Ovid 15: The Politician free porn video

Ovid 15: The Politician By The Professor "I must see The Judge at once!" I looked up from my desk. I had been so involved in what I had been doing that I had not even heard anyone approach. What I saw in front of me was a stern-faced woman, middle-aged with short, black hair. She wore little or no makeup and her clothes were equally plain, consisting of a long black skirt and a gray blouse which did little to hide two oversized, drooping breasts. "I'm sorry," I said primly in my best authoritative manner, "The Judge has given strict orders that he is not to be disturbed." The woman frowned menacingly at me. I didn't recognize her at all. She wasn't a shade though, so she had to be someone The Judge had transformed. But she was so unlike most of the transformees that I would have surely remembered her unless... "Diana!" The frown disappeared, replaced by a mischievous smile. "I almost got you that time!" Instead of the harsh voice of the middle-age woman, the voice was cheerful and lilting. Soon the body matched as well as her form blurred and changed until a twenty-something blonde in a very, very short white skirt and a pink tube top stood smiling in front of me. "Diana, it's winter for God's sake. You'll freeze in that outfit." "Hardly," she laughed, twirling a strand of long blonde hair. Then she sighed. "But I suppose I ought to look like I belong here." This time, just her clothes blurred. There were black tights on her slim legs and the tube top became a black sweater. Even the white skirt changed, becoming red plaid - but it remained almost obscenely short. She perched on my desk in a pose that would have had me panting if I had still been the college boy I had been when I had first arrived in Ovid. But those days were long ago. Now the woman in me looked enviously at Diana's trim, young figure with longing. How I wished I could wear an outfit like that without looking ridiculous. "You missed all the excitement," I told the goddess. "Don't I always?" she returned with a mock sigh. "Thank God we have you to help us keep up on current affairs." "Thank God or thank The Judge?" That just got me another mischievous smile. "So don't you want to know what story I want to see?" "I think it's pretty obvious this time; don't you?" "Well," she allowed, "I suppose it is pretty obvious. Besides, as slow as things have been around here lately, I'm surprised you're still here." "We won't be in a couple of days," I told her. "The whole family is going to Disney World for Christmas. There are no more trials scheduled until after the holidays. In fact, Susan and her family are already on vacation in the Bahamas." "I know," Diana replied. "I had lunch with Susan in Nassau." "When?" She looked at her watch. "Oh, about half an hour ago. She told me all about the big flap." "Big is the word for it," I agreed. "Are you ready to see it?" "Hit it!" "Okay," I said, already falling into my trance... *** "So what's the story on Tulsa?" I asked, rubbing my eyes. "You're not going to Tulsa until tonight," Tony told me, shoving a file across the small table that separated his seat from mine. The file drooped over the tiny table, but I guess it was difficult to have much of a table on a plane as small as ours. "You have a luncheon with the Chamber of Commerce in Muskogee. Then we fly to Tulsa after you take a tour of the Port of Muskogee." "Oh, right," I nodded. After a breakfast in Enid and a teleconference with the State Party Headquarters in Oklahoma City, my brain was already fried, and it wasn't even noon for another hour and a half. I rubbed my temples, my head pounding. "Is it bad this time?" Tony asked with concern on his ruggedly handsome face. "I'll live," I assured him. Tony just nodded. I was grateful that Tony said no more about my headache. He knew how serious they could get, but he also knew I didn't like to be coddled. Tony would have made a good Marine, and that was the highest compliment I could give anyone. He would have been a great adjutant for a senior officer - always organized and never ruffled. Of course, that made him a great assistant for a politician as well. "So what's the scoop on Muskogee?" I asked him, opening the file. Tony shrugged. "The usual for this part of the state. Farming is important. Also, they've got light manufacturing and a couple of colleges. And don't forget the Port. They do a lot of shipments in and out by barge down to the Gulf. That means they're interested in foreign trade as well." I groaned. "In other words, everything is important to them. You didn't mention oil though." I had actually managed a little smile when I pointed that out. "Oil goes without saying," he replied. And he was right. There really wasn't a place in Oklahoma that wasn't interested in oil and oil policy. Hell, there's even a working oil well on the State Capitol grounds. No matter what the future had in store for Oklahoma, it was oil that had put the state on the map - literally. Before oil was discovered in the state, it just seemed like a worthless place to be foisted off on the Indians. I started to ask another question, but the plane bumped suddenly. "What was that?" Penny called nervously from her seat at the rear of the plane. Penny Dumont was a fine secretary but a nervous flyer. She always insisted on sitting at the rear of the plane where she was usually perched - as she was just then - with a cell phone in hand while she lined up all the details of the campaign that were essential on the whole but individually too small for Tony to worry about. "What was that?" Tony repeated to the pilot over the intercom. "Probably just clear air turbulence," the pilot responded with an Oklahoma twang so rich it made the rest of us sound like a bunch of Yankees. "Probably?" Tony pressed. There was a lot couched in that one-word question. What Tony was really reminding the pilot was that one of his passengers was Conrad Williams - me - Member of Congress and (hopefully) the next governor of the State of Oklahoma, so the pilot had better make sure it was just clear air turbulence and "probably" wasn't good enough. "Uh..." the pilot began. Then he murmured, "Just a minute." Whatever distracted him was enough to make me worry. As a Marine officer, I had been a passenger in a lot of aircrafts and I had known a lot of pilots. Dusty Osborne was a damned good pilot, having flown F-18s in the Gulf War. He still flew Reserve at least a couple of days a month and was just the sort of pilot you wanted flying you in a rented aircraft into every little dirt strip airport in the state. I gripped the sides of my seat, reluctantly remembering a plane ride during the Gulf War that had cost me my military career. It would be more than a little ironic if another one were to cost me my political career - or worse yet, my life. The ride during the Gulf War was on a chopper, churning through the heavy, hot air of Southern Iraq. I was a captain then - an officer expected to go places once my tour of combat was over. I had already been selected for major, and duty at the Pentagon was just a few weeks away. Ironically the sortie into Iraq was to have been my last mission. It was, but not the way I expected. We were in the process of setting down, every man checking his equipment when the blast hit us. It was a hand-held antiaircraft missile - probably Russian manufacture from what the experts could later determine. The blast was the loudest thing I ever heard, even drowning out the noise of the rotors. "Jesus!" The pilot's mike was open, and it was easy to tell from his voice that we had a serious problem. Sure enough - out the hatch we were due to embark from we spotted a squad of Iraqi soldiers. They were hopped up from their success hitting the chopper, and I could see them getting ready to fire another one at us. Now in the war movies, this is where the bright young Marine captain leaps twenty feet to the ground surrounded by his unit as they dutifully wipe out the enemy force before further damage can be done. Real life doesn't work that way. First of all, it wasn't even my decision. Until we were on the ground, the pilot was in charge. Calling at us to secure ourselves, he turned quickly and flew our sorry asses out of there. We could hear the whump of another missile exploding just off our port side. We made it back to base, but it was a rough ride, and the chopper was pretty badly shot up. The landing was brutal, the gear of the chopper severely damaged. It caused the bird to collapse on the runway, tilting far enough to one side to shatter the rotor and send pieces of it flying into the belly of the aircraft exactly where we were located. I didn't even see the part that hit me, but I felt it slamming into my head. I was out cold before I could even scream. When I came to in a hospital in Germany, I found out that the good news was that everyone had survived. The bad news was that nearly everyone had suffered some injury, and four of us had been in bad enough shape to require evacuation to Germany for surgery. I was now the proud owner of a metal plate in my skull that would give me headaches the rest of my life, ruin my military career, and make going through airport security a living hell. Fortunately there had been an answer to the second part of my dilemma. My wife's father was a political bigwig with the party back home in Oklahoma, and they had a tough Congressional race coming up in a few months. A war hero might be just right for the district which had shown little loyalty to either party lately. A word about Oklahoma politics - traditionally Democrat for a number of years, the state has become more Republican with each passing year. Republicans now control the Governor's office, both US Senate seats, and five of the six US House seats while the Democrats control the State Legislature. In such a volatile political environment, it helps to have a little something extra - like being a sports figure or a war hero. Did I mention that before I went into the Marine Corps I played first string on the University of Oklahoma football team? So there it was. With the right introductions from my father-in-law, I was able to move into a district where my background would make a difference. I didn't even have more than token opposition in the primaries. As for the general election, I squeaked into office for my first two-year term, but in the three terms since, I've won walking away. I suppose if I had been willing to rest on my laurels, I could have stayed in the House for many more years. Some people did it, including Carl Albert, an Oklahoma Congressman who served as Speaker of the House for six years. But I had my eye on bigger things, and for all its collective power, the House of Representatives wasn't the place for someone like me to stay forever. At the risk of making a political speech, there were problems in our country I wanted to fix. To my way of thinking, the country had been drifting for a while, and presidents from either party hadn't done much to change that. That's right - I planned on being President of the United States someday. But the problem was how to get there. If I did, it wasn't going to be from my present position. No individual had been elected directly from the House to the Presidency in over a century. For that matter, no president had been elected directly from the Senate since John F. Kennedy. No, the place to be elected from was the governorship. Four of the last six presidents had been elected after being governors of their states, and since Ford had been appointed, that meant that four of the last five elected presidents had been governors. It made a lot of sense when you thought about it. Governors could portray themselves as executives just like the president while legislators were constantly having to defend their records on the issues. There were too many contentious issues in the land now to allow a legislator to vote either way without pissing off the at least half of the electorate. Current political thinking was to run for office from the middle of the political spectrum, and that was damned hard to do when being a legislator meant being forced to take a stand on issues that were almost always either too far left or right. I had waited for the right time to run. Our governor had no desire to be president, but the US Senate looked mighty good to him. With one of our senators ready to retire, he was ready to surrender the governor's chair, and I was ready to seize it. But it wasn't going to be easy this time. I had opposition within my own party from an elected state official who originally came from one of Oklahoma's larger cities while my district was mostly rural. He would be a tough man to beat. But beat him I would. Traveling from one end of the state to the other had allowed me to sneak up on him in the polls. As of that moment, it looked as if I would get my party's nomination with a win of almost sixty percent in the primary. But the electorate was fickle, and with the primary only a few days away, I hadn't let up on my schedule. I would be governor, and that would just be the next step on the way to the presidency itself. My dreams of power were interrupted as the plane shook again - this time harder than before. "Dusty, what the hell is going on up there?" I yelled into the intercom. "Just rough air," Dusty replied. "Don't worry; I just got permission to go to a lower altitude. We were about ready to start our approach anyway and - shit!" The plane didn't bump this time. It just began to roll over. All I could think of was how ironic it was that I had survived one air crash and was now about to be in another one. The difference was that this one would be hard to walk away from. I knew just enough about planes to know that Dusty had just lost control of the bird. How or why didn't matter; what mattered was that in a few seconds, we'd be in an uncontrollable spin and there would be nothing to stop us from hitting the ground. I suppose most men would have used those final moments to think about their families. Not me, though. My wife Louise and I craved the same thing - power. We hadn't craved anything from each other in years. We had no children - Louise didn't want any - so there was no son or daughter to think about, and my parents had been dead for several years. Add to that the fact that my brothers and I weren't very close and there was no one back home to think about. Instead I thought about what might have been. I though about the vision I had for a new America - strong and vibrant, leading the world to a better tomorrow. That was even part of my campaign slogan: A Better Tomorrow Today! Well, all the great campaign slogans in the world wouldn't trim one knot off the airspeed of our crippled plane. I heard Penny yelp as there was the unexpected feeling of our butts being squished into the leather seats of the plane as it suddenly changed attitude and leveled out. "Thank God!" Tony exclaimed, saying out loud what all of us had just been thinking. Dusty had just proven himself to be one hell of a pilot. As the plane smoothed out, I unlocked my seat belt and hunching over so my six-two frame could walk down the aisle made my way into the cockpit. I put my hand on Dusty's shoulder. "Great work, my friend." Dusty took a hand off the controls long enough to brush a shock of short red hair out of his face. "Thank you, sir, but I had nothing to do with it." I frowned. "What are you saying? Planes don't just right themselves." "I'd usually agree with you, sir, but not this time. And to make it worse, nothing I seem to do to the controls changes anything. I was sure it was a complete hydraulic failure. It's almost as if someone else is flying the plane." I looked at the controls. I could read the instruments well enough to notice that we were starting to lose altitude. I mentioned that to Dusty. He nodded in agreement. "You're right, sir. But it's a gentle controlled descent. We seem to be heading for that valley up ahead." I looked out the cockpit windscreen at the valley Dusty had referred to. The valley was long and wide, nestled between two ridges of moderately- sized hills. At first glance, its lush farm fields, sparkling lakes and wooded glades appeared to be much like any other valley that might have stretched from the eastern part of Oklahoma all the way to the Atlantic Coast. But a more careful look showed an odd difference or two. First of all and most disturbing were the hills themselves. Both of the ridges appeared to be virtually identical, as if they were mirror images of each other. As for the other difference, there seemed to be fewer roads than might be expected. Viewed from above, most of the farm states are laid out with section roads crisscrossing each other with predictable regularity. The impression from above was one of squares, like some gigantic green checkerboard with the color in each square often varying according to the crops being raised there. This valley had fewer roads at irregular intervals, and none crossed over the hills. In fact, the only through road appeared to be a ribbon of asphalt that crossed the hills at one end of the valley where the hills seemed to almost end. It snaked its way southward into the town, curving off in mirror-like fashion at the south extremity of the municipality and crossing another low-lying hill beyond. I pointed out at a shape in the distance. "There! That looks like an airport south of town just off the highway." "I think you're right," Dusty replied. "The problem is none of my charts show an airport there." "Maybe you have an old chart," I suggested. Dusty looked at me with thinly-disguised disgust. "No pilot would carry old charts; it's suicidal. And it isn't just the airport that's not on the charts. I don't see any sign of this town or even this valley. According to the charts, there's a single ridge of hills that rises up about here and ends a few miles south of where that town is parked." "What are you saying, Dusty?" I asked, unwilling to accept what he had just told me. "I'm telling you there shouldn't be a town down there. I've flown over this region dozens of times. I might have missed a little place with a few dozen residents, but that town out there looks to be ten thousand or so. I've never seen it before." I felt a chill run up and down my spine. Dusty wasn't the sort of pilot given to letting his imagination run away with him. If he said there shouldn't be a town down there, then that was that. But it was impossible to refute the evidence of our eyes. Perhaps, I thought, we had been knocked off course. Perhaps Dusty wasn't where he thought we should be. Yes, that had to be the answer. But we would have to discuss it later. Right now there was a more pressing problem - namely, how to get safely on the ground in an aircraft that seemed to have a mind of its own. "Can we make it to the airport?" I asked. "I doubt it," was the reply. "But that road down there looks pretty smooth and straight. We seem to be heading right for it. In fact, when I nudge the controls that way, I seem to have some control. I'm going to try to set her down there. You'd better strap in." I made my way back into the cabin, telling Tony and Penny to belt in while I did so myself. I wasn't too worried actually. Dusty seemed to have at least enough control to get us on the ground safely. In fact, all I could think about was what a great news story this would make. It was a shame my press secretary was in Oklahoma City where my wife was hosting a forum on women's issues designed to give me a little more strength with the women's vote. Penny was a wreck, nervously patting her blond hair which she always wore in a tight bun that took nothing away from her beauty. I watched her appreciatively as she straightened her white skirt to cover a bit more of her tanned legs. Don't get me wrong, though. Looking was all I ever did, in spite of what my wife thought. My name was Williams - not Condit. Tony was trying to look as if he had more important things to worry about. I suppose he did - getting me elected. Tony had handled every campaign for me. He matched me in height and was actually better looking and a little younger. I was at first surprised that Tony didn't want to run for office himself, but he preferred to manage the campaigns of others instead. The plane made a descent so smooth I almost felt as if I was flying a normal route on a major airliner. Dusty had to be wrong about the hydraulics, I thought. No plane could make so smooth an approach with a major hydraulic problem. We were in the pipe on a smooth descent right down to the highway below. Out the window, I could see that there was indeed a problem. We were landing with the flaps up in a cruising position. I hoped there were no cars on that highway out there because without flaps, the plane was going to take forever to get stopped. Sure, there were brakes, but we would be landing at an unusually high speed - or so I thought. Although the flaps never extended, the plane slowed as it neared the ground, an apparent contradiction in aviation theory and practice. True, Dusty had his nose up as far as he could, but we should have been moving a lot faster when the wheels dug into the asphalt highway. Tony noticed it, too. "What's slowing us down?" he asked to no one in particular. I was too busy watching the ground rush up to answer, and Penny was just doing everything she could to keep from wetting her pants. I couldn't say that I blamed her. The plane skidded a little from side to side as Dusty applied the brakes, but it wasn't too bad. After all, we had lost most of our airspeed. The section of road we had landed on was perfectly smooth, and apparently, we hadn't met any cars on the ground. We all breathed a sigh of relief as Dusty cut back on the engines and veered the plane off the highway onto a smooth gravel shoulder. "Okay folks," he called over the intercom. "That's one more we get to walk away from." None of us moved until the plane came to a slightly bumpy stop at the side of the road. The right wing, I noticed, hung out over a shallow gully along the side of the road, but the wheels had come to rest along relatively level ground. Still, we remained in our seats until the engines stopped completely and Randy's head appeared at the cockpit door. "Okay, it's safe now," he told us. We exited the plane and were hit at once with the warm, muggy air of an Oklahoma summer. The smell of residual exhaust from the engines and the odors from the baking asphalt mixed with the pungent smell of weeds, trees and crops which made up the visible countryside. I loosened my tie at once just to be a little cooler. Tony kept his tight though, as if he expected reporters from all the major networks to drive up any minute. "Any idea where we are, Dusty?" I asked. Our pilot just shrugged. "Like I told you, this valley shouldn't be here. Neither should that town." "What town?" Penny asked. She was shifting her weight back and forth from leg to leg to try to keep from having her heels sink into the warm asphalt. I nodded to the south. "It's that way. I suppose we should start walking." Before anyone could say another word, we heard the sound of at least one car and maybe more approaching from the direction of town. We couldn't see them since there was a small rise in our line of vision, but from the sound of the engines, they were speeding toward us. Then we saw them - a white sedan followed by a white minivan - and both of them had red and blue lights flashing. "Well, it looks as if we're going to have an official welcome," Tony mused. "Congressman, it might be a good idea if you straightened your tie and looked official." I returned the grin he gave me and pulled my regulation sincerely red politician's tie back into a semblance of a professional knot. I wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but I got a strange feeling when an officer got out of the first police car. Actually, I suppose the strange feeling started when I saw "City of Ovid" in blue letters on the side of the car. I had never heard of the City of Ovid, and for a man running for governor of the state, that wasn't natural since the town he seemed to have come from was certainly large enough for any statewide politician to take note of. But the officer himself made me feel even stranger. I couldn't really say why because he looked perfectly normal in his gray-blue uniform and mirrored sunglasses. Then I realized what the problem was. I would have expected any police officer first on the scene of an emergency landing like ours to look first at the plane and then at us, but he didn't. It was as if the plane held no interest for him - as if he expected it to be there and had already dismissed it as part of the background. Instead he focused on us. "Mr. Williams?" he addressed me. "How... how do you know who I am?" I stammered. "We received your pilot's distress call," he explained. "We've been tracking you since you got close to Ovid." "I see..." I replied slowly, but I really didn't see. Track us? With what? Small towns don't have elaborate radar systems. I should have known. After all, I sat on the House Transportation Committee. Small towns the size of Ovid were lucky if they had a paved runway and runway lights. "Now if you'll all just step into the van, we'll get you into town," he told us, motioning at the van which had pulled up behind his car. The van door was already open. "Can you get word to our people in Oklahoma City?" Tony asked the officer, who I noted wore a nametag which proclaimed him to be Officer Mercer. "We've notified everyone who needs to know," Officer Mercer replied drolly. Tony, Penny, and I all nodded, but it wasn't until we were in the van that I realized he hadn't exactly told us who had been notified. "I'd like to stay here and look over the plane," Dusty said to the officer. "The plane will be safe here," he was told. "The Judge wants to see all of you now, so if you'll just get in the van..." "The Judge?" I asked. Then I realized what was going on. Some local judge wanted to meet with me. After all, I stood a good chance of being the next governor, and every local political figure would want to meet me. There'd be appointments I'd have to make, and who better to appoint than some local judge who had agreed to support me in my campaign. "Oh, of course. That's fine, officer. We'll be happy to meet with your judge. But you would be doing us a great favor if you'd let us use the van to continue on to Muskogee." Officer Mercer was tall enough that he could actually look slightly down at me, and I could swear that I saw amusement in his face. "That will be up to The Judge," he informed me. "I understand," I replied, not realizing that I didn't understand at all. The trip into the town of Ovid was uneventful. What I saw from my vantage point in the front passenger seat of the van was a small Oklahoma town, different from most other towns its size only in that it seemed to take a greater pride in its appearance. Most small towns are dying - unless of course they are close enough to larger cities to become attractive suburbs. Not Ovid, though. Signs of prosperity were everywhere from the freshly painted homes and neatly trimmed lawns to the prosperous-looking shops and other businesses along the way. Even the people of Ovid were more prosperous looking. In most small towns (and most larger cities for that matter) business attire had given way to casual, and casual had declined into sloppy. In Ovid, people were better groomed, as if someone had published standards of neatness that everyone had agreed to follow. Oh that didn't mean there weren't people dressed casually, but there were more suits and ties on the men and more skirts and heels on the women than I would have expected. I glanced over at our driver. She was an attractive young black woman, wearing a women's equivalent of the uniform the stolid Officer Mercer wore. I glanced down at her nametag trying not to be seen as staring at her superb breasts. Her name, I saw, was Hazleton. "Officer Hazleton..." I began. She smiled never taking her deep brown eyes off the road. "Call me Wanda, please." "Wanda then," I started over, pleased that she was much more open than Officer Mercer. I was glad he was in his police cruiser instead of accompanying us in the van. It was more relaxing that way. "Ovid looks mighty prosperous. What do people do for a living around here?" She laughed, "Oh, it's a typical small town. There's a lot of good farmland around. Retail business is pretty good, too. And of course, there's Vulman Industries." That got my attention. "Vulman has a plant here? I thought they were located in Tulsa." In my time on the House Transportation Committee, I had heard the name Vulman a number of times. The company had developed a number of cutting edge products that were finding their way into the aviation industry. One of those products promised to add to the efficiency of aircraft engines, increasing range and thus lowering fuel costs. Some people had even talked about extending the technology to automobiles, cutting our dependence on oil dramatically. "Actually, Vulman is headquartered in Ovid. Tulsa's just a sales office. Eric Vulman himself lives right here in town." That was news to me. I wondered how something as important as that could have escaped my notice. I'd have to get on Tony about that. Ovid was starting to appear to be a much more important place than I had imagined. For that matter, why hadn't I even hear of Ovid? Looking at the buildings as we sped by, it was obvious that the town was at least ten thousand and growing. What kind of a governor would I be if I didn't even know about a town as large and important as Ovid? "Here we are," Wanda said as we pulled into the parking lot in front of gray granite building with impressive columns in front. The words "City Hall" were solemnly carved into the granite above the columns. It was as was neat and impressive as the rest of Ovid, with the Oklahoma flag fluttering in the warm, light breeze next to the US flag in the grassy area in front of the building. "You have a very nice town here, Wanda," I told her with my best politician's smile. "It's the sort of town I'd be proud to call home." She laughed softly for some reason I couldn't fathom just then. "I'm glad you feel that way, sir." Officer Mercer was just climbing out of his car, and Wanda went over to talk to him while Tony, Penny, Dusty and I huddled. "Tony, why wasn't I briefed on Ovid?" I asked him, not too unkindly. "Did you know this is where Vulman Industries is headquartered?" "It shouldn't be," he replied insistently. "In fact the whole town shouldn't even be here." "And did you see those weird people?" Penny chimed in, nearly shivering in spite of the warmth. "What weird people?" I asked. "Penny, what the hell are you talking about?" "The transparent ones. The ones you could see through," Dusty explained. Then to Penny, he nodded. "Yeah, I saw them, too." "Wait a minute," I growled. "What - " I never got any further. Officer Mercer had sent Wanda into the building and returned his attention to us. "The Judge wants to see you right away," he told us. That was fine with me. The sooner we saw him, the sooner we'd be on our way. Although I wondered if I could get a chance to see the elusive Eric Vulman. His support - both moral and financial - of my campaign would be a big boost toward putting me in the Governor's chair in the fall. In retrospect, perhaps I should have realized there was something strange going on. After all, planes don't fly themselves, and towns didn't normally escape Tony's notice. Perhaps I could be forgiven for not taking Penny seriously, though. Her talk of transparent people was pretty far out. All I had seen walking down the street were dozens and dozens of potential voters. As we walked into the courtroom together, I took on the usual appearance of a seasoned politician, casual and friendly, complete with a dazzling smile. I had expected to be welcomed to the courtroom as an honored guest, shake a few hands, listen to how the local roads really needed state dollars, and be on my way. I never expected to be put on trial. The Judge was already at the bench, a stern look on his handsome, middle-aged face. He was impatiently stroking his beard of brown peppered with gray as he watched us with steely blue eyes barely shielded by expensive gold-rimmed glasses. "If the defendants will take their seats at the table with their attorney, we can get on with this trial," he remarked firmly. As a member of Congress, I was quite unaccustomed to being talked to in such a fashion. My casual gait at once became a ramrod-straight stance as I began in a tone petulantly enough to match The Judge's tone, "Your Honor, what is this all about? We have just narrowly avoided an aircraft accident and are hardly in a mood for ill-conceived jokes." The Judge's eyes caught fire. "A joke? You think landing an aircraft on a public roadway, endangering our citizens, is a joke, sir?" "We had no choice - " Dusty began but I silenced him at once. I'd do the talking here. "My pilot is correct," I told The Judge as an attractive woman at the defense table I took to be our court-appointed attorney looked on in shock. "We were forced down when our plane developed trouble." "I'm aware of the circumstances," The Judge told me, his manner only slightly less confrontational. Apparently he was used to having his own way. Well, most judges are. "That does not change the facts. How do you plead?" "Plead?" I practically yelled. "What are you talking ab - " "You are in contempt of court, sir!" "I don't recognize the authority of this court in this matter!" I shot back. It was then, standing directly before that magistrate certain that I could make him back down that I froze. I don't mean I lost my nerve; I mean I literally froze in place, unable to move or utter a sound. It was as if the messages from my brain were not reaching my limbs. I could feel beads of sweat breaking out on my forehead. The Judge's eyes narrowed. "In the absence of a plea from you, I must find you guilty of the charges. You are all guilty!" I sensed that the rest of my party was also immobile, although I could barely see them out of the corner of one eye as they stood next to the attorney at the table to my left. I could hear them gasping for some reason as The Judge muttered something which sounded like a foreign language - almost like Latin and Italian all mixed together. It was really creepy, and I was all nervous just standing there while Marsha and Susan watched on from the gallery. I mean, what if they told their moms and they told my mom? I had to plead so hard with her to get the car go visit the campus that day. I'd probably never be allowed to drive her car again until I was thirty! I tugged a little at my skirt. Why had I worn such a short one that day? The Judge had looked at me as if I were some sort of tart or something. I mean, it was like fashionable and all and really, really nice, but The Judge had looked at me sort of like the way dad always looked at me when I wore that skirt on a date. And then there were those people standing there with me. What were they doing there? They were adults, all dressed in suits and dresses and they were looking at me as if I had just landed from Mars. Jeez folks, get a grip. The skirt wasn't all that short... "But under the circumstances, young lady, I've decided to suspend your fine for careless driving." I couldn't believe The Judge was really saying that! I mean, yeah, I had been a little careless when I turned into that one way street, but how was I to know it? I mean, the street wasn't even marked or anything. So okay, maybe it was marked and I just didn't see it because all three of us were so busy watching that really hunky guy walking across campus. God, if just ten percent of the guys at Capta looked like him, I was going to really, really like going to school there. "But if you ever show up in my courtroom again, Ms. Stewart, I can promise you I won't be as lenient!" I barely heard his lecture, but the crack of his gavel brought me back to earth. I looked around and smiled at Marsha and Susan in the gallery. They smiled back at me. I glanced down at my watch. We could still make lunch someplace. I hadn't seen a Mickey D's when we got into town, but there was this place called Rusty's Burger Barn that looked pretty cool... I think I actually screamed when I woke up. My breasts were heaving and felt almost unnatural on my chest. I reflexively reached inside my pajama top and touched one just to assure myself that they were normal. I cringed as I halfway expected my chest to be flat and covered in coarse hair, but the breast was smooth, full and normal. Normal. I looked about in the dark, gasping softly as I saw a dark shape approaching me. It sat down on my bed, the additional weight nearly causing me to lose my balance. A small hand grasped my bare arm. "April honey, are you all right?" I breathed a little sigh of relief as I recognized the sweet, soft voice of Laurel Jacobson, my roommate in the sorority. "Yeah, I'm fine," I mumbled, not really believing it. "Same dream again?" Her question reminded me that I had awakened for the last three nights from nightmares. The difference was that on that night, I remembered what had frightened me after I had awakened. "I think so," I replied slowly. "Do you remember any of it?" I shook my head. "No." It was a lie, of course, but how was I supposed to tell my roommate - a girl who had been my friend for over two years ever since I had started school at Capta College - that I was having a bad dream about being a... a... man? Laurel hesitated for a moment and then asked, "It doesn't have anything to do with Paul, does it?" I shook my head again. Paul had been my boyfriend ever since last year's spring semester. We had hit it off well from the start and had even written each other over the summer when I had gone home to Tulsa. As the fall semester began, we had picked up where we had left off and soon were... intimate. It was wonderful while it lasted, but our relationship cooled with the coming of winter. I had been looking for love; Paul was looking for sex. When I pushed him for a commitment, he dropped me in a heartbeat. A tear came to my eye. I thought the big shit actually loved me. "Well, I know it's not your period," Laurel announced lightly. No, it wasn't. I had had my last one over a week ago. It hadn't even been a particularly bad one. "Maybe you should see a doctor or something," Laurel ventured as she rubbed my back. "I'll be okay," I assured her, smiling bravely until I realized she probably couldn't see the smile in the dark. "All right," she agreed reluctantly, standing up to be silhouetted in the moonlight. "Try to get some sleep." "Okay." I sank back down on my pillow, hoping that sleep would claim me quickly. I did begin to drift off almost at once, but not before my tired mind asked one more question: why is it that when I saw Laurel in the moonlight, it was almost as if I could see the light through her? I awoke the next morning feeling better. Fortunately it was a Tuesday and I didn't have a class until nine. Laurel had already left for class, so I had the room to myself. The entire sorority house was quiet since all of my sisters were either in class or sleeping in. I was still a little on the tired side, unsettled by my dreams. I had dismissed Laurel's apparent transparency as an optical illusion, brought on by the conversation in the dream. But I couldn't write off the dream quite as easily. It had been so real. I had actually dreamed that I was an older man - a Congressman no less. Well, at least I didn't dream small. If I had to be an older man in my dreams, I might just as well be a powerful one. The problem was it didn't seem like a dream. It seemed more like something that really happened that I just hadn't thought about for a time. Lying there, I experimentally put a hand to my smooth cheek, trying to imagine what it must be like to have beard stubble. Strangely enough, I could almost envision it, as if it were something I had actually experienced. Disturbed by the sensation I had just subjected myself to, I jumped out of bed with a gasp and fled to the shower. The warm water felt good on my body, its soft flow reassuring me that I was, indeed, a woman as it rolled gently over my breasts, teasing my nipples in a pleasurable fashion. I soaped languidly, taking perhaps an extra moment between my legs where the true proof of my sex lay passively hidden. What must it be like, I wondered, to be a man? How did they even manage to walk with all of that... equipment dangling between their legs? I should never have asked myself that question, because unbidden, the answer emerged in my mind. I felt in my head the strange sensation of something large and potent between my legs. I understood in that moment what it felt like for a penis to harden and the demands it put on a man's body. "Oh God!" I screamed, rinsing myself off quickly and practically leaping out of the shower. I tried to blank out all thoughts as I dressed for class. Myra Smithwick, one of our new pledges, was studying in the dining room while enjoying a cup of coffee. She was one of two pledges who lived in the house and my sorority little sister, so I was very happy to see her. "Wow! What are you all dressed up for today?" she asked me. "I just felt like getting dressed up this morning," I told her. Like most of the girls - Myra included - I normally wore jeans and a sweater to class, but men also wore jeans and sweaters. I wanted to wear something that would make me forget the odd sensations I had been experiencing. No man who I knew would go to class in a lightweight pink sweater, fall white skirt, and one-inch heels. "Well you look great," Myra said. "Who looks great?" a voice called from the kitchen. I recognized it as Stacey Adams, Myra's roommate. Stacey appeared in the doorway holding a cup of coffee. She looked at me and grinned. "Hey girl, who are you trying to impress?" I didn't answer her because I couldn't. I was too shocked at seeing Stacey standing there and still being able to sense if not exactly see the coffee pot that should have been hidden behind her. "Are you okay, April?" Myra asked me, a puzzled frown on her face. "Oh...uh, yeah," I finally managed, backing out of the room. "I... I ... just forgot something in my room - that's all. I'll be right back." My heart was pounding as I raced back to my room. Dear God, it was true. There really were people you could see through - just like that woman, that Penny, had said in the dream. Yet as I closed the door to my room behind me, I realized Myra was not alarmed by Stacey's appearance. Could it be that she just couldn't see it - just as I couldn't until then? That was possible, but now that I could see Stacey as some sort of apparition, how was I going to deal with her? For that matter, according to my dream girl, Penny, Stacey wasn't the only ghostly person in Ovid. Of course, ghostly might have been too strong a term. I couldn't exactly see through Stacey. Rather, it was more of a sensation of knowing what should have been hidden by her body instead of actually seeing it. Besides, there was something to think about that was even more unsettling than Stacey's semi-transparency. Namely, the girl in my dreams might have been more than a character I had imagined in my sleep. What if she was real? That meant the drama that had played out in my mind as I slept could be a memory of an actual event. But that just couldn't be, I told myself as I paced about my room. I had never been a man. I had always been April Lynn Stewart of Tulsa, Oklahoma. My father was general manager of an oil drilling company and my mother was a former nurse. I had two sisters, Janet and Jennie. Our dog was a basset hound named Boomer. I remembered grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles as well as friends and (blush) lovers. Yes, I remembered losing my virginity out at the lake right after I got out of high school, and I was very certain I hadn't been a man at the time. Was it possible that my dream had somehow triggered an illusion of transparent people? Or perhaps I was still dreaming. I remembered something I had read about lucid dreaming, but this didn't seem like a dream...exactly. No matter what, I couldn't spend the rest of my day in my room with the door shut. My sorority sisters would want to know what was wrong with me. No, I had to carry on as if everything was all right until I could figure out just what was wrong. Taking a deep breath, I opened the door and prepared to face the world. It wasn't easy, though. I walked onto campus with Stacey and Myra, trying my best to ignore Stacey's strange condition. It wasn't that hard after a little while because I realized that most of the people we passed on campus were just like Stacey. Some of them smiled and said good morning, for they were people I had known ever since I had entered Capta College. No solid person such as me seemed to take any unusual notice of them so I did the same as best I could. After my morning classes and a quick lunch in the Student Union cafeteria, I realized the somewhat ghostly people were not going to go away, and I was most certainly not in some incredibly lucid dream. But the events did lead me back to thinking about my initial dreams. I remembered the name my male persona had used in the dream - Conrad Williams. And he had been a member of Congress, so his biography should be available in the library. The College had a very good research section, so I decided to skip my one o'clock class and check out the congressman. My research was all for naught. There was no Conrad Williams listed in any of the relevant publications. Oh I did find a Conrad Williams all right. He was an English fantasy author, but no politician by that name. Apparently my male persona was as much a fantasy as what the Englishman of the same name wrote. Part of me was relieved. I don't know what I would have done if I had found out that a congressman by the name of Conrad Williams had disappeared about the time I started going to Capta. The fact that the man didn't exist was just further proof that all I had experienced was a dream. Of course, that didn't explain the people I could almost see through, but perhaps it was just something caused by my nightmare. Perhaps a good night's sleep would dismiss it entirely. Or so I thought. I drifted in and out of dreams that night, but all of them had one thing in common: I was the non-existent Conrad Williams. I was a small boy, growing up on a farm near a small Oklahoma town. I was a young man in high school, playing football. I was a male student at the University of Oklahoma. I was a young Marine officer, emulating my two older brothers and my uncle, all of whom had been Marines. I was in the desert with my patrol and could feel the impact of the missile against our chopper. I was in Congress, a respected member of my party. But the worst dream of all was having sex with a woman. She was approaching middle age but was still very attractive. Her legs were spread but there was no enthusiasm in her that I could detect. I knew that she was my wife, and that we had lost whatever love we had once felt for each other. Still, I persisted, ramming myself into her until... I stifled the scream I felt as I woke up. I didn't want to wake Laurel again. I groped at my breasts, relieved once more to find them still in place. But I was damp between my legs, as if ready for sex. The problem was that it didn't feel right to be wet there. I should be hard, extended... I should be a man. These were not dreams which had invaded my sleep. They were memories - memories of someone who shouldn't have existed but did. Or at least he existed in my mind. There was a name for my problem which I remembered from a psych course I had taken last year. It was called "Multiple Personality Disorder." I was going stark raving rat fuck mad. Wait a minute. I didn't talk like that. Rat fuck? No. Yes. I don't know. I had to seek help. I seemed to remember from my coursework that if MPD was treated early, I could be saved from watching my personality fragment still further. I'd see a doctor first thing in the morning. First thing turned out to be after lunch. I decided I couldn't afford to miss another day of classes, and since my afternoon was free, I'd go to the Student Health Center then. It was a bad decision. All morning, I had to force the thoughts of Conrad Williams out of my mind. He was trying to take over. I could feel him lurking in my mind, reminding me of things I had no reason to have ever known in the first place. I was near tears by the time I checked in to see a doctor. "How long have you had these problems?" the woman at the reception desk asked me. She wore scrubs like a nurse, and I could see from her nametag that that was just what she was - a PN, or Practical Nurse. Her name was Nancy Franklin, and I was relieved to see that she was taking me seriously. Her dark brown eyes held sympathy for me, almost as if she understood my problem even better than I did. She was an attractive woman in what I guessed to be her mid-thirties, with short hair the color of her eyes and as little makeup as social convention would permit. "The last four days," I replied. Then I amended, "Nights really. It comes to me in dreams." "And you say you're a man in those dreams?" She was piercing me with her stare. She was one of what I had begun to think of as real people, rather than the transparent ones I had suddenly become aware of. Why was she taking such an interest in me? "Yes. A Congressman named Conrad Williams. But I looked him up. There isn't a Conrad Williams. Please, Ms. Franklin, I need to see a doctor right away." I was crying now, unconcerned as to how I must look to the other students waiting in the lobby. "I... I can't stand the thought of sleeping another night and being... him!" She quickly wrote something on a piece of paper. "Be in this room in half an hour," she told me. After I looked at what she had written, I looked up at her, confused. "But this is a room in Administration. I need to see a doctor!" She put a soft hand on the back of mine. "April, please believe me. Go to that room. The people you meet there will be able to help you more than any doctor could. Please trust me." There was something so sincere about what she said that I could only nod in spite of my confusion. "In half an hour?" She nodded, her eyes shifting as if she wanted to make absolutely certain no one else could hear her. "You'll find help there. You'll see." Who could help me more than a doctor? I wondered as I made my way across campus. I shouldn't have listened to the woman, I thought to myself. I should have insisted upon seeing a doctor. What could someone in Administration do for me - change all of my records to Conrad Williams? But I had to admit I was curious. The woman had been very conspiratorial with me and I wanted to know why. The answers were in the Administration Building. The room she had sent me to was a small conference room. Whoever was going to meet with me hadn't arrived yet, so I took advantage of straightening myself up a little by using the full-length mirror which the room sported. I guess it was there just to make the small room look a little larger. I brushed back a strand of long brown hair which had been fluttering about my face as I walked across the campus facing a chilly fall breeze. My cheeks were a little red, too, and I wanted to do something about that but decided to work on my hair instead. I stood there, dressed in a plaid skirt, black turtleneck and black tights carefully smoothing my hair and wondering how in the world I could ever have imagined being a middle-aged male politician even in my nightmares. But as I looked at myself, I could almost see my large brown eyes staring out of a different face - a face that was rugged and masculine, framed in hair not too far from the color of my own if you discounted the streaks of gray. I had never "seen" myself in a dream. I don't imagine most people do. So why was I able to created this mental image of a man who had never existed? Why could I imagine him almost as clearly as the pretty, feminine face I knew was in the mirror. "April Stewart?" I jumped at the sound of the voice. I had been so captivated by my own image I hadn't heard the woman - for it was a woman's voice - enter the room. I turned tensely to face a woman who appeared to be just a few years older than I. She was black and very attractive, her dark hair short and her coffee-colored skin flawless. She wore normal business attire - a dark blue suit with her skirt conservatively at the knee. She smiled at my alarm. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you." She offered a hand. "I'm Coretta McGregor. Call me Corey." I offered my own hand, wincing a little at her strong handshake. Although she was about my size, she had the sleek build of an athlete and the hand strength to match. "I'm sorry... I'm April Stewart." I giggled nervously. "But I guess you already know that." As we were shaking hands, another person entered the room. He was a very nice looking man not much older than I. His angular face and slender body were strangely attractive as he held himself with such poise. I don't mean he wasn't attractive. It's just that I usually dated more the jock types, and this guy didn't look like a jock. His glasses were wire rims, and along with the small Van Dyke beard he had grown, provided his face with character. He looked a little familiar; I was sure I had seen him on campus before. Of course he also looked a little like that guy on Dark Angel, so maybe that was why he looked so familiar. He offered his hand as well. "Chip Wellington," he announced. I looked uncomfortably at Corey. My expression told her that I had not expected an audience. "Chip is with me," she assured me. "Once we've had a few moments to talk, I think you'll understand why he's here." No sooner had she finished than another person entered the room, but this one I had already met - sort of. "I believe you know Nancy Franklin," Corey announced as she formally introduced me to the woman who had sent me here in the first place. I looked at the outstretched hands of the two new arrivals, unwilling to shake hands with either of them. "What's this all about? Who are you people?" Nancy and Chip withdrew their hands exchanging amused smiles. "Sit down, April," Corey offered pleasantly. "We'll explain everything shortly. Before we do, we need to hear your story. Sit down at the table and tell us what you told Nancy." I was hesitant at first, embarrassed to tell the entire story. I think Chip's presence made it worse. He was a nice looking guy - the sort of guy I might even be interested in even if he wasn't a jock. But I was sure that after he heard my story, he wasn't going to be interested in me. Corey did an excellent job of drawing the story out of me. She was patient and even understanding. Before I knew it, I had told her everything that I had told Nancy and a lot more. I was expounding more upon the life I recalled as Conrad Williams. Everything I said about my - his - life seemed to bring other details into focus. Soon I replaced the word "he" with "I" as I described a life that the reference books assured me had never existed. I realized after a while that no one was talking but me. I stopped and sighed, "Look, I'm sorry. I can understand if you don't believe a word of this..." "On the contrary," Corey replied seriously. "We believe every word of it." She looked at her two associates sitting to her right at the table. "Don't we?" Both nodded, Chip even saying quietly, "Absolutely." My heart skipped a beat. "Does that mean you can help me get rid of this... this delusion?" "Oh it's not a delusion," Corey laughed. "I have no doubt that you really were Conrad Williams, a member of Congress." "But that's not possible," I protested. "I know who I am." Corey leaned forward. "You've told us a story. Now let me tell you one. A few years ago, some very powerful beings created a town out of nothing. They called it Ovid - after the Roman poet. For at least ten years they've been gathering up anyone who strayed too close to them and turning them into residents of their town. You just got caught up in their net. Then you were sent to see The Judge you mentioned and the next thing you knew, you were April Lynn Stewart of Tulsa, Oklahoma, coming to Ovid to attend college. Your friends were changed, too, into new people." "But no one has that kind of power," I argued. "What are you saying - they're space aliens?" "More fantastic than that," Chip broke in. "They're gods." "Gods?" "Yes, gods," Corey confirmed. "Remember when you were a boy, reading all those Roman myths about Jupiter and Juno and Mars and Apollo?" "But those are just stories." "Some of them are," Corey admitted, "for these gods aren't always the way we read about them. But maybe they've changed over the centuries, or maybe the people who chronicled them got it wrong. Whatever the case, this town is run by Roman gods who have changed you to suit their own purposes and will never let you go." I jumped up. "You people are just plain crazy!" I started to leave but stopped when Chip called out to me. "You know, I really admired that game you played against Nebraska. Four touchdowns in the first half really broke their backs. If you hadn't pulled that hamstring, you might have scored four more in the second half." I turned from the door and stared at him. "I didn't say anything about playing football. How do you know about that game?" "Because I was there," Chip replied, standing to look me straight in the eye. "My dad took me to see it. I was just a little guy then, and I sure didn't look like I do now, but I made up my mind watching that game and watching you that I was going to be just as good a football player as you were." "And were you?" I asked quietly, feeling in that moment a strange kinship with this young man who shouldn't have even been born the day of that Nebraska-Oklahoma game so many years ago. He grinned. "Better. I was starting wide receiver for the Sooners for all four years and played ten years in the pros for Kansas City before I got sidelined." He put out his hand again to me. "It's really a pleasure to finally meet you again." This time, I slowly took his hand. It was warm and comforting somehow. He applied pressure to his shake as if he were shaking with a man but not enough to hurt my smaller hand. "Should I remember you?" I asked him. He shook his head. "No. I came to Ovid before you did. No one outside remembers Flip Washington. You wouldn't either. The funny thing is, we actually met. You came into the locker room before a Texas game a few years back. You even shook my hand and wished me well." "I remember being there," I confirmed. "But I don't remember you." He grinned. "You wouldn't." Slowly I sat back down at the table, noting the amuse expressions from my three new acquaintances. I began to realize that I needed now more than ever to listen to what they had to say. It was one thing when I remembered being someone who couldn't have possibly existed outside my own mind. It was another thing when I realized that at least one of these people knew that Conrad Williams was more than the delusional ramblings of a young coed who had apparently flipped out. "Exactly who are you people?" I asked slowly and softly. Nancy snorted, "That's a good question!" She settled down when Corey gave her a stern glance. It was Corey who continued, "We're The Judge's mistakes." It took her fifteen minutes to tell me what she knew of the transformation process. Apparently, less than half of those transformed remembered their previous lives. The rest were like I - like we had been. Most of those who lost their memories never recovered, but a few - a very few - regained their recollections of a previous life. "But why us?" I asked. Corey shrugged. "The common thread appears to be some sort of injury to the brain suffered in our previous lives. Nancy had a large brain tumor which cut off parts of the brain. Chip had a stroke. As for me, I had been injured and had brain damage." "And I had a metal plate in my head from a war injury," I cut in. Corey nodded. "So you see the pattern." "The human brain is a marvelous device," Nancy explained, sounding much like a doctor. I found out later she had been one in her previous life. "It stores information in multiple places so that if one storehouse of data is destroyed, the duplicate knowledge stored elsewhere is transmitted to wherever it needs to be." "Our gods didn't seem to realize this," Corey continued. "They appear to be under the assumption that you either remember your previous life as all of their pets do or you forget your previous existence in which case you're of no further interest to them." "But that's actually an advantage to us," Chip explained. "Apparently some of the rules are programmed into us when we're transformed." "Rules?" I think I was becoming even more confused. "Yeah," Chip nodded with a grin. "You see, if we had maintained our memories when we were first changed, we wouldn't be having this conversation. People who remember - " "We call them Rems," Nancy interjected. Chip nodded. "Right - the Rems. They can't talk about the gods or even mention them by name in this context." "We believe the Rems also are given something when they are changed that allows them to accept their transformation without going totally bug shit," Nancy added. "Sort of like divine Prozac," Chip clarified. "Oh this is just too much for me," I laughed nervously. "You're trying to tell me that I'm not really April Stewart but instead some congressman no one has ever heard of?" "Oh you're April Stewart all right," Corey assured me. "In case you weren't listening to everything we've told you, Conrad Williams was completely removed from reality and April Stewart was put in his place. You're going to be a girl until we can force the gods to change us back." My eyes narrowed. "And just how are four mentally-damaged victims going to do that?" I could have added, "Even if we wanted to change back." After all, I wasn't exactly interested in becoming a middle-aged man again, assuming what they had told me was true. I might have two sets of memories, but the strongest set still told me I was April Stewart. Conrad Williams was just a hotshot politician with delusions of being Emperor of the Known Universe as far as I could tell. I didn't think I had a lot in common with him. "There are considerably more than four of us," Corey informed me. "Are you familiar with the concept of the revolutionary cell?" "Cell?" Suddenly the information on cells was in my mind. I remembered an intelligence expert briefing us in Congress on the concept. It was funny, but the memory hadn't been there a moment ago. Uncomfortably I realized that more and more stimuli could trigger memories of a life I didn't want to know anything about. "Cells are small political units, usually with half a dozen or fewer members. They're organized so that if one unit is brought down by the authorities, no one knows the members of the other cells, so the entire revolution can't be stopped by one mistake." Corey nodded. "That's exactly right. And just like revolutionaries for decades, that's how we're organized in Ovid." I know my mouth had to be hanging open. "You're telling me that there are many of these cells here in Ovid?" "Several dozen," Corey confirmed with a smug sm