Synaptic Overload

by Brandy Dewinter and Tigger

( © 1999, All rights reserved )

 

Chapter 4 - Do I Look Like I Care?

"Fzzsttt! Rraowffst! [Who invades my domain? Oh, it's you.

You're late. Again.]

Dinger's motion toward the kitchen and his delayed dinner was a great deal more fluid than Thorson's slow limp across the same space. The taller roommate dropped off a fairly sizable carrying bag and grumped back at his cat.

"Oh, give me a break. Those high-heeled boots make pretzels of my feet and my ankles, and my calves. Then all I get from you is complaints."

"Rrroowwrrftz." [Do I look like I care? Start the can opener.]

"I'm telling you, Ding, the things I'm doing to make this masquerade work are more trouble than they're worth."

"Mrrwrrftz." [Fine. Start the can opener.]

"The corset is bad enough. Every time I wear it, I check to see if I've worn the skin over my ribs enough to draw blood. And as for breathing, well, I suppose that is almost a good thing. I'm certainly learning to work out without incidentals like breathing. But those heels are really a killer. And I don't even want to think about the first time I put on deodorant after shaving my armpits. Now I know why women choose Secret."

Ding didn't answer this time, since Thorson had been working as he spoke and had finally managed to prepare the cat's meal. Thorson's own meal took little more time and he soon was resting his feet as he took care of his mail while he ate. Ding's mood improved as his hunger waned, so it was a contented cat that levitated into Thorson's lap in a much more friendly welcome home.

"Prrhmmrrr." [So, why don't you tell me about it. While you rub my back, of course.]

"Okay. When Janice told me that heels would make my legs look longer and my feet look smaller, I believed her. And she made her point about the corset right off, too. But if I'm going to really do this superhero bit, I have to be able to move in those things, and that is taking a lot more practice than I thought."

Ding bumped his head into Thorson's chin, sniffing a bit at a scent that was still unfamiliar.

"Yeah, that too. She showed me all the makeup things, and I've been practicing on that. I suppose you can smell it a bit even after I wash up. I almost wish it hadn't all been so damn effective."

It certainly had been. That first day, Janice had suggested they just work on a straight transformation to a feminine appearance not limited to what would show while he wore the superhero costume. It had taken hours. First, she suggested that he shave his body. Then she had given him this positively infernal contraption called a gaff to wear, along with instructions on "tucking" properly. Then came the corset. By the time he got to the shoes, he was too saturated to notice them. Much. Besides, the next thing he had to do was just sit while they did his makeup. It had almost been worse to have Angie working on him than to talk with Janice. Angie was cute in a pixie sort of way, but her short haircut and jeans soon had her looking the least feminine of the three of them. Which didn't help Thorson's saturated perceptions at all.

He was still trying to decide what his feelings were about what he saw in the mirror when they were done with him. He wasn't movie star gorgeous. His superhero alter ego would need a mask if she was going to qualify for babe status. But he certainly looked like a woman, even a pretty one. Pretty enough, in fact, that his male ego had taken a worse slam than the time Laney Crawford has laughed at him when he asked her out in high school.

How could *any* man look that much like a woman? Janice was different. He knew she was a man under all that magic, but it was a sort of intellectual knowledge that just didn't rise to the surface much. But this! This was him! Only it wasn't him, it was this well, not a babe, but certainly a pretty woman.

"That is incredible," he had said. And spoiled the illusion.

"Ah yes, well, you will have to work some on that voice," Janice had said. "But there is just as much potential there as in the rest of your appearance."

That had been the start of a series of lessons on mannerisms, voice, word choices, things that made the physical transformation seem to be the lesser part of the whole. Perhaps it was. Certainly Janice showed that clothes alone were not enough, maybe not even the most important part. Women could wear men's clothes and still look like women.

Unfortunately, at least some men could not wear women's clothes and still look like men. Or fortunately. Whatever. Thorson wasn't even sure whether he was glad he could pass so convincingly or not. But it was clear that the potential was there, so he had attacked that skill with the focused commitment that had earned his degrees, and in fact the same concentration that had gained him control over the entropy power. Still, it bothered him to know that he could pass as a nice-looking young woman any time he chose. That was not a particularly ringing endorsement of his manliness.

"Ah, hell, Ding. Terhune already figured I was fair game for jokes like that. If I get the entropy control things to work, they'll respect me well enough."

"Mrraorr?" [Jokes like what? And rub a little more behind my ears.]

Instead, Thorson stopped rubbing his cat entirely and spoke to him in a more serious tone. "Ding, we have a problem. I wove a bunch of samarium/cobalt filaments through my costume and tried to levitate today."

Ding's response was to butt his head into Thorson's chin again.

[Keep talking, but don't stop rubbing.]

"When I tried to lift, I could control the fields okay, but the unitard is just too stretchy. I was slipping all around inside of it. I need something that will hold me as tightly as that corset does . . . "

His voice trailed off as the expression of his problem showed the obvious solution. "Thanks, Dinger, you've been a big help," Thorson called as he dropped the cat and made his way to the phone.

"Inner Truth Salon, this is Janice. How may we help you?"

"Janice, this is Jonny."

"Oh, Jonny, how good to hear from you. Are you calling to order your superbabe wig? I have a really good deal for you."

"Uh, well, no. Not really, but, well, maybe."

"That's not a very clear statement for a nice, logical scientist," she laughed.

"Oh, yeah, you're right. Look, Janice, I need to ask a favor."

"Okay, what can we do?"

"First, did you mean it when you said you always respect a client's privacy?"

"Yes. Jonathon. We do."

*Oops, better try to mend a fence or two.* "I'm sorry, I didn't say that very well. I trust you, really I do. But, well, there may be more to it than for normal clients."

"All of our clients are special, Jonathon."

"Look, Janice. I'm sorry," he repeated, "but this is not coming out like I want at all."

He paused for a moment, then made a decision. "I need to come visit you, if I can."

"You're always welcome, of course. Aren't you already on the schedule for Saturday?" Janice asked.

"Yes, but I don't want to wait. Could I come see you tonight?"

Janice agreed without hesitation, but there as an unmistakable undercurrent of curiosity in her voice. "Sure, I guess so. We'll be here for an hour or so."

"Uh, well, that might be a problem. It takes me all of that to get there, maybe more if there's a lot of traffic."

"And you've been coming all that way for, what half a dozen times now?" Janice asked in surprise. Then, before Thorson had time to worry, she continued, "I guess we can grant you a special dispensation, after that much show of commitment."

"Thanks, I'll be there as soon as possible," Thorson said, almost cutting off Janice's good-bye as he hung up the phone.

Turning to the cat he said, "Sorry, Ding, but I gotta go again."

"Rrrurrmwrree," Ding answered. [You must have mistaken me for someone who cares. Now I can get that nap I deserve. Without interruption.]

The big old tomcat was apparently asleep before Thorson had picked up his bag and left the apartment. All the way to Castle Rock, he was trying to decide just what to say to Janice, and by extension Angie since they had made it clear they held no secrets from each other. They were creative, intelligent people and an outright lie was unlikely to work, even if they politely declined to show their disbelief.

No particularly good ideas had come to him when he arrived at the Inner Truth salon, but the door was unlocked and as he entered he found Janice quietly rearranging wigs on a wall display.

"Oh, Jonny, welcome," she said.

*At least it's 'Jonny' and not 'Jonathon',* he thought. *She must be over being mad at me.* He let himself be ushered over to the same small consulting space they had first used. As they left the main showroom, Janice turned out the lights, leaving the small office illuminated by an ordinary table lamp. Janice glanced at the equipment bag he was still carrying, which reminded him of the burden and he set it down near the table.

Janice's curiosity was too much for a lot of small talk, so she soon got to the point, "What brings you out so late?"

Despite the time in the car, Thorson was still not sure how to begin. He dropped his eyes and looked at his hands as he was trying to compose an answer. He was rescued from his dilemma, it seemed, when the door to the store opened yet again.

Janice looked at him and asked, "Did you invite anyone to meet you here?"

The very idea shocked Thorson, "No! Never."

A frown replaced the easy smile that so defined Janice, and she stood to go see who had entered the darkened shop. She didn't get very far. As soon as she opened the door to the consultation room, spilling light from the table lamp into the broader area, a slurred voice said, "Holdit. Don' move."

Beyond Janice, Thorson could see a man wearing jeans and a torn t-shirt, the faded logo of an out-of-favor rock band still legible through layers of something not as easy to identify. More important than that, though, was the glint of reflected light he saw as the intruder waved his hand.

"I gotta gun," the stranger said.

"I can see that," Janice calmly agreed.

"Gimme all your money," the man demanded.

"Ah, that's what you're here for," Janice said lightly. "And here I thought you wanted to schedule a makeover."

"Don' want no makeup," the man insisted. "Thass for wimmin. I jus' wan' your money."

Janice's tone remained casual, but she didn't offer any encouragement as she said, "Unfortunately, we don't keep any money on the premises. You'll have to try somewhere else."

The robber's next comment was interrupted by the opening of yet another door, this one from deeper in the building. Silhouetted in the opening was a short-haired figure wearing pants and holding something with a bell-mouthed barrel. The intruder jumped at the interruption, then started to swing his gun toward the backlit shape. Even in the dim light, Thorson could see the man's eyes start to squint in anticipation of the blast that he would soon release.

The light from the lamp near Thorson's hand suddenly dimmed as his left hand covered it. From his right hand, a thin red wire leaped to touch the robber's gun. Before the man could fire, a large part of the gun fell from his hand, sliced neatly just above the grip and trigger assembly that he still held. Some spatter of hot metal must have touched his hand, because he dropped the remaining portion and clutched his gun hand in pain. Before anyone else could move, he turned and ran from the shop, knocking over racks of clothing in his frantic haste.

Thorson removed his hand from the lamp, returning sufficient illumination to the area outside the small office to reveal the look of surprise on Janice's face, first at the rapid exit of the robber, and then at the suddenly-unfamiliar customer.

"What did you do?" she demanded, shock and still-unflushed adrenaline interfering with her typical politeness.

Thorson didn't answer, still not sure what he needed to say; a problem that had just become even more complicated.

He was rescued once again from an immediate need to speak, this time by Angie's demand, "What's going on here?"

"Jonny was about to tell us," Janice claimed, her eyes demanding that Thorson make good on her promise.

In a sort of distracted stall, not so much a deliberate delaying tactic as just a grasp at the tiniest straw of progress, Thorson invited Janice back into her own consultation office. With a nod of her head to invite Angie in also, Janice walked back into the room. Angie came as well, bringing the hair dryer that had so nearly precipitated a tragedy.

There were only two chairs in the tiny room, but Thorson stood back and started pacing the step or two he could make before turning. His eyes showed he was lost somewhere within his own mind, churning once again with the need to find words for something the didn't really want to discuss.

Angie looked at Janice, and once their eyes met, those of the pixie woman glanced toward Thorson in a message that might not have been clear to anyone else, but was apparently understood adequately by her lifemate.

"Jonny, maybe I should start," Janice offered.

"Huh, start what?" he said.

"Start by explaining what you came to tell us," Janice said, then continued without letting Thorson confirm or deny the need.

"You are a superhero, or at least you're about to become one," Janice claimed. "You intend to masquerade as a woman when you are using whatever powers you have and need some help with your real costume, not the one for some nonexistent party, the one you will wear in public."

"How did you know?" he asked in shock.

"Dear Jonny, do you think you're the first person to come in here claiming he needed our services for something, oh, innocent like a costume party when he really wanted it for something else? You've committed way too much to this for a casual lark. We suspected as much before, but we decided to let you have your little secret. I admit I didn't know you were a real live superhero before tonight, but I guess I should have. We don't get many who are as adamant about the superhero thing as you are. I thought it was just misdirection, not a real need."

Thorson looked at her, then at Angie. Angie was looking just as surprised as Thorson felt, though it was clear that her surprise was limited to the superhero part of Janice's revelation. Angie clearly wanted more of an explanation, but as she started to ask for it, Janice lightly touched her arm to keep her still while Thorson was still absorbing Janice's amazing statement.

"And what makes you think I'm a superhero?" he asked.

"Well, *I* certainly can't cut a gun in half from across the room, and if I grabbed a hot lightbulb like you did, all I'd burn would be my own hand."

"Oh, yeah, well, I couldn't let him hurt Angie," Thorson offered in unnecessary explanation.

"Of course not," Janice said.

"I'm not going to go into the physics," Thorson finally began the real explanation, "but I have discovered a new source of power. I'm just beginning to explore the limits of the power, but with everything I discover those limits move even further out. However, it's very unconventional. I can't get the bureaucrats at the university to listen to me."

"I . . . see," Janice said, yet they both knew that she did not.

Thorson said, "My plan is to get some publicity through public display of my abilities, or the abilities available through my discoveries. When I have their attention, I'll reveal who I am. I shouldn't have any trouble getting it, with the things I now can do."

"I am, or at least, will be a superhero. Or that's the plan, anyway. I have discovered some quite powerful effects through my research, but my department head thinks they're all tricks, faked somehow. I need the publicity that I can get as a superhero to gain acceptance of my research."

"What sort of effects?" Angie asked.

"Uh, well, I can do a heat ray. That's what Janice saw. And, oh, yeah, that's why I came here. I think I'll be able to fly, if you can help me."

"Fly?" Janice asked.

"Yeah, well, if you can help me," Thorson repeated.

"Why a female superhero?" Janice asked. "I know you don't get aroused by cross-dressing, for all that you are so good at it."

"Because I'm too small to be taken seriously as a male superhero," Thorson answered, for once letting some of the bitterness into his tone.

"So, Jonny, what can we do for a real, live superhero that we haven't already offered?" Angie asked again. "Something that would get you to come here so late at night."

"Well, I think I may need some help with my corset . . . "

 

"FLASH! New supercriminal reported. Stay tuned to WNN for the latest breaking news on a daring new villain!" the announcer ordered.

As usual, Terhune had the faculty lounge TV tuned to the news, and as usual they were excited about something that was just then breaking. At the mention of a supercriminal, though, Thorson looked up from the lab reports he was grading to see who they had discovered. It turned out they hadn't really discovered anything. The new supercriminal had robbed a bank in broad daylight, not bothering to block the surveillance cameras.

The on-the-scene reporter was providing some details, "At 2:00 this afternoon, in Peaches, Georgia, a group led by a woman wearing a distinctive, but never-before-seen costume robbed the Heritage Federal Bank. This image, just now released to the press, shows the woman and her henchmen."

The image running on the screen, repeating several times with the typical jerky motion of an automatic surveillance camera, showed a dark-haired woman wearing a form-fitting costume and a mask, walking nonchalantly into the bank lobby. She waved her hand toward the tellers and customers, after which they seemed unable to interfere while the men with her helped themselves to the cash from a row of teller drawers. The woman's disdain for any threat from the surveillance images was shown as she gave a jaunty wave to the camera as she left the lobby, ostentatiously dropping a sheet of paper on the receptionist's desk just before she reached the door.

The reporter resumed his narrative, "WNN News has obtained a copy of the paper dropped by the woman as she exited the bank. It contained the following message:

'On behalf of the nobility of our realm, of whom We are the queen and heir, We acknowledge receipt of partial reimbursement of taxes illegally collected from our kingdom, known to you as the Hawaiian Islands. We will continue to recover money and other items stolen from our dynasty until and unless the government of the United States comes to terms with our government.'

The note was signed, 'Synapse, Queen of Hawaii and All the Surrounding Waters'." 

	Synapse, Queen of Hawaii, taunts those watching through the surveillance camera. "Catch me if you can!"

 Terhune interrupted any further report with his own observation, "That woman sounds as crazy as they come, but she is one stone babe!"

"Geez, Rick, can't you think of anything but how she looks?" Thorson asked.

"In that outfit? How could *anyone* think of anything besides how she looks?" Terhune answered, unrepentantly.

The announcer had introduced one of the witnesses to the robbery and was trying to get some more information, "Sir, the surveillance camera images were not terribly clear. Can you describe the woman for us?"

The man, whose name had been lost in Terhune's interruption, seemed a bit uncertain. "Well, I saw her coming in the lobby. It sort of got my attention, you know? I mean, there aren't that many people running around in costumes like that, and besides, wearing a mask into a bank seems a little off, right? Anyway, I stopped what I was doing to look at her, and I saw her look directly at me. She seemed to smile, and then she, like, pointed her hand at me or something. After that, things seem really confused. I knew something was wrong, but I couldn't figure out what, nor what to do. I didn't even think to call for help until later, after she was gone. Somebody else had already called them by the time I thought of it. That's all I can remember until about the time the cops showed up."

The reported interrupted any further comments from the man by telling the camera, "That report, of a confused period after the woman looked at them has been repeated by all the customers who were in the lobby at the time."

Then the reporter turned back to the man being interviewed and asked, "Can you give us any better description to go with the surveillance camera images?"

"Uh, gee, I don't know. What else do you want to know?"

The reporter sighed and fed the man a specific question, "Well, the cameras only record in black and white. Can you tell us anything about the colors of the costume the woman wore?"

"Oh, yeah, sure. I can do that. Let's see, she had these shiny black boots that were real tall, with fancy gold trim on the cuffs where they folded over. And she had a black, whatchamacallit, like gymnasts wear, with purple sleeves."

"A leotard?" offered the reporter.

"Yeah, that's right," the man confirmed, then continued. "It had some sort of belt, or decoration, that hung a bit below her waist. I noticed that the belt had a big jewel in it, purple like her outfit. Let's see, what else? Oh, yeah, at first I thought she was wearing gloves, but when she waved her arm at me, I saw that they were just folded back cuffs, decorated sort of like the folded down cuffs on her boots. And she had this long, dark hair, really sleek."

"She sounds quite attractive," the reporter commented. The man who was being interviewed nodded enthusiastically, then his face flushed as he realized he was being a bit too obvious in is agreement.

"I'm telling you, that is one hot-looking babe," Terhune gushed as the reporter tried to set up another interview. Thorson was not really arguing, the still image captured from the surveillance camera was being shown on the screen, now colorized to match the description given by the man.

"With me now is Connie Hanson, teller at the Heritage Federal Bank," the reporter was saying. "Ms. Hanson, can you tell us about your experiences during the robbery?"

The teller seemed reluctant to talk, shyly avoiding looking at the camera. The reporter waited a moment, the repeated his question. At first, the teller seemed like she wouldn't answer at all, but after another moment she spoke in a low, almost mumbling voice.

"I guess it's pretty much like the others. I was behind my window when the woman walked in, along with two men and another woman, I think. Anyway, she waved her hand at me, and then, well . . . "

The teller ran down, not saying anything more. Terhune laughed and said, "That is one shy woman. You can see her blush even through the TV."

"I see," the reporter said, filling in the silence, "so you felt the confusion that the customers have reported."

"Yeah, I guess. Something like that," the woman replied.

"We have one other eyewitness at this time, Ms. Billi Wayne, the receptionist who was sitting at the desk where the note from this 'Synapse' was dropped."

"Ms. Wayne," he said, turning to a woman who looked like she was enjoying the attention a lot more than the teller, "you are the person who turned in the alarm, were you not?"

"Yeah, that was me," she said proudly.

"You seem to have recovered from the confusion a bit quicker than the others," the reporter offered.

"Yeah, well, it wasn't all that confusing to me, if you know what I mean," she said with a wink.

"I'm afraid I don't understand," the reporter said.

"I don't know about the others, but what I was feeling was better than the best sex I've ever had," she declared.

"Excuse me?" the reporter said not believing what he had heard.

"Yeah, that's right. Whatever that woman did to me, made me hotter than last year's Christmas party. I'm telling you, if that woman could bottle what she did, she wouldn't need to rob banks."

"You mean you were aroused by whatever she did to you?" The reporter asked for confirmation.

"Aroused doesn't begin to cover it," Billi said with another wink.

"She sent me off like a rocket. Several times."

"I, uh, see," the reporter tried to recover. "Do you have anything to add to the description of the thief?"

"Only that I think she was Asian, or something. Her eyes looked, well, Asian. You know," the receptionist offered, clearly not about to say anything as politically incorrect as "slanted" eyes.

"Thank you," the reporter said, obviously glad to be back on safer ground. "You've been a big help."

He concluded his report, switching back to the studio where another talking head recapped what they had just heard. Even as he spoke, another sketch of the woman appeared beside the image of his head, this time with eyes showing a decidedly Oriental look.

"That babe can rob me anytime she wants," Terhune sighed.

*Be careful what you ask for,* Thorson thought, but he kept that thought to himself.

 

 

 

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© 1999 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.