Timeout 1 - Stop/Playback/Rewind - Chapter 1-3

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Synopsis:

Another BigCloset TopShelf story.

Andy Warhol said,"In the future, everyone will be famous for 15 minutes." What if your 15 minutes came late in life, and fame decided to never let you go? Could you survive the circus your life would become?

A 48 year old man will search for the answers to these and stranger questions in ways she never imagined.

Story:

Timeout-Stop/Playback/Rewind: A Whateley Academy Fanfiction

This is fan fiction for the Whateley Academy series. It may or may not match the timeline, characters, and continuity, but since it's fan fiction, who cares? To see the canon Whateley Stories, check out either Sapphire's Place,

(http://www.sapphireplace.com/stories/whateley.html) or the Big Closet (http://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/taxonomy/term/117)."

This was first attempt at writing a TG/sci-fi piece. I’m confident it’s derivative, unimaginative, dull, unintentionally plageristic, ungramatical and possibly hazardous to ones health. I ask that you be gentle and constructive in your criticism. I’ve been a good boy, scouts honor. I did this for fun and in my appreciation of the wonderful Whateley Universe. Take it in that spirit and enjoy. Remember this is non-canon not cannon fodder. All rights reserved in perpetuity, John from Wauwatosa WI, 2005 yada, yada, yada. See my agent at the Sirius Cybernetics Corp., Alpha Centari for further details. Any copyright or trademark infringement is purely accidental and please don’t hit me!

Timeout

By John from Wauwatosa

Chapters 1- 3

Chapter 1-Arivial
Thursday December 14, 2006 Dunwich NH

The station master cum book keeper, ticket agent, porter, janitor, section hand, guard, handyman, and damn near anything else that needed doing, had seen a lot of strange things during his years with the railway. The strangest usually involved Whateley Academy in some way, or another.

Little surprised him anymore, not even the sight of those first-year students returning from a daytrip to Boston last October ... what did they call themselves, ‘Team something-ba’ ... Timba ... Jimba ... Bimba ... Kimba, that’s it, ‘Team Kimba’, barely caught his notice. He hardly remembered them at all, the regally cute red head, that oddly oriental looking blue-haired girl, or that strange Goth girl, and their friends made no impression on him. Yup, No siree-bob.

When the conductor called for help offloading some freight he thought nothing of it, until he saw it. The object that caught his attention was in most ways quite ordinary. Whateley was frequently receiving and shipping the most unusual items. Unfamiliar fantastical machines, exotic plants and animals, even mysterious sealed containers from Hanford WA, and other secretive government labs, came and went so often as to be almost routine. It was just a motorcycle after all.

The sight of motorcycles, scooters, or mopeds being shipped via the Grand Miskatonic Shuttle was not unprecedented in his experience. A number of the older students and more than a few of the staff owned them, but this one was different. It looked very old, World War I vintage or even older, yet in remarkably, no, disconcertingly good condition. It wasn’t in mint condition like a museum piece, it showed signs of being ridden recently, yet it seemed too new. It had to be a replica or restoration, no way could the leather, rubber, and paint be original -- and with no rust? But still ... he pondered the enigma as he waited for its owner to claim it. The enigma was a 1915 Harley-Davidson with an F-head twin cylinder engine equipped with original company racing parts, but the station master only recognized it as a very old Harley.

“Sir, excuse me. I’m Joan, and I’ve come for my motorcycle,” a pleasant voice said.

The accent was hard to place, possibly Midwestern, but the station master wasn’t sure. There was something about the voice that bothered him, something familiar. The station master turned towards the voice, and got his second surprise of the day. A tall, slender woman of indeterminate age stood holding out a baggage claim ticket. With her long strawberry blond hair she looked sixteen to twenty years of age, but her copper eyes had a wistful, serious look that seemed much older. She wore an odd mix of vintage and modern motorcycle gear and carried a pair of leather panniers draped over one arm.

“I gather from the freight tag you’re headed to Whateley Academy. Here to visit a brother or sister?” the station master queered.

The strawberry blond smiled in an eager yet slightly nervous way. “No, I’m their newest faculty member -- or so I hope. I’ve got a tryout of sorts as a teaching and research assistant, mostly in the history department. The position I’m trying out for is, well, a sort of Jack-of -all-trades/utility player. I’m to fill in as needed whenever and wherever they need me, but not just in the history department. I’ll even work with maintenance and security in a pinch.”

There was something strangely familiar about the girl. He’d seen her face and most definitely heard that voice before, but where?

“Shouldn’t that be a Jill-of-all-trades,” he said stone-faced, and a bit puzzled.

She laughed replying, “Hey it’s a living.”

While they spoke, she fixed the leather panniers to the rear of the cycle.

“Didn’t Whateley just get a huge grant from some foundation? What was it today’s paper said, fifteen million?” Ha asked.

“It’s from the Meridian Foundation, and its two-hundred and fifty million dollars, as an endowment. They get to use the earnings it generates,” she corrected him. “It isn’t technically official until tomorrow. I have the Meridian Foundation to thank for all this. The position I hope to earn is due to some stipulations written into the endowment.”

She continued speaking while putting on a modern helmet and a pair of old-fashioned leather gauntlets.

“If all goes well, I’ll be working in the history department with the holder of the newly created Meridian Chair,” she paused then said in a low voice, “Very closely in fact.”

She smiled then turned and walked the cycle away from the station, her knee-high black motorcycle boots clicking on the platform.

She rode away from the station, enjoying the stark early winter scenery and remembered back to the start of her strange adventure.

“‘Timeout,’ “she said to no one but herself, “that should do for that code name they said I needed. Anyways I’ve got loads of time to come up with a better one if I don’t like it, all the time in the World.”

Then laughing, she pulled to the side of the road to stop and wipe her tears.

* * * *

Monday July 3, 2006 Fermi Lab near Chicago IL
11:55am

The senior research director had waited long for this experiment, nearly two decades since the cancellation of the Super Collider project. Today finally was the ‘BIG SHOT’. The decades old often modified and upgraded ring accelerator was ready to reach the energy levels and relativistic speeds that the far larger Super Collider was expected to yield. This test would truly ‘push the envelope’ and then some. Back when the Super Collider was canceled physics said an accelerator the size of the big ring at Fermi could never approach a small fraction of the energies and speeds of the far larger machine. Physics at the quantum level had surprised the profession many times in the past. Today’s test would prove that again though not quite as the physicists, engineers, and technicians anticipated.

“Is the ring clear of all personnel?” asked the research director.

“Yes.” replied the systems operator.

“Initiate the test.”

“Test program running in three, two, one, MARK!” the operator called out.

“WHAT? No ‘Yes Master.’ No ‘She canna take it Captin.’ No ‘It’s ALIVE!’

“No, Director, I don’t go for those silly sci-fi clichés. The computer predicts we’ll achieve maximum sustained energy at twelve noon local time.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Why soitenly. Nuk, nuk nuk.”

“Oh no, Three Stooges!” the director groaned.

** * *
Chapter 2-Departure
Wednesday December13, 2006 Amtrak station, Milwaukee WI
8am CST

I begin this journal/diary/notebook or whatever on the advice of my doctor back at University Hospital in Madison. Dr. Sara believes it may help me come to terms with what has happened over the last five months and to better understand the true nature of my ‘gifts’, for want of a better term. It’s worth a try I suppose; at least I might sell my life story for a few bucks someday. They, whoever ‘they’ are, say a journey of a thousand miles begins with one step or something to that effect. This is a prime example of one of my greatest strengths and weaknesses; my knowledge is miles wide and inches deep. That’s kilometers and centimeters for your metric fans.

The single step in my case was taken on a pleasant July third in a tiny roadside park outside of Poniatowski Wisconsin.

* * * *

July 03,2006 near Poniatowski WI
11:55am

I turned my Ford Focus off the granite, gravel and clay road and into a small chain-link square of land carved from the side of a farmer’s field. The tiny park is located on Meridian Road near the cross-roads community of Poniatowski, WNW of Wausau Wisconsin. A nearby sign says ‘Geologic Point of Interest’. This is misleading, the ‘point of interest’ is in fact a geographic point on the map marked with a bronze surveyors marker inscribed with 45:00:00 N, 90:00:00 W. This is one of four points like it on Earth, a point half-way between the poles and equator and halfway between the Greenwich meridian and the International Date Line. One is in remote China, two are in the ocean. The modest park is a sort of poor man’s North Pole, a pole for those on a budget.

I found the park by accident some years before; I was thumbing through a DeLorme atlas when I realized that this geographic point was within a long daytrips reach from Milwaukee. I found it on my second try and was delighted to see it commemorated by a small park. When you need something to clear the cobwebs, a daytrip to nowhere is nearly perfect. I was feeling a little down; it was July 03 after all, and this trip would take my mind off it. July 03 was my late mother’s birthday, her mother’s birthday, her mother’s grandmother’s birthday and the day my grandfather (my mother’s dad) died. My mother had died three weeks prior to her 79th birthday the year before so, the day carried a lot of emotional baggage.

Her death hit my harder that expected as it brought up all sorts of regrets and painful remembrances, foremost of them being my failure to find ‘the right woman’. To be honest it would help if I actually asked them out more often than once a decade, but I was very shy around them. I liked women, I still do -- don’t get me wrong. I simply wasn’t comfortable asking them out, too many self doubts I guess. Mom’s death shook me enough that for the first time in years, I’d gone out on a few dates. Success was limited so fa,r but I had hopes.

This day trip to Poniatowski with the obligatory follow-your-nose route back was just the ticket for the blues, I hoped. Oddly now that I think back on it, it worked, beyond my wildest dreams but not in the way I intended. It’s only now some nine months later that I think I know what happened that strange day. They say, there’s those ‘they’s again, you can never know the past with any real precision, too many points of view for one. Since developing my ‘gifts’ I can come closer than most. My transformation was likely due to a quirky series of coincidences that I later pieced together from various news items of the day and from my own memories. I was precisely in the right place at the right time in space-time or precisely in the wrong place at the wrong time in space-time, depending on how I look at it. I’m leaning towards the former as the later is just too depressing.

Here I was out of my car standing over the surveyors marker at precisely Noon (I was glancing at my watch at the moment) when I ‘felt’ it. Four things happened at once with the prime focus being where I stood, lucky me. The news over the next few months told it all. The first clue was a magnitude 6.0 quake had hit central Wisconsin at Noon July 03, 2006 centered near the town of Poniatowski. That one I knew before anyone else -- I was there. Quakes in the upper Midwest are rare and usually the result of the slow rebound of the Earth’s crust from all that ice we had back in the last great Ice Age. This one was a whopper by our standards, plates fell, plaster cracked and that was about it.

The second clue was the spectacular displays of Northern Lights on the evenings of July 02/03 caused by a series of violent storms on the surface of the Sun. I’d seen them July 2nd, and they were impressive despite all the light pollution in Milwaukee.

The third clue was of a minor accident at Fermi Labs. The large ring accelerator had suffered a power surge in during a test of its latest upgrades. This caused an overload that damaged a portion of the machine. Fortunately there were no known injuries or release of dangerous radiation, or so the news articles read. It was later determined the surge in the incoming power lines was caused by a massive electromagnetic pulse generated by the interaction of the Earth’s magnetic field with a blast from those massive solar storms. It feed into the North American power grid and caused wide spread disruptions.

The fourth and last clue was the announcement of the probable detection of gravity waves passing through the Earth at and around Noon CDT July 03, 2006. These ‘ripples’ in space-time were predicted by Einstein’s theories but only in the last few decades were sensitive systems, often buried deep in old mines, built that might detect them. One could say that the long dead Elvis was easier to spot than gravity waves but such cheap humor is beneath me ... uhm.

* * * *

July 03, 2006 Fermi Labs near Chicago IL
Noon CDT

The lights in the control room flickered, went out then came back on as alarms sounded and lights flashed on the various control counsels.

“What was that?” the director cried out.

The systems operator studied the displays for a moment then spoke. “Probable power spike, Director.” He said then continued after a moment. “Obviously the computers are OK since they’re still up and running. From the system logs, it appears a huge spike in the incoming power overwhelmed our protection features for a moment. Enough got through that the accelerator exceed its new design limits by at least an order of magnitude. This caused us to loose magnetic containment at an unused experiment port on the NNW section of the ring. Luckily no other significant damage seems to have occurred Director.”

~Personal note: Oh yah, like what happened to me doesn’t count! ~

“Any chance of a release of radiation?” asked the Director.

“Unlikely from the readings, we’re heavily shielded as you know. From the logged data any radiation release would have been along a narrow path to the NNW and then at a shallow downward angle. The only place that line intersects the Earth’s surface is in north central Wisconsin, and that’s several hundred miles away.

“Well that’s a relief.” thought the Director. “Just out of curiosity where does that line emerge from underground?”

“One moment Sir.” the operator said. “Of course topography would have some affect, but the location should be very close to 45:00:00 N, 90:00:00 W. That’s near Poniatowski Wisconsin.”

“Where that?” the director asked.

“It’s near Wausau, like the insurance company, sir. From what maps show, it’s in the middle of nowhere, so if any radiation got that far practically no one’s there.”

* * * *

Wednesday December13, 2006 nearing Chicago on the Amtrak Hiawatha
9:15am

Here I was, lucky ol’ me, standing at what amounted to ground zero for the strangest set of coincidences I can imagine, and I have a very good imagination. My knowledge of physics is rather spotty, but there is a phenomenon in particle physics called the Bragg point. Please forgive any misspellings. Matter is mostly empty space so subatomic particle/waves don’t interact with it unless the have a charge or collide head on. This is especially true at high speeds.

A poor but useful analogy is when a water-skier lets go of the tow rope, nothing much happens until he slows below some critical speed. From the viewpoint of a distant observer, the water suddenly swallows them whole. The Bragg point is something like that. Yes I know that’s not really how it works, but back off man, I’m not a scientist, to paraphrase Ghostbustersâ„¢. Do I know my film trivia or what? Or what! Back to the point, from what my doctors say, and they say a lot, their best guess is I was standing at the center of the Bragg point for an unknown type of subatomic particle, possibly even quantum strings

String theory is the latest attempt a Grand Unified Theory or theory of everything, the ‘Holy Grail’ Einstein was searching for but never found. Some of the better theories have ten or more dimensions to space-time. I have enough trouble living in the classic three plus time. To get back to the story, I was standing at the intersection of the Bragg point of the errant particle beam from Fermi Labs, a gravity wave, an electromagnetic pulse generated by the interaction of that solar storm with the Earth’s magnetic field and a piezoelectric shock wave from the local earthquake. They can’t even make a guess as to the odds of this happening. The last time they tried the, computer fried out. If you consider this to be a stroke of luck, then I’m badly overdue to win the Powerball and be struck by lighting many, many, many times over.

I barely noticed anything odd at the time. I felt a vibration but attributed it to a heavily laden milk truck passing by moments latter. The only casualty was my digital watch, which appeared to have lost power then restarted as it was blinking 12am Jan 01. My car was fine, and no one else has ever reported any odd symptoms to date. Apparently the total volume of the interaction of these forces was very limited, limited to yours truly. Oh happy happy, joy joy. Starting my car as I was ready to leave, I noticed something was not quite right with the world or with me. I felt a sudden chill of the sort you get when you come down with the flu.

“Great, now I’m getting sick.” I said to myself but the feeling quickly faded.

I backed around to drive out when I thought I saw a small crowd at a ribbon cutting ceremony, like you’d see at the opening of a new store or public building. It was there for a moment then gone.

“Must be my imagination, but why was everyone wearing those late 60’s style clothes?”

Because of that chill I’d felt I decided to take a quicker route home just in case. By the time I was passing Wisconsin Dells, I’d not had a repeat of any signs of illness, so I turned of the Interstate at Portage, intending to take State highways 60 or 33 instead. They would be slower but far more scenic. This, of course, was when things started to go seriously strange with a big red S, boots and a cape. Portage is aptly named being situated at the point where the Fox which flows into Lake Michigan at Green Bay and the Wisconsin, which floes into the Mississippi near Prairie du Chien are a very flat mile or two apart, an easy portage. A natural crossroads Portage has existed over 300 years, from the days of the first French explorers and fur traders. The native peoples used it to advantage long before that. For a while a canal and series of locks and dams connected the rivers, but the continually shifting sands of the lower Wisconsin River defeated the federal governments attempt to maintain a safe channel. By the late 19th century, the canal was gradually abandoned. Most of the locks were dismantled or filled in by the early 1950’s.

I drove out of downtown Portage, if you can call a couple blocks a downtown, when my aches and chills came back with a vengeance. I nearly caused an accident slamming on my brakes at the sight before me. I pulled to the side of the road to gather my wits. What I saw made no sense but I was strangely compelled to check it out. I walked the 100 feet or so from my car to the apparition in shock. What I saw simply could not be and what was worse I heard it and smelled it. It had to be a hallucination, it wasn’t possible yet it was there. I’m sure any passerby that saw me must have thought I was pretty strange. I don’t fully recall if they did as my attention was so completely drawn elsewhere. My senses were locked on a small riverboat, its decks stacked high with lumber passing slowly through the open jackknife bridge over the canal. As it passed, I heard several sharp blasts of its steam whistle, the steam dissipating quickly in the warm summer air. I could hear the rhythmic pulse of the engine and churning paddlewheels while the wood smoke from the stack made my eyes water.

Everything about the scene made sense and felt real. The problem was it made sense for 1886 not 2006. The bridge was decades gone, the canal blocked of and systematically abandoned over 50 years before. The people, the horse drawn vehicles and well everything else was wrong. I was even able to touch the warning gate blocking the road, which gave me a small shock. Then as quickly as this apparition came, it was gone along with my aches and chills. At this point I was more than a little bit worried about my health and my sanity and more than a little bit spooked.

In my understandably agitated state, I made what in hindsight was without doubt the most foolhardy decision of my life, to drive home and curl up in bed. Driving home I realized how stupid that was. Something was seriously wrong with me, and the best place to get help would be at a major research or teaching hospital. I decided to drive home, take a quick shower, change clothes and drive to the nearby regional medical center after informing my Dad or sister where I was going. I was on autopilot, barely paying attention to where I was as I fought to stay alert and in control. I had felt increasingly tired since touching that phantom warning gate. I no longer had that odd headache but my joints and muscles felt really sore, as if I was coming down with the flu just like I’d felt back at Poniatowski.

I kept it together long enough to get into Milwaukee County and close to home. I was generally achy and very tired, but I felt I could make it home to let my Dad or sister know what was gong on. Tired or not, the weird sensations still came and went. As I was leaving the freeway, my vision blurred for a moment, and I swore that for a moment the cars around me and in my mirror were all 60’s and 70’s vintage, many in very good condition.

I thought, “Must be a car collector’s convention in town this week.”

Saving time I cut north and east out of the County Institutions grounds. I saw an orange bullet nose Milwaukee Road Hiawatha train past overhead as I drove thru a railway underpass.

“A rail fan trip?” I mused.

Amtrak replaced that train over 30 years ago. The Canadian Pacific bought those tracks some years back when the bought out the Soo line who bought the bankrupt Milwaukee Road in the 1980’s. I parked in front of our house to save time. As I got out of my car, the Super Bowl of the Weird went into overtime. As best as I can recall, it seemed like two or more realities were vying for the same space. Rather like when reception is poor, and two distant radio stations fight for the same frequency on your radio, fading in and out as you listen. In my case the whole perceivable universe was fading in and out between alternative realities.

I walked past the large elm tree and the concrete streetlight pole in front of ... Oh, oh. The alarms in my head went off as those were both gone nearly 30 years now.

~I’d better hurry up and get to the hospital. ~ My inner voice sagely suggested.

The air became oddly cold; it seemed more like late winter than midsummer. I opened the wood and glass screen door on the side of the house which had been replaced by a series of aluminum and glass doors starting more than 40 years back. I had little opportunity to consider the incongruity of this for when I opened the inner door and turned toward the kitchen I knocked my mother over. I looked at her lying there, she couldn’t be more than 30 years old, and I was born when she was 31. She screamed at her apparent attacker, me.

“Mom?” I cried out in total confusion.

As I lost consciousness my last sight was of my terrified, attractive young mother in her, I mean, our home.

****
Chapter 3-Revalations
University Hospital, Madison WI
July 07, 2006, 6am

The next few days are a blank. I have only what my doctors and nurses told me to go on. Apparently I gave them a hell of a fright. My condition was deteriorating rapidly, but by a stroke of luck the emergency department was very quiet that evening so the physicians and nurses who saw me soon noticed the nature of my changes and very quickly cordoned off part of the emergency room. They did a fast but thorough examination while simultaneously taking numerous baseline photos, measurements of all kinds and obtaining various samples. A Flight-for-Life helicopter flew me from Milwaukee to the high security section of the University Hospital in Madison where the new paranormal and mutant unit for Wisconsin was located.

I woke from my coma early the morning of my fourth day in the hospital. I was relieved I had somehow made it to the hospital though I couldn’t remember how I got there. Best I could tell I felt fairly normal. I saw the usual IV lines hooked up to me, the saline and glucose labels were easy to read from my bed. Several monitors were attached to me much like you see on TV or in film.

~Well I’m alive and I don’t feel too bad. ~ I thought. ~I wonder what’s happened. Now how do I call the nurse? ~

I saw a control pad clipped to the rail of my bed, and reached to press the call button. I noticed my hand looked, well, like a girls. It was obviously smaller with long delicate fingers, the skin smooth, perfect and nearly hairless.

“Maybe I‘m sicker than I feel, that sure was weird,” I said, then I pressed the button, and a short time later a young nurse walked into my room smiling.

“I see that our sleepyhead decided it’s time to wakeup. I imagine you have lots of questions, so I’ll call the doctor for you. She wanted to talk with you as soon as possible,” said the nurse.

“What’s wrong with me?” I spoke, my voice soft and a bit scratchy, understandable under the circumstances I supposed, yet the voice was not mine.

The few times I heard my recorded voice, I found I sounded a lot like Ron Howard, the film director. To myself my voice is lower and richer, a function of the sound reaching my ears thorough both the air and my bones. The voice I heard now was low, sultry and very feminine, much like I remembered my mother’s voice and her mother’s -- my Grandma’s -- voice. It was somewhat embarrassing going through puberty and realizing that my Grandmother and Mom had low, sexy voices. I tried to make sense of what I’d heard but could not. Before I could start to worry too much about it, a doctor came into the room with that same pretty nurse.

“This is Dr. Sara Grobeschmidt-Taylor, and she’ll explain everything to you. I’ll wait just outside the door if you need anything, dear.”

The doctor gave her a sharp look.

“Nurse Carrie?” was all she said.

“Sorry, Doctor. As I said, John, I’ll be waiting right outside if you want me,” Nurse Carrie said as she walked out the door.

“I know you have many questions but please wait until I finish. This will save time and reduce any confusion. I have good news for you, John. You’re very healthy and should be up and out of the hospital in a few days at most. You were extremely ill when you were admitted; we thought we might lose you. You’re at the University Hospital in Madison by the way; you were flown here by helicopter from Milwaukee when they realized what was wrong. Fortunately you responded very well to treatment, mostly rest and IV fluids, and are nearly fully recovered. As to why you were so sick, we know what your condition was but as to the triggering mechanism we haven’t determined yet,” the doctor explained.

I was very confused by what the doctor was saying, but I kept quiet. I think she saw my fear.

“As I said before, John, you’re now very healthy, healthier than me. I need you to keep an open mind and listen to what I say. When I finish, I’ll gladly answer any questions, ok?” the doctor asked.

I nodded my consent.

“To put it simply, you went through what my specialty calls a burnout. Your body was replacing its cells at a very rapid rate. Normally each and every cell in your body is replaced over a 3 to 4 year cycle with few exceptions. Your burnout was your body replacing every cell in roughly a 48 hour span. You even have a whole new set of teeth, believe it or not, John. The stress of this nearly killed you, but you recovered nicely and soon can get out of bed. You’re the first patient I’ve ever seen survive such an extreme burnout. We need to, or more correctly, would like to do a few special tests before you leave us-purely voluntary but to your benefit.”

I wanted to speak but she gestured for me to wait.

“I have one last thing to say, then you can ask your questions. You wonder why things seem and feel a little different and why you were sick. Here goes, by some mechanism unknown you’ve been transformed down to the genetic level so extensively that you are now what the public calls a mutant. Don’t worry, in appearance and in most other ways you are absolutely normal. You do have some special abilities due to your mutation” ... She said, and paused for a moment reconsidering what she wanted to say ... “and have changed physically as well,” the doctor said enigmatically.

“What do you mean by physically?” I cried out, very worried.

It didn’t help my emotional state when I heard how odd and sexy my voice sounded. I started to cry softly.

“John, please calm down. Your fine, really, just a bit different than before, to put it simply you are no longer a man in his late forties but are by all measures an extremely fit and healthy 16 to 18 year old woman. A woman with all the appropriate equipment -- and very well arraigned I might add,” she said and smiled at me.

“I’m a woman?” I said incredulously.

Then as my mind processed what the doctor said, how my voice sounded to me and the signals my body was sending me, I said, “I AM a woman, aren’t I doctor?”

“Oh yes, and that’s going to take some adjustment, but we’ll get you the help you need. Your life as you’ve known it is gone, and you new life will be strange at first but you’ve gained a lot too. You’re exceptionally healthy and younger for a start. As to getting started again, we’ll get you the necessary documents to prove who you are. The law protects you as well. You can try to go back to your old job if you wish. I’d like you to think of this as second chance at your life,” she said.

A warning light was flashing in the back of my mind, but I ignored it due to the shock from the knowledge of my transformation into a young woman. The warning light and klaxon waited until a little switch in my head flipped as I remembered that other word the doctor used to describe my condition.

“MUTANT?” I practically screamed at her as the alarms screamed in my mind. “What do you mean by mutant?”

By now I’d worked up to quite a decent tantrum.

~Tantrum? Now were did that come from? Guys don’t have tantrums. Children and girls throw ... Ah that’s right; I’ve switched sides haven’t I? ~

At this I broke out laughing, giggling really. My anger and fear deflated by the absurdity of my current situation. This put my humor gears into overdrive. Doctor Sara’s face went through an amazing transformation, from calm reassurance to serious concern to professional detachment to the broadest smile I had seen in some time.

“Well that’s not exactly the reaction I expected. Mind letting me in on the joke?” she asked while struggling to fight back the giggles her self.

“It’s just that the absurdity of my ... condition suddenly struck me. I was about to throw a tantrum like a girl when I realized I am one. That stopped my anger cold. Then I thought, mutant, you can’t get much more mutant than becoming a girl overnight at least from where I used to be. That’s when I broke out laughing, Doctor.”

“Sara, please, call me Sara,” she said then she broke into a major giggle fit.

That got me going again. We must have been pretty loud because Nurse Carrie burst into the room, stopped, then she joined in the fun. None of us were of much use for the next ten minutes or so. The moment one of us started to get some control one of the others would set us all off again.

“Female ... Mutant ... Now those are two words I never expected would apply to me.” I said in a controlled manner, still fighting off the remnants of my laugh attack. “Not that it won’t take some getting used to, but I have to admit it’s not like I never imagined it happening.” I said.

They looked at me dumbstruck. I continued.

“You know what I mean.”

They continued staring at me.

“Think of it like a child’s fantasy; didn't you ever pretend you were a kitty cat, a dinosaur, or a space alien? It's not that I really wanted to be one, or be a girl for that matter, it's was just for fun. It was a great game pretending to be a doctor, nurse, fireman or astronaut,” I offered.

The lights came back on in my new girlfriends’ ... girl friends? ... heads.

“Ah, like pretending to be a fairy princess.” Carrie started.

“Or Batman and Robin,” Sara continued.

“That’s the idea.” I responded adding, “But in your cases, Sara and Carrie, I think Cat Woman and Batgirl are more appropriate. You two certainly have the figures for it.”

~WHAT did I just say? ~

“Sorry, somehow that just came out. I don’t mean to offend,” I said quickly to cover my surprise.

“None taken I assure you, ‘Ms’ John.” Sara said, she emphasized ‘Ms.’ as a wicked smile grew on her face. “If we’re talking Halloween costumes here, I picture you as a younger version of Romana from Doctor Who. You’ve seen Doctor Who, John?”

I nodded yes.

“The first Romana, what was her name?” she asked.

“Mary Tamm?” I questioned, knowing clearly the actress she meant but not fully comprehending or perhaps comprehending too well the implications of her remark.

“Are you saying I look like her?” I replied nervously.

NOW I was worried. It was strange enough becoming a mutant and a female, but being an attractive female was, well ... I don’t know what it was, but I didn’t want to know what it was.

“Not exactly like her, I meant more as a general type of woman,” she tried to calm me. My anxiety level dropped a bit.

“Well that’s okay guess. She was rather attractive back then, but it’s not like I’m her twin sister, is it?” I smiled back in relief. “Just so I’m not some ugly monster.”

“That’s not what I meant either. I’m still not making my self clear.” She said, paused, then said, “Um ... have you seen yourself yet?”

“Well no. I’d only just woke up when Carrie called you in.”

My anxiety meter started to twitch up into the yellow zone.

“Do you think you can get up and walk a bit?” Dr. Sara asked.

“I’ll try,” I managed to say as my anxiety meter crept just short of the red zone.

“I’ll help you,” Carrie said as she assisted me up and out of the bed.

When I got to my feet, I wobbled a bit but managed to stay up. Soon I was feeling fairly normal except for the unfamiliar sensations coming from my chest and um ... other area.

“I’m ready, let’s go take a look,” I said.

I was still a little unsteady but got smoother and more confident with each step.

“I must be getting better, that wasn’t hard at all.” I said.

My anxiety meter started going down. Then I saw the poster on the bathroom door. The kind of poster that a younger Britney Spears, Lindsay Lohan, Michelle Trachtenberg or some other up and coming artist might put out. The, I’m so young, I’m so innocent, and I’m so sexy, and I don’t know it sort of poster. I stood and took it in. She was definitely hot looking if you go for jailbait, with that open-mouthed look of surprise on her face and her long, wild and unkempt hair combining to great effect.

~The skimpy hospital gown on her tall busty frame is a tad too kinky for my tastes but still ... Hospital gown? ~

My internal voice stopped. I moved forward to get a better look. She moved forward simultaneously. I moved in response. She moved in mirror fashion.

~MIRROR? ~

My anxiety meter went up in smoke.

The next few hours I don’t remember too clearly so I have to take Sara’s and Carrie’s word for what happened.

Apparently I said something extremely cleaver like, “Ththththats’s MEEEE?” in a fairly memorable stutter, cum shriek.

I finished my routine with a one-and-one-half clockwise spin into a backwards dead-faint, difficulty level 3.2 for an overall score of 9.8 out of ten, not bad for an amateur. I lost two-tenths for failing to stick the landing. I would have lost more but I pulled off a perfect tuck into the fetal position to salvage it. They showed it to me once from the security tape. Those CCTV cameras are everywhere these days. I hope they didn’t have one in my bathroom, Ewu! Even now five months later it disturbs me to watch it.

To my dying day, my doctors say that could be a long time from now, I’ll be grateful to Sara and Carrie for when I woke they were both in my room by my bed. Carrie was holding my hand as Sara caught a quick snooze a few feet away in a stuffed chair. That kind of care must have cost my insurance a bundle but its money well spent in my opinion. I owe those girls a debt I can’t begin to repay. I will keep in touch and I will honor my debt. Well, enough of this maudlin stuff and back to my story.

I woke with surprisingly few aches and pains despite my fall, more about why that was the case later. Overall I felt really well and wondered why they were holding vigil on me? Then I remembered getting out of bed, seeing the poster that suddenly moved and...

“That was Me!” I shrieked.

I started to shake uncontrollably and cried like I hadn’t since I was a child. I did so for quite some time, crying from fear, crying for my late mother, crying for the girlfriends I never had, just crying out all my regrets. Whether it was fatigue or running out of things to cry about I don’t know but as quickly as it started it stopped. It’s not like I felt great, I just didn’t feel overwhelmed anymore.

Regaining control, I said, “Could I see myself again? I think I can take it now.”

Carrie smiled at me, squeezing my hand. She turned to Sara.

“Only if your sure hon,” Sara said in a concerned but relaxed tone.

“On second thought, could I have a shower and do something with my hair first. I’m sure I’m a mess.”

I must have said the right thing because they hustled me to the bathroom, got the shower going, then waited just outside the door like a pair of cats watching their food dish being filled. I always took quick showers -- this was no different. Well I did spend a while longer and use up a lot more shampoo on my hair.

“What is it with mutants and long hair?” I said to my angels.

My hair had been short for years. Being as bald as I was, long hair had that Bozo the Clown, David Crosby, comic relief killer from Diamonds Are Forever connotation in my mind. Believe me it’s not a good one. Now my hair was, for want of a better description, everywhere. I could feel it brushing the top of my butt as I showered.

~This is sure different but hey it’s all mine. ~ I mused, that was definitely upside #1 in favor of being a girl.

Upsides #2a and #2b and especially #3a and #3b I couldn’t fully examine with Sara and Carrie there but from the ... um ... brief accidental encounters I experienced, purely as an unintended side-effect of soaping up and washing off I hasten to add, they were serious points in favor of womanhood as well. #2a and #2b were the most obvious “points,” their “points” sticking way out in fact. My mom and grandmother had fairly large breasts for their trim frames but these were embarrassing. I would have a hard time tying my shoelaces with these blocking my view. Alright, so I’m exaggerating a bit here, but they sure aren’t small. As to bra and clothing sizes, I hadn’t a clue. BRA SIZE, now that’s an alien concept.

~I guess now I’ll be the one leaving my dainty delicates dripping in the bathroom. Ah, sweet revenge on my sister. ~

~ Personal note: Insert evil cackle here. ~

I was not prepared for this. The Boy Scouts say ‘Be prepared,’ and I was a former Eagle Scout, but this was nothing they could hold against me. I know what one of those hormone happy adolescents would like to hold against me, but that is neither here nor there. It’s down right about there actually. Whoa! Get a grip, girl. Grip? Ewh, bad word choice there, diary. On reflection maybe it was a good thing the two women were watching me like they were starving cannibals, and I was the main course. I had been a horny little bast ... Boy Scout in my day, but this was an entirely different ballgame. Now those are some well mixed metaphors. I might have rubbed myself raw if they weren’t there.

I gathered what little control I could muster, turned off the shower, and started toweling myself dry. I say started because I nearly didn’t finish it. The roughness of the terry cloth dragging across my new skin was not helping my ... “condition” ... to ease at all. Upsides #2a and #2b were bordering on being dangerously stiff; you could poke your eyes out with them, happily. Upsides #3a and #3b, which had replaced the part or parts previously most in favor of being male, were #3a-swollen and um, expectant and as I dragged the towel between my legs #3b was hot, felt very squishy and OH MY GHOD! I nearly fainted.

~I think that was an orgasm. If that was what it was, please, sir, may I have another helping? I have got to remember about #3a, it’s going to be a favorite. ~

I think Sara and Carrie guessed what had happened because they smiled, then started to snicker. The blush and silly grin on my face didn’t help.

“You may need to rethink how you towel yourself off. Things are a wee bit more sensitive than before, I take it?” Sara offered while trying to compose herself.

“If either of you ask me if I need a cigarette, I’m walking out that door naked or not,” I replied in mock outrage.

That set us all off again, which to quote Ms Stewart was “a good thing.” The bout of laughter took the edge off my arousal enough that I could function again.

“Is there some way I can get help learning to cope with all of this?” I said while gesturing at my body like a model displaying a car.

“Sure, as I started to say earlier, that’s why I ordered Carrie to call me the moment you woke. You need to learn how to take care of your new body in addition to us evaluating your mutant abilities. You need to learn about feminine hygiene, your monthly cycle, how to dress for and act in public, and how to interact with men and women.”

“And how to keep your clothes on and knees together,” added Carrie in a perfect deadpan voice.

Sara looked like she was about to chew Carrie out when I chuckled back, “No, no, Sara. She’s right. How does it go? ‘Hello Daddy, hello Mom I’m your Ch ch ch ch cherry bomb.’ It’s from an old Joan Jett song, before your time, Carrie, or yours, Sara. This is something I never expected to add to my resume, mutant nymphomaniac,” I finished with just the right hint of sarcasm.

“I’m sure it’s just a temporary symptom of your mutation -- well it probably is, maybe. I can’t say for sure, since your transformation is unique in my experience. Complete male-to-female, or female-to-male, mutations are not the norm so far as the records indicate. Late onset of mutant powers is even rarer. This late is almost unheard of. You’re just about off the charts so to speak,” Sara explained.

“Does this mean I’ll be the subject of a groundbreaking medical paper? Perhaps you’ll get to name it after me, John’s Syndrome” I purred in a rather catty manner.

“You go, girl!” spoke Carrie in her best ghetto fabulous/valley-girl voice. “I don’t think you need worry too much about fitting in as a woman. That last remark of yours would shred a couch to ribbons. Meorrrrourer, phitt, phitt!”

I think she added the last bit for emphasis and punctuation; shades of the late Victor Borge here.

“Now that we have that out of or respective systems, is it okay with you if I assign Carrie as your personal 24/7 tutor in the female arts? From experience we’ve found the newly transformed benefit from limiting their exposure to the ‘real world’ until they’ve had time to come to grips with their changes. The one-on-one instruction speeds the process. Carrie’s well-trained, bright, hardworking and a lot of fun to hang around with.” Carrie grinned and blushed. “She’s also the closest to your apparent physical age of all our nurses here. She just graduated from nursing school last December, so she’s the most familiar with current teen/young adult fashions and the hot topics.”

Sara’s face turned serious. “I know your memories are those of a 48 year old man, but by the hormone levels in your blood and by bodily measures of development, you’re closer to 15 to 18 years of age, tops. You’ll need help if you want to fit in with your apparent age. If you don’t, you’re going to stick out like snowman on Miami Beach. It’s probably best to think of it as some great new adventure,” Sara said, paused, and then her face lit up. “It’s as if the ‘tape’ of your life been stopped and rewound back almost to the beginning. You get to choose how it plays forward,” Sara suggested. I thought for a moment as a wry smile grew on my face.

“Stop-rewind-playback, I like the metaphor, Sara. Let’s do it.”

“That’s a good attitude, John; I think you’ll do all right.” Sara said brightly.

“I suddenly feel so happy and ... oh ... perky! Is it me or the hormone talking?” I burbled and tossed my long head of hair as my mischievous streak decided to have a bit of fun or was it something else?

“Probably both,” Sara replied smiling at my attempt at humor.

“Doctor Sara.” Carrie interjected, “What about her, I mean John’s name? John doesn’t exactly fit her now.”

“That’s up to John, Carrie, but a name change could make it easier to start fresh and fit in.”

“Joan or Jean comes immediately to mind,” I said quickly. “I like the sound of Jean better but Joan has the better nicknames. I mean Joanie is a whole lot better then Jeanie. Every time I’d hear the later, I’d feel compelled to blink and head-snap my ponytail. Too damn I Dream of Jeanie for my tastes, Master.” I giggled at that.

~Why a giggle? ~

“Well then, Joan or Joanie it shall be,” Said Sara.

“Call me Joanie, please,” I said. Sara smiled very sweetly then spoke.

“It’s just so strange, but Joanie was the name of one of my best friends in med school.”

“Are you kidding me, Doctor?” Carrie asked. “My best friend in high school was named Joanie, talk about deja vu.”

“Seems I’ve picked the right name then, so what do we do next?”

****
To be continued.

Revised 07/20/06
Thanks to my evil younger sister for proofreading assistance.

Notes:

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Comments

Seems to be interesting

Wow, this promises to become fairly interesting... Put yourself into the Whateley verse and did a transformation?
That's definitly an interesting concept.

I like the ego perspective of this story, the way the character explains his/her world.

Btw. the RetroClassic Commentary rocks ;)

Thank you for writing,

Beyogi

Okay so I'm a little late

Breanna Ramsey's picture

I've been meaning to get into this series for some time and I have finally done so. You have a great style, John, very witty and well paced. I enjoyed this first installment very much and am looking forward to catching up!

Scott
Writing is not necessarily something to be ashamed of--but do it in private and wash your hands afterwards.
Lazarus Long - Robert A. Heinlein's 'Time Enough for Love'

Bree

The difference between fiction and reality? Fiction has to make sense.
-- Tom Clancy

http://genomorph.tglibrary.com/ (Currently broken)
http://bree-ramsey314.livejournal.com/
Twitter: @genomorph

I love finding buried treasure.

Hey John in Wauwatosa; Lora in Montreal here.

Although I've seen them referred to on a regular basis, I've never gotten around to reading a Whately story until now. When I tripped over your name in the list of authors, I thought, "That guy writes such wonderful comments... I bet he writes a great story too." And so... here I am.

One of the best signs of a good writer is an ability to make the impossible sound plausible. And John, this sounds really plausible!
I've definitely enjoyed your first installment here, and as soon as I find the time, I plan on continuing with you down into your rabbit hole.

Lora123falle.jpg

Strange

Getting a late start reading this series of stories. I notice Timeout 4 and had to start at the beginning rather than at the end or well in to the story. Just a guess as Joanie's powers seem time based I wonder if it is not so strange that they were friends with a Joanie in HS and college, but that this Joanie was who they knew. But I will find out in time I guess.

This is the first story that

This is the first story that I've read of yours. Plenty of
comments.....Just reviewed the chapter contents..Good!
Plenty to read. Stories getting interesting.

alissa

A *litttle* late?

Scott, a little late?

Let's see, Timeout 1 thru 3, -- all others being single chapters. 14 chapters of Timeout, 14 chapters of Timeout 2, A Christmas 2006 Timeout that fits into Timeout 2 aprox chapter 3 or so, Glacier Girl which is a prequil of sorts, Timeout 3 and it's 14 chapters, Timeout 4 with 6 chapters and counting not counting Miki -- courtesy of Grover -- and I really should post Rose_2's two fan fics of my fan fic that she based on George and Gracie. Huh? You'll understand partway through Timeout 3. Oh and bits of Rhodes excellent Whateley fan fic Chancing Changes and Itinerant's quiet gem Ma'at tie in too in various ways.

No excuse for not doing your stuff, though.

John in Wauwatosa

John in Wauwatosa

Nice Start...

Interesting opening, John. Your breezy writing style, as previously seen in the comments here, works better in first-person narrative than I expected -- really well, in fact, IMO. I'm looking forward to more, and to seeing how this TG transition fits together with the time shifts. (You've given some nice hints about that, but I'm intrigued by the Dunwich stationmaster's familiarity with Joan.)

I'm slightly confused by one point: your narrator seems to start to tell the others that she has fantasized about changing genders in the past, but sidetracks herself before she can explain. At the same time, she's making several narrative comments as to how unprepared she was for the change. That's certainly true enough, of course, but it seems just a little inconsistent to me.

Eric

Comments Appreciated

Glad you liked it.

This story first posted on Christmas 2005 at The Crystal Hall. This is the third reworking of it and should be an easier read than the original.

Joanie, the former John, had a healthy imagination as a child and adult and could imagine himself as a girl, not that he wanted to be one. I will look at it again; I didn't think it was confusing but...

As this story has developed, it's gone in a somewhat different direction than I first intended. As you read, keep these ideas in mind and I think you'll understand her better. When you figure her out tell me, I'm confused.

She want's to live a quiet life, yet not waste her second chance at life. She will try to keep a low profile as her mutant "gifts" make her a target for those who would exploit her or worse. The reason or reasons why the station master recognises her becomes apparant about halfway through Timeout, starting around chapter seven with an incident that ocures on Labor Day 2006. When she arrives at Whateley Academy in chapter 14, you'll know why he's heard and seen her.

She has a strong sense of humor that sometimes comes out at inappropriate times, and a few other "quirks" that become apparant during her time at the Wisconsin State Mutant facility. Her inner child has been reawakened and causes her no end of grief and fun. She has an instintive urge to help those in need and she will make new friends and enemies over time because of it. Once an Eagle Scout always an Eagle Scout.

She is a hopeless romantic at heart and regrets never having a family, something she intends to remedy this time around. I have a lot to post as T1 was 14 chapters at aprox 12 pages per. T2 was 14 slightly longer chapters, and T3 is a 11 longer yet chapters and growing.

I started this on paper in the spring of 2005 when I learned my mother had terminal cancer. I posted a side story, Glacier Girl, as part of Morpheus' late 2005 story contest. Timeout is based on things I've read and seen, my life severely tweaked, and a lot of adolecent sillyness even though that adolecent is now 48.

Lastly, this is my attempt to remedy a great wrong done to the midwest, why don't we have any mutant superheros? Even stinking Kansas has Superman(C)!

Your comments are apprciated. I have made editorial fixes and re-wrote portions of the story. I've gone so far as to create new plots in the story due to responces I received. I do read them.

Best wishes,

John in Wauwatosa

John in Wauwatosa

Kansas does not equal superman

Diesel Driver's picture

Kansas may have this fellow with the blue suit and red cape but much more importantly, it has FEY!!!

Chris

Rewind, replay.

Maybe I goofed. I started too read this story and like it so much I would like to finish it. I just love you sense of "yoomer" and side comments. It does keep the narrative from sagging into dryness. The start is clever and like most all of the Whately stories innovative. Having only completed the first posting, I am not yet certain what her mutant powers will be, but I am proceding directly to the next posted episode. Thank you for such an interesting start off for this adventure.

Sharp

Hey John, this is a good start! I am curious where this is going. The beginning really got my interest about what is going on. Looking forward to more.

Definately a nice start!

John, I'll be looking forward to seeing more of this. The style is a little different than what I'm used too, my editor will be worried that I'll pick up or renew some bad habits, but it's a nice touch. I too wondered about that almost-confession, I suggest you clear that up fairly soon.

You're keeping me from driving home, but I don't mind! I would have gone crazy from curiosity had I tried to make the trip without reading this first. And hey, silliness is fun! Go for it!

Now, is the mutant thing part of the Whately fiction? I took a quick look at that series some time back and it didn't catch my interest, but what with this and the Ma'at series maybe I should go take another look.

Love & hugs!
Karen J.
>^..^<


"Life is not measured by the breaths you take, but by the moments that take your breath away.”
George Carlin

I Made a Fix

I tweaked Timeout chapter 1-3 to avoid the confusion about John and his wanting or not wanting to be a girl.

Let me know if it makes more sense. I have chapters 5,6,7, and eight in various states of proofing, I should post a couple this week. That would cover MSG and Leather, and that's all the hint you get.

Karen, is that a kitty cat or a crab after your name? It's cute whatever it is.

As to Ma'at, I'm slowly "horning in" on Itinerants action. We may do some crossovers between the stories, but she is his baby.

Thanks for the interest.

John in Wauwatosa

John in Wauwatosa

Getting Fixed ...

John,

> As to Ma'at, I'm slowly "horning in" on Itinerants action. We may do
> some crossovers between the stories, but she is his baby.

"Horning in"?

I might even accuse the resident Wisconsinite of badgering me ...

{rim-shot!)

Nicole (a.k.a. Itinerant)

--
Veni, Vidi, Velcro:
I came, I saw, I stuck around.

Now Now

By "horning in" I mean forcing my way into "the game".

You otter reconsider making jokes about members of the weasel family.
Ermin, after a while they tend to stink up the place. Damn, now I'm skunked, what rhymes with wolveine? I cannot ferret it out.

John making very bad puns in Wauwatosa

John in Wauwatosa

Better, John

I'd say it's a little less confusing, I don't know. Do ordinary boys have fantasies about being a fairy princess or nurse? As I wasn't an ordinary boy at that age, I can't use my own experiences. I never wanted to be a king, or a fireman, or the like. MSG? Monosodium Glutamate? If there's another reference to MSG-something in the story, I guess I missed it. I'll have to go back and read it yet again. Oh, the horror of it all! Giggle!

That's a kitty, John. I shamelessly stole it from a friend of mine, who appropriately calls herself "Cat". A cute crab? Oh-h, puh-leaze!

Thanks, John!

Karen J.
>^..^<

It's still a fun story to read, and I'm eagerly waiting for more.


"Life is not measured by the breaths you take, but by the moments that take your breath away.”
George Carlin

Crabs can be Cute

Crabs are very cute steamed, cracked open, then dipped in melted butter, or is that tasty?

John in Wauwatosa

P.S. The MSG bit hasn't been posted yet. It's in the next chapter.

John in Wauwatosa

Thanks, John...

Makes more sense to me with the added couple of sentences.

Eric