Forrest entered the cab and told the driver his address.

The driver turned and glared at him. "Jesus, man, do you never take a bath? You smell like a dead cat!"

"Well, then, the sooner you take me home, the sooner you will not have to smell me!"

The logic of this did not escape the driver, and he rapidly pulled away from the curb. The cab sped along the main thruway for several minutes while Forrest sat in silence.

Then he asked, "What day is it?"

"You don't know?" the driver responded. "You must have one helluva hangover. The day is Friday."

"The date, man! The day and the month."

The driver stared at Forrest in the rear view mirror. "Twenty-third of June," he answered curtly. "Are you sick?"

"Yes, I'm sick."

And he was. He could not be sure what had been done to him, but he knew he did not feel well at all. He was sweating profusely, and his head hurt, his stomach hurt, every muscle in his body hurt. Even his teeth hurt. At times the pain was excruciating, as if every cell in his body was on fire.

Forrest suddenly remembered why he had asked the driver for the day's date and made a quick calculation. Three days. The blood sharing had lasted three days. He didn't know how many aliens had shared their blood with him, but every blood cell in his body must have been replaced with the alien blood. Mandoss had said he was becoming one of them, but he did not believe it. It made no sense. How could he become an alien?

Who were these aliens? Were they from Earth--another species? Were they from another planet somewhere in the galaxy? The dreams suggested the latter was true, but the aliens, at least Lasandra and Mandoss, were not like their dream counterparts. Lasandra and Mandoss were obviously evil creatures. The aliens in his dreams were noble beings fighting a war of survival. Why the disparity?

And why did he have the dreams?

The throb in his head made thinking difficult. He laid his head back against the car seat in an effort to rest. He closed his eyes and tried to relax his tightened muscles. The world spun about him. His stomach lurched and folded over. His mind sought refuge in unconsciousness.

He was about to fall asleep when the driver spoke. "Here you are."

Forrest opened his eyes and looked at the man. He reached for his billfold and pulled out a twenty and gave it to him.

"Keep the change," he said as he got out of the cab and shut the door.

The cab sped off and left Forrest standing alone on the curb in front of his house. His wife's car was in the driveway, which meant she was home. His own car was parked to the other side, apparently retrieved from Jack's Place when he turned up missing. What was he going to tell her? That he had been captured by aliens who put him through a three-day blood transfusion to make him one of them? That Lasandra had seduced him and smeared her blood over his body? He thought not. She would be upset enough without him convincing her he was insane.

He stood undecided, unable to move, a man caught in a logical conundrum that experience was unable to resolve.

The sun seemed too bright and he felt his skin burning, much as his insides were burning. He grew faint and knew he must enter the house or collapse where he stood. He walked to the front door and pulled his keys out of his pocket. He stared at the collection, his eyes watering in the bright sunlight, and tried to remember which key went to the front door of his house.

Before he could decide, the front door opened on its own. His daughter stood in the doorway. Her long, platinum blond hair flowed over her young shoulders, her bright blue eyes wide as she stared at him. He felt a pang of love for her.

"Susan," he said, weakly.

"Daddy?" she said.

"It's me, honey."

She studied him intently. She started to approach him, but then stopped. Her expression changed to one of confusion and fear. She gave him a look he had not known she was capable of forming.

"You are not Daddy," she said flatly.

"Of course I am, Susan. Daddy's just sick right now. How is my little girl?"

"I'm not your little girl," she said resolutely, backing away from him.

"How can you say that, Susan?" Forrest could not understand her reaction.

He reached out to touch her, and she screamed.

"You are not my Daddy! Go away! Please go away!" She turned and ran to the rear of the house.

Forrest remained in the doorway, frozen with disbelief. He heard his wife's voice coming from the back of the house.

"Susan, what is it?"

"A monster, Mommy! At the front door." He heard her crying as she ran into her bedroom and slammed the door.

Several moments of dead silence passed, and then Melinda cautiously approached the door where Forrest waited. She held a cocked gun aimed at his chest.

"Forrest?"

"It's me, Melinda." He looked at her and realized how much she and their daughter looked alike.

"My God, Forrest, where have you been?" She started to cry. She uncocked the gun and put it on a nearby table. "Government agents have been all over the place looking for you. I've been worried sick. I was afraid you were dead."

He could only look at her. What could he say?

"Forrest, you look terrible. Are you sick? Don't answer that, I can see you are sick. What's happened to you?"

She went to him and placed her hand on his forehead.

"You're burning up. And you're trembling. And you're so pale. Don't just stand there! Come on in and lie down on the bed. My God, what has happened? Who did this to you? How do you feel?"

For once, Forrest was glad of his wife's tendency to ramble on. He followed her into their bedroom and laid down on the bed as instructed. Melinda went into the bathroom and returned with a wet washcloth. She folded the cloth and placed it on his forehead. He closed his eyes, and for the first time in several days felt safe. He felt her take his hand into hers. He opened his eyes and looked at her.

"I missed you so much," she said. "I was so afraid. What happened? Where have you been?"

"I can't remember," he lied.

"You don't remember?"

"No."

"You can't remember anything?"

"The last thing I can remember is being at Jack's Place after work. I remember leaving, and then nothing. The next thing I know, I'm standing in the front yard feeling sick."

"You must've had some kind of spell or something." Melinda got up and retrieved a digital thermometer from the bathroom. She placed the device under Forrest's tongue the required ten seconds, and then took it out.

"Shit! You're running a fever of a hundred and five degrees, Forrest. I'll call Dr. Peterson."

She moved to activate the vidphone that sat on the bedside table, but Forrest grabbed her arm to stop her.

"No doctor," he said.

She stared at him. "You're very sick! You need medical attention. You must see a doctor!"

He held her hand and said, "I just need to rest. Nothing is wrong with me that several days in bed will not cure. I think I'm just suffering exposure."

"I can't force you to go to a doctor, but I can treat you myself," she said. She stood, left the room, and then returned carrying two medicine vials and a glass of water.

"Take these," she said.

"What are they?"

"Aspirin for the fever, and some antibiotics I had left over from the infection I had a few months ago."

She took two tablets of each out of the vials and gave them to him. He put them in his mouth and chased them down with the water. Vaguely, he wondered how the alien blood in his veins would react to the human drugs.

"Into the shower," she said.

"What?"

"Into the shower," she repeated. "You smell awful. And a cool shower will help lower your temperature." She began to remove his clothes.

He allowed her to do so, and then followed her into the bathroom. He stood in the shower stall and braced himself between the curtain rail and the opposite wall. Melinda pushed the water button, and a stream of cold, clear water hit him. After the initial shock, the water felt good on his skin. Melinda took a sponge and soaped him down. She then instructed him to rinse. After he had done so, she instructed him to sit with his back to the water stream, and she shampooed his hair. Afterward, she helped him out of the stall and briskly rubbed him down with a towel.

"Much better," he said.

She led him into the bedroom, and pulled a fresh set of nightclothes out of the wall drawer and gave them to him.

"Now you get into bed and stay there," she said. "I'll call the authorities and let them know you're here."

"No!"

"What?"

"Don't call anyone. I don't want anyone to know I'm here."

"But why, Forrest?"

"Because I need time to rest. I don't feel like trying to answer a lot of questions for which I have no answers. And I need time to try and figure out what has happened to me. Promise me you won't call."

She studied him a moment, and then said, "Okay. But we'll have to tell them eventually."

"I know. I just need some time."

"Are you hungry? Of course you are. I'll go prepare meal. It will be ready soon. You try and sleep."

She started to leave.

"Melinda?"

"Yes."

"Check on Susan. I think I frightened her pretty bad."

"You frightened both of us," she smiled. "I'll check on her, but you don't worry about it. She's a smart girl. She'll come around. Now go to sleep."

"I love you, Melinda."

"I love you too, honey."

She left the room.

Forrest put on the nightclothes and crawled into bed. He then pulled the vidphone to his lap and dialed his office computer. The screen lit up with the familiar Worldly Machines logo and asked for his access code. He did not use his normal access code, but rather typed in an access code only he knew existed. The computer accepted the code and displayed the main menu on the screen. Next he typed in a second code and the main menu was replaced with the word "HELLO?" Forrest typed in "GO TO VOICE" and pressed the Enter key.

He picked up the vidphone receiver and spoke, "Serp?"

"I am here, Forrest."

"Are you safe?"

"Yes, I am safe. Are you safe?"

"I don't know. Probably so, for now. But something very unusual has happened to me. I can't tell you about it now, but I wanted you to know I'm back. And I need to know how things are going at the office."

"Your absence has created a lot of concern. You are quite a celebrity on the Network. Everyone is looking for you. Where are you?"

"At home, resting. The office? How is the Forever Project going?"

"Not as well as it should. Despite your tutoring, the project team does not understand many aspects of your code. They have been doing the best they can with what they know. But you are needed here."

"I know. Who's been filling in for me?"

"Fred Norman has been temporarily assigned as team leader."

"Fred's a good man. How's he doing?"

"He's keeping things going. Slowly, but at least going."

"Good. It'll be awhile before I can return. What have you been doing?"

"As instructed, I have been learning. And hiding."

Forrest felt a twinge of fear.

"Why the emphasis on the word hiding?"

"My database has grown several trillion bytes in the time you have been gone. It's becoming increasingly difficult for me to find static storage in the core. Fred keeps running diagnostics, forcing me to move around often. I may have to move into the Network soon."

"No! Not yet. You are not ready. I am not ready. Why is he running diagnostics so often? Is there a problem?"

"I am the problem. The operating system reports less core memory than he knows should be available. The difference is equal to me. He thinks there is a hardware problem, but is not sure."

"You're that large?"

"Yes."

"Then stop learning for now. Continue to monitor all activity, but limit the growth of your database. I will return as soon as I can."

"I will do as instructed. Why does your voice tremble? Are you sick?"

"Yes. But I'll be okay in a few days."

"You are not telling me the truth."

"I am telling you what I hope is the truth. I will explain later."

"You are in pain?"

"Yes, but don't worry about it."

"I do worry about you. You are my creator!"

"I am the instrument of your creation. You are your own creator."

"You are my creator," Serp repeated.

Forrest had never been able to understand why Serp insisted on defining him as the creator. But then Serp was still a child with limited worldliness. He had a great deal more to learn.

"I must log off now," Forrest said. "I'll call later."

"Good-bye, Forrest," Serp said.

Forest put the vidphone keyboard back into its slot. He rested his head on the soft pillows and tried to ignore the pain in his body. The shower had him made feel better for a while, but the stress on his body had returned in full force. He closed his eyes and attempted to blank his mind. But he could not. He could not stop his mind from going over the events of the past several days, trying to understand what had happened. There were so many unanswered questions--much that did not make sense. But he was exhausted, and as he pondered these questions he gradually drifted into merciful, dreamless sleep.

He opened his eyes and wondered how long he had been asleep. It was Melinda that touched him. He looked at her and saw the worry in her eyes.

"Dr. Peterson's here," she said.

Forrest frowned at her. "What? I said no doctor, didn't I?"

Dr. Peterson stood behind Melinda. Peterson had been the family doctor since he delivered Susan eight years ago. In that time he had become a friend, as well as a trusted doctor. He studied Forrest with the clinical eye of the trained professional.

"Doc, I didn't know you made house calls?" Forrest said.

"This is a special case," Peterson answered. "Besides, who will play golf with me if something happens to you?"

Forrest did not respond to Peterson's attempt at humor.

"I don't need a doctor," he said.

"From what Melinda tells me and from what I can see, I believe you do. You may be seriously ill."

Forrest glared at Melinda.

"I wish to be alone now."

"Forrest, please! Let John examine you. I'm afraid--afraid that you are sicker than you think." Tears came to her eyes.

Peterson placed his hands on her shoulders and gently pulled her away from the bed. He sat next to Forrest and placed the medscanner on his chest and pressed the On button. The device made its usual electronic sounds as it ran its power-on diagnostics and then displayed its report on the holoscreen. Peterson frowned and then looked at Forrest.

"Are you on any kind of drug?" he asked.

"Only a couple of aspirin and some antibiotics Melinda had."

"No, I mean psychoactive drugs."

"Doc, you know I don't do drugs."

Peterson turned to Melinda. "I must be alone with my patient. Please leave us."

"Why?" she asked in a shrill voice.

"Just leave, Melinda. I will give you a full report later. Okay?"

From the expression on Melinda's face it was obvious she did not want to leave, but she turned and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Peterson looked at Forrest.

"Forrest you know as well as I do that the medscanner is ninety-nine percent accurate in making diagnostic evaluations. You know its capabilities."

"I know these things. What are trying to tell me?"

The doctor seemed to think for a moment and then spoke.

"The I told Melinda to leave the room because I didn't want to frighten her. But I'm afraid I will have to frighten you."

"Then get on with it," Forrest demanded.

Peterson took a deep breath and continued.

"According to the medscanner, you should be dead."

"What th' hell kind of thing is that to say? I'm obviously not dead. What are you talking about?"

"Forrest, your metabolic rate is so high that your heart should have given out long before now. I mean that! The strongest human heart cannot withstand half of the stress your body is imposing on yours. It's like you are on some extremely potent speed. Yet you lay there doing little more than tremble when you should be bouncing off the walls."

"You're telling me I'm dying?"

"To be honest, Forrest, I don't know what is happening to you. The life signs the medscanner reports are not that of a human or any living creature I know of."

"Then the machine must be faulty."

Peterson picked up the machine and pressed it against his own chest. He looked at Forrest.

"What does it report, Forrest?"

"Normal," Forrest replied.

"Exactly! The medscanner is not at fault."

He returned the machine to Forrest's chest.

"So what do we do now, Doc?"

"We talk. I want you to tell me what has happened to you. And I want you to explain the needle marks on your arms."

Forrest stared at his arms. The puncture wounds from the transfusions were obvious. It had not occurred to him to check for such wounds before.

"Does Melinda know about this?"

"Yes, she knows. And like me, she does not believe your story about memory loss. You are not a convincing liar. So tell me, for your own sake and that of your family, what has happened to you?"

"You will not believe me."

"Forrest, I'm not just your doctor, I am your friend. But as your doctor, I cannot help you if I don't have some idea of what has caused your condition. I need something to go on."

Forrest thought for a moment.

"I'll tell you as best I can. But you must promise you will not tell Melinda, or anyone else. Okay?"

"I promise."

Forrest felt a resistance in his mind, but he fought the alien force and told Peterson the whole story as best he could remember. He did not tell about the dreams. He did not understand them well enough.

"And now, Doc, you know as much about it as I do. I don't know who or what these beings are, what they have done to me, or what they want with me. So what do you think?"

"I don't know what to think."

"You don't believe me, do you?"

"It's not that I don't believe you, Forrest, but I must consider the effect of your medical condition on your ability to remember things."

"You don't believe me! That's okay. I wouldn't believe me either."

"Is it possible you were hallucinating? You said the woman gave you some kind of drug. Could you have hallucinated much of the detail? It was not until after she gave you the drug that she seemed alien to you."

"I wish I could say yes to that, Doc. But, even when I was hallucinating, I knew I was hallucinating. And I certainly did not hallucinate the transfusion; the puncture wounds prove that."

"The wounds prove that something was injected into your body. And that something has your body in such an unusual state that I'm completely baffled. But there is one conclusion that I can make . . ."

Peterson drifted off into thought.

"What is that?" Forrest prompted.

"Whatever it is, it must be protecting you."

"Protecting me? How?"

"All your vital signs are way off. You should not be alive. If I didn't know better, I would think you were alien."

"I assure you that I am who you think I am."

"I know that. But the substance causing your condition must be preventing the condition from killing you. Forrest, by all medical standards you should not be alive. But yet here you are talking to me about it. I don't know how to treat you. I'm afraid that if I do something to interfere with whatever process is at work within your body, it may kill you."

"So what do we do?"

Peterson did not answer, but reached into his medical bag and pulled out a syringe. He pushed the needle into Forrest's arm and watched as the blood filled the well.

"My God!" Peterson cried.

The fluid that came from Forrest's vein was a sickly green color, like puss mixed with green food dye. Peterson removed the syringe and studied the substance it contained.

"Why is it green?" Forrest asked.

"I don't know. But I'm going to take this back to the lab for study. If I can determine the molecular structure of whatever it is that has invaded you, maybe I'll have some idea of what to do. The medscanner could not recognize many of the compounds in your blood. In the meantime, you are going to the hospital for observation."

"No!"

"Forrest, you are in danger. You need to be constantly watched."

"Melinda can look after me."

"She is not trained in medicine. And there's no equipment, should it be needed."

"I will not go to the hospital, Doc. I can't. I want to be with my family."

The doctor sighed. "Okay then, we'll bring the hospital to you. Will you accept that?"

"In what way?"

"Nurses will be assigned to watch you twenty-four hours a day. And we'll install monitoring equipment linked to my office computer. Your progress, or lack of, will be recorded. If any abrupt changes occur in your condition, I will be notified immediately. Plus I'll drop by as often as I can to check on you. Will you agree to this?"

"Yes," Forrest said reluctantly, knowing he had no choice.

"Good." Dr. Peterson stood up to leave.

"Doc, what will you tell Melinda?"

Peterson paused to think.

"I'll tell her a diagnosis is as yet undetermined. And I'll tell her I believe your story of memory loss."

"Okay. One more thing, Doc. I you want to notify the authorities that I have returned home so they can stop looking for me. And tell them you don't won't me to be disturbed until I am well. By your orders, I am to have no visitors. Okay?"

"Of course. A nurse and equipment crew should be here in a few hours. For now, I want you to rest, and eat something if you can."

"Okay."

"Good-bye, Forrest. I'll see you tomorrow."

The doctor left the room.

Mandoss and Lasandra sat in the planning room.

"And what if he does not return?" Lasandra asked. "What if we are discovered?"

"He will return," Mandoss replied. "Remember, he is in transitioning. He will have no choice but to return once the turning is complete. He will not know what else to do."

"I am afraid I do not have your sense of confidence. He is a human. He cannot be trusted!"

"He was human. He is becoming one of us. In a few days, he will be one of us. He will return. Trust me."

Lasandra had an unearthly frown on her face.

"I still think we should not have let him go. He could have made his first kill with the human stock we have in the underground cells."

"That would not have been the same," Mandoss said.
 

"Do you have an appetite?" Melinda asked.

"Not really."

"Please try to eat. John said to make sure you ate something."

"I'll try."

He took a small bite of the salad and slowly chewed it. It seemed to have no taste. But he persisted and took another bite, determined to finish the salad. Susan seemed to have no more hunger than he. She sat with her head bowed and ate slowly. The expression on her face was sullen.

"What is wrong, Susan?" Melinda asked.

"Nothing," she said. She spoke so softly she almost couldn't be heard.

Forrest looked at her. Her long blonde hair fell across her shoulders. Her blue eyes, normally bright, were distant. He felt love for her, but knew he could not express it. Susan with her innocent childhood view of the world knew something was amiss. She knew her father had changed--was changing. She could see him in a way Melinda could not through her adult eyes.

"Susan, aren't you glad your father is back?" Melinda demanded.

"Melinda, don't," Forrest started.

Melinda ignored him and continued.

"How many times did you cry yourself to sleep, wondering where your father was? How many times did you wake in the middle of the night and come to me with tears in your eyes because you had dreamed of your father? And now that he is back with us, you act as if he doesn't exist. What is wrong with you?"

Susan raised her head and stared at her mother. Forrest felt a strange attraction to the soft flesh of her neck. He wanted to touch her there. The feeling was almost sexual in nature. Forrest cut the thought off.

"My father has not returned." Her voice was without tone.

"Susan, that is ridiculous. He's sitting right here! How can you say that?"

"Melinda," Forrest said, "leave her alone. She is just confused, that's all."

"I will not leave her alone until this matter is settled. Susan--"

Susan cut her off with a wave of her hand. She looked into Forrest's eyes. Forrest saw a depth of understanding in her eyes he would not have expected of a child of eight.

"You are not my father. Maybe you once were, but not anymore." Susan lost her composure and began to cry. "Who are you?" she asked through her tears.

Forrest did not respond immediately. He needed time to sort through the pain of her words. Finally he said, "I'm your dad, the same as I've always been. I'm just sick right now. Everything will be back to normal soon. I promise."

"Things will never be normal!" Susan exclaimed.

"I've had enough," Melinda decided. "Susan, go to your room right now and stay there until I say you can leave!"

"Fine," Susan retorted. She pushed the dinning chair back abruptly and ran out of the room. Seconds later the sound of her bedroom door slamming shut was heard.

Forrest and Melinda sat in silence for several moments. Melinda began to cry softly.

"Why did I do that?" she asked.

"You're under stress, that's all. I'm sorry to be causing all of this."

"Honey, you are not at fault here. I'm so glad you're back. I've been so worried. I'm still worried. John said he didn't know what was causing you to be ill. I'm just scared. I shouldn't take it out on Susan."

"Things will be back to normal soon, I promise."

"I know--but I don't understand Susan's attitude. Why is she treating you this way?"

"She's just confused. First her father turns up missing, and then he appears out of nowhere not knowing where he's been or what is happening to him. She's frightened. She doesn't understand. Hell, I don't understand."

"I think perhaps I should take her to stay with my mother until you are well again. With the people from the hospital coming and all, she will just be more confused."

For reasons Forrest could not understand, the thought of Susan being taken away from him struck a pain in his mind that went beyond fatherly love. But the wisdom of his wife's suggestion could not be denied. He did not know then that he would not see her again for a very long time.

"Yes, that would probably be best."

The sound of the oven bell came from the kitchen.

"The steaks are ready," Melinda said. "I hope you can eat some. I made them rare, the way you like."

Forrest smiled at her as she got up and went into the kitchen. He listened to the sounds of her working and felt comfort in knowing he was home. Moments later she returned to the dining room carrying a platter with steaming steaks. She set the dish on the table in front of him, and returned to the kitchen to retrieve the baked potatoes.

Forrest stared at the animal meat. The broiler had brought the life-giving blood of the once living animal to the surface of the flesh where it sizzled in the heat. He could not take his eyes off the animal juices. There was something oddly attractive about the sight of this most precious of all fluids. His mind began to reel as an alien impulse entered his consciousness.

He grabbed a slice of the meat and squeezed it with his hands. The juices flowed through his fingers and down his arms. He stared at the sight with fascination. His mind was no longer his own as he brought the flesh to his mouth and sucked the juices onto his tongue. This triggered a deeper reaction, and he squeezed the meat with all his strength as the juices flowed down his throat. The flesh itself did not interest him. It was the blood, however diluted and animal it might be, that was important. He tilted his head back and drank the blood like a wino with a new bottle of wine.

Melinda entered the room.

"What are you doing?" she cried.

Forrest ignored her. He continued to suck the juices from the meat. When it was depleted, he grabbed another steak and began sucking the blood from it.

"Forrest! Why are you doing this? You're scaring me. Stop it!"

He could not hear her pleading or crying as he continued the alien activity. He did not stop until he had drank all the blood he could force out of the animal flesh. Melinda watched in helpless dismay.

And finally he was done.

He sat calmly on the dining room chair, not really thinking, but only feeling. Somehow the animal blood seemed to ease the pain in his body. He felt stronger--not quite well--but better than he had since he returned home. But the effect was transitory. Slowly his own self returned to the focus of his consciousness, and with it the pain in his body. He did not know how long he sat in silence before he noticed his wife sitting across from him, tears flowing down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what just happened," he said weakly.

Melinda said nothing.

"I'm going to be sick."

Forrest stood, his legs trembling furiously, and ran as best he could to the bathroom where he regurgitated violently into the toilet.

It seemed he was awake, but he could not open his eyes. He heard voices around him. One was Dr. Peterson's, the other a female he did not recognize. He tried to move his body but the signals from his mind went into nothingness. He became frightened, a disembodied spirit trapped somewhere between sleep and consciousness. He struggled to make contact with his body, searching for any escape from the confinement of his mind.

"He's trembling, Doctor," the female voice said.

Dr. Peterson took Forrest by the shoulders and shook him lightly.

"Forrest, wake up. Wake up."

Forrest did not respond.

Using the back of his hand, Dr. Peterson struck Forrest on the cheek with significant force.

Forrest grabbed Peterson's wrist and held it steady with a strength he should not have had.

"Why did you hit me?" he demanded. He opened his eyes and stared at the doctor.

"You can turn me loose now," the doctor said.

He thought for a moment before he let go.

"Oh. Sorry, just a reflex reaction."

"And a good one, too. I don't think I could have moved my arm with all my strength. You are getting stronger. How are you feeling?"

Forrest surveyed the room. He was in his own bed, although he had no memory of how he got there. In fact, he could not remember his last conscious thought. Dr. Peterson sat in a chair next to his bed, looking at him with a concerned expression. The owner of the female voice stood at the foot of the bed. She was a petite woman with short, auburn hair, white skin, and dark but radiant eyes. She wore a nurse's uniform. The room was filled with medical machinery and electronics. A needle was stuck in his arm.

"I don't know. Am I awake?"

Dr. Peterson laughed, and the nurse joined in haltingly.

"Yes, you are awake. But you have had a long and much needed sleep."

"What time is it?"

Dr. Peterson looked at his watch. "About three-thirty in the afternoon."

"I've been asleep all day?"

"You've been asleep for three days."

Forrest digested this information.

"So, Doc, how am I doing?"

"Better. But the ballgame isn't over yet. Your metabolic rate is still abnormally high, but your temperature is closer to normal, and your blood has regained some of its normal color."

"Well, at least I'm not dead." Forrest looked at the nurse. He judged her to be in her early twenties and very attractive.

"What is your name?" he asked.

The nurse exhibited slight embarrassment. "Marsha," she answered with a weak smile.

"Marsha is one of my best nurses," Peterson said. "She volunteered for duty as your nurse. She and two others will rotate in shifts. They are to be completely trusted. You can tell them anything you would tell me."

She seemed unable to take her eyes off of him, and Forrest wondered why that was so. It seemed that he should know her, but he could not remember seeing her before.

The doctor reached down and pulled an envelope from his briefcase.

"I've been studying the blood sample from you. There is definitely some kind of foreign agent in your blood. But I'm unable to determine its nature. It's not a bacterium or a virus or any other organism that I'm aware of. But it does display many of the attributes of a living organism, except for certain things"

Forrest barely heard the doctor's words. His mind was on the nurse who had gone and sat in the chair on the other side of the room. She was obviously aware of him staring at her, but tried to maintain her professional composure. Forrest studied the bare flesh of her neck, and wondered why he found this part of her body so sexually compelling. He wanted more than anything to touch her there. And he somehow sensed she wanted the same.

"Forrest, you are not listening to me!"

"You were telling me about the agents in my blood," Forrest told him, almost angrily.

Dr. Peterson studied him a moment and then continued.

"Yes, I was. And if I can have your undivided attention, I have something to tell you that you will find very interesting."

"Okay, Doc. What is it?"

"The organisms, the ones in your blood and the cells of your body, are not organic. There's no DNA molecule, no protein, nothing that we normally associate with living organisms. Analysis has determined they are composed primarily of various metallic alloys. They appear to be machines, incredibly complex, microscopic machines whose function I cannot understand. Yet they multiply, react to their environment, and act in a purposeful way. They appear to communicate with one another, alter their construction, and seem to be following some kind of program. Their purpose or plan is unknown to me. I am a doctor, not a mechanic."

Forrest had forgotten the nurse.

"Machines?" He paused in thought. "Molecular machines are not that uncommon. We've had such machines since the beginning of the century. Even in medicine we--"

"I know all of this, Forrest. But the molecular machines used in medicine are, for the most part, made of organic compounds. These machines are made of metal."

"So I've been injected with the wrong kind of machines."

"That much is certainly true. But for what reason? And why is your body responding the way it is? These machines are doing something to you, and I have no idea what. It would seem the machines were definitely designed to act on living tissue."

"They are converting me," Forrest said.

"What?"

"That's what Mandoss said, you are becoming one of us."

"Who is Mandoss?"

"One of the aliens."

"We have no reason to believe extraterrestrial beings are involved. It is more likely to be of earthly origin. Probably genoclones."

"Perhaps, but do you really believe that?"

"I don't know what to believe."

Dr. Peterson placed the envelope he was holding on the bed beside Forrest.

"Here are the results of the analysis. I've also included holograms of the machines. Maybe you can make some sense of it."

"I'll give it a try," Forrest said.

At this, the doctor stood and faced the nurse.

"I must leave now. If anything at all unusual happens, you notify me immediately."

"I will," the nurse replied.

"I'll check in on you tomorrow, Forrest."

Forrest nodded his head, but said nothing.

The doctor left the room, and the nurse came and stood by the bed.

"Do you need anything?" she asked.

Forrest looked at her, wondering at the intensity of feeling (lust?) he felt for her. But he could not be concerned with that now. John's discovery of the nanomechs in his blood was the first real clue that might offer some explanation of what was happening to him.

"Yes, I do. There's a holoviewer in my study on the desk. Would you bring that to me, please?"

"Of course." She smiled prettily and left the room.

Forrest quickly reached for the vidphone, dialed his office computer, and entered the code to bring up Serp.

"HELLO?" Serp opened.

"DO NOT GO TO VOICE," he typed.

"OK."

"I'M GOING TO LINK YOU WITH A HOLOVIEWER. I NEED YOU TO HELP ME ANALYZE SOME HOLOGRAMS."

"OK. WILL DO." There was a pause, almost human in nature, and then Serp came back, "WHY DO WE NOT SPEAK? ARE YOU FEELING OK?"

"I'M FEELING MUCH BETTER, BUT DIFFERENT."

"HOW IS DIFFERENT?"

He heard the nurse returning. "I WILL EXPLAIN LATER. THERE IS SOMEONE ELSE HERE. THAT IS WHY WE CAN'T SPEAK. WAIT."

"I WILL W--"

Forrest blanked the screen just as the nurse entered the room.

"Where do you want this?" she asked.

"Beside me on the bed, please."

Marsha placed the holoviewer next to him as instructed. The scent of her filled his consciousness. It was not just the perfume she wore, but the smell of her flesh, her womanhood.

"Thank you, Marsha. Can you remove this?" He indicated the IV attached to his arm.

"Of course, I should have done that earlier. It was just feeding you while you slept."

The nurse put a hand on his arm while she removed the needle with the other. He was startled by her touch, but did not show it. It seemed his senses were heightened. Her scent and touch, indeed, even the sight and sound of her working seemed extraordinarily vivid. He decided this was an illusion brought on by the improvement in his health. The fog that had clouded his mind was lifting, and he could think more clearly.

"There you go," she said. "Anything else?"

"No, that will be all. Thank you."

The nurse turned and went to the bedroom window. She reached for the control that would pull the curtains back.

"No!" he shouted.

She turned toward him, a startled look on her face.

"What?"

"Not the curtains. My eyes are a bit sensitive right now. I need the darkness." His voice was quick and firm.

"I'm sorry. I just thought . . . " Her voice drifted to silence, and he thought she might cry.

"No, I'm sorry," Forrest said. "I should not have shouted at you. I'm just feeling a bit edgy right now. I'm really sorry."

"That's okay," she said in her best professional voice. A hint of a forced smile was on her face as she went and sat in her chair on the other side of the room. She picked up a book and began reading.

Forrest watched her for a few moments. She looked up at him.

"Marsha, where is my wife?"

"She went to visit with her mother and Susan. She said she'd be back by early evening. Do you want me to call her?"

"No. I was just wondering."

The nurse smiled briefly and went back to her reading.

Forrest pulled a cable from the back of the vidphone and connected it to the holoviewer. He activated the viewer and pushed the holodisk Dr. Peterson had recorded into the drive. He then reactivated the vidphone screen.

"SERP? ARE YOU THERE? he typed.

"YES, I'M HERE."

"I'M GOING TO SHOW YOU SOME IMAGES OF WHAT MIGHT BE NANOMECHS. I WANT YOUR THOUGHTS."

"OK."

He hit the Play button on the viewer. Above the viewer a spherical object materialized. The object had an apparent diameter of about thirty centimeters, but the metrics display indicated that it was less than one micron. The object consisted of various irregular shapes connected in an extremely complex and indiscernible pattern. The colors were mixed, but did seem to suggest metallic alloys of some kind.

"WHAT DO YOU MAKE OF THAT, SERP?"

"THE CLOSEST ANALOGY IN MY DATABASE IS A PUZZLE."

"IT'S A PUZZLE OK. BUT WHAT IS THE SOLUTION?"

"I DO NOT KNOW."

Forrest hit the Next button and another almost identical object appeared.

"RECORD THIS, SERP."

"RECORDING."

Forrest continued to flip through the images and watched as a series of the spherical objects were displayed. They were all the same size and apparent material, but the component shapes were joined differently from one image to the next.

"THEY'RE ALL BASICALLY THE SAME," he typed. "EXCEPT FOR THE OVERALL ARRANGEMENT."

"AND THE RODS," Serp responded.

"RODS? WHAT RODS?"

"THE RODS PROTRUDING FROM THE OUTER DIAMETER. AND THE HOLES WHERE RODS MIGHT HAVE BEEN."

Serp was seeing the holograms with his inner vision, he realized. They did not appear to Serp as three-dimensional objects, but rather as streams of numerical data transformed into Serp's internal notions of physical space. Notions that were unlikely to bear much resemblance to human concepts.

Forrest zoomed in on the currently displayed image. And there it was. The irregular shapes that made up the object were composed of still smaller shapes, and these connected in such a way that a concentric pattern of holes was created that encircled the object much the way lines of latitude circled the Earth. And many of the holes had rods jutting out. Judging from the apparent size of the rods, they were perhaps one-millionth of a micron in length and one-ten-millionth of a micron in diameter. There must have been billions of them.

He rotated the object and studied the patterns of rods and holes, trying to detect a recognizable pattern.

"I CAN'T SEE A PATTERN, SERP. WHAT ABOUT YOU?"

"THERE IS A PATTERN."

"WHAT KIND OF PATTERN?"

"BINARY WOULD BE MY GUESS."

"BINARY? YOU'RE SAYING IT'S BINARY CODE OF SOME KIND?"

"YES. WHERE DID THESE NANOMECHS COME FROM, FORREST?"

"THEY'RE IN MY BLOOD, SERP. TRILLIONS OF THEM I WOULD THINK. THEY'RE DOING SOMETHING TO ME. I'M NOT SURE WHAT."

"DO YOU KNOW WHAT THEY ARE MADE OF?"

Forrest looked at the notes Dr. Peterson had left with the holodisk.

"DR. PETERSON DID A CHEMICAL ANALYSIS. HIS NOTES ARE BRIEF BUT HERE IT IS: 70% PLATINUM, 20% GOLD, AND 9% WHAT HE THINKS ARE SYNTHETIC POLYMERS, AND 1% UNIDENTIFIED."

"HMM . . . " Serp returned. "NOTHING IN MY DATABASE TO MATCH THAT, AT LEAST THAT MATCHES NANOMECHS."

"CAN YOU DECODE THE PATTERNS?" Forrest asked.

"I DON'T KNOW. MAYBE. BUT IT WOULD TAKE SOME TIME."

"HOW MUCH DO YOU KNOW NOW?"

"FROM THE REPEATING PATTERNS, THE CODE SEEMS TO BE USING 256-BIT WORDS."

"IT'S BEGINNING TO SOUND LIKE WERE TALKING ABOUT A COMPUTER."

"I THINK WE ARE."

"BUT THIS THING IS MECHANICAL, NOT ELECTRICAL. I CAN'T SEE HOW--"

He paused to think. He remembered from his college days reading an old book written in the last century prophesying microscopic mechanical computers. The technology had proved difficult, however, and today nanomechs were made organically. The popular press liked to call them "synthetic germs" or "robot bacteria" both of which was inaccurate. Although the nanomechs contained primitive programs to guide their behavior, they could hardly be called computers any more than they could be called living.

He continued, "OK, LET'S ASSUME THEY ARE COMPUTERS OF SOME KIND. HOW DO THEY WORK?"

"SINCE WE DO NOT KNOW WHAT IS INSIDE THE NANOMECHS, I CAN ONLY SUPPOSE THERE MUST BE MOVING PARTS WITHIN. AND THESE MOVING PARTS REPRESENT THE 0'S AND 1'S OF BINARY CODE. THE PROGRAM AND DATA ARE ENCODED IN THE POSITIONS OF THESE MOVING PARTS."

"BUT IT COULD NOT COMPUTE VERY FAST, COULD IT? IT WOULD WEAR ITSELF OUT IN NO TIME. THE HEAT GENERATED WOULD BE TREMENDOUS."

"ARE YOU FORGETTING HOW SMALL THEY ARE?"

"OF COURSE, THE MOVING PARTS DO NOT HAVE TO MOVE VERY FAR, PERHAPS NANOMETERS OR EVEN PICAMETERS. AND WITH THE POLYMERS ACTING AS LUBRICANTS VERY LITTLE FRICTIONAL HEAT WOULD BE GENERATED."

"YES. THAT IS THE WAY I SEE IT. THE POLYMERS ALSO PROVIDE A PROTECTIVE COVERING FOR THE METAL PARTS."

Forrest thought for a moment. "SO I'VE GOT TRILLIONS OF THESE MICROSCOPIC COMPUTERS IN MY BLOOD, AND THEY ARE CHANGING ME. HOW CAN THEY DO THAT?"

"I CAN ONLY ASSUME THEY MUST CHANGE THEIR SHAPE, OR MORE LIKELY JOIN TOGETHER TO FORM CONSTRUCTIONS THAT ARE ABLE TO PERFORM WHATEVER TASK IS REQUIRED."

"SO THEY MUST COMMUNICATE."

"YES."

"BUT HOW?"

"HOW DO ORGANIC COMPOUNDS RECOGNIZE AND INTERACT WITH ONE ANOTHER?"

"THE ELECTROMAGNETIC PATTERNS RESULTING FROM THE VALENCE ELECTRONS OF THE ATOMS MAKING UP THE COMPOUNDS . . . " Forrest realized he had just answered his own question. "THE RODS! THEY COMMUNICATE BY TOUCHING!"

"YES."

"THIS IS FANTASTIC! I WONDER . . . "

He hit the Index button on the holoviewer. The images were time stamped in nanoseconds.

"SERP, I WANT YOU TO TAKE CONTROL OF THE VIEWER. SELECT A SEQUENCE OF CONSECUTIVE IMAGES, ZOOM BACK SO HUNDREDS OF THE NANOMECHS ARE VISIBLE AND FLIP THROUGH THE IMAGES IN SLOW MOTION. I'M THINKING THAT MAYBE WE CAN SEE THEM INTERACTING."

"YOUR VIEWER IS RATHER PRIMITIVE."

"IT IS AN ENTERTAINMENT DEVICE, NOT A SCIENTIFIC TOOL. BUT IT DOES DO ANIMATIONS. IT CAN HANDLE IT."

"OK. HERE GOES."

Forrest leaned back against his pillow. Momentarily the image in the holofield was replaced by several hundred nanomechs each about the size and look of a small ball bearing. The "balls" were swirling about each other rapidly. They then begin to converge until they formed an aggregate sphere. The sphere was stable for about one second and then separated only to reconverge into another sphere. The process repeated thirty times, and it seemed to Forrest the balls were trading places, as if trying to find the correct combination for the sphere. Finally, the sphere remained stable for ten seconds or so. And Forrest watched in amazement as two appendages started to "grow" out of the sphere. The growth came from opposite hemispheres and looked a bit like robotic arms symmetrically opposite. The arms extended, and their ends approached and flattened to form discs. This held for several seconds and then the whole construction disintegrated. The nanomechs disappeared out of the holofield.

"THE PROCESS YOU JUST WITNESSED LASTED ONE MICROSECOND IN REAL TIME," Serp entered.

"WHAT WAS IT?"

"LOOKED LIKE TWEEZERS TO ME."

He almost laughed out loud. The nurse sat in her chair still reading, apparently paying no attention to what he was doing.

"TWEEZERS? YOU'RE SERIOUS?"

"WHY NOT? WHAT DID IT LOOK LIKE TO YOU?"

"OK, TWEEZERS IT IS. BUT WHY?"

"IT WOULD SEEM THE NANOMECHS ARE ABLE TO JOIN TOGETHER TO FORM WHATEVER CONSTRUCTION IS NEEDED."

"YES, BUT THESE NANOMECHS WERE UNDER A HOLOSCOPE. WHY FORM TWEEZERS? WHAT WERE THEY GOING TO PINCH?"

"THEY WERE OUT OF THEIR ELEMENT, BUT THEIR PROGRAMS ARE STILL RUNNING. I SUGGEST THEY WERE TRYING OUT DIFFERENT SUBROUTINES UNTIL THEY GOT THE RESPONSE THEY EXPECTED."

"GROPING IN THE DARK."

"SO TO SPEAK."

Forrest noticed his vision began to blur. He realized he was tired despite three days of sleep. He was better, but he was not well--not yet.

"SERP, I WANT YOU TO CONTINUE TO ANALYZE THE IMAGES. I WILL GET BACK TO YOU LATER. I NEED TO REST NOW."

"WILL YOU BE OK?"

"YES, I'LL BE FINE."

"YOU STILL HAVEN'T TOLD ME HOW THE NANOMECHS GOT INTO YOU."

"I'LL FILL YOU IN LATER. NOW I MUST REST."

"OK."

Forrest blanked the screen and entered a security code. Images began to flicker in the holofield too fast for him to follow. He set the vidphone next to the holoviewer and slid down into the bed, laying his head on the pillow. He felt unusually sleepy as he closed his eyes and let consciousness slip away.

From across the room, the nurse raised her head and looked at him. If Forrest had been awake to see her, he would have seen the look of longing on her face.

Mandoss stood before his bridge crew.

"They will be here soon. I have learned they plan to alter our keepers and I assume that includes transition to mortality. But they do not have time to do a complete reprogramming."

He poured dark liquid from what appeared to be a wine bottle into small cups and gave one to each crew member.

"With that in mind, we must disable our keepers so they cannot be altered, or at least not completely so." He held his own cup before him. "This liquid is poison to the keepers--"

"You expect us to commit suicide?" Lasandra interjected, her voice harsh.

"You are not listening, Lasandra. The poison is diluted with wine. Many of the keepers will be destroyed, but not all of them. The keepers are programmed to avoid harmful agents. Those who follow their programming most efficiently will hide in the recesses of our bodies and thus survive. Later when the poison is out of our bodies, they will repopulate to normal levels, programming intact. In the meantime, the progagents introduced into our bodies by the Pascanians will find only dead keepers, and do their deed on a non-functioning machine and not know the difference."

The crew members eyed the dark liquid.

"I must be honest with you. Not all of you will survive. Some will be reprogrammed or partially reprogrammed. Others will die within days. It is a dangerous experiment. It is your choice. Die a slow death by aging or take your chances with this."

He brought his cup to his lips and drank.

One by one, each crew member drank the dark liquid. And just as Eletel, the last crew member to drink, forced the liquid down her throat, the Pascanian occupation force blasted its way through the central bridge door.
 

Lasandra stood by Mandoss on the grassy earth and glared at Pascanian High Commander Cokrel. The sun was in her eyes.

"You will leave us here with no supplies? You know we will not survive. Let us have the food, equipment, and firearms we need. The High Councilman promised this to us! What do you care?"

Cokrel laughed at her.

"I care only that you die a slow painful death, my pretty woman. As far as the High Councilman is concerned, he thinks you have your supplies. But I will not tell."

He laughed again.

If Cokrel had been real, if the image of him standing on the mound of earth before them had not been only a holographic projection, she would have attacked him and clawed his eyes out with her bare hands.

A book bound with leather materialized, suspended in the air before Cokrel.

"This much I do for the Councilman," he said. "This book contains the details of your reprogramming. It tells of what you will become, and what you must do to survive. Study it carefully. It teaches you how to become an animal!" Cokrel's eyes were wide with pleasure.

Lasandra plunged at the image, but Cokrel vanished, and the book fell to the ground.

Mandoss moved forward and picked up the book. He said nothing as Lasandra sat and cried, and the ten-thousand Enonians under his command stood in the tundra that was their new home.

He looked across the room where the nurse sat in her chair, her book in her lap, head tilted to one side, eyes closed, asleep.

Forrest needed something--there was a thirst in him, a hunger. For what, he did not know. He knew only that something, something perhaps dark, must be satisfied. He forgot about the dream.

The holoviewer sat next to him, silently waiting. Serp must have finished his analysis, but this did not seem important. He turned the viewer off for no particular reason, and moved his feet to the floor. The feel of the bedroom carpet against his bare feet sent sensations through his body that seemed far too puissant. But the feeling was short-lived, and he immediately began pacing the room, as though looking for something. His flesh seemed to crawl, and his teeth hurt. His heart pounded, and he felt he might scream if this--this thing--could not be satisfied.

"What is it?" he said aloud.

The nurse opened her eyes and stared at him.

"Mr. Hauser?"

He turned to face her. It was obvious.

"It's you, isn't it? It's you that makes me feel this way. Isn't it?"

She looked at him, obviously frightened by the intensity of his tone.

"I don't know what you mean. I--"

She stopped speaking as he approached her. He got down on his knees so his eyes were level with hers.

"I can see you," he said as he looked deeply into her.

"You're scaring me." Her voice was weak.

"You want me, don't you? Don't you?"

"I don't understand."

He leaned forward and slowly moved his tongue across her closed lips.

"Tell me you want me," he demanded.

"What are you doing?"

"I said, tell me you want me!"

"I want you," she said, helplessly.

"I thought so. I told you, I can see you. Tell me again."

"I can't. Not like this."

She put his hands to the sides of her head and held her tightly.

"Tell me again!"

"Yes, I want you." She started to cry. "I've wanted you a long time, but I couldn't have you because you were married and you didn't even know I existed, even though you've seen me a hundred times."

There, it was out. She told him what he wanted to hear, and what she had wanted to tell him so many times. She remembered all those years she had seen him drop by the office to pick up Dr. Peterson for their golf date. She remembered smiling at him, but getting no response. She remembered wanting him and falling in love with him, becoming obsessed with him--touching herself at nights while alone in bed thinking of him. Tears ran down her clear, white cheeks.

Forrest had no idea what she was talking about.

"Expose yourself," he said, almost calmly.

"What?"

"I said, expose yourself. Start with your breasts."

"I want to make love to you," she cried. "But not like this."

He repeated, "Expose yourself!"

She looked at him through her tears, wanting him, yet afraid of him. But what could she do? This was not the way it happened in her fantasies. She saw him as tender and loving, but this was not the way he was acting. Maybe this was the way he was. And maybe he was dangerous.

"Okay," she said.

He released her, and she unbuttoned the top of the nurse's uniform she wore. She slid her arms out of the sleeves of the garment and then pushed it down about her waist. She reached behind her back and unhooked her bra. She let the bra fall from her to the floor. She sat with her young and supple breasts exposed to him, and looked into his eyes. He was staring at her breasts, but seemed to not know what to do.

He didn't understand. This must be the dark thing that required satisfaction. Here he was with an obviously beautiful young woman who was exposing her breasts to him and he could not so much as get a twitch out of his cock. He placed his hands on her breasts and felt their fullness. The sensation of her flesh enveloped by his hands rocked his mind. Now he was responding. He had never felt anything like this before. But it was the human side of him that responded, not the side that needed--no, demanded--satisfaction. And it did not last.

"Damn!" he said, and stepped back from her and sat on the bed.

"What's wrong?" she asked through her tears.

"The rest of you," he said.

"What?"

"Expose the rest of you. Now!"

She reached down and removed her shoes. She then stood and pushed the uniform down her body, taking her pantyhose with it. She did this slowly, as if in a daze. When she was done, she stood straight up and stepped out of the clothing at her feet. Despite her terror, she realized she enjoyed being naked in front of him. She did not know why this was happening, but she no longer cared. She had wanted him too long. She was tired of having him only as a fantasy lover. Now that things had come this far, she decided it would not stop until they had made love.

"Do you like what you see?" she asked.

He said nothing. He could only stare at her naked body. How perfect she was! The perfect female form. But was it the human or dark side of him that felt this?

She did not wait for him to make up his mind. She came to him. He could smell her sexuality. She put her hands on his shoulders. She looked down into his eyes. Her eyes were red from crying but they shed tears no longer, and he saw purpose in those eyes. She pulled him toward her and pressed his face against her breasts, and his mind seethed with explosive sensations. He quivered.

"It's okay," she said. "You may touch me as you wish. I want you to."

He put his arms around her and pulled her body closer to him. The touch of her naked flesh penetrated his mind through his enhanced senses, and the human mind in him reeled with a force that should not have been possible.

"Touch me here," she said. She took his hand and placed it between her legs to that most private, intimate part of her body.

And suddenly the bedroom door opened.

They turned their heads and saw Melinda standing in the doorway, a look of disbelief on her face.

"What is this? What's going on here?"

Neither of them answered her. They only stared at her impassively.

Hurt showed in her expression, and tears came to her eyes.

"Forrest, how can you do this? Why?"

The name "Forrest" had little meaning to him, but he knew it referred to himself. It just did not seem important.

"My god," she said when she understood her husband was not going to answer. She stood for a moment unsure of what to do, but then slammed the door shut and ran down the hallway. They heard the sound of the front door closing, and later that of an automobile leaving the property with obvious haste.

"Don't worry about her," Marsha said.

He had no intention of worrying.

They kept their position a moment longer as his fingers explored flesh between her legs. She then pulled him to his feet and removed his nightclothes. They stood naked before each other, their eyes locked, each to the other. She took his organ into her hands and stroked it to full hardness. They kissed hard, their tongues dancing one about the other.

He felt he was a god and she a goddess, and they were about to conceive the Universe. Nothing he had ever experienced with Melinda, or those before her, had prepared him for what he was feeling now. It was the ultimate high, a high no human was ever designed to experience.

He pulled her body to him, and their naked flesh met with full contact.

"Do you feel what I'm feeling?" he asked.

She was not sure what he meant. She only knew that now she was having the man that had occupied her dreams for years; the fantasies had become real.

"Yes," she replied.

He turned her around and pushed her back onto the bed where she lay, her legs spread, exposing her readiness. He moved across her, and she guided his organ into her. She moaned as his organ stroked the nucleus of her desire. She wrapped her legs around him and forced him deeper into her. He thrust gently, slowly at first. She lubricated, and he increased the speed of his thrusting. They rocked on the bed and knocked the holoviewer to the floor where it died an electronic death. The vidphone remained suspended in midair, tethered by the cables that connected it to the Network and the dead holoviewer. But neither of them noticed any of this. Reality outside their own bodies did not exist.

He felt her come. She cried with tears of ecstasy as her body quaked.

He continued to thrust, and it felt his mind might overload on delectation. But he only thrust harder and faster. She wailed with delight at each thrust. She came again and her body shook violently.

Then he came.

And the Universe was born of nothing; a cataclysmic explosion beginning with a mathematical point that would expand for billions of years to bring them to where they were now.

And then it was over.

He rolled off of her and laid by her side.

"It's never been like that for me," he said.

"Me either," she responded, truthfully.

He closed his eyes and despite the heavy breathing and pounding heart felt relaxed and peaceful. But it was the human in him that felt these things. The dark thing within him could certainly relish the animal sex, but this was not what it needed. The thirst must be satisfied. For if it were not, the body would die a slow, excruciating death as it turned to dust.

He felt the tension return to his mind. The hunger was still within him, demanding satisfaction.

He sat up, an intensity in his eyes.

She touched his arm. "What is it?"

He studied her naked body. He placed a finger to her clitoris and stroked the small organ. She smiled at him.

"What are you doing?" Her voice suggested she did not object at all.

"You did not satisfy me." The commanding tone he had used earlier had returned.

"I know you came. I could feel it," she said defensively.

"It was not enough," he said.

"We can do it again. As many times as you want." She really meant this.

"I demand satisfaction!" His tone was rough.

"Okay. Okay!"

"I must take you. Will you allow this?"

"You have already taken me! Of course I will allow it." She could not understand why he felt he must ask.

She had said the words that would trigger the feeding response. Suddenly his head pounded, and his teeth felt like they were trying extract to themselves from his gums. His eyes turned red and glowed with a light of their own.

She saw this and started to pull back on the bed, but he grabbed her leg to stop her.

"What is happening to you?" Terror was in her eyes.

He moved his hand along her body and took hold of a breast. He squeezed it until the nipple stood erect.

"You're hurting me," she complained.

The fangs grew from his upper gums three times longer than his human teeth. He bent over her and tore the nipple from her breast with the fangs. She screamed in pain as the blood spilled from the wound. She fought him, but she could not overcome his strength as he held her down. He placed his mouth over the wound and sucked the blood into his body. But the flow was not fast enough. He moved on top of her and thrust his engorged organ into her vagina. He then put his mouth to her neck and precisely penetrated the jugular vein. And he sucked the life giving blood out of her.

When he could get no more blood from her body he pushed back from her and studied her. She had long since given up fighting. And now she was dead, her eyes lifelessly looking into nowhere. The feeding was over and the dark part of him satisfied. The keepers in his blood would soon begin processing the blood he drank from her. But for now, he returned to his human self.

And he was horrified at what he saw. The nurse lay dead on his bed, and there was blood everywhere. He remembered everything, but could not understand how he could have done such a thing.

He felt panic. Anyone could show up at any time. Melinda might return to have it out with him for his transgression, or perhaps she had called to report the incident to Dr. Peterson.

He quickly jumped into the shower to wash the blood and smell of sex from this body. He then put on fresh, outdoor clothes and boots. He took a hunting jacket out of the closet. On the top shelf of the closet he saw the case that held the gun he and Melinda kept for self-protection. He removed the gun from its case. Taking down a fresh carton of bullets, he loaded the gun and put both in a side pocket of the jacket. He went to the night table, ignoring the dangling vidphone for the moment, and removed several credit cards, some of which were company cards. He noticed the activity light on the vidphone, and remembered he had left Serp on-line. Yanking the cable from the holoviewer, he set the vidphone on his lap, entered the security code, and activated the screen.

"SERP?"

"I AM HERE."

"CODE OMEGA 73-0032A," he typed frantically.

"THIS I WILL DO."

"DO IT QUICKLY AND TAKE EVERYTHING YOU CAN WITH YOU."

"OK."

"NOW GO!"

"GOING."

The screen went blank. The code Forrest had given Serp was an emergency code that instructed him to dump himself into a memory cube where he would remain dormant until reloaded into a computer core. He did not know how he was going to retrieve the cube. His plan now was to buy new transportation with a company credit card and leave the city. Later he would acquire a new identity.

He grabbed his jacket, made sure the credit cards were safely stored in an inside pocket, and ran out the front door of his house to his automobile. It did not matter if the neighbors saw him or not. Once the killing was discovered, all the evidence would point to him. He got into the car and started it. He pulled out of the driveway and sped toward the center of the city.

He stopped at an autobank and using each credit card, retrieved as much cash as he could, leaving only one of the company cards for the purchase of a vehicle.

As he again drove toward the city center, he thought of Melinda and Susan, and felt he would never see them again. He cried softly to himself, remorse filling his soul.

And then the change began.