"Be not ignorant of anything in a great matter or a small"

 The man arrived precisely on time, as David had said
he would.  He was nondescript--middle aged, full head of
silver-black hair, glasses, slight paunch--which was fitting, I
suppose.  At any rate, I smiled my most winning smile, rose, and
greeted him.
 

 "No need to rise, young lady.  Please, we'll get
down to business.  I understand you talked to D.X."  He was
cool, but there was a note of concern in his voice.  Why?
 

 "Yes, he stopped by this morning.  With no notice, I
might add.  He's a strange man, Dave Machina.  But he seemed to
know what he was talking about."
 

 "Yes, well, um, you see--" was that a British
accent?  Or New England? "--um, yes, Mr. Machina was correct.
About everything."
 

 "And you can smooth the waters.  Get this movie
made."
 

 "Well--it's a bit more complicated, you see--"
 

 I sighed.  "I don't, Mr. Unknown.  Tell me what I
don't see."
 

 And so he did.
 

* * *
 

 It seems that, about ninety years ago, the Athena
League, a band of women committed to female dominance,
discovered the secret of GTS, which had been until then the
exclusive province of a shadowy organization known as the Cadre.
It was assumed, among the Cadre, that one of its members had
gone over--but nobody was ever identified, and the pieces to the
GTS puzzle were there, waiting to be assembled.
 

 As the years passed, the Athena League's plan became
apparent--get the public used to the idea of strong women--even
giant women--and then use GTS to make those fantasies reality.
 

 The Cadre fought all the way, trying at all turns to
prevent dissemination of material on Giantesses.  The media
expression of GTS was shunted into pulp fiction and B-movies.
 

 In recent years, though, the Athena League began to
grow more bold.  It was said that they were ready to use GTS
anyhow, whether the public was ready to accept it or not.  A few
brave souls in the Cadre, led by D.X. Machina, argued for
reconciliation with the League, and a negotiated truce that
would have allowed the secret of GTS to be exposed, and the boon
granted to those willing to use it; but the old guard would have
none of it.  The lid was jammed on tighter than ever.  D.X. left
the Cadre, though he never surrendered his seat, and nobody ever
moved to remove him.  Now, the old guard had the upper hand--and
any fictional mention of GTS was bound to be squelched.
 

 "And so you see," concluded the man, "It's a bit
more complex than just green-lighting a project.  The future of
the human race has unfortunately come into play."
 

 I stretched back.  "But what of my friends--haven't
they come into contact with GTS?"
 

 "Yes," said the man gravely.  "Thanks to D.X.  And
that's the devil of it.  He's using GTS for frivolous ends.  I
fear that there are great problems about to surface now that GTS
is out in the open--and I fear for your friends."
 

* * *
 

Scott Chelgren
First Avenue Night Club
First Ave & 7th St
Minneapolis, Minnesota
 

 Sarah et al. disappeared into the crowd, and
part of me died.

 
 After all, what I really wanted was Sarah.  Sarah,
and nothing else, and I would be a happy man.
 

 But to gain that happiness, I would have to deny her
happiness.
 

 Damn it, I hate when shit like this happens.
 

 A huge foot smashed down next to me, and I broke
from my reverie.  While part of me had died (that part that
includes my heart and soul), the rest of me lived, and that part
of me did not want to die.  At least, not much.
 

 I suppose had I not known First Ave well I would
have been in trouble.  As it was, though, I spent the better
part of my formative years here.  I would have to get over by
the pool tables.  To stay on the main floor was suicide.
 

 I hopped up onto a pair of Doc Martens that were
wandering by.  They seemed to be headed in the right direction.
Yep--there was the souvenir table, so the pool tables should be
just about--there!
 

 It was between sets, so there was a bit more traffic
in this area than I wanted.  Nevertheless, I needed to think,
and if I could make it under the tables without dying, I'd have
that chance.
 

 The boots had continued down the ramp and over to
the vending machines.  I was still one inch tall--I didn't know
whether I should change size, and I've always believed that,
when in doubt, don't change what you're doing.
 

 Ha.
 

 I needed another lift to the pool tables, and I
found it in a pair of iridescent green sandals, that belonged
to a short-skirted alternachick.  She walked over to the pool
tables--I knew she would.  She was one of the fangirls, the
fourteen-something girlfriends of the fanboys.  They come to
shows to mosh, and crowd surf, and I don't know why they come to
Ben Folds Five, because they're a piano group.  But whatever.
She was nice enough to walk over to the pool tables for me, I
won't criticize.
 

 I blocked out the world, and tried to think.
 

* * *
 

Sarah Kensington
First Avenue Night Club
First Ave & 7th St
Minneapolis, Minnesota
 

 We arrived at the tail end of the opening band--they
were equal parts forgettable and bad.  So we mostly just stood
around, listening to the music blaring over the speaker and
watching clips of midget wrestling.  By the time Ben Folds Five
finally took the stage, I was bored out of my skull.  I hoped
these guys were good.  Scott spoke highly of them.
 

* * *
 

KellyAnn Johnson
First Avenue Night Club
First Ave & 7th St
Minneapolis, Minnesota
 

 They opened with "Jackson Canary," one of the best
of all time.  Man, I'm amazed at what Ben Folds can do with a
piano.  Then they ripped through "Song For the Dumped," brought
out the lighters with "Brick," and then ripped things up again
with "Uncle Walter."  Man, they were good.  It seemed like Sarah
was enjoying it, anyhow.
 

* * *
 

Anonymous
en route to Beverly Hills, California
 

 The meeting shook me up.  The girl was right, of
course.  It was only a movie.  But the story was about real
people--who had benefited from GTS.  The Cadre would never
support it.  Never.
 

 But what worried me more was the seemingly simple
way in which the one lad had gained access to GTS--a book,
readily available, published by D.X.
 

 I jumped when the Cell Phone rang.  I picked it up
with trepidation.  "Hello?" I asked.
 

 "This is the Chairman," the voice said, and indeed,
it sounded like him.
 

 "She was a girl of sixteen," I said, wanting to make
sure.
 

 "A pleasant, frolicsome girl," he agreed.  "You're
going on assignment."
 

 It appeared I was.
 

* * *
 

Scott Chelgren
 

 Here I stand--sad and free.  I can't cry and I can't
see what I've done.  God...what have I done?
 

 The words pierced me like a knife.  It was always
one of my favorite songs.  It's true, for me at least, that I
always wanted to get into a car and drive anywhere.  And
yet--here I was, doing the scale-specific equivalent, and I was
stuck on the chorus.
 

 What have I done?
 

 Focus, focus.  You've left Sarah, and you want to go
back.  Of course you do.  But remember why you left.  For her.
Don't go charging after her now.  You'll hurt her.
 

 But--
 

 Stow it.  What now?  Hang at First Ave forever?
You'd see some good bands.
 

 No, I'd get squashed at some point.  And I don't
think I could live forever on stale beer and dropped popcorn.
 

 Well?
 

 Well, seems to me I should head home with one of the
crowd.  Set up shop in their home.  Maybe someday reveal myself.
Probably not soon.
 

 Good idea, chum.  You're getting good at this.
 

 Too much practice, mate.
 

* * *
 

Sarah Kensington
 

 "BEN FOLDS FIVE!  BEN FOLDS FIVE!"
 

 The crowd was chanting enthusiastically for that
moment of spontaneity, the encore.  Of course, the band would be
back out in just a second, but for now, the crowd was paying its
respects.
 

 I was chanting along with 'em.  Wow.  The show was
amazing!  I would have to tell Scott later that I should've
bought their albums when he told me to.  I wondered how Scott
was doing--tried to feel him, but couldn't.  Odd.  Usually when
traveling with me I could feel his every move.
 

 Oh well, he was probably being still.  Probably.
 

* * *
 

Scott Chelgren
 

 They were closing with "Underground," which made
sense.  It was their first hit, and it's a very danceable number.
In spite of myself, I half grooved to the music.

 Who to go with?  I had a few minutes to decide, and
I had decided on a fangirl.  Why?  Because I could see her from
here.  She looked kinda cute, with a long black skirt and
Birkenstocks.  I would go home with her, because--well, because.
Why not her?
 

 So as the song wound down, I headed straight for
her, and vaulted onto the deck of her sandal, right by her
silver-painted toenails.  Instinctively, I halved my height to
one-half inch, and settled in between big and second toe.  I
looked up--I hoped she was a decent girl.
 

 It didn't really matter to me.  I'd poured my heart
out, and it had evaporated.
 

* * *
 

Sarah Kensington
Middlebrook Hall
West Bank, University of Minnesota
 

 It was almost an hour later when we got back to
Middlebrook.  I was now nervous.  I headed straight for the
bathroom, closed my door, and carefully pulled off my shirt.
 

 He wasn't there.
 

 I pulled off everything, a little less carefully
when I reached the end.  When I did reach the end, I stared into
the mirror.  He was gone--again.
 

 And I feared he wasn't coming back.
 

* * *
 

the narrator
Summit Hill Neighborhood
St. Paul, Minnesota
 

 And so it was that at that very moment, a man in
California, who called himself David Machina, or D.X. to some,
woke up.
 

 It had been a rough day for D.X., and it was going
to get rougher.
 

 He h ad sensed a disturbance in GTS.
 

 A disturbance that was about to send him home.