Synopsis:

Another BigCloset TopShelf story.

Our heroine learns how to control one of her powers, visits some old friends and tests another devatating power -- the power to turn men into drooling idiots. Oh, and she learns just how radically her life has been changed by her mutation.

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?

Story:

Timeout-Stop/Playback/Rewind: A Whateley Academy Fan fiction

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 is my first attempt a TG/sci-fi piece. Gentle, constructive criticism and advice is most welcome. This for the pure fun of it and in appreciation of the wonderful Whateley Universe. Take it in that spirit. Any violations of copyright or use of real people or incidents is for purposes of humor or parody, which gets me off the hook, yay! All rights reserved in perpetuity, John from Wauwatosa WI, 2005-2006. See my agents Bill & Ted of San Dimas CA, their moto, “Be excellent to each other and party on dude.”

Timeout

By John from Wauwatosa

Chapter 10- Field Test and Revelations 2
Madison and Baraboo WI, Late September to late October, 2006

December 13, 2006 on the Grand Miskatonic Shuttle, 9:05am EST

The station mistress and I had no difficulty rolling my cycle up the ramp and into the baggage car. Nice gal -- I still swear she’s a mutant, but I didn’t ask. She recognized me but was very discreet about it. She told me I’d like Whateley and to say hello to Ms. Carson for her. Maybe she is one? Won’t be long now ‘til I reach Dunwich NH: next stop Whateley.

* * * *

At the meeting, Gin told me what they’d planned. “Red’s helping with an experiment to test if you can trigger your time-stop effect at will. You’ll need it to protect yourself, as word of your abilities spreads. If the press can figure your powers out so can the unscrupulous.”

“So how do we test this hypothesis, Professor Glory?” Gin smiled back feraly.

“Just follow Red around today. When it happens, you’ll know.”

“A mystery, yummy.”

“We thought you’d like it, Ms. Brown.” Fair is fair I suppose.

“Yah, great.”

What Gin didn’t tell me was they were, in essence, recreating Mel’s accident but under controlled conditions. I couldn’t be told, or it might not work. Where they got their hand on an Abrams A1A tank, I don’t know -- the local National Guard I think. One moment I’m in the country near Baraboo, jogging with Red on a quiet hiking path at the huge decommissioned Badger Ordinance Plant grounds - MSG had a training facility there. Next I know there’s a flash in the distance, and the ground explodes in our rear moments later.

“Run, Joanie, we’ve wandered into a life fire exercise!”

“Well duh!”

A second, much closer explosion encouraged us. In hindsight, the whole scenario made no sense, but would you argue logic with explosions and a tank coming at you? We ran zigzag towards what looked like cover. “Shit, a stripped out tank, it’s probably a target,” Red screamed. The tank closed quickly, we turned, I saw it stop and fire -- I knew we were road kill. I felt this feeling of nervous calm, very much like the day I saved Mel. I reached Red, who was time-stopped in mid-stride, I grabbed her hand running, and she came out of stasis. We ran straight for the firing tank, its main gun’s flames still visible but motionless, fixed in my time field and now helpless. Red soon had the tank rolled on its side, I collapsed, and the shell exploded safely away from us. Its turbine stopped as I came to, and I could hear Red laughing hysterically.

“What you ... laughing ... at?” I said between gasps.

“Damn girl, what a rush, Sorry to scare you. That was Gin’s test. All the explosions were set charges remotely detonated by an observer, and the few real shells were blanks and plastic paint rounds I could easily shield you from, if anything went wrong.”

“You bitch, we could have been ... No, we couldn’t have been killed or hurt, but I have to believe that was dangerous; also clever, mean, sick and cruel but mostly clever.” I slowly got up.

“Gin and I figure that now you’ve experienced the time stop effect several times, you can reproduce the ‘feel’ and get you power to work on cue, at least that’s the idea,” Red explained.

I was still pissed, but my energy level was near normal again, I was getting better at this and fast.

“You mean like this.”

I concentrated on the odd feelings I’d had, and Red soon stopped moving. I studied her for a moment, then tried something new. I grabbed her clothing, trying not to un-time-stop her. She came partially out of it but was moving extremely slowly as I stripped her naked.

~Yup a natural redhead. ~

Mind you I did know that from the road trip, still I wish I had my camera,

~Ghod, what a body! ~

I moved fifty feet away then relaxed.

“I know you like to show off your great figure, but isn’t that a bit much Red?” I asked, mocking her.

“Give me back my clothes you little.... You did it, Joanie! Uh, can I have my clothes back, Joanie dear, please?”

“Okay but you’ll have to make it up to me,” I said with a pout.

“What you have in mind?”

“Got any whipped cream at home?” I grinned in triumph.

“Joanie,” she said in a serious tone, “you’re one kinky girl.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” I said and giggled.

Red laughed, and I returned her clothes after a quick tickle or two. Don’t look at me like that dear d/j/w. After that tank stunt, I’d earned the right to some retribution - and Red blushes so cute.

“Oh, Red,” I said as she finished dressing.

“I think the National Guard would like their tank picked up.”

“Oh, yah.”

* * * *

Gin’s field test results gave me the germ of an idea. They, there’s those “they’s” again, say that money is power. I has little of either and a lot to lose, given my recent publicity. I could count on Sara, Alex and MSG for help in an emergency, my sister, my aging dad, and probably the Williams-Johnson family but otherwise I was on my own. Between the publicity seekers, con artists, psychos, corporations, criminals and the less savory government types, I was a cherry ripe for picking. I was a potential threat to the health and welfare of my friends and family. As word of my abilities spread, threats to them could be used to pressure me.

~Ghod they might try to kidnap sweet Melissa! ~

This was simply not acceptable. I needed power and protection. It was thoughts like these that lead to my devising “The Plan”. Like all good plans it was simple, and like most plans it had its flaws, but it would do.

Step one: lay low but not too low. Don’t make myself an easy target.

Step two: invest for my future in both financial and security terms. This meant acquiring wealth quickly and using it to “leverage” my position.

Step three: continue to develop and refine my powers while minimizing outside knowledge.

Step four: use steps one through three to ensure the safety of my friends, family, and myself.

Step five: this was the final step and most difficult to swallow. Find somewhere to live on an intermediate to long-term basis more secure than my current situation. As good as Sara and the mutant wing were, they had serious limitations. Mel’s birthday party and the UW-Madison Karaoke night convinced me that if the press were this bad, what would the serious nasties be like? I suspected that spy, terrorist, and criminal types would find me an attractive target.

My “safer” home research came to several conclusions. I needed to join a larger, more powerful organization, be it a supers group, the military, the intelligence ‘community’, or a large corporation -- otherwise I was on my own. I was leery of the military and intelligence community, seen too many films I guess. Plus I have a hard time keeping my mouth shut. Existing large corporations were a possibility, but I worried about being exploited and the strength of their security. My best options were joining a big cities super group or form my own non-living entity whose sole purpose was protecting me and mine. This last option gave me the most control, but it was a daunting task. I needed money, lots of it and a better handle on what I was and wasn’t capable of.

I sent an e-mail to Babs and Mel and asked them to contact the Senator for his advice. Babs was eager to help, so while I chatted with an enthusiastic Mel, Babs got her dad on a three-way. I explained the record contract offer, he agreed to have his legal staff review it and fax it back ASAP. I asked for his help setting up a foundation or corporation to protect my self and assets. In days I was a signed recording artist and the CEO and sole stock owner in “Joanie Enterprises”. I could use his staff via encrypted e-mail until I could screen and hire my own. I was overwhelmed by their generosity.

“If you ever need my help, just call me,” I told them.

They said my saving Mel more than paid for it but should Bob make a serious run for President, they might ask me to entertain at a rally or fundraiser. Mel and I talked again afterwards, and she was ecstatic I that I would record. I promised her a pre-release copy delivered in person. I swear the phone started bouncing.

On Senator Joe’s advice, I joined the Madison Supers Group, yes I know the initials are also MSG, but it saves on stationary expense. Joining made me a reserve officer in the Wisconsin National Guard, which gave me access to their resources. With the help of the mutant wing, MSG, and the Guard facilities, we refined my super’s skills. By Halloween of 2006, I could run a mile at the world record time for men and barely break a sweat. Where the heat I generated went and the energy I used came from, our best guess was an inter-dimensional transfer. Mind you, it gave me a huge apatite but by classic thermodynamics, it didn’t add up. Of course I’m not the classic John 1.0 but the new and improved Joanie 2.0.

My training was bearing fruit. My “graduation” involved time stopping a pair of Air National Guard A-10 Warthogs as they taxied for takeoff, then boarding the aircraft, placing giant pink and white bunny ears over their helmets, shades of A Christmas Story, then exiting the aircraft, photographing my handiwork and watching them takeoff. Girl, I was tired after. The pilots were very embarrassed when I showed them the photos I’d taken; I let them keep the ears though. I had to take them to dinner to make it up to them -- like their male egos couldn’t take it and needed soothing, yah sure. They just wanted a night out with the babe. Well at least they were good dancers.

Dairy Maid’s analysis of my “graduation,” Gin’s “tank” experiment and Mel’s rescue proved that the mass or speed of objects time-stopped made little difference. The area or volume involved, the time stop’s duration and the amount of my physical activity did.

* * * *

As a break from training the Gang of Four piled into Carrie’s Grand Caravan and drove to my old sci-fi club’s meeting. The risk was low, and I had to talk to my sister and dad. I’d called and found the meeting was moved to an alternate site, a large Victorian steamboat house that one of the club members roomed in. It was one of a pair of houses built in the 1880s by two brothers; the term steamboat refers to the shape and layout of the house. This was a break for me as a private home minimized any risk of discovery. We got into Milwaukee early enough to stop by my sister and brother-in-law’s home. She noticed how, um, “close” the four of us were and teased me.

“Gee Joan,” she put a lot of emphasis on Joan; I think she relished the chance to be the older sibling for once. “I know you always wanted to get in a girl’s panties, but four at once is a tad greedy, don’t you think?”

We’d always been competitive in a friendly way, but this was War.

“I may be late to the dating game, but I’ll tell you one thing, Sis, I’m ready for the Big Leagues now.” I said giving my breasts a push up with both hands, then posing like Linda Carter in her famous Wonder Woman poster, smiling with my hands on hips and chest held proudly. Then I stuck my tongue out and giggled.

“Oh you,” they all said.

* * * *

We had fun with the nerds. I mean sci-fi fans. They’re good friends and even though I couldn’t tell them who I used to be, they treated us well. The costume idea was a bust; they soon identified us from the Labor Day coverage and public service ads but were thrilled that us “celebrities” were fellow enthusiasts, and kept quiet about it, unlike the people at the Memorial Union. I only made one mistake and it turned out okay, I wore my leathers. The weather was cool, so I was in a long sleeve silk blouse, leather vest, form fitting leather slacks, my Steve Zink cowboy boots, some jewelry and my hair in a long braid.

-- Note to self: who the hell is this Steve Zink? Mind you, I love his boots.--

The rest of the Gang of Four was in similar attire. How should I put it, we could give a corpse an erection. We weren’t dressed like sluts -- we were just really hot. When one of the club members, Chuck, saw my friends, he pretended to have a heart attack, but none of us would fall for giving him mouth to mouth.

I snuck up behind and said breathily, “I hear you like girls in leather, care to have a gander, Chuck?”

If he’d died that moment, they’d have never got the grin off his face. He recovered quickly and was very polite and attentive to us the rest of the night as were several other single guys -- I wonder why?

I joined in a game of Risk they nearly always played. A member collected old board games and the classic French import was a favorite. We didn’t keep campaign books like Arnold Judas Rimmer of Red Dwarf, but we were a little fanatical. I must admit to cheating, though it was legal. I found if I kept my elbow in tight as I shook the dice, my forearm made my breasts jiggle in a most distracting manner, distracting for the men, that is. It merely made my nipples stiff and my panties damp, enjoyable, but I could control myself. Between this jiggling and my, um, pointers, the guys made several serious errors in their attacks. I cleaned their clocks. That’ll teach them to stare at a woman’s breasts like that. I don’t think they cared that they lost though, giggle.

~Why am I giggling in my diary/journal/whatever? I’ll have to ask Sara about that too. ~

We found a room at a downtown hotel; the desk clerk thought we were high-class call girls until we showed our ID. That was the best night sleep I had in years, yah sure. Just say the road trip added another chapter, Whoa momma! Did I forget to mention they had really big beds in the room?

We stopped by my dad’s the next day. My sister had told him, and we had talked on the phone, but the sight of me still shocked him. I was reminded of the problem as we were passing old family photos around, and I caught him comparing me to pictures of my mom at the same physical age. The resemblance was uncanny, I was much taller, with different colored hair and somewhat bustier, but I could see why my Dad was having a hard time. I could have been her sister; damn, I could have been her twin from certain angles. I talked to him in private, and said if he wanted to pretend I was her for a moment and hug me I didn’t mind, and I didn’t think Mom would either. He was a nice hugger, so warm and reassuring. He sure must miss her -- I do.

* * * *
One week before Halloween Sara called me to her office for as she put it, “A private conversation with Alex and me.”

Sara was always discreet when discussing the more unusual facts of my mutation, but she was especially careful today. She even placed Carrie, Red and Gin on guard in the corridor outside her office to make sure no one approached her locked door without our advance notice.

“Joanie, the reason for the hush, hush is I finally got the results back on your genetic and cell culture tests, and they are unlike anything I’ve ever seen. I did a discreet literature search and went so far as to consult with my old mentor, Dr. Otto at ARC, and even he was impressed. He’d like you to come to ARC for testing, but it’s up to you. He still only knows you’re a middle-aged male to teenaged female mutant but not your name.

I was intrigued, “What does this all mean, Sara?” She usually was straightforward with me. Why did she seem evasive?

“Remember our talks about how powers can affect a mutant’s health and lifespan?” she asked.

“You mean how burnouts can kill and how some magic users have very long life expectancies?” I replied.

“Exactly, Joanie,” she said “Now you need to be careful who you share this with. You’re at risk from people and organizations that will want to learn your secrets. I’m serious; you need to be very careful.”

“You’ve got my full attention, Sara. Be very, very quiet, were hunting Joanie. Ha ha ha,” I said in my best Elmer Fudd. “Sorry but the mood was getting a bit too heavy, I’m not being flippant, just , you know me, Sara.”

She smiled again then continued. “The tests, including your aerobic fitness tests, all point to the same conclusion. What took so long was all the rechecking we and ARC did as they are, um ... so unusual.” If she didn’t have my attention before she had it now. “Barring severe injury or some fact we haven’t considered, you’ll likely live a long time.”

“How long Sara?” I asked.

“A very, very, very long time.” she said emphasizing long.

“How long, best guess?” I needed details.

“Read the Bible, Joanie?”

“A little, my parents never forced their religious beliefs on us kids,” I replied honestly.

“Heard of Methuselah?”

“Said to have lived many hundreds of years? I know the general story, sure.”

“By your standards, he died in infancy.” Sara said calmly.

“So I could live many hundreds of years?” I asked incredulously.

“Heard of the Fey?” she asked.

“The magic folk of Celtic legend?” I replied.

“Yes, Joanie, they do exist -- I met a few in my career. There’s even one who’s a student currently at Whateley, my old school. They’ve been known to live over a thousand, even two-thousand,” she said seriously.

I was flabbergasted. “I could live to two-thousand?”

“No, Joanie, they can live to two-thousand. You won’t have aged a day by then,” she clarified.

“Not a day in two-thousand years?” I was very nervous.

“That’s not quiet right, either. All your tests indicate you won’t have aged a second in two-thousand years,” Sara explained.

“That sounds uncomfortably like immortality. That’s supposed to be impossible.” On a weirdness scale of one to ten, today was a twelve and going up fast.

“I believe it’s all linked to your BIT and how it relates to your powers. Your Body Image Template is essentially the blueprint for ‘you’ and controls the interaction of your genes and mutant powers. It’s like a super set of DNA, but it controls all aspects of your mutation, not just your physical body like DNA does,” Sara said.

“You mean my BIT was for a female and immortal?” I asked.

~Huh? ~ I thought.

“Then why was I born male, and I aged? From what you’ve said about the BIT, I should have changed at puberty.” This was confusing.

“It’s a raw hypotheses, not yet a theory, but Dr. Otto and I think you BIT was altered as part of your warper powers when you mutated. Something triggered it much later in life than usual,” she explained.

“How can a BIT change? I mean could mine change again?” This was seriously weird stuff and it was all about me

“You’ve heard of string theory and how there may be multiple parallel coexisting universes?” she asked.

“I think PBS had a special on it a few years back. So how do these multiple universes relate to me?” I asked back.

Imagine your genes as letters on a piece of paper in a great cosmic typewriter, XX is female, XY is male. Overstrike or type over XY on top of XX and you get XX. Overstrike XX on top of XY and you get ...”

“XX and a female,” I finished her sentence.

“Bingo!” Sara replied.

“That might explain the gender change, but why the extreme life extension?” I wasn’t getting it.

“Some how, we believe, all the possible BIT sets and gene sets across these multiple universes got cross linked at the moment of your mutation. You ended up with the best of the best of these BIT and gene sets and that was recopied across the multiple universes. It’s like having a near limitless supply of backups to a computer’s memory. No mater how often you erase or corrupt it, the backups restore it, thus backing up themselves, very redundant. In essence, unless all of your backups are destroyed at the same time or the links to them severed, you can’t be killed, at least not easily,” Sara said.

“I can’t be killed?” I was close to hysterics, this couldn’t be real.

Sara sensed my fear and tried to reassure me. “You can be killed, but every cell in your body would have to be vaporized or the other ‘backup’ Joanies would quickly restore you.” She said this calmly and smiled sweetly.

I forced my self to keep cool though I was full of questions.

“How can you be certain?” I asked.

“We considered cutting your head off.” Sara said. “Sorry but I’m entitled to a fit of sick humor too, Joanie.”

Alex laughed and we gals giggled. It worked, I was calmer.

“From your cell culture tests, the aerobic fitness results too. We burned them, baked them, attacked them with chemicals, we froze and thawed them; we even put your sealed cultures in the university’s research reactor. Short of total destruction, your cells restored themselves perfectly every time. We can make them dormant but only by freezing or starvation followed by drying, and even then they’re still viable. We have them all stored in our highest security vault and then only as test numbers that are themselves kept in under heavy encryption. There’s nothing to tie them to you, Joanie,” she said.

“The tests show my cells are very tough, but that’s not proof of the anti-ageing hypotheses, time goes on after all.” I needed convincing.

“Ah but that’s the whole point, time does pass for your cells, but your BIT and by extension your genes are all cross linked to a single point in time in all universes, July 03, 2006. The time line for the various Joanies are all anchored to that point in time and linked strongly to your various selves by your warper time powers. Your BIT cannot age because it is effectively ‘stuck’ at July 03, 2006.” I was dumbstruck, not an easy thing.

“Dr. Otto and I speculate that as your BIT tries to ‘move’ in time it’s like stretching out a bungee cord, at some point the tension is too great, and it snaps back to the state it was at the moment you cross linked. That moment in time is so strongly tied to your BIT and the BIT to your genes which are tied to that moment in time; it’s a recursive loop, the more it ‘tries‘ to change, the more it restores itself. Add to this the concept that the rules of physics may be different in different universes -- the one and only constant through them all is July 03, 2006.”

This was heady stuff but a nasty thought came to mind. “But I can move, eat, sleep; I even have a monthly cycle now. How if my BIT is stuck am I not stuck as well and ... Oh Ghod, can I have children, or am I sterile?”

I’d never fathered a child, hell I never been with a woman, but the thought that I never could was sickening. Sara reassured me.

“No Joanie, It’s your BIT that’s stuck, not you. Your cells divide and grow and replace themselves, they just do it perfectly. We harvested an egg during your recovery, and it fertilized normally. Your personal time field shouldn’t interfere with conception or gestation. In fact since your BIT keeps you locked at your current state, every time you ovulate, the tissues lost in ripening the egg are quickly and perfectly replaced. You are not only fertile; you will remain fertile until you die.”

“I’m gonna make the Tampax and Pampers people a fortune. If I’m not careful, my daycare bills could finance a manned Mars mission.” Sara smiled at my poor jokes, but I wouldn’t show her any mercy. “Sara does this mean I suffer from perpetual PMS, I’m a perpetual emotion machine?” I said giving her my most innocent smile, then quickly ducking behind my chair and covering my head with my hands in mock terror. “No no, I’ll be good, don’t hit me, Mommy.” If a conversation ever needed a good laugh this one was it.

“It’s good to see your taking this well, Joanie, but remember as word gets out that a mutant exists that has time related powers and is the next best thing to immortal, your abilities and body will become valuable commodities to the unscrupulous, special ops types, criminal organizations and the like. Not to mention the tabloid press, religious fanatics and such. And you can be sure the word will get out despite our best efforts here. Eventually enough will leak for someone to put two and two together and get ...” Sara started to say.

“Me,” I finished. “Doesn’t that make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside? Great, now I’m either somebody’s money tree or a permanent lab rat.”

“Good, you realize the dangers and, Joanie ... “

“Yes, Sara.”

“Stop completing my sentences for. “

“Me.”

“Oh you!”

Okay, dear diary/journal/whatever, I did ask the other obvious question, and the answer was maybe.

“Will my children inherit my powers or lifespan?”

Sara spoke next and in an admonishing tone asked, “Alex, have you been fornicating with the patients again?”

I burst into the giggles so hard I nearly wet myself, Sara laughed so hard she cried, and Alex turned this lovely shade of red. He answered me.

“If the children are anything like you two, we’re all doomed.”

~Wow Alex actually cracked a joke, whoda thunk it. ~

“Maybe , maybe not, Joanie, but from a purely genetic standpoint the genes they’ll get from you are so robust their likely to live as long as say the Fey even with out any mutant powers.”

* * * *

To be continued (Revised 08/12/2006)
Special thanks to my evil blonde sister for proofing assistance.

Notes:

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