Author's Note: A nagging plot-bunny chewed on my ankle until I finally broke down and began this tale.

Bek D. Corbin's "Joy To The World" has a beautiful scene, which I gratefully acknowledge as the springboard to one of my own below. It also echoes a similar idea from C.S. Lewis in the Narnia series. It is my hope my efforts do justice to the inspiration.

 

Amazon: Regenesis

by Itinerant

edited by Amelia_R

 

Amazon: Part 1 - ReGenesis

 

Biographer's Note: This is Nicole's story. It covers those events and people she finds notable in her life and chooses to share. If you have problems with it, take it up with her. I'm just a glorified stenographer.

 

Wednesday, April 7, 2275

Prologue - Memories:

She awoke tense and on alert until she recalled where she was.

Home.

Finally.

Rolling slightly, Nicole pushed her long ponytailed hair out of her eyes and peered at the bedside clock.

5:45.

~No meetings; no crisis; I STILL wake up before dawn!~ She flopped back over and sighed, realizing it was pointless to try to get back to sleep. After all the years of more to do than hours available, her body was well trained to get up even when there was no need. She had to admit to herself that this was late, for her, and Sarah was probably up and waiting for some activity to pop in and begin the day.

Stretching her sleep-deadened muscles, she wriggled to the side of the bed and sat up. Only the faintest gray light could be seen from the eastern skyline through the large French doors that opened onto a spacious balcony. ~Ah, well~, she thought, looking out. ~If I'm awake I may as well take advantage of it.~ Guided only by long familiarity, she stood and reached for her robe, hung on the chair near the bed in the warm, dark room. As she wrapped the garment around herself to cover the wisps of sleepwear, she spoke. "LIGHTING CONTROL: Night light" A dim, deep-red glow rose from hidden fixtures providing just enough light to see objects in the room without ruining night vision. The light revealed the spacious bedroom was furnished in the clean style Nicole had favored all her life. Shaker style furniture filled its function without being ornate, and she was grateful for its solid functionality.

She walked to the bathroom, her tall form gracefully avoiding the intervening furniture. After relieving the pressure on her bladder, she splashed cool water on her face to help wake up until the coffee was ready. In the mirror she saw, as every time for the last 275 years, a face that looked perhaps 25 years old. The sun-bronzed face showed neither lines nor even freckles. ~A Gift, they said. There are times it is, but....~ She cut the thought off, knowing the need for her agelessness. It was so tiring though, knowing there was no easy end to this task she was set. As she stepped back out into the bedroom, she caught a whiff of fresh-brewed coffee.

"Good morning, Your Majesty," came a familiar voice from a side table near the outside wall. Nicole grinned and shook her head. Her dark moods never seemed to survive her personal assistant and confidante's arrival. "Sarah, you know you aren't supposed to say that in here! I get enough of that out there." She waved in the general direction of the outside world, knowing that her long-time friend would pay exactly no attention to her complaint.

Sarah followed the old ritual between the two, responding, "You need reminding of your place in the world, Your Majesty. You take your importance too lightly. I recall my mother saying something of the same sort." The woman, perhaps in her mid-fifties and a foot shorter, mock-glared at her queen.

"The world has its own way of reminding me, Sarah. I refuse to take anything that seriously."

Sarah knew a smirk was on her mistress' face and completed the ritual morning verbal spar, "Then you must put up with the reminders from me, Majesty. Your coffee." The last words spoken as a large mug of hot coffee was handed to her friend.

"Thank you, Sarah", said Nicole as she gingerly sipped the hot, strongly flavored liquid. "I don't recall there being anything on the schedule today. Anything show up overnight?"

"No, Nicole. You can enjoy your balcony uninterrupted this morning. I put the rest of the coffee in a thermal carafe for you. I believe dawn is about 7 this fine April morning, so," she paused to check the clock display, "you have about 45 minutes before the sun breaks over the ridge. Will you want anything to eat now, or will you wait until later?"

"Nothing now, thank you. I'll want something after I put in my time in the training room, as usual. I'll see you later."

Sarah bowed, knowing Nicole knew the teasing and respect it conveyed, and left the room through a side door while Nicole opened the door to the balcony.

~Quiet mornings like this are precious~, she thought as she stepped out onto the dimly lit balcony. Only the faintest glow radiated from the interior of the room, and the early pre-dawn light hid more than it revealed of the outside. As she sat on her chair, she shivered as her movements caused the cool air of the mountain dawn to leak inside the warm robe.

Her view of the surrounding hills, thick with early spring growth, was gently blurred by the haze so common in the soft, green Appalachians as the outside light grew. This was the first morning in many months that she'd been home to enjoy this overlook, and she took a chair to wait for the rising dawn. This house, this room, had been sited and designed specifically for this time of day, and Nicole was not letting the opportunity pass. She loved the mountains, and in particular the life-filled green slopes of the east. Granted there were more majestic heights, but these heights were special. Her family had spent several years near these eastern mountains, and she'd always favored them over the harsh crags of western North America.

Down the mountainside, she sensed, rather than heard, the outdoor activity of the trainers and recruits begin. It had taken years to develop the program they followed. A hard regimen that had all the lessons of the elite Special Forces from around the world, but tailored to the ancient ways of the Amazon Nation. It worked; they'd fought off the heirs of those who had destroyed the nation many thousands of years ago, and would have done so again.

~We learned; we learned and survived,~ she mused. The old way of an isolated female-only society had led to their attrition, decline, and the shattering of the last of the clans. Like the more modern Shakers, who denied the sexual side of humanity, they'd been cut off from the new recruits that were their only real growth in numbers. Now they were still a matriarchy, but a more balanced society with men added to the nation, with their strengths complementing those of the women. The new nation had survived and grown, even when the training cadre could barely supply enough teams to combat their enemies.

And over the decades of war, for war it was and is, most of the world saw only isolated events to draw their attention. These were quickly dismissed as local strife, but most governments were well aware of reality. All were grateful for the end of major conflict.

~This phase of the war may be over,~ she thought, ~but our real enemy remains. We may rest briefly now, but the adversary will find his new tools on Earth and return.~

Once again, Nicole looked out over the mountain valley before her as the dawn tinted the clouds and mists. The purple and rose reflected from the clouds, coloring the dew on the treetops.

~We can only see so far ahead, and I've been luckier than I deserved at times. It's worked out for now, and we can all enjoy the respite. Or perhaps I can finally retire, and Artemis can have the Queen she really wants.~

She sat and watched as the sun broke over the far ridge, welcoming the warmth as she pondered.

 

 

Sarah returned to the kitchenette to ensure the makings for breakfast were ready. Normally, she'd have begun preparations by now, as her mistress would already be in the training room—a schedule kept rigorously over the years to ensure mind and body were in top condition and also in harmony. She recalled many quiet mornings at home, "The Settlement" as it had come to be called, as she tended the household while the queen was in the field or at meetings; her mother and grandmother had also served the household for generations as they cared for, and sometimes defended, this home.

She thought back, counting the years. Her mother had entered the Queen's service when she was 20 and retired at 60. That was the standard, forty years of service then retirement. She was the seventh generation of her family to serve the royal household, yet no story mentioned any queen's name but Nicole. Almost 275 years of family service to the royal household. When she was 12, she had asked her mother why all the pictures of the queen looked the same and only one name was ever mentioned. Her mother had smiled at her and answered that that was a question she could ask the Queen herself, if she followed her mother's footsteps. Only the household, those closest to the Queen, knew the answer.

As the daughter of the Queen's attendant, she'd been around more than most. Several times she'd seen the youthful looking woman take on a palpable feeling of command. She'd looked young; she'd felt much older at those times.

As she grew, Sarah and her friends had talked about the apparently ageless Queen. They'd speculated about her being a clone, or a robot, or even an alien. The adults had never answered, and eventually the question had been replaced by more important things, like boys, high school, and careers.

She'd never forgotten the question, but the battles had never allowed for the asking. She'd had to focus on the important things first.

Now, though, the battles were over. The Queen was in residence with no plans to leave for some weeks. Perhaps now was the time to ask that long unanswered question.

Sarah turned back to the bedroom and saw Nicole sitting on the balcony, watching as the sun rose. She walked to the doorway.

 

 

"Excuse me, Ma'am."

Turning, Nicole saw Sarah had returned. She looked uncertain as she stood in the balcony doorway.

"Is something wrong?" Nicole asked. The look on Sarah's face became, if anything, more uncertain.

"No. I'm fine, Ma'am. But, i-if I may...." She stuttered to a halt.

Stuttering? Sarah? Nicole swiftly rose, responding now to a friend who looked more like the shy child who had entered her service 35 years before. "What's wrong, dear?" She took Sarah's hand in one hand and lifted her chin with the other to look her in the eyes, as a mother with a troubled child, and examined her friend's face. The rising sun turned her long, red hair to a flaming aura around her head. The aura of command was nearly as visible.

"I don't mean to worry you, Majesty," Sarah began, feeling the reassurance of her mistress wash over her. "I just was remembering a question I asked my mother once, about you. She said I'd have to ask you, if I took service with you. I thought that since it was finally a quiet day you might have time now to answer."

A faint smile crossed Nicole's lips. She thought she knew the question to come and was actually surprised it hadn't been asked before. "And what question is that, dear one?"

Sarah paused, reassured by the tone and endearment, then squared herself and proceeded. "I asked my mother how it was that you never seemed to get any older, and how it could be that my mother's grandmother could have served you and not your grandmother."

Nicole's smile grew a bit, growing faintly sad at some of the memories invoked. "Get yourself something to drink", she said, "and then come and sit with me while I tell you that story as I told it to your mother and her mother, as far back as your family has served my household."

Quickly pouring a small cup of coffee for herself and refilling her friend's mug, Sarah took a chair in the sun and curled up.

Nicole sat back down and took another sip of coffee, recalling the strange road she had traveled to this place. How her life had changed so radically from what it had been to that of a warrior, leader, and Queen; the one to rebuild, in the modern world, the Amazon Nation.

Her eyes refocused on past scenes as she began. "I am older than the Amazon Nation. I was born more than 320 years ago in North America, and I was not always as I am now...."

 

 

Saturday, November 18, 2000

Minneapolis-St. Paul Airport, Concourse F

2:20PM CST

 

Selection Criteria:

The flight from LA to Minneapolis had arrived almost exactly on time. He scanned the area and located the nearest flight status monitors as he moved, wanting to stay ahead of the rush of passengers exiting the gate area.

~Let me see, I'm at F12, and the flight home is... D4. And on time so far.~ Tom checked the time and saw that there was almost an hour before boarding began, so he walked briskly down the concourse toward the food court he recalled was on the way to D concourse. ~It may only be McD's, but it beats nothing.~

People crowded both sides of the concourse. Tom hadn't expected this kind of crowd on an early Saturday afternoon in November, but he felt too good to complain. He'd completed a major project, a successful demonstration to the primary customer, and finally the packing of the last of the equipment for return to the company's development center. Several new contacts he'd made with other companies would be useful, too.

He negotiated another traffic eddy as travelers gathered to board another flight to warmer climes. Minneapolis might be a traffic hub, but it was also a place to leave before the real cold of winter hit. Growing up, his family had spent a year living here, but now, as a fifty-something, he had lost the enthusiasm (or insanity) of youth. Yet he still lived well north of the snow line, doing what was needed to find work. Still, as much as he disliked the cold, he'd found a company that paid well for him to do something he liked and was good at.

He bore left as he exited the gate area, then turned hard to continue along the main corridor between the concourses. Grateful for wheels, Tom pulled his computer case along as he dodged past people reading signs on the walls or just waiting for someone. Passengers crowded the newsstands, shoe shops, and stores as he made his way to the food court and a surprisingly short line at Mickey D's. Within 10 minutes he had wheeled himself, his computer case, and a late lunch to a free table and was munching on the warm sandwich and fries.

 

 

The crowds were thin as he approached the gate area. He was close enough this trip to avoid the tramway. With all the traveling he'd done this year, he had developed a fondness for the Minneapolis Airport, since it was almost always the last stop before home.

He had spent half of the last six months away, and though she didn't complain, he knew the strain it had put on Beth. Even a guy can eventually learn after more than thirty years of marriage. He smiled to himself briefly, then frowned as he considered the need for a special treat for his best friend, girlfriend, and wife. ~She's put up with more hassle than she deserved this year~, he thought. ~I think we need some 'us' time again to reconnect and relax.~

As he moved to enter Concourse D, he felt something under his foot. It rolled, and he found himself losing his balance and falling forward. He released the handle of the computer case and put his hands out to catch himself.

The crack of the falling handle echoed in the hallway as Tom's hands and knees impacted the smooth tile of the floor.

~Great. Just great,~ he thought as he picked himself off the floor and brushed the dust from his jeans and hands. He spotted his computer case, apparently none the worse for the drop, which was more than he could say for his dignity. One or two passers-by asked if he was OK; most people gave him a quick look and decided he'd live. He reached over and grabbed the handle, pulling it back to its normal, vertical position.

As he pulled the handle up, he spotted the reason for his impromptu gymnastics. A cylindrical, white rod was just in front of the case's wheels, no doubt stuck there after rolling out from under his foot. He reached for the offending object to get it out of the way. As his finger touched the rod, a small spark jabbed at him. He jerked back. ~OK, not only do you make me look like one of the Three Stooges, but now you even start biting. Behave!~ Again Tom reached for the object, managing to pick it up without another assault on his person or dignity.

With the rod in one hand and the case handle in the other, he finally reached the gate for his flight and sat in one of the end seats. Parking the carry-on beside him, he used the time to more closely examine his inanimate tormentor.

Tom guessed the thickness at about an inch and the length at about 18 inches or so. Just about the length from his elbow to his fingertips. ~Hmmmm. A classic 'one-cubit' stick with an attitude. Someone lost their clue-stick.~ He saw no obvious markings. ~Odd. I'd expect at least some dirt ground in from my shoe.~ He ran his hand down the rod using his fingertips to examine the surface and felt what might be engravings. A look down the length of the object revealed no useful details other than confirmation of some kind of engraving along the length. ~If no one shows to claim it, I'll use the old paper and pencil routine to try to get a picture of the etching at home. That might give a clue about the owner.~

As he sat examining his prize of war, another figure was slowly navigating the terminal corridors. Slightly above average height, about 5'10, she glided along with the grace of a dancer or athlete. The low-heeled shoes made little sound as she moved along. Her long, black hair was clasped in back and trailed well past her shoulders, covering part of the leather jacket she wore. Her skin was a dusky, olive tone; her dark eyes and facial features reflected a Mediterranean heritage. A loose, leaf-green blouse and snug, but not tight, jeans permitted easy movement without concealing the slender, long legged figure beneath. She had no baggage, just a large purse or bag, held firmly under her left arm.

 

 

She'd felt it. It had appeared somewhere in this building, seeking out and finding its new owner. Over the centuries she had waited, ever pleading for a new start and being told that she must wait for the right person. She had spent countless days, covering thousands of miles, examining place after place and person after person. And each day, painful as it was, she'd ended resigned to the rightness of that higher power's counsel. No one, anywhere, in any culture she'd visited, was equipped to accomplish the task she longed to begin again.

Her daughters had been crushed and dispersed; now only fragments of a memory remained of the nation of Amazons. It was embarrassing to see how distorted that memory became, now reduced to the absurdity of that "Xena" show on television. She stopped for a moment, thinking, ~Although, it is far better than that miserable Wonder Woman show.~

Shuddering at that horrible memory, Artemis resumed the search for the woman finally appointed to wield the scepter of the Amazons.

 

 

"We are now pre-boarding our first class and Elite Club passengers at Gate D-4."

Tom grabbed the handle of his case with the same hand holding the white rod, and pulled out his ticket as he walked to the gate. ~Finally, this lovely day will be over, and I can spend time at home!~ The thought cheered him as he handed his ticket to the attendant. He tucked it into his coat, put the rod on his shoulder, and walked jauntily into the jetway.

Artemis felt the scepter's pull change subtly, finally close enough to have a better feel for direction. Turning the last corner, she glimpsed the object of her search disappear into the jetway, perched on the shoulder of an impossibility.

~No! It cannot be! No male should even be able to SEE it until it has bonded with the new Queen! How can a man have the scepter at all? After all these years, it is sent out, and a MAN has it! One of those who destroyed the nation!~

She thought there might just be time to catch the impudent male if she ran to the gate; she felt a strong hand hold her in place just as she started to move. She spun, prepared to deal with the fool who dared to interfere, and saw Michael grinning at her. He had been designated as her contact, her new "immediate supervisor." He was taller than she, brown haired, with bright blue eyes. Broad shoulders tapered to a runner's hips and legs. They'd established a good working relationship over the time between her "assignment" and now, but she was in no mind to be balked. Not at this critical moment.

"What is this?", she hissed. "Who is that person and how could he have the scepter?"

"I know you don't understand, yet," Michael replied calmly. "I agree this is unprecedented, but the decision was made at the very top, and I don't feel like crossing swords with Him even if I disagreed—which I don't. I understand part of why this person was selected. If he chooses to accept, he has the best chance to re-establish your Amazons for millennia." He gestured toward the gateway.

"If you think you're upset, just consider the situation he's just been handed. He has no idea what he has, nor why. We'll be asking him to give up everything near and dear to him: his home, his family, the person he considers his very heart; even himself, the person he considers himself to be. We will ask him to forfeit his Eternal Reward for hundreds of years for the privilege of a nearly unbroken period of work and battle. And he is the one person in the world who can do it properly, with the right combination of mind and spirit."

Artemis felt frustrated; it was a shock to see that person carrying the scepter. "Michael, it was men who destroyed the Amazons. They dominate and crush women under their heels even now! Saddle them with suffocating clothing for their stupid rules. How can a man lead the Amazons?"

"You don't know everything planned yet. Be patient for a little while. Your work has yet to really begin."

 

4:30PM CST

Milwaukee, WI

 

Tom exited the jetway, smiling to himself as he rejoiced at ending the last trip for the year. He was travel-tired, not weary from work so much as just sitting all day. He pulled the wheeled case along, carrying the attack rod carefully in his other hand. Passing through the security area exit, he scanned the crowd for Beth near their usual meeting spot. She grinned back as their eyes finally met and the computer case was on its own while the two hugged in greeting.

"Welcome home, Mr. Edwards!", Beth said with a happy lilt to her voice.

"It's good to be home, Mrs. Edwards!"

The hug this time was accompanied by a not-too-chaste kiss. Too quickly for either, they parted. A few passers-by took in the sight and smiled at the couple.

As Tom and Beth walked toward the Baggage Claim, she glanced down and asked, "What's the stick all about?"

Tom grimaced and replied, "It attacked me first. I was walking to the gate in Minneapolis when this thing", he held up the rod, "jumped out and tripped me! It was a fierce fight, and it got in one good bite at a finger, but I won and it's now the spoils of war."

His wife chuckled and answered, "Doesn't that make it eligible for POW status under the Geneva Conventions?"

"I don't think sticks are covered; they're illegal combatants. Really, I stepped on the thing without seeing it; it rolled under my shoe, and I hit the ground. No one came to find it, so I thought I'd bring it home and see if there was some identifying mark of the owner."

They collected the checked suitcase, and then began the hour drive home. Both enjoyed the banter at the terminal and even more the chance to catch up on the events of the last two weeks on the way home.

 

Saturday, November 25, 2000

Waukesha, WI

Decision Point:

The post-trip week was typical: Laundry, resettling into home routines, expense reports, project final reports, and meetings to discuss how to proceed with the potential new products. Tom and Beth had their usual readjustments and minor tiffs as they reacquainted themselves with living together. It was all old territory, and they each knew the ground well, having covered it many times over their thirty years of marriage.

By the next weekend, the familiar routines mostly re-established, the two enjoyed a slow morning of sitting, sipping coffee, and discussing plans for the coming Christmas holidays as they enjoyed the sunshine of the cool morning. They'd dressed in work clothes—jeans for both, a flannel shirt for Tom, and a warm blouse for Beth—to take care of the end-of-season yard cleanup postponed until Tom's return.

"Ding-Dong!"

The doorbell sounded through the house, interrupting a discussion of Orlando versus San Diego as a vacation destination. Tom walked to the door, seeing two figures through the frosted glass. It struck him as odd that someone was out going door-to-door before 10AM.

 

 

"I still don't understand how a male is going to restart the nation. Males wrecked it in the first place." Artemis fumed as she approached the door of the ranch with Michael.

Michael sighed. She was still ranting about the scepter. "Artemis, you've waited for 3500 years. You claim to want your Amazon Nation restored. Even I don't see all that will be happening, but God started this process now, with this person, to rebuild and establish the Amazons for millennia to come. It may be hard to do, but you must trust Him. Now, you have your ID and the briefcase?"

"Of course I have them. I know I'm whining and ranting, and I'm sorry. It's just hard to accept a man as the keystone—especially this one. He's so... so... average!"

"I understand, but we're here now. And just remember, we are interested in what's inside, not what the outside looks like."

They walked up to the large ranch style home. A low brick wall surrounded a courtyard area with gardens. Outside the wall, the house was surrounded by trees, and the lawn was covered with leaves as were the remnants of flower gardens flanking the porch. They walked up to the door and pushed the doorbell, hearing the sound of the bell from inside.

A man of average height opened the door, graying hair, gray eyes, and a slight paunch indicating his age. He was dressed casually, as if for yard work. He had an open, friendly face and greeted them pleasantly.

 

 

Tom opened the door and saw a young couple on the porch. Tall and lean, they had the look of athletes. She was, he estimated, a couple of inches taller than his 5'8"; the man was half a head taller yet. Their clothes seemed light for the weather, but Tom figured they were young enough to have more tolerance for the temperature than he had. They each had a briefcase.

"What can I do for you?" Tom directed the question to the man, as he was closer to the door.

Michael replied, "You are Mr. Tom Edwards?"

Tom nodded.

"Sir, we are here to speak to you about an artifact you reportedly found recently."

"I did find something. If it belongs to you and you can describe it, I'll be happy to return it to you."

Michael knew his response was crucial. He needed time to give Tom the information required to make his decision. He could not mislead, lest trust be destroyed. He could not tell all; Tom would not yet believe.

"My name is Michael Wing. My companion's name is Artemis Dianapopolis. We are attached to the Smithsonian Institution Special Collections, and we've been sent because the object you reportedly found is an important historical and religious artifact. If we may, we'd like to see it to confirm its identity and give you some of the history, if it is truly what we expect."

"Do you have some identification?"

Michael and Artemis pulled out their IDs and allowed the man to examine them.

Tom considered the situation; his caution and curiosity warred. He could put off the yard work for a while, he decided, to find out what that rod was all about. He decided first to get Beth informed of what was happening. "Please wait here a moment."

Closing the door, he went back to his wife. "Beth, there are two people outside who claim to know what that stick is all about. They seem to be from the Smithsonian and want to examine it to verify its identity. I don't think they are a threat, and I'm curious to find out what it is, but I want you there to listen in and see if you have any odd feelings about them."

Beth seemed sensitive, somehow, to the spiritual side of reality. He was the logician with an intuitive side. She, on the other hand, seemed to sense major family events. When her mother had her heart attack, Beth had awakened the same morning with a dream of that same event. Tom didn't understand it, but he trusted her and her perceptions. He abruptly noticed tear tracks on her cheeks and moved to sit by her.

Beth looked shaken. When her husband had gotten up she'd been fine, but when the door opened and the visitor spoke she'd felt torn. These people were important, but their presence brought a sense of pain and loss.

"I had a dream, just sitting here. I saw an angel taking you away." Her voice broke in sobs, grief tangible in the shaking hands and shoulders. The pain of loss was overwhelming, yet a sense of peace was also there.

He held her for a moment, trying to give comfort. He also tried to process her dream, vision, whatever. He rubbed his wife's back for a short time, until the tears gave way to sniffles. Handing her a tissue, he told her, "I know you aren't really up for this, but I need your insight. Can you come into the living room and listen in while I talk with these people?"

She hesitated, still shaken, but nodded. Holding her hand, he helped her up, grabbed some extra tissues, and walked toward the door.

"Hold on a minute!" Tom scurried out of the hall to his office and grabbed the rod. Returning to his bride, he asked again, "Are you OK?" Receiving her nod, he opened the door and again greeted the couple. "Would you care to come in? We can talk in the living room." He held the door wide and gestured for the two to enter.

Michael opened the screen door and held it as Artemis entered, then followed her in. Beth took little notice of the tall woman, but when she saw Michael she gasped and clutched her husband's arm.

As their guests walked into the living room and took seats on the sofa, Tom looked at Beth and quirked an eyebrow in question at her reaction. Long experience allowed her to understand and nod in affirmation; the man was the angel from her dream.

Tom walked in, leading his wife to a love seat. His mind was spinning, trying to process the information about their guest from his wife. ~An angel named Michael, if that is truly his name,~ Tom thought. ~I suspect there is much more to the lady as well.~

Tom looked sharply at the angel; he found he could use that term in his head. "So, you say you are here from the Smithsonian regarding this rod I found, true? I presume you need to examine it to verify its authenticity?" He handed the rod to Michael. "You also implied there was significant history tied to this thing. What can you tell me about it?"

Their two visitors looked at each other; Michael nodded to his companion to proceed.

Artemis began, "Four thousand years ago, the Amazon tribes were thriving in much of the area now called the Middle East and Eastern Europe. Some few stories survive, but the tribes were all matriarchal with only small numbers of men permitted. Within 500 years, as what are now called the Bronze Age empires spread, the tribes were sought out and destroyed. They were considered a threat to the male-dominated empires, providing an escape for their best and brightest women; the ones that would not be limited by their small-minded overlords! They were too few, and too scattered. The Hittites and others sealed off their borders and kept anyone from coming or going."

Her face showed her grief and frustration, which grew as she continued, "They couldn't get away and finally couldn't fight anymore." The pain she felt reflected only in her voice and clenched fists. Her face was schooled to conceal, not reveal, but the pain was too intense not to react at all.

"There were a few survivors when the last villages were overrun, but they scattered and were lost in the vast sea of kingdoms and empires. Only legends remain that cannot begin to describe the reality." She stopped, face bleak and a bit pale at the memories. "Michael, please...."

 

The angel picked up the narration. "Amazon royalty, the Queen, was marked by a unique scepter. It was reported to be approximately 18 inches long, a cubit at that time, and an inch or thumb in diameter. It was engraved with the name of the patron goddess of the Amazons, Artemis. The stories say it was made by the gods. When a Queen passed away, the scepter would seek out the next woman chosen by the gods to be Queen.

"Now if I may have a moment to examine it. I have some material you might find interesting while I do so." He extracted a thick folder of material from his briefcase and handed it to Tom. A magnifying glass also came out and was employed to aid close examination. A second folder from Artemis' briefcase contained drawings and pictures related to the scepter.

As their two guests checked the potential scepter, Tom and Beth scanned the material in the folder. It outlined archaeological data establishing the Amazon tribes, locations, some history, and provided an interesting overview.

Finally Michael and Artemis completed their examination. "Based on my preliminary examination, I believe the artifact is genuine."

Tom considered the information he had. Beth's revelation, plus the names of his guests, indicated a major league setup.

"Wonderful! I'm sure you'll have much to learn from it when you get it back to your labs in Washington. The darn thing seemed to trip me and then gave me a static shock, so I won't be sorry to see it go. It needs to be somewhere it can be properly studied." Tom carefully kept the smile on his face moderated as he waited for a reaction to the offer to give it up freely.

Too obvious, Michael thought. Tom knows something is up and isn't going to play. Simultaneously, a smile crossed Artemis' face. She would be all too happy for the scepter to pass to a more worthy candidate.

"Mr. Edwards, I fear it isn't quite that simple," Michael began. "I fear we haven't been as candid as perhaps we should."

"Then it might be well for you to start by being more honest about who you two really are and why you are really here." Tom's face lost the friendly look it had held since the visitor's arrival. "I am fully aware there is more going on here, and I don't appreciate games. I especially don't appreciate them when my wife is upset by them."

"First, I must apologize for being somewhat misleading. The information we gave you at the door is entirely correct, but incomplete. My name is Michael, and I am attached to the Smithsonian for the moment, as is my companion. Her name is truly Artemis. As you said, there is much more here than we let on. I am the Archangel Michael, commander of the Armies of Heaven. My companion is Artemis, patron goddess of the Amazons.

"After the fall of the last of the Amazon clans, and for the next 1500 years, Artemis tried to restart the tribes; Zeus refused permission. He, too, had orders from higher authorities. When the Christ walked the earth 2000 years ago, a long planned reorganization occurred. The old Roman, Greek, and other gods were either taken into the heavenly orders or banished. Artemis was a huntress and patroness of warriors, which put her in my area. A promise was made to her that the Amazons would be rebuilt in time, but she must wait until the scepter was sent to the chosen leader." He paused.

Tom sat back, knowing there were ramifications as yet unclear. The room was quiet as time for consideration was allowed. Michael waited for questions from his hosts, then continued, "God waited for the right person, and the right time in their life, to select the one to rebuild the Amazon Nation. The scepter was sent to that person at the Minneapolis Airport last week." Again he stopped for a time.

Tom's mind raced; they were still not telling him everything. He had this "scepter;" he had been chosen for this task. "OK. Permit me to review the situation. The rod I found is the scepter of the Queen of the Amazons and was sent to me as the one selected to rebuild them. Right?"

The two nodded. Artemis had an unhappy look.

"Artemis looks as happy as I feel right now. I'm not a manager; I deliberately avoided that field, as I prefer hands-on involvement in my work. I was also not physically qualified for the draft when I was 18; it's even worse now. I've made a hobby of history, and military history as well, but I cannot begin to qualify for this kind of position. There MUST be a better qualified candidate somewhere on those two points alone!

"The story Artemis related also pointedly mentioned the deliberate avoidance of men in the tribes. That alone would be a problem. I cannot believe an unbalanced society of that sort can survive long term, no matter who is in charge." Tom pointedly examined himself. "Not to mention there is at least one fundamental qualification lacking to be an Amazon. I'm beginning to appreciate the reaction Gideon had."

Artemis' emotions were in turmoil. This person DARED to challenge her rules for the Amazons, yet he was the Chosen and there would be no nation without him. He seemed uninterested as well.

Michael smiled at the reference. He had spoken to Gideon and recalled the difficulty he'd had convincing the man he was the warrior God wanted. Tom was right; they both rated their abilities far too low, and both were equally reluctant to take up their tasks. "Let me ask you some questions, Tom. Do you believe I am who I say I am?"

Tom paused, considering the vision his wife had, then nodded and replied, "Yes."

"Do you believe this scepter was sent specifically to you? That you are the one chosen to bear it?"

Again a nod.

"Do you believe that God can ensure you ARE qualified for a position He calls you to?" Michael extended the scepter to Tom.

At this, Tom understood, with agonizing clarity, the implication of the question. Fully qualified, no doubt, in all respects.

"You aren't kidding, are you?" Reluctantly, he reached out and took hold of the responsibility contained in the scepter he now took back.

Beth spoke hesitantly, "Tom? What does he mean?"

Grimly, he looked at his wife. "You know the Amazons were a matriarchy, right?" She nodded. "So, what does that imply about the person they choose to restart things?"

She looked at him, puzzled. "But you're not...."

Horrified, she looked at their guests. "Oh, please, God, no!" Her voice rose hysterically; tears formed and trailed down her cheeks as the full import of the situation crushed her emotional control.

Tom's jaw clenched as he desperately strove to hold himself together. Facial muscles quaked under the emotional strain as he tried to comfort his sobbing wife. He held her, arms around her shaking body, allowing her to vent the rising pain as tears soaked into his shoulder. Tears stung his own eyes and trickled down to his own chin.

The two visitors looked on, sympathetic, but unable to provide comfort.

Finally Beth's sobbing eased, less from calm than from fatigue. Tom continued to hold her as he turned back to the visitors.

"Do I have any choice in this?" he asked.

Michael responded, all too aware of his host's state of mind. "There is always a choice. You will not be forced into any of this." His calm gaze held no comfort, not relieving Tom of the need to make the decision himself.

Tom's mind flashed back to a promise made long ago. Before he'd even met Beth, he'd made a promise to God to follow Him. He and Beth both held that same promise sacred, and now faced a fundamental choice to hold to it or be oath breakers.

"A choice that is no choice at all," Tom murmured. "Called on the only promise that overshadows all the others I've ever made."

Beth heard, understood, and despaired.

The couple was visibly shattered. Tom handed a tissue to his wife and wiped his own eyes with another. He could choose otherwise, but would not be able to live with himself if he did. His duty, the highest Duty, called.

Red eyes fixed on the visitors, the holder of the scepter asked, "If I choose to accept, what will happen with me and Beth?"

Artemis answered, "Your wife will be given all the support, financial and otherwise, she needs or wants for the rest of her life. We've arranged for people to be available for any assistance, counseling, or anything else she needs." She still looked unhappy, but resigned.

"And me?"

"You will be prepared for your new duties ahead," Michael answered.

"How do you intend to cover my disappearance?"

"You won't disappear. It will appear that you had an untimely demise from an aneurysm. This will allow closure for other family members."

Tom put his head in his hands, then knelt in front of Beth. He took her face in his hands and gently caressed it, wiping the trails of the tears away for the moment.

"Beth, are you certain Michael is who he says he is?"

She hesitated, not wanting to answer, but finally nodded.

"You understand then, who is commanding this."

Again a nod, with misery in her eyes.

"And you know what I must do." Tears began again, slowly, from gray eyes and hazel. And again Beth nodded, her head ending bowed.

Tom felt crushed by the heartache, but he had to make the choice that he knew was right. He stood, gently kissing the forehead of his beloved, then turned to the visitors.

His voice cracking he said, "I can't do anything other than follow His commands. What now?" He didn't really care. His world was ending.

Michael stood, as did Artemis. She moved to Tom, put a hand on his shoulder, and whispered, "Wait for a moment, then we'll leave."

Michael walked to Beth, still seated on the love seat. A golden glow rose around him as he gently touched her head. "Know peace in your pain, dear one. In your heart you will know all is well with your husband, even though he is no longer with you. And know you will see him again, in time."

Her eyes closed, and the grief she exuded seemed to ease; she recalled the events since the arrival of the visitors without the overwhelming pain. She had the cover story in mind and moved to the phone to dial 911. She, too, would play her part.

Artemis said, "It is time." And the world faded for Tom. Michael followed, disappearing from sight. They left behind a body, lying on the floor, identical to Tom's.

 

Saturday, November 25, 2000

Time for a change

The world faded back into existence, warm and green. Tom noticed a faint scent of flowers, honeysuckle perhaps, in the still air. He was outside, in a hillside clearing, looking downhill at a large pine forest. He turned around slowly, trying to orient himself. The forest swept up the hill and continued to either side of the clearing, closing behind a sizable cabin or house behind and uphill of his position. There was a cloud deck that prevented him from identifying the sun's location. He heard and saw no one, just a few birds singing in the forest or flitting across the clearing.

Alone. More alone than ever in his life. The emotional weight crashed into him again; he had lost everything now, including his whole world—that one person who made life bearable at its worst. Gone. His knees buckled as he broke down and wept.

Finally, the emotional shock was spent. The tears slowed, then stopped. He drew a last quivering breath, then wiped his eyes and stood.

He looked again at the house, in a frame of mind to examine it more closely. It seemed large, being two stories across its width and appearing, if the door was 3 feet wide, to be nearly sixty feet wide with a covered porch across the full width. A chimney was to the right as he faced the door. Several large windows were placed symmetrically along the front of each floor.

He walked up to the porch of the cabin. A short flight of stairs rose from the ground, and took only a moment to climb. Wherever he was, he would likely need food, water, and shelter for the night, and he was bone-weary. Even a chair and some cold water would be welcome. A faint odor of cedar hung about the porch.

The door was open, seeming to invite visitors. He paused and knocked on the doorjamb, calling out, "Is anyone here?"

A voice he recognized replied, "Come in and be welcome, Tom."

He entered, finding an open floor plan, a kitchen area to his right looking out over the porch, a fireplace and large sitting area to the rear of the house. A doorway was to his left, as was a stair to the second floor, presumably bedrooms were there. Artemis was curled on a sofa that faced the fireplace. Tom walked over and sat in a chair near the sofa.

"I know you need some time to adjust to the situation," his hostess began. "We brought you here to give you that chance."

"I don't know why you'd say that. I mean, it's not like my life was just run through a blender or anything." The bitterness in his voice almost dripped. "I know I chose this, but I don't feel overly gracious about it." He glared into the dark, cold fireplace.

"I cannot say anything that will make the pain go away. Not even time will do that. It will be with you, to some degree, until you die. It will become easier to bear. I know that from personal experience." She continued, "I know it doesn't seem like much right now, but if you need someone to listen, I will be here to help. I thank you, as well, for giving me hope that at last that my Amazons will be restored. I truly am grateful."

"I appreciate that, both the assistance and the thanks. Where is Michael?"

"He wants to give us time to resolve any lingering issues before we proceed."

"Issues?" He gave a faux-shocked look. "I can't imagine what he could mean!" He paused a moment and continued, "More seriously, we do need to talk. I need your help to have any chance of succeeding in this job. I don't know the history of the Amazons and I want to learn. At the same time, it appears I'm the only way you have to even try to restart the nation." He shrugged. "I'll listen respectfully and with great interest to whatever you have to say, but I don't plan on turning my brain off. I also can't be someone other than myself."

Artemis looked at Tom as she pondered the situation, his comments, and what her response should be. "I can't forget what happened. I still cannot understand how a man, even with external changes, can lead the Amazons."

"I don't expect you to forget, and I don't understand either. I don't plan to make a change in the leadership of the Amazons. It can't be anything other than a matriarchy and still be the Amazon Nation; I get that. I know there is much to learn, and I'm relying on you to teach me if you're willing.

"Please remember, I am utterly unlike the men who crushed the Amazons. I grew up to consider women as equals and wives as partners, not property. I'm a 20^th century American, not a 14^th century BC Hittite. I don't think I COULD act the same. Just give me the opportunity to demonstrate who I am before you judge."

"You may be different, and I'm willing to accept that. I just don't want any more men in the nation than absolutely necessary."

"Are you familiar with the history of the Shakers?"

"Not really. I haven't spent any time studying American History."

"They were a religious sect that started in England in the mid-1700s and, led by a woman, they expanded to the Colonies just before the American Revolution. They had equal rights and responsibilities for men and women and were important in caring for orphans. All their growth came from people joining the church as adults or orphans who grew up and stayed, as they had a unique dogma. Sex was forbidden, and church members were expected to remain celibate as long as they were church members.

"By the 1900s, the membership was dropping steadily. By 1990, for all their innovation, there were perhaps a half-dozen members left in the world." He paused. "They died out just as surely as the Amazons. I believe that is because, in each case, there was a lack of balance. The Shakers denied the sexual side of humans; the Amazons denied the balance between men and women.

"I intend the Amazons to be a matriarchy, but with enough men to grow even without immigration, as well as lending their talents to the nation. I am a better person because of Beth in my life. I like to think I was a benefit to her also." He stopped. "God, I miss her already!"

"I don't want men in the hierarchy!"

"I'm NOT going to arbitrarily throw away resources. I WILL NOT fail because I didn't use talents at hand. This nation will not fail because of that! NOT ON MY WATCH!" His fury radiated. "I've not given everything up just to fail. I won't hamstring myself."

"No! No men in the government! They killed, murdered, my daughters!"

"I agree that they won't have direct power. But I won't give up a role for them, as advisors at least. We must be able to stand and grow even if no one immigrates."

"I don't like even that much, but I can understand and won't argue for now. Don't think we're done on this subject, though!"

Tom nodded. "I think we can agree on that for now. There is so much still to talk about. It's just hard right now, and I'm so tired...."

The energy visibly drained from him as the adrenalin rush faded. His head fell forward into his hands, scepter across his knees, too worn and burdened with grief to weep anymore.

She rose from the sofa and gently led the man up the stairs, guiding him into a bedroom. Sitting him on the bed, she removed his shoes and coaxed him into lying down.

"Rest now. Tomorrow is soon enough for what must be done."

She covered him with warm blankets, placed the scepter on the nightstand, darkened the room with heavy draperies, then slipped out and closed the door as he dropped into the sleep of the emotionally exhausted.

 

Sunday, November 26, 2000

Who am I?

Tom awoke, finding he had a pillow in his arms, as well as under his head. For a moment he wondered where the motel was, then he recalled the events of the previous day. He delayed for a time, relishing the warm comfort of the bed. At last, he roused himself and sat on the bed edge to examine the room.

Still dark from the covered window, he made out a nightstand holding the scepter, a dresser, and three closed doors on the other walls. He stood up and turned right to check the closest door. It opened to a full bathroom, having a larger than average tub. He made use of the toilet, razor, and toothbrush, feeling much more human at the end. Returning to the bedroom left two doors to examine. Tom checked the door to his right, which revealed an empty closet. He closed the closet, exited the bedroom, and went down the stairway. His nose led him to a pot of coffee with an empty mug next to it. A note beside it said:

"Make yourself comfortable. Food is in the refrigerator when you are hungry. Michael and I will return shortly. 'A' "

He sipped the coffee and examined the contents of the kitchen area, finding a variety of foods including his preferred breakfast, bagels. He buttered one and took it and the coffee out on the porch. Nothing seemed to have changed; the air was still warm and held the same sweet floral scent. He sat on a step, chewing over the situation as he chewed the bagel.

He knew only the rough outline of what was ahead. He was tasked with rebuilding the Amazons, which implied he was to wind up female. It was still unreal, a concept only. The Amazons were a tribe of warriors, and he had no experience there either. Added to his lack of interest in management, he couldn't understand how, or why, or... anything. This had all the hallmarks of a big bomb ready to blow up in his face. He wrestled with it as he finished his light breakfast. ~None of this is controllable now. Hard as it will be, I've got to trust that it will work out.~

He re-entered the cabin, refilled his coffee cup, and washed up his other dishes. A survey of the room revealed Spartan furnishings and little else. He took his stroll to the outside again, deciding to kill time exploring the upper reaches of the hillside. A trail led up, disappearing into the trees. He found some honeysuckle, explaining the aroma, as he walked. Finally, the coffee mug was empty, and he reached the top of the hill. The clearing below was the only visible break in the forest that stretched to the horizon on all sides. The air had only a slight haze, as on a humid summer day. It was lovely. He spent some time just soaking in the view before making his way back down the trail.

He returned to the cabin to find his hostess had returned and had been joined by Michael. They sat in chairs on the porch and greeted him as he rounded the corner of the cabin. They exchanged pleasantries about having a good sleep, sufficient food, and having a nice walk as he crossed to the stairs and reached the porch.

"Now that you're back, we should begin preparing you for you new duties," Michael began. "What we need to do here will not take long, but there are many other things to do elsewhere. You will need time to gain new skills before we leave."

Tom winced, thinking of all the 'female maintenance' skills he lacked. Oh, goody. He felt like that diver in the first "Jaws" movie, Matt Hooper, played by ummm, Richard Dreyfuss, as he got ready to go down into the cage with his bang-stick. Scared spitless. Deep breath. Exhale.

"OK. I don't really feel ready, but let's do it. Inside?" They nodded. He walked into the cabin, followed by the two celestials. "Now what?" he asked.

Michael explained, "This will not be painful, but you should lie down on the sofa."

Tom, tension clear in his face, walked over and lay down as suggested. He was frightened, more than ever in his life. He closed his eyes and spoke. "I guess I'm ready, but I think I have a few hundred more gray hairs from this."

A soft chuckle came from Michael as he said, "I don't think you need to worry about that anymore."

In the beginning, it sounded like a song. First a male voice, he couldn't exactly follow the tune and somehow didn't want to try. His mind couldn't grasp it. Then a female voice joined with the male. As the duet continued, he felt a lethargy fill him. His muscles didn't want to move. Then he began to lose feeling in his extremities, fingers and toes first, then more of his limbs. The numbness spread as the song continued, and he could no longer feel his groin, belly, and chest. A silence came to his attention; he could no longer feel the beating of his heart. Was this what dying was like, he wondered? Chest, shoulders, neck, finally he lost the perception of light in his closed eyes and, at last, could no longer hear the song.

Tom knew he was, but didn't know where. He sensed, rather than heard or saw, familiar presences. Suspended in bright nothing, he felt the care and love of family, and reassurance as well. They were all there, parents, grandparents, friends that had died. A feeling of comfort, that all would be well, was almost broadcast to him. Memories flashed through his mind that were not his. He knew they would be recalled at the proper time. A long timeless moment passed.

Then, from the distance, came the faint echo of the song again. It grew in volume, and he felt the tide of awareness flow back. The stream of sensation resumed, stretching out again, ears, eyes, heart, lungs. Like a limb that was asleep and now has sensation returning, there was a tingle, which slowly spread to all parts of his body. Each part of his body was reasserting its existence and a new connection to reality.

The voices ended their song, and it was done.

 

 

The lethargy left his body at last, as if from a long sleep. Tom left his eyes closed for a moment as he sorted out how he felt now. No aches; that pain in his shoulder wasn't there either. ~OK, that's good.~ He had a general feeling of energy, the sense that for once his body would do as it's told. Odd sensation on his chest. ~Don't want to think about that yet.~ He slowly sat up, feeling an odd weight of hair on his head and brushing his shoulders. ~OK. Long hair, and that odd sensation on the chest is definitely two somethings hanging a bit.~ He finally opened his eyes.

Red hair. Wavy red hair. Lots of it. He pushed the unruly mass behind his ears and looked at his hosts. Everything was blurry. He checked and found he still wore his bifocals. Taking off his glasses, he suddenly found his vision was crisp and clear. He put the glasses on the sofa and examined his hands and arms. The hands didn't seem dainty, but were more slender now and lacked those age spots he'd picked up recently, and the skin was smooth and flexible again. Interestingly, not the pale skin typical of a redhead, he seemed to have retained the slightly tanned skin of his previous life. The hair on his arms was fine and nearly invisible. He noticed his arms, upper arms in particular, had also lost bulk. He had lost his gut, and all those extra pounds picked up over the last 10 years.

"Welcome back", said a female voice. "How are you feeling?"

He responded "I-", and stopped. Voice change, too. High enough for a soprano, but probably second soprano. He wondered if he could still sing. "Physically I feel odd, but good. No aches, pains, or assorted mementos of the last 50-odd years. The rest of this," he gestured to himself, "will take getting used to."

Examining his clothing, it seemed to fit his new body well. "Thanks for adjusting the clothes along the way." He felt the movement of the clothing across his skin more acutely, it seemed, as he changed position.

Michael looked at the new person on the couch, where the middle-aged man had lain before there was now a tall, young, slender woman. A disorderly mass of red hair tumbled from her head as her gray eyes belied her apparent youth. "You seem to be handling this better than I thought you would," the angel remarked. "I expected more of a reaction to the change you just experienced."

Tom looked up. "What's the point? I trusted the one calling me to do this, plus I had some family visit, I guess, while you two were doing your thing. The situation is what it is, and I'm even more sure this is as it should be. All I can do now is deal, even if I'm still scared spitless. I assume I am a fully functional female now?"

Michael responded, "Completely. With all the rights, privileges, and periods appertaining thereto."

Tom continued, "Erm, right. So. Who am I?"

His hosts looked blank. "What do you mean?" asked Artemis.

"I'm not Tom Edwards anymore. So, who am I?"

"Your name is for you to decide, then a history will come into being for you with that name and adjusted to allow for your knowledge. It wouldn't do for a waitress to be an experienced project leader and computer scientist."

Tom paused. He hadn't really considered this aspect over the years. He and Beth had never had children, and the need for name searches had never come up. This was a final gateway, a last sign to show he accepted his new life as a woman. After a few moments, a thought crossed his mind. It felt RIGHT. His mother, as she'd aged, had spent hours tracking down family history. There were a couple of people she'd found that he wanted to honor.

"Nicole Joy Harrison. Family names my mother came across in researching our family trees that I always liked. The names come from the two women who were first to cross the Atlantic and founded the family line in the New World. It seems appropriate."

"Very well," said Artemis, "names to honor and carrying a burden of history." She nodded approvingly. "Next we need to start your education on how to be a woman. Starting, I think, with a wardrobe." She looked with distaste at Nicole's current flannel, jeans, and sneakers look.

"Hey! It's comfortable! Besides, for my work it was sufficient." Nicole grumbled at the needling. As Tom, fashion never was much of a consideration. Well, any consideration, unless Beth intervened. And what was wrong with shades of blue anyway?

Artemis' grin was wide as she contemplated a bit of revenge on a male with no escape. "There is no reason to look shabby just to be comfortable; you can do both. We need to refit you with everything from the skin out anyway, underwear, hose, shoes, cosmetics, jewelry, clothing. You need to learn everything about how to live and look like a Queen. We will start with a basic wardrobe, but eventually we'll need to add the specialized clothing for the social circles you will need to operate in."

She was shifting into extreme makeover mode, and Nicole knew she was doomed to suffer a multi-day effort to equip her with everything, along with an education on how to use it. She groaned. "How do we do this? Are you planning on playing 'Mom taking her daughter for an after-college makeover'?"

"Excellent idea for a cover story! I know just the place to go, too. Lots of top notch stores, so we can get all our shopping done in one place!" The goddess looked a bit like a little girl on Christmas day who'd just gotten her first Barbie.

Artemis walked over to Nicole. "Come here, daughter. We may disagree on some things, but you are the hope of the Amazon Nation. You are showing the kind of courage that would make your predecessors proud."

Nicole stood. Her balance was uncertain at first, then it steadied. She found herself taller now than the goddess. A half smile was on her face, knowing the compliment being given.

Artemis continued, "I know you have lost much, but I will help as I can." She gave the taller woman a hug of reassurance. "Are you up to some shopping now?" She looked closely at Nicole's face, evaluating her physical and emotional state.

"I guess so. There's an awful lot I need to learn, but let's get it done. I need to get adjusted to shop-a-thons at some point." Nicole gave a small smile, returning the hug. "Where are we going to put everything when we get it? I don't think the two of us can carry a complete wardrobe ourselves."

Artemis raised an eyebrow, looking pointedly at Nicole.

"Right. Goddess. Not a problem." Nicole grinned. "Give me time to catch up with the new reality here, will ya? We could always drag 'Daddy' along to help with the carrying." Now the grin turned into a smirk as she looked at Michael, who put on an obviously faked panicked look.

"Oh, no! You two are on your own!" He held his hands up and waved them in a 'not me' gesture.

"You know, it's kinda fun being on this side of the battle." Nicole giggled and linked arms with her 'mother.' "Come on, Mom. Let's leave the fuddy-duddy here and have some fun."

 

Monday, November 27, 2000

Shopping Spree

Nicole and Artemis arrived in the mall via 'Goddess Express,' fading back into reality in an obscure corner of a hallway.

Artemis outlined their tasks for the day. "Since you need everything, we'll start with undergarments and work out from there. You'll need a variety of clothes: business, casual, formal, sports, loungewear. You will need something to wear under each type of clothing, shoes for each outfit, jewelry as well. We'll also get your ears pierced while we're here."

Looking around, Artemis considered exactly where to start. Lingerie was available at most of the stores she planned to visit. She decided Nicole needed to come to grips with the full reality of her new life. She needed to understand, down to her bones, that she was now a lovely young woman and start adjusting her thinking. Sometimes the best way to deal with learning to swim is to just dive in. An evil grin rose on her face. "And I know just the pool."

Nicole gulped as she saw the grin on the goddess' face. The scope of this effort was daunting. She knew it was necessary. She had a new life and new responsibilities, but while the outside was Nicole the woman, the inside of the head was still Tom. This looked like time for some tough stretching of the personality. She found herself towed to a place she'd never dreamed of visiting six months ago. The older woman led the younger firmly as they passed into the entrance of Victoria's Secret. It felt more like "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here."

"Uh! Artemis? Are you sure about starting here? I feel like I'm getting thrown in the deep end of the pool here."

An hour later they left. Nicole's head was spinning from the fitting of more types of underwear than she'd known ever to exist. She did admit the bra she wore fit very well and was comfortable. She now had a bag full of bras for normal wear, formal wear, a sports bra or three, and a variety of panties to go with all of them; even a thong. She thought her face had a permanent pink tinge now.

"You enjoyed putting me through that, didn't you!" She glared at Artemis as they left the store.

The goddess smirked. "Guilty as charged. Just be grateful I didn't get more vengeful and cart you to a Fredrick's of Hollywood." A full smile erupted now.

Nicole's pink tinge turned to a pasty white. "Yes, ma'am!"

And so the day continued, with occasional side trips to the cabin to drop bags of purchases off. The two trolled Neiman Marcus, Nordstrom's, Marshall Field's, Talbot's, Chico's, and other stores on both sides of the road. They accumulated a variety of clothing for every occasion and, Nicole admitted, it did look good.

A basic understanding of fashion was slowly being instilled in Nicole, especially an awareness of color matching and coordination. It helped when she recalled the color wheel from art class many years ago. The concept helped jell the reasons for why certain things just were not done. She wondered if there was a special bit of wiring in the brain that made that learning possible. It just didn't seem as obscure a concept now. The two ladies didn't buy everything in sight, but used a 'mix-and-match' system to permit unique outfits over a couple of weeks of business wear.

Casual wear was almost as enlightening. Jeans were permitted, but only with an assortment of tasteful blouses. Artemis muttered about flannel shirts and bonfires as they checked out with the jeans and other casual slacks. A small number of skirts and dresses for casual wear also made the list of purchases for casual but neat occasions.

In fact, the whole day of clothing selection was a piece of cake as Nicole was a perfect standard size. Everything just fit. She commented to her companion, "I think the most enjoyable part of this is being a normal size. I know it won't last forever, but that was one of my major hassles before."

Artemis looked at her 'daughter' as she replied, "Remind me to fill you in on that later."

Nicole quirked an eyebrow in question, but received no response.

At the cosmetics counters, Nicole had to play the stubborn tomboy finally resigned to make-up. Artemis took a firm lead in selecting brands and colors as a comprehensive kit of skin care products, facial products, eye make-up, lip care and gloss was assembled. She left the store with a quickly and professionally applied 'face.' It looked good, but she wondered if she could remember it all.

Sportswear was the most straightforward. Sweats, leotards, trainers, sweatbands, all standard fare and easily coped with by even a newbie.

Trolling the shoe stores was very educational and last on the list. More shoes, for more situations, than any man ever comprehended needing. The selection tended to lower heeled shoes, but for some outfits a high heel was needed.

Nicole felt she towered over everyone as she tried on the four-inch heels for a party outfit purchased earlier. She KNEW she'd fall on her face or break an ankle in them. The athletic balance she now possessed permitted a steady, and even graceful, tryout. The guy part in her head looked in the mirror and went, "Yeah, that does make my legs look good. I'm taller than some basketball players with these things on!"

Selections finally made, they left for the last stop for the day. Artemis led the way to Cartier. "You will need some basics and given your position I want to ensure they are of suitable quality." She conducted an impromptu seminar on jewelry selection, pointing out items she thought would look good on her daughter. They picked up three pairs of earrings, necklaces to match the earrings, and a timepiece for formal wear. The studs from the ear piercing added an odd sensation as Nicole followed her mentor out of the store.

As the two left the last store, Nicole was in shock. The amount of money spent in the last 10 hours was bad enough, but trying to remember the fashion rules and regulations left her wondering how to make use of the massive wardrobe. Holding their bags, they returned for the last time to the cabin.

As Nicole carted the last bags to her bedroom, Artemis called after her to put on something for lounging around and to bring the flannel shirt down for disposal. "I want that shirt DEAD!"

The comfortable clothing took only a few minutes to change into, lounging pajamas and a light robe. She looked regretfully at the flannel shirt, well worn and comfortable, a last link to her life as Tom, as a man. Picking it up, she walked down the stairs and joined her 'parents' by the fireplace. Artemis took the shirt with two fingers and tossed it into the fire, a satisfied look obvious as the last of the cloth went up the chimney.

As they sat in the quiet room, Nicole asked again the question from earlier in the day. "While we were shopping, I commented about enjoying being a standard size and realizing it would not last forever. When I said that, you said I should raise the point again, later. It's later."

Artemis faced her daughter. "You, as the new leader of the Amazons, the new Queen, are given special Gifts. Each Amazon will be enhanced, made stronger, quicker, more agile, and tougher than any normal human. If you watched it, think of the Slayer powers on Buffy, though not quite that enhanced. You are stronger, faster, quicker, faster healing, and tougher than any other Amazon will ever be. In addition, you were Gifted with agelessness; you will never die from old age and will always look just as you do now. You are not invulnerable and can be killed, but not by time. Your empathic sense is enhanced. You also have a photographic memory. You are unique in the history of the Amazons. Your task will be to guide the nation through the battles necessary to establish it in safety once and for all."

"Oh. So this job is till death do us part and no death unless it is in combat." Nicole drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, curling herself in a tight ball as if to hide. "Will I ever be permitted to retire from this job, short of dying in combat?"

"We cannot say," Michael replied. "That decision is in the hands of God. He hasn't revealed His timeline to us, yet."

Nicole couldn't even cry anymore. The last couple of days had wrung her emotions dry. She sighed, and laid her head on her knees. "I guess it doesn't matter anymore. I'm committed now, no matter how things are intended to work out. I just hadn't expected the job to be this open ended."

"Courage, Nicole. You know He will provide all you need to handle the load He gives."

"That's scary, too. Considering the Gifts, if the load is in proportion, I'm in a heap of trouble."

 

 

(Elsewhere and nowhen)

"She is Chosen, Called, and has accepted. Your task is beginning again."

"It doesn't matter. They will die as before."

"The world has changed. It won't be as easy this time."

"Women are still women. The result will be the same; it might even be easier, as I have the perfect tools in place."

"Do you know where to look for them? She is shielded."

"She will show up soon enough—some female making waves and trying to gather the arrogant females that don't know their place again. It will be obvious when she begins. I will also have agents begin reviewing some choice categories of women. Artemis is fairly predictable in who she picks, and I'll start looking now." A pause. "And then she and all her Amazon bitches die."

  

  

  

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