"Pheromone Pharmacopia"

by Brandy Dewinter

(c 2001, All rights reserved)

Chapter 18 - "Mystified"

     Red eyes on both Jacqui and Sandy the next morning were more than 
enough of a clue for the always-sensitive Marilyn to realize something 
else had gone on the night before.  She suggested to Jennings that it 
would be a good idea for Jacqui to go flying somewhere - anywhere that Oz 
wasn't - to gain some emotional space to deal with her new perception of 
herself.  Since no pilot would turn down a chance to fly, that got the 
newest team member safely out of the way while Marilyn discussed what had 
happened with the others.

     "Okay, ladies, we all know we screwed up.  Let's discuss how and what 
we do about it."  

     "Screwed up?" Sandy asked tentatively, her question failing miserably 
in its attempt to portray innocence.  

     Marilyn didn't dignify that with an answer.  But, true to form, she 
took the first share of blame on herself.  "I never should have allowed 
that sort of shock to Jacqui.  She's had a lifetime of looking at herself 
one way, and we turned that totally upside down.  If ANYone should be 
sensitive to that, it's us."

     "Jacqui's pretty tough," Carol observed.  

     "Yeah, like a diamond," Vanna countered.  "Hard, but touch it the 
wrong way and it shatters into dust."  

     "Is that what happened?" asked Jaymi.  "Did Oz 'touch her the wrong 
way'?"  

     "Hardly," Sandy replied.  "Just the opposite.  He touched buttons in 
her that she thought weren't connected to anything.  Maybe they weren't, 
until we hooked them up for her."  

     "That may be the case," Marilyn said, picking up again.  "Look, 
Jacqui is like us, but she's not like us, too.  None of us have ever been 
physically intimidating, yet we were brought up to think that we *should* 
be, that 'being a man' meant being tough and strong.  Jacqui is just the 
opposite.  *She* was always told that she should be weak and pliant - or 
at least that's typical for young women, especially petite ones.  She 
chose to reject that, to tell herself it wasn't right for her, to put on a 
shell that hid her feminine softness behind a pseudo-masculine hardness."

     "Then she found herself with her softness all exposed, and treasured 
by a tall, supremely masculine man.  And she responded.  She didn't even 
have the excuse of being drunk since she wasn't drinking last night.  Her 
whole self image came tumbling down.  The value system on which she had 
based her life looked . . . flawed."  

    "I still say," Carol repeated, "that Jacqui is tough.  And that's not 
dependent on physical size.  For damn sure WE should know that, too."

     "You're right," Marilyn nodded.  "But we, all of us, have become . . 
. well, if not arrogant than at least secure in our strength, in our 
power.  We run in a pack, *know* how good we look at an intuitive level, 
and are confident that we can handle - at least within our pack - just 
about any physical situation we encounter."  

     Sandy twitched at this, then sent a guilty look toward Vanna.  
Marilyn noted it, but filed the topic away for a moment longer.  "Let me 
ask this.  How many of you have really surrendered to a man - to the point 
that you were *glad* you were smaller, and weaker, and softer?  That's not 
just about sex - maybe not even primarily about sex."

     Jaymi's hand raised without hesitation.  Vanna's joined it a 
heartbeat later, a smile tugging at her lips in a memory that was clearly 
satisfying.  After a few seconds, Sandy's raised as well, though that look 
of guilt was back in her eyes.  

     Marilyn nodded, gave Sandy a small smile that directed patience, and 
said, "Call it two and a half.  Jaymi, we all know you're a, um, 'special' 
case.  Vanna, tell us how long it took you to get to that point."

     Vanna's eyes refocused from the memories that had momentarily 
captivated her.  She sat a little straighter and looked back at Marilyn.  
"I've already done that, since we were all there when I talked about what 
I did on furlough.  I guess you'd have to say it has taken, well, since we 
started all this.  And even then, I did it in stages; first learning to 
appreciate the appearance of being a soft and gracious woman, then 
learning the, um, rest later." 

     "And we gave Jacqui, what, about an hour?  Then we dropped her, 
coated in honey in a world full of bears and expected her to cope.  That's 
not being a good team."    

     Even Carol nodded at that image.  "So, what do we do?"  

     Now Marilyn looked at Sandy, who nodded and couldn't keep an ironic 
grin off her full lips as she said, "We, that is, Vanna and I, have 
already committed to teach her how to be a woman."

     "Is that what she wanted?" Marilyn asked.

     "Yes, definitely," Sandy confirmed, backed up by a nod from Vanna.  
"She didn't think she *could* learn all the - what did she call it? - 
frilly things.  She thought that chance had passed her by.  But she surely 
wants to."  

     "Because that's what she thinks it will take for Oz to like her?" 
Carol said with a frown.  

     "Maybe," Sandy admitted.  "But that just makes what Marilyn had to 
say all the more correct.  We can't let Jacqui be swept off her feet by 
the first man to kiss her."    

     "Exactly," Marilyn said.  She sighed and continued, "I think I'll 
need to have a talk with Jacqui.  I don't want to turn her against Oz.  He 
might be just the ticket for her.  But he might not.  We've got to help 
her gain a little perspective so she's not mystified by ol' Tall, Dark, 
and Handsome."  

     "In the meantime," she concluded, taking in the whole team with a 
glance.  "We're all going to help her with girl lessons.  Lord knows we're 
expert in that, and we learned it the hard way just as Jacqui will have to 
learn it."  

     "Now," Marilyn said, turning to look at Sandy.  Her voice was soft 
though her questions were probing.  "Why are *your* eyes so red?  Why do 
you twitch when I talk about getting physical?  And why in the world do 
you feel guilty about surrendering to a man?  I'd have thought that if you 
got over what had happened to you enough to enjoy being kissed, well, that 
*should* be a good thing."

     Instead of answering, Sandy put her face in her hands and started to 
weep again.  Vanna moved to put her arms around her friend, and started 
explaining for her.  

     "I guess she's not really 'over' it," the elegant blonde said.  "Last 
night, we were accosted by a, well, I guess I'll say a 'would-be' rapist, 
since he didn't get what he wanted.  But there wasn't any doubt about what 
he wanted."  

     "And you didn't report it?" Marilyn asked sharply.  

     "There wasn't really that much to it," Vanna offered as an excuse.  
"Sandy disarmed him, but . . . "

     "But what?" demanded Marilyn.

     Sandy's voice whispered out from between her hands, "But I almost 
killed him, and after I had disarmed him.  I almost killed him with his 
own knife after he was no longer a valid threat."

     "I . . . see," Marilyn said slowly, but her dark lips showed a frown.  
"I get the feeling that's not all of it."  

     Sandy just shook her head.  After a moment, when she didn't say 
anything, Vanna filled in again.  "She, on her furlough, she was kissed by 
a guy, but he wanted more, and she, um, didn't react in a very ladylike 
way."

     "Dear lord, the mind boggles," gasped Carol.  

     Vanna twitched a bit, obviously struggling with a decision on whether 
to reveal more of what was another person's secret.  She didn't have to 
resolve that, because Sandy visibly squared her shoulders, dropped her 
hands and sat up.  

     "I didn't hurt him," she claimed.  "But I did put a guy on the ground 
- a nice guy who didn't really deserve it.""

     "So, you need a little help with perspective, too?" Marilyn 
concluded.

     Sandy nodded, not making any excuses.  Marilyn smiled to show she 
recognized the courage in that simple acceptance, but her words were for 
the group as a whole.  "Okay.  I think we've learned a few things here 
today.  One; we're not as well integrated into our feminine roles as we 
might have thought - not the least of which is that we don't know how to 
help a real woman with some of life's little challenges.  Two; we're not 
working well enough as a team - and that includes Jacqui.  We need to get 
inside each other's heads well enough that we *know* how we will react, 
including when we are going to have trouble.  Both of those are clearly my 
responsibility . . "
 
     She was interrupted by a chorus of denial, but she raised her own 
voice to carry over the others.  "BOTH of those are clearly *my* 
responsibility.  But, as always, I'll meet that by assigning the real work 
to you."

     The last was said with a smile, followed immediately by a grimace as 
she said.  "Well, except for my upcoming meeting with Jennings.  I'm going 
to have to dance around some security issues there."  

     "Ask him where his accent went last night," Jaymi suggested with her 
own smile.    

     Carol giggled and said, "And if that doesn't work, start dancing with 
him again.  Wiggle your tush and get him to pinch it."

     "You SAW that?" Marilyn gasped, blushing.  

     "I also saw that you didn't slap him for it," Jaymi said, grinning.  

     "So, you owe him one, hmmmm?" Sandy said, trying to get back into her 
natural light-hearted mood.  "I think he's going to find out he bit off a 
little more than he can chew."

     "Oooh, that sounds interesting!" Carol laughed.  

     It didn't reduce Marilyn's blush at all, but it did add a 
interestingly feral twist to her smile as she rose to go to her meeting.

**************

     "Fweeeet, ffwwwoooo!!"  

     The unabashed whistle re-ignited a flare in Jacqui's cheeks that had 
become all too common.  In the first few days after the awakening of her 
femininity, it would have caused her nearly to stumble off her towering 
heels as she tried to see who was teasing her.  Now, she barely broke 
stride.  Whether that was due to familiarity with being whistled at or the
rigors of her training in 'girl' was hard to say at that point, and 
probably immaterial.  

     Actually, the changes had been relatively subtle, for all that their 
effect was anything but subtle.  Though nearly every inch of her skin was 
covered by the space suit she wore constantly, its body-conscious 
tightness was as revealing of her decidedly feminine curves as anything 
she could wear in public - at least legally.  But she had been wearing 
that outfit, including the stiletto heels, before.  

     What had changed wasn't limited to what showed above the high collar, 
though that had definitely improved.  There, under the other girls' 
skillful tutelage, she had learned to apply cosmetics with restraint, 
passing rapidly through the inevitable clown stages in the privacy of 
their quarters.  Her hair, though not gelled up into the lion mane 
wildness of her first real hairstyle, bounced lightly in a smooth pageboy 
that framed new earrings sparkling in the bright Houston sunlight.  

     All that was real, and effective, but - at least on a relative scale - 
minor.  It was the way she moved that had really undergone a transition, 
and it was that which most often provoked a sign of appreciation from 
observers.  

     Jacqui had learned to flow.  Her body eased through the world like a 
jaguar sliding silently through a forest - moving past obstacles as though
they, and not the sleek cat, were deviating from a direct path.  In two 
days her now-released natural grace had her moving more sensually than 
any of the team but Marilyn and Sandy.  In two weeks, even Marilyn 
couldn't match the feline frolic demonstrated by Jacqui.  Of course, 
Marilyn didn't particularly *want* to, since her own jiggles were as 
deliberate as her vacuous smiles.  

     If it hadn't been for the results of Marilyn's meeting with Jennings,
Jacqui - and the rest of the team - would have been having a wonderful time.

     Not that the meeting had gone poorly.  Quite the opposite, in fact.  

**************

     "Marilyn, c'mon in and set yourself down," Jennings had welcomed her.

     The curvy blonde approached the offered seat cautiously, not sure how
to handle his expansive mood.  The night before, his expression had been 
ominous to say the least.

     "Y'all are prob'ly wonderin' why I called you in here today," he 
began.  

     At her nod, Jennings manner changed.  The good ol' boy was gone, and
in his place was a tough, professional executive.  In clipped, precise 
tones he said, "It's time we quit playing games with each other."  

     Then he picked up a folder off his desk and handed her a sealed 
envelope with her name on it.  He smiled as he did it - not the easy 
cowboy smile he often showed, but a sharp, self-amused grin like a shark 
might display.  

     "I'll bet you I can tell you what's in that envelope," he declared.

     Marilyn offered him that challenge in the tilt of her head, but she 
quickly opened the envelope.  An astute observer could have seen a slight 
tension in her shoulders, followed by a much less subtle sharpness in her
glance as she looked again at Jennings.  

     To her surprise, he didn't speak.  He just took another item from his 
folder and handed it to her.   After she had a moment to look at it, he 
repeated his offer,  "I'll bet you another dinner that same data was in 
your envelope."

     "No bet," Marilyn said, smiling, but nodding the point to him.  

     "So, you want to tell me what's going on?"  

     Marilyn took a sheet out of her own envelope, and handed it to him.  
Jennings quickly absorbed the contents, then handed it back to her.  

     "Damn, Ah gotta get me one a' them," he said, sinking back into his 
chair and into his accent at the same time.  "So, y'all are guv'mint 
agents - from some agency that Ah noticed ain't identified - who are here
at the personal request a' th' President himself."  

     "That should be, 'th' President HISself', shouldn't it?" Marilyn 
asked, smiling.             

     "What?  Oh, yeah, you're prob'ly right," Jennings replied with his
own smile.  "Y'know, after a while, it gets way too easy to hide behind 
the masquerade - but I suppose I'm glad that I don't lose myself in it
completely."

     "Tell me about it," Marilyn countered wryly.  

     "Heh, yeah, I expect it is even harder for you."  

     "So," Jennings continued, reclaiming a bit of respect by drawing the 
next conclusion on his own.  "If that letter from the President tells me 
you're agents, but not from what agency, I don't suppose you're going to 
tell me either."

     "No," Marilyn replied, a pout forming on her full lips as she said, 
"and you're not going to make an issue of that, are you?"

     Jennings shook his head.  "Well, that note asks that whoever you show 
it to will kindly assist you in any way possible.  That's a hell of a 
blank check, but I had intended to help you anyway.  That's why I gave you 
our own data on last night's incident.  I'm guessing this is all related."  

     The data Jennings had shared, which was indeed repeated in Marilyn's 
envelope, was a report of an object de-orbiting and splashing down in an 
empty part of the Pacific Ocean.  What made the data particularly 
interesting was that it appeared to be debris from Seward's Space Facility.  
However, the orbital mechanics were not consistent with simple debris.  

     "Would you mind telling me what this data indicates to you?" Marilyn 
asked.  

     "Well, it's obvious it came from the space station.  But the 
trajectory indicates something of pretty high sectional density, yet it 
came down too quickly for atmosphere-induced orbital decay.  That thing 
was deliberately de-orbited, and it hit the water at a hellacious speed."

     His grin showed he was about to do something showy, and he did.  "So, 
Seward has Brilliant Pebbles up there, doesn't he?"  

     Marilyn's widened eyes were enough of an answer for him to proceed to 
his next conclusion.  "And you and the other women are going to try and 
stop him from, well, whatever he's threatening to do with them."

     "Not just try," Marilyn corrected him with quiet determination.  

     "I don't want Jacqui getting hurt," Jennings said firmly.  "She's 
not one of you agents.  She's one of my pilots, and I'll bounce her from 
this mission if it's too dangerous.  To hell with what the President 
says."

     "I believe you would," Marilyn said.  "But there truly shouldn't be 
any risk, at least not for her.   She's not getting off the shuttle."  

     "I don't like the sound of that, the part about risk to the other 
girls, um, women, I mean.  What's wrong?"

     Marilyn shrugged and said, "I just wish we had a chance to practice 
on the actual, um, mission a bit more.  You NASA types don't go to the 
bathroom without nine kinds of simulation, but our real mission is not 
quite what we've been training for."

     "Why?  I mean, why not?  Surely we can set up something."  

     "Well, aside from the security aspect, we don't know that much about
the interior of Seward's station.  I have a plan for the actual assault, 
but all we've got to go on are external surveillance photos . . ."

     "Well, li'l lady, y'all shoulda come to ol' Waylon sooner," Jennings
said, leaning back in his seat.  "It jus' so happens, that Ah have 
interior layouts a' the whole station."

     "How'd you get those?  Nobody has seen the interior, at least, not 
past the entrance chamber.  Nobody who'll talk, in any event."

     "Well, now, there's talkin' and then there's talkin'," replied 
Jennings.  "Ah jus' happen to have some design studies - studies only, 
o' course - which jus' happen to have been shared - unofficially - at a
recent design conference.  They ain't labeled, but Ah'll jus' bet Ah kin 
guess where they came from."  

     Marilyn's delighted smile would have warmed the heart of a man much 
less interested in curvy blondes than Jennings.  He beamed his own grin at
her and leaned forward, "Now, why don' you tell ol' Waylon what y'all plan
to do, an' we'll see what we kin work out."  

***************

     Jennings had been as good as his word, and the team's training 
exercises had been adjusted to provide the skills that were needed.  That
included skills no one outside the team was aware of, like Vanna learning
to throw knives in the zero-g simulation of the arcing airliner.  Jennings
also arranged for a small-scale model of Seward's folly to be built, 
allowing the team to review the steps of the plan over and over until 
each team member - including Jacqui, though she was irreplaceable as pilot 
and would not actually leave the shuttle - knew all team assignments at 
every point of the actual assault.  

     It had, however, kept them very, very busy; too busy for them to find
time to enjoy Jacqui's butterfly transition even as they worked to make it
happen.  At least, everyone but Jacqui was too busy.  

     Jacqui and Oz.
  
     After the third time Jacqui returned with smudged lipstick from a 
'solo' lesson in girlhood, Marilyn decided she needed to take a little 
action.  A behind-the-scenes call to Sam Gates and Oz Anderson finally got 
the chance to visit Australia.  To the rest of the team's credit, none 
offered any homilies about absence making the heart grow fonder.  Of 
course, the fire in Jacqui's eyes might have made that simple survival.      

     The team had one advantage in their astronaut training, relative to 
the first American astronauts at least.  The early astronaut candidates, 
Mercury 7 and subsequent groups, were all military pilots, all very fit 
and pre-qualified for the physical rigors of flight.  As a result, much of 
their selection process focused on motivation.  The screening tests 
deliberately tested not only physical abilities but mental commitment, and 
were often deliberately demeaning or needlessly painful as a way to weed 
out candidates.

     The girls never had to face those sorts of obstacles.   Of course, 
they were not as well prepared for the rigors of spatial disorientation 
and zero-g, so they had plenty of rides in the zero-g simulation 
transport.  That seemed as unpleasant as anything the 'real' astronauts 
might have faced - at least to them.  Still, they stayed with it, 
bolstered by Jacqui's steady presence; now a full member of the team 
except for one special secret.  

     Marilyn called her group together several weeks later, excitement 
showing despite her always-disciplined self-control.  "We've been 
accepted!" she said.

     "By Seward?" Sandy guessed quickly.

     "Yes," confirmed Marilyn.  "He's seen our team photo - not 
surprisingly that was important to him - and he's approved our 'servicing' 
mission."

     "'Servicing' is right," Vanna snorted.  "That pig is probably 
slobbering all over our pictures."

     "'Slobbering' is not the word I would have used," Carol said with a 
smirk.  "Though what he's *really* doing would be at least as . . . hard . 
. . to clean up."  

     Jacqui snorted.  "He can't . . I mean, he wouldn't really expect . . 
. would he?"   

     "Darlin'" Carol replied.  "You wouldn't *believe* what some people 
expect."  

     "I can't *believe* you agreed to that," Jacqui said, looking at 
Marilyn.

    "All we agreed to was that we would accomplish the stated mission 
requirements, including wearing these outfits," Marilyn said.  "But it 
doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out why he wants only pretty 
women on his crews."  

     Jacqui nodded absently, her eyes unfocused as she tried to absorb 
this new information.  Jaymi took that opportunity to ask a question of 
her own, though it was one they all wanted to know.

     "When?"

     "Countdown, at least the part we have to be there for, starts in two 
days," Marilyn replied simply.  "The launch window is pretty small because 
of the high inclination of his station orbit.  It seems the regular crew 
had some visa problems and won't be able to clear Customs before the 
window closes.  I can just about guarantee that."

     "Won't he be suspicious?" asked Vanna.

     Carol's voice took on a throaty purr as she said, "Would you 
complain, if women as beautiful as we are asked to visit you?"

     Marilyn laughed, but she said, "Actually, we're expecting him to 
be suspicious, but we're also counting on his ego.  He'll think he's 
safe behind his pheromone defenses."  

     "We'll just have to . . . show him the error of his ways," Sandy 
said resolutely.  The rest of the team nodded in agreement.