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Ovid 10 - The Academician By The Professor Even when I was male, I always looked forward to spring. I enjoyed watching as the days got longer and the air got warmer. Just watching signs of life returning to the trees and grass was enough to raise my spirits to the stars. As spring began this year, I had something else to look forward to that I would have never imagined when I was male: I would delivery my first baby. Well, as far as the doctor was concerned, it wasn't my first. He remembered delivering my twins a few years before. But of course I knew that I had never delivered them. They had been transformed into my children just as I had been transformed into their mother. That created something of a problem. The doctors and nurses all gave me the "you've been through all this before" brush-off when I started looking a little nervous about the whole process. I couldn't very well tell them that I hadn't really given birth before, because like most people in Ovid, they had no idea that their entire existence was nothing more than a construct of the gods. So there I was, as big as a house, waddling uncomfortably from place to place and trying not to be terrified by the whole process of giving birth. It had been so strange at first. Like most men who had never been exposed to the whole process before, I assumed that it was a little simpler than it really was. I didn't realize the radical changes my own body would make to accommodate the baby. In some ways, it was as eerie as my magical transformation from a young man into a woman. I began to feel the first stirrings of life within me after only three months. It wasn't kicking exactly but it was something close to it. I could sense the presence of a life there that was not my own. Then I got to watch in fascination as my belly began to expand. It was thrilling at first; now it was just uncomfortable. Seven months into the whole process, I began to feel that surely I couldn't get any bigger and surely the baby had to come any day now. No such luck. My body continued to swell up until I thought my skin couldn't stretch any more, and now my breasts were larger as well, even secreting a tiny bit of fluid occasionally. I began to sympathize with cows who needed to be milked. If it hadn't been for Susan, I think I would have blown a fuse. Susan Jager was every bit as pregnant as I was, but the doctors treated her differently. As far as anyone in Ovid was concerned, this would be her first baby. They explained everything to her. They held her hand. They calmed her fears -fears which were every bit as great as my own. Since Susan was a former man, too, I think I have enough anecdotal evidence to say that this whole pregnancy thing was made tougher for us because we had not grown up with the idea that we would have to deliver children. When I was first transformed into a woman, I found it odd but not unpleasant. I managed to adapt to my new role fairly quickly, as most new residents of Ovid do. I'm convinced it's all part of the magic. In fact, after a few weeks, it became difficult to imagine being anyone but Cindy Patton. I had been given a pretty good life. I was attractive and I had a loving husband and two wonderful kids. Oh, the sex took a little getting used to, but by now I wouldn't have it any other way. I pity men who will never know the exhilaration of multiple orgasms. Add to all that the fact that my job was probably one of the most interesting in town -administrative assistant for the Judge - and I would have to admit I had the ideal life. The only problem is that I got pregnant. There was nothing miraculous above that - if I discounted my initial transformation. My husband, Jerry, and I just decided it would be a good idea to have another child. Since we had twins, they would grow up and leave us at the same time. Why not have another one? We were young enough. And it seemed like a good idea at the time. I guess natural girls just grow up with the idea that they'll give birth. For me though, it was a whole new concept. To be honest, I don't think I was handling it terribly well. Nobody knew about the little calendar I kept in my desk with a big red circle around my expected due date. It was getting close now, and I could hardly wait. I felt an odd little surge between my legs and an uncomfortable kick. What would it be like, to spread my legs wide and feel intense but welcome pain as a new person forced its way out of my body? Did natural women really take it in stride? I supposed that they did. I would do my best, too, but for the first time in a long time, I found myself regretting my new sex. I waddled over to a filing cabinet to file some mundane cases that had been handled that morning. As I opened the file drawer, the files I had propped on top of the cabinet fell to the floor. Of course they spread out all over the floor. Why couldn't they at least have fallen in one place? "Oh great!" I grumbled, wondering how I was going to pick them up in my condition. Then I heard the door open behind me. A visitor! I was so pleased. It meant I would have someone to pick up the files for me. "Just in time!" I said happily, turning to see my friend Susan, looking equally pregnant and unable to pick up the files for me. "Oh no." She smiled wickedly. "And I'm happy to see you, too." I had forgotten our lunch date. Saddled with the extra weight of the baby, I was way behind in my work. Thank god the Judge had left for wherever he went in his off time after court. At least I would have the afternoon to try to catch up. "I'm sorry," I told Susan, giving her a little hug. A little hug was all I could manage given our respective sizes. "I just dropped these files and I don't know if I can get them." "I'll get them," a cheerful disembodied voice called out. With a pop of air, a well-dressed Oriental girl in perhaps her early twenties was suddenly standing in front of us. "Diana!" Susan and I said together. She shook her head, waist length black hair swirling about. "Today, I am Di Lee." "I don't think I've ever heard a Chinese name of Di," I pointed out. She shrugged. "Well, it sounds sort of Chinese, doesn't it?" She had me there. "I thought I'd buy lunch for the two of you today," she told us as she inspected our highly pregnant bodies. "We'll gladly accept," I replied. "But I'm a little surprised to see you." Her dark eyes widened, looking even more Oriental in the process. "Why is that?" "Well, there really haven't been any terribly exciting cases in Ovid for a while." It was true. Things had been somewhat slow since the flap with the Old Ones in the fall. The few new transformees we had run through the court at the end of the year were just the run of the mill types. There hadn't been a case of interest to Diana and the rest of the gods for some time. In fact, I hadn't even seen Diana for months except for a short visit around the holidays. "There's one that interests me, though," she said with a little smile. I thought I could guess which one it was. "You want to see the hooker who became a little boy, right?" "Yuck! Certainly not." "Then how about the gambler who became a junior high cheerleader?" "Bor-ring." I was getting frustrated. "The state patrol officer who became a secretary?" "Wrong again." I threw up my hands. "I give up then. Who do you want to see?" She grinned. "I'll tell you at lunch." "Wait," I called as she turned to lead us out of the office. "What about the files on the floor?" She looked at me, her eyelashes fluttering innocently. "What files?" There were, of course, no spilled files on the floor. It took longer than usual to walk over to The Greenhouse for lunch. Susan and I looked more like penguins than women as we waddled through the early spring day to our favorite restaurant. When we were settled at a fairly private table with Diet Cokes in hand, I asked Diana, "Okay who is it you want to see?" "The archeologist." I frowned. "That surprises me. What's unusual about that case?" I hadn't even reviewed that one myself, and for some reason, none of the gods had expressed any interest in it. Come to think of it, I realized, that by itself was a little suspicious. "Nothing really," she said coyly. I could see I wasn't going to get anything else out of her. Whatever it was tough would become evident once we had viewed his story. The sooner we started, the sooner I would know what it was all about. "Okay," I sighed, feeling myself slipping into the trance that would begin the story. "Here we go..." ***** I could think of more pleasant places to be than the American Midwest in the winter. In fact, I couldn't think of many more unpleasant places. I had left Columbia, Missouri that morning just ahead of a storm that promised to dump several inches of snow by nightfall. The edge of the storm, lumbering down along the I-70 corridor that bisected Missouri, gave me the incentive I needed to eschew that route in favor of a more serpentine but safer southern route. If only I could overcome my severe distaste for flying, I thought, as the first snowflakes of the day scudded along my windshield. If I had both the money and the willpower to board another plane, I would gladly return to the Eastern Mediterranean where I had just spent the happiest months of my life. My time there in the soft, warm sea breezes had thinned my blood. Even with the car heater on at maximum, I found myself shivering as I watched the bleak winter landscape of Oklahoma rush by. Bleak. Now there was a word that had many uses. It could describe the perennial assault of winter, and it could easily describe the reception that awaited me when I got back to UCLA where I held the title of Professor of Archeology. I had planned on returning in triumph as my sabbatical year ended, but the events of the last few days had dashed those plans. It is said that man plans and the gods laugh. Truer words were never spoken. Like many of my academic stature, I believed that while the university life I had chosen was nearly ideal, there were drawbacks. With the budget cuts in so many academic fields, more and more pressure was put upon us to be in the classroom. As a young graduate assistant, I took my turn in the classroom, toiling in front of lesser minds than my own, trying to teach them at least the fundamentals of a subject that should have been considered mankind's very birthright. Yet most students found the subject tedious. At least I was actually thought by many to be a talented instructor, and I suppose I must admit I did derive some initial enjoyment from the experience. Be that as it may, I had my sights set on greater things. I admired my professors. They were men of high standing, always leading expeditions into the field, publishing books, and presenting papers. But teaching? Of course not. They were above such things. I aspired to be just like them, and who more deserving than I? For after all, I had a mission. My mission was to reach the veritable top of my field - to be responsible for discoveries too great to be ignored by even the dullest of minds. It took me all of my youth, but I persevered. At last I rose to the exalted rank of Professor of Archaeology at UCLA. I was half way to my goal. The other half would be more difficult, for I had determined what my great discovery would be. When I was a boy of only twelve, an aunt of mine gave me a Christmas present that was to greatly influence my life. It was a book on Greek and Roman mythology. The title of the book is not important - in fact, it was so elementary I am embarrassed to admit that I read it even at the tender age of twelve. But the book did fire my imagination. I began to read everything I could on the subject. Within weeks, I had devoured every book out local library had on the subject, and I was crying for more. Fortunately my parents indulged me. I was, after all, the youngest of my siblings. In fact my next youngest brother was six years older than I and was just starting college, so in many ways, it was as if I was an only child. Both of my parents were well educated. My father had taught high school chemistry until the lure of higher wages in the corporate sector pulled him away. Mother had taught as well once at the elementary level, but had given it up when my father's income allowed her to stay at home and raise my siblings and me. That combination of education and indulgence spurred them to take me the short distance from our home in Indianapolis to Bloomington, Indiana, the home of the University of Indiana. That school has one of the finest programs in mythology and folklore in the world. To say that its collection on the subject is phenomenal would be an understatement. I gasped when I saw the stacks, with shelf after shelf of obscure out-of-print books on every mythological subject imaginable. I was in love. Yes, the love of my life was learning, and there was little room for other forms of love as a result. My parents died while I was still in graduate school. Busy on a dig in Crete, I could only shrug at their deaths in a plane crash and continue my work. I hadn't bothered to join my brother and sister at the funeral. Perhaps that was the beginning of my distancing myself from the rest of my family. Married life proved equally unrewarding. I had married a fellow doctoral candidate at Harvard. We seemed well suited, but we soon found it was not to be. My commitment to my field was far more serious than hers, and we parted if not friends, at least as respected colleagues. After obtaining my doctorate at Harvard, my career advanced quickly. At the age of twenty-four, my doctoral dissertation had caused quite a stir. I advanced a theory relating to a secret cabal which dominated Greek politics for decades before the Roman invasions. Fortunately for my career, I was able to defend my thesis, even parlaying it into a funded trip to Greece where I was able to prove substantial parts of my theory. That landed me two things: first, an Associate Professorship at UCLA and second, an invitation to become a Fellow of the American Archeological Society. From then on, I never looked back. Unfortunately midway through my forties, I seemed to have reached a dead end. I was a full professor now with half a dozen learned books in print. The name Thomas W. Winslow was known throughout academia. The problem was that I was chained to a classroom. I was, I suppose, a victim of the times. Once, universities were seats of learning from which scholars gleaned whatever details they saw fit. If youths came to them to be enlightened, it was up to the scholars to impart whatever they deemed important to these neophytes. Not now, though. Universities are institutions of the state. Even if private, universities must beg for every crumb from politicians and bureaucrats whose intellect is mediocre at best. We are all slaves to political correctness and the whims of the masses. Money is tight. What this meant to scholars like me is that the new goal of universities was to fill young heads with mush and push them out into the world with a degree in hand which proved their intellectual accomplishments no better than the degree the Wizard of Oz gave to the Tin Man. In short, it was my fate in life to spend so much time in the classroom that there was little time for research. I remembered my own undergraduate days back in Indiana. The classrooms were then manned by instructors or assistant professors - unimportant men whose limitations condemned them to lesser roles than the research undertaken by full professors. Their worn tweed coats and their rheumy eyes spoke volumes about their lives. Was I to be condemned to a similar fate in spite of my apparent status? But I still had hope. I had developed a theory about the very nature of the Roman gods which I was sure I could prove with proper financial backing. It was just a little over a year ago that my Department Chairman, Raymond Jensen delivered the good news. "Congratulations, Tom," he said, smiling as he laid the grant file on my desk. Ray was a decent sort. Of course, as the Department Chair, he was more politician than scholar, but at least he seemed to be genuinely interested in advancing the needs of his staff. "It's everything you asked for." My grant proposal had been made to so many funding agencies that I had lost count. Excited I opened the file. There it was - a grant large enough for me to travel the Eastern Mediterranean for a full year with a small staff. Then I noticed the name of the funding organization. "The Olympus Foundation?" Ray sat down in front of my desk, chuckling, "Appropriate name, don't you think?" "I suppose it is," I admitted. "Who are they?" "They work with a couple of other major funds. It's there in the grant. Apparently they have a charter to 'advance the cause of civilization', or some such nonsense. God only knows where some of these groups come up with their goals and objectives. This is a first for them, though. They'll be funding all of this grant - not just a part of it as they usually do." I scanned the document. The Olympus Foundation had an impressive board. Although not always politically astute, I knew enough to recognize several of the names as leading political figures and... "There's an admiral on this list of directors - an Admiral Nepper," I pointed out. Ray shrugged. "So?" "What interest does the military have in something like this? Is this some undercover operation?" "What do you mean?" I sighed, shaking my head. "Ray, I'll be traveling all over the Eastern Med. That includes Israel and maybe Lebanon and Syria. I suppose they want to have someone come along to represent the Foundation, eh? Maybe that someone will be CIA." Ray looked at me quizzically. "Aren't you being a little paranoid? Read the grant. There's no requirement for one of their people to tag along. This is your show, Tom. This is a big coup for you and the University. Don't blow it." I didn't blow it. I felt like Indiana Jones as I put together the expedition and girded my loins for the inevitable plane ride to the Med. The year had proven to be the greatest year of my life, and what I had found, I had managed to keep secret from even my own small staff. My theory had been entirely correct. Of course, I had couched my theory in more acceptable terms that would appeal to funding sources. As far as my staff and the Olympus Foundation was concerned, I had set out to prove the influences of Greco-Roman theology on the early settlements and colonies in the Eastern Mediterranean. Actually, I had set out to prove much more - and I had succeeded. Now though, I was back. My year sabbatical was at an end. Several more weeks of meticulously compiling my results awaited me, but I had been given a full class load as well that I would be expected to handle. I was returning to Hell with only scraps of time to put my findings together. And what I had found - if believed - would shake the very foundations of Western civilization. And to my dismay, the University had scheduled a series of lectures for my return as well, to be delivered at several major universities under the auspices of the American Archaeological Society. I had tried to beg off, but the Olympus Foundation also insisted. Their grant had been generous, and if I ever wanted to apply to them again, I would now want to anger them. The piper did indeed call the tune. It was at one of these lectures just days ago at the University of Missouri in Columbia that my triumph began to unravel. I was careful in my lecture to keep my most important findings hidden from the audience. One of the more machiavellian aspects of academia is the propensity of scholars to snipe at each other's findings. To prevent this, it is often necessary to hold back information until results are reported in a formal paper. This was my plan, so I was careful to speak in only the most general terms. I was determined to surrender only small fragments of what I had learned, and none of those fragments would alert anyone to the more important elements of my discoveries. I had not known that the University of Missouri has one of the top journalism schools in the country. Therefore it is not uncommon for the media elite to send their own children there. It was one of those children - a journalism major no doubt - who asked the question which proved to be my undoing. "Doctor Winslow," the pretty young blonde asked from her seat in the middle of the crowd, "you almost sound as if you believe the old Roman and Greek gods exist. Are they... say aliens or something?" I took the question as one made in jest and answered it in a similar fashion. "I suppose anything is possible," I said with a smile which was calculated to let the audience know that I knew something they did not. I thought nothing more about the incident, busying myself with backtracking to St Louis for a speech at Washington University there. Imagine my surprise when I returned from that speech to find that Ray Jensen had left an urgent message for me. "Tom, are you out of your mind?" Those were his first words to me, taking me aback. "What are you talking about, Ray?" I had never heard him so agitated. "Then you don't know? You haven't seen the papers today?" A complimentary copy of the St Louis Post Dispatch was on my bed, unread. As Ray ranted in my ear, I picked up the paper. The article I knew he was referring to wasn't hard to find. It actually made the front section: NOTED PROFESSOR CLAIMS GREEK GODS CAME FROM SPACE I spotted my name at once. Oh my god, I realized. It was a story from a wire service. That meant the story was all over the world. "Ray, this isn't true," I said indignantly. I went on to explain what had actually been said. "Tom," Ray began through obviously gritted teeth, "that little blonde who asked the question is the daughter of Morton McKee." My blood froze. Everyone knew who Morton McKee was. He had parlayed a supermarket rag into a nationwide newspaper which was challenging USA Today. In spite of its tabloid style, The National Dispatch had gained nationwide attention, and McKee now ruled an empire which included newspapers, magazines, and even cable channels and god only knew what else. Undoubtedly my young blonde protagonist had been asking the question to get precisely the sort of response I had given her. I cursed myself for being so na?ve. It was nothing but a coy little bit of repartee and yet it might do untold damage to my career. "We have to refute the article," I told Ray. "What do you think we're already doing?" Ray returned. "I've already gotten calls from the Chancellor and two of the Regents. And then there's all the newspapers and broadcasting stations. We even got a call from Good Morning America. We've told them all you were quoted out of context. But Tom, you've been badly damaged by this." He was right. Any results I published would be overshadowed by this exaggerated example of yellow journalism. And as far as my confidential findings... well, no one would believe me now, even if I offered them proof. Unless something drastic was done, I would be remembered forever as the man who said the gods were from outer space. "I'll cut short my tour," I offered. I hadn't really wanted the speaking tour anyhow. It had been forced on me by the Olympus Foundation. They would surely understand that correcting this misconception was of paramount importance. "That's a good idea, Tom." So there I was, glumly crossing the Midwest on my way back to California. I was being forced to drive to my own execution - or so I felt. Oh, I knew what would happen. I would be allowed to publish my findings, but only after a committee of my peers, appointed by the Chancellor, had gone over it with the proverbial fine-toothed comb. What would be left would be a paper that was dull at best and so pedestrian that it would never justify the grant money spent to generate it. I would be for all practical purposes disgraced, hidden away in a classroom teaching Beginning Archeology to a class that didn't want to be there any more than I did. To add to my misery, the snow was becoming heavier, mixed with a cold rain that was freezing quickly to the pavement. I wasn't used to that sort of weather. Sure, I had grown up in Indiana, but my years in California had thinned my blood and weakened my winter driving senses. I had forgotten how treacherous icy roads could be. By concentrating I was able to stay on the road, but I had to reduce my speed to the point that several cars with local license plates pulled around me at what I could only consider rash speeds. When the latest of these speeders roared around me, fishtailing ever so slightly on the slick road, I was relieved. There was no more traffic around. My relief was ill founded. Inching around a blind curve, I was suddenly startled by the presence of a large delivery truck. Apparently the driver was having problems of his own controlling his vehicle, and he had crossed the yellow centerline ever so slightly. The sudden presence of the truck so close to my own vehicle caused me to swerve toward the shoulder. Impulsively I jerked the wheel back the other way. It was the wrong thing to do. In a heartbeat, my car had jumped off the road, heading for a small stand of trees. I closed my eyes, bracing for impact. It never came. I opened my eyes slowly. There, to my left and behind me, was the stand of trees. At the last moment my car had swerved a little to the right, narrowly missing the trees which would have most likely ended my life. I sighed in relief. I would live. Yes, I would live. I would live to face my disgrace. Perhaps it would have been better, I thought to myself, if I had hit the trees. No, I realized. That would do no good. Had I hit them and been killed, my obituary would have talked about my supposed theory that the gods were aliens. UFO cults would probably spring up, believing that I had been killed by the aliens. Or maybe they would say I was killed by the government so I couldn't prove that Jupiter and his fellow gods had landed on a spaceship. No, I would live. Even disgrace was better than such a ludicrous legacy. It was then that I noticed I was not alone. Up there on the road, a white car with dancing red and blue flashers had pulled to the side of the road about at the point where I had left the highway. A police officer of some sort was standing by the car, looking down at me. From where I was, I could see he was tall and slender, and when he began to move toward me, he was almost graceful. In spite of the cold, he wore no coat over his blue uniform shirt. He was hatless as well. I couldn't see his eyes though. In spite of the grayness of the day, he wore mirrored sunglasses. In short, he acted as if it were a mild spring day instead of a cold, dreary one. He tapped on my car window. Nearly paralyzed from my near catastrophe, I suddenly realized I should have gotten out of the car to greet him. Fumbling I managed to put down the car window. "Having trouble?" he asked calmly. "Yes...yes I am," I answered, very happy he was there to help me. I had been so startled by the mishap that I might have sat there stunned until I froze. "Are you alright?" "I think so," I responded. I got out of the damaged car as he opened the door for me. "I'm just a little shaken up." "I'll take you back to town," he offered. With that he turned and started back to get his police car without waiting for my response. "What about my car?" I asked. "It will be taken care of," he replied tonelessly, never bothering to turn around. I wasn't sure if he'd even wait for me if I stayed next to my car. So I hurried up the embankment after him, nearly slipping to the ground more than once. Yet the officer had had no trouble climbing the hill. He had seemed to ignore the snow and ice completely. An odd fellow, I thought as I approached the car. I looked down at the crest on the door. It was the typical blue shield with what appeared to be an eagle in flight in the center. Below it in black were the words "City of Ovid". I had never heard of Ovid, Oklahoma, but then again I had never heard of the past dozen or so towns I had driven through. Well, as long as it was big enough for me to arrange new transportation and be on my way, it would suffice. Did small towns have car rental agencies? I wasn't exactly sure. If not, I would have to pay someone to get me to the nearest large town. Our drive was conducted in silence. Not once did the strange officer - Officer Mercer, I noted from his nametag - speak. That was all right with me. I had no desire to strike up a long-winded conversation with some country constable. Of course, I had to admit, Officer Mercer didn't look like the stereotype of a small town police officer that I held in my mind. In some ways, he even looked familiar. Although I could not see his eyes under the dark lenses, there was something vaguely recognizable about him, as if I had seen him or at least his picture before. Ovid was a much larger town than I had imagined. If I had to guess, I would have placed it as larger than ten thousand but under twenty thousand residents. The phrase small town covers a lot of ground. In Wyoming or Montana, Ovid would have been considered a fairly large community, complete with a shopping mall and probably its own TV station. In the more populous Midwest though, Ovid was just one more mundane small community - or so I thought at the time. Two things struck me about Ovid - other than of course its unlikely name. I mean, who would have named a small farming community in Oklahoma after a Roman poet? The first thing was that in spite of apparent prosperity, certain establishments seemed to be missing. I had grown up in the Midwest, and I knew that I should have seen a McDonald's or a Burger King, or at the very least a Pizza Hut or Kentucky Fried Chicken. Instead there were only local establishments. Oh, they looked prosperous enough. The largest of them, a Rusty's Burger Barn, even sported a large neon sign which would have been impressive even for a national franchise. The same was true of service stations and convenience stores. They were there, but they sported names I had never seen before, so I could only assume that they were local names. Why had national firms bypassed this little town? The other thing I noted were the people. They were uniformly neat and well dressed, denoting again a local prosperity. However some of them seemed to have an almost ethereal appearance. It was if I could see through them if I concentrated hard enough. I dismissed this as merely tired eyes, adversely affected by the tense drive. Perhaps I had even bumped my head slightly when my car skidded off the road. In any case, Ovid had the look of a town that was almost too good to be true. It was almost like a Hollywood version that exhibited all of the virtues of Small Town America. I could imagine it was a town of high school marching bands and ice cream socials where the biggest social event of the year was the Elks Club chili supper. I had visions of being stuck in this proverbial burg for a few days while I awaited a rental car from Tulsa or some other nearby town where indoor plumbing was in vogue. I couldn't imagine a worse fate than being stuck in a place like Ovid for a few days while my professional reputation continued to unravel. At least, I noted from the signs, there was a small college in the town. I had never heard of Capta College and wasn't surprised by that fact. Officer Mercer pulled up in front of an official-looking building that declared itself to be City Hall from the letters carved in the granite face. I braced myself for the inevitable forms which would have to be filled out to account for my accident. Sure enough, we were headed directly for the Police Department. I chastised myself for having an unreasonable fear of flying. If it were not for that, I would already be back in Los Angeles defending my besmirched reputation. A very pretty black woman dressed in a uniform like Officer Mercer's smiled from her desk just inside the door. "Good morning, Officer Mercer." "Good morning, Wanda," he replied with the first genuinely friendly tone I had heard from him. "You need to book Dr. Winslow here." "Book me!" I cried out. I was too stunned to realize until later that I had never given him my name. "I've had an auto accident; I haven't robbed a bank! Why am I being treated this way?" "The charge?" the woman - Wanda - asked as if I hadn't spoken. "Reckless driving," came the reply. This was too much. "I wasn't being reckless," I argued. "I was driving quite sensibly. Road conditions were responsible for my mishap. If you want to arrest someone, arrest your county maintenance department for improperly plowing and sanding the roads. I need to report this to the rental company and get on my way." Officer Mercer looked at me through his mirrored lenses. "We will take care of your car." Then looking at Wanda, he asked, "Is the Judge ready to see him now?" As if on cue, her phone rang. Listening for a moment, she replied, "Yes, he'll see Dr. Winslow now." My eyes narrowed. "I get it now," I said, reaching for my wallet. "This is one of those speed traps. All right, so how much do I have to pay you to be on my way?" "You need to see the Judge," Officer Mercer replied, surprising me as he gently but firmly took my arm and led me away. It had to be a speed trap, I thought to myself. Many small towns in America had run speed traps through the years. It was like a big game. The police and judges would arrest speeders traveling just a few miles per hour over the legal limit. They would then fine them, but the money would never make its way into the town coffers. They would split the proceeds, never reporting the cases. Many states had cracked down on the process, and the Interstate Highway System had routed around many of the small communities, so the practice had fallen on hard times. Apparently, I thought, it was still thriving in Ovid. I expected to be taken into the magistrate's chambers where the fine would be discretely handled with outsiders being none the wiser. That was, I was sure, how such clandestine matters were taken care of. So I was surprised to be delivered to an open courtroom, complete with spectators. Well, one spectator anyhow. Seated in the gallery was a very attractive blonde woman. She was seated, so it was difficult to tell, but it appeared that she might be pregnant. I wondered why she was there. Maybe like me she was awaiting a trial. Well, no matter. Of more importance was the woman who sat at the defense stand. She, too, was very attractive - a brunette of about average height it appeared. And when she stood to greet me, I could see that she was most definitely pregnant, the lines of her blue business suit interrupted to accommodate a loose silk blouse that covered her gravid condition. She gave me a professional smile and offered her feminine hand. "I'm Susan Jager, Dr. Winslow," she announced as I took her hand. Her handshake was unusually firm for a woman, I noted. "I'm your attorney." My eyebrows rose. "My attorney? I wasn't aware I would need one." I felt myself fully qualified to represent myself in such a trivial matter. "The Judge prefers it," she explained. "The proceedings here are a little... unusual." "Yes," I replied drolly, "I'm sure they are." I was sure this would mean the fine would be even larger. Apparently Ovid's little speed trap would involve payment of an attorney to "defend" me as well. "We just have a few minutes before court is in session," Susan Jager continued, ignoring my comments. "As I understand the case, you lost control of your vehicle and spun out of control until your car came to a rest in a ditch near a stand of trees. Does that cover it?" I nodded carefully. She returned the nod. "Fine. Then we can plead guilty and move to have the punishment waived." "Of course," I said in apparent agreement. In fact, I had no intention of pleading guilty in that kangaroo court. I could see the plan clearly. I would plead guilty with the hope of a suspended sentence only to have this so-called judge throw the book at me. I would be leaving myself wide open to a large fine. "All rise!" Officer Mercer called out, apparently acting as bailiff. "The Municipal Court of the City of Ovid, Oklahoma, is now in session, the Honorable Judge presiding." I rose to my feet and stared directly into the face of the Judge. When I did, my blood froze. I had seen the face before. Well, not exactly the face, but the eyes... They were the eyes that had stared back at me from countless statues in my travels. They were the eyes that the finest sculptors of an earlier age had managed to somehow capture. They were the eyes of... No, it couldn't be! He was just a local magistrate. It was just a coincidence. The Judge to most eyes would have appeared to be a man gracefully entering middle age. His hair and beard were both brown but with the promise of gray to come. His gold-rimmed glasses sat comfortably on a patrician nose, doing little to disguise the piercing blue eyes that spoke of both power and intelligence. His robe was pressed so neatly that its pleats looked sharp enough to cut through wood. "Be seated," he ordered. His voice was not the deep bass one might expect from a figure of such authority, but it was a voice that was obviously used to being obeyed, rich and confident with just the trace of an Oklahoma accent. He reviewed what I presumed to be charges placed before him. Then, after an almost inaudible "humph" he spoke. "The Court will now hear the case of the City of Ovid versus Dr. Thomas Winslow. The defendant will rise." I did, almost without thinking. To my right, Susan Jager also rose. "The defendant is charged with reckless driving. How does the defendant plead?" the Judge asked. "Your Honor," my appointed attorney began, but she got no further. "I plead not guilty, Your Honor," I interposed. I had thought about keeping my mouth shut, but I can now admit that my ego got in the way. There was no way this country justice could be who he appeared to be. No, I told myself, I had merely been fooled by seeing a man in a black robe who somehow looked like a figure whose mythological essence had been sometimes captured in stone. In spite of everything I had discovered on my expedition to the Eastern Mediterranean, I could not believe that I had stumbled across the proof in such a manner. This had to be just a bizarre coincidence. To my surprise, the Judge smiled. "I thought you might," he said calmly. I said nothing, but I could hear my attorney sigh in frustration. "You have been accused of reckless driving," he continued. In another venue, this might have returned the fantastic to the mundane, but not here. There was a building presence in the room - a presence that made me feel suddenly uncomfortable. I began to become concerned. "I will address you directly, Dr. Winslow, since you foolishly seem to be ignoring the advice of counsel." I gulped. I had erred - of that I was becoming certain. "I suspect also that you more than any other man to face me in this room have at least an inkling of who I am and what we are doing here." Oh my god, I thought. Why did I have to be right? "That being the case, I will dispense with some of the trappings others find familiar and proceed directly to the issues at hand." I felt a small disturbance in the air. Then, when I looked around, I saw my attorney frozen in place. The blonde woman in the gallery was also stationary. Yet whatever the Judge had done, it had no effect on Officer Mercer, the Judge, or me. The door to the courtroom opened and closed softly. From the corner of my eye, I could see that another woman had joined us, but I couldn't see her clearly without taking my eyes completely off the Judge. This I was unwilling - or perhaps unable now - to do. "Then you are... Zeus?" I ventured. If I was wrong, I would look like a complete fool. But I was sure I was right. It was in concert with what I had learned on my expedition. "I prefer the name Jupiter," he said calmly, his eyes narrowed as he stared at me. "Here I am referred to quite simply as 'The Judge.' You are an unusual man to believe in me so readily, Dr. Winslow." "I have good reason to believe in you," I told him, sounding more calm than I felt. I was in the presence of a being far more powerful than most people could ever imagine. With a wave of his hand, he could blot me out of existence if he wished. I had walked into the courtroom convinced I was about to be railroaded into an excessive fine. How I now wished that that were so. Now I had come to realize I had much more to lose. "Yes," the Judge agreed. "Your expedition. Did you think we wouldn't learn of it?" My heart nearly stopped. I should have known this was no coincidence. I had learned more about the gods in that one expedition than scholars had gleaned from centuries of research, for I had learned that they were very real. And my entire expedition had been funded by... "The Olympus Foundation," I muttered softly. I was rewarded with a grim smile. "Yes, Dr. Winslow, the Olympus Foundation. We fund it, of course. The members of the Board of Directors you met were, of course, part of our pantheon." "But why did you finance me?" I asked. "You knew I would find what you had done." He nodded. "Yes, we knew. But as an old friend of mine in England once said, you must keep your friends close and your enemies closer." Was that what I was? Was I the enemy of the gods? "By financing your expedition, we would be able to know what you discovered," he explained. "But you didn't even have anyone accompany me on the expedition," I pointed out. "Wouldn't that have been easier for you?" "Oh yes," he admitted, "but it really wasn't necessary. We knew by the reports you gave to the Foundation what you would discover. It has always been in plain sight for those who are willing to believe. We knew you would wait to organize your findings. That's why we arranged your little speaking tour. We knew that would delay your published results and give us time to discredit your findings." In spite of my fear, I could feel my anger rise. "The stories of gods being aliens. You devised them to discredit me." "Of course," he laughed. "It was necessary to lure you here." I reviewed the chain of events in my mind. I returned to the United States only to be informed that my speaking tour began at once. Then, once they had me in the Midwest, I was asked an innocent question which was misconstrued into the sensationalist treatment of my speech. Were Morton McKee and his daughter gods? Maybe not, but at the very least, they had been influenced by the gods. So I had cut my tour short. Come to think of it, it was strange that no one at the Foundation had objected, but I was too upset at the time to notice. Then the weather had forced me further south and straight into Ovid. I had little doubt that even the weather had been part of their plan. "So what now?" I asked, resigned to my fate. I did not expect to live much longer. "Now we continue the trial," the Judge replied. "Formalities must be observed, you understand." Again I felt the subtle movement of air through the courtroom, and I could hear my attorney busily writing a note on her legal pad. She had no idea what had just happened. To her, no additional time had passed. I looked around at the blonde. She too was able to move again, and it was with only mild surprise that she looked at the new spectator in the room. The new arrival had entered when time had stopped, so I had no doubt that she, too, was a god - or rather a goddess. She was very attractive and appeared to be forty or so with light brown hair fashionably but conservatively styled. She wore a business suit of winter white, and she sat with such poise and grace that one could almost expect her to be royalty. I suppose in a way, she was. "The Court has no choice but to find you guilty of reckless driving, Dr. Winslow," the Judge intoned formally. "Sentence will now be carried out." So I supposed in a way I had been correct, I thought at that moment. It was a kangaroo court of sorts. The only thing was that the consequences would be much more severe. I firmly expected the next moments to be my last. After all, I knew things about the gods that no other living man knew - things which could actually change the way mankind looked at the universe. I braced myself for the fatal blow. Was I in fear of what was about to happen? I suppose I was, but in a way it was gratifying to know that I had discovered something so important that the very gods themselves called for my death. My body began to tingle as the Judge began to chant in an ancient form of Latin I had heretofore only read and never heard spoken. The words were powerful. They spoke of the very nature of reality and spoke of things I had never imagined could be. As the Judge stopped his chant, the tingling became even more intense. I looked down at myself. My chino slacks were rippling, as if they were being rewoven. In a moment that seemed to last forever, I saw that was indeed the case. They fused, the material becoming softer while the khaki color remained, and the fabric began to crawl up my legs until it reached just above my knee, tightening along the plane of my legs. So fascinated had I become watching the material that it took a moment for my mind to realize that something had happened to my flesh as well. My legs were now smooth, hairless, and far slimmer than they had been. And they were covered in a thin mesh which made them looked almost tan. Involuntarily I arched onto my toes, feeling shoes form under my feet with a two inch heel forming under them. I was being attired as a woman, I realized with a gasp. Then as a wisp of long honey blonde hair tickled my ear and lengthened before my eyes, I realized it was more than just my clothing. I raised my hands, seeing suddenly thin wrists and delicate fingers with nails which were fairly short but rounded in a most feminine manner and coated in a faint pink polish. My chest rose and fell quickly as I nearly hyperventilated, but each time it fell, it seemed to rest above the level to which it had fallen last. Breasts were developing, I realized, beneath my shirt which had suddenly become a soft white woman's blouse, silky and feminine and so nearly transparent that I could see the lines of a bra beneath it. I couldn't see my face, but I could feel it reshaping and I could taste something sweet on my lips. As I blinked my eyes, I felt the presence of longer eyelashes and felt my sense of color shift slightly. Then, I felt the final stab of transformation as I experienced a void between my legs that even my widened hips could not conceal. Dear God, I was a woman! I looked up at the Judge who was watching the transformation with the mild interest of a being who had undoubtedly viewed it many times before. I looked about the room, feeling my longer hair swinging against my face. Officer Mercer and the three women in the room also showed no surprise. This was obviously nothing out of the ordinary for them as well. "What..." I began, nearly choking on the word uttered in my new alto voice. "What have you done to me?" "I should think the answer would be rather obvious, Ms. Reynolds," he replied. "Who?" "Ms. Reynolds," he repeated. "That is your name now. You are Alicia Sue Reynolds - Ally to your friends. It's all in your purse over there." He nodded at the defendant's table. There, next to my bemused attorney, was a tan leather purse, very close in color to the heels I now wore. "You'll have time to look through it later," he said lightly. "Right now, you need to get to work." Work? This was all happening too fast. I didn't have any work here. I needed to get back to Los Angeles and my job at UCLA. What was happening here? I wasn't this - what was her name? - Alicia Sue Reynolds. I was... "Ally, we need to go." I looked up, still half dazed, to face the woman who had just arrived in the courtroom. She was looking at me calmly - almost primly - as if there was nothing out of the ordinary. "Go? Go where?" I asked in confusion. "You'll see," she replied with a friendly smile. "Come on now. You have no further business here." I picked up the purse and dutifully followed her out of the courtroom, feeling for the first time the odd sway of feminine hips. And I was walking in heels, I told myself, unsure how my body could do that without stumbling. It was as if my body knew what to do even if my mind didn't. The woman led me out into the chilly air to her car, a nondescript blue Buick. So this was the chariot of the gods, I thought with grim amusement. Numbly I climbed in the front seat as if I had been a woman all my life, sitting first before moving my legs inside the car to avoid problems with my skirt. "There's a coat for you in the back seat," she told me as she started the car. "It's supposed to get colder today, so don't forget it." I looked in the back seat at the tan women's trench coat. Yes, I would need it, I realized, suddenly aware of how cold my exposed legs had been as we had walked to the car. And the silky cr?me colored blouse I now wore had offered little protection from the cold, causing my expanded nipples to harden embarrassingly. "Who... who are you?" I managed to ask in my high, sweet voice. "I am Dr. Miner," she replied as she pulled out of the parking lot. "I am superintendent of Schools for the Ovid School District." "Miner..." I mused. "Minerva?" She looked at me with the smile a mother might give a bright child. "Very good, my dear, but I should warn you that you will not be able to speak our names in such a fashion unless we permit it - which we seldom do. Don't try that again. The results are somewhat unpleasant. Now we haven't much time, but I need to acquaint you with your new role here." "New role?" I asked. "I don't want to be here. I have important work to do. I need to get back to Los Angeles. I need to be changed back." Yes, looking back on it, I was babbling. I was just making a fool of myself. But I had never been transformed into someone else before, so I was a little at a loss as to how to handle it. "Dear, we really haven't time for all of that," she admonished me gently. "You of all people should understand that what has happened to you is permanent. You are Ally Reynolds and will be her for the rest of your life." "But my work - " "Your work never happened," she told me flatly. "Your books were never written. Your expeditions - including this last one - never occurred. In fact, no one - even your fold family - has ever heard of Thomas Winslow. Do I make myself clear?" If I thought I had been shocked to find myself transformed into a woman, it was nothing compared to what I felt as this... goddess informed me that I had never existed. My life's work - gone! It was almost too much to take. I felt a sudden urge to burst into tears, managing only at the last moment to stifle the urge with a hard gulp. I looked down at myself - or perhaps I should say the self that I had become. I was undeniably a woman, apparently from the delicate skin on the back of my hands a young one. There were objects hanging from my ears and the taste of lipstick and a nylon mesh embracing my slender legs. There was a bra restraining what appeared to be undeniably feminine breasts. And as for what was between my legs... I was most certainly not Thomas Winslow. I was someone else. Dr. Miner saw the resignation in my face. "Good, now that that has been settled, I need to tell you what you will need to know to get started today. You're really quite privileged, you know. Most of our newcomers are forced to make their own way discovering their new lives. Of course, most don't remember their old lives at all, so it isn't an issue for them." I remained silent and attentive. I had no other choice since I knew I was in way over my head. My ego was taking a very serious blow as I sat there in the car next to a woman who was in fact a goddess. When I had set out on my expedition, I had done so with the objective of securing my own place in history. I was about to prove something which would have seemed mere fantasy before my expedition. But I had never considered that the gods were still active and would not want anyone to tell their secret. I had paid for my carelessness with, for all practical purposes, my life. Thomas Winslow was no more. I knew that no amount of pleading or threatening would change that. I looked down at myself. This was who I now was and would be for the rest of my life. I had no choice but to assume the role of Ally Reynolds. I would have to accept her life, whatever it was. So I decided to listen carefully and without comment. "Ah, here we are!" Dr. Miner said lightly. I looked up in time to see the car pull into a parking lot behind a sign that said Northside Elementary. Oh my god, I thought to myself as my new role in Ovid began to dawn on me. There really was a hell. "That's right," Dr. Miner said with a mischievous smile as she parked. "You are to be a teacher. You'll have third grade. The regular teacher is out on maternity leave. She started labor a little early, so that opened the job for you. It's temporary, of course, but if you do a good job, I'm sure Principal Dale will find a full time position for you next year." "But I... I... can't teach children!" I practically wailed. "I don't know what to do!" I had had enough difficulty teaching undergraduates and they were for all practical purposes adults. How was I to teach children? "Oh nonsense," she replied. "Now come on. Principal Dale is waiting for us." "But what about... about everything else?" I asked, not quite sure what to ask first about my new life. "Oh, the rest will come to you; don't worry, Ally. Just follow me." I followed her in stunned silence, making furtive looks into the various classrooms we passed along the way. I could hear the giggling of small children which nearly caused me to shudder. Then there were the clear, precisely enunciated tones of the teachers. Would I have to talk like that? Was this really to be my fate, standing before fresh- scrubbed young faces trying to fill their little heads with the fundamental knowledge that adults take for granted? That was even worse than discovering I was a woman. "Now," Dr. Miner said quietly to me as we walked down the hallway, "a little background information is in order. You've been working as a substitute teacher around Ovid this last year. Before that, you lived and taught in Iowa, but a divorce from your husband and an ailing mother on a farm not far from Ovid brought you back here. Your mother died last fall, allowing you to move into a small apartment here in Ovid, but it happened too late for you to get a teaching contract for this year." She could see the calculations going on behind my eyes. "No, Ally, there was no inheritance to speak of. And you have no family. You should be happy about that since family never meant much to you. You are here all alone now with no visible means of support. You need this teaching job to put food on the table. And by the way, consider yourself fortunate. Most of our newcomers don't get this much of a briefing, but I thought you needed to know these things so you don't make an ass of yourself. It would make securing a permanent teaching job far more difficult, don't you think?" I was a little hurt that she thought I would mishandle this new life. Unfortunately she was probably correct. I was not pleased with the role I had been given and would probably have said or done something wrong which might have cost me a permanent job. I needed to be reminded that I had no other choices but to play the role I had been given. I was certain I would have to remind myself of that often. The gods had decided what my fate would be. Whom the gods would destroy, they would first make an elementary school teacher. "Here we are!" Dr. Miner said brightly, motioning me into the administrative offices. A plump fiftyish woman with light brown hair going slowly gray stood and came around her desk. Instinctively I put my right hand out to shake hers but quickly found both of my small feminine hands being held by her larger ones, pudgy fingers wrapped around mine. I was shocked to note that Principal Dale seemed somewhat insubstantial. By that I mean it was almost as if I could see through her but not quite. It's difficult to explain. Suffice it to say I was surprised at the warmth and substantial feel of her hands. "Oh Ally, thank god you're here," she said with a bright smile, eyes twinkling. "Dana is watching the class for you right now. We were caught by surprise when Kristi had to go into the hospital this morning. You know, the baby isn't due for another two weeks, but the doctor is worried about how she's carrying it." There was a look of stricken concern on my face. To be honest, it was concern for myself and how I would get through all of this, but Principal Dale thought I was concerned about this Kristi person. "Oh, don't worry, dear. She'll be just fine. It's not that uncommon, you know - or you will know some day." I hadn't thought of that. She was relating to me as if I was a woman - a woman who might someday get pregnant. Just when I was thinking it couldn't get any worse... "Now Kristi left all of her lesson plans in her desk. I know you've never subbed for her before, so you'll probably want to review those plans tonight. These are very good kids, though. You'll have a fine class. You're lucky you didn't have to do this a couple of weeks ago when they got back from Christmas break. It took them a little time to settle down then." Yes, this was hell. "Now, you'll probably want to freshen up a little before you go in," she continued. She might as well have been telling me to check all of my gear before I went into combat. "You know where the teacher's restrooms are. I'll give you a few minutes and we can meet back here." I didn't know where the teacher's restrooms were, but she had motioned the direction with her head. First, I needed to talk to Dr. Miner, but when I turned, I saw she was gone. Come to think of it, she hadn't gone into Principal Dale's office with me. I suspected that as far as Principal Dale was concerned, I had shown up in her office alone. I avoided the obvious error of going into the men's restroom. My new body gave me constant reminders of my new sex. I would never have been tempted to enter a men's room in a skirt and heels as the flesh on my chest and rear swayed softly and the long hair brushed against my ears and neck. After struggling with my outfit, I managed to relieve myself. It didn't prove as difficult as I had thought that it might. I was quickly finding that if I just let myself go, I knew what to do, including wiping myself like a good girl. When I consciously bulled myself back from that trance-like state, I was standing in front of the mirror "fixing" my lipstick. That chore finished, I took stock of who I had become, seeing my face for the first time. I suddenly realized I looked a little like that woman who had played a teacher in Kindergarten Cop. What was her name? Oh yes, Penelope Ann Miller. Well, to be fair, I suppose I wasn't quite as attractive as her, but my hair was about the same color and length. My face wasn't quite as cute as hers, my nose being a little straighter and my eyes not quite as attractive, and my hair was a little longer, but on the whole, I wasn't a bad looking woman. Strangely that thought didn't bother me as much as it should have. I never had any strange hidden desires to be anyone other than the person I had been born as. Who I was had never been as important to me as succeeding in my chosen field. I supposed that had I been born black or female, or whatever else, I would still have been an archeologist. To be honest, I wasn't really much of a sexual being at all. Our society tends to attempt to define men and women as heterosexual or homosexual, but it seldom categorizes them by degree. By that I mean I had always considered myself a heterosexual male, but I hadn't followed the normal heterosexual pattern of finding a woman to make my wife and live happily ever after. I had been male second and an archeologist first. Given the choice of uncovering an artifact or bedding a woman, I would have been happier with the artifact. Of course, I was hardly a virgin, but months would go between my sexual encounters and that was all right with me. So there I was, standing in front of that mirror, seeing myself well for the first time. I was obviously a woman. I could do nothing about that, I was certain. I would find a way to live with that if I had to. But my sense of loss came not from my change of sex but rather from my change of occupation. I was no longer an archeologist. If I were, by some chance, able to gain an audience before my former colleagues, they would not see me as an archeologist. My degree I was certain probably proclaimed me to be the graduate of some small teacher's college, and even if I were to quote from memory every ruler of every ancient Persian dynasty, I would hardly be considered worthy of their association. My sex would matter little to them, but my credentials would matter greatly. No, I was an elementary teacher. I was deemed qualified only to impart fundamental skills such as basic arithmetic and English and science so fundamental that it was absolutely banal. I would have to stand before creatures barely out of diapers and try to mold them into human beings. I remembered the old proverb: whom the gods would destroy, they would first make mad. Well, if a classroom filled with thirty or so schoolchildren didn't drive me mad, what would? Principal Dale was waiting patiently for me when I returned to her office. The only difference between her and an executioner as far as I was concerned was that she had a smile on her face. "Shall we go meet your class, Ally?" "Okay." What else could I say? I was stuck as Ally Reynolds, elementary school teacher. I knew in the next few moments how a condemned man must feel as he is led slowly down that long corridor to his foreordained place of execution. I tried to tell myself that if I had been able to teach Fundamentals of Archeology at UCLA to a class full of bored students trying only to get an elective out of the way, I could handle a bunch of third graders. How old were third graders? Eight? Nine? What would I have to teach them? Were they even toilet trained at that age? I wasn't sure I could handle the assignment, but I knew in my heart that I had no choice. This was the role I had been given by the gods - much to their amusement I was certain. If I failed to do a good job, I was certain that my next assignment - if there was one - would be even more onerous. With a deep, heartfelt sigh, I followed Principal Dale into the classroom. There were some basic math drills up on the blackboard, and a young boy was carefully writing the answer to one of them as the rest of the class watched. The boy was also somewhat transparent, as was the teacher who Principal Dale had explained was her Assistant Principal. A furtive glance at the class showed most of the students to be like them. It was like watching a piece of film that had been double exposed. Yet I knew from my physical contact with the principal that these beings were as solid as I was. As for the rest of the class, they appeared to be normal children. They were uniformly neat and appeared normal in all regards. I found myself wondering though, just how many of the real ones were like me - transformed from another life to this strange new existence in Ovid. Had they all been children before, or was I looking at adults who had been regressed by the