Message-ID: <11498eli$9805221909@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: Citizen@GalaxyCorp.com (Citizen) X-Good-Line-Length: yes Subject: {Leeson}"Under the Moons of Eden" ( MF tg ScFi ) [2/4] Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <356e5550.21942667@mail.mindspring.com> UNDER THE MOONS OF EDEN Copyright 1996, by Christopher Leeson (Send notes and comments to cdl25@usa.net) Chapter 4 *Full fathom five thy father lies; Of his bones are coral made; Those are pearls that were his eyes: Nothing of him doth fade But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange.* THE TEMPEST One card game went a long way toward healing the problems that had existed between Sebastian and me. Sebastian popped in again the next day, but this time it wasn't to play poker. "Pvt. Hitchcock is pregnant," she announced bluntly, and with a straight face. I don't know why I should have been, but for some reason I was dumbfounded. "Are you sure, Doc?" "Even an army doctor could diagnosis this, Rupe. Believe me, I know the scans of a pregnant woman." "How did it happen?" "In the usual way. And it must have happened a couple weeks before she went off with the detachment." "Roberts?" She nodded. "That fool! I'll --" "Easy, Rupe. Hitchcock asked me not to let you go off on Roberts. This sort of thing has to be expected. Put men and women together in a subtropical paradise and, abracadabra, you get babies. It's called the facts of life." "This is insane! It's against the rules!" "Rupe, has it ever occurred to you that we've been writing new rules every day?" "Of course, but for crying out loud -- a baby! Well, it can be fixed, I suppose. No doubt Hitchcock will want an abortion." "I'm not so sure." "What do you mean?" "It was a very confused young woman who left my office a little while ago. She needs time to sort this thing out. She has to talk to the father, of course, and those two don't need a commanding officer putting his two cents into the most important conversation of their lives." "I have responsibilities, Sebastian!" "A mother and a father have responsibilities, too, and they're important ones." "What are you driving at?" "I'd like you to go slow on this, Rupe. You've got to understand the kind of emotional bond which those two have. Roberts found Hitchcock at the lowest psychological hell that a person can sink to and helped to make her a complete human being again. Looking back, I don't find it all that surprising that they did what they did." "What would you recommend then?!" I inquired annoyedly. With all my other problems, I didn't need Sebastian acting like the garden-variety know-it-all woman. She grimaced thoughtfully. "I think the best thing is to do nothing for a while. Roberts and Hitchcock are going to be padding through hell for the next few days at least, even if you don't get on their case." "Damn! -- Who would have believed that this was going on? -- Or do I sound too naive?" "We were both naive. I'd been thinking all along that transformation was just a physical thing. Now I'm not so sure." "I don't like the sound of this, Doc." "Do you think I do?" She looked me right in the eye. "-- Rupe, do I seem different to you." I gave a short laugh. "You sure do! You look --" "I don't mean the way I look. Do I behave differently." "I don't know. You've been through a lot. You're still Sebastian. I know that much." "Well, I hope I am. But I've been thinking things lately that I'm pretty damned sure Sebastian wouldn't be thinking." "What?" "Like, for instance, about how nice some of these yard dogs around here would look in formal suits." "Hormones?" I suggested lamely. She shrugged. "I'm wondering if I haven't become my own anima - - emotionally at least." "Forget it, Doc. There's obviously a lot more in your head than tuxedos." "Yes, but what if there's been a kind of overwriting of certain files in our personality, while the rest of the program stays the same? What else could explain a guy like Hitchcock accepting a male lover so quickly?" "How do you explain Roberts then?" She shot me a painful grin. "If it looks like a duck, talks like a duck, walks like a duck. . . ." All I was getting was another headache. "I hope you're wrong," I said weakly. "I really do." "I wouldn't be surprised if this thing doesn't go way beyond just Hitchcock and Roberts." "We can't let that happen!" "Don't over-react, Major. It may not be so bad." "Not bad? This is an army camp! Can you imagine having it full of babies crying all day and all night! Soldiers tied down caring for them?" She shook her head. "What are soldiers for, Rupe, except to protect the families back home, and make the world safe enough to have children of one's own? I had a family, and it frankly kills me to think that I'll never see any of them again, especially the kids. If you ever tried raising children yourself, you'd know that there's a lot more to babies than just crying. There's a magic in every one of them like you wouldn't believe. And, anyway, the situation is only temporary." "What's temporary?" I asked, dreading her answer. "Babies grow up to be men and women. Just think of them as future recruits." "This isn't funny!" "When we stop laughing, we're going to go crazy, Rupe. How can you prevent it? -- And do you really think that we should?" "I don't follow you." "There were families before their were armies. There were communities before there were military camps. And the world got along just fine in those days." "We call those days the Old Stone Age, Doc! Anyway, we're not a community. We're -- Oh, hell, I'm out of my depth. I'd like to knock some heads, but I've never hit a pregnant woman in my life!" She leaned forward resolvedly. "We have to talk to the men, Rupe -- the men of both sexes -- let them know that from now on actions have consequences. If they're going to be choosing up partners and having children, they'll have to take responsibility for them." "That's a quagmire, Doc. Go too far and we won't be a military unit anymore. And what good would be we after that? Couldn't I just forbid all sexual liaisons instead?" "That's like forbidding alcohol or stimmers at an army base. You know how much good prohibition does when people really what or need something. And here you're talking about an addiction that's a little older than alcohol, and a whole lot older than stimmers." "What about contraception?" "No got. I suppose I can do tubal ligations and vasectomies, but don't expect me to force anything like that on an unwilling patient -- And, really, the problem will probably take care of itself in a couple months. Considering our rate of transformation, there soon won't be anyone left to ---" She couldn't miss the look that came to my eyes. "Sorry, Major." # I decided to treat Hitchcock's condition as a medical problem and wait to see how things shook down. Meanwhile, I called an assembly and had Dr. Lowry explain the newly-discovered problem. Then I stepped in to warn the troops that sexual relationships were not to be recommended because they carried important and very long- term consequences with them. It was like one of those critical moments in history that changed the outlook of entire civilizations. I could tell from the troopers' reaction that none of them had been entertaining the remotest thought of parenthood. The women looked thunderstruck, while the men looked mostly irritated and cheated. The next day, shortly after the noon mess, Harold Roberts stopped by my quarters. It was as if he had decided it was his duty to let me know -- as if he needed to -- that Klink still had more than a few surprises in store for me. "Sir," he said stiffly, "I'd like permission to marry Pvt. Hitchcock." That threw me for a loop. "Are you trying to be funny, soldier?" I queried with a frown. "No, sir! Mary -- I mean, Mark and I --" "Mary?" "It's a nickname, sir." He shuffled uneasily. "It doesn't feel right calling the girl in your arms Mark." "I suppose it's not very romantic, either." He swallowed hard and went on: "As I was saying, sir, Pvt. Hitchcock and I have talked it over and we think marriage would be the best thing." "Best for which one of you?" "Best for the child, of course, sir!" "The child?" There was no child; at least not yet. "May I speak freely, Major?" I threw up my hands. "Please!" "Sir, in a couple months I might be a woman myself. But I'm a man at the moment and -- well -- I want to be the sort of man that I was brought up to be. That means doing what's right. I think I'd be able to live with myself a whole lot better afterwards if I did the right thing now. And, besides, I'd like to have a son -- or daughter -- with my name. It's probably my only chance to be a father." It was his sincerity that kept my reply moderate and measured. "I can almost understand your reasoning, soldier. But no one here has the authority to perform marriages." "Begging the Major's pardon --" Roberts began hesitantly. "Yes?" "I mean to say, sir, that -- that it seems to me that we're really some sort of community all of our own. If any small town back home can elect a justice of the peace who can perform legal marriages, why can't we do the same?" There was that word again, "community." "We're not a community, Private," I reminded him testily, "and we don't have elections!" "I know, sir, but I was thinking that you could -- appoint someone." I paused, trying to make head or tail out of the whole crazy situation. "I suppose we could improvise almost anything, if we had to," I adjudged. "But would our actions be deemed legal and valid under the laws of the Alliance?" "Sir, it seems to me that the Alliance has its problems and we have ours." So we did. "I think I'd better talk to -- Mary," I said. # I went over to Hitchcock's barracks afterwards and found her with several of her transformee friends. "At ease," I told the girls as they threw themselves into attention. Then I inquired of the pregnant private, "How are you doing, Hitchcock?" "Very well, sir." She sounded a little shaky. "Would you like to sit down?" "No, sir, I'm fine. -- Just a little nauseous now and then." "I see. Do you know that Pvt. Roberts spoke to me a few minutes ago?" "Yes, sir." "How do you feel about -- his idea?" Her glance dropped. "It's my idea, too, sir. But I suppose it does sound a little strange." "You could -- terminate -- instead," I suggested, with as much tact as I could summon up. The girl jolted. "I -- I don't think I'd like to do that, sir." "Many in your position would, soldier." "I'm sure that's true, sir." "I'd not trying to make you do anything you don't want to," I assured her, "but are you sure that you know what you're getting into?" "No, sir, I really don't. But now that this thing's happened, I guess we'll have to just try and make the best of it." "You have to think about your own welfare." She shook her head. "It isn't just my welfare that's important, Major. Hal has a stake in this, too. He stood by me and helped me when I really needed somebody. I owe him something." "Do you think you owe him a baby?" "Well, sir, it's not really my choice anymore. The baby is coming. Anyway, I always thought that I'd like to have a of couple kids someday. If I'm still going to be a parent, this is the way it has to be. Isn't that right, sir?" "I suppose it is," I conceded flatly. "There's just one thing I've been concerned about." "Dr. Lowry should be able to meet your pediatric needs," I assured her. "No, it's not about the care, sir. It's about milk." "Milk?" "Yes. Babies need lots of milk. We don't have any and -- well, that could be bad." The room was very quiet for a moment, then Marduke's laughter pealed raucously. The other women caught on to the joke and they joined in. "What's so funny?!" demanded Hitchcock. "I don't want my son to starve to death! It's not like we've got a herd of cows around here!" "We'll have at least one cow!" cackled Marduke. "That should be enough." Hitchcock still didn't seem to get it. My headache was coming back, and so I decided to retire and leave it to Hitchcock's ho-ho friends to cue her in in their own good time. I bade them all good- bye and was glad to be out of there. I returned to my hut and sat down behind my desk, wondering if I dared to let the men of the 54th start marrying one another. I knew damned well that it wouldn't stop with just Hitchcock and Roberts once the ball started rolling. I would have had to be a psychiatrist to properly lead the Group through all of its mental and emotional chaos. But I had been trained as a soldier; that was my whole life and the only thing I knew. I had no ready answers for the questions which were cropping up every day. And besides the new uncertainty, there was always the old certainty -- that soon we would have two more disappearances. In the morning we'd have two more --- # So tired. I reached out to steady myself against my desk, but my arms groped empty air -- there was nothing in front of me. I realized at that instant that I was lying on my back. I opened my eyes. The ceiling seemed to be turning broad gyrations. What was wrong with me? Had I fainted and fallen to the floor? No, that wasn't it. My groping fingers told me that there was a cot under me. Someone was approaching from one side. I blinked hard; my vision was fuzzy. I could only make out a white coat. "Rupe," she said. Sebastian. "Take it easy, Rupe. We'll get you through this." "Through what?" My voice had sounded thin and resonated strangely in my chest cavity. My hand went to my throat, but instead of the Adam's apple and familiar bristle, I found soft, taut skin like I hadn't felt there since my early teens. Terror shot through me; my hands leapt to my chest -- and they found what I didn't want to find. And then I screamed! I sprang up, intending to run -- God alone knows where to -- but mercifully I blacked out and fell back across the cot. When I next came to, Lowry had her arms around me. "Easy, Rupe! Easy! It's not as bad as it seems. I've been there. I know." "Lowry --!" I mewed but couldn't bear to hear the sound of that alien voice coming from my larynx. I turned my face away, knowing that Lowry could do nothing for me. There were no cures for this. Transformation was forever. "It's not so bad," Sebastian reiterated. "It's a little strange at first, but you can beat it. People are beating it every day. And you're a fighter, Rupe." I shifted again, and looked up at her. "If you want to shout or swear, it's all right," Lowry was saying. "Don't hold what you're feeling inside or it'll floor you. Cry if you want to. Get those emotions out. You were a human being before you were a commanding officer, Rupe. There's no reason to be ashamed." "Were?" I echoed, choking the word out crosswise. "You're still our commander!" she corrected herself hastily. Then the shrillness of her voice tempered a little: "And you're more than that. You're my friend. You can depend on me for whatever you need." I turned my face into the pillow again. Was the universe mocking me? Sebastian was saying that I could depend on her, without her knowing that she couldn't depend on me. Was this my punishment for being such a shabby friend, shabby man? Was this my --? I suddenly realized that the two of us were not alone. Drew was moving about the room, tending to the other patient. Yes, there were always two patients. I didn't want to know who it was this time. I couldn't take any more. Suddenly, as I lay there in Lowry's arms, I began to wonder what I looked like. None of the other men had become ugly, of course, but I dreaded seeing my face all the same. My trembling fingers went to my cheek where a thick strand was tickling me and grasped a tuft of strange-feeling hair. It was very long, even though I had worn it cropped short just that morning -- or what still seemed like that morning to me. I pulled a lock in front of my eyes, so I could get a look at its color and texture. I gasped. It was black, not my natural sandy brown. And it was a veritable mass of ringlets and corkscrew curls! I screamed again, then realized that Lowry was hugging me to her breast. I didn't want to be held that way -- it wasn't the way one man should hold another -- but I couldn't focus enough to tear loose. Now the Terrible Thing had happened. Now what was left of my life? The answer had to be, "Nothing." As Sebastian cradled me, one burning question tormented me. Why had this happened? Why had the all-powerful, all-knowing intelligence that haunted Klink done this to me? Why would it put its godlike power so determinedly against just one miserable human being, and why would it wish to waste its incomprehensible omnipotence in the act of destroying a single insignificant nobody? "Why?!" I cried. Then darkness overcame me once again. # I dreamed that I was standing, frozen in place, with my back to turned against the night, aware that an immense void gaped behind me. I couldn't run from the abyss, nor even turn about to confront it. I heard nothing, saw nothing moving, not even a shadow. I felt no breathing on my neck, but I knew something was there, so close. And then, and then. . . I awoke, feeling wasted, hung over. Then I recalled my last awakening and the horror of it came surging back. I touched myself frantically, hoping that everything that I remembered had only been part of the nightmare I had only just escaped, but -- but -- Lowry gave my wrist a firm squeeze. "Rest is the best thing for you right now, Rupert. I know how tough it is, but we'll have you up and around in no time." "No -- no. . . ." I managed to mumble. I didn't want to be up and around. I wanted to escape into the darkness, to plunge into the abyss, to live, and die, alone, unseen, unremembered, my bones gnawed to nothingness by scavenging animals. I wanted to have no grave -- nothing at all to remind those who had once known me that Rupert Breen had ever existed at all. Lowry left me momentarily and returned with a bitter drink, which I at first rejected. She was not to be refused, however, and so I obligingly forced it down. Then the doctor remained faithfully by me, until I fell asleep again. # "What are you doing?!" Lowry demanded as I pulled on my oversized britches. "What does it look like I'm doing, Doc? I've got to get back to work!" "You'll do no such thing! You're not ready." "You were back at the grind in three days," I reminded her. "That was stupidest thing I ever did. It almost killed me. It'll kill you, too!" "I don't need a mother hen." "You need rest and time to cope. Yell, cry, scream, beat your fists against the wall, but don't pretend that nothing has happened! Let Capt. Philbrick run the camp for a while." "What you're saying is that I've got nothing left to give anymore." "No, that's not it at all." "Where does the copping out stop? What happens when Philbrick becomes a -- ?" I couldn't say it, not even now. "Then someone will step in for him. Hopefully, it will be you." "It will be me -- and it'll be today!" "Oh yeh? What are you going to do when you crash? And believe me, if you try to fly this soon, you're going to crash hard." "I'll be fine, Doctor. Now get off my back!" "You're the walking wounded. You're a basket case and you don't even know it." "I know what I need to know!" She shook her head. "Psychologically, you're on thin ice, Rupe. In a day or two, certainly in less than a week, it's going break and you're going to go down -- deep. Good God, don't you think I know what I'm talking about!? Have you forgotten what I almost did to myself?" I shrugged. "I've still got two arms, two legs, one head. What more do I need?" Sebastian caught my sleeve. "Rupe, don't do this. I can help you. Hitchcock and Marduke can help you. Captain Ames is ready to do what she can, too." For myself to be ghettoized with the transformees was the last thing in the universe that I wanted. It would be like being put into a zoo. "Am I supposed to start making furniture with Pvt. Hitchcock for my commander?" "You thought it was good enough for Ames --" "It's not good enough for me! I'd rather be dead than be a laughingstock!" "You think you can take it? Well, let's just see." Lowry picked up a mirror from the table behind her. "What's that for?" I asked, just as if my friend were holding a pistol to my head. "If you're really on top of this thing, let's see if you can look at your own face without breaking into a cold sweat." I shivered inwardly. I remembered a time just like this one, when I was a kid and my cousin had brought a horror comic home from the strip mall. It had a cover that terrified me -- the picture of an earthman turned into a hideous mutant. I couldn't look at it. Whenever I closed my eyes that ugly cover was all that I could see. The next day my mother wondered why I was being so difficult about going over to my uncle's place. When she dragged me over there, all I wanted to do was stay down in the kitchen. I certainly didn't even want to go up to my cousin's room, where his new comics were lying face up on the dresser. Joe was a smart guy and it didn't take him long to figure out what was spooking me. Joe was a jackass at that age, and he wanted to see me get scared and start to cry. For a joke he forced me to go up to his room and took me right over to his dresser for a look at the comic. I controlled my fear instead and looked straight down at it while betraying nothing, as if I didn't have a clue to explain his -- Joe's -- strange behavior. I simply said, "Yeh, what?" Maybe I had successfully shucked him. Maybe he wasn't so sure now that he had read the situation right -- and since he couldn't get a rise out of me, he immediately let the subject drop. Between sports and girls, he had better things to do than psychologically torture a six-year old. But for years afterwards I would only probe his box of comic books warily when trying to find something to read, unwilling to be confronted by that awful picture. Even when I became a teenager the sight of it still repelled me. "Give it here," I told Dr. Lowry, taking the mirror from her hand. I had steeled myself to disassociate myself from whatever I would see. It would be somebody else's image, not mine. The glass reflected a clear, pale Celtic-type face -- aquamarine eyes full of suffering, a slender neck, and heavily ringletted black hair. It was The Face for certain, the face of the Nameless One. The stranger's mouth was a pinkish bow, its lips like something from a cosmetics ad. The nose was small and just slightly upturned. "Yeh, what?" I remarked, as if Lowry acting was out of her tree. "Bullshit!" she said # I kept dressing. Not even my last belt notch would hold my pants up, and that was unsettling. What had Shakespeare said? "Now does he feel his title hang loose about him, like a giant's robe upon a dwarfish thief." Why was that quote ringing in my mind? I was no thief. No pretender. What I was I was by right. Pretense had nothing to do with it! "At least let Drew go along with you," pleaded Lowry, "in case something happens." "What could happen?" I asked irascibly. "We could lose you, Major, we really could." "Doctor, I need to get back into my routine or I'll --" I rephrased that: "I just need to keep busy -- especially now. Anyway, the men need to know that their C.O. is well and on top of things." "But you're not!" Ignoring that, I started toward the door. Just then I suffered an attack of anxiety. Was Lowry thinking about invoking her medical authority to relieve me from command? Because she was my friend, doing that would be an act of incredible treachery. I couldn't trust that she wouldn't go that far, and so I walked swiftly outside before she thought of it. Once in the open air, my confidence did not immediately stiffen as I had hoped it would. Instead, I was suddenly afraid that my men wouldn't know who I was, that I would have to explain by right I supposed that I could command them. But the brutal fact was, and I had not gone far before I realized it, that everyone knew exactly who I was. They were all looking at me, especially when they thought I couldn't see. I felt like Klink's newest monster every time I returned a salute. "Tuong," I addressed the Korean-born sergeant in my path, "where can I find Captain Philbrick?" He seemed embarrassed to be speaking to me; his almond eyes darted to the left and right, but refused to fix squarely upon me. "In his quarters, I think -- sir." That stumble at the word, "sir" and his nervous glance hit me hard. Nonetheless, I tried to ignore both the stare and the stammer, and turned off toward the row of officers' huts. I found Philbrick conferring with the lieutenants Stokes and Evans. Ames was there, too, of course. It was as much her hut as Philbrick's. The officers snapped to attention. "At ease. Report, Captain Philbrick," I said. "What's happened over the last three days?" Philbrick replied with worried eyes which, like Tuong's, tried to avoid looking directly at me. "No more word from the detachees, of course -- sir." There was that damnable stumble again, but the captain hurried past it. "Perhaps Dr. Lowry mentioned that Pvts. Brouwer and Marietta were -- transformed -- the day after Gonzales and --" "And me? Yes, go on," I told him stiffly. "And yesterday it was Petoska and Bakshi. That makes 237 transformees our of a current muster of 475." I was more interested in the nervous flutter in Philbrick's lids. There was an expression of qualm in the faces of Stokes and Evans, also. I sensed that they all would have liked to have me gone immediately, like a family rejecting a disgraced member. Ames' expression bothered me most of all. What was she feeling? Pity? Was she jealous that I still presumed to command while I had kept her on suspension for so long? Was she smugly satisfied? Did she think of this as my deserved comeuppance? Suddenly, the air of the cramped space and left me short of breath. My shoulders began to shake. "Major -- are you all right?" queried Philbrick, raising his hands to almost, if not quite, to take me in hand to steady me. "Of course!" I barked, or tried to -- to my own ears my reply sounded more like a shrill piping. I stepped away from him. "I need to rest. Carry on, Captain." I turned to go. Ames pursued me to the door. "Major Breen?" Turning with gritted teeth, I muttered: "Captain Ames?" "Sir, is there anything that I -- that I can do? Would you like to talk?" "I don't know what you mean, soldier," I replied rigidly. She looked like she might have had a good deal to say, but my icy warning glare must have persuaded her to keep mum. "I mean -- nothing, sir." "Very good," I nodded -- and left. ******** Chapter 5 *When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself, and curse my fate.* SONNET XXIX Once back in my quarters, I opened my log book to jot down the names of the new transformees, but suddenly realized that I couldn't remember who they were. Try as I might, I just couldn't organize my thoughts. It was an appalling feeling, like being high on stimmers. As I sat there in the grip of a kind of mental confusion, my hands began to tremble. I dropped the pen and, trying to pick it up again, I just kept dropping it, until it rolled over the edge and fell to the floor. At that point I gave up and rested my head against the tabletop, drawing deep, ragged drags of air. "Excuse me, Major Breen." I looked up. Drew was looming in the door. "Come in, Private," I whispered hoarsely, sitting back and hiding my quaking hands under the table. "Dr. Lowry's asked me to look in on you." "Lowry should have more important things to worry about," I grumbled. "I don't think so, sir." "Are you trying to be impudent, soldier?!" "No, sir. I only mean that it's her duty to give our commanding officer all the attention that he deserves." "Then why didn't s--, the doctor -- come here her -- himself?" "I assume that she, -- he -- feels that you might feel more comfortable if your attending medic was --" "Was what?" "A man." That suggestion stung, but I didn't know why it should. "All right, go back and tell Dr. Lowry that you saw me, and that I was perfectly fine!" I wanted very much to get rid of Drew; the shaking of my hands was worsening. Did Drew realize that? He seemed to be watching me uncertainly. "Is there anything else, Private?" "It's just that neither the doctor nor I think that it's a good idea for you to be alone for the next few days." "Are you volunteering to be my suicide watch?" I asked coldly. "With your permission, sir." I threw my log book at him. "Get out of here!" Drew dodged, cast back a worried glance, then withdrew. Instantly I regretted having lost my temper. Drew would report me to the doctor! It would look bad, and she might not understand to what degree I had been provoked. It might give her just the excuse she needed to remove me from command, make me a patient, a virtual prisoner! I struggled for breath. The walls seemed to be closing in. I opened my collar, sucking in rapid breaths. My head began to throb. I grew nauseous, weak. I staggered to the empty rations drum that served for my nighttime chamber pot and, since I had had little solid food for three days, what I vomited up was mostly regurgitated water. The worst of the nausea soon passed, but when I could finally stand up I was still very unsteady on my feet. I thought about going to the infirmary, but I didn't want Lowry to see me in such a state. Another part of me wanted someone's -- anyone's -- company, but a C.O. wasn't supposed to lean on any subordinate. Also, I hadn't been there for Lowry when she had needed me, and so now I was stuck all alone. My headache wasn't getting any better. I put a couple tablets of LWI into my mouth and crushed them between my teeth. The bitter chemical started me choking. I staggered to my canteen and guzzled down a couple mouthfuls of water. That ended the coughing and I managed the few necessary steps to my bed, falling into it like a stone statue. I drew a towel over my eyes to shut out the bright noonday light of Klink, hoping to sleep. Instead, I lay in a semi-trance for what seemed like a long while. Then I heard a tapping at my door. As I raised my head, it felt hot and tight. "Come in," I gasped. "Major Breen!" Philbrick blurted excitedly. "One man has disappeared!" I couldn't understand his dramatics. "We expected it, didn't we, Captain?" "Sir -- only one man has disappeared -- not two!" "One? Are you sure?" "I've taken roll! Every man, every transformee, has been accounted for, except Culligan." "Why only one?" I mumbled. "I don't know, sir! Do you suppose it means something?" For my answer, I let my head sink back into my pillow, and lay there in silence until he gave up and stole quietly away. # After a nearly-sleepless night, I rose and joined the searchers. We soon found the feminine incarnation of Marcus Culligan -- who had become the look-alike of a younger Lola Carlita, a Latin sex-symbol who was roasting the air waves back when Culligan must have been a hormonal teenager. But never before had only a single new transformee been made in a day, and any change in the pattern we knew and hated could mean something significant. Lowry had no theory. Disappointed, I said something sharp and angry. "This just isn't like you, Rupe," she replied with an even temper and with what must have been compassion in her eyes. "You're driving yourself too hard. Take a break." I didn't want sympathy. It was like salt in an already painful wound, so I stormed out of the infirmary. But as I did so, another fit of shaking came back suddenly and, afraid of being seen, I hid myself in a grove of trees until I bucked up. I had to keep busy, to carry on despite my nervous condition, so I decided to inspect Capt. Komisov's work on soil and water testing. The officer filled me in on his men's latest analyses, but it was clear that nothing too interesting had come up since the last time. Maybe that was why I let my mind wander, grew confused over details, and kept asking the same questions over and over. Komisov began to look at me strangely. I grew angry. Why was everyone staring, treating me like something strange? Mine was only a physical change, not one that affected the person whom I was. Half the camp had already suffered what I had suffered, so why did they still gape at me alone? They'd all be women themselves in a few weeks, and it would serve them right, too! I stalked back through the center of camp, ignoring people who tried to address me. There were transformees all around, turning my way. What were they thinking? That I was like them? Well, I wasn't! And what about the men? Why were their expressions so strange? Did they believe that for some reason I was unfit to command? Damn them! The trembling started to come back upon me again, and so I started to walk faster, trying to retreat into my hut before anyone noticed. This time I couldn't reach my bed before I collapsed to the floor like a marionette with its strings cut. I crawled to the cot, covered my face with a pillow, then curled up into a fetal position. "Major!" someone shouted. I opened my eyes and cast away the pillow. It was later. Much later. The sun was sagging low in the west. Philbrick again. "What is it now, Captain?!" I asked blearily. "The disappearances --" he babbled excitedly. "Who now?" "No one, sir! No one at all!" # I called all my officers in. Transformation had nearly halved our staff, except that Ames and Lowry had come out of trauma and returned. Of my captains, Philbrick and Komisov were still sound, but Tritcher was in bad shape and suspended, and my senior subordinate, Crawford, was absent, his fate unknown. "What does it mean?" I demanded of no one in particular. "It may be that the enemy has simply decided to cease his attacks, sir," conjectured Komisov. "Why? We're as helpless as ever! This process has been as predictable as a machine up until now. Why the change?" "I've been thinking, Major. . . ." Lowry began. "Oh, so now you're thinking?!" I mocked her gratuitously. She ignored my insult and continued evenly: "The transformation yesterday brought us up to exactly 50% women and 50% percent men, with the odd individual going over to the female side -- Culligan, I mean." "Yes, yes. . . !?" I said, wanting her to get to the point. "Yesterday there was only one disappearance yesterday, and so far there have been none today, though they are hours overdue." "So what are you driving at, damn it?!" "Maybe whatever intelligence or force has been assailing us is satisfied with us having a sexual balance of 50- 50 --" suggested the doctor. "Why?!" "It's just an idea but -- "But what?" "I can only guess." "So what's your guess?!" I demanded in exasperation. "It might be that unisexual communities are taboo on this planet and so it -- or someone on it -- changed the proportion to suit his own taste." "This isn't a community! We're a military camp!" "Yes, sir," Sebastian humored me. "But an alien mind with godlike powers might not have seen that that should make any difference. Then, again --" "Then again what?!" "Then, again, this sexual balancing act might have been intended to prepare us for some specific purpose." "We've been speculating on that since the start!" "I'm suggesting, sir, that there may be some -- function -- that a -- group -- half male and half female might serve -- one which a group either all-male or all-female couldn't satisfy." "What purpose?" "I was thinking about Roberts and Hitchcock." "I don't follow you, Doctor." "It's possible that we may be expected to become a breeding population." "Shit!" # I accompanied Sebastian back to the infirmary, half mad with frustration. If I had only been able to keep winning the transformation lottery for just three days more, I would have still been myself! The odds had been seven out of two-hundred and forty- five in my favor, and I'd lost! I'd lost it all, and I'd lost it forever! "Major -- Rupert -- you don't look so good." Lowry observed tactfully, placing her hand lightly upon my shoulder. I didn't like being patronized, so I pushed it away. "So, let's get to the point, Doctor! You think that this could be some sort of breeding experiment?" "It's just a guess, like I said." She gave a bitterly-brief laugh. "Call it woman's intuition." "Lowry!" "Ease up, Major. There's nothing much to do except try to keep up our morale and make more scientific observations." "We have to show the enemy that we're not going to be guinea pigs for any of their fucking experiments!" "I like the way you phrased that," she noted with a doleful smile. I balled my fists. "Can't you ever be serious?" She shrugged. "Sex has to be absolutely forbidden," I pronounced. "I still think your theory is a crock, but we can't do anything that the enemy might interpret as cooperation." "Prohibition won't work. At least not for long." "In this case I think it will." She shook her head. "In a few more months, with loneliness and sexual frustration building up, with the women reconciling themselves to their fate and the men feeling more secure --" "What are you trying to say?" "I'm saying that pairing up is going to look like the path of least resistance --" "Damn it Lowry --" My voice cut off. "Major, what's wrong?" I had started to shake all over -- and this time, blast it, Lowry was right there, taking it all in. It was bad; very bad. I sank down to my knees, covering up my eyes. I saw spots; the air took on a shimmering texture, until I covered them up. The next thing I knew I was in bed, fighting to get rise. "Lie back, Rupe! You blacked out. You're not well!" "Like hell I'm not!" This time I managed to slip around her and scramble to my feet. Sebastian stood back a pace, her mouth tight and her glance fixed. "I've been derelict, Major. I've let you subject yourself to these pressures despite your condition, and you obviously can't take them. You need rest, you need quiet. You have to take leave from trying to solve the problems of the whole outfit." "Don't say any more!" "I have no choice but to relieve you for medical reasons, Rupe. I'm going to have to tell Philbrick that he has to take over command until you're back on your feet." "I'm on my feet already!" "Face the facts, Rupe! You're wound up so tight that your spring is about to break. You changed into your own favorite sex fantasy and it's driving you crazy." "Don't call me crazy, Doctor!" She paused. I sensed the wheels turning behind her worried, fashion-model face. "Are you willing to take the mirror test again." "Are you still on that kick? Go ahead! I could look at myself all day, because I know the face I see isn't mine and it doesn't mean a thing to me." "It's your face -- and it'll be yours for the rest of your life. And if you're still pretending otherwise, your disconnection from reality is even worse than I thought." She placed her hand behind my back and nudged me. "Come on," she coaxed, leading me to the infirmary "mirror" -- a polished metal sheet hanging on the wall. "Look," she said. I didn't want to look, but I had toughed this rubbish out once before and trusted that I could do it again. Confronting the reflection, I saw the Nameless One again, and only for the second time. She was a mess! -- her hair in snarls, her complexion sallow, dark rings under her eyes, her expression like a beaten dog's. That big cap slouching on her head looked ridiculous. Her sloppy, over- sized uniform was no better. "If you wouldn't let yourself go, you'd be a lovely woman," observed Lowry with a hint of acidity. "Don't say that!" I rebuked her angrily, turning half-away from the mirror. In reply she clamped her hands upon my shoulders and made me face front again. "She's really a very pretty woman, you know. But what's she like under the skin? I think you know. Tell me what makes her tick." "That's none of your damned business!" "Maybe I can guess. Is she into filmy negligees and hot tubs? Bikinis and volley ball at the beach? Scandalous doing in ski cabins?" "I said --!" "I know what you said, and you're not being honest! Tell me what you know about that girl." "I don't know anything. She doesn't exist!" "If a dick like you dreamed her up, then she must be good for only one thing?" Furious, I tried to tear away, but Sebastian grabbed my arm and twisted it behind my back, giving me pain. "Lowry! Are you nuts?!" "You're going to keep looking at yourself until you can talk calmly about who and what that girl is, or until you admit that you're not fit for command." I could have slammed my boot heel into my tormentor's shin and broke her hold with an elbow in her ribs, but it seemed a crazy thing to come to physical blows with my attending physician. Even so, I was feeling another fit of panic coming on. I closed my eyes. "Come on, Rupe, describe her. Can she carry on a conversation, or is she one of those airheads? What does she wear to bed? Does she suck cock?" "What are you doing, Lowry?!" I gnashed. "I'm just introducing you to yourself. You two are going to be shacked up together for a time, so you'll going to have to start accepting one another." "Damn you, bitch!" I began to struggle in earnest and the doctor did her best to hold me in a wrestler's lock. I didn't want to hurt Lowry, but I had to stop her mouth, stop her from talking about things that I couldn't bear to hear. "Lowry, let me go or I'll kill you --" "Sure! And you're just crazy enough to do it, too. That's why I can't let you go on this way, Rupe. You're already a danger to yourself; you could become a danger to other people, too." With a shriek, I put my foot against the wall and pushed away from it suddenly, throwing her back. She fell against a table and I whirled, ready to tear at her with my bare hands. But I didn't see the scornful face of a taunting foe, just the stunned and worried look of a physician who knew that a desperate, improvised treatment had failed. But what sort of treatment had it been? "I'm sorry, Rupert," she began haltingly. "Sometimes you have to rebreak a fracture to set it right --" I wasn't listening anymore. I was no longer driven by a violent impulse, but I was beginning to tremble and my breathing came hard and rapid. I had to get away. I staggered to the door like a drunken man, then stumbled outside. "Rupert! Don't go!" Lowry cried behind me. I walked swiftly away, and it was only the crumbling rags of my dignity which prevented me from running wildly. When I was out of Sebastian's sight, out of everyone's sight, I did start to race away, blindly. Where I was running to I didn't know, until I saw the foot of Woolenska's Bluff up ahead, and realized exactly what fate my legs were carrying me to. # Somehow I climbed the rocky incline -- clambering on all fours sometimes. I didn't even see the way ahead; all I could see was the face of a snarled-haired girl with circled, aquamarine eyes. I tried my strength to its very limit -- the strength of this woman's body that I was trapped in. From time to time, sheer exhaustion forced me to lie belly-down upon the sun-heated stones to catch my breath. Whether such pauses were long or short, I wasn't aware. Then, my lungs burning, my limbs aching, I would rise and press on again. I found myself high above the camp as I stared blearily down the stony slope. The camp looked so small, so orderly from my perspective, like rows of toy huts in a child's sandbox. I was possessed by a strange detachment. What was the camp to me anyway? Just a place. The camp was no one's home -- certainly not mine. I looked up into the powder-blue sky, piled high with cumulus clouds like ice-cream castles. Where was my home? Where did I belong? I had no home. I had only a place, a job. A duty. Without my place, without my duty, I was nothing. If I died this very moment, who would care? A foolish thought. To the 54th Major Rupert Breen was already dead. He had lingered on where he didn't belong, like Jacob Marley's ghost. But unlike Marley he didn't have anything wise to say, he had no gift to give those whom he left behind. It was time to lay the ghost, to go where the dead belonged, I understood. That was for the best, really. Let no one fret over my grave. Let no one be sorry that I was gone. I worked my way up the incline and, finally, dragged myself onto the table rock at the summit of Woolenska's Hill. I was utterly spent, my lungs aflame, my breath coming in hot pants. I shoved a mass of greasy snarls out of my face and rested my forehead upon the warm stone. This damnable hair! It was always falling into my eyes, tickling my throat and cheeks. I should have cut it off. Well, the length wouldn't matter in the tomb. Suddenly I felt ashamed. Was I going to kill myself? Others had found the courage to endure -- Ames, Lowry, Hitchcock, Marduke. Was I like Woolenska, giving up, or Olson, too distraught to reason? Was I a coward? Warm teardrops pattering upon the dirty hands upon which my chin rested. Tears! I could die, and gladly, but not as a weeping, hysterical woman! My thoughts were like the meanderings of a dreamer. I shouldn't have given in to pity for myself, because pity didn't lighten my grief. Lowry had reached out to comfort me, as Drew had, also, but my pride couldn't accept compassion. My body again shook, but this time with hard, choking sobs. I rose to my feet at last. All around, as if I suffered from vertigo, there whirled trees, bushes, boulders. My legs were still weak and aching from the climb. I had demanded much from this woman's body, but now my demands upon it were over. I understood what I must do now that I had arrived. Sucking a raw breath into my famished lungs, I staggered toward the overlook -- -- the overlook from which Herbert Woolenska had launched himself into eternity. . . . ******** Chapter 6 *Would I were dead! if God's good will were so; For what is in this world but grief and woe?* KING HENRY VI, Part III As I inched closer to the brink, I sank down to my hands and knees. Why did I bother? Was I afraid of falling to my death? What else had I intended? But the will to live is a terrible, tenacious thing, and it takes all of human will to suppress it, even for a moment. I took one more look at the world just then, supposing that it would be my last. Wild rock pinnacles and forests rose up as far as the eye could see, the hills and ridges stretching jaggedly to the horizon, dwarfing the little bluff to whom Woolenska had given his name. The familiar earth- and vegetation-colors were softened by the progressive hazing of the distance, making the landscape resemble a painting by some nineteenth century master. Pushing myself up to a kneeling position, I gazed down at the jagged rubble upon which I would soon fall, blinking away the blur of my saltine tears. I regarded the graveyard with its two tiny markers behind the rows of barracks, the ground where Olson and Woolenska already lay -- and where I, too, must lie tomorrow. Strange thoughts suffused my mind -- Would the living pass my resting place with just a shrug, or would there be someone who would pause over it from time to time, perhaps blaming himself for my death? I hoped not. No one was to blame -- except blind fate, and my own lack of will to live. Tears cast a veil over my sight and mucus filled my nose. I wanted to live, and I wanted to die, but I could do only one. I could not go back, and neither did I desire to explore what lay ahead. My emotions, pent up for so long, now ran from me in a wild torrent. I sank to the stones, lying belly-flat against the ledge, cradling my head upon my forearms. I sobbed, perhaps from the simple grief of life's pain, perhaps at the much more complex grief of leaving it. # Suddenly, behind me, I heard the crunch of gravel. "Easy, Major," said a man. "Don't move." I glanced back. Drew! I gasped at the thought that he should see me so -- my face wet, nose running, eyes red and swollen. The medic looked rough himself, though, sweat-soaked and winded, his stride slow and lame, as if he had come from very far away without pausing to rest. "Be careful, Major. Please. Come back from there. It's a long way down." He was talking to me almost as if I were a child -- or a woman! Again I felt the wild impulse to throw myself over the ledge, and so looked back at the dizzying drop. Drew inched closer, fearing that any sudden move on his part would make me take wing like a frightened pigeon. "Don't come any closer!" I warned. He paused, then extended his hand to me, a hand gray with calciferous silt, and red where he had cut his knuckles while climbing. "That's an order, solider!" I yelled. Lowering his arm, he contemplated my figure with a bitten lip. "Then you'll have to come to me, Major Breen," he said in compromise. "Return to the camp, Drew. I want to be alone." "I can't. Dr. Lowry told me to bring you back. She says you're not yourself and that I should disregard your orders if you won't come." "Lowry has no such right!" "Of course she has the right, Major. It's for your own good." Frustrated, I retreated a few additional inches toward the precipice. "Don't, sir! Don't do that!" "Lowry's the one who's not herself!" I accused wildly. "Please, Major. There's no disgrace in what's happened to you. We only want to help." "How can you help? By making me a prisoner?" "We just want to keep you safe until you can think things over more clearly. There's no reason to die." I flared, angry with myself for stooping to argue with a mere private. The flood of adrenaline gave me the strength to stand up. I swayed precariously over the edge --- "Major!" Drew ejaculated. -- but then caught my balance. "Leave me alone!" The medic moved a step backwards, obligingly. "All right, sir. We'll both just stay where we are and talk." I searched his anxious blue eyes, trying hard to find mockery in his address of "sir." "Let it go, Drew," I said, almost whispering. "I've sunk too low. I can't bear the disgrace of it." "It's not a disgrace. No one can help what he looks like." "That's Psych 101 talking!" "No, it's only a soldier talking to his commander -- a man whom he regards and respects." I was no commander, I was no man. I couldn't make a private obey my simplest order. I had lost my authority. I had lost my place. I had lost my identity. And, all together, it was the same as losing my life. I shifted my weight in the excitement of the moment. Doing so, my foot slipped . . . . . . . .and then there was nothing below me except empty space. . . . # With an action more rapid than thought, I caught hold of a tree root that projected through a fissure. I held on for all I was worth, while my legs dangled over a bottomless void. I saw my personal biography as a projection upon the blank screen of my inner eye, like a thousand fleeting snapshots of defeat and futility. I looked up in desperation and saw Drew's arm waving above me. "Thank God!" he shouted. I said nothing, too mute from shock. He was reaching down toward me, but his grasp came up at least a foot short of my clinging hands. "I can't reach you where you are, Major. You'll have to climb higher!" My thoughts raced. I could prop my feet against the rock face and spring upwards. That would give me a few more inches -- but if Drew missed me, I was bound to lose my one-handed grip. I would have only that one chance, a chance lasting only a second, before I fell to my death. . . . Time seemed suspended ; my mind roiled. I wondered whether I should accept Drew's offer, or let my existence end as I had originally intended. Death had suddenly become so easy, almost as if it were Old Grandfather Time extending loving arms to me. I might simply relax my grip and let Death catch me; even Drew would not be certain whether I died by my own choice, or fell. I need not bear the infamy of suicide, and yet escape the mocking daily existence which my life had become. "Major -- please," the young man was pleading. "You have so much to live for. Can't you see it?" No, I didn't see it, but for some reason I found my toes bracing themselves against the rock, and myself making a desperate leap, an all-or-nothing toss of the dice that meant life or death -- -- And Drew's strong fingers locked with incredible strength around my wrist. # I was amazed how he could hold me, forgetting for an instant that my weight had recently been reduced from nearly a hundred kilos to only about some sixty or sixty-five. But the soldier could gain little purchase upon the ledge, so he resorted to scuttling backwards on his belly, like a sun-warmed lizard, using whatever irregularities the stone offered for leverage, but mostly depending upon friction and his greater weight to support me against the inexorable force of gravity. Being dragged over the rock hurt my breasts, but when my belly, legs, and finally my toes were drawn up over the lip of the precipice, I knew for certain that I was saved -- that I had returned to life, like a lost soul reincarnated -- but could any human being have felt less joy for it? Releasing my wrist, the young trooper swung about to my side and carefully turned me over on my back. "Are you hurt?" he asked concernedly. "You shouldn't have --" I stammered. "I had to." I closed my eyes. Drew had done his job. He would have done no less for any other human being, even a felon condemned to die before a firing squad at sun-up. "I want to help you, Major." My eyes began to burn, and so did my nasal cavities. I couldn't speak. "If you feel like crying, that's all right, sir," Drew assured me, his tone doctor-like. "There's a lot of pain inside you, I know, and this is the best time to let it out. No one can see or hear you up here." I didn't want to do anything unmanly in front of a witness, but my life had become such a twisted, unrecoverable wreck! Drew squeezed my hands empathetically for a moment, then to my surprise, scooped me up into his arms and carried me to the shade of some small trees, where he eased me to the ground again. Before I realized it, my cheek was pressing against his shoulder and my arms were wrapping themselves tightly about his neck. Now I broke down utterly. "I don't want to be like this," I heard myself saying. "I know," he whispered. "I wouldn't either, but we'll get you through it. You can count on us." After a while my sobbing ceased and my breathing came quieter, more even. "I'm a woman --," I choked, trying to understand what that meant. "Yes you are, Major," Drew replied with a low, thoughtful tone. "So what are you going to do with the rest of your life?" I was taken aback by such a question. "I don't know," I stammered. "Of course you don't, sir. But sometime soon you'll know, and then you'll be all right." I shook my head. I couldn't be all right. Never again. # When I tried to squirm out of the young soldier's grasp, he let me go. "We should climb back down," suggested Drew. "Do you feel strong enough to walk?" "I don't want to go back," I said, still unable to look him in the eye. "You have to. The only other place you can go is over that ledge, and I really wouldn't want to see that happen." "All right," I said, fatalistically. Drew helped me to my feet, watching me carefully, gauging my strength. "Good, now let's go," he coaxed. Then, with me steadied by his strong hands, we descended the slope. Many times I had to stop to rest and sometimes Drew was practically carrying me. By the time we reached the bottom I was so used up that he actually did take me up into his arms once more and tote me along. I couldn't even protest, so exhausted, so despondent was I, but as we neared the grove which was the last barrier screening us from the full view of the camp, I got anxious. "Let me down! I can't let them see me like this!" He complied at once, and I was relieved to find that my legs felt fairly firm once they touched the soil. "Are my eyes red?" I inquired hastily. "No, they're quite --" Whatever his intended observation might have been, he dropped it. "Drew, please," I asked, as one person merely asking a favor of another, deliberately not trying to make it a command, "don't tell anyone what I almost did." "I have to tell Dr. Lowry." "Yes, but nobody else!" "It'll be our secret," he promised. # I avoided looking at the men -- and the women -- along the way to my hut. How much did they know? That I had been seen racing for the hill like a lunatic? That Drew had to be sent to bring me home? I would lose all respect if it ever became known that I had nearly committed suicide. Drew put me to bed. I grew drowsy and, very quickly, slept. When I woke up, Lowry was seated beside me. "We've got to stop meeting like this," I murmured. She smiled. "If you can tell jokes after what you've been through, Rupe, your prognosis is excellent." "Excellent, sure," I said without much enthusiasm. "I'm alive, but what kind of life is it going to be?" "That's what I still ask myself every time I wake up in the morning," the physician grinned. "When I stop asking it, I'm sure I'll be dead." When I didn't reply, a new thought crossed her brow like a dark cloud. "Rupe, I'm as sorry as I can be. I never should have talked to you the way I did. -- At least not without a couple of husky orderlies on hand to keep you from running off." "It's all right. I suppose shock therapy is the least that I deserve." "What do you mean?" I looked away. "If I told you, we couldn't be friends anymore." She put her hand upon the blanket covering me. "That's not going to happen, Rupe. Whatever's bothering you, it can't be so bad. I know you. You're probably the most decent -- person -- in the service. I'm proud to know you." "You must have met some real scum buckets then." "Buddy, what is it?" I swallowed hard. "I let you down." "Me? When? How?" I told her. I don't know why I had to tell Lowry my secret at just that time, but it was something I needed to do. I had to let her know exactly what sort of person I was before she did anything else decent for me. She had grown silent; I looked up at her, thinking that her face was paler than usual. But there was no anger in it, just a kind of bruised look. "Neither one of us are very good in the feelings department, are we?" Sebastian observed softly. "I guess not." I reached out and touched her hand. "Can you forgive me?" "Look, Rupe, I've made mistakes, too -- like making my best friend and most important patient suicidal. I'd say that we're about even." I shrugged resignedly, knowing that what I had done had been far worse. "Now, cheer up," she went on. "What's happened -- what's happened to both of us -- is damned strange, but I don't see any reason why it has to be terminal. It's mostly a lifestyle problem, and at least we're not alone in it." "No, we have a whopper of a leper colony here." "Hardly that." "Can't we just go on as if it hasn't happened? Do we have to make a big thing out of sex?" "Sex is a big thing, Rupe. Wait until you're having your first period. Wait until you look at some soldier and start thinking --. Well, never mind, you get the picture.." "You're still doing that?" "I'm afraid it goes with the territory, but I'm trying to control it. The important thing for one's self-respect is not to give in." That's right, don't give in, I thought. Chastity wasn't so onerous, after all. Monks did it. Anyway, I couldn't imagine myself ever being attracted to a man, despite Lowry's experience to the contrary. I'd probably end up a lesbian instead. What a fate! I changed the subject: "Doc, you'd better be off. I don't have the right to keep you from your work." "You're part of my work, Rupe! There's no way I'm leaving you unattended after so serious a crisis." "Then I'm stuck with you, I suppose. Say, how long did I sleep? Are there any new problems today?" "That's none of your business," she said with a smile to reassure me. # Two days had passed with no new disappearances and Lowry's prediction seemed to be bearing out. If her theory actually held water, I realized, our whole situation, our whole future outlook, had changed -- radically. "Maybe we have a chance to reverse this thing," I ventured. "If someone wants Klink to have a half-and-half population, it might work in the other direction, too. If we put all the women together maybe they'll start reverting!" Sebastian's brow wrinkled dejectedly. "I've thought about that, too, Rupe. But even if it did work, it would be like trying to lengthen a blanket with a strip cut from the other end. It doesn't get us anywhere. If we're going to be 50-50 no matter what we do, what's the difference which half is which? What we have to do is make sure that there are no new transformations. We've got a tall enough order just surviving on Klink without all this distraction." "I suppose you're right," I replied glumly, though it certainly seemed no small matter to me just then which half of the human race I belonged to. "We'll have to make sure that no men are ever isolated from female association for very long. We've got to look over our records and estimate about how far out a man can go from camp before transforming -- What are you grinning about, Doc?" "It sounds like women are going to have a lot of power on this planet. If they don't cooperate, welcome to the sisterhood!" I shook my head. "Women's power is always an illusion, Sebastian. It only exists when men refuse to use force. That means you have to make nice-nice to the guys." "Haven't you heard of those old-time matriarchies?" "Sure, I've done some reading. Matriarchies are a crock. They never really happen. Men will always rule, Sebastian, whether the rulers are courtly knights or street gangs." "Sounds pretty grim." "It doesn't have to be. You just have to zero in on the best qualities of manhood and reenforce them. That way you get a knight and not a hoodlum. It's a child-rearing process." "Well, we can't be knights, Rupe, so where does that leave you and me?" "I don't have a clue," I admitted. "Anyhow, I'd rather think about something else. What Philbrick said?" "What about?" "About relieving me, damn it!" "Philbrick understood." "Oh, he'd understand, all right! He knows a nut case when he sees one." Then I took a deep breath. "-- Okay, now that I have no duties, no responsibilities, no conceivable function in life at all, what am I good for?" "We'll just have to play it by ear," she said. ******** Chapter 7 *There is something in this more than natural, if philosophy could find it out.* HAMLET Transformation trauma was a roller coaster. Sometimes a person was up, but most of the time he was so far down that he wished that he were dead. Any death-wish is dangerous and so, because Drew and Lowry couldn't watch me all the time, they brought in others -- usually Halder or Cotts -- to pick up the slack. During the worst of it, I could barely get four or five hours sleep on a good night. The depression I felt was like a physical ache, permeating every corner of my body -- and an interminable, grinding despair, the fear that life could never again be meaningful, purposeful, or even tolerable. I was asking myself endlessly: "Who am I?" "What am I?" "Why am I living?" When I was feeling more or less up, as I sometimes was, I could at least read. Unfortunately, worthwhile material was scarce, outside of Drew's book of Shakespeare and Lowry's Bible. Before long Sebastian was encouraging me to get off my back and begin a regimen of daily walks. I don't remember much about those first excursions, except that it was always an ordeal just to place one foot in front of the other. I was always accompanied by someone to look after me, since it wouldn't do to have Major Breen climbing Woolenska's Hill again. As my spirits improved, I could once again enjoy playing cards with Sebastian. Whenever we felt like making it a foursome, we brought in other players, usually Drew and Ames. The blonde captain, when she was around, did her best to be my friend, but something -- maybe our respective ranks or our past association -- proved to be an obstacle to intimacy, especially for me. The camp seemed to operate smoothly. I had given Philbrick to understand that I expected him to run it as best he saw fit. I assured him that I wouldn't be allowing anyone to come to me and try to go over his head. He nodded without any specific reply, but I knew he appreciated my pledge. As he gained confidence, Philbrick took to directing the camp in his own distinct style. He early-on made some decisions that wouldn't have occurred to me -- decisions which, in fact, I probably would have rejected. I had pretty much run things by the "Book." That wasn't because I was an unimaginative martinet, but because I wanted to give the Group a sense of stability, a center, a focus. The Book wasn't perfect, but it at least let everyone know exactly where he stood. Philbrick, on the other hand, was an experimenter. His most noticeable change was the relaxation of the uniform requirements. Because we had no clothes to fit the women, he set up a committee charged with prescribing ways to make the transformees' clothing more comfortable and utilitarian. Before long, the transformed troopers were cutting away extraneous material, such as those floppy, dragging pantslegs and over-long sleeves. Cutoffs suddenly became a common sight. Off duty, women were even allowed to go about clad in just shirttails and drawers. To my mind, the latter fashion made them look like b-girls. Even though the change in the dress code gave me new concerns about discipline, I did not bestir myself to intervene. Capt. Ames, who had chaired the uniform committee, of course seemed to approve of the new dispensations. I suspected that she had even influenced Philbrick to authorize them. Philbrick was, after all, Ames' hut mate, her long-time friend, and even -- I had cause to suspect -- her current lover. I wondered about that last possibility sometimes and didn't think that it served for a good example, but I neither confronted them with the subject nor sought for gossip. At least one innovation which I approved of was the design of a new sort of footwear. Mr. Chesterton, one of the fleet techs, got the idea of stripping the Carodite insulation sheets out of the now- useless drop pods and cutting tough soles for shoes from it. With the addition of straps fore and aft, the space-farer produced sandals which were many times more comfortable than the oversized army boots that we had been condemned to clump around in beforehand. # I was now wearing the new sandals for my daily exercise. All along Drew had been my most frequent suicide watch and companion upon these walks. Very quickly ours became more than a strictly professional relationship, although fraternizing with a serviceman ran against the very Book that I valued so highly. But, if the truth be told, rank can be a mighty lonely thing. If one ever needed to abandon ceremony, now was the time. It may seem ironic that I should let someone like Drew get as close to me as I did, especially since he had been the one with me up on Woolenska's Hill. The young soldier, like Lowry, knew my weaknesses, knew my breaking point -- and a person usually isn't comfortable being around someone who knows his limits. But, on the other hand, it may be that our relationship wasn't so unlikely at all. Part of being a friend is letting down the mask, of admitting that you have shortcomings, failings. While this was something that I had the greatest difficulty doing in front of my officers, something about the medic's manner, or his personality, encouraged me to open up. Anyway, I had to have help from the "inside" or I felt that I couldn't cope. Over a couple weeks I gradually accepted that Drew's offer of camaraderie was solid and genuine, not merely a suicide watcher's duty expressed artfully. For his part, the medic seemed to gain confidence that I would not suddenly do an about-face and start treating him like an orderly. We began talking about our respective background -- him listening attentively to everything that I told him, and I repaying the compliment. I learned that Drew was from Missouri and had attended the University at Rolla, where he had studied pre-med. He was well-read and sorely missed his library of English-language literature back on Earth. He also enjoyed classic songs, many of which he had memorized. It turned out that it never had been Drew's intention to be a professional soldier, and he had been unenthusiastic about being drafted straight out of college. Previously, he had looked forward to attending the University of Illinois in Chicago -- there to specialize in prostatic surgery and research. Now his goal was to learn as much advanced medicine as he could from Doctor Lowry. I laughed suddenly and he asked me why. I explained that it was only because I was suddenly able to recognize one of the few advantages of being transformed: I would not need to worry about prostatic problems in my latter years. As the days passed, we became quite chummy. I even persuaded Drew to sing some of those old-time songs of his -- such as "Venus in Blue Jeans," "Graduation Day," and "A White Sports Coat." He had a strong, melodious singing voice and I grew determined, if we ever put on the company show that I once envisioned, to try and get him to perform in it. We shared a love for Shakespeare and we talked over the idea that I had once had of staging a play. He suggested that I would make a good Portia. I demurred; I was no actor and, personally, I never had liked Portia as a character. "The Merchant of Venice" seemed to go sour at the point where Shakespeare let Portia carry her hoax upon Shylock too far. Harsh as his intended vengeance against his merchant-rival had been, Shylock had at least stayed within the letter of the law. Portia's impersonation of a justice, though, was clearly a felony. In the Twenty-First Century Americans had fought their second revolution against a condescending, hedonistic, and undemocratic elite class, and, especially, their power base in an out-of-control judiciary. History's bitter lessons had taught us that the greatest threat to democracy, Assies included, was the Ivy- League-schooled man or woman in mandarin robes. Anyway, Drew was amused by my literary criticism and said that if I didn't like Portia, the second best role for me had to be Doll Tearsheet. "You idiot!" I cried as I slugged him in the arm, and we shared a good laugh. Afterwards, reflecting, I realized how unwise I had been to let a private get away with such a liberty. As my strength and confidence returned, my walks became more purposeful and I no longer suffered from headaches or shaking spells. Relieved of routine duty, I was anxious to contribute something nonetheless. For some reason, perhaps stemming from the long agricultural tradition in my family, I grew more and more preoccupied with the discovery and cultivation of Klinkian edibles. Our emergency rations would last for about another year, I estimated, but what was a single year when we were facing old age and death upon Klink? I encouraged Lowry and Drew to devote as much of their time as possible to testing what the foragers found as potential food substances. The foragers had also been honing their hunting techniques, making snares, deathfalls, and experimenting with bows and arrows. The meats of many of Klink's mammal-like and bird-like animals had proven nutritious, though one family of rodent-like creatures seemed to have a peculiar and disagreeable gastric effect upon humans. Local plant matter was, as on every world, tricky. We lacked test animals (at least any with Earth-evolved physiologies), so while Lowry's or Webb's tests might screen food for toxins (also taking careful note of what might turn out to be useful chemical substances), we nonetheless had to begin a series of human experiments, starting with the consumption of very small amounts of plant matter under close observation. We had some sickness, and sometimes what seemed to be allergies, but no fatalities. # After about an Earth month in my transformed shape I seemed to be spending more days "up" than "down." Dr. Lowry gauged my recovery rate as very good, though I realized that it was nowhere as swift as her own had been. I wondered at that. Possibly Sebastian had possessed more spiritual reserves than the rest of us, or maybe it helped that she had started out as the least macho man in camp and so had less far to fall. Nevertheless, my constant harping on the future problems of the camp convinced her that my mend was well under way. I actually was giving the subject a lot of thought. It seemed clear that we would soon have to turn our major attention toward establishing a viable agriculture. Pulling that off successfully was a daunting prospect. We didn't even know what to select for crops. Lt. Webb, one of Komisov's best technicians, had been pursuing a course in soil conservation in alien xeno-ecosystems before he was called to active duty. Such skills as his were now precious to us. Faced with nothing to fight, we soldiers had little choice but to become good farmers. Like old Roman heroes, we had to hang up the sword and get behind the plow. But first we had to reinvent the plow. About that time Lowry discovered another pregnancy, this time Pvt. Logan's. I took the news without undue excitement. I had recommended measures to curtail sexual relationships between the members of the unit, but no one had stepped forward to endorse the idea. Now, at least, it was up to others minds to solve such problems. As it happened, Philbrick chose to merely reiterate a new version of the advisory which Lowry had earlier authored. It just wasn't enough and we all knew it. Interestingly, Logan, like Hitchcock before her, was not actively considering termination. It was her own business, naturally, but I worried about the viability of the 54th as a military unit -- even as a mixed unit of men and women -- if we became saddled with a large number of children. Speak of army brats! But I had other things to keep my mind occupied -- like my first onset of bloody cramps. I hated the discomfort and the mess but what could one do except sigh and bear it? Between babies and periods, it was small wonder that feminine psychology always seemed so strange to a man. I asked Lowry if she had anything that could stop a person from menstruating, and she recommended pregnancy. I didn't ask twice. # I had been sleeping, and I awoke covered in sweat, agitated by an erotic dream. For the first time in a dream of mine I had not been a man, but a woman. More than that, a woman with a man and. . . . -- oh, hell! But even waking up didn't make me feel right. I felt a craving, as palpably real as hunger or thirst. I found myself getting up from bed, not even bothering to dress. All I had on was an oversized T- shirt hardly long enough to keep me decent as I hurried outside into the bright moonlight without understanding why. The night breeze did exactly nothing to cool my ardor. Where was I going so swiftly? What was I looking for? Had I been more myself I would have taken greater heed of the strange chaos in the camp. I saw some women dashing about, chasing men, or being chased by them, including Sgt. Gold, who, I saw, was entirely naked. I saw Philbrick struggling with Ames in front of their hut. He broke her grasp and shoved her into the hands of another man, who held on fast to the out-of-her-mind captain as she kicked and swore. Philbrick, once disentangled from Ames, started bawling orders to everyone within earshot. I wasn't listening; I was like an addict searching for his substance. I thought I was going crazy and knew that I had to fine Lowry. But as I ran barefooted into the infirmary I found myself face to face not with the physician, but with Alan Drew. "Major!" the young medic blurted. "Have you seen the doctor?! She was acting like the other women, then she ran off. She's --" Then he gave me a hard stare. Perhaps my wild, feral look alarmed him. Only now did I finally understand what I had been seeking and -- panicking -- I turned on my heels and fled from it. # But Alan followed after me at a swift jog. The medic was gaining, his stride longer, his breath capacity greater. Suddenly my bare foot came down upon something pointed and, with a cry of pain, I stumbled to a stop. Alan was on me instantly, gripping me as if he thought that I was about to try suicide again, though I had only wanted to be alone -- alone to wrestle with my personal demon. I fought to get away, but before I realized it, I was struggling not to escape but to hold onto him. "Major!" he gasped, "What's happening to you -- to all the women?!" I released a moan, an incoherent growl. I wanted to feel him, to explore his hard muscles, his Apollonian angles. . . . While he was doing his best to control me, I realized that I was fantasying rape! I gave out with a cry of dismay when I realized what I was doing and collapsed to my knees. "Major!" Alan exclaimed, taking me by the shoulders and raising me up, holding me so firmly that I could neither come closer nor pull away. "What is it?!" he demanded, sounding angry -- as men always do when they get excited. "Hold me," I whispered. "Maj--?" "Hold me." His face, lit by the moonlight, was aghast. "What is it?" he asked. "What?!" I pressed my cheek against one of his hands. The strength that I now sensed in Alan Drew was like rose perfume to a honey bee. That thought sent a hot rush through me, which left me breathless. But I needed more than just to be held; I wanted relief for what was an acute torment -- and knew how this man could give it to me. "Make love to me," I rasped. "Major!" "I need it -- Alan. I'm going mad!" "There's something wrong!" he exclaimed. "We've got to understand it. We can't just give in." "I can't stand the torture!" "You have to, Major. You're strong!" The night breeze, sweeping my tear-streaked face, was chilly, but it didn't douse the fire within me. "At least kiss me!" "It's not what you want!" "I know what I want!" He looked at me, intense, unyielding, his grip hurting my arms. "No, you don't." # "I order you!" I shrieked. Alan gritted his teeth and shook his head. "You can't give that kind of order. Come back to your hut with me." Powerlessness! I hated it. I sobbed, then struck at him with my small balled fists. He ignored my paltry blows and, as he had done before, scooped me up into his arms as if I were weightless, to carry me back the way we had come. I pressed my body against his as he bore me along, planted kisses upon his shoulder. Alan endured my advances and, in my state, I was deluded enough to think that he was actually enjoying them. My body began to tremble with the anticipation of the two of us alone together. I started to kiss his face and, holding me the way he was, he could do nothing to make me stop, other than by shouting at me. There were plenty of other shouts and a great deal of movement around us, but I was beyond caring. Nothing was real anymore, nothing except the clutch that enfolded me. I was almost out of my mind, but I was self-aware enough to grasp that the way I was acting was destroying our friendship. What could Alan feel for me from this moment on except contempt? I ceased my demented assault upon him and collapsed into myself, the loneliest and most forsaken of all human beings. My escort had veered from the direct route to my hut and now I heard the liquid rush of the neighborhood stream bubbling over the smooth rocks of its bed. I looked at the water in puzzlement. I cried out in vain as he submerged me into the creek, as if into a therapeutic bath. How I struggled, and how uselessly. There was no way to resist. I was numb and shivering when he finally drew me out. I clung to him more fiercely than before, needing his warmth. Muttering something I couldn't understand, Alan carried me to my hut and set me on my feet next to the bed. I staggered, but he steadied me, then began helping me peel off my T-shirt. I stood naked in front of him and, despite my frigid dunking, it aroused all over again, though more arousal was the last thing that I needed. He took one of my shirts down from its peg and dabbed the excess water from my gooseflesh. He stepped around me then and pulled back the blanket on my cot. Instantly I dove beneath it, shivering violently. Then Alan covered me up and tucked me in. Recovering from my chill gradually, I watched Alan taking off his own wet things. The sight of his bare pecs, so classically Greek, was like food set before the gaze of Tantalus in Hades. "Can I use some of your clothes?" he queried evenly. "Y-Yeh," I chattered, "anything." He selected a shirt and pair of pants. Seeing him in my clothing struck me profoundly for some reason. How well they fit him, and how poorly they fit me. I found myself fantasying again. In the dreamlike shadows of my hut, Alan became the important officer, while I was only the nameless girl he had brought home from some bar. He would join me in a moment, I imagined, use me hard, unsympathetically, then, in the morning, when I tried to get close to him again, he would push me away indifferently and press a little money into my hand -- I pressed my face into the pillow, afraid I was going insane. I had betrayed Alan! All that had been good between us was ruined, lost. I had offended, disappointed, demeaned him with my groping. From now on we would only be medic and patient, officer and trooper. Our friendship was dead, killed by the madness that had taken hold upon me in my sleep. I was so unhappy that I hid my face under the blanket and fought down my sobs. Perhaps to help keep me warm, perhaps to comfort a patient, Alan sat down on the edge of the cot. "How are you feeling now, Major?" "Awful. Forgive me." "There's nothing to forgive." I turned my head, looked up at him, wanting to reach out, but not daring to do more damage. He put his hand on my shoulder, as if to say that I wasn't alone. Encouraged, I slipped my hand out from under the blanket and took his. He didn't pull away, so I lifted his fingers to my lips and placed a light, plaintive kiss upon them. . . . ******* -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----