By Valentina Michelle Smith

(Part 2)

The story so far: Skip Hertz, wanted for bank robbery and wire fraud, is captured on a remote Caribbean island by bounty hunter Billy-Bob Donovan. The aircraft returning Hertz and Donovan to the mainland crashes in the ocean. Hertz and Donovan wash up onto an island called Harmony. They learn that the island was once inhabited by a mysterious race with technology far in advance of ours. Preceding shipwreck victims have learned how to use this technology and have created a paradise. Unfortunately, due to the unique conditions found on the island, young children and women all succumb to an incurable disease and perish.

Hertz and Donovan are injected with nanobots by Harmony’s rulers and are subjected to an alien process that transforms them into women. Also, the nanobots control their behavior, forcing them to behave in a sexually provocative and completely subservient manner.

As the story opens, the transformation has just completed.

Ludwig Van sounded again. The pyramid flared into life and our beaming hostess greeted us. "Congratulations, girls," she said. "Your transformation was a complete success. You are now women in every way, and are ready to take your place in Harmonian society.

"In two hours a delegation of women from Harmony shall meet with you to begin your assimilation into our culture. It will be a busy day, ladies, beginning with a trip to town where you will select the clothing, shoes, cosmetics, and other essentials you will need. Then we will take you to our beauty parlor for manicures and hair styling. And then we have a special surprise for you. But I’ll tell you about that later.

"Now I know you’ve been through a lot, so why don’t you get cleaned up and dressed for your shopping spree. I’ll be seeing you in two hours. Bye, bye for now!" Her image faded and the translucent pyramid reappeared.

Patty turned and walked to the bathroom. I followed, dancing to the pied piper of Control. Once again we showered and shampooed. I explored the new, different areas of my body as I washed. I ran my fingers over my wet, soapy breasts and was astonished at the sensation. As difficult as it was to believe, they were far more sensitive and far more responsive then they had been the night before. I gasped as my nipples hardened to my touch. With a combination of terror and curiosity I probed the moist folds of skin between my thighs. I was rewarded by the most intense burst of pleasure I had ever experienced! I continued to probe, touch, and tickle as the waves of sensuous pleasure suffused my consciousness. Involuntary tremors shook my body. I had never felt anything like this before, but somehow I knew that I was experiencing female orgasm. And I liked it! God help me, I wanted it!

I probably would have continued to pleasure myself in the shower, but after a few minutes Control nudged me back to the immediate task of showering. It was with great reluctance that I rinsed the soap from my skin. I could hear a faint moan escaping from the other shower and realized that Patty had brought herself to climax as well.

I emerged from the shower and grabbed one of the towels, which I used to dry my hair. I wrapped it around my hair like a turban. I took another towel and started to dry my body when Patty emerged. She looked at me and smiled.

"Laura," she asked, "did you feel it?"

"Oh, God, I did, Patty! It was just so incredible!"

"Do you think that’s how it’s going to be every time?"

"I think so."

"Then I can’t wait to sleep with Glenn. I want this feeling to last forever!"

"Oh, yes, and I want to start sleeping with Larry!" I said. I couldn’t believe what was coming out of my mouth! Yes, the orgasm was the most intensely pleasurable experience of my life, and I wouldn’t mind feeling it again. But the part of me that was still Skip recoiled in horror. Sleep with a man? Have sex with a man? No! Never!

My mind had no control of my mouth, or of any other body part. I continued to dry myself and exchange girl talk with Patty. The talk was all about sex, how we would please our men, and how they would please us.

We returned to our bedrooms. I opened the dresser drawer and found a new set of underwear awaiting me. I removed the high-cut lace-trimmed turquoise panties and pulled them over my legs. The silky cloth clung to my skin. I then donned the turquoise underwired bra. From the labeling I discovered that I was a 38D. The underwires lifted and shaped to present my ample cleavage in a most provocative manner. It was not very comfortable, but I had no choice.

I once again went through the ritual of rolling up pantyhose and slowly pulling it over my shapely legs. With my legs now encased in sheer nylon, I took a seat at the vanity. It was now stocked with a wider array of cosmetics then I had found there yesterday. I applied foundation, blush, mascara, eyeliner and eye shadow with an ease that implied years of experience but which, in fact, came from Control. I struggled in vain to resist as I continued my beauty regimen.

My nails were longer now, but still retained some of their shape from last night. I filed them a bit, pushed back my cuticles, and applied red polish followed by a clear topcoat. I waved them around until they dried. They were hard but still looked wet.

I stood and walked to the closet. A slip and a dress were hanging there. I removed the slip from its hanger and pulled it over my head. I smoothed the bodice over my breasts and let the skirt fall freely. Its lacey hem came to about mid-thigh. I then removed the dress. It was a simple turquoise sheath with a plunging neckline that displayed my underwired cleavage quite effectively. The skirt came to just above my knees. It was elegant in its simplicity.

I retrieved my purse from the top of the dresser and once again seated myself at the vanity. I applied a deep red color to my lips, lining them and filling them completely with a lip brush. I then followed this with a shiny gloss to produce a wet look. My lips were full and sensuous. I then picked up a brush and styled my hair. It fell quite nicely into a shoulder-length flip and the repeated brushing enhanced its luster.

I picked up the perfume bottle and sprayed a little Eau de French Whorehouse on my wrists, behind my knees, and in my cleavage. This was potent stuff. I then opened the jewelry case and withdrew the dangly earrings I found inside. It felt strange to actually put the wires through the little holes in my ear lobes. I added a gold necklace, a tennis bracelet, and a cocktail ring to my ensemble.

I opened my purse and added some items to it; a compact, a lipstick tube, the perfume, a brush, and some other essentials. I withdrew the cigarette case and opened it. It was full, with twenty slim, long cigarettes inside. I did not recall refilling it. Another mystery to ponder. I closed the case and replaced it in my purse.

I rose from the vanity and walked over to the closet. Inside I found a pair of turquoise pumps with four-inch stiletto heels. I stepped into these with ease. The heels caused my balance to shift, thrusting my butt and cleavage out even further and enhancing my legs. I walked over to the full-length mirror and examined myself.

Remember the description I gave of the nurses and how they exuded a sensuality that could ignite flames of desire in any man? That is the image I beheld in the mirror, a sultry, fiery temptress. And she was I.

My mind recoiled at the sight. I wanted to smash the mirror and use the shards of glass to open an artery. But I was restrained by the ever-present Control. I winked and blew myself a kiss. Damn, but I was sexy!

Purse in hand, I left the bedroom and walked into the common area. I sat on one of the barstools, displaying my nylon-clad legs. Why I struck such a sexy pose when nobody was there to see was beyond me. Control wanted to keep me in practice, I suppose. I knew I was still being controlled because with no desire on my part I found myself opening my purse and removing my cigarette case and lighter. I extracted one of the slim, white cigarettes from the case, closed it, and tamped the tobacco down before placing it in my mouth. I lit it, took a mouthful of smoke, and inhaled. Once more the noxious fumes assaulted my lungs and throat, but I made no outward indication of my distress. I blew smoke into the air and held the cigarette at just the right angle.

Patty emerged wearing a floral dress with a peach handbag and pumps. Like me, Patty was the image of sensuality. She swayed her hips seductively as she walked to the bar. "Laura," she said, "just wait until Larry gets a load of you. He won’t be able to keep his hands to himself."

"Why thank you, Patty," I answered, "but speak for yourself, girl! Once Glen sees you I don’t think you will be able to control him."

Patty sat down and lit one of her own cigarettes. We sat there smoking and idly chatting for several minutes. Within my mind, I was beginning to panic. I was trying desperately to stop this insanity, to throw away the cigarette, tear off the clothes I wore, and shout "I am a man!" at the top of my lungs, but to no avail. I could only watch in increasing terror as my body went through its motions. I could exert no influence over my actions. I was helpless.

The door to our apartment slid open. Four women, led by our ethereal mistress of ceremonies, entered. We arose as she walked in. "Hello, Laura," she said, "and hello, Patty. Welcome to the community. I’m Ashley Rozell, and these are some of the other ladies of our community. May I introduce Doris Clay, Sarah Wilson, and Diana Moncton. Girls, this is Laura Jean Hertz and Patty Sue Donovan."

Patty and I shook hands with the ladies and invited them to sit down and have something to eat or drink. We all sat around the coffee table sipping from teacups and smoking cigarettes. After a few minutes, Ashley indicated that it was time to go shopping. We all checked and repaired our makeup, grabbed our purses, and left the room.

We walked down the corridor and outside. I looked back at the building we had exited. It was the one we had seen in the three-dimensional recordings. Seen from the outside, I could appreciate just how massive a building it was. I also noticed that Rozell and crew had made a few additions to it, such as a massive glass-enclosed entry and a sign reading "Harmony Town Hall" over the doorway.

Unlike the recordings, the building was not surrounded by dense jungle but by a broad, well-trimmed lawn. A walkway led from the entrance to a sidewalk, and the walk bordered a wide paved street. The street was lined with shops small and large. We entered the first one, which was a corsetier’s shop.

Inside Patty and I were shown a selection of lacy panties, brassieres, slips, nightgowns, and garter belts. I had no desire to select lingerie, but Control was pulling the puppet strings and I found myself picking out slips, bras, and other frilly underthings in various styles and colors.

Despite Control, my curiosity bubbled to the surface. "Excuse me," I asked one of the sales clerks, "don’t you need to measure us to get our size?"

"That’s not necessary, Miss Hertz," replied the clerk, "your measurements are in the record system of the electronic brain. Everything you order will be a perfect fit because it will be made to your specifications. And it will be delivered to your home."

"My home?" I asked.

Ashley Rozell spoke up. "Yes, Laura, your home. You will be living with your husband, of course."

"Of course," I answered. "Thank you for clearing that up."

"Not a problem, Laura." Ashley said. "Martin told me you were a curious girl. Myself, I don’t worry about such things. I leave that to the men."

"Well I hope I’m not being too much of a bother," I said.

"No bother at all, Laura." She smiled sweetly, and I smiled back.

Our next stop was the dressmaker’s shop. Patty and I were presented with an array of dresses, skirts, and blouses. Under the direction of Control, I selected a number of dresses suitable for formal occasions, parties, social gatherings, and house wear. Every item was cut so as to display cleavage in a flattering manner. I concluded that the men of Harmony must have a breast fetish.

We made the rounds of various shops, selecting shoes in one, hats in another, bathing suits, makeup, handbags, perfume, hosiery, and other assorted feminine items. It was several hours later when we all entered the Beauty Parlor.

By this time I had given up any attempt to resist. Control was directing my every move. I could do nothing to stop myself, so I just allowed it to happen. I was shampooed and seated in a beautician’s chair.

I attempted to take some action independent of Control and discovered that I could. I asked the beautician, "Does your husband mind that you work here?"

"I don’t have a husband," she responded.

"But I thought all of the women here were married?"

"They are," she replied. "I’m a robot drone."

My surprise must have been noticeable because Diane Moncton offered me an explanation. "Laura, we use robot drones in Harmony to perform most of the everyday servile duties. They function as our store clerks, our hairdressers, our house servants, and in any of the menial tasks required. This frees us to be creative."

"Oh," I said, "I must sound awfully stupid asking these questions."

"Of course not, dear. You’re just curious. There’s nothing wrong with that."

"Well, I don’t want to seem dumb," I said.

"Don’t worry about it, Laura. Besides, some guys find a dumb girl sexy." She blushed.

I sat in the chair as my hair was brushed, blow-dried, shaped, and sprayed into a complicated style. Then I moved to the manicurist’s chair where my fingernails and toenails were shaped and polished. I had to admit that it felt nice to be pampered this way. But I still could not accept the transformation.

We left the beauty parlor and started walking. "Girls," said Ashley, "remember that surprise I told you about? Well here it is." We were in front of the Bridal Shop.

My panic went into overdrive. I vainly tried to resist as I followed the women into the shop. Inside, Patty and I were shown a selection of wedding gowns. I picked (or, more correctly, Control made me pick) an antique lace gown with a train and crystal beadwork. Patty picked a plain satin sheath with a fantail skirt and a lace overlay. We both were fitted into our gowns and stepped into matching white high-heeled shoes. Mine were sling-backs, while Patty wore pumps, but they both were equipped with four-inch stiletto heels. A bridal bouquet was pressed into my hands. I wanted to drop it and run, but Control held me in place. I emerged from the dressing room to find our escorts all decked out in periwinkle bridesmaids’ gowns. Just outside, a long white limousine awaited us. We all got in.

The limo ride lasted about five minutes. I fought down my panic long enough to observe several facts about the ride. For one thing, there was no engine noise as the limo drove along, and no indication of exhaust. Whatever was moving this car was not an internal combustion engine.

We exchanged "girl talk" as we rode. I don’t recall much of it except for some recurrent giggling. We were driven to a building a few blocks from the Town Hall. As I emerged, I saw a sign over the broad entry door: Harmony Social Hall.

We lined up outside the hall. Somehow I knew that the town was assembled inside. I giggled nervously. The center doors opened. I could hear an orchestra playing the Wedding March. The bridesmaids each entered ahead of us. I stood at the door with Patty next to me. Two men each offered us their arms, which we accepted. Escorted by these men, we entered the hall.

We entered a vestibule that led to an auditorium. Inside the auditorium, the townspeople of Harmony were assembled on either side of a wide aisle. At the end of the aisle, on a raised platform, stood five men. Rozell was in the center, wearing a blue academic robe over his ivory suit. He was flanked by four men in formal wear. I recognized Larry Poole and Glen Dalton. The others must be witnesses.

Patty and I were escorted to the platform where we each took our place at the side of our respective fiancées. I looked over at Larry nervously, just like a blushing bride. He smiled at me and gave me a little wink. I have to admit that he looked quite handsome in his white tie, waistcoat, and tails. But I still wanted to bolt and run. I wanted to just get the hell out of this insane place!

Rozell presided over the ceremony, looking quite resplendent in his academic robe. It was trimmed with three velvet stripes that normally signified a doctoral degree. I don’t know if he had a Ph.D. or just wore the robe to look impressive. He spoke in a manner that exuded authority as he recited the traditional wedding ceremony. When he came to the question, "Do you come here of your own free will?" I wanted to shout No! No! I’m being forced to do this! But Control was working me like a ventriloquist’s dummy. I heard "Yes" emerge softly and daintily from my mouth.

Rozell led us through the entire farce of a ceremony, forcing me to take vows that were meant to be a free expression of love and commitment between two devoted persons. Instead, the words became a mockery of this most sacred union. With Control moving my lips and vocal cords, I repeated the solemn vows to love, honor, and obey Larry Poole, a man I only met one day ago, for the rest of my natural life. Rozell pronounced us man and wife and gave Larry permission to kiss me.

Our lips joined briefly, then parted. It was, after all, only a ceremonial kiss. Rozell then repeated the vows for Patty and Glen. We then all turned to the assembled community and were introduced to Harmony as "Mister and Missus." I tried to scream, but my mouth would not obey. I tried to run, but my legs were not working for me any longer. My own body betrayed me as Larry took my arm and led me down the aisle to the lobby of the assembly hall. Patty and Glen were right behind, along with the rest of the wedding party.

We stopped in the lobby. Larry turned and gave me a long, passionate kiss. To my horror, I found myself returning his kiss and adding something of my own. As we kissed I became aware of an unaccustomed wetness between my legs. I realized with revulsion that my vagina (my vagina??) was lubricating. It was preparing to receive Larry!

Diana Moncton said, "Hey, you two, save it for the honeymoon!" We all laughed nervously and formed a reception line. We greeted all of the townspeople like old friends, exchanging hugs and warm words. All of the men insisted on kissing the brides, of course, and Patty and I obliged. All of these people were strangers, and yet I found myself greeting each one by name as though I had known them all my life.

The last person to greet us was Rozell. He had doffed his robe and was now clad only in his ivory-colored suit. In the back of my mind I remembered that wearing white to a wedding was a social faux pas as it distracted from the bride. Rozell obviously felt no compunction to follow that rule. He relished being the center of attention.

We adjourned to the ballroom that adjoined the assembly hall. An orchestra was playing as we took our seats at the head table. Rozell called for attention.

"Citizens of Harmony," he said, "this is indeed a joyous occasion. Today, two more ladies join our community. With these new citizens taking their place in our society, we have become complete. All of the men of Harmony now have wives." The hall erupted in applause.

"And now," he said, "may I introduce our newest citizens; Mrs. Glen Dalton, and Mrs. Lawrence Poole, will now have their first dance with their new husbands as man and wife."

There was more applause as we stood. The orchestra began to play, and Larry took me into his arms. He held me close as we danced a fox trot. I had never danced a fox trot before, or any other ballroom dance. But here I was, being led about a dance floor in a man’s arms, responding to the little pressures and cues of his lead, matching him step for step and embellishing with an occasional dip or promenade. Only I was doing everything backwards and in high heels!

The band stopped and we applauded politely. Then Glen and Larry changed partners. I danced a rumba with Glen, who also turned out to be an excellent dancer. Then the community joined us on the dance floor. The band played for hours and I danced with many partners. It seemed like all of the men wanted to dance one dance with the brides. Then Larry found me again, and suggested that we step outside for a minute.

We walked out of one of the side doors onto a patio. The sun had set and the moon was nearly full, casting its pale light onto the island. We both took long breaths. Then Larry took me in his arms and kissed me.

I could not resist. Despite my efforts to stop, I found my arms around his. I returned the kiss passionately, and we held the kiss for over a minute. I felt his tongue at my lips and felt them part to admit it. Our tongues met and caressed. All the while, I was terrified. I was kissing a man! I was French-kissing a man! I was dressed as a bride and was swapping spit with a man I had just married! And less than forty-eight hours ago I was also a man!

We broke off the kiss. I found myself opening my purse and removing a cigarette. I held it between my fingers while Larry produced a lighter. I put the cigarette in my mouth and allowed Larry to light it. I drew smoke deeply into my lungs and exhaled. "Thanks, lover," I said to him.

"You’re welcome, love," he said, lighting a cigarette of his own. It was shorter than mine, and unfiltered. He put his arm around my shoulder, and I cradled my head on his chest. We stood silently in the moonlight, smoking. It was horrifying.

I insisted on checking my makeup before we returned to the party. We went through the ceremonial bouquet and garter tosses and then went off to private rooms where we changed clothes. I removed my bridal gown and hung it up. It would be preserved for me; a treasured memento of what ought to be the happiest day in a woman’s life. It’s a shame that I’m not really a woman, I thought. The irony of that thought was not lost on me as I donned a floral print dress, white pumps, and white gloves. I picked up a matching white handbag and examined myself in the mirror. I looked like a refugee from the Donna Reed program.

Larry was waiting for me in a charcoal gray suit with a white shirt and a paisley tie. He smiled when he saw me. We kissed, than walked hand in hand to a waiting car. I was not sure just what was waiting for me, but I had a suspicion.

We rode to a secluded cottage near the beach. Patty and Glen no doubt were being driven to a similar cottage. We walked in the moonlight holding hands to the cottage’s front door. We entered. Somehow we knew where the bedroom was.

I opened the closet and found that some of my new things were here. I removed a nightgown and a robe. Larry put his hands on my shoulders and spun me around for another kiss. I felt that strange wetness between my legs again. I was panicking, but could not express it in any way. Instead, I gently pushed him away and said, "Now don’t be too anxious, sweetie. I want this to be extra special."

"Okay," he said, "but don’t take too long."

"I’ll only be a minute," I said coyly as I entered the bathroom.

I removed my shoes, dress, slip, hose, garter belt, bra and panties and carefully put them in the cleaning hamper. Then I held up the nightgown. It was a soft, translucent affair with only one shoulder strap, leaving the other shoulder exposed. It looked like a classic Greek dress, only sexy. The robe was a diaphanous white garment cinched with a sash. I checked my makeup, then opened the door. Larry was waiting.

Larry wore the bottom half of a pair of silk pajamas. They hung off his hips to reveal his tanned, athletic torso. His body was more suggestive of Apollo than Hercules, muscular but not muscle-bound. I felt my vagina nearly explode at the sight of this strong, virile man. He smiled as he took me in his arms. We kissed and kissed again. Then he lifted me up off the floor and into his arms. I wanted to scream! I felt helpless as he carried me to the bed. He set me onto the satin sheets and laid down next to me. Then he took me.

If you are expecting a detailed and lascivious account of my deflowering and subsequent couplings, you are in for a disappointment. Yes, Larry took me again and again, I responded with passion, and the orgasms were stupendous. But it was not lovemaking. I gave no assent to being taken this way. I felt only horror and revulsion. This act should be the highest expression of love, respect, and mutual passion between a woman and a man. There is only one word adequate to describe my experience: rape! I was forced to submit to sexual assault. I was repeatedly, brutally ravished. And I reacted to this unthinkable violation by withdrawing totally within myself. The part of me that was still Skip Hertz ceased to think, ceased to react, ceased to emote.

It was like being in a waking coma. I was conscious of each degradation heaped upon me. I was succinctly aware of every movement, ever sound, and every feeling I experienced. But I did not participate. I neither initiated action nor tried to stop it. I felt but did not emote. My state was similar to that of a prisoner in a concentration camp who has seen and experienced so much horror that he simply stops moving, speaking, or thinking. But in my case, my body continued to move, speak, and interact with the world.

I desperately needed to scream, but I would not. I desperately needed to run, but I could not. I existed, aware of my surroundings but unable to do anything to affect them in any way. I did not think or make any decisions of any kind. I did not even form a thought. My inner monologue went silent. I simply was.

Harmony, Larry, and Control did not care. As long as I was performing my part in this puppet show, it mattered not one bit. With Control now making every decision for me, I settled into the routine of life in Harmony.

Our honeymoon lasted one week. We then returned to Larry’s home and I took up housekeeping. There was very little to do in this regard. Our household robot drones, all appropriately attired as maids, butlers, and handymen did most of the work. Larry enjoyed an occasional home-cooked meal that I would be expected to prepare. He especially liked to show off my cooking skills to the neighbors. Larry also liked me to make some of my own clothes. He found it sexy. I found it just one more task dictated by Control.

When I wasn’t busy keeping house, I was busy in Harmonian society. There was the Garden Club, the Bridge Club, the Country Club, the Ladies Auxiliary to the Men’s Club, and the endless round of social gatherings both small and large. I never lacked for activity.

I continued in this waking nightmare for almost two years. Occasionally I would get a glimmer of intelligent thought. For instance, I once observed one of our robot drones vacuuming the rug and thought that, except for the stuff we were made of, it and I were really the same thing. We were robots. I quickly retreated to the comfort of oblivion.

I probably would have continued in this way for many more years. Perhaps I would have eventually accepted my fortune and begun to cooperate with Control. Fate had other plans. I remember well the events that brought me back to reality.

It all began with a new set of refugees. A businessman was flying on his company’s private turboprop to St. Thomas. It was not a business trip. His wife and young daughter were accompanying him on a vacation. He held a prominent position with the company, so using the corporate aircraft for personal travel was one of his perks. The pilot didn’t mind since, for him, this amounted to a vacation with pay.

On their way to the island they developed engine trouble and had to ditch. The pilot managed to put the aircraft down safely in the water and they all got into a life raft. They had a signal beacon in the raft with them, but for some reason it was never detected. They drifted at sea for a night and a day, finally washing ashore on Harmony.

I became aware of these events when the signal chimes on our home’s viewing pyramid summoned me. I was greeted by the image of Doctor Thorpe.

"Good Morning, Mrs. Poole," he said. "May I say that you are looking quite lovely today."

"Thank you, Doctor," I answered shyly, batting my eyes in a coy manner. Coyly batting one’s eyes was the prescribed response to a compliment in Harmony. "How may I help you?"

"We need your services at the Town Dispensary. A life raft has washed ashore and we need nurses to care for the survivors. It’s your turn to serve as a nurse."

"A nurse? But Dr. Thorpe, I’m not a nurse."

"That’s not a problem. Behavioral control will guide you in your duties, and you will have access to the electronic brain for technical details. I will also be available for any serious problems that may arise."

"Couldn’t a robot drone do as well?" I asked.

"Unfortunately, no. Human beings respond to a human presence. Plus, a robot drone is not capable of making judgements like a human. For these and many other reasons, we find that human nurses are indispensable."

"I see, Doctor," I said. "Where must I go?"

"Please report to the Town Hall. You will find several nurses’ uniforms as well as any other things you may need. And thank you for understanding, Mrs. Poole."

"You’re quite welcome, Doctor. Let me give Larry a call. He doesn’t like me disturbing him at work, but I think he’ll understand."

"He’s already been contacted, Mrs. Poole, and knows not to expect you for a few days. You can call him tonight if you wish."

"Thank you, Doctor. I’ll be right over." Thorpe’s image vanished and the pyramid went dark.

Before I left, I checked my purse to ensure that I had all of my essentials. Despite the urgency of the summons, Control made sure that I repaired any flaws in my hair and makeup before venturing out the door. And it made me check my cigarette case to ensure it was full. I put on a wide-brimmed straw hat trimmed with flowers and a rose-colored ribbon before leaving the house to walk to Town Hall.

I changed into a nurse’s uniform as soon as I arrived. Patty was there as well as Diana Moncton and Maureen Hill. We exchanged some girl talk as we changed into our uniforms. As I put on the nurse’s white shoes, I reflected that these were the lowest heels I had worn in two years.

We all reported to Dr. Thorpe, who gave us each a report on our patients. They were all dehydrated and had been given a sedative. IV’s had been started. Additionally, the mother and daughter each were in the first stage of Harmony’s dread plague. They were both feverish and were breaking out in the characteristic rash. We were to give them medication for their pain and try to keep them as comfortable as possible. They were not going to survive.

I was assigned to the daughter. As I went to check on her, it occurred to me that I didn’t even know her name. I asked Dr. Thorpe what her name was. He said, "You don’t really need to know, Nurse Poole. Besides, it’s better not to become emotionally attached. She’s just going to die."

I think it was these harsh words that shook me out of my psychically vegetative state. I could not defy Dr. Thorpe, or even express my disapproval. But the fact that I could find Thorpe’s callous attitude so repugnant was proof that somewhere inside of me, I was still Skip Hertz, and I still had a conscience. I resolved to do all that I could to help this little girl survive.

I accompanied Dr. Thorpe into the room where she lay sleeping. Several sensor pads were attached to her, and an IV bag was dripping fluid into her arm. Dr. Thorpe touched a stud just below the viewing pyramid. It vanished, replaced by a three-dimensional menu.

"Please observe, Nurse Poole," he said. "This is how you access the electronic brain. All of the sensor functions are available by using the brain." He touched a menu heading and another replaced it. He showed me how to make selections by touching the three-dimensional menu displays. "Finally, you come to the biological monitor display," he said.

The monitor display was a flat screen with graphical and numerical indicators. "You may monitor her cardiac output, blood pressure, body temperature, blood oxygen level, and pulse rate on this display," said the doctor.

"Can I leave the display up, Doctor?" I asked.

"Yes, but after fifteen minutes with no interaction the display will close and you will have to recall it. Do you think you can do this?"

"I’m certain that I can, Doctor. Are the viewing pyramids in the dispensary some sort of special model?"

"Not really. All of the viewing pyramids in Harmony are terminals for the electronic brain, and you can access the brain from any terminal."

"I never knew that!"

"It’s not something you really needed to know until today, Nurse Poole."

"I suppose so, Doctor Thorpe. If I did Larry would have certainly told me."

"Of course. In any event, you may use these displays to monitor your patient’s condition. You will also have to keep her IV running and administer medication to keep her comfortable. It’s unfortunate, but she will not recover."

Doctor Thorpe left me with the girl. I activated the pyramid and recalled her records. Her name was Amy Patterson. She was nine.

I looked at Amy’s vitals. Her respiration was shallow and her heart was beating rapidly. Her body temperature was 103.2. She slept fitfully, attempting to toss and turn, but was unable to move due to her restraints.

I don’t know why, but while I was caring for Amy, I started thinking and reacting again. Maybe it was the mental stimulation of actually doing something with my mind. Perhaps it was my human nurturing instinct brought to the surface by the plight of this child. Maybe it was the fact that I wasn’t being raped on a daily basis. For some reason, the part of me that was still Skip awoke.

Amy lingered for three days, each hour worse than the last. The rash covering her body worsened, becoming open and pustulent. Blood, pus, and lymph oozed from the eruptions and dried to form a crust. I gave Amy several sponge baths a day to remove the crusty ooze and to cool her body temperature. But in the end, it was a losing battle. I prayed to the God I thought had abandoned me to take this little girl quickly and bring an end to her suffering.

Late in the night, the last day of young Amy’s life, she awoke briefly. I heard her calling faintly. "Mommy!" she cried. "Mommy! Where are you!"

I turned on the lights. Amy was emaciated from the cruel infection that ravaged her body. Her body temperature was an incredible 104.4. She should have been unconscious, but she was awake.

"What do you want, sweetie?" I asked her.

"Where’s my mommy? I want my mommy!"

"She can’t come right now, honey," I said. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that her mother had died a few hours ago.

"Mommy! Hold me please mommy! I’m scared!"

I didn’t know what else to do so I knelt down beside her and held her in my arms. She was weak, but she tried to hug me. She was crying. "Mommy, I’m cold! It’s so cold, and it’s so dark! I’m scared!"

"Don’t be afraid, Amy. I’m right here!"

"Mommy! Don’t let go of me, mommy! I’m so scared!"

"I won’t let go, honey. I won’t let you go!"

Amy held on to me as though she were clinging to life itself. The blood and pus from her skin were now soaking into the fabric of my uniform, staining the pure white dress yellow and red. She sobbed weakly. Then she was silent. I felt her grip relax. She let go one long, last breath. Then her chest rose no more. I didn’t need the monitors to know that Amy had died in my arms.

I cried. My eyes welled up with tears and I cried. Sorrow erupted unbidden from within my soul. Tears ran down my cheeks, spoiling my perfect makeup and mingling with Amy’s body fluids. I held her lifeless body close to me and cried as if she were my own daughter. My tears were not the product of Control, they rose from inside of me. Control did not intervene. Tears were, after all, typical of feminine weakness. I didn’t care. I didn’t give a damn about Harmony, Control, Dr. Thorpe or the expected norms of behavior for Harmonian women. All I cared about was a little girl who had been condemned to a horrible, agonizing death.

I cried for what seemed hours. Then I let go of Amy and began the gruesome task of preparing her body for disposal.

As I removed her hospital gown to wash the crust and oozing body fluids from her, I took stock of the damage this disease had wreaked on her. Amy’s hair had fallen out in clumps, leaving her with about one-third of her long, golden locks in a ragged, matted rat’s nest. Half of her teeth had fallen out and her mouth was a pool of blood. This little nine-year old looked like an ancient bag lady that had been severely beaten. Despite my best efforts to clean her and comb her hair, I could not make her look like the pretty little nine-year-old girl she had been.

I finished my grisly task by draping a sheet over her body. Dr. Thorpe came in to check the records and officially pronounce her. He looked at my bloody uniform and immediately knew what had happened. "I know, Nurse Poole. It’s especially hard with the children."

"Doctor," I said, "this is just so unfair! What did that little girl do to deserve such a fate?"

"I don’t have the answers, Nurse Poole. The only comfort we can take is the thought that we did what we could to ease their suffering."

"What’s to become of her father?" I asked.

Doctor Thorpe’s expression became pensive. "We now have two new men on Harmony. One of these will have to be converted."

"You mean…"

"Yes, we will transform one of them into a woman. Probably the father would be the best candidate. Having lost his wife and child, I don’t think he would be too keen on taking a new wife."

Thorpe had the oddest expression. It was as though he was experiencing some kind of internal conflict and might break out in tears at any moment. This passed quickly, and he regained his detached professional demeanor. "Yes, converting him would probably be the best for Harmony," he said.

"Nurse Poole, I know you are worn out emotionally and physically. Go home, rest, and have some quiet time with your husband. And thank you for your service. The robot drones can take over now"

I silently went to the dressing room. I stripped off my bloody uniform along with my hose and underwear. I tossed the clothing into the disposal bin and went into the shower. I turned the water on hot and forcefully. I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed. I felt dirty, like all the showers in the world would never clean me. I would have scrubbed my skin raw if Control had not restrained me.

Dressed once again in my oh-so-feminine lilac print dress, adorned once more with gold, pearls, and other jewelry, painted and primped to perfection and reeking of perfume, I walked home from the Town Hall. I was conscious of every click of my stiletto heels, every swish of my skirt, every seductive sway of my hips. I would not crawl back into the comfort of non-sentience. Something new had been kindled in my soul. A new force had entered the scene: rage.

My rage gave me power. My rage strengthened me to endure the purgatory that was Harmony. I seized my rage! I embraced it! Somehow, I would bring about a reckoning for Amy and all of the other Amy’s that Harmony had sacrificed. I would not let this little girl’s death go unanswered!

And ironically, the instrument of my retribution had been handed to me by none other than Doctor Thorpe.

Larry appeared quite happy to see me when he returned home that evening. He suggested that we enjoy dinner out. We dressed up and went to Harmony’s little French restaurant. Larry was quite attentive that evening. I savored the taste of our meal. It had been over two years since I allowed myself any small pleasure in my existence.

Naturally Larry raped me that night. This night, however, I did not withdraw into my shell of non-sentience. My rage had provided me with a layer of psychic scar tissue. I found that I could endure the rape and use it to reinforce my rage. And each subsequent rape, each additional insult added fuel to the furnace.

It was the next day, while Larry was at work, that I took the first step in my plan. I activated the pyramid and explored the menu choices. The system administrators in their arrogance did not incorporate any sort of password protection or access restrictions.

I was exploring for about twenty minutes when I felt the ghostly presence of Control. I did not know how long Control would allow me to surf without making me stop. I was prepared. I reached for my purse and removed the cigarette case. I lit up and held the cigarette between my two fingers in a feminine manner. This must have satisfied the Control algorithm because it left me alone. As long as I was participating in some function defined as feminine, Control was satisfied. Nevertheless, I decided not to press my luck. When the cigarette was finished I terminated my session and repaired my makeup.

The next day I did not attempt to probe the system. But the following day I was back in, hacking my way through Harmony’s mainframe. I limited my sessions to about thirty minutes every second or third day.

My progress was slow. It took many months to make sense of the file structure, and even more to understand the system architecture, but I slowly became more knowledgeable of the powerful machine that controlled our daily lives.

The computer had a Von Neuman architecture, which meant that it used the same memory for its programs, its data, and its results. It had a sophisticated operating system with a powerful set of native commands. But the programs that had been written by the Science Council were long and primitive. I realized that they were procedural, the sort of code written in the early days of computers. This was significant. Most new applications written for contemporary computing take advantage of the power and flexibility of Object Oriented Programming. Harmony did not, despite the fact that the operating system was Object Oriented.

I continued my probing. I stumbled across a vault of audio and video recordings. It looks like Big Brother was alive and well and watching Harmony. I explored a number of these files, and the true history of Harmony since Rozell’s arrival was laid bare. It was most enlightening.

Naturally there were a few detours on my quest. I had to take a brief hiatus when my turn came to play nurse once more. This time, thankfully, no children were involved. It was bad enough knowing that the adult women would die the agonizing death of Harmony’s plague. A few days later I was part of the delegation welcoming newly minted ladies into Harmonian society. I got to wear a seafoam bridesmaid’s gown complete with pouffy sleeves for the wedding. Larry complimented me on my appearance in that hideous rag.

It took about five years of patient probing before I started writing my own code. I kept each module small and built up a library. I deliberately stored each module in different directories to keep my work from being noticed. This effort took three years to complete.

Tonight I would bring my work to fruition.

With my meal preparations complete it was time to change and become a proper hostess. I went upstairs. Larry was in his den. I changed into my hostess gown, a black dress with golden sparkles covering the bodice and skirt. I brushed and sprayed my hair into a very stylish shoulder-length flip. I removed my daytime makeup and replaced it with my nighttime face. Around my neck I fastened a diamond necklace, and hung diamond- studded chains from my earlobes.

I went down the steps to start dinner. But on my way to the kitchen, I stopped at our viewing pyramid. I invoked the menu and input the command to compile. This took less than a minute. I broke the connection and returned to my preparations.

I was taking a huge chance. This had to work correctly the first time. I would not be able to debug this application. There would be no second chance.

Diana and Peter were punctual as always. I greeted them and showed them into our living room. Larry now emerged from his den dressed properly to receive our guests. We enjoyed conversation, cocktails, appetizers, and cigarettes. When dinner was ready we adjourned to the dining room.

Our robot drone butler served the meal that I had prepared. Caesar salad preceded the main course of porterhouse steaks with potatoes au gratin and French cut green beans almondine. It was sometime in the middle of the meal when everything changed. We never did get to dessert.

I felt something. It was like a hyphen in reality. From the puzzled looks on the faces of Larry and our guests, I knew they had felt it as well. Larry went so far as to say, "Did you feel that?"

"I did," said Peter. "What could it have been?"

"The silent thunder," I said, "of an old order crumbling, and a new one rising to take its place."

"What do you mean by that, Laura?" said Larry.

"What I mean," I said, feeling free of Control for the first time in over a decade, "is that I’m not Laura. My name is Richard Hertz. My friends call me Skip."

Larry and Peter looked dumbfounded. Diana looked puzzled. "Gentlemen, and I use the term loosely, your little empire is no more. The slaves have been freed."

Larry started talking. "Laura, what kind of…" I cut him off sharply.

"My name is not Laura. I am not Laura Jean Poole or Mrs. Larry Poole or any other name but Skip Hertz. You will address me as Skip or as Mr. Hertz. Do you understand?"

"I understand, S-s-skip." Larry answered. He was confused. Something in his world was not right.

Diana spoke next. "Skip," she said, also as confused as the men, "what’s happened?"

"The rules just changed, Diana, and I changed them. Control is no more. By the way, what’s your real name?"

Diana hesitated for a moment, as though she could not believe what was about to happen. "My name is, is, Dave. I’m Dave Mahoney!" There was incredulity about her as she spoke that simple phrase, mixed with a dawning excitement. She stared at me as though she were seeing me for the first time. "Skip, I haven’t been able to say that for over eighteen years!"

She turned to Peter. Her joy was now overcome by an expression of maniacal anger. "You bastard!" she shouted at him. "You sick, perverted son of a bitch!" She grabbed the steak knife from the place setting and raised it overhead, ready to plunge it into Peter’s chest. Then she stopped.

"I can’t do it," she said, her voice nearly cracking with anger. "I want to kill this goddamned pervert so badly I can taste it. But I can’t!"

"And you won’t be able to, Dave," I said. "I anticipated something like this happening, so I put a few safeguards in place."

"Safeguards?" she said, lowering the knife. "What do you mean?"

"Something to keep us from killing each other while I sort this whole mess out," I told her. "I’ll explain everything shortly."

I turned to the two men. "You two are to report to the town assembly hall and wait for me. I have something that all of Harmony must hear. Go now."

The men left without saying a word. Dave looked at me with a puzzled expression. "How did you do that?" she asked me. "Why did they just turn and go without a word of protest?"

"They have no choice." I said. "Excuse me, Dave, I need to address the town."

I went to the viewing pyramid and activated the menu. I selected the appropriate item to broadcast my image into every household. The chimes summoned everyone to their viewing pyramids.

Through the pyramid I addressed the town. "Residents of Harmony, this is Skip Hertz. All men are directed to report to the town assembly hall within the hour. You have no doubt noticed an unusual occurrence. The exact nature of this phenomenon and its consequences will be explained to you at this meeting. The women of Harmony are also invited. I cannot compel the women to attend, but I urge you to do so. Thank you." I broke the connection.

I saw Dave staring at me. She looked as though she wanted to ask a question, but could not think of the words to ask it. Finally she said, "Skip, this is crazy! I’ve wanted to kill that sick bastard for years, but Control wouldn’t let me. I couldn’t even tell him just how much I hated him. Now…"

"I know how frustrating this is, Dave," I answered. I made a deliberate effort to refer to her by her previous male name. "I suspect that you and I are not alone. That’s why there still is some measure of Control left."

"What did you do? How did this happen?"

"I’ll explain all at the meeting," I said. "Would you care to come with me?"

We left the house together and walked to the town assembly hall. I noticed something interesting as we walked. I was no longer swaying my hips in a sultry manner. True, I had to swing them a little. This was a natural consequence arising from the geometry of my widened hips. But the exaggerated swing was gone. I was just walking. It was like having nothing but vanilla ice cream for years and years and suddenly discovering chocolate. I rejoiced in this simple thing.

I strode into the full auditorium and walked up to the stage. Rozell was already there, wearing a face that would have curdled new milk. He stood between the podium and myself.

"Just what do you think you are doing?" he said. "How dare you…"

"Sit down, Rozell," I ordered calmly. Rozell had a most puzzled expression as he marched off the stage and took his seat. It was the most satisfying experience I had felt in many years.

I stood behind the podium and spoke into the microphone. My amplified voice played over the hidden speakers. "Good evening," I said.

"No doubt you noticed a peculiar little hiccup in Control about an hour ago. That was the result of my own work.

"Behavioral control as you have known it has been terminated. I have replaced it with my own control algorithms. They are considerably different from the ones you have known in the past. And they are different for Harmonian men and women.

"First, let’s go over the men’s new rules. I call them an Asimov algorithm since I modeled them after Asimov’s three laws of robotics. Only I have four rules.

"Rule one: a man may not harm a woman or through failure to act allow a woman to be harmed. That should be self-explanatory.

"Rule two: a man must obey any orders given by a woman unless this would conflict with Rule one.

"Rule three: orders given by Skip Hertz take precedence over any other orders. I’m the boss, guys.

"Rule four: a man may not harm himself and must protect his own existence unless this would conflict with rules one, two, or three.

"The women of Harmony have only one rule. A woman may not harm herself or cause harm to any other Harmonian, male or female."

I paused for a moment while the townspeople pondered their new situation. Then I continued. "The actual algorithm is encoded mathematically. I’m only stating these rules verbally for your convenience and understanding.

"Within the confines of these rules, you are free to pursue any endeavor you wish. I will, however, direct the men of Harmony to work on a couple of specific projects.

"The first and most important project is the elimination of Harmony’s plague. I want a task force formed under Dr. Thorpe to immediately tackle this problem. Dr. Thorpe, you will form this group from the best qualified of our people. Work is to begin immediately in the morning. This project has priority over all others. Is that understood?"

Thorpe stared at me dubiously. "With all respect, Mrs. Poole…"

I interrupted him. "Excuse me, doctor, but that isn’t my name. My name is Richard Hertz. My friends call me Skip."

He looked confused. "Well, you sure don’t look like a ‘Skip’." The auditorium, including myself, burst into laughter.

When I managed to regain my composure, I spoke again. "Thank you, Dr. Thorpe. I needed that, just to keep from getting too full of myself. Now what were you about to say?"

"Well, uh, Skip is it? Skip, we tried to cure the disease once before with no success."

"I know that. I also know that you abandoned the research just after the nanobot technology was introduced to Harmony. Didn’t you have a theory that nanobots could be pre-programmed to seek out and destroy the dormant virus before it became active?"

It seemed like a long-dead light came back to life in Thorpe’s eyes. "Why yes, that was going to be our next approach. And I had every reason to believe that it would work!" The enthusiasm in Thorpe’s voice was unmistakable. Thorpe was a physician. His life was dedicated to healing. Now he would be given a chance to heal again.

"Excellent," I said. "Put together a team and meet with me tomorrow afternoon at about two."

"Uh, where do you want to meet?"

"For right now, come over to my house and we’ll chat in the kitchen. I’ll have an office set up for myself at the town hall later."

"Very well, Skip. I’ll see you tomorrow."

I returned my attention to the audience. "I have a few more items to discuss. I want to put together a second task force to develop a method to reverse the conversion process. I would like to ask for volunteers, especially from the women. I’m sure that some of you were scientists of some sort before you came here. Can I have a show of hands?"

There was some hesitation. At first, nobody raised his or her hand. Then, one hand hesitantly went up, followed by a few more. I counted about twenty men and women volunteering for this task. Among these I recognized Dave Mahoney, formerly Mrs. Peter Moncton. "Dave," I said pointing to her, "I’m putting you in charge. Talk to the folks who are volunteering and see if you can organize a team. Could we get together in a few days to discuss this?"

"You can count on me, Skip," she said. I could see that until Dave came up with a solution that we were going to have a lot of problems with pronouns.

"Very well," I said. "There’s only one more piece of business I want to discuss tonight. Martin Rozell, please come up to the stage."

Rozell stood and walked to the stage. He had no choice. He had to obey.

"Martin Rozell," I said, "you are the chief architect of the social structure of Harmony. Did you enjoy this?"

"I did what I had to do," he answered. "I acted in order to keep Harmony from destroying itself."

"Yes. I remember the orientation lecture. But Harmony is largely a realization of your own personal vision, isn’t it?"

"Of course it is."

"Including the conversion of males into females, was this not so?"

"We needed women to bring stability to our community. We were destroying each other."

"Yes, so you said. That’s why everybody was placed under Control, correct?"

"That is common knowledge in Harmony!" he said indignantly. "Am I being cross-examined like some criminal on trial?"

"So tell me, Rozell, once you had established control, why did you need to convert men into women?"

"I already told you, to keep us from destroying each other."

"But that was already accomplished. The men were all injected and Control kept them from hurting each other. You didn’t really need women just to restore order; that had already been established. Why was it necessary to transform men into women and to force them to submit to you? Why?"

Rozell stared at me with anger. I am convinced that if I hadn’t implemented the Asimov algorithm that he would have killed me with his bare hands. "You don’t understand," he said. "This was necessary."

"Oh, I do understand, Rozell. I’ve seen your pictures before you got injected with the nanobots. You were a skinny little runt with buckteeth and bad acne. Somehow you managed to sneak some code into the Control program that put you in charge of this place. It was your own insane need to dominate that shaped the direction of Harmony. You seized control of the Science Council and directed it to develop the transformation process. It was the only way you could get a woman, wasn’t it?"

Rozell was turning red. He looked ready to explode. But another expression was taking over his face: fear! He was terrified that his secrets would be revealed.

"There’s something else that the community needs to know. For years you have been telling them that Harmony was a one-way trip. You told them that Harmony could only be entered by a drifting boat of some sort. You’ve been lying. I found the records, Rozell. You’ve known about the portals all along. You’ve been using the portals to trap new recruits. When the DC-3 I was flying in crashed, it was you who arranged for it to crash. You reached out with your private little portal and made the motors freeze up. You’ve been adding to the population this way for the last twenty years."

There were gasps as I said this. Few people in the audience were aware of Rozell’s deception. But Rozell just smiled.

"Of course I did," he said defiantly. "I had to. Except for the occasional tramp steamer the shipping lanes have all been abandoned. Nobody travels by ship any more. So I had to reach out with the portals and bring fresh blood to Harmony. Otherwise our society would stagnate."

"Stagnate?" I said incredulously. "Stagnation is the normal operating mode you have imposed on us. You have us stuck in a make-believe world that never existed. No, Rozell, the only thing you wanted to do was impose your twisted will on more and more hapless victims.

"Oh, there’s one more thing that needs to be told here. Your first conversion attempts were not exactly successful. You had three deaths and five incomplete conversions before you got one right. And there were ten more incompletes and two more deaths before you perfected the process. Did you ever tell the people of Harmony what you did with the incompletes? No? Well I’ll tell them.

"Ladies," I said, pointing to the back of the hall, "would you please step up to the stage?"

From the back of the auditorium, fifteen people walked up to the stage. Each one was dressed as a maid, a store clerk, or a beautician. They appeared to be the ubiquitous Harmonian robot drones.

They stood in line on the stage, facing the audience. Each looked like a duplicate of the others with the same neutral facial features. "Ladies," I said, "would you please remove your masks and show the good people of Harmony Rozell’s dirty little secret?"

The women each grasped the base of their neck and pulled. It looked like they were removing a layer of their own skin. It was, in fact, a silicone rubber mask designed to hide their deformities. The actual faces were terrible. Each was misshapen in a different way. One woman had differently sized eyes and no nose. Another appeared to have tentacles extending down from where her nose should have been. Still another had her facial skin drawn so tight she appeared as a living skull. Each had a unique deformity. "This," I said, "is the nasty secret Rozell has been keeping from you. This is the price he extracted to perfect the conversion process. Look on Rozell’s fifteen separate portraits of Dorian Gray!"

There were gasps of horror as each misshapen face was revealed. But not only faces had been deformed. Some of the women had bent limbs or gnarled hands. But all were monstrous victims of Rozell’s transformation process.

"Rozell tried to cover up his mistakes," I said. "He made his unsuccessfully converted victims wear disguises so they would appear to you as robot drones. All along they have been serving you from behind their masks."

Rozell stood there impassively. "And what of it?" he said. "All great scientific achievements have their failures. It is regrettable that these souls had to suffer, but they were all given useful functions in our society. I make no apologies."

There was a murmur in the crowd. The citizens of Harmony for the most part were ignorant of Rozell’s inhuman experiments. Now they were confronted with the monstrous reality of their leader. Their anger was palpable. Were it not for the Asimov algorithm they might have torn him apart on the spot.

I stepped forward. "Dave," I said, "as part of your conversion project I want you to find a way to help these poor victims. They’ve suffered as much as any of us."

"Of course, Skip," she replied. "I’ll make it a priority."

"Thank you," I said. I turned to the broken victims of Rozell’s hideous experiments. "Ladies, I wish I could somehow make you all whole again. We will do everything in our power to restore you. I promise."

One by one, the twisted wrecks of human beings came up to me and hugged me. A few thanked me. Then each one took a seat with the rest of the citizens. They were part of our community now, and we would not turn our backs on them.

I had one more duty to perform this evening. I turned to Rozell. "Martin Rozell," I said, "by your own admission you are guilty of unspeakable crimes against humanity. You stand before us with no remorse, only arrogance. Your actions prove you unfit to associate with humanity. What shall we do with you?"

Rozell laughed. "There is nothing you can do, Hertz," he said with the utmost conceit. "By your own rules you cannot harm me in any manner. How can you possibly exact any form of revenge?"

Actually, I had thought about this for a long time. "Martin Rozell," I said, "I order you to do the following. You will withdraw from the company of your fellow humans. You will not speak to anyone or answer any questions. You are to come to Harmony’s town square every morning at eight and sit on the park bench silently. You will remain there until six every day. You will not speak to anyone. You will sit still and observe life going on around you, but will not interact with it in any way.

"I’m not totally heartless. You can take a bathroom break at ten and another at three, and take a lunch break at noon. You can use a food dispenser in the Town Hall for your meals. But you will speak to no one. You will look at no one. Not ever."

I turned back to the audience. "I order the men of Harmony to avoid Rozell. You will not speak to him and will maintain a distance of ten feet from him at all times. I cannot order the women to do this, but I ask your cooperation.

"Rozell," I said, "at all other times you will remain in your house. Your access to Harmony’s computer network will be severely limited. Now go."

Rozell did not hesitate. He walked from the stage and exited the hall. He said nothing, but his expression was unmistakable. He was afraid.

Once again I addressed the audience. "Well, I think we’ve all been through quite enough today. Let’s adjourn. Tomorrow I’m going to start setting up an office in Town Hall. For now, I’m going home.

"Oh, I’m sure that there will be more than a few displaced men tonight. You may use Town Hall to sleep until you have arranged for a new house. The robot drones will set up a temporary dormitory. That’s all."

I walked away from the podium. As I walked, one lone woman stood and began to clap. Another joined her. Then a third. By the time I had reached the exit, the women of Harmony were on their feet applauding. And, to my surprise, they were joined by a fair number of men. Rozell had made more enemies than he realized.

Larry was waiting for me at home.

"I’m surprised to find you here, Larry," I said, mustering all of the sarcasm I could. "I thought a bright fellow like you might take a hint and head for Town Hall tonight."

"I thought we needed to talk," he said.

"Talk?" I replied, "what could you possibly say to me that I might actually be interested in?"

Larry hesitated. "Look," he said, "I know this sounds half-hearted, but I wanted to apologize to you. I never wanted to treat you badly. You might not believe it, but I did everything in my power to be decent to you."

"Decent?" I said, "You honestly call nightly rape decent treatment?"

"I’m sorry. I wish I could make you know just how sorry I am. But I never wanted to hurt you. Damn it, in my own way I loved you!"

"You never loved me, Larry. All you ever wanted was a pretty hole to masturbate into."

"You’re wrong, Skip. I never wanted you. I never wanted any woman. You still don’t really know how twisted Rozell was. I was just as controlled as you were. I’m gay."

I was stunned. I saw for the first time the pain on Larry’s face. The torment he had to suppress for so many years now broke to the surface. "I’m not the only one, either. There’s at least four men like myself here, maybe more. Rozell couldn’t stand the idea of a man loving another man. He forced us to act straight and even more macho than the rest of the men."

I listened as Larry explained. "Don’t take this the wrong way, Skip, but I never wanted you in bed. Making love to a woman is just plain repulsive to me. Every touch, every caress, every intimate moment was directed by Control. I was being raped too. I’m sorry I hurt you, but…" Larry broke down in tears, unable to say another word.

What could I do? As I watched this tormented soul pour out his heart I found a part of my rage gone. I understood his pain. I could not hate someone who had been as much a victim as I. So I took his hand. "Larry," I said, "I forgive you."

Larry looked up at me through his tears. It seemed like a burden had been lifted from him. Tears of pain were replaced with tears of joy. And I cried as well, because I had discarded a burden of my own. Rage is a powerful thing, but it is also a heavy load to shoulder. I left my rage behind me that night.

Larry and I hugged. We were two agonized souls reaching out for human comfort, and finding it with each other. It was not a sexual attraction, just a human one. As we held each other we bonded. I knew that we would never be lovers, but somehow I knew that we would always be the best possible friends.

We talked a lot that night. We basically told each other our life story. I learned that Larry had a difficult time coping with his own homosexuality, but eventually came to embrace it. His father threw him out of the house and he was on his own at the age of sixteen. It was a tough life, but he managed to survive. He worked nights stocking shelves in a supermarket and went to beauty school during the day. That’s right, Larry was a hairdresser.

It was while we were talking that I became aware of a burning cigarette in my hand. I was stunned. I didn’t remember lighting it. But there were several stubs in the ashtray, and the aftertaste of tobacco smoke lingered on my tongue. Unconsciously, my body had gone through the ritual of lighting up and smoking without any conscious effort on my part. That’s when I realized that Control was not always the agent of my actions. Years of abuse had left me addicted to nicotine.

Larry was gracious enough to sleep in his den that night. The next morning we ordered a new bedroom suite for the den. We fixed breakfast together. Friendship is a wonderful thing.

After eating we took every stick of furniture out of the sewing room and piled it on the front lawn. It made an impressive bonfire.

I rejoiced at no longer being under the iron thumb of Control. For one thing I did not wear any makeup on this first day of freedom, and never did again. I really didn’t need it. As much as I hated to admit it, Rozell’s transformation process made me naturally beautiful. Makeup was just guilding the lily.

I had to bow to certain realities. For instance, I still had a set of hooters that would make any man drool, so I couldn’t do without a bra. But I no longer wore those underwired instruments of torture. I had some nice soft-cup models made for me that restrained my jugs without spilling over like a pin-up picture. And my days of showing off cleavage had also ended. I rediscovered the joy of pants and flat heels.

Initially I just pulled my hair back in a ponytail, but Larry talked me into a shorter style. He sat me down in the town’s beauty parlor and hacked away at my long tresses. He gave me a short, easy to care for shag cut. I had to admit I liked it.

There was a period of adjustment as the old order gave way to the new. Most men had to take advantage of the dormitory setup at Town Hall until separate homes could be built. Some couples remained together. Larry continued to live with me until he found a like-minded partner and moved in with him.

The problem of Harmony’s mysterious disease turned out to be easily curable with nanobot technology. Thorpe’s hypothesis proved correct. Nanobots could easily be programmed to seek out and destroy the dormant viruses. Fortunately, we never had to test this hypothesis.

The problem of undoing the transformation was also much easier than anticipated. Basically, we ran the process in reverse. It was just as simple to repair the damage caused by the failed transformations. The limiting factor here was the number of people we could process at a time. The conversion center could only accommodate two at a time, and would take a week to complete due to certain complicating factors. I decided to begin the process on our unsuccessful transforms.

Several months had gone by. Dave’s team shifted their efforts to discovering a way to return us to the normal world. Rozell’s portals turned out to be too small to accommodate a human body, but Dave felt certain that she could find a way to widen them.

Sometimes I looked out of my office in Town Hall at the grassy expanse that was Town Square. Rozell was always sitting there from eight until six. He sat still, a passive observer of his dream as it was being slowly dismantled. What puzzled me was the fact that he always had company. Ashley Rozell, his wife, was always with him.

I admit this was a conundrum. I could not for the life of me understand why she remained so loyal to this monster, but I did not ask. I had not a clue until the day Patty Sue visited my office.

She was dressed quite femininely in a lavender dress with matching pumps and handbag. Her hair, makeup, and manicure were impeccable, much as mine used to be. I greeted her warmly. "Donovan, you old bastard, how the hell are you?"

She said something that startled me. "If you don’t mind, Skip, I prefer Patty Sue."

I stopped briefly to pick my jaw off the floor. "You’re kidding!"

"No, I’m not. I would really appreciate it if you would call me Patty Sue, or Patty."

I could see that she was serious. "Well, sure, but I’m finding it hard to believe that Billy-Bob Donovan, the macho bounty hunter, would prefer using a female name."

"There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Skip. All of that macho bluster was a facade. I’ve always been afraid to let people see the real me."

A tear formed at the corner of her eye, which she dabbed with a hanky. "I was always a loner. I was the tallest, fattest kid in the class, I had a bad case of acne, and I wore thick glasses. Everybody made fun of me. I acted tough to get them to stop. It worked, but I paid a price. I never had a friend.

"That’s how I put on so much weight. Food was my friend. It always was there to comfort me. But being fat made me the object of ridicule. So I got tougher and tougher. I was a big, tough, fat guy when we crossed paths, and I didn’t have a friend in the world."

Patty sniffed, trying to smother her tears. "I was frightened out of my wits when we were transformed, Skip. I don’t think I had ever been so scared in all my life. But Glen was a perfect gentleman to me. Do you know he didn’t sleep with me at first? He said that what happened to me wasn’t fair, and he slept at the foot of our bed during our honeymoon. He said that we should get to know each other before we became intimate. And he promised never to force me to have sex with him."

Patty dabbed at the tears in her eyes. "Glen never complained about sleeping on the couch. We slept separately for over a year. Each day he brought me some little present. Mostly it was flowers or jewelry. Sometimes it was candy. Once he wrote a love poem and put it in a little frame. He was such a dear.

"I couldn’t help myself, Skip. I fell in love with Glen. He was the first person who ever really liked me. I was the one who asked him to come to bed with me. I gave myself to him willingly. And he was just as gentle and attentive a lover as he was a friend."

She dabbed at her eyes again. "I don’t expect you to understand this, Skip, but Glen made me feel good about myself for the first time in my life. He made me feel pretty. I’m one of the pretty people now and I don’t ever want to go back. I love my husband more than life itself."

Her hanky lost its battle with her tears. I reached for a tissue and offered it to her. She accepted it and tried to soak up the salty drops making their way down her cheeks.

The robot drone brought in two mugs of coffee. I prepared them both and handed one to Patty. She took a few sips and replaced it on the table. She had regained her composure.

"Skip," she continued, "I’ve been talking to some of the girls. There are several of us who don’t want our conversions reversed. We’re happy with our men and want to go on as couples. But there is one thing we would like you to do for us."

I asked, "What do you want?"

Patty hesitated a second. "We want you to open our tubes and fix it so we can have babies."

This was a total bolt from the blue. "You’re serious? You want to be able to have kids?"

"Yes," she said. "Not while we’re here, of course. I don’t want to have a kid just to have him die in a few days. But when we get back to the real world Glen and I want to start a family."

I answered the only way I knew how. "Of course, Patty. I’ll tell Dr, Thorpe about it. I’m sure it’s something we can handle."

"Do you really think so, Skip?" she asked. She reminded me of a little girl asking for a particular birthday present, but fearful that she would be refused.

"Yes I do. I’m certain of it."

Patty stood to leave. But before she left she came over to me and hugged me. It was a very sisterly sort of a hug. "Thank you, Skip. This means more to me than you can imagine."

Patty turned to leave, then halted at the doorway. "By the way, Skip, you might be interested in knowing that Ashley Rozell is one of the girls I’ve spoken with. She also wants to remain a woman. You might just want to speak with her." Then she left.

I pondered this bit of information for about half an hour. I gazed out my window to see Rozell sitting in the Town Square. Ashley was at his side, as she had been from the beginning of his sentence.

I walked out of my office and strode over to the bench where the Rozell’s were seated. Ashley watched me approach. Her husband stared ahead impassively.

"Hello, Ashley," I said as I approached. "Patty Dalton suggested that I speak with you. I understand that you don’t want your conversion reversed."

Ashley did not seem bitter; rather, she appeared to be consumed by an abiding sadness. "That’s right. I’ve been a woman for a long time now. I don’t want to go back to being a man. And I want to live with Martin."

"I guess that’s what has me puzzled. This man is a monster. His actions condemned scores of women and children to a slow, agonizing death, not to mention forcing over a hundred men to go through the conversion process. You were one of them."

"I was the first one," she said. "At least, the first successful one. And I really don’t mind. My life as a man was not that great anyway. Martin showed me kindness and respect. In his own way, he cares about me."

"Does he care about you, or the person he made you into?"

"It doesn’t really matter, not to me. Martin is a kind and loving husband. And I love him. He’s not really an evil person. All he ever wanted was for everybody to be as happy as he could make them."

"Were you happy, Ashley?"

She looked up from her seat on the bench. "Yes, I was. Martin and I were happy together from the very beginning."

I thought for a few seconds. "You know, Ashley." I said to her, "nobody ever thinks of himself as evil. Even the most evil of men thought they were doing good. Oliver Cromwell thought he was doing God’s work. So did Torquemada. Hitler believed he was improving the lot of humanity. Cotton Mather thought he was saving the soul of every witch he burned alive. Rozell might have had good intentions, but he still was responsible for horrific death and suffering. Don’t you see that?"

A little sob escaped as Ashley fought back tears. "I see it. I also see a man with a noble vision. You may not believe this, Skip, but he agonized over every woman and child who died here. He really thought there was no hope for them, and that keeping them alive was cruel. He wanted to make their last days comfortable. I know he was wrong, Skip, and now he knows how wrong he was. It’s eating him up."

I had to admit I never considered this possibility. I looked down at Rozell, who just stared impassively. "Okay, Rozell, " I said, "I’m lifting your sentence for a few minutes. Talk to me."

Rozell stood. His face was not angry, not sad, and not fearful, but it was weary. He looked as though he were carrying a great weight. "Good afternoon, Mr. Hertz," he said to me quite formally. "I must say, you are looking quite lovely today, even in pants."

"You’ll forgive me if I don’t coyly bat my eyes. So tell me, is what Ashley said true?"

Rozell sighed. "Yes, it is. I’m the one who cancelled Thorpe’s research into the disease. God forgive me!"

Rozell sank back into his seat. His gaze seemed unfocused as though he were looking back across the years. "Thorpe and I were not exactly enemies, but we held different opinions. He felt that our main priority should be the elimination of Harmony’s plague. I thought that it was inhuman to prolong the agony of these poor women just for the sake of research. I didn’t think that Thorpe would really succeed. So I secretly added some features to the behavioral control program. I set it up so that I would be in charge."

He looked up at me. "We are alike in many ways, you and I. We both saw something terribly wrong and took unilateral action to correct it. Only you got it right." Rozell then stared at me. It was the most intense expression I had ever seen. "I blew it, Hertz. I failed."

He hung down his head. I could see tears forming in his eyes. "I had a vision, Hertz. Harmony was going to be a place where men could aspire to be the very best a man could be. It would be a place where a man could build a home, a family, and a destiny. That’s why it was important to have women. This was the natural order of things. A man should take care of his wife, provide for her and protect her. A wife brings out the best in a man. She curbs his excesses and channels his energy to loftier pursuits."

Rozell lifted his head. "But this wasn’t nature. I forced this solution on everybody. I thought it was all for the best. I thought that if I only made life wonderful and beautiful that the men we turned into women would all be happy in their new lives. I really thought we could teach them to become content.

"But I was wrong. In the end, I was just a fool. And I condemned all of those poor wretches to a miserable death. If only I had listened to Thorpe. If only I had let him continue. They might be alive today."

Rozell buried his face in his hands. Ashley held him closely to comfort him.

If I had any rage left in me, it died that afternoon. "Alright, Rozell," I said, "your sentence is lifted. You don’t have to come here any more, and you will no longer be shunned. But your access to Harmony’s computer network is still restricted, and I am ordering you to do nothing that will interfere in our dismantling of the island."

Rozell stood. He turned towards me. "Hertz," he said, "I just wanted to say that I’m really sorry for all you have been through. I know that I can never make this up…"

"No, you can’t," I said, cutting him off, "but I don’t have much stomach left for revenge. Besides, we’ll be evacuating the island as soon as everybody who wants his conversion reversed gets it."

Rozell was startled. "Evacuating? Why?"

"Because of what I found in the historical records of this place. These were the records you never found. I’ve discovered some interesting things about this island, and the enigmatic beings who left it here."

"What did you discover, Skip?" asked Ashley.

"The true nature of the island you named Harmony. Let’s walk over to the coffee shop. It’s a long story."

We walked to the shop as I talked. "Your group wasn’t the first to stumble onto this place, Rozell. You found the remains of others before you. What you didn’t know was that you were not the first to discover how to use the technology here. Another group discovered this place thousands of years ago."

We entered the coffee shop. I ordered three coffees from the food dispenser. Some of the men noticed Rozell and began to leave. "It’s all right," I told them, "The shunning is over." They still eyed us nervously, but went back to their own discussions after I sat down.

Ashley spoke first. "So what about this first group? Who were they, when were they here, and why was there no evidence of them?"

I sat back, ready to tell what I found. "The mainframe computer records all of the activity that occurs on the island. I discovered it when I was exploring the directory structure. The structure is fairly complicated, rather like a neural net.

"The records are time stamped with a base synchronized to an Earth day. I deciphered the scheme and found a way to date the records. The first group to find this island was a band of sailors who landed over seven thousand years ago.

"Harmony was not in its little bubble of reality back then. The secretive builders of this island simply set it out in the middle of the ocean. They felt it was relatively safe from trespass since the locals had not developed any true sea-faring capability. They set the main building up on the island and then left. It sat for centuries before it was discovered.

"The sailors who landed here soon found their way into the building. They were clever, inquisitive men who soon learned through trial and error how to use some of the devices they found. They eventually brought their families and settled here.

"They used the power of their new-found technology to create a virtual paradise. Freed from the burden of daily subsistence, they developed into a race of philosophers. They delved the mysteries of the island, discovering new and marvelous wonders.

"They grew as a people. Soon they set sail again, bringing their knowledge, art, and culture to the world. They built mighty monuments to their glory. The great pyramids are a remnant of their work.

"Unfortunately, their power made them arrogant. Despite their formidable knowledge, they lusted for power. You might say that they grew in knowledge but not in wisdom. They used their power to conquer and subjugate their fellow man. They never considered the possibility that the founders of their great power might someday return."

I paused to take a sip of coffee. The Rozell’s were riveted to their seats, mesmerized by my tale. And I realized I had an audience. The patrons of Harmony’s coffee shop were all listening in.

"They were always watching, you know. The recording devices continued to record everything that happened on the island. But they were doing more. They were reporting the events to the mysterious beings that left the technology on the island. When the builders realized what was going on, they returned.

"The builders cast the island and all of its inhabitants into the sea, destroying all of their works for all time. Then they installed some safeguards. They placed their building within this unique bubble of space-time and made it considerably more difficult to gain entry. They felt that this would preclude a less advanced people from using their technology for conquest. They reasoned that any people sufficiently advanced to gain entry would have evolved beyond such primitive needs as conquest and power. Then they left it here to be found again. They had no way of knowing, though, that the energy fields needed to maintain the spatial geometry of this place would cause a benign virus common to humanity to mutate so virulently.

"You were right when you guessed that this was an observation post, Rozell. But you never realized that it was you and your people who were being watched. This place is more than an observation platform. It’s a test of mankind.

"That’s why we have to evacuate Harmony. I want us to be far away from here when the builders return, because I think mankind has failed the test once more. I don’t particularly want to meet the same fate as the previous tenants."

Rozell looked excited and frightened simultaneously. "Hertz, if what you are saying is true, then…" He stopped, too dumbstruck to continue.

"Yes, it’s true. By some incredible coincidence you and your companions have discovered Atlantis."

Ashley looked stunned. So did Rozell. He drained his mug in a single draught. "So what are we waiting for? Let’s get the hell out of here!"

As it turned out, we were soon all free of Harmony. The re-conversions progressed smoothly and we soon had most of the incompletes and all of the women who wanted returned to their original sex. Two of the incompletes asked to be morphed into women, which we did. I was the last woman to regain my male sex.

Nobody actually returned to his completely original state. We all were given body ages of about twenty-five and had any congenital problems eliminated. Some of Dave’s teammates managed to forge some authentic-looking credentials for us. We all re-entered the normal world in several different locations, the most common being New York City in the USA.

The houses had all been deconstructed back to the base elements and energy they had been made from. The same was done with the shops, the streets, and most of the robot drones. All that was left was the original rectangular building

Three people remained: Patty Dalton, her husband Glen, and myself. We were standing on the portal pad ready to re-enter normal space-time. We decided to go together to New York.

Patty looked around at the room. She was dressed casually in a twin set with low-heeled boots and a sweater. Glen was wearing Dockers, a polo shirt, and athletic shoes. I wore jeans, a sweatshirt, and sneakers. We were saying goodbye to Harmony.

"It seems so strange," said Patty. "We’ve been here for so long I probably won’t recognize the real world."

"I know," I said. "It’s not going to be easy. But I don’t really want to stay here any longer."

"What will happen to the nanobots inside us, Skip?" said Glen.

"Without Harmony’s energy field to sustain them, they will just stop functioning and will be re-absorbed by our bodies. In a few weeks they should all be gone. And then we’ll all just age normally."

"I don’t mind getting older," Patty said, "as long as Glen and I can age together."

"I was wondering, Skip," said Glen, "what’s going to happen to anybody else who might stumble into Harmony, especially the women and children? What’s to keep them from Harmony’s plague?"

"I set some very special robot drones to take care of that," I said. "They resemble mosquitoes, but they’re programmed to seek out new arrivals and inject them with nanobots. These nanobots will seek out and destroy the virus that causes the disease. That should eliminate Harmony’s plague. After that, the new folks are on their own."

I took one last look around. "Is everybody ready?" I asked. Patty and Glen nodded their heads. I activated the portal. One instant we were in Harmony. The next moment we were standing in Battery Park in New York.

New Yorkers are an exceptional breed. Three people can just seem to appear out of thin air in broad daylight and New Yorkers will pay them no mind. They just went about their business. Hey, this is New York. Strange things happen every day.

Most of the former captives of Harmony just vanished back into the pool of humanity, and I never heard from them again. But a few of us keep in touch. Larry, for instance, opened up a hair salon in New York and soon had a following. He lives in the East Village with his partner Jeff, another former Harmonian. Jeff works in a bookstore in SoHo. I see Larry every few weeks when I go for a haircut, and sometimes the three of us meet for dinner.

Patty and Glen moved to Ocean City, New Jersey where Glen opened a water ice stand on the boardwalk. Business is good, and the Daltons are prospering. They have a son age three and Patty is expecting their second child. Patty is also a part-time counselor at the local women’s center and teaches courses in self-defense and firearms safety. I usually drop in on them when I take my summer vacation.

Oddly enough, I still keep in touch with Martin and Ashley Rozelle. Martin entered the seminary when he returned to reality and is now a missionary in Ethiopia. He and Ashley now minister to the poorest and most needy children on Earth. In his last letter, Martin said that his vision of a paradise for all has not changed, but the means to his end has. He and Ashley have never been happier. I suppose even a monster can reform when given a chance.

As for myself, I am still single. And I am no longer Richard Hertz. I took the precaution of changing my name. If I told you who I was you wouldn’t believe me anyway. The most I will tell you is that I now reside in New York City, which narrows your search down to a mere eight million.

The tendrils that attached my control ring to my finger decomposed. Within a week of returning to the real world the ring fell off my finger. I heaved it into the Hudson. I never want to see it again.

I now make my living from the proceeds of my inventions. I brought back some of the fabulous technology I found in Harmony, and I am releasing it in the form of new inventions that will benefit mankind. I won’t tell you just what these inventions are, but I will tell you this much. You have been touched by at least one of my inventions, and you have derived benefit from it.

I never married, and perhaps I never shall. I still possess a layer of psychic scar tissue from my experience in Harmony. I’m afraid that it will color my actions and perceptions for the rest of my life. And there is something else. I have experienced female orgasm. I’m afraid that the male orgasm pales in comparison to a woman’s. Perhaps some day I will meet the right woman and fall in love with her. Perhaps we will marry and I will find contentment in the knowledge that I am pleasing my woman so intensely. But there will always be a part of me that longs for the incredible experience a woman feels when she climaxes. That feeling is forever denied me. It is the price I paid to escape from Harmony.