ryan appeared on the display. "Like that?"
Danni nodded. "If you want to change anything, like your figure or your hair, just think of the changes, and the machine will apply those to your Vulcan physiology."
Jeri glanced at the screen, then she shook her head. "No thanks," she declined. "This is probably enough of a change for me."
Danni nodded her agreement. "Major changes can be ... disconcerting."
Jeri glanced quizzically at Danni. "The voice of experience?"
Danni laughed. "Touche," she answered. "No, some of our changes have been rather ... extreme."
"Oh?"
Danni grinned. "The shapeshifter probably had the worst time. He had to get used to spending a few hours every day resting in a bucket."
"A shapeshifter?" Jeri asked, wide-eyed. She shook her head. "After all these convention appearances and getting to know the fans ... er, fen ... I don't know why I'm surprised."
"You'd better change so we're not late."
Jeri started, then she nodded. She touched the purple knob, and after the opening appeared, she entered the box. In moments, she was back, although this time she was Vulcan. Her fine eyebrows were upswept, and her ears had the distinctive points. Her hair, formerly wavy light brown, was now dark and very straight. Her skin had the faint yellowish-green tint characteristic of all Vulcans.
She was also nude.
Danni winced. "Uh, you might want to put on some clothes," she
suggested cautiously.
Jeri's eyebrow lifted, exactly as every Vulcan's did, and she glanced down. "Oh. I seem to have omitted clothing." Her eyebrow raised again as she heard her words.
Danni stepped around her and touched the control plate. On the display, Jeri's figure quickly changed to include a ceremonial Vulcan tunic and robe. "Try that," Danni suggested.
Jeri nodded, then she stepped back into the box. She re-emerged clad in the garments.
"Is that better?" Danni asked, smiling.
Jeri nodded. "It is less drafty." Her eyebrow raised. "My memories suggest that I should have found the situation awkward and even embarrassing. However, I felt no such emotions. This is peculiar."
Danni laughed lightly. "I forgot to warn you that in Vulcans, emotions are practically non-existent. Your emotions are highly suppressed, and your brain's logic centers are greatly enhanced."
"Ah," Jeri replied. "That would explain why I felt no embarrassment."
Danni grinned. "That, and the fact that I've seen your body naked every day for the last many months!"
"A sensible answer," Jeri replied easily. "We should return to Darla's room to ensure we are prepared for the ceremony."
Danni laughed to herself. She knew that when Jeri changed back, she was going to express all the emotions that her Vulcan physiology was suppressing. It was going to be quite a sight.
**********
"It would be logical for me to appear at the reception as I appeared in the ceremony."
Danni's eyes narrowed. "Are you sure you don't want to change back right now?"
Jeri shook her head lightly. "We are expected at the reception." She started to walk toward the elevator. The reception was being held in one of the larger suites of the convention hotel.
Danni lightly touched her arm, halting Jeri. "Are you sure you want to go? You don't know what these parties can be like."
Jeri paused. "It is expected. However, I would appreciate any advance information you could provide prior to our arrival. It would help me be ... prepared."
Danni winced. Jeri was determined to go, and she really had no idea what she was getting into. "Don't be surprised ... by anything," she began as they stepped into the elevator.
**********
A Vulcan male, appearing to be about 30, approached Danni and Jeri. "You are new to our group," he observed, speaking to Jeri.
Jeri nodded in acknowledgement. "Your assumption is correct," she answered simply. "I was changed for my role in the bonding ceremony."
"I am Tural," the man said in introduction.
Jeri nodded. "I am Jeri," she replied easily.
Tural nodded. "I suspected that you were Jeri Ryan. You honor us with your presence." He extended his hand, fingers spread in the familiar Vulcan greeting.
Jeri's eyebrow raised, then she lifted her hand toward his, her fingers spread. "You honor me by permitting me a role in the ceremony," she answered.
Danni's hand caught Jeri's arm in an uncomfortably firm grip. "Uh, uh," she cautioned firmly. She turned toward Tural. "You should know that she has not had time to adjust. She would be overwhelmed by even a simple ... greeting."
It was Tural's turn to raise his eyebrow. "I was not ... aware ... that there could be a problem." He lowered his hand quickly. "I assure you that I intended no affront." He turned and hastened away.
Jeri glanced at Danni and observed the firm set of her jaw and the steely gaze in her eyes. She turned back to Tural, to his retreating form. "I do not understand."
Danni sighed. "For Vulcans, a physical touch is ... intimate. It enhances the communications between two individuals. While not as significant as a full mind meld, it is nonetheless a very powerful event."
Jeri frowned - slightly. "I was not aware ..."
Danni nodded, cutting her off. "If you had completed the touch, especially since Tural is showing signs of nearing Ponn Farr, you might have been overwhelmed by the ... experience. The Vulcans have discovered that in some new changees, it can cause a ... bond."
"A bond? Similar to a mating bond?" Jeri asked, sounding more curious than alarmed.
Danni nodded grimly. "If you experienced such a bond, even a fleeting one, you could find yourself unwilling to change back from your Vulcan form. You would find yourself emotionally attached to the other person ... permanently."
"I did not realize the implications or the possibilities of such a bond." Jeri thought for a brief moment. "Your precautions on my behalf are wise.
"I suggest that you change back now, so you can avoid any other situations," Danni suggested.
Jeri nodded. "That would be logical." The two left the party suite. In less than ten minutes they were back, with Jeri Ryan now as herself. "Why don't we find a table to sit?" Danni suggested. She took Jeri's arm and led her to a small table.
As they sat engaged in small-talk about the group and the ceremony, Danni noticed that some members of the changee group seemed to hover around their table, as if wanting to talk to Jeri or get an autograph or a picture. Jeri didn't seem to notice, or if she did, she gave no indication. Danni, however, was acutely aware. Finally, she had enough. "Excuse me," she interrupted Jeri. "Doesn't all this," she glanced around, "bother you?"
Jeri gave a quick glance. "Only once in a while, when I really would like some privacy, it gets to be a real pain."
"Well, it bothers me!" Danni grimaced. "Excuse me a moment." In a graceful and fluid motion, she rose and walked to Mike.
Jeri couldn't hear Danni, but from the glances she and Mike gave toward her, and from the scowl that grew on Mike's face, she knew it was about her. Mike nodded, and Danni walked back to the table and sat down. "Now, where were we?" she asked as if nothing had happened.
Jeri frowned. "What was that all about?" she blurted out, her curiosity having gotten the better of her. Even as she asked, she saw Mike collar and yell at a couple of the Klingons that were watching her and Danni.
Danni shrugged. "Nothing, really. I just explained the situation to Mike. He's explaining to the Klingons that they _really_ should stop acting like a bunch of star-struck fen and treat you like they treat any of the rest of us."
Jeri nodded her appreciation. "You think it'll work?" As the words slipped from her mouth, she saw one of the Klingons take a swing at Mike. A few quick and savage blows from Mike left the Klingon falling to the floor. Jeri winced.
Danni saw her expression, and she turned in time to see the final moment of the Klingon's unconscious collapse. "Yes. Mike's just reminding them that you're part of our select club, just like they
are."
"Select club?" Jeri asked cautiously.
Danni smiled. "Sure. You changed into a Vulcan for the ceremony. That makes you one of us, even if you did change back."
"Oh." She glanced around the room, at all the strange Trek aliens and faces. "I suppose that'll take care of the Klingons, but what about the rest of the ... the changees?"
Danni shrugged. "The Vulcans are easy. It's their logic. The others?" She smiled. "Mike's probably telling them that if they _don't_ stop, he'll chuck them into the box and change them back." Her smile broadened. "That should take care of them."
"So just how big is this 'select group'?"
Danni thought for a moment. "When we started, there were about thirty of us. Since then, our numbers have grown to somewhere around two hundred."
Jeri's eyes widened. "Two hundred?"
Danni nodded. "Give or take. It depends on the con."
"Wow! I didn't realize there were so many." She frowned as she stared, wide-eyed, at a corner of the suite. "Is that ... girl ... naked?"
Danni followed Jeri's look. "Oh. You mean Lorella?" Danni nodded and smiled. "She prefers to entertain in the nude."
Jeri shook her head. "It was hard to tell with her body paint." She frowned. "That _is_ body paint, isn't it?" She saw Danni's eyes. "You mean she's really green?"
Danni smiled. "She's an Orion slave girl. Quite exotic, according to Trek canon. And yes, she's green."
"But the Klingons are ... fondling her!" Jeri protested. "And she seems to be enticing them for more!"
Danni nodded again. "Orion slave girls are known for their ... friendliness. She'll probably entertain five or six of the Klingons before the night is done." Her answer was so matter-of-fact that it sounded like a weather report.
Jeri suppressed a shudder. "I suppose there's a story behind her, as well? Was she just an outgoing girl who wanted to be green?" She shook her head. "God, but that sounds like a Kermit the Frog song..."
Danni laughed, but her laugh was uneasy. "No, she was a guy once, too."
"Oh." It was clear to Jeri, from the tone of Danni's answer, that Danni wasn't going to tell any more of Lorella's story. She decided to change the subject. She wrinkled her nose. "How much ... how like me are you?"
Danni started to answer, then she paused, her eyes widening as she understood the implications of what Jeri was asking. "You mean, am I a fully functional female?" she asked hesitantly.
Jeri started at the blunt rewording of her question. "Well, yeah, I guess that's another way to put it."
Danni blushed as she looked down. "Pretty close, I'd guess."
"Have you ever ... you know?"
Danni slowly nodded. "Yeah, once." She glanced up and saw Jeri's expression. "It was at the first convention, after I'd become Seven. There was one guy at a party who was being a pest. He thought I was really you, and he kept hounding me. I was thinking that Seven would shut up someone like this by simply assimilating him ... and somehow, that's what happened before I even realized it."
"You ... assimilated a guy?" Jeri's eyes were wide with surprise and even fear.
Danni nodded, still looking down. "I didn't mean to. But it happened." She shook her head. "I found myself in a shared mind, and I got confused. I guess I was kind of overwhelmed by the shared thoughts and stuff. Anyway, we ..." She broke off, unable to continue.
Jeri stared at Danni for a moment, then she let out a soft whistle. "I can't imagine how it would be to share a mind like that."
Danni looked up, surprised at Jeri's lack of condemnation. "It was ... weird." She shook her head and dropped her gaze again. "I could feel ... both of us. And I didn't feel like I was controlling anything." After a very awkward pause, Danni looked up at Jeri. Jeri could see that she was fighting tears. "I ... I haven't done anything like that since. It's ... scary."
"Because you weren't in control?" Jeri asked hesitantly.
Danni shook her head and wiped at the forming tear. "No," she answered. "Because I'm not really a woman, even though I'm in this body, and I'm afraid of ..." She cut off her words, unable to continue.
Jeri nodded her understanding. "You're afraid you might like being a woman?"
"Yeah."
Jeri's smile was warm and genuine. "I can sympathize with that." She decided this subject was getting a little too personal and painful for Danni. "What happened to the guy you assimilated? Did you change him back?"
Danni started at the change, then she laughed softly. "No. The same thing that protected me shielded him, too. We couldn't change him back."
"So ... he's a full Borg?" Jeri remembered that Danni had said the box had created some Borg.
"Not completely. I used some of my nanoprobes to undo some of the total Borg changes. He's about like me." She laughed softly. "He calls himself Adjunct One of Unimatrix Seven."
Jeri laughed at the inside joke. "How many conventions have you done ... as me?"
Danni sighed, then she shook her head slowly. "I never claim to be you. I really don't. I try to make sure they know I'm _not_ you." She shook her head again. "Especially the con organizers. Sometimes, though, they get carried away and list me as a guest. I guess they think that's what I want."
"That explains all the letters."
"Letters? You mean to Viacom?" Danni asked.
Jeri laughed. "No, I was talking more about the 'thank you' and 'nice to meet you' fan letters I've been getting."
It was Danni's turn to be surprised. "But ... I ..." she stammered. "I wasn't trying to ..." She shook her head. "When I look like this, it's hard for people to _not_ think it's really you - no matter how many times I deny it." Still shaking her head, she dropped her forehead into her hands. "I'm really, really sorry," she said softly. "I didn't realize ..."
For some reason, Jeri felt strong compassion for Danni, even in these impossible circumstances where the former guy now looked like her - in Seven of Nine's costume. Jeri put her hand on Danni's arm as a gesture of comfort. "I know," she said softly.
Danni looked up, surprised at Jeri's touch. "I really thought you'd be angry at me," she said.
Jeri laughed. "When I first got here, I was. I thought this was some kind of act or gimmick that was cutting into my convention appearances." She smiled. "But since I've gotten to know you - and how you got like that - I guess I can't really stay angry." She laughed aloud. "Besides, it's kind of fun to watch the Viacom people going crazy over your appearances. They're getting requests that they don't understand, and thank-you notes that they have no idea about." She grinned again. "As anal as they are about appearances in costume, it's driving them nuts." She laughed aloud. "Did you know that they had a private investigator following me for almost a month? They were absolutely certain that I _was_ going to the conventions in costume, despite my repeated denials!"
Danni breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm ... glad that you aren't angry." She lowered her gaze, staring at her Borg-augmented hand resting on the table top. "I guess it would have made all this ... harder ... if you were upset." She looked up at Jeri. "Does that make any sense? I barely know you, but ..."
Jeri smiled warmly. "You're a good person. Inside, I mean. And yes, it makes sense." In a strange way, she felt a connection with Danni. Few people understood the lack of privacy that celebrities had. Then, suddenly, her eyes widened, followed by a spasm of laughter that she fought unsuccessfully to suppress.
"What?" Danni asked, confused.
Jeri tried to wave off Danni's question, but she realized it wasn't going to be that easy. "If it could change me into anything, then it could make me into a man, and I could experience the ultimate fantasy of sleeping with myself!"
Danni's eyes widened in alarm, and that set Jeri to laughing even more. "Oh, don't worry. It was just a passing thought that seemed funny."
Danni eyed her, then smiled. "And you'd get to find out if you're really any good in bed, huh?"
Jeri broke out in laughter, tears streaming down her cheeks as she visualized the scenario. "I'm not sure I want to go _that_ far," she said, chuckling. Then her eyes twinkled. "But I've got an idea that we can have a little fun with this whole thing. If you're game, that is."
**********
The hall was packed, as was expected for the costume contest. It was one of the highlights of the convention, and every year, the costumes got better. Everyone knew that some of the presentations would be a little old or long-winded, or sometimes even unintelligible, but it was still a lot of fun.
"And now," the emcee announced from his post on the stage, "a special guest to help us judge the contest, straight from the Delta quadrant, the part-human, part-Borg crewmember of the USS Voyager, Seven of Nine!"
On one side of the stage, a spotlight snapped on. Into the circle of light, a figure clad in a catsuit stepped. To the cheers of the fen, Seven of Nine strode confidently onto the stage.
A hush fell over the crowd, and gasps of surprise echoed through the hall. The emcee, hearing the crowd's reaction, turned, and his jaw dropped.
On the stage, a second spotlight illuminated a figure on the opposite side of the stage. She was dressed exactly like the other figure. In fact, as the crowd had quickly observed, the two looked like twins.
The emcee stood in shock as the two met at center-stage, then they strode confidently, with a sexy gait, to his side. "Uh, who ... who are ..." he glanced back and forth between the two, confusion on his features and in his voice, "who are you?" He couldn't decide which one he should be talking to.
The two Sevens exchanged a quick glance. "We are Seven of Nine," the answered in perfect unison. "Resistance is futile."
The emcee stood, shell-shocked, alternating his stare between the two ladies. "Uh," he stammered, "which one of you is the _real_ one?"
The two ladies exchanged another glance. "We are Seven of Nine," the answered, their eyes twinkling with mirth at the plight of the hapless emcee. "Resistance is futile."
After a momentary pause, the crowd erupted with cheering. On stage, the befuddled emcee continued his futile attempt to determine which of these two ladies was really Jeri Ryan. He knew he'd been had, and he looked near tears.
**********
Jeri laughed aloud again. "This has got to be the ... strangest ... weekend I've ever spent." She glanced at Danni's Borg hand, then at her own bare hand.
Danni noticed the look. "There wasn't any danger," she said with a smile. "I made sure the device made the changes as cosmetic additions rather than functional Borg implants."
Mike and Sandy, sitting across the suite on the couch, grinned. "It was fun to watch everyone try to figure out which of you was real."
Jeri smiled at Danni. "And you did a _great_ job! If you hadn't been so good at acting like me, we couldn't have pulled it off."
Danni blushed at the compliment. As she opened her mouth to answer, the phone rang. "Excuse me," she said politely as she picked up the phone. "Hello." She paused while the unknown party at the other end spoke. "You're sure? They cleared him? Good. Now? Why now?" She sighed. "Okay. Okay, bring him up." She hung up the phone and sighed again.
"Who was that?" Mike growled.
Danni sighed yet again. "You remember that kid from last night who was bugging me?"
Mike thought for a moment. The party had been a typical Klingon party. He shook his head. "No."
"There's a kid who wants to join our ranks."
Mike's eyebrow lifted. "Oh?"
Danni nodded. "The Collective checked him out. He's clear."
"And what else?" Sandy asked cautiously. She knew that there was something in Danni's tone of voice.
Danni smiled at Sandy. "He's an orphan, so there aren't any family connections."
Mike's eyes widened. "Interesting."
Danni nodded. " Since his parents died in a car accident a few years ago, the kid's been living with an aunt. She's tried to have him ... counseled ... for his obsession with Star Trek. Turns out he's been following us for a few months to see if we were legit."
"Sharp kid," Jeri observed.
"And I suppose he wants to be a Klingon warrior?" Mike asked scornfully. "Doesn't he know we still don't have balance?"
"Balance?" Jeri asked quickly.
"Male to female ratio," Danni explained quickly. "Too many male Klingons." She glanced at Mike and shook her head. "No, he doesn't want to be a Klingon."
Sandy's eyebrows narrowed. "Then ... what?"
"Romulan."
"Romulan?" Sandy and Mike spat in unison. "That's ... stupid!"
The bell sounded, interrupting further objections from the Klingons. Danni rose and opened the door. A wiry young man of modest height, with thick glasses and tussled brown hair, stood framed in the door. "Can I help you?" Danni asked simply.
The young man sized her up. "I think so," he said bluntly. "You have some kind of technology that can answer a lot of my prayers. And I can pay for it."
"We don't need your money," Mike snarled.
The kid paled at the menacing Klingon towering over him. His principle argument - that he could help support the group - had evaporated in an instant. "But ...." He fell silent for a moment, then he looked up at Danni, his eyes pleading. "Does this mean you won't help me?"
Danni thought about denying it, to see what the young man would do, but she knew he'd been cleared. "No. We might help," she answered. "It depends on what your desires are, Sebastian John Roberts." She watched the young man's face pale as she answered with his full name. "Even though you go by John." She stepped aside and let him in, closing the door behind him.
John struggled to regain his composure. "I guess you know as much about me as I know about you."
"Probably more," Mike growled. "So what do you want?"
John flinched at Mike's stern rebuttal. "I want to be a part of Star Trek. And I want to belong to a group that's like ... family."
Sandy frowned. "What makes you think we can help you?" she snarled.
John held his ground. "I've been checking up on you," he said, his quavering voice betraying his nervous state. "I _know_ you have the means to change me."
Danni nodded. "I know your motivations," she said.
John drew himself upright. "I heard about your group, off and on, at some conventions. I figured that if you were real, you could help me." He shook his head. "My aunt ... she never understood. She thought my love of Star Trek was ... weird. She even had me go to psychiatrists to see if there was something wrong with me." There was an underlying anger in his voice. "I finally figured it was time for me to live my life the way _I_ wanted to."
"We know. There is no need to explain further." Danni picked up the metal briefcase. John watched in wonder as she interfaced with the device and caused it to open. Silently, slowly, it grew to full size. "This," Danni pointed to the red pad, "is a mind reading control panel. All you need do is imagine your desired form, and it will be displayed on the screen. For safety reasons, I have programmed in the physiological parameters of the race you desire, so all you need to do is focus on the appearance."
John nodded as he studied the controls. "It sounds too easy."
Danni smiled. "It is."
John reached tentatively toward the red control, then he glanced nervously at Mike, Sandy, Jeri, and Danni. "Uh, can I have ...?" He sounded more self-conscious than he should have.
Danni glanced at the others, then she nodded knowingly. "Sure. Just turn the box around, and none of us will see until you're done." She easily lifted and turned the large box so the control panel. She gave a quick glance to Mike and Sandy.
Mike understood her meaning. "I think we'll be going to the party," he growled. Danni understood - wherever there were two or more Klingons, there was either a party or a battle. The former was preferable, although sometimes it was hard to tell the difference. Mike and Sandy stood and clanked out of the room, leaving John with Danni and Jeri.
John ducked behind the device, his body and actions hidden by the bulk of the telephone-booth sized gray metal box. Though there were no sounds from the box, Danni could tell when John opened the box from his gasp of surprise. "Step inside and touch the purple control knob," she reminded him. "That will activate the device and complete the changes."
"It really works!" came the surprised and excited cry from behind the box announcing the completion of the cycle.
Danni nodded. "Just as I told you," she said.
John stepped from behind the cabinet, and Jeri gasped. _She_ was dressed in the uniform of a female operative of the Tal Shiyar, the Romulan secret police.
Danni smiled. "I thought so," she said softly.
John frowned. "What?" he asked, puzzled. The sound of his voice caused his eyes to widen in surprise.
"When you seemed nervous about changing, I suspected that you wished this," Danni said.
John frowned. "I'm not ... weird," he protested. "It's just that ..."
"You've always felt that you were stuck in the wrong body. You even wrote stories about your dreams in some transgender news groups, right?" Danni asked knowingly.
John frowned. "How did you know?" he asked carefully.
Danni shrugged. "I told you we checked into your background."
John dropped his head. "I _couldn't_ tell anyone," he said softly. "No one understands."
Danni took his arm and led him to the mirror. "We understand," she said reassuringly. "Now look at your new self."
John lifted his head and stared at the mirror, his dark eyes widening. "Wow!" he said as he gawked at his reflection. His whole body was smaller, now perhaps five feet eight inches in height. Even though the quilted uniform blouse hid much of his new figure, it was obvious from the way his chest pushed out that he was well endowed. His eyebrows were finer and upswept in the Vulcan and Romulan styles, and his pointed ears poked upward. His long straight hair hung in a simple ponytail, with short bangs concealing some of his forehead. With the characteristic tint to his skin, he looked quite exotic - and attractive.
"I believe that you will need to change your name," Danni suggested. "John is hardly an appropriate name for you now."
John nodded. "Janna," he answered quickly, as if the name had been waiting for him to use it.
Danni sat back down. "It's going to take you some time to adjust ... to all the changes. If you'd like, you can come with us to the Klingon's ranch for a couple of weeks."
"Klingon ... ranch?" Janna asked, wide-eyed.
Danni saw Jeri mouth the same question, and she smiled. "The Klingons have a ranch in Wyoming. It's a private reserve where they can party and hunt game and such without being disturbed. A lot of new changees spend time there."
"That would ..." Janna cut off. "But Klingons don't like Romulans," she remembered.
Danni nodded. "That might hinder things a bit, but you have to remember that, pound for pound, you're much stronger than a Klingon. You could easily hold your own, and by doing so, you'll earn their respect."
Janna thought for a moment. "I guess ... that'd be a good way to start adjusting." She glanced nervously at Danni. "Are you ... going to be there?"
Danni nodded. "I haven't been up there for a few weeks. Yeah, I can go - if you want me to."
Janna nodded enthusiastically. "That'd help a lot. When will we leave?"
Danni shrugged. "This afternoon, once the convention closes, if that's okay with you."
Janna nodded. "I'll meet you ..."
Danni smiled. "In the lobby, around four." She watched Janna walk slowly out of the room.
Jeri smiled. "You handled that pretty well," she observed. "Knowing what was really going on, making sure he ... she ... was comfortable, offering to help her adjust."
Danni lowered her eyes. Praise wasn't exactly her primary motivation. She glanced up suddenly. "Look, if you're not busy for a while, with filming I mean, why don't you come with us?"
Jeri sat upright, startled by the suggestion. "You mean ...?"
Danni nodded. "Sure. I think you'd love it. It's a great ranch. Nice scenery, and you already know the group." Her words were rapid and as excited as she could make them sound. "It'd be a nice chance for you to get away and have some peace and privacy."
Jeri actually looked like she was considering it. "But ..." she started to object.
"Bring your son!" Danni added. "If he likes anything of Star Trek, he'll love it!
Jeri smiled sadly. "I'd love to. Really, I would. But I'm busy filming 'Boston Public' for the next couple of months, and I can't get off."
Danni sank back into her chair. "I understand," she answered half-heartedly.
Jeri shook her head quickly. "No, I _really_ would love to! You ... your group is ... neat. You're a lot of fun." She shook her head again. "To be honest, I didn't know what to expect when I got here. I was almost expecting some kind of nastiness." She smiled. "But you're really sweet, and I've enjoyed the past few days." She opened her purse and pulled out a piece of paper and a pen. Writing furiously, she scribbled on the paper. "Here," she said, handing the paper to Danni. "Here's my address and phone number." She saw Danni's eyes widen. Stars just didn't give out their addresses and phone numbers. "And my e-mail address." She smiled. "I really want to keep in touch with you." She glanced at her watch and stood suddenly. "I've got to run if I'm going to make my plane," she said.
Danni stood, then she offered her hand to Jeri. Instead, Jeri gave her a warm embrace. "I mean it. Send me your contact information, and as soon as this season's filming is over, we'll arrange a trip to the ranch."
Danni watched her one-time screen idol stroll from the room. She sighed. That hadn't gone nearly as badly as she'd feared. She looked at the paper, and she smiled. Maybe she'd even made an unexpected friend in the process.
FIN
MAU: Trekkin' Along
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ElrodW
Synopsis: This tale continues the adventures of Danni — a 'victim' of the Morphic Adaptation Unit who now resembles the Seven of Nine, down to functional Borg implants!
This story was previously posted to another site, and to the TG Fiction newsgroup. It is here on Big Closet for the first time. Enjoy. There are two more Trek stories done waiting their turn, and I'm working on another sequel.
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This story is copyright by the author. It is protected by licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Danni eased back into the chair, stretching out her long curvy legs, feeling the muscles protesting slightly at the movement. Damn, but even the tiniest motion reminded her of the change. She glanced down between the firm round breasts on _her_ chest. A sigh escaped Danni's lips - a soft, feminine sound passing between full, feminine lips of a body which was undeniably, one hundred percent female.
"I gather that you are contemplating your changes again?" The voice was from Danni's side, where a tall, athletic young lady sat erect. Her hair was straight, black, and severely cropped at her bangs and just above her shoulders. Her upswept eyebrows and pointed ears were easily visible through the stark hairstyle.
Danni sighed yet again. "Yup," she said. "Again." Danni felt a muscle cramping, and involuntarily lifted her arms above her head to stretch. Once more, reminders sounded as she felt her breasts heave with the motion. "You know, Darla," Danni said through a yawn, "I envy you. Really I do." She knew, without looking, that one of Darla's eyebrows had just crept upward. "You don't have these damned emotions to contend with."
Darla canted her head ever so slightly. "True. You also neglected to mention that my adjustments do not include your need to familiarize yourself with having also changed sex."
Danni permitted a brief laugh to escape. "Vulcans have a knack for saying the obvious."
"Indeed," Darla commented dryly. "And yet Humans seem to _need_ constant reminders of the obvious."
Danni closed her eyes, ignoring the stares from across the convention's Green Room. This room was a sanctuary for panelists and guests, a place off-limits to the regular convention-goer. Still, a lot of the panels were comprised of science-fiction fans. And naturally, they were curious about seeing _her_ in the Green Room. _Her_, together with a girl who was seemed to be a model Vulcan impersonator. "They're staring again, aren't they?" she asked needlessly.
Darla glanced around the room in a slow, graceful, and very obvious gesture. "Yes, they are staring. As you have discovered, they are probably laboring under the misconception that you are the true Jeri Ryan."
Danni sighed. "And I can't disappoint a fan, can I?" She laughed. "Too bad I can't use the damned box on myself." Almost a year earlier, at a different science fiction convention, Danny, a promising _male_ PhD student of nanotechnology, had discovered a strange box. Unknown to Danny or his roommate, it was an alien device known as a Morphic Adaptation Unit, and when Danny used it to become, not Jeri Ryan, but Seven of Nine, the machine complied.
"If your knowledge of Seven of Nine had not been so complete when you modeled the body for the initial transformation, that would not be a problem at this time. You would not have had the Borg implants, nor the Borg defensive shields that prevented restoring you to your old form."
Danni sighed. "You don't have to remind me," she said softly. "But then, if I didn't have the Borg implants, I wouldn't have been able to get the device working again." She shook her head.
Darla raised her eyebrow, much like the expression made famous by Spock on the original Trek series. "You present an interesting conundrum. If you were not partially Borg, the device would have allowed you to changed back, but you could not operate the device past the device's allotted time limit. With the Borg implants, you are able to operate the device, but the implants shield you from the device's actions, preventing you from changing back."
Danni sighed. "I've done the permutations, Darla," she protested. "Either way, I would have been stuck. Either as Jeri Ryan, or as Seven."
Darla nodded. "That is a logical conclusion," she agreed. "I have noticed an increase in your logic. Did you include the emotional dampening implants in your reference design?" She talked about the way Danni had used the MAU to design his Seven of Nine body the way others might describe basic electronic circuits or software — as if it were merely an engineering design exercise.
Danni nodded. "Of course," she said softly. She opened her eyes and looked at Darla. "Are you sure _you_ don't want to change back?"
Darla seemed puzzled. "Why would I wish to resume my original form?" she asked. "Being Vulcan is replete with advantages over a Human form. It would not be logical to revert to my original body."
"You and just about everyone else," Danni laughed. "It is regrettable that I didn't figure out how to interface with the device earlier. It might have saved some of the changees a bit of ... trouble." Seven months after the change, Danni, with a sudden inspiration, tried to use her Borg implants to interface directly with the device. It worked, and she could now control the device completely.
"Has anyone elected to revert?"
Danni shook her head. "Only the one Sisko. I've had a few dozen request to change."
Darla opened her mouth to reply, but a disturbance at the door cut her off. Four large men and one smaller man, all wearing full Klingon battle armor and appearing to wear proper Klingon makeup, were trying to enter the room. The poor lad designated as the guard, who'd spent most of his time drooling over Danni's luscious form, was making a gallant but futile stand to stop them. In short order, he was dangling upside down, held by one Klingon warrior like a rag doll.
"Ah!" Mike called from the door in his gruff Klingon-accented voice. "I knew you'd be here!" The 'guard' was dropped and the Klingons entered the Green Room over his feeble protests, marching directly to Danni.
"Hi, Mike," Danni said easily. "Where's Sandy?" Sandy was Mike's wife. Sandy had been a random encounter at the original convention, a girl who just happened to want to be a Klingon. Mike had used the device to transform her into a Klingon woman, and after they had become stuck, they had eventually settled into an interesting, if unconventional, marriage.
Mike let out a roar of laughter. "Leaving me in peace for a change."
"I assume there is a reason you breached protocol and entered the Green Room," Darla said with not a trace of emotion in her voice.
Mike glanced at Darla, then roared again. "Vulcans!" He glanced at his compatriots. "Imagine having no passion! No feeling!" The Klingons bellowed their laughter at what they perceived to be Darla's plight. After his laughs died down, Mike turned to Danni. "We have a minor problem."
"Oh?" Danni glanced around, and soon realized what the problem might be. He gazed at the one person among the Klingons who seemed out of place.
"Exactly," Mike answered. "He wishes to join." Mike turned his head to glare at the smaller man.
At first glance, all the Klingons seemed the same - silvery battle armor over their dark outfits, darker skin, and the ridged forehead characteristic of the Star Trek aliens. But on closer examination, the differences started to show. The armor worn Mike and his men had a definite metallic look. The smaller man's armor looked plastic. The small man's clothing fit less well, and looked to be of much lower quality. Finally, and most prominently, the small man wore a prosthetic headpiece, that while applied with care, still was noticeable as artificial. However, on Mike and the other Klingons, it was impossible to see the lines of the prosthetic headpiece — because the device had made them _real_ Klingons, complete to the bony bumps and ridges. No makeup was necessary.
Danni looked at the newcomer, who seemed to be trying to look proud and defiant. "You wish to ... change?"
The newcomer glared around the Klingons, then stared evenly at Danni. "Yes. I'm worthy."
Mike snorted derisively. "He knows _nothing_ of being a warrior! He has no _heart_!"
The newcomer stood toe-to-toe with Mike, looking up at the larger man. "You may test that assumption at your convenience," he snarled. Despite his attempted show of bravado, he seemed unsure of himself. All bluster aside, he _was_ intimidated by Mike. And it showed.
Mike glowered at the man, then tilted his head back and roared with laughter. "You may yet make a warrior!"
Darla rose silently and gracefully. "I must return to William," she said evenly. "We have many arrangements to complete. I trust you will be present?"
Danni nodded. "I wouldn't miss the ceremony for anything." She extended her hand upward, her fingers splitting. "Live long and prosper."
Darla's eyes opened fractionally, then she nodded. "And you. Live long and prosper." With an economy of motion, she turned and strode from the room.
Danni turned back to Mike, then stood. "You know the rules," she said easily.
Mike nodded solemnly and glanced around his warriors. "We all vouch for him."
Danni nodded. "Very well." She turned to the newcomer.
"But there is a problem," Mike continued, interrupting Danni's train of thought.
"Oh?"
Mike glanced around. "We number nearly two dozen," he explained quickly. "But there is no balance."
Danni turned, glancing knowingly at each of the Klingons in turn, then she looked at Mike. "Do you think he would agree to those terms?"
The newcomer watched, puzzled. "What terms?" he finally asked.
Mike glared down at the man. "We number eighteen men and only five women."
The man looked at Mike for a moment, digesting the data. Then he paled. "You mean...?" He could not complete the question.
Mike nodded. "Even our women are better warriors than you are," he added.
The young man glanced at Danni, his eyes pleading. "But...?"
Danni shook her head. "It is entirely a matter of the Empire. You must abide by their rules." She saw the uncertainty in his eyes.
Mike clasped his large hand on the young man's shoulders. "If you are a warrior - a true warrior of Klinzhai - the shape of your body does not matter. Only the contents of your heart."
The young man looked down, unable to hold Mike's gaze. "I ... I'll have to think about it," he said. He turned, then he looked up at Danni. "It'd be on a trial basis, right? I mean, I could change back, right?"
Danni nodded slowly. "Changing back is possible," she confirmed.
"But if you were to do so," Mike said threateningly, "you would prove that you are no warrior. You would _never_ be a true Klingon!"
The young man glanced up at Mike, then he nodded and shuffled out of the room.
Danni shook her head as she watched him go. "Looks like you scared off another one," she observed.
Mike shook his head. "No," he answered. "He will return. I have seen his heart. He is a warrior. His passion to be a true Klingon warrior is strong."
**********
The steady hum of her portable regeneration unit had a tranquilizing effect on Danni. She lay on her bed, her breathing shallow, as the unit hummed beneath her head, its circular cranial interface swirling with chaotic discharges of electricity that looked like a lightening storm at its peak. And yet, through this man-made chaos, energy was channeled into Danni, into her Borg implants, re-energizing them and revitalizing her. At first, the need to regenerate had been eerie, even frightening. Danni hadn't realized that, with functional Borg implants, she _needed_ to regerate. Fortunately, the implants as Danny had imagined them included a vast storehouse of advance data. By figuring out how to interface to and extract that embedded data, Danni had used her engineering skills to construct a regeneration unit. Now that she was used to it, Danni found regerating more refreshing than any sleep she'd ever experienced. It was just another price she paid for having been so damned thorough in using the device to change to Seven of Nine.
Shortly after she constructed her primary regeneration unit, Danni had found it necessary to construct a portable unit. Mike, Sandy, and Danni travelled frequently to conventions. Since Mike was quite wealthy, he had ample resources. More to the point, the first encounter with the device had left over two dozen Trek fans changed. Out of a sense of responsibility, Mike and Danni were doing everything they could to help them adjust, including gathering as often as possible at conventions. A long convention without regeneration was too fatiguing.
The knock on the door caused her eyes to snap open. For a brief moment, she considered the source of the disturbance. Then the knock sounded again. Danni took a deep breath, then slowly lifted her head from the regenerator. "Please wait a moment," she called toward the door as she sat up.
Danni noted that the unit had switched off automatically as she stood. She glanced down at her jumpsuit and smoothed it, carefully avoiding the prominent curves of her breasts. Satisfied, she strode from the bedroom, closing the door behind her, into the 'living room' of the suite. Without even bothering to glance at the security peephole, she opened the door.
It was the young man, with Mike at his side. "I'm sorry to interrupt you," he said nervously.
"Please, come in," Danni invited. "I was just ... resting." She had no fear of the young man; she knew her own body was a well-honed weapon should he prove in the least bit threatening. Danni didn't know it was a function of her Borg implants, or her adjustment to them, but she found herself automatically assessing _every_ new situation for potential threats. Danni quickly dismissed any potential threats from the young man; he seemed uneasy and more likely to flee than to attack. And Mike, her former roommate and best friend, was there to help protect her should the need arise. Mike flopped down in a chair. Danni gestured to another chair, indicating the young man should sit.
Danni laughed to herself as she sat down. Being in this body had its advantages. Convention organizers believed that she _was_ Jeri Ryan, and as such, they went to great lengths to make her stays at conventions comfortable. Such as the suite she occupied.
"You aren't really ... Jeri Ryan," the young man said, trying to be polite and conversant.
"No," Danni answered evenly. "I am not."
"And those ... implants? Are they ... real?"
Danni smiled thinly. "I am partially Borg," she answered, eliciting a reaction of mixed awe and fear. "Yes. They are not merely decorative." She narrowed her eyes. "You have not told me your name."
The young man flinched, then seemed embarrassed. "Sorry," he apologized quickly. "Jason. Jason Temple." He shook his head. "You look exactly like her!"
"Thank you. But you didn't come here to talk about me, did you?"
Jason gulped. "Ah, no."
Danni nodded. "You accept the terms of the Empire, correct? Even if it means being female, you wish to be Klingon, right?"
Jason blushed and looked down. "Uh, yeah." He looked up suddenly, his eyes aglow. "It's not like I'm gay or anything," he added sharply. "I just want to be a Klingon!"
Danni smiled, then glanced at Mike. "Mike thought you felt that way." Her smile vanished. "Do you know what it means to change sex? To become female?"
Jason looked down again. "No," he stammered.
Danni stared at the young man, waiting until the silence in the room caused him to look back up at her. "It will be a significant change. There are many challenges associated with such a change. However, the changes to being Klingon are even greater. This is not a gag, or a prank. This is real. Down to every fiber of your being, it is a complete transformation." She saw him gulp again. "Are you certain you wish to go through with this?"
Jason's eyes were wide as he contemplated her words. "Yes," he squeaked weakly. "I need to be a Klingon."
Mike roared triumphantly. "I _told_ you he had the heart of a Klingon warrior!" he announced with a grin as he clapped Jason's shoulder, nearly knocking over the smaller man. Jason smiled nervously at the compliment.
Danni nodded, then she rose abruptly. "There is one thing we must do first," she said. "Please wait here." She and Mike went back to her bedroom, locking the door quietly behind them. Danni sat down in a chair, then she picked up a curious little gray cube from the nightstand. A data cable stretched from the cube to the suite's computer jack.
"You have checked him?" she asked Mike.
Mike glared at her. "As I said, we all vouch for him."
Danni nodded slowly. "I know. But we have to be careful. You remember those two guys at BaltiCon? They were snooping, and they seemed to know a lot more than they _should_ have."
Mike let his anger fade. "Yeah," he grunted. "You should have let me take care of them."
Danni shook her head. "Keep your friends close. Keep your enemies closer."
Mike chuckled. "Wisdom befitting a warrior." He scowled. "But I doubt they're going to let up."
Danni nodded solemnly. "I asked the Collective to find out what they could about him." Danni referred to a software development alliance that had formed around a guy she'd accidentally assimilated. He'd become Borg, like her. And now, he and his 'associates' in a company called 'The Collective' were rapidly dominating the software industry. Danni knew that the Collective was really a Borg hive, a communal mind linked just like in the Star Trek shows.
Mike noted her scowl. "And?"
"Nothing." Danni shook her head. "It's like they don't exist anywhere! Not even in the government systems."
Mike frowned. "If the Collective can't find out anything, then maybe they doesn't really exist."
"Well, we haven't seem them for a couple of months, but they exist, all right. And they know a little too much about the box. And whoever sent them — I doubt we've heard the last of them. If those two couldn’t get answers, they may try to send different tactics." The two men, besides appearing to be a science fiction fans, seemed to know that there was a box, somewhere, that could change people. They was referring to the Morphic Adaptation Unit that had changed Danni, Mike, and many others. Mike had been ready to brag to the man, but Danni had sensed something wrong. She convinced her small circle of friends, including Mike, Sandy, Darla, and several others, to remain tight-lipped about the box.
As Mike stretched, Danni held out her arm toward the small black cube box she held in her left hand. Almost faster than eyes could follow, two tubes appeared from her right forearm, shooting out and intersecting the small cube. Danni's eyes got a far-off look as she focused on the cube. For several long moments, she sat silently, holding the cube. Finally, the tubes retracted, and Danni set the cube back on the nightstand.
Mike laughed. "That sure beats the hell out of using a keyboard and mouse!"
Danni shrugged. "It took a while to get used to it, but now I prefer the direct interface."
"I wish you could teach me to do that," Mike joked.
Danni shrugged, then held out her arm toward Mike. The tubes shot out toward him, stopping at a length of about 8 inches, and well shy of contacting his body.
"Not like that!"
Danni retracted the assimilation tubes. "You can't say I didn't offer," she said with a wry smile.
"Well?"
Danni shrugged. "Jason Temple is precisely who he claims to be. Twenty-three years old, mathematics degree from Purdue, member of the fan club since he was nine."
"And?"
Danni shrugged. "No significant attachments. There is no reason not to accept him."
As the two returned to the living room, Jason glanced up nervously at them. His eyes were fearful, wondering if he'd passed some kind of test or if he'd be rejected. He also showed, for all to see, his nervousness at the changes he was asking to undergo. "Well?" he asked after the silence became unbearable to him.
Mike glared down at him, then tilted his head back and roared, a loud, soulful cry toward the heavens. As the wail died, he glanced back at Jason. "I was warning the Empire that a new warrior was about to join them!" he bellowed.
Danni nodded. "Kind of a 'birth howl', instead of the 'death howl' from the Next Gen," she explained. Despite a professed lack of interest, she was learning a great deal about the Klingons through nearly constant contact.
Jason stood nervously, then relief flooded his face. "So you're going to let me be ... a Klingon?"
Danni reached back into her bedroom and pulled out what appeared to be a gray metallic attache case. As Jason watched, rapt in curiosity, she set it down, then reached her wrist toward it. The two tubes shot out, intersecting the alien-looking metal. Within moments, the box began to grow, stretching until it was the size of a large telephone booth.
"Those ... you really _are_ Borg!" Jason exclaimed, trying to contain the emotion in his voice. "You could have assimilated me!" Then his eyes widened. "Those stories ... about World Con? They're ... true? You _did_ assimilate a guy?"
Danni nodded slowly. "I told you that I was fully Borg."
Jason's eyes couldn't widen any further. Then a grin appeared. "Cool!" he exclaimed.
Danni smiled to herself. Jason had just proven, beyond any doubt, that he was a true Star Trek and science fiction fan. She easily turned the large box; the side that ended up facing Jason had few features, but those were far more than the other blank sides. A black rectangular panel, about the size of a sheet of paper, seemed to be inset into the metal at about eye level. Below it, a red crystalline pad protruded like a reverse impression of a dinosaur footprint. And finally, a purple crystal knob was attached - somehow - beside the red pad. Jason stood and examined the curious features.
Danni reached out toward the pad, and her assimilation tubes shot out again. Within seconds, a Klingon figure appeared on the black panel, which was obviously a display. From the ridged crest on the forehead to the armor on the body, the display showed a Klingon. And from the cleavage on the front of the armor, the image was female.
Jason gulped. "So what do I do?" he asked uneasily.
Mike shrugged, as if to belittle his confusion. He seemed to have forgotten his own confusion when he'd first used the MAU many months ago.
Danni, however, knew that Jason needed guidance. "You merely touch the pad, and you will be able to customize the body to what you desire."
"And it will be Klingon? I mean, really Klingon?" Jason asked.
Danni smiled. "I programmed the basic parameters of Klingon physiology into the unit. You can tailor the body, but it will remain Klingon." She glanced at Mike. "Darla suggested that it would be more 'logical' to control the parameters that way than to rely on each individual's interpretation."
Mike laughed. "Sensible. For a Vulcan!"
Jason drew back his hand and stared at the display. Danni saw the motion and glanced at what he'd done. "Are you sure?" she asked, seeing the image.
Jason gulped again, then nodded weakly. "If I have to be a female Klingon to fit in, then I might as well do it right." He glanced at Danni.
Danni smiled. She touched the interface device for a moment. There was no visible change, and Jason looked puzzled when she glanced at him. "I added some muscle strength and tone to the back muscles to help accommodate the extra ... load," she said with a smile. "Trust me — you're going to need it!"
Jason gulped. "Now what?"
Danni pointed to the knob. "Touch the purple control." Jason tentatively touched the knob, and flinched visibly when half the side disappeared, forming an opening.
"Now what?"
Danni pointed inside. "Step in, and then touch the knob you find there. The machine will complete the transformation within ten to fifteen seconds."
Jason glanced at Mike, and saw the Klingon looking disdainfully at him, as if Mike expected Jason to chicken out. Jason squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and stepped into the MAU. The door disappeared as soon as he touched the purple knob.
A few seconds later, the opening reappeared. Slowly, hesitantly, a Klingon woman emerged, her mouth hanging agape as she held her very large bosoms. For several seconds, she stood, still, shocked at her transformation. Then she looked up at Danni.
Danni nodded, then she touched the plate, causing the box to restow itself into its compact form.
Mike, on the other hand, stared wide-eyed at the new woman. She was a magnificent specimen of Klingon womanhood, with large breasts that threatened to burst forth from her armor. Her cleavage showed a gaping crevasse, an inviting channel for the stares of men. Her waist was somewhat narrowed, and her hips were definitely no longer shaped like a man's.
"Wow!" the former Jason exclaimed softly. "This is _real_!" He - she - touched her breasts gingerly, wanting to explore her new body and yet almost afraid to. Her voice, though gruff like a Klingon, was higher in pitch and more feminine. A shudder coursed up her spine. "Something's not right," she suddenly blurted as she glanced at Danni. "I feel warm." She shook her head. "Something's not right."
Danni glanced at Mike. "You better wait outside," she cautioned. "Unless you want Sandy to get angry again."
Mike considered her advice for a moment, then he nodded in agreement. "My mate _is_ a bit possessive and jealous, isn't she!" He laughed and hastened from the room.
When he was gone, Danni looked back at Jason. "Better?"
Jason took a breath, then nodded. "Yeah." She shook her head. "What was that?"
Danni laughed. "You're a Klingon woman. Klingon women are much more ... passionate ... than humans."
Jason frowned. "You mean ... I was ...?"
Danni nodded. "You were feeling aroused by the presence of a male and the pheremones he was giving off."
"But that means I'm ... " Jason looked near tears.
Danni shook her head. "No. It means your body is reacting according to Klingon physiology. Female Klingon physiology." She gently pushed Jason down into a chair. "Now, we have a few things to talk about."
"Like what?"
Danni laughed. "First of all, Jason doesn't fit you any more. You need a new name. A _woman's_ name. Because you _are_ a woman now."
Jason started. "No!" she screamed as she struck out senselessly at Danni.
Danni knew the blow was coming and easily ducked it. She let Jason flail about wildly for a while before she easily caught Jason's hand. Jason's eyes burned with anger, and she fought against Danni's Borg-enhanced strength. Danni let Jason know that she'd lost, then she pushed her back down into a chair.
For a few seconds, Jason's breathing was wild and erratic, a result of an explosion of anger and adrenaline. Her eyes slowly regained focus, and she forced herself to take a few deep breaths. Finally, she looked back at Danni, her eyes betraying her confusion.
Danni merely smiled. "It will take you time to adjust to being Klingon. Your emotions are more ... exposed, nearer the surface. Your body will surge with adrenaline at the slightest provocation. Your hormones will heighten your emotional reactions."
"But it's ...."
"Your body is reacting in precisely the manner described in media and literary depictions of Klingons. All of SF fandom has woven a rather complex tapestry of Klingon culture and physiology, and your new body conforms to that image."
"But I got so angry ... so quickly!" Jason protested. "And when Mike was here, I was ... horny?"
"Correct." Danni eased herself into a chair. "You will adjust to your new body. At first, it will be strange, but you will adjust."
"But ... I was horny? That means ... I wanted to get laid? My body did?"
Danni smiled. "That's one way to put it."
Jason looked like she was going to be ill. "But ... screwing? Me? Getting laid ... by guys?"
"In the literature, Klingon women are very ... aggressive. The device has adjusted your hormone levels to match that profile. Ultimately, you will adjust," Danni said again, her voice soothing. "As many of us already have."
Jason's eyes widened. "You mean you ...?"
Danni smiled sadly. "I was once male. As you were." She watched Jason accept her data. "And I have adjusted." She nodded slowly. "There is a surprisingly large support group available to help you adjust."
**********
Jaina, as Jason wished to be known, paused inside the door of the party suite. Like most science fiction party rooms, a badge checker was stationed at the door to limit attendance to convention participants. The Klingon badge checker at the door was openly lusting after Jaina's prominent assets. "Are you sure about this?" she asked of Danni.
Danni finished waving at a Trill girl, then smiled. "Relax, Jaina. Everyone here is transformed. Everyone." She gestured at the guard. "If we weren't, we wouldn't have been allowed in."
Jaina glanced at the guard, and saw him staring into her cleavage. She felt a shiver run down her spine. "I suppose. But it feels ... weird!"
Danni grinned. "Hi, T'mor," she called to a Vulcan who was passing.
"I greet you, Danni," the Vulcan answered calmly. "You honor us with your presence."
"Allow me to introduce Jaina," Danni said, grasping Jaina's arm and pulling her into view, and coincidentally, out of leering range of the guard. "Jaina, this is my friend T'mor. T'mor, this is Jaina. She is new to us."
T'mor raised an eyebrow, then nodded deferentially. "You have elected to be a Klingon? I will not pretend to understand the logic of your choice, but it is _your_ choice to make. Live long and prosper."
Jaina nodded at the Vulcan. "I appreciate your wishes," she said cautiously. She grasped Danni's arm as T'mor glided away, seemingly effortlessly. "I don't know if I like this!" she whispered.
"Ah! Here you are!" Mike's voice boomed over the party noise, causing a silence to fall over the revelers. All eyes turned to Mike, and then to Danni and Jaina. Danni led Jaina to Mike's side.
Beside Mike, a Klingon girl stood, tightly clutching his arm. She frowned at Jaina, her eyes narrowing to slits that burned with anger and jealousy. Danni noticed, and leaned closer to Jaina's ear. "You should stay away from Mike," she cautioned. "That's Sandy, his wife, next to him. She's _very_ jealous. And she's had more practice at being Klingon than you have." She watched Jaina's eyes widen at the revelation. "Of course, you could challenge her for her mate, if you'd like."
"Uh, no thanks," Jaina said nervously.
"Jaina has elected to join the ranks of Klingon warriors," Mike roared to the crowd. As one, the assembled Klingon men raised their mugs and roared their approval. The contents, a deep red wine, sloshed around freely, landing on the Klingons, the carpet, and other guests. Not one person, however, seemed to object. Or, more precisely, no one deigned object. Drunk Klingons, as the group had learned, _loved_ to fight.
A goblet was thrust into Jaina's hand. "Let us drink to our new warrior!" one of the Klingons shouted. The Klingons drank deeply again, and Jaina tried to imitate them. She coughed and sputtered as the wine burned down her throat. "What _is_ this stuff?" she croaked to Danni.
Danni laughed. "It's the nearest think to Blood Wine the Klingons can get. Some kind of brandy, I think. If I were you, I'd go easy on that stuff. It's pretty potent."
Jaina nodded, her eyes still wide from the burning in her throat and stomach. "Like I need to be told to take it easy!" she whispered.
Danni smiled and drifted away, leaving Jaina to talk with her new compatriots. There were many in the room — nearly fifty total. Through the months of conventions, people had elected to change to a wide variety of forms. There were the Klingons, and the Vulcans. Romulans. A Ferengi or two. A few Bajorans. An Orion slave girl. A few major characters, like Danni. There was even a shapeshifting Odo around somewhere. Danni accepted a glass of milder spirits from one of the Vulcans.
"Thank you, Stalek," Danni said warmly, even though the emotion was wasted on the Vulcan. She glanced around. "I do not see T'Miri."
"My wife will be here momentarily," the Vulcan explained. Even as he spoke, another Vulcan, a woman, dressed in the long flowing robes so favored by most Vulcans, slipped gracefully through the crowd. She held a large bundle close against her, and as she neared Stalek, she raised her hand.
Stalek returned the greeting, gently touching two of her fingers with his own in a silent but telling gesture of intimacy.
Danni waited until the couple had finished their greetings. She looked carefully at the bundle held by T'Miri.
T'Miri turned to Danni. "I greet you, Danni," she said formally. Then she noticed Danni's gaze fixed on the carefully wrapped bundle she clutched lovingly to her chest. "I judge from your curiosity that you have not heard the news."
"News?" Danni wrinkled her brow. "No, I haven't heard anything. Not since your bonding ceremony."
T'Miri gently unwrapped the coverings from the bundle, revealing, to Danni's shock, a tiny baby Vulcan boy. "I delivered our son last month," she said matter-of-factly.
"He looks adorable," Danni finally stammered. "May I?" T'Miri looked puzzled for the briefest of moments, then she nodded and extended the bundled baby to Danni. Danni cradled the baby in her arms, running her fingers gently across the dark straight hair on his head. "What's his name?" Danni asked without looking up from the resting baby.
T'Miri opened her mouth to speak, but Stalek spoke first. "I hoped we would name him Sarek, in honor of the Ambassador."
T'Miri nodded. "I prefer Surak, in honor of the father of Vulcan. Of course, that name is an illogical choice." She spoke as if everyone knew the reasoning behind her statement. She saw the confused look on Jaina's face. "Naming a child after Surak would place an undue burden on the child to achieve greatness, to live up to the name given him. Such a thought is ... inconceivable. It would be as if we were human and named a after George Washington," she explained.
Danni nodded. "Of course," she answered. She gave the baby one more look, then she handed him gently back to his mother. "I'm surprised you had a child so ... soon."
T'Miri cocked her head to one side. "Your surprise is understandable," she noted. Her voice lowered to something only barely above a whisper. "Undoubtedly, you are surprised that we entered Pon Farr so quickly after our transformation."
Danni nodded. "That's one way to put it." Vulcans mated, through Pon Farr, only once every seven years. These two had only been Vulcan for a few months, and mated for less time. Danni began to suspect that Pon Farr had driven their choice to bond as husband and wife. Of course, it was debated hotly throughout the fan community whether the Vulcans could _only_ mate when in Pon Farr, or whether could mate at other times but were biologically _compelled_ to mate during the Pon Farr.
"Would you like to see me dance?" A green Orion slave girl sidled up to Stalek and looked up at him seductively. "I am _very_ skilled at dancing. And at many other things as well," she added. She began to move her body to the music in an extremely provocative manner, her every motion screaming sensuality. Her eyes contained a burning need, and she licked her lips at Stalek, as if desperate to get his attention.
"You waste your time, slut!" A large Klingon warrior parted the crowd and grasped the dancing girl around the waist, He easily lifted her from her feet, clutching her luscious body tightly against his. "Vulcans are the one race immune to your charms!"
"Let me go!" the girl screamed.
The Klingon laughed. "My _wife_, if you dance for anyone, it will be for me!" he roared, much to the amusement of his fellow warriors. "If anyone ravishes you tonight, it will be me!" He tipped his goblet and, spilling the wine as he drank, guzzled deeply. With a metallic clank, he tossed the now empty goblet aside, then he gazed hungrily at the girl. Even a blind man could have seen the desire building between them. With a roar of passion, the Klingon pulled his 'captive' to one corner.
"What is he doing?" Jaina whispered insistently to Danni. Danni had sensed Jaina's presence, even without having seen her approach. It was just another benefit of the Borg implants and sensors.
Danni looked to the corner, where the Klingon had torn the girl's clothing from her and was fondling her nude body as he struggled to remove his own armor. "I believe he said he was going to ravish his wife," she answered as if reporting the weather.
"But..." Jaina flapped her mouth a few times, clearly confused.
"They are husband and wife," Danni explained.
"But ... in public?" Jaina protested.
Danni shrugged. "He's a Klingon, and she's an Orion girl. They have ... high passions." She smiled. "Besides, with this group, nothing seems strange any more."
"But ... it's making me feel ... weird!" Jaina complained.
Danni laughed. "You'll get used to it." She glanced at the corner again, then at the Klingon men. "As for you, if I were you, I'd have a few quick mugs of wine to dull your senses, or get the hell out of here pronto."
Jaina shook her head. "I don't understand."
Danni smiled. "The Klingons are getting into the spirit of the evening, so to speak. Before long, they're going to be fighting, or doing other ... physical ... activities." Danni saw Jaina's eyes widen. "So your choices are to either get drunk and have fun, or retreat while you still can."
Jaina staggered away from Danni. The look in her eyes showed her inner turmoil. On the one hand, her new Klingon body was hot, sensuous, and more than ready. On the other hand, she was still Jason — sort of — and not ready to have sex in a woman's body. Danni knew it was only a matter of time before her animal instincts won. She hoped Jaina had the sense to get good and drunk first.
"I presume you are leaving," Stalek and T'Miri observed as Danni strode toward the door.
Danni cocked her head toward the Klingons, who were getting increasingly more boisterous and amorous. "I really don't want to fight off drunk horny Klingons tonight."
T'Miri nodded slightly. "Indeed," she commented dryly. "It is late enough that we should put our child to bed. And I have no desire to be in the middle of another of their drunken brawls. Perhaps we should take our leave as well."
**********
The man seemed to be about thirty-five or thirty-six. Trim, neatly dressed, he seemed, somehow, to be a little out of place in the party suite. And he seemed overly fascinated by Danni. She sensed, perhaps through female intuition, that he was trouble.
"You really do look like Seven," the man commented lightly to Danni. "Are you sure you're not really Jeri Ryan in costume?"
Danni shook her head. "No, I'm afraid not," she answered, trying to sound bored.
"Because I've heard that she has put in an appearance or two at some bid parties. Like at WorldCon last year." The man didn't seem to notice that Danni had said anything.
Danni shrugged again. "Nope. Sorry, but I'm just a girl who's lucky enough to look like a star."
The man babbled on. "You know, that's probably the best makeup I've ever seen! Are you going to wear that to the costume contest?"
Danni felt her shoulders stiffen. This guy was annoying, but she wasn't quite sure how to be rid of him. He wasn't taking any hints. "No."
"You should. I bet you'd win!" He snagged a drink from a passing tray. "You want something to drink?" he offered politely. "By the way, my name is Quinton. They call me Quint for short."
Something told Danni to stay put, to sound this guy out, despite the fact that he was annoying the hell out of her. There was something wrong, and she felt a compulsion to get to the bottom of it. "Like the dead captain in Jaws?" she observed.
The man started, then he grinned. "Yeah. Only I don't want to end up like he did!" He glanced over Danni's implants one more time. "I take it you're a big fan of the Borg, right?"
"You could say that."
"I heard someone faked a Borg assimilation at a bid party at World Con. Everyone says it was Jeri Ryan that did it." His eyes were focused, searching. "That wasn't you, was it?"
Danni silently thanked the implants which dampened her emotions. Because of them, her reaction betrayed no guilt or sense of 'gotcha'. "I heard about that, too," she replied lightly. "Sorry, I wish it was me. Everyone says it was pretty realistic."
Quint sighed. "I'd hoped I'd met the genius who pulled that off." He shook his head. "Of course," he added in a low whisper, as if confiding a state secret, "others say it was done with some kind of alien technology, and that the guy really did become a Borg."
Danni felt her heart race, and she had to concentrate on remaining calm. "Really?" she asked. "You know, you're not the first one who's suggested that."
Quint's eyebrows raised. "Oh?"
It was Danni's turn to study Quint. "Yeah. A couple of guys were asking a lot of annoying questions at a con last December. They were a royal pain in the rear. They seemed to be focused on people like me who like to dress up as their favorite series character or actor." She shook her head disdainfully. "They were really annoying!"
Quint's eyes narrowed just a tiny fraction. "I suppose that would be a pain," he agreed. He lowered his voice again. "I'm glad I wasn't there in my Romulan outfit. It's tiring when non-fans keep making comments about those of us who like to wear costumes."
Danni started to ask why Quint wasn't in costume at the moment, then she thought better of it. She'd noticed that Quint had mentioned non-fans, when she hadn't said anything.
Quint took a sip of his drink. "You know," he whispered, barely audible above the crowd noise in the very packed party suite, "sometimes I wish I could find some kind of alien box that could change me into a _real_ Romulan!" He had a wistful look on his face. "That would be like a dream come true."
Danni took a measured breath. "I suppose it would be really fun," she observed. "But it might be hard to deal with in mundane life."
Quint watched her for another second, then he seemed to accept that she had nothing to tell him. His tone shifted abruptly. "Well, I've probably bored you long enough. I think I'll check out some of the other bid parties."
Danni forced a smile. "They've got some great hors d'ouvres at the 'Minneapolis in 72' party. You should give that a try."
"Thanks," Quint answered with a smile. "I'll have to check it out."
Without being obvious, Danni watched his face, his reaction to the ongoing joke bid party. She saw exactly what she expected. When he glanced away, Danni slid through the crowd, quickly losing Quint, and she began to search for someone she knew.
**********
Even before she snapped the light on, Danni's senses were on heightened alert. Something wasn't right. She flipped the switch and scanned the room quickly. Satisfied it was empty of obvious threats, Danni rescanned, much slower and taking in more detail. She repeated the process in her bedroom and bath. Satisfied at last that her room was empty, she picked up her phone and dialed a couple of numbers.
It took only moments for a knock to sound at the door. Danni opened it, admitting Darla.
"Problem?" Darla asked quickly.
Danni nodded. "Someone searched my room."
Darla's eyebrow shot up. "You are certain?"
"Yes. My implants give me the ability to note things that ... normal humans do not. Such as minute differences in the locations of my ... things. There was a heat pattern in the room that indicated someone had been present. The bathroom door.was approximately two centimeters further open than I'd left it. My bedroom door was closed, when I'd left it open." She nodded grimly. "It was probably searched while I was at the parties earlier."
"You suspect someone," Darla observed quickly.
Another knock sounded, and Danni paused to let Mike in. "Uh huh," she answered Darla's question. She quickly scanned her memory, and settled on Quint and his annoying behavior as the most likely suspect. "There was a guy named Quint at the BaltiCon party that was behaving oddly."
"I take it you mean that he was asking inappropriate questions," Mike snarled.
Danni nodded. "He was using ... mundane jargon. My guess is that he was _pretending_ to be a fan."
"Why?"
Mike frowned. "The box, I bet."
Danni's solemn nod affirmed his guess. "He said a few things that indicated that he knew about the box — and what it can do. My guess is he was trying to locate it."
"And that's why he searched your room," Mike added.
"He didn't find it?" Darla asked the obvious question.
Danni shook her head, then picked up her laptop computer. "It's nice to know that in addition to altering the appearance of others, it is capable of altering its own appearance," she said with a smile. Her assimilation tubes shot out to the laptop, and in moments, it had resumed its original form of the plain gray alien box with the strange symbols.
"So what do we do?" Mike asked.
Danni glanced at Darla, then she looked back at Mike. "I don't know," she answered softly. "I guess we should be careful."
**********
"You _really_ can do that for us?" The guy, Gary, could barely contain the excitement in his voice, even though he was obviously trying to keep himself from being disappointed. He glanced at his girlfriend Elissa, seeing the hope in her eyes as well.
Danni glanced at Mike, then back at Gary. "It is possible. But it will not be as easy as you expect."
Elissa frowned. "I'm not sure I understand ..."
Mike roared with laughter. "Such a change is not like putting on a costume!" he chuckled. "It is a change to your very being. To everything that you are."
Elissa's eyes widened. "You mean I'd really be ... Vulcan?" she asked softly.
Danni nodded. "That is correct."
"Cool!" Elissa glanced quickly at Gary, and then she smiled. "Could it, you know, switch us?"
Danni nodded, watching the confusion on the guy's face. "Yes," she answered simply.
"So it could make _me_ into Trip? And Gary into T'Pol?"
Gary's jaw dropped. "What?" he asked, stunned. "We said we'd be ..."
"Trip and T'Pol," Elissa concluded. "We didn't say who would be which!" she added with a grin.
"But that's ... weird!"
"Not really," Danni said nonchalantly. "Just yesterday, a guy wanted to be changed into Sheba. You know, Commander Cain's daughter from Battlestar Galactica."
"But me ... as T'Pol?" Gary asked again. He shook his head. "I don't know. It just sounds too ...."
"Oh, come on!" Elissa said, suddenly going into charm mode, batting her eyes at him and pleading in a soft, seductive voice. "It'll be fun! We can ... be creative!" It was obvious she was trying to use the lure of her sex appeal to persuade him.
"It may not be practical to use T'Pol's form for the ... purposes you have in mind," Danni cautioned. The girl stopped her charm offensive, and Gary's eyes widened. "Vulcans are ... Vulcan. Completely."
Elissa's jaw dropped. "So that means ..."
Danni nodded solemnly. "A person changed into a Vulcan pattern essentially _is_ Vulcan."
Elissa wrinkled her nose. "Once every seven years? And no desire to be cuddly?" She shook her head. "Ouch! I guess T'Pol is out."
Gary seemed to breath a sigh of relief. "Well, I guess ...."
"Hoshi!" Elissa suddenly called out, her face bright again. "You can be Hoshi!"
"But ..." Gary glanced at Danni, then at Mike, his eyes pleading. He realized that he was going to get no support from either of them. "I don't want to be the girl!" he complained weakly.
Elissa sidled up close again, using her feminine charms. "Oh, come on! I know you've dreamed about it! You told me!" Gary glanced quickly down even as his cheeks reddened. "It'd be fun!"
Gary knew he was going to lose. He decided to surrender with honor. "Okay. We'll try." He looked up sharply at Danni. "But we can change back, right? Tomorrow night?"
Danni nodded, ignoring Elissa's tiny gestures to say no. "If you are not satisfied with your new forms, you will be able to revert before the convention is over. After that, I will provide contact information so you will be able to get in touch with me."
Gary sighed. "Okay," he sighed. "How ... how does this work?" he asked, his voice trembling.
Danni opened the box. "Touch the pad and think about the character you desire. When the image on the screen is complete, you will be able to enter the device and be changed."
Elissa's eyes were burning with excitement. "Me first!" she said. She touched the pad and closed her eyes to concentrate. In seconds, Trip's image was displayed on the screen. "Now what?" she asked.
Danni touched the purple knob, and the opening appeared in the box. "Enter the device and touch the knob on the inside. The transformation is automatic once you touch the knob."
Elissa glanced at Gary, then she stepped into the box. She drew a deep breath, held it, and touched the knob.
Gary's eyes widened with surprise and a bit of fear as the opening vanished. He glanced nervously at Danni, and took a bit of reassurance from the fact that she seemed calm. Moments later, the door opened. Gary's jaw dropped open when Trip stepped out.
Elissa's eyes were wide open, and she was tentatively touching her new body, feeling the way her 'Enterprise' uniform hung and fit her new masculine body. "I'm really Trip?" she asked, her voice nearly trembling and her face registering surprise at the sound coming out of her mouth.
Danni nodded. "Completely."
Elissa trembled. "This is ... kind of spooky!" she said softly. Then she glanced at Gary and grinned. "Your turn!"
Gary gulped, then he stepped to the pad. With a bit of effort, mostly because his case of nerves was making it difficult to concentrate, he got Hoshi's image displayed. He touched the knob, and the opening appeared. Gary started to step inside, but he paused to glance at Elissa. His eyes were filled with uncertainty and nervousness.
"Go on," Elissa said sternly. "I did my part."
Gary swallowed again, then he nodded slightly. The door vanished, and when it reappeared, Hoshi stepped forth. More precisely, Gary stepped out in Hoshi's body, complete down to her 'Enterprise' uniform and the styling of her hair.
If Gary had appeared nervous before entering the device, he looked terrified now. He was examining his body, noting the curves on his chest. It was obvious that he wanted to touch them to confirm the change, but that he was terrified of actually discovering that they were real. He looked up at Elissa — Trip — and looked like he was going to cry.
"You look ... beautiful!" Elissa said in admiration. She — he — trembled as her new male body started reacting to the appearance of Gary. "Uh," she said hesitantly, "I think there's something wrong with this."
"Uh ... yeah," Gary whispered. He flinched at the softness, the femininity of his new voice. "I feel really ... weird! Like there's something wrong! This is weird!"
Danni nodded and smiled. "You were both rather ... excited ... at the prospect of changing for some ... exploration. Now that you _have_ changed, your bodies are reacting to the each other's pheromones. You," she looked at Gary, "are not used to female hormones or the feelings of sexual stimulation. And you," she turned to Elissa, "are not used to a _male_ body. It will take you some time to adjust to your new bodies. I would strongly suggest you spend some time getting used to them before you go out in public. Or the reactions could be ... embarrassing."
Trip glanced at her and grinned, her eyebrows raising and lowering quickly in a sign of anticipation. Gary merely nodded. "That sounds like a good idea."
Mike looked like he was going to laugh as the pair left the room, but Danni shot him a warning glance. Only after the door was closed behind them did she smile.
"Ten minutes," Mike said with certainty.
Danni smiled. "That's a sucker bet. You saw the look in her eyes." She thought for a moment. "Twenty. He's terrified. It'll take her a little while to get past his fears."
Mike laughed. "But she's the dominant one, remember? She's _used_ to having her way with him. I don't think this is going to be any different."
"Good point."
"Think he'll want to change back?" Mike snickered.
Danni shrugged. "I have my doubts. But we'll have to wait and see." She glanced at her watch, a totally unnecessary gesture since her implants included an extremely accurate chronometer. Still, lifelong habits were hard to break. "Have we got any more?"
Mike nodded. "A Padme Amidala and an Anakin Skywalker."
Danni's eyes widened in anticipation. "Straight, or with a gender swap?"
Mike shrugged. "Does it matter?"
Danni smiled. "I guess not." She grinned. "But I think the changes are more ... interesting."
"And one Princess Leia."
Danni shook her head. "A lot of Star Wars this time," she commented, her voice almost sad.
Mike picked up her feelings from the tone of her voice. "The movie just came out. What do you expect?" He grinned. "Wait until 'Nemesis' comes out," he added, referring to the upcoming Star Trek movie. "I bet we'll get a lot of requests then." He smiled. "And Leia — it's a guy making that request.."
Danni laughed. "You don't mind the guys changing into girls, do you? Is it just because you Klingons want to ravish another Earth girl?"
Mike roared with laughter. "Maybe some of the others! But Earth girls are too ... fragile!" He grinned broadly. "And sometimes I think that _you_ enjoy the guys changing because you enjoy watching them adapt like you had to!"
**********
"I'm ready for the party circuit," Danni sighed as the new Princess Leia practically skipped out of the room. The guy had chosen to be the older Princess Leia that was Jabba's captive, complete down to the bikini and chains, although Danni was reasonably certain that he'd exaggerated her breasts by a cup size or so. Danni ignored the inaccuracy. She'd long ago ceased questioning the choices some fans made.
Darla studied Danni carefully. "You appear to be fatigued."
Danni sighed, then she nodded. "I did not regenerate last evening."
"Why not?"
Danni shook her head slowly. "I seem to have misplaced my regeneration unit."
Mike frowned. "Or it was stolen," he said ominously.
Danni shook her head. "I don't think so," she said, but her voice echoed with uncertainty. "I do not _lose_ things," she said. "I couldn't find it after I discovered that my room had been searched."
Darla's eyebrow raised. "How much longer before you must regenerate?"
Danni winced. "Two or three days. Not much longer." She sighed. "I'll be home before regeneration becomes mandatory. I have the permanent unit there." She turned to the box and shot out her assimilation tubes. "Time to put you away for the night," she said, talking to the inanimate box as if it were a living entity. Almost instantly, the box began to shrink from its phone-booth size to the compact attache case dimensions it had when stowed.
"Danni!" Mike's voice was harsh, as if sounding a warning.
Danni spun. "What?" She followed Mike's gaze out the window, and across the street — to where drapes were fluttering in the next building. Danni felt a stir of panic. "Company?"
Mike nodded. "You think it's the same guy?"
Danni's lips were pursed tightly together, her face pale and serious. "Probably." She swore under her breath. "I'm willing to bet it is. He was a little too curious about the box. But whoever it is knows we've got the device."
Mike frowned. "You want me and the boys to catch him?"
Danni shook her head slowly. "No. If he's half as smart as I think he is, he's long gone." She picked up her black 'modem' cube and interfaced with it. "I should have done this last night." For several minutes, she stood silent, plugged into the network through her Borg interface. Finally, as Mike began to fret, she set the cube down.
"Problem?" Mike asked quickly, reading the expression on her face.
Danni nodded. "The Collective couldn't find a name to match with his face. Or anything else. The guy who registered in the room doesn't exist." She grimaced. "The Collective found no records of him in any database. Even in the restricted government systems."
"That's impossible! The only way those records couldn't exist is if they'd been erased! And the only group that could do that is ... the Collective!"
Darla nodded. "There are other possibilities. His identity might have never been entered into any official records database. Any records of him might be in a standalone system that cannot be accessed by the Collective."
Danni sank onto her bed. "It's got to be that," she decided quickly. "I just interfaced with the Collective. If they had done it, I'd know."
Mike nodded slowly. "So that means some very secretive agency. What do we do?"
Danni shook her head. "I don't know. All I _do_ know is that we can't let the government get their hands on the box."
"You fear that the government would use it for nefarious purposes?" Darla asked needlessly. "Given the events of the past two days, I am forced to agree with your conclusion. We must protect the secret."
"Apprehend and assimilate?" Mike suggested.
Darla looked at Mike with an expression that seemed to convey both disdain and surprise. "If the man is an agent of the government, and if he were to disappear, undoubtedly replacements will be sent. The advantage we how hold is that we know who this person is, and can avoid him. We need to find out how much he knows to determine how much of a threat this secretive agency is."
Mike nodded. "That sounds reasonable. But I'd suggest you take the box and go to the ranch. For safekeeping."
"And if he follows me?" Danni didn't sound worried.
Mike grinned. "Then he'll be playing in _our_ sandbox."
**********
Danni glanced over her shoulder one last time. There was no doubt but that the man, Quint, was following her. He'd followed her on the plane trip to Sheridan, Wyoming, trying to stay discreet but failing miserably thanks to Danni's Borg-enhanced senses. When she rented an SUV for the drive to the 'ranch', he followed her as well. She'd been rather reckless in her driving, counting on her enhanced senses to stay out of trouble, since she was alone in the vehicle and the ranch country around Sheridan was sparsely populated. As she skidded to a halt beside the main gate, she spied a dust cloud about a mile away. It was still Quint, following her, and a few minutes behind. Danni grabbed her duffel bag and the box from the passenger seat and alit from the big vehicle.
The gate was a massive affair, made of metal bars and heavy beams and easily topping ten feet in height. It was reinforced like something in King Kong — or Jurassic Park. On either side, stretching into the distance, the fence seemed ill-matched to the gate, consisting only of six-foot high woven wire panels attached to steel posts. Danni grinned — appearances definitely _were_ deceiving at the ranch. She ignored the warning signs and stepped to the gate. Set into the massive metal frame was a small door, a portal for human-sized beings. Danni reached for the door, flinching a bit as an energy field tickled her skin. She easily opened the door and stepped through, shivered as the field danced across her entire body.
"Oh, it's you!"
Danni turned at the snarling voice, then she grinned. "Who else could get through the field?" she laughed.
The Klingon grinned. "Mike warned us you would be coming. He said you are being followed." He glanced through the gaps in the gate, quickly focusing on the dust cloud. "What should we do with him?" he asked, almost grinning with anticipation of some type of violent encounter.
"Let him in."
The Klingon laughed. "The bears and Targs will appreciate the feast!"
Danni smiled. "No. Keep him alive." She saw the Klingon's expression fall. "Let the beasts have some sport, but keep him alive."
**********
"I would speak with you!" The sound from the door of her room was harsh, typical of the Klingons.
Danni glanced up from her desk, where she was sitting interfaced to the computer cube. She withdrew the assimilation tubes, breaking the connection. "Very well." She stared at the Klingon for a moment. "You are known as Kleng, correct?"
"Correct." The Klingon stepped into her room, then glanced behind himself. He seemed nervous to Danni. "You may close the door if you desire privacy," she offered.
Kleng nodded, then he closed the door. "Things are not ... going well."
Danni felt her eyes widen in surprise. "Oh? You are unhappy at being Klingon and wish to change back?" Her comment was deliberately provocative; in any normal Klingon, the implication of her words would cause a violent outburst.
Kleng's eyes narrowed, and the expression behind them wavered in a way that Danni couldn't read. "No!" he snarled. "Being Klingon is all I have ever desired!"
Danni felt confused. "Then ... what?"
The guy dropped his gaze to the floor. "I wish to remain Klingon. But ... there are not enough ... females."
Danni studied Kleng as he shifted his weight back and forth between his feet. He was obviously embarrassed by his request. Sudden realization caused Danni's jaw to drop open. "You ... lost a wager?"
Kleng nodded, his eyes glaring with anger. "Warmok, Rotal, and I wagered on the last Targ hunt," he explained. "Whoever was last to kill a Targ would change." He snarled. "Warmok cheated. His Targ was a mere cub! Even a human could have killed such prey bare-handed! And Rotal took _my_ prey before I could get him!"
Danni nodded her understanding. "You don't _wish_ to be female, but honor ..."
"I would _die_ rather than betray my honor!" Kleng snarled, his eyes ablaze with the passion of his statement. "I must change to preserve my honor," he insisted strongly, staring at the floor as he spoke.
Danni nodded, then lifted the box. "Very well. Would you prefer to design your own body, or would you rather someone else did it?"
Kleng glared as the box unfolded. "I will design my own body!" he said gruffly. "If one of the other males designs the change, they would make me fit for little more than their own pleasure. And if one of the women were to do it, they would make me _weak_ and _soft_!" He spat the words as if they were distasteful.
Danni could find no fault with Kleng's logic. She gestured at the control pad, the odd reddish bump on the side of the device that was shaped like some odd dinosaur footprint. "Were you wanting to change immediately?" she asked when Kleng hesitated.
"The wager requires that I change at the first opportunity." He glared at Danni. "I had hoped that I would have a few more days as a male, until the convention in Dallas next week. I didn't expect you to come _here_!" He focused his attention on the control pad. Within seconds, the display above the control pad showed the image of a Klingon woman, clad in full battle armor.
Danni's eyes widened and she glanced at Kleng from the corner of her eye. "Are you certain that's what you want?" she asked softly.
Kleng snarled at her. He slapped the purple knob, then stepped into the device. Within seconds, Kleng was gone, and a new Klingon woman emerged in his place.
Kleng was going to have some serious adjustment to his new body. The newly formed woman was of moderate height, but the ridges on her forehead were very prominent, and thus, to Klingon males, very sexy. Her straight black hair was longer than normal for Klingon women, and just as coarse and tangled. This, of course, was no surprise for a race that put personal hygiene and grooming far down their list of priorities. From what could be seen beneath the armor, the woman was very muscular and athletic; there seemed to be no fat on here — except for two strategic locations.
Kleng was busily feeling his new breasts, his eyes wide at the feel of them in his hands and tugging at his shoulders. Without doubt, Kleng now had the largest breasts ever seen on a Klingon woman, which was no small feat considering that one of the women looked like Lursa, the very busty Klingon adversary of Worf from the Next Generation series.
Kleng glared once more at Danni, then she squared her shoulders and marched from the room, her eyes burning with anger. Danni laughed to herself; given the nature of the Klingons, she guessed that Kleng hadn't told her the entire wager, and that Kleng would be losing her innocence within hours to Warmok and Rotal.
Danni glanced at the window, then turned back to her desk. A curious smile formed on her lips as she contemplated the next move in this strange game.
**********
The man, Quint, was completely helpless as he stood between the two Klingons, his arms held firmly and painfully by either of his captors. Beads of sweat dripped from his brow, and not because he was too warm.
"Once more, I will ask," Martok, or rather a Klingon who was the spitting image of Martok, asked. It was clear that he was the leader of the Klingons at the compound. "Who are you and what are you doing here?"
Quint winced as one of his guards shifted ever so slightly and a new stab of pain coursed through his shoulder. "I was just hiking and got lost," Quint explained feebly.
Martok scowled, and a fresh scream of agony erupted from Quint's lips as the guards twisted. "You can do better than that," Martok sneered.
Quint gasped for breath as the pressure and pain eased. "Okay, okay," he sputtered. "I'm ... a fan ... of Miss Ryan."
Danni smiled as she rose from her chair. She strutted in front of Quint. "Okay," she said very calmly. "What's her birth name?"
Quint's eyes widened.
Danni continued. "Where was she born? What's her son's name? Who is she dating? Where does she live? When did she compete in the Miss America Pageant, and what place did she win?" She smirked at Quint as he squirmed, his lips unmoving and his voice silent.
Danni glared at him. ""I don't think you're a fan," she said coldly. "You would know the answers if you were. And in case you'd forgotten, we had this little discussion in the party suite, remember?" She paced back and forth, then turned once more to the captive. "And what were you doing following me here? Would you have me believe that you're so stupid that you forgot our little conversation, or that you're such an obsessed fan that you'd follow me anywhere?" She grasped his cheeks between her thumb and finger, squeezing painfully as she tilted his head slightly downward to look her eye-to-eye. When she got no reaction from him, she pushed his head rudely aside. "Let him go," she said to Martok.
Quint's eyes widened with a ray of hope. Then he saw the wicked grins on the assembled Klingons. "You're just going to let me walk out of here?" he asked cautiously.
"Yes, we will," Martok said. The other Klingons roared with laughter, and Quint felt a chill race down his spine. "But the Targs may not!"
Quint tried to draw himself up, to appear strong. "I didn't meet any wildlife coming in. I'm sure I'll get out okay, too."
Kleng, or the former Kleng, leered at Quint. "You fool!" she spat. "We had orders to keep you alive while you came _in_. I'm sure we will have no such orders for your journey out!"
Quint felt his knees go weak. Martok and Danni saw him pale, and they laughed. "Unless you decide you have something to say first," Martok added with a grin.
Quint glanced around the Klingons and realized that this was all sport to them. Still, there was always hope. There _had_ to be hope of getting out of this. But as he read the expressions of the Klingons, his heart sank. _They_ didn't look like there was a way out, and that they were anticipating his demise.
Danni strode back to him. "Who are you, and who do you work for?" she demanded again. When Quint failed to answer, she extended her arm toward him, and her twin assimilation tubes shot out toward him like laser-guided missiles. Only the distance between them kept the tubes from Quint's neck. Danni read the terror in his eyes. "I'm sure that whoever you're working for knows what a Borg is. And what assimilation is. Perhaps they briefed you?" She moved her arm an inch toward Quint and watched as he tried to draw away, unable to because of his Klingon captors holding him fast. "If I assimilate you, I'll know everything I need to know."
Quint stood, trembling and sweating with fear. Still, despite the pressure upon him, he kept his silence. Eventually, Danni let her tubes retract. She spun from him in disgust. Martok nodded, perhaps with a touch of admiration at the man's courage. "Throw him in a cell," he barked. As the Klingons hauled Quint away, with perhaps a bit of excess enthusiasm, Martok moved beside Danni, and whispered something in her ear. A grin spread across her face as she listened.
**********
Quint stood in the center of a small pen, with his hands and legs bound tightly. The pen looked to be intended for holding livestock such as pigs. Around the fence were Klingons. Danni stood beside Quint. His face was impassive, but no doubt he was considering his fate.
"You still have nothing to say?" Danni asked. From the tone of her voice, it was evident that she expected no answer. When Quint shook his head no, she sighed. "Bring it," she said to Martok. In response, one of the Klingons entered the pen carrying a small gray box. Quint's eyes lit up when he saw what the Klingon was carrying. Danni noticed his expression. "I see you recognize it." She smiled. "You know what it does, don't you." It wasn't a question, but a statement. Quint stood silent. Danni smiled. "I _know_ that you're fully aware of the device's ... capabilities," she said in a firm voice. "The box opens when you touch the lettering on top. It ... unfolds to something about the size of a telephone booth. The control pad is essentially a mental interface, and the display shows whatever the user happens to be thinking of, right?" She saw from Quint's eyes that she was dead on. "Further, the box has the power to actually change the individual to the form which is displayed. The changes extend down to the genetic level, as well." She saw Quint tremble as he realized exactly what she knew. "But ..." Danni paused, watching the man closely, "it stops working after approximately four days."
Quint alternated between staring at the box and glaring at Danni. He _knew_ that she knew all about the box. Inwardly, a debate raged. There _were_ rules about secrecy, after all. Still ... "Yes. That's how it operates," he finally answered.
Danni smiled again. "Wrong." Quint's jaw dropped open and his eyes widened. With a look of triumph, she stepped to the box and extended her arm. Her assimilation tubes shot into the box, and it immediately unfolded to its operational configuration. Quint's jaw hung in amazement. "This is the first time you've seen one of these work, isn't it?" Danni taunted.
"But ... that's impossible!" Quint finally stammered. "They don't work after four days!"
Danni nodded, smiling. "Normally, that's correct. You see, this is a Fwirthian Morphic Adaptation Unit. Mark V, to be precise. It is a demonstration unit, and it operates for only four days before the user is required to pay the license fee to continue using it." She smirked as Quint's eyes went wide, his jaw dropped nearly to the ground, as she explained more about this mysterious box than he, a trained agent, had ever known.
"Why are you telling me this?" he asked, suddenly very wary. She'd told him things that he hadn't known, and that _she_ knew he hadn't known. She'd betrayed a lot of secrets. Why? He felt a cold chill run down his spine.
"Would you care for a demonstration?" Danni asked simply. Without waiting, she stepped to the box and interfaced to the control panel. The image on the display became something rather pig-like, but much larger and meaner. Danni glanced at Martok, who nodded. As the opening formed in the box, a Klingon dragged in a large squealing razorback hog. From the sound the pig was making, it was not happy. The Klingons, however, didn't seem to care. Nor did they seem worried that the razorback had vicious looking tusks and sharp teeth. Quint began to get a hint of the people he was dealing with; they treated a very dangerous feral razorback hog with no more concern for danger than if it had been a pet dog. The Klingon shoved the hog into the device, and before it could turn, Danni touched a control. The door vanished.
Now, the Klingons cleared the pen, dragging Quint with them. Danni, too, climbed up the fence. In moments, the doorway reappeared. What emerged, however, was not nearly so docile as the razorback which had been shoved into the device. It was much larger and much meaner. The Klingons cheered, while Quint's face drained of blood.
A Klingon opened the gate, and with a bit of encouragement, the Targ raced out of the pen into the woods. Danni turned to Quint. "Impressive, isn't it." Quint just stared after the Targ, amazed at what he'd seen. Danni walked back to the box. Within seconds, the Klingons were hooting and yelling. Quint glanced at Danni, and he saw the image on the display. From the corner of his eye, he saw the Klingons staring at him, laughing and pointing, and he realized what the display was about. He paled as he considered what was on the display.
It — or rather she — was green. Her hair was jet black, but her skin was green. Her nails were green. Even her bare nipples were very dark green. She was extremely curvy, with full firm breasts. The image alone was more sensual than anything Quint had ever seen, and judging from the Klingons, they thought so as well.
"What ... what is that?" Quint asked softly.
"If you're going to pretend to be a Trek fan, you should at least learn something about Trek," Danni said disdainfully. "She's an Orion slave girl. Her body exists for one reason — to bring pleasure to men."
It didn't seem possible, but Quint turned an even whiter shade than he'd been as the last drops of blood drained from his face. He was starting to get a very bad feeling. "What do you want?" he stammered.
Danni nodded to Martok, and almost before Quint knew what was happening, two Klingons were shoving him into the box. "We want to everything about these devices, and who is investigating them, and why."
Quint suddenly got a smug smile as he stood within the box. He'd remembered one weakness in Danni's flaw. "I won't touch the inner control on my own."
Danni nodded. "That's true." She shot out her assimilation tubes toward the red control plate. "You have, however, forgotten about these."
Quint paled as he realized that Danni could make him into whatever she wanted, with or without his cooperation, just as she'd done with the hog. It took only a couple of milliseconds for his spirit to snap, and he began to spill his guts.
As he finished divulging his data, an eerie sound echoed from the woods. The Klingons instantly turned to the noise, just in time to see a half-human cyborg emerge from the forest, with another Klingon warrior at his side.
"Dammit," Martok screamed. "There goes another Targ!" He wheeled on Danni. "Every time one of _them_ shows up, they wander through the forest killing anything that tries to attack them! They really take a hell of a toll on our prey!"
"I see you are safe!" the new Klingon boomed to Danni. "My friends have treated you well?"
Danni smiled. "I'm glad you're here, Mike. We just got our spy to talk."
Mike grinned. "What did it take? Torture? Starvation?"
Martok clapped Mike on the shoulder, rattling his armor. "No, my friend. Just the threat of making him into an Orion slave girl!"
Mike roared with laughter, as did the other Klingons. Quint stood in the box, ignoring the obvious insult at his courage while he peered out fearfully through the opening. The cybernetic man clumped straight into the holding pen and to Danni. "We have penetrated the computer system," the Borg reported in a very strange voice. It sounded like many voices overlaid, all speaking in unison. Quint cowered in the box.
Danni nodded. "We captured one of their agents. He divulged a significant amount of information."
The Borg didn't seem to flinch. "We must interface to exchange data. The database must be complete."
"Agreed." Danni extended her assimilation tubes into the Borg. Her eyes glazed for a few seconds, then the tubes retracted.
"Well?" Mike asked.
Danni grimaced. "The agency is merely an investigative group. The agency has no idea how to control the device, nor where they came from, nor how many devices there are. It is a very small agency, as well, and because of the need for secrecy, it has not, to date, used force in its investigative work. Even more significantly, Agent Q," she pointed at Quint, "has reported that we may be using the device in ways that they have never seen. The agency is highly interested in us."
Mike winced. "You are no longer safe," he said slowly to Danni.
Danni nodded slowly. "That's precisely what I was thinking." She sighed. "And we're going to have to assimilate him to control him."
Martok glanced at Quint, then at the box, then at Danni. "Perhaps not," he said with a grin. "Perhaps not."
**********
"You'll never get away with this!" the green girl screamed even as a Klingon warrior started to paw her nude body. "I'll .... No! ...a Aah! Aaahhh!" Her screams quickly turned to moans of pleasure as the Klingon began to caress her breasts and crotch. In moments, her protests were lost in cries of passion as yet another warrior had his way with the new Orion slut.
Danni ignored the copulation in the corner. "Will this work?" she asked Mike.
Mike grinned. "See for yourself." He raised his voice. "Kurnik!" On cue, Agent Q walked confidently into the room.
Danni nodded slowly. "His appearance is perfect. However, the agency probably uses fingerprints or retinal identification for added security."
Martok grinned. "We thought of that. Your friend the Borg has altered the records in their computers."
Agent Q frowned. "I do _not_ like this form," he snarled. "It's so ... weak!"
Mike clapped his shoulder roughly. "When your mission is complete, we will change you back to your true form, Kurnik."
"Yes," Martok added enthusiastically. "Or a busty female Klingon warrior! We need more females!"
Agent Q frowned. "I will choose my body at the time."
Martok glanced at Mike. "We had to try."
Danni shook her head at the Klingon's banter. "You know what you have to do?"
Agent Q nodded. "I am to slowly discredit myself to the agency by giving increasingly irrelevant, misleading, and fanciful reports. I am to give the appearance of 'going native' among Trek fans, and then resign. The entire process should take not less than four months."
Martok, Mike, and Danni smiled. "Perfect," Danni said with a smile.
"What of the Orion girl?" Agent Q asked. "From what the Borg reported, this agency has encountered some very peculiar changes, and they usually believe wild tales of transformations."
Mike frowned as he realized the agent was right. "If she ever escapes and contacts the agency, it might cause more trouble."
Danni bit her lip. "Maybe we _will_ have to assimilate her, after all."
Martok's face fell. "That would be a shame. She's such a ... lively ... little thing!" He shook his head. "Too bad we can't just have one of the Vulcans do a mind meld to help her forget her past."
Mike started to shake his head, but Danni's eyes lit up. "Perfect!" she announced. "That's a perfect solution!" She turned to Mike. "Bring her. We're going back to the con."
Martok shook his head. "If we bring her, we'll have to bring half the men! They're all eager to try her out, you know!"
**********
"No, I am _not_ interested in copulating with you," Darla said bluntly to one of the Klingons. Undeterred, he tried to put his arm around her. After brushing him away twice, Darla moved her hand to his neck. The Klingon collapsed to the floor, unconscious, and Danni shook her head. She glanced at Danni and Mike. "You really should create a more equitable ratio of males to females," she suggested.
Mike laughed. "We're trying. It's not as easy as you might think. Not everyone wants to be a Klingon woman — especially the men!"
Darla's eyebrows raised. "I see no logic in that statement. If the objective is to become a Klingon warrior, what difference does the final gender make?"
Danni tilted back her head and laughed. "You'd understand if you weren't a Vulcan ..." she commented through tears of laughter.
Darla shook her head, then glanced at the green slave girl in a very skimpy bikini sitting on the sofa. Her hands and feet were bound — just in case — and her eyes betrayed her anger. "This is the agent?" She sounded like she didn't quite believe Mike and Danni's story.
Mike nodded. "Hard to believe, isn't it."
For a Vulcan, Darla had as close to an expression of disgust as was possible. "I _do not_ approve of your request," she said coldly. "What you are asking me to do is to essentially erase one sentient being's identity and replace it with something else." She shook her head. "That seems little different from murder."
Danni opened her mouth, then she paused, staring at Darla as she contemplated her words. "We _have_ to do something," she finally pleaded. "He's ... she's ... too much of a threat. To _all_ of us."
Darla glanced at Mike who nodded in agreement. "I believe," she finally offered, "that I can implement a solution to our problem without destroying the fundamental character of our agent."
Danni glanced at Mike, then she nodded. "If you can do it..."
Darla nodded, then she sat down beside the girl. The girl flinched as Darla reached toward her, her fingers spread in the familiar pattern. Slowly, Darla touched her face. "Your thoughts to my thoughts. Your mind to my mind," she chanted softly. For several minutes, the two sat, silent, while Darla probed into the girl's mind. Finally, she withdrew her hand. The girl slumped unconscious onto the couch.
"Are you ... okay?" Danni asked as Darla seemed to have trouble focusing her attention.
Darla shook her head softly. "Such chaotic thoughts," she said disdainfully. "Such a torrent of emotion, based on conflict between her body's sexual drive and her former male thought patterns." She shuddered involuntarily.
"Were you successful?" Mike asked bluntly.
Darla nodded slowly. "I believe so. I suppressed her memories of having been Agent Q. To her, they will be hazy, like the remnants of a nightmare. I added the background of having always been a Trek fan. To facilitate the sexual conflicts, logic suggested that I include suffering from gender dysphoria stemming from being forced to cross-dress by her dominating mother. She will believe that she's always been a fan, always felt uncomfortable being a male, and that she gratefully jumped at the chance to be changed into an Orion slave girl. Any memories that surface will be easily explained as ongoing adjustments with her sexuality. The remainder of her personality and memories are intact."
Danni nodded appreciatively. "It sounds like you thought of everything."
Darla looked puzzled. "Logic dictates that I think of all possible outcomes and eventualities, and consider them in my course of action. Anything less would be illogical."
The girl was slowly stirring. As she came to, she saw a Klingon, a Vulcan girl, and Seven of Nine watching over her. "Er, did I drift off?" she asked hesitantly.
Danni nodded. "We were concerned about your safety. Are you feeling well?"
The girl tilted her head, then she glanced down at her body. "I ... think so," she replied. "What happened?" She sounded genuinely confused.
Darla raised an eyebrow. "It is a long story. It is sufficient to say that you should be okay."
"Oh, okay," she answered simply. "Oh, I don't remember if I told you my name. I'm ... Lorella." She glanced at Mike, and she slid toward him on the couch. "And I could use a bit of company," she hinted brazenly as she let her fingers begin to dance across the armor of his chest.
"Not with my mate, slut!"
Mike and the girl glanced up at the sudden interruption. Sandy marched through the room toward Mike, her eyes angry and threatening toward Lorella.
"Where have you been?" Sandy demanded. "You disappeared for over a day, then show up with this ... Orion whore!" She spat at Mike. "What about your mate? What about _my_ needs?" she grabbed Mike's hand and bit deeply into the flesh of his palm.
Danni glanced at Darla and Lorella. "I think we're not needed any more," Danni observed quietly as Sandy began to tear off her own armor.
Darla nodded. "I agree," she said. Silently, the trio of girls rose and strode quietly out of the hotel room, ignoring the very loud sounds of increasing passion behind them.
"Oh, Danni," Sandy yelled out when she realized that Danni was leaving.
Danni paused in the doorway. "Yes?"
Sandy gave her a quick glance. "There's someone looking for you. He says he wants to be Yoda."
FIN (for now)
MAU: Trekkies - Trek Wars
Author:
Audience Rating:
Publication:
Genre:
Character Age:
TG Universes & Series:
TG Themes:
TG Elements:
Permission:
Elrod
Synopsis: Further adventures of Seven as she and her Trekkie friends confront their ultimate challenge - Star Wars fans.
Note: This tale contains numerous characters from both the Star Trek and Star Wars universes. If a reader is unfamiliar with the Star Wars characters, the official Star Wars databank can provide more information than I can include in this tale. I am trying to not clutter the story with too much detail on the characters, but to provide enough to identify most of the characters...
www.starwars.com/databank/
This story was posted a long time ago (in a galaxy far away ....) on another site. It has been mildly modified here - some of the very long list of changed characters has been deleted or shortened for readability without altering the intent of the story. And I know that I really pushed the limits of my own universe. So sue me - after you enjoy the story.
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This story is copyright by the author. It is protected by licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
*** Prologue ***
Danni bolted upright, her eyes open and tightly focused. She forced herself to take a deep breath so she could concentrate on what had so disturbed her regeneration cycle. After a few moments, she swung her legs off the steel platform and stood. The swirling tendrils of energy which had animated the head rest of the unit faded into nothingness, leaving the room mostly dark. That fact, however, didn't bother Danni. Her Borg eye implant amplified the light, making the room appear to her as if bathed in sunlight.
Softly, she padded across the room and gracefully eased her curvy feminine body, clad as always in a silvery cat suit, into a chair at a desk. From old habit, she glanced needlessly at a glowing digital clock; her Borg chronometer implants made external clocks totally unnecessary. 'Six fifty-two a.m. Darla is certainly awake by now,' she muttered to herself. She picked up the phone, and after thinking for a moment, she manually pushed the buttons. For a moment or two, she held the receiver to her ear, waiting, and judging from her expression, it was not patient waiting.
"Darla?" she asked aloud. "Danni. I think we need to go to the con next week." She frowned. "No, nothing ... solid. Call it a hunch." "Yes, I know. But I really got this sudden sense that we're going to be needed." "Yeah, I guess _you_ would call it woman's intuition. But _I_ wouldn't." "Okay. You call a few people, and I'll talk to the Klingons." "Right. Bye." Danni hung up the phone and stared at it for a few moments. She couldn't shake the feeling that had awakened her and caused her to make the call. Something was going to happen. Something big.
**********
As soon as he'd shut his pickup door behind him, Sean Lowell wiped his brow with his sleeve - again. "I can't wait to get changed," he muttered. His hair was nearly soaked with sweat, and if not for the black color of the one-piece jumpsuit he wore, it would be showing massive sweat spots. He leaned heavily against the truck for a moment to rest, seemingly oblivious to how he might appear to the neighbors. After all, it wasn't every day one saw a man in a black body suit leaning against a pickup truck in his driveway - not in most neighborhoods, anyway.
On the other side of the truck, his wife Emily smiled, clad in a T-shirt and pants. "Yeah," she said, sounding sympathetic. "But the kids loved it." Her T-shirt was simple black, with a Star Wars Imperial Stormtrooper helmet superimposed over an Imperial logo. Beneath that were the simple words 'Got Armor?'
Sean nodded slowly. Like the other members of the 501st Legion, Sean and Emily supported many charitable events, like the appearance at the Children's Hospital earlier that afternoon. "Yeah, I know," he said, sounding just a little sheepish. For many of the children, a chance to see Stormtroopers, Boba or Jango Fett, or even Darth Vader, was a huge thrill. Sean and Emily were happy to participate. "But I've got to figure out a way to stay cool in the armor." With fatigue in his step, he started walking toward the door to their house.
"You going to get your armor?" Emily asked as she glanced at the large trunk in the rear of the truck. With the camper shell, it was safe from theft, but that apparently wasn't her concern. The hot sun would make an oven out of the back of the pickup.
Sean sighed. "As soon as I change." He'd put way too much time and money into the costume to let the white ABS plastic Stormtrooper armor be ruined in the hot sun.
Emily nodded and closed her door. With her purse in one hand and her digital camera in the other, she followed Sean up the walk. "Too bad you don't have a real suit," she mused. "With a built-in cooling unit."
Sean laughed. "Yeah. That'd be cool. Or to actually be a Jedi or Sith? Or an alien? I bet you'd ..." His words cut off abruptly.
"What?" Emily asked almost immediately. She saw Sean reading a note that had been taped on the door.
Sean sighed. "Probably nothing," he sighed, "but then again, it might be." He handed the note to Emily and got out his keys to unlock the door.
Emily scanned the note. "Len said a meteorite hit our backyard?" she asked incredulously. "Is this another one of his jokes?"
Sean shook his head as he opened the door, basking for a moment in the cool air-conditioned breeze wafting around him. Knowing he was wasting energy, he stepped inside and closed the door after Emily, too, was out of the bright afternoon sun. "Doesn't sound like one of his gags," Sean said as he began to strip from his body suit. "He doesn't have that much imagination."
Emily frowned. "I'll go out back and have a look while you shower, okay?" She stepped to the kitchen, set her purse and camera on the table, and opened the patio door to their backyard. She had a feeling of dread as she stepped out to the patio. Slowly, she scanned the yard, fearing she'd find a smoking crater or something similar. But she didn't see anything. Emily felt herself relax a bit. It _had_ been a gag.
Then she spotted something in one of her flowerbeds. Her eyes narrowed as she peered. It looked like the neighbor's dog had been in her flowers again! She glanced, and frowned. The gate was still shut. So what had happened to her flowers? Puzzled, she walked briskly to the damaged bed.
Emily surveyed the damage. Something had blasted through one corner of her garden, taking out a rose bush and some assorted bedding plants, and even tearing up a bit of sod in the adjoining grass. She knelt down beside the dirt and looked more closely. She couldn't see anything that looked like it could have caused this. No lumps, no smoking rocks, nothing. Just like something had hit the flowerbed with destructive force as it passed through their back yard. She stood. If so, where was it? She scanned the yard again, and still she saw nothing.
Sighing to herself yet again, Emily trudged back to the house, skirting the edge of the pool as she did so. If something _had_ hit, it wasn't serious. Just a little touch-up on the garden and the lawn, and it'd look perfect. It could even wait. From the corner of her eye, she glanced at the pool. That was what Sean needed to cool off - a dip in the pool. Especially after standing all day in his hot armor.
Emily did a double-take. She peered again, then moved around the corner of the pool to avoid the reflected sun glare. The frown returned. There was something floating in the pool.
**********
"Holy shit!"
Emily poked her head into the living room, alarmed by her husband's outburst. "What?" she asked. She found herself staring, with Sean, at a large rectangular gray mass. "What ...?" she stammered. "Is it ... growing?"
Sean nodded. "I just rubbed the symbols on the face," he added, his eyes still riveted to the box.
When it reached the size of a telephone booth, the box stopped growing. It just sat there, plain and gray and looking completely out of place.
"You got any idea what it is?" Emily asked softly. Her hands still held the makings of another costume she was creating.
Sean stared at the gray box. "Not a clue," he replied just as softly.
Emily suppressed a shudder. "This is _weird_! I think we ought to leave it alone," she whispered.
Sean hadn't heard her as he moved quickly to the box. He walked around two plain gray sides, then he stopped. "I wonder if these are the controls," he asked as he stared at a black panel, a red crystalline three-fingered plate, and a purple knob.
"Sean," Emily pleaded softly, "let's leave it alone." Once she realized that he wasn't listening, she decided to change her course. "Did you get your armor out of the car yet?"
"What?" Sean swore under his breath. "No. I forgot." He glanced once more at the box, then he trudged slowly toward the door. His curiosity wasn't as strong as his sense of duty toward his precious Stormtrooper armor.
Emily sighed with relief as her ruse distracted Sean from the box - even if it was a brief victory. When she thought about the strange gray box, she felt a sense of foreboding.
**********
"You going to come to bed?" Emily's weary voice startled Sean.
"In a couple of minutes," he answered quickly. "What time is it, anyway?"
Emily sighed. "It's nearly eleven."
"Huh?" Sean glanced at the clock to confirm her answer. "I didn't realize it was this late."
Emily sighed again. "Well, it is. Now would you _please_ leave that thing alone and come to bed? Before something happens?"
"Too late," Sean answered with a grin. "Look at this!" He grabbed Emily's hand and pulled her to his side. "I think this thing reads minds."
Emily looked at the box, at the display. "What ... how?" she stammered. "That looks like ... Aayla Secura." She stared at the image of the sexy blue-skinned Twilek Jedi.
Sean smiled. "Yup. All I had to do was touch the red plate here while I was thinking of her. The box made the picture show up on the display."
Emily's eyes widened. "Is this some kind of computer graphics display?" Her mouth dropped open. "Maybe this is some secret Air Force technology or something! We shouldn't be messing with it!"
Sean shook his head. "You know what those symbols on top looked like?" She nodded slowly. "The display had screens and screens full of them when I started." He pressed his lips together and shook his head more. "This isn't Air Force technology," he said firmly. "It's more like ... something alien."
Emily's eyes narrowed as she considered his words. "But ... that means ..."
Sean nodded, smiling. "We're not alone. UFOs are real. All kinds of neat things." He took Emily's hand and pressed it to the red plate. "Here. You try."
Emily frowned. "What do I do?"
Sean smiled. "Just think of one person or thing. You have to concentrate, but it'll show up on the display in a few seconds."
Emily turned her attention to the display. For a few seconds, nothing happened, then a figure began to materialize as if from a fog. Slowly, the figure took shape and definition, until Emily dropped her hand from the plate. The cone-headed Jedi master Ki Adi Mundi was clearly displayed on the screen. "Wow! It
really works!"
Sean let her look for a bit before he put his hand on the red pad. In moments, the slave-girl version of Princess Leia was displayed. Still, Sean wasn't done. For a few more seconds, he concentrated, and then the display changed until Leia had very large breasts.
Emily slapped his arm. "Hey!" she objected in feigned protest. "What is it with you guys that every time you can, you exaggerate a girl's breasts?"
Sean laughed. "Just trying to see what she'd look like if she had your magnificent rack," he said playfully. Emily was sufficiently endowed that she would never take his playing as a threat or insult.
"My turn," Emily said again, pushing Sean aside by playfully bumping him with her chest. She put her hand on the red plate, and soon, a stern Grand Moff Tarkin showed on the display.
Sean countered quickly with Aurra Sing, the white-skinned bounty hunter from The Phantom Menace.
Emily smiled. "You know, the guys would have a lot of fun with this. Maybe we should take it with us?"
Sean nodded. "Yeah," he commented, suppressing a yawn as he tried to agree. "But right now, I'm getting tired. It's a long drive to the con, and if we're going to make the Garrison meeting before the convention opens, we'll have to leave early." He glanced once more at the screen before turning reluctantly away.
If Sean hadn't been so tired, he probably wouldn't have stumbled trying to get around Emily, the box, and the coffee table. Then again, if he hadn't bumped the purple knob then, eventually curiosity would have caused him to try touching it. In any event, when he touched the knob, half of the side of the box simply vanished. There was no sliding, no opening, no motion or sound. One moment, the box had only the display panel, the red paw-shaped crystal, and the purple knob. The next, half of the side was missing.
Emily jumped back from the box in surprise and fear. She'd overcome her initial hesitancy about the alien technology, but it had returned with a vengeance when the side disappeared.
Sean, too, started at the sudden change in the box, but he recovered quickly and peered inside. "Hey, there's another control inside," he said. Drawn by his seemingly insatiable curiosity, he stepped through the opening. Even before Emily could open her mouth to protest, Sean touched the inner knob.
The side of the box disappeared. Emily, her mouth already opening to speak, screamed. She pushed the purple knob and banged on the metal where the opening had been.
In a few seconds that seemed like hours to Emily, the side of the box reappeared. Emily started to sigh with relief.
Then Aurra Sing stepped out.
Emily screamed again, then she looked around Aurra to the inside of the now-empty box.
Aurra Sing looked stunned. She glanced up and down her chalk-white arms, from the extra-long fingers to her bare shoulders, and then down her rust-colored jumpsuit to the orbs on her chest. She swatted at the single ponytail of red hair dangling around her face as she leaned forward. The hair came from a single clump of hair on her otherwise chalk-white bald head, adding to her alien appearance. "What the hell?" she asked, and her eyes widened even more at the sound of her voice.
Emily fought the panic threatening to overcome her. "Where's Sean?" she demanded, glancing once more into the empty box. "What have you done with my husband?"
Aurra Sing looked at Emily. "It's me," she said, still amazed at the sound coming from her throat. "I'm Sean." She looked down at herself again, then at the figure displayed on the control panel. "The box ... changed me!"
Emily glanced at the display panel and then at Aurra Sing. She frowned. "Sean? Is that really you?" she asked nervously. She saw the display, the empty box, and what appeared to be Aurra Sing standing before her. Though it seemed impossible, Emily was convinced beyond words that Sean had been changed by the mysterious alien box.
Aurra Sing nodded, wincing again at the bobbing ponytail. "Yeah."
Emily lunged at the control panel and pressed her hand against the red plate. In seconds, she'd called up an image of her husband. "Change back," she prompted with a sense of urgency in her voice. "Hurry!"
Sean needed no further prompting. He ducked back inside the box and touched the purple crystal. Again, the door vanished, and after a few seconds, the opening reappeared. This time, Sean stepped out. He patted his body as if to reassure himself that he was all present. He stepped back away from the box and flopped back into a chair. "Wow!" he said, his voice carrying both the joy of a new discovery and fear at what had happened.
Emily sat down beside him. "That's ... spooky," she said softly, her eyes fixed on the alien device.
Sean thought for a moment. "I've got an idea," he suddenly announced. Again, he sprang to the control plate. As he worked, Emily joined him, warily watching what he did. Slowly, another figure formed, and with a quick grin to Emily, Sean pressed the purple knob and stepped into the cabinet. A few seconds later, he emerged, this time clad in white armor over a black body suit and carrying a helmet under his arm. "What do you think?" he asked.
Emily glanced at the image on the display. "A little heavy for a clone, aren't you?"
Sean put the clone trooper helmet on. "This is cool!" he exclaimed in a heavily muffled voice.
Emily started to relax. "Now I _know_ the guys would love this box," she said with a grin. Then she yawned. "But it's late. I think you ought to change back so we can get some sleep. We're leaving pretty early tomorrow, remember?"
Sean nodded. Reluctantly, he stepped to the control and recalled his original body. As he was about to press the purple button, Emily grabbed his hand. "Just a sec," she said before she touched the red plate. With a grin, she touched the purple knob, opening the device. "Okay."
Sean glanced at Emily, then he tried to see the display, which she was conveniently blocking. When she wouldn't move, he snorted and stepped into the box.
A few seconds later, Sean emerged. He glanced down, then at Emily. "I thought you said you wanted to sleep," he said in a gruff voice.
Emily raised her eyebrows and grinned. "Eventually," she said playfully as she took Sean's hand and led him back toward their bedroom.
**********
"So what is it?"
'It' referred to the plain gray attache-case sized box on top of the pile of luggage. Sean grinned at his friend. "I told you once, Len, I'll show you when we get checked in and get our gear stored.
"But..."
Sean shook his head. "It'll go faster if you help carry the stuff up to the lobby." Sean closed the back of the camper shell and twisted the handles to secure it. He picked up two armloads of suitcases, pausing to get the gray box balanced under his arm, and then he started trudging toward the elevators.
Nearly an hour later, mostly delayed because of the long check-in line at the hotel desk, Sean, Emily, and Len trudged off the elevator and down the hall to their room. As they walked, a girl dressed as a Vulcan paused and stared at the box with one raised eyebrow. "Do you mind if I ask where you obtained that ... device?" she asked in a curious tone of voice.
Sean frowned. It seemed that she recognized the box - which was, of course, impossible. "I found it," he said with a shrug.
"Does it have any ... unusual ... properties?" she asked with one raised eyebrow.
Sean glanced at Emily, then he shook his head. "Nope. It's just an attache case."
"Fascinating." The girl turned and continued down the hall.
Emily glanced at Sean, who had turned toward her. Both had expressions of curiosity. "What was _that_ about?" Emily asked, unable to contain her bewilderment.
Sean shook his head. "I don't know," he answered softly. He dropped one armload of gear and opened the door, then helped get the gear inside.
"Okay, now what is it?" Len asked again.
Sean put the box on the floor and rubbed the symbols. Immediately, the box grew until it was once more full sized.
Len was watching with a mixture of shock and awe. "Cool!" he said finally as the box finished growing.
Sean grinned. "It gets better. Think of a character."
Emily smiled. "The more unique, the better," she added.
Len glanced at them both. "Oola. The Twilek dancer from Jabba's palace," he finally said.
Sean's grin grew. "Okay." He turned to the box and placed his hand on the control plate, using his body to shield the display plate from Len's view. He glanced over his shoulder. "Okay, touch that purple knob," he directed.
Len flinched when the side disappeared. Emily and Sean exchanged knowing glances. "Okay," Len answered hesitantly.
"Now step inside and touch the purple knob on the inside." Sean smiled at Emily.
Immediately, the opening disappeared. A few moments later, when the side again opened, a very surprised and green Twilek dancing girl emerged, her hands cupped over her breasts and her mouth open in shock. "What ...? she started to ask.
Sean grinned. "It's some kind of alien technology that changes you to match whatever you want to be." He stepped aside so Len could see the display.
"But ..." Len protested in a sultry voice, "but ... you made me a ... a ... a girl!"
Emily took Len's elbow and led him toward the mirror hanging over the dresser. "No, the box made you into a Twilek dancing girl," she said. Then she grinned. "Besides, it was _your_ idea to be Oola!"
Len stared wide-eyed at the image in the mirror. "I'm ... I'm ... her!" he exclaimed softly. "It ... it really ... changed me!" Mesmerized by the image in the mirror, he slowly moved his hands over his breasts, down past his waist, and down around his rounder hips. "I'm ... this is ... it's real!" he stammered. His lekku, the Twilek 'brain tails' seemed to twitch nervously.
Emily led him back to the control panel. "Let's get you changed back." She suppressed a shudder. "Before you do something ... weird." She pushed the image from her mind. "And then I've got an idea for the opening ceremony tonight."
**********
"Okay, so you all _claim_ it's some kind of alien technology that can change you," Dave Johnston, a heavy-set young man with a dark beard and mustache, scowled from his perch on the edge of the dresser. His girlfriend Anne, a short stout woman, leaned against the dresser beside him. The room was crowded with almost two dozen people, and the few spaces left to sit were taken, leaving some to lean or stand. "I don't get what ..."
Sean interrupted the beginning of one of Dave's long-winded soliloquies. "I know you're skeptical," he said calmly. "So was Len. But it _works_." He smiled. "And I can prove it. Since you're the biggest skeptic, I want you to think of the most _unlikely_ costume a _man_ could wear for an appearance." He gave a sideways glance at Len, knowing that the same line had tricked Len into becoming Oola. He saw Len's answering - but nervous - grin.
Dave glared at Sean. He was going to end this farce now so they could get back to the convention. "Okay," he said with a determined expression as he stepped to the side of the box. "How does this work?"
Sean smiled warmly. "Just touch the red plate, and then think of what you want to be. Once you have the image formed, touch the purple knob and step inside, where you'll touch another purple knob to make the change."
Dave glanced at the controls, then he nodded. "Sounds simple enough." He touched the plate, and with his body shielding the view of the display, he set to work. In only a few seconds, he finished, and still blocking the display, he touched the purple knob. A collective gasp sounded from those who could see as half the side simply disappeared. Dave gulped nervously - so far, this was far more than he'd expected, but he'd gotten himself into it, so ...
With a deep breath, Dave stepped boldly into the box, and as he touched the control inside, the opening vanished.
A hushed murmur echoed through the gathered crowd as they watched. The strange box was unlike anything they'd ever experienced. It _was_ doing what Sean had claimed, but that still wasn't proof for them.
In mere seconds, the opening reappeared.
A gasp rippled through the room.
Anne screamed.
Out of the box oozed ...
Jabba the Hutt.
Sean tilted his head - he hadn't quite expected _this_! He glanced at Len, who seemed a little disappointed himself. Sean also noted that even though Jabba was much larger than the box, somehow_ he fit! Perhaps the box had some kind of dimensional shifting properties as well, especially since Jabba seemed to slide out so easily and without even touching the sides of the opening!
Jabba glanced down at himself, and his eyes widened. "This is ... impossible!" he exclaimed in a deep, echoing voice. He looked up, scanning the room full of astonished friends and co-members of their 501st garrison. "It ... it really works!"
"I wanna try!"
"Me next!"
As the enthusiastic clamoring for turns grew louder and more frantic, Sean held up his hands in a weak gesture for silence, but no one seemed to notice. "Dave!" he called loudly, to be heard over the commotion.
"Silence!" Jabba boomed in a loud, deep, echoing voice. Instantly, the room was hushed. Jabba smiled. "First, I'm going to change back," he announced. With a couple of ungraceful lurches, Jabba turned to the control panel, oblivious to the fact that his tail had knocked over a chair and two people. As the assembled group watched in suspense, Jabba worked the control panel. He hesitated, however, at the opening, his eyes turning to Sean. "I don't think I'm gonna fit!" he said nervously.
Sean frowned, then he shrugged. "You fit coming out, so you _have_ to fit going back in." He tried to sound reassuring, but in fact, he was as nervous about Dave getting back into the box as Dave was. If Dave couldn't get back in, Dave would be stuck - as a Hutt.
With a worried look in his eyes, Dave lurched toward the opening. Sean understood Dave's worry - he was easily three times as wide as the opening. And yet, as he approached and started to push into the narrow opening, it seemed that he shimmered around the edges, and Sean got the impression that Dave got much narrower, though in the same proportions, as he scooted forward. Where he could see past the 'opening', Jabba's body _inside_ the box was in the same proportions as that part outside.
The opening vanished as Jabba touched the controls, and a few moments later, it reappeared. Dave emerged, seemingly unscathed by his brief conversion to Jabba. He visually inspected his body as he patted himself, checking to ensure that he was properly restored. Even though Sean and Len had claimed that the box worked for them, Dave shuddered when he thought that it might not have worked _perfectly_ and that he might be missing some parts.
"Me next!" A tall slender man near the front of the group pressed to the control panel.
Sean held up his arms, trying to hold back the surging crowd. Everyone wanted to try the box, and he realized that keeping order, holding them back away from the box, would be like holding back the sea.
"One at a time!" Dave boomed, adding his voice to Sean's efforts at crowd control. "You'll all have a turn."
The guy grinned and darted between them. In a few moments, a tall figure in black cape and a shiny black helmet emerged. A rhythmic mechanical breathing sound emerged from behind the faceplate of the helmet.
"Whoa!" one guy called in admiration. "Cool!"
"I find your lack of faith disturbing!" the figure in black boomed. "Wow! I even _sound_ like Vader! This is _so_ cool!"
Dave turned to Sean. "You said you had something planned for the opening ceremonies tonight?" he asked curiously, suddenly oblivious to the group in the room.
Sean grinned. "We can let the box make our costumes.
Dave frowned. "But we all have costumes..."
Sean's grin spread. "But if we go as something totally wild, something unexpected, something no one has _ever_ done as a costume ..."
Dave's eyes widened, then he nodded. "Like when I did Jabba the Hutt?" He grinned as he turned to the assembled Garrison. "Guys, I've got a great idea...."
**********
A disturbance in the rear of the hall interrupted the emcee, and he tried to stare past the lights. He couldn't really see, but judging from the noise, whatever was interrupting his program was big. Low murmurs grew louder, then shouts of amazement and cheering rippled outward from the open rear doors. Cameras started to flash in an ever-widening circle, like the rings of a target centered on the cause of the disturbance.
The emcee frowned, wondering what was causing this major interruption to his program. Even though science fiction conventions were organized and run by amateurs, these types of disturbances _didn't_ happen. "What's going on back there?" he finally demanded in frustration when he realized that not a soul in the hall was paying him any mind.
The spotlight swung from the emcee back to the center of the disturbance. The emcee gasped as he recognized Jabba the Hutt flanked by two pig-like Gamorrean guards.
Egged on by the crowd, Jabba oozed and slid and lurched forward, followed by his retinue. As the applause continued unabated, Jabba halted at the foot of the stage, and his guards flanked him. Next came Bib Fortuna, his Twilek majordomo. Then came Boba Fett, the blue elephantine band leader Max Reebo, the Bith wind player D'an Barquin, a figure that appeared to be Lando Calrissian in his guard disguise, Jabba's elephantine friend and confidant Ephant Mon, the green Twilek dancer Oola, the white Twilek Lyn Me, Rystall with her flaming red hair, the green-skinned Rodian dancer Greeta, skiff guards Klaatu and Nikto, the Boush bounty hunter, and finally, tethered to a chain held by Jabba, Princess Leia in her metallic slave bikini.
The group stood for several long minutes, bathed in a near constant flash as it seemed that everyone in the hall snapped photo after photo. Finally, as the flash died down a bit, Jabba turned to the emcee. "Start this convention," he ordered in a booming voice. "There are parties to attend, and I will not be late!"
The crowd erupted in a new round of applause. Eventually, however, the crowd quieted sufficiently for the emcee to continue, and the convention was officially opened.
**********
Sean grinned at Dave as the group slowly changed back to their normal forms. "Did you see the look on that guy's face?"
Dave, rid of the enormous bulk of Jabba and back to being human, laughed in reply. "That's one for the books," he agreed. "But I'm glad I don't have to slog around as Jabba for too long. That's hard work!"
Emily smiled as she wrapped her arm around Sean's waist. "Did you hear how many people were asking how we all made the costumes? Especially the Jabba?"
Sean nodded. "I told them it was a trade secret."
Dave laughed. "I bet that didn't convince many people." Just then, a knock sounded at the door.
Emily glanced nervously at the box, then back to Sean. "Should we answer it?" The message was clear, if implied. They felt a need to protect the secret of the box from strangers.
Sean frowned as the knock sounded again. "Hold it, guys," he said to those still unchanged. "Let's see who this is." He strode quickly to the box and placed his hand on the red crystal, and almost immediately, the box shrank to briefcase size. "We'll finish changing in a minute or so," he reassured those still in 'costume', including slave Leia, Lyn Me, Boba Fett, and Nikto.
As Sean kicked the metal box behind the bed, Emily opened the door. "Can I help you?" she asked slowly as she scanned the two men standing in the hall. Both were of average height, and both wore the 'Got Armor?' T-shirts that seemed so common to members of the 501st Legion.
One of the men looked at Emily, then he smiled. "Emily Lowell?" he asked with confidence.
Emily frowned. "Do I ... " Her question cut off as a look of recognition dawned on her features. "Kent Myers?" she asked uncertainly. She saw his smile and nod, and she turned back to the room. "Honey, it's Kent Myers. You remember, we met him at StellerCon last year?" She opened the door wide and gestured for the two men to come in.
Kent smiled at Sean. "Hey, Sean!" He glanced at the people still 'in costume' and he shook his head, still smiling. "Figures you guys would be behind that stunt!" His voice carried admiration for what they'd done. "This is Rich Stevens."
"Hey Rich," Sean said in a simple greeting. He turned back to Kent. "You still with the Tyrannus Garrison?"
Kent smiled. "Yup. We did quite a turnout here. In fact, the entire legion has a pretty good turnout. About two hundred members."
Dave whistled. "Wow! That's a pretty good showing."
Kent nodded. "And some of the other members think we ought to do something special for David Prowse."
Dave nodded. "Like the Death Star arrival scene in Return?" He referred, in their particular shorthand, to Return of the Jedi.
Kent nodded. "That would be fantastic. The problem is, a lot of the guys who flew in, like the guys from Titan, the UK Garrison, and the California Garrisons, didn't bring their costumes. Did you guys bring yours?"
Sean shot Dave a knowing glance. "Maybe even better," he said with a grin.
Emily's eyebrows raised. "If you're thinking what I think you're thinking," she started, "then count me in."
"But ... there weren't any female troopers," Sean protested. "And you don't have any ..." He halted mid-sentence when he saw Emily's grin.
"It changed you and Dave ... to Aurra and Oola. Why couldn't it change me? _And_ into costume?" Emily asked cautiously.
Sean frowned, then he slowly nodded. He knew better than to argue with Emily when she made up her mind. "Hey, we could even do David in Vader costume!"
Dave wrinkled his nose and frowned. "Too hot, remember?"
"Oh, yeah."
"But if he did the entrance in costume, then changed ...?" Emily interjected. "We could keep the box off-stage, and it would only take a few seconds for him to change out of the costume."
Kent finally gave up. "What the hell are you guys talking about?" he demanded.
Dave and Sean exchanged glances again, then Sean retrieved the box and activated it. In seconds, it grew back to telephone-booth size. Kent and Rich stood in silence, gawking at the sight.
"You haven't seen anything yet," Sean grinned.
**********
Sean strolled casually through the tables in the main hall, where conventioneers took a moment to sprawl and rest. He laughed to himself as he saw the people staring in wonder at him. So far, the box was making this a fun convention. The "Jabba's palace retinue" still had people talking, mostly about who had pulled it off. And then, to top that, all the 501st members present used the box to create costumes. When David Prowse, Vader himself and honorary commander of the entire 501st Legion, made his entrance, the 501st Legion recreated Vader's entrance to the second Death Star. And though they couldn't persuade Prowse to make an entrance in costume, one of the 501st members did the entrance scene, then ducked offstage, ostensibly to change. David Prowse came from behind the curtain, as if he'd just quickly changed from his costume to his normal clothing. It was another smash hit, and everyone was talking about it.
Sean glanced at his watch, an odd maneuver since the watch was almost lost among the long fur on his body. Emily was in a workshop on Jedi costuming for another half hour. He wondered if he should use the box to change back. Walking around as Chewbacca was starting to get boring.
"Hey!"
Sean ignored the voice; already, he'd been accosted for pictures by many fans, and though the 501st considered it one of the necessary evils of appearing in costume, he was weary of it. Changing back was starting to become even more appealing.
"Hey!" the voice boomed again. "Walking carpet!"
Sean halted, took a deep breath, and turned. He reared his head back. "Grrrrrarrarrr!" he roared at the person who'd just insulted him.
His voice halted midway through the second roar. The man facing him was a Klingon in full battle armor. "I would speak with you," the Klingon demanded. From the tone of voice, it sounded like he was used to getting his way.
Sean briefly considered his options. He could walk away, in which case the Klingon might get even more insulting or attempt to start a fight; or he could stay and talk. Sean nodded slowly. "What do you want?" he asked cautiously.
"You have used a gray metal box that grows from a briefcase to a telephone booth? That is how you made your changes?" the Klingon demanded.
Sean's heart skipped. He scanned the Klingon, from the bony ridges on his forehead to the armor on his feet. He slowly realized that the man wasn't wearing a costume. Which meant that the girl from the hall the previous day who looked very Vulcan ... Sean gulped ... probably was. He felt his hands tremble as he realized that the Klingon and the Vulcan woman knew about the box, and had probably been changed by one.
"I ... I don't understand. Gray box?" he stammered.
The Klingon frowned. "You do not wear a costume, Wookie. We have learned to recognize the effects of a box," he snarled. "And you have no idea what you are dealing with."
Sean straightened. He wasn't used to feeling this threatened. "I have to meet my wife," he said stiffly. "After I change out of my costume." He turned a walked away, wondering if the Klingon was going to do something rash. Instead, as he glanced over his shoulder, he saw the Klingon roaring with laughter, his head tilted back, and holding his sides.
**********
A knock on the door awakened Sean. He sat up, and despite feeling a bit tired and hung over from the partying the night before, he instantly remembered. The combination of weights bobbing on his chest, the strange sensations of the lekku attached to his head, and the other strange feelings. He shook his head lightly to clear his thoughts. The knock sounded again.
"Who is it?" he shouted, cringing from the soft alto voice he possessed.
"A ... friend." The voice sounded somewhat familiar, but Sean couldn't place why.
"Uh," he said, "Can you come back later?"
"It is a matter of some urgency," the voice replied. Something about the tone let Sean know that he probably _should_ talk to the person.
"I've got to get decent." He shook Emily, still looking like Han Solo. "We've got company," he whispered as he woke her.
Emily groaned slightly. "Uh, who is it?" she asked softly.
Sean shook his head. "I don't know. But they said it's important."
Emily winced. "But ..." Her mind raced. "Quick - we can use the box to freshen up." She stood quickly and touched the controls, then emerged from the box in her own body - and fresh clothes. Then Sean's changed back, and he looked more than a bit relieved to be back in his own body.
Emily started for the door, but Sean put his hand on her arm. "Just a sec." He touched the controls again, and in moments, the box had shrunk to its original briefcase size. Sean scooted the box behind the curtains. Then he nodded to Emily.
"Can I help you?" Emily asked politely as she opened the door.
The Klingon Sean had seen earlier that day pushed brusquely past Emily. Behind him, Seven of Nine strutted sexily into the room. "You are Sean and Emily Lowell," she asked in a tone that seemed less a question than statement of fact.
Emily glanced at Sean, and then she nodded. "But what ...?"
"Where is it?" the Klingon demanded of Sean.
"What?" Sean asked after a quick glance at Emily.
The Klingon frowned, but Seven put her hand on his arm. "Easy, Mike," she chided. She smiled at Sean and Emily. "Klingons can be a bit ... impatient," she explained.
Mike frowned. "Bah! At least we don't waste time with _diplomatic_ nonsense!"
"What is it you're looking for?" Emily asked of Seven, working hard to keep her voice neutral and free of the nervousness she was suddenly feeling.
Seven smiled. "You have been observed with a gray metal box, about the size of an attache case."
Sean glanced at Emily. "I believe you are mistaken," he said hesitantly.
Seven shook her head. "You have _no_ idea what you are dealing with." She glanced around the room. "Based on the changes and _creative_ costumes that your group has displayed so far, there is no doubt you possess such a box." She looked directly at Emily. "You _must_ stop using the device. It is far too powerful, and it can be dangerous."
Emily thought for a moment. "If we see this device," she said, "we'll keep your warnings in mind." Her hesitation in answering belied her words.
Mike glared at Emily and Sean, then he turned and stormed out of the room. "Damned fools!" he muttered as he left.
Seven frowned, then she nodded. "If you find the device, please call me. It is _very_ important. Especially given the ... extreme nature of some of your group's changes." She handed Emily a card, then she too strode from the room.
**********
"Well?" Len sat in one chair, looking around the room at the other members of the Garrison.
Sean shook his head. "I ... I don't know," he answered. "She ... they ... seemed pretty serious."
"You suppose they found one?" one of the women conjectured. "And they don't want any competition for the costume contests?"
"Maybe," Emily said. "Maybe not. I don't know."
Len frowned. "Well, I don't know about the rest of you, but this thing is _way_ too cool to stop using!"
Sean and Dave nodded. "Len's right. This is too good to stop using." Nods and murmuring indicated that most of the group agreed with the two.
"I guess you're right," Emily conceded. "But there's one condition," Emily added in a stern voice. The room hushed. "No one, and I mean no one, is to enter the costume contest if he or she uses the box. Got it?"
Dave and Sean exchanged a quick glance - they hadn't thought of using the box for creating costumes. "Emily's right," Dave chimed in. "It wouldn't be fair to others if anyone were to use the box to enter the contest. Agreed?"
Slowly, murmurs of agreement circulated through the room.
Emily nodded and retrieved the box. After opening it, she turned. "Who's first?"
"We are!" a young woman called out. She stepped forward with her hand firmly clutching a man. "We want to be Han and Leia."
Emily shrugged. "Your choice." She saw the man looking a bit pale at her suggestion, and she realized with a start that _she_ intended to be Han.
"Do we have to?" the young man asked. "It just seems ... weird!"
The young woman scowled at him. "You promised me, remember?"
The man gulped. Sensing that she'd won, the girl sprang to the side of the box and touched the keypad. Once she was done, she touched the purple knob and opened the device. She gestured, and with a visible gulp, the young man stepped in. After the change cycle finished, the door reappeared, and Princess Leia, in her long white dress and her hair in the signature braided buns from A New Hope, stepped into view. She looked very unhappy. "Remember, this is only for a little bit," she said, flinching at the sound of her voice.
The girl giggled with delight, then turned her attention back to the control pad. She emerged as Han Solo, complete with his blaster pistol at his side. "This is going to be _so_ cool!" she said confidently.
Leia frowned. "But it's only for a little while, right?" she protested. Han took her arm and, with a huge grin, led her out of the room. The former man scowled at the laughter rippling around the room.
The changes went quickly - it was obvious that members had already spent time thinking of who - or what - they wanted to be. Several seemed unchanged, except for the Jedi robes and lightsaber handles. Two guys emerged as Clone Troopers - one a plain trooper, and one with the green decorations of a sergeant trooper. Both had the imposing blaster rifles of the clone army.
Len changed into Darth Vader, then as the group watched, he peeled off an ultra-realistic costume. With a grin, he stepped to the box again, only to emerge in an X-wing fighter pilot costume.
"Wait a sec," Dave cautioned as he saw Len peeling off that costume as well. "Give others a chance."
"Yeah," a girl protested. She pushed Len aside and stepped to the box, emerging a few moments later as Barriss Offee, a Jedi Master. With a grin and a flourish, she grasped her lightsaber, pretended to give it a couple of swings, then clipped it to her belt.
One woman emerged as the armored bounty hunter Boba Fett. A guy came out as Jango Fett. Darth Maul came next, followed by the old Obi-Wan Kenobi. A girl changed into Mace Windu. Another changed herself into Oola, the green Twilek dancer. One guy changed into Chewbacca, while another became Nien Nunb, the jowled, mouse-eyed Sullestan alien who'd co-piloted the Millennium Falcon with Lando during the battle of the second Death Star. One older heavyset woman changed into Luke Skywalker.
Finally, everyone had changed except Dave, Sean, and Emily. "Okay, Len," Emily spoke, "go ahead and finish."
With a grin, Len went back to the machine. In a matter of minutes, he'd created a clonetrooper costume. As he took it off, Sean and Dave started doing the same, since two could change while the third removed a costume. By the time he was done, Len had costumes for Vader, X-wing and Tie pilots, a Tusken Raider, a Clone Trooper and a Clone Trooper pilot, a snow trooper, a storm trooper, and a sand trooper, an Imperial admiral, and a Jedi. Even though they had a few costumes themselves, neither Dave nor Sean were as prolific at costume creation as Len.
Emily shook her head as Len peeled off his Jedi robes. "You've got quite a haul here," she observed.
Len grinned. "Yeah. I figure, might as well make good use of the box."
Sean smiled. "Clever. But how are you going to haul this stuff home in your car?"
Len opened his mouth to answer, then he frowned. "I'll ... " His frown deepened. "Well, maybe you can help ...." He stopped again as he looked at Sean's pile of costumes.
"Rent a U-haul?" Dave laughed.
Len scowled at him. "I guess I'll have to," he finally agreed. "I hadn't thought of that."
Dave laughed again. "Or you can ship it." He looked over the piles of costumes. "Let's get this up to our rooms."
As the two trudged out the door, their arms overflowing with bits and pieces of costumes, Emily shook her head as she observed Sean's pile. "Since we've got the box, you didn't have to make all those costumes right now!" she scolded him.
Sean grinned sheepishly. "I guess I got a bit carried away," he answered.
"Yeah, as soon as Len and Dave started, you had to join in, didn't you." She sat down, still shaking her head. "Don't tell me - it's a guy thing that I just wouldn't understand, right?"
**********
Sean led the weary retinue into his room, flopping heavily into a chair. Emily took the other chair, and an assortment of others wordlessly filed in and sat down on the beds, the dresser, and the floor.
"Long day," Dave said simply.
"Yup."
"Where should we go for dinner?" Emily asked as she glanced around the room.
Len looked thoughtfully at the box, still full-sized in one corner of the room. "I want to try something first." He levered himself up from the bed and worked the controls. After a bit, he opened the door, stepped in, and the side vanished. Moments later, a sand trooper, clad in perfect armor, stepped from the box. The large backpack seemed to be perfectly detailed.
Sean snorted. "At least if you're going to make a costume, make it a good one," he chided Len. "You've got one of the best sets of sand trooper armor in the entire Legion!"
Len drew his blaster. "Maybe," he said, his voice sounding far off and just a touch electronically distorted. Just like the movie. Len walked to a window and opened it. He pointed the blaster into the air, and after glancing around the room, he pulled the trigger.
Len and the others recoiled at the sharp sound of a blaster firing into the sky. "Holy shit!" Len cried as he stepped away from the window, staring at the blaster. "It really works!"
Sean jumped up and grabbed the blaster. "Let me see that," he said sternly. He looked at the device, then he looked out the window again. He saw a neat hole in the screen where the blaster bolt had pierced it. "Hmmm," he said. He glanced around, then he pointed the blaster down toward the ground. He pulled the trigger, and another bolt shot out of the gun.
Sean and the others winced as they saw shards of concrete blast free of a concrete column of a building under construction next door. "Damn!" Sean said as he gingerly handed the device back to Len. "That thing really _does_ work!"
Len gingerly holstered the weapon. "Yeah. Just like I was thinking when I made the suit." For a few seconds, there was silence as the Garrison members considered the power the box had just demonstrated. "Hey!" Len interrupted. "You know how fast these costumes get hot?"
Sean and the others nodded. "Yeah. So?" he asked.
Len shook his head. "I'm not getting hot at all. It's like this thing is air conditioned or something!"
Sean stepped closer to Len and bent over to study Len's armor. He even rapped the chest plate a couple of times. "Hey, this isn't like plastic," he reported, surprised. "It's feels like some kind of composite or something."
Len peeled off his helmet. "Yeah, and the helmet is a little heavier, too. I was thinking of the way it's described in the 'Star Wars Encyclopedia'. And the box made it!" He grinned. "Cool!"
"I wonder ...." Dave mused as he strode to the controls. He frowned as he thought, and the box was obviously having some trouble with his request. Several long minutes later, just as Dave was about to give up, the door opened. Dave stepped in.
Out stepped the spitting image of Obi-Wan Kenobi from Attack of the Clones, clad in his Jedi robes. He hefted the lightsaber from his belt, and with a flick of the controls, it hissed to life.
Gasps of astonishment coursed through the room. Not only could the box make a functional set of sand trooper armor and blaster, but it could also make a fictional weapon like a light saber.
Dave swung the blade easily, then he shut it off. When everyone looked at him, he frowned. "Look," he said, "if it can make a real blaster, then this thing," he indicated his now inactive lightsaber, "could be really nasty."
A college-age girl named Jenny moved to the control panel. "Hmmm ..." she mumbled half to herself. She touched the plate, her brow furrowed in concentration. Almost immediately, a familiar image appeared. But Jenny wasn't done. She closed her eyes to better focus, and the room got strangely silent as she concentrated. Finally, she took a deep breath and let it out heavily. She glanced over her shoulder at the rest of the gang, then she touched the purple knob.
When Jenny emerged, she was Shaak Ti, clad in dark robes with large horns and striped lekku. In her hands, she carried the handle of a lightsaber.
"Whoa!" Len said in admiration. "Pretty cool Shaak Ti!"
Jenny smiled. "If it can make lightsabers, I wanted to see what else it can do."
Emily's eyes widened. "You trying for force powers, maybe?" she asked hesitantly.
Jenny grinned. "Yup." She closed her eyes, and at first, she seemed to be intensely concentrating. As she relaxed her intense focus, though, it seemed that something startled her, and she visibly flinched.
Emily and Sean frowned. "What was that?" they asked almost in unison.
Jenny opened her eyes wide with surprise. "It ... it works!" she said in astonishment.
"How?"
Jenny shook her head. "I don't know. Nothing was happening when I was concentrating, but when I relaxed, I could picture every one of you in my mind!"
Emily's eyes widened. "Let's try something. We'll blindfold you, and then you describe who's behind you and what they're holding." Jenny nodded.
After a lengthy and thorough test, Emily sank back onto the bed as Jenny took off the blindfold. "Wow!" she said in amazement. "It really _does_ work!"
"What else can you do?" Len asked eagerly. "Levitate? Force push? Visions?"
Jenny shook her head. "I ... I don't know." She sat down. "I was _thinking_ of all those things, but I really don't know what I got." She focused on a table. For a few moments, she seemed to be deeply concentrating, but finally, abruptly, she let out a sharp breath and sat back. "It's no use. I can't levitate things."
From behind her, Sean tossed a rolled up sock. Almost before it was out of his hand, she had moved her hand and body to block it. And her lightsaber was drawn and ready.
"Wow!" came a chorus of awed responses. "That's incredible!"
Emily thought for a second. "Faster reflexes. Enhanced non-visual senses. It looks like it gave you what you were thinking of!"
Jenny laughed. "And you can be sure I wasn't thinking of that midichlorian bullshit!"
Dave scratched his chin as he walked back to the box. After a bit of concentration, he re-entered the device, emerging a few seconds later looking unchanged. "Want to try something?" he asked Jenny as he took his lightsaber from his belt. Everyone knew instantly that he'd used the device to acquire force powers, just like Jenny.
Jenny nodded and stood, drawing her own lightsaber. The spectators drew back to give them as much space as possible.
For several seconds, the two sparred ferociously, their blades flashing green and blue, with bright sparks as the blades touched. A lamp was sliced neatly in two and one drape was slashed before the two stopped and turned off their lightsabers.
"Well, that's going to cost a little bit," Sean said dryly as he looked at the pieces of the lamp.
Dave winced. "Oops," he said meekly. "Sorry."
Emily laughed. "Don't worry about it. We'll take it out of the garrison funds."
Jenny glanced around the room. "If you're all done playing, can we go get something to eat?" she asked. "I'm getting awfully hungry."
Dave smiled. "Yeah. And let's go in costume."
Emily glanced at Sean, and he could tell that she was thinking of something unusual. "Not like we are now. Let's make the costumes ... unique," she suggested. "Everyone pick a character. We'll put the names in a hat. And everyone will draw a character to become for the night."
"Including the party circuit?" one guy asked, sounding a bit uneasy.
Emily nodded. "Including the party circuit."
Dave nodded, then he scratched his chin as he thought for a moment. "Human or humanoid. No Hutts. No B'Omarr monks. It has to be something that _you_ would be comfortable being all evening." He grinned. "Because _you_ might just draw the name and end up being that ... character!"
One guy tilted his head. "Yoda?"
Dave wrinkled his eyebrows, then he glanced around the room. "What do you think?"
Everyone nodded or shrugged their assent.
Then one guy spoke up. "If we draw, we might get stuck as a female character?"
Dave glanced at Emily and Sean, who both nodded. "Yeah. That might happen."
The guy shook his head. "Nope. Count me out."
"Chicken!" "Candy ass!" "No curiosity?"
The guy stared down his taunters, then he shut up and sat down, knowing he'd been dared and shamed into playing along.
Emily passed out slips of paper, and each of the sixteen members wrote a character's name on the paper. As Emily collected them, her eyebrows raised. "Okay. Everyone draw a paper. I'll take the last one, just to be fair."
As the slips were drawn, audible groans and moans indicated that some of the people were unhappy. Finally, Emily took the last one. "Interestingly, there are eight guys and eight girls, but there are nine female characters." Everyone glanced around, wondering the same thing - who had 'crossed over'?
Chuck, the same guy who'd protested the potential for cross-gender costumes, scowled as the other garrison members stared at him. "Okay," he admitted harshly. "I figured if we were going to play this and I might get stuck, I might as well make sure I'm not the only one!"
Sean had drawn Mara Jade, the red-haired former Emperor's Hand and force-using wife of Luke Skywalker, who'd appeared in numerous novels. Len drew Wedge Antilles, the X-wing pilot from both movies and novels. Dave got Aayla Secura, the blue-skinned Twilek Jedi woman. The other guys drew Admiral Daala, an attractive Imperial admiral from the Star Wars novels; Grand Admiral Thrawn, a blue-skinned red-eyed master Imperial admiral, again from the novels; Count Dooku, the Sith apprentice from Attack of the Clones; Jaina Solo, daughter of Han and Leia and a Jedi from the novels. As he'd feared, Chuck drew a female character - Padme Amidala in her white jumpsuit.
Things were equally interesting for the women. Emily drew Corran Horn, a Jedi from the Star Wars novels. Dave's girlfriend Anne drew Asajj Ventress, a dark-side apprentice to Count Dooku from the animated Clone Wars series. Jenny, by strange coincidence, drew Shaak Ti, the exotic Jedi master, and thus didn't have to change. The other ladies drew Darth Vader; Darth Maul; Ysanne Isard, a strikingly beautiful Imperial Intelligence officer with one blue eye and one red eye, from the novels; Lyn Me, the white-skinned Twilek dancer; and finally, Kir Kanos, a member of the Emperor's Royal Guard in his classic red helmet and robes.
Emily glanced around the group. Some of the people, especially those who'd swapped genders, seemed highly uncomfortable. Chuck, for example, was staring down at his breasts as if he didn't know whether to feel himself up or to cover them with his hands to hide them. "Ready?"
"Yup," Len - Corran Horn - quickly answered.
"Not really," the guys who'd become Padme and Jaina Solo rebutted quickly.
Anne grinned. "Past time to chicken out." Since she was closest to the door, she turned to open it so the group could leave. Instead, she was interrupted by a knock. She glanced at Emily and Sean.
"Who is it?"
"Kent Myers," came the muffled answer through the door.
Emily nodded to Anne, who opened the door. She started at the sizable contingent standing outside the room, filling the hallway.
"Uh, can we, uh, like, borrow ...?" Kent started to ask, not sure who was whom.
Emily laughed. "I'm over here," she answered in her Wedge Antilles voice. "And no, you can't borrow it. But I can help you guys change - I _assume_ that's what you're here for, right?"
Kent glanced at Rich, then around the group. "Uh, yeah. I wasn't ... you know."
"I mean," Rich blurted out, "it _is_ your box. But we'd like to change for the night."
Emily and the others laughed aloud. "Yeah, I think we understand." Emily glanced around the room. "It's a bit crowded in here, so why don't you guys wait on the mezzanine. Sean and I will be down in a few minutes."
A _few_ minutes took nearly half an hour. There were almost forty changes, and the list read like a "Who's Who" of Star Wars. Some became the actual cast, while others simply changed their clothes into costumes like Jedi robes, stormtrooper and clone trooper armor, and X-wing and TIE fighter pilots. The costumes and characters were from both the movies and the 'Expanded Universe', or novels and graphic novels which supplemented the Star Wars universe.
Just as they were finishing, one guy burst into the room out of breath. "Oh good," he panted. "It's not too late."
Emily and Sean looked over the newcomer, then Sean gestured to Kent. "Who's he? I don't recognize him," Emily whispered.
Kent looked over the young man. "Mark Westin. I think he's from Orlando. I bumped into him last night. He just joined the Legion last month."
Sean looked over the man carefully as he operated the controls. Around twenty-eight, trim to the point of looking athletic, he seemed - somehow - to be out of place. But anxious to get to dinner with their friends, Emily and Sean merely shrugged and let the guy finish his changes. When everyone had left, Emily collapsed the box, hid it behind the curtains, and followed Sean.
**********
As the elevator doors closed, Emily couldn't hold her snickering any longer. She still appeared as Corran Horn, and her chuckles turned to outright laughter. "That was so fun!" she exclaimed as tears of mirth ran down her cheeks. She glanced at Darth Maul. "You scared the pants off that poor waiter!"
The girl who'd become Darth Maul for the evening grinned wickedly. "Serves him right! Serving me lukewarm soup, and then serving a burned steak! Poor bastard probably had to change his shorts!" The steak really wasn't burned, but well done.
Len laughed. "And all the people who thought you guys were really the major stars!" He laughed. "As if real stars would eat at a place like that!"
Sean, feeling the effects of two glasses of wine, leaned against Emily. "Just as long as no one tries to pretend that they really _are_ a star," he said slowly. It was an easy statement for him to make. His character, Mara Jade, had never been portrayed by an actress. She existed only in novels and in some drawings. All of the drawings featured her as a curvy attractive redhead, a description that now fit Sean.
Dave frowned. "I'm not thrilled with all the guys trying to hit on me," he complained. He saw Chuck's glare. "At least everyone recognizes Natalie Portman, and since they think you're her, they leave you alone." He laughed. "You're out of their league!" He put his arm around Sean's shoulder. "Not so for us less _well-known_ women!"
Chuck took a deep breath, puffing out his chest in a manly display of defiance. Unfortunately for him, in the tight white jumpsuit, it just accentuated his bust line and made him look like he was jealous of the other female bodies. "Well, that's just _one_ of the benefits of being famous," he said with mock condescension.
Sean slapped him. "You're so bad!"
"Indeed," the man who appeared as Count Dooku said simply. "Bad enough to turn to the Dark Side, perhaps?"
Anne turned to face Dooku. "You already _have_ an apprentice, my master!" she hissed with feigned menace. "Or have you forgotten?"
By the time the elevator stopped, everyone was holding his or her sides from laughing too hard and the seemingly unending stream of Star Wars-related inside jokes. "Which party first?" the girl costumed as Isard asked.
Emily put her arm around Sean to steady him, since he was a bit tipsy. "Follow the noise. We'll go to the loudest one first." She glanced around. "Where's Jenny?"
Sean shrugged. "She went back - to change again."
Emily frowned. "We were going to stay in costume all evening."
Dave laughed. "Become Yoda, she wished to. Change her mind, we could not," he said in his best imitation of Yoda's voice and strange grammar.
Sean's eyes widened as his jaw dropped. "Yoda?"
"Yup. Yoda," he snickered.
"With the Force?" Emily asked with certainty.
Dave nodded again. "Strong in the Force, Yoda is. Join us, Yoda will. To the party we must go," he added in the strange grammar of the green Jedi master. Dave set off down the hall, following the noise as Emily had suggested.
The noise took them to a WorldCon bid party. At the door, a surprised hostess looked over the group. "Uh, you want stickers?" she asked hesitantly.
Emily started to answer, but Darth Vader stepped forward, pointing his finger menacingly at the girl. "Your stickers are insignificant compared to the power of the Force!" he said in a deep, James Earl Jones voice.
The girl stared, wide-eyed, as the Dark Lords stormed past her into the party suite. Dooku, Asajj Ventress, Isard and Thrawn followed closely, making a meaningful and imposing entrance.
Emily shook her head sadly. "You'll have to forgive our friends," she said evenly. "They're a little grouchy today. Seems they got up on the wrong side of the Force this morning."
Sean, Dave, and Chuck all flinched at her joke. "That's so bad!" Dave hissed. They waited patiently for the girl to apply stickers to their convention badges.
Inside, the Imperials were already causing quite a stir. When the other Star Wars characters joined them, the effect on the party was almost electric. People were pressing around them for a variety of reasons, including to see the well-done costumes and to see if the people who appeared to be the stars really _were_ the stars. And the few who dared to inquire about autographs were very quickly discouraged.
Emily quickly sensed that the other party guests were segregating her group. The 'Imperials' were surrounded and fawned over by fans that were either dressed in Imperial costumes, or who Emily knew were 'Imperial-sympathizers' in their Star Wars fandom. Likewise, those fans whose thoughts, admiration, and sympathies were oriented toward the Jedi and the New Republic tended to gravitate toward the 'good guys' of her group.
Emily sighed as she again glanced at the 'Imperial' group - the more notable characters were also dealing with a few overzealous fans. It _shouldn't_ have happened - this was a bid party, and only true fans attended - fans who should know better than to think that real celebs would attend.
"I find your lack of faith disturbing."
Emily spun at the deep booming voice which carried easily through the crowd. She saw Darth Vader pointing angrily at a fan, fingers held out in the 'force choke' pose. The fan being addressed seemed both awed and frightened by the convincing impression of Vader. She shook her head again. This was turning out to be a bad idea after all. Everyone was getting a little _too_ much into their roles. Perhaps they should change back.
Aayla Secura, in reality Dave, slid between the fan and Vader in a defensive pose, and before Emily could say anything, Aayla drew her lightsaber. Fans drew back, gasping in surprise and awe as the bright blade hissed to life. "This time, Sith, you've met your match," she said bravely.
The crowd drew back quickly as Vader drew his lightsaber. "You do not understand the power of the Dark Side," he intoned as his own red blade extended.
In a flash, his blade swung toward Aayla. She sensed it coming and with minimal motion, blocked the blow. The blades collided in a bright flash, and Aayla twirled quickly, swinging her own blade toward the unguarded hip of the Dark Lord.
Vader was as quick as Aayla. Their blades hummed and clashed as they battled on, all the while the crowd stood in rapt attention, watching the fantastic duel in awe. The time crawled by, and after what seemed an hour to the observers, Vader slipped his blade past Aayla's guard. She dropped her own saber as her scream mixed with the nasty hissing of Vader's blade biting into her thigh.
The crowd flinched visibly. Aayla's reaction was so genuine that the observers were unsure if the battle and injury were real or fake. Emily rushed to Aayla's side even as Vader stepped back uncertainly, letting his saber turn off.
"You okay?" Emily whispered to Aayla as they knelt beside the wounded Jedi.
Aayla gritted her teeth. "Hurts," she stammered softly. Her eyes seemed unfocused from shock.
Emily nodded, then glanced around to her group. "Len, Sean, Anne, let's get him back to the room." Her orders were crisp and firm to assert control over what she knew was a bad situation. She looked at the others from the group. "Give me your sabers."
Sean and Anne were working to lift the wounded Aayla to her feet. "Can you stand?" Anne asked.
Aayla shook her head, fighting tears. "No," she mumbled.
Emily glanced at Sean. "Cross-arm carry." They locked wrists, then eased under Aayla's seat and lifted her. Emily glanced at Jenny. "Get the sabers," she added as she and Sean started moving Aayla toward the door. "Anne, help out."
Jenny glanced at Emily. "On their way, hotel security is," she reported with grim certainty.
Emily closed her eyes for a moment, and she nodded. "I know. I can see them. Let's move it."
**********
Emily grimaced as she examined the wound on Dave's leg. Fortunately, the lightsaber had cauterized the wound even as it cut, which prevented bleeding. And as deep as the wound went, Dave would have lost a lot of blood.
"How bad is it?" Dave asked cautiously.
Emily frowned. "It's not too bad," she lied.
Dave shook his head feebly, causing the blue lekku to quiver, and sighed. "You can't lie to me," he observed. "I can see it. With my Force senses. It's pretty bad, isn't it?"
Sean glanced at Emily and bit his lip.
"Bad, the wound is," Jenny answered somberly.
Dave forced a tiny laugh. "Too bad I wasn't thinking about healing powers. Then I could have already started healing myself." His voice, already softer because he was in Aayla's body, was even weaker and more unsteady.
Jenny bit her lip. "Going into shock she - er, he - is, " she said, her words echoing the fear she was feeling.
Emily frowned at Jenny. "Stop that, please."
Jenny looked at Emily, a bit confused, then she understood. "Stop it, I cannot. Talk like Yoda, somehow, I do. An effect of the device it may be."
Anne glared at Jenny, then she glanced at Emily. "Change him back - into Dave?"
Emily glanced at the wound. "If the box will heal the wound. Otherwise, we're going to have to get him to a hospital." She turned to Dave. "If we hold you, do you think you can operate the box?"
Dave nodded. His blue skin was paling, and he was sweating and trembling. "I think so."
Sean looked behind the curtain, then behind the chairs. He turned, his face ashen. "It's gone!"
"What?" Emily felt her world spin. "What do you mean, gone?"
"It isn't where Jenny said she left it," he answered unsteadily. "It's not where we left it before we went to dinner!"
Anne looked at Jenny, her features starting to show panic. In silent answer, Jenny shook her head. "Not here is the box." She looked positively grim. "Large is its disturbance in the Force. Easy to find it should be. Not in the room is it."
Anne sank onto the bed, her face pale. "What ... what do we do?" she asked, her voice weak.
In silent answer, Jenny - Yoda - squatted beside Dave. Her eyes closed, and her brow furrowed in concentration. Her hand stretched out over Dave's wound. For a long time, she was immobile. Then she sat back. She looked at Emily and shook her head. "I don't know."
Anne looked at Dave. "He seems ... calmer." Indeed, his breathing was a little less ragged, and he wasn't sweating as much.
Emily shook her head again. "We're going to have to take him to a hospital," she said softly. "
"No." Dave's voice was weak, but firm. "No hospital."
"But ..." Emily started to protest, surprised though she was from his words. Like Anne and Sean, she thought that Dave was unconscious.
"No hospital." He raised his head slightly. "Look at me. If you take me to a hospital, I'll be ... a freak. I'll end up in some lab or something. There's no way you can explain this."
"Impeccable logic."
The voice from the doorway startled Emily, Sean, and Anne. Jenny merely turned her head slowly, her green Yoda ears curling at the tips. "Knock you should have. Polite it would be."
The trio framed in the doorway were a contrast in style. Seven of Nine, with her silky brown hair and silver cat suit, stood in stark contrast to male. His white skin, mottled with dark splotches, was pierced in many locations by mechanical devices, tubes, and hoses. Machinery engulfed his left arm, and indeed seemed to form a major component of his body. He seemed as eerie and unworldly as the woman was attractive. He was Borg. The third person, the speaker, stood in dignified calm, her long black hair falling loosely about her shoulders, and her body mostly concealed by a simple robe. Though her hair concealed her ears, from the upsweep of her eyebrows, everyone knew that the ears were pointed. She was Vulcan.
Emily's eyes narrowly focused and her voice became harsh. "What do you mean intruding in our room?"
Seven ignored her tone of voice. "You ignored my earlier warnings. Your use of the device is becoming dangerous. You _must_ cease using it."
Sean frowned as he stepped in front of the Seven. "What's it to you?"
Seven shook her head softly. "The device is very dangerous - far more dangerous than you realize." She frowned. "You should realize that after your stunt at the bid party. I'm only trying to help you avoid more trouble."
Sean glanced at the Borg. "Sure. You only want to help," he said sarcastically.
His feet clumping heavily on the floor, the Borg advanced toward Sean, and behind them, Anne crouched beside Dave. As Sean stepped forward to block the drone, the drone pushed Sean aside easily, knocking him halfway across the room.
The flash of light was as unexpected as it was bright. In a motion almost too fast for the human eye, Asajj Ventress stepped between the Borg drone and Dave, her lightsabers flashing to life. She slashed with one of her pair of red lightsabers as the Borg extended his prosthetic multi-tooled arm toward Sean. With a thud, the still-clacking mechanical arm fell to the floor.
The drone stood for a moment, as if confused by the loss of his arm. Then the drone started moving toward the Sean again.
Anne slashed a second time, this time aiming to wound a leg. But just before the lightsaber blade impacted the drone, it stopped, blocked by a nearly transparent shield which had somehow appeared. Anne drew back and repeated her attack, and again the shield appeared and blocked the glowing blade. Now the drone was advancing toward Anne, and his assimilation tubes were extended.
Without warning, the Borg drone was hurled backward against a wall as if struck by a giant hand. Slowly, the drone stood again, his head tilting to one side and then the other, while his eye scanned the room in search of some mysterious attacker.
Beside Anne, the diminutive Yoda stood, one hand on the hilt of his lightsaber, and the other extended to do a Force push. She had a determined look on her face.
"Stop!"
The strong commanding voice caused everyone to halt, including the drone. Anne and Jenny, like the others, turned toward the source of the command.
Seven stood near the door, her face marred by a frown. "Stop." She glanced around the room, then her gaze settled on Emily. "Are you in charge?" she demanded.
Emily glanced around, then hesitantly stepped forward. "Yeah, I guess so," she answered.
Seven frowned at Emily. "I _told_ you that the box was dangerous. I tried to warn you."
Emily grimaced. "We ... we weren't sure if you ... well, what your motives were."
The Vulcan woman raised an eyebrow. "Your caution is understandable," she said evenly, "give the powers that you have discovered from the alien device."
Seven nodded her agreement. "I understand," she said simply. "First off, I'm not a competitor. My name is Danni. I ... am familiar with those devices, and I want to help you."
Sean's eyes narrowed. "Help us? How? And why should we trust you?"
Danni turned slightly, then she glanced at Emily and Sean. "Can we talk - in private?" she asked.
Sean was taken aback. Far from her earlier commanding presence, this request was very meek, even humble. He glanced at Emily, then he nodded. "Yeah," he answered.
Emily glanced around the room, settling her gaze on Jenny. "You guys go wait in your room." She waited until everyone from her group had left, then she gestured to the chairs. "Can I get you anything?" she offered to Danni and the Vulcan woman.
The Vulcan woman lowered herself to the floor, cross-legged, as if she was going to meditate. Rather than relax, however, her eyes seemed intent and alert, as radars scanning and recording every detail.
Danni sat down in a motion that was fluid grace. "No thanks," she started, then she tilted her head slightly. "On second thought, if you have a Diet Seven-Up, I wouldn't turn it down." The Vulcan woman shook her head. "Darla, why don't you wait outside?" Danni asked.
The Vulcan woman, Darla, narrowed her eyes. "Are you certain?"
Danni nodded. "Yes. It'll be okay."
Without another word, the Vulcan woman rose and glided silently from the room.
Sean sat on the edge of the bed and flipped open a large chest cooler. "No 7-up, but we've got Sprite," he offered.
Danni nodded and reached out to accept the can from Sean.
Emily sat down in the other chair and sprawled back, her relaxed posture belying her inner feelings. She glanced at the Borg drone standing like a statue in the room. Her eyes widened as she saw the mechanical arm slowly and visibly rebuilding itself. "He really is Borg?" she asked.
Danni glanced at the drone. "Oh, yes," she answered with a nervous laugh. With a suddenness that startled Sean and Emily, the Drone unfroze and turned, clomping toward the door. Seven watched Emily and Sean. "I just asked him to leave," she said lightly. "I thought his presence might make you a bit nervous."
Sean nodded. "Yeah, he was." His features clouded. "You - asked him?"
"They usually intimidate people," she said with a smile. Her expression darkened slightly. "Okay, Sean," she said, addressing Emily.
Emily laughed. "Actually, I'm Emily."
Danni frowned, then she glanced questioningly at Sean. "And you're ... Sean?" She observed Sean's nervous nod. "Hmm, maybe this won't sound so strange after all."
Sean frowned. "It's not ... well, I know it sounds weird. But ...." He was looking down at the carpet, too embarrassed to look directly at Danni. "We randomly drew characters for our changes tonight," he tried to explain.
Danni laughed. "Don't worry. I run into this all the time," she said. "I'm even ... well, experienced in that type of change." She took a long sip of her drink. "A couple of years ago, my roommate and I went to a convention. There, I found an alien box - just like the one you've been observed with."
Emily's eyes widened. "So _that's_ how you know ..."
Danni nodded. "I ... changed into Seven ... to put in an appearance. Apparently, I did too good a job of designing the changes." She saw Sean and Emily's looks of disbelief. "I ... am partly Borg. My implants are fully functional - even to the point of making it impossible for me to change back."
Emily's eyes widened. "So ... you used a Borg implant to communicate with the drone?" Her voice sounded a little unsteady, even nervous.
Danni nodded, still smiling. "And no, we're not going to take over the world or anything like that. The drone's name is Matt. He's still an individual - whenever he wants to be. They only link up when they want to or need to." She frowned. "But I didn't come here to talk about the hive. I came to talk about the alien device you're using."
"You said one of them changed you, and it won't change you back?" Sean returned to Danni's original subject.
Danni nodded, her expression a bit sad. "That's right. When I designed the Borg changes, I included all my knowledge and speculation of nanotechnology." She smiled a tiny bit. "I _used_ to be studying for my PhD in nanotechnology. So everything I knew about nanotechnology and about Seven went into the changes." Danni took a sip of her soda. "You know how the box works. It scans your mental images. Whatever you're thinking about, it creates - if its technology can handle it." She smiled. "As I know too well from my Borg implants, it's a pretty sophisticated technology, so there isn't a lot it can't do." She laughed softly. "And as you're learning from the lightsabers."
Emily looked warily at Danni. "You said ... you've experienced some other changes."
Danni winced as she slowly, deliberately set her soda can on the table. "I was afraid you'd bring that up." She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "The reason I'm not surprised by your gender swapping is that I used to be male. Before I got stuck, that is."
Sean's eyes widened. "You ... were a _guy_?" he asked incredulously. In fact, his words would have sounded a bit more convincing if he himself hadn't been Mara Jade.
Danni noted that fact. "And your point is...?" she asked, staring directly at the breasts on Sean's chest.
Sean followed her gaze, then he felt his cheeks warm as he blushed.
"I didn't intend to be stuck as Seven. I didn't want to be a woman. It just ... happened." Danni sounded more than a bit unhappy.
"Sorry," Sean apologized as he recognized the pain in Danni's voice.
"How long?" Emily asked simply.
Danni sighed. "Almost two years," she answered. Then she abruptly changed the subject. "I didn't come here to talk about me. I came about the device you've been using. The F'wirthian Morphic Adaptation Unit, Mark 4, to be precise."
Emily frowned. "You seem to know a hell of a lot about it."
In answer, Danni extended her arm, and her twin assimilation tubes shot out. "Let's just say I have a very ... intimate ... relationship with _my_ unit."
Sean opened his mouth to say something, but he decided better. He'd seen the assimilation tubes on the Borg drone, and he'd seen some incredible creations by the device. It just _might_ be possible that the Borg assimilation capabilities were real. He gulped out of nervousness.
Danni frowned. "I'd like to understand how the box is creating these 'Force' powers. And the lightsabers."
"I thought the thing read minds. That's how it made the lightsabers and Force powers," Sean speculated.
Danni shook her head. "It does have a mechanism to scan your brain waves, so that's the 'mind reading' part. And the changes are complete - down to the genetic level. But it's based on technology, not fantasy and wishes. It couldn't make a person into a Genie or give them magical powers." She shrugged. "It has to be technologically feasible."
"Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic," Emily quoted.
Danni laughed softly. "I guess Clarke was right on that count. In fact, if one of these devices were to appear in less modern times, it would be considered magic." She glanced around the room. "Could I interface with your MAU device to see how it's making these things?" she asked hesitantly.
Emily glanced nervously at Sean. "We ... we can't find it."
Danni's eyes widened, and she paled visibly. "What?"
Sean gulped again. "When we got back from the bid party, we couldn't find it."
Danni closed her eyes for the briefest of moments, then the door opened. Both Darla and the Borg Drone entered, Darla, of course, moving much more rapidly.
"Is it as you feared?" Darla asked simply.
Danni nodded. "Worse. Their device is missing. And it was functional."
Darla's eyes narrowed, and she pursed her lips tightly together. "We must alert the others. We must find the device."
Sean shook his head. "Why? You act like it's a major conspiracy or something."
Danni stared grimly at Sean. "Or something. The device is extraordinarily powerful. Imagine what could happen one were to fall into the wrong hands. A device that could make any person look like anyone else. The ultimate spy. Or give an agent superior technological ... skills."
Emily suddenly felt a chill run down her spine. "I ... we ... hadn't thought of that," she admitted softly. Her eyes narrowed as she watched Danni's expression. "You've ... you've encountered someone who wants this technology?" she asked with more conviction than question.
Danni nodded. "Yes. There is at least one agency in _our_ government who is highly interested in the devices." She grimaced. "And we know of two foreign agencies that are actively pursuing the secrets of the device. To date - fortunately - all their activities are investigating the ... effects ... of the devices."
"Effects?" Dave asked with a gulp of nervousness.
Danni nodded, even blushing a little. "You've seen the Klingons and Vulcans and the Borg?" she asked. When the trio nodded, she continued. "Those are mild. Very mild."
"Mild?" Both Sean and Emily were suddenly very alert.
Danni nodded somberly. "That's why we have to find the device."
Darla's eyebrow raised. "The so-called Force senses you have - if real - could perhaps be useful."
Emily opened her mouth to speak, but she stopped. "I'll get the other Jedi."
**********
The man glanced around the darkened utility room nervously, his cell phone held to one ear. "That's right," he snapped. "It's a functional device. Get to the rendezvous point in half an hour." He shook his head. "No, I don't know how much time is left." He stopped and cocked his head to one side. "Someone's coming. Half an hour." He hung up the phone, then he backed away from the door. Carefully, he opened the back door, the one that led into the service corridors and elevators. As quietly as possible, he closed the door and began to pad down the stairs.
A strange duo cautiously entered the utility room. One was short, with very long pointed ears, while the other had horns atop her head. The short one looked around the room carefully. "Gone he is."
"I feel it, too," the other said. Moving slowly, Yoda and Shaak Ti crossed through the utility room to the service door.
Shaak Ti grasped the handle and attempted to turn it. "Damn," she cursed. "It looks like he wedged it shut or something."
In response, Yoda drew his lightsaber. In one deft stroke, he cut through the locking mechanism and the door burst open. As Shaak Ti leaped through the now-open door, an energy bolt came from the landing below. With superhuman reflexes, Yoda and his blade vaulted in front of Shaak Ti and deflected the shot with a burst of bright energy from where the lightsaber hit the blaster bolt. Shaak Ti's blade was drawn a fraction of a second later - just in case, even as they heard the clatter of the armored feet running down the stairs.
"Careless this one is," Yoda said unexcitedly. "Gave away his position, he did."
Shaak Ti nodded. "Careless, but also dangerous. He intends to keep the device at all costs."
Yoda shook his head. "Set for stun, the blaster was." He eased himself into the stairwell, a glowing green blade held at the ready. "Proceed with caution we must."
**********
Down the stairwell the man ran, his costume of stormtrooper armor clattering with every step, his blaster unholstered in one hand and the box under the other arm. It was clumsy, running this way without the handrails, but he felt the adrenaline surge of danger. As he rounded a corner at a landing, he heard a noise at the bottom of the stairwell, a strange, almost unearthly noise as if something alien was dragging itself up the stairwell. He stopped, peered over the railing, then sprinted back up one flight to a doorway. With the Jedi above and something unknown below, he opened the door, closing it quickly, and, he hoped, quietly, behind him.
He was in another utility closet, and he opened the outer door into the hotel corridors. As he raced down the hall, he turned a corner - and nearly ran into a man dressed in long robes.
"It could be hazardous to run here," the man started to say, then his strangely upswept eyebrows raised. "You ... are the one who took the device?" he questioned sharply. As the Vulcan man turned to grasp the stormtrooper, the stormtrooper leveled his gun An energy bolt erupted and enveloped the Vulcan. The Vulcan collapsed in a heap.
The man, still in armor, turned around the corner, ignoring the stunned Vulcan behind him. From his belt he took a key card, and without pausing, he opened the first door he saw. He glanced around quickly to be sure he was alone, then he darted across the room. He parted the thick drapes, then he smiled to himself when he saw the balcony. 'Perfect,' he thought to himself as he stepped out onto the balcony. Five stories below, the streetlights cast their circles of light on the busy streets, and the occasional spotlight shone up to highlight the hotel building itself. This balcony, however, was not in a highlight, so he was nearly invisible.
The man glanced down. There were other balconies below, and a roof nearby. He pulled a line from the stormtrooper utility belt, just as Luke had in 'A New Hope', hooked it on the balcony, and began to climb over the rail. As he started to descend, he heard a noise at the door, and he saw the two Jedi - Yoda and Shaak Ti - burst through the door. He hastened his descent.
**********
"He's getting away!" Shaak Ti called as she saw the man descend from the balcony. She drew her lightsaber, but Yoda stilled her hand.
"Harm him, we must not. Cut the line, you must not," the old Jedi Master rasped.
"But he'll get away," Shaak Ti protested.
"So sure, are you?" He chuckled. "Observe."
As the man climbed onto a balcony below, there was a flare from the street. Slowly at first, and then more quickly, a figure rose at the head of the flare. Now, it was twin flares, flames from nozzles astride a jetpack which was strapped to the back of a helmeted, armored figure. The man heard the roar of the rockets, and he turned, his face suddenly ashen, as he saw the familiar green and gray of Boba Fett ascending quickly to the balcony beside him.
Boba landed, a little off balance, and straightened himself, turning to face the armor-clad figure. The man turned, again with his blaster, and shot at Boba Fett.
The Mandalorian armor of Boba Fett absorbed the blast with no effect. As the man looked, angered at the intrusion and horror-stricken that nothing had happened, he saw Boba Fett raise his arm, extended toward the man. The man turned to run just as a dart thudded harmlessly against his armor. He bolted out of the room, crashing over a room service cart laden with food, then shoved the cart back against the door just as Boba Fett came through. Boba went down in a tangle of cart, dishes, and food.
The man ran down the hall, around a corner, and ducked into another stairwell.
As he turned to descend, the man saw an unearthly half-human, half-machine turning up onto the landing below, and then look up. The being's face was half hidden by mechanical devices of strange forms, and a red laser seemed to sweep up and down him. The Borg continued to relentlessly climb up the stairs, his eye scanning the man as he moved with emotionless determination.
The man shot, and the Borg halted. Slowly, it collapsed. But there was another behind it, and it came up the stairs as if nothing had happened. The man shot again, but this time, it was as if a prismatic shield had appeared in front of the Borg. The shot didn't even reach the being. The man turned and ran back up the stairs.
As he exited the stairwell one floor up, the man paused momentarily. He glanced around, and then he saw the landing which overlooked the mezzanine. He ran to the railing and looked down.
The mezzanine was only one floor below. He looked again - it was a long way down, but then he heard a sound in the corridors. He looked up and saw a gorgeous red-head with extended lightsaber racing toward him. He loosed a shot - which was easily deflected by the lightsaber. He turned and jumped over the railing.
Sean - Mara Jade - ran to the balcony and looked down. He'd half expected to see the man lying crumpled on the floor. Instead, the man was getting up, slowly, and he started limping across the mezzanine toward the escalator.
Without thinking twice, Sean vaulted over the railing. As he fell, he concentrated on landing upright and softly, and surprisingly, when he hit, it seemed as though he'd only fallen a few inches instead of over twelve feet. He darted after the fleeing man in the stormtrooper armor.
**********
The man dodged and wove his way through the dealers' room. There were many fans in costume, and he seemed to blend in with the crowd. For the first time in what had seemed an hour, he permitted himself a faint smile. They couldn't track him in here.
He heard a roar, and turned with the rest of the crowd. Overhead, a man in silver and blue armor, with a jetpack and helmet, was hovering, scanning the crowd. The man frowned to himself - he'd already dealt with one man in armor. This was getting very old. He turned and walked, slowly and deliberately, toward an exit. He knew he looked out of place, since every face in the crowd was looking up at the hovering Jango Fett. But he had to get away.
As he stepped more quickly toward the door, he heard someone cry out, "There he is!" He glanced over his shoulder and saw four large men, with knobbed ridged foreheads, long unkempt hair, and covered in scaled armor, trotting toward him. The man ducked around the corner and began to run as fast as his twisted ankle would carry him.
He glanced over his shoulders again, and he saw the Klingons giving chase. He paused, and loosed a blast toward the running aliens. The blast hit one, and it halted him mid-stride. But as the man watched over his shoulder, he saw the Klingon stagger, steady himself slowly, shake his head to clear it, and then resume running.
As he hobbled along, the man glanced down at his blaster rifle, and awkwardly because of the gray case under his other arm, twisted a knob. He paused and loosed another shot at the Klingons. This time, the Klingon collapsed and hit the floor.
The man ran some more. The sound of the shots was attracting attention, and as people peeked out into the hallway from the various meeting rooms, he ducked and wove through them, using the curious fans as a newfound shield to interfere with the pursuing Klingons.
The man saw his opening, and he took it. He ducked into the main exit stairway - down to the parking garage. He was close to his escape, and he redoubled his determination to successfully complete his mission.
**********
The man, still in stormtrooper armor, burst through the door into the dimly-lit parking garage. He glanced around to orient himself, then he set out at his best pace toward a row of cars.
From behind a pole, a woman stepped. She had flaming red hair atop her curvy body, and was clad in a dark skin-tight jumpsuit. The man paused, then he halted as the woman drew a lightsaber. It hissed to life as she held it up.
The man shot, forgetting that he'd increased power to his blaster to fight the Klingons. As he squeezed the trigger, too late, he remembered. A look of horror spread across his face at the thought that he might actually harm this woman.
The woman's arm moved faster than his eye could follow, the blade moving with it. It intercepted the bolt, deflecting it harmlessly into the floor. The man saw that she was between him and his car, and as he heard the clomping in the stairwell, he panicked. He shot, again and again and again, but each time the woman easily deflected the shots. And with each shot, she advanced a step toward him. He raised the blaster one more time, but even before he could pull the trigger, her lightsaber moved with impossible speed, and the tip of his blaster clattered to the ground.
The man threw the useless remains of his blaster at the woman, and the need to dodge the weapon distracted her enough for the man to flee. Even as he turned, he heard the door open. Three of the half-human machines clomped through the door, and immediately they began a slow advance toward him. He turned again, to run between the cars. He stopped short - between each car was a Klingon - each wearing a wicked grin and bearing a viciously curved sword, the Klingon Bat'leth.
He turned again, fleeing in the only direction possible - down the other drive. Even as he turned, he heard it. That familiar, impossible roaring whooshing sound. The helmeted figure, clad in a blue jumpsuit and silver armor pieces, landed. He turned again, but before he could take another step, he felt his arms encircled by a wire cable that wrapped around him again and again. He looked up, frustrated, as the metal case fell from beneath his arm. The last thing he saw was a woman with long, straight, black hair, upswept eyebrows, and pointed ears, as she touched his shoulder.
**********
Danni shook her head as she glanced around the room. Mike, her gruff Klingon friend, was their, as was Darla, the Vulcan. Also present were Sean, still changed into Mara Jade, Emily, still in the form of Corran Horn, Anne as Asajj Ventress, Jenny as the diminutive green Jedi master Yoda, and the unconscious stormtrooper agent sprawled on the couch. Danni shook her head. "This is one hell of a mess now." Mike and Darla mutely nodded his agreement.
"Is he ... one of the agents you were talking about?" Sean asked softly.
"Yup," Mike snarled as he nodded.
Danni sighed. "According to the Collective, he's already reported to his superiors. He's late for a rendezvous, so they're probably on their way here."
"Damn," Mike cursed. He spun to glare at Emily and Sean. "See what you've started?"
"Mike," Danni said sternly, "give it a rest." She shook her head. "They didn't know."
"But now the agency knows more about us," Mike protested angrily.
"So now what?" Emily asked softly. "Do you eliminate him or something?"
Darla stared unbelievingly at Emily. "That would be both illogical and highly unethical."
"Replace him?" Mike suggested.
Darla shook her head. "Not again. I will not be party to another identity murder." Though her voice was emotionless, it was nonetheless firm with resolve.
Mike's jaw set with determination. "Agent Q's ... change ... was not an identity death."
Emily's mouth dropped open at Darla and Mike's exchange. She decided she'd have to ask Danni more about it - if Danni would talk.
"But can't you have someone ... impersonate him?" Sean asked as he glanced around the room.
Darla started to speak, but Danni touched her arm to still her. "We had to do that once before. It was not altogether successful. Nor was it ... pleasant."
"So why not just let him go with a box, then?" Emily asked suddenly.
Darla raised her eyebrows, and Mike frowned. "Explain," Danni commanded.
Emily glanced around her group. "Surely this agency already knows a lot about you. And from what you've said, they've encountered these devices before, so they already know something about them. And you said that the boxes stop working after a while."
Danni's eyes lit up as she grasped what Emily was getting at. "So if we give him something that looks exactly like a non-functional box, then the agency will think they won one..." She glanced at Mike. "What do you think?"
Mike shook his head. "I dunno. But it sounds better than anything I could think of."
Darla's eyebrow raised even higher. "Perhaps we could implant a Borg transceiver into the replica box, and then _we_ could learn more about the agency instead of having it work the other way."
Danni smiled. "That's it! I'm going to use the MAU to make a replica box. Darla, can you change his memories so that they're more of a dream? Give him a nice, normal, and uneventful walk to his car so he can make his meeting?"
Darla sighed. "It is preferable to erasing his identity." As Sean and Emily watched in awe, Darla put her fingers to the temple of the agent. In near total silence, she concentrated, her own eyes closing as she focused on the task at hand. Finally, after a few long minutes, she broke the contact and lifted her head. She glanced at Danni. "He will believe that he had a nightmare about being chased by science fiction characters. He will also believe that after he purloined the device, he simply walked out of the hotel to his car, which would not start, thus making him late for his rendezvous."
Mike grinned. "Good." Then his eyes widened. "His ankle! How ...?"
Darla had a smug look on her face - if, that is, Vulcans could be smug. "He will remember twisting his ankle doing down the service stairway, in which he ran to avoid bumping into fans who were also using the stairway."
Danni smiled as she retrieved a case from inside her device. She'd managed to have her device activate, make a clone copy, and stow again, while the others watched Darla and her mind meld. "You think of everything, don't you?" Then she looked at Mike. "Get him to his car, and set him in it. He'll be coming to in a couple of minutes, and his fellow agents will be here very soon.
Mike started picking up the agent, but in his stormtrooper armor, he was not easily held. "Let me help," Emily suggested as she grasped the agent's other arm. Together, they got the agent's arms on their shoulders, and with Mike holding the fake case, they dragged him out the door.
**********
"Qapla!" Mike's voice boomed from the doorway as soon as he spied Danni in the crowded party suite. As he moved toward Danni, he snagged a metal goblet of drink from a tray. "Success!" he cried again.
Beside him, Emily seemed small, even insignificant. Even as Corran Horn, she was shorter and far less physically imposing than the large Klingon. She glanced around the room nervously, looking for Sean and some of his friends. From the assortment of Klingons, Vulcans, and other Star Trek characters, Emily felt even more out of place.
She felt the presence of Sean before she actually saw him. She permitted herself a thin smile; the extra senses of the Force were rather useful at times. Emily gently - she hoped - pushed away the goblet sloshing over with _some_ red liquid that was proffered to her. Judging from the effects that it was having on the Klingons, it was clearly some rather potent drink, and she didn't think getting drunk, or even tipsy, would be a good idea.
"I take it things went well?" Danni asked as Mike and Emily got within earshot.
Mike grinned. "It was close, but I think we pulled it off."
"Explain," Darla's request for clarification was obvious.
Emily smiled. "It looks like they bought it."
Mike tilted back his head and roared as he clapped Emily's shoulder - with sufficient strength to nearly knock Emily from her feet. "Boast of your victories!" He grinned at Danni. "It was a great victory! She helped him 'recover' from his spill on the stairway, and even helped him limp to his car!" He took a great swig of his drink, leaving red liquid pouring down his chin. "She even offered to call for help if he required!"
Danni's eyebrows raised. "Really? What was his reaction?"
Emily tried to shrug modestly. "He seemed quite grateful for the help, and he kept looking at the box. It was like ... I don't know ... he was expecting me to try to take it? Anyway, he got in his car and then his 'friends' showed up."
Darla raised her eyebrow. "Did you observe the reactions of his compatriots?"
Emily nodded. "I saw a bit as I left. I didn't want to hang around and make it seem obvious," she added. "Anyway, they didn't seem to be in any panic or anything."
Sean glanced around the room nervously. "Maybe we should go to our parties," he suggested.
Darla raised her eyebrow. "Why?"
Sean frowned. "Look at them."
Darla glanced around the room, then her eyebrow raised higher. "To what do you refer?"
Sean sighed, and he Danni mutter what sounded like 'Vulcans'. "Look. Your group isn't mingling with our group. It's like ... a standoff or something!" He winced. "You can almost feel an unspoken tension."
Danni nodded a bit. "I was hoping this wouldn't happen. After all, you guys are like us in that you've changed." She shook her head sadly. "I guess ..."
"I said, you have warped taste in science fiction!" a Klingon roared, his words a touch slurred by too much drink. He glared at a shorter, but equally ferocious-looking Darth Maul.
Maul sneered. "It is not wise to insult a Sith!" His hand was ready to reach for his lightsaber.
Danni glanced at Mike, who charged across the room and intercepted the fist coiling to strike at Maul. At the same time, Sean reached his outstretched hand toward Maul, with the result that Maul's lightsaber flew across the room into Sean's outstretched hand.
"Enough!" Danni roared over the growing noise. The effect was electric. If there was any single person who had authority over all the Trek fans, it was clearly Danni. She turned to Emily. "I'm afraid you're right. There's just too much ..." She stopped when she saw Emily's open-mouthed stare across the room, and she followed the gaze.
A green-skinned Orion slave girl was wrapping herself around one of the Jedi, dancing seductively and sensuously. Around him, the Klingons were hooting appreciatively at her dance, although a bit of jealousy seemed to be present that _they_ weren't the focus of the dancer's attention. And not too far away, Oola, the green-skinned Twilek dancing girl was sitting on the lap of a Klingon warrior, laughing and giggling as she shared a sip of his wine.
"Well, I'll be damned!" Sean muttered softly. "Maybe our groups aren't so different!"
"Yeah," Danni said with a soft laugh, "maybe we've discovered a new universal rule of sci-fi. Green skin goes with an overactive libido!"
Darth Maul approached Sean and held out his hand toward the lightsaber handle. Sean glanced at Emily, who shrugged, then he handed it back. "No more fights, got it?"
Maul frowned, but nodded. "Okay." He saw Sean and Emily's eyes widen, and he turned to follow their gaze. His eyes settled on an armor-clad busty Klingon woman looking him over and licking her lips.
"You have a warrior's spirit," she said appreciatively, undisguised lust in her voice. "I may try you." She grasped his arm tightly and pulled him to her side.
Maul's eyes widened, then he glanced at Emily. His face had a frightened, almost fearful look. Emily grinned. "What's the word?" she asked aloud. "Qapla?" She smiled at Maul. "Qapla!" she roared.
Sean watched the exchange, then his mouth opened. "But ... wasn't Denise the one that changed into Maul?"
Emily grinned. "Yup. She always was a blowhard! I'd like to see how she gets out of this one."
Danni's own mouth dropped at the exchange, and then she started laughing. With Mike and Danni wiping tears of mirth from their eyes, they watched as the suddenly helpless Maul was led away by a strong, curvy, and overly-lustful Klingon woman.
"Looks like that Sith Lord has met his match!" Sean noted dryly. He smiled at Danni. "Maybe we aren't so different after all."
**********
Danni shook her head sadly as she looked around the room. All the Star Wars characters were still 'in costume'. "I told you the box would quit working after a short time." She glanced at Sean and Emily. "Are you sure this is the right one? You didn't accidentally give the agent the real one, did you?"
Sean scowled. "Of course not! I double-checked by making sure it worked!"
Danni sighed. "When the device quits working, it quits. Period and stop." She saw a few jaws drop. "Most of the time, someone who is playing with the device gets stuck in one odd form or another."
Maul's mouth hung open. "You mean I'm stuck ... like this?" Maul's body had scratches and scrapes visible, obvious souvenirs from his encounter with the Klingon woman.
Others began to complain, not least of them Sean and Emily now in bodies of opposite gender.
Danni held up her hands to silence the discussions. "I said _most_ of the time." Her words brought a deafening silence to the room. She looked at the box, then she reached her arm toward it. Her assimilation tubes shot forward and merged with the alien metal. For a few seconds, Danni closed her eyes in concentration. Then she opened her eyes and the tubes retracted. She handed the box to Emily.
Emily looked warily at Danni, then at the box. She traced the alien figures on the top, and immediately, the box began to grow, until it assumed its normal phone-booth proportions. Emily glanced warily at Danni, uncertain why Danni was helping them.
Danni smiled. "You - and only you - can activate the device."
Sean frowned. "Why?" he asked simply.
Danni glanced down at the carpet, then at Mike. His questioning shrug gave her none of the reinforcement or encouragement she needed. Finally, she looked back up at Emily and Sean. "Because ... you're good people. I don't know," she added uneasily. "I ... I guess I just ... I guess it's because I like you." She looked down, embarrassed.
She looked up when she felt arms around her. It was Emily - still as Corran Horn - wrapping her in an embrace. "I can honestly say that I think you're pretty cool yourself," she said softly. "And if you don't mind, I'd like to call you friend." She saw the smile on Danni's face, and she reached out to clasp her hand. "But I have one question."
Danni frowned. "Shoot."
"How did that thing make lightsabers? And the Force powers?"
Danni bit her lip. "It involves some pretty heavy Quantum Physics. I'm not sure I can explain it, but I can always get the Collective to help. _If_ you really want to know!"
Emily cringed. "No!" she said hastily. "I wasn't looking for a technical explanation. I was just ... curious." Then she smiled. "And we promise to be careful with them - however they work!"
**********
"Well?" Sean asked Emily as the last of their group filed from the room.
"Well, what?" Emily asked in response.
"You ready to change back?" Sean answered with a question.
Emily nodded. "Yeah. This is fun, but it's time to get back to being me."
"I'm willing to bet that most kept Force powers," Sean speculated as Emily stepped to the side of the box. He shook his head. "I'm not sure I completely understood what Danni said about _how_ the Force works."
Emily frowned. "Something about sensing the electrical and magnetic and gravity fields."
Sean nodded. "Yeah, I know that part. She said they're all around us anyway, and that the Force just gives us a way to sense them." She frowned. "But the Force push? And the other manipulations?"
Emily's brow wrinkled. "Maybe we can control the fields a little bit?"
Sean shrugged. "Maybe. Anyway, it's kind of cool!" He grinned. "Did you see the way everyone stared when I grabbed Denise's - Maul's - lightsaber last night?"
Emily grinned. "Yeah. I think everyone thought the Force was cool." She knew for a fact that most of the group had elected to keep the unique powers. "Funny about Jenny, though. Staying Yoda."
Sean laughed. "As Yoda, she will stay. Good business opportunities she senses. Fun she will have, hmmm?" he mocked in his best Yoda voice.
Emily laughed as well. Then she looked thoughtful. "I feel sorry for Tim. Stuck looking like Princess Leia."
Sean paled at the thought. "Yeah. Do you think he - she - is really pregnant?"
"That's what Danni said. The box won't change someone who's pregnant."
Sean shook his head in disbelief. "It was good of Tammy to stay with him. To become him so they can stay together and all."
"Yeah. Tammy'll make a good dad."
Sean frowned. "It's going to be messy, though. Some people are going to think that Tim left Tammy for a Leia look-alike."
Emily nodded slowly. "Yeah. But they'll get through it. Danni said the Collective can help if they need it." She shook her head. "Turns out they're the ones behind the new OS and business suite. The Collective has more money than they know what to do with." She stepped to the control panel. She saw the thoughtful look on Sean's face, and she paused. "What's on your mind?"
Sean glanced up, then he snickered. "Are you reading my mind?" he asked. He looked down again. "No, I was just wondering."
"What?"
"What it was like."
"What _what_ was like?" Emily started to ask. Then her mouth opened. "Oh. Ohhh!!!" She glanced warily at Sean. "You want to try something ... different?"
Sean continued to stare at the carpet. "Maybe," he said softly. He shrugged. "I guess I might be just a little bit curious." He looked up at his wife. "As long as you don't get me pregnant so I'm stuck."
Emily stared for a long moment, then she grinned. "I guess I'm a bit curious, too. But there's a couple of little problems."
"Oh?"
Emily laughed. "What would you say if I told you I was having a fantasy about a having my way with a large-breasted blue Twilek Jedi?"
Sean's eyes widened, then he started to snicker. "You always did have a way of making our _games_ interesting, my love."
***** Epilogue *****
Agent L involuntarily patted the bandage on his forehead as he waited in the office. Beneath the bandage, the contusion was healing, but he was bound to have a scar. Moments later, the 'senior' agents assigned to work with him came in. He didn't bother to rise; the agency wasn't like that.
D sat down behind his cluttered desk and turned to his keyboard. In moments, he opened a document, while his partner C sat down lazily in another chair. After scanning the document for a bit, D turned to L. "Well?" he asked simply.
L glanced at C, then looked at D. "Looks like we missed it by a few hours," he answered.
"Yeah," C said, sounding more than a bit frustrated.
L heard C's mood in his words. He looked down at his shoes. "If I hadn't tripped, or if I'd have gotten into the room a little earlier ..."
D shook his head. "No accusations," he said firmly. "Just an observation."
C nodded. "We've never been this close before. We're getting better. Eventually, we'll get one."
L shook his head. "Yeah, but _I_ was the one in the field. It's my responsibility."
D shrugged. "If you want to take the blame, go right ahead. No one else is blaming you."
"Besides, you're the first one of us who actually used one of the damn things," C added.
L glanced at the two agents, then he sighed and leaned back heavily into the chair. "Yeah. I guess there's that."
D stared at the computer screen for several long seconds. "Well, I guess we can file this one as closed. We recovered the box, but no-joy on active."
L nodded slowly. "Sounds like a wrap to me, too."
C frowned slightly; he'd noticed something in his partner's tone and choice of words. "We got a new case," he announced. "Pretty sensitive, from what the Director said in the summary." He turned and stared at L, his face impassive.
L glanced at C, and saw the look. He knew what it meant. Cases like these were _always_ compartmentalized. "I think I'll go see what the Boss has for my next case." He stood, and without a glance behind him, he strode from the office.
C reached out and shut the door after L had left. "Something isn't quite right, is it?" he asked bluntly.
D shook his head. "It's all a little _too_ convenient."
C nodded his agreement. "The 'dream' about the chase. The injury on the stairs. And the debriefs and news stories from the convention."
D sighed and sat back in his chair. "Psych gave him a very thorough check and hypnotic memory scan. Everything checked out."
"And that bothers you."
D nodded slowly. "You know the reports. Cybernetic Borg. Star Trek aliens. And now Star Wars aliens and characters. Weapons. Force fields. Blasters. Laser swords."
C interrupted. "They're called 'lightsabers'."
D frowned. "_I_ know that!" he snapped. "I'm not _that_ old!"
C started to say something, then he decided to hold his tongue. After a second, he found another direction. "You think there's too much correlation between his dream and the reports?"
D nodded. "And I bet you do, too." His eyes narrowed as he scanned the file. "You know that these people aren't just your average yokels dreaming of big-chested blondes. These guys are smart. Real smart."
"And?"
D raised one eyebrow. His partner was starting to think like he was. And that was both good and bad. "It seems that there are two groups. The Star Trek guys, and this new group of Star Wars people. And I think we better watch both these groups."
C nodded grimly. "You know," he observed quietly, "we might have better luck with the new group. They haven't had their ... toy as long."
D narrowed his eyes. "Good point. We'll have to ask the boss to assign an agent to it."
"Not L?"
D shook his head. "His cover is blown." He looked at his computer for a few seconds as if the display would help him collect his thoughts. "He's a rookie. He's making rookie mistakes. And with these groups, we can't afford that. They're too smart."
"I see your point. The boss'll probably give him something simple. Like the hunting group. Or that logging camp." C sighed.
D nodded his agreement. "He'll probably do okay on the simple ones." He glanced at the computer again. "In the meantime, we're going to have to open up some new case files," he said. "How many weird Star Wars aliens are there running around out there now? How many more after the _next_ convention?"
C laughed. "This could be one _thick_ case file." He clicked his computer and saved the files. "Let's go get a cup of coffee. I have a feeling we're going to need it."
FIN