Entropy

Sarah got off the elevator, groaning quietly as she noted for the eighth time that morning that she was getting to the office while it was still dark out. In Chicago in May, that took some doing; the clocks showed a local time of 4:58, and she thought it felt closer to one in the morning. She yawned, and shook her head, knowing her day would last late into the evening—she would probably leave about the time the sun was setting.

She passed by Operations, and stuck her head in the room. "Report?" she asked, idly, to the watch officer.

"Master Adept Chelgren has a priority two communication for you as soon as you get in, Madam Chair," replied the young Commander, sweeping her hair out of her eyes. "Otherwise, things are pretty quiet. We did see a small spike of activity in Madrid last night."

"Really? Anything we should worry about, Alice?"

"I don't think so, Ma'am. It was enough to stick out against the background noise, but just barely. You know Europe, it's almost as bad as North America right now."

"Understood. Any reports out of Tokyo?"

"Teacher Wakahisa reports nothing out of the ordinary in the Asian sector. Shall I get Master Adept Chelgren on the line for you?"

"Scott can hang out for a few minutes. If it was really important, he would've called me at home. Get him on the line for me at oh-five-twenty. You can stand down from overall command for the moment, Commander; however, you still have Ops."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Sarah continued into her office, hit the lights, grabbed a Tab Energy out of her mini-fridge and a breakfast bar out of her drawer, and fired up the computer and began to hack through the morning mail.

At five-twenty precisely, Commander Alice Richardson beeped in.

"Master Adept Chelgren on line one, Madam Chair."

"Thanks, Alice. Send him through."

* * *

Zoraida started the walk to the restaurant in a bit of a fog, the events of last night and her resolution to them swirling in her head. She thought perhaps she would get breakfast, read the newspaper. Settle her mind.

She had barely left the entryway of her flat when she knew that would not happen.

They were a few buildings down, in the alleyway. Yellow tape sealed the scene off. The crime scene.

It was her crime scene.

Keep walking. Don't linger. Don't look, but don't not look, either. She was already playing that tape through her head as she approached the serious policeman, who simply waived her around the entry to the alley.

"Nothing to see here, move along," he said robotically, in the international language of the bored cop. So she moved along, pausing just long enough to see the police taking photos around a battered, pulpy bit of flesh that had twelve hours before been a mugger and potential rapist.

She thought back to last night. She was stupid. She hadn't even thought to dispose of him. She'd done better the one other time she'd used her power like this—she'd disposed of the man who'd raped her friend Adora easily. They had nothing to tie it to her.

Here—oh, God, she hadn't even taken off her shoes! The police were slowly growing more adept at discerning the evidence of this type of killing; she knew, she'd researched it for a play that had died somewhere around the fourth scene of the second act. There probably wasn't a trail of gore leading to her door.

But there might be.

Suddenly, she felt someone brush her shoulder. "Keep going," the unfamiliar voice said in English. "Up two blocks, you'll see a blue Renault wagon with an American flag sticker in the window. Get in the back."

"Who are you?" Zoraida muttered.

"A friend. Please, trust me."

Zoraida felt her turn away abruptly. She kept walking, her eyes peeled for a blue Renault wagon and an American flag.

* * *

Scott pretty much expected his wife's answer.

"That, my love, is possibly the stupidest idea you've ever had. Even stupider than the time you ran away from me my freshman year. And I never thought you could get stupider than that."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Sar. You always make me feel all mushy too."

He could see her rolling her eyes on the other side of the world. "Scott, for crying out loud, the level of risk in this is…well, it's off the charts. I don't want to risk losing our best field agent—not to mention my husband, honey—on a huge gamble. At least take back up."

"You said it yourself, Sarah. It's a huge gamble. I don't want us risking Wollstonecraft or Chikara or Anon or anyone else. I can handle myself. You beat her pretty soundly last time, and I'm almost as strong as you are."

"Right. Scott—"

"Sarah, please, listen to me. I know what I'm doing here, okay? This might be our best chance to figure out, not just where Wafia is, but where Jackson is to boot. We won't get a better chance than this."

He knew Sarah agreed with him, because she didn't say anything for some time. Finally, she said, "Well, wait—I'll come with you."

"Sweet Zombie Jesus, Sarah, no! We're not risking you on this. You've got enough on your plate. I can handle myself."

"I don't know."

"Sarah, if I was Ana, or Sadako, or even Jana, would you be telling them no?"

"No, Scott. But I'm not married to any of them."

"I know, Sarah," he said, "but you have to treat me like you're not married to me. At least on stuff like this."

"I know," Sarah said, quietly and firmly. "All right. Oberon, you've talked me into your stupid plan. Approved. Now don't you dare not come back to me at the end of this, okay?"

"It's a deal," said Scott. "I love you."

"I love you too, honey."

"Thanks. I'll see you in a week. Oberon out."

He hung up the satellite phone, and sighed.

There was part of him that wished Sarah had talked him out of this. She was right—this wasn't his brightest idea.

* * *

Zoraida slid into the back, her heart palpitating. Two blocks was enough for her to run through the worst-case scenarios of what could happen. At best, if they caught her, the trial would be difficult; she would have to prove she was acting to defend a woman who she didn't know. And how to explain why she didn't call the police? And how to explain the evidence that would be on her computer?

A woman sat behind the steering wheel, almost motionless, but familiar. She wore her brown hair short, the same as the woman the night before, because, of course, that was who she was.

"Hello, Zoraida," she said, in English. "I'm sorry, but we've had to move up the timetable. Don't worry—you're among friends."

"How—how did you know my name? I didn't—"

"We've been following you for a while," said the woman, still watching forward. "Oh, and before you start to wonder—no, last night wasn't a set-up. Just a happy confluence of events. Not only did you demonstrate your power beyond a doubt, but we disposed of a rapist as well. You're going to be one of our star operatives, I know it."

Zoraida leaned back. "Who are you?" she barely whispered.

"I'm Alyssa," she said. "We're just waiting for—" the door opened, and a middle-aged woman with brilliant red hair slipped into the passenger seat. "—Leah. All right, let's go."

After a long bit of silence, Leah said, "So, I imagine you're wondering what's going on, aren't you?"

"You could say that," said Zoraida.

"You're a woman with great power. Great power, Zoraida. Far more than either Alyssa or I possess. We need you."

"Who are you?" Zoraida repeated.

"We're a group of women dedicated to seizing the birthright that was stolen from us thousands of years ago—we seek simply our rightful spot as the leaders of the world."

Zoraida looked down. "You're the League."

"Very good! You pay attention. Yes, we're the League. We want you to join us."

Zoraida looked up. "Didn't you kill a bunch of people in America a few months ago?"

Leah chuckled. "Yes, we did, but to be fair, they were trying to kill us. Besides, didn't you kill someone last night?"

Zoraida was silent.

"I'll make this easy, because you're a woman and therefore have a brain capable of rational thought. Come with us. We will leave for our headquarters tonight, and by tomorrow you'll be far away from here, among friends who will work to make womens' lives easier around the world."

"And if I don't come?" Zoraida asked.

"Well, then we let you out at your job. And you take your chances that the police are incompetent. I would give two-to-one odds of that. So, what will it be?"

Zoraida sighed.

"Where are we going?" she said.

Leah Jackson smiled, and leaned back in her seat. "Alyssa will be heading toward Barcelona shortly. And from there—well, you'll see."

Zoraida looked out the window, not saying a word.

* * *

Several hours later, a fair distance north of there, a man and a woman collapsed happily into each others arms, damp skin touching damp skin, both happy and spent from a good two hours of finally expressing physically the (now formerly) platonic friendship they'd shared for a couple of years.

"That was fun," purred Lilavati, snuggling up against Lloyd. "We should have done that ages ago."

"I can't disagree with that," said Lloyd. "Sorry it took me so long to tell you how I felt."

"Oh, it's my fault, too," said Lil. "If I actually listened to my friends, I'd have asked you out first. But I didn't want you to think I was pushy."

"'Pushy?' I think events of about an hour ago would suggest you might be pushy after all."

"Well, I know what I like. And you react to that very well, I might add."

"Tosh. I'm out of practice," Lloyd sighed, leaning back.

"Well, we'll just have to practice some more, then. Won't we?"

They lay together for some time, talking idly about this or that, before Lloyd asked, quite out of the blue, "So, dear, do you have any fantasies you'll want me to fulfill? I'll need to know if I need to stock up on cream or handcuffs, or cream handcuffs, or whatnot. But I'd like to be able to surprise you sometime."

Lil chuckled. "Isn't that a fourth-date topic?"

"Well, we've done a bit more than an average one-night stand tonight, I hope. And besides, we've known each other long enough that I think we're onto like the sixth month of dating, don't you think?"

"So you're saying soon the fire will go out, and we'll spend the evenings eating vindaloo and reading?"

Lloyd elbowed his girlfriend at that comment, playfully. "No, of course not. You and I just have significantly endowed libidos, near as I can figure. But you're dodging the question."

"Well, it's just…embarrassing. You tell me yours."

"I asked first," said Lloyd. "But I promise, I'll tell you mine—after you share yours."

Lil took a deep breath. "Well…you'll laugh."

"I won't laugh."

"You will too!"

"I promise," said Lloyd. "Even if it involves golden showers, Hugh Grant movies, and pizza."

Lil arched an eyebrow. "You have an odd imagination. No, no golden showers. You're not into those, are you?"

"No, and you're stalling."

"Thank God. I had a boyfriend back in college who was into that. Let me tell you—"

"You're stalling! Come, Lil, I promise, I won't laugh, and even if I do, I'll still try it out."

Lil closed her eyes, and chuckled nervously. "Well, we'll see. I've always had this fantasy—oh, I can't!"

"Go on."

She leaned back. Somehow, not looking at Lloyd helped ease her nerves. "All right. I remember coming across a bad American film on satellite back when I was in school. It was something about a nebbishy boy who was lusting after a pretty blonde girl. You know, the usual type.

"Anyhow, he'd come across a leprechaun in a beer bottle—don't ask how he got there, I came in halfway, and besides, I think they did it to save on special effects money. Anyhow, I was about to change it, when suddenly, I saw a scene where he shrunk to tiny size, and the girl he was after sat down on him, not knowing he was there.

"Now the scene—it was rubbish, really, just terrible effects, really lousy. But the storyline—he ended up in her knickers, and in trying to get out, he managed to give her a knee-buckling orgasm, right in the middle of her class."

Lil smiled, feeling herself get aroused at the memory. "I'd imagined things like that before—being a giant, having a tiny man to play with. But for some reason, I never put it together. I just thought it would be fun to keep a man in my doll house. But after that—well, it would be nice. And then shrinking became possible a few years ago, and I tried to convince Graeme—the one who was into golden showers—tried to convince him to try it. But he was more for the getting, not for the giving, and…well, now I'm getting aroused, and anyhow, I'm sure you'll say no, and I can't blame you, but…wow, I'm getting—woah…."

Lil felt something there that was not exactly like anything she'd ever felt before. She opened her eyes and looked over for Lloyd, but he wasn't there.

She struggled to her elbows, and looked down between her thighs, where Lloyd was busy stroking her pussy, no more than three inches tall.

He looked up at her, and smiled. "Getting Lucky," he said.

"What?"

"Getting Lucky," he said, stepping back a bit. "That's the name of the—movie—"

"No stoppings!" said Lil playfully, pushing him back into herself. "How did—no, wait. No talking. Time to talk soon. I'll…just lay back…."

She did just lay back, as Lloyd rubbed himself up against her beautiful womanhood, feeling it with his entire body as he slid his hands under the fold that hid a very useful network of nerves. He felt her spasm—a mild earthquake—and grinned.

A few minutes later, he lounged in the valley between her breasts, leaning up against the left one, listening to her heart beat slowly.

"How did you pull that off?" said Lil, who was staring at him with a mix of awe, shock, and bliss. "Did you have some shrinking elixir on you? Did Kate tell you? If Kate told you, I'll kill her—right after I thank her, of course."

Lloyd shrugged. "I don't know. I've been able to do it since I was nineteen. I just think about a size change, and it happens. Watch," he said, dropping himself so small she could barely pick out the speck of his body in the candlelight. Then he suddenly reappeared, and then some, back to nearly a foot. And then, with a shrug, back down to the few inches he'd been at before. "I like this size," he said, leaning against her tits again. "It's comfortable."

"So what would you have said," said Lil, "if you'd have gone first?"

"It would've been much the same," Lloyd grinned. "I would've waited to suggest reenacting Getting Lucky until we'd tried it a few times, though. Not that I'm not willing to. Just that I don't know as you want me in your knickers on just any day at work."

"Oh, I'd dispute that. Tomorrow would be especially good—I've got a light load and no meetings. Pity you work at the same time."

"I don't know," said Lloyd. "I do feel a trifle ill."

Lil's face lit up. "You mean it?"

Lloyd laughed. "You're offering me a day to play with your pussy, just me and your knickers and your pussy, me trying to get you off as much as I can, and you're asking me if I mean it when I say I'd call in sick to do that? My love, I'd call in dead to do that."

Lil's head dropped back against the pillow. "Lloyd, will you marry me?" she asked.

"Yes. But let me buy the ring first. Besides, I know how I want to propose when the time comes."

Lil suddenly looked up. "Lloyd—I don't know what I was saying. I won't—I mean, I won't hold you to that. I—I…"

"Lil, do you want to marry me? I'm beginning to think you may not want to."

Lil groaned. "No. I don't mean that. I—Yes. I do want to marry you, Lloyd. Is that stupid? On the first date?"

"Only if we didn't know each other's favorite ice cream flavors, bands, darkest secrets, and ultimate sexual fantasies. Right. Well, tell you what—I'm sold, but you don't have to buy in until you see how I do tomorrow. Fair enough?"

Lil picked him up off her breasts and kissed him, hard. "Fair enough," she said, and she lay her fiancé on the pillow beside her, and they drifted off to sleep, happier than they'd ever been.

* * *

Scott crept by the gathering as stealthily as he could. Truly, that was pretty stealthy, as the group of women dwarfed his half-inch form.

He saw Wafia ahead, and he pushed himself forward as quickly as he could. He knew this was risky. She could find him. But he also doubted she would—he thought to himself that her focus was elsewhere. His mind was sealed, his thoughts on the task and nothing else.

Okay, his heart—and other parts—stirred as he made the pass between two enormous sisters, both in their late teens or early twenties, with their feet bare and their breasts swelling far above him. He was married. He wasn't dead.

He bridged the gap between teacher and students, and saw what he was after—Wafia's pack. He slid himself inside, walking past a copy of the Quran, sitting beneath a copy of what appeared to be an Arabic translation of The Feminist Mystique, at least if the partial photo of Betty Freidan was any indication.

He hid there until the pack was lifted and moved. He was doing what he had to, he knew; he had become a human geolocation device.

He just hoped Wafia was too focused on her teaching to look for tiny men. He knew it was stupid. But the reward outweighed the risk.