3 SUM (9 page)

“I've been watching you,” he said.

His grey uniform was crisp, his long black boots shiny, and his trousers tucked in.

“I've noticed,” I replied.

“Sorry, Valery 01, I never meant to creep you out. I wanted to save you.”

“From myself?”

“Burdizzo.”

He pulled up a chair. No one was looking at us. The secret police put the fear of Mother Nature into everyone. They were few in number, men who genuinely hated other men, but their responsibility was large.

“You know?” I asked him.

“Of course, I read the police reports.”

“So they did take it seriously.”

“We didn't want you to tip her off unwittingly.”

So I wasn't witless after all.

“She's close,” I said.

“Closer than you can imagine,” said Dorian.

“You have a plan?” I asked.

“I want to trap her.”

“With me as the bait?”

“You game?”

Actually, I was, and nodded. I didn't tell Dorian I was a new man.

“What's it like,” I asked, “being in PUSSI?”

“The most wonderful feeling in the world,” he replied, grinning. “It gives you a feeling of control, power.”

“Shouldn't I tell my shemale escort?” I asked as we headed for the University exit.

“Don't worry, we'll be back before curfew.”

I took a ride downtown in his unmarked car. I should have felt safe, but I was increasingly nervous with his lack of communication.

“Burdizzo lives somewhere in this block,” he said, parking on the empty street outside.

“A man?”

“A woman in disguise. As a woman she can travel anywhere, as a man she can hide anywhere. Don't be too surprised, Valery 01.”

He didn't use my new name. He may have been in PUSSI, but he didn't know I wanted some too.

“There's a surveillance flat across the road.”

“Wait a minute,” I said, “isn't she supposed to see me?”

I thought that was the plan: to flush her out and identify her. Why else would Dorian bring me here?

“Sure, but I need to pick up some equipment first.”

I wasn't convinced, but I was PUSSI whipped. Although you wouldn't know it, his uniform was now covered with a black trench-coat.

We alighted from the lift, and, after fumbling with his keys, we were in. He flicked the light switch; it was still daylight but the curtains were drawn. I asked for a tea, and my host retreated to the kitchen.

“One or two sugars?” he asked.

“I'm sweet enough,” I replied.

“I forgot,” he said, “Of course you are. And great hair too, I wish it was mine.”

With Dorian 3309, if that was his real name, waiting for the kettle to boil, I couldn't resist looking at his collection of wigs displayed on the mannequin heads lined across the sideboard. There were five, and the hair felt so real, and the congealed blood on the scalps did too. The blood, scalps, what the hell? I sat down fast.

“Here's your tea,” he said, smiling politely.

“Thanks. You know what I will have sugar after all,” I said. “I'm getting a sweet tooth.”

Two sugared teas sat in front of us, on the small round table, and no one thus far had taken a sip.

I looked at him as I swapped them around, and picked his up.

“Drink up,” I said.

“You know yours is drugged, of course,” he said. “Out of curiosity, what gave me away?”

“Curiosity.”

“Then you should be in PUSSI.”

I had the same feeling.

“And you?” I asked.

“Oh it's true; I'm in the secret police. The office job's my cover.”

“And no one suspects you're a serial killer? Your superiors, the women?”

“You know I've often wondered that. This flat's a secret, my hideaway, but why shouldn't they know, and what would they do if they did?”

Maybe he was right. Perhaps it suited them, society.

“Control by fear,” I said.

“And medication, but you have to admit it does keep the fairies on their toes.”

“But what's in it for you?”

“Every time I kill someone, something in me dies as well. The part I hate.”

Was he a psychiatrist or did he just need to see one? His eyes were wide, demonic.

“And the scalps are trophies?” I asked.

“Hardly, I have alopecia, always have. Boys can be so bitchy you know.”

I wasn't a shoulder to cry on. Not here, not now, not with him.

“So now what?” I asked.

He laughed.

“You die of course.”

He brandished a revolver, and I flicked my eight legged friend off the cushion with a forefinger.

“I thought you were terrified of spiders,” he said.

“No, that's for pussies.”

He was even more surprised as I stabbed his neck with the letter opener. We looked at each other, both in disbelief, before his eyes closed.

He fell forward, dead, onto the carpet. His wig slipped, and there was a bald patch, on him as well as the rug. His low life was over.

I stepped over his body, away from the pouring blood. I tip-toed towards the curtains, I wasn't sure why no one else was there, and slowly peeled them back, looking onto the street. Dead quiet; all the guys were inside watching the netball final. His car was still there, but it was no use to me. I couldn't drive; I was a guy.

The wallpaper was grotesque, like the headpieces, green and orange squares on a white canvas. The furniture was dark wood, old and tired, apart from one glass bookshelf stacked with hair magazines, and some named files. I took mine even though I was leaving a trail of DNA behind. Maybe the flat was a secret, but a rotting corpse wouldn't be. A pile of papers fell on the floor from a foolscap. They were stamped Top Secret, but it was the name that jumped off the page ‘Professor Cygnus Caveat.'

Just one thing remained, to return to the University before curfew. I didn't wash up, but I did find a bus pass on the kitchen drainer.

“Doesn't look like you,” said the tranny bus driver inspecting the photo on my pass.

“I've changed my hair,” I said.

“The face looks different,” he said.

“Dental work,” I replied.

“Oh, get on,” he finally relinquished. “I want to get back to the station, maybe I'll catch the last half hour of the match.”

I took my ticket and headed for the back of the bus.

“Hey,” shouted the driver, “just a minute.”

My heart stopped.

“Who are you supporting?” he asked.

“No one, I'm not into netball,” I replied, without turning around.

“I bet you like women too,” he scoffed.

“Something like that.”

“You are kidding, aren't you, about not liking netball?” said the guy, leaning over towards me.

“Sure, who doesn't like netball? I'm not heterosexual.”

And we both laughed.

“Valiant 01, I was worried,” said my shemale guard. “Where have you been?”

“Sorry, Andrea, but ever since the new drugs I'm almost dying for PUSSI.”

Back in my room I quickly closed the blinds, and threw the files on the bed. I'd been under surveillance for a year. There was the naked photo snapped at my window, and one description calling me chubby, heart-breaking. I was proud of my figure- make that physique.

I pulled up the blankets, plumped up the pillows, and opened the dossier on the prof.

What I read was a transcript copy. Dorian had recorded a secret conversation between the prof and one General Rolliet, about me.

I'd always been an experiment, insurance for times of war. I'd been chosen at birth by Cygnus not to have the hormone exchange and reversal serum, HERS. So that's why I'd always felt so damn different; I was. I wasn't the only one, or the first, but those ahead of me had placed themselves in jeopardy and died. The colonel in charge, Swayne Eve, was fired, literally by the firing squad.

Vespertina was determined I would fail too, die miserably, and deliver final proof to the Council, if any were needed, that men were completely, utterly, useless. The Femocracy could never win the war by conventional means. If you called Brigades of manic depressed, obsessional, schizophrenic crossdressers conventional.

They suspected Vespertina would go nuclear, sooner rather than later, and take the world with her. My whole body was shaking, valiant or not, they were plotting a coup to topple the witch.

I couldn't sleep; shame, it was perfect practice for the great oblivion, unless there really was a spiritual realm overseen by Mother Nature. Naturally the men would still be second class to the ruling class of women.

Chapter Sixteen

I felt like we were going on holiday, albeit a working one. We were together and uninterrupted, at least for a moment. Anais had returned and our bags were packed. I shut the door on my University room for what I guessed was the last time. In a way I'd miss the place. I had fond memories.

“May I,” said the voice, and he proceeded to pick up our suitcases. It was the prof.

“Let the shemales do that, Cygnus,” said Anais.

“You're right,” he relinquished. “Too old in the tooth, sorry, un-young.”

“Come to see us off, Prof?” I asked.

“Even better, I'm coming along.”

I sighed. I could see my precious time with Anais eroded.

In an hour we were over the Chanel, and only Mother Nature knew what awaited me when we landed. Anais was tight-lipped, and the Prof tapped the side of his nose when questioned. The shemales at the back of the plane just grimaced, apart from Andrea; we'd struck up a kind of friendship. She used to be a plumber, but like so many shemales had swapped sex for sex.

At least Anais sat next to me, and when no one was looking I brushed her hand with mine. She was back in uniform, aloof and ice-cold to the outside world, but hot as a hell underneath. I could feel her pulse, blood like steam from the shower we'd quickly shared before any shemale got too suspicious.

The plane descended steeply. Anais had warned me, but I still felt sick. We were escorted from the runway by an armed guard of tranny air-force cadets. I wondered if they could sense the masculinity in my swagger, or considered me another hopeless case for the front.

“Don't worry, I'll be in touch,” said Anais.

Before I could answer, she had hopped into a jeep and was heading for one of the tunnels burrowed into the mountainside.

Cygnus tugged my sleeve. “It'll all be OK tomorrow,” he said.

“Meaning?” I asked.

“You'll see,” was all I got out of the un-young fool.

The warmth I once felt was quickly dissipating. Although, apart from Anais, he was my only friend. OK, make that acquaintance, and only if not counting Andrea. Then again, just how far could I trust a shemale; especially one that was always looking me up and down? I had Steve 873 for that, but he was miles away.

I saw my reflection in the lift. Clothes make the woman they say. Now they were making a man, me. I was still getting used to them: trousers minus pleats, shirts without the frills, and a bomber jacket. I felt taller without my high heels, and more confident without foundation. I was trying to remember what I used to look like, how I sounded, thought. If I saw that same guy today, I'd probably knock him out.

“This is where we part company,” said the prof at my door. “I shall see you in the morning. Be up bright and early.”

I nodded, there was no problem with that; I had a certain vigour in the morning these days.

“You going to tell me why?” I asked, turning the handle. “I'm not going anywhere.”

He sighed, and looked down. It didn't look good, and it was about to sound much worse.

“The program you're on, Valiant. The intention has always been to make a man hard without getting him hard.”

“Well one out of two isn't so bad,” I said, smiling. I half expected what was coming next.

“I have a little medicine to correct that anomaly.”

I didn't want to hear anymore. “You'd better go,” I said. “See you later.”

An impatient shemale pushed open my door, and I slammed it shut.

They wanted me to risk my life without giving me one, neutered once more. The only body fluid I was allowed to spill was my blood, unless I donated at the Bank. I picked up the lamp, about to throw it at the wall, before sitting down at the desk, head in hands. What on earth was I going to do? I wasn't in the mood to play ball. I looked up at the ceiling; there was no attempt to hide the camera.

Chapter Seventeen

I should have unpacked last night, but I had no energy. Besides, the wardrobe was full of all my new clothes: camouflage trousers and jackets with a green vest and socks, brown leather army boots too, with no fur trim. I tried them on; they were clothes to die for.

“I'm surprised,” said Cygnus, “you're up.”

“Why don't you just walk right in,” I said.

“I'm sorry, I should have knocked.”

“Coffee?” I asked.

“Black,” he replied, “and two toast.”

“I don't see the ...”

“It's under the sink; the bread is in the freezer.”

We sat down.

“Valiant, you gave me a sleepless night.”

“Why?” I asked, disappointed. Was everyone gay?

“In hindsight, the antidote to your lust seems,” he paused and sipped his coffee, “unproductive.”

He pushed the burnt toast away, and I looked up at the camera. He had my attention, but did he have anyone else's?

“Oh don't worry,” he said. “They can't hear us.”

“You want to reward me?”

“No, that's a decision for Anais. I think it will compromise your natural aggression.”

We folded our arms simultaneously. If he had a problem, I didn't; when I had no problems, he did.

Professor Cygnus was losing his golden touch. He wore a green lab coat, but was recognised by the endless figures of armed guards. How many experiments had he brought here before? How many just like me? I didn't have to wait long before I got my answer.