Transmutation

  “Dude: It means we’re due for an oil change.”

  The feed cut back to the anchor, Janet Heinz, as she reached up to her ear to touch her earbud.

  Her expression changed slightly, became serious.

  “Breaking News” ran across the bottom of the screen.

  CHAPTER

  18

  “A transmuter killed someone?” Janet Heinz addressed the camera, touching her ear bud. “Ladies and gentlemen, this just in. It appears there’s a problem with the Holcomb transmuter in Atlanta. We can go—are we ready?” she asked someone in the studio. She nodded. “We can go direct to one of our affiliates on the scene with more.”

  The feed cut to a mob outside an office building in Atlanta. The reporter was talking to an official of the local transmuter. People behind were shouting at each other.

  “Mr. Whistle. We’re live, now. You’re the manager of this trans facility in Atlanta?”

  He nodded.

  “Can you tell us what happened?” The reporter put her microphone in front of him.

  Mr. Whistle looked upset. “At 4:03 this afternoon, a transmutation went wrong.” He stopped.

  “What happened?” the reporter prompted.

  “Someone, a lady, came in. Elderly. She wanted a simple rejuvenation, back to 20 all over. No problem. We do those all the time. But this time— I don’t know. Something went wrong.”

  He stopped again, a worried look on his face.

  “What?” the reporter prompted.

  Mr. Whistle’s face hardened. “We had an accident. Something was wrong. We don’t know what, yet.”

  “Is she alright?” the reporter asked.

  Mr. Whistle shook his head. “I’m afraid we lost her. The transmutation was in process, but it didn’t come out right. She phased, but wrong, and it couldn’t survive.”

  The crowd behind them enraged.

  “Is it broken?”

  “Sabotage?”

  “Terrorism?”

  “We should never have used them!”

  “We’re investigating,” Mr. Whistle said. “We’ll let you know when we find out more.”

  The feed cut back to the Janet in the studio in New York.

  “World Network News has also learned that there are two other facilities where a fatality has occurred, all within the last few minutes.”

  She touched her ear.

  “And now we have just received a report that the White House has put a halt on all transmuter use in the United States, this coming from the Science Advisor to the President, Dr. Ella Gomez, and—”

  Janet looked unfocused for a second, then refocused on the camera.

  “We’ve just received word that countries around the globe are putting a stop to all use of the transmuters while we try to determine the nature of the problem. Not just what machines might fail, but why.

  “So this just in, ladies and gentlemen, there has been an accident at three of the transmuters in the United States, with the cause unknown, and so for now, the White House has issued a blanket ban on the use of all machines until we determine the cause—”

  “Lwaxana?” Lori asked the dash in her Jeep Grand Cherokee, rolling over a hill on her estate. “What’s this?”

  “There appears to be a malfunction of six of the transmuters,” Lwaxana said in her efficient way. “Three in the U.S., one in England, one in India, and one in China. All within the last few minutes.”

  “Status!” Lori said.

  “Activity at all transmuters has been halted while authorities investigate.”

  Lori turned her Jeep toward the house and hit the gas. The Jeep rolled over a small hill so fast it nearly left the ground. “Can you gather information? I’m on my way.”

  Lori burst through the front door of her home with her lab manager on her heels, yelling his concern at her.

  “I don’t know what it is. It’s nothing we’ve done. We’ve checked everything from this end all over, and we find nothing!”

  “Give me a few minutes,” Lori said to him. “Back to the lab, please.”

  The manager left without bothering her more.

  Lori closed the door.

  “Lwaxana. Status of the house.”

  “We are the only ones here.”

  “Secure the house.”

  Doors clicked.

  “Talk to me.”

  “I’ve been in communication with every single transmuter that we have issued. We have far mour out there than any other manufacturer, because we were the first. I cannot speak with ones of different manufacture, but I’ve learned through the news that one of French manufacture has malfunctioned. WNN reports virtually all on the planet have been shut down. Of ours, there are now seven that have malfunctioned, the additional one belonging to the city of Denver.”

  “Cause. Summarize,” Lori said.

  “I cannot be sure.”

  “That’s unlike you, Lwaxana.”

  “The statement is accurate. The problem is that in speaking with them, they appear to be slightly different units.”

  Lori’s private phone rang.

  She looked at it. It was Ella Gomez. Lori answered it. “I’m on it,” she said.

  “The President is needing to make an announcement. What should she say?”

  “That we’re working on it. I’m talking with Lwaxana as we speak.”

  “Five minutes?” Ella asked.

  “I’ll call you back.” Lori hung up her phone. “Lwaxana?”

  “The machines appear to be operating properly at this time, yet I detected an anomaly in all seven, and in 682 other transmuters.”

  “A virus? Don’t make me pull teeth here, please.”

  “I don’t sense it as a virus. I do sense an error.”

  “What if they shut down the 689 transmuters. Will that fix this problem?”

  “They could. We can identify them. On your phone is a list, now. But all are potentially unsafe while we determine what is wrong.”

  “Sec.” Lori worked her phone and emailed the list to Ella, called Ella on the phone.

  “I got it,” Ella said.

  “We have 689 that we’ve found problems in, Ella. We need to shut them down now, and—frankly, we may want to consider halting all transmutations, maybe except in the most dire need to save life, while we sort this out. It’s something in the systems. We need to learn what it is.”

  “Yes,” Ella said. “I understand. The risk is real, but if we shut all ones off you listed, the risk is minimal—maybe usable for the most severe cases, for a while, but not the general populace. For now.”

  At their R&D facility outside Charleston, Salvador turned in his chair, away from his six consoles, to greet his husband, Adrien. “It’s so good to have you.”

  Adrien gave him a quick peck on the lips. “Everything on schedule?”

  “Mostly” Salvador said.

  Gadin’s phone did not ring.

  Neither did Marie’s.

  They were both turned off.

  Figures rustled beneath the sheets.

  “Oh!” Marie said. “Uh!”

  “Am I hurting you?” Gadin asked.

  “Gadin!” She gripped his back.

  The President of the United States stood at her podium in the Press Room. “Fellow Americans—”

  “Yes, Sir!” The young man acknowledged his orders.

  “Get it in gear, Mister,” said the apparent 20-year-old, Harold Trim, Director of the F.B.I.

  The young man left.

  Harold picked up his phone and pressed an icon for Eugene Liebner, Director of the N.S.A.

  “Eugene?”

  “Yes, Harold. I got your list. We’re looking into it.”

  “Eugene, these devices may all come from a mother device on her ship. She won’t tell us where it is, but if it’s emitting any signals, there is nothing better to track it down than the N.S.A.”

  An apparent 20-year-old Eugene, four star Air Force general, sat at his desk high in the black “C
ube,” headquarters for the National Security Agency, Fort Meade, Maryland. The view of military barracks were visible out his window to the east. To the south was the N.S.A.’s huge parking lot. To the north, there was nothing but a sea of trees.

  They had ‘em everywhere in Maryland.

  “We’re already on it. We’ve been interested since she went public.”

  CHAPTER

  19

  In the White House, Ella closed her laptop. Her grimace showed her feelings.

  She picked up her cell phone.

  Lori answered her phone. “Yes?”

  “Lori, a lot of people will be interested in solving this problem. ”

  Lori nodded to her empty living room. “I figured. I’m already on it.”

  “I want to help.” Ella paused only for a second. “I may not be the brightest, but I’m 2nd.”

  Lori heard Ella’s secret message. She wanted to ask for verification, but Ella had also just reminded her of what could well be the N.S.A. on her. Everything, anything, could be tracked, and if the N.S.A. were trying to dig into this, they’d certainly be monitoring her calls, every signal.

  While her mind raced, Lori continued Ella’s misdirection, for any supercomputer at the N.S.A. that might be listening. “Well, homework, Ella. Jesus, you only have two doctorates. What do you expect?” She confirmed her misdirection for Ella: “If you’d studied you could have a real job.”

  “Do you have any doctorates?” Ella asked.

  Continuing with the misdirection, Lori thought, as it was irrelevant.

  “Honoris causa, maybe?”

  “Such as it is,” Ella said. “Listen. You never know. I might be helpful. Come to my office?”

  Thousands of protesters clogged the street in front of the White House, waving signs, shouting.

  Lori walked at a rapid clip into the White House, with Colonel Wood on her heels, and turned to walk toward Ella’s office.

  “They didn’t riot when you gave them the transmuters,” Colonel Wood nodded to himself, as they walked, “but they did when they broke.”

  A passing Secret Service man recognized her and gave her a slight nod.

  “Hello,” Lori said, as if her visit was routine.

  “Well, that’s good as far as it goes,” Lori said. “They could have rioted both times.”

  Lori leaned in to whisper into Wood’s ear. “Hanah may be around here, somewhere.”

  Wood smiled at her. “But I’m busy at the moment.”

  “She blew your socks off, didn’t she?”

  “Twice,” Wood said.

  Lori smiled at him.

  Lori knocked on Ella’s office door.

  “Come in,” Ella said from within.

  Lori and Wood both entered. Wood closed the door behind them.

  Ella looked at Lori.

  Lori looked at Ella.

  “This office is not bugged,” Ella said.

  “Sure?” Lori asked.

  “I’m better than the N.S.A.”

  “Is Wood okay?” Lori asked Ella.

  Wood looked at them both. “You should ask Hanah.”

  Both ladies cracked a smile, but they didn’t change their tack.

  “All things considered, Wood should be okay.”

  “I’m not trans, yet,” Wood said.

  Ella shrugged.

  “What is this veiled conversation between you two?” Wood asked.

  “It’s a one-way street,” Lori said to Ella.

  “For now,” Ella said.

  Wood’s face showed cynical acceptance of insiders talking about something of which he knew nothing.

  “We just torturing the poor man, now?” Lori asked.

  Ella nodded. “An honored tradition.”

  “If you are 2nd,” Lori said, without explanation to the befuddled Wood, “then why come out to me?”

  “Everybody’s coming out,” Wood said. “Hell, I’m into Hanah.”

  “You’re going to need my transportation,” Ella said to Lori. “I could go without you, but it’s your gig, and you’d question me.”

  “I think we may, indeed, need to go there,” Lori asked Ella. “Is it still in the same place?”

  Ella nodded.

  “Is your transportation bugged?” Lori asked.

  “No, but yours is,” Ella said.

  Wood looked astonished. “Lori’s plane? I’ve checked it out myself.”

  “N.S.A. is better,” Ella said. “No offense.”

  Wood looked disgusted.

  “Maybe I’m working with them?” Wood said.

  Ella shook her head. “No. You’re not.”

  “How do you know?” Wood asked Ella.

  “Because I’ve got you bugged.”

  “You look like Alfre Woodard.” Wood plopped down in a chair.

  “I like that look,” Ella said to Wood.

  Wood smiled at her. “Blow up the damn ship, Jean-luc!”

  “Good movie,” Ella said. To Wood, then turned to Lori. “Maybe he could be helpful.”

  “He could be, actually,” Lori said. “Cadence’s protection order seems genuine.”

  “That, it is,” Ella said.

  “So what’s the secret between you two?” Wood asked.

  Lori looked at Ella.

  Ella looked at Wood. “I’m Ahleth.”

  Wood’s eyes widened. “I knew there would be more.”

  “How do I know you really are?” Lori asked Ella.

  Ella looked at Colonel Wood. “I’m her X.O., as it were, above her on the ship—or was at one time—but not the lead. And,” Ella’s gaze returned to Lori, “If she remembers, we landed on a plain, but after a time, we set up shop in a cave, we made on a rise, and built on top of it, to keep our transmuters close, and bring people to us.”

  Lori relaxed. “So where is your transmuter?”

  “I just call it a ‘muter,’ for short.”

  “You were a a gal at first, then a guy, then a gal, again, for the longest time, I remember,” Lori said.

  Ella nodded.

  “You still intersex?” Wood asked.

  Ella shook her head. “I’m living stealth, in government, and if I kept my penis, I’d be found out with it, which could have interfered with my aspirations, here. I’m too close to the President, and politically, it might be best if I’m not seen as transpecial for now.” She pronounced it “Trans-SPEESH-al,” as per Lori’s televised conference. “Some people may fear Aliens are influencing the government, which I’m not. Soon, it should be okay, though. We’re almost there.”

  “So, for now, you’re just female?” Lori akked.

  Ella nodded. “I’ll get it back later, mix like a guy, I guess.”

  “Is Cory Peck available to join us?” Ella asked.

  “I think he’s a little distracted, right now,” Lori said.

  At the Peck homestead in Los Angeles, bed sheets moved with the motion of two people beneath.

  Wood stood in Ella’s office, self-satisfied. “I’m glad I wasn’t born during a boring century.”

  A secretary announced them, and the three of them walked into the Oval Office, led by Ella.

  Cadence was sitting behind her Resolute Desk, talking with Doreen Washington, the Press Secretary. “So schedule Caltech for me in about thirty minutes?”

  “Yes, Madam President.”

  Doreen exited while nodding to the three who entered.

  “Ella, Lori, Colonel Wood,” Cadence said, rising to greet them in the middle of the room. “Good to see you.”

  “Madam President,” Ella said. “I’ve got a little more info for you.”

  CHAPTER

  20

  “Are you ready?” the stage director asked.

  “Ready,” Nicki said as Sassy Britches, her handle in the Old West Shooting organization. She stood at the ready with her hands in a raised position, as if someone had the drop on her. She was wearing a single rig, one holster with one six-gun. Her two rifles were staged in front of her. r />
  The stage director shouted, “Go!”

  Nicki began her stage as directed with the shout, “Stop ‘em! They’re stealing the horses!” She rapidly pulled out her .45 revolver and, using both hands, fired as she walked sidewys at a round target that was moving right to left on a track.

  She missed three of her five shots before reloading her revolver as quickly as she could on the clock.

  “Nick! Whaddya missing for? You’re a good shot!” someone behind her yelled.

  “Was a good shot,” someone else yelled.

  “These things are heavy,” Nicki said. “Not like before.”

  Lourdes and Jim Boone, from a Missouri chapter, stood behind Nicki in the shoot all decked out in their own cowgirl/cowboy gear.

  Lourdes spoke up for her. “Leave her alone, guys!”

  “Her hands are smaller,” Jim said. “Take your time, Sexy Britches.”

  Nicki gave him a dirty look.

  Jim smiled at her, “I’m sorry, but it’s true.”

  Jim dropped his smile when he caught Lourdes’ glare.

  “Keep your hands on your wife,” Nicki said to Jim in fun.

  She didn’t place any shots with this round on the target and grabbed her rifle—attempting to fire it at a more distant target on the move from left to right while she walked sideways from left to righ with it.

  She landed six of her ten shots on target, missing four.

  The moving target stopped its run, and, still on the clock, Nicki grabbed her 2nd rifle—and dropped it.

  “Uh!” she gasped in desperation. “Everything’s different.”

  “Pick it up, Sexy Britches,” the director said.

  “Eat me,” Nicki said.

  “You wanted to be a woman, so now you are,” Mel said in the group standing around watching, his grin large on his face.

  “I only meant it for a while,” Nicki said to them all. “I was just seeing. I didn’t know the,” she looked around at people so she wouldn’t make a mistake, “gosh-darn transmuters would break and leave me stuck here.”

  “Nicki, I’m trans, and it’s a beautiful place to get stuck,” Lourdes said.

  “You?” Nicki asked.

  Jim nodded.

  “I just wanted to see what it was like. I didn’t want to be a female—”