"Pheromone Pharmacopia"

by Brandy Dewinter

(c 2001, All rights reserved)

 

Chapter 22 - "Mistress With The Mostest"

"Mr. Gates, Ladies, the President will see you now," reported the courteous functionary, smiling in appreciation as they stood.

The team, including their punctiliously neat boss, Sam Gates, were waiting in a hallway outside the famous Oval Office. It was clear that they were a team, though they no longer wore their colorful skin-tight spacesuits. Nonetheless, they were essentially in uniform; snugly tailored business suits complete with button-down shirts and color-coordinated neckties. The suits - except for the dark blue that Gates wore - were charcoal gray, accented with a pinstripe in each team member’s trademark color, including a muted purple for Jacqui. Only an Ally McBeal shortness of the skirts and too-high heels interfered with the professional dignity they portrayed, and those fashion statements were not optional. Carol’s memory demanded nothing less.

Gates nodded, and led the way to the opened door. Once inside though, he stepped to the side and motioned for Marilyn to array her team in the space before the desk in the office, an empty desk in an unpopulated office. Before they had all entered, however, the President stepped through another door, smiling and offering his hand to the curvy blonde leader.

"Ms. Richards, or if you prefer, Col. Merlin, I’m pleased to finally meet you."

"Thank you, sir. Marilyn is fine. May I present my, uh, the team?"

"Of course," he replied, though his eyes sharpened for a moment as he caught the break in her words. Introductions took only a moment, each woman receiving a politician’s smile and a carefully impersonal handshake - each woman but Sandy, at whose hand the Prresident paused. "I swear, my daughters look older than you."

"Clean living, Mr. President," Sandy said, dimpling in a smile while adding just enough of a graceful sway in her hips to imply a curtsy.

"Hmmm. I’ll have to recommend that they give it a try," he said wryly.

Turning away from the women the President continued, "Not surprisingly, I find I agree with you, Sam. I’ve read the report, and I am impressed."

Gates just nodded, indicating with his head in Marilyn’s direction. The President nodded in his turn, and faced her. "The camera tapes you brought back show that the Brilliant Pebbles are no longer a threat, yet the Seward station is itself in a stable orbit. We’ll work something out with the intact parts of it - probably in conjunction with the International Space Station facilities. The threat you were sent to counter has been neutralized. I don’t want to imply that your . . . unique qualifications were not an important element of your success in this, but I do believe that you and your team have demonstrated a competence that would have succeeded in any mission assigned to you."

Instead of making some suitably modest reply, Marilyn looked away and dropped her head. Sandy stepped up to place an arm around her shoulders, beating Jaymi by only a heartbeat. No words were spoken, but the President stepped back, leaning one hip on the desk. He paused for a moment, obviously looking for the right thing to say. Gates stepped forward ready to intervene, but a subtle wave of the President’s hand stopped him.

Marilyn looked like she was about to say something, but stopped herself, looking at Sandy, then sighing.

The President straightened from where he was sitting on the desk and looked at Jacqui. "Ms. Cleaver, you are a very talented pilot," he said, changing the topic for the moment. "You did a good job getting that shuttle down with the limited fuel you had to work with when it came time to do the re-entry burn."

"Um, yes sir. Thank you sir."

"You are also a problem for us," he said next, surprising her.

"I, um, don’t understand, sir," she replied, but her eyes showed a different message, then dropped as the President’s smile said he saw the truth she had denied.

He sent an engaging grin her way, then quoted, "You can always tell a fighter pilot, but you can never tell him much."

"I was one a’ them fighter pilots, too, y’know," he continued, letting a bit of drawl into his words. "And they - *we* - are all sure we’re not only more talented, but flat out smarter than anyone else around. So I’m not surprised that you think you’re the only one to have realized Carol gave away her ‘secret’."

Then his tone became more serious as he continued, "But the need to maintain security on this is more important than your ego, or mine. Sam and Marilyn told me that we have to do something with you."

He finished with what was obviously a direct order. "Tell me what you think you’ve figured out."

Jacqui looked at her teammates, guiltily, but she stood to attention in an unconscious reflex and reported. "Carol was . . . not really a woman. Lord knows she looked like one, a very pretty one, but . . . she was really a man. And based on . . . things I’ve noticed, I don’t think . . ."

She ran down, but her glance traveled to the other team members and it was clear what she was thinking.

The President looked at Gates, who nodded, then began, "Ms. Cleaver, this team you’ve been working with is called, ‘SMITE’, which stands for She-Male Independent Tactical Expedition."

"She-Male?" repeated Jacqui.

"Yes. With the exception of you, the whole team was born male, but now have the external appearance of women - with the exception of one important . . characteristic of their birth gender."

To her credit, Jacqui’s pretty face was not marred by any expression of disgust or dismay. There was confusion, but its cause was quickly made clear when she asked, "Why?"

"It was those damn drugs," Vanna said with a little shake of remembered distress. "If we’d have been . . . born women, we truly would have been as helpless as Seward expected. You only caught a tiny bit of it in the shuttle. In his control room, it was . . . incredible. And our, um, nature turned out to be doubly important when the male-arousal pheromones he used to enhance his own enjoyment and aggressiveness counteracted the effects of the female-arousal ones he had hit us with. That’s what allowed us to defeat him."

"This is not the first mission which has required this team’s unique capabilities," interjected the President. "Nor even the most important to the security of the United States or the world as a whole."

"However," he continued, "some of those missions, though successful, could still be compromised if our . . adversaries even realized we HAD a team of soldiers who looked like women but could, um, function as men. Since you know that secret, you have become a problem."

"I’d never tell anyone!" Jacqui promised.

"You’re right," Gates said. "The only question is: How are we going to guarantee that? We will guarantee it, but there are . . . alternate ways to achieve that end."

Jacqui sniffed at that implied threat. "Like what? Throw me in some deep dark prison somewhere and never let me out."

Gates made that threat very real with an emotionless, "That’s one way, yes."

"That shouldn’t be necessary," Marilyn said, speaking for the first time since she had become lost in her memories of Carol’s loss. "Jacqui can . . join the team."

"She’s not a she-male," Gates pointed out bluntly.

"I *know* that," Marilyn replied testily. "We can work around it."

"Would you be willing to be part of such a team?" the President asked Jacqui. "Security is . . . extreme. Your old life would be over, at least the professional part. No more space missions, at least."

Jacqui turned to look out the windows behind the desk. It was evening, and the night sky held stars despite the glow of city lights. "I don’t know. . ."

"While you’re deciding, we should probably take care of the rest of the business of this meeting," the President said. "It may influence your choice." He nodded at Gates who pulled a folder from his unobtrusive briefcase.

"Attention to orders," Gates commanded, and out of reflex the women formed into a neat line.

"I think we can dispense with at least some of the formality," the President decided. "The citations are all fake anyway - not the part about courage and sacrifice of course, but the specifics are . . . unspecific. Let me just cut to the chase here."

"Jaymi Fox," he said, stepping up to the brunette, "according to the mission report, you saved a lot of people by recognizing and interrupting the command codes for those weapons. We’ve analyzed the signal traffic you captured and the first two weapons were targeted for Congress and this very room we’re standing in. Some of the country might consider that a small loss, but I am personally rather grateful. It gives me great pleasure to award you the Legion of Merit."

"Vanna White," he continued, not without a grin at her chosen name, "Though your contributions, and those of your teammates, are unique, you are truly soldiers in the service of your nation. It is clear that you performed to the standards of the Soldier’s Medal, and I find it personally interesting that this is a step *down* from your last award, despite the unique skills and courage you demonstrated."

"Jacqui Cleaver, regardless of what you decide to do from here, you have certainly earned this award, the Air Force Distinguished Flying Cross." He continued with that friendly grin, "I’m sorry you won’t be able to brag about how you got it. I know how important that is to pilots."

When he reached the next person in line, his grin increased to a snicker as he recited her name, "Sandy Beech, I’ve talked to a lot of people who have won ‘the Big One’, the Medal of Honor. Every single one of them hopes never to be faced with something that might win another one. I hope you’ll be satisfied with this Soldier’s Medal as well. You have set an enormous standard for yourself, yet this medal is justly deserved and honors all those who have ever won it."

"Yes, sir, Mr. President," Sandy replied, bowing her head as the ribbon was placed around her neck.

"Marilyn," the President said, turning to the last team member - at least the last one in the room. "It’s traditional for the commanding officer to receive his, uh, her honors last. However, one member couldn’t be here to accept her award. Presenting it to her family faces the same security problems that we’ve been discussing, and I understand they were not close anyway. Would you be willing to accept Carol’s Medal of Honor on her behalf? Her sacrifice cannot be honored by anything else, because there is nothing higher the country can do."

Marilyn’s eyes filled with a shine that threatened imminent flood, but she shook her head rather than nodding. Holding up her hand to forestall her Commander-in-Chief, she turned to Jacqui. Marilyn spoke in a tight, thin voice with none of the light energy she had trained herself to use.

"Jacqui, things can be very . . . tough on this team. As you’ve just heard, the girls have earned - the hard way - two Congressional Medals of Honor. That’s a sign of very difficult, very high-risk missions. And it has resulted in the death of one of us already; a death not caused by random risk or accident, but by a deliberate sacrifice. If you join the team, you’re facing a greater challenge than anything NASA could ever throw at you. Yet . . . the girls need you, more than you know. Will you join them?"

Jacqui looked at Marilyn in surprise, not expecting her to force the issue so bluntly. After a moment, she nodded. At Jacqui’s acceptance, Marilyn sighed, and seemed to shrink as she lost a little of the stiffness in her military posture. There was even more sadness in her eyes, though, when she turned next to Sandy.

"Sandy, dear, even with the example of Carol, you are the bravest person I have ever met. And probably the smartest. It’s not your fault that you never received the formal education it takes to handle some of the things the team commander needs to do. Like a lot of things, that’s my fault, too. You’re an excellent second, but you’re not ready to take command of the team."

"I don’t want command," Sandy said in confusion.

"I know that," Marilyn said. "But I don’t either."

She turned back to the President and said, "Mr. President, I resign. Effective immediately. Jacqui is a qualified command officer, and I know the team will serve her as ably as they have served me. I don’t deserve to lead them, though. Nor do I deserve to receive Carol’s medal. Give it to Jacqui on behalf of the team."

Her quiet words hung in the air of the room, seeming to echo back from the curving walls. It was impossible to sort out the next words, because when they came, it was as though a dam had broken and the resulting flood was too confused to be coherent.

"If she quits, I quit!" "NO, Marilyn, you can’t!" "I don’t WANT the job, not at that price!" "You’re crazy!"

The President held up his hand and the well-trained voices stilled.

"Sixty-two," he said softly.

Marilyn said, "Excuse me?"

Gently, slowly enough that it was clear she would have time to draw back if she chose, the President reached out and cupped Marilyn’s chin in his hand, drawing her face to look directly at him.

"You don’t consider the mission a success because of what happened to Carol Stevenson," he said, no question in his tone. "I’ve never had anyone under my direct command die, but I *have* worn the uniform, and I do understand military discipline - and risks. Since I have taken office, sixty-two American service men and women have died in the line of duty. Ms. Stevenson was one of them, but I feel responsible for each and every loss."

He dropped his hand, but continued to capture Marilyn’s eyes with his own. "Can you believe that I understand what you’re feeling?"

Marilyn nodded, dutifully, but her shoulders squared a little and she lifted her head.

Her Commander-in-Chief continued, "I want an honest answer now. Is there anyone else - in all of your experience, including Lt. Col. Cleaver - who is MORE qualified to lead this team thhan you? Even considering what you’re feeling about Carol’s loss?"

After a long pause, Marilyn shook her head.

The President asked, "And could you have done anything differently that would have saved Carol without an even greater cost if the missiles had rained down on us?"

At this, Marilyn’s head dropped again and she didn’t try to hide the despair in her voice as she said, "No, Mr. President, but that’s the point! I *should* have been able to save her, but I couldn’t. And if I were in the same situation again, I’d fail again. Even now, with all the time in the world to think about it, I can’t come up with anything else I could have done."

"Then I for DAMN sure couldn’t have!" interjected Jacqui, breaking ranks to stand before the taller woman. Their relative statures were unimportant though, for the fierceness boiling from the shorter brunette made her loom over the blonde. "Look, Marilyn, if the only reason you feel you can quit this team is because I’m now part of it, then I quit. Hell, even *I* don’t want to be part of the team if you’re not leading it. Carol disobeyed your direct orders, not once, but several times. You did all a commander could do. Don’t you *dare* degrade her sacrifice by blaming yourself."

All of a sudden Jacqui seemed to realize what she was doing, lecturing a superior officer and in the presence of the President himself. Her mouth, opened to deliver the next barrage, snapped closed and she flinched as she turned to look over her shoulder at the leader of her nation. The graceful slither forced on her by her stilt heels gave a dual meaning to ‘slink’ as she moved back into line, a fiery blush consuming the rest of her energy.

The President smiled and said, "I don’t believe I could have said that better myself." Then his eyes took on a serious, sympathetic expression as he looked back at the wide-eyed blonde, "Please, Marilyn, reconsider your decision. I have full confidence in you. It’s not easy to accept that sense of responsibility, but I wouldn’t want anyone in such an important position who felt it any less."

He held out the box containing Carol’s Medal of Honor to Marilyn again. The rest of the team held their breath while she made her decision, then released an explosive gasp when a small sad smile relaxed the frown that showed on her troubled brow. Marilyn reached for the box, and nodded slightly.

"I don’t want to make any more posthumous awards - not even of the Medal of Honor," the President said, then reached for another box handed him by Sam Gates. "After the intensity of that decision, I hope you find it easier to accept this one, too. The Distinguished Service Medal is not easy to earn, and in this case it’s especially well deserved. Let’s hope that future missions for your team are less - challenging.

Then he smiled sadly and added, "Though I’m afraid I expect they will be."

He stepped back and smiled at the array of beautiful women. His smile was genuine, but also deliberate, an attempt to close the encounter on a positive note. He saw a note of greater humor in Sam Gates’ face though, despite the fact it was only visible as a slight twitch.

"What’s so funny, Sam?" he demanded.

Gates twitched again, then replied, "Well, Mr. President, I was just thinking. You get very little credit in the press for the cultural diversity your Administration demonstrates, with people of all backgrounds in positions of great responsibility. This has got to be about the most . . . dramatic example of that I could imagine: A genetic woman on a she-male team comprised of genetic males who look like beautiful women tthemselves. And we can’t tell a soul about it."

"Goodness, no!" the president replied. "Even aside from the security aspects, the right-wingers would have a cow, and the left-wingers would claim it was all political anyway."

"That’s what you get for being a moderate, Mr. President," Gates observed.

The Commander-in-Chief shrugged, then turned back to Marilyn. "Is there anything I can do for you, more than these medals? I don’t mean the logistics of supporting your team. Sam handles that. I want to know if there is something . . . personal you need that I can help with."

That offer was probably intended to be merely polite, and the polite response would be to deny any need. But Marilyn surprised him by making a real request, though her voice choked with emotion as she spoke.

"Yes, Mr. President, there is. Carol’s last request was to have a high school named after her. Apparently there was some movie where that was the reward for some astronauts who died sacrificing themselves for the people on the ground. Can that be done?"

The President was surprised when she made her request, but he recovered quickly, pulling a well-worn notebook from the jacket of his suit. He wrote for a moment, then looked up. "Ah, do you think it should be, um, Carol, or Carl?"

Though his voice was gentle, recognizing the poignancy of that question, it was too much for Marilyn. She buried her face in her hands and turned away.

Her team huddled around her, sharing the moment even as they defended her from the terror of being alone - or tried to. Yet, just as they could not be with Carol in her ultimate loneliness, the weight of command could not really be shared. Marilyn’s tears were hidden, yet unstoppable.

Jacqui, on the outside by virtue of reactions just a millisecond slower than her teammates, turned to the President and said, "Carol, Mr. President. It was her last wish, and how I learned her true nature."

Before the President could reply, Jacqui continued, speaking almost to herself. "That’s not really true. I knew her true nature long before that. What I learned about her plumbing didn’t really change that."

The President nodded, then put his notebook back in his suit pocket. "I will make that a personal commitment. Carol Stevenson will get her name on a high school, or there won’t be *any* federal education funding next year."

"And," he continued, "I will also make a personal commitment to pray for her, and for you all."

The highly trained, demonstrably competent, super-secret team of America’s finest dissolved into sobs as his comment took them all back to Carol’s last moments when prayers were all they had to offer her.

Gates’ voice intruded on the moment, and though it was indeed an intrusion, it was also a relief. "Mr. President, it’s time for your next appointment."

"Of course," the President replied. He watched the women make an ineffectual attempt to repair smudged makeup and prepare to leave.

That mundane duty resurrected controls that memories had broken, and the team leader managed a nod to her Commander-in-Chief. "Thank you, Mr. President," she said as they left the famous room.

There was a convenient powder room outside the Oval Office, and the team took advantage of it to recover as much as possible of their typical beauty. It didn’t meet the standards Marilyn had established, but it would do for the trip back to their hotel. As they gathered up their things before the mirror, Jacqui looked at her new comrades in arms and said, "That had better be one HELL of a great school."

Marilyn nodded, then sent her own inspecting gaze to each of her team members. "Thank you, all, for your confidence. I’ll try to live up to it."

Vanna forced a smile on her features, then a mock grimace of horror.

"Oh, Lordy, if you think you have to do MORE, then God help us all!"

"You got that right," Sandy said, a smile on her lips that was at odds with the blinking she was doing to keep her tears under control. "Oh, Jacqui, you poor fool. You won’t believe what she’s like when we’re NOT on a mission."

Jacqui laughed and said, "You can’t scare me. I was on that swamp trek with you. I know how she drives her slaves."

"You don’t have a clue!" Jaymi claimed, then provoked a small smile of pride from Marilyn when the brunette concluded, "but you will!".

 

finis

 

 

 

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SMITE 2 - Pheromone Pharmacopia © 2001 by Brandy Dewinter. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.