By Valentina Michelle Smith

(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 naïve 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 crème 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)