Personal Magnetism
By Poco

(Author's note: I wrote this story in the fall of 1999, when therapeutic magnets for "pain relief" were all the rage.)



On the late-night "Buy At Home" channel, cable 73:

"Our last shipment sold out, but we've got a new one in! Thousands of callers swear by it for relief of aches and pains. It's not 'alternative medicine,' it IS the medicine! And NO DRUGS, EVER! Shoppers, what's more natural on Planet Earth than magnetism? We're talkin' top-of-the-line, Professor D.M.W. Herbert's own 'Posi-Neg Magnetic Wrap-Arounds', for the head, the shoulders, the arms, the torso, the legs, the feet, and everything in between! Feel the wounds heal! Feel the ligaments mend! Feel the stress fade! Precise magnetic alignment of your body with the field of Mother Earth increases blood-flow to the painful spots NATURALLY! Shoppers, the cure has been here since time began, but it took Professor Herbert and the Buy At Home Channel to bring it to you tonight! And for only $49.95! $49.95! Visa, Mastercard and American Expre…"



"Hey Barbara!" Mary Lane turned her head to the other bed to see her roommate, who had earlier buried her nose in a textbook, now asleep with the same textbook buried on top of her nose. Mary poked a jostling finger into her friend's left shoulder.

"Barb!"

"Hmmfpf."

It was a World History text; Mary needed both hands to lift it off of Barbara's face, which, even with no makeup, was more beautiful than her own. Mary didn't care; she was glad to be Barbara's roommate and even more glad to be her friend. They could talk about anything. Plus, Barbara was such a big girl they never had the classic argument about borrowing clothes.

"Barb, you gotta see this! It's just what you need!"

The lids peeled from Barbara's enormous brown eyes. She raised her head to look at the dorm-room TV. "What?"

"Dammit!" said Mary. "They've changed over to some crappy little Italian figurines. I wanted you to look at the item before. They've got these magnets now that you can wear and they'll ease all your muscle soreness and you'll feel like a million bucks!"

Barbara, sore from volleyball practice, mentally drained from studying and still mostly asleep, replied: "Mary, you're sweet, but you're sweet at the wrong time. Please let this wait until tomorrow."

"I'm sorry, Barb. Go back to sleep."

That took about 5 seconds. Mary, meantime, pulled out her "emergency" credit card, picked up the cordless phone and stepped into the crowded closet. She was able to curl up under the hanging clothes, once a few of the shoes on the floor (some her size, some much larger,) were shifted around a little.

"Hello, Buy At Home?"

*********************************************************************************

Barbara Valentine stooped under the shower-head to get her long, brown hair washed and rinsed. Those who designed this women's dorm apparently thought all women were 5-and-a-half feet tall or less. At 6'2", Barbara found herself "ergonomically challenged" whenever she wanted to bathe, study, or just rest.

She dressed quickly, and was about to leave for her 10 o'clock class (Mary had an earlier one), when there was a knock at the door.

The young man looked up from his clipboard, and up, and up, as Barbara now had her shoes on. It took him a moment to remember why he was there. Barbara was used to having that effect on people. Right now, she wanted shorty to get over it.

"Yes?"

"Uh, oh, right! Uh, Unlimited Package Service. Delivery for a Ms. Valentine?"

"That's me, but I didn't order anything from -- what does that say? -- "Buy At Home?"

The quicker she signed for it, the quicker he'd go away. Barbara reached for the clipboard and pen herself; her friend had somehow forgotten to hand them to her. He did find the presence of mind to exchange them for the box he was holding, before thanking her -- twice -- and disappearing down the hallway. Barbara half-smiled and shook her head as she heard him call out: "Thanks again!" She didn't hear him say to himself:

"And I was gonna quit this job? What was I thinking? Oh, my. Oh, my…"

*********************************************************************************

"Mary, what is this?" Barbara asked when they were both back in the room that afternoon.

"Why don't you open it? It's addressed to you."

"Yeah, but it's got you written all over it."

Mary stifled a playful giggle. "You never know. But I bet you'll like it."

Most people would have used a knife or scissors, but packing-tape was no match for the strength in Barbara's hands. Seconds later, she was looking at "Professor D.M.W. Herbert's Posi-Neg Magnetic Wrap-Arounds."

"Mary Lane, we've gotta keep you away from that television at night."

Mary refused to let the moment be spoiled. "C'mon, Barb, give 'em a try! The TV guy says they're like a miracle. And you're always complaining about some pulled muscle somewhere." She sat very close to Barbara on the bed, gazing up into her roommate's eyes. "And you know I don't ever want you to hurt, ever."

Barbara's eyes softened as her long arms drew Mary into a cuddling kind of hug. Tenderly, she kissed Mary's forehead and said "thanks." Mary's eyes were wide with a mixture of adoration and anticipation. Barb found herself kissing her best friend again, a much longer kiss this time, and not on the forehead.

"I'm so lucky to have a roomie like you."

Either one of them could have said that.



Renaissance College was a small school in Orange County, California, nestled in between Laguna Beach and San Clemente (yes, Richard Nixon's old hideaway.) Easy access to the surf was important to Barbara, who enjoyed beach volleyball as much as the gymnasium version that was paying her tuition. Full enrollment at Renaissance was less than 14 hundred students; one large cafeteria served them all. Barbara Valentine and Mary Lane made it a point to have lunch there together at least twice a week. Sometimes, it was the only time during the day that their conflicting schedules would allow the two friends to just sit and talk. They were good for each other.

"Mary, I feel great!" Barbara exclaimed after swallowing a large bite of a double-cheeseburger. "I don't know if it's Hubert's magnets or what, but all the soreness is gone, and my game is better than ever! I'm even studying more, and if this keeps up, that 3.5 GPA is mine this semester!"

"It's actually 'Herbert's' magnets, Barb." Mary was just teasing; few things made her happier than seeing her cherished friend so full of excitement.

"Whatever. You know, I don't feel anything in particular when those wrappy things are wrapped around me, but after three days, something's happening. I dunno, maybe it's that, that…whatcha callit?"

"Placebo effect?" Mary was working her way toward pre-med.

"Yeah. Like when Mom sneaks Dad some decaf coffee, and he doesn't know it, and he still 'perks up'. Hey, I made a joke!"

Mary got it an instant before Barbara did. "You go, girl!"

"Mary, do I look fat?" That took all the starch out of an accidental pun. Women aren't kidding when they ask such a question.

Mary, taken by surprise, didn't answer right away, though the answer of "no" was obvious. She didn't need to see the long legs tucked under a chair that was too small for Barbara's comfort. The part of her that towered above the low table was enough: perfectly-toned, moderately tanned, yet blissfully feminine. It was the same sight that, three days earlier, had caused some little delivery-dude's insides to melt, reducing him, in mind and heart, to a whimpering puppy-dog.

"Barb, I don't see a thing different about you. Why do you ask?"

"Well, the locker-room scale shows I've gained 6 pounds. I know it's not much on a tall girl, but it's more than that. I had a big breakfast, even for me. And I've just finished a double-decker cheeseburger and was thinking of going back for another one. And these shoes seem a little tighter, and this ring is starting to pinch my thumb."

"Barbara, there's not an ounce of fat on you that I can see, that I've ever seen." She reached a hand across the table. Barbara's hand enveloped it almost to the wrist. "Maybe feeling better on the inside is making you feel bigger on the outside. I don't know what else to tell you, Bar, you look just wonderful. Now if you could only look as happy as you did a minute ago."

Barbara's appreciative hand-squeeze would leave Mary's fingers tingling for the next 10 minutes. "Mary, you're the best. You always know what to say. But I still want another cheeseburger."

"You go, girl!"

*********************************************************************************

OFFICE OF DR. HOWARD BROCK, PHYSICIAN, DEPARTMENT OF ATHLETICS, RENAISSANCE COLLEGE

"Well, Miss Valentine, you're the picture of health, in fact, you're better in some ways than the last time. Heartbeat, respiration, muscle strength, they're in the 'phenomenal' range, even for a girl your size. But tell me, why are you here? Your scheduled checkup isn't for another 3 weeks. How are you feeling?"

Barbara Valentine wasn't sure where to start. In the first place, she was feeling fine, better every day. But something, something was changing. She told "Doc Brock" about her weight-gain with no noticeable increase in body-fat, about her growing appetite and some of her clothes feeling a little tighter.

"And this morning, I bumped my head on the shower-head. Doc, I've been using that shower since I moved in with Mary Lane last year. I know how far to bend over. I don't feel clumsier; Coach Parker says we'll take the Conference Volleyball championship the way I'm playing. I guess I'm just worried, but I don't know what to be worried about."

Dr. Brock had to reach up slightly to lay a reassuring hand on Barbara's shoulder. "Miss Valentine, I can only suggest that you sit down with the campus counselor. For what it's worth, physically you're amazing. Look at this chart, at your responses."

Barbara ran her eyes down the chart, then grabbed it from his hands. "Doc, this isn't right, this can't be right." She pointed to a figure in the upper-right corner.

"What do you mean? I ran everything twice; I always do."

"I'm not six-three and-a-half! I'll take your word for the weight, but I've been 6'2" since my fifteenth birthday! If you messed up on something this simple, what else did you get wrong?" Barbara's voice was becoming louder, a bit more shrill. The doctor's voice, full of calm from years of experience, helped to calm her, too.

"It's OK, Barbara. Probably just a typo. Let's check it out again. Over here, feet flat on the floor, don't stretch."

Barbara felt like scrunching, but she did as instructed. Dr. Brock scribbled his notes, looked up and said: "Barbara, maybe everyone else's measurements were off a little, but today, you are six feet, three and one-half inches."

Barbara could feel her heart pounding. She didn't know what to say. Doc Brock tried his best to "accentuate the positive."

Miss Valen…Barbara, this is not without precedent. I could dig up several other case histories where young women continued to grow after they thought they had stopped. I'll find them and let you read them if you want. We don't know why it happens, but it happens. Barbara, you're the star of the Renaissance College volleyball team. People have looked up…I mean, admired you for a long time. Now they'll admire you even more! It's not like you were a tiny woman who suddenly became some sort of giantess. You know what it's like to be above the crowd. So you've grown an inch and a half! Big deal! Maybe you'll grow another half-inch, but that's all. The laws of Physics and Physiology won't allow for more. Barbara, you've got nothing to worry about. But I still want you to talk with the counselor. Call her today, make an appointment for tomorrow. Talk it out. And come see me Saturday at 11 o'clock. I'll come back in just for you. Will that be OK for you?"

"Unless you want to slip me a thousand dollars for air-fare. My family's in New Jersey."

Dr. Brock smiled. "Saturday, then."

Barbara had stopped crying. "Thanks, Dr. Brock."

*********************************************************************************

Coach Samantha Parker blew the final whistle. "OK, ladies, good job today! Hit the showers! Barbara, come see me!"

Barbara hustled herself into her coach's private office. She started to sit down; Samantha Parker held up a hand. "Wait a minute, just stand there, Bar." Samantha Parker had been a volleyball champion when Barbara Valentine was still in diapers. Now she stood up, face-to-face with her star player.

"Barbara, I'm 6 foot 3. I know, because I could only get dates with dumb basketball players in high school and college. You were 6'2" when you signed on, but now I'm looking up at you. Am I shrinking?"

Barbara's slightly disheveled brown hair now framed a reddening face. "I don't think it's you, Coach. I think it's me. I saw Doc Brock this morning. He wants to see me again Saturday, to re-run some tests or something. He thinks I might still be growing."

That made more sense to Samantha Parker than anything she had been thinking lately. "Yeah, go back and see Doc. He's a good man. He'll figure out what's going on. You feeling OK, Barbara?"

"EVERYBODY KEEPS ASKING ME THIS! YOU, THE DOCTOR, MY ROOMMATE! DAMMIT, I FEEL FINE!!"

Barbara's last four words were spoken much more forcefully than she had intended. They caused her coach to sink back into her chair, they rattled the office windows. Parker stood up again, regaining her coach's "Alpha Male" status for the moment. "Barbara, tomorrow's a light practice. You skip it. See Doc Brock Saturday, get as much rest as you can, and come back Monday. Got it?

"Got it, Coach."



Mary, I'm scared." Barbara said as the light faded from their dorm-room window.

"Scared of what, Barb? How can I help?"

"Just stay with me, sit here next to me, be with me. The song says 'Big Girls Don't Cry', but sometimes we do."

"You can always lean on me, girlfriend. Say, are you growing?"

That started the water-works. Mary's hair was moist with Barbara's tears before her friend let go of her.

Barbara looked down at the smaller woman in her arms. "I'm sorry, Mary. Yes, I am growing. Doc Brock said so today, and Coach Parker confirmed it this afternoon. I'm taller than she is now, Mary! And she's 6'3"!

Mary Lane, stuck at 5'6" was struggling to take this in. Barbara had always been so much bigger than she, an inch or two was hardly enough to see. Yet, held in her girlfriend's arms, she did feel the slightest bit smaller.

Barbara held onto Mary much of the night, except for the time she went out to find a 24-hour pizza joint. The boxes that held two medium, double-cheese pizzas were empty when she got back to campus. And she was still hungry.

*********************************************************************************

Barbara had only one class the next day, one of the few she was acing. She could cut it. That plus no volleyball practice effectively gave her the day off. Immediately after Mary left for morning classes, Barbara made a beeline for breakfast at the cafeteria. She felt a few stares--was it because she was now noticeably taller, or because she went back for seconds and thirds? She hoped they hadn't seen the biscuits she had sneaked into her pockets.

There was one appointment today, with the counselor. Barbara was glad "he" was a she. The open-mouthed gawking she got from men wouldn't be flattering today. She had bumped her head again this morning on the shower-nozzle, her clothes were tighter then ever, and her thumb-ring would have been downright painful had she not managed to remove it the night before with baby-oil.

*********************************************************************************

OFFICE OF MICHELLE BENOIT, Ph.D., COUNSELOR TO STUDENTS, RENAISSANCE COLLEGE

"Come in, Barbara!" came a pleasant voice from the other side of the door. It opened to reveal the face of a woman of forty-something in business attire who, even in heels, didn't quite reach Barbara's shoulder. Barbara had dressed in a baggy sweatshirt and sweat-pants. She was nervous enough without the worsening problem of constrictive clothing.

"I'm Dr. Benoit, but everyone calls me Michelle. I hope you will, too." she said, extending a hand. Barbara shook it, limply.

"Dr. Brock insisted I come here, but I don't think you can help me."

"I'd like to try. Won't you sit down?"

Dr. Brock had called earlier to fill Dr. Benoit in on the situation. "He says you believe you're still growing, Barbara, though he can't confirm it. Is this what's upsetting you?"

They talked for most of an hour. Barbara left with a head-full of perfunctory psychobabble, feeling no worse, but no better. She was grateful for two things: that the cafeteria was still serving lunch, and that she had bought the all-you-can eat meal card.

*********************************************************************************

Back in the dorm room, Barbara wondered what to do next. She lay across the bed to think, atop the spread-out magnetic body-wraps that she had neglected to put away that morning. Mary would be back from class in about an hour. Barbara spent about half that time taking a nap. When she awoke, she seemed to have a bit more energy. Naps will do that, she thought. A good idea Coach Parker had, letting her skip practice. All her muscle soreness was gone.

Barbara stepped into the bathroom to splash a little cold water on her face. It faded that little bit of puffiness around the eyes that naps sometimes brought on. As she stepped to the mirror, suddenly water was the last thing on her mind. The reflection did not even include her eyes, until she bent down a little. Barbara started to slip out of her shoes, then realized she was barefoot. She was also, apparently, 6-foot-7.

Barbara sat back down on the bed, on the magnets, and held her face in her hands. She had been willing to accept growing an extra inch-and-a-half, as odd as that was. But this was weird, just too weird. Nobody grows this much, this rapidly. If anything, she seemed to be growing faster, another 3-and-a-half inches in just the past 24 hours. What kind of freakazoid was she turning into?

She was still sitting there when Mary returned from class. "Hi, Barb!"

Mary started to ask her roommate how the counseling session went, but stopped in mid-question as Barbara slowly stood, towering over Mary by more than a foot. Mary's jaw dropped, her head tilting back farther than it had ever had to before to look Barbara in the eyes. From one of those eyes, a single tear began slipping down a cheek. Mary reached up to brush it away, and found herself being lifted off the floor.

"Oh, Mary, what's happening to me?"

Mary had no answer, but decided her presence would help Barbara more than her words. If being an ersatz rag-doll was the best she could do for her friend right now, so be it. Barbara extracted as much comfort as she could, then bent down to put Mary's feet back on the floor. They sat, mostly in silence, on the side of the bed.

"I'm going back to see Doc Brock tomorrow. Will you come with me?"

"You know I will."

"Cool beans. I'm going out, but I'll be back in a little while."

"Where are you going?"

Barbara winked. "Someplace you're not allowed until you grow up."

She returned having had the 15 dollars in her pocket converted into the equivalent in booze, courtesy of a wide-eyed liquor-store clerk who somehow, didn't think to ask for ID.

*********************************************************************************

Dr. Howard Brock and his computer had been working furiously the past two days. E-mails to old colleagues, and Internet searches on everything he could find relating to human growth. Most of what he found indicated that what was happening to Barbara Valentine, shouldn't be. Maybe it wasn't happening anymore. He'd know shortly: she was due in his office right about now.

Mary Lane was with her, a normal-sized young woman now looking more like a 9-year old girl standing next to her roommate. Howard Brock stood and stared, his mind racing back to the one particular Internet document that he found disturbing. Barbara's face was a study in fear and hopefulness as she spoke.

Well, Doc, I guess your charts weren't wrong after all. Hope we're not late; I had three breakfasts this morning."

"I should think!" he replied. "How are you feeling, Barbara?"

There was that damn question again.

"Well, I don't hurt, if that's what you mean. But in other ways, I've sure felt better."

The doctor nodded his understanding. "Barbara, I'd like to run one more quick physical on you, just to make sure I haven't missed anything. But mostly, we need to talk. It may be that I can refer you to someone who can really help you. Miss, would you mind waiting outside?"

"No, please let her stay! I'm sorry, Doc, this is my roommate, Mary Lane."

"How do you do, Mary. OK, sure."

The 10-minute exam showed no changes from the one two days before, except that Barbara Valentine was now 6-feet-11. It made her visibly agitated to hear the numbers. Brock hoped their conversation would be more meaningful.

"Barbara, I need something that'll point us in the right direction. Now, I've gone over your medical history several times; it's pretty complete. But it stands to reason that there's gotta be something that's not on here that might be a link to what's happening to you. I'll bet we can lock it down."

That made sense to Barbara, who spent the next 30 minutes answering a laundry-list of questions, with words such as: "nope, never," and "I don't think so."

Then, bingo.

Yes, Barbara had taken steroids for a brief time in high school, back in New Jersey. They were not given to her by the school doctor, but by another one brought in as a consultant.

"He said they were like high-powered vitamins, but I was just a dumb kid then. They did help my game. I'm at Renaissance on a scholarship, you know."

"Barbara, this is important. Do you remember the "vitamin-doctor's" name?

Barbara chewed her lower lip. "I only saw him a couple of times. I think it was Reez, Rize, Rizenet…"

"Reisner? Dr. Anton Reisner?"

"Yeah, I think so."

Dr. Brock could see the brass ring and almost reach it. "One more question. Have you had any sort of "magnetic therapy" recently?"

Mary Lane spoke up this time. "I bought her some magnet-wraps last week for her muscle-soreness. Doc, do you think that's what…"

"One moment, Miss Lane. Barbara, I can't promise, but this could be the beginning of the end of your ordeal. Now, if you'll wait in the other room for a minute, I need to talk to Miss Lane, then I've got some phone calls to make. And think positive, Barbara."

Alone in the office with Mary Lane, Dr. Brock said: "Mary, I need you to do two things for me right away. First, go back to your dorm and get those magnet-wraps out of the room. In fact, bring them back here so I can have a look at them. Do you have a car?"

"Yes."

"Good." He pulled a wad out of his wallet, about $200. "Take this, drive into town, and pick up some clothes for Barbara, big clothes that you think she'll be able to wear for the next couple of days. Shoes, too, if you can find them. I know this won't be easy, but you know a lot more about these things than I do. Mary, I'm glad you're Barbara's friend. She sure needs you now. Go now, Mary."

Howard Brock needed to work fast. Rumors were probably already starting to spread, even on a mostly-deserted weekend campus. A seven-foot-tall girl was hard to ignore, even from a distance. Such rumors might not have reached the administration, yet. He hoped not. Better they hear the facts from him first, before the situation exploded.

Brock's secretary didn't normally work Saturdays. He called her at home. "Billie, I'm sorry to bother you, but this has got to be done right now. Get in touch with these people" -- he rattled off the names -- "and arrange for them to meet me at 8 tonight in Frank Forsythe's office. Yes, I'm serious! No, you can't tell them why. Just set it up, OK, Billie? Thanks."

"University of California, Irvine."

"This is Dr. Howard Brock at Renaissance College. I have an emergency need to get in touch with Dr. Seth Coleman, Professor of Physiology. Tell him it's Howard Brock; he knows me. Tell him lives are at stake. Thank you."

People who had free time in Orange County, California, didn't tend to hang around the house. Thank God for cell-phones. Brock could hear the ocean roar in the background when Dr. Coleman called him back.

"Howard, what in the world…"

"Seth, long time no see, and all that. Listen, Seth. Remember that nut Anton Reisner back east?"

"Yeah, the Medical Board pulled his license two years ago."

"Exactly. And you were the chief witness against him. Seth, I need those documents, and you, in corpus, down here in about six hours. Look, I don't want to say much more on the phone, but I've just examined a very, very big girl. Please get here, Seth. I've never asked you for a favor before, and you owe me at least one from Med school. I can send a car for you, if you like."

Seth Coleman glanced down at several empty Corona bottles stuck in the sand. "That would be a good idea, Howard. See you tonight."





OFFICE OF FRANK FORSYTHE, PRESIDENT, RENAISSANCE COLLEGE

Howard Brock was well-liked and well-respected by the school's administration. He was counting on that, but he also knew that, even under the best circumstances, he could pull a stunt such as this only once.

Everyone had arrived: President Forsythe was sitting at his large oaken desk. The others were seated around it on overstuffed furniture. Michelle Benoit, Student Counselor; Angela Scott, Dean of Women; Samantha Parker, Barbara's coach; and Seth Coleman from UC Irvine.

"Thanks for coming, Seth. Thanks to all of you for being here at this, uh, inopportune time." Brock paused. "Uh, I'm really not a lecturer, more of a practitioner and researcher, really."

"We understand that, Howard." said President Forsythe. "But won't you please try to find the words?"

"Words won't be enough." Brock looked back over his shoulder. "Mary, would you and Barbara come in now?"

There was a collective gasp from the group. They all knew Barbara Valentine, the school's star volleyball-player. They knew she was tall. They didn't expect to see her have to stoop slightly to clear the door-frame. Having grown two more inches since midday, Barbara was now 7-feet, one-inch tall. She looked around the room, her brown eyes not unlike those of a deer caught in headlights. Barbara held onto Mary's hands, both of Mary's in one of her own.

"Thank you, ladies. You may go."

"Renaissance, we have a problem." Angela Scott said when they were gone.

Frank Forsythe was in no mood for corny movie dialogue. "Don't be flip, Angela. Howard, I assume you asked us here to give us all the information you have on…on…this."

"That's right, Sir. You've all met my friend Dr. Coleman. Seth, can you give us the short version of what you believe is happening to Miss Valentine?"

Coleman had prepared such a synopsis on his laptop while riding in from the beach. He began:

"In 1994, Anton Reisner, a doctor of dubious credentials, began research on human growth and strength enhancement, apparently funded by unknown and unscrupulous individuals with ties to the 1996 Atlanta Olympics."

"I never heard of any major drug scandals involving the '96 Olympics." said Samantha Parker.

"You would not have," replied Coleman. "May I continue?" He got a collective nod from the group.

"Reisner's research began with steroids, but did not end there. Steroids are traceable in a drug-test. He needed the effects without the telltale evidence. He found a way, using magnetism as the catalyst. Five years ago, magnetic therapy had no more credibility than Laetrile, that peach-pit extract touted as a cancer-cure, before Steve McQueen went to Mexico for such treatments and died anyway.

"Reisner's laboratory trials showed promise, but his early clinical trials were disastrous. His confiscated notes revealed that the deaths of dozens of rats and rhesus monkeys could not dissuade him from the misguided belief that his formulae and techniques would still be sound if applied to humans. This supposedly was never done, because such research was suspended while he was being investigated by the New Jersey State Medical Board. His anonymous funding also dried up. When his MD license was revoked in 1997, Anton Reisner disappeared. Nothing else was said of his nefarious research until Dr. Brock here called me this afternoon.

President Frank Forsythe was as captivated as the rest. "What has changed, Dr. Coleman?"

"Magnetic therapy is the hottest buzz-phrase in alternative medicine in the late 1990's. Its claims, such as increasing blood flow to needed areas of the body, thereby relieving pain and promoting faster healing, are still under investigation. In the meantime, there have been no factual studies that show magnetism does any harm, and because no drugs are involved, so-called "therapeutic magnets" are freely sold over television and the Internet. Personally, I've always believed they were benign, the waste of a few dollars. But, ladies and gentlemen, that is not the case here and now." Dr. Seth Coleman paused to take a sip of water.

"Just before Reisner was stripped of his MD status, he contacted several high schools in his home state of New Jersey. Miss Valentine's was apparently one of those. It was an easy in. Tell the under-paid coach you're an MD -- which is verifiable -- and slip him or her enough cash to make it worthwhile, and suddenly your "vitamins" are distributed to the players. Now he has a real human clinical trial going on, and all he has to do is show up in the stands to watch the games."

"Here is an excerpt from Reisner's notes: 'Significant increases in size and strength have been observed in certain test-subjects, but not all. Magnetism holds the key."

"Ladies and gentlemen, I believe your Miss Barbara Valentine was one of those unwitting test subjects. My friend Dr. Brock tells me that she's been using magnets for the past week or so, which is enough to confirm my suspicions. Reisner's legal troubles caused him to suspend his research right about then, but this changes everything. People, I'm a scientist. I'd need weeks, months of study to tell you anything conclusively, but the visible evidence is incontrovertible."

Angela Scott asked: "Dr. Coleman, why wouldn't steroids have shown up in a drug test here?"

"I can answer that one, Angela," said Samantha Parker. Barbara is a sophomore. Nothing she took in high school would be detectable now.

"Precisely," agreed Dr. Coleman. And hers were modified sufficiently to bypass most of the standard tests. But her very body chemistry was changed, enough to allow the magnets to accelerate the process."

President Forsythe had heard enough. "Well people, this has been very informative. Now we have some decisions to make. What do we do with a 7-foot-tall coed?"

Coleman interjected: "I don't think you understand the full situation, Dr. Forsythe."

"What do you mean, Doctor?"

"I mean Sir, that Barbara Valentine is a 7-foot coed tonight. But I've looked at the growth curve Dr. Brock has plotted. See for yourself. It's accelerating. Tomorrow, she'll be almost 8-feet tall. That alone puts her at 'critical mass'. By Monday, hmmm, 9-and a half feet and by Wednesday she'd better not be in her dorm room."

President Forsythe was struggling to keep up. "Critical mass? Is she…nuclear?"

"No, that's one thing we don't have to worry about. But the term can describe any self-sustaining reaction. I'm referring to the point at which she no longer needs food to keep growing. I didn't want to bog you down with arcane details, but they're outlined in Reisner's notes if you wish to look. Remember that phrase of his? 'Magnetism is the key'. It is. Howard tells me that Miss Valentine has a voracious appetite; that's understandable. But soon she won't. She'll fuel her growth and draw her strength from magnetism itself."

"I still don't get it, Dr. Coleman. Her magnet-wraps have been removed."

"Dr. Forsythe, I'll bet you were once a Boy Scout. How did your compass work? This planet Earth has a nickel-iron core. It's a great big magnet. Its field extends from pole-to-pole. Forget the puny little wrap-arounds, those were just a kick-start for Miss Valentine. Her real power will be drawn from Mother Earth, probably within a couple of days.

Forsythe was incredulous. "How do you know this, Coleman?"

Sir, Reisner was insane; he was not stupid. We shut him down because he had stumbled upon something far too dangerous for the present-day world. Unfortunately, he got to poor Miss Valentine before we were able to get to him."

"My God, man! What do we do?"

"I've already been thinking about that. It involves a reversal of polarities. But I need to sleep on it. Why don't we gather back here again tomorrow afternoon about 1? I might have something more to tell you then. Howard, I hope you booked a room for me. G'night, folks."

Michelle Benoit had not spoken during the meeting. Now she did. "I'm going to see Barbara."

President Frosythe waited until he was alone in his office. He picked up his telephone.

"Get me Sacramento."

********************************************************************************

Mary Lane had had pizzas delivered when they got back to their room, six large and one small. The small was for herself. She hoped the rest would last Barbara the night. Barbara was now, to anyone's eyes, more than 7 feet tall, and about to begin her third pizza when there was a light tap at the door. Mary opened it a crack, and looked down upon a very slight, very nervous young man holding flowers.

"Hi. I'm…I'm Ricky. Uh, I'm the equipment manager from Barbara's team. Is, is she here?"

Given recent events, Mary was as polite as she could be. "Yes, but she's not feeling well, Ricky. I'll give her the flowers. Now go away."

"I heard she might be sick. That's why I came by. I didn't mean to disturb anyone."

A huge arm reached into the hallway and snatched Ricky into the room. Giant hands reached under his arms and lifted him two feet off the floor.

"Hi, Ricky! Good to seeya!"

Ricky had worshipped Barbara Valentine "from below" from the first time he had seen her. Now his fondest dreams were becoming a nightmare.

"Come on, Ricky! Got a little sugar for big, big Barbara! Barbara the Freak? Gotta problem with this?"

Ricky was petrified. He tried to speak; no sound would come.

"Enough of you, squirt. Get out!"

Ricky was thrown against the opposite wall of the hallway, made of painted cinder-block. He lay on the floor for a few minutes, bruised, bleeding and confused. On the other side of the door, Barbara held his bouquet in one hand.

"Cute. That's about all I'm worth now. A few lousy flowers."

"Barbara, that was mean! Ricky isn't much, but he's adored you forever! He only wanted to cheer you up."

"Yeah, well maybe." Barbara pulled a 1.75 liter bottle of vodka from under the bed, removed the cap and started drinking.

"Barb, please don't!"

"Ya want some?" Barbara splashed some of the vodka on Mary and around the room.

"Barbara, stop! Please stop! Please!"

Barbara gathered Mary in her arms, tears flowing, her face displaying the remorse for what she had done.

"Mary, I'm sorry! Don't leave me, please don't leave me!" At this moment, Barbara was truly a child, in a 7-foot-1 inch body.

A few minutes later there was another knock at the door. Michelle Benoit had not seen Ricky limping away, and had not paid attention to the small red spot on the opposite wall. The vodka bottle was hastily shoved back under the bed.

"Mary, may I talk to Barbara?"

"Ms. Benoit, it's really not a good time."

"I know. That's why I'm here. Please let me in."

Mary opened the door wider. Michelle Benoit saw a lovely, impossibly large young lady sitting on the bed, crying softly among the pizza boxes scattered on the floor. She placed a hand on Barbara's.

"I came to tell you that everything will be all right. You know it will; some very brilliant people are working to help you right now."

"Ms. Benoit -- Michelle -- I'm afraid to go to sleep. What will I be when I wake up?"

"You might be taller, but you'll still be you."

"I don't think I'm me now!" Barbara told Michelle what had happened with Ricky a few minutes before. "I'm ashamed." She closed her eyes tightly. "I'm so ashamed! You know, not one of my teammates has come by to see me. Ricky was the only one. I know he has a crush on me, and I made fun of him, and I hurt him! What's the matter with me?"

"It's because you're very upset, Barbara, and no one can blame you for that." Michelle Benoit was in full professional mode now. "If you don't think you can sleep, I can ask Dr. Brock to give you something to help. Would you like that?"

"No, no thank you. But please, please do something else for me. Find Ricky and tell him how sorry I am, that I'll do anything I can to make it up to him, and if there's a solution to…all this…tell him I'd be pleased to go out with him. Please tell him that for me, won't you?" Barbara pleaded with her eyes as well.

"I'll do that, Barbara. And look, why don't you stay in tomorrow, just relax, read a good book. Don't worry about homework. You're not flunking anything, and I can get you excused from Monday classes. Just keep reminding yourself that we all care about you, and we're all on your side, OK?"

"OK."

"I'll be back tomorrow." Michelle stepped to the door, paused and turned around.

"And one more thing, Barbara," she said pointing under the bed. "Booze isn't the answer."

******************************************

POP.

Mary Lane was jerked awake just before 7 a.m. the next morning by what sounded like a muffled gunshot.

"Barb?"

Barbara was sitting up. She'd been holding a volleyball in her hand, which this morning fit in her palm like an oversized softball. At least it was until a few seconds earlier, when she closed her fingers around it and squeezed.

"Kinda symbolic of my volleyball career, wouldn't you say, Mary? One day, just poof!"

"Barb, we'll get through this. We will."

"I can't play this game anymore. It wouldn't be fair. I'm taller than the net. And what about when the ball is the size of a marble? Or a pea?"

Barbara slowly stood up. Now, even Mary Lane was speechless with awe. Barbara's head almost bumped a higher-than-average ceiling. By afternoon, she'd no longer be able to stand up straight in the room.

"Barb, how 'bout I go out and bring us back a great big breakfast?"

"Nah, that's OK, Mary. There's plenty of leftover pizza. And this morning, this morning I'm just not hungry."

*******************************************************************************

PRESIDENT'S OFFICE, 1 PM SUNDAY

"I hope some of us were able to get a good night's sleep," said Frank Forsythe. "I, for one, was not." He had an unspoken consensus.

Dr. Forsythe continued. "Ladies and gentlemen, I see this as a problem in two parts. How to help Barbara Valentine regain her normal -- somewhat taller than normal -- size, and what to do with her until we can help her. Comments?"

"We need to take the second part first," said Angela Scott. If the doctors' figures are correct, she's probably too big for her room, even as we speak."

"She can stay with me," offered Samantha Parker. "I live a bit off the beaten path, and I've got plenty of space, including a good-sized barn that's basically empty. I'm no farmer, and the sum total of my livestock is a tabby-cat." At least that comment brought a round of tension-relieving chuckles.

"Coach," said Forsythe, "I believe we're inclined to take you up on that. Thank you. But we need to make the move in the next couple of hours, before the "suitcase students" start showing up back here. Ideas?"

"Assuming she can still fit into a wheelchair, she'll be less conspicuous sitting down than standing up," said Dr. Brock. "I have one in my office."

"She'll still be very recognizable," mused Angela. "Wait. Wait, we can do this. Doc, we'll need your wheelchair and a large blanket. There are no other women on that floor of the dorm right now, aside from Barbara and Mary. All we have to do is get her into the elevator, using the fire key to keep it from stopping on any other floors. She'll sit in the wheelchair, bend over almost double, and be covered with the blanket. On the ground floor, she'll be wheeled to the service exit where a truck with a ramp will be backed up, waiting. If no one looks too closely, it'll appear as though we're moving a piece of furniture. I know this is tenuous, but I believe it's our best shot, and the sooner we take it, the better."

"How humiliating for Barbara," Samantha pointed out.

"I agree, Sam. But how much more humiliating for the media circus to descend on her? I'm surprised the snoopy reporters and tabloid photographers aren't running around here already."

They were finalizing the plans when a male Residence Hall assistant slipped into the room with a troubled look on his face. He walked quickly to Michelle Benoit, handed her a small note, then left just as quickly. The color drained from Michelle's face. She passed the note to Samantha Parker, who passed it to Angela Scott, each with the same reaction. All three women quickly rose to go. Angela paused, remembering protocol. She let President Forsythe read the note; his face suddenly filled with shock. He rose from his chair.

"Go, ladies. You handle that; we'll handle this."

*********************************************************************************

Ricky's roommate had arrived back at school early, not noticing anything out of the ordinary until he decided to take a shower. There he had found Ricky, naked, in the bathtub, both his wrists sliced wide open. A note in Ricky's handwriting was next to the sink. It read simply:

"I didn't mean to make Barbara angry. But it's my fault. I'm not worthy."

A police-officer friend of Michelle Benoit's allowed her to read the note as the body was being placed in the ambulance. She couldn't maintain a professional detachment this time. She had talked to Ricky in her office only last month, trying to help raise his self-esteem. He was such a pleasant young man, but because of his small stature, quite lonely, too. The volleyball players, Barbara included, had considered him a "cute little guy" but nothing more. In high school, he had been laughed at, picked on, tormented. But Michelle had had no idea he was so close to the edge, and now she sat on the front steps of the dorm and cried for having so utterly failed him.

Only later would she realize the macabre irony: that Ricky's dying act had made it possible for them to spirit Barbara Valentine off campus virtually unobserved. All eyes on campus were watching the commotion outside the men's dorm.

She arranged other accommodations for Ricky's roommate, and insisted he stop by her office the next day. He said he would. Michelle went home; she had two phone calls to make. One to Ricky's parents, another to Barbara's parents. She remembered her parting words to Barbara the night before: "Booze isn't the answer." As the ice cubes clinked into the glass, she decided that even mentors are a little hypocritical now and then.

*********************************************************************************

HOME OF SAMANTHA PARKER, NEAR MISSION VIEJO, SUNDAY, 4 PM

Barbara Valentine sipped a yellowish liquid from a small plastic bottle, her huge hand hiding the fact that it was full quart of Gatorade. She sat on the couch in Coach Parker's living room. For all she knew, it might be the last day she'd be able to spend in any kind of normal-sized dwelling, having surpassed the 8-foot mark a short time earlier.

Dr. Brock had miscalculated her anticipated growth. The sweatshirt that had seemed so baggy the day before was now exposing some midriff. The sweat-pants, now tight on her hips, stopped at mid-calf. The largest men's basketball shoes Mary had been able to find barely fit, even unlaced. Barbara sat on the couch, feeling terribly awkward. How does one sit in a ladylike position on furniture that's so comically small? Mary sat next to her, in comparision looking like one of the larger collectible dolls on the Buy At Home channel. Even so, both felt a little safer being away from a campus full of eyes.

"Barbara, I have plenty of sheets you can use as temporary clothing, and here's a stroke of luck, even a couple of parachutes from my skydiving days…" Samantha paused, realizing what she was implying, but was committed to finishing her sentence now. "…should you have need of them, uh, later on." Samantha was embarrassed, and it showed.

"Barbara, how about an early dinner?" suggested Angela Scott. "You must be hungry."

"Thanks, Dean, but I couldn't eat a thing, really."

This caused Seth Coleman to stop shuffling through his piles of documents and notes. He looked up. This true, Barbara? You're really not hungry? Did you have a big breakfast?"

"No, none. I haven't eaten since last night. Is something wrong, Dr. Coleman? Maybe it means I'll stop growing soon."

It actually meant just the opposite, that the Earth's magnetic field was now increasing her size and furnishing her energy needs. Barbara Valentine had reached "critical mass." But how to tell her? She had a right to know.

"There's always reason for hope, Barbara. Howard, I need to see you in the other room for a minute."

This can't be good, Barbara thought.

"Seth, I take it this is what you were talking about in Forsythe's office last night."

"You've got it, old buddy. We're running out of time. Damn, why'd this have to be a Sunday? I can make some calls, but it's gonna be hard to reach certain people."

"I reached you yesterday when you had Laguna Beach sand between your toes."

"Good point," Coleman said, picking up the phone.

*********************************************************************************

Frank Forsythe had quite a bit of telephone-clout, more than many college presidents. He had long known that Man was a political animal. This evening, it had helped him set up a conference call with the Governor and the Commander of the California National Guard.

"Governor, I'm not calling it a crisis. There may not be one. I'm saying only that it might be prudent to put the Guard troops on some sort of "cautionary status" or whatever you call it, so that they can mobilize more quickly, if, and only if, there's a need."

Colonel Thursby had just listened to the most cockamamie story he had ever heard. "Forsythe, you don't expect me to tell that bedtime fairy-tale to the troops, do you?"

I don't expect you to tell them anything, Colonel. Just give the men their instructions. They're soldiers, aren't they?"

"Damn right they are! And if you call them 'weekend warriors', I'm hanging up."

"Colonel, why don't you just inform them of the possibility of some unscheduled maneuvers?"

"In Orange County?"

***************************************

There was electricity in the barn, lights, a hard floor, even running water, limited to a large sink. Mary Lane struggled to arrange four matresses to create a quadruple-sized bed. Barbara bent down and put an arm around her.

"I think this is one project I can handle a little better, don't you Mary?"

Mary had finished getting Barbara settled in when Michelle Benoit appeared at the barn door. "All right if I come in?"

"Sure, please do." Barbara sat cross-legged on the matresses now, putting her roughly at eye level with Mary and Michelle. She had exchanged her now ridiculously small sweat suit for a couple of bed-sheets.

"Ms. Benoit, were you able to find Ricky? And tell him how sorry I am?"

That, of course, was why Michelle was here. As gently as she could, she explained to Barbara what had happened to Ricky. She did not mention the suicide note, but there was no need. Barbara, already racked with guilt, could not have been more devastated. Was this what lay ahead of her? As her size became more ponderous, would it be even easier to hurt people who cared about her? Would becoming a giantess turn her into a murderess?

Michelle held out a small bottle of pills. "These are from Doc Brock. They'll help you sleep. He says you can take as many as you need."

A flick of Barbara's thumbnail sent the child-resistant cap flying against the opposite wall. Realizing she had done something very similar to Ricky the night before, she downed the entire bottle. Not that there was any chance of an overdose, still, Michelle didn't see that as a very good sign.

"Mary, can you stay with Barbara for a while?" Mary nodded. She'd been feeling a little maudlin herself. After all, it was her magnets that had apparently started all of this, and it was ruining the life of the best friend she'd ever had.

Barbara was alone when she woke up the next morning. Mary had stayed until almost midnight, but still had classes, same as any other Monday. Barbara lay there, reconfiguring her perspective. One fact was instantly obvious. Her "bed" was two matresses long and two matresses wide. This morning, the matresses stopped at mid-thigh. Her height had more than doubled overnight, 20 feet was her best guess. Standing slowly, she found that the rafters of the barn would accommodate this, though with little room to spare. She could actually reach up and touch the underside of the roof. Right about then, she realized she was not alone after all.

She heard a "click" from down below, from behind some boxes. Barbara acted as if she hadn't heard, waiting for another sound so she could pin down its source precisely. Then she moved: one hand sweeping the boxes out of the way, the other grabbing hold of the little man before he could take two steps. The fingers of one Barbara-hand were more than enough to keep both his arms pinned behind his back. Barbara bent low and loomed over him, the beauty of her face giving him arrhythmia, its intensely scornful look bringing him close to losing bladder control. She decided he needed a minute to squirm, inside and out. When the fear on his face reached the almost pitiable stage, she asked him a simple question:

"What's your name?"

"It's…it's Ryan, ma'am."

"So, 'Ryan-ma'am', getting some good shots?" Barbara's free hand lifted the 35-millimeter camera from around his neck. She examined it, then held it close to his face so he'd have a good view of it being crushed like a toy. This she could justify. This wasn't Ricky, poor, poor Ricky. No, this jerk just wanted to make a buck from her nightmare. But he was just the first. Barbara knew there were plenty more where he came from, and that made her even angrier.

Anger. Somehow, the anger overwhelmed the sadness, creating a perverse kind of joy. This shutter-bug needed to hurt, as she had been hurting. But he was so small to her, rising barely above her knee. Wouldn't it be like beating up on a baby? No, she decided. Babies weren't responsible; this little fellow might be as helpless as a baby in her presence now, but he had known exactly what he was doing. Well, so did Barbara. A flick of her middle finger into his groin, and she no longer needed to hold on to him. He wasn't going anywhere for a while. She watched him, curled up and moaning on the floor, and found she was actually enjoying the moment.

"Don't kill him, Barbara! Please don't!"

It was Michelle Benoit. She had spent the night at the house, and had come to tell Barbara that some scientists and technicians from UCLA would be here in an hour or so, with equipment that would reverse the magnetic effect.

Hearing that news, Barbara would have jumped for joy, had it been possible. "I wasn't going to hurt him anymore," she said, lifting Ryan to his feet.

"Have you learned your lesson?"

"Oh, yes ma'am."

"Can you walk?"

"I think so."

"Then get out of here and never come back. Wait a minute."

Barbara re-hung the remnants of the camera around his neck, then grasped his right hand between her thumb and two fingers. She shook his hand goodbye, hearing him yelp as she made sure his right index finger wouldn't be pressing another shutter release for a week or so. Michelle saw this. Her first thought was that maybe he had it coming. Her second thought was more chilling: that the Barbara she had met two days earlier would not have used her considerable strength to bully someone weaker, especially not Ricky, whom she knew, in his lonely dreams, had placed her on a pedestal that reached to the clouds. Maybe it wasn't just Barbara's size that was changing.

**********************************************

Dr. Brad Nesbitt, UCLA Professor of Theoretical Physics, said, "Seth, when you call in a favor, you call in one budget-busting favor, don't you?"

A dozen technicians were unloading huge parabolic reflectors from the back of a tractor-trailer. Three big-rigs were parked on Samantha Parker's property. Two of them housed huge generators which would be wired in parallel. This was going to take a lot of juice.

"Brad, no one's more capable than you to deliver on this one. Oh, and please meet my colleagues from Renaissance: Dr. Howard Brock, Angela Scott, Dean of Women, and Coach Samantha Parker, whose grass we are killing with all these truck tires."

Nesbitt exchanged amenities, then turned back to Dr. Coleman. "Seth, how do I write this up?"

"I leave that to your vivid imagination, Brad."

"Hmm. Let's see. There's this barn in Orange County that I pumped full of more magnetic gauss than a dozen MRI scanners, for no particular reason. Yeah. That'll work. What's in there, Seth?"

"Brad, when you're done, nothing out of the ordinary. Oh, maybe a pretty girl, that's about all."

"Twenty-five years out of college, and you're still pulling frat-stunts."

"C'est la vie."

Barbara wished they'd hurry. Her head now bumped the rafters. Doctors Coleman and Brock came in to tell her that it wouldn't be long now. Less than an hour.

"Will it hurt?"

"No, no, Barbara! The magnetic wraps that started the process didn't hurt, did they? It's the same thing in reverse. The only down-side is, since we'll be counteracting the Earth's magnetic field, it'll probably take longer, maybe several times as long, to return you to your original size."

Barbara got down on hands and knees and kissed them both. "To be a petite 6'2" again? That's worth waiting for."

********************************************************************************

"Fifteen seconds, Dr. Nesbitt."

"Right." Nesbitt studied the control panel, with Coleman and Brock standing behind, looking over his shoulder.

The 60-cycle hum permeated structures, flesh and bone. TV reception was messed up for miles. Almost full power now.

"It all looks good, gentlemen, whatever the hell we're doing." Nesbitt leaned back in his chair, exposing a gauge to Coleman's eyes that he had not noticed before. It showed precise alignment with the isogonic line for this longitude, north to north and south to south. Exactly the opposite of what it was supposed to be.

"Six seconds, five…four…"

"Jesus, God in Heaven! Shut it down, Brad!!"

"You can't abort this. It's gotta cycle through."

"GODDAMMIT, PULL THE PLUG!! Son-of-a-bi…DUCK AND COVER!!"

In an instant, Barbara Valentine's head and torso crashed through the roof of the barn. Still sitting down, she now towered over the structure by some 30 feet. The rain of debris missed most of the little people outside, but not technician Bewley. The jagged points of a severed 6-by-6 inch beam had penetrated his back, pinning him to the ground face down. His internal organs mutilated beyond repair, it would take him a couple of minutes to die. The tech closest to him promptly threw up at the sight. Others, farther away, were slowly beginning to pick themselves up from the ground.

Barbara, in a manner of speaking, had basically been conked in the head. It took a couple of minutes for her to regain her own bearings. Now she saw toy trucks, dolls that moved, and little white dots in the sky. She reached up to grasp one of the white dots. Opening her hand slowly, she saw it was less than an inch long. It fluttered, then flew away. She recognized it now. A seagull.

A few minutes ago, Barbara had expected to be a normal-sized girl again, a little taller than some, but hugging real people in her arms: Dr. Brock, Dr. Coleman, Coach Parker, Ms. Scott, Michelle Benoit, and Mary, sweet Mary. Now she realized the horror of the scale, the horror she must be now to the people she cared about. This was insane!

"INSANE!!"

Barbara screamed the word at the top of her lungs, setting up a shock-wave that blew some of the little people off their feet again. She had not meant to do that, but big people under stress needed big relief. It calmed her down some, enough to realize she was both topless and bottomless. Parachutes. Coach Parker had said something about parachutes.

Her immense right hand ripped cardboard boxes to shreds. There they were: two mains and two reserves. Her fingertips plucked at dangling threads, the canopies of nylon popped out as she found the ripcords. They were enough for a girl's modesty. But then, why should modesty matter now?

Surrounded by these…pixies…she had never felt more alone. She might never know a real human touch again, not one that she could really feel. What horrible, unforgivable thing must she have done to suffer such a hell on Earth?

Ricky. She was being punished for hurting Ricky. But she didn't kill him! It was a mistake! Now she'd pay for it for the rest of her life, as an object of scorn and amusement, always starving for physical affection, yet not being able to die from the lack of it.

Two powerful emotions battled for control of Barbara. Terror. The sickening fear of total abandonment, as a small child feels when he's accidentally separated from his mother in a huge, strange supermarket. And rage, fierce rage that scanned about like radar, looking for a cause of the torturous terror, so it could be fought, be controlled, be commanded to forever disappear. Barbara's intelligence couldn't fight the two of these at once. Her reasoning brain was losing. It told her that her only escape would be to find something much, much bigger than she, something she could trust. A place where she could feel safe once again.

Suddenly she knew! She knew what it was! She'd loved it since she first saw it, and this time she'd share it with Mary, so Mary could be happy again, too! The best part was, the people who stole her happiness were now much too small to keep her from taking it back…

*********************************************************************************

"Good Lord, Seth! What did we just do here?"

"We turned a big problem into a much bigger problem. Dammit, Brad, I gave you the numbers, how'd you get it all bass-ackwards?"

"Maybe we can discuss that later, if we live that long. Christ, just look at her! Shouldn't we be running for our lives, or something?"

"It's OK, Brad," said Brock. "She's a student at Renaissance. She's having kind of a bad day, but she's still a sweet young girl."

Dr. Coleman was suddenly enveloped by a sweet young hand, belonging to a girl now 84 feet tall. She lifted him to her face, felt his trembles.

"Well, what do we do now, Doc?"

"Barbara, I'm sorry, we…"

"You're sorry? I'm Godzilla's girlfriend, and you're sorry?" Barbara sat back down in the roofless barn, Coleman still in her hand, now out of sight of the others. It spared them from viewing the awful picture of the fingers closing: ribs cracking, blood oozing from a tiny mouth. She dropped the broken body into one of the boxes.

"I'm sorry too, Dr. Coleman."

Brad Nesbitt had never had a better idea than "running for our lives." He should have trusted his instincts. Still believing Seth Coleman's words about Barbara's gentle nature, he found himself plucked up only a moment later, held motionless by her fingers, with no breath to cry out. A thumb pressed on his chest, tighter and tighter, until his chest shattered. What was left of him joined his old college buddy in the box.

Barbara found Doc Brock as well, as he tried to run. She wouldn't squeeze him. He had tried his best to help her. She was still annoyed with him, though, and found a hook on the wall of the roofless barn from which to hang him by his belt.

The rest of the little people had scattered like cockroaches. Michelle Benoit had watched, horrified, from an upstairs window of the house, but not having seen what actually had happened to the doctors, gathered enough courage to step outside and walk to the barn.

"Barbara? Barbara? It's Michelle. Please, can we talk?"

She was promptly scooped up in Barbara's right palm, but was much safer in it than two of the three men before her.

"Michelle, I want to see Mary. Get Mary for me!"

"I will, Barbara, but I wanted to tell you…"

"NEVER MIND!! I'LL FIND HER MYSELF!"

She set Michelle on the ground with reasonable gentleness, then stood up, stepped over the walls of the barn, and set off for the Renaissance campus, pausing a moment to slam a giant fist into a couple of tractor-trailer rigs. Now 85 feet tall, and running at full speed, Barbara was over the horizon in less than 90 seconds.

Angela Scott, Dean of Women, saw this from the house. She was on the phone to President Forsythe before Barbara was out of view.

*********************************************

Mary Lane's classes had been a waste of time. She couldn't concentrate, couldn't study, only wish: "Please, please help Barbara! Let her come back to me, just like she was! It's been so awful for her. And now Ricky is dead, and it's all because of those magnets! If I could only turn back the clock…"

"Mary, you're doing well in this course. But bawling your eyes out at your desk doesn't help you or the people around you. Why don't you come back Wednesday, or when you're feeling better?"

Mary nodded to her Political Science professor, thanked her and walked back to the dorm. A few people had asked about Barbara; she told them Barb was back in New Jersey to deal with a family emergency.

She lay on her bed and closed her eyes. Not for long: the sirens were too loud. So was the rumbling. Thunder? Not under this sky. But the thunder-noise intensified even faster than the approaching sirens. Mary got up and looked out the window. Nothing to see from this angle, except for a few students far to the left, running hard. She opened the window; in addition to the sirens and thunder, much louder now, were faraway screams. Mary didn't have enough information to be panicked, she knew only that the rumblings and vibrations were very close, now.

Barbara Valentine had arrived at the other side of the women's dorm. She reached over the roof, felt for the second window on the third floor, plunged her hand in and felt around for the softest vertical thing she could find. She was right the first time: her hand came out with Mary in it, screaming like Fay Wray.

"Mary, it's me! It's Barb! I know, it didn't work, but I punished them, and we'll never be apart anymore. Never!"

Mary had stopped screaming, but even after all that had happened, she couldn't believe that this rampaging giantess was, just three days ago, the roommate she adored so much.

Barbara's mind was no longer that of a college coed, a tall girl, a very tall girl, or a Guinness Book tall girl. Her fear, her pain, her frustration, her grief over Ricky, all those feelings had melded and been amplified a hundred-fold by an attempt at size-reversal gone terribly, terribly wrong. Barbara's brain had overloaded; it was fixed on one thought, that only Mary, precious Mary, could make it all go away. First she had to take Mary away.

Most of the campus pedestrians had scurried into buildings. Some in cars were not so lucky. Barbara was no longer being careful where she stepped. People inside those vehicles, what was left of them, would have to be extracted using the "jaws of life." Part of one car was literally squashed into the asphalt under a giant heel. Crews would be able to do nothing but pave over it later.

Mary could not make herself heard through Barbara's closed hand, even if Barbara had wanted to hear. Clutched securely, she now felt a sensation of great speed. She was not mistaken. Fifty-foot-long running strides were taking them both to the Pacific Ocean.

********************************************************************************

"Colonel Thursby, you've got to mobilize now!" The Governor was frantic. He had just gotten a call from Frank Forsythe.

Governor, I keep telling you, there's nothing to mobilize in Orange County. We can't just use soldiers with riot sticks; we need firepower. That would take at least 24 hours. But the National Guard isn't what you need anyway. You say she's headed for the beach?"

"In that general direction, according to the chopper reports."

"Then think Navy. Think San Diego. They should have a frigate, a destroyer or something running up the coast. They always do. What we need is White House approval."

"Thursby, we don't have time…"

"We don't have a choice, Governor. Now it's federal. Only the Commander-in-Chief can issue the directive. That'll go up through the Pentagon, and back down through the Pentagon. Lucky for you I have friends there. I'll get right on it."

"Well, I hope they're still your friends, Thursby, because we're gonna have a…Thursby? Thursby! "

***********************************************

Barbara could smell the ocean, and, from her altitude, almost see it. She opened her hand and smiled at Mary, whose tiny voice now reached her ears.

"Barbara! Barbara, listen to me! You've got to stop! They'll kill you!"

"It's not much farther, little one. We'll sit on the beach, and watch the ocean. Then everything will be all right."

"We can still help you, Barbara! We can still try!" The fingers closed, keeping any more of Mary's words from being heard.

Laguna Beach authorities were using bullhorns, ordering swimmers out of the water and everyone to evacuate the vicinity. They didn't explain why; those who knew why probably didn't believe it themselves. Neither did some of the beach-goers, who stayed where they were. There were too many of them to be physically removed: the cops could do no more.

There were enough screams for Mary to hear, filtered through the enormous hand. She pushed with all her might in a futile attempt to move one of the fingers that held her secure. "Barbara! Barbara! Don't step on them! They're people, people like me! Barbara!!"

One hundred five feet above the golden sand, Barbara Valentine's eyes beheld the blue Pacific. Forget the Atlantic. The New Jersey girl that she used to be had fallen in love with these warm waters from the first time she saw them. The couple directly in front of her had fallen in love with one another, paying no attention to anything else. Three giant steps later, they were one with the beach. A second couple, teenagers too young to do their heavy petting in public, had dug a hiding place for themselves. Barbara actually missed them, but the vibrations were enough to collapse the sand. They'd be found days later, still locked in embrace. No one else was ignoring the evacuation order now.

The gentle waves licked at Barbara's feet, she still unaware of the human destruction they had just caused. The parachutes she wore as makeshift clothing were too tight now; she removed the top piece, felt the soft sea breeze caressing her breasts. She spoke again to the precious passenger in the palm of her right hand.

"We're here, Mary, we made it! Oh, isn't it wonderful! Just look! It's so beautiful, and I feel small again, Mary! I feel small again! Like it never happened!"

Mary was out of ideas, out of strength, out of hope. "Oh, Barbara…"

"I know! We'll take a swim, just you and me, and those toy boats out there. Toyboat-toboyt-toa...! Ha ha! Bet you can't say it three times fast either!"

Mary decided that, if she got close enough to a "toy boat," she'd say "Help!" and hope for a life-preserver. That wouldn't come from the small sailboat closest to them; the wake from a giantess swamped it. Mary was being held just above the water in Barbara's hand, but they were now a half-mile from shore.

Barbara paid no attention to what to her was a little buzzing noise. The man on the Jet-Ski said one word to Mary: "Jump!"

Mary jumped. She hit the water and was pulled onto the back-seat of the personal watercraft, which the driver now gunned for all it was worth. Barbara, enchanted by the ocean, didn't realize her hand was empty for a full ten seconds. By then, the tiny craft was too far away for a 130-foot giantess to recognize the people on it. Barbara, thinking she had dropped Mary, used her huge hands to churn the water. MARY! WHERE ARE YOU?

Mary, holding tightly to the waist of her rescuer, cringed at Barbara's thundering cries. "She thinks I'm drowning!" she screamed to the stranger. "I can't let her think that!"

"SHUT UP, GIRL!"

"Good grief!" Mary thought at 40 knots. Was she being rescued, or being kidnapped again?

This knight in shining bronze skin ran the Jet-Ski onto the shore until it dug into the sand, sending both of them tumbling. He tumbled back onto his feet, pulling Mary up with him. "Can you run?"

"Can I run? What, what do yo…"

"Oh, forget it!" He scooped Mary up in his powerful arms, sprinting to the big sand dune 200 yards away. Up, and over and down.

Mary was dazed upon dazed. "What…who…I…this…?

"Don't talk. Listen. My name is Bill. I'm a friend, at least today. That little gray ship way out there is the USS Decatur. Now that I've done my job, they can do theirs. Keep your head down."

****************************************

ABOARD THE GUIDED-MISSILE DESTROYER USS DECATUR (Burke-class)

"Azimuth 078 degrees. Range 5 thousand yards. We have tone."

"Fire!"

*********************************************************************************

There would be some collateral damage, namely the deaths of any people in the water near the target, but the heat-seeking missile would instantly home in on the greatest source of heat in the vicinity, that produced by Barbara Valentine, now 120 feet tall. The missile was sub-sonic; she heard it coming before it reached her. But missiles are mindless. This one detected only what was thermal. Some of the men on the Decatur would say later that just before the blast obliterated its target, the target was heard to say: "Mary? Mary?"

Behind the sand dune, Mary Lane heard only the explosion. She knew what it meant. It was all just too much for her. She wanted to fold herself into her rescuer like a letter into an envelope. Bill held her as close as he could for as long as he could. Technically, he was still on a mission.

"Miss Lane? Mary?"

She could manage not much more than a little-girl's voice. "How do you know my name?"

"I'm not allowed to say. I'm a Navy Seal, attached to San Diego. That's all I can tell you, ma'am."

"She's gone, isn't she? I mean Barbara."

He pulled her close to his chest one more time. "Yes. She is. I'm sorry, Mary. I've got to go, too."

Nothing made sense anymore, but Mary said: "Thank you, Bill."

"My pleasure, Mary."

Bill had slipped an extra dog tag into the pocket of Mary's jeans. He hoped she'd find it.





CASA DE ANTON REISNER, BUENOS AIRES, ARGENTINA

The stack of American newspapers on the left side of his desk was more than a foot high. He had Internet, satellite TV and all the rest, but these were flown in by charter-jet. Sometimes it just felt satisfying to hold a newspaper in your hands, especially if the news was satisfying:

NAVY AVERTS SO. CAL. DISASTER, SCIENTISTS PUZZLED

(New York Times)

INCREDIBLE GIANTESS INVADES LAGUNA BEACH

(Los Angeles Times)

ATTACK OF THE SEXY HUNDRED-FOOT COED

(San Francisco Herald-Examiner)

SPACE ALIENS PRODUCE MONSTER-GIRL!

(National Enquirer)

TAKE ME IN YOUR ARMS AND ROCK ME, BABY!

(Rolling Stone)



Next to the stack of newspapers were schematic drawings of "Professor D.M.W. Herbert's Posi-Neg Magnetic Wrap-Arounds." Scribbled on these drawings were the words "Gauss," "Grosse," and "Ausgezeichnet." Nearby were several uncashed royalty checks from "Buy At Home," checks totaling almost a quarter of a million dollars.

High tea had been served a few minutes before. He passed the time clipping and pasting articles into a scrapbook binder. When it was done, Dr. Anton Reisner placed the binder into an honored position on his bookshelf. Its spine was not labeled, neither were those of the notebooks between which it was placed. But their title pages were simple: "Josef Mengele" on one and "Odessa" on the other.



The End