3 SUM (16 page)

“Then tell me, who is responsible, Professor? The message was sent this morning by secure courier, expressly forbidding the operation,” shrieked Vespertina.

Huxley held the phone away from his ear, but he could still hear her.

“Apologies Surgeon General, I never saw it,” he mumbled.

Vespertina was exasperated. If Valiant had taken the missing disc, he would no longer have a clue to its whereabouts. But he was sure to have buried it, and usually things that were hidden were difficult to find. There was nothing she could do now; everyone knew memory removal was irreversible. She slammed down the phone.

Huxley crumpled up Vespertina's message, delivered at daybreak, and threw it in the bin. He couldn't understand her anger and frustration. Valery 01 had only forgotten he was once a man. He wouldn't be missing much; he could assure him of that. And if he ever got the chance to retrieve, revitalise, those memories, he was sure Valery 01 would agree.

No one had explained her move to another barracks. Another secure room, but the shemale guard were different. They no longer wore the colours of Vespertina, the surgeon general, but the Council. It was a good sign, they distrusted each other, and she felt safe for now.

Anais had a shower, and went to her bed. She was not tired, but emotionally drained. She put one hand under the pillow and felt a disc, someone had written on it.

“From the chopper, sorry I screwed this one up, Fatale.”

Anais went to her case, and grabbed her player. There was a date and time on the screen, and a helicopter pilot. The view quickly moved to the ground. Anais feverishly plugged in her headphones to listen.

“If the enemy saves her, she'll wish she was dead,” said Fatale.

“Kill me, Valiant, and have your freedom, don't let the Undiagnosed take me.”

Anais remembered that now, and then losing consciousness.

She listened carefully to Valiant, had he given her up as Fatale had said, killed himself?

“I can't do either, I love you,” he said, before carrying her to safety.

Anais grabbed the pillowcase to wipe away the tears.

“You fool,”' she said, “I warned you whoever falls in love loses.”

And, with a heaviness in her heart, she knew his memory of her, of them, of the man he used to be, was now deleted. Either way the real Valiant 01, the first and only man she would ever love, was out of her reach forever.

She stretched out her arms on the bed hopelessly. Under the pillow was another message from Fatale. It was a small envelope, and written on top it said ‘Maribel Arches.'

Chapter Thirty

I shuffled in, passed the scanner looking for Steve 873. I'd been on holiday, though I couldn't remember much after the accident. I was lucky to be alive after falling from the balcony. The heat was on, and I was wearing my favourite tartan pencil skirt, with seamed over the knee socks, as the sun beat down. Cassie nudged me in the back.

“I thought they'd taken you with Steve 873,” he said.

“Taken me where?”

“You mean you haven't heard?”

The blankness on my face, just visible under layers of makeup, gave him the answer. I'd been away some time, that's all I knew, and wanted to feel confident on my return, hence the slap.

“Then, I'm sorry, Valery 01, I know you two were close. Trudi even thought there might be wedding bells.”

“Get to the point, Cassie, please.”

We shuffled forward, both wary of any eavesdropping trannies in the corridor.

“He's been arrested.”

The walls were spinning around me, and I grabbed someone's arm. It was Claire's.

“Valery, how nice to see you back. Gillian's been missing you,” she said, “and if you don't mind.”

She picked my hand off her arm as though it were infected.

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

“Oh don't worry, you will be,” she replied. “You'll stay behind tonight.”

Cassie lowered her tone as we watched Claire march off. “Steve had a heart problem, a murmur. He's in prison.”

“Surely that wasn't his fault.”

“They've tightened the law. No illness is allowed these days. All resources are needed on the frontline.”

“I thought we were winning.”

“We are,” said Cassie. “It's time for the final push.”

I walked slowly to the office. Steve was my comfort, gave me a boost when I was low. What would I do without him? And he wasn't the only one missing. Dorian 3309 had been killed in a traffic accident. The office went to say goodbye, and the funeral director had done a great job with his hair, if not his neck.

“Welcome back,” said Gillian with a smirk.

I sat at my station, caged, locked, and plugged. The poster ‘Crossdress for Success' had been replaced with a new one, ‘Beg for the Peg,' it wasn't a good sign. There was no image but I got the picture.

Was I paranoid, or was everyone watching me, whispering to one another? Gillian always looked like a beast eyeing its prey, but this seemed different as she circled the office, more cautious.

I went to the shop outside on my break, for some chocolate. Most of us were on a continual diet, munching lettuce leaf sandwiches. I looked over my shoulder; the tranny I'd picked up around the corner was still following me. He turned around at the newsvendors to pick up a glossy hair care magazine. In the office block ahead, I could still see his reflection. He wore round dark glasses covering half his face, and a peach chiffon scarf around his neck.

I bought my bar of white chocolate, with the government health warning on the wrapper, and went for a stroll in the mall. I still had a half an hour.

‘Faux leather for any weather', my favourite boutique, had a sale, and my head was pounding. Though it wasn't the discounts, it was the labels saying ‘faux leather'. I could see beasts, and a suntanned man. He stared at me, and said his name ‘Vadim.'

“Are you alright?”

“I'm fine, Vadim.”

“That's not my name,” said my tranny admirer.

I nearly fainted with confusion, and he held me. “Flashbacks,” said the tranny. “Stand straight, we're drawing attention.”

“I always do.”

“The wrong kind,” he said, and tilted his head towards the two shemale guards posted at the entrance to the mall, who were looking in our direction.

I did as I was told. It worked as they walked in opposite directions, guarding the perimeter. They had to watch over us, we could be merciless in the sales.

“Do I know you?” I asked.

“No, but if you want your memory back, meet me at Pasta Paradise tonight at eight. And don't look for me, I'll find you.”

“Why do I need it back?”

Too late, he was gone, leaving me curious, intrigued. I'd always wanted a little adventure in my life, though nothing too dangerous. But what was I going to wear tonight on my mystery date? On top of that my hair was missing, and the wig kept slipping.

“You're five minutes late,” said Gillian as I pushed the seat under my desk.

“The lift was out of order.”

We were on the sixth floor. The exercise would have been good, but in heels it was a nightmare, and I wasn't going to ladder my hose.

“See me in Claire's' office, after the flower arranging.”

“I thought that was next week.”

“You would, wouldn't you?”

What did she mean by that? That of course I wouldn't remember? She could see me thinking, a rare aberration in our office.

“Well, don't just sit there, get on with it.”

“With what?” I asked. My mind was blank.

“The new nail varnish,” she said.

“The camouflage?”

“That was completed. But great job, Valery 01, I guess you deserve that much.”

“They liked it?”

“You can say that again; Colonel Anais Eve is visiting us this week to thank the team. I guess that includes you.”

That name again, the one in my dream last night, and my pulse was racing though I didn't know why.

“Are you alright, Valery?”

“Fine, why do you ask?”

“Nothing, just that you look a little excited.”

“Me, excited? Gillian, really, I'm medicated.”

“That's what I thought.” She ambled back to her office.

I watched her legs, the way her skirt brushed against the back of her knees. Damn, I was as horny as hell.

Venelope, the shemale, entered the room, and everyone gasped. Her hair was a coiffured masterpiece. Her nails manicured by magicians, and those highest of heels were enough to make you run into the arms of Mason Adam Deviant. I'd never seen eyelashes so thick, so long; I wanted lashing too. She removed her jacket, the same colour as her dress, tangerine orange, and everyone wanted to squeeze her. Venelope was the reason we were medicated, and in my case caged too. She wore seamed nylons, whilst we just seemed pathetic.

A shabby tranny behind her wheeled in the flowers and vases, but anyone would look dishevelled compared to Venelope.

“One vase between two,” said Venelope, as the nameless tranny handed out bunches of flowers.

Delight, the new crossdresser, smiled at me and pulled up a chair.

We didn't need any advice; flower arranging was in the state curriculum, for males. The winning bouquet, wreath, would be delivered to the state funerals of General Rolliet, and the spy Fatale Eve, fallen national heroines. Vespertina and the entire Council would attend. Venelope began to pace the floor, inspecting our work.

Cassie and Trudi wouldn't let her go, and the office became a hot bed of jealousy. Eventually she sidled up to me and the tongue-tied Delight.

“And what do you call this creation?” she asked.

“Come Closer,” I replied.

“I can hear you perfectly well from here.”

“No, it's called Come Closer.”

“And why?” she asked.

“Because I want to be closer to the Femocracy's bosom, and yours.”

Venelope's cheeks became as red as her shoes. I wasn't sure if it was embarrassment or anger. She shouted to Claire, “He is ...?”

“Medicated, caged, and plugged.”

“Of course,” said Venelope.

Thanks Claire. She'd just told the entire office about my chastity cage and butt plug.

“Talk me through it,” said Venelope, completely ignoring the drooling Delight.

I had to spell it out, though I wouldn't spell the real meaning. I didn't want to be in hot water next to a bunch of posies or posers.

Venelope's warm breath was on my cheek, and I reached for a glass of water to cool down.

“Women are the roses who protect us, the pansies. The long stemmed sunflowers are for the officer's long-suffering, and the central orchid is the white post; the bosom that suckles us with medication.”

“A poet,” said Venelope, and I could hear Trudi crying at the back. Cassie handed her a tissue.

To no one's surprise ‘Come closer' was declared the winner, and Venelope took photos of the arrangement and me, smiling, cute and obedient.

Everyone else had gone, leaving me and the tranny to clean up. I couldn't wait any longer, the clock was ticking and I had a date. I crept to the office, and loitered in the corridor, apprehensive.

“And he has absolutely no idea?” said Venelope.

“None whatsoever,” said Gillian.

“Our little tramp, a war hero. Whatever next?” said Claire. “He won't be feeling very heroic after this.”

The tranny bundled me inside. “Caught him at the door, listening in,” he said.

Claire was holding a strap-on. “How long have you been there?”

“I just came.”

“Hardly,” said Claire, smirking.

“You can go and wait in the car,” said Venelope to her tranny.

He turned quickly on his heels. I half expected Venelope to click her fingers or crack a whip. But who would complain? She had more junk in the trunk than a garbage truck, and my mind was becoming filthy. Claire and Gillian placed their hands on my arms; I'd been here before, that much I could remember.

“May I join you?” asked Venelope as they bent me over the desk.

“We don't have another strap-on,” said Gillian.

“My dear girl,” said Venelope, “you forget I'm a shemale. I have my very own built-in strap-on.”

I made my own way home after they had done with me. Passing the office cleaners, crossdressers, with my head bent low.

Was I turning? Steve 873 had said it would happen, and Venelope had turned my head. I looked at the clock. Time to get a move on; I still needed to do something with my hair.

I rushed home and removed the wig. There was a scar from the balcony fall. But why had no one mentioned the wig? Were they being kind, had they been warned, and why no other injuries? Though my mouth did feel kind of sore, but maybe that was Venelope? They, whoever they were, assumed I would swallow anything. But they were wrong, I was no tranny. Technically I was a crossdresser, at least that's what it said on my ID card.

I couldn't remember putting them there, but my wardrobe was full of wigs. I placed the long black one on my head, my mood was dark. I wore a brown catsuit, with embroidered silver stars down the sides, and brown faux leather boots with only a slight heel, in case I had to make a run for it. I wasn't as docile as they liked to believe. This time I used double sided sticky-tape to keep my headdress in place.

Chapter Thirty-One

I was embarrassed, sitting alone at the table for over an hour. The waiter was giving me the eye, and I was sure the table of crossdressers were laughing at me. Finally, someone pulled up a chair, it was him.

“Slap my face,” he said.

“Why?”

“We're lovers; you thought I'd stood you up.”

I happily did as I was told, and glared at the crossdressers, the cleaners from the office.

My transvestite friend ordered wine and pasta salad for two.

“I've already eaten,” I said.