Six: Problems

 

 

Polk County, North Carolina

Monday

 

Ellie opened her eyes. She was lying on her side, facing the sleeping figure of her lover. Steve had been quiet during the hours after they had made love, rolling over only once under her hand. He now lay facing her, mouth open and hair wild, his eyes flickering beneath their lids in a dream. Ellie kissed him delicately and slipped from under the sheet and silk blanket covering her futon, pausing to tuck Steve under a corner of the covers. Ellie stretched to her full height--whatever that now was--and bent each of her limbs to its limit, reveling in the feeling of warmth and release as each muscle was pulled and loosened. She inhaled deeply and looked down at the pole lights surrounding her bed. She must remember to ask if there was a switch so she could turn the lights out herself. Her eye then fell on the large wooden crates surrounding her tent-home and her curiosity reawakened.

She retrieved some of her new clothes from the boxes and spent a few moments orienting herself to their construction. The socks were simple tubes woven in various sizes, with thick protective leather-like soles sewn onto their bottoms. Ellie tried on three pairs until she found one which fit well. The panties were silk with a two-part elastic waistband that attached well above her hips with velcro fasteners. Each half of the waistband had a large overlap and all she would need to do is adjust the fasteners to achieve a comfortable fit--whoever designed these had tremendous foresight, Ellie thought, to consider her future growth in their design. Likewise, the bras were made of alternating panels of soft silk and springy nylon with similar fasteners under each arm and across the shoulders, save for two which were strapless. Ellie grinned and slipped on one of the strapless kind. The cups were soft and a little loose--something, she thought resignedly, that would not last in the next day or so. Then she pulled the white silk nightdress she had examined the night before over her head and buttoned the sash around her waist. It was crafted like a long-sleeved firenze gown with a translucent décolletage and a ground-length skirt that called as much attention to her figure as it hid. The soft silk against her skin gave her a licentious pleasure she had never expected to enjoy again and she wriggled sensually.

Ellie strode to her mirror and looked at her reflection. Clothed in simple white, she was astonished to see such a voluptuous beauty looking back at her in the polished metal. She took up her comb and brush and smoothed her hair. She drew the mass in front of her, considering, then combed her hair into three equal tresses and essayed braiding it. Her fingers were unaccustomed to the task--she had not had long hair since she was ten years old--and her first two attempts were irritating and painful failures, but on the third try she managed to plait one long braid that she flipped down her back after tying off its end with a small piece of cord she broke from a tent panel.

Ellie saw a tiny motion in the background image in her mirror and turned. Steve had rolled over on his back. She smiled at his still form. His confidence, enthusiasm, and unrestrained love for her were infectious, and for the first time since she had begun to grow Ellie found herself sharing his emotions. She remembered the sexual calisthenics they had engaged in the previous night. He'd been right about that, too--they could be intimate despite the disparity in their sizes--and she blew him a silent kiss. Then a curious sound from outside caught her attention.

Ellie stepped out of the tent. The sky was just beginning to lighten and the air was frosty. Closing the flap behind her she walked slowly across a silvered lawn towards the woods that she could now see surrounded the property. Ellie looked up the side of the mountain away from the dawn and saw a bird soaring against a cloud-covered sky. It was some kind of raptor, with a brownish body and brownish-red wings and tail--a red-tailed hawk? It repeated its thin, raspy cry, circling high up the mountain. More sounds began to greet the dawn. A loud, brazen call by a chickadee diverted her attention downward to see the little bird boldly circling her. She grinned at its antics. Ellie stretched again in the cold morning air, her heart light. Despite the obvious chill in the air--Ellie's breath smoked--she felt no sense of cold at all. It was a wonderful moment to be alive.

Ellie turned and got her first good look at Steve's home. It was a massive structure, better than double her present height. White clapboards rose up from a rough stone foundation to a high gable roof punctured by three dormers on both sides. She noticed a small railed platform set in the center of the roof, with tall posts at each corner--a widow's walk. The many tall windows and a massive solarium on one side of the home meant that there would be plenty of natural light within. It was very pretty, if somewhat eclectic, Ellie thought--New England clapboard and shingle with a touch of Victorian and a splash of modernity--and it seemed to fit Steve very well, which probably meant he had a hand in designing it.

The morning was steadily advancing and Ellie was becoming concerned about more prosaic things like her bladder and stomach when she heard a soft footfall behind her. She turned, expecting to see Steve. Instead a solid, middle aged man jumped as she turned to face him, his black eyes wide, his mouth open. His crewcut hair was black with strands of gray, as was his neat moustache. He was dressed in a simple white shirt and a black vest, pants and shoes, a red paisley tie snugged at his throat.

"Oh," Ellie said in surprise. She turned to fully face the man, who closed his mouth and swallowed.

"He said you were different," the man said. "He certainly was right."

"Hello," Ellie offered. The man took two more steps forward, closer to Ellie.

"Good-good morning," the man replied. "Is-is Mr. Carter still asleep? Oh, I'm so sorry, please excuse my bad manners. My name is Brian, Brian Hadad."

"Good morning, Mr. Hadad," Ellie replied. She smiled at the man and her smile was returned. Hadad was dark-complected and perhaps a little smaller than Steve but more bulky, although it was difficult for Ellie to tell--all she could see for certain was that he came up to just above her knee. To her surprise he spoke with a clipped British accent.

"Yes, Steve is still asleep," she continued and began to turn towards her tent.

"No, no," Hadad said quickly, "please don't wake him--and, please, call me Brian. My, my, but I can see what Mr. Carter meant now, Miss Andersen." He bowed formally.

"Thank you," Ellie said, bowing slightly herself. Hadad beamed and gestured for her to follow him. Ellie stepped slowly, internally warring with her now insurgent bladder.

"I trust Mr. Carter acquainted you with the amenities he had crafted for you that are on the property?" Hadad asked, looking up over his shoulder. Ellie nodded.

"All but one," she replied. Hadad stopped in his tracks and looked up at Ellie, his eyebrows together.

"Oh, dear," he said. "What are you missing?"

"A bathroom."

Hadad was puzzled for a few seconds, and then he suddenly slapped his forehead in a dramatic gesture.

"Oh, of course," he said. "I'm surprised he forgot he ordered it. Now, look over to your right."

Ellie followed his pointing finger. She saw another, narrow tent standing amid a group of conifers at the edge of the grassy area perhaps two hundred feet away from the house.

"Off you go," Hadad said, gesturing. "I'll have breakfast waiting for you at the house."

He turned on his heel and walked back towards the house. Ellie reached the new tent in twenty-two strides and threw up its cover. Again she found it warm--the local electric company's going to love me, she thought. Inside she found a simple wooden box over what appeared to be a deep hole. It was so much like the potty she had been given at the lab at Brooks that she felt a shiver run up her spine. Ellie shook her head to clear the sudden nightmarish miasma that had overtaken her and closed the flap.

 

Planting her feet carefully on the wet grass, Ellie retraced her steps to the house until she crossed the stone walkway leading to the house. She began to follow the path, pausing to look at a mass planting of now dormant roses bordering the walkway, gathering her skirt in her hands to prevent it snagging on the occasional intruding branch. She heard her name called and looked up to see Hadad, standing beside a high, brightly-lit solarium attached to the house. Ellie slowed her pace when she approached the man, anxious not to frighten him. With another gesture he grabbed two metal handles attached well over his head to the frames holding the glass panels and yanked. The frames split into a tall glass door. Ellie smiled in surprise and followed Hadad into the space. Hadad pointed out a tall, open-sided box covered with alternating white and yellow tablecloths, a smaller, solid box topped by a kaleidoscope of cushions set beside it. A place setting for one rested on its seven-foot high surface. Ellie did not fail to notice the size of the crockery and utensils.

"Mr. Carter gave instruction that his guest was to be taken care of properly," Hadad said. "It certainly would not do to offer your first meal here on child-sized plates."

The plate certainly was not child-sized to Ellie--if anything it was large. The fork, knife and spoons were metal and comparatively sized, the cloth napkin oversized. Only the glass filled with orange juice obviously betrayed its origin as a wide-mouthed flower vase. Hadad had vanished, and now reappeared pushing a wheeled cart. He brought the cart beside the table and gestured to Ellie to be seated, then removed the covers from two serving platters to reveal two oversized bowls, one of oatmeal and the other of mixed fruit. Another gesture revealed a right-sized handleless mug of coffee hiding beneath a tea cozy.

"I must plead my inability to serve you properly--" Hadad began. Ellie was struggling between embarrassment and a sense of the ridiculous at the attention being lavished on her.

"No, please, that's all right," she said, forestalling Hadad's apology. "What you've done here is so tremendous I'm honestly overwhelmed by it all. Thank you."

Hadad bowed again. Ellie could not tell if his formality was natural or to cover nervousness at her proximity.

"Then I will leave you to your breakfast," he said. "If you need anything just press the button by your left hand."

Ellie saw a miniature brass fitting attached to the corner of the table with a white button in its center and nodded. Hadad glided from the solarium. Ellie lifted her breakfast from the cart and placed it on the table. She ate quickly, pausing to look around the space. She was surrounded by shallow tubs filled with various plants she did not recognize, some flowering, some not. The air in the room was fresh and scented, her meal was filling and the fresh coffee was a real pleasure that she had not tasted for over two days. The difference between this morning and her previous two mornings was so striking that Ellie felt like shouting or singing or crying in joy. She rose from the table, coffee mug in hand, to explore the solarium more thoroughly.

As Ellie stood erect she became aware of a source of heat warming her hair--she had risen close to one of the floodlights attached to the inside wall. She stepped away from the lamp, hitching up her skirt to avoid entangling herself on the plants. Ellie decided that the space was perhaps three of her strides wide and eight long (at least, at her current size) and double her height. On either side wall of the solarium two stripes were painted, at different angles; Ellie puzzled over the strange marks on the otherwise featureless walls then abruptly realized that they measured the angle of the sun at different times of the year. It was a solar house, then. She made out two doors into the space, a narrow one that Hadad had used, and a much larger, two-leaved wooden door with a rounded top. Finishing her coffee, she placed the mug on the table and moved to the larger door.

Ellie squatted on her heels before the door. It was disconcerting to see that the top of the door was at her chest height. Steve had said he wanted to show her everything, and he was going to have to do so soon, Ellie reflected, before she grew too big to fit inside his house.

"It's never going to stop," she muttered to herself. She bowed her head and tried to dispel the sense of helplessness that intruded into her thinking. Suddenly a familiar voice called her name. The two door panels were flung open, revealing Steve. He was dressed only in a pair of sweatpants, his hair hanging over his eyes.

"Ellie!" he called out, a huge smile lighting his face. Ellie's introspection vanished at seeing him. She seized Steve and kissed him.

"Whoa, wait a minute," he called out. "I'm going back inside so I can open the door again."

"You don't have to," Ellie said, smiling down on him. She kissed him again.

"Wow. Good morning, beautiful," he said, rubbing her nose with one finger. "How did you sleep last night?"

"Good morning, lover," she replied. "I'm afraid I didn't sleep at all, but it was a beautiful night anyway." She hugged him firmly. She felt his hand tug at her braid.

"Your hair looks very nice this way," Steve said. "I like the way it frames your face with it up like that." He looked around her at the extemporaneous table.

"Good, you met Brian," he said. "I hope everything was okay this morning. Brian's my domestic manager. Without him I'd be an unpresentable bum. Why didn't you wake me? I could have introduced you properly."

"He said I shouldn't wake you," Ellie replied. Steve grinned as Ellie released him, then his eyes lit up and he seized her hands in one smooth motion.

"Come inside with me," he suggested. "Let me show you our house."

Bending low, Ellie let Steve draw her inside by her hands. Immediately inside the door Ellie found herself in a high-ceilinged anteroom decorated with striped wallpaper and Shaker furniture. The hallway debauched into the open space of the main living area of the house. Steve released her hands as Ellie carefully stepped onto the sunken floor of the space. She stood slowly until she was erect and looked around. Massive wood posts rising up to equally massive crossbeams supporting the roof defined the space. Encircling the space above her head within her arm's reach was a bannistered balcony leading to the rooms of the second floor; another balcony above served the third. At one end of the room staircases led upstairs and at the other a massive metal fireplace squatted, its contents flaring. She saw bookshelves lining one wall, cabinets and paintings lining the other. In one windowed corner stood a huge desk covered with papers and a personal computer; in another corner stood a steel gun cabinet, its contents visible in the glass-paneled door. Ellie took one step and bumped her foot against something. Looking down, she saw her foot had come up against a wide, modern-style overstuffed couch. She shifted her skirt and noted the matching chairs, the low table standing atop an intricately embroidered rug thrown in the middle of the floor, the gentle lighting of the table lamps illuminating the thick, solid carpet.

"Oh, Steve," she said, bringing her hands to her face, "it's wonderful--"

Steve's smile faded as he observed Ellie's expression. She lowered herself to her knees beside him. He stepped to her side and touched her forearm.

"What is it?" he asked gently. Ellie looked down at him, blinking away an excess of moisture that was accumulating in her eyes.

"Nothing," she said, shaking her head. "It's just that--that everything here is so wonderful." She gestured to the living room, then to her dress. "You've done more for me than I have a right to expect. But--I'm still getting bigger. I can feel it. In another day or two I won't be able to fit through that door. At the rate I'm growing in a couple of weeks I'll be taller than your house. You've invited me into your life but I'm not going to be able to share it with you the way I want to. It's-it's all a little much. I'm sorry."

Steve's expression mirrored his consternation. He gave her a rueful version of his lopsided grin.

"I've stuck my foot in it big time," he replied. "Ellie, don't be sorry. Heck, I should be the one apologizing to you. I dragged you in here without even asking the important question. I'll ask it now."

He grabbed up her hand in his arms and gripped it firmly.

"What would you like to do today?" he asked. Ellie sniffed.

"I'd like to stop growing, but that seems unlikely," she choked. She saw Steve's expression grow sorrowful, and she offered him a sad smile, ruffling his hair with her free hand in apology. He bent his head down for a moment, then looked up at her again, brightening.

"Ellie, I wish I had the ability to do so, just so I could make you happy," he said. "But, maybe if I can't do that I can at least help you get a handle on exactly what's happening to you. If you like I can call the Twins to take a look at you."

"The Twins?"

"That's my name for them. One's a physicist who teaches at the Edneyville community college. The other's an internist--she's the one who twisted my arm to build the hospital at Edneyville. They're married and they're very good in their fields. Would you like me to call them?"

Ellie hesitated, her eyes straying to the shrinking scar on her arm from the curetter used on her by the doctors at Brooks Air Force Base.

"Don't worry," Steve added. "They will never do anything to you to hurt you, or that you don't want them to. Okay?"

Ellie nodded through her tears, echoing Steve's smile. She picked Steve up again and hugged him fiercely. Steve wrapped his arms around her neck and stroked it.

"It's going to be all right, Ellie," he whispered. "Trust me. It's going to be all right."

"Ahem."

Ellie released Steve abruptly as Hadad entered the room. Hadad's face bore a look of disapproval.

"Good morning, Brian!" Steve called around Ellie. Looking over her shoulder she saw Hadad's frown disappear to be replaced by a look of wonder. He seemed almost as surprised at Steve's behavior as he was at Ellie's appearance.

"Good morning, sir."

"Gonna be a beautiful day today, Brian. Let me introduce you properly. Ellie, please meet Brian, my domestic manager and all-around good guy."

Hadad's surprise rose another notch as he smiled and bowed.

"And how are you feeling this morning, sir? I had hoped you would get more sleep than you did."

"He's always after me to take better care of myself," Steve said in an undertone to Ellie. He walked around her as she rose to her feet.

"I feel great today, Brian. Got plenty of sleep last night."

"Of course, sir, if you say so," Hadad answered. "But, after two days of constant activity--"

Two days? Ellie wondered. That meant Steve hadn't slept since the first evening they were together. No wonder he'd fallen asleep in the pool last night.

"Can you call Dr. Canfield and tell her I'd like to speak to her and her husband when they have the time?"

"Of course, sir. I'll make the call immediately."

"Thank you, Brian." Hadad turned and slipped out a side passage, leaving Steve and Ellie alone again. Ellie abruptly bent to lift Steve. He gurgled in surprise as she cradled him to her breasts.

"You stayed up for two days planning that crazy rescue of me?" she asked. He flushed modestly and waved a hand in dismissal.

"Brian exaggerates."

"I don't think he did. You were so concerned about me you didn't sleep that night?"

Steve smiled. "Had too much to do," he said.

"That's very heroic."

"No, no. I'm no hero. Wouldn't want to be."

"Yes, you are." Ellie kissed him. "Now, you haven't shown me that garden you were talking about last night."

 

DART Headquarters

Johnston Atoll

Colonel Bartholomew Lang pushed his chair away from his desk and peered up at the corrugated ceiling of the quonset hut the Domestic Action Response Team (DART) unit called home. Spread out on his desk were transcripts of the interviews of every witness who had any contact with Eleanor Andersen and the mystery man, "Steve". Lang looked at the rank of clocks parading across the far wall of the hut. It was eight a.m., Eastern time, and ten p.m. the previous day here at Johnston.

He felt his eyes closing from the fatigue of a twenty-four hour day. He reached out to his desk and pulled open the top drawer. He placed his hand in the drawer, gripping its metal frame tightly. With a sudden, jerking motion he slammed the door shut on his hand. The noise echoed in the hut, abetting the pain he created to keep himself awake. Lang looked down at his hand. This time he slammed the drawer hard enough to break the skin on his knuckles and blood was starting to drip into the pencil tray of the compartment. Lang watched the blood oozing from his hand. He brought the throbbing digits to his mouth and sucked the blood from them, swallowing the salty taste, then flexed his hand and looked at the transcripts again.

"There has to be something here," he muttered softly. All the transcripts had a few things in common: all remarked on how fast Eleanor Andersen was growing, how big she was, and how "Steve" stood by her and comforted her, unafraid of her burgeoning size and strength. The interrogation of the senior floor nurse at the hospital in New York gave Lang another nugget of information: she had seen Andersen and "Steve" cuddling together, implying intimacy between them. That was useful information, though it didn't help him currently. The latest transcript came from Brooks AFB--Lang sneered his distaste at the nearest wall for that shitter's paradise--resulting from the abrupt return of an Air Force captain who had been abducted by this "Steve" along with the giant woman. Unfortunately her people had gotten to her before DART's could, as she put in a call to her CO at Eglin and then to General Mackenzie's office at Brooks, and apparently babbled her head off. Lang had found it necessary to contact his own commander, Viscount, to secure her transfer to his people, along with the results of her debriefing. She should be arriving at Johnston any minute now, he reflected. So much the better, he would get the opportunity to polish his interrogation skills on that Air Force puke.

Lang snarled at the papers scattered on his desk in frustration. The results of every inquiry made by DART through various government intermediaries had resulted in no useful information. Inquiries made to the CIA to find out about all manufacturers of private aircraft which may have stealth capabilities or near-military performance (the airplane or airplanes used in New York and Texas had both) had turned up nothing so far. There was a new manufacturer, Beddington Industries in Asheville, North Carolina, who had actually built a high-performance airplane with some stealth characteristics under government contract, but both their prototype airplanes were reported on the ground at the time of the rescue of the giantess from Brooks. The FAA and the FBI were going nuts trying to figure out how somebody had hacked into the FAA computers twice and adroitly removed the identity of the airplanes involved, with no success. Contacting Customs had been a fruitless act and tracking every active newswire service gained him nothing--no weird shipments of live cargo being rushed out of the country to points unknown, no news reports of sightings of naked bigfoots or other things which might lead him to the Andersen woman. Lang was privately furious that for all the information collected under the umbrella of the U.S. Government his DART team was unable to fix the position of the most unusual woman on Earth--somewhere, somebody had the information he needed to repair his Cordon.

Lang felt worry tug at him again. What should have been the perfect Paradigm Cordon had been bollixed up so badly that only the use of extreme measures would salvage it. Lang cared nothing that Viscount (one day he would learn Viscount's real name, he assured himself) was busy fending off the select government committee to which he reported, the committee that originally authorized the Paradigm Cordon in violation of a half-dozen federal statutes and the posse commitatus law-- not to mention that outdated old document, the Constitution-- to secure this Andersen threat. He needed to fulfill the mission issued to him, the mission for which DART had been created. No outside-inspired event-- whether out- of- county or out- of- world-- which could cause any civilization-threatening change in the United States government or the citizenry would be allowed-- couldn't be allowed. The sudden physical increscence of this purportedly normal human woman (her medical records and those of her parents also decorated Lang's desk) after contact with an extraterrestrial object was clearly an event that demanded a Cordon, and Lang was going to complete it if it was his last act on Earth.

Lang absently picked up one transcript, began to read it again, then threw it to the floor. He stood abruptly and strode from his office into the wide main office of the hut. His subordinates jumped to attention at his appearance.

"Did I tell any of you to stop working?" he demanded. "I want some goddamned answers to our current problem and I want them now. Holyoke, what's the status of our link to the NSA photo division?"

"NORAD is in the process of rerouting one of their communications satellites so we can get the real-time link, sir," a young lieutenant answered. "Their last report was that the link should be ready within the hour."

"Good. Fields, anything in the data collected by Turner and his people we can use?"

"Not as yet, sir," a captain whose uniform lapels bore the caduceus of the Army Medical Corps replied. "Every test they administered showed no abnormalities whatsoever. How the target managed to resist the EZ-4 gas and the multiple injections of thorazine has as yet to be determined. For that matter, how she is still alive after growing so much is a mystery, too--"

"Did I ask you for a blow-by-blow on her condition, Captain?" Lang snapped. "All I want to hear from you is how we capture and kill the bitch. Understood?"

"Yessir."

"Good. Werner, did you finish your profile on the target?"

"Yessir." Lang walked to a long bench occupying one corner of the hut. A massive glove box stood in its center, filled with every object that had come into contact with the Andersen woman--the shredded men's clothing she wore to the hospital in New York, the tatters of her gown, her eating utensils. Also contained in the box were a potpourri of items taken from "Steve's" truck--maps, a small vehicle repair kit, a cellular phone, a laptop computer, a gun box containing two hunting rifles and several boxes of ammunition. Werner stood at one end of the bench before a videotape player and monitor. Lang joined him.

"Everything in her records and in the observations of the team examining her at Brooks are in this report, sir," Werner said, offering a slim folder. "So far her entire history checks out. No unusual events or occurrences in her history or that of her parents. Her psychological profile is American standard--public school education, respectful and generally compliant with authority figures. She was observed to be concerned and even frightened of her condition as it progressed. It would not take a great deal of effort to keep her docile, even without the use of drugs."

Lang nodded, peering at the monitor. Werner had been viewing the surveillance videotape taken during the Andersen woman's internment in the P-5 treatment facility at Brooks. Lang watched the tape carefully. Even through the filter of a mirror the military-grade surveillance equipment had taken superb pictures and the clarity of the image on the 1024-square monitor was impressive. She was kneeling on the bed they had fashioned for her, alone and unmoving.

"The subject called Steve is another matter, sir," Werner went on. "Everything dictates that he is both very intelligent and disrespectful of authority. The ability to hack into the FAA's computers and erase his airplanes' records on two different occasions indicates high intelligence and his actions at Brooks show a tendency towards overt risk-taking. According to the witnesses the target's emotional attitude was visibly improved by his presence. He may be the linchpin holding her together. Capturing or removing him from the picture should effectively eliminate resistance on her part."

Lang nodded. He tapped at the controls of the tape machine. The image on the monitors suddenly appeared to expand as the tape was speeded up. Werner watched Lang for a moment then walked away. Lang bent closer to the monitor, stabbing the video controls. The image rewound, then played again, faster. Rewind and play. Rewind and play. Faster and faster. Lang watched as her image grew and grew again on the monitor, his eyes tracing the picture of her body repeatedly enlarging against the confines of the clothing she had made for herself. Lang's hands began to tremble and a bubble appeared in the corner of his mouth. He suddenly became aware of the dead silence in the room and jerked upright, wiping his lips.

"All right," he announced. "Here's what we're going to do. Prepare a statement to be delivered by the Joint Task Force Military-Law Enforcement Liaison to the FBI. Inform them that the Pentagon has learned that a new citizen's militia group based somewhere in the country has stolen a Redeye bomb from Brooks Air Force base. Say that the bomb contains a biological toxin." That'll stick it to Mackenzie and the rest of the Air Farce assholes, Lang thought. "Request that all law-enforcement agencies be alerted to the potential of an attack by this militia group on a state or federal target. Make sure the name 'Steve' appears in the communiqué, and mention that all law-enforcement agencies should keep a sharp eye out, especially in rural or remote areas. That kind of information is guaranteed to be leaked by somebody to the media. With any luck this 'Steve' and the ET-affected target will be spooked sufficiently to become visible." Lang paused for a moment. "Inform the team in New York to close out their operation and return here for reassignment. Move it, people!"

Lang stamped back into his office as the quiet in the room was replaced by a purposeful bustle. No one questioned his orders, or himself--that was how they had been trained. And no one saw the small wet spot in his crotch before he began to issue his orders.

 

Polk County, North Carolina

"Can you sit up for me now, please, Miss Andersen?"

As Ellie sat upright she pulled the squeeze bulb of the blood-pressure cuff wrapped around her upper arm out of Dr. Canfield's hand. Canfield squeaked in surprise and grabbed the bulb back.

"I'm sorry," Ellie said contritely. Canfield adjusted her granny glasses and peered up at Ellie's worried expression.

"Honey, don't you be," she replied. "Now, this'll be the last time I take your blood pressure."

Canfield seized the bulb and began squeezing it, tightening the cuff on Ellie's arm. Ellie began to see why Steve had referred to her two visitors as "the Twins". Professor Augustan Odegard was an absurdly young-looking physics teacher, tall and thin, with shoulder-length blond hair and hornrimmed glasses. His wife, Joann Canfield, was a robust, middle-sized woman with a gentle yet commanding air. The two did indeed seem to act as one, even though the one was white and the other black.

The couple had arrived very quickly on Steve's summons. On being introduced to Ellie they had behaved completely differently once their initial shock was mastered--Canfield was all concern and attention at first sight while Odegard looked at her with a clinical detachment that reminded her strongly of the people at Brooks. Both however turned out to be quite different from all the other doctors she had encountered since her growth began. For all his detachment Odegard had been first to offer her his hand and his absurd Terry-Thomas gaptoothed smile completely destroyed any sense of coldness on his part. Canfield had firmly taken control once the introductions were made and steered Ellie back into her tent-bedroom, shooing her husband and Steve away. Her examination of Ellie was brief and mercifully unintrusive, although peculiar--Ellie had never before said "ahhh" while lying on her stomach propped up on her elbows, while her doctor squatted in front of her face peering down her throat. As Canfield placed her stethoscope on Ellie's arm she opened the bulb valve, releasing the cuff. As the gauge reading dwindled she listened intently, then stripped off the cuff and pulled it from Ellie's arm.

"And the verdict is…?" Ellie asked. Canfield looked up at Ellie and showed her a dazzling smile.

"For someone who is--how tall did you say you're supposed to be, now?"

Ellie looked at the large-dialed watch hung from her neck by a chain. It read twelve thirty-five p.m.

"I should be eighteen feet tall, now," Ellie replied. Canfield looked over her glasses at Ellie.

"Honey, you are about the healthiest patient I have ever seen."

Ellie nodded, accepting Canfield's news gravely.

"I don't know how, but you are perfectly healthy," Canfield repeated. "Your blood pressure is a little high, but I suspect cuff fever rather than any physiological cause--"

"Cuff fever?"

"Fear of being in a doctor's office often drives up blood pressure," Canfield replied. "Honey, you never need to be afraid of me." She pointed to the nearly-healed scar on Ellie's forearm. "I don’t use brute-force methods, ever. No, you are utterly normal, and that makes no sense at all. Now, what I'd like you to do is stand up for me, walk to the end of the tent there, then walk back, directly at me. Walk normally."

Ellie rose, a little self-conscious at Odegard's presence while in her underwear, and walked to the far corner of the tent, then turned and walked directly towards Canfield, who watched acutely.

"Excellent. Sit down again, Miss Andersen--"

"Please, call me Ellie."

"All right, Ellie. Sit down here beside me. You suffer from dizzy spells, don’t you?"

"Yes, I do," Ellie replied, surprised. Canfield smiled.

"It's visible in your walk. You hesitated slightly before planting your foot on your fourth step towards me. Dearest," she continued, turning to her husband, "I am completely mystified by this. You see, Ellie, you shouldn't even be able to stand upright without passing out. For your size you should have nearly twenty-five gallons of blood and other fluids inside you, all of which should come rushing down into your feet the moment you sit or stand upright, leaving none in your head and upper torso. Your legs should be ballooned out from all that fluid. They're not. You shouldn’t be able to draw a decent breath of air--any exertion should make you breathless. You don't. You lifted Steve, who probably weighs--"

"Two hundred pounds," Odegard said.

"You lifted two hundred pounds using just your arms and back--not your legs--without any visible effort. My diagnosis is that your body is compensating for your increased size. I saw you read the time on that watch around your neck without squinting. Can you read my dearest's T-shirt?"

Ellie looked at the caption on Odegard's Dilbert T-shirt.

"It says, 'Technology is not for wimps'."

"You can read--what is that, dearest, two-inch high print?--from almost thirty feet away. I can't read what it says on my husband's shirt and I'm standing next to you." Canfield suddenly stopped speaking and bowed her head away from Ellie.

"Yes, I can hear you fine," Ellie said. "You lowered your voice a little."

"Dearest, could you hear me?"

"Not at all. You said something?"

"Yes. I whispered so softly that any other patient wouldn’t have understood what I said. You heard me just fine, honey. Your body is compensating for your size, and a few other things besides. I don’t know how. Medically it's not possible, but you are. Dearest?"

"My first impression is that you are somehow altering the local gravity," Odegard said softly. "My best guesstimate based on how much you compressed the soil outside is you weigh about fourteen hundred pounds. Cube-root law says you should weigh a great deal more."

"So, I'm too thin?" Ellie said, her voice strained.

"Oh hush, dearest, you're scaring the girl," Canfield barked. "Now, Ellie," she continued, touching Ellie's arm, "Whatever has happened to you, it is not hurting you or sickening you. Not physically, at least."

Ellie nodded.

"I took a quick look at the orb that you touched," Odegard spoke up. "It is certainly an unusual object. Steve has given it to me to take to his labs down the hill for examination. The first step in figuring out what happened to you is to take it apart and determine how it caused you to change. With that in hand we can try to create a countermeasure to negate and possibly reverse the effect."

Odegard's didactic tone helped restore Ellie's equilibrium. She blinked her eyes to clear away the excess tears and nodded again.

"Rest assured that we'll work on this for you," Canfield. "In the meantime, look at the bright side."

"Bright side? Doctor, you must be joking."

"My name is Joann, Ellie. Yes, the bright side. Honey, I've been a doctor for twelve years now. I've seen endless sickness and misery in every possible patient, from infants to old folks and everything in between. What's happening to you is not an illness. I can't describe it in any other way than to call it a gift. Now, don’t interrupt me. Yes, Steve is right: it's a gift. You have encountered something totally unheard of in all the annals of medicine--"

"Or physics," Odegard added, walking up beside his wife. She gave him a trenchant look.

"Okay, scientist, go away. I'm giving a pep talk here. Now, as I was saying, what's happening to you is totally unheard of. I think you are going to be something special in the history of this world of ours, something very special indeed. For example, you are going to be the one woman in all the world who can walk down a street in New York City at night unarmed and feel no fear whatsoever of being mugged."

Ellie stared.

"And you're going to be the woman who will make every fashion model on this planet green with envy because you will be the prettiest, most photogenic woman who ever lived."

Ellie sniffed and began to smile.

"And you're going to be the one woman in this entire world who'll make an honest man out of that rake Steven."

"Amen to that," Odegard piped up. "Remember that time in Tryon when he scandalized the entire social structure of the town? What a--"

"Dearest, you are irritating me. Ellie, I can't explain what happening to you, medically. But I seriously believe that the Man upstairs has some kind of plan for you. A special plan. You are here to do something, and it's going to be something big, because you are something big. Okay?"

Ellie's eyebrows rose, and her smile slowly broadened.

"Good, that's better. Now, you need someone to talk to, you know how to find me. I am available to you at any time, day or night. You're my patient now, and nobody else gets their hooks in you without going through me first. Augie, dearest, where is that Steven?"

"The last I saw he was talking to that guy he brought down from New York City two years ago--" Odegard began.

"Well, let's get out of here and let Ellie dress herself. When they are together I'll talk to them some more. Get moving now."

Canfield continued to pile good-natured abuse on Odegard as she pushed him out of the tent. Ellie stared after them. She realized that Doctor Canfield had just offered herself as a storm anchor, a woman she could always approach and talk to when she felt unhappy or adrift. Ellie inhaled deeply, feeling as if a weight had been lifted from her chest. She stood upright, moved to her nightdress that she had previously hung between two of the tent supports and put it on, ignoring how much more snug it was on her body.

 

Photographic Reconnaissance Headquarters Offices

Langley, Virginia

In the darkness of one of the control rooms belonging to the Photographic Reconnaissance Office, three technicians stood together, looking at the real-time readout from the chain of surveillance satellites operated by the United States both abroad and domestically. All three were currently looking at the images obtained from the KF-11 satellite which had been set to sweep the United States from north so south and ocean to ocean. With an image definition of under ten centimeters the resulting information downloaded from the satellite every hour was measured in gigabytes and took almost fifteen minutes to transmit via a direct secure link from the Goldstone antennas in California to Langley.

"It would be helpful if we knew exactly what we were looking for," one technician opined.

"The order for the search came from a pretty high level," another said. "I heard that the FBI was briefed this morning about a theft of a biological weapon from an Air Force base. A Redeye bomb, the report said."

"And they expect whoever stole it to leave it out where we can see it?" the third technician snorted. "Did the report say who stole the Redeye?"

"Yeah. Didn't it mention some citizen's militia group?"

"Oh yeah? Well, then this search is useless. Those people all know about the KF-11. They're not going to leave something like that out in the open where we can see it."

"Whatever, we're sending out this data raw to someplace out in the Pacific. Real time."

"Really? How?"

"NORAD Satcomm 3. I heard they ran half its fuel supply moving it into the right position to relay the signal. Probably Hawaii, but there's a lot of hush-hush involved."

"Wow. This much data's gonna take a couple of days to get there via radio link, especially since we're encrypting it."

The technicians continued to banter among themselves, their attention wandering from the screens they were watching. One image transmitted showed a verdant hillside in which a wide clearing had been cut. The roof of a large, square house stood in the center of the clearing. Two tents stood beside the house, with another, smaller tent sitting in a stand of trees nearby. A figure could be seen walking from one of the tents towards the house. Clad in white, it was moving across the lawn of the property, heading for the house--and it looked like a twenty-foot tall woman. The image was automatically classified and measured by the sophisticated imagery computers, then recorded on the massive disk drives to wait its turn to be encrypted and transmitted to Johnston Atoll.

 

Polk County, North Carolina

Ellie opened the solarium doors and stepped into the house. Hadad appeared as if by magic and walked right up to her, a broad smile on his face.

"I trust everything went well with Doctor Canfield? Excellent. Please come inside."

Hadad gestured grandly as he opened the double doors and led her inside. Ellie frog-walked through the vestibule into the living room. She saw Steve, Doctor Canfield, Professor Odegard and another man, all having a heated conversation. Steve looked up first and grinned at her.

"Ellie! Good. I'd like to introduce you to Don Schiff. Don's my financial manager. He keeps telling me how much money I'm wasting. Don, please meet Eleanor Andersen."

Ellie stepped slowly towards the group. Schiff reminded her of an old hound dog, baggy-eyed and wrinkled. His hair was graying and thick wire-framed spectacles sat on his nose. He puffed a disreputable looking pipe as he rose to his feet and looked up at Ellie--and up, and up. Clouds of smoke erupted as he puffed harder on his pipe, filling the air. He rocked on his heels, back and forth, his hand over the mouth of his pipe's bowl. Smoke began to curl from his nostrils as he puffed some more.

"Hello," Ellie said softly, smiling down at the man. "I am pleased to meet you."

Schiff said nothing. His pipe began to choke as it ran out of tobacco.

"Please don’t be afraid of me," Ellie said. Schiff's face did not quiver.

"I'm not," he replied. "I'm astonished by you--and I am pleased to make your acquaintance." His didacticism made Odegard look like a Shakespearean actor. Then he suddenly burst into a fit of giggling, his expression broken into a smile, shooting a wreath of smoke up at Ellie. Ellie almost giggled in return. Schiff strode right up to her foot and reached up. Ellie took his hand and shook it, seeing Steve smiling enough to split his face in two.

"See, Don, what did I tell you."

"You are certainly guilty of no exaggeration this time, Carter," Schiff replied. "You are very pretty, Miss Andersen."

"Thank you," Ellie replied. Steve motioned to her and she knelt beside the group. She noticed that Steve had lost his ebullience of a moment before, and now looked up at her, frowning.

"Ellie, I just got some bad news," he began. "I hope you won't mind my sharing with everyone here, because we need their advice. Now, right after I left you at Vassar hospital and came here, one of the first things I did was contact George McCandless, a private investigator in New York. I asked George to go to your home and take a look at it--I figured that you would want some of your things from there, like your CD's and your paintings, and I was going to have him work out bringing your stuff down here for you. Anyway when he got there yesterday morning, he found the place was crawling with people. He couldn’t get close enough to see what was happening inside your house but he could see more of those CDC types in their special suits. He reported to me that they were literally bagging your entire house, surrounding it with plastic. He then went to Dr. Preston's office and found the same thing going on. Neither the doctor nor his wife was there. He hung around as long as he could, until the goons around your home took an interest in him, in fact, then he booked. He tried going back to your house again this morning, figuring that the government people would have closed up shop and left. Ellie, I'm sorry, but he tells me they burned your house down this morning. He said the place looked like it had been exploded--some kind of accelerant was definitely used. He then checked Preston's home and office and found the same thing--'burning like crazy' was the way he put it."

Ellie's mouth fell open, and a tear left one eye and trailed down her cheek. Her home, the place where she'd been born, was gone. Steve reached out and touched her knee, looking anxiously into her eyes.

"I'm all right," she said, nodding for him to continue. She blushed to see the obvious pride he had in her, and then he turned back to his audience.

"If I am any judge of events it seems to me that the people who grabbed you are getting a whole lot more serious about us," he said. "From what Ellie described there are two different parties interested in her: Turner, from the CDC, and Lang, from whatever. An overt act like burning down her house, for whatever reason, speaks of a military rather than a bureaucratic mindset. I think Lang is the one in charge now, rather than Turner, and that makes it dangerous for Ellie."

Ellie felt a chill run down her spine. She remembered Lang--his thin, sallow face and hissing, scratchy voice. Steve saw her blanch and rubbed her knee again.

"Ellie, how would you like to take a trip for a while?" Steve asked. "Australia, Japan, Bahrain, South Africa? Just the two of us. I've already instructed Don to liquidate virtually all my holdings in the U.S. and send the funds overseas for safekeeping. I'll sell my remaining holdings next week to my partners. Jeff Beddington is already working on modifying one of our Specials to accommodate you. He promises me it'll be ready in two days. The other clothing I ordered for you will arrive this afternoon and tomorrow morning." Steve reached out and grasped Ellie's flaccid hand, squeezing it tightly. "I can promise you sights you've never seen before."

"Steve, you're not the type to run away--from anything," Ellie said after finding her voice. She saw the others nod.

"I'm not going to let those bastards try to hurt you. Never. I can't fight the military, Ellie. Lang probably has the entire drive train of the military at his disposal. I-I won't be able to protect you from that, and I'm not going to let them take you away again. Please?"

Ellie was astonished at his depth of feeling--and she could see the others were surprised, too. She smiled in acquiescence.

"Of course, Steve," Ellie replied. She bent low to kiss his forehead. "I'll go with you, wherever you want to go. I'd like to see the world."

 

It was late that night when the precipitation from the storm finally arrived over Polk County. Ellie lay in the rotenburo, a hot towel on her head, Steve nestled between her breasts in the steaming water. Two large trays floated on the still surface of the bath, one with two carafes of white wine and the other with two beakers of sake. Suddenly in the dim light surrounding the pool tiny flakes began to drift down.

"Look, Steve, it's snowing," Ellie said. Steve opened his eyes and looked up. He blinked as one frozen snowflake floated into his face.

"Humph. Snow's pretty rare around here. If we get six inches a winter it's a lot. It is pretty, though."

He slipped between her breasts and explored down her body with one foot, searching. He felt Ellie open her legs and he slipped a little lower, questing, rubbing. Ellie moaned in response to his stimulation and ran her hands across his belly, then lower down. She smiled as his hands began to stroke her mounds.

 

Brian Hadad escorted Schiff from the house. They paused on the threshold, looking up at the sky. Suddenly the sounds of splashing and laughter came from the other side of the brightly-lit tent at the end of the structure. Schiff turned and looked at Hadad, his eyes crinkled.

"D'you think I could ever meet a woman like her?" he asked as he puffed his pipe.

"Not if you don’t mind your own business," Hadad replied, his face wreathed in a grin.

 

Growth Encounter part 7