A Wish the Heart Makes : Fornever in Blue Genes

by: Tigger

 

Chapter 15: Explanations, Histories and ‘Herstories’

Freuda walked briskly through the slightly shabby neighborhood. Winter was coming early to Boston, and the winds that whistled down Commonwealth Avenue were chilly. The area had once, even in Boston’s recent history, been the high rent district of the Tea Party City, but that had all changed.

A second urban exodus, fueled by modern, super-high-speed public transit and tele-commuting, had caused property values for the majestic brownstone townhouses to plummet. Now, most people worked at home, and since they could cover hundreds of kilometers in less time than earlier transportation systems could cover a tenth that distance, saw little need to live in such tight, albeit prestigious and luxurious circumstances. Boston had truly become a "college town super campus", and the primary selling point of these historic homes was now their proximity to the major universities of the greater Boston megalopolis. Students, for whatever reason, still liked to walk.

Freuda, however, did not like to walk, and she wouldn’t have if the nearest public transportation terminal hadn’t been several blocks from her destination. Wistfully, Freuda thought about the warm comfort of her private vehicle, but no one took a private aircar into downtown Boston anymore. At least, they didn’t if they wanted more than just the hulk of the air car’s chassis waiting for them when they returned from their business. If the crazies on the airways didn’t run you over, the professional thieves would get what was left. The more things changed, she thought again, the more they stayed the same, which was why she’d left her sporty little Spacer in a secure, guarded parking lot just outside the city, in what used to be called Rhode Island.

She reached her destination and entered the house through the ground entrance, her retinal scan already programmed into the door’s security system. Once inside, the heat was a welcome change from the cold winds. She shed her coat and hat and moved to a nearby stairway.

 

*There would have been servants in times past,* she thought sourly as she stomped up the steps, *Male servants who would have seen to my comfort as is my due. Damned equalists and their Equal Rights, Responsibilities and Privileges Amendment. How could intelligent, clear-thinking women ever have supported such a travesty against our feminist fore-mothers?*

The unfairness of that - the loss of what was in her mind the natural place and prestige of women in the world - had been the catalyst that had changed her life. It was the motivating factor that had set her, as a young university professor of psychiatry, on the path to becoming Freuda.

After untold millennia of domination and debasement at the hands of men, women had finally banded together in the late Twentieth Century to take political and economic control of the world. With no further need for the physical labor their bodies had been evolved to handle, men had been easy pickings for smart, aggressive women who thought with the heads on their shoulders as opposed to men who too often tried to think with the head they carried between their legs. Oh, a few token men had still been there in politics and business, and some exceptionally talented ones like Matthew Sorenson and Robert West had even made it to the tops of their professions, but most men had topped out at middle management. At last *men* had been the ones on the wrong side of the glass ceilings.

To this day, Freuda couldn’t understand what had gone wrong. About fifteen or twenty years ago, a small, vocal group of men calling themselves "Human Beings for Equality" had popped up in a few of the colleges around the country. Somehow, they’d managed to gather not only other men to their cause, but the brightest and the best of their generation of women, too. Women who *should* have been too smart to fall for that naive, idealistic drivel. But fall they had, and before anyone quite knew what had happened, all the woman-affirming and woman- advancing institutions that had taken literally thousands of years to build had been swept away. Men were back in positions of power in the world again. That women of talent and intelligence also remained in power was not the point. The point was that men were.

And since there are only so many top positions to go around, every one occupied by a male meant one less available for a woman. Freuda still seethed over the indignity of that snub to her feminine superiority. *She* should have been named the head of the school of psychiatry at her university years ago, but she hadn’t been. A man, who should never have even been considered, at least in Freuda’s mind, for the simple fact that he *was* a man, had been appointed instead. That his record, his scholarship and his reputation among their peers had clearly outshown Freuda’s own in every respect was a complete irrelevancy. He was a man and she was woman. That one criterion should easily have tipped the balance in her favor.

Oh, she’d stayed at the university, even after having been offered deanship at one school and a presidency at yet another. They were inferior institutions. She needed to be there when the world corrected itself so that she could assume her rightful place. That was where Sorenson’s process came in. Men in power would begin to disappear. Men carefully selected because their seconds-in-command were women . . . *reliable* women who would take action to correct the travesty of the ERRPA once they were again free to act. Freuda hadn’t decided what they would do with the men yet, except that they would be "cured" of their masculinity. Some of the more intelligent and talented of them might make fairly acceptable women once they had been properly indoctrinated, but they would never be *men* or *in power* again. THAT was certain.

On that happy thought, she reached her objective - a heavy, old fashioned door at the end of the upstairs hall. Calmly, she knocked on the door, and then entered when bid. She opened the door and pasted a smile on her sharp featured face. "Good afternoon, Leader. How are you, dear?"

"Well, thank you," was the response. "Take a seat, please. You wanted this meeting, but we need to get it over with quickly. You know that I don’t like these face-to-face meetings."

Nodding, Freuda took the proffered chair and began. "I understand, but we also agreed that some communiques were never to be trusted to anything other than face-to-face."

"Very well," was the terse response. "So what is so vital and sensitive that you broke at least five security regulations setting up this meeting?"

"Martha Jenkins and Angstrom have been dealt with. The people we hired made it look like they were together at the time."

"And the assassins?"

"Also dead, I am afraid, although in a different part of the world altogether." Freuda’s smile would have frightened children. "You see, I had another little job for them. There was this team of mercenaries training down in Brazil that I allegedly wanted killed as well."

"What mercenaries? Has that Donovan woman hired her own professional soldiers-of-fortune to augment their security?" The Leader was dismayed.

"No. The supposed mercenary group was actually our own covert action team. One of our women was wounded, but will be fine. The assassins won’t ever take another commission in this world, and they won’t tell any stories about us or about Jenkins and Angstrom, either."

"Very clever, Freuda, although it would have been difficult if our paramilitary arm had been badly hurt in your little plot. However, all’s well that ends well. So, what do you think happens next?"

"Uncertain. Donovan will find them, of course. One reason we had to kill Angstrom is that they nearly had her as it was, and she would have at least cast doubt onto who had been behind setting up the psychological profile that persuaded West to proceed with the male to female transition of Sorenson. At least now, while there is little chance they will stop looking for us, their two remaining leads are out of the picture. Jenkins who was real, and Angstrom who was not - not that it really matters since both are now permanently silenced."

"I see. Well, that gains us some more time, at least, and with Florence still working inside Sorenson’s inner sanctum, we should have advanced warning if they do begin to close in on us."

"Only should have, Leader?" Freuda’s tones were chiding.

"She has not followed her orders to become intimate with Sorenson, has she? She is a trained seductress, as you yourself have often told me. She has a target who, by all accounts should have all the control of a rabbit in mating season, and she . . . STILL . . . HASN’T . . . SUCCEEDED!"

"I discussed this with her last night, Leader. She has her reasons, and on reflection, I agree with her decision not to pursue Sorenson. Donovan has become very possessive of Sorenson, especially since last night, and we don’t want to set our only in-place intelligence asset at odds with Sorenson’s security chief."

"’Since last night’?" the Leader pounced on that. "What is the meaning of, ‘since last night’, Freuda?"

"That is the other reason I wanted to speak with you personally. Only Florence could have known this, and I did not want to chance interception of the information."

Freuda quickly reviewed the abortive date and near rape of Mandy Sorenson for the Leader.

"I see, and your assessment of her mental state? Rape is a crime so horrible that many think it worse than a clean murder."

"And rightfully so," Freuda sputtered. "Having to live with the experience afterwards? I’d rather die, so it *is* worse than murder."

"True," the Leader said with a half smile, pleased to have pricked Freuda’s private demon to life. It was the reason Freuda had been recruited. She was smart - brilliant in her field - but her obsessive preoccupation with the slights, real or imagined, she’d suffered since the rise of the male equalists blinded her to many things the Leader was just as glad she could not see. "But, about Sorenson?"

With difficulty, Freuda put her fury away and turned back to the Leader. "It is difficult to say how she will react. The mind is still male, and may not fully have appreciated her vulnerability. That coupled with the fact that she personally nearly killed her attacker might make her feel somewhat impervious to harm, and thus make her more reckless. That might make getting our hands on her somewhat easier."

"I think I hear doubt in your voice."

Freuda became pensive. "You do, Leader. We don’t really know all that much about how an unwilling, unprepared personality reacts to a sex change. All of our existing information is from people who willing underwent transition counseling and then some type of physical sexual reassignment. Contrary to popular fiction, changing a person from one sex to another is not something you can do without that person knowing about it in time to take some type of preventive action."

"It hasn’t been possible until now," the Leader corrected softly.

"Until now," Freuda agreed, her eyes going out of focus. "Look, Leader, I have little to base this opinion on except my initial assessment of Sorenson-the-man. He was smart - *very* smart . . . it is going to occur to her just how vulnerable she was during that assault. She is also, in every way that matters now, a virgin - a surgically unaltered virgin. Even men know that first penetration will hurt a woman if it is not done properly or if the woman has not had her maidenhead dealt with in a civilized manner beforehand. My gut reaction is that she’ll become more reclusive than ever, at least until she figures she is better able to protect herself."

"Sounds as if she did quite well last night."

"Sorenson-the-man was a perfectionist and nothing we have seen to date indicates that Sorenson-the-woman is any different. She’ll find fault with herself and won’t give herself the benefit of the doubt. She’ll train all the harder now until she perfects herself physically and as a fighter."

"That’s not good. The computer projections are that she will be incredibly dangerous if she reaches her full potential."

"Which she probably will achieve," Freuda said calmly. "As I said, Sorenson is driven to perfection. However, no amount of physical training will make her faster than a blaster shot, or impervious to a sleep drug."

"Then you still believe we will get her?"

"Oh, we’ll get her, Leader. We will definitely get her."

"And her company, too?"

"Of course. As I said earlier, she may now be female, but her mind is still male. She will screw up and we won’t."

~-------------~

Cat grimaced as she watched Mandy sparring with Morag. Her student’s last kick had been seriously overextended and had resulted in a momentary loss of balance - a critical, potentially fatal mistake in a real fight. Unfortunately, while Morag was pulling her punches, Mandy was not. Morag was taking a beating while Mandy was too out of control to feel or react to Morag’s half speed retaliation.

"Stop!" Cat bellowed, and then swore savagely as Mandy did not respond to the command and continued trying to press her attack. Cat moved in from behind and swept Mandy’s feet out from under her just as the smaller woman was winding up for another kick. Even from her ignominious position, flat on her butt, Mandy still tried to attack. Cat leapt to avoid a sweeping kick aimed at her ankles, and lashed out with a kick of her own.

All the air exploded out of Mandy’s body as Cat dug the ball of her foot into her boss’ solar plexus. "I said stop, Mandy," Cat said gently as she knelt down to help the helplessly wheezing woman. "Come on, let’s get you over to a chair, and then you can tell me what the hell you thought you were doing."

"Don’t . . . know . . . what the hell . . . you’re . . . talking about," Mandy sputtered as Cat settled her onto one of the exercise benches.

"Right," Cat said sardonically. "If MacPherson had been trying to do anything but keep from killing you, you’d already be out cold and you wouldn’t be waking up until sometime next week. You were so intent on trying to kick her butt that you left holes in your defenses a novice could get through."

Morag came in with a glass filled with water which she silently handed to Mandy. "You okay?" Cat asked her operative as Mandy drank greedily.

"I took a few lumps, boss, but nothin’ serious," Morag replied softly. "I’ll be okay."

"Sor . . . sorry, Morrie," Mandy got out. "I lost it for a few minutes there."

"More like from the moment you walked on the mat, girl," Cat said sternly. Mandy stared at Cat with huge eyes and suddenly, it was clear. "Mandy? Morag isn’t that asshole from the club, okay? That fight is over. He won’t - *can’t* - hurt you. Not now, not ever."

"He could have," was the wavering answer. "I caught him by surprise. If I hadn’t . . . or if you hadn’t been there . . . he’d have . . . he would have . . . OH GOD, CAT. . . he would have . . . " And suddenly, Mandy was sobbing inconsolably.

Instantly, Cat was down on the bench holding her, comforting her. "No, he wouldn’t have," she said gently only to repeat herself more firmly when Mandy kept weeping. "Get Doc West in here, Morag, now!"

"He was going to rape me, Cat," Mandy finally managed to get out.

"He was going to try, sweetheart," Cat retorted firmly. "I’d say you fixed it so he won’t be doing that again any time soon."

"God, Cat, I was so frightened."

"Okay to be frightened, Mandy. It’s what you do when you’re scared spitless that counts and you did just fine."

"I have to be better at this stuff, Cat. I am not going to let anyone *ever* do that to me." The crying was under control now, and the fury was taking over again.

"Okay, Mandy, okay, but what just what happened out there on the mat isn’t the way to do it. If Morag hadn’t been so careful not to really hurt you, you’d have been out cold inside of . . . oh," Cat’s tongue went firmly into her cheek, " . . . maybe twenty seconds, give or take a couple of seconds."

A watery chuckle answered Cat, and she began to relax a bit. "That bad, huh, Donovan?"

"Worse, Sorenson. You’d have lasted twenty seconds only because you’re so damned fast, not because you were fighting worth a damn. Look, Mandy, if you want to improve your fighting and self defense skills, that isn’t the way to do it. Didn’t I promise to teach you what you need to know?"

"Well, yes . . . but . . . "

"But nothing. You’ll get there, but you’ll do it right. Just take it easy."

Mandy went very quiet and then, finally, nodded. "Okay, Cat, but I am not going out again until I am much better at this."

"Bullshit, Sorenson. We’re going out again this weekend - maybe not to the same place, but no way are you going to hide in here spending the rest of your life chasing some impossible level of perfection. You’re plenty good enough right now and you’re going to get better."

"Promise?" Mandy asked, her voice oddly pleading, and to Cat, oddly girlish.

"Promise," Cat affirmed and then found herself wrapped in a strangling-tight hug.

"Mandy?" Robert West called as he hurried into the gym. "What is the matter? Morag said it was urgent."

"Hi, Bob," Cat said as she gently disengaged herself from Mandy. "Look, you know about the problem last night?" Bob nodded. "Okay, well, we need to talk to you some more about it."

~---------------~

They’d adjourned to Mandy’s sitting room, and had been joined by the on-duty nurse, Teri Richards. Robert had prescribed tea and brandy as an immediate restorative, but Mandy was actually helped more by having her friends - which now definitely included both Morag and Teri - around her.

"I never even thought about the . . . the sex aspect of it until afterwards, Bob. Isn’t that stupid? Now I have a panic attack anytime I think about it."

"As I tried to explain last night, that’s to be expected. Soldiers always talk about having the shakes before and after combat. During the actual fighting they’re too damned busy staying alive to have anxiety attacks. As for the sex thing? Mandy, my dear, you are still Matt in most ways."

"What?" Mandy squealed as she almost sprayed the table with the sip of brandy she’d just taken. "You need glasses, friend."

"No," Bob said gently, "but you need a clearer picture of yourself. We should consider bringing in a therapist, someone whose practice deals primarily with gender issues. As we’ve said before, you are in large part a man trapped in a woman’s body, and that is stressful. You’re handling it pretty well, but it is going to rear its ugly head up every once in a while and bite you unless you learn to deal with the stress of your situation."

"Does that mean I have to start thinking like a girl?"

"Mandy, you already are, at least in some cases. The problem is that you have to face the entire package of your femininity and deal with the whole package - emotions, mentality, physicality. Once you’ve done that, if you continue to be Matt on the inside in a much nicer package, that’s fine, but you’ll have developed mechanisms to help you deal with the very feminine emotions and feelings that are going to swamp Matt’s rationality-based, masculine mind whenever Mandy jumps up and clouts him one."

A call beep sounded from the comm-board, and Cat excused herself to go answer.

"Mandy?" Teri interjected, "I was once nearly raped, back when I was in the service. I’d been in combat before that and I had been trained to protect myself even though nurses are supposedly non-combatants. And I *still* spent six months seeing a therapist afterwards. It isn’t a sign of weakness."

Mandy smiled at the nurse and reached over to touch her hand before turning back to face Bob. "So, who do we bring into this? Do you know anyone who handles this type of thing? Someone we can trust?"

Bob shook his head. "Nope. Psychiatry is not my field, so I don’t know any practitioners well enough to know their specialties or their professional reputations. Only person I ever heard of who does that type of work is that person whose name was in your file . . . Angstrom? If she is a real human being, let alone a real psychiatrist."

"Oh, she’s real on those counts, all right," Cat’s voice came from behind Bob and had all four of them spinning in their seats to face her. "She’s also dead. That was Davies over at my main security control office. We’ve found Martha Jenkins and the Angstrom woman. Only problem is someone else found them first. They’re both dead. It was supposed to look like an accident, but my people called in some very skilled forensic specialists. I don’t have all the details, but the specialists on the scene are now calling it murder."

"MURDER???!?" Teri yelped.

"Murder," Cat affirmed before turning to face Mandy. "Whoever is behind this conspiracy is evidently pulling back and trying to cover their tracks again."

"So," Mandy said with a cold calm she was far from feelings. "What does that mean?"

"Only thing we can say for sure is that someone killed them. Circumstances make it damned unlikely that those two would be together and get killed by pros for any other reason but we won’t discount that. Still, our best call is that their own organization is behind the hit. The big question is why did they do it? Obviously, they didn’t want us to question those two. Are they getting ready to go to ground or are they up to something and don’t want us accidentally finding out? We don’t have any way of knowing."

"So, Donovan?" The steel in Mandy’s tone had Cat looking down at her boss warily. "How do you intend to find the people behind all this? I am frankly getting very tired of this crap."

Cat snorted back a laugh. "Give us a chance to scope out the scene and figure out what evidence is there first, will you, Mandy? But I think its fairly obvious is that our next move is to find their hired killers. On the bright side, a killing so thoroughly planned and executed that experienced police detectives initially mistake it for an accidental or natural death narrows down our list of possible killers quite a bit, and those killers will know who hired them. One possibility is that they were hired by an intermediary. The other is that someone in the organization made the contact with them. Either way, we’ve got to find those boys real quick."

"Why is that, Cat?" Teri asked, fighting down bile.

"Because if they’ll kill two of their own to cover their trail, then they’ll sure as hell not think twice about killing the hired help. Our problem right now is that their hired help is about the only lead we have left."

"Great!" Mandy growled. "This is just great. We know less than we did except that the bad guys are starting to play rough, even killing their own folks." Smiling ruefully, she turned back to face Bob West. "This is a whole lot to deal with, Bob. Hell, I thought menstruating was bad. Boy, was *I* naive."

~---------------~

Interlude: Florence sat in her darkened living room, tears of fury streaming down her face. The conversation with Freuda had not gone well. Freuda *had* ordered the execution of two women - an innocent who had never had any contact with the organization and a member who had put her own life and freedom in danger for the cause.

Oh, Freuda had assured Teri that they were threats to the ultimate victory of a resurgent feminist order, and that they would have willingly sacrificed themselves for the cause, but that was horseshit.

Teri had joined the organization because good women were once again being put aside in favor of less talented men. The organization had been created and continued to exist in order to protect women from that type of abuse, and to prevent it from ever happening again. And now, the leadership of that organization had killed two women? Just like that?

Unfortunately for her peace of mind, Teri could not help but compare the recent behavior of her fellow revolutionaries with that of the people she was betraying daily. Would Mandy or Cat kill like that? That Cat would kill was a given - she was a warrior, but would she kill a comrade or worse, an innocent - just because that person might be used against them?

Teri knew the answer to that question, and it chilled her soul.

 

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