Ovid 20 The Whiz Kid free porn video

Ovid 20 - The Whiz Kid By The Professor Of all the Gods I had come to know in my time in Ovid, there was only one I had come to actively dislike. Some of the Gods had practically become friends, and one in particular - Diana - had become one of my best friends. Others were more standoffish, indulging human company but actively avoiding it. Some of them could be brusque while others were merely distant. My own boss - The Judge - could be like that at times, although I gave him a bye since I understood the heavy weight of responsibility perched on his shoulders. The one I had come to actively dislike though, had become even more of an anathema to me since the recent attempt on the lives of me and my family. There was no doubt in my mind that Aaron March, the Ovidian incarnation of the Roman God of War, was the being responsible for putting my family in jeopardy. Since the attempt on our lives, I had stewed in silence as The Judge's investigation into the recent security breaches wallowed in futility. I had attempted only once to tell The Judge about the individual I was certain was responsible, but he abruptly stopped me, defending his son to the hilt. Worse yet, he refused to tell me why my family had suddenly become a target for the enemies of Ovid. So not only was I forced to fear for my family's safety, but I had to remain ignorant of what we had done to become targets. Now though, all of that was about to change, I thought as I pulled into the parking lot at City Hall to begin another day at work. I smiled smugly, knowing that although The Judge still hadn't confided in me, the truth had been delivered to him, and my family would be safer now that the leak was exposed. I was thankful the shit hadn't hit the fan over the weekend. Since it was a weekday, Jerry was at work, the twins were in school, and Ashley was at day care, so I wouldn't be rushed in my review session with The Judge and could take all day if necessary. Although things had apparently come to a head the morning before, my services in viewing the memories of a transformee had not been called for. Apparently, The Judge had spent the remainder of the day reviewing what had happened. For all I knew, he might have worked all night, since I suspected the Gods never really slept. I was sure he took a long, long time to review what had happened, and I was reasonably certain that today would see the fall of a God. Even more important than bringing down a God, I was anxious for things to get back to normal. Normal... Even after several years, the term "normal" still seemed ironic. It was hard for me to imagine the young pre-law Notre Dame student - male student at that - of just a few short years ago ever considering that life in a small Oklahoma town as a woman, a wife, and a mother to three children could ever be considered normal. Now I couldn't imagine it being any other way. Oh, I supposed to be completely honest, I would sometimes wonder what my life had been if I had remained male - and not been slated to die in a tragic car accident with three of my best friends, which would most surely have happened. By now, I'd be in law school, preparing myself to become an attorney, probably practicing back home in the Midwest. I might even have a serious girlfriend by now, ready to settle down with me and have one of those successful but mundane lives most of us secretly covet. Instead though, my life had been filled with excitement and mystery, watching the Gods of ancient Rome as they wove together a complex plan to save our world. "Hi, Cindy!" I had just walked in the door to City Hall, surprised to see Diana waiting there for me. She was smiling - a good sign since I suspected from her conservative suit and professionally conservative dark hair that she was on official business, and even though she was someone I considered a good friend, the idea of a Goddess in a bad mood is not something to be desired. "You're up early today," I commented, accepting a demure hug from her and returning it. "Oh, it's not really early for me," she laughed. "I started the day in Europe, so I've been up for hours." She was walking with me toward my office, but at the last minute, took my arm, guiding me toward a conference room. "The Judge wants to see you right away," she explained. "Something urgent?" I asked with some trepidation. After the assaults on Ovid the past few weeks, emergency meetings and urgent needs for my services were getting to be all to common. Often they meant danger for me and my family - or in some cases, for everyone in Ovid. While I knew The Judge would be calling for me today, the fact that other Gods were apparently involved meant a major event was about to occur. "Let's just say The Judge wants everyone to know this at once." As she opened the door to the conference room, I could see that The Judge really meant everyone. Oh, some of the minor players weren't there, but in addition to Diana and The Judge, Betty Vest - the President of Capta College, Dr. Miner - the Superintendent of Ovid Public Schools, Officer Mercer, Eric Vulman, and Vera March were all seated impatiently twitching in their seats. Surprisingly Aaron March was there as well, looking more uncomfortable than impatient as he slouched down next to his wife. I had expected him to be in the hands of Mr. Haynes, imprisoned in the crypt beneath the town. I nodded respectfully to the assembled Gods, mindful of the fact that they only congregated in this fashion when something very important was to be brought before them. Decorum must be maintained. I was shown to an empty seat at the head of the table, which was a clue for me that I would soon be deep in a trance, observing the life of yet another of Ovid's new residents. I looked down the length of the table, thinking about how the Gods looked more like a corporate board of directors instead of Olympus's finest. I guess it was the modern clothing - business suits and the like - and the high-backed directors' chairs that gave the impression. There was still a chair open on my right. I suspected it was being kept for yet another deity when to my surprise, Susan Jager walked in. Officer Mercer promptly escorted her to the empty chair. "What's going on?" Susan asked in a whisper. "I don't know," I replied in a whisper of my own. And I didn't, but I could guess. Ovid had been plagued by breaches in security of late, and it seemed as if the enemies of The Judge had enlisted the help of the US government in an effort to bring the Gods' mysterious plan to a halt. The most recent incursions had nearly cost me and my family our lives, as well as Susan's family. I had suspected Aaron March was behind the incursions. While he was supposedly on The Judge's side, I often found myself wondering what the God of War was doing presumably trying to prevent a major war in the Middle East. It seemed to me that a nice bloody war would be right up his alley. But The Judge trusted him. Now I knew how Harry Potter must have felt when Dumbledore insisted upon trusting Snape. "Ms. Jager," The Judge began from his seat at the other end of the table, "I have asked you to join us today since the subject will be important to your family as well as Ms. Patton's family. I'm speaking, of course, of the recent assaults on Ovid, which I think you will soon see should be coming to a halt. The leaks in our security have been forcefully is somewhat belatedly repaired." He looked meaningfully at the God of War, his trusted son. I wouldn't have wanted The Judge to look at me like that. I didn't think it was possible, but Aaron March seemed to slide even further into his seat. "Ms. Patton!" The Judge called out. "Yes, sir?" "We would like to review the file of Francis J. Malone." I wasn't surprised at the choice. "Right away, sir," I replied as I dropped off into a familiar trance... **** From thirty-five thousand feet, everything looks small. As far as I was concerned though, everything looked pretty small when I was on the ground as well. That's what a few billion dollars will do for you. Everything looks small no matter where you are. According to the GPS running in the corner of my oversized screen, we were somewhere over Idaho, having just reached our cruising altitude after leaving Sea-Tac the instant the lingering morning fog had cleared. The fog had not been expected to last so long into the morning, so flight schedules were thrown into a tizzy. It meant we were an hour off schedule. We wouldn't reach Miami until nightfall, so for business purposes, we could be delayed a day. The damned pilot should have insisted we be allowed to take off on time. We had more radar on board than a fucking 767 and he knew it. He should have made sure the tower knew it. Now we were delayed. I didn't like to be delayed. I made a mental note to fire that idiot pilot as soon as we got back to Seattle. Maybe, if I could find a better pilot in Miami, I'd fire this one's ass before we got back to Seattle. Make him fly commercial back home at his own expense. That would teach him. "A drink, Mr. Malone?" I looked up from the screen. Mandy was our flight attendant; she had taken care of me before - and I do mean taken care of me. I looked up at the smiling blonde, standing there perched on three inch heels in a skirt short enough to be illegal in at least five red states. It was the uniform I required of every flight attendant, and Mandy wore it well. "I drink after sex, Mandy," I reminded her. She smiled as she set my drink down and began to pull off her blouse. The couch in my compartment made into a reasonably comfortable bed - mostly for long overnight flights. It was designed for one, but Mandy and I didn't have much trouble making it work for two. When we were finished, I flipped off the "Do Not Disturb" sign and was rewarded with an almost immediate knock on the cabin door. "Mr. Malone?" Lorenzo's voice called over the roar of the engines. "Do you want the office staff to wait for us in Miami?" I opened the door as Mandy finished straightening her outfit. As I was wearing nothing but my boxers, it was obvious to Lorenzo what we had been up to. No biggie, though. Lorenzo had seen this scene repeated on many flights and knew how well he was paid to notice nothing untoward. "Of course I want them to stay," I growled. "If I fire them tonight, I won't have to pay them to come in tomorrow." "But it will be awfully late, sir..." Lorenzo pointed out meekly. "I don't remember asking you about the time," I growled, eyes narrowed. "Yes, sir." Lorenzo nervously smoothed the non-existent hair on the top of his head and hustled back to his seat. Wimpy little bastard - queer as a three dollar bill, too, as my father used to say. I didn't know that for a fact, but how could anybody be that wimpy and not be a queer? I'd fire him, too, except the little fairy was so damned efficient. "Send Taylor in here in about ten minutes," I went on in a tone of obvious dismissal. The ten minutes would give me a chance to get dressed again - not that I wouldn't have enjoyed meeting Taylor with nothing on but my boxer shorts. "I've got a couple of letters I need to review with her." "Yes, sir." While I waited for Taylor, I took a moment to check myself out in the mirror and get rid of my bed head. A little water splashed on my face and a bit more to smooth down my dark blond hair and I looked moderately presentable. Of course, given who I was, most women who knew of me would have put up with BO and a three day growth of beard to have a shot at me. And a lot of women knew who I was. Franklin J Malone - that was me - had been on the cover of just about every business and news magazine in America - and most of the ones overseas as well. Ten years ago, I had been a college student no one had ever heard of, but now, I was the founder and prime mover of one of the largest software and internet companies in the world. Five years after the release of my first version of Be-All, I was a billionaire several times over and the man credited with bringing down every other high-tech hotshot from Gates to Jobs. Is it any wonder I considered myself more infallible than the Pope? And I'll bet I got a lot more pussy than the Pope, too. Thinking back on that hubris now, it seems difficult to understand how I could have been so big-headed, but at the time, that was how I felt. After all, I had designed and brought to market a program that took AI to a new level. All a user had to do was install Be-All and every other program he purchased would automatically integrate into a super data base/GUI/operating system/etc. Companies could save so much in integration costs that the ludicrously-high price of Be-All seemed extremely reasonable. And since the incremental cost of a new sale was nothing more than the cost of a blank CD and a few bucks in commissions, most of that ludicrously-high price found its was into my net worth. Mandy smiled on the way out of my cabin. "I'll freshen your drink, Mr. Malone." "You do that." I smiled back, but it was probably more like a leer than a smile. I settled back at my desk, lighting a Cuban and reviewing the latest numbers out of Miami. They were uniformly awful. Sales of Be-All were down thirty per cent, and all because of Metamorph. Metamorph was a knock off of Be-All, designed by a little outfit out of Miami. So far, the company had concentrated on Southern states, but a national launch wasn't far off. I had depended upon my Miami office to blunt Metamorph's growth, but they had failed me. Now they'd pay the price. Of course, I knew that ISAOA, the little company that had developed Metamorph, was a special case. Unlike Gates, who had tried and failed to develop a product that could compete with Be-All, the leaders of ISAOA had once been associated with me. When they left, they knew almost as much about Be-All as I did. After all, I was the one who taught them. They knew how to compete against our product, and they had applied their knowledge well. Of course, we had sued them. But there were problems we hadn't been able to overcome. Software suits can take years to resolve - look at Blackberry. Add to that the fact that the company was offshore in a country less than friendly to US interests, and the fact that much of the money behind ISAOA had come from organized crime, and it spelled Big Problems. The Miami office had been working with a team of high-priced lawyers to figure a way to blunt Metamorph's advancing market share with subtle threats of potential intellectual rights issues with the new product while our home office legal staff tried to figure a way to sue ISAOA out of business. It hadn't worked, though. Now we'd have to start all over in Miami. There was a knock at my cabin door. "Come in," I called out with an odd anticipation in my voice. Why was I always as nervous as a schoolboy when she came into my presence? I suppose in a way I wanted her but knew I couldn't have her - she had made that perfectly clear. If she had been anyone else, I would have fired her, but not Wanda. Wanda Taylor walked into my cabin, swiveling a little awkwardly as she did. She looked a little embarrassed to be wearing heels so high and a skirt so short - not to mention a top so tight that it looked as if her breasts were going to burst through it. God, I wanted her right then and there. I know, I know, I had just bedded Mandy, but Mandy was an easy lay. Wanda had rebuffed my every advance, causing me to want her all the more. I knew Wanda hated what I made her wear, but she was paid far too well to afford the luxury of telling me to stick it where the sun don't shine. She made no secret from the way she carried herself that she hated the dress code I had imposed on all of the women in the company - skirts, heels, the works, and the tighter the better. Even though I couldn't have her, I enjoyed watching her squirm in her sexy outfit. She pushed a long blonde lock out of her face. "You wanted to review some letters?" That was Wanda - all business all the time. I didn't answer her right away. Instead I looked her over, up and down, causing her to blush. I made no overt advances, though. I didn't dare. She was probably just waiting for me to do something stupid so she could sue the pants off me. That wasn't going to happen, though. I was way too smart for that. Even the dress code was worded in such a way that the women in my company couldn't find enough to sue me over. A couple had tried, and they had lost. I had hired Wanda from the smoking ruins of Microsoft. She had been Bill Gates' personal assistant, so she was valuable when it came to integrating the remaining parts of Microsoft into Malone Enterprises. She didn't like working for me, but for what I was paying her, she could lump it - just like she could lump the company dress code. "Yes, I do," I finally told her. I picked up another report from the edge of my desk. I waived it in front of her nose. "What's this all about?" To my annoyance, she didn't seem at all perturbed. "It's the satellite coverage test you commissioned," she said calmly. "Don't you remember?" There was a condescending tone to her question. "Of course I remember!" I shot back. "What I want to know is what is R&D doing to overcome the deficiencies." "Deficiencies, Mr. Malone?" "You heard me," I told her, opening the report. "If Be-All Sat is going to work, we need to make sure we have strong coverage over the entire globe. Look at this report. The test signals indicate several parts of the world where signals aren't clear. And look at this - there are dead spots with no coverage at all." "Just two spots," she argued. "One is in rural Oklahoma and the other is in Syria a few miles outside Damascus. Those are hardly worth worrying about. They aren't exactly prime markets for Be-All Sat." "I'll be the judge of that," I reminded her sternly. "According to the report, our vaunted engineers can't explain why those dead spots are there. Before we deploy the network, we need to know what is causing these dead spots. Otherwise, we may find other dead spots as we deploy the product." "I'll get our team on it right away," she said calmly. "You'd better," I snapped. As she left, I was downright furious, but more at her than our engineers. I both hated and admired the way she stood up to me, and I was pissed at myself for being so ambivalent. Part of her problem was that she knew she was practically indispensable. Give her a task and it got done, but her unflappable attitude grated on me. In effect, she was right. Be-All Sat was scheduled for kickoff in two more weeks, and the fact that it couldn't be used in two minor parts of the world was not, in itself, all that important. The problem was that no one could figure out why those dead spots existed. Teams had been sent into both area and found nothing that would cause the problem. Be-All Sat was the next step in the growth of the company. The in-house product had reached its limits, and only a more powerful version in contact with the more sophisticated AI on our internal system could hope to take the product to the next step. In addition, our corporate intelligence told us Metamorph's satellite delivery was at least two years away. They hadn't even launched and tested their birds yet. This could be our chance to put them away without depending upon the vagaries of the courtroom. But if those dead spots proved to be random, or mope pervasive than we had imagined, Be-All could crash at any time, any place - and that would be disastrous. Next on my schedule was to call New York on an acquisition opportunity my agents were working on. I was just about to make the call when the plane lurched suddenly. Now I want it understood that I am not as a rule a nervous flyer, but I would challenge anyone to not feel their stomach dropping to the floor when the plane they are riding in shudders and jumps violently. Instead of New York, I called the pilot. "What the hell is going on up there?" "We... we aren't sure, sir," came the uncomfortable answer. That didn't sound good at all. I wasn't about to leave things at that. "I'm coming up there," I snapped. It seemed as if I had to take care of everything, I grumbled silently as I made my way up past the seats where Lorenzo and Wanda were working. Fortunately I was a pretty good pilot in my own right. I knew just what questions to ask that incompetent pilot of mine. I had made up my mind. Once we were in Miami, my pilot would be looking for work, and his copilot with him. I barged into the cockpit to a scene of chaos. The pilot and copilot were engaged in an argument while the pilot was nervously fiddling with the automatic pilot and the copilot was twisting the radio dial through multiple frequencies. "What the fuck is wrong up here?' I yelled over their squabbling. Can't you two figure out how to fly the plane?" "It's the autopilot, sir!" the pilot told me. From the sound of his voice, the problem was more than just a hiccup in the autopilot. "What's the problem?" "It was engaged and doing fine until a few minutes ago," the pilot explained. "Then suddenly, it shut itself off. I'm trying to re-engage it... there!" The plane seemed to reset itself in trim, and the rough ride we had been experiencing smoothed out. "I still can't raise anyone on the radio," the copilot called out. "It's okay," the pilot responded. "The autopilot is back on... what's this?" "What's what?" I demanded. The pilot was obviously puzzled, looking at the LED displays above the autopilot. "This isn't the course I set in." "The turn the fucking thing off and start over," I demanded. He did as he was ordered, but nothing changed. "It's still set on another course," he said incredulously. "So what course is it set on?" I asked. "That's not our big worry right now," he told me. "The problem is that the software on this plane is designed to guide the plane portal to portal. We normally don't use it to actually land the plane. A 737 can be a little touchy to land automatically. But if we can't turn it off, this plane will land wherever the current setting is taking it." "So?" "So what if that 'somewhere' doesn't have a long enough runway to accommodate the plane?" I felt my heart jump. "It won't allow that, will it?" Surely no one would be stupid enough to allow software on board which would cause the plane to land somewhere with too small a runway, would it? The pilot shook his head. "Normally, no, but according to the documentation, the destination code isn't valid. We don't know where we're going. This all just happened when I was re-setting the system to take us up another two thousand feet to avoid some weather." "So this is your fault," I said. It wasn't a question. He shook his head again. "I just don't know. Now Carson," he nodded toward his copilot, "can't raise ATC on the radio, so we're flying blind and deaf." "Bill, look at this," Carson called out to the pilot. He was pointing to the autopilot. "What is it?" "The autopilot is turned off." I looked at the meaningless LED display. "Are you out of your fucking mind?" I practically yelled. "Of course it's on. Look at the LED." "Yes, sir," the copilot replied, obviously trying to hold his temper under stress. "The display is on but the unit is off." Rather than argue, the pilot flipped the switch to the "on" position. The LED display remained unchanged. "What the hell..." "Look," I snapped at the pilot, "quit screwing with that. Disconnect it if you have to, but get us safely on the ground." With that I stormed out of the cockpit. Wanda and Lorenzo both looked concerned, but it was Wanda who had the balls to address me. Lorenzo just sat there trembling like a little school girl. "What's happening?" she asked. "Those two aren't competent to handle a balsa wood glider," I told her. I suppose I should have been panicked, too, but I was too pissed to be scared. Besides, I was Franklin J. Malone and I was invincible. Maybe I was just being too dense to think about the consequences of the malfunction on board, or maybe I was just too wrapped up in the thought that this was going to delay me from getting to the staff in Miami early enough to fire them. Whatever the reason - or reasons - all I could do was fume. I had to take my ire out on someone. I spotted Mandy sitting in the back of the cabin. Her face was white with fear. I glared at her. "What the hell are you doing sitting on your ass. Get me a drink, damn it!" She was so used to following my orders that she jumped to her feet and dutifully slipped behind the bar. The clink of ice in my glass felt somehow calming, as if such a normal activity as fixing me a drink made things seem normal. It was Lorenzo's turn now. I turned to face him. He winced, as if I were going to hit him. "Quit acting like a little girl," I growled at him. "Show some balls. Get Miami on the line for me and tell them we're delayed, but I want them in the office at seven - no make that six in the morning." "Six?" "You have a hearing problem, Lorenzo?" "Yes, sir!" As if to emphasize my point the plane lurched. I hadn't been expecting it and hadn't braced for it, so I toppled over, cracking my knee on the side of one of the seats. "Now what the hell is going on?" I roared. Back in the cabin, confusion reigned. Although the plane seemed to be making a controlled descent, I knew the minute I opened the cockpit door that the crew had completely lost control of the aircraft. Both the pilot and the copilot were frantically flipping switches and turning knobs, but nothing seemed to have any effect. "Where are we?" I demanded. "Dropping through twenty-five thousand feet over central Kansas," the pilot replied without turning toward me. His face was white - it didn't exactly instill any confidence. "Can you shut everything down and restart?" I asked more calmly than I felt. "We've tried," he replied. "Nothing seems to have any effect." "Have you issued a distress call?" "We still don't have any communications either. Now how about going back to your seat and let us handle this?" "You haven't been handling it very well," I grumbled, but I did what he asked - or at least I went back to the main cabin. To be honest, I was as frightened as anyone else on board, but I hadn't gotten where I had in the business world by showing any weaknesses. I might be frightened, but no one would know. If we crashed and died, no one would be around to know how terrified I was, but if we survived, I didn't want some little pansy like Lorenzo blabbing that I had been scared enough to practically piss in my pants. While Lorenzo looked as if he was about to scream for his mommy, Taylor was matching my stoicism. I begrudgingly and silently gave her credit. She seemed to have more balls than most of the men on board. I was glad, really. Her demeanor forced me to put on the brave act. Without her fortitude, I would have had no one around to compare my own reactions to. I tried to think of something else - anything else as the plane droned on through unknown skies. As I buckled in, I could see we were entering a bank of clouds at what I estimated to be about fifteen thousand feet. Wherever we were going, we'd be there shortly. Maybe this was like that last few seconds of your life where you supposedly see your whole life flash before you, I thought. I hoped not. Most of my early life was not all that pleasant and better off forgotten. Rather than remembering the pudgy, shy little boy I had been - orphaned at twelve by a nasty car accident and raised by an uncaring aunt and uncle until I had been old enough to get away to college - it was better to dwell on the me who took to computer programming in college and quickly and ruthlessly developed that skill until the world was nearly mine for the taking. Strangely enough, neither of my selves rose to mind. Instead I had something of an epiphany dropping down through the clouds to an unknown fate. I began to realize that if I died, there would be no one to mourn my passing. My aunt and uncle could have cared less - other than the forlorn hope that they might be able to achieve through my death a portion of my wealth I had purposefully denied them in life. There was no wife or any children to mourn my passing, and as for any of my business associates, my death might produce more opportunities than problems. Sure, the stock in Malone Enterprises would drop in price, but it would recover, so even my stockholders would have no long-tern reason to mourn my passing. The only reminder of my existence would probably be an oil painting of me in the board room over the caption of "Our Founder". For a man who had often seen himself as invincible, it was a sobering thought. As we broke through the clouds, I could see below a common Midwestern landscape - green fields lined up neatly with a monotonous grid of farm roads stretching out nearly to the horizon. I could make out hills in the distance - two nearly-identical groupings of them sheltering a valley in between. No, I realized as I looked at the two clusters of hills, they weren't 'nearly identical.' Instead they were absolutely identical, as if someone had cloned one set and moved it a few miles away. As the plane approached the entrance to the valley, it banked sharply, giving me hope that the pilot had regained control of the aircraft. "Do you have control of the plane?" I asked brusquely through the intercom at my seat. "Negative," the pilot replied, exposing his military background with that response. "The plane seems to be flying itself, but it's not doing it right. The engines are idling and none of the ailerons are in play. By all rights, we should be tumbling out of the sky right now." I didn't bother to respond, but if I had, I would have reminded him that it was for the best that we weren't reacting as he thought we should be. The cabin had become strangely calm. I think all of us were just thankful that whoever - or whatever - was flying the plane was doing it in a way that seemed best for our survival. Lorenzo was more calm than I had ever seen him before, and Taylor seemed her normal distant self. As for Mandy, she had been whimpering moments before, but now the whimpering had stopped. I swiveled around far enough to note that she, too, sat calmly, her hands together as she watched the ground slowly rising in her view. We were passing over a town. It didn't look to be very large - no more than ten thousand or so, I estimated. I could only hope that its airport possessed a runway long enough to land on safely. Then I realized I had no real evidence that it was landing at an airport at all. Still, the ride was so smooth and so controlled that I felt there had to be a runway coming up. The pilot confirmed it. "Folks, buckle up for landing. I don't know how, but we're lined up with a runway right now and should be safely on the ground in a couple of minutes." Good to his word, I felt the gear drop, and moments later, the wheels touched down on a smooth surface. I was alarmed for a second as I didn't hear the roar of the engines being reversed to reduce our speed, but for whatever reason, the plane slowed of its own accord, neatly pulling off onto a taxiway and coming to a stop in front of a nearby hangar. I jumped to my feet the moment we stopped and rushed into the cockpit. "Where the hell are we?" I asked hurriedly as I peered out onto the tarmac. "We don't know," the pilot admitted, perusing a chart. "All we know for certain is we're somewhere in Eastern Oklahoma. The GPS crapped out right after we crossed the state line. We must be somewhere near Muskogee, but the airport - hell, even the town - don't show up on the charts." "We're in Ovid, Oklahoma," the copilot called out. We both looked at him in surprise. "How the hell do you know that?" I demanded. The copilot pointed out beyond the nose of our aircraft. "Be cause that's what it says on the side of that police car." I did a double take. I had just looked out on the tarmac and seen nothing. Now there was a police car sitting there, and an officer wearing those stupid mirrored sunglasses was standing beside it, as if he had been waiting for us for hours. "He wasn't there a moment ago..." my voice trailed off. "Well, he's there now," the pilot replied drolly as he unstrapped himself and headed back into the cabin - to open the hatch as it turned out. Everyone else in the main cabin was still belted in place, as if unsure as to if the plane was going to miraculously decide to fly back up into the sky. However, as the pilot opened the hatch, each of them reluctantly released their belts and followed the pilot and me down the stairs that had already been placed in front of the hatch - by whom I had no idea. The police officer just stood there with his arms folded until the copilot - the last man on board - stepped off the plane. Then he moseyed over to stand in front of us, an officious expression on his face. "Good aftern-" I began, but he cut me off with, "Don't you know it's illegal to bring explosives into Ovid?" "Explosives?" I repeated, confused. "What the hell are you talking about?" Without a word, he walked over to the plane, opening a baggage hatch (although how he managed it without the proper tools didn't seem to matter to us at the time). From just within the compartment, he pulled a small but heavy-looking trunk. Opening it (again with no discernable key, we all stared dumfounded as we looked at half a dozen large gray bricks, each with a wire leading to a small electronic device. "This is an altimeter," the police officer explained drolly. "It's set to trigger these explosives at thirty-seven thousand feet..." I did a little quick math in my head. We had been cruising at thirty- five thousand feet as I remembered. The pilot had mentioned something about getting ready to go up another two-thousand feet when he lost control of the plane. If he had succeeded in doing so, we'd probably be nothing but debris scattered from the Rockies to the Nebraska panhandle. "But how could you know about those explosives?" the pilot asked. "You apparently have some powerful enemies, Mr. Malone," the police officer commented. Was I the only one who noticed that he really hadn't answered the question? But yes, apparently I did have powerful enemies, I admitted to myself, and I was pretty sure as to who they were. Metamorph had been financed by organized crime; we had all known that. What we hadn't known is how far they would go to eliminate me rather than face the upcoming legal battle they were sure to lose. And I thought I was ruthless... "I'm going to have to place you all under arrest," the officer announced suddenly. I looked up at him, trying to see if there was a hint of a smile or a twinkle in his eyes hidden by the reflective shades. "You're joking, aren't you? If so, it's not funny." "I'm not trying to be funny," he replied laconically. "It's illegal to bring explosive devices into the city of Ovid." As he spoke, a second police car pulled up beside the first one, and an attractive female officer emerged from the vehicle. She was black (okay already... African-American - happy now?) and wore an outfit identical to the other officer. I couldn't help but wonder why any woman who looked like her would want to dress like a man. But I had more important questions right now. "How the hell can you accuse us of bringing explosives into your piss- ant town? Don't you realize someone else put them there to kill us?" The officer remained steadfast. "That's true, but you did transport them here, knowingly or not." "This is a fucking outrage!" I yelled. It didn't impress the officer, though. "Sir, one more outburst and I'll have to add resisting arrest." "Fine!" I fumed. "Okay, I get it. This is a small town shakedown. Okay, take me to your judge or whatever. I'll pay whatever fines it takes to get us out of here. But when I get to Miami, I'm going to stick so many lawyers up your town's ass it won't be able to shit for a month." Oh yes, I was so diplomatic in those days, wasn't I? In my own defense, though - if it could be called a defense - the charges were ludicrous, and I was a man who was rich and powerful enough that I generally got my way. So forgive me if I went a little over the top, but keep in mind it usually got the results I was looking for. I might as well have said nothing, though. Neither officer changed expressions; it was as if they hadn't even heard what I was saying. With one final dramatic sigh, I allowed myself to be escorted to the back seat of the police car. The crew got into the back seat of the woman officer's car to my disappointment. I climbed into the back seat of the other car, followed by Taylor and Lorenzo. Although the back seat was relatively spacious, I could feel Taylor's hip up against mine and thought about what a nice hip it was. At least I was able to sidle up against her without fear of a sexual harassment suit, but that was the only good thing to happen all day. Oops, not true. Screwing Mandy had been fun, too, but it was all really downhill after that. Having nothing better to do, I looked around at the town of Ovid coming up around us as we got away from the airport. I had to admit that as small towns go, it didn't look too bad. I was born in the city - if you could call Tacoma a city. Compared to nearby Seattle, Tacoma was an economic basket case, and I had grown up until my parents died in one the poorer parts of town - a part of town that looked like it could do with a new coat of paint just to bring it up to the dilapidated level. From what I knew of small Midwestern towns, Ovid should be similarly run down as agricultural jobs dried up and small manufacturers moved their facilities to Third World nations where workers demanded even less than small town folks. Instead of a dying farm town, Ovid looked unusually prosperous. Nothing was exactly spectacular, but the streets were clean, the buildings in good repair, and the stores well stocked. There were even new buildings -a rare sight in small, isolated towns in the Midwest. "Look!" Taylor called out, leaning over me. "Look at what?" I asked, annoyed. "That woman... oh damn! She just went into that store." "So?" Taylor looked a little chagrinned. "Well, she looked... I don't know... transparent? No, that's not right. But it was as if I could almost see through her." "Yeah, right," I mumbled, folding my arms and closing my eyes. Taylor seemed to be losing it, and I didn't want to listen to any of her ramblings. Instead I wanted to figure out just how much this hick town judge was probably going to soak us for so we could get the hell out of town and off to Miami. I wondered if this small town cop - what did his nametag say? Oh yeah, this Mercer had any idea who I was. I hoped not. If he or whatever judge we drew had any idea who they were dealing with, they might decide they had hit the mother lode and shake me down big time. And they were bound to find out when we were arraigned. I put a mental price tag of ten grand on the whole affair. That wasn't much to me, but it was probably more than this cop and his pet judge got for shaking down out-of-town speeders in several months. I'd offer him five grand up front and let him bump me up to ten. No problem. "You're right!" Lorenzo said to Taylor. "I see it, too. Look at that woman with that little girl." "Yeah, the little girl looks normal, but the mother is nearly transparent. Mr. Malone, look!" Against my better judgment, I opened my eyes and looked where she was pointing. Come to think of it, the woman did look a little funny, but I figured it was just the power of suggestion. I didn't really get a good look at her anyhow. I just grunted and leaned back in my seat. It didn't take us long to get to our destination. The Ovid City Hall was about what I expected - maybe a little nicer but no biggie. We piled out of the two police cars and followed the officers into a surprisingly well-appointed courtroom. I figured if they trumped up charges on everyone else like they had on us, they probably had plenty of money to make the courtrooms look spiffy. The woman police officer left us at the door while the Mercer guy ushered us up to the defendant's table. The only others in the courtroom were an attractive blonde who was sitting by herself in the gallery and a pretty brunette who was waiting for us at the defense table. The brunette rose as we approached, offering a faint smile. "Hi, I'm Susan Jager, and I'll be your attorney this afternoon." "Look, sister," I growled, "I don't need any hick town appointed attorney. If I needed someone, I've got a dozen lawyers on retainer who spend a great deal of their time sitting on their asses figuring out new ways to bill me. Now just tell me how much of a fine this is going to be, I'll pay it, and you guys can go back to nailing unsuspecting speeders." Her smile became more artificial as she shot me a look that said she didn't like me one little bit. Well, the feeling was mutual. "I recognize you, Mr. Malone, but don't think you're going to intimidate the... people who run Ovid. Better men than you have failed to do that." "I'm so scared," I mocked. It was as if Yoda had suddenly been changed into an attractive brunette. "You will be," she promised, her eyes narrowing. I've never been one for premonitions, but the way she said it, I almost believed her - not for any logical reason, but just because she looked and sounded as if she had meant it. It wasn't so much that it was a threat, but rather as if she knew from personal knowledge what was about to happen to us. I found out later that she did, but as I said, that was later - much too late to matter. "Just what is going on here?" Taylor broke in. It was ironic, I thought, she was a woman and yet the only one in our group with enough guts to try to upstage me. If I could just get her to go to bed with me, she would be my idea of the perfect woman. The Jager woman's visage softened. "In a few minutes, The Judge will be out here to try your case. All I can say now is that your sentences will be rather... unique. Your best strategy is to be open and honest, remain respectful, and remember that what is about to happen to you is not so bad. But whatever you say or do, try not to annoy him." Well that was cryptic. "We didn't even know there were explosives on board," the pilot broke in. "How could we? We were almost killed by them. We've done nothing wrong." "I believe you," our attorney assured him. "All rise!" the Mercer guy intoned. "Municipal Court of Ovid, Oklahoma, is now in session, The Honorable Judge presiding." Judge who? I wondered. I expected some hick of a country magistrate to saunter into the courtroom in a rumpled suit and tie askew. What I saw instead was a judge who looked intelligent and confident enough in his neatly-pressed black robe to make a Supreme Court Justice feel inadequate. He appeared fairly tall - a little over six feet anyway - with medium brown hair and a neatly-trimmed beard, each of which was showing only enough signs of gray to make him look more distinguished. He wore gold-framed glasses which did little to hide piercing blue eyes. As we all rose to our feet, I couldn't help but wonder what a magistrate like him was doing stuck in a small town. "Be seated!" he said - no that's not right. He commanded. Once he was seated, he looked to the police officer who was now acting as bailiff. "What have we here?" The question appeared to be nothing more than a formality, since I suspected he knew exactly who we were. The Mercer guy handed him a thin folder which he studied for a moment. Then he addressed the court: "William Rose, Carson Baxter, and Amanda Hollingsworth!" Our flight crew nervously got to their feet. Funny, I thought to myself, they were my regular crew and yet I hadn't even remembered their last names. Our attorney rose with them. "Your Honor - " she began, but The Judge cut her off. "You'll have time to present your case, Ms. Jager," he admonished her. Turning his attention to our flight crew, he said, "You've been accused of bringing an explosive device into Ovid. How do you plead?" "Your Honor," my pilot suddenly interjected, "how can we be guilty of brining explosives into your town if we didn't even know they were on board?" The Judge leaned forward. "I didn't ask if you brought them in knowingly," he replied. "In fact, I know the explosives were placed there by one of the ground crew members at the orders of an organized crime boss who was funding the development of a product which would be in competition with Be-All." Exactly what I thought. I rose to my feet, "Your Honor, how could you know this?" "Sit down, Mr. Malone!" he demanded. Even though I didn't want to, I fell back into my seat. "Your turn will come soon enough. Ms. Jager, haven't you warned your clients about the inadvisability of making outbursts in my courtroom?" "Not exactly, Your Honor," she replied, although she didn't seem to be especially chastened by The Judge's admonishment. "Then I'll do it for you," he said ominously. "Now Mr. Rose, did you or did you not bring explosives into Ovid?" "Well, I suppose I did..." "Good," The Judge nodded. "Then that's settled." It was a farce, of course - a travesty of justice, almost as if the entire purpose of the trial had nothing to do with the charges. I began to have the uncomfortable feeling that in Ovid, the inmates were running the asylum. If this ridiculous trial was being performed merely to precipitate a shakedown, it was way over the top. "Now you may present your defense, Ms. Jager," The Judge said magnanimously. "I would point out that no one on board the plane knew of the presence of explosives..." "Noted." "...and ask for a dismissal of all charges." "Request denied," The Judge replied perfunctorily. If I thought what had happened thus far made no sense, what happened next seemed even more incredible. It started when The Judge began muttering something that sounded like Latin. I don't know if it was really Latin or not, but it sounded like snatches of Latin I had heard from time to time. As he spoke, the courtroom began to feel... funny. It's hard to describe, but it was as if a TV picture were to go slightly out of phase. The activity was centered on the flight crew. Even though I watched it happen, it was almost too unbelievable for my mind to accept what my eyes were seeing. The two men in the flight crew seemed to grow shorter, the dark pants and white shirts of their uniforms rippling and changing as I watched. As for Mandy, the flight attendant I had been in bed with only a few hours before, she too became shorter and her skin and hair began to darken. I looked into their eyes as their expressions changed from confusion to outright panic. The two men then looked at each other in alarm as they watched small breasts budding out from their transformed clothing. The pilot's receding brown hair had become long and blonde, while the copilot's hair turned dark red. Both men were now girls of perhaps sixteen or so, rearing tiny denim shorts and pastel t-shirts. Mandy was of a similar age and attire, but her skin was now a chocolate brown. None of the "girls" still exhibited panicked visages. Each girl now looked giddy with anticipation, and I could hear them giggling as The Judge addressed them. "So who will be driving you all out to Sunset Beach?" he asked in a friendly tone, as if in the middle of a mundane conversation with the three girls. "Brad Henry and two of his friends," the blonde giggled, the other girls joining her in a chorus of giggles. "Yeah," the redhead chimed in. "I just had to come by and get some money from mom so that, you know, we could get a pizza or something later." "Maybe we won't have to," the African-American girl broke in. "Maybe the boys will buy one for us." That set off yet another irritating chorus of giggles. It didn't take me very long to figure out that the three crewmembers had no idea that they had ever been anything else other than what they were now. It took an even shorter period of time to realize that we were probably next... unless I could figure out something to prevent it. All thoughts of a paltry bribe of a few thousand dollars fled from my mind. Anyone who could do what this guy could do was looking for the big bucks. It was obvious he knew who we were. The incredible transformation of my crew had been a warning to me that he meant business. I mentally added a couple of zeroes to the amount I would have to pay. "Now Mr. Malone," The Judge said, turning away from the departing schoolgirls and back toward the three of us who remained in jeopardy, "the preliminaries are out of the way and we can move on to more important matters." I did my best not to cringe. I expected another Latin chant, followed by my own transformation. Was I to become a young teenaged girl with no memories of having ever been anything else? The thought was as worrisome as speculation about my own death would have been. "Your Honor!" our attorney interjected. "If you have determined that the flight crew was responsible for transporting the explosives into Ovid..." A real reach there, I thought to myself, but I admired her for the effort, "...then how can you also hold these three people to blame as well?" "She's right," Taylor chimed in. "We knew nothing about the explosives. For that matter, neither did the flight crew. Think about it, Your Honor, we would have all died up there. We're the victims in this case." Just to make it more interesting, Lorenzo spoke next, but he was looking at me. "We knew nothing about the explosives. If you have to blame someone, make it Mr. Malone. He's the one who exposed us to all of this by crossing the mob!" "I never crossed the mob!" I snarled. "What the hell are you talking about?" "The mob financed your company from the beginning," he insisted. "You crossed them when you issued that new stock and diluted their investment. That's why they set up Metamorph to compete against you!" He was right, of course, but I wasn't about to admit it - especially in a courtroom. But I had fooled the mob. I planned to sue Metamorph and I was probably going to win, taking them down along with a shit load of mob money. My only miscalculation had been underestimating how violently they were willing to respond. Publicly though, I had no other option rather than to deny it. "You're crazy," I scoffed. "There was no mob money in my company." "Oh, but there was," The Judge broke in. "Would you like the exact numbers, Mr. Malone?" He held a sheet of paper up for me to see. While I couldn't see what was written on the paper, I had the uncomfortable feeling that he was telling me the truth. "This is a sham," I grumbled, sitting down and folding my arms. I was so upset at the revelations that I had momentarily forgotten the awesome power The Judge had demonstrated. In all honesty, I had no idea the mob had invested in my company, presumably with laundered money. Could it be that I had inadvertently triggered the entire chain of events that led to the founding of Metamorph? If so, some of my financial advisers would have some serious explaining to do, assuming I was able to get back to Seattle. To be honest, that was not looking like a very good possibility at the moment. The Judge turned away from me and looked at Lorenzo with piercing blue eyes. "I hope you don't think your accusation gets you off the hook, Mr. Lorenzo." As my associate trembled, The Judge pulled another sheet of paper out of the file. He smiled. "By the way, did you know, Mr. Lorenzo, that nearly everyone thinks you're gay?" "You're not?" I blurted out. Lorenzo shook his head, looking almost ashamed. I supposed I couldn't blame him. He acted like such a helpless little wimp that everyone naturally assumed he was gay. Then The Judge unveiled the next surprise. "While you, on the other hand, really are gay, aren't you, Ms. Taylor?" Taylor glared at him. "Yes, I am. So what?" There was no hesitation in her voice. I looked at her in shock. Here I had been trying so hard to get her into bed and she was a muff diver? Shit! "So it seems," The Judge sighed dramatically, returning to the case, "that in addition to the explosives charges, there are some potentially large criminal charges involving your company at issue, Mr. Malone." "That's not your jurisdiction," I pointed out without really thinking that someone with the Judge's strange powers would be intimidated by a little jurisdiction problem. But I had to use the meager weapons at my disposal. I wasn't exactly in a position to fight it out with this guy by flinging lightning bolts at him, although I had a funny feeling he could do that to me if he chose to. "Mr. Malone," The Judge began, "there are so many charges I could level against you that I scarcely know where to start." "Your Honor..." our attorney began again. "Yes, Ms. Jager," The Judge broke in with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I'm well aware that I put you in the role of defense counsel to stifle, shall we say, my over-exuberance, but I think you have to admit that Mr. Malone is not worth your sympathy." "There may be extenuating circumstances," she pointed out. "Wait a minute!" I chimed in. "I'm right here. If you've got a problem with what I've done, talk to me. All I've done is go from being an underprivileged child to one of the wealthiest men in the world by developing something everyone wanted and selling it to them at a reasonable price. What the hell more do you want from me?" The Judge leaned forward, and I didn't like the look on his face. I had the sudden disturbing thought that with a look like that, I'd be lucky if all he did was change me into a little giggling teenage girl. "Mr. Malone," he began, "I am well aware that your early life was rather hard. I'm also aware that you worked hard, used you incredible programming skills and showed impressive business acumen to get where you are today. Unfortunately, along the way, you lost something in spite of all you gained." "And what's that?" I asked sarcastically. "Your humanity, Mr. Malone," The Judge replied quietly. "Then can we go?" Lorenzo asked nervously. "You've got Malone, so you don't really need us." "Your lack of loyalty disturbs me," The Judge said dangerously, causing Lorenzo to shrink back. "Loyal?" Lorenzo repeated, his voice rising nearly an octave. As frightened as he was, he seemed to feel the need to defend himself. "Why should I be loyal to someone who used me as his whipping boy? How would you like to be called a pussy to your face, Your Honor?" I was - plenty of times." "This is getting us nowhere," The Judge said to no one in particular. "You, Mr. Lorenzo and you, Ms. Taylor, are accomplices to Mr. Malone - wittingly or not. It's time for your sentencing so we can get to more pressing matters." I gulped. That meant I was a "pressing matter," didn't it? The Latin chanting began again, and I expected to see Lorenzo and Taylor treated in a manner similar to our flight crew. Imagine my surprise when both of them began to grow larger. Lorenzo's hair got fuller and his face took on a more rugged shape. He grew at least six inches to an imposing height as his muscles became more defined and his suit coat became a short-sleeved blue chambray work shirt while his suit pants became jeans. His receding hairline was disappearing as new, shorter hair spread over his scalp. Taylor, too, was growing and becoming more masculine as I watched in alarm. Unlike Lorenzo though, her clothing remained more businesslike although nonetheless masculine. Her short skirt had become a pair of tan slacks and her blouse was now a men's striped dress shirt. A dark neatly-trimmed beard spread over her face and her eyebrows became thicker. She watched with surprise as the front of her slacks tented out a bit, and I realized suddenly that "she" was no longer the proper pronoun to describe his identity. "I...I still have my memories," Lorenzo said slowly. "I remember who I was." He looked down at his large chest and examined his broad hands. "But...who am I now?" "You are Bill O'Hara," The Judge told him. "You own O'Hara's Tire Market out on the highway." "But I don't know anything about tires." Lorenzo's uncertain inflections were still there, but the deep voice practically rumbled in the courtroom. Lorenzo had changed from an underdeveloped runt of a man into someone who looked as if he could break boulders with his bare hands. "You'll learn," The Judge returned off-handedly. "Now you'll find your service truck in the parking lot. Please move on so that we can deal with the rest of today's business." The big man shook his head. "I'd like to wait around to see what you do with him." He pointed a meaty finger at me. "That is none of your affair, Mr. O'Hara," The Judge told him. The tone of his voice did not seem to brook any argument, but the new Lorenzo was not smart enough to be deterred. "He treated me like shit for years," Lorenzo - now O'Hara - argued. "I want to see what you do to him." Taylor bravely stepped in front of the larger man. "Look, we'll find out later, okay? Don't piss this Judge off or you might find yourself back in diapers." "Well put, Mr. Garcia," The Judge called out with a menacing grin. "Unless Mr. O'Hara leaves right now, he may very well find himself less capable of such inappropriate aggression. Do I make myself clear, Mr. O'Hara?" "Yeah," he replied, running a beefy hand through the short red stubble which now covered his head. "I got you." He managed to glare at me before he left, and I knew unless I was changed into someone at least as large and powerful, he would probably be waiting for me outside where he would want to put his new body - and mine - to the test. As he stormed out of the courtroom, Taylor turned to face The Judge. "You called me Mr. Garcia. Who am I, and why do Lorenzo and I remember who we were?" "I'll answer the second question first," The Judge replied. "We can't always predict who will remember and who will not. It seems to have something to do will a personal sense of self, although some with a presumably strong sense of self may lose his memories while someone with a weak sense of self retains his. "As to your other question, You are Raymond Garcia, an economics instructor at Capta College." "I was an economics major in college." The Judge smiled. "I know." "But why am I male?" Taylor - now Garcia - wanted to know. "I find it more appropriate to your sexual needs," The Judge answered. Apparently the gay lifestyle wasn't big in Ovid. Did that mean that if I changed into a girl and retained my memories, I'd have to... oh shit! I had to stay male. There was no way in the world I could ever be attracted to a man. "Now if you'll excuse us, Mr. Garcia," The Judge continued, "I must still deal with Mr. Malone." The new man nodded. He shot a glance at me before leaving, but at least it was one more out of sympathy than the menacing glance O'Hara had given me. When he was gone, The Judge looked down at me. "Now Mr. Malone, it's your turn." "Wait!" I shouted. "Can't we find a way to compromise? I'm very wealthy, as I'm sure you know. Perhaps we could make a deal..." The Judge's eyes narrowed. "A deal, Mr. Malone? From what I know of you, you only offer to make a deal when you're cornered. Do you consider yourself cornered now?" I felt my legs turn to jelly, but it had nothing to do with The Judge's magic. I was on my own now, and there was no one there to carry water for me except my useless attorney. I knew what was coming - not exactly, of course, but I knew in general what was about to happen to me unless I could think of some way to prevent it. Apparently, a bribe wasn't going to be the answer. "Your Honor," my attorney began, "I would like to point out that Mr. Malone is a well-known businessman. His...removal from society could have serious effects on the lives of his employees and their families - not to mention the national economy." "Ms. Jager," The Judge sighed, "the argument has been used before in any number of courts, presuming that one man such as Mr. Malone here is so important that he is above justice. It is a specious argument since his 'removal', as you put it, will not even be noticed. True, his company will be gone, and perhaps even the products it has created, but others will take its place, and perhaps those who lead these other companies will have more to do with their time than lording over their employees in the fashion Mr. Malone seems to find necessary." "Lording over them?" I broke in with exaggerated indignity. "You Honor, I employ tens of thousands of people, and while I may not be a 'touchy- feely' sort of manager, I treat them well." "Do you now?" The Judge said with mock surprise. "I suppose your intention to fire your flight crew and make them pay their own way back home was just tough love. And the way you falsely accused one of your closest associates of being homosexual was just your way of getting him to show some backbone? And what about the women you employ? Certainly your attempts to bed them are just a way of showing them how important they are to the organization, and forcing them to wear clothing that displays more than most of them wish to display is simply your way of making them feel good about themselves. Isn't that right?" I grimaced. He knew far more about me than I could have ever imagined. Apparently these seemingly magical powers he possessed were not limited to making showy transformations. I had only one card left to play. "All right, Your Honor," I conceded, trying to appear humble, "I agree that I've done some... questionable things in my life. But I've never stooped to trying to blow up my competition. Whoever put those explosives on my plane - and I have a very good idea who it was - should be the ones you punish. I'll help you find the real guilty parties, how's that? I'm just an honest businessman trying to earn a living and provide for my employees." "It doesn't wash, Mr. Malone," The Judge returned, and I could see he was about to go into his little trance and speak the strange words that would change my life far more than I would have imagined possible a few short hours ago. What would I be? It was odd, but even as my body tensed for whatever would come next, my mind was curiously detached, weighing the possibilities. It was strange, but for me, time seemed to slow down in that moment before The Judge began to speak. I don't think it really did slow down; I think my mind was just moving at a thousand miles an hour. A quick mind had always been the real secret of my success. Would it be this time? I realized that whoever The Judge transformed might sometimes remember who they were before. My flight crew had not remembered any previous lives - or at least that was how it appeared. They seemed nothing more than what they appeared to be - three attractive young teenyboppers who probably believed they had always lived in Ovid and most likely were either home with people who believed themselves to be their families or strolling along in a mall (assuming Ovid had one) giggling, trying on clothes, and trolling for boys. Lorenzo and Taylor, on the other hand, remembered who they had been. That was both good and bad for me. It was good from the standpoint that I had a fairly even chance of remembering who I had been once The Judge had transformed me - and make no mistake about it: I knew I was about to be transformed. The bad side of the equation was that neither had any reason to like or help me, and while Taylor had seemed to not be concerned about me one way or the other, but Lorenzo looked to be out for my blood. Wouldn't he just love it if I came out of the courtroom