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October Intervention By Tyrone Slothrop Chapter 1: Vacation Cruise The small yacht was going down as Emily looked through the storm. Fred was laying on the beach unconscious, completely tired after his futile attempts to swim out and get any supplies. Their ten year anniversary trip around the world was looking like their final vacation. Emily worried that after five days of insane seas and wind they were far off any shipping lanes. The island was anything but tropical, stuck in the 'roaring forties' latitudes of the South Pacific somewhere between South America and New Zealand. That meant they were about as lost as you can get. Emily ran an inventory. A survival lighter, two Swiss army knives, three deck shoes with Fred missing one, two shredded tee shirts ripped on the rocks coming ashore, one pair of ripped light pants, her size. One hair scrunchie. Three earrings. One pair panties, also ripped, one pair men's briefs, one sports bra. Two wedding rings. Two Rolex watches, submariner type. One handkerchief, very wet. One canteen water, two liters, full. Various cuts and bruises, nothing broken. Fear, panic, despair all ready to come on stage. Temperature dropping below fifty Fahrenheit. Emily as usual was the opposite of passive. She got up to her full six feet one inch height, pulled her hair back and refastened it, and proceeded to carry Fred off the shore to the cover of the bush line. She could bench press two hundred pounds but not for long and Fred was one seventy all dead weight. Despite the strain, she staggered over the sand and got him under cover. Chapter 2: Suicide Is Painless Five days later, Fred is hungry. He knows Emily is hungry too. The water is three quarters gone. "Fred, I'm sorry I made you go on into the storm. It's all my fault." Emily said. Ten years married. They had built a company from nothing, consumer grocery bulk buying over the web. People could buy a year's worth of their favorite items and get huge discounts for brand loyalty and cash in advance. All they had to do was pick up the item when they needed it and their frequent shopper card tracked the rest. The grocer just saw it as a free coupon, the manufacturer saw it as guaranteed sales and the consumer saved about forty percent. It took five years and then they cashed in for enough to set them for life. So at thirty five, they were sailing the world. Until an unscheduled stop at the end of the everything. Both of them knew what they faced. No food. Limited water. No source of fresh water and neither had been able to catch any fish. Rescue highly unlikely. Their last radio message had been hundreds of miles away and probably never received through the storm interference. "Emily, shut up. For the zillionth time if I disagreed with you I would never have headed into the weather. Now, did you find anything on the other side of this rock that I didn't find yesterday?" Fred said calmly. Neither of them had discussed their probable options. And neither would. "Nothing. Just what looked like a small opening in the rock above my head. I didn't want to try it without you there since if I fell it would be a two hundred meter drop right onto jagged rocks." "Well, we've got no other appointments today and dinner looks like it will be delayed, my dear. Lead me to it." Fred grinned. Thirty minutes later, they are both looking up at what appears to be a hole of indeterminate size in the face of the cliff about two meters over their heads. The rain had finally stopped for a moment. "Babe, I think I can get halfway up and anchor myself. You can then climb over me and look in." Fred said, beginning to scramble up the rockface. Emily watched as Fred positioned himself precariously on the rock, his bare feet supported by a small protrusion of granite. "Dammit Fred, if you fall I'm letting go. You're not leaving me here alone. " "Deal, Babe. Now climb." Emily carefully went up the cliff, sometimes using Fred as the only hold she could get. After about fifteen minutes, she was able to see into the hole, her foot supported by Fred's shoulder. As she levered herself into the little cave, the wind and rain returned with a vengeance. The cave was dimly lit, how, she did not know. As she was about to look closer, she heard Fred. "Emily! I'm losing my foothold!" Emily threw herself out of the cave entrance, bracing against the sides with her legs. She grabbed Fred's outstretched hand. Fred had one option available which did not involve a messy death on the rocks below. He somehow scrambled up over Emily into the cave. He then hit his head on an outcropping with almost full force as he tried to save his life. Fred went out like a thrown switch. Emily crawls out from under Fred and makes sure he is breathing. She then looks up at he odd luminescent lighting on the walls. The next thing she knows is blackness. Chapter 3: A Place That Looks Like The Evil Lair Of A Master Criminal But Is Not Emily has very weird dreams. Somehow they are all set in the past, a past she never inhabited. Cars with tailfins. Bright sunshine and palm trees. Pillbox hats. Sunglasses in the shape of hearts. Dresses with petticoats. Saddle shoes. Stockings and garters. Scarf around your hair while riding in a huge convertible. Funny swimsuits and bathing caps. The place looks like the Florida Keys, but years ago. About the 1950s or early 1960s. Emily recognizes a big Chrysler 300. Her brother had restored one years ago. Emily feels questions are being asked without words. She is not asleep but not conscious. She feels her fashion sense is being probed. Images of hairstyles and clothing are brought up for her and she almost feels like her reaction is being solicited. All of the images are women's or teenage girl's fashions from the era. She then feels something about a mission, something important, something she needs to do. She must get ready but for what is elusive. Emily is confused. She has always been self conscious of her height and looks, always too tall, too plain, too athletic. She had compensated by enjoying clothes, hair and more feminine styles since they had been wealthy. But it had not made her feel any better. Fred made her feel pretty and desired. Fred the good looking one. God, she was even taller than he was by two inches and he didn't care. Why did anyone care about what she thought looked good? Particularly from an era she only knew historically. Emily notices another thing. She is not hungry. If you are without food for a few days, hunger is very real. Its sudden disappearance was noted even in her strange not conscious state. The lights go on or her eyes open, she is not really sure. Somehow, she is in the bedroom of what looks to be a simple American suburban house, a young woman's bedroom from the vanity and accoutrements laid out. She is naked but feels just washed. Her hair is wet but feels like it was just shampooed and conditioned. Emily gets up and sees no sign of Fred. She wanders into a hallway and sees Fred sleeping on a bed in an identical bedroom to hers. He has also been washed and looks clean. In fact he looks like he has been shaved all over except for his scalp and all of his cuts are healed. Emily gets a feeling of well being communicated, an indication that Fred is all right, just resting from his concussion. She doesn't know how the word concussion got into her head. She inspects him and he looks fine, breathing evenly. She looks at the rest of the place, a living room, kitchen and dining room. No windows. She recognizes it as a copy of the set from an old situation comedy she watched on that cable channel. There is a door which leads to a large white room with a window, or a sort of window. It may be a computer screen, showing ocean and palm trees. Emily knows it looks a lot warmer than where they are. The room is huge, at least a half a basketball court in size. Emily gets a feeling to fix her hair and get dressed, a strong feeling. She returns to her room. Chapter 4: Dressing for Success Sitting at her vanity, Emily starts to have a hairstyle visualized in her mind, one she would never have chosen for herself in a thousand years. The curly bouffant looked like something her mother used to wear when she was a girl, and she feels strangely drawn to opening a drawer and taking out rollers, pins and combs. She sets her brown barely shoulder length still wet hair, something she has not done since high school. Completing that task, she feels good, not giddy or high, just satisfied. She next wanders to a large armoire and opens the doors. A drawer is open slightly. It contains a single pair of panties, white with a lace trim. She steps into them. She closes the drawer and finds the other drawers will not open. Returning to the drawer, she opens it again and finds a white brassiere, which looks a little old in style, thicker straps, heavier material than the ones she is used to. So it continues, item by item, drawer by drawer. Everything fits perfectly. A panty girdle with garters. Stockings. A full slip. A petticoat. A long sleeve dress which comes to mid calf and floats on the petticoat. The dress covers her to her neck but displays her bust prominently. Emily swears the bra padding has made her a "C' cup instead of her normal "B", with a slightly conical shape. She selects the offered pair of pumps with three inch heels. She normally wears heels about never, given her height. All of the clothing is given in a strict sequence, one item at a time. The next one not there until the last actually is on her body. Her next compulsion is to sit back at her vanity and add some lipstick and eye makeup. She hasn't worn cosmetics for the entire six months of their cruise, and used them sparingly before that. Emily looks in one of the mirrors and sees herself transported back in time to the middle of the previous century. Her hair in rollers and her dress make her feel like someone in an old magazine photo. She checks on Fred again. He is still sleeping. Chapter 5: The Sleeper Wakes Fred is dreaming weird dreams. He recognizes the time as 1962 by the cars, and the area as the Florida Keys. But the images of women's clothing and hair are confusing. They seem relentless until he begins to notice small details with every image. He relaxes and begins to wake up. Emily is leaning over him, but she is very different. Her hair is in some elaborate style, all full and teased, she is wearing more makeup than he has seen her wear since their wedding and where did she get that dress? Where the hell were they? He remembered them looking at death on a volcanic rock with no food and water. "Fred, are you all right? Fred?" Emily's voice was good to hear. "I'm ok" Fred croaked. His throat felt unused. Emily helped him up. Fred realized he was naked. And not hungry. "Where are we?" He asked. "We are on the island Fred. I've been here for three days waiting for you to heal. How's your head?" "It feels fine. I remember hitting it when I got into the cave. " "You had a concussion. Whatever runs this place had taken care of you. Are you hungry or thirsty?" Emily said. "No. I feel pretty good except I'm a bit chilly now. " "Let's get you into a shower and get you dressed. Then we'll have some real food." Emily led George to the shower of his bedroom, waved her hand inside and the water flow started. "Touch the pink tile for shampoo and the blue one for soap, Fred." Fred did and he was amazed. As he touched the pink tile, a shampoo like substance oozed into his hand. He washed his hair, which was about an inch past the tops of his ears. Emily hadn't cut his hair since the Galapagos islands. The soap was a similar liquid. He found a toothbrush and touched a green tile with it. Toothpaste. His mouth felt wonderful after so long without any care. "Open the drawer under the sink, Fred." As he did, he found a single large white towel. After he dried off Emily grabbed it and threw it on the floor. "It will be gone whenever you look away. I stared at one for an hour, blinked and it was gone. Now let's see what kind of clothes they have for you. I can't open your armoire so I assume you can. I also assume you will have some clothing from the 1950s or early sixties." "Emily, I was dreaming about 1962. I remember that." "I did too. I've just been reading books and exercising and doing my face and hair until I'm ready to scream. I feel like somebody's grandmother." Fred grabbed her about the waist and lifted his face up to kiss her. She was taller than he remembered. "It's the heels, babe- It's all I get to wear." Emily laughed. Chapter 6: The Naked Or The Well Dressed Emily explained how her armoire worked, one thing at a time. Fred opened his and found a single drawer slightly open. He removed a pair of white underwear which Emily thought looked like panties but cut fuller in the front. They have the same lace trim hers do. "Is this all that's in there? How do I get something else?" Fred asked. "Fred, does the place give you any feelings or talk to you in any way?" Emily asked. "Not that I've noticed, babe." "Well, it sort of talks to me. I think you are supposed to get dressed in what it gives you. And it is chilly here when you're naked. I would recommend you go along. I'm the only one here and I promise not to laugh." Emily said calmly. "Oh well. It's only clothes. " So Fred was issued a high waisted girdle cut for him in the crotch, with a fair amount of padding in the rear and hips, a brassiere which Emily thought was like a padded training bra, stockings, a slip and a fairly tight skirt which slightly hobbled his legs at the knee and a white blouse. "I don't want to wear high heels, Emily, I'll go without." Fred said. Emily thought he was taking this very well. As Fred tried to leave the room, he felt a buzzing in his head, like an annoying alarm clock. He stopped. "Fred, I'm getting a feeling you need to finish completely or this place will buzz you until you do. It's tied into some important thing we have to do. Don't ask me what, I don't know yet." Fred sat down and put on the two inch sandals. "At least it's giving me something easy. These could be worse. " Fred began seeing a visualization of a hair style in his mind. It was overpowering. "I think it wants me to do something with my hair, Emily." Emily asked Fred to describe it and eventually got the idea that Fred was to roll his hair in small rollers and create a full and curly style with what hair he had. She coached him through the process. Completing that one, she said "Fred, I bet you're not getting out of here without some makeup. Do you want to try getting buzzed or just let me help you?" "I don't see why not. Tell me what to do." Fred was able to leave after his lips and eyes were done. He almost blinded himself with the mascara, but managed to recover. As he was leaving the room, he felt little reminders, visualizations on improving his walk, already terrifically altered by the combination of heels and tight skirt. Fred soon got the idea of smaller steps and a little more hip, but was nowhere near automatic. Over the next few days, Fred and Emily learned that taking off clothes without a complete redressing gave Emily a strong feeling to correct it and Fred a buzzer. If he took off his heels to rest his feet it left him alone for about an hour. The place only talked to Emily. They found playing cards in a living room drawer. They found meals at the dining room table. Fred actually caught one appearing out of thin air. The food was acceptable but repetitive, like frozen dinners. The living room was well stocked with classic books. Once each day, they went into the white area to exercise, individually for about an hour. For some reason, they never asked each other about their exercise. Every time Fred was about to ask, he just shook it off. They both came back, showered and fixed their hair and faces and got dressed again. Chapter 7: At Least We Get Sex After a week they are about to play cards after dinner. Fred is relearning to shuffle with his somewhat longer fingernails. They are a deep red which matches his lips. Emily is leaning forward, elbows on the table her hands cupping her face. Fred has gotten used to her hair and face and is starting to feel aroused for the first time since they got here. He really wants to flip up her skirt and have at her, but his girdle is constraining his erection painfully. "Fred, I was wondering why we haven't slept together. You are making me really horny with the way you look. I love your hair. I want to rip that petticoat right off you and take you right here. " Fred puts the cards down. "Why don't we get ready for bed and I'll come visit your room. I think it's time to get into something more comfortable." "Just get into something more accessible, sweetheart." Emily said, laughing as she got up and strode across the room. Fred watched her shapely calves move under the flow of her skirt, brought to life by her tall stilettos. He ran to his room as fast as he could, heels clicking furiously. Later, Fred entered Emily's room and got into the bed, which he was grateful was at least a queen size. The place or Control as Fred had named whatever agency was driving them had let him skip wearing the panties and sleep bra he normally was issued, so he merely had on a baby doll nightgown. Emily was similarly dressed. "Oh yes, definitely accessible." Emily cooed as she licked her lips. Fred just moaned and closed his eyes. About an hour later, they are in the bed, hair askew, makeup ruined and unbelievably satisfied. Emily runs her hand over Fred's thigh and hip. He is still smooth and his skin is really soft to the touch. She notices he seems to have gained a little weight but it is all over, like another fat layer. Fred had been lean and fairly strong, with defined musculature, which was hidden now. He might have lost some muscle mass also. She tried to focus on their diet, but meals just seemed to happen and made them full, but she had trouble remembering what it was they ate. Emily wonders. They had shared a bed happily for ten years, why had they not done it for the last seven days? She then realizes she is seeing Fred without a bra for the first time in a week. He has some small puffiness in his chest, nothing unusual for a guy gaining weight, but there is no weight gain in his waist or stomach. If anything, it is slimmer than ever before, just smooth and soft. Maybe that crap her grandmother told her about 'figure training' was real. He had been wearing a waist nipping girdle for at least three quarters of each day. When they get up, they both head into their respective showers. Fred knows he will be setting his hair afterward since he does every time he washes it. To avoid that buzz in his head. While he is in the shower, he gets a new image of himself. A very strong image, accompanied by positive emotions. His hair is much longer, long enough to drape over his cleavage displayed by a low cut dress. It is wavy and it is blonde. He is staring out at the Atlantic Ocean and it looks like he is standing by a car on the causeway to Key West. The 56 pink and white Ford has some kind of trouble, water vapor is emitting from the radiator and the hood is up. Emily is looking at the engine, her hair longer and even more bouffant than it is now, her hairspray has it fixed as even ocean breezes can't move a single strand. Fred knows he must be there and he knows he must be as attractive as he can be. It is important. He does not know why, yet. He gets a welcome surprise today. He goes to the armoire for underwear and is given a pair of heavily padded black panties. While they are comfortable, it feels like he is wearing a pillow around his crotch. He takes the black bra, which he notices is now padded a bit more also. After sitting at his vanity and rolling his hair, he thinks it might be noticeably longer, maybe a half an inch. Wet, it seems to drape further over his ear than a week ago. He made a note of just where it measures to. He is shocked when he gets ankle high white socks. And a sleeveless blouse. But he almost cries when the next item is a pair of casual black stretch pants. And slip on canvas shoes. He then does cry. A day off! He gets up to leave and instead of a buzzer, he feels a little nagging feeling. He grabs a lipstick and uses it. The nagging feeling is replaced by warm satisfaction. Chapter 8: Plan B The couple sat down to breakfast. Emily noticed that she had two eggs and a slice of ham while Fred had toast and jelly and a Belgian waffle. She hated sweets and so did Fred, but he seemed to be enjoying it, although he ate considerably slower than he used to. Nothing like wearing a girdle all the time to slow down your enjoyment of food. She was feeling grateful for the clothing reprieve, although she found Fred much sexier in his dresses than the stretch pants. His ass was cute though. Fred reached for his coffee and a cup appeared as his hand grasped it. "Control talked to me today, babe. I think we're going to be here for a while and then we're going to Florida." Fred related his visualization. "Okay. I'm putting this together from the impressions I get. First, this place is not alive but is a very intelligent machine. It is here to prepare two people for a mission, in the Keys in 1962. I think we are Plan B. It is trying to adapt us to play roles somebody else was supposed to play." Emily said. Both Fred and Emily felt a positive feeling, an indication that Emily was correct. "I also think it is important, and the lives of a lot of people are at stake. We both have to stop somebody from doing something wrong. In October. I don't know where 'October' came from, the word just appeared." Fred added. "Fred, I think we are being asked if we will do this willingly. Up till now, Control has been guiding our feelings, and we seem to have passed a test. It wants us to do this on our own now. " "I feel I can trust it. It did save our lives. We would be dead or very dying right now with it. Sitting here in a bra and hair curlers beats dead and dying. Hell, wearing heels almost beats dead and dying. And if you still find me attractive, babe, that's what counts for me." Fred said, looking for Emily's response. "God, yes, honey. I'm only pissed because you look better than I do already. I will admit you are a little different from my old fantasies, but you sure are making some new ones. Maybe Control has allowed me to enjoy you like this, but it's better than being dead together. Besides, last night was the best in years. You haven't gone for three in a long time." Chapter 9: Blooming Rose Control seemed to cycle them into a standard week. Dressed for work or going out five days a week, casual on what Fred assumed was Saturdays, very dressy including gloves, hats and veils for Sunday mornings followed by casual afternoons. Fred moved into Emily's bed for sleeping and more. Emily noticed that all of their outfits were ones she had 'chosen' during her initial session with Control. She apologized to Fred for the choices. He just laughed and said how was she to know? Fred's hair grew about an inch every two weeks. Since he had started his measurement, and from his guess on the image he had in his head, that meant about twenty to twenty four weeks to grow it out to the length he was shooting for. Emily's was growing but at a much slower rate. It was also getting lighter. He had shifted several shades from dark brown to light brown with blonde streaks. The blonde color was becoming more pronounced. Newspapers started showing up, dated in the summer of 1962. Local Key West and south Florida news. They devoured them, reading everything. Ads, obituaries, horoscopes, police reports, everything. "I think these are coming along nicely, Fred, I'm very jealous." Emily said, coming up on Fred from behind and grabbing his breasts. They had kept growing in size since she had noticed his slight weight gain. He was now larger than her normal unpadded 'B' cups, and her armoire had added to her bra's enhancement to compensate. Fred was glad it was a Saturday, since his erection was unconstrained by a foundation garment. Emily quickly found herself on the table with her pants pulled down. She smiled. Adding another erogenous zone to Fred had done wonders for her sex life. Plus he was a sexy blonde now. Emily patted Fred's now ample behind. Control had somehow moved his fat around and reduced his muscles. He had slimmed down his waist so it merely looked thick for a woman, about twenty nine inches. His hips and buttocks were plump and soft. Control had ceased issuing him padded panties or girdles, just regular ones. Sometimes he needed support to fit into the clothes he was given. One Sunday in August, as they are changing from their "Church Going Best" which Fred called the outfits they were issued, Emily came into Fred's room with a pair of scissors. "Oh no, not that. It's all I have left!" Fred squealed, laughing. "Calm down honey. That's the last thing I'd cut off. I have a compulsion to cut you some bangs. Does that feel right to you?" Emily asked. Fred closed his eyes. Emily watched as he slowly moved his head, his blonde hair trailing over his shoulders. "Yes, that's consistent with my target image. That's part of how I need to look. Be gentle." Emily laughed "Sit down and don't move, sweetie. This won't hurt a bit. Now we can have the same hairstyle for a while." Fred had caught up to Emily's length and matching her bouffant had been a running joke for two weeks now. Chapter 10: Fall And Revelations September came and bled into October. Fred had plumped up in an attractive way. Emily thought the word was zaftig to best describe him. His breasts had that magic combination of being both large and firm and his lower curves made his waist look thinner than it was. He had given up the bouffant, complaining that the hairspray made it feel like he had just varnished his boat, and returned to a simpler style of soft waves. His hair was close to platinum blonde now and his skin coloring had lightened to match. Control had given him dresses which were very low cut and Emily was thankful Control had stopped padding her bras so much to keep up with Fred. As it was she was usually a cup size larger than reality, sometimes two. She had pierced his other ear and he wore more jewelry as Control provided it. Emily realized that standing next to each other, particularly with Control making her wear heels to add to her already imposing height, along with hair which itself added two more inches, Fred would attract more than his share of men. She was the best friend that tagged along. She grinned. A role she could do well, given her lifelong practice. Emily's exercise program continued to add more martial arts. She practiced against realistic simulations of skilled opponents as well as unskilled but powerful opponents. She gained in strength, speed and confidence. Sitting after dinner in their nightgowns, they often discussed what their mission could be, how they felt, what might happen to them and what was in today's papers. They reserved discussing the great literature for lunchtime conversation. "Fred, I can't believe you just calmly accept what's happening to you. You look gorgeous but wouldn't most guys be going crazy?" Emily had asked. "What choice do I have? Control saved us and has convinced me I need to do something important. My other choice is to run around naked and starve. You didn't marry a whiner babe. "Besides, if I knew these felt so good, I'd have gotten a pair years ago. No wonder men are fixated on them. It's latent jealousy. "The way I look at it, every day I'm alive is gravy, Emily. Another day with you. I was thinking some pretty dark thoughts before we got rescued. And I remembered something today. Do you know what happened in October of 1962? " Emily looked frustrated. "Dammit Fred, you know I have a problem with dates. History's great, but I never worried about being precise." "Let me remind you. My Dad used to tell me about it and it finally clicked today. He said it was the scariest time of his life. He actually lived in a bomb shelter at Grandpa's for two days. Three words. Cuban Missile Crisis. Key West is only ninety miles from Cuba. The world damn near blew itself to shit during a few days in October 1962. Russian missiles right off the US shore. The US almost invaded. And we are going right into it." "But that worked out okay, right?" Emily said, not sounding sure. "I think we are part of keeping it that way. That's the feeling I get." Fred said. Both of them felt positive feelings from Control It felt like you do when you place that first key piece to a jigsaw puzzle, the one where all the patterns intersect. Chapter 11: There's A Ford In Your Past The paper was dated October 19th. Fred was reading aloud about the rape and murder of a local Miami woman off the highway in Jacksonville. The picture was a young, pretty and very buxom woman with long blonde hair, probably taken in her senior year at high school. The article said she was twenty. Witnesses described a short man and a big car, probably white, with fins. About half the male citizens of the east coast of the state fit that one. Emily came out of her room holding two purses. They had not seen a purse yet. "Fred! Look at this. ID cards! Drivers License! Social Security Card! I've got a library card from the Fon Du Lac public library! I'm from Wisconsin!" Emily actually said 'Wiscaaahnsen', the correct pronunciation according to people from neighboring states. Fred looked at his new self. 1962 he thought, no credit cards, people used cash and checks. Little picture ID. No huge cross connected databases of personal data. It appeared that he and Emily were either and brother and sister or married, since his license listed him as male with the name Frieda Jugens. Back then you could change your name but the DMV was very sticky about what sex you were, Emily was Emily Jugens. Funny, he thought he had an Aunt Jugens he had never met. He must be either a crossdresser or some kind of transsexual. He had not thought that happened back then, but he could be wrong. So if they got stopped by the cops he either had to pass or would probably get arrested in a lot of places for wearing a dress, especially in small towns. He decided to let Emily drive, her license was unambiguous. They had about three hundred in cash, and it looked real. Fred saw a few silver certificates in with the federal reserve notes. Nothing dated later than 1961. Emily had a checkbook with a register written in balance of nine hundred dollars. She also had a New York registration to a 1956 pink and white Ford convertible four door, V8 of course. Both of their driver's licenses were from New York, listing an address in Queens, near the site of the planned next World's Fair. Fred had a saving account passbook for a Key West bank. It showed $100 as an opening transaction. "Fred, my Gram used to tell me about living back then. Cars cost less than $1000, burgers were 10 cents, gas was less than 20 cents a gallon. This is a bunch of money. I guess we are moving from New York to Key West to start a new life or something. I'll bet you can get a job as a cocktail hostess and make big money." Emily grinned. "Don't they have a Playboy Club or something? These are worth at least that." Fred said, grasping his boobs from the bottom and thrusting them at Emily. Emily's face suddenly got that look when Control wanted to guide her somewhere. She opened the door to the white room. There was the 1956 pink and white Ford convertible. The keys were in it and the trunk lid was up, showing six suitcases inside. "Emily, I think it's time to go. I've got a feeling. I'm going to get a sweater and fix my hair for riding in with the top down. Meet you back here in a few minutes." Fred said, his heels clicking, echoing off the room walls as he turned and left. Chapter 12: Sunshine State Of Mind The sun was bright but not enough to overcome the wind as Emily drove down US 1, heading south. She and Frieda had stayed in a motor lodge at Marathon the night before and were now cruising slowly down the causeway. She loved this car, despite having to adjust to a three speed column shift. It rode smooth and straight and the seats were comfortable. She even learned to drive in heels, although the clutch was tricky with them. She was still in awe of how they had got here. They got in the car, Frieda's hair safely in a pony tail and hers in a scarf, both wearing matching sweaters, and both reminding each other to bring their purses. Emily hadn't dealt with a purse for almost a year. She hadn't needed one on the boat or the island. So Emily started the Ford and Control urged her to slowly, just slowly drive slowly towards the far wall of the room, slowly please. Both Fred and Emily felt a wistful and sad feeling, a farewell from Control which made them both tear up. They both just then knew they would never feel that mental touch again. They had not realized Control could care. It was like losing your dog. It seemed like they both blinked and suddenly they were on a deserted stretch of highway, passing a US 1 sign with the lights of a Howard Johnson Motor Lodge lit up down the road. It was dark and late. Emily realized she was doing about ten miles an hour in a forty five zone so she sped up and shifted into third. Not drawing attention was the rule they agreed made sense. The motor lodge was clean and the restaurant manager made sure they were left alone while they ate something in the bar. Several salesmen tried to buy them drinks, politely, and Frieda politely refused, smiling a killer smile while thrusting his breasts forward. Large hooters make up for a not that deep but not that feminine voice, he determined. Emily slapped at him in a gently limp wristed way. "Stop that flirting Frieda. It's the last thing we need." "Just practicing, Sister Emily. I think the one on the end came in his boxers." Freida whispered. After the hotel clerk had unloaded their car, Emily tipped him a dollar. He refused, grinning at Frieda. "This is really testing my patience, Freida, my husband is getting more looks than I am." Emily said, pretending to be gritting her teeth when they were alone. "Get ready for bed sweetheart and I'll look everywhere." Freida said. The next day, October 22 saw them driving south towards Key West. They stopped frequently. Frieda saw a school of dolphins and they tracked them for several miles. Emily wanted to look at every gift shop. Freida overheard a conversation by two fishermen. "They called up the reserve units, the air station is closed and the Coast Guard is saying nothing, just telling us to get out of the straits. It's fuckin Cuba again, just like last year, Bobby. This one's gonna be bad." "Yep. Bad." As he walked by he could see the cigarette drop out of Bobby's mouth. Frieda turned, bent over to make sure Bobby saw right into his cleavage and picked it up. He put it back into Bobby's mouth and said. "You dropped this. That's littering." He turned and slowly walked away. Bobby dropped it again. Frieda heard the low whistle. He smiled. He'd always wondered what it was like to do that. Late afternoon, they approached the turnoff for Bahia Honda park, a little beach a few miles north of Key West. Emily felt the need to pull over. "Freida, I think this is where we are supposed to be." "Yes it is. Pull over and open the hood." Freida said. Emily opened the hood and Frieda used a towel from the trunk to open the radiator cap enough to let a cloud of vapor escape. "I've got to recreate the scene. Emily - stand by the open hood and sort of look in. I'll stand by the road." Frieda said. Emily knew it was right. She watched Frieda undo his pony tail and brush his hair out. He stood on the sand shoulder, his dress swaying in the gently wind, his hair blowing about his shoulders. God he looked attractive. She assumed they would be up to their ears in helpful men within minutes. Chapter 13: Riders On The Storm Frieda and Emily both saw the huge 59 white Cadillac convertible slow down and stop. The driver got out. Emily swore he was like something from the Wizard of Oz, a Munchkin. She exaggerated, he looked about five foot five, maybe six and he was wearing cowboy boots with at least two inch heels. Some small guys look happy, he did not. The newspaper article ran through Emily and Frieda's head. Young blonde big boobed woman found dead by side of road. Short guy, big white car with fins. The last article they both had read before coming to 1962. Their mission had arrived. Frieda held down the panic. This guy exuded slime. Emily went to the open trunk of their Ford. "Baby, you look like you're ready for my help. Want to go for a ride?" Slime Munchkin said. Frieda thought that nobody actually talked like that. "No thanks. It's just overheated. We're waiting for it to cool off." Frieda said. She suddenly knew she was supposed to get this guy away from his car. "Looking at you and I need to cool off. I got a bottle in my front seat. You wanna sit under that tree and have a snort?" Mustering all the force he needed to wade through the guy's slime, Frieda decided the palm tree would be good. Emily was keeping her distance. "Is it good booze? I hate the cheap stuff. It makes me sick." He said, adding some whine to the word 'sick'. "Only the best, Rock & Rye, my favorite. Come on now. Leave your big sister over there." Slime Munchkin oozed. So Frieda nodded his head to Emily. Emily nodded back. He and Slime Munchkin went over to the tree. Slime took a hit from the pint, put his arm around Frieda, planting his hand right on his breast and handed him the bottle. Frieda pulled his hand off. "Not now." Frieda said. "I don't have time for crap, girlie." Slime was incredibly strong and pinned Frieda to the ground. Frieda heard a switchknife snapping open. "Spread em, girlie or I'll cut you and your sister. I told you I don't have time." Slime held Frieda pinned with one hand and opened Frieda's legs with another. The panties were not a lot of barrier for the point of the knife, they parted. "A guy! A Fucking Guy!" Slime Munchkin screamed. He was disoriented, staring at Frieda with wild eyes. Deranged eyes. "My fucking guy, asshole!" The tire iron made a really nice crunching sound, followed by a squishing sound, followed by a spurting sound as some kind of dark blood coated the area. Slime Munchkin's head was out of round, with a distinct inch deep indentation on the left side. "Six months of kung goddam fu training and I use a tire iron. No finesse, Emily." Emily said while she helped Frieda get up. "That's it? That's the mission?" Frieda asked, staggering to his feet. He felt in need of new underwear, it was awfully drafty. Chapter 14: Another Day In Paradise Three more Munchkins appeared. The jolly ones. Out of nowhere. "Are you all right?" One asked both Frieda and Emily. They nodded. "Thank you. You just saved your world from a huge mistake." Munchkin One said. "How? Who is this guy?" Frieda said, wiping the blood off his face. "Like your prior life before, we too have a war on terrorism. Ours crosses time as well as space. Just say he was a terrorist and this was just a training exercise in small nuclear devices, on an out of the way place. He was going to detonate it tonight after the speech, removing the naval air station. You can figure out what would probably happen after that. Watch television tonight. Thank you, we must go now." "Wait! Can we go home now? How do I change back?" Freida asked. Munchkin Two turned. Munchkin One touched his arm and they held a spirited discussion which neither Frieda nor Emily could follow a single word. Munchkin Three removed a box from the trunk of the Cadillac and carried it over. He waved a hand and it disappeared. "Twenty kiloton portable. Nasty thing." He said. The other two Munchkins shut up. This apparently was Senior Munchkin. "We find you, almost dead. Determine to use you for mission. Otherwise no right to save you. Sorry, rules. Time stream flow change. Bend rules. Save you. Change you. Send you back. Save your own world. Thank you. Have nice life. Don't change anything. Bye." Senior Munchkin smiled. Frieda and Emily understood. Senior Munchkin reached up and whispered in Frieda's ear. Frieda smiled, kissed him on the cheek and shook his hand. Frieda found he was holding a bank book, the same one he had had in his purse. The Munchkins disappeared, along with every speck of blood and the body. The Cadillac registration was in Emily's hand, signed over to her. The savings account showed a transaction dated two years ago for $100000. Real money in 1962. Chapter 15: Ouroboros Coffee Bar, Key West Present Day The two lovers were not famous but they were well known in the community. They were old timers, having seen the place develop over fifty years. Rumor had it they were filthy rich and had their fingers into lots of things. Most people assumed they were lesbian lovers, being publicly affectionate for so long. There was always some thought that Emily had been a transsexual, being so tall, but those who knew her well knew this to be false. Frieda had been a local beauty for years, even gracing a billboard for tourism back in 1965. The shop was empty right now, but their staff would open the doors soon. Frieda, looking very good for being in his late seventies smiled as he lifted his cup of chicory laced coffee to his lips. He looked at the china with his lipstick smudge. Emily smiled. "Our offer was accepted for the bulk grocery service. Now our young selves will have the cash to buy that yacht and cruise the world." Emily said, her voice as clear as ever. "I remember that last minute offer was what made us think of chucking it all." Frieda said. Emily looked up at the motto engraved on the wall. "Have A Nice Life. Don't Change Anything" Words they had lived by. They made money on the market with foreknowledge, but not enough to change things, they hoped. The invested cautiously and carefully. As they gained influence, they subtly made sure the local police and administration was always tolerant of people of confused sexual appearance. Not promoting it, just calmly tolerant. Frieda had never changed his driver's license since he applied in Florida. "Fred, dear, it's time. You promised you would tell me." Emily only called him Fred when she was really serious. "Okay. Now the loop is closed, I can tell you what he said. Now remember the scene, Senior Munchkin just said his farewell, he leans over to me and whispers in my ear..." Frieda began. "Just tell me dammit! I've waited long enough. I'm not getting any younger and neither are you!" Emily said, her voice rising slightly, a smile sneaking out from behind her stern expression. "So he leans over and says 'Nice Boobies, Baby!'" Frieda says. The kitchen staff was worried. They had never heard two crazy old rich people laugh that loud like that. END