"Think not that thy word and thine alone must be right."

Veronica Ceres
Executive Vice President of the League
The Roosevelt Hotel
New York City, New York
 

 Someday, maybe someone will figure out a way to cut through red tape efficiently.

 But that was not the day.

 The executive committee of the League had been meeting for four days to try to hammer out the details of what we must do in the coming months.  We were at a critical juncture in our dealings with the Cadre.  They were outflanking us on all fronts.  Indeed, even I would almost have been in favor of giving up, were it not for one factor, and I cannot believe I'm saying it.

 D.X. Machina had made this anyone's ball game, so to speak.

 We knew the Cadre was in a tizzy; Hell, Koschkei was in full panic mode, according to reliable sources.  Rumor had it that he had even dispatched a member of the cadre to track ol' D.X. down, rating it as his top priority.

 And to think, I once thought of David as an enemy.  Now, if he wasn't my ally, he was at least the enemy of my enemy, and that was something positive.

 But back to the meeting.  That's really the more important part of this little anecdote.

 It was a full-fledged ruckus.  Leah--President Jackson--tried to maintain discipline, but to no avail.  Special Chairwoman Hamm was calling for an immediate use of The Process to end once and for all any debate between the Cadre and us.

 "We need to take action--if any of you know what that is anymore," Mia thundered.  "Let the Cadre play their Hollywood games!  Who cares?!?  One giant woman would eliminate any claim of male superiority for all time."

 "Do you really think the Cadre will just stand idly by while we enlarge Cindy Crawford to fifty feet tall?  Please," Deanna Lund sighed and cleaned her glasses.  "Mia, you don't understand.  It's not your fault, you haven't been with us long, but--"

 "Don't patronize me, madam liaison!  I know what you guys went through back in the seventies, how close you came before Koschkei came rolling in to wipe out our plans.  But we've learned from that!  We've come so far..."

 "...and yet the Madison incident was just six years ago.  Care to repeat that, Mia?"  I sat down, wearily.  "It comes down to the fundamental organizing principle of the universe--unless the people are ready, then any plans we make are moot.  Not even the Cadre truly understands that, so I'm not surprised you don't."

 "Ladies," said Leah severely, "infighting will get us nowhere.  Vice President Ceres is correct--we won't get anywhere unless we can convince the public that women can be powerful--and don't think, Mia, that we're unaware of your efforts to change that perception.  Still, if we try to do this prematurely, then we will find that the collective belief of the people will be used against us."

 "By the Cadre," said Deanna, glumly.

 "Maybe.  More likely, though, by D.X. Machina.  Veronica."

 "Yes?"

 "Find D.X. Machina.  The Cadre is looking for him, we need to find him first.  Offer him anything he wants, we need him on our side in the coming battle."

 "Why?"  It was a two-part question.  Why do we need to get D.X. Machina before the Cadre, and why send me, his archest of enemies, to find him.

 Leah dealt with both.  "He's a free agent, and he's used his free agency to learn all sides of the issue.  He's the holder of a lot of keys to the future.  And only you among us have enough of a history with him to truly track him down."

 The enemy of my enemy, eh?  "All right, Chief, I'll do it."

 I wondered where D.X. was.  This wouldn't be easy.  I wished he was in our hands already.

* * *

D.X. Machina
The apartment above Madame Theresa's Psychic Studio
Uptown
Minneapolis, Minnesota
 

 I was naked, and sitting in Teri's right hand, gazing upon her lovely face as she lifted me up to her lips, the better to kiss me with.

 It was quite a long kiss, and when we finally broke, the same lazy smile I'd seen a thousand times drifted quietly across her face, eighteen times wider than usual, but the same as always.

 "Tell me you don't enjoy this, Jake."

 "I can't lie to you, Teri.  I just don't know why you felt you needed to go to this extreme."

 It was an act, and not an easy one.  I was trying to convince Teri that I was her unwilling captive, or at least her somewhat confused captive.  Why, you might ask?  Because it's how I was supposed to act.  I don't know what she would've thought had I just said, "Wow, shrinking, cool!  I like that!"

 Instead, I had said, "Teri, this is insanity!"

 "This is not insanity.  Six years ago was insanity.  Your leaving me was insanity."

 "We were never together!  Not like that!"  (Not that I wouldn't have wanted that....)

 "Come on, Jake, let's be honest.  You wanted me so bad it was farcical.  I just never could figure out why you didn't make a move."

 "I was shy!  And I was afraid you wouldn't reciprocate my feelings."

 "Well," she said, finally, "now you know.  I would've.  I am."

 And so I shrank until I was a little bit less than four inches tall, a perfect size to recline in her soft, warm hands, plied by kisses and wine from a thimble, taken to see the dollhouse that would be my temporary home.

 I thought about Scott, briefly.  Tomorrow.  I'd look for him tomorrow.

 For now, there was Teri, and as she explained to me for the umpteenth time why she felt it was, indeed, necessary to go to this extreme, I finally said, "You were right, Teri."

 "Of course I was.  Now, tell me, Jake...if I asked you to make love to me tonight, would you?"

 I smiled.  "Without hesitation or moral qualm...yes, Teri.  Yes."

 And I succumbed to the inevitable.

* * *

Scott Chelgren
Home of Melinda Goodwell
Richfield, Minnesota

 
 It had been a pretty good day.

 I say this despite the fact that I was ending this evening at the bottom of a hamper, with no real idea how I was going to get free.  At least I had some soft places to rest.

 I could hear Melinda in the other room.  For a brief second, I considered enlarging myself, and shouting for help.  But I wasn't ready for that.  I realized that I really didn't want to be found by anyone but Sarah.  And though Melinda didn't know it, she was the reason I felt this way.

 Perhaps I'd better back up.

 It was the break in between third and fourth periods when I found myself standing on a desk, looking at a pretty young teacher who was making notes for the next period of class.  I was still tired-the day had been something of an ordeal up until now, and I wanted little more than to nap for a while.  I decided the best thing to do was to rest now, and hitch a ride out of here with the teacher--it seemed to be a good plan.

 And I did just that.  In the shadow of the wire basket into which students deposited their assignments, I stretched out and napped straight through the hour.

 I woke as the bell sounded, and as thirty papers were dropped in the basket above, I moved towards the teacher.

 She was fumbling with her bag.  I realized instantly that she was leaving this classroom, whether for lunch or a different room, I wasn't sure.  Quickly, I found my way into the basket, and hid among the papers, which she soon lifted and deposited carelessly in her oversized faux-burlap bag.

 I have ridden in purses.  They're not the safest things in the world, what with makeup and keys and money and tampons raining down on you, but you can survive 'em.  A teacher's bag, however, is like a purse on steroids and crack.  The bag lurched fore and aft, and I had to contend with not just papers, but pens and paper clips and a thousand other things.  I climbed up the spiral in the teacher's gradebook, hoping to avoid sudden death.

 Soon, I spotted it: a brown bag that meant one thing in the world of school, and that thing was lunch.  I was hungry, undeniably, despite feasting on stale Doritos the night before.  I saw a small tear in the bag, and I leapt for it.

 I pulled myself inside, and landed on a soft, cushy floor, which must've been a sandwich.  The world was still swinging, but at least things seemed safe in here.

 I quickly found the opening to the baggie, and pulled myself inside.  The smell of turkey permeated the area.  The last time I had turkey was what, three weeks?  Four weeks?  I couldn't remember.  Sarah had given me part of her sandwich.  (Always with Sarah.  Enough!)

 Anyhow, I reached the center of the sandwich and began ravenously devouring the turkey inside.  It was good stuff.  So good, in fact, that I didn't notice that the world was moving in an altogether different direction: up.

 I didn't notice until light suddenly streamed in from above, and a huge hand removed the baggie that held the sandwich I was munching on.

 Before I had a chance to leap to safety, that hand was reaching into the baggie, closing off my only route of escape.  I backed further into the sandwich instinctively, not even realizing the peril in which I was placing myself.

 I could hear the usual chatter that goes on at lunchtime.  It was eerie, even though I'd had months to get used to it, hearing people do their thing, completely unaware of my existence...but it was still odd.

 The sandwich was lifted.  This was bad, I realized.

 I could see the woman's mouth opening to take a bite.  I cringed as mountainous teeth crashed together, as giant lips enfolded the room-sized bite of food.  Fortunately, the bite came from six feet to my right, and that gave me a chance.

 I bounded forward, diving off the edge of crust, hoping I'd alight safely somewhere-anywhere.

 I fell down, the woman's light summer dress passing by dizzily until I finally impacted on her right leg.  It hurt a lot, although not as much as getting eaten, I figured.

 Gingerly, I stood up.  I needed to find a safe port, but I wanted to stay with this woman, who was chewing on her sandwich and making small talk five hundred-some feet above me.

 I saw that she had a breast pocket.  It would be a long climb, but fabric is easy to climb.  So I slowly began my ascension.

 I was still climbing when the teacher left the room, but that was okay.  I had a handle on things, so to speak, and I was just below her left breast by the time her next class started.

 After not too much longer, I managed to tumble down into her pocket.  It was relaxing in here--I could feel her firm-soft breast rise and fall with each breath, feel her heart thumping.  It didn't take me too long before I fell asleep.

 
 I awoke several hours later.  I quickly climbed out of the woman's pocket, and saw that we were at dinner.  I looked across the table, and a handsome, if gigantic man was saying something.

 Now, don't get me wrong, I don't mind giant men; they kind of come with the territory, and as long as I'm tiny, I'm going to keep running into them.

 Still, I don't much care for giant men, and I hoped that this dinner wasn't a precursor for later activities.

 I looked down, down, down, and saw an enormous diamond on a ring of gold, encircling the ring finger on the left hand of my hostess.  So this was her fiancee?  Not good.

 I looked up, though, and saw that the look on the man's face was not happy, but serious-dead serious.  And I realized that the w oman was breathing quickly, unevenly.   I listened.

 "MELINDA, LOOK, I LOVE YOU, BUT I CAN'T BE THE KIND OF HUSBAND YOU NEED-"

 "I DON'T CARE, JEFF, I LOVE YOU.  IT DOESN'T MATTER IF YOU'RE TRAVELING FOR YOUR JOB, I..."

 "I'M NOT THE GUY, MELINDA, I'M NOT.  I LOVE YOU TOO MUCH TO HURT YOU--AND I WILL, IF WE GO AHEAD WITH THIS."

 I dove back in the pocket, not listening to the rest of the conversation.  They deserved privacy, and besides, my head was ringing.  What a fool!  I mean, this girl loved him, and he was worried about not being around enough?  Work it out!  Figure out a way to keep her!  True love is rare, you can't throw it away.

 But he had, and I realized, as I felt Melinda running, that unless I took drastic action, I would too.

 I loved Sarah, right?

 Right.

 And she loved me, right?

 Right.

 Then none of it mattered.  My sullen decision of sixteen days ago was stupidity.  I would need to find her, somehow, tell her I was wrong, and hope she would take me back.

 If not, it was my own damn fault-but at least I'd go down swinging, not skulking out in the dark of First Ave.

 We were in the car again, and the woman was crying.  I decided not to reveal myself to Melinda; I'd simply go to school with her tomorrow, and try to find a PSEO kid, hitch a ride to the University of Minnesota.

 I did, however, make the mistake of waiting too long to escape Melinda's pocket.  Before I knew it, she was home, and the first thing she did was to pitch her dress into the hamper.

 And that's where I am.  It's plastic-lined, and it's tough to grab a hold of it to climb it--and I've tried all possible sizes.  But I'll get out soon enough, and then I'll find Sarah.

 I hope it's not too late.

* * *

Sarah Kensington
Annie's Parlor
Dinkytown
Minneapolis, Minnesota

 
 Kyle really isn't that bad a guy, I guess.

 He's no Scott, but he was friendly enough, and he recommended Annie's Parlor for a first date, and it's got good malts.

 He's no Scott, but Scott left me.  Maybe I will take his parting advice.

 And maybe not.

 But Kyle's a pretty nice guy, funny and interesting.

* * *

D.X. Machina

 I lay on Teri's stomach, tired and hazy, and happy beyond my wildest dreams.

 I knew that, sooner or later, I'd have to break this happy spell, but for now, I rested in this Idyllic place.

 Time would march on in its usual way; I was just happy that its march had carried me here.