-----------------------------------
The Sex
Gates
by Darrell Bain and Jeanine Berry
-----------------------------------
Fantasy
www.double-dragon-ebooks.com
Copyright ©2002 Darrell Bain and Jeanine Berry
NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from Double Dragon Publishing.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
While Double Dragon Publishing makes every effort possible to publish full and correct credits for each work included or expressed, sometimes errors of omission or commission may occur. For this reason we are most regretful, but hereby must disclaim any liability.
Published by:
Double Dragon eBooks
PO Box 54016 1-5762 Highway 7 East
Markham, Ontario L3P 7Y4 CANADA
double-dragon-ebooks.com
Cover design by Holly Smith
ISBN: 1-894841-32-8
First Edition eBook Publishing January 25, 2002
CONTENTS
* * * *
Dedications:
To my son Allan, the bulletproof man.
—Darrell Bain
—
To my husband Pat, who helped me achieve my dreams.
—Jeanine Berry
BOOK I
MARS
Chapter One
All our lives changed forever the day the gates appeared. They brought riots, chaos, and war, and eventually they changed the future of the human race.
But for ordinary people—for my friends and me—the gates brought an awesome choice—whether or not to go through.
* * * *
That day, I was walking down the street on the new North Houston college campus with two of my friends, Don Wesley and Russell Borderlon, and my girl, Rita Hernandez. None of us suspected that the world was about to change. It was a Sunday, during spring break, and unusually cold weather for Texas had cleared the skies of their normal polluted haze. We were on our way back home after eating lunch at the campus beanery. The food there wasn't anything to brag about, but it was convenient and came with the tuition, so we all ate there a lot. Besides none of us were very good cooks.
The campus was almost deserted because of spring break. Most of the students were gone, heading down to Galveston or Corpus Christi. The ones who could afford it, and didn't mind the risk, flew to Mexico.
Those of us who remained were enjoying a lazy Sunday. Don and Russell were walking in front of Rita and me. Russell had his palm computer out and was arguing with Don over some physics problem. I was saying something I have long since forgotten to Rita, using it as an excuse to blow in her ear.
I heard a gasp from Russell.
“Hey! I'll be goddamned!” Don said.
I looked up just in time to keep from bumping into them.
A gate had materialized almost on top of us. It appeared on the grassy lawn at the east corner of the campus, adjacent to Romania Street where we always turned when going home from the cafeteria. Russell later told me that its appearance was instantaneous as far as he could tell. One moment there was only grass and a paved street in front of us, and the next moment the path was blocked by the gate, a glowing green arch darkening to dull turquoise inward from the edges and toward the space in between. Though it was only about twenty feet high and maybe ten feet across at its base, we were so close it seemed to tower over us.
We untangled ourselves and stood gaping up at it in amazement.
“Where on earth did that come from?” Rita demanded. She stared up at the gate with huge black eyes as wide open as a frightened owl.
I was frightened, too. Years of reading science fiction told me that the gate was clearly alien. I slipped a protective arm around her waist.
“It came out of nowhere,” Don said, awed. “I almost ran into it.” He stood with his hands on his hips, head tilted to one side as if he were examining a blackboard problem in one of his math classes.
“Impossible.” Russell shoved his handheld computer back in his pocket. He glared at the gate as if it were defying some natural law.
“It did!” Don repeated.
“What in Christ is it?” Rita asked. I could feel her shivering inside the circle of my arm. She crossed her own arms against her chest in a defensive posture, flattening her breasts into the crook of her elbows.
“I don't know, but I'm going to find out,” Don said. This was typical. He tended to view life as nothing more than a complex math problem he could solve with a minimum of effort if he could only find the right approach. He took a step toward the gate, hands outstretched.
“Don, don't! It might be dangerous.” Even as he spoke, Russell reached out to grab the back of Don's windbreaker.
He was too late. Don was already walking forward. Three quick steps brought him into the edge of a faint nimbus extending from the darker turquoise inner portion. For a second I could see him there, frozen, one leg lifted for the next step. Then he disappeared as abruptly as a popped soap bubble.
“Don! Come back!” Rita screamed. She broke free of my arm and took a step forward.
For a second I froze, stunned by the sight of Don vanishing. Then my body reacted, and I grabbed Rita, catching the belt of her toga. I yanked her backward just as she reached the edge of the nimbus where Don had disappeared.
Rita stumbled and fell against me, and I held her tight, frightened at how close she'd come to that strange haze. She pressed her hands to her face in horror, her eyes wide with panic.
“Let me go!” Her voice rose in a panic as she struggled to get free of my grip. Her coffee-and-cream-colored complexion paled to a sickly yellowish gray, draining all the beauty from her face.
I shook her. “Rita, calm down! We're okay."
“This is impossible—Don has to be here!” Russell's dark blue eyes glittered with curiosity. Keeping well away from the entrance, he began edging around the side of the arch, as if by stepping off its dimensions he could measure it and assign it to a category within the physics he loved so much.
“Omigod!"
That scream was a startled soprano voice. It came from the other side of the arch. Some other woman, as frightened as Rita, was losing control.
That thought lasted only a second. The voice came again, louder and shriller, with an overtone of horrified surprise. “My God, what's happened to me? My God! Lee! Russell! Where are you?"
Russell and I both bolted around to the other side of the arch. On edge, it was less than ten feet wide. Three or four quick steps and we were around the corner. Russell pulled to a hasty halt and I ran full tilt into him.
My momentum knocked us both to the ground. I rolled over and found myself flat on my back staring up at a totally naked woman. She stood a foot away from my head, her legs spread apart as if she needed all the support she could get to stay standing. Her head was bent and she was clutching both her breasts, staring at them as if they were two strange parasites suddenly attached to her body. A mass of curly brown hair blew around her shoulders.
I stared, fascinated. It wasn't her nudity that grabbed my attention, as you might expect, but the horror-struck expression on her face. She raised her head, looking bewildered, like a child too young to understand who had just caught a glimpse of her distorted reflection in a funhouse mirror.
“My God!” Her hands left her breasts and began scrabbling through the bushy triangle of brown hair between her thighs in a frantic search. As she looked down, she noticed me lying at her feet.
“Lee! What's happened to me?” Her voice broke. Suddenly she moaned and hunched up, trying to cover both breasts and pubic area with her arms and hands.
Russell was already standing up again, starting at the strange woman with his mouth open.
I heard another sharp intake of breath and looked up to see Rita standing on my other side. Her eyes were still wide with fear, but I knew seeing another woman in distress would distract her from her own worries. Rita was usually a picture of calm competence, and her life was dedicated to helping other people. Seeing a naked woman in front of her, she snapped into action. “Lee, get up and give me your jacket,” she said, beginning to peel hers off.
The woman was muttering to herself as if she were about to lose it, but Rita was accustomed to encountering strange behavior as a psychology major. Now she calmly ignored the eerily glowing gate behind her and walked up to the naked woman, holding out her jacket.
I got to my feet and shucked out of my own jacket while she was wrapping hers around the woman's hips. She grabbed mine and threw it over the woman's shoulders.
Meanwhile, Russell continued to stare at the woman with amazement. “Don? Is that you?” He moved forward, as cautious as a cat approaching an unknown danger.
“It's me. I'm Don. Oh, Lord love the pope, look what that thing did to me."
“Lord love the pope” was one of Don's favorite expressions. I should know. He was my best friend, closer than my brother. I must have heard him say those words a million times in the past few years.
I was still stunned, but hearing “Lord love the pope” come from the woman's mouth made me start to believe; that is, if we weren't dreaming the whole thing. Besides, I was beginning to notice that this woman resembled Don, in the same way that Don's eighteen-year-old sister might have.
Rita looked worried. “Well, we can't stand here. Whatever this thing is, it's dangerous. Let's get her to your house, Lee, then figure it out. Come on, dear.” She grabbed the woman's hand, tugging her away from the gate.
“Don't call me ‘dear,’ damn it. I'm a man!” Don, if that's who it was, pushed Rita away. She hadn't had time to zip up the jacket and the violent shove made her breasts pop up. If she was a man, you sure couldn't prove it by her anatomy.
The sight of those round breasts seemed to break Russell out of his trance. “Please, I'm not sure who you are, but we need to get away from this thing before it grabs someone else. If you come with us, we'll take care of you."
The woman clutched the jacket closed again and with a reluctant nod went along with Russell and Rita as they started back to my house. She didn't say anything else as we walked along. She seemed to be concentrating on her walking, like a neophyte sailor on her first cruise in choppy seas. Her eyes were the same dark brown as Don's but they appeared glassy, as if she were coming out from a heavy doping session.
The few students we saw were all shouting and running in the opposite direction, toward the new gate. I looked back over my shoulder, half expecting it to be gone, but it was still there. Already a small crowd was gathering, coming from all directions. There was little traffic on the street, and the few strollers we passed on the sidewalk were staring ahead at the gate. Besides, they were used to seeing students in odd raiment; probably they thought the girl with the jacket tied around her hips by the sleeves and another hanging over her shoulders was the victim of a new clothing fad.
Rita stayed close to this stranger who claimed to be Don while Russell and I hung back. Russell didn't say a word to me—he was too deep in thought. Well, I was thinking too, but I doubt my thoughts were as profound as Russell's. Mostly, my mind circled round and round one incredible idea: was it possible that weird green arch could change a man into a woman?
It sounded like a wild science fiction tale, one I would read in a book but never expected to see materialize right before my eyes. My mind kept replaying the picture of the gate appearing out of nowhere, but my astonished disbelief refused to vanish. It wasn't possible.
As I watched the woman struggling to walk, I felt a pang of guilt at my relief that it was Don who had gone through the gate rather than me. How would I react if it sucked me in and turned me into a woman? I didn't want to pursue that thought. Fortunately, I didn't have to, as my house came into view, sitting like a sanctuary on its spacious corner lot, and we turned into the drive.
I rented this house, which was a post-Millennium modular located only a few blocks from the college campus. It was solid on the outside, but it was easy to rearrange the rooms on the inside. Don and Russell lived there with me, and I'd spent the past several weeks trying to talk Rita into moving in too.
I told the door to open, and Rita hustled the girl into Don's bedroom. Russell snapped out of his reverie as we entered, and we both headed straight for the bar at the far end of the great room. This room was comfortably furnished with a couple of loungers and the two wall screens that connected us to the media and the web.
I don't usually drink much, but I still kept the bar well stocked for parties and for the others in the house. Russell hardly drank at all, but he didn't object when I poured us both a double shot of Jack Daniels and dropped a couple of ice cubes into the glasses. We sat down on the little lounger and propped our feet up, trying to pretend we weren't straining our ears at mumbled sounds coming from the bedroom. I couldn't make out what Rita and Don were saying, other than a strained curse or two from the strange young woman claiming to be Don.
I leaned back in my chair, already aware that the life I had known until now was about to change forever. Before the arrival of the gates, I was more or less a perpetual student. I had already earned degrees in journalism and biology at North Houston College, but I was still taking undergraduate courses (all that were offered at North Houston at the time) in psychology, business, sociology and anything else that took my fancy.
It probably sounds like I was leading a spoiled life of leisure, doing as I pleased, while other students had to struggle after the last of the federal loan programs were cancelled. I have my grandfather to thank for that.
My grandfather, Mosby Stuart, was an eclectic jack-of-all-trades who was relatively uneducated but self-taught in a number of subjects, most notably electronics. My parents claim I take after him. My dad described him as a visionary, a dreamer who wandered all over the South for years, seeking a niche and dragging his family along with him while he looked. He finally found a place for himself during the electronics explosion back before the Millennium, making his fortune designing software for some of the early computers.
He retired to eastern Texas where he spent a lot of time sitting in front of the keyboard or browsing through his vast library. Dad used to tell me stories of how Grandpa and Grandma argued over all the space the books took up in the house, especially his collection of science fiction, which I later inherited. That was before e-books became wildly popular, of course.
I wish I had known him better, but Dad was in the military while I was growing up, and we didn't get back to Texas that often. Grandpa was a Civil War buff, and Dad told me I was named after Grandpa's favorite general, but only after Grandpa promised a hefty donation to the disabled veterans of America, Dad's favorite charity. Mom and Dad had a disagreement about whether to call me Jackson or Lee, or so I heard from my older brother, Derek. Mom won, because as far back as I can remember everyone has called me Lee.
Grandpa and Grandma were killed in a car crash while I was still in my teens. Grandpa's will left his house to my Dad. Each of us kids got a trust fund. I started drawing my annuity on my eighteenth birthday, a few months before I was ready to start college. For a young kid, it was more than enough. I was able to afford the rent on a four-bedroom home off campus, a new car every couple of years, and still had plenty left over to enjoy life.
Rita was the greatest joy of my life in North Houston. I had originally chosen to go to that college because it was close to my family. Mom and Dad had moved into Grandpa's house only thirty miles further north on the NAFTA highway. In the two years before I started college, I grew to love that old place and the piney woods it was set in, a few miles out from the little town of Ruston. Now, with Rita in my life, I had a whole new reason to love living in Texas.
Russell and I had time to finish our drinks before Rita and the strange woman came out of the bedroom. The woman was dressed in a pair of loose slacks and one of Don's shirts. Her face wore a stunned looked, but the dark brown eyes were all-too familiar. They were Don's eyes.
“I could use one of those,” Rita said, spotting the glass in my hand. She left the woman sitting on the large lounger while she made them both a drink.
Don—to make things easier, I'm going to call the woman Don for the time being—slugged his down and then doubled over in a fit of coughing.
“God,” he finally said in a strangled voice when the coughing stopped. “That burnt my throat. What did you put in there?"
“The usual.” Rita gave him a worried look. “If that body is brand new, maybe it's never tasted liquor before. Better take it easy.” She took the glass and made him another drink, but I noticed she added only a bare minimum of liquor to the mix.
Don took a tentative slip and seemed to relax a bit. He—no, I guess I'd better call him ‘she,’ since her body certainly left no doubt about gender—she finished what was in the glass, then sat slumped over as if trying to hide her new breasts behind the oversized shirt.
I was still struggling to sort out my thoughts. Don had been my best friend for years. We enjoyed the easy, comfortable friendship of two people who thought alike, were both crazy about science fiction, played the same web games and helped each other in classes. Don was my tutor when I struggled with math, and I helped him when he had to write a paper. We had grown close, almost like brothers. In fact, many times I had found myself wishing he actually were my brother rather than the one I had. I had never been comfortable around Derek, even when we were young. And since he had come out and told the folks and me he was a transsexual, I hadn't had much to say to him. Every time I thought about his claim that he was a woman trapped in a man's body, I became queasy.
Russell's blonde eyebrows creased in a frown. He looked at Don, glanced away from where she sat, and then forced his gaze back to her.
“Uh, Don, do you remember what happened to you when you went into that, uh, gate I guess we can call it?"
“I don't remember a damn thing. One second I was walking toward the arch, and the next thing I remember is coming out on the other side like this.” She looked down at her body, then got up and stalked over to the bar again. I couldn't help notice how her hips swayed as she walked. I looked away, taking a deep breath. This was crazy.
By this time I had abandoned the idea that I might be dreaming. The whole scenario was too clear and defined, too logically linear once the basic assumption of that gate, as Russell called it, was stipulated. I had two thoughts in rapid succession.
“How do we know you're really Don?” That was the first one.
“Et tu, Brute?” She looked pained.
As much as I loved Don, I needed to make sure this was really him. Maybe I had read too much science fiction, but I couldn't help wondering if some strange force inside the gate had made an exchange.
The woman who claimed to be my best friend seemed to read my thoughts. She glared at me and snapped out a few words like a challenge. “Willy's Arcade. The redheaded stripper."
I blushed, remembering the incident, and Rita turned to give me a curious stare. I had never told anyone about that episode except Don.
She leaned close and whispered something to him. This time she blushed. She looked over at us. “She's Don, all right. I have to believe it now."
“Don't call me ‘she,'” Don snapped.
“I still say it's impossible,” Russell said. “Something like this violates all the known laws of physics. Maybe we've all been hypnotized or drugged."
Rita shook her head, making her thick black hair dance around her shoulders. “I don't think so. This isn't how hypnotism works."
“How do you know?” Don got up and poured another two fingers of whiskey. She almost dropped the bottle when she picked it up to pour. She was drinking way too much, especially if her body wasn't used to it, but I could hardly blame her.
“Remember, I took a course in clinical hypnosis last semester."
Hypnosis hadn't been my second thought, but it was close enough not to matter. “Suppose the, uh, entity inside the gate stole your, or Don's, thoughts and transferred them into another body?"
“I didn't see any entity, and I'll guarantee you I'm still me, even if I am in this fucking female body.” Don slugged down his drink and endured another coughing fit. I couldn't help notice how his breasts jiggled with each cough.
Rita gave him an odd, almost angry stare. He should have known better than to say something like that, but I guess I might have, too, under the circumstances.
“How can you guarantee that?” Russell said.
Don plunked her glass down on the bar, her soft red mouth trembling as she fought back tears. She leaned away from the barstool she had been propping her arm on and wobbled a step or two toward the bathroom. “Because I have to piss, God damn it, and I don't know how!” Her features twisted and I thought she was about to cry.
Rita rushed over and led her to the bathroom, keeping an arm around her waist.
For a moment after they left, Russell and I sat in dead silence. Then Russell spoke up. “Hey I wonder if there's anything on the news about this?"
I don't know why we hadn't thought of that sooner.
“On!” I told the wall screen. The screen lit up and we were looking at a shot of a bright green arch. A mob surged around it, held back by policemen. I noticed immediately from the buildings in the background that it wasn't the same gate we had seen on campus, not unless it had moved in the meantime.
The volume came up and we heard a newscaster's voice, shaking with emotion. “You are looking at the gate that a young woman passed through shortly before police arrived. She vanished, but now a man who appeared naked on the other side is claiming to be that same woman. He says his sex was changed by the gate."
And that, of course, is how the term sex gates came into being.
Chapter Two
While the news anchor was still blathering about “this unique event” and “awesome phenomena,” I unhooked my phone from its belt latch and glanced at the charge. It still had almost twenty-four hours left on it so I didn't bother to plug in. I pointed it at the other screen on the adjacent wall and zapped into the web to see what was happening there, then asked for two minute scans from my favorite web sites.
Coverage on the web wasn't much better than the networks. The first two showed scenes similar to what the networks were displaying. Just before the screen changed to the third, Rita and Don came back out of the bathroom.
Don was still feeling the effects of her three quick drinks. “Look, ma. No cavities!” She grinned, showing a set of perfect teeth.
I looked. Don had had a gold crown, and it was missing. Maybe this wasn't Don after all. Then I remembered that stripper incident. If this woman wasn't Don, how could she know about that?
“And look here! My scar is gone.” She pulled up one pants leg to display her shin, where Don had a scar from a cleating accident in high school. It was gone, too. I stared, still feeling a sense of unreality, and couldn't help but notice the shapely curve of her calf. She dropped the pants leg and headed back to the bar.
I got up and followed her. We stood next to each other at the counter. I was aware that this new body was soft and slender and wonderfully shaped, and that awareness made me squirm. This was my friend—my male friend! I tried to think of something to make her feel better.
“If you had to change into a woman, at least that gate made you into a pretty one,” I said. It was true. Don was a good-looking man; as a woman (if it was really him), she was gorgeous.
She glared at me. “I don't give a damn. And stop staring at these.” She folded her arms across her breasts. “I'm not going to have them much longer."
“What? You're not?"
She tipped her glass and swallowed half the contents. “Damn right. I've figured it out. It's simple enough. If going into that gate turned me into a woman, then going back through it ought to make me a man again."
Russell, on his way over to join us, overheard the comment. “That doesn't necessarily follow."
“You got any better ideas?” Don demanded.
“Don—” I hesitated. I was still having trouble thinking of her as my best friend, but I was concerned for her, nevertheless. “Why don't you wait a bit? Like Russell says, you don't know that would work."
“I don't care. How would you like to have to squat to pee?” She swallowed hard as a sudden thought occurred to her. “Or, Jesus Christ, what if I have a period?” She set her glass down, and turned toward the door, her face desperate.
Rita's yelp stopped her. “Hey, listen! A man who was changed is trying to go back through the gate! Right now, live!"
We all hurried over to the lounger where we could get a better view of the screen.
“What happened? Did he come back out?” Excitement, or maybe the liquor she was still drinking, slurred Don's voice.
“Not yet,” Rita said. “Be quiet and listen."
The report was coming in over the CNN network.
“...two minutes now and so far he has not come out the other side, nor has any sign been seen of her, or I should say him, as he was male before the change. Going through the first time is almost instantaneous, so this may be a bad sign. It may mean that the sex gates are a one-way proposition, but, of course, it is too soon to say for certain. And as hard as it may be for you to believe, some people do want to change their sex. Already, we have one report of a police guard set up around the gate near the Presidio to keep a crowd of men and women from going—"
“Aw, smash it to hell!” That was another one of Don's favorite expressions. She turned away from the screen, her face filled with despair. I could see she was discarding the notion of trying to go back through a gate, at least for the time being.
Instead, she sat with the rest of us through the afternoon and on into the evening, watching the screens and listening to more and more information pour in from the web and networks. In that, we were not alone. Most of the people in America sat down and watched the news that night as the gates began to change our world forever.
I sent out for pizza. Don ate enough to soak up some of the whiskey and topped it with a Nohang pill to ease her transition back to sobriety.
Secretly, I'd been worried that the government would soon block access to the gates, stopping Don from going back through even if she wanted to. But it quickly became obvious that the military and police, no matter how hard they tried, were going to be unable to stop people from using the gates; there were simply too many of them.
As reports came in, we learned there were thousands now in place around the world. They had appeared all over the planet at exactly the same time (or as near as anyone had been able to figure). The largest numbers materialized where the most people lived, suggesting some sort of knowledge about earth's population density on the part of the originators of the gates. The networks were soon displaying a giant world map, with different colors depicting population gradients and white dots representing the location of every gate known to exist up until that moment.
Another startling development (besides the sex change) was announced as we were polishing off the last of the pizza. This time the network news was ahead of the webs. The elderly anchor, retired but brought back for commentary, was as excited as a child on the way to Disney World.
“So far, every person who has gone through the gate has reappeared as a young man or woman in vibrant health, no matter what age they were when they entered. Are these gates the long-sought fountain of youth? It appears that they are, if you don't mind changing your gender along the way. Not only are those who go through emerging on the other side young, initial reports indicate when they go through the gate they come out with whatever ailments they might have had cured! No more arthritis or failing eyesight! No more senility or incurable cancer! This could be a boon for humanity, the dawning of a wonderful new age, a precious gift brought to us by the benevolence of unknown—"
The network cut him off as he began to ramble euphorically, not making much sense. If I had to bet, I would put money on him heading for a sex gate straight from the studio.
“See?” Rita said to Don. “Maybe it's not as bad as you've been making it out to be."
Don pursed her lips and looked thoughtful. She had told me once that her family had a genetic predisposition to vascular disease, one of the illnesses still not curable by gene therapy. Her dad had died of it a year after we met.
“That's wonderful for old people. But damn it, I don't want to be a woman. I'm a man.” She tossed her thick brown hair back over her shoulders with an annoyed flick of her hands.
“Why do you feel that way?” Rita looked curious. It's obvious to me why she's a psychology major; she's always asking people about their feelings. At the moment, she was cuddling next to me on the lounger, but she leaned forward to listen to Don's answer.
Don was sitting by herself in my easy chair. “How would you like it if you were wearing the wrong body? Everything is heavier. I almost dropped the Jack Daniels bottle. And my hips seem like they're out of joint when I walk. Besides that, I feel top-heavy.” She grudged a small smile. I could understand that, at least. My eyes strayed to her full breasts. I tried to imagine what it would feel like to walk with a couple of weights swinging from my chest.
Rita went over and scrunched into the seat with her. She patted Don's cheek, and turned on the sympathy. “Don't worry. You'll get used to all that.” I knew from personal experience Rita was good-hearted and optimistic, otherwise I would have thought she was overdoing the empathy.
“Maybe,” Don admitted. “I still don't like it."
I believed her. Don had never impressed me as the least bit feminine. I still didn't know how to treat her, and I was worried about how we could stay close friends if the change proved to be permanent. I guess she had noticed my reluctance to even speak to her, because she suddenly pinned me with a stare.
“Lee, you're not saying much."
I shrugged and felt my fingers tighten around the arm of my chair where I had been resting my hand. “I don't know what to say. This is like something out of a science fiction book."
“Yeah, with me as the alien."
“At least you're not a BEM,” I said.
“What's a BEM?” Russell asked.
“Bug-eyed monster. It's a science fiction term for a nasty alien.” Don didn't look happy about the comparison.
“Would anyone like some wine?” Rita was an expert at diffusing tension. We nodded. She opened a bottle of Texas Valley Chablis, and poured us all a drink while we continued to watch the news.
Of course, the gates weren't on earth for more than an hour before the politicians started making pronouncements. President Forbes made a brief address from the Oval Office. He asked for calm and said the government was attempting to communicate with the entities controlling the gates. He assured us that there had been no sign of hostility from any gate so far. During the shock of the first appearances, a few soldiers had panicked and attacked one gate, but there had been no reaction. He warned against trying to pass through a gate until a thorough study of long-term effects was completed.
It was about what you could expect from a politician. He probably hadn't gotten his daily webpoll yet. Even if he had, he may as well have been talking to the wind. The people weren't listening.
Right after his speech, the networks showed shots of older citizens, most walking but some in wheelchairs. They were lining up and entering any gate they could find that wasn't guarded by soldiers or police. They were even rushing some of the ones that were. One memorable shot showed an old woman beating a soldier over the head with her cane, then limping past him and disappearing into the gate. The shot shifted to the other side of the gate and caught a young man emerging, his arms uplifted in victory. The once-old woman was grinning and the camera made no attempt to avoid showing his well-muscled nude body.
By now the people coming out of the gate weren't looking bewildered or acting hysterical, the way that Don had. They knew what to expect.
While I chuckled with the others at the sight of the soldier getting caned by the old lady, I couldn't stop thinking about the gate that was attacked early on. So far, they hadn't shown any clips on that, but about halfway through the second bottle of Texas Valley, a replay came on.
As usual, someone with a camera had been close enough to film the event. However, the camera was far enough away that even the close-ups were fuzzy. A contrail from a military jet descended from the sky, leveled out, then curved back up. Out in front of the contrail, a bright green speck glittered on a low hill surrounded by what looked like Fourth World shanties. Presumably, the squatters had been ousted from their shacks before the bombing run, but they might not have been. Governments at that time didn't pay much attention to the bottom fourth of their population.
You could barely discern the curve of the arch from the distance, but that peculiar green color was unmistakable. Suddenly, there was an explosion and a black cloud ballooned up around it, obscuring it from sight. We watched as the smoke thinned. The gate was still intact. In fact, it didn't appear to have been touched by the blast at all, though you couldn't say the same for the hovels clinging to the sides of the hill. So much for explosives.
“They shouldn't have done that.” The words came out of my mouth before I thought about it.
“Why not?” Russell asked.
I paused for a moment to marshal my thoughts. “Hasn't anyone noticed that we haven't heard a single word about who or what put the gates here? My bet is they came from technologically superior beings from somewhere else in the galaxy."
“You and your science fiction,” Russell said. “Why not from another dimension?"
“Same difference."
“Maybe God put them here,” Rita said.
“Don't tell me you believe in that nonsense.” Again, I was speaking without thinking, and my words came out sounding harsher than I intended. Still, an uneducated person living from hand-to-mouth might be tempted to believe that a superior being is watching over them and directing their lives, but Rita is well educated, and living in relative comfort. In fact, her parents in California are fairly wealthy.
“I'm open-minded about the possibility. There's no proof either way. I like to believe there is some purpose behind all of this."
No, there was no proof. Nonetheless, I didn't believe in a personal God, or in any entity guiding our fates, for that matter. If there is a God taking care of us, he sure picks peculiar ways of doing it. Rita and I had had this argument before. She was a loving person who wanted to help others, and I think that fact made her want to believe that some higher power worked for the good of everyone and maybe even intervened in human affairs. Still, she didn't subscribe to any particular religion; her faith was more like the New Age beliefs of years past that all would eventually work out for the best. Thank God (yes, I do invoke the deity when swearing—a cultural habit) for small favors.
“Even if there is no proof, I don't think there is any purpose behind this universe. Everything is random."
Rita looked stubborn. And I have to admit in most ways she understood human nature better than me. She pointed at the screen where long lines were beginning to form in front of one gate. “I bet lots of people will believe the gates came from God, especially those who are still arguing that Christ will return soon even though the Millennium is behind us now."
She had a good point. The Christians were still claiming the end of the world was at hand, even though the Millennium was years in the past. As it turned out, she was prophetic, though none of us there, or anywhere else for that matter, foresaw the religious uproar that the appearance of the gates would cause.
“Why do you think that gate shouldn't have been bombed?” Don asked me. I tried to meet her gaze, but I couldn't look at her face for long. I still couldn't think of her as Don, my friend. Every time I heard her clear soprano voice, my first thought was to look around and check out the new girl.
Getting sidetracked on the subject of God had given me time to consider the reasons behind my impromptu outburst. “Think about it. Whoever or whatever sent the gates is clearly superior to us. They must have a reason and purpose in mind. These gates are some kind of test, maybe. If we get belligerent and start attacking them, they may decide we are too dangerous to let live, and start fighting back."
Rita got up to open another bottle. Unfortunately, there wasn't any more Texas Valley. I keep the bar stocked, but not that well. She found some California Chablis and opened that. I think she was enjoying our reactions and conversations, maybe even planning a psychology paper: First reactions of a random group of college students to appearance of the sex gates, with interaction of one male-to-female interposed or something along that line. I love Rita, but even then I thought she sometimes went a little overboard with her psychology. I've taken a couple of psych courses, and as far as I'm concerned, it runs a close race with economics as the most inexact science.
Don's Nohang pill had worn off, or more probably it couldn't handle all the wine we were drinking. She was becoming more and more animated and seemed to be less aware of the fact that she was a male inhabiting a female body. I still kept my distance, though, while at the same time feeling ashamed of my squeamishness around her. By now I was almost certain it was Don sitting there as a female. She had too many of his mannerisms and memories and speech habits for it to be otherwise, unless the aliens controlling the gates had stolen her memories and plunked them into new body.
And even if that were the case, what was the difference? It would still be Don, like in the science fiction stories where complete personalities are recorded, converted to electronic data, and then booted into a high-capacity computer.
I was finally and completely convinced when one of the web casts we were watching was interrupted. (It was showing a huge crowd waiting outside the Vatican for the pope to come out. Rumors had spread over the web that he was getting ready to declare a miracle.)
“...reliable analysis from several sources confirms what many of us have already suspected. When the gates change a person's gender, they emerge looking the way they might have developed had they been born of the opposite sex. Gene analysis proves that the same person who goes into a gate comes out. Only the sex determinate chromosome is replaced. Still unanswered is how or why the transformation process takes place, though it is almost certain from these reports that all disease-producing alleles, both dominate and recessive, have been eliminated and replaced with normal genes. Stand by now for a statement from the pope."
But the pope never did come out that day, even though the crowd grew to huge proportions. Other religious figures did. Some were for the gates, some against, but I'll get to that later.
Though my memories of that first day and night are still sharp and clear, it's hard to convey the crazy, mixed-up emotions of those first stunning hours. What still amazes me is how soon the world accepted the presence of the gates. (Not their reactions; those were as varied as the colors of an art program.) The four of us stayed up all night watching and listening and drinking enough wine to float a yacht.
More facts emerged, coming in bits and pieces, mostly reported first on web sites, though the old networks did themselves proud, I thought. They suspended all commercials while they did their best to keep the news rolling. If you don't know what a commercial is, look it up in the history books. It's too complicated to explain here.
As the hours passed, we learned the facts that would affect our lives in dramatic ways in the years to come. The good news was that every single person emerging from the gates came out with a young, perfectly healthy body no matter how old or sick they were when entering.
Soon, however, we began to hear bad news: Some went in and didn't come out, even the first time. No one had yet made it through twice. A pattern began to emerge. The older and/or sicker a person was, the less chance they had of re-emerging. Almost anyone could make it through up until the age of about seventy, so long as they were in fair health. But after that the chances declined. At eighty or so the odds were about fifty-fifty and fell off rapidly after that. Illness lowered the probability of a successful transition; the sicker a person was, the less chance they had.
Children could go through the gates, too. Already some parents were pushing through children who were sick with incurable illnesses. The despairing parents were willing to accept the gender change in order to save their lives. Most made it; as I said, age was a factor.
As the hours of that first incredible day wore on, no one going into a gate a second time came out, and eventually most stopped trying. I could see the hope fading in Don's eyes, hour by hour, as this fact became clearer. It was beginning to look like he was stuck as a woman.
The gates were impervious to any form of attack. Even an atomic bomb exploded by a Shanghai warlord did no damage. When the smoke cleared, there was the gate, sitting green and shiny at the bottom of a new crater.
In many places, police and military personnel were forced to abandon all attempts to control access to the gates. There were simply too many of gates, thousands upon thousands, to guard, and most were located in densely populated areas. By the end of the week, in the United States, at least, the only gates still guarded were those reserved for study by scientists.
Looking back from years later, it could be that I am misunderstanding the motives of the governments of that era. In those days, democracies still existed. In those countries, the people made their voices heard, particularly older people who almost immediately realized the gates could offer them renewed youth and health. Perhaps it was public opinion that forced the governments to withdraw the guards, though there is no way to be sure. It doesn't matter now anyway.
We stayed up all night and into the next day. I tried to send out to McDonald's for breakfast, but their delivery service wasn't operating. Russell was the only one of us with any cooking skills worthy of the name, a peculiar talent for a physicist major. He scrambled eggs and fixed toast.
We were almost done eating when the president came online again. I zapped the table back into its overhead recess, and we sat back down to hear his speech.
Unfortunately, Forbes said more or less what he had told the country the day before, including the fact that scientists were still trying to communicate with whatever aliens were responsible for the gates. He assured us that the government would soon announce a policy for dealing with the gates. (How the government was going to form a policy when we didn't know where the gates came from, how long they would be around, why they were here, and who or what was controlling them wasn't mentioned.) After that, he proclaimed a national holiday, and pleaded for everyone to go back to work the following day.
Well, that part made sense. If people didn't get back to work, the whole economy would go into free fall.
Watching these dramatic events unfold over two screens was mesmerizing, but a body can stay awake only so long. Besides that, we were out of wine. I yawned, loud enough to drown out the screen voices for a second.
Rita sat up from where she had been half-dozing against my shoulder. Given the panic surrounding the appearance of the gates, I wanted her to stay with me where I knew she was safe. Besides, she was already spending several nights a week sleeping at my place and kept some clothes in my closet. Moving in was the next logical step. Now, I expected the appearance of the gates would make that happen.
“I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm ready for some sleep.” She stretched her arms over her head and wriggled her shoulders.
“Me, too,” I agreed. “If the world comes to an end, wake me up; otherwise, we'll see you later."
Don got to her feet and swallowed hard. I could tell she didn't like the idea of being alone without the TV or other people to distract her from the unpleasant reality of her strange new body.
Russell noticed, too. “Hey, I'm going to stay up a little while longer and watch some more news, maybe fall asleep in front of the screens."
Relief filled Don's eyes. He sat down again.
* * * *
The way I had my house arranged at that time, it consisted of an entrance alcove, then a big circular area known as the great room, containing loungers, chairs, and the bar and kitchen, with the four bedroom/baths radiating out from it. Russell and Don each had a room. Of course, Rita and I slept together. The last bedroom was used as a study.
“God, I'm tired,” Rita said as she closed our door. She stretched again. “What a day. This will be something to tell our grandchildren about."
“If we have any."
“What!"
We had agreed to have a couple of kids one day. I laughed. “The gates. Today they're changing the gender of people who want to go through them. Tomorrow we might be required to march through one.” My mouth was running away with my brain again.
“And if you were turned into a woman, you wouldn't want to have my babies, is that it?” Her words held a challenge.
Now there was a thought that had never entered my mind. Me have a baby? Me become a woman? No way! I stood speechless, shirt dangling from my hand.
Rita continued undressing. She discarded her blouse and sat down on the bed to pull off her jeans. Usually, this process absorbed my entire attention, but tonight I realized I needed to think of an answer that wouldn't make her mad.
She looked at me. “Well?"
“Just kidding.” I tried a smile.
Rita stood up and stepped out of her panties. She scrutinized me from head to toe, like a butcher examining a side of beef. She smiled. “I wonder what you would look like as a woman? I bet you would be cute."
“I doubt it, and I don't want to ever find out.” I wasn't a particularly good-looking man, and as a woman I might be downright ugly. I had rust-colored hair and my eyes were the faded blue of old blue jeans. That's not even considering how clumsy I was. Don had trouble walking as a woman; I would probably have to crawl around.
Rita raised a dark black eyebrow. “I still think you would be cute, maybe even pretty, but never mind. Let's go to bed."
That suited me. One look at Rita naked made me eternally grateful to be a man. I decided I would rather die of old age than ever go through a gate, even if they were still around when I got old enough to worry about the decision.
Rita snuggled up against me, resting her head on my shoulder with her soft breasts pressing against my side. Ordinarily that's enough to get me going, but for once I wasn't in the mood. I felt drained. She probably felt the same way because after a few minutes her breathing became slow and regular.
Just as I was dozing off, I thought I heard someone cry out in surprise in the great room. I couldn't tell for certain if it was Don or Russell because of the soundproofing, and I was too sleepy to worry about it. A moment later I was snoring alongside Rita.
Chapter Three
I woke up late that evening to the sound of the shower running. I tossed back the sheet and sat up. That's when my head banged against a brick wall. Too much wine and not enough sleep equals one hell of a hangover.
I fumbled in the drawer of the bedside caddy and found a Nohang pill, while wishing I had thought to take it before going to bed. I swallowed the pill. A jabbing pain in my temples made me decide to take another one. My stomach rumbled a protest, but the pills stayed down. I reached back in the drawer for cigarettes and couldn't find any. From the taste in my mouth, I concluded I had smoked all that I had on hand. Oh, well, I was trying to quit anyway.
I stripped off my shorts and carried them into the bathroom. I must have pissed out a quart of wine while listening to the sounds Rita was making in the shower. I gargled with some Listerine plus. I knew brushing my teeth would make me gag. What wine hadn't come out one end would spout from the other. I slid the far end of the shower door open and stepped inside.
Rita stood naked under the showerhead with her thick lustrous hair slick with water and plastered against her neck. As sick as I felt, I still enjoyed the sight. She is small and petite, so she makes me feel tall and muscular despite my lean frame. As she twisted her upper body to soap herself, I caught a glimpse of her small tan nipples erect from the lukewarm water. Her breasts were almost as tanned as the rest of her body; you could see that she often swam topless. She had a small waist and slim hips. A narrow strip of pale skin formed the outline of the thong she wore when sunbathing in public.
I slipped my arms around her waist and reached up to cup her breasts. Suddenly, I felt much better. The Nohang was beginning to work.
Rita shivered with pleasure. “I didn't think you would be feeling so spry this morning."
I nuzzled her neck. She turned around to face me, and I ran my hands up and down her back. “Neither did I a few minutes ago."
She helped me wash. We toweled each other off and hurried back to bed. Rita isn't like some women I've known. She's always ready for sex and never loathe to experiment. I don't know if her psychology studies had anything to do with it, but they might have. I know my parents’ generation was prudish about engaging in intercourse with multiple partners because of sexual diseases. If you can imagine it, people in the last century actually risked their lives when they made love. But in the last few years, medicine has eliminated that problem. Nowadays, psychologists are encouraging engaging in sex as a way to get to know a person.
Rita treated me to a few quick lubricating licks, and then slipped me inside her. She stretched out on top of me and began moving her hips while propped on her elbows. She moved slowly at first, then faster. Her breasts rubbed against my chest as her pelvis moved. I watched as her nipples hardened to tight little points and lifted my hands to stroke the greater softness beneath.
Her hips moved faster and faster, and I exploded inside her. She cried out and collapsed over me, shivering and mouthing short little moans of pleasure.
When she felt me softening, she rolled off and went back into the bathroom. I got up and called up the weather on the bedroom screen. The front had stalled, then dissipated. It was warm outside. I gathered up fresh jeans and a shirt and pulled them on, not bothering with a jacket. Rita came out dressed in a pink spring toga with one shoulder left bare. She slung her bag while I picked up my phone and hung it from a loop of my jeans.
Don was already up when we came out. Seeing his female body again was a shock. I'd half talked myself into believing I'd dreamed the whole thing. But there he was, or there she was, I should say. Russell wasn't with him.
“Is Russell still sleeping?” I asked.
Don pointed to a note on the table. Gone to the lab. See you later. Russ. I wondered what he thought he could accomplish there, although I knew his advisor would come up with something for him to do. Physicists were going to go crazy trying to figure out the gates.
Don was dressed in a baggy pair of shorts and a pullover, but the loose clothes did nothing to conceal her figure.
“I hope you're doing okay this morning.” I tried to sound casual. I was still getting an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach every time I saw Don's hot new female body. The clothes she was wearing today bothered me because it looked as if she—still a “he” to me—wanted to look feminine. Why else would she wear shorts and show all that luscious leg.
Don glanced at Rita, a pleading look in her eyes. “I was thinking about going out today and getting some female clothes. But I have no idea where to start."
That seemed strange to me. I knew Don hated to shop as much as I do. And why go shopping today, of all days? He caught my quizzical expression. “Well, I can't keep wearing baggy shorts and pants for the rest of my life. They're too large for me anyway, and they don't fit right."
Well, why not? I kept that thought to myself and looked down at the floor to hide my reaction. I couldn't picture Don in the women's section of a store selecting skirts or togas. Or picking out panties and bras. Well, panties, anyway. She wasn't wearing a bra.
“Hey, Lee!"
I looked up at her, but my eyes were headed straight for forbidden territory, so I glanced away.
“Look, I didn't ask for this.” I could hear the hurt in her voice. “It happened. I'm going to have to get used to it, and so will you. As a first step, you can call me Donna instead of Don."
That startled me. I stared at her. My mind buzzed like a swarm of bees looking for a new hive. “Wait, Don..."
“Donna,” she insisted. “I don't want to see people staring at me when someone calls me by a male name."
I still couldn't say it. I changed the subject. “Has anyone checked the news this morning yet? Maybe..."
“I've already looked. It's still the same. No one has made it through a gate the second time."
Lord help her. What could she do? Still, a suspicious part of me couldn't help wondering if this sudden change in attitude had anything to do with that cry in the night I had heard just before going to sleep. It had sounded very much like a cry of passion. Had Don and Russell decided to experiment with her new body? It was hard to imagine Don and Russell making out, but one thing I have learned is that you can never predict what might turn other people on sexually. For a citizen of the twenty-first century, I thought of myself as sexually free, but looking back now, I can see I was a bit of a prude.
Rita elbowed me in the ribs. “We'll go with you, Donna. Won't we, Lee?"
We sure would. Rita didn't get that tone in her voice very often, but when she did, I had learned not to argue. We left.
* * * *
It was only a short walk to the nearest department store, a Trends outlet that catered to the college crowd. Rita gripped my hand so I couldn't escape when we entered the women's clothes department. She parked me by the lingerie and told me to stay put, then took Donna into a measuring booth.
While I waited, I wandered over to look at the display screens. I wished I could afford screen three-D at home. The graphic models were so lifelike I expected to see one of them come waltzing out of the screen to talk to me. In fact, the models in the lingerie section were so real I got an erection from looking at them. One in particular captured my attention, a tall blonde modeling translucent yellow glitter panties and nothing else.
Rita emerged from the booth with Donna in time to notice my reaction. She laughed. “Ready for a change?” She glanced down at the bulge in my jeans.
“Only if you go to blonde.” For once, I managed a right answer.
She punched my arm and smiled. “Come on, let's go see if Donna is finished before you change your mind."
The shop's computer had already measured Donna. (That name still seemed wrong to me.) Soon, she was busy selecting clothes from the nearby screens, with lots of advice from Rita. Within minutes, articles of clothing began dropping into the delivery chute, funneled there from the racks of clothing buried in the bowels of the store.
“Now for underwear,” Rita said. Donna blushed. I may have, too.
The two of them huddled over the lingerie screen, and before long they were both giggling. I turned away in disgust. Not only was Don a female, it seemed as if he were starting to enjoy it. It was enough to make you wonder how he'd felt before the change. I shuddered.
Suddenly, Rita was at my side again, her sharp eyes taking in my reaction. “Why not try making some selections on your own now, Donna. Lee has been tempted enough."
Donna gave me a questioning glance. I shrugged.
While Donna turned her attention back to the screen, Rita pulled me out of earshot and took me to task. “Lee, Donna is doing her best to adjust. Can't you be more help? The next time you speak to her, I'm going to be very upset with you if you don't call her by her new name."
“I'll try.” Maybe I could get used to it.
She frowned. “You'd better do more than try. I want you to quit treating her as if she's a freak. Can't you see how hurt she is?"
I hadn't noticed. Don—Donna hurt? By me? I thought back over the last thirty-six hours. Well, maybe. I had barely talked to her, but that was because I didn't know what to say. How do you go about nudging your best friend and asking him how it feels to pick out lingerie?
“I'm sorry.” I really was. I just didn't know how to behave. “I didn't realize that was how I was acting."
“Well, you were. Listen, try treating her like an old girlfriend you're still on good terms with."
“Maryanne?"
“Damn your eyes, Lee, no!” She tried to look mad, but dissolved into giggles instead. “All right, you can even use her if it will help. Now get with it; here she comes."
“All finished?” I asked brightly. Rita glared at me.
“I'm done,” Donna's face looked strained. “Who would have thought buying underwear was so complicated when you're a female. And the price of those silky nothings is unbelievable!"
“We have—had it made didn't we, Donna?” I forced her new name out as naturally as I could. “No overpriced clothes for us, just to keep up with the fashions.” Damn. I was speaking to her as if she were still a man.
She didn't seem to mind. “Yeah. Where to now?"
I pinched my thumb and forefinger together to check the time. My thumbnail watch said eight-thirty. It would be dark outside by now. “Why don't we stop by the campus and see what's going on with the gate there? We can grab a burger at the Dagwood if it's open.” The Dagwood's burgers were always good, and it was right across the street from where the gate was.
“Good idea,” Donna said.
Rita squeezed my hand. She certainly didn't realize how uncomfortable I still felt about the situation. At least I had said Donna's name. I hoped it made her happy.
Strolling under the cypress trees along Leyland Boulevard, walking toward the campus, we were almost alone on the sidewalk. Most people must have still been home with their eyes and ears tuned to their screens. I was tempted to scan some of the news sites with my phone, but no one else seemed interested so I didn't.
As we neared the college, I began to hear a peculiar noise, like the muttering of a distant thunderstorm. But the sound had its own cadence. I knew it couldn't be natural.
“What's that?” Donna asked.
Rita stopped, and I did too. She frowned, squinting her eyes, as if that would help her hear. After a moment she said, “Sounds like that class I was in last year when the prof failed everyone."
Donna shook her head. “No, it's rhythmic. Like someone chanting."
Listening closely, I agreed with her. We walked on. The noise became louder. Now I could tell it was composed of voices, yelling back and forth.
We turned a corner, and the gate came into view. It looked as alien and strange as I remembered, a massive green arch plunked down on our world with no clue as to its real purpose. There was a crowd around it, split into two groups, one large one on one side of the gate and one smaller one on the other side. Police in riot gear were keeping the groups apart. Floodlights from nearby squad cars illuminated the side of the gate where most of the crowd was gathered.
The two groups were shouting at each other and at a line of people, old and young, who were attempting to run the gauntlet between the groups. The cops were having a hard time holding back the opposing forces so the people in line could reach the gate.
Some of protesters shouldered hastily constructed signs sporting a variety of opinions and waved them at each other: SEXUAL FREEDOM NOW! YOUTH FOR THE ELDERLY! THESE ARE THE DEVIL'S GATES! GOD SAYS: THREESCORE AND TEN!
There weren't nearly enough cops to control the demonstrators, and I didn't like the looks of the yelling mobs. Most of them were dressed in ragged jeans or the cheap jumpsuits the Fourth Worlders from Old Houston favored.
“Wait up,” I said. I patted at my pocket for the little automatic I was licensed to carry, knowing it wasn't there. Right after I was issued my permit, I took it everywhere with me, but I had gradually gotten out of the habit. Nothing requiring a firearm ever happened in North Houston, and I rarely went anywhere except to class or a bookstore.
“There are cops there,” Donna said. “Come on.” I suspected she wanted to get close to a gate again, in case a miracle might happen and someone would make it through twice.
I wanted to hang back, but I followed Rita when she began to move forward again. The chanting became louder, but I couldn't tell what they were shouting because of the noise.
I suggested that we angle around to approach the gate from the end where the smallest crowd was gathered. I guess I'm not very brave. As we got close, a nude woman emerged from the gate. She was short and stocky and not very pretty except for the glossy red hair flowing down to her shoulders.
“There's one!” a male voice shouted. The demonstrators who were opposing the use of the gate surged forward. A shield went flying into the air as a cop was bowled over. The open path narrowed, then closed completely as the cops were buried under a writhing tangle of bodies.
“Help! Help me!” A woman's shrill scream rose over the tumult. “Hel—” Her voice cut off.
“I got ‘er, I got ‘er!” I could hear the drug-roughened voice shouting in triumph, even over the cursing cops and the screams and grunted obscenities of the tangled mob. People were fighting now with clubs and fists.
Before any of us could stop her, Donna ran straight into the mob. The struggling bodies swallowed her up.
“Christ!” I cursed. My knees buckled like warm taffy as an adrenaline surge spread through my body. I would have fallen if Rita hadn't been holding onto me. I took a step forward while my heart hammered in my chest, expecting violent action but not getting it. Another step and my legs stiffened.
“Stay here!” I yelled to Rita and plunged into the mob. I could have saved my breath; she was right behind me.
A siren warbled in the distance. I struggled to find Donna. I forced my way through a forest of thick burly necks and breasts jouncing under pullovers and worn jumpsuits. Grimacing faces with teeth bared crossed and re-crossed in front of my eyes, dipping and weaving. Fists and clubs were swinging. I caught a blow on the side of my head and another in the ribs.
Dazed, I swung a balled fist at the nearest dirty face. The woman dropped out of sight and another replaced her. She was waving a paring knife, but her arm was entangled with two others.
Another blow to the head sent me reeling. Undulating above the noise, the sound of the siren came closer and closer. I felt a stab of terror—the subsonics must be beating on my brain. It was all I could do to keep from turning tail and running.
“Rita! Where are you? Donna!"
All around me, people were covering their ears to keep out the undercurrent of subsonic compulsion. I ignored it as best I could; it helped that I knew what it was. A grubby man was bending over in front of me. Just beyond him, I caught a glimpse of Rita. She was struggling with another woman, trying to pull her away from a prone figure. The man in front of me jumped up, still holding his ears. I kicked him in the crotch, and he went down, sucking in a gasp of pain. I stepped over him just as Rita knocked down her opponent. She tripped her to the bloody grass and kicked her in the stomach, then stopped to stare at what was laying on the ground in front of her.
The mob was beginning to disperse by the time I got a look. The homely redheaded woman was barely recognizable. Blood and dirt and grass stains covered her body. Her one remaining eye stared at nothing. She was very dead.
A hand grabbed my arm from behind and twisted it up against my shoulder blades. “You're under arrest!"
“No! No! We were trying to help her!” Donna struggled to her feet from where she'd fallen. Her top was hanging in tatters over her heaving breasts and tears were streaming down her face. It was the first time I had ever seen Don—Donna cry.
The pressure on my arm eased. Beside me, Rita spoke to the cop. “Honest, officer, that's what we were doing. Oh, that poor woman."
The cop let go of me. “Let's see some ID."
We produced our student cards. The cop accepted them, all except for Donna's. “That's not you,” he said. He dropped his hand down to his belted sidearm.
“Yes it is. I stumbled through this same gate yesterday when it first appeared."
The policeman sighed. “All right. Better get your picture changed soon as the college opens again, if it does. God knows what's going to happen if this keeps up."
We stumbled away. I had a gash on my ribcage, but I had enough med supplies back at the house to take care of it. The other two only had bruises and scratches. I was still a little dizzy from the two blows to the head and my swirling thoughts didn't make me any steadier. Was this a typical example of how people were going to react to the gates or only an aberration? I remembered what the cop had said. “...if this keeps up...” Then I thought of all those Fourth World goons. I didn't credit them with organizing the demonstration; seeing them this far into North Houston meant they must have been hired and transported in to take care of the rough work.
I felt sick. I don't mind people supporting causes I disagree with, but my God, why do they have to resort to violence? I wondered how much mayhem was going on elsewhere. Suddenly, I wanted to get home and catch up on the news.