Mindbomb: Revelations free porn video

Following the blast in Las Vegas (see MINDBOMB: LOOSE ENDS - by Zapper) the existence of mindbombs and the knowledge that they swap the minds of those caught in their blast radius is now public. However, those behind them have long planned for this day .... (WARNING: This contains major spoilers for the earlier stories listed below in reading order. You should read at least the first of these before reading this one: 1. MINDBOMB 2. MINDBOMB: THE BEGINNING 3. ALTERED FATES: A CHRISTMAS STORY 4. A MINDBOMB STORY: LOOSE ENDS - by Zapper) MINDBOMB: REVELATIONS by BobH (c) 2013 Yesterday the thing he had been waiting for for so long had finally happened. Yesterday the world changed. Robert James 'RJ' Jackson took the small box from its hiding place in his locker, opened it, and stared wistfully at the engagement ring it contained. He had bought it six years ago, knowing they couldn't be together openly but wanting to show his commitment to her. Then the accident had happened, and he never had. Now, at last, there a way for them to be together, for them to start again. Because yesterday the world changed. "It's about to start, RJ," said a voice from the doorway. "OK, Tim," he replied, carefully replacing the ring in his locker, "I'll be right there." DNN was not the usual news channel of choice in the compound, but it was Diamond News that had the interview everyone was clamouring to see so that was the channel the TV was tuned to. Jackson was one of twenty people in military fatigues clustered around the small screen in the main room of the farmhouse. This was pretty much everyone in the isolated compound save for those on perimeter guard duty. Jackson was more interested in watching the reactions of his fellow members of the Marion Militia of Montana than he was in the interview. "Can you believe this shit?" said Orson Darabont, who was their leader by dint of owning the compound rather than for any leadership skills he had ever demonstrated. "We've been worried about them coming for our guns; now it looks like they could one day come for our bodies." "Yeah, like anyone is gonna wanna come for *his* body," snorted Jenna Cole, sidling up to where Jackson stood at the rear of the group and giving his crotch a squeeze. "Not here!" he said, removing her hand. "Aw, you're no fun." Both had spoken quietly and so hadn't been overheard, but even so Jackson did not want to rile Darabont up any more than necessary. Fondly imagining himself an alpha male, the little man had been less than pleased at the way Jackson had gradually worked his way through the militia group's unattached female members, bedding every woman in turn yet somehow managing to remain on friendly terms with all of them. He was particularly unhappy when Jackson and Jenna became an item, since she was easily the best-looking woman in the group. When she joined he had expected her to want to cosy up to its leader, but she had other ideas. She had cruelly but accurately described him to Jackson as "a fat little bald guy with a 1970s porno moustache and a Napoleon complex". "Finally," said Darabont, as the picture on the screen switched from footage of yesterday's incident in Las Vegas to DNN interviewer Ken Martin, "it's time for the main event." "Since yesterday's terrorist attack in Las Vegas there has been a lot of speculation about who could be behind it and the nature of the device involved. We were promised more information would be forthcoming today, and DNN has been granted an exclusive interview with someone who can tell us more about the situation and what the government is doing about it, psychologist Doctor Caroline Summers." The camera pulled back to reveal a woman seated in the chair next to Ken Martin's own. She was in her mid-twenties, tall and slim, dressed in a dark skirt suit, heels, and stockings, and had long, chestnut brown hair. "Wow, she's gorgeous!" said one of the men watching. "I'd do her!" said another. "So would I," said Jenna Cole. Jackson studied the woman with interest. So this was Doctor Summers. He had never met her, a situation he expected to remedy very soon. * Sitting in the Diamond News green room, waiting for the call to come for the interview about yesterdays events, Hannah Mason found her mind drifting back to another occasion several years earlier that had also involved a mindbomb and a TV screen.... "Mindbomb test, series four, number three," said a voice, "taping commencing now." There were three people in what looked like an aircraft hangar: a dark-haired young man, a light-haired young man and a middle aged woman. They were wearing badges that identified them as A, B, and C respectively, and the woman was in a wheelchair. All three had one hand handcuffed to a steel post on what were essentially the three points of an equilateral triangle. In the middle of that triangle, about ten feet from each of them, was a metal tripod on top of which stood what looked like a half-size aluminum gridiron football. In the bottom corner of the picture was a digital clock counting off the minutes. "Subject C will now be shown the random number generator," said the off-camera voice, whereupon a technician in a white coat took a small digital device over to the woman. It was angled away from the other two but towards the camera so the viewer could see what was displayed on its screen: 0000. The technician pressed a button on the screen and the digits started racing through numbers faster than the eye could follow until settling on a new figure: 7953. The woman studied this, nodded to indicate she had memorized it, and the technician departed. "Detonation in 3..2..1.." said the off-camera voice. When the count reached zero there was a loud bang and a bright flash that momentarily filled the screen. When the flash faded all three subjects were unconscious and hanging by the wrist from their handcuffs. The metal 'football' was clearly the souce of - and had been peeled open by - the explosion, but this had been small enough that it did not appear to have caused any physical damage to the three subjects. The image then rapidly fast-forwarded, as indicated by the digital clock, stopping at a point fifteen minutes later when all three subjects were slowly coming to. The woman was the first to fully wake. She looked down at her body. Then she screamed. The dark haired man examined his own body with a satisfied smile, while his light-haired companion watched him in open-mouthed astonishment. "What the fuck have you done to us?!" he shouted. The technician from earlier walked into shot. "Can we have the number, please?" he asked. "7953," said the dark haired man. "Correct. Orderlies, please remove the other subjects." Three men in fatigues came into view. One of these held the light-haired man while a second pressed an aerosol syringe to his neck and sedated him. The third repeated this procedure with the woman while the technician unlocked the dark haired man's handcuff's. At which point the video terminated. "Did I just witness what I think I did?" asked Doctor Edward Mason. "Yes," said Hannah, looking up from the screen they had been watching and smiling at her father. "We call that device a mindbomb, and it switched their minds." "Astonishing, simply astonishing," he said. He had taken his Meerschaum pipe from the pocket of his tweed jacket while watching the video and was now fiddling with it nervously. "It's a device that can change the world," said the other person in the viewing room, a man with a Z-shaped scar over his right eye who had been introduced to Doctor Mason only as 'the Colonel'. The Doctor found the scar distracting. It made the Colonel look like he'd come off worst in an encounter with Zorro. "Who were the two men?" he asked. "Death row inmates who'd exhausted the appeals process," said the Colonel. "They were told that if they agreed to take part in a 'medical experiment' one of them would have their criminal record expunged and that person would live on. What they didn't know, of course, is that the person who got to live would have someone else's mind in their body." "So the other one and the, ah, new woman?" "They're both child murderers, whose richly-deserved sentences will now be carried out." "I see. So why do you need me?" asked Doctor Mason. "Having watched the video you'll have seen that the direction of the mind switch was subject A to subject B, B to C, and C to A. But it could just as easily have gone in the opposite direction: A to C, C to B, and B to A. We have no way of knowing beforehand which way it will go. Increase the numbers exposed to a blast and the situation gets even worse. We conducted a couple of large scale tests in Afghanistan recently and the switches seem to be almost entirely random. Almost, but not quite. That's where you come in. We need someone with your psychological expertise and your brilliance at statistical analysis to work out what the underlying patterns are so that we can control the mindbomb effect and put the minds we want in the bodies we want them to be in. Your daughter suggested you for the job. Fortunately, I have no problem with nepotism. Family is important." "It's tempting, I'll admit," said Doctor Mason, "but I'm seventy-nine years old and have already had two heart attacks I barely survived. My doctors say I won't survive a third. I'm not sure I'm physically up to the stress of a job like this any more." "Doc, I don't think that's going to be a problem...." And it wasn't. When they conducted the first of the mindbomb tests to be carried out on the civilian population, Doctor Mason had deliberately been placed among those caught in the blast at that Boston mall. Since he was the oldest person present it was inevitable he would end up in a younger body. What could not be predetermined was just how much younger that body might be. Or which gender. Hannah's father had been a large, portly man, with a full head of white hair and a matching beard who had looked a lot like the traditional image of Santa Claus. That was not what he looked like now. Sitting in the DNN green room, Hannah Mason studied the beautiful young woman her father had become and smiled ruefully. She was tall, slim, stylish, and very feminine, her hair and make-up immaculate. She was also married, for now at least. Hannah was over fifty, overweight, and her face had more prominent jowls than she was happy with. She should have resented her father now being younger, slimmer, and much prettier than her, yet she didn't. Instead she was immensely proud of her. Where they had been father and daughter they were now daughter and mother. Doctor Edward Mason had become Doctor Caroline Summers, and the official story was that she was the daughter Hannah had given up for adoption at a young age and not seen again until a few years ago. The mother daughter relationship had been an act at first, but it had quickly become the genuine thing for both of them. Hannah loved Caroline as fiercely as if she really had been her daughter, more in fact than she had loved her as a father. She had no explanation for this, but it was real nonetheless. She had never wanted to be a mother, could not imagine any circumstances in which she would have become one, yet was profoundly grateful for their current relationship. It was a gift. Caroline was pacing up and down looking pensive. Hannah thought she knew why. "Are you worrying about your marriage problems?" she asked. "What? No," said Caroline, "I wasn't thinking about Steve at all. And there isn't a problem, mother. We've decided to go our separate ways and it's all very amicable. I was fretting about the interview. I've given a lot of lectures in my time so I don't suffer from 'stage fright' - or at least I didn't. But it's been almost twenty years. What if I freeze up?" It was odd to hear someone who was barely twenty-five years old physically talk of giving lectures decades earlier, but that was the mindbomb for you. "You won't," said Hannah, reassuringly. "It's just like riding a bike; you never forget." "If you recall," said Caroline, "I never did learn how to ride a bike." The door opened and a production assistant poked his head into the room. "You're up in two minutes, Doctor Summers," he said, "so if you'll please follow me." When Caroline had gone, Hannah leaned back in her chair and turned her attention to the TV screen mounted on the wall, just as the picture switched from footage of yesterday's incident in Las Vegas to DNN interviewer Ken Martin, one of those middle-aged man with large, immaculately-coiffed hair that networks love so much. "Since yesterday's terrorist attack in Las Vegas," intoned Ken, "there has been a lot of speculation about who could be behind it and the nature of the device involved. We were promised more information would be forthcoming today, and DNN has been granted an exclusive interview with someone who can tell us more about the situation and what the government is doing about it, psychologist Doctor Caroline Summers." The camera pulled back to reveal Caroline in the chair next to Ken Martin's own. She looked calm, confident and beautiful. Hannah's heart swelled with pride. The other news organisations had not been at all happy about DNN being granted an exclusive interview rather than an open press conference being held, and there had been dark mutterings about this being due to the large donations DNN's charismatic and immensely wealthy owner Lee Howard made to both political parties. Hannah knew it was more about controlling the narrative, that the decision had been made to release the information they wanted to via a sympathetic interviewer rather than leave themselves open to possibly awkward questions. She was sure Caroline could have dealt with it either way, but it was better to be safe than sorry. "So," said Ken Martin, "what can you tell us about the device used in the Las Vegas attack, and what do we know about the people behind it?" "We've christened the devices 'mindbombs' and, as everyone now knows, they switch the minds of anyone caught in their secondary blast radius," said Caroline. "Secondary blast radius?" "Yes, the initial, concussive blast is relatively small and simply bursts the aluminum shell. It's the second, non-concussive but more extensive blast that switches minds." "You know all this already? That's impressive." "Not really, because this wasn't the first mindbomb incident. We've been dealing with them for the past four years."# Hannah imagined the gasps around the country at this revelation among thosse watching. Ken Martin looked visibly shocked, but quickly recovered his composure like the professional he was. "What? So you've been covering up those incidents?" he said. "Yes. Several were passed off as gas leaks or as more conventional terrorist attacks. There was a very real danger that if knowledge of such attacks got out, and what the mindbombs did to people, it could caused a public panic. So the decision was taken to keep the nature of those attacks a secret." "If that was the case then why go public now? What was different about this attack?" "We always got coded telephone warnings from the terrorists before the earlier mindbombings and so had time to get personnel in place to contain the situation. On this occasion there was no advance warning, and the sheer number of people involved - including a United States senator - made it impossible to contain. Fortunately, the terrorists got sloppy this time. They had never been caught by surveillance planting the bombs and we had no idea who they were. Now we do. We know who the trio responsible for planting this particular bomb are. As we speak their past movements are being traced and everyone they've been in contact with is being tracked down. We're closing in on the group behind them so you can expect more news on that front shortly. This may be the first mindbomb event the American public has known about, but I confidentally predict there won't be any more attacks." Ken Martin seemed taken aback by these revelations. This was all much more than he had expected. "So," he said, gathering his composure, "getting back to the earlier attacks - what about the survivors? Why haven't they ever come forward?" "Because we relocated them, gave them new identites, and swore them to secrecy." "Like in the witness protection program?" "Very much like that, yes," said Caroline, "and it was done with the best of motives. What you have to understand is that having your mind forcibly thrust into another body is a deeply traumatic experience that goes to your very sense of self, particularly if your new body is a different race, age, or gender, or some combination of the three. Right at the beginning of all this we set up a series of facilties in Colorado - designated Camps Alpha, Beta, and Delta - where we could treat the victims and help them adapt to their new circumstances. They were given extensive counselling, and trained in all the skills they would need in their new lives." "What happens to those people now that the need for secrecy is no longer there?" "That's entirely up to the individuals concerned. If they wish to reestablish contact with formeer family and friends we will of course help them to do so, but not everyone will want to. We also won't be releasing any names to the media. This is obviously a personal matter for each of them and we will respect their privacy. As for the Las Vegas victims, we've offered our services to them. we have four years' experience dealing with mindbomb victims and there's no one more qualified to help them deal with the trauma and come to terms with what has happened to them." * "Assuming they're telling the truth, I wonder who's behind the mindbombs," said Orson Darabont, looking around the room at his followers. "Whoever it is they're probably gonna be getting raided pretty soon." As he said this so the sound of gunfire erupted outside the building. Everyone immediately leapt to their feet, reaching for the firearms that were never more that a couple of feet from their hands. Everyone that is except for Robert'RJ' Jackson, who instead activated the radio detonator in his pocket. There was a small but loud bang as the mindbomb concealed in the rucksack he had earlier placed under the communal table exploded, followed by everyone but him crumpling to the floor, unconscious. This was using the mindbomb for tactical purposes. Unlike any other weapons it did minimal physical damage but was guaranteed to take out absolutely everyone caught in it's secondary blast radius. The only exceptions were people who had been exposed to a mindbomb blast before, people like Jackson. A mindbomb blast was not very loud but there was always the chance someone outside had heard it and would come to investigate so he waited a tense twenty seconds before moving. No one came. Clearly they had instead all rushed outside at the sound of gunfire. Overhead he could hear the sound of a helicoptor descending, a black stealth 'coptor. Jackson worked quickly, pulling out a clipboard and the aerosol syringe he had stashed away earlier. There were two columns on the clipboard - one titled 'Mind' the other 'Body' - and under each heading was a list of everyone in the compound. The syringe held enough sedative to dose everyone in the room, and if he moved quickly he should have time to get through all of them before full use of their motor functions returned. He had a fifteen minute window during which mindbomb victims were essentially comotose while their bodies 'rebooted' after having had one mind ripped out of them and another put in its place. During that time you could shake them awake and, with effort, they could get enough control over their eyes and mouth to answer a few simple questions. After which it was standard procedure to hit them with the sedative so that they fully woke when you wanted them to rather than at the end of the 'rebooting' process. Jackson got to work. The first body he shook into semi-wakefulness was that of Jenna Cole. "Do you know who you are?" he asked, when she opened her eyes and stared up at him blearily. "'m Orson Darabon'..." she slurred. "RJ? You a s..spy? You come t'take thuh...guns?" "We couldn't give a rat's ass about your guns," said Jackson, pressing the syringe to the woman's neck. There was a hiss as he pulled the trigger and she slumped back into unconsciousness. Taking a ballpoint pen from his pocket he drew an arrow from Orson's name in the 'Mind' column to Jenna's in the 'Body' column. So Orson had finally got into Jenna's pants after all, just not in a way he could ever have imagined. Jackson worked his way methodically through everyone else in the room. He was about two-thirds done when a familiar figure with a Z-shaped scar over his right eye entered. "Well done, Major." "Thank you, Colonel," replied Jackson, not looking up from his task. "If these are the last fresh batch of mindbomb subjects we're going to get in the field I want to make sure we get all the data we can for Doctor Summers. I've also worked up detailed profiles of everyone for her over the four years since I first infiltrated the group." "Good. Is everyone still exactly where they fell?" "Of course." "Then we'll need photos and measurements. OK boys, you can come in now." Jackson was aware of people taking photos and doing other stuff behind him as he finished his task, but the attention not focussed on that task he directed at the Colonel, who was examining the DVDs on the shelf next to the TV. "The usual stuff, I see, and...hullo what's this? Copies of that Mel Gibson movie 'The Patriot' and of the old Disney TV series 'The Swamp Fox'. Ah, so *that's* why they called themselves what they did. I should've made the connection earlier." "Yes, you should," chuckled Jackson. "Francis Marion," said the Colonel, "of course. Leslie Nielsen starred as Marion in 'The Swamp Fox'. As a Canadian he was tickled at being the star of the only Disney show ever to be banned in Canada." "Huh, I never knew that," said Jackson. "To many of us Marion was a hero of the Revolutionary War and a great leader of men, but there are those who claim he was a racist who hunted Cherokee for sport and who beat and raped the slaves on his plantation. Which is true, do you suppose?" "I don't know." "It's quite possible both are," said the Colonel, "that he was both a great hero *and* a brutal racist. We have a tendency to paint our heroes as being purer than pure and our villains as darker than dark, but reality is much more complicated. Sometimes good men do bad things and bad men do good things. People are messy like that, alas. And sometimes a situation can require us to do things for the greater good that others might find monstrous. Something such as what we're about to do here for example. Are you finished?" Jackson nodded. "And you men?" "Yes sir," said one of those who had been working on the computers and going through filing cabinets while Jackson and the Colonel were having their conversation. "All of the material you wanted planted has been." "Then I guess we're done. Move people over to doors and windows, make sure you put a weapon in everyone's hands, then exit the room. We have to make this look right." When this had been done, the Colonel stood in the doorway, looking at the sedated figures inside, his expression unreadable. He knew they could allow no survivors. "These poor fools are going to get the blame for all the mindbombings, but no one's going to believe they were bright enough to have made them. I wonder who we'll eventually blame their manufacture on? The Iranians, perhaps? Oh well, time to get this done." Sighing, he took out a couple of grenades, removed the pins, and tossed them into the room, making sure they landed close to slumbering figures. If this needed to be done it was best if they were all killed instantly. The Colonel took cover and a few seconds later there was a large blast that blew out all the windows and threw a mass of random debris out through the doorway. "Looks like Orson Darabont got his wish," said Jackson. "How so?" said the Colonel. "He always said the only way we'd take his gun from him was when we removed it from his cold, dead fingers." * Lee Howard had watched the news footage from the militia camp with satisfaction. After the assault team had departed regular troops assigned to the mindbomb project had moved in. These were people who believed in the cover-story about mindbombs being planted by terrorists and so were able to be totally convincing when talking on camera and telling reporters how the militia group had been taken down and a stock of mindbombs had been found on site. Local law-enforcement had cordoned off the compound but in the background the troops could be seen loading captured material onto trucks. FBI forensic teams were already at work inside the main building so body bags would doubtless be coming out soon. The Colonel had done his job well. That had been several hours ago. Now he found himself standing outside one of the many guest rooms in his mansion, about to knock on the door. He was thirty-eight years old, tall, good-looking, worked out regularly and, having inherited his father's business and tripled its worth, was richer than Croesus. He had a deep personal self-confidence that flowed from this, yet for some reason he found himself feeling oddly nervous. Irritated with himself he shook his head and knocked on the door. It was opened by a fifty-something woman in a military dress uniform. She smiled, and opened the door wide for him. Standing in the room, looking stunning in a red designer gown, was the star of the night: Doctor Caroline Summers. She smiled at him. "This dress is amazing!" she said. "I've never worn anything quite like it before. Thank you." "My pleasure," he said. "Shall we?" He offered her his arm, Caroline took it, and they headed out with her mother following behind. As they descended the grand staircase so all eyes were on them, the great and the good, the famous and infamous, and several broke into spontaneous applause at the sight of Caroline. The party had been arranged for weeks so its timing, so soon after the Las Vegas event could not have been more propitious. Present were movie stars, politicians, an ex-President and the wealthiest business people in the country. There was Lafayette J. Buffington III and his wife, their pretty daughter Ashley and her husband Dave, Hollywood's latest golden couple Michael Campbell and Cate Hunter, newlyweds just returned from their honeymoon and a visit to their native England, and many more besides. After he and Caroline had circulated and at greeted everyone, Lee suggested they should move out onto one of the balconies where they could talk in private. "I wanted to thank you for arranging for Ken Martin to be the one who interviewed me," said Caroline when they got outside. "It made getting our version of events out much easier." "Perhaps," he said, "perhaps not. At the time of Watergate the US had real, tenacious reporters who would have clamped onto this story and worried away at it like a dog at a bone, but we've defanged and neutered the mainstream press since then. Nowadays they're essentially stenographers, putting out the spin on events we want them to. Today's inheritors of that older journalistic tradition are now confined to the Internet, where they can be safely ignored." Doctor Summers..Caroline..was looking at him intensely, with a deep intelligence he wasn't used to seeing in the eyes of so beautiful a woman, and certainly not in one as young as she appeared to be. It was both unnerving and intriguing. "So the philosophy of your news network is.....?" "It was President Calvin Coolidge who said 'the business of America is business'. If that's true - and I believe it is - then what's good for business is good for America. Which is why I listen to those who say many of our recent wars were fought for oil as if that was a bad thing and I shake my head in wonderment. *Of course* many of our recent wars were fought for oil. Should we have fought them to increase our territories, to become like the European empires of the nineteenth century? That's not who we are as a nation. And as much as we might wish it were otherwise, you can't impose democracy on another country at gunpoint." He paused to take a sip of his Scotch before continuing. "As for DNN, our philosophy as a network is that the government is fair, reasonable, usually knows what it's doing, and is on your side. We're pro-establishment and pro-business, and we want you to trust your leaders because they know what's best for the country. There are news networks that pander to right wing viewers and news networks that pander to liberal viewers - I don't need to name them; you know who they are - and unfortunately most viewers these days only watch news channels that mirror their views. In the old days of fewer channels everyone had the same news sources and so we were exposed to many different viewpoints. Well not any more. Because of this, people are becoming more polarised and that polarization is hurting us as a nation. I believed there was room for a less fractious news channel, one that didn't take sides on the contentious issues of the day, that left the 'culture wars' for others to fight. It's early days, but so far I've been proven right. Your interview today won't do us any harm either. We should post our best figures ever." "Good," said Caroline. "I wasn't sure I would be any good in an interview." "You're a natural," said Lee, "and it doesn't hurt that you're beautiful. When you have a message to deliver, never underestimate the power of a pretty face. And I have to say, now that I've met you I find it hard to believe you were ever anyone else. You seem totally comfortable as you are now." "I am, but it took some work and there were some difficult moments along the way," said Caroline. "Did you know I attended my own funeral?" "That must've been weird." "Like you wouldn't believe. To stand beside the coffin, staring down at what had been my own body only days before.... I'm not sure words can fully convey all the thoughts and emotions that race through your mind at a moment like that. Hannah was there, of course, acting the grieving daughter and providing support for me. I wasn't yet used to being a woman, so being dressed in that black outfit and wearing that hat just added to the strangeness. This was also the occasion where I was introduced to the rest of the family, of course, all of whom were astonished Hannah had ever had a baby and given her up for adoption. I got on particularly well with my sister's grand-children, who are all around the same age I am now. I wonder how they would have reacted if they found out their great-uncle wasn't in the coffin but was in fact the young woman they had just met?" "Do you know who died in your body?" "A thirty year-old man named Randy Reed, a pickpocket who was plying his trade in the mall in order to support his drug habit. Unfortunately for him a drug habit and fine motor skills don't really go together. The more addicted he got the more his hands shook and the more often he got caught. He'd only been released from prison two days earlier. His final piece of bad luck was ending up in my body. When he woke in Camp Delta and realized what had happened to him his panic triggered a heart attack, the one my doctors had told me that body wouldn't survive. They were right." "And then you met someone and got married. I'm sorry that didn't work out." "Don't be," said Caroline. "Steven and I are still friends and it taught me a lot. The problem was that despite now appearing to be close in age we're actually not. He hadn't seen enough of life, where I had perhaps seen too much. I was new to this body when we met and I let my hormones get the better of me. The sex was always great and he's a sweet guy, but there was a gulf of experience between us that eventually proved too great to overcome. He's now off exploring the world, getting the life experence he needs, and I wish him every happiness." The door to the balcony opened and Lee Howard's butler stepped through. He whispered something in his employer's ear. "They're ready for us," said Lee, straightening up and offering her his arm. "Shall we?" The six people sitting or standing in the mansion's library were immensely rich. Between them they owned a significant portion of the total wealth of the United States. These were not the one percent or even the point one percent. No this was the point-oh one percent. Had she been merely the young woman she appeared to be Doctor Caroline Summers might have felt awed to be in the presence of such power, but she wasn't and she didn't. "As you're all aware," said Lee Howard, addressing the assemblage, "earlier today the militia group chosen to take the blame for the mindbombings was taken out. The narrative we want is out there and ours is the spin being put on events." "It doesn't hurt to own the media and have both political parties in your pocket," said Lafayette J. Buffington III, eliciting a few chuckles. "Quite so," said Lee Howard. "And we're making sure to paint the camps as a caring response to the needs of the victims, and Doctor Summers here and her team as selfless professionals. Humanitarian awards will follow in time." "What's been the response so far to the Doctor's interview?" asked Mercedes Viera, the only woman present. She was in her early-sixties and had inherited her wealth on the death of her husband. "About what we expected. The main news organisations are falling in line, of course. On the internet the conspiracy sites are already speculating about the government being behind the mindbombs." "Did we plant the idea among them?" "We didn't need to - they did our work for us. Now the idea will be given as much credence by most people as they give to the idea that the government was behind the Kennedy assassination, the 9-11 attacks, and faked the moon landings. We've already tied the trio behind the Las Vegas mindbombing to our patsies, the Marion Militia. If they try to come forward now and claim government involvement, they won't be believed. With the idea already discredited and seeming paranoid we'll have no trouble painting any evidence they got away with as forged." "Which brings us to the big question, little lady," said Lafayette Buffington, addressing Caroline. "We've been forced to terminate the tests ahead of schedule. Is that gonna be a problem?" "I don't believe so, no," Caroline replied. "I said we needed a statistically significant number of subjects across all groups to study and we're almost there. The Las Vegas victims should give us the final data we need. Then it's a matter of crunching all the numbers. Some patterns are already beginning to become obvious. When my analysis is finished, a few months from now, it will finally be possible to put the people you want in the bodies you want them in." "Excellent!" said Lee Howard, looking at her admiringly. "This is the start of a new world, ladies and gentlemen, one in which those of us wealthy enough could potentially live forever, the one thing all our money could never buy. Getting people into a position where selling their body seems like the only way out of their economic difficulties will be child's play, of course. I already have a team of legal experts drafting the laws that will be necessary for people to be able to legally sell their bodies, for legal transfer of identities and all the other niceties" Passage of those law through both houses would be a formality, he knew. Not only were those in this room effectively above the law, but the laws they drafted always got through in exactly the form they wanted. "Death has been called the great equalizer," he continued. " Well not any more, not for us. So let us raise our glasses to the person most responsible for ringing in this new age. To Doctor Summers." "Doctor Summers!" they all said, and drained their glasses. "Can I ask you something personal, dear?" said Mercedes Viera. Caroline nodded. "You're a very pretty girl, one who clearly enjoys wearing beautiful dresses, high heels, and make-up. Was that part of your switch?" No, it wasn't. I was an old man who became a young woman, and as part of that process I inherited the sexuality of this body's original occupant, that of a heterosexual woman attracted to strong men..." She cast a quick glance in Lee Howard's direction. "...but a love of feminine things is not part of sexuality. Femininity is a social construct, is learned behaviour. Like others exposed to mindbombs I had to learn all that stuff. And I did. In fact I embraced it, and I came to love it." "Learned behaviour or not, there are men who feel that way about femininity, too, who want that for themselves. Did you never have any of those feelings before your body switch?" "Hardly. I was elderly and tweedy and took very little interest in my appearance. But then, my former body was at best a dependable old station wagon. This one is a Ferrari. Why wouldn't I want to pamper it and always have it looking its best?" Mrs Viera nodded, satisfied with her answer. "Yes, it is a Ferrari," she agreed. "The Fates were kind to you." "I know, and I'm very happy they were." She cast another glance in Lee Howard's direction, and he knew that he was happy they were too, and not just because of the Doctor's work. * One of the things being in the military inevitably did was make you an early riser. Which is why Hannah Mason happened to be awake in time to see her daughter slip out of Lee Howard's bedroom at six thirty am, hair dishevelled and carrying her five inch Louboutin heels, then pad softly across to her room, a room Howard had very considerately arranged to be only a few doors down from his own. She closed the door behind her quietly, unaware she had been observed. Hannah smiled approvingly. She had liked Steven well enough but Lee Howard was a much better match for Caroline. If she played her cards right she could become the third Mrs Howard. Later that day, Hannah and Caroline were driven out to a local airfield where Lee Howard's private jet was waiting to fly them to Camp Gamma. With its luxurious fittings and the pretty stewardesses on hand to bring them any drinks they wanted or anything from a range of delicious dishes prepared by the plane's top-rated chef, this was vastly different to the military transports Hannah had known. It was a difference she would find it very easy to get used to. Though in the same state, the Camp Gamma they landed at was not the one they had previously known. The Colonel met them on the runway in his jeep, and explained the switch as they were driven across to the camp's administration block. "The old facility was compromised so we had no choice but to move. We might go public with the others, but Camp Gamma has to remain secret. Should our trio of 'terrorists' ever stick their heads above the parapet and convince someone to visit our former site, all anyone will find there is a mothballed military installation with a skeleton crew guarding it. All the damage they did has been repaired and the whole place given a fresh coat of paint. They can look as hard as they like, but there's nothing left to find there." "Makes sense," said Caroline. "With your raid and my my recent round of meetings we have a lot to discuss." "Yes we do," said the Colonel. "What about me?" asked Hannah. "There's someone here who would very much like to see you," replied the Colonel. Hannah grimaced. She was pretty sure who he meant, but a lot less sure she wanted that meeting. Nevertheless, when they reached the administration buildings she made her way to the room she was directed to. Steeling herself, she squared her shoulders and opened the door. "Hello Hannah," said the man sitting at the table within. "Hello, 'Robert'," said Hannah. "That is what I'm supposed to call you now, right?" "That or 'RJ'," he replied as she seated herself in the chair across the table from him, "either will do." Hannah had always wondered what she would say if they ever saw each other again, and had run through hundreds of variations. Now it was actually happening, and they were facing each other, she found herself lost for words. "You're looking well," said RJ, filling the awkward silence. "You're looking male," said Hannah, drily. RJ sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. "You know why I had to do this, Han." "I understand you wanting to get out of that wheelchair," she said, "but deciding to become a guy was your choice. You volunteered for that test knowing you'd become one of those two guys, that you'd become a straight male. How do you think that made me feel? We'd been together for twelve years." "'Together'," said RJ. He gave a bitter laugh. "We were 'together' but we couldn't be open about our relationship, not and stay in the military. Or don't you remember Don't Ask Don't Tell?" "What I remember is that the Colonel's attitude was 'I Don't Ask and I Don't Care'." "Maybe, but he's just one man, not the entire US military. I was tired. I wanted to be free to love who I wanted to openly, even if that meant I had to become a man." "Loving who you wanted obviously didn't include me. I nursed you back to health after the accident, and you being in a wheelchair never affected how I felt about you. You were the love of my life." "We still could be together," said RJ, quietly. "The mindbomb is out in the open now. When Doctor Summers figures the process out you can be put in the body of a straight woman." "You don't get it, do you?" said Hannah, shaking her head. "Now you're such a hetero stud I'm sure you'd love it if I became a straight femme, all hair, heels make-up, and pretty dresses, someone who'd swoon at your manliness. That's never going to happen. Unlike you I was always happy being a lesbian, Margaret. I like who I am, and I'm not interested in changing that." RJ looked as if he had been slapped. "I've been undercover for four years," he said, a pleading note in his voice," and this...this isn't how I wanted this to go." "No, you expected me to go along with your little hetero fantasy, but that was never going to happen. We were together twelve years, but it's like you never knew me at all." * The meeting with Caroline Summers had gone well. There had been times when the Colonel had doubted her commitment to their project, but not any more. She was fully on board now and he was confident she would do whatever was required of her. Sitting at his desk, he put the finishing touches to his report then hit 'send'. The Committee would want all the particulars of the raid. He was pretty sure they would be pleased when they read it. Closing his laptop, he reachied into a desk drawer, and pulled out a battered file folder labelled 'Section 13'. He stared at it thoughtfully. Old business, but perhaps something he should devote some attention to now he had time. As he was thinking this so the door to his office was thrown open. "Major?" he said. RJ Jackson was standing in the doorway, his eyes brimming with tears. "John." It was all he said. It was all he needed to. The Colonel came over to the other man, wrapped his arms around him, and let him sob on his shoulder. So it hadn't gone well. He never thought it would, but had hoped he was wrong. Ah well. He offered what comfort he could, just as he had been doing since they were children. But then he had always been there for his sister. And he always would be. * The End ********************* Note: As longtime readers of my tales will know, most of them take place within the same fictional universe (eg. if you want to see more of one of the incidental characters in the is tale - Lafayette J. Buffington III - checkout my story PERFECT here on FM). This story takes the mindbomb saga as far forward in time as I currently want to and quite a ways ahead of certain other of my series, so future mindbomb tales - if any - are likely to be set before the revelation.