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Gender Machiavelli Today The girl was bored. She looked at the television, seeing the show, but not really watching it. She was dressed in a teal waist cincher with matching panties, stockings and a garter belt; her pert breasts free and available, as if anyone was here to enjoy them. She was bored, and she was hungry. The door opened, and the lab tech walked in. He had a clipboard, and a bored expression. "How are we doing today, Amanda?" "How should I be doing?" She flipped her blond hair over a shoulder, looking at him. Jesse. One of three lab techs who visited her daily. That meant it was... She cocked her head. She used to know which shift he worked. She had known his full name, and who he worked for, but the information was no longer there. She looked at him confused, and her nose crinkled. She smelled something, something divine and she wanted it. "I am hungry, Jesse." She rolled over, coming to her hands and knees, and stalked across the bed. "I want you to feed me, Jesse." He ignored her even as she reached the foot of the bed, inches from him. "That is an interesting response, Amanda. How am I to feed you?" Her hand, light green nails an inch and a half long reached in to caress the bulge in his trousers. "You know what I want to eat." "Well I think you're old enough to feed yourself." He lowered the clipboard. Her fingers caught and drew down his zipper. She reached in, pulling him out. "Oh yes, I can feed myself," she whispered in a husky voice. Unbeknownst to her, a person watched over a closed circuit television as the girl fellated him. The smile was feral. 18 Months earlier It was so... impersonal. Madeline Rittenhour followed the morgue attendant to the viewing room, then stood there impassively as the draped body was brought out on a gurney. The sheet was folded back gently, and her face was there. Her little girl. She looked like she was sleeping. She knew from personal experience what was below the sheet. A death by suicide was treated like a murder. She had been autopsied, her organs removed and measured like meat in a market. Her blood and fluids tested for chemicals, as if the empty pill bottle beside the body meant nothing. "Ma'am?" He looked at the attendant. "That's Diane," she replied softly. She reached into his pocket, and took out her company ID. "I want to see the full blood work ups." "Ma'am-" "Now." She handed the ID to the man, and eyes widened as the man read it. "You are qualified to understand them, Ma'am. However Homicide has not yet released the case." "When they have, send the files to her apartment. I have to... have to take care of that before I leave." "Yes, ma'am." ***** Madeline looked at the pathetic little place. Diane had wanted to make it on her own, away from her famous mother, away from all of the perks and advantages of that fame. That was why she had moved from the Mohave facility. Away from the company's perfectly maintained little township in the Arizona desert to New York and NYU. Soon she would return home, but it would be in an oak casket, to join her father in the small cemetery. The woman collapsed in a badly sprung chair, her head in her hands and wept. It was right and proper for a child to bury their parents, but no one should have to bury their child. She remembered Diane's bright face as she had left six months earlier; boarding the company jet. It would only hop her over to the Phoenix Sky Harbor rather than fly her direct. She wouldn't even accept that much help from her mother. Now, less than 200 days later, Madeline was alone. What had driven her to this? There were clues that something was wrong in the emails the girl had sent religiously every week, but she had scoffed thinking herself too protective. She had commented about a man she had met about three months ago, and that was when they began to change. She had come across as unfocused, confused. When Madeline had asked what was wrong, the girl had just brushed it off. It was nothing. She was getting used to being alone, to living in a huge city. Her eyes went to the trim laptop she had gotten the girl as a going away present. It was not only state of the art, it was beyond that thanks to the people she worked for. A fifty terabyte hardrive, two terabytes of RAM, full video capability to play any game the girl desired for the next decade or more, and some of the best security software known to man, all in something small enough to stuff in a briefcase. Slowly, reverently, she opened the computer. The opening screen came up, and she watched the cursor flashing for the password. She typed in the password she remembered, and got the incorrect password screen. Confused, she clicked to change user, and used her administrator password. Again, it came up incorrect. Her brow wrinkled. She had never told Diane that she had created an administrator password, so why was it saying she was wrong? She opened her own laptop, a virtual twin, and brought up a program she had developed for the company. She downloaded it on her thumb drive, then restarted the girl's computer. As it came up, it checked automatically for other drives. The screen came up not in the normal welcome screen but in DOS, with a flashing cursor. FIND:USER PW, she ordered. The screen flashed, then came up with one word. She stared at it with loathing. One of the worst things to call a woman. Why would she have used that as her own password? Madeline typed in FIND:ADMIN PW. Again it flashed, then another word came up. Stunned she rebooted the girl's computer without the external drive. When it came up, she blindly typed her daughter's new password; SLUT. The boot up was horribly normal up to a point. The wallpaper came up, a dark Goth type of chiaroscuro nightmare scene with a figure in the middle, bound to a wall by manacles that pinned her arms up out of the way, and others on her ankles that kept her within mere inches of the wall. The woman had long flowing black hair hanging down, and was dressed in black from head to foot. Black French cut corset, black stockings and fingerless gloves, and black heels almost seven inches in height. Her face was fig-leafed by the hair but her breath caught, because there was enough profile to tell it was Diane. Across the bottom was a website address, and her mind recorded it numbly. Most of the cutesy icons Diane had favored were gone, except for a Barbie Diary she had started so many years ago. The others had been replaced by simple file tags or program names. That one icon was like a plea for normalcy. Madeline clicked the diary icon, and used the same log in password. The diary came up, and she looked at the crisp ledger style background they had used. There was a listing of dates, with a cute unicorn head on dates with entries, the last almost three months ago, right about the time she had met the man she had been so happy about. That made no sense. She scrolled back, looking at the dates with entries. Except for the first two days of the week she had spent in the hospital at age fourteen, every day had one, some even more entries. Yet three blank months still glared at her. She downloaded another program onto the thumb drive, and hesitated as she started to insert it into the computer. What she had done up to now was perfectly legal and proper. She had the right to collect Diane's possessions and that included the computer. If she had to use a program to circumvent the encryption sufficiently to reactivate it for use, she could. But what she did now was more serious. A Federal police agency needed a court order to access this program. Legally she should not even have it. Using it violated gods alone knew how many Constitutional rights, and even with that, no Agency below the FBI or NSA should be able to do what she was about to do. Hell, for Homeland Security to use this, they would need a possible threat in less than three months. For the FBI, it would have to be a drug bust that would net millions in illegal drugs or drug money. Then again, she was the one who had developed it. The only way the government would have put it beyond her reach would have involved a 9mm bullet through her brain. But she had to know. It slid in with a slight click and she accessed the external drive. Today "How is the project going?" Mako Toshikawa asked. "Fine," Madeline told the smaller man. An intense young man from Sapporo Japan, he was the world's leading designer of micro machines as he called nanotechnology. He also loved the Ghost in the Shell anime, and had infected Madeline with that love. It also explained where his name for them came from. "How is your Project Doppelganger going?" "Not good." He admitted. "I am still waiting for a test subject. Finding someone who will accept what the project might do to him is hard. The government is trying to see if they can find a terminal patient we can test it on, but the results will be inconclusive. We need a healthy person to test it on." He looked at her, a little worried. "I know we need results, and I hope this failure will not cause it to be shelved or scrapped." She smiled softly, patting his shoulder. "Mako, I read you work over a year ago, and I will fight to save your project right up to the board if necessary." "Thank you, Doctor." "Now I was wondering. If you can tweak the brain and make the memories exactly like someone else, could you create a completely new persona as well?" "Of course." He warmed to the subject. "If the project proves conclusive, you could take people in jail for life without parole, and release a new person, a functioning member of society. At the moment, the procedure costs as much as it does to keep a man in jail for about a decade, but soon it will be cheaper than even one year." She nodded. "So at the moment we're talking about a million dollars per unit, but you're saying we can get it down to 80,000?" "Easily. You know as well as I do that prototypes always cost a lot more than the production models." "And could the mental changes be changed so that part of the memory of the old persona returns instead of total recall?" "Easily. The rewiring of the cortex can be adjusted on command." "I will let the board know if they start to get stroppy about it." She smiled again gently shaking the man. "You never know, maybe providence will drop the money in your lap." 18 months earlier "Where is she?" Connor asked mildly. His secretary accessed her hand held computer. "Madeline Rittenhour is still in New York, Sir." Connor Campbell looked out the window at the desert beyond the township. Star Reach was one of the premier computer and nanotech companies these days. Creating not only the newest microchips, but nanotechnology demanded by both government and civilian markets. Not just the perfect chip for the gamer, but the perfect chip for military uses. Not to mention CIA nanotech that would...well, that was so secret they'd probably kill him for thinking about it! And his best programmer was missing. "Contact the New York office. Have them find her," he ordered. ***** Campbell climbed down the stairs of the plane, walking across the runway to the civilian model of the Black hawk helicopter. It was only ten minutes to the downtown helipad, and he rode down to street level. A limo was waiting and he climbed in. He didn't notice the security detachment; he was used to it. Eight men, three in the limo with him, the rest in a trail car and a point car. They created a bubble around him where nothing deadly would survive. A man motioned and he walked toward him. The man motioned, "Seventh floor, sir," he reported. Connor climbed the stairs. At each turn another guard nodded. He had expected a lot of things. Madeline captured, tortured, brutalized. He didn't expect Madeline Rittenhour drunk on her ass, unconscious, dressed in what looked like the same clothes she had left the Township in. There were two empty half gallon bottles of whiskey and a fifth. The first, the fifth; was a 25 year old Glenmorange, a decent scotch worth about $50 a bottle. The others were generic rotgut. Obviously her tastes had gone downhill with her depression. There were receipts from a local liquor store. She had ordered the whiskey delivered, The last receipt had been for over $300. Obviously the man who had been making the deliveries had seen her condition and figured she wasn't paying attention to anything but the oblivion the liquor gave her. He made a mental note to have his people talk to the store owner. Someone was going to be fired about this. If he had his way, he'd have killed anyone using someone's pain to line their pockets. Madeline moaned, rolling over. Her hand scrabbled, finding an empty bottle. She lifted it. Holding it bottom up, whining in frustrated anger as nothing emerged. She threw it aside, glass shattering, eyes opening and scanning the bottles laying beside the couch. Now she pulled her platinum card out, staggering toward the phone. "Maddie?" She stopped, turning around as if it took major thought to even consider it. Connor looked at the woman. She had always been so efficient, calm. Now her eyes looked like a gut shot deer finally run down by the hunter. Her mouth opened, and closed, her eyes growing confused, as if talking was something new to her. "Connor." She finally got out. "What are you doing here?" "What do you think?" he asked softly. She was so delicate right now a harsh tone would probably shatter her like that bottle. "You left to bring Diane home." She paused, mouth opening and closing like a caught sunfish suffocating. "Diane is dead." She fell, and Conner caught her. She kept repeating, it as if it were a mantra. Diane is dead. Diane is dead. The woman fell against him, and he held her as she repeated it over and over. He felt her tears as she repeated it again and again. He wanted to comfort her, but what can any man that did not have a child to lose do? He shifted her weight, grabbing his phone. The security guards were as efficient as he wished them to be. "I need a stretcher and we'll need a private ambulance to transport her. All quiet. I don't want press. Collect the receipts from the apartment. Go to that store, make sure the owner knows she has been ripped off. Get her money back." His voice dropped. "If you can't get it back, I want a stitch for every dollar they did not get back." ***** Madeline awoke, still in a haze. For a long moment she wasn't sure where she was. Her eyes moved across the furnishings, then it clicked. Her own bedroom, back in the Township. Then it hit her like a ton of bricks, and there was no alcohol to smooth the sharp edges. Her daughter was dead. She sat bolt upright, screaming like a lost soul. She heard the door open, and a pair of arms wrapped around her. She struggled, striking out. She wanted to be alone with her pain, but she could smell the after shave, knew who held her so gently but powerfully. "Conner?" "Yes, Maddie." She felt his breath on her hair. "You're home. It's over." "Did you recover her laptop?" "Of course." "Bring it." Conner called, and a woman came with the slim box. She was blond, hair tight in a bun, and only a few years younger that Madeline, her blue eyes sad. "Ma'am, I'm so sorry." "Thank you, Elizabeth. What I need to speak with Mr. Campbell about is compartmentalized." "I understand." After ten years as Madeline's secretary, she was used to that. She set up the device on a table efficiently, then departed. Madeline stood. Her legs felt weak, but her anger drove her. She walked to the table, and motioned Conner to sit beside her. "I arrived to identify Diane's body, and when I got to her apartment, I tried to access her computer. It would not let me in, her password and my admin password had been changed. So I opened it my own way." She didn't have to explain, as her boss, he knew her work almost as well as she did. She had not changed the new passwords, she merely motioned him closer and typed that word again. His eyes widened. The screen came up, and he looked at the chained form for a long moment before he recognized who the 'model' was. "This is the first thing I saw. I had hoped to find out from her diary, but there was nothing for the last three months. So I used Gravedigger." His eyes snapped up. Gravedigger was her nickname for the program. The government had used Bloodhound, but he knew what it did. It found every program ever used on the computer, and every deleted file. What most people didn't realize was that deleting a file did not remove it, it merely removed access to it. Once the hard drive was full of course it would overwrite them, but until then it was there to view if you could get to it. Even defragging the drive did not delete them, it merely moved the used but not rewritten portions to another unused section of the drive. That included temporary Internet files such as the cache in the web browser. The Feds had broken a child pornography ring using it because a suspect had tried to delete correspondence between the criminals that was as much as two years old. The only way to leave nothing to find would be to reformat the drive. She brought up the diary, and this time, crushing his hand as she reread them, both of them read the comments made by that bright young girl in the last days of her life. 'Met Devon last night. As some of the kids back home would have said, he was so s-wave and de-boner' the way they wrote suave and debonair, 'he is so unlike the men and boys I know back home. He suits this city, and I find myself wishing he were younger. He's almost Conner's age, and I can't see doing the dirty deed with him. If he had a son maybe, dear, diary.' A week later. 'What happened last night? Devon and I were at the club, talking. I remember him buying me an orange juice, then everything began to fade. The next, I'm home. I'll call Devon and ask.' Later the same day. 'Oh my god, why would he do that? He gave me the website while we were on the phone, and I was stunned to see myself in some kind of dungeon setting. It was a video site for people into that kind of thing, and the newest video had me as the star of the show. There were over ten thousand hits on that one video teaser, and Devon told me that a thousand people had watched it live as he used me like a whore. He thanked me, god, he thanked me, because he made so much money. They were paying ten dollars for five minutes of the hour long epic. He had already sold over a hundred copies of the full thing to other creatures like him. 'I told him I was going home, I'd tell mother. He played part of it where I was begging him to treat me like a bitch in heat. I was drugged of course, but you can't tell that from the video. He knew who mother was, and he threatened to have the little section sent not to her, but the press and her associates. It would damage her credibility with the police; why trust someone to create the programs she does if her daughter is a whore? She'd lose her career. 'Then he gave commands. I would change my password to fit his view of me. I would sever all ties with mother, and from now on he owned me, would do what he wanted, and make me do it with that threat. Mother would never understand, never believe that I was not the person that video portrayed...' Conner growled. Madeline looked at him. It was now his hand crushing hers, but she didn't stop him. The diary continued, degradation following degradation. More videos following that first one. Diane's spirit seemed to wither as she described each scene, as if she were dying even as it occurred. Yet still she lived. She had used by men, women, even animals. All at this Devon's command. He had boasted that some of the scenes she had been part of had been requests by viewers, and some of the people in them had been viewers paying for the privilege to be part of her degradation. Then the last entry. The bright young woman that had left their township was a listless shell of a person. 'I can't stand it. I have to do something. Devon is coming by tonight. I am going to end this, I am going to go home, tell mother everything. I cannot undo what has been done to me, but perhaps I can bury myself in a hole somewhere until I feel alive again...' "So she had her confrontation." He reached up, gently squeezing her shoulder. "It's really over." "No." She pushed, and this time he let her. "It's not over until that son of a bitch is dead!" "I understand how you feel Maddie." He leaned back, looking into her eyes. "She's dead from suicide-" "It wasn't suicide." She declared bluntly. "I read the toxicology reports. She had the equivalent of ten sleeping pills in her, but she didn't have that many left." He looked confused. "The prescription was filled here before she left. She had only five left when she boarded the plane, and it was never renewed. But the pill bottle they found was from our pharmacy, so she could not have taken the dosage the tox screen says she did unless someone brought them. I checked the pill casing residue from the examination of her... stomach contents. There were traces of only two. They were the right dosages for the pills she would have had, but the manufacturer was a different brand from the ones we prescribe here. I checked around, and found they have the same drug in a liquid form, and a 100 milliliter bottle of the liquid is equal to eight pills. "He made her drink it somehow, and when she was too weakened to resist, he forced the pills down her throat. There were some small bruising over the lips and nose where he refused to let her breath until she had swallowed them. Then he just waited for her to fall asleep, and never wake up." "So it's murder." Conner looked at her coldly. "When is the trial?" "There won't be one," she declared. "When I had gotten this far, I used the Internet version of Gravedigger to find out who the bastard is. Try the younger brother of a New York senator, and front runner for the next presidential campaign." She laid it out, and Conner followed it. The party would never disavow their hopeful. The party had exerted their muscle during the investigation. Devon would go free. "Maddie." "I want him dead," she declared flatly. "I want his final weeks to be insufferable agony and have him knowing, like, her, that he will never live to be free. " He sighed. "We can't capture and torture a public figure like that, Maddie. I want you to let it go." "Conner-" "No Maddie, this isn't your family friend talking. It is your boss and managing director of the company. You will let it go." It took her a week to get back into harness, but the woman with a wry sense of humor was gone. She worked with intense concentration on her assigned projects, managed those she did with a single minded itensity nothing like she had been before. The Med center doctors had allowed her only mild tranquilizers, and few of them, enough for two days at a time. She looked at her appointment book, then set the screen saver on her computer as her three O'Clock appointment came in. "Mako, have a seat." Mako Toshikawa took a seat nervously. This was not the smiling woman he remembered from last month. This Madeline Rittenhour looked like one of the zaibutsu he'd left Japan to get away from. She lifted a file, reading for a moment. "You're work is for the Federal prison system?" "Yes, ma'am," he replied. "The Federal government and state governments are looking at cost over runs caused by the prevalent 'life without parole' stance of many juries, along with the long drawn out appeals process even in clear cut cases. You see, a man on death row costs 80,000 a year right now in plant maintenance. As an example, Tookie Williams who was finally executed in 2005 cost in excess of one million 40,000 to keep in jail during that term of 26 years." "I understand, go on." "My project was originally funded by the CIA because of the need to plant sleeper agents in foreign countries. By getting samples of a local's DNA, we could tailor micro machines to duplicate it. Within weeks, even days, we could convert an American into someone indistinguishable from a local." "Convert." She swung her chair back and forth in thought. "So an American would look exactly like an Afghan rebel?" "Yes. To prove the contention we went farther than that in our suggestion." He opened his file case. "We suggested that we could turn the person on the left into the duplicate of the one on the right." He handed it across. She looked at the pictures, doing a double take. On the left was a male body builder. On the right a teen aged girl in a cheer leader's uniform. Both were cut from magazines, but the disparity in mass and musculature was obvious. "They called you a liar?" she asked. "They did not even deign to reply. Our research grant from the CIA was pulled. However the prison systems came through for us. They do not expect us to turn a man into a woman or anything like that, but they have promised funding for three years for this. But they want some tangible results within the next month, which we cannot guarantee." "So let me see if I am clear. You inject the nannites into a criminal's body. It begins rebuilding his DNA to match a sample you supply, right down to sex." "Precisely. A criminal can be remade in the image we design, from DNA to mental attitude. We can turn Charles Manson into a born again Christian." She looked at the pictures for a long time. "What if I help you?" He blinked. "Ma'am?" "You need a couple of million dollars to pull this off. What if I supplied it?" Mako blinked again. "Ma'am, we still do not have a test subject." He didn't see the glint in her eye. "Create your micro machines. I will supply the DNA for the pattern, and we will record it from start to finish in Special Lab one." How soon can you be ready?" "By the end of the week." "I will have the subject here by then." She watched the man leave, then picked up the phone punching the security center. "I need a deniable team." Jonas Pembroke stopped before the desk. Maddie looked up at him. Pembroke was the epitome of ordinary. On any city street in the US or Europe he could walk down the street perfectly unnoticed. His specialty file read like a Ludlum thriller. He had worked as an assassin for three years, with a respectable list of kills. If the company wanted someone dead, he'd be the one they sent. "Part of your training included abduction," she stated. Pembroke nodded. "You have heard about what happened to my daughter?" "Sorry to hear about it," Pembroke replied softly. "I would have done him off the clock." "I thank you for that." She leaned forward. "Would you kidnap him so I can use him as a medical guinea pig instead?" Pembroke looked at her for a long time. "Will he die at the end?" "Oh no," she said lightly. "I envision him living a long... interesting, life." "As in the curse?" Pembroke asked. She nodded. Then he gave a smile that had no humor at all. "When and where?" "As soon as you can pull it off. Deliver the subject to the loading dock at Lab One." "Done." Today Maddie went into her office, and began to scroll through the projects she was supervising. Considering the skills she commanded she could demand, and get, eight digits figures if she was still hands on. The government would rather have her supervising, even at half a million a year just for that role. Seven projects from the nano-manufacture of the newest computer chips to tests being done for CDC to find markers for some of the deadliest diseases known to man. Finally only one file remained, and she opened it. Her own special off the books project. There had been a minor cost over-run, but results were amazing. She picked up her phone dialing. "Logan," the voice answered. "I want you to add something to the mix." "Madam director?" "Store all of the subject's existing memories to be released at a time I have chosen." "Can do." 18 months earlier. Devon shaking his head, moaning. He felt like he'd tried to drink the East River pollution and all. He shook his head, trying to sit up. His legs wouldn't move, and his arms had been pinned down at his sides. "Welcome back, Mister O'Connel," a soft female voice said. The ceiling was a glaring white, indirect lighting making the room a glaring egg. "We'll have you free in a moment. After all, explanations are in order." There was a series of clicking sounds, and his arms and legs came free. He sat upright. The room was merely a blank white box. A woman in a black dress stood near the wall. "We finally meet, Devon." She said. "I know you knew my daughter, Diane." "Diane?" He played dumb. "Yes, Diane Rittenhour. Or 'Slut' as you considered her. You really should be more careful who you turn into a toy. Did she bother to mention what I do for a living? I am a software designer, working primarily for the FBO and Homeland Security. I write programs that can reach from here to empty your computer. I have done that while you slept. NYPD is hard at work cleaning up the city. Your dungeon, your collection of tapes; they are going to have fun cleaning up your personal sty. Oh, and confiscating all the money you made from it. If you ever return to New York you'll end up bent over in the prison shower with your new lover fucking you." She laughed hard. Devon leaped to his feet, running at her. But then something odd happened. He felt his heart stutter, then fell on his face. His heart was hammering as if he'd run a marathon. "Oh you're noticed the fail safe. Get up high enough to see, but don't get any closer. We don't want you to die just yet." He pushed himself up to his knees. Madeline Rittgenhour had knelt mere feet from him, waving the charm bracelet on her wrist. "We knew you'd resist, so I had these manufactured. The Nannites in your system react badly to magnetic fields. The ones most susceptible at the moment are in and around your heart. If they get to close to this," she shook the bracelet, "your heart will stop unless I step aside smartly. If I wanted you dead I would just have to sit in your lap for ten minutes." Her smile became feral. "But I don't want you to get away until I think you have suffered enough." She stood, moving away from him. "Get up, you worm, and go back to the bed." He staggered to his feet, his heart beating better as he moved away from her. He sat, looking back. "Better," Madeline said sarcastically. "Here is the drill, Devon. You are going to be reborn as someone with value to the world, unlike your present form. Before you think to resist, you can't. There are millions of nannites in your body right now. They are at present reforming your body into a proper human being. Once it has been completed you will be released. She opened an invisible door behind her, taking a clipboard from a hand. "Every day, three times a day, we will have the usual drill of examinations. To your right is a scale. get on it." Devon looked at the floor ignoring her. She strode toward him, and suddenly his heart began to stutter. "You do what you are told, or whoever is recording can just stand this close and make your life a living hell." He gasped, staggering to his feet, then over to the scale. "Weight, 130 kilos. Height, 1.83 meters. Herman, what is our goal?" "Fifty kilos, 1.5 meters. Caucasian, blonde, size 5, 36D." "36-" Devon snarled. "You're turning me into a woman?" She smiled ferally. "Yes, isn't it delicious?" Devon spent the day feeling queasy. At noon, a hard faced man had come in, and measured him yet again. Somehow, he had lost two pounds in the interim, and shrunk to 5' 11". He ate the lunch provided, and when required, exercised with the machines. He didn't have his usual stamina, and collpased halfway through the exercises. The voice merely ordered him to shift to aerobics. That was easier, though the prancing around he was doing made him more uncomfortable with being watched. Finally he was allowed to rest and watch some television, though all he could find on the television was soap operas and chick flicks. He ate his dinner, then after taking a shower, they processed him yet again. He had lost another pound, and another inch. His hair was feeling itchy, and growing longer even as he watched. Today "Madeline, the board was wondering about this operation redemption." Campbell told her over lunch. "It is my project and a secret." She replied cutting into her veal. "As long as I am paying for it personally, they have no vested interest in it." "You know that is not true if you're using our facilities, Maddie." Then I will move it out of Lab one." "They will still want to know." "They can want all they wish." She speared the piece she had cut loose. "If they get stroppy I will merely tender my resignation and they can try to think of a way to get me to come back." She put it in her mouth, chewed, then swallowed. "That puts the ball back in their court." "Maddie-" "I am not the one making this a pissing contest," she pointed out. "So don't ask me to chill out. Tell the board that." "All right," he sighed. "See? Problem solved," she commented. He sighed. "You know, you have become better at playing hardball." "Thank you." She sipped her wine. "As for my project, it is something that will put tons of money in the coffers, and the board can just wait." "As you wish." She finished her lunch, heading back to her office. The file opened, and she perused it with a smile no one who knew her would have enjoyed. 16 Months earlier Devon couldn't understand it. Every day he lost weight and height. He was down to 5'4" and his weight was down to 150 pounds. He used to be able to bench press his own weight, but he could not lift more than a hundred now. He had to shift more and more to the aerobics. Even though he stuffed himself, it didn't seem to affect what was happening. He didn't have morning wood anymore, in fact his penis had shrunk until it was only three inches long. The muscles he had worked so hard to create were vanishing. His arms were slimming down, and his hands seemed to have lengthened somehow. They looked like a woman's hands. One evening as he slept they took away all of his clothes, leaving him only women's clothes. He sneered, like hell he'd wear a skirt! He shifted to jeans and a blouse, though he though of it as a shirt. He'd fucking go commando instead of wearing women's underwear. His chest was starting to feel sensitive, and there was an abscess of some kind behind his balls. He also noticed some odd cravings. Starting at the end of the second month, part of his meals was a protein shake. For some reason he craved the salty drink, asking for more. Four or five of them a day were soon part of his diet. If anything, the changes were coming more rapidly. His hair had reached halfway down his back, and was now strawberry blond. The swelling grew, and his nipples became extremely sensitive. His cock disappeared as if it were a turtle hiding in it's shell. He had to admit it, he was becoming a woman. The craving became so great that he would beg for another protein shake, yet now they refused. Finally one of the men that were monitoring his changes got angry. "How many men do you think we can get in here secretly?" He snapped. "Every man on this project donates one cum a day to make your damn shakes as it is. Not fun when you think we have to jack off." "Cum?" he gasped. "You sadistic bastards have been feeding me cum?" "Part of the plan." The observer replied. "Mrs. Rittenhour wants you to a dedicated cum junkie. The project will be done when you drink it direct from the font." When lunch arrived, he threw the shake against the wall. An hour later he was kneeling at that wall, licking it up from the floor and wall. He tried to resist, but it happened again at dinner, and he knew they were enjoying every humiliating minute. When Rittenhour showed up a few days later he demanded an explanation. "Simple." She replied with a laugh. "You think of women as something to used and abused. When we're done you are going to be just the kind of woman you believe is true. "Sperm contains the amino acids kinesin dynein and actin. We've just made you dependant on them. The only source containing all of them is sperm. Starting tomorrow, we're going to cut back on your shakes. If you want it from then on, you will have to ask one of the men to supply it, and they are instructed to deliver it fresh into your mouth." He resisted as the shakes dropped for four to one a day. The craving grew stronger, and he spent a lot of time curled up in misery. He had reached the point that even the smallest of the men on the project was larger than he was. He had stopped worrying about clothes, but did not wear stockings or garter belts. He wore nightgowns, and something about the soft slick clothe mad him feel better. Then one day there was no shake. He begged, whining, and about lunch time when again he received no shake he finally collapsed. He hugged himself, wishing he was dead. "Amanda?" He didn't reply. "This is Morgan, looks like she's going into shock from lack. Going to phase 2." The door opened, and he felt a hand touching his shoulder. "You have to do the test series, then exercise. Get up." "I can't," he whined. I need it." "We know what you need. If I give you what you need, will you get up and do what you are supposed to?" "Yes, please." He heard a zipper slide down, and the hands rolled him over not un-gently. There was an uncut cock before his eyes, and he caught that divine smell. The man leaned forward, and as trusting as a baby Devon leaned forward, and began to suckle. A hand cupped his head, and he felt the man gently fucking his mouth. His sucking became more demanding, and the pace picked up. Then he felt the nectar of the gods fill him. He gently sucked for several minutes until the man pulled back. "Come on Amanda." "Why do you all keep calling me that?" "When you're done here you are going to be Amanda Swallows. We're making sure you are a hit in Vegas when we're done. Oh," He caught Devon's chin, lifting his face. "Starting today, you are no longer Devon, you're Amanda. If you answer to anything else, or complain, we'll cut you off." He pointed down at his crotch. "Today we're also going to start a new exercise regimen. Get into sports bra and shorts. Today Connor Campbell looked at the board members. He understood Madeline's arguments, but these men were adamant. Either she reported on the project, or they would move in and take it over. Her threat to resign was brushed aside. It wasn't like she could subcontract to the NSA. He had called her to ask her to come. He hoped this would be settled without her leaving. Ever since Diana's death she had a darkness around her. The door opened, and she walked in. Her suit was immaculate, her face hard. Before anyone could speak she walked down the length of the table, laying an envelope in front of Connor. "You all thought I was bluffing," she began without preamble. "I hearby resign. Before anyone lays greedy eyes on Redemption I called lab one yesterday. All data and subject matter has been removed to my home. "I know you intend to use red-dog clauses in my initial contract to hold me, or force me to knuckle under. However you had better realize that everything I have worked on in the last ten years has been proprietary, but from me to you. You cannot sell any of the software without my permission. I may be a bitch, but 70% of your cash flow comes from upgrades in my software. Expect my lawyers to be discussing the payment arrangements. "Good day." The men sat their stunned as she started to walk out. "Madeline." She paused, looking back at Conner. "Can we discuss this?" "I don't see how we can," she replied. "I told you last week what would happen if they pushed it, and they pushed it anyway. Is there anything else?" "You can't just leave," one of the board members shouted. She turned, and the man seemed to shrink under that implacable look. "Watch me." "Madeline, please." Connor motioned to the chair beside him. "Let's discuss this." "I will not sit at the same table as that man. "Heinriech, leave us." "I will not be-" "You will leave or this will be your resignation!" Connor roared. The man snatched up his briefcase, and stormed out. Madeline sat, facing the board. "You have been pressuring me for almost two years to find out what I have been funding from my own pocket. I will reveal that at the next board meeting. "I will tell you only this. Technically I have violated some laws to bring this project to fruition. Yet it an important project from the viewpoint of the taxpayers. With the aid of one of our younger fellows, I have in one stroke created a way to end prison overcrowding." 10 months earlier Amanda had not thought of herself as Devon in months. Gone was the tall muscular form, not he was short and sleek, definitely female. Five times a day she milked the men of the project, and she exercised using bodyfit.tv as her syllabus. A pole had been added to her room, and she learned to do pivot turns, to hoist herself into the air with just her arms, of clasp the bar with her muscular legs to lean back. When she did well, the men were complimentary, and she craved those compliments. She oozed sexuality, and when one of the men decided to indulge, she would take them in her mouth or between her thighs. Except for her exercises, it was the only fun she had. She had left the lab a few times, always going with one of the men. They went to dinner, dancing, or oddly enough, to strip clubs. It was at one of them that Harry, the man she was with that day suggested a lap dance, not for him, but for her. The girl was named Vicky, and Amanda moaned as the woman used her body as a full body brush. It was against the rules, but Vicky leaned forward, and Amanda suckled her breast. The dance was over, but Vicky it seemed didn't care about rules. As the next song began, she traded places with Amanda. She opened the blouse Amanda wore, and began caressing her breasts, kissing her deeply. Her hands caught Amanda's head, pulling her face down until Amanda's face was pressed to her sex. Amanda began tonguing her, and Vicky held her head tightly as Amanda drove her to orgasm. A week later, Amanda applied for a job. She prepared for her first set, dressed in a business suit with glasses. "Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for Amanda our local librarian!" She strutted down the runway, pushing her glasses to the end of her nose, a book in her hand. She reached the pole, grasping it and did a pivot turn to face the other way. Again the strut, but waving in the air as she walked back to the curtain. She bent at the knees, leaning down to caress a man's face. Then she handed him the book with a light kiss. Another man received her glasses. As she strutted down again, her hands unbuttoned the jacket, It slid down her arms, and she folded it neatly handing it to another patron. Then as the song ended, she walked back to the curtains and backstage. When she was announced again, she came out. Her hair had been released from her bun, and the blouse had three buttons undone at the top. As she moved back to the end of the runway, she was plucking open the remaining buttons. She pulled the silk top off, handing it to a patron, then stepped down from the stage, asking another to unzip her skirt. It pooled at her feet, revealing a virginal lingerie set of bustier, panties and stockings. She set her foot between a man's legs, and had the man remove the stocking. She had another do the same for the other stocking. Then she turned her back to one man, gently sitting on his lap as he undid the bustier. Clad now only in her heels and panties, she left the stage as the second song ended. Today. She motioned to the folders before them. "Gentlemen, this is Mako Toshikawa, a research fellow from Sapporo Japan. Eighteen months ago, he came to me about a project designed in association with the Federal and state prison systems. "We spend between 60 and 80,000 a year per person in prison, and the process Professor Toshikawa has created uses what he calls Micro Machines to do the following. Since a lot of these people we are talking about are well known to the press, we're changing the person's facial structure and DNA. We are rewriting their memories to create entirely new people who will be valued members of society." She paused motioning Toshikawa to sit. "But we had to have a testbed to prove our contention and for that testbed I went further than we will with any of the others. I personally chose the man used. His identity is being kept secret, but I can assure you all he has done nothing worthwhile in his life." She brought up a 3d figure. "Starting statistics. Weight, 130 kilos. Height, 1.83 meters. Our goal Fifty kilos, 1.5 meters. Caucasian, blond, size 5, 36D." She looked up. "Before you ask, yes, we also made a sex change as we did this." There began a slide show of the process. The large muscular man over time becoming the tiny woman. She went from furious (The voice altered, the face never shown) to the docile woman. She was shown exercising, eating, sleeping, talking with the researchers, more often toward the end. It finally ended with her standing before the researchers, dressed neatly, smiling. "A worthless bag of flesh turned into a valued member of society. The cost for this first unit was paid out of my pocket, but the process belongs to the company. "The price per unit has been reduced to 35,000 dollars by our work. I have already spoken with the Federal authorities, and they are ready to allow us to begin the first of our conversions." She stood. "We have handed the board the new cash cow of the millennia, and it is your decision as to whether you will fund it further." Madeline walked out of the board meeting with a chair of her own now. She drove to her home, then caught a helicopter into Phoenix. There was a company jet waiting, and she got our at McCarren in Vegas. It was a short drive to her hotel, and she freshened up, dressing. She drove to the strip club, buying her drink, and watched the dancers. ""Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for Amanda our local librarian!" The curtain opened, and she watched gleefully as her creation strutted her stuff. After the second set, she signaled a waitress. "I want a lap dance from that one." She moved to the private suite, sitting there impatiently. Amanda came in. She was down to what she had worn as she came off stage. "Ma'am?" "Yes. Come here, child." Amanda walked over, kneeling between Madeline's legs. "Do you know me?" "Should I?" "Not really." "You know the rules, I can touch you, but you cannot touch me." "I know." Amanda crawled into her lap, and began to dance. She brushed her nipples against Madeline's lips. "I like doing this better with women then men." She admitted. "I even let them lick my nipples. Will you do that please?" "Someone will later," Madeline promised. "Are you in there, Devon?" Amanda froze. Her eyes went wide. "Where am I?" He looked down. "What am I?" "What I made you, asshole." Madeline replied. "It took eighteen months to get you here, and I for one have enjoyed every step. "Enjoy your new life, Amanda." The girl shook her head, then smiled brightly. "Are you sure you won't take just a lick?" She waved her breasts before the woman's eyes. "I'll even go down on you if you want." "No, my sweet." She handed the woman two twenties. She stood, whispering in her ear. "I want you to remember this, Devon. Every time a man fucks you, as he comes, you will remember briefly who you were, and know I brought you to where you are now, Amanda."