Escape from Harmony
by Tina Michelle Smith
Shipwrecked on a mysterious island, two men, a fugitive and a bounty hunter, are transformed into women. This story is inspired by Diane Christy's classic TG story "The Sisters of Athernia." Sadly, Ms. Christy never finished the story. I do hope you enjoy my own take on this classic.
Shipwrecked on a mysterious island, two men, a fugitive and a bounty hunter, are transformed into women. First of two parts.
This story is inspired by Diane Christy's classic TG story "The Sisters of Athernia." Sadly, Ms. Christy never finished the story. I do hope you enjoy my own take on this classic.
(Part 1)
I was a living caricature. Imagine June Cleaver portrayed as a Vargas girl and you might get some idea of my appearance. I was wearing a floral housedress, tan hose, high-heeled pumps, and a pearl necklace with matching earrings. The dress clung to me like something out of Frederick's of Hollywood and managed to display my ample cleavage to great effect. My makeup, nails, and hair were perfect. They should be, considering how long I worked on them to get them just so.
Larry would be home any minute now, and I was bustling to prepare for the dinner party we were hosting this evening. I had just put steaks on the broiler tray. A frilly embroidered apron worn over my dress protected it from any inadvertent spills. By all outside appearances, I was a happy, contented, sexy homemaker. Within, I was a firestorm of rage.
My house, or more correctly, the house I shared with Larry, was a spacious split-level affair with a formal dining room, an absolutely amazing kitchen, a formal living room, a more informal family room, a library, an attached garage, Larry's den, Larry's workshop, and of course, our one and only bedroom. I had a sewing room where I could relax by running up a new dress for myself or I could do needlepoint or embroidery. I kept the house clean and tidy. I detested it.
I wanted for no physical thing. I had an array of laborsaving appliances that Jane Jetson would have been envious of and servants to do all of the labor. Robot drones kept the carpets clean, the floors swept, and the windows spotless. Robot drone servants made sure that our laundry and dry cleaning were always done. Drones also cleaned the dishes, pots and pans, utensils, and glasses. Staple groceries such as coffee, toilet paper, soap, or other essentials always arrived as needed, courtesy of our industrious robot staff. I shopped only for feminine necessities and indulgences such as cosmetics, dresses, shoes, or hats, and always in the company of the other ladies of our community. Life in Harmony was carefree and idyllic. I loathed it.
Larry entered with a cheery "Honey, I'm home!" I rushed to greet him. He grinned as he saw me in my frilly apron. I hugged him and he kissed me passionately. I returned the kiss with equal passion. He ran his hands over my derriere affectionately. I could feel myself getting hot over his advances. He cupped one of my breasts lovingly and kissed me again. "Did I ever tell you," he said, "that you look especially sexy in an apron?" I hated Larry's guts.
I smiled demurely, but provocatively. "Maybe next time, I'll greet you wearing an apron and nothing else!" I answered in a seductive voice. A wink of my eye and a come-hither expression held Larry in rapt attention. I despise Larry.
Larry smiled. "Let's not start anything we can't finish," he said. "Remember, we're having Diana and Peter Moncton over for dinner. I want everything to be perfect."
"Oh, don't you worry, handsome," I said, "I have everything under control. You will be proud of me and of our home. As always." I winked seductively and smiled. I abhor Larry.
"Well I won't get in your way," he said. "I'll get changed for dinner and then I'll be in my den. I have a few things to tend to." He smiled at me. "Don't go away!" he said.
"Don't worry," I answered coyly, "I'll be right here." I blew him a little kiss as he climbed the stairs to our bedroom. As God is my judge, I totally, completely, and without reservation detest Larry.
I sighed a seductive, womanly sigh as I returned to my preparations. I rubbed spices into the steaks and put them back in the refrigerator. I went to the dining room and set the table for four. Of course I used the best china and silverware. Returning to the kitchen, I opened the wine closet and selected an appropriate burgundy for tonight's meal. I closed the closet, knowing that the network built into the house had already ordered a new bottle to replace the one I had just removed.
My preparations were complete. I was ready to receive my guests this evening. Much was expected of the wives in Harmony, and I was no exception. I was required to maintain high standards of hospitality, behavior, and appearance. I never disappointed Larry or any of the other residents of Harmony, for whom I have nothing but the vilest of contempt.
I removed my apron and hung it neatly on its peg in the kitchen. It would be at least an hour until dinner, so I took a little time to check my appearance. My dress was still neat and presentable, but I would soon change into a more appropriate hostess gown. I brushed my hair a little and repaired any flaws in my makeup, a ritual I performed several dozen times a day. I checked my nails and fixed a slight chip I found in one of them.
Repairs complete, I walked into the family room where I removed a cigarette from the case on the coffee table, placed it in my mouth and lit it. I drew in a mouthful of smoke and inhaled. I could feel my heartbeat jump ever so slightly as the nicotine entered my bloodstream. I felt a rush as my brain's pleasure center released endorphins in response to the nicotine. I held the cigarette demurely to one side as I blew the smoke into the air. I caught a glimpse of myself in one of the many mirrors decorating the house. I looked a little pouty with that slim lady's cigarette held at just the right angle in my perfectly manicured hand. I watched as I drew in another puff and inhaled. The filter was stained with my red lipstick, and I knew that I would be applying a little more when I finished my smoke. I looked sexy, kind of like Lauren Bacall. I exhaled languidly and smiled. I hated smoking. I wanted to gag on the disgusting taste of cigarette smoke in my mouth. I despised the harsh sting of the smoke as it entered my lungs. I was revolted by the smell of tobacco smoke in my hair, my home, and the air itself! I loathed my life and everything about Harmony. I took another puff and smiled.
I was being controlled. Like one of those animated robots in a theme park, my body was being made to perform. I was directed by an unseen intelligence that made me behave like a sexy young wife who was utterly devoted to her husband. This invisible puppeteer controlled the actions of everybody in Harmony. It made me rise early to get dressed and made up so that I would be pretty for Larry and have his breakfast ready. It made me respond to him with affection, deference, and downright lust. It made me keep our home neat and tidy. It directed my actions in the selection of my clothes, the application of my makeup, and the general maintenance of my appearance. It made me demure and obsequious. It forced me to smoke. It coordinated every move my body made so that each motion was seductive. But my mind remained free. My thoughts were not controlled, only my actions. My consciousness was a passive observer along for the ride as my body was made to act like one of the Stepford wives. Only if I chose to behave in the manner prescribed for Harmonian women could I act independently of Control. I hated every last second of it.
I finished my cigarette and snuffed it out in the crystal ashtray on the coffee table. I pulled a compact and lipstick tube from my purse and applied color to my lips. I rolled my lips to smooth the color, and blotted the excess. I returned the compact and lipstick to my purse and busied myself with the preparations for tonight. It would be a triumph as usual. Larry would be proud of me, and would demonstrate his pride with a night of passionate sex. I would respond just as passionately, and Larry would bring me to a thunderous climax time and time again. All the while, I would despise him, despise Harmony and its entire male population, and despise the life I was being forced to lead.
I had it all; a fine home, an affectionate and generous husband, stunning beauty, and anything a girl might desire. The only thing wrong is that I am not a girl. I'm a man. And I was a prisoner of a sick, warped place called Harmony.
As my body went about its preparations guided by the ever-present hand of Control, my mind once again recalled the incredible chain of events that brought me here and reduced me to this wretched state of affairs. My real name is Richard Hertz. I go by Skip because I'd rather not hear that joke. It stopped being funny on the seven millionth repetition.
I was once one of the MIS geeks working for a huge commercial bank, one small cog in a machine of Brobdignagian proportions. This bank had been an institution for as long as I could remember. My parents took me there when I was six to open up my very first savings account. The branch manager was a personal friend of my parents. They secured their mortgage through that bank, as well as all of our car loans and the student loans that financed my college education. This bank was active in the community, funding many worthwhile causes including my Little League team. I figured that working there was a sinecure. I would work hard, get promoted, move up the corporate ladder, and retire with a comfortable pension secured by one of the oldest financial firms in the state. Then came deregulation.
Three years after I started working for the friendly neighborhood commercial bank it "merged" with an even bigger bank. Okay, I thought, maybe the name has changed, but I'm still getting paid and I'm still working for an established, secure institution. I didn't worry. Six months later, an out-of state financial conglomerate bought up the bank. There was a flurry of activity as incompatible databases and systems were made to work together. I put in a lot of unpaid overtime getting these systems to merge. My reward for all of that hard work was to be downsized.
Well, I thought, this isn't the end of the world. After all, I had extensive experience in developing software for the banking industry. Some bank somewhere would be happy to have a guy like me on staff. The problem was, there were a lot of people in the same situation I found myself. Mergers and downsizing were putting a lot of people out of work. Industry was enjoying a buyer's market for labor.
I struggled by on unemployment and my savings for a while, but eventually that ran out. I got an extension on my student loans, but I still had to pay my rent and utilities and buy food. It was a toss-up whether my utilities would be cut off before I was evicted. My parents had sold their old home and had moved into an age-restricted condo, so moving in with them was out of the question. My car was about to be repossessed. Then I invented what I thought was the sweetest score ever developed. I got on my PC, dialed up my old employer's access, and hacked my way into his system.
The first part of my scheme was borrowed from a classic computer crime, the fractional cents scam. I set up an account for myself under a phony name. Then I started collecting the proceeds of rounding errors. Basically, when an interest or other payment resulted in an amount with a fraction of a cent as part of its answer (for instance, $327.14625 cents) I would skim off the fraction and have it deposited in my account. Do you know just how many transactions a major bank performs in a day? Millions, that's how many. And most have some fractional component. At the end of a week, I was a millionaire on paper. I then transferred my account to a bank in the Cayman Islands, and then I transferred it to another. Under the banking laws of the Cayman Islands, the records of my first account were destroyed.
Now here is the part where my scheme differs from the traditional scam. Instead of keeping the money, I contacted the bank by way of a fictitious intermediary (I used another phony name) and explained that I had independently discovered a serious security problem with their system. I would be happy to supply them with a detailed report of the security problem and would return the money for a nominal fee. That fee was ten percent of the money I had skimmed.
The bank reacted with outrage, threatening criminal and civil prosecution. But they soon realized that the only hope they had of getting the money back was to agree to my terms. I drafted a contract in which the bank agreed not to prosecute me and I agreed to supply my report and their money, minus my fee. It was not a happy agreement, but it worked.
With my newfound wealth I paid off my loans, my utilities, and my back rent. I still had a bit left over, which I decided to live off of while I looked for work.
After a while, I could see that the chances of my landing a job in the then current economy were mighty slim. A lot of engineers and programmers were flipping burgers and pumping gas. So I struck again. I hacked another bank and repeated my scam. Once again my account was full.
This is where I screwed up. I got greedy. I started hitting banks on a regular basis. I had scored on eight different banks and I was one rich little nerd when my world collapsed a second time. It started with an ominous phone call.
"Hello," I answered.
The voice at the other end of the line chuckled. "Well, Mr. Hertz, have you enjoyed your little game at my expense?"
"Who are you?" I asked
"I'm the owner of the banks you have been robbing."
"What do you mean, robbing banks?" I protested. "I never did any such thing."
"Oh come now, Mr. Hertz. Or may I call you Richard? Please don't protest your innocence to me, Richard; it insults my intelligence. I know that you are the man who electronically absconded with money from my banks. Deny it all you want, but I know the truth." He then proceeded to name the eight banks I had scammed as well as the amounts I scored. He had me.
"You can't be serious," I said, more to convince myself than to argue. "It's against the law for one man to own eight banks. And all of those banks are publicly held. The stockholders are the real owners."
Again, the voice at the other end of the phone chuckled. "My dear Richard, you are a naíve young man. You are obviously ignorant of the true nature of the financial world. A bank may indeed have stockholders who nominally own the corporation, but I control the purse strings. As long as I retain control of the flow of money, it is mine, and I care not who holds the stock certificates."
I was getting nervous. I decided on a show of bravado. It was a bluff, but it was all I had. "You know," I said, "if you keep talking to me like that, you'll never find the money."
"I already have it, Richard. Who do you think owns the banks in the Cayman Islands?"
I tried to control my panic. "If you already have the money, why are you calling me?"
"I need to set an example, Richard. You see I have a financial empire to oversee, and I cannot permit small-time hooligans such as yourself to undermine my authority. The amount is trivial, but if I were to ignore it, others might lose respect for my power and question my authority. This I cannot allow.
"In ancient times, the great prince would display his enemies' heads impaled on pikes as a warning to all who would contemplate defiance. Sadly, this is not an option that I may exercise. I can, however, turn my evidence over to the appropriate authorities who shall then prosecute you for felonious theft and wire fraud. Once you are imprisoned…well, let us just say that a prison can be a very dangerous place.
"I do hope you enjoyed your little game, Richard, since that is probably the last thing you shall ever enjoy as a free man. Goodbye." The connection broke. I held on to the silent phone in disbelief. Then I hung up. It was time to run.
When I first concocted my scam, I didn't think that I would ever be caught. Fortunately, I had a reserve of paranoia that made me err on the conservative side. I formulated an escape strategy in advance, just in case you-know-what hit the fan. I had emergency funds on deposit in my credit union account. I quickly packed some clothes, made sure that I had my debit card with me, and then drove to the airport.
I left my car in the parking lot knowing full well that I would probably never see it again. I booked a flight to Miami. From there, I got on the first flight I could find out of the country, which turned out to be Jamaica. I used my debit card to withdraw most of my cash just before boarding.
Once in Jamaica, I asked around until I found a charter pilot, a rather seedy-looking American expatriate, willing to take me to one of the less visited Caribbean islands for cash and no questions asked. For an additional fee, he also promised to have a lousy memory.
The plane was nearly as decrepit as the pilot was. It was an old DC-3 that appeared to be held together with baling wire and duct tape. But it flew, and got us to the island.
I lived the life of a beach bum for a few months. I had enough cash on hand to do so for years if necessary. I lived in a one-room bungalow that I mostly used for sleeping. Living was fairly cheap if one was frugal. Of course I only used cash. I didn't open a bank account, didn't get a phone, or do anything that could have been traced. My plan was to lie low until things cooled down at home and then return. It never happened.
It was my third month of exile in paradise. I was sunning myself on the beach when a massive body cast a shadow across my face. I looked up to discover the source of the shadow. This guy was huge. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt over a pair of faded jeans, cowboy boots, and a wide-brimmed hat. He had a thick moustache and hadn't shaved in days. Mirrored shades hid his eyes. The short, burned-down stub of an unlit cigar butt stuck out of a mouth framed by a fat, round face. He stood about six feet tall and must have weighed at least 300 pounds. And he was pointing a .44 magnum at my gut.
"You Dick Hertz?" he said.
"Who wants to know?" I answered. "And by the way, the name is Skip."
"Billy-Bob Donovan, bounty hunter. Now you just come along peaceful like, Hertz, and we won't have no problems." He motioned for me to stand.
"Why don't I just yell for the police?" I said.
"Oh, yeah, the police. Friendly bunch of guys, the police. Best cops money can buy."
I realized that he had already greased the local authorities. I didn't have a lot of choices. I stood. He handcuffed my right hand to his left. "Now don't you get any ideas about grabbin' my gun, hoss. My client don't want you dead, but he didn't say nuthin' about a painful flesh wound. Ya get my drift?"
"Yeah, I get it." We trudged off the beach to a waiting cab. Donovan motioned for me to get in, then he followed. It was almost comical to see him grunt and groan as he squeezed his fat ass into that tiny cab, but I didn't dare laugh while he was packing that hand cannon. He told the driver to take us to the tiny airstrip that serviced the island.
Donovan lit a fresh cigar and proceeded to stink up the cab. "Somebody must want you real bad, boy," Donovan said. "The bounty on you is six figures. You must have pissed somebody off big time, son."
I didn't answer. I knew who was behind this abduction. At least, I knew that the mysterious voice on the phone was its source. I held my silence as the cab drove on to the airport. Donovan alternately sucked smoke from his stogie and chewed its end. The cab negotiated the dirt streets of the island until it arrived at the airstrip, a relic from World War II, and stopped next to an airplane. It was a very familiar DC-3. The pilot was also familiar.
"I thought I paid you to have a bad memory," I said to the pilot.
"Yeah, but Billy-Bob had the cure. More money." The pilot laughed at his own little joke. I just fumed as Donovan frog-marched me up the steps and into the plane.
We sat in jump seats in the cargo bay. Donovan kept his foul cigar going all the while. The engines sputtered to a start and we headed down the strip. I felt the wheels lift off and I knew we were headed back to the mainland. I settled in for what should have been a four-hour trip.
As the plane was flying back to the mainland, I looked out of the small porthole. It was a clear day, and the ocean was clearly visible. The loud drone of the motors was hypnotic. Then we entered what seemed to be a fog bank. I felt something like a hiccup in the monotonous droning of the motors. Then another, and a third. I looked out to see black smoke and oil coming from the engine cowling. Then the engine died. Within seconds, the other engine also sputtered out.
Donovan ran up to the cockpit with me in tow. "Just what the hell is goin' on?" he demanded.
"I just lost both engines," the pilot replied. "We're going down."
"What do you mean, we're goin' down?" Donovan roared. "You have to get me back to the States. I have to deliver this prisoner."
"Look, buddy, I just lost oil pressure in both engines and they seized up. Those engines are wasted, man! We have to ditch. Now let me try to set this crate down in the water as best as I can. You two better put on life preservers and get the life raft ready. I don't know how long we can stay afloat."
The pilot must have impressed Donovan, because he immediately went back to the cargo bay. He unlocked the cuffs and tossed me a life vest. "As soon as you get that Mae West hooked up," he said, " the cuffs go back on."
"Don't be an idiot, Donovan," I said. "Neither one of us can swim with one arm hobbled. Our best bet to survive is for both of us to have free hands."
Donovan looked at me suspiciously. "For God's sake, man," I said, "Do you think I'm going to escape in the ocean? There's only one life raft!"
Donovan thought this over, then just hooked up his vest. We both strapped ourselves into jump seats. "Just don't you go getting' any bright ideas, hoss. You're still my prisoner."
I didn't answer. Let Donovan live in his fantasy world for a little while. I would do what I needed to survive.
The wind whistled over the wings and around the airframe as we lost altitude. A DC-3 is not exactly the world's best glider, and the motionless propellers had the same effect as airbrakes. I could feel the pilot struggling to hold the aircraft as level as he could. Then we hit the water.
The pilot tried to flare the plane as we came in over the ocean surface. One of the props hit the water first, dragging the left wing down and into the sea. The plane spun about and tumbled over. We were upside-down when the vertical stabilizer hit. We tumbled over once again. I could hear the sound of metal tearing as the DC-3 broke apart.
The fuselage broke in half. Donovan undid his seat belt, grabbed the raft, and headed out the open front where the cockpit had been. I followed. The water was ice cold. Donovan made for the raft and managed to flip his ponderous self into it. For such a fat guy he was pretty agile. I swung myself over the top and in. We were both inside a raft that could easily accommodate ten people.
I looked around at the crash debris. "Did you see where the cockpit went?" I asked.
"No I didn't," he said.
I kept scanning. Then I spotted it. "Come on," I said, "we have to get the pilot out."
Donovan pulled out his 44 and pointed it at me. "You ain't goin' anywhere, buddy," he said.
"What's wrong with you, Donovan? We can't let that man drown!"
"And I can't let you out of my sight, slick. You're worth a cool quarter of a mil when I get you back to the States, but I can't collect on a body lost at sea. So you just stay put and wait for rescue."
"What rescue? The pilot didn't file a flight plan. Nobody knows we're here."
"There's a fair amount of sea and air traffic in these parts. Somebody will find us soon enough. Just you hang tight, hoss. And don't go gettin' no funny ideas about escapin'."
I gave up arguing. All Donovan could see was dollar signs. I sat back and said a silent prayer for the soul of the pilot. He might have been a crook, but nobody deserves to die like that.
The traffic Donovan was so confident about was nowhere to be seen. We drifted on calm seas for three days waiting for a rescue that never came. We had no food and no water. My lips were parched and swollen. Donovan wasn't much better. If somebody didn't find us soon, we would both die. Then we saw the island.
It seemed to appear out of nowhere. One minute the horizon was clear, and the next minute we saw an island less than a mile from us. As tired and parched as we were, we still managed to paddle towards it. We brought our raft ashore and staggered out onto the beach. There were trees not too far away, and that held the promise of food and fresh water. We were running, half crazed from thirst, when we collapsed onto the sand.
I saw some men running toward us. I didn't notice much about them except that they were alive. I said, "Help us! Please!" Then I blacked out.
When I regained consciousness, I found myself in what appeared to be a hospital room. It was a sunny room, warm but not too hot. I could feel an IV sticking in my left hand, dripping a clear fluid directly into my vein.
I tried to speak and managed to produce a kind of hoarse sound. A nurse hurried into the room. She was dressed in an old-fashioned nurse's uniform complete with white hose and a nurse's cap. She held a cup with a straw to my mouth. I sucked greedily. The stuff tasted awful, but it was wet and my throat was dry. I felt like my mouth, tongue, and throat were absorbing the liquid directly, bypassing the usual route through the stomach. I finished the cup. "Thank you," I said with my now functional voice box. "What was that stuff?"
"It's a solution to restore your electrolyte balance. You were severely dehydrated when we found you."
"Where am I?" I asked.
"This is our dispensary. You were brought right here with your friend."
Just then a man in a white lab coat entered. "Well, nurse," the doctor said, "how's our patient doing?"
"He just regained consciousness, Dr. Thorpe," she said. As my vision cleared, I finally got a good look at the nurse. She was stacked! She had breasts that could put a man's eyes out and a caboose that just wouldn't quit. The wiggle she affected as she walked could only be described as seductive. Her every move exuded sensuality. Even her breathy voice just dripped with sex. It was all I could do to keep myself under control.
The doctor consulted a chart very briefly, and then asked, "How are you feeling, Mr. Hertz?"
"Kind of sore," I said. "My head really hurts. And when I blink, it feels like there's sand in my eyelids."
"Mostly the effects of dehydration and malnutrition. For now you should rest, drink plenty of fluids, and try eating as soon as you feel up to it."
"How close is it to lunchtime?" I asked. "I'm hungry enough to eat a horse!"
"I'm afraid we don’t have any horsemeat here," the doctor said, "but I could get you some food. Nurse, why don't you get something for Mr. Hertz to eat?"
"Right away, doctor," she said, and she left the room.
The doctor listened to my heart, checked my pulse, and did all of those doctor things. "You appear to be no worse for the wear, Mister Hertz. I think we can have you out of here by tomorrow."
"And just where am I, doctor?"
"This is the island of Harmony."
"Harmony," I mused. "I don't think I've ever heard of it."
"I know you must have a lot of questions, Mr. Hertz, and they will all be answered in due time. For now, I suggest that you rest and regain your strength. Tomorrow you'll meet our town supervisor and we'll discuss your situation."
I was too weak to argue, so I accepted the doctor's advice. Then lunch arrived. "That was quick," I observed.
The nurse placed the tray on the table next to my bed, and then positioned it so I could eat in bed. "Doctor's orders," she said, "you should remain in bed until this evening. If you feel better then, you may sit up for dinner. I hope you enjoy your lunch."
The tray was not the normal plastic cafeteria tray usually found in a hospital. It appeared to be silver. The nurse removed the shining metallic dome to reveal a strip steak, asparagus, and steak fries on a china plate. "This is hospital food?" I asked in amazement. The nurse just smiled. Now that I was closer, I noticed she was wearing makeup and had her nails done. Plus, she was wearing a rather potent perfume. Unusual for a nurse, I thought, but didn't give it much consideration. Instead, I concentrated on the delicious steak just in front of me. Damn, but it was good!
I polished off lunch quickly, and washed it down with coffee. The steak was perfect, cooked medium, juicy, and tasty. The steak fries were seasoned, and the asparagus was firm but tender and covered with Hollandaise sauce. I couldn't believe that a hospital would serve such cholesterol-rich food, but I didn't complain.
The nurse came in to take my tray. "Is there anything else that I could get for you, Mr. Hertz?" She asked in such a seductive manner that I could almost believe she was offering herself. But I noticed a ring.
"Is that a wedding ring?" I asked.
"Oh, yes. I'm married to George Gerstner. He's one of the research scientists here."
"I see. And you're a nurse here?"
"I fill in as a nurse whenever I'm needed. We don't get a lot of illness here." She left carrying the tray and wiggling her bodacious butt in a way that just radiated sensuality. This woman was hot!
I looked around and found what appeared to be a remote. I clicked it on and a television mounted from the ceiling came to life. I flipped through the channels to see what was on. There were network feeds and a fair assortment of cable channels, but no local programming that I could discover. I found a movie that looked halfway interesting and started watching.
My nurse kept checking up on me to make sure my pitcher was full and encourage me to drink more. She brought me three more cups of the electrolyte solution that I managed to get down without gagging. She also drew a few blood samples. Then at six, she helped me to sit up and to stand. I made for the bathroom to relieve my full bladder.
I returned to find dinner was set out on a cloth-covered table. I sat in a chair and enjoyed a fine meal of lobster with drawn butter, rice pilaf, and glazed carrots accompanied by an excellent Chardonnay. Dessert was chocolate mousse with a few drops of crá¨me de menthe. Like I said, this was not what I expected from a hospital.
I slept soundly and woke as the sun streamed through my window. Another nurse, this one a redhead but just as curvaceously stacked, brought me a breakfast of eggs Benedict, orange juice and coffee. The folks on this island eat well, I thought to myself. As I was eating, the nurse brought in a pile of clothing and a pair of canvas sneakers. "The doctor will be in to check on you shortly, Mr. Hertz. If he approves, you will be meeting Supervisor Rozell today. Feel free to shower and get dressed. You may use the clothes here."
"Thank you," I said. "I must say, you folks are accommodating."
"Harmony prides itself on its hospitality, Mr. Hertz. Now please, enjoy your breakfast." She smiled and walked out, wiggling her bootie all the way. Man, I must be in heaven!
The bathroom had towels, soap, shampoo, a razor, and any toiletry I might need. I showered, brushed my teeth, and shaved off what looked like a week's growth. I realized that I hadn't showered or shaved since the morning of my abduction.
The cotton underwear was my exact size, as were the khaki trousers and shirt and white crew socks. The sneakers looked like low-cut Converse All Stars, but had no brand name. I noticed this about all of the clothing labels. They each had a utilitarian identification and size, but no brand name, washing instructions, or anything similar. Curious, I thought.
Doctor Thorpe came in with the redhead nurse on his heels. "Well, Mr. Hertz, Nurse Collins tells me you're up and about. How are you feeling?"
"Much better, doc," I answered. "Breakfast was great and I feel like a million bucks."
"Wonderful. Let me take a look at you." He took my blood pressure, listened to my heart, and checked my pulse. He felt my neck, collarbone, and under my arms, peered into my eyes and ears, and gave me a basic once-over. "You look well, Mr. Hertz. I imagine that you are anxious to meet with our town supervisor. I'm sure that you have many questions."
"Yes, I do. For one thing, where the hell is Harmony?"
"All of your questions will be answered shortly, Mr. Hertz." A man entered the room. "Larry Poole," he said, motioning to the man who just entered, "will take you to see Supervisor Rozell. He can best answer your questions."
Poole looked like something out of the fifties with his white short-sleeve shirt, narrow black tie, and dark trousers. I extended my hand to him. He grasped it firmly. "Please come with me, Mr. Hertz. The Supervisor can tell you anything you want to know about Harmony." I don't know if it was my imagination, but Poole seemed to be looking at me very strangely, as though he was sizing me up. There was something else quite strange about Poole’s expression, but I could not put my finger on it.
We walked down a broad corridor and entered what appeared to be a conference room. There were three men seated around an oval conference table with a strange sort of translucent pyramid in its center. One of the men was Donovan. He still looked like a big tub of lard, but he was now freshly shaved and his hair was combed. One of the other men was dressed like Poole, with a brown tie and pants and a short-sleeved white shirt. The third man stood as we entered. He was dressed in an off-white linen suit and wore a starched white shirt with a solid navy tie. He was tanned and had an athletic build. I grasped the hand he extended and returned his firm handshake. "Mr. Hertz," he said, "I'm glad you are feeling well. I am Martin Rozell, Supervisor of Harmony's Town Assembly. Please have a seat."
I sat across from Donovan, who glared at me. Clearly he was not happy with any delay in his collecting the price on my head. Poole took a chair next to mine. Rozell then spoke. "Gentlemen, welcome to Harmony. I'm sorry for the accident which brought you here, but I'm glad that you are both alive and healthy."
"Mister Rozell," I said, "I'm grateful for the help you've given us, but there was also a pilot who got separated from us. Is there any chance that he might be rescued?"
Rozell appeared genuinely saddened. "I'm afraid that he hasn't landed here. And we could not possibly search for him."
Donovan now spoke up. "Mr. Rozell, I'm just as grateful for your help, but I gotta get in touch with the mainland. Hertz here is my prisoner. He's wanted for wire fraud and bank robbery in the States, and I apprehended him under a duly executed Federal Warrant. So if you don't mind, let's skip the welcome wagon so I can get this man to justice."
"I'm afraid that will be impossible, Mr. Donovan. We can receive communications from the mainland, but cannot transmit."
"Then I need transportation. I can pay top dollar for a ride to the mainland."
"Mr. Donovan, that is also impossible. Believe me, sir, we have tried. Any ship or vessel that tries to leave Harmony eventually returns. There is something peculiar about the geometry of our island. Perhaps this will explain." With that, Rozell touched a spot near the edge of the table.
The pyramid at the center of the table suddenly disappeared. A three-dimensional view of an island surrounded by water appeared on the tabletop, occupying most of the table center. The view shifted to a close-up of the center of the island. Native vegetation appeared to shimmer and disappear. There was a sparkling sort of appearance as the ghostly outline of a building coalesced into solidity. It was quite utilitarian in its appearance, roughly oblong in shape and not too tall. Some sort of aircraft hovered over the building, extended legs, and lightly touched down atop the structure. Humanoid figures were seen to exit the aircraft and enter hatches atop the building. Then the view faded and the pyramid returned.
"That," said Rozell, "is one of the fragmentary records left behind by the builders of this place. We believe that this building was used as a sort of an observation post by the mysterious beings that constructed it. We have no idea just who these beings were, or where they came from. Some of us think they may have been extraterrestrial. Others think they may be humans from our own future. The only thing we know for certain is that their technology was far in advance of ours. It took us many years of patient experimentation to learn how to operate the devices they left behind."
Rozell walked around the table as he spoke. "We don't completely understand why, but spatial geometry behaves differently here. Powered vessels such as ships or airplanes will be imperceptibly redirected so that they never land or even catch sight of us. This includes any sort of wind-powered vessel. We believe that it has to do with the total kinetic energy of the item attempting to enter Harmony’s defined space. Only objects having a relatively low kinetic energy may enter. The only way Harmony can be approached is in a very slow-moving craft at sea level, effectively limiting access to a drifting or hand-paddled craft.
"As to just where we are, I'm afraid that I can't answer that either. Harmony is, essentially, some place else. Our location does not appear to be fixed onto any earthly geographic point. We exist in a sort of a bubble outside of the normal continuum. Within this bubble, certain rules of time and space no longer hold true.
"There appears to be a periphery about the island, a sort of event horizon. Once crossed, there is no return; at least, none that we have ever discovered. We have tried building boats to sail away from here, but as we sail in what we think is a straight line, we eventually find the island directly in front of us. Space in this area seems to fold back upon itself. So I'm afraid, gentlemen, that you are stuck here."
Donovan did not take this news well. "Look, buddy," he shouted, jumping to his feet, "I ain't fallin' for all of this Twilight Zone crap. Now get me the hell off this island and back to the mainland!"
The man sitting next to Donovan produced a small metallic device that he pressed against Donovan's side. Donovan collapsed like a bag of rags back into his chair, twitching like an epileptic hippo. "Please restrain yourself, Mr. Donovan," Rozell said rather sharply, "or we shall be forced to use the neural paralyzer again. As you have discovered, it is not a pleasant experience."
Rozell then described the history of how he and a group of scientists first became shipwrecked on island. It took nearly six months to gain entry to the building, and then several more years to learn how to use the technology. Gradually, they learned how to operate the food dispensers. The basic replication technology could manipulate matter on a molecular level, and even create matter out of energy. They weren't sure just how this was done, or what supplied the tremendous energy needed to power the facility. All they knew was that they could use it.
According to Rozell, his band was not the first group to become stranded on Harmony. They found skeletal remains of many others that had become trapped in this inverse bubble of reality. The only reason Rozell's group survived and others did not was because they managed to gain entry into the mysterious building. "We are, after all, scientists. Analyzing this advanced technology was not beyond our grasp. We simply applied the scientific method of observation and experimentation until we understood the purpose of each device."
They expanded the size of the island and built houses for themselves. Thanks to radio and television, they could keep up with current events in the world outside. They learned that they could rejuvenate their bodies, erase years of aging and eliminate any congenital defects. But the secret of just how to escape the island eluded them. And one more thing seemed beyond their grasp.
"For some reason," Rozell said, "all females and any male children under the age of fifteen or so succumb to a strange disease soon after they land here. The disease is fatal."
He again activated the projector to show us images of the victims. They all appeared to be swollen. Their skin was broken out in some sort of putrescent rash and their hair and teeth were falling out. Blood and pus were oozing from the numerous eruptions on their skin. "We have tried to find a cure for this disease with no success. About all we can do is make the unfortunate victims comfortable as we await their inevitable demise." Rozell turned off the recorder.
"Over the years," he said, "other unfortunate shipwreck victims have drifted onto our shores. Their experience always follows the same pattern. Soon after arriving, the women and young children become sick and die. It is ironic that we have managed to create a virtual paradise, free of disease, age, or want, but only men can exist in it.
"Try to imagine a world without women. Try to envision a group of men existing without any sort of female companionship. Imagine the tensions that would inevitably build up and eventually burst. Harmony was not a paradise, but a living Hell."
"Mr. Rozell," I asked, "why does this disease only affect women and kids? It doesn't sound quite right."
"We believe that the disease is caused by a virus carried by all humans. Much like the beneficial bacteria that exist in our digestive tract, this virus resides in our bodies and is essentially benign. We think that this virus becomes neutralized by long-term exposure to massive amounts of testosterone. A boy normally enters puberty at about twelve or thirteen. We think that several years' exposure to testosterone destroys the virus. In the normal world this virus remains dormant; but somehow we surmise that the virus interacts with the unique energy field surrounding Harmony and causes the gruesome disease you have witnessed."
"I'm glad that you have cured it," I said.
"Oh, but we haven't found a cure, Mr. Hertz."
"Then, how is it that there are women on this island?"
"I'm getting to that. As I said, there were originally eight of us. The two women in our party died. Over the years more unfortunate victims came to be washed up on our shores. We eventually had a population of seventy-two men, and no women. And the tension was unbearable. There was so much bickering and fighting that life on Harmony was like living in a war zone. Fights would break out several times a day, often leading to physical conflict. Something needed to be done."
Rozell paused for a moment. "Our continued survival depended upon mutual cooperation. To ensure and enforce this, we drew up the charter that we live by. We established laws for ourselves and for any others who might eventually join us. We made some very hard choices, necessary choices, and they have worked.
"Our main problem was the absence of women. Females exert a stabilizing influence upon men. They provide an outlet for male aggression and sexual tension. They influence men to strive for higher goals. They re-direct men's natural aggression into more positive achievements. But most of all, they provide comfort and companionship on an intimate level.
"We therefore decided that if we could not keep the women who became stranded here on Harmony, we would create women who could live here with us. Women who were not subject to the devastating effects of this mysterious disease. Women who would be our wives and companions."
"So all of these women we have seen are some kind of robots?" I asked.
"No, Mr. Hertz, they are quite human."
"So what did you do, make clones?"
"No. The creation of living beings from inanimate matter is even beyond the technology of the enigmatic builders of this facility. We simply utilized the raw material that we were provided with. We decided on that day that no more men would be permitted to join our society until each of the seventy-two men here had mates. We resolved that we would use the technology of this island to transform the next seventy-two men that arrived here into women. All of the women that you see on Harmony were once men."
Donovan went into a fit. "What the hell kind of bullshit are you tryin' ta feed me, Rozell? You think I'm some kind of moron that was born yesterday? This story of yours is just pure horse…" Donovan never finished his tirade, because at that instant, both he and I were injected with something. The two men seated next to us pressed some sort of device against our upper arms. I felt pressure as whatever was injected penetrated my skin, then it felt like fire was coursing through my veins. This sensation lasted about thirty seconds, after which I found myself unable to move.
Rozell walked behind Donovan's chair. "I assure you, Mr. Donovan, that I have spoken the absolute truth. The process that you and Mr. Hertz are about to undergo is necessary for our survival.
"By now the microscopic controllers we have injected into you should have taken effect. You will not be able to move for the next few minutes. They are self-repairing and self-replicating, creating new controllers from the raw materials found in your own body. These microscopic machines are what make Harmony possible. They shall repair and maintain your bodies at a chronological age of about twenty-five. They also shall exert a controlling influence on you. You now have no choice but to obey the rules of Harmony.
"Gentlemen, you are about to be transformed into women. Since you do not carry the dormant virus, you will be able to survive here. The process is painless, and once you are transformed into females, you shall not be physically mistreated in any way. You will be valued members of our community.
"By tomorrow afternoon the process will be complete. I won't bore you with the details. As I said, it is not painful, although you will experience a number of unique physical sensations. And you will retain your own thoughts and memories."
I found that I could not move anything but my eyes. I was aware of my breathing, but could not exert any control over it. Rozell activated the 3D viewer again to display what appeared to be an oversized x-ray view of a human hand. A plain golden band was placed onto the ring finger of that hand. Little tendrils emerged from the ring and firmly anchored it onto the wearer's finger.
Rozell continued his narration. "A ring similar to this will be placed onto your finger. It acts as a transceiver. It relays signals between your microscopic controllers and Harmony's central electronic brain. Your actions shall be monitored and controlled. When an inappropriate behavior is detected, you shall be prevented from carrying it through. You will also be forced to behave in a manner prescribed by our rules and conventions. This behavioral control is painless. How much control is exerted is completely up to you.
"The men of Harmony, including myself, wear a similar device." Rozell lifted his left hand to show us a plain band on his ring finger. "We have also been injected with the microscopic controllers. This keeps us from harming one another or ourselves, although we do not require the same sort of control you will be subject to. It also maintains our bodies in the youthful vigorous form we now enjoy. You may find this hard to believe, but I was over fifty years old when I first came to Harmony. I have been here thirty-four years."
The two men who were with us stood. Rozell continued, "These men shall be your husbands when your transformation is completed. They shall place the ring on your finger and then escort you to your temporary quarters. Your transformation shall begin shortly. During the process, you will be advised of your progress. You will be controlled, but you will find that you may speak freely up to a point. You will be prevented from behaving in any way contrary to our laws. As I said, just how much control will be exerted is up to you. Co-operate, or don't, it's all the same.
Rozell smiled as he turned to leave. "I look forward to seeing you two again tomorrow. Have a pleasant evening." With that he left the room.
Larry Poole, the man who escorted me to this meeting, held out my ring finger and placed a ring on it. He released my hand and it fell to my lap. I felt an itching sensation as the ring automatically adjusted to the size of my finger and sent forth its tendrils to attach itself to me. The sensation subsided quickly. I could feel voluntary control of my limbs returning, but I was weak.
Poole took my hands and helped me to my feet. "I just want you to know," he said, "that I won’t mistreat you in any way. I’ll do everything I can to treat you well. I promise."
Donovan's prospective partner had to struggle to get his ponderous body out of the chair. I almost laughed, but something prevented me from doing this. The control, I realized. It has already started.
Donovan and I were still weak from the effects of the injection. Poole and his companion, Glen Dalton, had to help us out of the room and down the corridor. We stopped at a door that Poole opened by waving his hand near a plate set in the wall. We were helped into the room.
The room looked a lot like an apartment. It was well appointed with a common area in the center. Within the area a segmented sofa and two overstuffed chairs were arranged about a glass-top table. The table bore a large bouquet of flowers and several crystal ashtrays. To the side of the sofa and table was some sort of wet bar with a device that resembled a microwave oven. Several tall stools were parked next to the bar. Just across the table from the sofa was a pedestal with a translucent pyramid atop it. Several open doorways were visible from the common area. Dalton and Poole guided us to the sofa and sat us down.
I was still quite weak. The exertion of our short walk had sapped all of my energy. Donovan must have been similarly weakened. We sat on the sofa, unable to muster the energy to move much more than our eyes.
Dalton said, "You can use the food dispenser if you get hungry or if you want something to drink. Please feel free to make use of them. The menu is self-explanatory." Then the two men left. I heard the door close behind them.
Gradually energy returned to my depleted muscles. I first wiggled my fingers and toes. Then I began to flex my muscles. I felt strong enough to stand, so I did. "Donovan," I said, "can you move yet?"
"I can barely move my arms, and I can’t move my legs at all," he replied.
"Well sitting all this time has left me with a full bladder. I'm going to find the bathroom." I made a search of the open doorways. Two of these doorways led to bedrooms. I found the bathroom and proceeded to void my bladder's contents into the toilet.
By the time I returned, Donovan had managed to stand. He was a little shaky as he walked but made it to the bathroom without stumbling. As he answered nature's call, I took stock of our current accommodations.
There seemed to be two bedrooms and one bathroom accessible through open doorways. The main room had a sort of vaulted ceiling and was lit indirectly. There were no windows. The walls were painted flat white. The décor was contemporary with a definite industrial flavor. In contrast, the bedrooms were decorated in warm pastels, one peach, one a pale turquoise. The beds were full size. Each had a pleated bed-ruffle and a pastel bedspread with lace trim. There were no windows. I noticed a nightstand next to each bed bearing a small lamp, a digital clock, and an ashtray. I suppose this was not the non-smoking room.
I returned to the main area and looked up at the vaulted ceiling. What appeared to be a crystal light fixture was suspended from it. At least, I assumed it was a light fixture, but one of the strangest I had ever seen. Imagine a rose drawn by a cubist artist on a bad acid trip and you might get an idea of what this thing looked like. It had no real symmetry or design that I could fathom, but somehow it suggested the petals of a flower.
Donovan emerged from the bathroom. He looked shaken, but tried to wear his familiar bluster. "Listen, Hertz," he said, "I know I ain't been givin' you any slack up to now. Tell you what. Let's work together on bustin' outta here and I'll just forget I ever saw you. Sound good?"
I almost laughed. "Wake up, Donovan, there's no way we can bust out of here. These rings make sure of that."
"You don't believe that cock-and-bull story about little green men and turnin' us into girls, do ya? Shit, Hertz, that's just pure horse puckey."
"Oh really? Try taking the ring off."
Donovan looked perplexed. He started to panic. "I can't!" he said. "My hand just won't do it!"
"I know," I said, "I tried. And yet, I can do this." I touched the ring with my right hand. I ran my index finger around the golden circlet. "I can touch it as long as I don't try to remove it."
Donovan started to panic. "What are we gonna do, Hertz? What the hell are we gonna do?"
I walked over to the wet bar. "Me, I'm going to get something to eat. I suggest you do the same since we don't know how long we're going to be here."
"Eat? How the hell can you eat at a time like this?"
"Simple. I'm hungry." I studied the instructions on the dispenser and activated the menu. Donovan started walking to the entry door, then turned around and sat down on the sofa.
I navigated my way through the menu and managed to get some fried chicken and coleslaw. Another menu selection and I had a tall glass of iced tea with lemon. I sat at the bar munching on my chicken. "Hey, Donovan, did you give up?"
"I don't believe it, man!" he replied, "I just turned around and sat down without wantin' to. It was like I was watchin' myself move, but from the inside! I couldn't stop!"
"You might as well get something to eat, Donovan. There doesn't seem to be anything we can do about this."
Donovan was still frightened out of his wits, but he managed to walk up to the food dispenser and order up some chow. He ordered a huge steak with a baked potato. "God damn it!" he said, "there ain't no beer on this friggin' menu!"
"Then order something else," I said. "It looks like no alcohol is available. I wonder if alcohol might somehow interfere with the process?"
"Don't you ever stop wonderin' about shit, Hertz? Why the hell don't you use that geek brain of yours to think up a way out of this mess?"
"I'm working on it," I said. "Right now there's no obvious way out. The only thing we can do is observe."
Donovan hacked up his steak as if he were taking out his frustration on it. I finished my chicken and drank my iced tea. There didn't seem to be any obvious place to put the dirty dishes, so I just left them there.
I walked into one of the bedrooms to give it a closer look. As I said, there wasn't much to it. In addition to the bed and nightstand, there was a dresser, a vanity, and a closet. I opened the dresser and found a rose nightgown in the top drawer. The other drawers were empty. I opened the closet and found that it was also empty except for a robe on a hanger. I closed the closet and examined the vanity. It was bare and had nothing in its drawers.
I walked back to the main area and found Donovan back at the food dispenser. His first steak was gone and he had ordered a second one just as big. I watched with amusement as he dug into it. "I guess a gut like that requires constant maintenance," I said.
Donovan glared angrily at me. I knew I had made a mistake. He picked up the steak knife and lunged at me. There was fire in his eyes. But in mid-lunge, he stopped. He returned to the bar and continued to eat as if nothing happened.
"Control must have kicked in," I said. "Look, Donovan, I didn't mean anything by that last remark. I was only kidding."
"Yeah! Right! You were only kidding," he said between bites. "That's what they all say. That's what all the pretty people say to my face. I know what they say behind my back, but they don't dare say it to my face. Not while Billy-Bob Donovan can kick their pretty little asses into the next county."
"I mean it, Donovan," I said. "Look, we're in this together. We have to work together to get out of it. I promise, no more fat jokes."
Donovan chewed for a few seconds. "I don't doubt that you're sincere, Hertz, but I heard it all before. I never been able to count on another person in this world, and right now you ain't inspirin' a lot of confidence. Billy-Bob rides solo."
I wasn't able to reply. The opening notes to Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony were heard on something that sounded like doorbell chimes, and the invisible strings of Control pulled taut. Like marionettes dancing to the tune of an off-stage sound track, we walked to the sofa and sat down.
The pyramid atop the pedestal lit up briefly and vanished, replaced with a full-size three-dimensional image of a woman. Like all of the women we had seen since arriving on Harmony, she was stunning. Her makeup was impeccable, and her perfectly coifed hair cascaded onto her shoulders. She was wearing a peasant blouse that displayed much of her ample cleavage and left her shoulders partially bare. Her perfectly white teeth shone as she smiled. "Welcome, ladies," she said. "Welcome to Harmony!"
She spoke like an infomercial announcer hawking some new and improved spot cleaner or toaster-oven. "This is the beginning of the process that will prepare you to take your place in our community. I know that you're anxious to begin, so let's get started. First, please remove all of your clothing and place the items into the disposal bin."
It was just like Donovan had described it. I had no control over my body as I stripped off my clothing and underwear. I bundled the items up with my sneakers and socks and tossed the bundle into the bin. Then I returned to the sofa, still standing, and buck-naked.
Donovan stood next to me, also naked. I wanted to laugh at the rolls of fat he had hanging from his gut. I wanted to say, "Hey, Donovan, you don't need to be transformed, you already have titties!" But I could not. Control kept me silent, waiting for the next instructions.
"Thank you, ladies. Shall we begin?
"Your transformation will be accomplished in two major segments. The first segment will begin shortly while the second shall occur tomorrow. You won't feel any pain or discomfort, although you will be experiencing some unique sensations." She giggled.
"There are several distinct phases to this first segment. I'll let you know just what to expect before each phase. There will be a short break during the process when you may rest, use the ladies' room, or get some refreshments. You will find that the level of behavioral control will increase with each phase of the transformation. This is to help you as you adjust to your new roles in our society."
She described the first phase. We would be shrunk to a height of five feet, six inches, and a body weight of 110 pounds. There would be other modifications to our bone structure, especially the pelvis, our skin texture and body hair would be modified, and our nipples would be enlarged. "Now please remain still while the process begins."
Like I had a choice! I stood silently, aware of the curious light fixture lowering from the ceiling to a point just above us. It began to glow and slowly rotate, shining a pale yellow light over us. The light intensified. A high-frequency hum sounded from the fixture.
Under the direction of Control I tilted my head upward to stare at the rotating fixture. It seemed as though a coherent beam of light emerged from the fixture and surrounded me. The light became blinding. I felt a tingling all over my body, like the legs of a thousand insects crawling up and down my skin.
The hum faded. The light dimmed. The tingling subsided. As my vision returned, I saw Donovan standing just where I had last seen him. Only he wasn't the same Donovan. His rolls of fat had vanished. His moustache was gone. He looked elfin. His hips now flared out from a narrow waist. The coarse mat of hair that had covered his arms and legs was no more. Most curious were the two large protuberances sprouting from his chest. Nipples! Women's nipples!
I saw him staring at me. I looked down, noting that Control seemed to have relaxed. I was stunned! My nipples were now just as big as Donovan's, and my body was just as waif-like. My legs, arms, and chest were now smooth, completely devoid of any hair.
Donovan started to lose it. "Oh, sweet Jesus, this ain't happenin'! This ain't happenin'!" His panic was short-lived, as the guiding hand of Control once more seized us.
We went through two more phases, both accompanied by the ebullient commentary of the woman standing on the pedestal. Each phase left us more feminine in appearance, and further modified our body parts. Our hands, feet, ears, face, and eyebrows were morphed into a female form. Our genitals were regressed to a pre-pubescent state, and our testes were morphed into ovaries, leaving the scrotum to hang empty. Even stranger, our voice boxes were restructured to give us each a high-pitched girl's voice.
Our ethereal hostess once again addressed us. "That wasn’t so bad, was it, girls?" she said. "But you’ve been through a lot and we know how this can work up a terrible sweat. We certainly don’t want to smell bad, do we? So please take a quick shower and dry yourselves completely before returning. You'll find liquid soap and shampoo dispensers in each shower. Please hang your towels in the bathroom when finished."
I found myself following Donovan into the bathroom. We silently entered the individual shower stalls. I turned on the water and proceeded to shampoo. The stuff smelled like a fruit salad. Even worse was the moisturizing bath gel I squeezed onto a pouf. The lather exuded a floral scent as I scrubbed my skin all over. I rinsed off, but didn't feel completely clean for some reason. It must be the moisturizer, I thought.
I emerged from the shower and toweled myself dry, as did Donovan. Control slipped its grip on us just a bit, and Donovan resumed his panic attack. "Oh, man, we've got to get out of here! Hertz, we have to find a way to stop this!" His feminine voice was almost comical, but I could not laugh. But I did notice something peculiar. Donovan's speech pattern had changed. All of those final g's he had been dropping were now present. His more colorful vocabulary had been replaced. And there was something else. Donovan was crying.
I watched as tears dribbled down his cheeks. He tried to choke them back but could not. "Hertz," he sobbed, "I can't go through with this! I'm going to go crazy! I can't…" He became incoherent for a moment. "I…I…I want to smash something! I want to break somebody's skull. But I can't! All I can do is cry like a gosh darn girl!"
"It's the control, Donovan. It's making you act this way. It's changing the way you speak, even down to correcting your grammar. And it's sublimating your anger. Any strong male emotions like anger are emerging as tears. Control wants us to be vulnerable."
Donovan continued to cry. I felt like crying myself, but resisted. I had to keep sharp and continue to observe. I had to keep gathering facts. This was the only way that we might ever get out of this fix.
I walked to the bedroom. I felt the gentle nudge of Control directing me to the turquoise room. As I walked, I was aware of my hips swaying in a most feminine manner. More Control, I concluded. It was now re-directing my normal functions into a more womanly style. I somehow knew that Control would make a lady of me.
I opened the closet and removed the turquoise robe. It was a soft, silky material that felt quite comfortable next to my softer skin. I felt enhanced sensation as it brushed against my enlarged, sensitive nipples. I cinched the robe with the accompanying sash and walked back to the main area.
I stopped briefly at the food dispenser and ordered a cup of tea. My first thought had been for coffee, but Control exerted itself in my choice of beverage. I picked up the delicate cup and walked over to the sofa. I sat, crossing my legs at the knees like a woman would, and sipped my tea.
Donovan swished into the main area, wearing a peach-colored robe identical to mine. His movements were also considerably more feminine, bordering on seductive. Had I still possessed my former genitalia, I might have been aroused. "Oh, Skip!" he gushed like a pre-teen girl, "don't you just love these robes? Mine is so soft and comfy!"
"Yes, I do, Billy," I replied, feeling control take charge again, "I just love how silky it feels, especially against my nipples." I giggled. No kidding, I giggled like a girl.
Donovan sat down with his teacup. He crossed his legs like I had crossed mine, allowing the robe to slip and show off his shapely gams. He held his cup with his pinky raised and sipped demurely. After a few seconds, Control relaxed slightly. "Oh gosh, this is humiliating. I can't believe that I'm doing this."
"Believe it, Billy," I said. Apparently Control did not approve of our using surnames to address each other. "I don't see anything we can do about it, either."
Donovan looked a little sad. "Skip, I want you to know something. I didn't mean anything personal when I apprehended you. It was just business. I guess I want to apologize for getting you into this mess."
"You don't need to apologize, Billy. This isn't your fault. If there's anybody responsible, it's the men who are doing this to us. You aren't my enemy. Not any more."
Donovan looked relieved. "Do you mean that, Skip? Oh, golly, that means so much to me!" Then he looked upset. "There I go again! I sound like one of the girls from 'The Brady Bunch'! This is disgusting!"
I felt Control tighten a bit. "Well, Billy, if you were one of the Brady girls, which one would you like to be?"
"Marsha," he replied immediately, "I always thought she was the prettiest."
"I know what you mean, Billy. And the outfits she wore, weren't they just the best?" Control loosened again. "Oh, gosh, did I really say that?"
"I'm afraid so, Skip. And I mean what I said. I am truly sorry that I got you into this mess."
I was touched. Donovan's regret was genuine, and I could tell that it wasn't coming from Control. "Thank you, Billy," I said. "I accept your apology. I guess I didn't know that underneath all of that belligerence you had a conscience."
"You might be surprised at everything I keep inside," he replied.
I didn't have much time to consider Donovan's cryptic remark, or to explore our newfound camaraderie. Beethoven sounded once more and the image of the same woman we had seen earlier once again replaced the pyramid. She was just as saccharine as before when she spoke to us.
"Hello again, ladies. I see you found the lovely robes we left for you. Don't you just love them? And the good news is, they feel even better thanks to the enhancements we made to your nerve receptors. But now it's time for even more exciting changes!"
Control kicked in again as she described our next round of transformation. Like meat puppets dancing to Control's tune, we stood. This phase would further modify our facial structure, particularly our nose, eyebrows, cheeks, and chin. But most profound, we would be given breasts. Our mammary glands would bud to about an A-cup. This would be the final transformation we would undergo today. We stood in silence as the crystal descended. We were again bathed in yellow light and felt the now-familiar tingle of the process. Then it stopped.
I gasped a very womanly gasp when my vision cleared. There were now two distinct bumps pushing up from underneath Donovan's robe. Furthermore, I could now feel something quite alien on my own chest. I didn't see them, but I already knew that I now possessed breasts. I could feel the increased resistance against the material of my robe.
The chimes sounded and the pyramid once more came to life. "Well, girls, I'm sure that you are proud of your new breasts. This concludes the physical alterations for this evening. But we're not done yet. Now we're going to discuss the behavior Harmony expects of its ladies. And we'll give you some time to get used to your new bodies."
We sat as our hostess began explaining what life in Harmony would be like, and what would be required of us. We would be expected to maintain high standards of appearance and deportment, always striving for the greatest degree of femininity. We were expected to be affectionate and obsequious to all men, particularly our husbands. The men were expected to comport themselves as gentlemen at all times, performing such chivalrous tasks as holding doors and chairs for ladies and lighting their cigarettes. We were expected to allow them to do so.
Oh, yes, for some reason smoking was not an optional activity. We would be expected to smoke ladies' cigarettes and always wait for any man nearby to light them. There were other rules, but that seemed the most bizarre.
We would be expected to engage in a number of social activities both formal and casual. Harmonians were a social people and Control assured this. But we would have ample time alone with our husbands. To what purpose was left unspoken, but I had my suspicions.
As she described our new lives in Harmony, I began to wonder about her. What was her past? Who was she before an uncaring fate doomed her to this island? How did she feel while she was being transformed? I might never know.
She continued. "You will have a wide variety of clothing to choose from, guaranteed to please the most discriminating of tastes. For tonight we've limited your choices in order for you to get acquainted with your new appearance. You will find a supply of cosmetics and everything else you might need for this evening.
"Now, since your appearance is definitely more female than male, we know that you must feel awkward addressing each other with male names. So we have assigned you new female names. Miss Donovan, your new name is Patricia Susan Donovan. You may refer to yourself as Patricia, Patty, or Patty Sue. Miss Hertz, your new name is Laura Jean Hertz. You may refer to yourself as Laura or Laura Jean. Of course, you may not use your former male names. And should you refer to each other by your last names, you will use the title 'Miss.' Don't be afraid of making a mistake, ladies. Control will ensure that you always use your proper names.
"That's all for now, girls. You will be able to talk freely among yourselves this evening, within reason of course. Don't worry about having to remember everything I've told you tonight, since behavioral control will make this quite easy. Have a pleasant evening and I'll see you tomorrow."
I felt the ghostly hand of Control slip away before her image faded. "Excuse me," I said, "can you hear me?"
The woman answered. "Yes, I can hear you, Miss Hertz. Is there something you need?"
"I'm just curious about something," I said. "This process is being accomplished in distinct phases. Is there some reason for this? Why don't you just do the whole process in one step?"
The woman looked perplexed. "I'm really not sure," she answered, "but I can find out. I'll ask one of our scientists about it and get back to you. Would that be all right?"
"Yes, it would. Thank you."
"Oh, you're quite welcome, Miss Hertz. Goodnight." The woman's image faded, replaced by the viewing pyramid.
Donovan looked at me suspiciously. "Is this part of some plan to get us out of here, Laura?"
"Not particularly, Patty," I answered. "I'm just a curious girl." I had meant to say "fellow" but Control was exerting its influence over my speech, even to the point of making me refer to Donovan as Patty.
"Well I don't know about you, but all of this has left me just plain famished. Why don't we get changed and get something to eat? I certainly don't want to eat in my robe!" He giggled girlishly, and so did I.
"Yes, let's get changed. I can't wait to see the pretty things we have to wear." I couldn't believe that came out of my mouth! We both got up from the sofa and retired to our respective bedrooms. All the while, I could feel my hips sway back and forth seductively. Those damned little nanobots were coordinating my every move. I gave up trying to resist and let Control do the driving.
Inside my turquoise bedroom I opened the closet to hang up my robe. There was now a dress hanging inside. I removed it from the hanger and held it up to myself as though I were trying to see how it would look on me. I put the dress back on its hanger and walked over to the dresser. In the top drawer I found a pair of panties and a bra, both colored turquoise. The panties were high-cut and trimmed in lace. The bra was a seamless, soft-cup design. I also found a nightgown and a pair of pantyhose. I picked up the panties and pulled them over my smooth legs. They were high-cut and fit perfectly about my hips. I noticed that my waistline was now a few inches higher. I then put my arms through the straps of the bra and leaned forward to allow my breasts to fall into the cups. I reached behind my back and fastened the hook. I fussed with my boobs for a few seconds, adjusting the cups, pushing them up and in and adjusting the straps in order to present the maximum of cleavage. My consciousness was numb with disbelief as I went through these motions like I had been doing it all my life.
I removed the pantyhose and sat down next to the vanity. I found myself rolling up the pantyhose and slowly stretching it over my legs. I had never worn hosiery of any kind before, but I found myself slipping this on like I'd been practicing for years.
Seated at the vanity, my attention now turned to my nails. The process had made them grow to a length about half an inch past my fingertips. I opened one of the vanity drawers and removed some manicure tools. I watched as control guided me through the process of filing each nail and applying a coat of red nail polish to each one. I held the nails out and waved them back and forth while they dried. Then I brushed on a clear topcoat. This also dried after about ten minutes, but the nails still looked wet.
Now I studied my face in the vanity mirror. I opened another drawer and removed several items to the top of the vanity. Using a sponge, I applied a light layer of liquid foundation. I marveled at my adeptness in applying and feathering this stuff like a pro. In the same manner I found myself applying mascara, eye shadow, eyeliner, and blush. My makeup was not very heavy at all. I applied some loose powder to set the makeup. How did I know that was why I did it? Another question to file away.
I rose from the chair and went to the closet. I unzipped the dress and put it over my head, letting my arms go through the short sleeves. It was a lovely little turquoise dress with a trim bodice and a flared skirt that showed off my hips quite nicely. I managed to zip up the back and looked in the mirror. I adjusted the bodice a little so that it was smooth and displayed my cleavage.
There were turquoise pumps with about a 2-inch heel in the closet. I stepped into these with ease. Somehow I knew that they would fit me perfectly. I sat down at the vanity again and watched in a kind of horrified amazement as I lined and colored my lips with pink lipstick. But I wasn't done yet.
I brushed my hair. It wasn't very long, but it was longer than it had been in the morning. I managed to get it into a stylish sort of a flip and held it in place with some hair spray.
I reached into yet another vanity drawer and produced a small atomizer. Again, I watched impotently as I spritzed some fragrance behind my ears, on my wrists, and in my cleavage. It was a very intense fragrance that I did not recognize but which I christened "Eau de French Whorehouse."
There was a jewelry box and a turquoise purse on the dresser. I opened the box and removed a pair of earrings, a pendent on a delicate chain, and a thin bracelet. I expertly donned all of this jewelry. Then I picked up the purse and returned to the vanity.
I opened my purse and put in a compact, a lipstick tube, and the perfume. I walked to the mirror and was stunned at what I saw. It was like I had a teenage sister who was going out on a special date. She looked pretty, sexy, and quite vulnerable. And she was I.
As I stood at the mirror, I tested the limits of Control. I found that I could make some facial expressions. I winked, smiled, stuck my tongue out, and scrunched up my nose. I walked back and forth. While I could decide the direction I walked in, the manner of my stride was being coordinated by Control. I took small, feminine steps, swaying my hips back and forth seductively. I placed my hands on my hips. Clearly, I still retained some discretionary control over my actions. How much was still an unknown quantity.
I headed back to the common area. Donovan was ahead of me. He was all dolled up himself in a pastel peach dress with matching pumps. This color-coding was interesting. Donovan was seated on one of the stools at the wet bar, showing off his legs and sipping a glass of rosé wine.
"Oh, you have some wine, Patty! What a wonderful idea!" I set the menu for a glass of Chablis and removed it from the dispenser. I suppose that alcohol was now permitted, bolstering the evidence for my hypothesis that alcohol interfered with the process. I grasped the stemmed glass between my manicured fingers and sipped demurely. And I contemplated one of the subtleties of Control.
There's a reason that a wineglass has a stem. It's to maintain the wine in a chilled state. A white or rosé wine should be served chilled, and touching the glass can warm it too quickly. One properly should grasp the stem as far away from the bowl as practical. But I found my fingers wrapping themselves around the bowl so as to show off my long, polished nails. Most curious.
"Laura," said Donovan, "that dress is just you! I can't get over how pretty it looks."
"Why thank you, Patty," I replied, "but you look nice yourself. I just love what you've done to your hair!" He was wearing a comb with a flower in it.
"Do you like it? I saw this comb on my vanity and I just had to wear it. I adore it! But look at that pendant you're wearing! It's so beautiful!"
"Oh, this old thing?" I replied, "it's just something I found in the jewelry box." We chitchatted like that for about half an hour as we sipped our wine. Then I set my glass down and reached for my purse.
Control was guiding me as I opened the purse and withdrew a cigarette case and a lighter. The case was polished silver with a geometric pattern engraved into it. Opening the case revealed twenty long, thin, white cigarettes. I withdrew one and closed the case. I tried in vain to stop myself, but Control was now in charge. I put the cigarette in my lips and flicked the lighter. I touched the flame to the end of the cigarette and sucked. I was rewarded with a mouthful of smoke and a glowing ember at the end of the cigarette.
With deft motions like unto those resulting from years of practice, I closed the lighter and put it back in my purse along with the cigarette case. I drew smoke into my mouth once more, grasped the cigarette in my right hand, parted my lips slightly, and inhaled smoke. It was not a pleasant experience. The smoke assaulted my lung tissue. My body wanted to obey its sensible reflex to cough and expel the noxious fumes from my lungs, but Control short-circuited that response. Instead, I held the smoke inside my lungs briefly before blowing it lazily into the air. I held the cigarette at just the right angle between my slim fingers. "God, I needed that!" I exclaimed.
Donovan now had a cigarette of his own lit up. I don't suppose this was as traumatic for him as it was for me, but it was different seeing him take dainty puffs from a slim white tube held between two perfectly manicured fingers. It was comical, and I found myself giggling.
"Is something funny, Laura?" Donovan asked me.
"Just watching you smoke, Patty. I was reminded of that stinky cigar you were smoking in the taxicab." I giggled again, and Donovan joined me.
"Oh, that gross thing!" he said. "It was just so, you know, smelly and all! I really like my cigarettes much better."
We were still giggling when we were interrupted by the sound of Beethoven’s Fifth. We looked over at the viewing pyramid, which was becoming illuminated. It was replaced with a three-dimensional projection of Supervisor Rozell.
Rozell was the picture of a refined gentleman enjoying a casual evening in his den. He was dressed in a smoking jacket with a silk cravat and was holding a smoldering briar pipe. "Good evening, ladies," Rozell said. "My, but you do look particularly beautiful this evening. And I see that you are adjusting to our social customs as well. How pleasant."
"Thank you, Mr. Rozell," I answered shyly, batting my eyelashes.
"I understand, Miss Hertz, that you have a question about our process, a technical question. You are the first of our young ladies to show any sort of curiosity in this regard."
"I hope I haven't broken any rules, Mr. Rozell," I said. "As I told Patricia earlier today, I'm just a curious sort of a girl."
"I understand completely, my dear, and you haven't broken any rules. Just for your information, the process involves a great deal of interaction between the microscopic controllers in your body and the energies we exert to effect your physical transformation. The first step was the most profound, of course. During the rest periods, the microscopic controllers gather information about the unique, subtle changes in your own body chemistry and structure. Then they transmit this information to the electronic brain. This permits us to tailor all subsequent treatments to your own personal physiology.
"There is also some unavoidable damage resulting from the process. Tonight while you sleep the microscopic controllers shall repair any damage and prepare your bodies for the final segment of the process."
"Oh, that sounds so very technical," I said. "I'm not sure if I understand it all." That was a lie. I just discovered that it was possible to lie while under Control, provided I did so in a girlish way.
"Don't worry your pretty little head over it, Miss Hertz," Rozell said. "The Science Council and I have perfected the process. We haven't had an unsuccessful transformation in many years."
"You don't know how relieved I am to hear that, Mr. Rozell. Thank you for reassuring me. I was just so nervous!"
"Not at all, Miss Hertz. Have a pleasant evening and I'll see you tomorrow." The image faded, replaced by the solid form of the pyramid.
"Oh, Laura," Donovan said, "you are such a 'fraidy cat." He giggled. So did I. But the part of me that was still me, my mind, had just latched on to some interesting facts.
First fact: Rozell was not the only boss of Harmony. He had something called the Science Council either to assist him or to answer to. I would have to find out later just what the Science Council was and how it fit in to the puzzle.
Second fact: Rozell and his boys had a few failures in turning men into women. Just what were these failures? And what happened to the poor souls that were failures? That's the problem with facts, they always lead to more questions.
Third fact: much of the work of Control and the transformation process was being performed by the nanobots we had been injected with.
Fourth fact: Rozell possessed a certain arrogant smugness. He believed himself to be completely in control and totally secure. Perhaps I could find a way to exploit this.
I made one other pertinent observation. I noticed that Rozell employed a certain archaic speech pattern, referring to nanobots as "microscopic controllers" and computers as "electronic brains." Wait a minute! He always spoke of the electronic brain in the singular. Could it be that Harmony possessed only one mainframe-type computer that ran everything?
I was processing this information on background. In the foreground, I let Control lead. It danced me through an evening of idle, girlish chitchat during which Donovan and I ate a light dinner of broiled chicken and steamed vegetables (mustn't lose that girlish figure!), consumed several glasses of wine, and each smoked four cigarettes. And we must have repaired our makeup about a dozen times.
At about Nine O’clock we said goodnight and returned to our bedrooms. I observed as Control took me through the steps of disassembling my appearance. First I removed my jewelry and replaced it carefully in the jewelry box. I removed my pumps and put them in the closet. I unzipped my dress and hung it up. I sat at the vanity and opened one of the drawers to remove a small box of tissues and a jar of cold cream. I rubbed the cold cream over my face and wiped it off with the tissues, effectively removing all of my makeup. I repeated this process to remove any lingering traces and to open my pores.
I reached into my purse for another cigarette. I lit up and set it into the ashtray. I retrieved some cotton pads and a bottle of nail polish remover from the vanity and removed all of the nail polish I had so carefully applied a few hours ago.
I took a few puffs from my cigarette and then picked up the golden brush that was on the vanity. I proceeded to brush my hair a hundred strokes, which my conscious self found quite absurd since I really didn't have a whole lot of hair. But Control would not be denied. I had given up resisting its direction and just let Control drive. I was a passenger on this bus.
I reached behind my back and undid the bra I was wearing. I removed it and stood in front of the mirror. This was the first chance I had to really inspect these new breasts of mine. I ran my hands over my enlarged nipples and around their aureoles. I gasped at the touch. They were incredibly sensitive! I touched and probed these strange mounds of flesh now gracing my chest. And in all honesty, it was not unpleasant. Could it be possible that I might actually come to enjoy this transformation?
I dismissed this notion as Control kicked in. I donned my robe, took one more puff from my cigarette before stubbing it out, and proceeded to the bathroom. I sat down and peed.
My conscious self rebelled. There was no need for this! I still had a penis! Maybe it was shrunken to the size of a small boy's organ, but it could still function in its waste-elimination capacity. There was no reason for me to sit down other than to reinforce the fact that I was no longer a man.
I finished, wiped myself, and returned to my bedroom. I removed the robe and my panties and put on the rose-colored nightgown I had found earlier. I suppose the color-coding couldn't last forever. I placed the bra and panties into a disposal bin and got into bed. The lights dimmed automatically. I fell almost immediately into a deep sleep.
If I dreamed that night, I don't remember. The next thing I was aware of was the alarm clock going off. It was 6:00 AM. Not that I needed the alarm, since Control ensured I was awake. I arose, donned my robe, and made my way to the bathroom.
Donovan was already seated on the toilet. "Of all the things I have been forced to do," he said, "I think sitting down to pee is the most humiliating." Then he giggled. "But at least I won't miss the toilet. And I certainly won't forget to leave the seat down."
"Oh, that's so true, Patty," I replied. "Don't you just hate it when men leave the seat up? It's just so inconsiderate! I hope that Larry doesn't have any bad habits like that."
"And I hope I don't have to train Glen, either. Honestly, sometimes men can be so dense!"
Donovan wiped himself and rose from the toilet. It flushed automatically. I opened my robe, pulled up my nightie, and sat to relieve myself. All the while, Control had us complaining about the shortcomings of men. I suppose this was somebody's idea of "girl talk."
We went to the food dispenser and ordered up a light breakfast of croissants and black coffee. I suppose cream and sugar was dangerous to our figures. We ate and chatted, directed by the ever-watchful Control. I think we were discussing the ideal wedding when Beethoven sounded.
We resumed our places at the sofa. The pyramid again illuminated and our cheerful, smiling hostess once more greeted us. "Good morning, ladies. I hope you slept well. We have a big day ahead of us, so why don't we get started? Let's begin by taking a shower."
I followed Donovan to the bathroom. We stripped out of our robes and nightgowns and entered the shower stalls. Once again we shampooed our hair and scrubbed ourselves with the poufs. We toweled ourselves dry, then placed the towels, the robes, and the nightgowns into the disposal chute. Naked, we returned to the common area and stood just in front of the sofa.
As we stood, our hostess said, "Thank you, girls. As I said, we have a big day ahead of us. By this afternoon you shall be complete women. So let's get going.
"For the first phase today, your musculoskeletal system shall be transformed to a fully female proportion, and your hair and nails shall be grown to their full length. Please remain still while the process proceeds."
We stood like statues. I was aware of the exotic crystal fixture extending from overhead as it lowered itself into position. The high-pitched hum started gradually, increasing with every moment. Once again my head tilted upward and I stared at the fixture as it rotated. The coherent beam of pale yellow light formed around me and intensified. My skin experienced the ghostly footsteps of a plague of insects crawling over me. The light was blinding. Then it faded. We could move again.
The change this time was in some ways subtle, in others profound. My nails were now longer, and my hair was long and silky. It fell well past my shoulders. Donovan's hair was about the same length. I could see that what few muscles had been left him were now smooth and flaccid. Mine were as well. My hips actually felt wider. And my pubic hair had become softer.
"That was great, ladies," our ebullient announcer said. "Your skeletal and muscular structure is now completely feminine. But we have more in store. Please remain still while the process completes."
By now the feeling was familiar, only the results changed. This time my penis disappeared. I now possessed the beginnings of a vagina. The fold of skin that had been my scrotum had vanished. Despite my appearance of calmness, maintained by the stern hand of Control, I was panicking. Each new transformation, however subtle, was pushing me further along the road to womanhood. And I did not know if I would ever return.
Our mistress of ceremonies once again appeared. "Girls, you are doing just fine. Only one more phase remains. Your breasts will grow to their full size and your vagina and uterus will morph into their fully functional forms. You will be able to engage in any form of sexual activity you enjoy. And thanks to the sensory enhancements you have been given, you will be able to enjoy sex far more thoroughly than you ever did before." She winked and smiled. "But I'll let you discover this for yourself.
"This final phase will provide you with pierced ears. You will be able to wear pierced earrings immediately. Don't worry about infection or pain, the process creates the hole without actually piercing your flesh.
"The final phase will also alter your cell structure, morphing your Y-chromosome into an X. You will be a woman in every way possible.
"Oh, and don't worry about getting pregnant. Our process permanently closes your Fallopian tubes, thus preventing fertilization. You may enjoy lovemaking with your husband free from any consequences.
"At this time, you must rest. The final phase will begin in about an hour. You’ll have some time to get dressed and made up. You will then be met by a delegation of the ladies of Harmony who will escort you to town to go shopping for new clothes. After that you will head to the beauty parlor. We want you to be especially pretty for your new husbands. They have been waiting a long time for this day, and I'm sure you are just as anxious to see them.
"See you later, girls." She winked and her image vanished, once again replaced by the translucent pyramid.
I felt tired. I yawned, covering my mouth daintily. Donovan also yawned. "I know we just got up a few hours ago," I said, "but I really could use a nap."
"I could use a little catnap too, Laura," said Donovan. "I don't want to get any nasty bags under my eyes."
We both giggled, and went to our bedrooms. I laid down, still naked, and fell into a light sleep. In the back of my mind, I concluded that this morning's phases were less subtle than they appeared. I dreamed about shooting hoops one-on-one with some unidentified player.
I woke up. According to the clock, I had been asleep less than half an hour. I arose from the bed feeling completely refreshed. Still naked, I returned to the sofa.
Donovan joined me at the sofa. We stood silently as the pyramid projector lit up again. Our smiling hostess once again greeted us.
"All right, girls," she said, "this is the big moment I know you have been waiting for. This is the final phase. After this, you will be women in every way. So let's not wait any longer, shall we? Please remain still until the process completes."
Control had us standing as rigid as the sentries outside Buckingham Palace. I heard the convoluted fixture descend. I saw the pale yellow light increase in intensity to blinding whiteness. I heard the hum of the apparatus increase in pitch and volume until it felt like my very bones were vibrating. I felt the legs of a million insects crawling over my skin. And just as quickly as it started, it was over. The ghostly insect legs went away. The blinding glare and deafening shriek faded.
I watched the crystal as it withdrew to the top of the vaulted ceiling. The first thing I saw when my vision cleared was Donovan. He had changed. His breasts now had blossomed to a pair of truly voluptuous proportions. He was at least a D-cup. And I knew that masculine pronouns were no longer appropriate. Every vestige of Billy-Bob Donovan had been erased. Before me stood Patty Sue Donovan, a woman in every physical way. And I knew just as well that Skip Hertz had also vanished. I could feel the pendulous masses now resident on my own chest. Without ever seeing them, I knew that I now had at least a pair of C-cups. I was Laura Jean Hertz, a woman. The only place Skip Hertz still existed was in my mind.
(End of Part 1)
©2001 Valentina Michelle Smith
What will become of Skip Hertz? Will he remain a prisoner of the island of Harmony? Is there any possibility of escape from his predicament? And what is the true secret of this mysterious society? The surprising answers will be found in Part 2 of Escape from Harmony.
If you enjoyed this story, you will also enjoy the story that inspired it, "The Sisters of Athernia" by Diane Christy.
Readers, Please Remember to Leave a Comment
A man transformed into a woman is forced to serve the men on a mysterious island. But there is a way out of any trap. Second of two parts.
This story is inspired by Diane Christy's classic TG story "The Sisters of Athernia." Sadly, Ms. Christy never finished the story. I do hope you enjoy my own take on this classic.
(Part 2)
The story so far: Skip Hertz, wanted for bank robbery and wire fraud, is captured on a remote Caribbean island by bounty hunter Billy-Bob Donovan. The aircraft returning Hertz and Donovan to the mainland crashes in the ocean. Hertz and Donovan wash up onto an island called Harmony. They learn that the island was once inhabited by a mysterious race with technology far in advance of ours. Preceding shipwreck victims have learned how to use this technology and have created a paradise. Unfortunately, due to the unique conditions found on the island, young children and women all succumb to an incurable disease and perish.
Hertz and Donovan are injected with nanobots by Harmony’s rulers and are subjected to an alien process that transforms them into women. Also, the nanobots control their behavior, forcing them to behave in a sexually provocative and completely subservient manner.
As the story opens, the transformation has just completed.
Ludwig Van sounded again. The pyramid flared into life and our beaming hostess greeted us. "Congratulations, girls," she said. "Your transformation was a complete success. You are now women in every way, and are ready to take your place in Harmonian society.
"In two hours a delegation of women from Harmony shall meet with you to begin your assimilation into our culture. It will be a busy day, ladies, beginning with a trip to town where you will select the clothing, shoes, cosmetics, and other essentials you will need. Then we will take you to our beauty parlor for manicures and hair styling. And then we have a special surprise for you. But I’ll tell you about that later.
"Now I know you’ve been through a lot, so why don’t you get cleaned up and dressed for your shopping spree. I’ll be seeing you in two hours. Bye, bye for now!" Her image faded and the translucent pyramid reappeared.
Patty turned and walked to the bathroom. I followed, dancing to the pied piper of Control. Once again we showered and shampooed. I explored the new, different areas of my body as I washed. I ran my fingers over my wet, soapy breasts and was astonished at the sensation. As difficult as it was to believe, they were far more sensitive and far more responsive then they had been the night before. I gasped as my nipples hardened to my touch. With a combination of terror and curiosity I probed the moist folds of skin between my thighs. I was rewarded by the most intense burst of pleasure I had ever experienced! I continued to probe, touch, and tickle as the waves of sensuous pleasure suffused my consciousness. Involuntary tremors shook my body. I had never felt anything like this before, but somehow I knew that I was experiencing female orgasm. And I liked it! God help me, I wanted it!
I probably would have continued to pleasure myself in the shower, but after a few minutes Control nudged me back to the immediate task of showering. It was with great reluctance that I rinsed the soap from my skin. I could hear a faint moan escaping from the other shower and realized that Patty had brought herself to climax as well.
I emerged from the shower and grabbed one of the towels, which I used to dry my hair. I wrapped it around my hair like a turban. I took another towel and started to dry my body when Patty emerged. She looked at me and smiled.
"Laura," she asked, "did you feel it?"
"Oh, God, I did, Patty! It was just so incredible!"
"Do you think that’s how it’s going to be every time?"
"I think so."
"Then I can’t wait to sleep with Glenn. I want this feeling to last forever!"
"Oh, yes, and I want to start sleeping with Larry!" I said. I couldn’t believe what was coming out of my mouth! Yes, the orgasm was the most intensely pleasurable experience of my life, and I wouldn’t mind feeling it again. But the part of me that was still Skip recoiled in horror. Sleep with a man? Have sex with a man? No! Never!
My mind had no control of my mouth, or of any other body part. I continued to dry myself and exchange girl talk with Patty. The talk was all about sex, how we would please our men, and how they would please us.
We returned to our bedrooms. I opened the dresser drawer and found a new set of underwear awaiting me. I removed the high-cut lace-trimmed turquoise panties and pulled them over my legs. The silky cloth clung to my skin. I then donned the turquoise underwired bra. From the labeling I discovered that I was a 38D. The underwires lifted and shaped to present my ample cleavage in a most provocative manner. It was not very comfortable, but I had no choice.
I once again went through the ritual of rolling up pantyhose and slowly pulling it over my shapely legs. With my legs now encased in sheer nylon, I took a seat at the vanity. It was now stocked with a wider array of cosmetics then I had found there yesterday. I applied foundation, blush, mascara, eyeliner and eye shadow with an ease that implied years of experience but which, in fact, came from Control. I struggled in vain to resist as I continued my beauty regimen.
My nails were longer now, but still retained some of their shape from last night. I filed them a bit, pushed back my cuticles, and applied red polish followed by a clear topcoat. I waved them around until they dried. They were hard but still looked wet.
I stood and walked to the closet. A slip and a dress were hanging there. I removed the slip from its hanger and pulled it over my head. I smoothed the bodice over my breasts and let the skirt fall freely. Its lacey hem came to about mid-thigh. I then removed the dress. It was a simple turquoise sheath with a plunging neckline that displayed my underwired cleavage quite effectively. The skirt came to just above my knees. It was elegant in its simplicity.
I retrieved my purse from the top of the dresser and once again seated myself at the vanity. I applied a deep red color to my lips, lining them and filling them completely with a lip brush. I then followed this with a shiny gloss to produce a wet look. My lips were full and sensuous. I then picked up a brush and styled my hair. It fell quite nicely into a shoulder-length flip and the repeated brushing enhanced its luster.
I picked up the perfume bottle and sprayed a little Eau de French Whorehouse on my wrists, behind my knees, and in my cleavage. This was potent stuff. I then opened the jewelry case and withdrew the dangly earrings I found inside. It felt strange to actually put the wires through the little holes in my ear lobes. I added a gold necklace, a tennis bracelet, and a cocktail ring to my ensemble.
I opened my purse and added some items to it; a compact, a lipstick tube, the perfume, a brush, and some other essentials. I withdrew the cigarette case and opened it. It was full, with twenty slim, long cigarettes inside. I did not recall refilling it. Another mystery to ponder. I closed the case and replaced it in my purse.
I rose from the vanity and walked over to the closet. Inside I found a pair of turquoise pumps with four-inch stiletto heels. I stepped into these with ease. The heels caused my balance to shift, thrusting my butt and cleavage out even further and enhancing my legs. I walked over to the full-length mirror and examined myself.
Remember the description I gave of the nurses and how they exuded a sensuality that could ignite flames of desire in any man? That is the image I beheld in the mirror, a sultry, fiery temptress. And she was I.
My mind recoiled at the sight. I wanted to smash the mirror and use the shards of glass to open an artery. But I was restrained by the ever-present Control. I winked and blew myself a kiss. Damn, but I was sexy!
Purse in hand, I left the bedroom and walked into the common area. I sat on one of the barstools, displaying my nylon-clad legs. Why I struck such a sexy pose when nobody was there to see was beyond me. Control wanted to keep me in practice, I suppose. I knew I was still being controlled because with no desire on my part I found myself opening my purse and removing my cigarette case and lighter. I extracted one of the slim, white cigarettes from the case, closed it, and tamped the tobacco down before placing it in my mouth. I lit it, took a mouthful of smoke, and inhaled. Once more the noxious fumes assaulted my lungs and throat, but I made no outward indication of my distress. I blew smoke into the air and held the cigarette at just the right angle.
Patty emerged wearing a floral dress with a peach handbag and pumps. Like me, Patty was the image of sensuality. She swayed her hips seductively as she walked to the bar. "Laura," she said, "just wait until Larry gets a load of you. He won’t be able to keep his hands to himself."
"Why thank you, Patty," I answered, "but speak for yourself, girl! Once Glen sees you I don’t think you will be able to control him."
Patty sat down and lit one of her own cigarettes. We sat there smoking and idly chatting for several minutes. Within my mind, I was beginning to panic. I was trying desperately to stop this insanity, to throw away the cigarette, tear off the clothes I wore, and shout "I am a man!" at the top of my lungs, but to no avail. I could only watch in increasing terror as my body went through its motions. I could exert no influence over my actions. I was helpless.
The door to our apartment slid open. Four women, led by our ethereal mistress of ceremonies, entered. We arose as she walked in. "Hello, Laura," she said, "and hello, Patty. Welcome to the community. I’m Ashley Rozell, and these are some of the other ladies of our community. May I introduce Doris Clay, Sarah Wilson, and Diana Moncton. Girls, this is Laura Jean Hertz and Patty Sue Donovan."
Patty and I shook hands with the ladies and invited them to sit down and have something to eat or drink. We all sat around the coffee table sipping from teacups and smoking cigarettes. After a few minutes, Ashley indicated that it was time to go shopping. We all checked and repaired our makeup, grabbed our purses, and left the room.
We walked down the corridor and outside. I looked back at the building we had exited. It was the one we had seen in the three-dimensional recordings. Seen from the outside, I could appreciate just how massive a building it was. I also noticed that Rozell and crew had made a few additions to it, such as a massive glass-enclosed entry and a sign reading "Harmony Town Hall" over the doorway.
Unlike the recordings, the building was not surrounded by dense jungle but by a broad, well-trimmed lawn. A walkway led from the entrance to a sidewalk, and the walk bordered a wide paved street. The street was lined with shops small and large. We entered the first one, which was a corsetier’s shop.
Inside Patty and I were shown a selection of lacy panties, brassieres, slips, nightgowns, and garter belts. I had no desire to select lingerie, but Control was pulling the puppet strings and I found myself picking out slips, bras, and other frilly underthings in various styles and colors.
Despite Control, my curiosity bubbled to the surface. "Excuse me," I asked one of the sales clerks, "don’t you need to measure us to get our size?"
"That’s not necessary, Miss Hertz," replied the clerk, "your measurements are in the record system of the electronic brain. Everything you order will be a perfect fit because it will be made to your specifications. And it will be delivered to your home."
"My home?" I asked.
Ashley Rozell spoke up. "Yes, Laura, your home. You will be living with your husband, of course."
"Of course," I answered. "Thank you for clearing that up."
"Not a problem, Laura." Ashley said. "Martin told me you were a curious girl. Myself, I don’t worry about such things. I leave that to the men."
"Well I hope I’m not being too much of a bother," I said.
"No bother at all, Laura." She smiled sweetly, and I smiled back.
Our next stop was the dressmaker’s shop. Patty and I were presented with an array of dresses, skirts, and blouses. Under the direction of Control, I selected a number of dresses suitable for formal occasions, parties, social gatherings, and house wear. Every item was cut so as to display cleavage in a flattering manner. I concluded that the men of Harmony must have a breast fetish.
We made the rounds of various shops, selecting shoes in one, hats in another, bathing suits, makeup, handbags, perfume, hosiery, and other assorted feminine items. It was several hours later when we all entered the Beauty Parlor.
By this time I had given up any attempt to resist. Control was directing my every move. I could do nothing to stop myself, so I just allowed it to happen. I was shampooed and seated in a beautician’s chair.
I attempted to take some action independent of Control and discovered that I could. I asked the beautician, "Does your husband mind that you work here?"
"I don’t have a husband," she responded.
"But I thought all of the women here were married?"
"They are," she replied. "I’m a robot drone."
My surprise must have been noticeable because Diane Moncton offered me an explanation. "Laura, we use robot drones in Harmony to perform most of the everyday servile duties. They function as our store clerks, our hairdressers, our house servants, and in any of the menial tasks required. This frees us to be creative."
"Oh," I said, "I must sound awfully stupid asking these questions."
"Of course not, dear. You’re just curious. There’s nothing wrong with that."
"Well, I don’t want to seem dumb," I said.
"Don’t worry about it, Laura. Besides, some guys find a dumb girl sexy." She blushed.
I sat in the chair as my hair was brushed, blow-dried, shaped, and sprayed into a complicated style. Then I moved to the manicurist’s chair where my fingernails and toenails were shaped and polished. I had to admit that it felt nice to be pampered this way. But I still could not accept the transformation.
We left the beauty parlor and started walking. "Girls," said Ashley, "remember that surprise I told you about? Well here it is." We were in front of the Bridal Shop.
My panic went into overdrive. I vainly tried to resist as I followed the women into the shop. Inside, Patty and I were shown a selection of wedding gowns. I picked (or, more correctly, Control made me pick) an antique lace gown with a train and crystal beadwork. Patty picked a plain satin sheath with a fantail skirt and a lace overlay. We both were fitted into our gowns and stepped into matching white high-heeled shoes. Mine were sling-backs, while Patty wore pumps, but they both were equipped with four-inch stiletto heels. A bridal bouquet was pressed into my hands. I wanted to drop it and run, but Control held me in place. I emerged from the dressing room to find our escorts all decked out in periwinkle bridesmaids’ gowns. Just outside, a long white limousine awaited us. We all got in.
The limo ride lasted about five minutes. I fought down my panic long enough to observe several facts about the ride. For one thing, there was no engine noise as the limo drove along, and no indication of exhaust. Whatever was moving this car was not an internal combustion engine.
We exchanged "girl talk" as we rode. I don’t recall much of it except for some recurrent giggling. We were driven to a building a few blocks from the Town Hall. As I emerged, I saw a sign over the broad entry door: Harmony Social Hall.
We lined up outside the hall. Somehow I knew that the town was assembled inside. I giggled nervously. The center doors opened. I could hear an orchestra playing the Wedding March. The bridesmaids each entered ahead of us. I stood at the door with Patty next to me. Two men each offered us their arms, which we accepted. Escorted by these men, we entered the hall.
We entered a vestibule that led to an auditorium. Inside the auditorium, the townspeople of Harmony were assembled on either side of a wide aisle. At the end of the aisle, on a raised platform, stood five men. Rozell was in the center, wearing a blue academic robe over his ivory suit. He was flanked by four men in formal wear. I recognized Larry Poole and Glen Dalton. The others must be witnesses.
Patty and I were escorted to the platform where we each took our place at the side of our respective fiancées. I looked over at Larry nervously, just like a blushing bride. He smiled at me and gave me a little wink. I have to admit that he looked quite handsome in his white tie, waistcoat, and tails. But I still wanted to bolt and run. I wanted to just get the hell out of this insane place!
Rozell presided over the ceremony, looking quite resplendent in his academic robe. It was trimmed with three velvet stripes that normally signified a doctoral degree. I don’t know if he had a Ph.D. or just wore the robe to look impressive. He spoke in a manner that exuded authority as he recited the traditional wedding ceremony. When he came to the question, "Do you come here of your own free will?" I wanted to shout No! No! I’m being forced to do this! But Control was working me like a ventriloquist’s dummy. I heard "Yes" emerge softly and daintily from my mouth.
Rozell led us through the entire farce of a ceremony, forcing me to take vows that were meant to be a free expression of love and commitment between two devoted persons. Instead, the words became a mockery of this most sacred union. With Control moving my lips and vocal cords, I repeated the solemn vows to love, honor, and obey Larry Poole, a man I only met one day ago, for the rest of my natural life. Rozell pronounced us man and wife and gave Larry permission to kiss me.
Our lips joined briefly, then parted. It was, after all, only a ceremonial kiss. Rozell then repeated the vows for Patty and Glen. We then all turned to the assembled community and were introduced to Harmony as "Mister and Missus." I tried to scream, but my mouth would not obey. I tried to run, but my legs were not working for me any longer. My own body betrayed me as Larry took my arm and led me down the aisle to the lobby of the assembly hall. Patty and Glen were right behind, along with the rest of the wedding party.
We stopped in the lobby. Larry turned and gave me a long, passionate kiss. To my horror, I found myself returning his kiss and adding something of my own. As we kissed I became aware of an unaccustomed wetness between my legs. I realized with revulsion that my vagina (my vagina??) was lubricating. It was preparing to receive Larry!
Diana Moncton said, "Hey, you two, save it for the honeymoon!" We all laughed nervously and formed a reception line. We greeted all of the townspeople like old friends, exchanging hugs and warm words. All of the men insisted on kissing the brides, of course, and Patty and I obliged. All of these people were strangers, and yet I found myself greeting each one by name as though I had known them all my life.
The last person to greet us was Rozell. He had doffed his robe and was now clad only in his ivory-colored suit. In the back of my mind I remembered that wearing white to a wedding was a social faux pas as it distracted from the bride. Rozell obviously felt no compunction to follow that rule. He relished being the center of attention.
We adjourned to the ballroom that adjoined the assembly hall. An orchestra was playing as we took our seats at the head table. Rozell called for attention.
"Citizens of Harmony," he said, "this is indeed a joyous occasion. Today, two more ladies join our community. With these new citizens taking their place in our society, we have become complete. All of the men of Harmony now have wives." The hall erupted in applause.
"And now," he said, "may I introduce our newest citizens; Mrs. Glen Dalton, and Mrs. Lawrence Poole, will now have their first dance with their new husbands as man and wife."
There was more applause as we stood. The orchestra began to play, and Larry took me into his arms. He held me close as we danced a fox trot. I had never danced a fox trot before, or any other ballroom dance. But here I was, being led about a dance floor in a man’s arms, responding to the little pressures and cues of his lead, matching him step for step and embellishing with an occasional dip or promenade. Only I was doing everything backwards and in high heels!
The band stopped and we applauded politely. Then Glen and Larry changed partners. I danced a rumba with Glen, who also turned out to be an excellent dancer. Then the community joined us on the dance floor. The band played for hours and I danced with many partners. It seemed like all of the men wanted to dance one dance with the brides. Then Larry found me again, and suggested that we step outside for a minute.
We walked out of one of the side doors onto a patio. The sun had set and the moon was nearly full, casting its pale light onto the island. We both took long breaths. Then Larry took me in his arms and kissed me.
I could not resist. Despite my efforts to stop, I found my arms around his. I returned the kiss passionately, and we held the kiss for over a minute. I felt his tongue at my lips and felt them part to admit it. Our tongues met and caressed. All the while, I was terrified. I was kissing a man! I was French-kissing a man! I was dressed as a bride and was swapping spit with a man I had just married! And less than forty-eight hours ago I was also a man!
We broke off the kiss. I found myself opening my purse and removing a cigarette. I held it between my fingers while Larry produced a lighter. I put the cigarette in my mouth and allowed Larry to light it. I drew smoke deeply into my lungs and exhaled. "Thanks, lover," I said to him.
"You’re welcome, love," he said, lighting a cigarette of his own. It was shorter than mine, and unfiltered. He put his arm around my shoulder, and I cradled my head on his chest. We stood silently in the moonlight, smoking. It was horrifying.
I insisted on checking my makeup before we returned to the party. We went through the ceremonial bouquet and garter tosses and then went off to private rooms where we changed clothes. I removed my bridal gown and hung it up. It would be preserved for me; a treasured memento of what ought to be the happiest day in a woman’s life. It’s a shame that I’m not really a woman, I thought. The irony of that thought was not lost on me as I donned a floral print dress, white pumps, and white gloves. I picked up a matching white handbag and examined myself in the mirror. I looked like a refugee from the Donna Reed program.
Larry was waiting for me in a charcoal gray suit with a white shirt and a paisley tie. He smiled when he saw me. We kissed, than walked hand in hand to a waiting car. I was not sure just what was waiting for me, but I had a suspicion.
We rode to a secluded cottage near the beach. Patty and Glen no doubt were being driven to a similar cottage. We walked in the moonlight holding hands to the cottage’s front door. We entered. Somehow we knew where the bedroom was.
I opened the closet and found that some of my new things were here. I removed a nightgown and a robe. Larry put his hands on my shoulders and spun me around for another kiss. I felt that strange wetness between my legs again. I was panicking, but could not express it in any way. Instead, I gently pushed him away and said, "Now don’t be too anxious, sweetie. I want this to be extra special."
"Okay," he said, "but don’t take too long."
"I’ll only be a minute," I said coyly as I entered the bathroom.
I removed my shoes, dress, slip, hose, garter belt, bra and panties and carefully put them in the cleaning hamper. Then I held up the nightgown. It was a soft, translucent affair with only one shoulder strap, leaving the other shoulder exposed. It looked like a classic Greek dress, only sexy. The robe was a diaphanous white garment cinched with a sash. I checked my makeup, then opened the door. Larry was waiting.
Larry wore the bottom half of a pair of silk pajamas. They hung off his hips to reveal his tanned, athletic torso. His body was more suggestive of Apollo than Hercules, muscular but not muscle-bound. I felt my vagina nearly explode at the sight of this strong, virile man. He smiled as he took me in his arms. We kissed and kissed again. Then he lifted me up off the floor and into his arms. I wanted to scream! I felt helpless as he carried me to the bed. He set me onto the satin sheets and laid down next to me. Then he took me.
If you are expecting a detailed and lascivious account of my deflowering and subsequent couplings, you are in for a disappointment. Yes, Larry took me again and again, I responded with passion, and the orgasms were stupendous. But it was not lovemaking. I gave no assent to being taken this way. I felt only horror and revulsion. This act should be the highest expression of love, respect, and mutual passion between a woman and a man. There is only one word adequate to describe my experience: rape! I was forced to submit to sexual assault. I was repeatedly, brutally ravished. And I reacted to this unthinkable violation by withdrawing totally within myself. The part of me that was still Skip Hertz ceased to think, ceased to react, ceased to emote.
It was like being in a waking coma. I was conscious of each degradation heaped upon me. I was succinctly aware of every movement, ever sound, and every feeling I experienced. But I did not participate. I neither initiated action nor tried to stop it. I felt but did not emote. My state was similar to that of a prisoner in a concentration camp who has seen and experienced so much horror that he simply stops moving, speaking, or thinking. But in my case, my body continued to move, speak, and interact with the world.
I desperately needed to scream, but I would not. I desperately needed to run, but I could not. I existed, aware of my surroundings but unable to do anything to affect them in any way. I did not think or make any decisions of any kind. I did not even form a thought. My inner monologue went silent. I simply was.
Harmony, Larry, and Control did not care. As long as I was performing my part in this puppet show, it mattered not one bit. With Control now making every decision for me, I settled into the routine of life in Harmony.
Our honeymoon lasted one week. We then returned to Larry’s home and I took up housekeeping. There was very little to do in this regard. Our household robot drones, all appropriately attired as maids, butlers, and handymen did most of the work. Larry enjoyed an occasional home-cooked meal that I would be expected to prepare. He especially liked to show off my cooking skills to the neighbors. Larry also liked me to make some of my own clothes. He found it sexy. I found it just one more task dictated by Control.
When I wasn’t busy keeping house, I was busy in Harmonian society. There was the Garden Club, the Bridge Club, the Country Club, the Ladies Auxiliary to the Men’s Club, and the endless round of social gatherings both small and large. I never lacked for activity.
I continued in this waking nightmare for almost two years. Occasionally I would get a glimmer of intelligent thought. For instance, I once observed one of our robot drones vacuuming the rug and thought that, except for the stuff we were made of, it and I were really the same thing. We were robots. I quickly retreated to the comfort of oblivion.
I probably would have continued in this way for many more years. Perhaps I would have eventually accepted my fortune and begun to cooperate with Control. Fate had other plans. I remember well the events that brought me back to reality.
It all began with a new set of refugees. A businessman was flying on his company’s private turboprop to St. Thomas. It was not a business trip. His wife and young daughter were accompanying him on a vacation. He held a prominent position with the company, so using the corporate aircraft for personal travel was one of his perks. The pilot didn’t mind since, for him, this amounted to a vacation with pay.
On their way to the island they developed engine trouble and had to ditch. The pilot managed to put the aircraft down safely in the water and they all got into a life raft. They had a signal beacon in the raft with them, but for some reason it was never detected. They drifted at sea for a night and a day, finally washing ashore on Harmony.
I became aware of these events when the signal chimes on our home’s viewing pyramid summoned me. I was greeted by the image of Doctor Thorpe.
"Good Morning, Mrs. Poole," he said. "May I say that you are looking quite lovely today."
"Thank you, Doctor," I answered shyly, batting my eyes in a coy manner. Coyly batting one’s eyes was the prescribed response to a compliment in Harmony. "How may I help you?"
"We need your services at the Town Dispensary. A life raft has washed ashore and we need nurses to care for the survivors. It’s your turn to serve as a nurse."
"A nurse? But Dr. Thorpe, I’m not a nurse."
"That’s not a problem. Behavioral control will guide you in your duties, and you will have access to the electronic brain for technical details. I will also be available for any serious problems that may arise."
"Couldn’t a robot drone do as well?" I asked.
"Unfortunately, no. Human beings respond to a human presence. Plus, a robot drone is not capable of making judgements like a human. For these and many other reasons, we find that human nurses are indispensable."
"I see, Doctor," I said. "Where must I go?"
"Please report to the Town Hall. You will find several nurses’ uniforms as well as any other things you may need. And thank you for understanding, Mrs. Poole."
"You’re quite welcome, Doctor. Let me give Larry a call. He doesn’t like me disturbing him at work, but I think he’ll understand."
"He’s already been contacted, Mrs. Poole, and knows not to expect you for a few days. You can call him tonight if you wish."
"Thank you, Doctor. I’ll be right over." Thorpe’s image vanished and the pyramid went dark.
Before I left, I checked my purse to ensure that I had all of my essentials. Despite the urgency of the summons, Control made sure that I repaired any flaws in my hair and makeup before venturing out the door. And it made me check my cigarette case to ensure it was full. I put on a wide-brimmed straw hat trimmed with flowers and a rose-colored ribbon before leaving the house to walk to Town Hall.
I changed into a nurse’s uniform as soon as I arrived. Patty was there as well as Diana Moncton and Maureen Hill. We exchanged some girl talk as we changed into our uniforms. As I put on the nurse’s white shoes, I reflected that these were the lowest heels I had worn in two years.
We all reported to Dr. Thorpe, who gave us each a report on our patients. They were all dehydrated and had been given a sedative. IV’s had been started. Additionally, the mother and daughter each were in the first stage of Harmony’s dread plague. They were both feverish and were breaking out in the characteristic rash. We were to give them medication for their pain and try to keep them as comfortable as possible. They were not going to survive.
I was assigned to the daughter. As I went to check on her, it occurred to me that I didn’t even know her name. I asked Dr. Thorpe what her name was. He said, "You don’t really need to know, Nurse Poole. Besides, it’s better not to become emotionally attached. She’s just going to die."
I think it was these harsh words that shook me out of my psychically vegetative state. I could not defy Dr. Thorpe, or even express my disapproval. But the fact that I could find Thorpe’s callous attitude so repugnant was proof that somewhere inside of me, I was still Skip Hertz, and I still had a conscience. I resolved to do all that I could to help this little girl survive.
I accompanied Dr. Thorpe into the room where she lay sleeping. Several sensor pads were attached to her, and an IV bag was dripping fluid into her arm. Dr. Thorpe touched a stud just below the viewing pyramid. It vanished, replaced by a three-dimensional menu.
"Please observe, Nurse Poole," he said. "This is how you access the electronic brain. All of the sensor functions are available by using the brain." He touched a menu heading and another replaced it. He showed me how to make selections by touching the three-dimensional menu displays. "Finally, you come to the biological monitor display," he said.
The monitor display was a flat screen with graphical and numerical indicators. "You may monitor her cardiac output, blood pressure, body temperature, blood oxygen level, and pulse rate on this display," said the doctor.
"Can I leave the display up, Doctor?" I asked.
"Yes, but after fifteen minutes with no interaction the display will close and you will have to recall it. Do you think you can do this?"
"I’m certain that I can, Doctor. Are the viewing pyramids in the dispensary some sort of special model?"
"Not really. All of the viewing pyramids in Harmony are terminals for the electronic brain, and you can access the brain from any terminal."
"I never knew that!"
"It’s not something you really needed to know until today, Nurse Poole."
"I suppose so, Doctor Thorpe. If I did Larry would have certainly told me."
"Of course. In any event, you may use these displays to monitor your patient’s condition. You will also have to keep her IV running and administer medication to keep her comfortable. It’s unfortunate, but she will not recover."
Doctor Thorpe left me with the girl. I activated the pyramid and recalled her records. Her name was Amy Patterson. She was nine.
I looked at Amy’s vitals. Her respiration was shallow and her heart was beating rapidly. Her body temperature was 103.2. She slept fitfully, attempting to toss and turn, but was unable to move due to her restraints.
I don’t know why, but while I was caring for Amy, I started thinking and reacting again. Maybe it was the mental stimulation of actually doing something with my mind. Perhaps it was my human nurturing instinct brought to the surface by the plight of this child. Maybe it was the fact that I wasn’t being raped on a daily basis. For some reason, the part of me that was still Skip awoke.
Amy lingered for three days, each hour worse than the last. The rash covering her body worsened, becoming open and pustulent. Blood, pus, and lymph oozed from the eruptions and dried to form a crust. I gave Amy several sponge baths a day to remove the crusty ooze and to cool her body temperature. But in the end, it was a losing battle. I prayed to the God I thought had abandoned me to take this little girl quickly and bring an end to her suffering.
Late in the night, the last day of young Amy’s life, she awoke briefly. I heard her calling faintly. "Mommy!" she cried. "Mommy! Where are you!"
I turned on the lights. Amy was emaciated from the cruel infection that ravaged her body. Her body temperature was an incredible 104.4. She should have been unconscious, but she was awake.
"What do you want, sweetie?" I asked her.
"Where’s my mommy? I want my mommy!"
"She can’t come right now, honey," I said. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that her mother had died a few hours ago.
"Mommy! Hold me please mommy! I’m scared!"
I didn’t know what else to do so I knelt down beside her and held her in my arms. She was weak, but she tried to hug me. She was crying. "Mommy, I’m cold! It’s so cold, and it’s so dark! I’m scared!"
"Don’t be afraid, Amy. I’m right here!"
"Mommy! Don’t let go of me, mommy! I’m so scared!"
"I won’t let go, honey. I won’t let you go!"
Amy held on to me as though she were clinging to life itself. The blood and pus from her skin were now soaking into the fabric of my uniform, staining the pure white dress yellow and red. She sobbed weakly. Then she was silent. I felt her grip relax. She let go one long, last breath. Then her chest rose no more. I didn’t need the monitors to know that Amy had died in my arms.
I cried. My eyes welled up with tears and I cried. Sorrow erupted unbidden from within my soul. Tears ran down my cheeks, spoiling my perfect makeup and mingling with Amy’s body fluids. I held her lifeless body close to me and cried as if she were my own daughter. My tears were not the product of Control, they rose from inside of me. Control did not intervene. Tears were, after all, typical of feminine weakness. I didn’t care. I didn’t give a damn about Harmony, Control, Dr. Thorpe or the expected norms of behavior for Harmonian women. All I cared about was a little girl who had been condemned to a horrible, agonizing death.
I cried for what seemed hours. Then I let go of Amy and began the gruesome task of preparing her body for disposal.
As I removed her hospital gown to wash the crust and oozing body fluids from her, I took stock of the damage this disease had wreaked on her. Amy’s hair had fallen out in clumps, leaving her with about one-third of her long, golden locks in a ragged, matted rat’s nest. Half of her teeth had fallen out and her mouth was a pool of blood. This little nine-year old looked like an ancient bag lady that had been severely beaten. Despite my best efforts to clean her and comb her hair, I could not make her look like the pretty little nine-year-old girl she had been.
I finished my grisly task by draping a sheet over her body. Dr. Thorpe came in to check the records and officially pronounce her. He looked at my bloody uniform and immediately knew what had happened. "I know, Nurse Poole. It’s especially hard with the children."
"Doctor," I said, "this is just so unfair! What did that little girl do to deserve such a fate?"
"I don’t have the answers, Nurse Poole. The only comfort we can take is the thought that we did what we could to ease their suffering."
"What’s to become of her father?" I asked.
Doctor Thorpe’s expression became pensive. "We now have two new men on Harmony. One of these will have to be converted."
"You mean…"
"Yes, we will transform one of them into a woman. Probably the father would be the best candidate. Having lost his wife and child, I don’t think he would be too keen on taking a new wife."
Thorpe had the oddest expression. It was as though he was experiencing some kind of internal conflict and might break out in tears at any moment. This passed quickly, and he regained his detached professional demeanor. "Yes, converting him would probably be the best for Harmony," he said.
"Nurse Poole, I know you are worn out emotionally and physically. Go home, rest, and have some quiet time with your husband. And thank you for your service. The robot drones can take over now"
I silently went to the dressing room. I stripped off my bloody uniform along with my hose and underwear. I tossed the clothing into the disposal bin and went into the shower. I turned the water on hot and forcefully. I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed. I felt dirty, like all the showers in the world would never clean me. I would have scrubbed my skin raw if Control had not restrained me.
Dressed once again in my oh-so-feminine lilac print dress, adorned once more with gold, pearls, and other jewelry, painted and primped to perfection and reeking of perfume, I walked home from the Town Hall. I was conscious of every click of my stiletto heels, every swish of my skirt, every seductive sway of my hips. I would not crawl back into the comfort of non-sentience. Something new had been kindled in my soul. A new force had entered the scene: rage.
My rage gave me power. My rage strengthened me to endure the purgatory that was Harmony. I seized my rage! I embraced it! Somehow, I would bring about a reckoning for Amy and all of the other Amy’s that Harmony had sacrificed. I would not let this little girl’s death go unanswered!
And ironically, the instrument of my retribution had been handed to me by none other than Doctor Thorpe.
Larry appeared quite happy to see me when he returned home that evening. He suggested that we enjoy dinner out. We dressed up and went to Harmony’s little French restaurant. Larry was quite attentive that evening. I savored the taste of our meal. It had been over two years since I allowed myself any small pleasure in my existence.
Naturally Larry raped me that night. This night, however, I did not withdraw into my shell of non-sentience. My rage had provided me with a layer of psychic scar tissue. I found that I could endure the rape and use it to reinforce my rage. And each subsequent rape, each additional insult added fuel to the furnace.
It was the next day, while Larry was at work, that I took the first step in my plan. I activated the pyramid and explored the menu choices. The system administrators in their arrogance did not incorporate any sort of password protection or access restrictions.
I was exploring for about twenty minutes when I felt the ghostly presence of Control. I did not know how long Control would allow me to surf without making me stop. I was prepared. I reached for my purse and removed the cigarette case. I lit up and held the cigarette between my two fingers in a feminine manner. This must have satisfied the Control algorithm because it left me alone. As long as I was participating in some function defined as feminine, Control was satisfied. Nevertheless, I decided not to press my luck. When the cigarette was finished I terminated my session and repaired my makeup.
The next day I did not attempt to probe the system. But the following day I was back in, hacking my way through Harmony’s mainframe. I limited my sessions to about thirty minutes every second or third day.
My progress was slow. It took many months to make sense of the file structure, and even more to understand the system architecture, but I slowly became more knowledgeable of the powerful machine that controlled our daily lives.
The computer had a Von Neuman architecture, which meant that it used the same memory for its programs, its data, and its results. It had a sophisticated operating system with a powerful set of native commands. But the programs that had been written by the Science Council were long and primitive. I realized that they were procedural, the sort of code written in the early days of computers. This was significant. Most new applications written for contemporary computing take advantage of the power and flexibility of Object Oriented Programming. Harmony did not, despite the fact that the operating system was Object Oriented.
I continued my probing. I stumbled across a vault of audio and video recordings. It looks like Big Brother was alive and well and watching Harmony. I explored a number of these files, and the true history of Harmony since Rozell’s arrival was laid bare. It was most enlightening.
Naturally there were a few detours on my quest. I had to take a brief hiatus when my turn came to play nurse once more. This time, thankfully, no children were involved. It was bad enough knowing that the adult women would die the agonizing death of Harmony’s plague. A few days later I was part of the delegation welcoming newly minted ladies into Harmonian society. I got to wear a seafoam bridesmaid’s gown complete with pouffy sleeves for the wedding. Larry complimented me on my appearance in that hideous rag.
It took about five years of patient probing before I started writing my own code. I kept each module small and built up a library. I deliberately stored each module in different directories to keep my work from being noticed. This effort took three years to complete.
Tonight I would bring my work to fruition.
With my meal preparations complete it was time to change and become a proper hostess. I went upstairs. Larry was in his den. I changed into my hostess gown, a black dress with golden sparkles covering the bodice and skirt. I brushed and sprayed my hair into a very stylish shoulder-length flip. I removed my daytime makeup and replaced it with my nighttime face. Around my neck I fastened a diamond necklace, and hung diamond- studded chains from my earlobes.
I went down the steps to start dinner. But on my way to the kitchen, I stopped at our viewing pyramid. I invoked the menu and input the command to compile. This took less than a minute. I broke the connection and returned to my preparations.
I was taking a huge chance. This had to work correctly the first time. I would not be able to debug this application. There would be no second chance.
Diana and Peter were punctual as always. I greeted them and showed them into our living room. Larry now emerged from his den dressed properly to receive our guests. We enjoyed conversation, cocktails, appetizers, and cigarettes. When dinner was ready we adjourned to the dining room.
Our robot drone butler served the meal that I had prepared. Caesar salad preceded the main course of porterhouse steaks with potatoes au gratin and French cut green beans almondine. It was sometime in the middle of the meal when everything changed. We never did get to dessert.
I felt something. It was like a hyphen in reality. From the puzzled looks on the faces of Larry and our guests, I knew they had felt it as well. Larry went so far as to say, "Did you feel that?"
"I did," said Peter. "What could it have been?"
"The silent thunder," I said, "of an old order crumbling, and a new one rising to take its place."
"What do you mean by that, Laura?" said Larry.
"What I mean," I said, feeling free of Control for the first time in over a decade, "is that I’m not Laura. My name is Richard Hertz. My friends call me Skip."
Larry and Peter looked dumbfounded. Diana looked puzzled. "Gentlemen, and I use the term loosely, your little empire is no more. The slaves have been freed."
Larry started talking. "Laura, what kind of…" I cut him off sharply.
"My name is not Laura. I am not Laura Jean Poole or Mrs. Larry Poole or any other name but Skip Hertz. You will address me as Skip or as Mr. Hertz. Do you understand?"
"I understand, S-s-skip." Larry answered. He was confused. Something in his world was not right.
Diana spoke next. "Skip," she said, also as confused as the men, "what’s happened?"
"The rules just changed, Diana, and I changed them. Control is no more. By the way, what’s your real name?"
Diana hesitated for a moment, as though she could not believe what was about to happen. "My name is, is, Dave. I’m Dave Mahoney!" There was incredulity about her as she spoke that simple phrase, mixed with a dawning excitement. She stared at me as though she were seeing me for the first time. "Skip, I haven’t been able to say that for over eighteen years!"
She turned to Peter. Her joy was now overcome by an expression of maniacal anger. "You bastard!" she shouted at him. "You sick, perverted son of a bitch!" She grabbed the steak knife from the place setting and raised it overhead, ready to plunge it into Peter’s chest. Then she stopped.
"I can’t do it," she said, her voice nearly cracking with anger. "I want to kill this goddamned pervert so badly I can taste it. But I can’t!"
"And you won’t be able to, Dave," I said. "I anticipated something like this happening, so I put a few safeguards in place."
"Safeguards?" she said, lowering the knife. "What do you mean?"
"Something to keep us from killing each other while I sort this whole mess out," I told her. "I’ll explain everything shortly."
I turned to the two men. "You two are to report to the town assembly hall and wait for me. I have something that all of Harmony must hear. Go now."
The men left without saying a word. Dave looked at me with a puzzled expression. "How did you do that?" she asked me. "Why did they just turn and go without a word of protest?"
"They have no choice." I said. "Excuse me, Dave, I need to address the town."
I went to the viewing pyramid and activated the menu. I selected the appropriate item to broadcast my image into every household. The chimes summoned everyone to their viewing pyramids.
Through the pyramid I addressed the town. "Residents of Harmony, this is Skip Hertz. All men are directed to report to the town assembly hall within the hour. You have no doubt noticed an unusual occurrence. The exact nature of this phenomenon and its consequences will be explained to you at this meeting. The women of Harmony are also invited. I cannot compel the women to attend, but I urge you to do so. Thank you." I broke the connection.
I saw Dave staring at me. She looked as though she wanted to ask a question, but could not think of the words to ask it. Finally she said, "Skip, this is crazy! I’ve wanted to kill that sick bastard for years, but Control wouldn’t let me. I couldn’t even tell him just how much I hated him. Now…"
"I know how frustrating this is, Dave," I answered. I made a deliberate effort to refer to her by her previous male name. "I suspect that you and I are not alone. That’s why there still is some measure of Control left."
"What did you do? How did this happen?"
"I’ll explain all at the meeting," I said. "Would you care to come with me?"
We left the house together and walked to the town assembly hall. I noticed something interesting as we walked. I was no longer swaying my hips in a sultry manner. True, I had to swing them a little. This was a natural consequence arising from the geometry of my widened hips. But the exaggerated swing was gone. I was just walking. It was like having nothing but vanilla ice cream for years and years and suddenly discovering chocolate. I rejoiced in this simple thing.
I strode into the full auditorium and walked up to the stage. Rozell was already there, wearing a face that would have curdled new milk. He stood between the podium and myself.
"Just what do you think you are doing?" he said. "How dare you…"
"Sit down, Rozell," I ordered calmly. Rozell had a most puzzled expression as he marched off the stage and took his seat. It was the most satisfying experience I had felt in many years.
I stood behind the podium and spoke into the microphone. My amplified voice played over the hidden speakers. "Good evening," I said.
"No doubt you noticed a peculiar little hiccup in Control about an hour ago. That was the result of my own work.
"Behavioral control as you have known it has been terminated. I have replaced it with my own control algorithms. They are considerably different from the ones you have known in the past. And they are different for Harmonian men and women.
"First, let’s go over the men’s new rules. I call them an Asimov algorithm since I modeled them after Asimov’s three laws of robotics. Only I have four rules.
"Rule one: a man may not harm a woman or through failure to act allow a woman to be harmed. That should be self-explanatory.
"Rule two: a man must obey any orders given by a woman unless this would conflict with Rule one.
"Rule three: orders given by Skip Hertz take precedence over any other orders. I’m the boss, guys.
"Rule four: a man may not harm himself and must protect his own existence unless this would conflict with rules one, two, or three.
"The women of Harmony have only one rule. A woman may not harm herself or cause harm to any other Harmonian, male or female."
I paused for a moment while the townspeople pondered their new situation. Then I continued. "The actual algorithm is encoded mathematically. I’m only stating these rules verbally for your convenience and understanding.
"Within the confines of these rules, you are free to pursue any endeavor you wish. I will, however, direct the men of Harmony to work on a couple of specific projects.
"The first and most important project is the elimination of Harmony’s plague. I want a task force formed under Dr. Thorpe to immediately tackle this problem. Dr. Thorpe, you will form this group from the best qualified of our people. Work is to begin immediately in the morning. This project has priority over all others. Is that understood?"
Thorpe stared at me dubiously. "With all respect, Mrs. Poole…"
I interrupted him. "Excuse me, doctor, but that isn’t my name. My name is Richard Hertz. My friends call me Skip."
He looked confused. "Well, you sure don’t look like a ‘Skip’." The auditorium, including myself, burst into laughter.
When I managed to regain my composure, I spoke again. "Thank you, Dr. Thorpe. I needed that, just to keep from getting too full of myself. Now what were you about to say?"
"Well, uh, Skip is it? Skip, we tried to cure the disease once before with no success."
"I know that. I also know that you abandoned the research just after the nanobot technology was introduced to Harmony. Didn’t you have a theory that nanobots could be pre-programmed to seek out and destroy the dormant virus before it became active?"
It seemed like a long-dead light came back to life in Thorpe’s eyes. "Why yes, that was going to be our next approach. And I had every reason to believe that it would work!" The enthusiasm in Thorpe’s voice was unmistakable. Thorpe was a physician. His life was dedicated to healing. Now he would be given a chance to heal again.
"Excellent," I said. "Put together a team and meet with me tomorrow afternoon at about two."
"Uh, where do you want to meet?"
"For right now, come over to my house and we’ll chat in the kitchen. I’ll have an office set up for myself at the town hall later."
"Very well, Skip. I’ll see you tomorrow."
I returned my attention to the audience. "I have a few more items to discuss. I want to put together a second task force to develop a method to reverse the conversion process. I would like to ask for volunteers, especially from the women. I’m sure that some of you were scientists of some sort before you came here. Can I have a show of hands?"
There was some hesitation. At first, nobody raised his or her hand. Then, one hand hesitantly went up, followed by a few more. I counted about twenty men and women volunteering for this task. Among these I recognized Dave Mahoney, formerly Mrs. Peter Moncton. "Dave," I said pointing to her, "I’m putting you in charge. Talk to the folks who are volunteering and see if you can organize a team. Could we get together in a few days to discuss this?"
"You can count on me, Skip," she said. I could see that until Dave came up with a solution that we were going to have a lot of problems with pronouns.
"Very well," I said. "There’s only one more piece of business I want to discuss tonight. Martin Rozell, please come up to the stage."
Rozell stood and walked to the stage. He had no choice. He had to obey.
"Martin Rozell," I said, "you are the chief architect of the social structure of Harmony. Did you enjoy this?"
"I did what I had to do," he answered. "I acted in order to keep Harmony from destroying itself."
"Yes. I remember the orientation lecture. But Harmony is largely a realization of your own personal vision, isn’t it?"
"Of course it is."
"Including the conversion of males into females, was this not so?"
"We needed women to bring stability to our community. We were destroying each other."
"Yes, so you said. That’s why everybody was placed under Control, correct?"
"That is common knowledge in Harmony!" he said indignantly. "Am I being cross-examined like some criminal on trial?"
"So tell me, Rozell, once you had established control, why did you need to convert men into women?"
"I already told you, to keep us from destroying each other."
"But that was already accomplished. The men were all injected and Control kept them from hurting each other. You didn’t really need women just to restore order; that had already been established. Why was it necessary to transform men into women and to force them to submit to you? Why?"
Rozell stared at me with anger. I am convinced that if I hadn’t implemented the Asimov algorithm that he would have killed me with his bare hands. "You don’t understand," he said. "This was necessary."
"Oh, I do understand, Rozell. I’ve seen your pictures before you got injected with the nanobots. You were a skinny little runt with buckteeth and bad acne. Somehow you managed to sneak some code into the Control program that put you in charge of this place. It was your own insane need to dominate that shaped the direction of Harmony. You seized control of the Science Council and directed it to develop the transformation process. It was the only way you could get a woman, wasn’t it?"
Rozell was turning red. He looked ready to explode. But another expression was taking over his face: fear! He was terrified that his secrets would be revealed.
"There’s something else that the community needs to know. For years you have been telling them that Harmony was a one-way trip. You told them that Harmony could only be entered by a drifting boat of some sort. You’ve been lying. I found the records, Rozell. You’ve known about the portals all along. You’ve been using the portals to trap new recruits. When the DC-3 I was flying in crashed, it was you who arranged for it to crash. You reached out with your private little portal and made the motors freeze up. You’ve been adding to the population this way for the last twenty years."
There were gasps as I said this. Few people in the audience were aware of Rozell’s deception. But Rozell just smiled.
"Of course I did," he said defiantly. "I had to. Except for the occasional tramp steamer the shipping lanes have all been abandoned. Nobody travels by ship any more. So I had to reach out with the portals and bring fresh blood to Harmony. Otherwise our society would stagnate."
"Stagnate?" I said incredulously. "Stagnation is the normal operating mode you have imposed on us. You have us stuck in a make-believe world that never existed. No, Rozell, the only thing you wanted to do was impose your twisted will on more and more hapless victims.
"Oh, there’s one more thing that needs to be told here. Your first conversion attempts were not exactly successful. You had three deaths and five incomplete conversions before you got one right. And there were ten more incompletes and two more deaths before you perfected the process. Did you ever tell the people of Harmony what you did with the incompletes? No? Well I’ll tell them.
"Ladies," I said, pointing to the back of the hall, "would you please step up to the stage?"
From the back of the auditorium, fifteen people walked up to the stage. Each one was dressed as a maid, a store clerk, or a beautician. They appeared to be the ubiquitous Harmonian robot drones.
They stood in line on the stage, facing the audience. Each looked like a duplicate of the others with the same neutral facial features. "Ladies," I said, "would you please remove your masks and show the good people of Harmony Rozell’s dirty little secret?"
The women each grasped the base of their neck and pulled. It looked like they were removing a layer of their own skin. It was, in fact, a silicone rubber mask designed to hide their deformities. The actual faces were terrible. Each was misshapen in a different way. One woman had differently sized eyes and no nose. Another appeared to have tentacles extending down from where her nose should have been. Still another had her facial skin drawn so tight she appeared as a living skull. Each had a unique deformity. "This," I said, "is the nasty secret Rozell has been keeping from you. This is the price he extracted to perfect the conversion process. Look on Rozell’s fifteen separate portraits of Dorian Gray!"
There were gasps of horror as each misshapen face was revealed. But not only faces had been deformed. Some of the women had bent limbs or gnarled hands. But all were monstrous victims of Rozell’s transformation process.
"Rozell tried to cover up his mistakes," I said. "He made his unsuccessfully converted victims wear disguises so they would appear to you as robot drones. All along they have been serving you from behind their masks."
Rozell stood there impassively. "And what of it?" he said. "All great scientific achievements have their failures. It is regrettable that these souls had to suffer, but they were all given useful functions in our society. I make no apologies."
There was a murmur in the crowd. The citizens of Harmony for the most part were ignorant of Rozell’s inhuman experiments. Now they were confronted with the monstrous reality of their leader. Their anger was palpable. Were it not for the Asimov algorithm they might have torn him apart on the spot.
I stepped forward. "Dave," I said, "as part of your conversion project I want you to find a way to help these poor victims. They’ve suffered as much as any of us."
"Of course, Skip," she replied. "I’ll make it a priority."
"Thank you," I said. I turned to the broken victims of Rozell’s hideous experiments. "Ladies, I wish I could somehow make you all whole again. We will do everything in our power to restore you. I promise."
One by one, the twisted wrecks of human beings came up to me and hugged me. A few thanked me. Then each one took a seat with the rest of the citizens. They were part of our community now, and we would not turn our backs on them.
I had one more duty to perform this evening. I turned to Rozell. "Martin Rozell," I said, "by your own admission you are guilty of unspeakable crimes against humanity. You stand before us with no remorse, only arrogance. Your actions prove you unfit to associate with humanity. What shall we do with you?"
Rozell laughed. "There is nothing you can do, Hertz," he said with the utmost conceit. "By your own rules you cannot harm me in any manner. How can you possibly exact any form of revenge?"
Actually, I had thought about this for a long time. "Martin Rozell," I said, "I order you to do the following. You will withdraw from the company of your fellow humans. You will not speak to anyone or answer any questions. You are to come to Harmony’s town square every morning at eight and sit on the park bench silently. You will remain there until six every day. You will not speak to anyone. You will sit still and observe life going on around you, but will not interact with it in any way.
"I’m not totally heartless. You can take a bathroom break at ten and another at three, and take a lunch break at noon. You can use a food dispenser in the Town Hall for your meals. But you will speak to no one. You will look at no one. Not ever."
I turned back to the audience. "I order the men of Harmony to avoid Rozell. You will not speak to him and will maintain a distance of ten feet from him at all times. I cannot order the women to do this, but I ask your cooperation.
"Rozell," I said, "at all other times you will remain in your house. Your access to Harmony’s computer network will be severely limited. Now go."
Rozell did not hesitate. He walked from the stage and exited the hall. He said nothing, but his expression was unmistakable. He was afraid.
Once again I addressed the audience. "Well, I think we’ve all been through quite enough today. Let’s adjourn. Tomorrow I’m going to start setting up an office in Town Hall. For now, I’m going home.
"Oh, I’m sure that there will be more than a few displaced men tonight. You may use Town Hall to sleep until you have arranged for a new house. The robot drones will set up a temporary dormitory. That’s all."
I walked away from the podium. As I walked, one lone woman stood and began to clap. Another joined her. Then a third. By the time I had reached the exit, the women of Harmony were on their feet applauding. And, to my surprise, they were joined by a fair number of men. Rozell had made more enemies than he realized.
Larry was waiting for me at home.
"I’m surprised to find you here, Larry," I said, mustering all of the sarcasm I could. "I thought a bright fellow like you might take a hint and head for Town Hall tonight."
"I thought we needed to talk," he said.
"Talk?" I replied, "what could you possibly say to me that I might actually be interested in?"
Larry hesitated. "Look," he said, "I know this sounds half-hearted, but I wanted to apologize to you. I never wanted to treat you badly. You might not believe it, but I did everything in my power to be decent to you."
"Decent?" I said, "You honestly call nightly rape decent treatment?"
"I’m sorry. I wish I could make you know just how sorry I am. But I never wanted to hurt you. Damn it, in my own way I loved you!"
"You never loved me, Larry. All you ever wanted was a pretty hole to masturbate into."
"You’re wrong, Skip. I never wanted you. I never wanted any woman. You still don’t really know how twisted Rozell was. I was just as controlled as you were. I’m gay."
I was stunned. I saw for the first time the pain on Larry’s face. The torment he had to suppress for so many years now broke to the surface. "I’m not the only one, either. There’s at least four men like myself here, maybe more. Rozell couldn’t stand the idea of a man loving another man. He forced us to act straight and even more macho than the rest of the men."
I listened as Larry explained. "Don’t take this the wrong way, Skip, but I never wanted you in bed. Making love to a woman is just plain repulsive to me. Every touch, every caress, every intimate moment was directed by Control. I was being raped too. I’m sorry I hurt you, but…" Larry broke down in tears, unable to say another word.
What could I do? As I watched this tormented soul pour out his heart I found a part of my rage gone. I understood his pain. I could not hate someone who had been as much a victim as I. So I took his hand. "Larry," I said, "I forgive you."
Larry looked up at me through his tears. It seemed like a burden had been lifted from him. Tears of pain were replaced with tears of joy. And I cried as well, because I had discarded a burden of my own. Rage is a powerful thing, but it is also a heavy load to shoulder. I left my rage behind me that night.
Larry and I hugged. We were two agonized souls reaching out for human comfort, and finding it with each other. It was not a sexual attraction, just a human one. As we held each other we bonded. I knew that we would never be lovers, but somehow I knew that we would always be the best possible friends.
We talked a lot that night. We basically told each other our life story. I learned that Larry had a difficult time coping with his own homosexuality, but eventually came to embrace it. His father threw him out of the house and he was on his own at the age of sixteen. It was a tough life, but he managed to survive. He worked nights stocking shelves in a supermarket and went to beauty school during the day. That’s right, Larry was a hairdresser.
It was while we were talking that I became aware of a burning cigarette in my hand. I was stunned. I didn’t remember lighting it. But there were several stubs in the ashtray, and the aftertaste of tobacco smoke lingered on my tongue. Unconsciously, my body had gone through the ritual of lighting up and smoking without any conscious effort on my part. That’s when I realized that Control was not always the agent of my actions. Years of abuse had left me addicted to nicotine.
Larry was gracious enough to sleep in his den that night. The next morning we ordered a new bedroom suite for the den. We fixed breakfast together. Friendship is a wonderful thing.
After eating we took every stick of furniture out of the sewing room and piled it on the front lawn. It made an impressive bonfire.
I rejoiced at no longer being under the iron thumb of Control. For one thing I did not wear any makeup on this first day of freedom, and never did again. I really didn’t need it. As much as I hated to admit it, Rozell’s transformation process made me naturally beautiful. Makeup was just guilding the lily.
I had to bow to certain realities. For instance, I still had a set of hooters that would make any man drool, so I couldn’t do without a bra. But I no longer wore those underwired instruments of torture. I had some nice soft-cup models made for me that restrained my jugs without spilling over like a pin-up picture. And my days of showing off cleavage had also ended. I rediscovered the joy of pants and flat heels.
Initially I just pulled my hair back in a ponytail, but Larry talked me into a shorter style. He sat me down in the town’s beauty parlor and hacked away at my long tresses. He gave me a short, easy to care for shag cut. I had to admit I liked it.
There was a period of adjustment as the old order gave way to the new. Most men had to take advantage of the dormitory setup at Town Hall until separate homes could be built. Some couples remained together. Larry continued to live with me until he found a like-minded partner and moved in with him.
The problem of Harmony’s mysterious disease turned out to be easily curable with nanobot technology. Thorpe’s hypothesis proved correct. Nanobots could easily be programmed to seek out and destroy the dormant viruses. Fortunately, we never had to test this hypothesis.
The problem of undoing the transformation was also much easier than anticipated. Basically, we ran the process in reverse. It was just as simple to repair the damage caused by the failed transformations. The limiting factor here was the number of people we could process at a time. The conversion center could only accommodate two at a time, and would take a week to complete due to certain complicating factors. I decided to begin the process on our unsuccessful transforms.
Several months had gone by. Dave’s team shifted their efforts to discovering a way to return us to the normal world. Rozell’s portals turned out to be too small to accommodate a human body, but Dave felt certain that she could find a way to widen them.
Sometimes I looked out of my office in Town Hall at the grassy expanse that was Town Square. Rozell was always sitting there from eight until six. He sat still, a passive observer of his dream as it was being slowly dismantled. What puzzled me was the fact that he always had company. Ashley Rozell, his wife, was always with him.
I admit this was a conundrum. I could not for the life of me understand why she remained so loyal to this monster, but I did not ask. I had not a clue until the day Patty Sue visited my office.
She was dressed quite femininely in a lavender dress with matching pumps and handbag. Her hair, makeup, and manicure were impeccable, much as mine used to be. I greeted her warmly. "Donovan, you old bastard, how the hell are you?"
She said something that startled me. "If you don’t mind, Skip, I prefer Patty Sue."
I stopped briefly to pick my jaw off the floor. "You’re kidding!"
"No, I’m not. I would really appreciate it if you would call me Patty Sue, or Patty."
I could see that she was serious. "Well, sure, but I’m finding it hard to believe that Billy-Bob Donovan, the macho bounty hunter, would prefer using a female name."
"There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Skip. All of that macho bluster was a facade. I’ve always been afraid to let people see the real me."
A tear formed at the corner of her eye, which she dabbed with a hanky. "I was always a loner. I was the tallest, fattest kid in the class, I had a bad case of acne, and I wore thick glasses. Everybody made fun of me. I acted tough to get them to stop. It worked, but I paid a price. I never had a friend.
"That’s how I put on so much weight. Food was my friend. It always was there to comfort me. But being fat made me the object of ridicule. So I got tougher and tougher. I was a big, tough, fat guy when we crossed paths, and I didn’t have a friend in the world."
Patty sniffed, trying to smother her tears. "I was frightened out of my wits when we were transformed, Skip. I don’t think I had ever been so scared in all my life. But Glen was a perfect gentleman to me. Do you know he didn’t sleep with me at first? He said that what happened to me wasn’t fair, and he slept at the foot of our bed during our honeymoon. He said that we should get to know each other before we became intimate. And he promised never to force me to have sex with him."
Patty dabbed at the tears in her eyes. "Glen never complained about sleeping on the couch. We slept separately for over a year. Each day he brought me some little present. Mostly it was flowers or jewelry. Sometimes it was candy. Once he wrote a love poem and put it in a little frame. He was such a dear.
"I couldn’t help myself, Skip. I fell in love with Glen. He was the first person who ever really liked me. I was the one who asked him to come to bed with me. I gave myself to him willingly. And he was just as gentle and attentive a lover as he was a friend."
She dabbed at her eyes again. "I don’t expect you to understand this, Skip, but Glen made me feel good about myself for the first time in my life. He made me feel pretty. I’m one of the pretty people now and I don’t ever want to go back. I love my husband more than life itself."
Her hanky lost its battle with her tears. I reached for a tissue and offered it to her. She accepted it and tried to soak up the salty drops making their way down her cheeks.
The robot drone brought in two mugs of coffee. I prepared them both and handed one to Patty. She took a few sips and replaced it on the table. She had regained her composure.
"Skip," she continued, "I’ve been talking to some of the girls. There are several of us who don’t want our conversions reversed. We’re happy with our men and want to go on as couples. But there is one thing we would like you to do for us."
I asked, "What do you want?"
Patty hesitated a second. "We want you to open our tubes and fix it so we can have babies."
This was a total bolt from the blue. "You’re serious? You want to be able to have kids?"
"Yes," she said. "Not while we’re here, of course. I don’t want to have a kid just to have him die in a few days. But when we get back to the real world Glen and I want to start a family."
I answered the only way I knew how. "Of course, Patty. I’ll tell Dr, Thorpe about it. I’m sure it’s something we can handle."
"Do you really think so, Skip?" she asked. She reminded me of a little girl asking for a particular birthday present, but fearful that she would be refused.
"Yes I do. I’m certain of it."
Patty stood to leave. But before she left she came over to me and hugged me. It was a very sisterly sort of a hug. "Thank you, Skip. This means more to me than you can imagine."
Patty turned to leave, then halted at the doorway. "By the way, Skip, you might be interested in knowing that Ashley Rozell is one of the girls I’ve spoken with. She also wants to remain a woman. You might just want to speak with her." Then she left.
I pondered this bit of information for about half an hour. I gazed out my window to see Rozell sitting in the Town Square. Ashley was at his side, as she had been from the beginning of his sentence.
I walked out of my office and strode over to the bench where the Rozell’s were seated. Ashley watched me approach. Her husband stared ahead impassively.
"Hello, Ashley," I said as I approached. "Patty Dalton suggested that I speak with you. I understand that you don’t want your conversion reversed."
Ashley did not seem bitter; rather, she appeared to be consumed by an abiding sadness. "That’s right. I’ve been a woman for a long time now. I don’t want to go back to being a man. And I want to live with Martin."
"I guess that’s what has me puzzled. This man is a monster. His actions condemned scores of women and children to a slow, agonizing death, not to mention forcing over a hundred men to go through the conversion process. You were one of them."
"I was the first one," she said. "At least, the first successful one. And I really don’t mind. My life as a man was not that great anyway. Martin showed me kindness and respect. In his own way, he cares about me."
"Does he care about you, or the person he made you into?"
"It doesn’t really matter, not to me. Martin is a kind and loving husband. And I love him. He’s not really an evil person. All he ever wanted was for everybody to be as happy as he could make them."
"Were you happy, Ashley?"
She looked up from her seat on the bench. "Yes, I was. Martin and I were happy together from the very beginning."
I thought for a few seconds. "You know, Ashley." I said to her, "nobody ever thinks of himself as evil. Even the most evil of men thought they were doing good. Oliver Cromwell thought he was doing God’s work. So did Torquemada. Hitler believed he was improving the lot of humanity. Cotton Mather thought he was saving the soul of every witch he burned alive. Rozell might have had good intentions, but he still was responsible for horrific death and suffering. Don’t you see that?"
A little sob escaped as Ashley fought back tears. "I see it. I also see a man with a noble vision. You may not believe this, Skip, but he agonized over every woman and child who died here. He really thought there was no hope for them, and that keeping them alive was cruel. He wanted to make their last days comfortable. I know he was wrong, Skip, and now he knows how wrong he was. It’s eating him up."
I had to admit I never considered this possibility. I looked down at Rozell, who just stared impassively. "Okay, Rozell, " I said, "I’m lifting your sentence for a few minutes. Talk to me."
Rozell stood. His face was not angry, not sad, and not fearful, but it was weary. He looked as though he were carrying a great weight. "Good afternoon, Mr. Hertz," he said to me quite formally. "I must say, you are looking quite lovely today, even in pants."
"You’ll forgive me if I don’t coyly bat my eyes. So tell me, is what Ashley said true?"
Rozell sighed. "Yes, it is. I’m the one who cancelled Thorpe’s research into the disease. God forgive me!"
Rozell sank back into his seat. His gaze seemed unfocused as though he were looking back across the years. "Thorpe and I were not exactly enemies, but we held different opinions. He felt that our main priority should be the elimination of Harmony’s plague. I thought that it was inhuman to prolong the agony of these poor women just for the sake of research. I didn’t think that Thorpe would really succeed. So I secretly added some features to the behavioral control program. I set it up so that I would be in charge."
He looked up at me. "We are alike in many ways, you and I. We both saw something terribly wrong and took unilateral action to correct it. Only you got it right." Rozell then stared at me. It was the most intense expression I had ever seen. "I blew it, Hertz. I failed."
He hung down his head. I could see tears forming in his eyes. "I had a vision, Hertz. Harmony was going to be a place where men could aspire to be the very best a man could be. It would be a place where a man could build a home, a family, and a destiny. That’s why it was important to have women. This was the natural order of things. A man should take care of his wife, provide for her and protect her. A wife brings out the best in a man. She curbs his excesses and channels his energy to loftier pursuits."
Rozell lifted his head. "But this wasn’t nature. I forced this solution on everybody. I thought it was all for the best. I thought that if I only made life wonderful and beautiful that the men we turned into women would all be happy in their new lives. I really thought we could teach them to become content.
"But I was wrong. In the end, I was just a fool. And I condemned all of those poor wretches to a miserable death. If only I had listened to Thorpe. If only I had let him continue. They might be alive today."
Rozell buried his face in his hands. Ashley held him closely to comfort him.
If I had any rage left in me, it died that afternoon. "Alright, Rozell," I said, "your sentence is lifted. You don’t have to come here any more, and you will no longer be shunned. But your access to Harmony’s computer network is still restricted, and I am ordering you to do nothing that will interfere in our dismantling of the island."
Rozell stood. He turned towards me. "Hertz," he said, "I just wanted to say that I’m really sorry for all you have been through. I know that I can never make this up…"
"No, you can’t," I said, cutting him off, "but I don’t have much stomach left for revenge. Besides, we’ll be evacuating the island as soon as everybody who wants his conversion reversed gets it."
Rozell was startled. "Evacuating? Why?"
"Because of what I found in the historical records of this place. These were the records you never found. I’ve discovered some interesting things about this island, and the enigmatic beings who left it here."
"What did you discover, Skip?" asked Ashley.
"The true nature of the island you named Harmony. Let’s walk over to the coffee shop. It’s a long story."
We walked to the shop as I talked. "Your group wasn’t the first to stumble onto this place, Rozell. You found the remains of others before you. What you didn’t know was that you were not the first to discover how to use the technology here. Another group discovered this place thousands of years ago."
We entered the coffee shop. I ordered three coffees from the food dispenser. Some of the men noticed Rozell and began to leave. "It’s all right," I told them, "The shunning is over." They still eyed us nervously, but went back to their own discussions after I sat down.
Ashley spoke first. "So what about this first group? Who were they, when were they here, and why was there no evidence of them?"
I sat back, ready to tell what I found. "The mainframe computer records all of the activity that occurs on the island. I discovered it when I was exploring the directory structure. The structure is fairly complicated, rather like a neural net.
"The records are time stamped with a base synchronized to an Earth day. I deciphered the scheme and found a way to date the records. The first group to find this island was a band of sailors who landed over seven thousand years ago.
"Harmony was not in its little bubble of reality back then. The secretive builders of this island simply set it out in the middle of the ocean. They felt it was relatively safe from trespass since the locals had not developed any true sea-faring capability. They set the main building up on the island and then left. It sat for centuries before it was discovered.
"The sailors who landed here soon found their way into the building. They were clever, inquisitive men who soon learned through trial and error how to use some of the devices they found. They eventually brought their families and settled here.
"They used the power of their new-found technology to create a virtual paradise. Freed from the burden of daily subsistence, they developed into a race of philosophers. They delved the mysteries of the island, discovering new and marvelous wonders.
"They grew as a people. Soon they set sail again, bringing their knowledge, art, and culture to the world. They built mighty monuments to their glory. The great pyramids are a remnant of their work.
"Unfortunately, their power made them arrogant. Despite their formidable knowledge, they lusted for power. You might say that they grew in knowledge but not in wisdom. They used their power to conquer and subjugate their fellow man. They never considered the possibility that the founders of their great power might someday return."
I paused to take a sip of coffee. The Rozell’s were riveted to their seats, mesmerized by my tale. And I realized I had an audience. The patrons of Harmony’s coffee shop were all listening in.
"They were always watching, you know. The recording devices continued to record everything that happened on the island. But they were doing more. They were reporting the events to the mysterious beings that left the technology on the island. When the builders realized what was going on, they returned.
"The builders cast the island and all of its inhabitants into the sea, destroying all of their works for all time. Then they installed some safeguards. They placed their building within this unique bubble of space-time and made it considerably more difficult to gain entry. They felt that this would preclude a less advanced people from using their technology for conquest. They reasoned that any people sufficiently advanced to gain entry would have evolved beyond such primitive needs as conquest and power. Then they left it here to be found again. They had no way of knowing, though, that the energy fields needed to maintain the spatial geometry of this place would cause a benign virus common to humanity to mutate so virulently.
"You were right when you guessed that this was an observation post, Rozell. But you never realized that it was you and your people who were being watched. This place is more than an observation platform. It’s a test of mankind.
"That’s why we have to evacuate Harmony. I want us to be far away from here when the builders return, because I think mankind has failed the test once more. I don’t particularly want to meet the same fate as the previous tenants."
Rozell looked excited and frightened simultaneously. "Hertz, if what you are saying is true, then…" He stopped, too dumbstruck to continue.
"Yes, it’s true. By some incredible coincidence you and your companions have discovered Atlantis."
Ashley looked stunned. So did Rozell. He drained his mug in a single draught. "So what are we waiting for? Let’s get the hell out of here!"
As it turned out, we were soon all free of Harmony. The re-conversions progressed smoothly and we soon had most of the incompletes and all of the women who wanted returned to their original sex. Two of the incompletes asked to be morphed into women, which we did. I was the last woman to regain my male sex.
Nobody actually returned to his completely original state. We all were given body ages of about twenty-five and had any congenital problems eliminated. Some of Dave’s teammates managed to forge some authentic-looking credentials for us. We all re-entered the normal world in several different locations, the most common being New York City in the USA.
The houses had all been deconstructed back to the base elements and energy they had been made from. The same was done with the shops, the streets, and most of the robot drones. All that was left was the original rectangular building
Three people remained: Patty Dalton, her husband Glen, and myself. We were standing on the portal pad ready to re-enter normal space-time. We decided to go together to New York.
Patty looked around at the room. She was dressed casually in a twin set with low-heeled boots and a sweater. Glen was wearing Dockers, a polo shirt, and athletic shoes. I wore jeans, a sweatshirt, and sneakers. We were saying goodbye to Harmony.
"It seems so strange," said Patty. "We’ve been here for so long I probably won’t recognize the real world."
"I know," I said. "It’s not going to be easy. But I don’t really want to stay here any longer."
"What will happen to the nanobots inside us, Skip?" said Glen.
"Without Harmony’s energy field to sustain them, they will just stop functioning and will be re-absorbed by our bodies. In a few weeks they should all be gone. And then we’ll all just age normally."
"I don’t mind getting older," Patty said, "as long as Glen and I can age together."
"I was wondering, Skip," said Glen, "what’s going to happen to anybody else who might stumble into Harmony, especially the women and children? What’s to keep them from Harmony’s plague?"
"I set some very special robot drones to take care of that," I said. "They resemble mosquitoes, but they’re programmed to seek out new arrivals and inject them with nanobots. These nanobots will seek out and destroy the virus that causes the disease. That should eliminate Harmony’s plague. After that, the new folks are on their own."
I took one last look around. "Is everybody ready?" I asked. Patty and Glen nodded their heads. I activated the portal. One instant we were in Harmony. The next moment we were standing in Battery Park in New York.
New Yorkers are an exceptional breed. Three people can just seem to appear out of thin air in broad daylight and New Yorkers will pay them no mind. They just went about their business. Hey, this is New York. Strange things happen every day.
Most of the former captives of Harmony just vanished back into the pool of humanity, and I never heard from them again. But a few of us keep in touch. Larry, for instance, opened up a hair salon in New York and soon had a following. He lives in the East Village with his partner Jeff, another former Harmonian. Jeff works in a bookstore in SoHo. I see Larry every few weeks when I go for a haircut, and sometimes the three of us meet for dinner.
Patty and Glen moved to Ocean City, New Jersey where Glen opened a water ice stand on the boardwalk. Business is good, and the Daltons are prospering. They have a son age three and Patty is expecting their second child. Patty is also a part-time counselor at the local women’s center and teaches courses in self-defense and firearms safety. I usually drop in on them when I take my summer vacation.
Oddly enough, I still keep in touch with Martin and Ashley Rozelle. Martin entered the seminary when he returned to reality and is now a missionary in Ethiopia. He and Ashley now minister to the poorest and most needy children on Earth. In his last letter, Martin said that his vision of a paradise for all has not changed, but the means to his end has. He and Ashley have never been happier. I suppose even a monster can reform when given a chance.
As for myself, I am still single. And I am no longer Richard Hertz. I took the precaution of changing my name. If I told you who I was you wouldn’t believe me anyway. The most I will tell you is that I now reside in New York City, which narrows your search down to a mere eight million.
The tendrils that attached my control ring to my finger decomposed. Within a week of returning to the real world the ring fell off my finger. I heaved it into the Hudson. I never want to see it again.
I now make my living from the proceeds of my inventions. I brought back some of the fabulous technology I found in Harmony, and I am releasing it in the form of new inventions that will benefit mankind. I won’t tell you just what these inventions are, but I will tell you this much. You have been touched by at least one of my inventions, and you have derived benefit from it.
I never married, and perhaps I never shall. I still possess a layer of psychic scar tissue from my experience in Harmony. I’m afraid that it will color my actions and perceptions for the rest of my life. And there is something else. I have experienced female orgasm. I’m afraid that the male orgasm pales in comparison to a woman’s. Perhaps some day I will meet the right woman and fall in love with her. Perhaps we will marry and I will find contentment in the knowledge that I am pleasing my woman so intensely. But there will always be a part of me that longs for the incredible experience a woman feels when she climaxes. That feeling is forever denied me. It is the price I paid to escape from Harmony.
© 2001 Valentina Michelle Smith
If you enjoyed this story, you will also enjoy the classic tale it is based on, "The Sisters of Athernia" by Diane Christy.
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