While Zeck crouched down in his hovercar in terror, Wes looked up and shook his head.  “Marigold must have grown again,” he said.  “She doesn’t know her own strength.”

Wes turned to Zeck.  “If you’re ready, Zeck, I’ll take you out to meet your tour guide for today.”

Zeck nodded, still somewhat stunned by what had happened.  Gingerly, Wes picked up the hovercar with Zeck in it and walked out the door.

Sarah was already outside, grinning up at the most enormous giantess Zeck had ever seen.  The towering figure was well over 200 meters tall.  She was also even more zaftig than any of the giantesses he had seen, and by far the most beautiful.  There was a similarity in appearance to Sarah, but Zeck thought it to be no contest; this new giantess, apparently named Marigold, was easily the most lovely woman he had ever seen in his life.

“Eight-Mama!” Marigold said, stretching her arms toward Sarah, who was less than half her height.

“Marigold!  Give your eight-mama a hug!” Sarah said.  Marigold scooped the smaller giantess up and hugged her tightly.

After Sarah was again on her feet, she looked at Zeck.  “I’m so glad people are big enough to give me a proper hug,” she said.  “Of course, the best was the first, when Wesley grew, but the hugs from the descendants are … really special.”

Zeck realized that Sarah was speaking in her full voice.  It hit him that she was at a slightly greater distance from him, and that there was no reverberation of sound off the interior walls.  She had taken that into account, something that probably came from centuries of practice in dealing with standards.

But then Zeck looked back up at Marigold.  He felt his heart pounding in his chest as he watched breasts as big as hills moving with her chest as she breathed.  The cascade of golden hair that flowed over her shoulders was more than 100 feet long.  He felt his knees growing weak.  He found he couldn’t look away.

“Eight-Papa!” said Marigold.  “And I know you from your web casts, Mr. Runyan.  Pleased to meet you.”

Zeck tried to form words, but found he couldn’t.

Marigold giggled.  “Oh, dear,” she said.  “I’m sorry.  I seem to be … overwhelming you.”

Zeck tried again to form words, but still couldn’t.

Wes smiled.  “Sorry, Zeck,” he said.  “You’re experiencing a phenomena standards sometimes have around our people -- especially standard men around giantesses.  If the giant finds the standard person in any way attractive, they may unconsciously send out pheromone signals, and those signals can be quite … overwhelming to standards.”

Zeck was starting to pull himself together.  He looked up at Marigold. “So, this is because you find me … attractive?  Cute?  Handsome?”

Marigold giggled again.  “Yes,” she said.  “All of the above.  Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Zeck said.  “The feeling is mutual.”

Marigold blushed.

An alarmed glance passed between Sarah and Wes.  “Wes, with her condition --” Marigold said.

Wes raised his free hand.  “I know,” he said.  He looked up at Marigold, “Sunny, are you sure this is a good idea, for you to give Mr. Runyan a tour today?  I mean, the surges --”

“I know the risks, Eight-Papa,” Marigold said.  “It won’t hurt if I have a surge or two.  And, besides, I didn’t recommend Mr. Runyan to you just because he was cute.  I really think he’s a good reporter and will do well with covering this.  You watched and read his work and agreed.”

“True enough,” Wes said.  “Well, Zeck, if it’s all right with you, Marigold will give you a tour of the community, then we’ll continue the interview here.  Sarah and I are going to prepare some of our food for you -- Don’t worry, it won’t make you grow into a giant or anything, and we don’t eat standards.  We’re still human, so that would be cannibalism.”

Marigold leaned down over Wes, her hair surrounding the two men, her face blocking the sky.  She smiled an irresistible smile.  “So, what do you say, Mr. Runyan?”

“Zeck,” he said.  “And, yes, I’ll go with you.”

Marigold smiled.  “Call me Marigold,” she said.  “Would you mind riding on my shoulder without your car?   My shoulders are big enough you’ll be in no danger, and it’ll be easier for me.”

“Sounds fine,” said Zeck.  Sarah looked worried momentarily, then consciously relaxed her face as much as she could.

Gingerly, Marigold held out a finger to Wesley, who wasn’t as tall as Marigold’s knees.  Wes had Zeck climb over to Marigold’s fingertip.

The 200-meter-plus woman stood up slowly.  “I don’t want the force of my movement to hurt you,” she said.  Then she held her fingertip to her shoulder, allowing Zeck to climb onto it.   He grabbed hold of a flap of the linen jumpsuit she wore, noticing that there seemed to be far more buttons and snaps on it than he had seen on those of other giants in the community.

“Well, we’ll be off,” Marigold said.

“See you in a couple of hours,” Wes said.   “Have fun!”

“But not too much fun,” added Sarah, the worried look back on her face.

As Marigold walked away, Zeck said, “So, you can hear me?  Most giantesses are too big to hear standards.”

“A few of us have been given the gift of sensitivity,” Marigold said.  “We can hear things and have levels of senses of touch and movement that allow us to interact with standards.  I happen to be one of those.”

“Standards?”

Marigold nodded as she walked.  “We have to call the people in the outside world something.  Calling you ‘normals’ would imply that we’re abnormal, but this is normal to us.  To call you ‘tinies’ or ‘little people’ or anything like that implies that you’re somehow less than us, but we believe that all humans are equal in the sight of God, no matter their size.  Even calling you ‘outsiders’ implies that either you or we are somehow alien to each other.  So, we went with ‘standards’ for a name that has no negative connotations either way.”

“That makes sense,” Zeck said.   “Is everything in your culture so reasoned out?”

“At our scale, we have to plan ahead and think things through carefully,” Marigold said.  “If we don’t look out for each other and think things through, it becomes harder to operate, to simply function.”

“Ok, I have some questions of a more personal nature,” Zeck said.  “You called Wes and Sarah “eight-papa” and “eight-mama.”  I’ve never heard those terms among standards.”

“Simple,” Marigold said.  “They’re my great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great- grandparents -- eight greats.  As long as we live and as many children as we can bear, we just condensed it to save time.  My ancestor, Faith Hope Bell Myers, is my seven-mama.  My children will call Wes and Sarah nine-papa and nine-mama.”

“Simple and practical,” Zeck said.  And your eight-papa called you ‘Sunny.’  Why Sunny?”

“Oh, that,” Marigold said. She smiled coyly, an enormous finger flipping her golden hair off her colossal ear.  “It’s his nickname for me.  When I started getting really tall, he would joke that I was named for the wrong flower.  With my blond ‘crown’ rising for the sky, he said I was more like a sunflower, so he called me Sunflower.  Later, that got shortened to ‘Sunny.’”

“Sunny.  I like it,” Zeck said.

“Marigold giggled.  “He’s the only one who calls me that,” she said.  “But from you it sounds good.”  Her cheeks blushed slightly, something her scale made obvious to Zeck.

“But I’m surprised at the analogy,” Zeck said.  “To your people, sunflowers would be about my size.  They hardly reach for the sky.”

“Oh, don’t they?”  Marigold said.  She turned off the path she’d been on and strode past two buildings to a patch of sunflowers that were nearly as tall as she was.  Zeck’s jaw dropped at the sight as she said, “We grow them for the seeds as a food source.”

“But how do they get so big?” Zeck asked.


“Well, it’s a little embarrassing in your culture,” Marigold said.  “Our bodily waste turns out to be a super-fertilizer for some plants, so we use it to grow the food we need -- including sunflower seeds.”

“Well, it’s eminently practical,” Zeck said.  “So, how many of you are taller than the sunflowers?”

Marigold stopped smiling,” Just me,” she said.

Sensing something important, Zeck asked, “Marigold, how tall are you?”

Marigold sighed.  “Today, 681 feet,” she said, “and I’m still growing.”

“How tall is the next tallest person?”

“That’s my cousin, Kimberly,” Marigold said.  “She’s 624 feet tall.”

Zeck looked up at the titanic beauty.  “That’s quite a difference,” he said.

“Believe me, I know,” Marigold said.  “See, I have this … medical condition that few of us have had in the last two generations that’s making me keep growing.  All the others have stopped.  Me, well …”

“Do you not want to talk about it?”

Marigold smiled a sad smile.  “Actually, I think people worry about it too much.  And that includes Eight-Mama Sarah.  After all the growing she did, she worries about me growing so much.  That was how God made her.  This is how God made me.  And I don’t believe God made me wrongly.”

Zeck smiled, looking down from Marigold’s shoulder at the massive sunflowers below him.  “Well, from what little I’ve seen, I think you’re a pretty special woman,” he said.  “And, by the way, the ‘Sunflower’ nickname?  It doesn’t do you justice.  If you’ll forgive me saying so, I think you’re far more beautiful than this whole patch of sunflowers, or any other flowers I’ve ever seen.”

“Really?” Marigold said, looking at the reporter on her shoulder with wide eyes.

Zeck smiled up at her.  “Absolutely,” he said.  “In fact, it’s probably unprofessional of me to say this, but I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

Smiling, Marigold swallowed hard.  “Thanks,” she said.  “You … You’re even more handsome in person than on your webcasts.”

“That’s good to hear from anyone, and better from you,” Zeck said.

Suddenly Zeck heard a noise like a dozen trains highballing by at once, and what seemed to be an earthquake beneath him.  He dropped to lie flat on Marigold’s shoulder, fearing an temblor.