"Pheromone Pharmacopia"

by Brandy Dewinter

(c 2001, All rights reserved)

Chapter 22 - "Mistress With The Mostest"

     "Mr. Gates, Ladies, the President will see you now," reported the 
courteous functionary, smiling in appreciation as they stood.  

     The team, including their punctiliously neat boss, Sam Gates, were 
waiting in a hallway outside the famous Oval Office.  It was clear that 
they were a team, though they no longer wore their colorful skin-tight 
spacesuits.  Nonetheless, they were essentially in uniform; snugly 
tailored business suits complete with button-down shirts and color-
coordinated neckties.  The suits - except for the dark blue that Gates 
wore - were charcoal gray, accented with a pinstripe in each team member's 
trademark color, including a muted purple for Jacqui.  Only an Ally McBeal 
shortness of the skirts and too-high heels interfered with the 
professional dignity they portrayed, and those fashion statements were not 
optional.  Carol's memory demanded nothing less.  

     Gates nodded, and led the way to the opened door.  Once inside 
though, he stepped to the side and motioned for Marilyn to array her team 
in the space before the desk in the office, an empty desk in an 
unpopulated office.  Before they had all entered, however, the President 
stepped through another door, smiling and offering his hand to the curvy 
blonde leader.  

    "Ms. Richards, or if you prefer, Col. Merlin, I'm pleased to finally 
meet you."

    "Thank you, sir.  Marilyn is fine.  May I present my, uh, the team?"

    "Of course," he replied, though his eyes sharpened for a moment as he 
caught the break in her words.  Introductions took only a moment, each 
woman receiving a politician's smile and a carefully impersonal handshake 
- each woman but Sandy, at whose hand the Prresident paused.  "I swear, my 
daughters look older than you."

     "Clean living, Mr. President," Sandy said, dimpling in a smile while 
adding just enough of a graceful sway in her hips to imply a curtsy.  

     "Hmmm.  I'll have to recommend that they give it a try," he said 
wryly.
 
     Turning away from the women the President continued, "Not 
surprisingly, I find I agree with you, Sam.  I've read the report, and I 
am impressed."  

     Gates just nodded, indicating with his head in Marilyn's direction.  
The President nodded in his turn, and faced her.  "The camera tapes you 
brought back show that the Brilliant Pebbles are no longer a threat, yet 
the Seward station is itself in a stable orbit.  We'll work something out 
with the intact parts of it - probably in conjunction with the 
International Space Station facilities.  The threat you were sent to 
counter has been neutralized.  I don't want to imply that your . . . 
unique qualifications were not an important element of your success in 
this, but I do believe that you and your team have demonstrated a 
competence that would have succeeded in any mission assigned to you."

    Instead of making some suitably modest reply, Marilyn looked away and 
dropped her head.  Sandy stepped up to place an arm around her shoulders, 
beating Jaymi by only a heartbeat.  No words were spoken, but the 
President stepped back, leaning one hip on the desk.  He paused for a 
moment, obviously looking for the right thing to say.  Gates stepped 
forward ready to intervene, but a subtle wave of the President's hand 
stopped him.  

     Marilyn looked like she was about to say something, but stopped 
herself, looking at Sandy, then sighing.

     The President straightened from where he was sitting on the desk and 
looked at Jacqui.  "Ms. Cleaver, you are a very talented pilot," he said, 
changing the topic for the moment.  "You did a good job getting that 
shuttle down with the limited fuel you had to work with when it came time 
to do the re-entry burn."  

     "Um, yes sir.  Thank you sir."  

     "You are also a problem for us," he said next, surprising her.  

     "I, um, don't understand, sir," she replied, but her eyes showed a 
different message, then dropped as the President's smile said he saw the 
truth she had denied.

     He sent an engaging grin her way, then quoted, "You can always tell a 
fighter pilot, but you can never tell him much."  

     "I was one a' them fighter pilots, too, y'know," he continued, 
letting a bit of drawl into his words.  "And they - *we* - are all sure 
we're not only more talented, but flat out smarter than anyone else 
around.  So I'm not surprised that you think you're the only one to have 
realized Carol gave away her 'secret'."

     Then his tone became more serious as he continued, "But the need to 
maintain security on this is more important than your ego, or mine.  Sam 
and Marilyn  told me that we have to do something with you."
  
     He finished with what was obviously a direct order.  "Tell me what 
you think you've figured out."

     Jacqui looked at her teammates, guiltily, but she stood to attention 
in an unconscious reflex and reported.  "Carol was . . . not really a 
woman.  Lord knows she looked like one, a very pretty one, but . . . she 
was really a man.  And based on . . . things I've noticed, I don't think . 
. ."

    She ran down, but her glance traveled to the other team members and it 
was clear what she was thinking.  

     The President looked at Gates, who nodded, then began, "Ms. Cleaver, 
this team you've been working with is called, 'SMITE', which stands for 
She-Male Independent Tactical Expedition."

     "She-Male?" repeated Jacqui.  

     "Yes.  With the exception of you, the whole team was born male, but 
now have the external appearance of women - with the exception of one 
important . . characteristic of their birth gender."  

     To her credit, Jacqui's pretty face was not marred by any expression 
of disgust or dismay.  There was confusion, but its cause was quickly made 
clear when she asked, "Why?"  

     "It was those damn drugs," Vanna said with a little shake of 
remembered distress.   "If we'd have been . . . born women, we truly would 
have been as helpless as Seward expected.  You only caught a tiny bit of 
it in the shuttle.  In his control room, it was . . . incredible.  And 
our, um, nature turned out to be doubly important when the male-arousal 
pheromones he used to enhance his own enjoyment and aggressiveness 
counteracted the effects of the female-arousal ones he had hit us with.  
That's what allowed us to defeat him."  

     "This is not the first mission which has required this team's unique 
capabilities," interjected the President.  "Nor even the most important to 
the security of the United States or the world as a whole."

     "However," he continued, "some of those missions, though successful, 
could still be compromised if our . . adversaries even realized we HAD a 
team of soldiers who looked like women but could, um, function as men.  
Since you know that secret, you have become a problem."  

     "I'd never tell anyone!" Jacqui promised. 

     "You're right," Gates said.  "The only question is:  How are we going 
to guarantee that?  We will guarantee it, but there are . . . alternate 
ways to achieve that end."  

     Jacqui sniffed at that implied threat.  "Like what?  Throw me in some 
deep dark prison somewhere and never let me out."

     Gates made that threat very real with an emotionless, "That's one 
way, yes."  

     "That shouldn't be necessary," Marilyn said, speaking for the first 
time since she had become lost in her memories of Carol's loss.  "Jacqui 
can . . join the team."  

     "She's not a she-male," Gates pointed out bluntly.  

     "I *know* that," Marilyn replied testily.  "We can work around it."

     "Would you be willing to be part of such a team?" the President asked 
Jacqui.  "Security is . . . extreme.  Your old life would be over, at 
least the professional part.  No more space missions, at least."  

     Jacqui turned to look out the windows behind the desk.  It was 
evening, and the night sky held stars despite the glow of city lights.  "I 
don't know. . ."  

     "While you're deciding, we should probably take care of the rest of 
the business of this meeting," the President said.  "It may influence your
choice."  He nodded at Gates who pulled a folder from his unobtrusive 
briefcase.  

     "Attention to orders," Gates commanded, and out of reflex the women 
formed into a neat line.  

     "I think we can dispense with at least some of the formality," the 
President decided.  "The citations are all fake anyway - not the part 
about courage and sacrifice of course, but the specifics are . . . 
unspecific.  Let me just cut to the chase here."  

     "Jaymi Fox," he said, stepping up to the brunette, "according to the 
mission report, you saved a lot of people by recognizing and interrupting 
the command codes for those weapons.  We've analyzed the signal traffic 
you captured and the first two weapons were targeted for Congress and this 
very room we're standing in.  Some of the country might consider that a 
small loss, but I am personally rather grateful.  It gives me great 
pleasure to award you the Legion of Merit."  

     "Vanna White," he continued, not without a grin at her chosen name, 
"Though your contributions, and those of your teammates, are unique, you 
are truly soldiers in the service of your nation.  It is clear that you 
performed to the standards of the Soldier's Medal, and I find it 
personally interesting that this is a step *down* from your last award, 
despite the unique skills and courage you demonstrated."  

     "Jacqui Cleaver, regardless of what you decide to do from here, you 
have certainly earned this award, the Air Force Distinguished Flying  
Cross."  He continued with that friendly grin, "I'm sorry you won't be 
able to brag about how you got it.  I know how important that is to 
pilots."     

     When he reached the next person in line, his grin increased to a 
snicker as he recited her name, "Sandy Beech, I've talked to a lot of 
people who have won 'the Big One', the Medal of Honor.  Every single one 
of them hopes never to be faced with something that might win another one.  
I hope you'll be satisfied with this Soldier's Medal as well.  You have 
set an enormous standard for yourself, yet this medal is justly deserved 
and honors all those who have ever won it."

     "Yes, sir, Mr. President," Sandy replied, bowing her head as the 
ribbon was placed around her neck.  

     "Marilyn," the President said, turning to the last team member - at 
least the last one in the room.  "It's traditional for the commanding 
officer to receive his, uh, her honors last.  However, one member couldn't 
be here to accept her award.  Presenting it to her family faces the same 
security problems that we've been discussing, and I understand they were 
not close anyway.  Would you be willing to accept Carol's Medal of Honor 
on her behalf?  Her sacrifice cannot be honored by anything else, because 
there is nothing higher the country can do."  

     Marilyn's eyes filled with a shine that threatened imminent flood, 
but she shook her head rather than nodding.  Holding up her hand to 
forestall her Commander-in-Chief, she turned to Jacqui.  Marilyn spoke in 
a tight, thin voice with none of the light energy she had trained herself 
to use.

     "Jacqui, things can be very . . . tough on this team.  As you've just 
heard, the girls have earned - the hard way - two Congressional Medals of 
Honor.  That's a sign of very difficult, very high-risk missions.  And it 
has resulted in the death of one of us already; a death not caused by 
random risk or accident, but by a deliberate sacrifice.  If you join the 
team, you're facing a greater challenge than anything NASA could ever 
throw at you.  Yet . . . the girls need you, more than you know.  Will you 
join them?"

     Jacqui looked at Marilyn in surprise, not expecting her to force the 
issue so bluntly.  After a moment, she nodded.  At Jacqui's acceptance, 
Marilyn sighed, and seemed to shrink as she lost a little of the stiffness 
in her military posture.  There was even more sadness in her eyes, though, 
when she turned next to Sandy.  

     "Sandy, dear, even with the example of Carol, you are the bravest 
person I have ever met.  And probably the smartest.  It's not your fault 
that you never received the formal education it takes to handle some of 
the things the team commander needs to do.  Like a lot of things, that's 
my fault, too.  You're an excellent second, but you're not ready to take 
command of the team."

     "I don't want command," Sandy said in confusion.

     "I know that," Marilyn said.  "But I don't either."

     She turned back to the President and said, "Mr. President, I resign.  
Effective immediately.  Jacqui is a qualified command officer, and I know 
the team will serve her as ably as they have served me.  I don't deserve 
to lead them, though.  Nor do I deserve to receive Carol's medal.  Give it 
to Jacqui on behalf of the team."  

      Her quiet words hung in the air of the room, seeming to echo back 
from the curving walls.  It was impossible to sort out the next words, 
because when they came, it was as though a dam had broken and the 
resulting flood was too confused to be coherent.

      "If she quits, I quit!"  "NO, Marilyn, you can't!"  "I don't WANT 
the job, not at that price!"  "You're crazy!"  

      The President held up his hand and the well-trained voices stilled.  
"Sixty-two," he said softly.  

     Marilyn said, "Excuse me?"  

     Gently, slowly enough that it was clear she would have time to draw 
back if she chose, the President reached out and cupped Marilyn's chin in 
his hand, drawing her face to look directly at him.  

     "You don't consider the mission a success because of what happened to 
Carol Stevenson," he said, no question in his tone.  "I've never had 
anyone under my direct command die, but I *have* worn the uniform, and I 
do understand military discipline - and risks.  Since I have taken office, 
sixty-two American service men and women have died in the line of duty.  
Ms. Stevenson was one of them, but I feel responsible for each and every 
loss."

     He dropped his hand, but continued to capture Marilyn's eyes with 
his own.  "Can you believe that I understand what you're feeling?" 

     Marilyn nodded, dutifully, but her shoulders squared a little and she 
lifted her head.  

     Her Commander-in-Chief continued, "I want an honest answer now.  Is 
there anyone else - in all of your experience, including Lt. Col. Cleaver 
- who is MORE qualified to lead this team thhan you?  Even considering what 
you're feeling about Carol's loss?"  

     After a long pause, Marilyn shook her head.  

     The President asked, "And could you have done anything differently 
that would have saved Carol without an even greater cost if the missiles 
had rained down on us?"

     At this, Marilyn's head dropped again and she didn't try to hide the 
despair in her voice as she said, "No, Mr. President, but that's the 
point!  I *should* have been able to save her, but I couldn't.  And if I 
were in the same situation again, I'd fail again.  Even now, with all the 
time in the world to think about it, I can't come up with anything else I 
could have done."

     "Then I for DAMN sure couldn't have!" interjected Jacqui, breaking 
ranks to stand before the taller woman.  Their relative statures were 
unimportant though, for the fierceness boiling from the shorter brunette 
made her loom over the blonde.  "Look, Marilyn, if the only reason you 
feel you can quit this team is because I'm now part of it, then *I* quit.  
Hell, even *I* don't want to be part of the team if you're not leading it.  
Carol disobeyed your direct orders, not once, but several times.  You did 
all a commander could do.  Don't you *dare* degrade her sacrifice by 
blaming yourself."

     All of a sudden Jacqui seemed to realize what she was doing, 
lecturing a superior officer and in the presence of the President 
himself.  Her mouth, opened to deliver the next barrage, snapped closed 
and she flinched as she turned to look over her shoulder at the leader of 
her nation.  The graceful slither forced on her by her stilt heels gave a 
dual meaning to 'slink' as she moved back into line, a fiery blush 
consuming the rest of her energy.  

     The President smiled and said, "I don't believe I could have said 
that better myself."  Then his eyes took on a serious, sympathetic 
expression as he looked back at the wide-eyed blonde, "Please, Marilyn, 
reconsider your decision.  I have full confidence in you.  It's not easy 
to accept that sense of responsibility, but I wouldn't want anyone in such 
an important position who felt it any less."  

     He held out the box containing Carol's Medal of Honor to Marilyn 
again.  The rest of the team held their breath while she made her 
decision, then released an explosive gasp when a small sad smile relaxed 
the frown that showed on her troubled brow.  Marilyn reached for the box, 
and nodded slightly.

     "I don't want to make any more posthumous awards - not even of the 
Medal of Honor," the President said, then reached for another box handed 
him by Sam Gates.  "After the intensity of that decision, I hope you find 
it easier to accept this one, too.  The Distinguished Service Medal is not 
easy to earn, and in this case it's especially well deserved.  Let's hope 
that future missions for your team are less - challenging.  

     Then he smiled sadly and added, "Though I'm afraid I expect they 
will be."     

     He stepped back and smiled at the array of beautiful women.  His 
smile was genuine, but also deliberate, an attempt to close the encounter 
on a positive note.   He saw a note of greater humor in Sam Gates' face 
though, despite the fact it was only visible as a slight twitch.  

     "What's so funny, Sam?" he demanded.  

     Gates twitched again, then replied, "Well, Mr. President, I was just 
thinking.  You get very little credit in the press for the cultural 
diversity your Administration demonstrates, with people of all backgrounds 
in positions of great responsibility.  This has got to be about the most 
. . . dramatic example of that I could imagine: A genetic woman on a 
she-male team comprised of genetic males who look like beautiful women 
tthemselves.  And we can't tell a soul about it."

     "Goodness, no!" the president replied.  "Even aside from the security 
aspects, the right-wingers would have a cow, and the left-wingers would 
claim it was all political anyway."

     "That's what you get for being a moderate, Mr. President," Gates 
observed.  

     The Commander-in-Chief shrugged, then turned back to Marilyn.  "Is 
there anything I can do for you, more than these medals?  I don't mean the 
logistics of supporting your team.  Sam handles that.  I want to know if 
there is something . . . personal you need that I can help with."

     That offer was probably intended to be merely polite, and the polite 
response would be to deny any need.  But Marilyn surprised him by making a 
real request, though her voice choked with emotion as she spoke.  

     "Yes, Mr. President, there is.  Carol's last request was to have a 
high school named after her.  Apparently there was some movie where that 
was the reward for some astronauts who died sacrificing themselves for the 
people on the ground.  Can that be done?"  

     The President was surprised when she made her request, but he 
recovered quickly, pulling a well-worn notebook from the jacket of his 
suit.  He wrote for a moment, then looked up.  "Ah, do you think it should 
be, um, Carol, or Carl?"

     Though his voice was gentle, recognizing the poignancy of that 
question, it was too much for Marilyn.  She buried her face in her hands
and turned away.  

     Her team huddled around her, sharing the moment even as they defended
her from the terror of being alone - or tried to.  Yet, just as they could
not be with Carol in her ultimate loneliness, the weight of command could 
not really be shared.  Marilyn's tears were hidden, yet unstoppable.  

     Jacqui, on the outside by virtue of reactions just a millisecond 
slower than her teammates, turned to the President and said, "Carol, Mr. 
President.  It was her last wish, and how I learned her true nature."

     Before the President could reply, Jacqui continued, speaking almost 
to herself.  "That's not really true.  I knew her true nature long before 
that.  What I learned about her plumbing didn't really change that."  

     The President nodded, then put his notebook back in his suit pocket.  
"I will make that a personal commitment.  Carol Stevenson will get her 
name on a high school, or there won't be *any* federal education funding 
next year."

     "And," he continued, "I will also make a personal commitment to pray
for her, and for you all."   

     The highly trained, demonstrably competent, super-secret team of 
America's finest dissolved into sobs as his comment took them all back to 
Carol's last moments when prayers were all they had to offer her.  

     Gates' voice intruded on the moment, and though it was indeed an 
intrusion, it was also a relief.  "Mr. President, it's time for your next 
appointment."  

     "Of course," the President replied.  He watched the women make an 
ineffectual attempt to repair smudged makeup and prepare to leave.  

     That mundane duty resurrected controls that memories had broken, and 
the team leader managed a nod to her Commander-in-Chief.  "Thank you, Mr. 
President," she said as they left the famous room.  

     There was a convenient powder room outside the Oval Office, and the 
team took advantage of it to recover as much as possible of their typical 
beauty.  It didn't meet the standards Marilyn had established, but it 
would do for the trip back to their hotel.  As they gathered up their 
things before the mirror, Jacqui looked at her new comrades in arms and 
said, "That had better be one HELL of a great school."  

     Marilyn nodded, then sent her own inspecting gaze to each of her team 
members.  "Thank you, all, for your confidence.  I'll try to live up to 
it."  

     Vanna forced a smile on her features, then a mock grimace of horror.  
"Oh, Lordy, if you think you have to do MORE, then God help us all!"  

     "You got that right," Sandy said, a smile on her lips that was at 
odds with the blinking she was doing to keep her tears under control.  
"Oh, Jacqui, you poor fool.  You won't believe what she's like when we're 
NOT on a mission."

     Jacqui laughed and said, "You can't scare me.  I was on that swamp 
trek with you.  I know how she drives her slaves."  

     "You don't have a clue!" Jaymi claimed, then provoked a small smile 
of pride from Marilyn when the brunette concluded, "but you will!".