Identity Crisis
By Itinerant
Edited by Amelia R.

Author's Note: For Bob Arnold's Stardust site

**********
Essex Junction, Vermont
February 15, 2005

*CRASH!*

Sulfurous cursing rang through the not-quite-soundproofed walls of the office after the sharper sound of falling equipment.  Despite the closed door and floor to ceiling walls, the words from inside were clear to anyone who cared to listen.

Several heads shook in dismay from nearby cubicles; this was the worst outbreak, so far, but the occupant of the office had been getting more volatile with every passing month.  No one could quite recall the first incident anymore, as the escalation had been so gradual that it was only recently the situation had stepped up to a truly worrisome level.  Last month, just after everyone got back from Christmas break, wasn't so bad for a change; now, in mid-February, it seemed as if the calm had only worsened the storm that followed.

A couple of minutes later, a calm, familiar, and very welcome figure walked to the door and entered.

*****

Blood oozed slowly from a shallow cut on the heel of Allen's hand, but it was ignored as he slowly clenched his fists in frustration and despair.  The shattered remains of the telephone lay in splinters on the floor.

~What's wrong with me?  It was just a stupid phone call, just like dozens of others.~

The man knew he'd been more irritable of late; even a long weekend of hiking in his beloved mountains no longer relieved the tension from his job.  It still helped, of course, but rather than returning to work refreshed, alert, and anxious to attack the problems -- a joyful business warrior -- he was still tense, tired, and more focused on the next day off than the work of the day.

He had dropped into his chair, and buried his head in his hands, when he heard his door open and close.

*****

Barbara Jordan -- her mother had named her to honor the congresswoman -- sat down in the more comfortable of the chairs in front of his desk.  She wasn't a tall, slender model; she'd had three children, and had seen too many years behind a desk for that.  Her face, and her brown eyes, reflected her calm spirit.  As division manager for three years now, she'd come to know the man before her.  His keen mind and insight had been a sturdy support for her as she'd built her part of the company into one of the fastest growing in the country.

The last year, though, had been a parade of incidents.  Each one had been small when taken by itself, but they were building into a situation that had called the safety of the man and his co-workers into question.  All she could see was the top of his gray-haired head; the fists that braced him, though, were eloquent in their testimony to his internal anguish.

"What happened this time, Allen?"

He raised his head up to look at her, and she almost wept at the pain that glowed from his bloodshot eyes.

"I ... don't know, Barb.  It was a nothing call about a problem that took two seconds to fix.  And then, after they'd hung up, I just ... Oh God!"

Allen's hands had begun to relax for a moment, before the memory of the call's aftermath dropped him back into an emotional black pit.

"Allen, you haven't taken any time off in the three years I've been your supervisor, and I know you hadn't taken any vacation time for at least a year before that!"  She caught his eyes with her own as he looked up again.  "I also have discretion to grant paid leave of absence.  Take your accrued vacation, and I'll add enough paid leave to give you the rest of the year off.

"You're too good a person for me to watch you go completely to pieces.  Talk to your doctor -- even a counselor if you need to.  Our insurance will cover it."

Barb stood and walked to his side.  "Get yourself sorted, Allen.  This job will be here when you get back."

*****

A month of medical tests revealed, to a completely unsurprised patient, that Allen was showing signs of long-term stress; nothing in his history or current condition seemed to point to any physical problem.

The counselor was no more help than the physician.

~How revealing! I'm *stressed.*  Four sessions, and the best she can say is that I'm stressed.~

Had he been pressed, Allen would have admitted that he had expected no more.  He'd decided that, if there were no medical problems, he would drop out of society for a while.      For years he had hiked on trails throughout the Green Mountains, but hadn't had the time to live out the dream of walking the Appalachian Trail from end-to-end, a true thru-hike.  Several friends in the Green Mountain club had done so, and they had offered to help with arranging contact points and supply drops along the way.

Perhaps three months away from everyone, and immersing himself in the mountains he loved, would let him finally leave behind whatever was setting his emotions on edge.

*****

The craft eased into the sharp edged darkness of a crater, and struts unfolded from the hull as it settled onto the surface of the Moon.  It would all have been invisible to any satellites, though, as the stealth field obscured the intruder.

"Helm, all stop."

"All stop, aye."

"Stealth field stable, grav field at nominal, Captain."

The crew was humanoid, not human, though only a series of detailed medical tests would reveal the fact.  For centuries, science expeditions had kept a watch on Sol III; the Federation sought out any compatible life forms for possible recruitment.  This planet had been getting extra attention of late, with the astonishing explosion of their understanding in the physical sciences.  Oddly, though, their achievements in the realm of self-knowledge -- the mental sciences -- lagged far behind other, similar civilizations.

This deviation had brought a new series of survey craft to try to determine what might have caused the difference -- and now it had become the turn of Science Survey 561-4-4.  Their task was to acquire additional data on an anomaly in the natives of the planet: a small percentage of natives appeared to have physical brain structures that deviated from what was expected for their sex.  The repercussions of the discrepancy appeared as mental and physical stress that increased over time; the affected population exhibited a profoundly higher rate of self-termination.  Several psychometricians theorized that the structural variations might have had an impact on the native population's ability to deduce a coherent theory of the mind.  An experiment was developed and approved to identify and study one of the variant individuals.

The population density of the planet on the other side of the Moon, called Earth by the inhabitants, was making it increasingly difficult to unobtrusively gain access to specimens.  Oddly, it was the wealthier regions that made for easier access; their people had sufficient resources to permit casual excursions into unpopulated areas for recreation.

~At least,~ the captain thought to himself, ~they've been wise enough to protect some of those.~

He gave his head a shake, and the crew began to download the terabytes of data accumulated by the sensor satellites since the last visit.  With luck, an opportunity would present itself to initiate the experiment at the beginning of their stay; that would allow close, real-time monitoring for any undesirable side effects.

*****

The first month was painful.

Hiking for a long weekend was one thing, even in the mountains; four weeks of unbroken walking -- even in the relative warmth of Georgia's early April -- had, at first, left Allen almost hobbling.  After the first week, he'd done well to cover ten miles for several days.

The pain in his muscles had come to echo the agony in his heart and mind.  The isolation removed any distractions, and he found himself pausing by several lookout points.  The siren song of the peace that would come at the end of a long, long fall was so very tempting.  No one would know; no one else could be hurt.  Someone, someday, might find his remains, but he'd be done with it all.

He'd not taken that last, long step, though.

~Barb was right, I think.  I need help, but someone who knows what the hell they're doing.  Maybe I'll find a psychiatrist next time, rather than use the company's in-house counselor.  I'll be home in four months, with any luck, and have plenty of time to find someone competent.~

*****

They had been quartering the world below for half an orbit of the planet around its star, searching patiently for a suitable and isolated individual.  Their data indicated that perhaps three percent of the total population were candidates for testing, but that left very few outside the major population centers.  The search pattern had shifted with the season, moving toward the more heavily populated half of the globe.

The remote had continued its quest as it floated high above the eastern mountains, scanning patiently, when the on-board systems signaled to their controller.

*****

Two months along, and he was quickly approaching Harper's Ferry.  The scenery had been beautiful, but so far the long break had done *nothing* to ease his emotional stress.  He had to admit, though, that the physical exhaustion made it much easier to sleep.  The grandeur of the landscape served nicely as a distraction from his internal problems.

Tomorrow, he'd be in contact with people again.  The next supply drop was supposed to be there, and he had strict orders to call in.

He stopped a little early to take advantage of a shelter with water.  A little relaxation, and a whole lot of cleanup, would be good before spending time around large groups of people.

Allen grinned at the likely reaction to his grizzled beard and shaggy, iron gray hair.  The beard would go, starting tonight.  His hair would wait until he got home.

He brightened at the thought of the better night's sleep to come.

And maybe even a hamburger for a change, instead of trail rations.

*****

"Captain, the remote has reported a contact that meets the test parameters.  He's isolated, and high resolution scans reveal the anomaly is present.  I request permission to begin the experiment."

"Signals, do the natives have any activity in the area?  It would be bad form to have another UFO sighting."

"No, sir.  There's a normal level of activity in the air; we can get our cutter in and out with no risk of being observed."  She paused for a moment.  "We should probably send out the data on the natives’ new EM stealthy aircraft, though.  I've had to focus on different bands to ensure detection."

"Good enough.  Make sure the data on their new aircraft gets sent out with tonight's dispatches.  Doctor, you may proceed, but remember you're dealing with a sentient; be kind and considerate, or you'll walk home."

*****

Allen had stayed up late enough to enjoy the glorious sight of the stars in a clear, truly dark sky.  The Milky Way -- a great white river of stars -- blazed out in a glory that no city dweller or suburbanite could know.  The imperceptible drift of the stars was accompanied by the songs of the night dwelling wildlife.  He dozed off to the sound of the insects and birds that filled the trees around the campsite.

There was no change in the night songs as the cutter, invisible and inaudible in its stealth field, departed with a still-sleeping passenger.

*****

She looked at the still, nude form on the diagnostic table and quietly thanked the fates that she'd been born on a civilized world.

His gray hair and lined face gave the appearance of an elder, despite his short stature.  The subject was not even a century old, and yet had the appearance of someone three times his age. The nearly barbaric medical practices of this world, and the vicious disease environment, drained the vitality of the inhabitants.

Normally, she'd have shaken off the thought, but it was relevant now.  Past investigations of this world had revealed a genetic history that was, at best, garbled.  The weakness of the structure showed now, in the odd results of the tests she was analyzing.

~Blood chemistry is within norms for the subject's age and genetic heritage, but the brain processing is showing signs of major stress.  The processing patterns are more like those of a female native....~

She delved back into her data store and began to work with the AI to correlate her findings with older information.  An idea, or the first glimmerings of one, were rising in the back of her mind -- a test series that would gather valuable data and allow the native to live his life with a sense of peace.

She turned to her assistant.  "Go ahead with the base nanite fabrication; I'll have the control, communication, and replication routines ready shortly."

She patted the native's shoulder.  "We'll have this poor fellow back home before dawn."

An hour later, the nanites were being downloaded with their programming, with a duplicate copy in secondary storage against corruption of the primary memory.  It was unfortunate that, during the delay between the cutter's exit from the survey ship's shields, and the activation of the cutter's own protective fields, a high energy particle -- a wandering cosmic ray -- corrupted the nanites' secondary code storage.  The result was only subtly wrong and resulted in a valid command sequence.  It wouldn't be a problem in any case though, as there were very few things -- an extreme magnetic field, for example -- that would result in the activation of that secondary storage.  Even had the scientists realized the problem, time was too short for recalling the craft and reloading the nanites.  The native would have noticed it had he missed a whole day.

The sun was less than two hours from rising as the cutter closed its hatches for return to the survey ship.

*****

~Oh ...~

The brilliance of the sunshine turned even his closed eyelids into an effective alarm clock, and he groaned a little from the brief stab of pain.

It was a bit later in the morning than he'd intended, but he was close enough to town that his subconscious must have permitted him to rest more deeply, knowing it would be a very light day of hiking.

*****

"Well, Lieutenant, did everything go as planned?"

"Yes, ma'am.  The subject was back at his camp before dawn.  Our sensors indicate no one came within eye or ear-shot of the site during the night."

"Very good," the doctor responded.  "The remotes show that the communication protocols are working and the nanites have begun replication.  Thank you, all of you, for your hard work.  I've entered my thanks and a recommendation for a commendation for you and the ensign based on your work."

*****

~DAMN IT!!!~

A fragment of firewood whistled through the air, and Allen's frustration exploded at his awkward ax work.  A foolish, inappropriate reaction to something that was unavoidable at times, and he knew it.  His rage seemed to explode again after having receded for the last month, and it was inexplicable.

He swung the ax again, the fury of his anger driving him to use all his strength.  A billet flew off and was soon joined by others as the man took his fury out on the inoffensive branch.

A pile of kindling was all that remained for his campfire by the time his muscles were too exhausted to pick up the ax.

It was well that he was physically exhausted, as it was the only thing that allowed him to sleep despite his simmering rage.

*****

Some of the nanites, as they replicated, had colonized the endocrine system to monitor and manage hormonal levels.  Others had established a monitor network within the brain, while the final group operated as a communications and control net.

A rapid scan of the incoming data, also sent by the nanites to the survey craft via the remotes, revealed that the preliminary test had provoked a rise in stress that was far more abrupt than the induced hormonal increase.

The programming aborted the first phase of the experiment.  The inhabitants of this planet routinely dealt with high stress levels, but the male hormone increase was only beginning its profile.  The nanites reported that they had initiated the second phase.

A burst of data flashed out to report the status change.

*****

Allen was relieved when, come morning, the rage he'd felt had eased to the point of being controllable.  He was able to enjoy the day's hike, and by the time he settled in for the night, he felt nearly as settled as he had been since just before reaching Harper's Ferry.  At least there was no overwhelming urge to turn the night's firewood into matchsticks.

He'd reached the middle of Pennsylvania by the time a new realization struck.  The previous day had brought a scenic outlook that skirted a high cliff, and he had no desire -- none at all -- to do more than rejoice in the grand beauty of the mountain summer.

~My tolerance for frustration is still limited,~ he admitted to himself as he stirred the contents of the stewpot, ~but it's better, now.  *Much* better.~

*****

Cool, gray, foggy, and utterly miserable were the kindest terms he could think of as he stood on Mount Katahdin, Maine.

The thru-hike was done.  He'd mastered each obstacle along the trail, and finally, it seemed had mastered himself as well.  His personal crisis had passed with the tempest over the firewood, and the malaise had been blown out of his system.

Allen grinned as he turned toward the lower reaches of the mountain and the rendezvous with his ride home.  He had another month before he had to consider returning to work, but he wanted to settle back into his home routine.

And perhaps the doctor could help him figure out what was causing the odd swelling on his chest.

*****

"Grace, I'm getting a little worried.  I didn't get stung by anything along the hike; if anything I'm feeling better physically and emotionally than I have in years."

Doctor Grace Tzilke, Allen's long time physician, nodded.  She'd noticed the hard, lean physique her patient had brought back from his long walk.  The improvement in his mental state was equally apparent.

"I can't say there was anything obvious, and I checked you over thoroughly.  We'll take some blood samples and see if there's anything there.  Have the receptionist make an appointment for next week, and we'll look over the results."

A week later, a confused doctor sat back in her chair.

"Allen, I need to have more blood samples.  Some test results were just too off the wall, and I think there must have been a mix up at the lab."

Shaking his head, Allen asked, "Shall I come back next week?"

"Make it Monday.  We'll put a priority on getting everything run and keep this moving."

*****

Grace sat on the corner of her desk, waiting as Allen read over the results.

"What does this really mean?" he asked, finally looking up from the printout.

"What it says is that your body isn't producing anywhere near the normal level testosterone, and what it does produce seems to be blocked.  Something has also started your body generating a lot more estrogen than would be normal."

"Is that why my chest is itching?"

The woman gave him a sympathetic look as she nodded.  "It could be."  She scratched her head in confusion.  "I'm a bit surprised, actually.  I'd have expected you to have more of a reaction to the weird hormone levels, but you seem to be reacting positively.  I'd like to run some tests, including a special MRI at the university to check on your brain's functional areas.  I want to eliminate a whole set of possibilities, and that test will help."

*****

Allen returned to work as everyone came back from the Labor Day holidays, tanned and fit ... and nervous.  The nervousness wasn't the self-destructive anger he'd suffered at the beginning of the year, but it was still wearing as he and his co-workers tiptoed around each other..

"Welcome back, Allen.  How are you doing?"  Barb asked as she closed the door and settled into a chair.  She studied her newly returned employee as he turned from his monitor.  He looked better in some respects, with a deep tan and an even more lean face.  His eyes, though, reflected worry, or perhaps fear.

~It's better than the rage, but I need him healed and whole.~

"Barb, I feel so much better up here," he tapped the side of his head with a finger, "that it's scary.  Something else is going on, though.  My doctor is running a bunch of tests, but can't -- or won't -- tell me why.  She just says she wants to make sure she has all the information she needs before deciding what's going on."

"It sounds like a good plan to me.  What's the problem?"

"You didn't see the confusion on her face when she saw the test results.  Something is happening, and I'm worried.  She has me scheduled for an MRI of my brain next Tuesday at the university hospital.  I'm just ... frightened."

*****
Doctor Tzilke waved her patient into her office and closed the door behind him.

"Have a seat, Allen.  I have the test results and want to go over what we found."

Allen sat, but his fingers twined nervously as he waited news of his fate.  ~A brain tumor, or a slow-leak in a blood vessel?  She's going to tell me it's terminal ...~  Black thoughts chased themselves through his mind as Grace took her seat and turned the large, flat-panel monitor of her computer so the man could also see it.

"I'll give you an executive summary first.  The first set of blood tests I ran showed abnormal hormone levels, and the second set of tests confirmed it.  In most cases, I'd have expected some negative side-effects, but you seemed to be doing better.  The MRI test I had run gave me an ... interesting answer.  It doesn't explain why your hormone levels are off, but it does a good job of explaining what was going on at the beginning of the year, and why you're doing better now."

She clicked on a file on her desktop, and a video played with three MRI scans side-by-side.  She continued as the file played.

"Your scan is in the middle.  Which of the other two would you say is more like yours?"

Allen watched the entire sequence, then sked to watch it again.

"I'd say the one on the right.  It's practically a duplicate."

She nodded at him.  "That was my thought as well.  You just compared your scan to averaged scans of male and female brain function, and your brain is wired as a female's would be.  As you aged, your brain's ability to cope with the wrong -- from a biological standpoint -- hormones decreased.  In your case, it caused your loss of temper; other people have other symptoms."

He was shocked, but only for a moment.  For the next hour, Grace listened to stormy outbursts, outright denials, and borderline accusations of malpractice -- nothing, though, that she had not expected.  She patiently answered his questions, an ignored the emotional outbursts.

Allen's tirade abated, and he looked at her with tears welling.  "What do I do, now?  I ... I don't think I can cope with this.  I've been a man all my life."

Grace stepped around to the front of her desk and handed Allen a card.

"Allen, call this person.  Deborah Lyda is an old friend of mine, and she's worked as a therapist to help people with gender issues for more than twenty years.  I can help you deal with the physical issues, but there are emotional repercussions that you *will* have to handle."

"Grace, I ...."

She placed a hand on his shoulder and shook it gently.

"Make time for at least one appointment, Allen.  You're an adult, and old enough to make your own choices, but she'll be more help than you know right now."

He grimaced.  "I'll call, and I'll go.  I just hope she's more helpful than the last shrink."

The woman watched the door close before she turned to her phone.

"She will be, Allen.  She will be," she muttered to herself as she dialed.

"Hi, Deb!  This is Grace Tzilke ...  I'm doing well, but I have a patient who's promised to call you.  He desperately needs someone with your specialization, and I have some test results you *need* to see before you meet with him.  I'll send a courier with the file when he's scheduled ...  Thanks, Deb.  Bye!"

~I wonder what she'll call herself?~

*****
Epilogue - five years later:

Aileen, a month earlier, had experienced a sharp pain in her chest while at work.  Grace had been concerned when the woman explained the situation.

"Aileen, too many women dismiss chest pain.  We need to have you checked out to make sure you aren't developing serious problems.  It'll only take a morning, and that's better than spending a week in the hospital."

The physician scheduled a series of blood tests, and an MRI to check for any structural problems with her patient's heart.  She *also* made a promise to herself to stop by the hospital to ensure her somewhat stubborn patient actually showed up.

Aileen had learned from the last five years, though, and she dutifully arrived at the hospital's admissions office.  Her attention was so focused on a magazine that she started at an unexpected voice.

"Well! I'm pleasantly surprised, Ms. Grainger, that I didn't have to chase you down and drag you in here."

The gray-haired woman laughed and replied, "Come now, Doctor Tzilke, it's not as if I was a victim of testosterone poisoning. I listen to my doctor.  Besides, I have a talk tonight at the trans-people support group that meets in the student center.  I have to set a good example."

"That's a very good thing to reinforce, Aileen.  They need to be encouraged to keep going to their doctors; the hormones they take can do a lot of damage."

A nurse called Aileen for her tests, and Grace joined her as the two strolled down the hallway.

"By the way, we're running you through a new MRI system today.  It's open frame, but it uses a superconducting magnet to generate a much higher field strength than older units.  That should keep you from feeling quite so claustrophobic."

By noon, the nanites had completed their reset sequence.  The communication net transmitted to the orbiting remotes that they had reset.  The program now guiding the machines was simple.  They would seed the surface of their host's skin with additional nanites to facilitate the search for a high stress native.

Within three months, the daily dispatches from the orbital remotes were carrying information from dozens of newly organized nanite networks.