Streaming Love
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Streaming - Chapter 1 free porn video
Warning, most of this chapter is background. Needs to be done to set
the scene, which is pretty important for the rest of the story.
Streaming - Chapter 1
Don is the greeter on duty today as I emerge from the stream. Basic
checks complete, he comes through to give me the clear.
'Hey John, how'd it go?'
'You tell me.'
Don looks a little put out, for a microsecond, and then realizes I must
be wondering what the prognosis was.
'We got an 88 on this one; I think everyone's pretty happy. But you
must be tired?'
'Yeah. When's the debrief due?'
'Just under an hour.'
'Great - see you later.'
Just fantastic. Under an hour to get cleaned up, and try to sort 4
hours of mission data into some sort of coherent log. But that's what
happens if you overrun on a streaming, no-one can be bothered to
reschedule the meetings they've set up, so all you do is give yourself
a little less R&R. Sometimes I think I'm too dedicated to my job. And
sometimes just the basics of conversation just elude me. I managed a
full 12 words, and it felt like an effort. At the best of times, no one
looks to me for scintillating conversation. After streaming, those in
the know try their best not ever to be greeting. Poor old Don, he
always refused to listen to the gossip, and where does that leave you.
Not knowing which streamers to avoid greeting, and you end up with me.
Bummer.
But an 88. Not my best day's work ever, but my highest this year, and a
good candidate for stream of the month, it is the 21st already. I could
really use a bonus this month, my Musicmaker was stolen out of my
pocket a few weeks ago, and the insurance deductible is pretty hefty.
Probably stolen, I guess. I could have left it on the seat on the
transit, but they claimed not to have had it handed in. Anyway, there's
no doubt I'm getting better, four streams over 75 this year, and it is
only 21 days old. Luckier, says Sal, but she might be a little jealous.
I'm pretty sure streaming is a talent though, you make your own luck.
And it isn't like I don't work hard.
Anyway, I head up in the elevator to my apartment and have a quick
shower and shave, and gather the data of the streaming. So I should
really fill you in on some background before I carry on, because
otherwise none of this is going to make much sense.
If I haven't made it clear yet, I'm a time engineer, a 'streamer', as
pretty much everyone in the bubble calls us. There are plenty of us
around, but you might not know you've met one. We don't advertise, for
obvious reasons, like people wanting us to stream for their gain, as if
we could do that. As you know, our job is to clean up the time stream
for leakages from the rift. It's a job for life, but life might not be
as long as you like. When I'm done streaming in 20 years or so, if I'm
still around, I'll move out of the action and into the bureaucracy.
Contrary to rumor, we aren't particularly well paid, there's no danger
money. It has to be the most interesting job in the world though, and
there's no shortage of people queuing up to be streamers. I'm part of
FD2, don't ask me what it means, it's lost in time! There are six FD's,
one to 7 - there is no FD4. Don't ask me why. We each have about 30-40
streamers, in 3 teams, and we don't really mix. Not that I mix with the
rest of FD2 much anyway. I socialize with the others in my team some,
but not all the time. I started out in CMR division, which was pretty
basic, local stuff only - put in my 5 years there and was transferred
to an FD, which is the top of the tree, the place to be. I get assigned
anywhen, anywhere, on any assignment, which is more than a level 5.
This last one was a level 8, which is kind of my norm. Some people
prefer the higher levels, but mostly all I find is that it takes
longer. I prefer a quick in and out. Done properly, of course.
This last one, the level 8, estimated completion time was 3 hours, with
5 oosers to pick up. I took 4 hours, which you could see as a sign of
inefficiency. If you don't know the system. Deal is, it takes as long
as it takes, they just guess how long it should take to do an average
job. An average job is a 50. You probably aren't familiar with the
scoring system. 100 would mean I picked up all of the oosers, and
didn't leave any pollution behind. None. It's impossible. Low pollution
is the key to a good job, and therefore to a high score. That and
getting all the oosers. They measure it like they measure everything,
with resonation.
I can see I'm losing you. It's difficult to grasp the first time
around, but here goes. We all know what we're aiming for, a resonance
free year TY00. TY00 was the year of the big accident, the rift. If we
could get TY00 resonance free, we're done - we can pack up our bags and
go home. Doesn't look like it's going to happen anytime soon, because
its still leaking. The rift, I mean. The science is beyond me, but the
rift keeps dropping oosers all over the time. They resonate at whatever
frequency, and we detect them, and someone like me is sent to pick them
up. Depending on what the oosers are, this can be pretty easy. I once
had a digital watch from 1985 dropped in a forest in 1940 halfway
across the world. Simple in / out, no chance of observation from a
human, and there wasn't. Scored a 60 on that one, because I had to cut
down the tree the watch had appeared inside. Pollution. Changing
something like that isn't usually significant, but what it could be
eventually. Too much pollution from us streamers, and some of it will
overlap, and change something. That's the best I understand it, anyway.
The pollution resonates, and the bods can tell you what effect you've
had on the overall level of resonance. 0 is no effect, and 100 means
you completely eliminated the resonance you were trying to get rid of,
from the oosers. Take off the level of resonance you created, and you
get your overall score. So I eliminated completely the resonance from
the oosers, because I picked up all 5 and brought them back. And my
pollution level was 12, which as I say is one of my better days. I
won't know for sure until the debrief. I'm pretty sure the only thing I
could have done anything about was a door that I had to leave unlocked
when I found it locked, but I was pushed for time.
I'm already 12 hours late back. Go figure. One hour late back on your
mission, and you miss the stream, and have to wait for the next free
one. Not literally wait, but you arrive late, and so that's 12 hours of
my life I'll never get back. Kind of. Whatever. I was supposed to get a
night's sleep before the morning debrief, but some kind person figured
I could make do with an hour, if it meant that they didn't have to
rearrange the meeting. I was supposed to go to the symphony last night,
had the ticket booked a few months ago. I was looking forward to that,
not least because I've barely been out into the bubble for months. I'm
fairly self-contained. Just pipe enough entertainment to me, and make
sure when I order my meals they arrive on time, and I'm pretty happy.
The occasional sports game live, but that's about all I need. I get my
real life fix from streaming. I've traveled to more places than most,
and I've traveled to more times than you can imagine. I'm a 20th
century specialist, but that doesn't mean I haven't seen the BCs.
But in this time, this here, this now, like most everyone else with
sense, I've not been out of the bubble. For most people, that seriously
cramps your style. I mean, its not like the bubble is small, there are
5 million people here, but you can't go anywhere else. I guess the
resort bubbles, but they are still bubbles. Self-contained hidey-holes
from the freakiness of the rift. And it makes sense not to go out,
because if you get touched by new resonance while you are out there,
you won't be able to come back in. Not without some serious cash to
employ us to wipe the new oosers that screwed you up. It doesn't feel
like you've changed, but you aren't what you were supposed to be
anymore, and you can't get back into the safe zone until you are who
you were meant to be. Screwy, I know. It confuses me, and I do it for a
living. And yes, we do it for money, it helps with the funding. And
gives a life, a real life, to those that can afford it.
This bubble, what we all call THE bubble, was an accident, but you
wouldn't think it the way our leaders boast about it. Back in TY0, when
the rift happened, the bubble was like a side effect, this area that
didn't get changed by the rift. You look out through the bubblewindows,
and what you see is the world, the way it should be. Without the rift.
The bods called it cleanworld. Actually leave the bubble, and that is a
completely different story, you are in the riftworld. You step out (if
it was that easy), and you could be in a post-nuclear holocaust world,
or a world where no-one has electricity, just depending on which
resonances are causing us problems. So inside the bubble, nothing
resonates. It didn't take them long to work out where the boundaries
were, and put up barriers, but that doesn't stop people from trying
their luck. One of the bods told me the other day that there is some
sort of gang initiation where you have to spend 5 minutes outside the
bubble, and if you can get back, ever, you are in the gang. The govs
spend their time closing up the access points, but they always seem to
find new ones.
But I don't have to worry about such things. I can leave the bubble to
a new place every few days, and never have to think about whether I can
get back in, because I've got the streams. No risk exploration of the
world. Not that I have all the time in the world to explore while I'm
on the job. Pollution, as I explained. But I don't have to worry about
getting caught by a resonance because I'm with the cleaning crew, and
if like a lightning strike one happened to hit me, they'd shift me up a
few hours on the return, and clean that resonance before I came back to
now.
Happened to Dave, once, and now he claims he can't get hit again. You
know - lightning never strikes twice. Resonance from a dump truck
appearing in 1520 while he was out in the nineteenth C. He tells the
story pretty much every year to the new recruits, so we all know it
backwards by now. You might think a dump truck in 1520 is a pretty big
resonance, but he says he asked the bods and nothing much changed. It
was enough to resonate with him though, obviously. It was only a level
5 to remove the ooser, a fact which you might not expect with something
like a truck that you can't physically stream back with you, but we get
pretty nice chemicals to work with that don't leave a trace.
The usual question you get from recruits is, why don't you have to
return things to where they were taken from. And if you acid a truck,
you can't return it to where it belongs. Good question, and I'm not the
one to ask. I used to ask questions like that too, but those are the
ones I don't understand the answers to. Apparently we aren't altering
the world the ooser comes from, because then it isn't an ooser, we are
correcting the oosers in the riftworld, and they are different. Beats
me.
Course, there is a loophole, which leads to the whole danger thing. If
you cause pollution which resonances yourself in the now, you could
wipe yourself out. You just disappear in the stream back, and there's
nothing you can do about it. You have to be pretty bad at your job, or
unlucky, to do that, because they're never going to assign you anything
relevant, and they have nice machines which tell you who is relevant.
That's the reason, of course, that we don't have streamers over 54.
It's a lot easier to resonate yourself when you exist in the pre-rift
years. We used to have streamers born pre 00, but they've all gone, one
by one. Otherwise, the now is pretty robust and flexible, it takes a
lot of oosers to cause serious effects. More than you'd think.
So, my debrief, I have to tell them what I did to pick up the oosers -
who I may have met, interacted with, left footprints for, all that
jazz. I don't leave footprints, by the way. They already know how much
pollution I created, so what they need to do is work out why, and what
I did right this time, and how I could have been better, which they
pass on to me. Thanks guys. And to the rest of the streamers. In a nice
condensed operational briefing every month. We're supposed to get
better at our jobs, but for the most part, we all stay the same.
Except, as I said, I'm on a hot streak right now.
So it shouldn't come as a surprise when, at the end of the debrief,
they tell me they want me to go right back out. I'm scheduled a couple
of days off, but we get paid overtime, and like I said I could use the
cash this month. Pretty simple job, new ooser rather than an old clean
up. Sorry, way it works is, we clean the most important or relevant
oosers as they come in. We don't get to everything, because there are
priorities, but they all have ratings, and someone somewhere has a long
(very long) list of the order we have to get to them. As new oosers
appear in the now, they have a good chance of being more important than
the existing oosers, because we've already cleaned a lot of the
important old oosers. So maybe two thirds of my job is new oosers.
Doesn't really make a difference to me. They tell you whether it is old
or new, and how difficult it is going to be to pull it out, and how you
are supposed to do it, and why, but they don't tell you what effect it
has. Had. Ever. Supposedly. I think the idea is, they don't completely
trust us, and so we aren't supposed to know what objects have what
effects when and so on. I guess they think we might get corrupted and
mess around, or sell the info, or something, which is ridiculous. But
there you go. Not like I really care. It won't have any effect by the
time I'm done with it.
They also tell you what sort of things will cause pollution thiswhen,
and lots of other useful stuff. Part of the reason I do my job well is
because I listen hard to this sort of thing. Part of it is I'm good at
doing what I'm told. And the rest is because I adapt well. I have
developed a good instinct, and I can react to situations which are
never exactly the same as they tell you they are going to be.
So, apparently, if I stream to 1993 now, my new level 6 job should only
take six hours to complete, and I can still get the rest of the weekend
off, have a full day and a half paid overtime, and debrief on Monday
morning. What could be better. I kind of like the early 90s, and it
sounds like I can maybe catch a ball game while I'm there. I'm good for
North American streaming because I wasn't born there, and so there is
never a high chance of resonating. Suits me fine. I like baseball, and
I catch a game whenever I can. They still play, as you probably know,
but it isn't the same with a smaller population. I know, I've been
there. The reason I can probably catch the game is because they are
going to stream me 4 hours before the ooser gets there. It's easier to
pinpoint certain times, don't ask me why. There's no real worry about
pollution at a ball game, you are always going to get a little bit, but
it's not really much different from hanging around anywhere else for 4
hours. Won't be a record score, the quickies are always better for
that, but should be pretty easy.
Because it is new, there is only one ooser. Chances of two new oosers
same when and where are pretty slim. The multiple deal streams are for
old stuff, when it piles up together, and it gets worth taking it out
together. So apparently this ooser is a ballpoint pen, from 1994. Don't
ask me why a pen oosing a year is significant, I don't have a clue.
Don't ask me why oosers are always back in time either. If it bothers
you, ask the bods. Not my job. The pen ooses onto a street, which is
very simple, no doors, no individuals, very clean. It's a level six
because the street is busy, but no big deal. I blend in.
Don is still on to send me off. Not really greeting when you are
streaming them out, rather than back, but that's still his title.
Unofficially. Officially he is a time stream technician grade 3, I
think, but they are all greeters to us.
'Back out so soon?' he asked.
'Yeah, need the cash. Simple and straightforward pick up. And I'll
catch a game as well.'
'Nice. Not really working is it.'
'Well, I wouldn't go that far. So who else is out there at the moment?'
'There's a few, two newbies, Gaz, Dave, Joey, Sal, Si, Brooke, all from
team 1.'
Typical. Isn't my expertise they need, Just my team, the 20C North
America specialists, almost everyone is already out. Trust Don not to
have learned any of the rookies' names though.
'Well, wish me luck, and a pollution free pick-up.' You see, I can be
conversational if I want to be.
'Yeah, good luck John. See if you can beat Katie's 90 from this
morning.'
Great. Just fantastic. Katie hasn't had a 90 in her life, and she gets
one presumably a couple of hours after I score an 88. Kiss goodbye to
the bonus, John. And no one says anything about it to me until I'm
ready to stream. Thanks, guys.
Anyway, the pick-up is as easy as I thought it would be, and I reckon
I've not done anything of significance, pollution-wise. Good ball game.
I'm slightly ahead of time too, so there is a good chance I'll stream
back in late evening Friday and I still get my full weekend, provided
the rest of the team already came back and aren't clogging up the
machinery. Chances are they did, because after all it is Friday night,
and who wants to be streaming on a weekend.
No clocks in the greeting room, nice and ironical. So I can't tell what
time or day it is when I get back. But I do know that something feels
wrong. Everything feels wrong, but not seriously wrong. And as the
scanners immediately click into action, checking me for contaminants I
might have brought from 1993, I immediately click what is wrong. I am
not supposed to be female.
There's not much doubt though. I think I'm a bit shorter, but not much.
I definitely have breasts, that took about a second to verify. I have a
purse - 1993 style of course. My hair is much longer. Below shoulder
length, and it is getting in the way already.
'Stay still - you know the drill.' says a voice from the scanning
control room.
I don't reply. I think I'm scared to talk, because it won't be my
voice. I'm definitely scared to think. Continuing my inventory, without
moving much, I can tell I'm in some sort of heels, but they can't be
too bad because I don't feel out of balance, but the way the pressure
on my feet feels on the floor is different. Lipstick. That figures for
93. Clothes feel different, but it's not like I'm used to wearing
women's clothing, so I can't exactly tell what I have on. Must be a bra
though, I can feel something touching my breasts all the way around,
which is different. Pretty sure its pants and not a skirt, but I could
be wrong. That's about all I can feel that's definitely female, but
everything still feels wrong though. I have an ache in my left arm that
I didn't have before.
What the hell happened? Now the thoughts are racing through my head. I
can't have been hit by a resonation, they would have sent someone to
clean it while they held me in the stream. I can't have resonated
myself, can I? You can't turn yourself female by going to a ball game.
Can you? Surely female is significant enough a change I'd just have
wiped out. What the hell has happened? And why isn't anyone here
calming me down about the consequences.
'Dear, you're clear.' comes the voice again.
Must be Steve, he's got this thing about rhyming sentences that he
thinks is hilarious. Not that he's called me dear before. Damn. This is
not good. Time to find out some more information.
'How did I do?'
Yep, nice and perky voice. Definitely not mine. Definitely female. I'm
looking down now, and they are pants, brown, and a pretty plain beige
top. Bare arms, nice watch. We aren't supposed to stand out when we are
streaming, and I guess I wouldn't stand out in 1993. Breasts are
blocking my view of anything further down, but I take a step, and I can
tell I feel different between my legs. No mirrors in the greeting room,
thank goodness. I can't see enough of myself to recognize me. Supposing
that I'm someone I know.
Steve heads into the room, and grins at me. '91, son of a gun. I'll
tell Kate not to hate.'
'Any complications?'
'Explanation, complication?'
Oops. What exactly do I mean? I mean, I headed out as a guy, and I've
come back as a girl. But Steve doesn't seem to notice, and I can hardly
ask. If I'm wrong in the bubble, that's serious, because as I
understand it, I can't be wrong in the bubble. Would anyone even
believe me? In the bubble, you can trust your memories, and possibly
all theirs are of me as female. The scanning machine certainly didn't
seem to pick up a difference. Damn. This is crazy. The first thing I
need to do is check, find out who I am, and whether I'm me. I don't
think I can think this through. 91 is wrong as a score too. There is no
way I'd have got 91 sitting at a ball game for hours. Did I even just
come back from '93? This is complicated.
'Sorry. Just paranoid. It isn't often you score over 90.'
'No one but you, that's very true. But last year's score was 94.'
Who the hell am I? I've never had a 94 my entire career.
'So come on then, let's have the pen.'
The pen. Where the hell is it, it was in my jacket pocket, and I'm not
wearing a jacket. And apparently I don't have any pockets, although the
hunt amuses Steve quite a bit.
'Please don't curse, just try your purse.'
Not that I cursed. But I certainly try my purse. My purse. Full of
things I really don't own. Various cosmetics that look vaguely pen
shaped, root through some pieces of paper, and I grab hold of a pen.
Definitely the ball point I was sent for. I'm not sure whether that
complicates things or simplifies them. My mind is racing, and at the
same time, this hair is significantly distracting. Brown. I was blonde.
I hand over the pen to Steve, and tell him I'm going for a rest.
'That's not right, it's Friday night.'
Two jobs in one day, I tell him, which is sort of true, but that isn't
what I'm getting out of the place for. At least he didn't proposition
me for a date tonight. How would I have handled that? I wonder why not
though, Steve is pretty much a ladies man, I've seen him try it on with
Sal and Katie on numerous occasions, but they don't bite. Maybe I'm
just not dating material, and I'm really not sure how I feel about
that. Shit, and now I do curse under my breath, because the thought
hits me that I might not even be single. Most of us streamers are, but
not all.
So I bite the bullet, and stride out of the room, and after one stride,
I shorten my walk to one which fits this body better. Walking feels
pretty much like normal, apart from my breasts bouncing a little, which
is very unnerving. The heels really can't be much.
'Night miss.' the security guard calls as I buzz myself out of the
secure area.
Does he know who I am, or is he just saying goodnight? I need to get
back to my apartment. Wait, is it even going to still be my apartment?
What do I do if it isn't? I won't have any ID on me right now,
obviously, given I've just been back in '93, and I don't fancy checking
with anyone here where I live. So I'll just have to give it a shot.
I get in the elevator, and it whizzes me up to the 45th, it is looking
good as it obviously recognizes my access. No mirrors still, thank
goodness. I step out, and down the corridor to 4505, and click the
lock, and I'm in. Relief upon relief. Maybe I'm still me.
'Honey, I'm home.'
Why the hell did I just do that? No harm no foul, and there is no reply
from inside. Oh boy. Why do I remember being a man anyway? If my body
has been changed, and I'm not in someone elses, why weren't my memories
converted at the same time.
Apparently I now have a mirror in the hall, because I'm looking ahead
of me, and I'm seeing a woman, and it is definitely me. Long, straight
brown hair, pretty face, small button nose, big brown eyes, red lips.
Make-up. Pierced ears, with stud earrings. Long neck, for me anyway,
and then breasts. Average size, I guess, they fit pretty well on my
frame. Which is definitely small. I'm very slim, flat stomach, with a
bit of a curve to my hips, but not curvy. And long legs. Heels are
maybe an inch, but they are women's shoes. My arms are thin, my hands
slim, with long fingers. No rings. All in all, I'm attractive, but I'm
not model attractive. I've dated girls this attractive. Shit. And I'm a
girl. As in, younger than I was. How weird is this. I must be early 20s
now, whereas I was early 30s. How can I have even done my 5 years in
local, to be working in FD2. Who the hell am I?
And now, after the mirror, reality as the now would have it kicks in,
and I realize that I'm scared. I would have thought that changing sex
would be kind of erotic, not that I've spent any time thinking about
it, just that women have always had a sort of mystique to me. But all I
am is scared. Terrified. And utterly utterly alone.
And realizing that the door is still open behind me, I close it, lock
it, and decide that I'm going to have to do some pretty serious
thinking very soon, before I lose my mind.
Wynona
- 02.04.2021
- 7
- 0
