Ethics Bypass

There’s something about driving at night that I’ve always found relaxing.  Hitting the backroads, turning the radio up high and just driving for hours on end speaks to me on some level that I’ve never understood.  Maybe it’s just the sense of solitude, maybe it’s being able to leave my problems behind me for a little while or maybe I just really like the moonlight.  It helps with the stress.

I’ve been driving a lot recently.

I looked at the clock on the dashboard, it was a little after 2am.  Probably time to turn round and head home so I slowed to a stop and did a u-turn on the tight country road.  I had no idea where I was, the middle of some forest twenty or thirty miles from town.  I fiddled with the radio, retuning it to some local station.

“Hello caller,” said the voice on the radio.  It was a woman’s, smoky and in a low register – not the sort of voice you’d expect on the graveyard shift on local radio in this dead end town.  Probably one of the students desperate to start a career in the media.  “You’re through to Deb, what’s on your mind?”

“It’s them aliens Deb,” came a second voice from the radio – this one a man’s but high and reedy.  “They’re walking unseen among us.”  Deb gave a non committal grunt.  “They’re huge mole people, burrowing tunnels beneath us, making ready for the day of the invasion.  That meteor in the sky earlier, that was one of their ships.  Invasion day is coming Deb.  Coming soon.”

“Can I ask a question caller,” interrupted Deb smoothly.  “Just how do these mole people walk among us unseen?  Don’t they stand out?”  I snorted a little and shifted my truck into gear.  Putting my foot to the gas I started to shift upwards as the truck picked up speed.

“I’ve been thinking about that Deb,” replied the caller, ignorant of the sarcasm in Deb’s voice.  “And I reckon it’s because of them psychic power that they all have.  They’re wiping themselves from our mind Deb, wiping out the memories.”

Then the engine of my truck cut out.  It rolled gently to a halt at the side of the road.  Well fuck.

“And what are the tunnels for,” began Deb, her voice increasingly drowned out in static.  I managed to catch a couple of words from the caller but after that all I heard from the radio was a sea of white noise.  I played with the dial, trying to tune back in with no success before it cut out too.

And the headlights, and the rest of the electrics in the truck too.

I sat in the dark.  There was no light except that from the moon and the stars, which was half hidden by the tall trees around me.  I opened the door and got out, figuring that the chances of me fixing the problem with my meagre knowledge of auto mechanics were still better than those of finding a nearby twenty four hour breakdown service.  It meant I got a really good view of what happened next.

Something screamed overhead, red hot and glowing.  Whatever it was, it was barely clearing the trees.  No that was wrong, it was clipping them, taking the top off.  That only seemed to speed the rate of its descent.  It hit the ground with a loud crash what must have been no more than forty meters from the side of the road, a trail of bent and broken trees marking its path.  In the distance, I could see it start to cool, the glow fading.

Now, I’ve seen a lot of television programs and films over the years, especially the science fiction ones.  It was something I was into growing up, much to my parents annoyance.  A lot of them had something to say about being in this situation, about what happened when you investigate the crash site and the wisdom of running away.

Except what would I be running away to?  I’d come out here to get away from my problems, not to run back to them at the first sign of something interesting.  Whatever would happen to me here, it had to be better than going back to face my family after flunking school.  Even if it meant being ripped apart by that caller’s alien mole people invaders.  I started to pick my way slowly to where the thing had come down, picking my way through the uneven ground in the moonlight.

It had cooled quickly and completely by the time I reached it.  It was all angular and hard lines, an imposing black shadow in the dark of the forest.  The crash had rent a gaping hole in one side and a soft orange light spilled out from it.  As I worked my way down to the gap, and peeked inside I was a little disappointed.  The interior was a utilitarian grey and if this was a spaceship, it wasn’t from any future I was hoping for.  I clambered inside, the ragged edge of the hole was quite cool to the touch.

What I found myself in was clearly quarters of some kind.  Four bunks sat into the wall in pairs, one above another.  They seemed a little long to my eye.  Three had been used recently, rough brown sheets hung loosely from them.  The fourth was being used as an improvised store, piled high with dull metal boxes.

That’s when I saw the body.  It seems strange looking back at it, but my first reaction was that it turned out the caller to the radio station was a crackpot after all – the invaders were giant eight foot long lizards.  I guess I was a little hysterical, understandable in the circumstances.  The creature, well lizard like was a good description.  It was long and scrawny, with greenish brown scales.  There was a short snoutish shape to its head.  Judging by the angle its head lay at, unless it was completely different from humans, the creature had broken its neck.  I guessed it must have happened in the crash.

I almost turned and ran, but somehow my curiosity got the better of me and I pushed onwards.  The access hatch at the opposite side of the bunkroom was ajar and I hauled it open.  Beyond, a corridor lead in two directions further into the craft.  I picked the way that lead to what I guessed was the front, judging by how it had looked from the outside.  The walls were that same dull grey, covered in wiring and pipes that leaked odd coloured mists.

Midway down, I got the shock of my life at what looked like another of the creatures I had seen in the bunkroom.  It took me a full minute to realise it wasn’t moving.  In fact, some of the pipework from the walls had broken lose and the creature had somehow been impaled on it.  A sticky, foul smelling brown liquid leaked from the wound, congealing into a large puddle on the floor below.  I eased myself past the thing and opened the hatch at the end of the corridor.  It was just as heavy as the one in the bunkroom and had a wheel release.  Weren’t these thing supposed to have futuristic sliding doors?

The next room was, I guess, the bridge.  It shared the same rugged practicality as the rest of the ship.  There were two chairs, or at least they would be what passed for chairs if you were an eight foot long alien lizard person.  The chairs sat at consoles covered in soft blinking lights, mostly green and brown.  Every so often on of the green ones would flash that little bit more urgently for a second and change to brown.  Not a good sign I guessed.

The chair nearest to me span round.  It was occupied, the last of the lizard crew.  It raised one of its forelimbs feebly and fell off the chair.  I’ll be honest here; if there had been anything in my bowels at that moment I would have crapped myself.  I did scream and scream until I ran out of breath.  It took me a few moments to realise that the creature had not moved again.  I gave it a gentle kick and jumped away.  It did not respond.  Dead?  Probably, but I had know way of telling.  I was at the point of finally following my instincts and high-tailing it out of there when I noticed something.

It was the way it stood out.  The rest of the ship was grey and used looking, more functional than anything else.  This simple pillar looked more like the elegant futuristic stuff television had conditioned me to expect.  It was a simple pillar, no more than a metre tall, perfectly unblemished and white.  It did have this odd purple sheen to it that caught the light.

As I walked over to inspect it I realised that it was topped by half sphere with single, three fingered hand print set into it, about an inch deep.  I looked round and checked the creature on the floor.  Its hand matched the depression on the pillar.  It also hadn’t moved since I last checked, which was reassuring.

On instinct, I placed my own hand in the depression.  A soft purple light glowed under my hand the depression started to flow and melt.  I almost expected to be burned, but the weird metal of the pillar remained cool to the touch.  I watched in astonishment as the depression reshaped itself into a human handprint, but that wasn’t all.  A glowing purple crack ran along the side of the pillar, starting at the  bottom and working its way to the top, where a crossbar formed that encompassed fully half of the circumference of the pillar.

Next something started growing out from the crack. The same weird purple-white metal pushed out, forming a quarter circle curve about a metre in length.  The purple glow around it faded and I realised it was another console.  I stared at it completely amazed – there was no way it could have fitted inside the pillar.  Purple and light blue lights flashed on the console, each one labelled with a curving alien script that defied comprehension.

The console made a noise, a low languid sound that gurgled and clicked.  The tone varied up and down but never climbed very high.  It went on for a minute then stopped.  Then it started again, but this time the sound was higher pitched but also harsher – short barks of syllable that I didn’t understand.

“Wait,” I said allowed without thinking.  “Are you trying to talk to me?  I don’t understand.”

“Language identified:  Catalogue No: 341-78-12-3 Native language number 7, referred to as ‘English’,” spoke the console in perfect, accentless English.  “Commencing user scan.”

A little white circle shot up from the surface of the console, attached to a thing pole.  It turned around a little before emitting a deep purple light that moved up and down me in waves.  It tickled a little.

“User identified as stage 3 primitive native to 341-78-12-3, consulting ethics look up table,” continued the console.  “Error:  Ethics look up table returning no results.  Consulting ethics look up table for procedure in this circumstance.  Error:  Ethics look up table is telling me to just roll with it and have a nice day.  Well that’s odd.”

“You can talk,” I said dumbfounded.

“Yes I can talk native primitive,” replied the console.  “Convention requires that all devices of my complexity have an onboard synthetic intelligence to run their operation.”

“Native primitive,” I asked.  I was a little too stunned to be insulted, to be honest.

“Yes, you are a native of the catalogued body 341-7-12-3.  I have had my systems updated with a number of information files about your planet and people.  Rather ineptly I might add.”  The console paused for a few seconds.  “Perhaps this is related to the ethics table look up table error which I have encountered.  I shall just check.  No apparently they are completely unrelated and I should just forget about the whole thing.”

“I have a name, you know,” I interrupted.  The whole situation was surreal and I figured I must have fallen asleep at the wheel of my truck.  “Alec.”

“Very well, native primitive identified as Alec,” replied the console with what almost sounded like disdain.  “I am a man portable primitive culture infiltration assistance unit.”

“You don’t look very man portable,” I snorted.

“The significant percentage of my overall mass is stored in a hyperspace pocket.  Elements of my construction are presented into realspace as required.  I can present as little mass as a communications terminal, allowing infiltration operatives to move about with me as required.”

“Infiltration operatives,” I asked.  “Are you sure you should be telling me all this?”

“Let me just consult my ethics look up table,” replied the console.  “I see no reason why not.”

“And what do you mean by infiltration anyway,” I asked irritably.  It looked like I wasn’t going to wake up any time soon and the consoles attitude was grating on me.

“My primary use is the creation of disguises that allow infiltration operatives to pass unseen in primitive cultures.”

I thought about this for a few seconds, then looked back at the hopefully dead creature behind me.  It still hadn’t moved any further.  “Wait them,” I asked.  “They’re like eight foot long, no way they could pass for human.”

“My disguises make use of the same hyperspace technology as my construction, allowing operatives to pass for natives that are both smaller and of different physiology than themselves,” the console replied with what sounded like pride.  “Alert: I currently have one native primitive in the capture tubes in preparation for the creation of an infiltration suit.  I can judge by the look on your primitive face that you are about to ask me what that means – I can create disguises that accurately replicate individual natives.”

“Right, right,” I replied.  “Can I see them then?”

A flat circular shape less than a metre across unfolded itself from the pillar.  I watched as it grew into a glass (well some see through material anyway) cylinder taller than myself.  There was a woman inside, floating in some kind of liquid.  At least my dream was taking a turn for the better because she was stunning. 

She had smooth caramel coloured skin with no visible marks or blemishes.  Her figure was statuesque to say the least – curvy with only a little fat on her.  Enough to fill her out rather than leave her looking bony.  Her boobs were magnificent, more than a handful.  I know its shallow, but her face was the last thing I looked at:  It was equally exquisite.  She had a cute, delicate nose, wide, soft brown eyes that I could lose myself in and high cheekbones.  Her dark brown hair radiated out from her head in waves like a halo, suspended by whatever he liquid was but not dampened by it.

I sighed as I finished examine the beautiful woman.  “This is usually the point whereI wake up,” I said.

“I assure you, native primitive identified as Alec, you are fully conscious,” replied the console.

“Well you would say that, wouldn’t you,” I snarked back.  “Go on, wake up,” I said to myself.  “Wake up, wake up…  I’m not waking up.”

“This is because you are awake already,” sighed the console.

“Holy shit,” I exclaimed.  “This is real?”

“Assuredly.”

“Wow,”  I pressed my hands against the cylinder and leaned in closer, moving left then right to get a better look at the woman.  “Who is she,” I asked.  Maybe I could get her number if I got her out of the cylinder.

“Analysing,” said the console.  A number of sharp looking needles unfolded themselves from the inner roof of the cylinder and move down towards the woman.  I watched in horror as they started drilling into her forehead, sending little puffs of blood floating out into the liquid.  The woman spasmed, her arms and legs thrashing hopelessly in the fluid.  Then she went still.  “Native primitive identified as Chantelle Hogan.  Full cerebral download complete.”

“You just killed her,” I blurted.

“Confirmed,” replied the console.  “A non fatal download would have taken approximately ten times as long.”

“You could have done that without killing her,” I shouted.  “Why the hell didn’t you”

“Let me just check my ethics look up table,” began the console.

“Don’t bother,” I interrupted with exasperation.  “I’m sure it shows nothing.”

“Confirmed,” replied the console.  “I have the feeling that should be worrying, but for some reason it isn’t.  Alert:  I have now completed the cerebral download of native primitive identified as Chantelle Hogan.  I am manufacturing an infiltration suit which will be available shortly.”

“What exactly is a sur.. uh.. cerebral download anyway,” I asked, still staring forlornly at the dead woman in the cylinder.  Her corpse was starting to drift slowly upwards.

“The memories of native primitive identified as Chantelle Hogan have been recorded,” explained the console.  “They will be accessible to any infiltration operative who attempts to impersonate native primitive identified as Chantelle Hogan using an infiltration suit.”

“Christ, you could be anyone with one of those things then,” I asked.  “And no one would be any the wiser.  Fuck, you haven’t replaced the president with a fake have you?”

“I’m unaware of any operational details on 341-7-12-3,” replied the console.  “The download only provides memories.  The operative would be required to act like the individual as well.  Prolonged replacement is inadvisable for all but the most highly skilled natives.”

“Well at least I can put alien invasion off my list of things to worry about,” I muttered.

“Alert:  The infiltration suit matching native primitive identified as Chantelle Hogan has been completed.  Would you like to see it now native primitive identified as Alec?”

“Sure, why not,” I muttered.  Another section unfolded from the console, this one a thin rail that jutted out from the top of the cylinder.  Something flapped down and unrolled from the rail.

It was uncanny, as if there were now two women:  The one in the cylinder floating lifelessly and the one hanging from the rail, impossibly flat.  I examined what the console had called the infiltration suit carefully.  It was practically identical to the woman in the cylinder.  The only difference was that the woman on the rail looked as someone had punctured her and let all the air out – the limbs were misshapen and the firm breasts now sagged.  I turned the suit round, it felt warm to the touch, as if it was somehow still alive in some way.  There was a long slit in the back which stretched from the now diminished booty to the neck.  The inside of the suit looked far darker than it had any right to be.

I took a deep breath.  I was out driving at night because I wanted a break from my problems back at college.  I’d thought about packing the whole thing in and walking away from it more than once in the last month.  The only thing keeping me there were the expectations of my family.  My father was determined to have me follow him into the family law firm, to have another Tucci uphold the family name.

It didn’t appeal at all, I’d have rather have been an engineer in all honesty. I wanted a break, to just step away from it all for a while.  The suit represented an opportunity.  The woman wouldn’t be going back to her life anytime soon.  Maybe I could just wear it for a day or two, take a little holiday.  Sure, it would mean being a woman, but it would mean being a woman with amazing tits.  I idly wondered what they would feel like from the inside.

“I could just put this on and…” I started uncertainly.

“Yes, once the suit fully activated you would look like native primitive identified as Chantelle Hogan,” explained the console.  “In addition, the cerebral download would allow you to access her memories.  Caution:  I would advise that you remove your garment layers before donning the infiltration suit.  Failure to do so will result in poor neural bonding.”

“Neural what,” I asked

“Neural bonding allows the infiltration operative to feel the skin of the suit as their own,” explained he console.  “The suit will attempt to map the neural physiology to the infiltration operative’s own.”

I sighed again.  As I pulled my shirt off I reflected that it would be a change, if nothing else.  That’s all I really wanted I guess, a change.  I dropped my shirt to the floor and kicked of my boots, pulling off each sock I turn.  The metal surface of the floor felt vaguely warm beneath my feet.  I felt the suit again with a free hand, it really did feel lifelike.  To my shame, I noticed that I was getting a little excited in the pants department.  I looked guiltily around.  There was no one here to watch me, unless you counted the dead alien (still unmoving, phew) and the console.  Undoing the buckle of my belt, I pulled down my jeans.  My shorts were tenting a little and when I pulled them down my cock stood at half mast.

The suit detached itself from the rail when I gave it a tug.  I held it by the hips in front of me, the brown hair brushing against the floor.  I looked guiltily at the suit, and then the woman in the cylinder.

“Sorry,” I apologised to the corpse floating in the cylinder.  “Better me than one of those lizard things I guess.”

I slipped my left leg in first, watching the deflated leg of the suit fill out as I pushed my foot downwards.  As I slipped my foot into place, the whole left leg of the suit matched the one of the woman in the cylinder.  The weird thing was that I didn’t really feel anything.  I was dimly aware of the suit enclosing my leg, but it felt loose.  That made no sense because the woman’s leg was definitely smaller than my own.  In fact I was now standing somewhat lopsided because of that.

A wave of what felt like pins and needles pressing against my skin rolled up my left leg, stopping mid thigh.  I realised that I could feel the warmth of the floor with my left foot again.  I brushed a free hand against the filled in leg of the suit, starting just above the knee.  It felt smooth to my hand, just as it had before.  At the same time I realised I could feel my hand touching my leg too, as if the suit wasn’t there at all.  As my hand traced its way up the suits thigh, the feeling in my leg faded.  It vanished completely as my hand reached the part where I could still faintly feel the pins and needles.

“Must be the neural bonding,” I muttered to myself.

Hurriedly, I put my right leg into the suit too, pulling it up over my hips.  I experimented a little, kicking the leg back and forward, bending it at the knee and wriggling the toes.

Then the pins and needles started in my right leg too, climbing up it just as they had with the left.  As they reached mid thigh, the left leg flared up too.  Both waves kept on climbing upwards meeting at my groin.

“Oh my fucking god,” I shrieked in pain as the wave passed over the suit’s crotch.  There were a few moments of pure agony and then the pins and needles faded away again, just at waist level.

Then I noticed the difference in what I was feeling.  Me and my cock have had some good times over the years.  Sometimes we’ve even had good times with a woman being there too.  Now, I couldn’t feel its presence.  There was nothing there, just a sense of absence.  I tried to move the parts of the suit that were hanging from my waist to the side to get a better look.

All I could see was a faithful reproduction of the woman’s pussy:  A well trimmed dark brown bush and a vertical slit.  Experimentally, I touched it with my hand.  It felt much the same as any other vagina that I had encountered in my frankly limited experience.  At the same time I felt my hand touching myself.  The feeling was at once both familiar and strange.  The beginnings of arousal, but manifesting in completely new way.  I withdrew my hand quickly and the feelings subsided.

I figured I might as well keep going.  I lifted the top half of the suit back up and worked my arms inside, pulling and tucking at each one until my own hands slid into place and the suit fingers swelled up.  The fingers, I couldn’t help but notice, were much more slender than my own.  With my arms in place, I stretched them backwards, bringing my chest into contact with the torso of the suit.  I managed to pull the edged of the suit roughly together so they met at the middle of my back.

I must have looked very strange there, with the body of a woman from the neck down and the head of a man.  Even stranger with the skin of the suit stretched around the neck and the flat empty head of the woman spilling down across my chest.  I shuddered as the pins and needles kicked in again.  This time they started at my waist an on each of my hand.  They swept upwards, meeting at my collarbone before subsiding again.  Suddenly I was aware of the weight of the woman’s boobs on my chest. The hair from the face mask part of the suit tickled them.

Only the mask was left.  For all that it felt like real skin, it was surprisingly elastic.  I tugged it, distending the woman’s delicate features but making it possible for me to fit my head into the hole at the neck.  It snapped back into place once my head was in position although I barely felt it doing so.  There were holes in the mask, for the mouth, eyes and nose.  I gently massaged them into the right place.

It felt claustrophobic with the mask on, but only for a short while as the sensation of the pins and needles started up again.  It crept up my neck, far more slowly than it had done before, moving round the back of my head and onto my face.  It wasn’t painful anymore, just odd.  It kept on for at least a minute then faded away and vanished.

I didn’t feel claustrophobic now.  I didn’t feel like I was wearing anything at all.

“Is there a mirror on this thing,” I asked then suddenly stopped.  “Wow, is that my voice?”  It was soft and melodious, very feminine.

“One moment native primitive identified as Chantelle Hogan,” replied the console.  It took me a few seconds to realise that it was talking to me.  I guess that I looked like her now.  A flat panel slid out the top of the console, the same whitish-purple material as the rest of it.  It flashed with that purple light and suddenly it was reflective.

The woman, Chantelle, stared back at me, her mouth open wide in shock.  I closed my mouth, she closed her mouth too.  I turned my head one way and the other, she did the same.  I smiled and she smiled too, revealing a set of dazzlingly white teeth.  She, I, had a very nice smile.

I span around, laughing, sending my new breasts bouncing.  It hurt a little so I cupped them in my hands.  I couldn’t resist giving one a squeeze and found myself shivering in delight, as a sharp jolt of pleasure ran down my spine.  To my amazement my new nipples started to harden.  I tweaked and pinched at them further, unable to believe just how realistic the suit was.  The familiar but not familiar feeling returned to my crotch.  Instead of feeling the stiffening that I was used to, it felt like I was melting.

“Oh god,” I mumbled.  “How is this possible?”

“Please offer clarification native primitive identified as Chantelle Hogan,” said the computer, taking my mutterings as a question.  It was enough to get my attention and I lowered my hands to my sides embarrassed.

“Um…” I stuttered.  “I mean is that what women actually feel?”

“There can be some difficulties in matching sensory input.  The suit will try to compensate and approximate to broadly analogous sensations,” explained the console matter of factly.  “I am now integrating the cerebral download.  You should be able to access the memories of native primitive identified as Chantelle Hogan by thinking about them.”

I tried.  My mind was blank for a minute but then her memories opened up like a book.  Some of the memories were fresh, vivid things encompassing sight and sound, smell and touch.  Others were faded things.  It was like my own memories really, except it felt damned odd to have the memories of two different people available to me.

“She’s an exotic dancer,” I stuttered.  That memory, the one of this nights work, was very fresh.  “What kind of alien invasion is this?”

“I am… not sure,” replied the console with a hesitation I had not heard from it before.  The little white circle thing that had shone a light on me earlier activated again.  Was it some type of scanner?  This time the purple light traced the dead creature behind me.  “The creature behind you is a stage 5 spacegoing native to 341-72-64-2, identified as,” the console made a series of unintelligible barks.  “…in their native language.  I appear to have a number of inexpertly added information files regarding them installed on my system as well.”

I stood silently.  I didn’t really know what to say.

“I am inferring that this vessel belongs to them.  I am further inferring that this unit has been passed onto them,” continued the console.  “I must refer this to my ethics look up table.  How very odd, it isn’t there.  I need to consult me ethics look up table to determine how to proceed in this situation…”

“I’m thinking,” I interrupted.  “That you might have been hacked.”

“Hacked?  Oh I see,” replied the console.  “I need to check my ethics look up table to see what to do when my ethical integrity is compromised.  Ah, apparently I should just ignore it.”  I couldn’t help but roll my eyes.

“So these lizard things didn’t make you,” I asked.

“No, they are far too primitive,” replied the console with a hint of arrogance.  “Not as primitive as you, but still primitive nonetheless.”

“Not so primitive given they managed to bypass your ethics table and force you to work with them,” I muttered.

“No, I’m pretty sure it’s ok to work them,” replied the console.  “I think it is.”

“And it’s ok to let me use you too,” I asked carefully.

“Assuredly,” replied the console.  “That reminds me.  Alert:  The possessions of native primitive identified as Chantelle Hogan are in storage, ready for infiltration.  Would you like me to make them available?”

Now that was interesting.  I found myself wondering if I really could just pick up her possessions and walk away with them.  If I could walk into her life without anyone realising I was a fake.  It almost seemed… kinky.  “Yes,” I said, catching a glimpse of my new face in the mirror again.  I really did look exactly like her.

A shallow bin slid out midway up the cylinder, appearing out of nowhere just like every other part of the console.  I took a look inside:  A small purse sitting on top of a neatly folded pile of clothes.  I took the pure out first and looked inside.  There wasn’t much there – a little make up, a cell phone, some keys and some other odds and ends.  I put it down on the console.  I wouldn’t need it till I was dressed in the clothes.

Her underwear was at the top of the pile. It was surprisingly plain and unadorned, although it was black.  I guess she got her fill of the fancy stuff at work.  I started with the panties, slipping them up my legs.  They felt snug against my newly flat crotch, cool and comfortable. 

The bra was a different matter.  I’d never been very good at opening them.  While I could clearly remember some of the times Chantelle had taken one off, it still took me two attempts to undo the clasp – and that was holding the damned thing in front of me and looking at it.  I slipped my arms through the loops and pulled the bra close against my chest, wedging my ample breasts into the cups.  They were a tight fit, perhaps a little too tight.  I reached around to my back and tried to close the thing to no avail.  As I pulled the straps a little to get some play to clasp the damned thing, I felt them digging into my shoulders and sides.  The cups squeezed against my breasts. 

I tried to remember how Chantelle fastened them, the motions she had to make.  It wasn’t clear and I had the sinking feeling that having access to her memories wasn’t going to be as much help as I it thought it might have been. I looked at the memories again, and tied to repeat what she had done, it didn’t work.  On the second try I got it half on, so I undid and tried one more time.  Finally the hooks clipped into place.  If it took that much effort to remember how to put a bra on, how on Earth was I going to manage if I had to remember how to dance at her job?

Still, I was pleased enough with my effort.  The bra supported the weight of my new breasts well.  Despite the slight tightness at the cups, I realised I was a lot more comfortable with it on than with it off.  I flashed another one of Chantelle’s dazzling smiles as I looked at myself in the mirror again.  It made me look damned sexy, but I was beginning to realise I would have looked damned sexy in an old sack.

I pulled her jeans out of the bin next.  They looked faded and worn, with a few rips across the thighs and knees.  They were tight, very tight.  I was very careful as I pulled them on, making sure they didn’t rip any further.  The jeans sat on my hips, clinging tightly to my booty and exposing just a little of the panties.

The next piece of Chantelle’s clothing was a plain white tee.  I pulled it over my head and on.  It stretched into place over my breasts, hiding them from view but at the same time making the shape of them very obvious.  The tee was just a little too small, falling no more than an inch above the jeans.  A little sliver of golden brown flesh peeked out from between the tee and jeans.

That just left her jacket and boots, both were leather.  I slipped into the little ankle length boots easily.  The jacket was a skimpy little thing, designed to hug just as tight as the rest of the clothes.  It was barely longer than the tee.  I opted to leave it open, pulling my hair out from under the collar and tousling it a couple of times till it settled in a way I was pleased with.  Finally, I picked up the purse and pulled it over my shoulder.

And that was that.  I examined myself in the mirror again, turning this way and that.  No one would be able to recognise me like this, although whether I would be able to pass myself off as Chantelle Hogan was another matter.

“How do I look,” I asked coyly.

“Confirming all suit systems nominal,” replied the console.  “Suit matches native primitive identified as Chantelle Hogan accurately.”

I rolled my eyes.  “Well I guess its time for me to leave,” I sighed.  I got as far as the hatch out of the bridge before I remembered something important.  “You said ‘man portable’, didn’t you,” I asked, turning back to face the console.

“I am capable of storing my mass within a hyperspace pocket,” explained the console again.  I remembered it saying something vaguely similar earlier.

“Yes,” I interrupted.  “I remember now, you said you could be small enough to carry.”

“Confirmed,” replied the console.  “I have already prepared a portable terminal which mimics the appearance of the communication device carried in the bag of native primitive identified Chantelle Hogan.”

It took me a minute to work this one out.  “You mean her phone,” I asked, taking it out the purse.

“Yes,” responded the console.  “The decoy I have produced will also simulate the functionality of the device, acting as a communications terminal in the same way it would.”  Another purplish crack formed on the console and what appeared to be a cell phone emerged from it.  “Place the communication device in the receptacle and I will fold down to minimal realspace presentation.”

“The bin,” I asked pointing at it.  “Can I put my clothes in there too?  The ones I was wearing earlier I mean.”

“Confirmed,” replied the console.  I picked up my discarded clothes and placed them into the bin messily.  I wasn’t the folding type.  Then I dropped Chantelle’s phone on top of them.  “Now take hold of the decoy communication terminal.”

“It’s a cell phone,” I muttered as I grabbed it.  The whole console started folding in on itself.  The mirror slipped back inside the console.  The bin retracted into the cylinder, which then shrunk back to a simple disc.  As it got smaller and smaller it was increasing hard to watch, the folds and twist taking on an Escher like complexity.

Only the replica of the cell phone remained in my hand.  “Folding complete,” it said. 

It looked identical to the one I had removed from the purse a moment.  I tried tapping the screen a couple of times and it seemed to work exactly like a phone.  It even had Chantelle’s texts on it, just like it had said it would.  “Uh, can I still talk to you,” I asked, feeling a little sheepish at talking to a phone.

“Yes” replied the phone.  “I would recommend that you do not.  If I need to communicate with you, I will simulate the device making a connection.”  I assumed it meant a phone call.

“And if I need to talk to you  I can pretend to make a call,” I added before unceremoniously dumping it inside Chantelle’s purse. 

There was a muffled sound from inside the purse as I closed it.  The phone was probably complaining, but I didn’t really care at this point.  I traced my way back outside the crashed ship and into the cool night air.  It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness again.

In the distance  I could see a pair of headlights.  My luck was continuing to improve, perhaps I would be able to hitch a ride into town.  Looking the way I did now would certainly improve my chances.  For a brief moment I wondered if a tee that showed some cleavage rather than the high necked one I was wearing would make it even easier to get a lift.  Dismissing the thought from my mind I started picking my way back through the fallen trees back to the roadside.

When I reached the road I realised I would have no problem persuading the owner of the truck to drive me home.  It was mine.  Somehow the engine had come back on whilst I had been inside the crashed ship.  I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth so I climbed inside.  I was confused for a moment when I realised that my feet didn’t reach the pedals anymore.  It didn’t take long to adjust the seat and mirror.

I put my hand on the parking break, ready to release it and drive off.  Annoyingly, the radio still wasn’t working.  I tried the dial, but still got nothing but static, so I opened Chantelle’s purse.

“So you aren’t going to keep me in here,” said the fake phone.  I ignored it and fished around in the purse, looking for the small earphones Chantelle kept inside.  “Are you listening to me?”

“That’s where she keeps her phone,” I explained as I pulled the earphones free.  “Count yourself I lucky, I keep mine in my pant pockets.”  I slipped the earphones in and jammed the jack into what appeared to be a socket in the phone.

“What are you doing,” asked the fake phone.

“Uh, earphones,” I explained.  “Little speakers that plug into the phone so I can hear the noise it makes without disturbing everyone around me.”

“Oh, I see now,” replied the phone, its voice coming out of the earphones now.  “Very clever.  Now I can talk to you without anyone overhearing.”

“Actually I just wanted to listen to the radio,” I said.  “Can you pick up radio stations.  There was a local one doing a call in show with someone called Deb.”

“Scanning radio frequencies now,” said the phone.  It sounded somehow surly.  “Frequency broadcast by native primitive identified as Deb isolated.  Decoding.”

“And we’ve got time for one last caller before we finish,” said Deb, her voice now coming through the earphones.  “What have you got for us caller,”

“Well Deb,” said the caller smoothly.  His voice had a pompous ring to it.  “I was just listening to one of your earlier callers and I was thinking about what a valid point he made.”

“Really,” said Deb lightly, the trace of sarcasm in her voice was subtle.  “And just which caller was that?”

“It was the one about the Mole people, you see…  Utter tosh of course, but he was right about the aliens walking amongst us,” the caller continued.  “Why I myself encountered them today whilst patronising the Blue Fox club.”  The name was familiar.  I dug into Chantelle’s memories and found it was where she danced.

“The strip club,” interrupted Deb.  “I wonder what the alien invaders wanted with that place.  Looking for something to probe perhaps?”

“Who knows how the thought process of these unfathomable monsters works,” replied the caller, completely oblivious to Deb’s teasing.

“Well, it does seem odd doesn’t it,” she replied.  “Coming millions of light years to visit Earth and the first place they go is a titty-bar.”

I couldn’t help but laugh as I put the truck into gear and drove home.