The Great Shift: The Empty Place Inside, Part 1 Of 2 (revised) free porn video

The Great Shift: The Empty Place Inside by BlueshifTG Part 1 The straps were loosened on the black 1" heel shoes tumbled under the desk. One stockinged foot was on the floor, the other unsteadily balanced on the plastic trash can; the position pulled the leather skirt tight above the green-nailed fingers that absent-mindedly rubbed a spot on the outside of the right knee. The woman was leaning back in her chair, head craned forward to talk to the speakerphone. "Jerry, buddy, you're killing me. Let's have a decision. You're cutting into my cocktail hour." "OK, OK," Jerry's voice came back. "Drop JNJ, pick up Pfizer. Just don't change your mind too soon--transaction charges add up." "Everybody on board?" she asked. Various voices assented, some reservedly, some apathetically. "Great! Done." Beeps sounded as people disconnected from the conference call. She brought her hands to the sides of her head and shook out the wavy red hair, then lifted her feet and pitched forward. In one motion, she pressed the button on the phone with her right hand and reached with her left hand to shut off the laptop. The suit jacket containing her breasts nearly brushed the desk; her waist met the edge. She grabbed her purse, black, medium-sized, thin-strapped; stepped into her shoes and lifted each foot back and outside to tighten the straps. She hit the light switch, and as she turned to close the door behind her she saw the frames on the wall. She couldn't read them clearly in the dim light, but she knew what they said: Kurt Arquist, B.A.; Kurt Arquist, M.B.A; Linda Arquist, Employee of the Quarter. She smiled and shut the door. She got on the elevator. There was a young man she didn't know wearing jeans, a collared short-sleeve shirt, sneakers, an unbottoned flannel shirt, and a badge clipped to his pocket. She grinned up at him. "Hello, I.T.!" He looked down at his clothes. "Well, what?" The elevator began its descent. "It's quarter to five. Isn't that one last system problem still bothering you? Don't you want to stay and fix it?" "Not today," he said heavily. "Got a certification exam early in the morning." "What's early?" "Starts at 7:30, so I'll have to be up before six if I want to get some last-minute cramming in." "Studying at 6 AM on a Saturday?" she said. "Jesus, I usually don't even throw up until ten." He'd put his hands behind him, leaning on the railing; leaning away from her. His eyes bounced off her furtively. She smiled. She pressed the button for the upper level of the parking deck--not because it was where she was going, but so that he could watch her leave. Where she was going, his type didn't venture. She stepped off the staircase onto the lower level of the parking lot and pointed the key fob into the spaces. A Corvette, reddish purple, parked on the line and taking two spaces, chirped and flashed its lights. The license plate was "Quiz7". She walked around and inspected every corner for scratches. Satisfied, she got in and placed her purse on the passenger seat. There were no other objects in the car, and the interior had been cleaned recently. She turned the ignition and smiled at the thrum of the engine. She looked at herself in the mirror, then pulled forward out of the spaces. Her friends waved her over to their usual corner table. "You're late, Quiz," Pete said to her, grinning. Laine was wearing her usual sweater and half-loose cloth skirt; her long, straight strawberry blonde hair was down. Linda took off her coat and eased into the booth beside Laine, knees together inside the tight leather skirt and swinging her hips into place. Pete and Caroline were across from them, obviously holding hands under the table. A snowshoe, a bent trumpet, and a rusted Dr Pepper sign were the largest of the items hanging on the nearest wall. A basket of rolls was on the table, and water was waiting at Linda's place. "Jake couldn't make it?" she asked. Pete looked like he was about to answer, but Laine quickly said, "He had to start work early. We'll go over there later." Linda put her hand on the menu and slid it to the edge of the table. She knew what she wanted. Laine said to Linda, "You look good tonight," but she didn't mean it. Linda smiled. She recalled seeing Laine pull her hair over her face and chirp, looking for all the world like Cousin Itt from the Addams Family. Pete gave the same compliment to Caroline, who replied that she hadn't always looked like this. "Perhaps you weren't this particular pretty before," Pete said, "but you were always beautiful." He hadn't known her before the Shift. Linda looked at Caroline. The girl had a truly pretty face. Pete was fond of comparing her looks to Veronica Lake, and something in her face did evoke a Cecil B. DeMille closeup. Obviously makeup had played a part, but there was no denying she was naturally gorgeous. Pear- shaped, Linda reflected, glancing at Laine's C cups and aware of her own Bs. The service was quick. Linda thought she'd hardly ordered when the food arrived. "Tonight's special, meatloaf, your usual baked potato, tonight's vegetable: peas and carrots." "Thanks," she said. While the others received their plates, she diced the meatloaf, mashed the potato, mixed them, and poured the peas and carrots over the mess. Pete looked at her plate, fork lifted halfway. "It's amazing," he said. "The way you turn everything into Shepherd's Pie." Caroline's plate had everything separated. "I don't understand," she said. "I can only taste one thing at a time. You mix it up like that, how can you say you enjoyed a potato or anything else?" "Combinations make new flavors," Linda answered, digging in. Laine looked back and forth between them, dipping a bite of turkey in a cup of gravy. Pete seemed greatly amused by the whole scene. "Postulate an event," Linda said, standing next to her first PowerPoint slide, "that has three sudden and simultaneous economic impacts: widespread identity theft, decrease in human capital, and interrupted communications. Communications were restored fairly quickly, though many companies that had little automation of transactions were destroyed. The loss of skilled labor resulted in extra personnel expenses for most companies, offset by a decrease in average benefits based on seniority. In particular, I.T. workers were in great demand for a brief time to restore systems that failed, and while some parleyed that into high-salary and benefit jobs, there was an overall increase in contract career paths. "But the identity theft is the problem. Small businesses are putting fees on cards and checks to incentivize cash. Interest rates are up. Banks are charging fees to offset the liability. Some people still can't get to the money they have, and the estates of people who died in the Shift are effectively locked. So: consumer cyclicals, capital goods and basic materials down, consumer staples up; financial down. Indexes all down. "Those are the mid-term ongoing effects. The immediate effect was a hit to utilities and a boost to technology and energy. And obviously, extreme volatility. Black Monday hit every sector, but again it was identity theft concerns over financial and health care that drove the biggest fall. Therefore, at opening bell when the market reopened, we shorted the entire insurance subsector. It was a one-time response to a one-time event..." She went on to explain how she had managed the fund since then, mixing quick flips based on short-term predictions with a steady reinvestment in undervalued long-term growth stocks. The result was a fast increase slowing into a large position in stable growth and dividend holdings, plus a promotion and a fat bonus check. "However, there are still a lot of micro opportunities. For example, international currency exchange rates--" She gave them all the reasons, all the information they wanted-- everything, in fact, except what she was going to purchase and sell next. Eight, nine, ten. She let the curling machine weights down with a clang. The minimum weight was enough to work her soft arms. She was increasing reps and sets, though. She stood, inner thighs sticking to the cushion as she awkwardly lifted a leg over the bench; at her height, the move involved leaning way over and twisting. She glanced at the guy on the bench press and decided he probably couldn't see up her shorts. She went over to the fly machine and settled in, raising her arms up and grasping the handles, forearms against pads. Push, release. Breathe out, breathe in. Cleavage, no cleavage. The guy on the bench press was pausing between sets. His legs were long and lean and covered in blond hair. Veins and tendons were visible on his knees. He resumed the exercise, and she watched his shoulders moving under his shirt. He looked like a runner. She made a note to ask Pete if he still ran. Looking at her own legs, she was struck by how short they were, and how no veins or tendons showed; the knees were rounded. The thighs were flattened on the bench. Thunderthighs--that was the nickname they used to call her young cousin before she lost the baby fat. Her bottom drooped a bit over both sides of the thin bench. So far the bicycle and elliptical machines hadn't helped her there. Time for another set. Push, release. Cleavage, no cleavage. The bar was quiet for a Thursday, though it was still a little early for the ones who didn't have to get up in the morning. Jake waved at them as they entered. "Everybody having their usual?" he asked. "Except you, of course," he added to Linda, who regarded him frostily. It was true, though; as much as she drank, it would be boring to have a usual. "Dewar's," Linda answered. Pete gestured assent, Caroline nodded, and Laine said, "The usual." Linda opened a tab. Caroline barely glanced as Pete picked up her drink. Laine fished in her wallet, but Jake said, "Don't worry, it's Ladies' Night." "That's Tuesdays," Laine observed. "It's Ladies' Night for you," Jake said. Linda narrowed her eyes, which with her mascara was a daunting sight. Jake sighed. "And a pint for you, then." Linda stared briefly at the tap, which was enough to indicate her choice. "Beer following liquor?" Caroline asked. "Isn't that going to give you a hangover?" "First off," Linda said, "you have it backwards. Secondly--" she took a hit of the scotch-- "that's for amateurs." After the beer Linda ordered a margarita, top shelf, on the rocks. Pete, who was sharing a bowl of pretzels with Laine, looked gray. "It's disturbing, and yet I can't look away." "Amateur," Linda said. She drank from the glass, not through a straw the way Laine did her frozen strawberry. For her part, Laine could in fact look away. Pete nodded to a passing waitress whose nametag read 'Boysenberry'. "And now we know what happens when adult people name themselves." Caroline chuckled. "There's a website that lists names judges have refused to grant. Some people still are trying to change their names to obscenities or to celebrities or to unpronouncable symbols." "I guess mostly people kept their names, unless they changed sex or wanted to hide," Laine observed. "I've been meaning to ask," Linda said, "how you chose the name." "Huh?" Laine looked up. "It was my middle name. A family surname. Distaff." Caroline froze momentarily and cast a quick glance at Pete. "I didn't tell you, did I?" Pete said. "No reason to," Caroline said, smoothing a pantleg and putting on a smile. She said to Laine, "I wouldn't have guessed." "I'll take that as a compliment," Laine said mildly. Her voice was hesitant at first but more confident by the end of the statement. "Also," Pete said, subtly pointing at Linda. "That I did guess," Caroline said, immediately looking embarrassed. As the brown-haired man kissed her his hand traced from her neck across her collarbone, underneath the shoulder pad and to the deltoid. His breath was literally intoxicating: a local microbrew, and a lot of it. At least he had good taste. Her own breath was staggering, full of Kentucky corn. She locked lips again and, grasping his forearm, guided his hand from her back to her breast. After the briefest pause, the hand began working on her. It felt like her body had extended a blob of flesh to give to him, as if it would be put away when he was done, but of course it was always there. She broke the kiss, glanced down, and then looked up at his face. She put both arms around his neck, and his other hand slid down her side. She moved his hand again; he'd gotten it inside the suit jacket, but she pulled it to her left and then slid it back to the right between the buttons of her blouse, this time taking his finger and tracing the plunge of her green bra. His finger felt warm, and the skin around his touch felt cool. Leaving him to his devices, she put her left hand on his six-pack and started unbuttoning. She stumbled a little and, with the grace of an experienced drunkard, spun on one foot, pulling him on top of her onto the couch. His hand found the zipper of her skirt. There we go, she thought with satisfaction. Soon, both of them naked, he held her around the shoulders with one arm, brushing her breast conveniently; the other hand moved slowly back and forth a millimeter over her, brushing her fine hairs and creating the subtlest breeze. He'd said it earler, while relatively sober: To almost touch is to touch most. Her breath was catching in her throat. She wasn't even aware of exactly when he actually started touching her, slowly stroking the surface. He wasn't doing anything else; he just kept gently rubbing until she was half mad with the teasing. She heaved herself up and rolled on top of him, knees around his hips, hands on the couch behind his shoulders, breasts hanging in front of his face. "I think," she said huskily, "you had better put on a condom and fuck me now." He did. She helped. She cuddled with him in bed after the second act. He was sleeping. She was still buzzed, but the taste of toothpaste helped her think clearly. She was recalling his answer to the magic question: "Tell me about your work." He'd been talking about a guy that was lost in the Shift, a young executive... "What do you mean, FedEx?" "Jerry, trust me on this. It'll be a few months, but they're going to rocket." "No way, Quiz." He flung his right hand wildly. "They had their run with the dot coms. Sure, they'll go up--everyone in shipping will--but they don't have any advantages over the others." She ticked off on her fingers. "UPS lost Woodshouse. USPS can't find enough people that meet Federal hiring criteria. DHL doesn't have the fleet and they're still recovering from the buyout that fell through, and the airlines barely have a foot in the door." "Woodshouse is nobody," Jerry expostulated. "A junior VP who ceilinged-out two years ago." "He was the one who had the contacts. He made their most recent strategic alliances. They'll maintain without him but not grow." She smiled. "Trust me." He stared at her another moment. "It's too much churn." She pointed to the plaque on her office wall. "Remember what that means?" "Yeah," he said, shoulders slumping. "You outperformed the other fund managers." That would be Jerry. "What else?" Her stance was aggressive, stockinged feet planted. He looked down and sighed theatrically. "You outperformed the index funds." "By how much?" "I know, I know. By a lot more than the transaction fees. Fine, you win. You're riding the roller coaster. But sooner or later it'll crash." "Not while I'm here," she said with narrowed eyes, reaching under the desk for her purse with the toothbrush in it. "You're late, Quiz." Pete grinned. "Some of us do honest work for a living, slob." That would be the people who just finished detailing her car. "That excuses Jake and Caroline, but what about you?" Pete replied. Laine looked hurt. "Why isn't there a drink waiting for me?" Linda shot back. "We took a vote but couldn't decide what you might want." "Why do you call her that?" Caroline asked Pete. "The nickname? OK, Quiz, give us the headlines." Linda's reponse was reflexive. "CNN or FOX?" "Entertain us," Laine said. "There's a guy pushing for licensing on spiritualist teachers, basically saying they have to pick a holy book and stick with it instead of just making shit up when they put a religious interpretation on the Great Shift. UNAEC is allowing higher levels of Strontium-90 in milk--" "Who's UNAEC?" Laine asked. "Atomic Energy Commission," Pete answered. "--but the FDA doesn't care because only yak milk from the Ural mountains has any significant amount." She knew why, but that was a work secret. The news reports hadn't revealed the specific provenance in question. "And a company has announced an adapter device that allows women to use urinals." She laughed. Laine had a complicated expression on her face. Caroline obviously found the idea repugnant. Pete's attention was focused on his dinner. Linda noted the reactions. "News anchor Jeanette Crowder has a new defense in her murder trial, saying she's actually a former colleague and just pretended to be Ms. Crowder. The bill passed the Kansas legislature putting a two-year statute of limitations on trying former minors as adults," she continued. "What's that supposed to accomplish?" Pete asked. Caroline thought a moment. "A kid wouldn't understand that it was wrong. Depending on what it was. I wonder what two years living as an adult would do to a child?" "The intention," Linda said, "seems to have been to protect them from screwing up their whole future in one crime of passion. But the bill is too broad, and that's why similar measures are hung up in other states. "Pat Robertson delivered a healthy baby girl. Doesn't look a bit like him. And," she finished, "the experts have reversed their position again on whether greenhouse gas emissions are down since the Shift." "That goes up and down like a stock," Laine observed. "Exactly," Linda said smugly. "Why isn't there a drink in front of me?" She drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair, high heels empty on the floor under the table, one stockinged foot on the plastic trash can. She stared at the screen, read the same paragraph for the sixth time, stared at the ceiling, then closed her eyes and sighed. She almost had it. There was a piece missing. Could be anything, anything at all. Whatever it was, it would seem meaningless to anyone else. You had to know everything she knew to understand. Astrologers have stars. She had ceiling tiles. She saw patterns and shapes when her mind was cooking something on the back burner. She saw her constellations in the news. Something about that stupid yak's milk kept calling to her. Why the hell did that seem important? "Aaargh!" Pete, Jake and Laine said together. "Let me guess," Caroline said. "The other team scored a touchdown." "Interference!" Pete said. "The officials are huddled." Laine sipped her drink. "And we go to commercial," Jake noted. "Thank God." Caroline shook her head and lifted her drink. A commercial for feminine hygeine came on. "Now that's something you never saw during a game before the Shift," Pete observed. "But wait," Jake said. "Here comes our revenge. After all those years of feeling uncomfortable hearing about ocean breezes, now here's one about ED." "So," Linda asked him. "How's your erection?" Jake recovered quickly. "Easy come, easy go," he said, shrugging. Pete and Caroline laughed. Laine was blushing fiercely but chuckled as well. "Good answer," Linda said, downing the rest of her drink. She stood. "Come on," she said to Laine. "What? But I don't..." "Look, Laine," Linda said reasonably. "We're the girls now. Gotta preserve the mystery." Caroline studiously ignored the exchange, but a few moments later she said, "Oh, hell," and went after them. Pete and Jake looked at each other. Jake smiled. "Was it something I said?" "Well, I guess it's better than sitting out there blushing," Laine admitted. Linda was brushing her teeth maniacally. She spat and said, "Damn straight. Now, what was it you wanted to talk about?" "Uh, Linda, this was your idea." "Yeah, but you're the one who has something on her mind." "OK, yeah." Laine sighed, started to say something, paused. "You're going to pick up that guy in the green jacket, aren't you?" "Yes ma'am, I am," Linda singsonged. "Why, you want some pointers?" Caroline joined them. "Because I think you're doing fine," Linda continued. "You've got him any time you want him, you know." "Who, Jake?" Caroline said. Linda chortled. "Come on, girl, don't tease him too long." "Don't rush, either," Caroline advised. "OK, don't tease and don't rush," Laine repeated. "I can work with that." She turned to Linda. "But how did you do it? The first time, I mean." She glanced at Caroline. "You know..." Caroline said, "I know." "What you do is get in close," Linda explained. "Then the pheromones take over. Don't try to fantasize or tell yourself what you should or shouldn't like or overthink it. Close your eyes. Let the body do its thing." "Was it like that for you?" Caroline asked. "Or was there alcohol involved?" "Oh yeah," Linda said. "I'd been drinking. But I made a lot of progress in one evening. Broke a lot of barriers. Once I'd taken the plunge, I was back in the game. A different gender, yes, but sex is sex." "Sounds like date rape," Caroline said. "No, not like that at all," Linda countered. "Yeah, I got drunk and slept with a guy. I did that all the time from the other side. Pretty much the norm." "That's not the way I want to go," Laine said, looking in the mirror. She absently twirled a lock of hair in her fingers. "I wouldn't recommend it," Caroline said. "A glass of wine for the nerves, maybe, but I think he'll be gentle with you." She grinned. "But after that he'll treat you right." Laine stared at her. "God, I wish you wouldn't plan out my love life before I do." Caroline smiled. "Didn't you know? All girls start planning for 'I do' as soon as they discover boys are different." Laine frowned and swatted Caroline's shoulder playfully. Linda grinned, applying mascara. "You look hideous," Laine said. "He'll love it," Caroline agreed. "Why's this," she breathed, "jacket so important to you?" He was wearing it, though nothing else. Linda recalled an old girlfriend who could take off her bra without removing her shirt, if it was a loose sweatshirt. This guy had done something like that; he said it was why he wore button-down shirts. Hell of a way to waste time, practicing a skill like that. Apparently it was that important to keep the green jacket. "Hnnn," he growled, thrusting in a peculiar circular motion. "Just is." "You wear it at work?" She grabbed his shoulders and pushed, arching her back and looking at the ceiling while at the same time pinning him to the sheets. He sighed roughly and stopped for a moment. "We gonna do this, or just talk?" It had taken months, but she'd learned to squeeze from the inside. It was like pulling her genitals in and up, or, crassly, holding her bladder--the same muscles Kurt used to make his penis do chin-ups. The woman's version was a move Kurt had always appreciated, and Linda used it to good effect. "Phew," her dalliance said, resuming with enthusiasm. "Yeah, except for... client... meetings. Oh, damn!" He had the squinting grin of a guy nearing the end. "Who's the client? Come on. Tell me, baby." She squeezed him and held frozen in position. "Fuck," he said. "Doesn't matter.' "Yeah, fuck," she said. She shook her breasts and smiled down at him, as coyly as she could manage. "Tell me anyway." He did. "There," she said, interlocking her ankles with his and locking her arms behind his shoulders, mashing her chest against his. His back arched. "That didn't hurt at all, did it?" "Hell no," he agreed. "That didn't hurt." "How do you figure all this, Quiz?" Jerry took a piece of candy from the bowl on her desk and leaned back in the guest chair. "I mean, there's tortured logic, and then there's the Arquist Rollercoaster." "Because," she answered patiently, "I take cream in my coffee. You go to the Caribou on the corner?" "Sometimes," he said, nonplussed. "Have you noticed they discontinued the vanilla iced coffee?" "I guess I didn't." "It was a market test to see if there's a demand in America," she explained. "It's an established variety overseas. They were importing it instead of making it locally, so it wasn't using local farms." "What does that have to do with Nestle?" Jerry knew Linda kept him confused used it to defuse his frustration. It annoyed him to be manipulated, but he respected her ability to hold her own in a room--no shrinking violet, this one. "They stopped importing it because an ingredient was tainted. But that source couldn't handle the volume anyway." She shook out her hair and grinned. "So what happens next?" He held out his hands, palms up. "I can't wait to hear." "They find another source, of course," she said with familiar condescension. "But they still have to combine it with the other ingredients, distribute it, and market it. So they need a company that already has the infrastructure to do all that." "You're saying Nestle will pick up the Caribou contract for coffee creamer." He was getting a grip on the idea. "Nope. Nestle will make the product and sell it through Caribou, Starbuck's, and grocery stores under three different brands. That means business for their marketing partners and shipping partners, which means the suppliers of trucks. As it happens, they don't outsource their marketing, but the company that supplies their trucks is the direct competitor to Mayfield's." "So it's enough for the trucking company that they get more business from Nestle?" He was unconvinced. "That, and their competitor takes a hit. Mayfield not only had to change part of their source to a more expensive supplier, they got hit with bad PR. New supplier, new location; loss of revenue; they change trucking companies, and our friends that carry Nestle's are ready for it. Schneider all the way, baby; perfect storm." "Because of milk," Jerry said, shaking his head. "Because of irradiated imported milk," she smiled. Jerry stared at her, hands in his pockets, suit jacked hitching up. "Pretty flimsy reasoning for a buy." She slapped her hand on the desk. "P/E. Cash reserve. Stability of upper management. Fundamentals. This--" she waved her hand--"insight is just how I choose which good company to play with. Six percent is my mad money; the rest is conservative, what you or anyone else would do, and the profits go back into that pool." "But you attract so much attention with these wild plays people think you're reckless." "I'm not," she said. She looked at him. "Do you think so?" He shrugged. "I guess not. But I'm getting used to you. Good luck convincing Donna." "She'll go along with the rest," Linda said, sounding more queasy than confident. "Not forever," Jerry said. "Especially the way you always shut her down. You're antagonizing her. Why?" She didn't know. Something about the woman seemed off. Every time she heard the name, Donna, it got her hackles up; that had been a problem since they started working together, a year before the Shift. "She just doesn't think things through," Linda answered. It was a weak reason, but it was better than saying some people had the wrong name after the Shift. Especially since Donna hadn't changed hers. "This," Laine said, brushing her fingers over the "40" logo on the dashboard, "is a nice ride." "1993 40th anniversary ruby red metallic corvette ZR-1," Linda said proudly. She gunned the engine and passed a Lincoln. "Feels good ridin' them horses, don't it, girl?" Her expression was lascivious. "Um," Laine said. She tried to hide it, but Linda saw the white knuckles on her hand clutching the door. The stereo was blasting techno. "Could you turn it down?" Linda laughed, moving back into the right lane and coasting. "I know, you prefer Oldies. No problem." She switched the station. "Two hotties in a cool car; I'll play anything as long as it's loud." "Yeah," Laine said blandly. She looked at blackened husks in lots near the road, burned-out buildings from the looting. She turned back to Linda. "Tell me something. If you were still a guy, would you hit on me?" Linda looked at her. "No," she said. "You're built of brick, but you've got the wrong attitude. For me, I mean. You're not a good time. You've got long-term relationship written all over you." "How about now?" "Are you crazy? I'm not gay." Linda shook her head. "What?" Laine was puzzled. "I mean... I don't consider myself gay, but I still think about women." "Are you hitting on me?" Linda asked. "What? No! I'm just saying, being in love, being in a relationship with a woman still feels right to me." "I thought you were sweet on Jake." "Well, yes," Laine said. "He's my... I'm his girlfriend. And that feels right. Does that make me bi?" Linda frowned. "You aren't talking about physical attraction. You're talking about what you're telling yourself is okay. I think there's a world full of same-sex love that just doesn't get romantic expression." "You're OK with that?" Laine asked. "It seems like you're... well, homophobic." "All I can say is, anyone who's doing it without those two special parts coming together is missing out on the true experience." She shrugged, winced. "Whichever side I'm on, I only want the real thing." Laine gestured at Linda's chest. "Getting your period?" "One more reason why it sucks to have boobs," she answered. "They hurt for no reason. But you know, it was a lot worse right after the Shift. The first couple periods I thought I was going to die. Heavy flow, cramps, bleeding gums, the works. They got better. I figure it was some kind of adjustment period. Maybe I changed my diet, maybe I just got used to it." "I can't imagine," Laine said. "Mine seem awful, but most women I talk to seem to have it worse. I guess I'm lucky that way, as lucky as you can be to have a period anyway. But you're right, breasts do hurt." "And sometimes they're wonderful." Linda smiled distantly. "In the right hands--meaning," she looked at Laine, "not your own." Laine was looking out the window. "I admit I'm often proud of mine." "You should be." "But my back hurts. You'd think the body would be put together in balance." "Hang on," Linda said. She reached over without looking and moved her hand over Laine's shoulder and upper back. Laine flinched. "Girl, you've gotta get into being touched. Anyway, I think I see your problem. You're sore here, right?" "Yeah, that's it. I hate the end of the day." "Your bra just doesn't fit right. The back is doing all the work. Let the shoulder straps carry the weight. The back should just hold them in, not lift them. You probably need to adjust all of yours." Laine peered at her. "You've really gotten into this girl stuff." Linda laughed. "Naw, I knew all about bras as a guy. How they fit, what the different kinds do, how to take them off." "These are your moves," Laine hazarded. "Are you hitting on me?" "I already told you no." "That's OK," Laine replied. "You're really not my type." "Turning me down, eh? Too trashy, I suppose," Linda said. "And you, too wholesome for me." "That isn't what I meant--" "Of course it is. I'm not taking offense. Those are the words you'd use. I call it hot and cold. Girls like you are never a good fuck. But most guys will beat their heads against the wall hitting on you." "And you weren't most guys." "Hell no. I knew how to find a girl who would give me what I wanted. Anyone can do it, but not everyone can do it well." Laine shrugged and turned away. "You're the expert." "And you," Linda said, "are an amateur." Laine flushed, thinking of websites. "Life is short," Linda continued as they drove by more burned buildings. "We could die tomorrow, and you'd look back on lonely nights and missed opportunities." "I'd rather make the most of a few than a little of a lot." "Hm," Linda acknowledged. "That is mature of you." It sounded like something Pete would say. Laine shifted in her seat. "I guess it's all relative." She started humming along to the last fading strains of "Stuck in the Middle With You" on the radio. There was a thump, then another. Then the guitar came in. "Oh, hell yeah," Laine said as "Slow Ride" began. Linda observed, "I'm more into either smooth jazz or Bolero, but as Oldies go this is a song full of sex." "Um," Laine said, no longer singing along. "Well, guy sex at least." "Sex is sex," Linda said. "It takes two to Tango." She chuckled. "Now there's a dance you need to learn. You've got the legs for it." "I don't think I'm ready for that yet." "I'm just saying," Linda said in a big-sister tone, "it's a good stepping stone." Laine stared at the road pensively. The white lines ticked off seconds passing by. The twin tail lights faded down the road. "Wow," Jake said. "No matter how many times I see that stuff, it still blows my mind." "I guess art didn't look like much when it was all gray," Pete said. "It wasn't all gray. My color-blindness was deuteranopia. Everything was blue and yellow and brown." He tossed his head to the wing of the museum they'd just left, which had reproductions of classic works, all of which Linda could name. "Some of those look the same. Starry Starry Night. The Scream." He gestured at Laine. "We went to the aquarium. The IMAX was about the Antarctic. That all looked the same; I could always see the yellow on penguins and the shades of blue and white underwater. The shark tank looked the same." "You loved the Carribean section," Laine said, smiling at him. He held her hand. She jumped a little but didn't pull away. "That was the best thing of all," Jake said, smiling broadly and looking upward. "It was *almost* the same. The subtleties of green made all the difference. That," he concluded, "was a new world." "Hey, I want to go in here for a moment," Laine said, letting go his hand and stepping toward the gift shop. "Me too," said Caroline. "Eh," Linda demurred. "Keep talking, bro." "Yeah," Pete said. "What were the things that were really different?" "We saw a video of the Auroras." His eyes were wide. "Those were pretty much invisible before. That still shocks me." "How about everyday life?" Linda asked. "Fruit," he said. "I'm sure it's psychological, but I think green and red apples taste a lot different, and they never did before." He shrugged. "A little. I could taste the difference, even though they both just looked yellowish-brown. But now it's night and day." "How about impressionist paintings?" Linda wondered. "Wouldn't they be like a color-blindness test?" Jake shook his head. "Sometimes. Sort of. With a painting, I just filled in the gaps, found the outlines." He looked up. "I've got it. You know the 'magic eye', where you stare at it until your mind clicks and the picture leaps out at you?" "Yeah," Linda said. "My whole life is like that." The two women returned. Laine was carrying a bag. "What did you get?" Linda asked. "It's a secret," Laine said, but she couldn't help glancing at Jake. Jake raised his eyebrows but didn't ask. Pete broke the silence. "Who's hungry?" Caroline rolled her eyes. "The usual place, I take it?" Linda was wondering why Laine hadn't asked to ride with Jake. She was probably wishing she'd ridden with Pete and Caroline, judging by her white knuckles. "This car rides so low," she said, "it feels like I'm sitting on the ground, scraping." She chuckled. "That would have been a horrible thought as a guy, that it would rip off..." Linda interrupted. "So what did you get Jake?" Laine squirmed. "I was that obvious?" "Yes." Linda grinned and shook her head; Laine caught a glimpse of gold earrings under the wavy red hair. "It's a book on Hawaii, about Kilauea. He could never see the red, so the lava didn't stand out from the rock. Plus it has some underwater pictures of colorful fish." Linda laughed out loud. "What?" Laine asked defensively. "Giving your boyfriend a book about volcanic eruptions. With a lot of red." She shook her head again. "What a fucking tease." Laine folded her arms under her breasts and looked straight ahead. "I don't think he'll take it that way." "Oh, he won't think so either. But it'll work subconsciously. Are you getting him a Valentine's card to go with it?" Laine didn't answer, and Linda shrugged again. She fixed Laine in a gaze. "Whatever. Just don't tease him too long." "I know, I know." "Really. You've got a chance for something there. Don't blow it." She looked out her window and pulled the left turn signal. "Don't blow it," she said again, to herself. "Do you ever wonder," Caroline said, "if we're just a sand grain dreaming about being alive?" "A sand grain filled with self-loathing," Linda snorted. "I don't cotton to solipsism. It's like masturbation; sex doesn't mean anything unless someone else is touching you." Laine said, "It would explain a lot." Jake squinted at her. "Like what?" "Better yet," Pete said, "have you heard about that preacher in California? He says the world actually ended at the moment of the Great Shift, and everything since then is--what did he call it, Quiz?" "'Illusion of the Devil, without form, substance, or reality.'" She shrugged. "He didn't say it was the Rapture, so I'm happy. I thought the guy who said masturbation was causing the world's ills had a stronger argument. I'm sure there's been a jump since the Shift." "Getting back to the sand grain idea," Jake prodded. Laine shifted in her seat. "Well, doesn't it make sense that everything fits together, but has a really crazy kind of logic to it, because it's from one source? and that sometimes it just jumps into a new logic?" "Surreal," Pete said. "More Dada, if you consider the Great Shift to be a kind of war on humanity," Linda said. "The new movement isn't far enough along to establish whether it's another Nouveau R?alisme, picking up the pieces." "One of us needs a drink," Jake said, staring at Linda. Laine stared at him, then shook her head. "My mom had this jigsaw puzzle that fit together in more than one way," Laine said, looking down at her drink. "You didn't have to do the whole thing. Get a few pieces, start fitting them together, and soon you'd have four or five mini-pictures forming. You could move them around, rearrange them on the table. You didn't have to connect them." She stirred her margarita. Caroline shook her head. "That would drive me crazy. I can only work on puzzles by picking one part of the picture and finishing it." "Like sky?" Pete asked, grinning. "Anything but sky," she answered. "Now I know what to get you for your birthday," he said. She elbowed him in the ribs. "Does that mean we have to exchange gifts on Shift Day?" Laine wondered. "God, I hope not," Linda said. "Just what we need--a worldwide White Elephant." "Great," Pete said. "Now I can't stop thinking about pink elephants." "Try the Invisible Pink Unicorn instead," Laine advised. "Pink elephants don't have a website." "Invisible Pink Unicorn?" Caroline repeated. "Blessed be her holy hooves," Laine said. "May they never be shod." "I have to ask," Jake said. "What would wake up a sand grain?" "It's a swimsuit," Linda said to Laine. "Being conservative is kinda pointless." "Why?" Caroline asked. "Because guys can see all they want to anyway." Laine was turning in front of the mirror in a blue one-piece, avoiding eye contact with either of them. Linda was wearing a green string bikini. Caroline had already decided on the red two-piece in her hand. "Are you going to buy that?" Laine asked Linda. "I think so. Does it match my eyes?" Laine shrugged and looked to Caroline. "Green is good for redheads," the blonde said neutrally. Linda and Laine changed back into their shopping clothes and the three checked out. "Next, a dress for you." Linda was already hustling them toward the next store. "Just nothing too fancy," Laine said. "It's formal," Caroline said. "It can be fancy without being flashy, but it's going to be attention-getting." Laine needed a dress for performing. She'd gotten her first gig as a singer with a piano and bass backup, playing swing in a lounge. "Can't go wrong with black, right?" Laine asked Caroline. She looked at herself and added, "Though I guess I won't be wearing anything little." "The LBD is a style, not a physical dimension," Caroline said wearily. "Anyway, I definitely think sequins on the waist and a flat cut with thick straps." "I don't want too much cleavage," Laine said. "You'll have what you need." Linda grinned. "You have as much as you want." Laine glanced down at herself, wondering what her feet looked like. Caroline saw the glance and said, "We can break for lunch before hitting the shoes." Laine sighed. "It is nice," Laine said, standing in front of the mirror. She tried not to think about the other patrons looking at her as they walked by. "Won't need much alteration," Caroline observed. "As long as I can walk without tripping." She looked at the price tag and winced. It was off season for bathing suits, so they weren't too pricey, but the dresses were hot. "Hey," Linda said, grabbing the tag. "Don't be thinking about that. I've got you." "Linda, you can't," Laine protested. "A gift is one thing, but a dress is a big purchase." "And a musician with a part-time job can't afford it. I'm paying for it because I'm the one who can. You're wearing it because you're the one who can. Haven't you read Aristotle?" "OK," Laine agreed. "But this is it for you--no birthday presents, no Christmas presents, nothing for Shift day, nothing else this year. I mean it." "Sure," Linda said casually. "So do me proud with this one." "I'll try." Caroline punched her gently on the bare shoulder. "You'll do great." Any man looking at her would have agreed. "Nice skirt," Charles said, obviously meaning the opposite. "Thanks," Linda said, meaning "go to Hell". "What's the news on Tokyo and Hong Kong?" She shrugged, inserting a CD in the computer and running a setup program. "Nothing interesting." He laughed with some derision. "You're famous for having a full workup on them early enough to plan for Wall Street. But lately you aren't even here for the opening bell." "I am," she said. He glanced at the clock on her desk. "Today you are. You look good, by the way. Fresh." She would have glared at him if she'd made eye contact. He started to leave, then paused at the door. "You know," he said, "makeup doesn't hide a hangover. At least not the way you wear it." "I see you finally stopped," she shot back, actually looking at him for the first time. He stiffened. "I guess some of us adapt better than others." "I guess so," she said. "Here's from Research." He slapped a folder on her desk as noisily as possible. "Donna does good work. Maybe you should start paying attention to it." He stared at her a moment, then snorted and walked away. She sat a litle heavier than she meant to and winced as her breasts bounced. She wore a cotton T-shirt, no bra, sweatpants, old-lady underwear and socks. She set up a TV tray by the couch, picked up the remote, and turned on the TV and DVD player. It had been over a week since Mr. I.T. had upgraded her computer and given her the DVD, and that was several days after he'd recommended it to her. Over the course of the week he walked by now and then, and she always remembered it was still on her desk. Still, there was no need for guilt; she'd been busy in the evenings and weekends, but now she had a few days when she wasn't going out. Movies were a good way to spend an evening in the red tent. Charlie's Angels: Another movie from an old tv show. The child of priviledge and the girl-next-door were likable enough, but it was Drew Barrymore as the girl with the wild past that caught her interest. She wondered why it was always the redheads that were orphans. She found eyes tearing up at the action comedy. It was just so amazing what these girls accomplished. She wasn't sure whether she was thinking about the actors or the characters. She'd always had trouble with suspension of disbelief. "You never knew your father?" the quiet, clumsy software genius said to the red-haired orphan. "And now you work for a man you've never seen." They were standing close, beginning to lean toward a kiss. Not very subtle, she thought, this fellow in the flannel. She grinned. Linda came back into the restaurant to find Pete, Laine and Caroline laughing at her. She narrowed her eyes. "Gotcha!" Jake said behind her. She spun, gave him a withering look, and turned back to the table. "Good show," Pete said. "It was the look on your face when the car alarm went off," Laine said, "that really made it." Linda looked at Caroline. "Et tu?" The blonde's eyes widened. "What, I can't have a little fun?" "Aw, lighten up," Jake said. "It is a nice car," he offered. Linda glared at him. "Come on," Pete said. "Dinner's here." The waiter set down their plates. Linda signaled for another beer. Caroline sighed. "I know it's not my place to say so," she said, "but you drink an awful lot." "Funny, that," Laine said. "You couldn't really hold your liquor before. You'd think, being so small... I mean, weighing so little..." Linda snorted. "Because I'm not a Valkyrie like you? You're, what, five-ten and stacked?" "Five-nine," Laine said quietly. "And I prefer Rubenesque." "I knew a family that could all drink anyone under the table, and none of them were very big," Pete said. "Oh yeah," Laine remembered. "The Krupas. My sister dated one for a while, what was his name?" Pete shrugged and looked at Linda, who shook her head. "Never saw much of them," Pete said. "I guess they hung out with your sister's friends at your house while you were at mine." "All summer long," Linda nodded. "Who was at your house while you were over at Pete's with us?" Laine asked her. Linda was quiet for a moment. "Nobody," she answered. "So," Jake asked, "what did you guys do, hanging out at Pete's?" Laine shrugged. "Board games, tv, ping pong." "They had a table in the basement." "We went outside a lot too," Pete said. "The quarry." "Oh God," Linda said. Jake raised eyebrows. "That sounds like fun." "Collected fossils, staged swordfights, that sort of thing." Pete smiled, remembering. "Damn fools, is what we were." Laine was frowning at her dinner. "Hey, yeah," Pete said. "You broke your leg that one time." "Ankle," Laine corrected him. "Wrist. Two fingers." "That put a damper on the fun for a while," Linda said. "Wasn't that when we started riding bikes through the fields?" "Hunting snakes in the woods," Pete added. Sticking her foot out, Laine looked at her leg and said, "I don't have any scars." "Not any more," Pete laughed. "Sounds like you were a real tomboy," Jake said. Everyone looked at Laine. "I was a boy," she said. Jake shook his head. "Not in my world. You're a girl. Not a boy, not a platypus. Exactly a girl." Laine looked down at her plate, and some light inside her cast the shadow of a smile on her face. Caroline raised an eyebrow at Jake. He shrugged. "Just putting some certaintly in an uncertain world." The snoring woke her. He wasn't touching her; that made it easier to slip out of the bed. She picked up her clothes and carried them to the next room to get dressed. It hadn't gone well, and she didn't want to talk to him. He'd wanted her to blow him; she drew the line at that, saying if he wanted someone who would do whatever he asked he should hire a prostitute. She should have known how he'd respond. Once outside, she called a taxi since she didn't know where she was and her car was back at the bar. Hopefully she wasn't far from home; she never drove her car until the next day after a binge. And it hadn't been worth it: the guy's story was uninteresting and not well told. No useful information. She needed something for her presentation. She'd have to check the headlines and wing it. The big one the last few days was a neurologist saying the Shift was actually a pathology, a trauma to the brain, and should be treated as an illness. That seemed useless for work, but her mind dwelled on it. By that diagnosis, a cure meant accepting who you'd become, and she was already all right with that. "I don't mean any offense," Laine said to Caroline, "but I was curious why you hang out with us. I mean, we're not kids, but don't you have more in common with people a little older?" Caroline shrugged. "Most of my friends had started raising children, and being single I was a third wheel. Besides, you guys are fun." "Ha, Pete," Linda slurred, "goin' for the older woman." "Yes and no," Laine said. "Young in body and young in heart. She's just got a few extra memories." "Well, I don't know about the rest of you," Jake piped in, "but I notice the maturity. She doesn't make a fool of herself like the rest of us do sometimes." Several eyes glanced at Linda. "And Pete's a rock. He's the one who holds us all together." "Oh, I've been a fool often enough," Caroline said, "and more ahead, I'm sure. But he's right, Pete. You are unusually mature." Pete and Laine looked at each other. "Yeah, right!" they said in unison. "'scuse," Linda said, getting up. She was stumbling. Jake looked over at the bartender and made a cutting motion across his throat. "Is she gonna make it?" Pete asked. Laine watched Linda feeling her way along the wall. "I'm sure. She's done this before." Caroline didn't exactly sigh or frown, but the way she looked down at the table and busied her hands communicated instructions. Laine got up and said, "Well, just in case." She entered the ladies' room and saw the door ajar on one stall. Linda was inside, hugging the porcelain. "Hey," Laine said, "Linda." She sat on her heels. "I'm all right," Linda said, wiping her mouth. She started to rise, plopped down on the floor. "Fine." "Linda," Laine said. She put her hand on the side of Quiz's face. "Kurt," she whispered. "What's happening to you?" "I'm all right," Linda said, head lolling. "I'm all right. I'm all right..." "Jerry, I know what I'm doing." He sighed. "Look, Quiz, we lost good people to the Shift. We all had to step up. That's why the promotion was available for you. No-one ever doubted you'd be a trader someday. You're good. But even taking all that into account, you're terribly young for your position." "I know." "A lot of eyes are on you." You have no idea, she thought wryly. "OK." He paused by the door. "I know you'll do fine. But..." he hesitated. "Sometimes people wonder where you get your information, how inside it is." She stiffened. "All I'm saying is, a little transparency makes people feel a lot better. Builds trust." She was running a software program for charting derivatives, a program Jerry didn't have. Her right hand was steady on the mouse. Her eyes were fiercely focused on the screen. They were not looking at the MBA diploma, but she saw it clearly, monstrously. A small stain of mascara trickled from her left eye, and her left hand trembled on the keyboard. Putting an empty glass on the bar, Linda said, "All right, I'm warmed up now. Give me something that's gonna kick my ass." "That'll take more than one," Laine chuckled. "Oh, I don't know," said Jake. "I may have just the thing. I've been wanting to try this on somebody." "Well, do it right, whatever it is. Life's too short to drink substandard cocktails." Jake sighed and disappeared under the counter. "Quiz!" Pete snapped. "Yeah?" "The headlines." She straightened her back, spun on the barstool (almost losing her balance), and began reciting her spiel for the day. Her cadence was irregular. "Senator Parek is pushing for a revised national ID program to reduce identity fraud, but he hasn't solved the original problems, and nobody believes anyone's going to pay damages. There's this economist at Johns Hopkins, believes the President should admit we're in a recession. The Fed Chair believes he's an idiot. Ha, ha. And, they're still debating whether there's gonna be a Shift Boom, basically saying sexuality got all stirred up, so more pregnancies. The CDC issued a warning 'bout an un-spec-i-fied number of ep-i-dem-ics 'cause a lot of people don't know they have a communicable disease and it's hard to get medication, and the Surgeon General issued a warning that everybody already knew that, what's the CDC spending their money on." She held up three fingers and stared at them. "By latest count, thirty-" folded her ring finger- "two actors and actresses have been cast in sequels to movies starring the previous owner of the body. FOX ordered a pilot for a series based on the bestseller 'True Stories from the Time of the Great Shift'. And the LPGA is allowing ex-men to play." By this time Jake had set up a series of bottles and a highball glass. When he saw he had everybody's attention, he let out a yelp, twirled the bar spoon in his right hand, and picked up the Kahlua. A quick but precise ounce later, he swung the Kahlua bottle behind the glass and placed it on the other side. Next came Grenadine, poured carefully on the back of the spoon to form a layer on top of the Kahlua. He flipped the bottle over his wrist and placed it outside the Kahlua bottle. By the time he was done, the drink had six beautifully colored layers and each bottle had twisted, flipped, or grand jeted to stand in reverse order next to the glass. Other patrons at the bar and nearby tables cheered and clapped. Jake slipped a stick lighter from his sleeve and touched the top layer. He lifted it lovingly and placed it in front of Linda. "The brandy's still burning," Jake warned as she gently lifted it. "I know an invisible flame when I see one," Linda said, laughing alone. She viewed the drink appraisingly. She shrugged, gave a single expert puff of air across the top, and tipped it for the first sip. "Pretty good stuff," she said of the brandy, then took the next sip. She raised an eyebrow, looking forward to experiencing the series of flavors. "What do you call it?" She was getting louder. "It's pretty much a pousse cafe, with some substitutions," Jake said with an overtone of pride. The others watched through the third layer, but then began to talk. "I'm still freaked out by the idea of identity theft," Caroline said. "I mean, do I even know I'm 35-year-old Caroline, or am I 26-year-old Ellen? Or someone else entirely, some new person?" "You're you," Pete said. "That's what matters." "It doesn't matter who you are in your head or your body," Jake said. "Your immortal soul is your identity. Even if you don't know who you are, you still need to be saved." "I can tell who I am by how people treat me," Linda said. She was starting to enunciate, fighting the alcohol. "Obviously I'm a stockbroker and a woman." She accented the word with a wiggle. "That gets reinforced plenty," Laine said. "Do you ever tell them you used to be a guy?" Linda's eyes narrowed, but then her features relaxed and she took another sip. "Sometimes." "Does that creep them out?" Caroline asked. She shook her head and winced. "It gets all kinds of reactions." She counted on her fingers. "You know guys--some figure it makes them gay or something, and they gotta get angry, make a show. Some don't know, they're, they're conflicted. Some curse me. That's funny. A little scary. Most shrug it off. Some guys," she grinned at Jake, "are turned on by it." "Like that one in Raleigh?" Caroline asked impulsively. Silence fell. It was all over the media. Everyone knew about the serial killer in Raleigh: he sought out women who used to be men, raped them brutally, strangled them, and left them clothed in ripped pink dresses over men's underwear. Linda lifted her glass, slammed the rest of the drink and pointed to a Scotch bottle, looking at Jake. She hadn't blinked. "You can't let every news story scare you. And I'm not going to stop having sex just because of some goddamned alien explosion changing my gender." She took the new shot out of the bartender's hand and tossed it back. Looking around the room, she yelled, "All right, who wants a piece of me?" She grinned wolfishly and tumbled off the barstool. "Okay," Pete said as he and Laine stood, each taking one of Linda's arms. She looked like a child between them. "Curfew time for you." "NOOOOO!" Linda yelled, closing her eyes and swaying, leaning more on Pete than on Laine. They turned her toward the door. "I'll be back in a moment to settle up," Pete said to Jake. "After we get her strapped into the car." "Here," Caroline said, picking up Linda's coat and following them. Struggling with their uncooperative burden, Pete said, "I guess it's my turn. She's earned the couch tonight." She opened her eyes, trying to recall the previous night. Even for her that was a lot of alcohol. She wanted a clue, anything to help her with the sleeping being she was strewn across. All she could remember was a thought she had while fellating him, that maybe it only seemed so long because it was unusually thin. That was weird--she never did oral. Who was it? She couldn't figure it out. She turned to look and he shifted, opening his eyes, eyes that suddenly widened. "Oh my God!" he said. "Oh, my god," she agreed. Pete threw the covers off him and pulled up his boxers. Linda realized her skirt was still zipped, her stockings still on. She started to rise off the bed and groaned. Her lower back felt like a bear trap that had sprung. That damn couch of his. No wonder she'd crawled off it and-- "Oh god," she said. "Don't worry, I'll tell Caroline it didn't mean anything, I'll--" "Oh, it meant something," Pete cut her off. "But nothing she'd find threatening." His look made her feel worse than any hangover. It seemed so stern and almost violent, but then she realized it was pity, and just a touch of fear. Jerry stood in her doorway, hands in his pockets. "You got the email?" "I got it," Linda said flatly. "FedEx tanked." "I saw." "UPS rocketed." "I know." "You screwed up, Quiz," he said, putting a derisive tone on the nickname. "Guess the roller coaster crashed while you were here after all." "It was a small position in the portfolio," she said. "It was the one with your name on it. FedEx. Your baby." She glanced at her belly and grimaced. "The whole portfolio is mine, Jerry. All of it. I'm doing fine." "Everbody's watching," he said as he left. Charles was approaching down the hallway. "I'm all right," Linda said to her office. She'd never been to this club before and probably wouldn't be back. The bartender was boring and the guys were jerks. She held her latest bottle aloft and stepped toward the dance floor. "Ladies and gentlemen! Linda 'Quiz' Arquist! Yaw!" She was dancing like a puppet, jerkily, with beer dripping down her arm and sprinkling her face and shoulder. "Whooooooo!" The music and voices and clinking glass had blended into pink noise. Lights of every description made her feel like she was inside a painting, like one of those that Jake kept talking about. Then for a second it all became still. Multicolored lights on the wall became tendrils of plasma reaching toward her. The world began to move again, unnaturally, and the noise returned. The bottle dropped. She saw her hands begin to shake violently and a strangled sound escaped her throat. The puppeteer cut the strings. The marionette was an empty vessel before it hit the floor. Concluded in Part 2. Notes: Several news items were borrowed or adapted from Heinlein's I Will Fear No Evil and Bain & Berry's The Sex Gates; others are from other Great Shift stories, notably "Mulligans" and "For Daniel". The Invisible Pink Unicorn has been around for a while. Check her out on Wikipedia. (I also recommend the Flying Spaghetti Monster.) In the interest of focusing on Linda's story I have neglected much of the diversity in this universe. I am indebted to Morpheus and all the GS authors. Any factual inaccuracies are my own.