Synaptic Overload

by Brandy Dewinter and Tigger

Chapter 4 - Do I Look Like I Care?

      "Fzzsttt!  Rraowffst!  [Who invades my domain?  Oh, it's you.  
You're late.  Again.]

     Dinger's motion toward the kitchen and his delayed dinner was a great
deal more fluid than Thorson's slow limp across the same space.  The 
taller roommate dropped off a fairly sizable carrying bag and grumped
back at his cat.

     "Oh, give me a break.  Those high-heeled boots make pretzels of my 
feet and my ankles, and my calves.  Then all I get from you is complaints."

     "Rrroowwrrftz." [Do I look like I care?  Start the can opener.]

     "I'm telling you, Ding, the things I'm doing to make this masquerade
work are more trouble than they're worth."

     "Mrrwrrftz." [Fine.  Start the can opener.]

     "The corset is bad enough.  Every time I wear it, I check to see if
I've worn the skin over my ribs enough to draw blood.  And as for 
breathing, well, I suppose that is almost a good thing.  I'm certainly 
learning to work out without incidentals like breathing.  But those heels
are really a killer.  And I don't even want to think about the first time
I put on deodorant after shaving my armpits.  Now I know why women choose
Secret."

     Ding didn't answer this time, since Thorson had been working as he 
spoke and had finally managed to prepare the cat's meal.  Thorson's own 
meal took little more time and he soon was resting his feet as he took 
care of his mail while he ate.  Ding's mood improved as his hunger waned, 
so it was a contented cat that levitated into Thorson's lap in a much more 
friendly welcome home.  

     "Prrhmmrrr." [So, why don't you tell me about it.  While you rub my
back, of course.]

     "Okay.  When Janice told me that heels would make my legs look 
longer and my feet look smaller, I believed her.  And she made her point 
about the corset right off, too.  But if I'm going to really do this 
superhero bit, I have to be able to move in those things, and that is 
taking a lot more practice than I thought."

     Ding bumped his head into Thorson's chin, sniffing a bit at a 
scent that was still unfamiliar.

     "Yeah, that too.  She showed me all the makeup things, and I've 
been practicing on that.  I suppose you can smell it a bit even after
I wash up.  I almost wish it hadn't all been so damn effective."

     It certainly had been.  That first day, Janice had suggested they
just work on a straight transformation to a feminine appearance not
limited to what would show while he wore the superhero costume.  It had 
taken hours.  First, she suggested that he shave his body.  Then she had 
given him this positively infernal contraption called a gaff to wear, 
along with instructions on "tucking" properly.  Then came the corset.  
By the time he got to the shoes, he was too saturated to notice them.  
Much.  Besides, the next thing he had to do was just sit while they 
did his makeup.  It had almost been worse to have Angie working on him 
than to talk with Janice.  Angie was cute in a pixie sort of way, but her 
short haircut and jeans soon had her looking the least feminine of the 
three of them.  Which didn't help Thorson's saturated perceptions at all.  

     He was still trying to decide what his feelings were about what he 
saw in the mirror when they were done with him.  He wasn't movie star 
gorgeous.  His superhero alter ego would need a mask if she was going
to qualify for babe status.  But he certainly looked like a woman, even a 
pretty one.  Pretty enough, in fact, that his male ego had taken a worse 
slam than the time Laney Crawford has laughed at him when he asked her out 
in high school.  

     How could *any* man look that much like a woman?  Janice was 
different.  He knew she was a man under all that magic, but it was a sort 
of intellectual knowledge that just didn't rise to the surface much.  But 
this!  This was him!  Only it wasn't him, it was this well, not a babe, 
but certainly a pretty woman.

     "That is incredible," he had said.  And spoiled the illusion.

     "Ah yes, well, you will have to work some on that voice," Janice
had said.  "But there is just as much potential there as in the rest
of your appearance."

     That had been the start of a series of lessons on mannerisms, voice,
word choices, things that made the physical transformation seem to be the
lesser part of the whole.  Perhaps it was.  Certainly Janice showed that
clothes alone were not enough, maybe not even the most important part.
Women could wear men's clothes and still look like women.

     Unfortunately, at least some men could not wear women's clothes and
still look like men.  Or fortunately.  Whatever.  Thorson wasn't even 
sure whether he was glad he could pass so convincingly or not.  But it
was clear that the potential was there, so he had attacked that skill 
with the focused commitment that had earned his degrees, and in fact the 
same concentration that had gained him control over the entropy power.    
Still, it bothered him to know that he could pass as a nice-looking young
woman any time he chose.  That was not a particularly ringing endorsement
of his manliness.  

     "Ah, hell, Ding.  Terhune already figured I was fair game for jokes
like that.  If I get the entropy control things to work, they'll respect 
me well enough."

     "Mrraorr?" [Jokes like what?  And rub a little more behind my ears.]

     Instead, Thorson stopped rubbing his cat entirely and spoke to him in
a more serious tone.  "Ding, we have a problem.  I wove a bunch of 
samarium/cobalt filaments through my costume and tried to levitate today."

     Ding's response was to butt his head into Thorson's chin again.  
[Keep talking, but don't stop rubbing.]

     "When I tried to lift, I could control the fields okay, but the 
unitard is just too stretchy.  I was slipping all around inside of it.
I need something that will hold me as tightly as that corset does . . . "

     His voice trailed off as the expression of his problem showed the
obvious solution.  "Thanks, Dinger, you've been a big help," Thorson 
called as he dropped the cat and made his way to the phone.

     "Inner Truth Salon, this is Janice.  How may we help you?"

     "Janice, this is Jonny."

     "Oh, Jonny, how good to hear from you.  Are you calling to order 
your superbabe wig?  I have a really good deal for you."

     "Uh, well, no.  Not really, but, well, maybe."

     "That's not a very clear statement for a nice, logical scientist," 
she laughed.

     "Oh, yeah, you're right.  Look, Janice, I need to ask a favor."

     "Okay, what can we do?"

     "First, did you mean it when you said you always respect a client's
privacy?"
 
     "Yes.  Jonathon.  We do."

     *Oops, better try to mend a fence or two.*  "I'm sorry, I didn't say
that very well.  I trust you, really I do.  But, well, there may be more
to it than for normal clients."

     "All of our clients are special, Jonathon."

     "Look, Janice.  I'm sorry," he repeated, "but this is not coming out 
like I want at all."

     He paused for a moment, then made a decision.  "I need to come visit
you, if I can."

     "You're always welcome, of course.  Aren't you already on the 
schedule for Saturday?"  Janice asked.

     "Yes, but I don't want to wait.  Could I come see you tonight?"

     Janice agreed without hesitation, but there as an unmistakable 
undercurrent of curiosity in her voice.  "Sure, I guess so.  We'll be
here for an hour or so."

     "Uh, well, that might be a problem.  It takes me all of that to get
there, maybe more if there's a lot of traffic."

     "And you've been coming all that way for, what half a dozen times 
now?"  Janice asked in surprise.  Then, before Thorson had time to worry,
she continued, "I guess we can grant you a special dispensation, after 
that much show of commitment."

     "Thanks, I'll be there as soon as possible," Thorson said, almost 
cutting off Janice's good-bye as he hung up the phone.

     Turning to the cat he said, "Sorry, Ding, but I gotta go again."

     "Rrrurrmwrree," Ding answered. [You must have mistaken me for 
someone who cares.  Now I can get that nap I deserve.  Without 
interruption.]

     The big old tomcat was apparently asleep before Thorson had picked
up his bag and left the apartment.  All the way to Castle Rock, he was 
trying to decide just what to say to Janice, and by extension Angie since
they had made it clear they held no secrets from each other.  They were 
creative, intelligent people and an outright lie was unlikely to work, 
even if they politely declined to show their disbelief.

     No particularly good ideas had come to him when he arrived at the 
Inner Truth salon, but the door was unlocked and as he entered he found
Janice quietly rearranging wigs on a wall display.  

     "Oh, Jonny, welcome," she said.  

     *At least it's 'Jonny' and not 'Jonathon',* he thought.  *She must
be over being mad at me.*  He let himself be ushered over to the same 
small consulting space they had first used.  As they left the main 
showroom, Janice turned out the lights, leaving the small office 
illuminated by an ordinary table lamp.  Janice glanced at the equipment 
bag he was still carrying, which reminded him of the burden and he set it 
down near the table.

     Janice's curiosity was too much for a lot of small talk, so she soon
got to the point, "What brings you out so late?"

     Despite the time in the car, Thorson was still not sure how to begin.
He dropped his eyes and looked at his hands as he was trying to compose an
answer.  He was rescued from his dilemma, it seemed, when the door to the
store opened yet again.  

     Janice looked at him and asked, "Did you invite anyone to meet you 
here?"

     The very idea shocked Thorson, "No!  Never."

     A frown replaced the easy smile that so defined Janice, and she stood
to go see who had entered the darkened shop.  She didn't get very far.  As
soon as she opened the door to the consultation room, spilling light from 
the table lamp into the broader area, a slurred voice said, "Holdit.  Don'
move."

     Beyond Janice, Thorson could see a man wearing jeans and a torn 
t-shirt, the faded logo of an out-of-favor rock band still legible through
layers of something not as easy to identify.  More important than that, 
though, was the glint of reflected light he saw as the intruder waved his
hand.

     "I gotta gun," the stranger said.

     "I can see that," Janice calmly agreed.

     "Gimme all your money," the man demanded.

     "Ah, that's what you're here for," Janice said lightly.  "And here I 
thought you wanted to schedule a makeover."

     "Don' want no makeup," the man insisted.  "Thass for wimmin.  I jus'
wan' your money."

     Janice's tone remained casual, but she didn't offer any encouragement
as she said, "Unfortunately, we don't keep any money on the premises.  
You'll have to try somewhere else."

     The robber's next comment was interrupted by the opening of yet 
another door, this one from deeper in the building.  Silhouetted in the
opening was a short-haired figure wearing pants and holding something 
with a bell-mouthed barrel.  The intruder jumped at the interruption, 
then started to swing his gun toward the backlit shape.  Even in the dim
light, Thorson could see the man's eyes start to squint in anticipation of
the blast that he would soon release.

     The light from the lamp near Thorson's hand suddenly dimmed as his
left hand covered it.  From his right hand, a thin red wire leaped to 
touch the robber's gun.  Before the man could fire, a large part of the 
gun fell from his hand, sliced neatly just above the grip and trigger 
assembly that he still held.  Some spatter of hot metal must have 
touched his hand, because he dropped the remaining portion and clutched
his gun hand in pain.  Before anyone else could move, he turned and 
ran from the shop, knocking over racks of clothing in his frantic haste.

     Thorson removed his hand from the lamp, returning sufficient 
illumination to the area outside the small office to reveal the look of
surprise on Janice's face, first at the rapid exit of the robber, and then
at the suddenly-unfamiliar customer.

     "What did you do?" she demanded, shock and still-unflushed adrenaline
interfering with her typical politeness.

     Thorson didn't answer, still not sure what he needed to say; a 
problem that had just become even more complicated.  

     He was rescued once again from an immediate need to speak, this time
by Angie's demand, "What's going on here?"

     "Jonny was about to tell us," Janice claimed, her eyes demanding 
that Thorson make good on her promise.

     In a sort of distracted stall, not so much a deliberate delaying 
tactic as just a grasp at the tiniest straw of progress, Thorson invited
Janice back into her own consultation office.  With a nod of her head to 
invite Angie in also, Janice walked back into the room.  Angie came as 
well, bringing the hair dryer that had so nearly precipitated a tragedy.

     There were only two chairs in the tiny room, but Thorson stood back
and started pacing the step or two he could make before turning.  His eyes
showed he was lost somewhere within his own mind, churning once again with
the need to find words for something the didn't really want to discuss.

     Angie looked at Janice, and once their eyes met, those of the pixie
woman glanced toward Thorson in a message that might not have been clear
to anyone else, but was apparently understood adequately by her lifemate.

     "Jonny, maybe I should start," Janice offered.

     "Huh, start what?" he said.

     "Start by explaining what you came to tell us," Janice said, then 
continued without letting Thorson confirm or deny the need.

     "You are a superhero, or at least you're about to become one," 
Janice claimed.  "You intend to masquerade as a woman when you are
using whatever powers you have and need some help with your real 
costume, not the one for some nonexistent party, the one you will wear
in public."

     "How did you know?" he asked in shock.

     "Dear Jonny, do you think you're the first person to come in here
claiming he needed our services for something, oh, innocent like a 
costume party when he really wanted it for something else?  You've 
committed way too much to this for a casual lark.  We suspected as much
before, but we decided to let you have your little secret.  I admit I 
didn't know you were a real live superhero before tonight, but I guess
I should have.  We don't get many who are as adamant about the superhero
thing as you are.  I thought it was just misdirection, not a real need."

     Thorson looked at her, then at Angie.  Angie was looking just as 
surprised as Thorson felt, though it was clear that her surprise was 
limited to the superhero part of Janice's revelation.  Angie clearly 
wanted more of an explanation, but as she started to ask for it, Janice
lightly touched her arm to keep her still while Thorson was still 
absorbing Janice's amazing statement.

     "And what makes you think I'm a superhero?" he asked.

     "Well, *I* certainly can't cut a gun in half from across the room,
and if I grabbed a hot lightbulb like you did, all I'd burn would be my
own hand."

     "Oh, yeah, well, I couldn't let him hurt Angie," Thorson offered in
unnecessary explanation.

     "Of course not," Janice said.

     "I'm not going to go into the physics," Thorson finally began the 
real explanation, "but I have discovered a new source of power.  I'm just 
beginning to explore the limits of the power, but with everything I 
discover those limits move even further out.  However, it's very 
unconventional.  I can't get the bureaucrats at the university to listen 
to me."

     "I . . . see," Janice said, yet they both knew that she did not.  

     Thorson said, "My plan is to get some publicity through public 
display of my abilities, or the abilities available through my 
discoveries.  When I have their attention, I'll reveal who I am.  I 
shouldn't have any trouble getting it, with the things I now can do."

     "I am, or at least, will be a superhero.  Or that's the plan, anyway.  
I have discovered some quite powerful effects through my research, but my 
department head thinks they're all tricks, faked somehow.  I need the 
publicity that I can get as a superhero to gain acceptance of my research."

     "What sort of effects?" Angie asked.

     "Uh, well, I can do a heat ray.  That's what Janice saw.  And, oh, 
yeah, that's why I came here.  I think I'll be able to fly, if you can help 
me."

     "Fly?" Janice asked.

     "Yeah, well, if you can help me," Thorson repeated.

     "Why a female superhero?" Janice asked.  "I know you don't get 
aroused by cross-dressing, for all that you are so good at it."

     "Because I'm too small to be taken seriously as a male superhero," 
Thorson answered, for once letting some of the bitterness into his tone.

     "So, Jonny, what can we do for a real, live superhero that we haven't 
already offered?" Angie asked again.  "Something that would get you to come 
here so late at night."

     "Well, I think I may need some help with my corset . . . " 
   
************************

     "FLASH!  New supercriminal reported.  Stay tuned to WNN for the
latest breaking news on a daring new villain!" the announcer ordered.

     As usual, Terhune had the faculty lounge TV tuned to the news, and
as usual they were excited about something that was just then breaking.
At the mention of a supercriminal, though, Thorson looked up from the lab 
reports he was grading to see who they had discovered.  It turned out they 
hadn't really discovered anything.  The new supercriminal had robbed
a bank in broad daylight, not bothering to block the surveillance cameras.

     The on-the-scene reporter was providing some details, "At 2:00 this 
afternoon, in Peaches, Georgia, a group led by a woman wearing a 
distinctive, but never-before-seen costume robbed the Heritage Federal 
Bank.  This image, just now released to the press, shows the woman and her
henchmen."

     The image running on the screen, repeating several times with the 
typical jerky motion of an automatic surveillance camera, showed a dark-
haired woman wearing a form-fitting costume and a mask, walking 
nonchalantly into the bank lobby.  She waved her hand toward the tellers 
and customers, after which they seemed unable to interfere while the men 
with her helped themselves to the cash from a row of teller drawers.  The 
woman's disdain for any threat from the surveillance images was shown as 
she gave a jaunty wave to the camera as she left the lobby, ostentatiously 
dropping a sheet of paper on the receptionist's desk just before she 
reached the door.

     The reporter resumed his narrative, "WNN News has obtained a copy
of the paper dropped by the woman as she exited the bank.  It contained
the following message:

'On behalf of the nobility of our realm, of whom We are the queen and 
heir, We acknowledge receipt of partial reimbursement of taxes illegally 
collected from our kingdom, known to you as the Hawaiian Islands.  We will
continue to recover money and other items stolen from our dynasty until
and unless the government of the United States comes to terms with our
government.'

The note was signed, 'Synapse, Queen of Hawaii and All the Surrounding
Waters'."

Synapse, Queen of Hawaii, taunts those watching through the surveillance camera.
"Catch me if you can!"

     Terhune interrupted any further report with his own observation, 
"That woman sounds as crazy as they come, but she is one stone babe!"

     "Geez, Rick, can't you think of anything but how she looks?" Thorson
asked.

     "In that outfit?  How could *anyone* think of anything besides how
she looks?" Terhune answered, unrepentantly.

     The announcer had introduced one of the witnesses to the robbery and
was trying to get some more information, "Sir, the surveillance camera 
images were not terribly clear. Can you describe the woman for us?"

     The man, whose name had been lost in Terhune's interruption, seemed
a bit uncertain.  "Well, I saw her coming in the lobby.  It sort of got
my attention, you know?  I mean, there aren't that many people running 
around in costumes like that, and besides, wearing a mask into a bank
seems a little off, right?  Anyway, I stopped what I was doing to look
at her, and I saw her look directly at me.  She seemed to smile, and then
she, like, pointed her hand at me or something.  After that, things seem 
really confused.  I knew something was wrong, but I couldn't figure out
what, nor what to do.  I didn't even think to call for help until later, 
after she was gone.  Somebody else had already called them by the time I
thought of it.  That's all I can remember until about the time the cops 
showed up."

     The reported interrupted any further comments from the man by telling
the camera, "That report, of a confused period after the woman looked at 
them has been repeated by all the customers who were in the lobby at the 
time."

     Then the reporter turned back to the man being interviewed and asked,
"Can you give us any better description to go with the surveillance camera
images?"

     "Uh, gee, I don't know.  What else do you want to know?"

     The reporter sighed and fed the man a specific question, "Well, the
cameras only record in black and white.  Can you tell us anything about 
the colors of the costume the woman wore?"

     "Oh, yeah, sure.  I can do that.  Let's see, she had these shiny 
black boots that were real tall, with fancy gold trim on the cuffs where
they folded over.  And she had a black, whatchamacallit, like gymnasts 
wear, with purple sleeves."

     "A leotard?" offered the reporter.

     "Yeah, that's right," the man confirmed, then continued.  "It had 
some sort of belt, or decoration, that hung a bit below her waist.  I 
noticed that the belt had a big jewel in it, purple like her outfit.
Let's see, what else?  Oh, yeah, at first I thought she was wearing 
gloves, but when she waved her arm at me, I saw that they were just folded 
back cuffs, decorated sort of like the folded down cuffs on her boots.  
And she had this long, dark hair, really sleek."

     "She sounds quite attractive," the reporter commented.  The man who 
was being interviewed nodded enthusiastically, then his face flushed as 
he realized he was being a bit too obvious in is agreement.

     "I'm telling you, that is one hot-looking babe," Terhune gushed as
the reporter tried to set up another interview.  Thorson was not really
arguing, the still image captured from the surveillance camera was being
shown on the screen, now colorized to match the description given by the
man.    

     "With me now is Connie Hanson, teller at the Heritage Federal Bank,"
the reporter was saying.  "Ms. Hanson, can you tell us about your 
experiences during the robbery?"

     The teller seemed reluctant to talk, shyly avoiding looking at the
camera.  The reporter waited a moment, the repeated his question.  At 
first, the teller seemed like she wouldn't answer at all, but after 
another moment she spoke in a low, almost mumbling voice.

     "I guess it's pretty much like the others.  I was behind my window
when the woman walked in, along with two men and another woman, I think.
Anyway, she waved her hand at me, and then, well . . . "

     The teller ran down, not saying anything more.  Terhune laughed and
said, "That is one shy woman.  You can see her blush even through the TV."

     "I see," the reporter said, filling in the silence, "so you felt the
confusion that the customers have reported."

     "Yeah, I guess.  Something like that," the woman replied.

     "We have one other eyewitness at this time, Ms. Billi Wayne, the 
receptionist who was sitting at the desk where the note from this 
'Synapse' was dropped."

     "Ms. Wayne," he said, turning to a woman who looked like she was
enjoying the attention a lot more than the teller, "you are the person
who turned in the alarm, were you not?"
 
     "Yeah, that was me," she said proudly.

     "You seem to have recovered from the confusion a bit quicker than the
others," the reporter offered.

     "Yeah, well, it wasn't all that confusing to me, if you know what I 
mean," she said with a wink.

     "I'm afraid I don't understand," the reporter said.

     "I don't know about the others, but what I was feeling was better 
than the best sex I've ever had," she declared.

     "Excuse me?" the reporter said not believing what he had heard.

     "Yeah, that's right.  Whatever that woman did to me, made me hotter
than last year's Christmas party.  I'm telling you, if that woman could
bottle what she did, she wouldn't need to rob banks."

     "You mean you were aroused by whatever she did to you?"  The reporter
asked for confirmation.

     "Aroused doesn't begin to cover it," Billi said with another wink.  
"She sent me off like a rocket.  Several times."

     "I, uh, see," the reporter tried to recover.  "Do you have anything
to add to the description of the thief?"

     "Only that I think she was Asian, or something.  Her eyes looked, 
well, Asian.  You know," the receptionist offered, clearly not about to
say anything as politically incorrect as "slanted" eyes.  

     "Thank you," the reporter said, obviously glad to be back on safer
ground.  "You've been a big help."

     He concluded his report, switching back to the studio where another
talking head recapped what they had just heard.  Even as he spoke, another
sketch of the woman appeared beside the image of his head, this time with 
eyes showing a decidedly Oriental look.

     "That babe can rob me anytime she wants," Terhune sighed.

     *Be careful what you ask for,* Thorson thought, but he kept that 
thought to himself.