City of Angels

She grinned, laughed softly, walked to the stairs. She saw two more uniformed men turn below and climb quickly, she slid to one side, they nodded grimly and their expressions went even harder when the whistling went silent.

Kinsey, the history book, Janet's own thoughts, had all combined. She had her plan. Tomorrow. She knew how to create a signal, a beacon, for her mate. He would know it was her, where she was. He would come to her.

It was not without risks. Considerable risk. But that couldn't be helped. Her fate, her mate's, was to invite risk to survive. She smiled as she reached the ground floor and turned for the exit through which more uniformed men entered. She stepped sideways and gave them a clear path. Risk was part of life. They'd overcome it before. Would this time too.

For now, she would nourish this body in one of the many small places nearby that served food. Then she'd reverse her journey and return to her lair with her bounty of information.

Everybody Likes Riding the Bus

"Um, please, excuse me... could you move over? I'm tired and I'd like a seat."

The voice was... angry. No, not angry. But it would become so. Janet turned her head, saw a... woman. A woman. Middle aged. Yes, that was the term. Middle aged. Dark brown hair pulled up into a loose ball on top of her head, stray strands held by sweat against her neck in the July heat. The light blue cloth that covered her upper body exposed just over half of her upper limbs, sweat showed under those limbs. The muscles of her face were held taut, her eyes enlarged through clear lenses of glass held by black material in front of them.

"Oh, um, sorry," Janet slid over to the window seat, "I don't know where my head's at!"

The woman sat next to her and closed her eyes as Janet glanced at her. She exhaled slowly and deeply.

"That's all right, dear," the woman said softly as she turned her head slightly to meet eyes, "you look like you've had a hard day too."

Janet silently repeated the statement to herself, analyzed it. The woman's face, her body, had relaxed, muscles seemingly prepared for conflict quiescent, her challenge had not been meant to lead to mortal combat. She sat now, a bag made of some sort of animal hide on her lap, the lower half of her lower limbs exposed but wrapped in some fine, thin fabric, above that tubular cloth of a similar material but darker color to the upper covering. Like the bag the coverings on her feet were of an animal hide with short, flat spikes under her heels.

Janet's coverings were similar, but her upper body in a garment of white, her lower body covered by a tubular garment the same shape and color as the woman seated next to her. She had her own animal hide bag on her own lap, her legs covered by the same thin fabric, spiked coverings on her feet.

Smile, smile. Make each edge of the mouth on the face bend slightly upward, open slightly, but not too much. Don't bare teeth. Move head up and down slowly.

"Yes, ma'am," Janet said to the older woman, "hard day today. Could you tell me the date?"

The woman's face regained a minor percentage of its tenseness but quickly adopted a different expression, facial muscles relaxed but for those around her eyes, her mouth.

"It's July 11, dear, Thursday. One more day to the weekend."

"Thank you," Janet said. Yes, 'thank you' was appropriate. The older woman subtly shifted her body away, she must have some of her body over the edge of the seat. She looked forward, her hands gripped and ungripped at her animal hide bag.

Leather. Purse. Her leather purse.

Janet looked out the window, her query it seemed prevented further desire for conversation. She didn't mind. Conversation was... difficult.

The conveyance in which she was seated carried about 30 of these entities. They appeared dimorphic based on their bodily coverings and visible amounts of facial hair.

Good. That was good.

But.

She was Janet. She wasn't Janet, but she was. 'Janet' was the native sound that represented her. It would do. For now.

She'd arrived. She was in a body of pale skin, but nothing like the pale skin she'd been surrounded by before. The woman next to her had skin quite similar, most on this conveyance were like the two of them being pale through darkening shades of brown. Five, no six, further to the back had black skin, dark, utterly unlike anything she'd seen. Fascinating. Like the clothing, hair, another dimorphism. But, the black ones were also dimorphic to each other in clothing, hair. Intriguing.

All bipedal. Good. She hated working out extra limbs, strange postures.

Her hair was long. She could see it hang around her shoulders. It was a lovely red color. Clearly hair color variety was an ornamental feature of these... humans. Yes, humans.

She'd so recently seen only pale skin, dark hair, green eyes. So different here and those outside walking and in smaller conveyances carrying one or two humans. She'd seen some with smaller entities, smaller humans. Children.

Janet smiled at them. But it wasn't Janet's smile.

She'd made it. She was Janet. No, she was not Janet. Janet still existed. She would need Janet for a while. But the next bit would be the most dangerous. She needed to be alone. It was late in the day and these humans were presumably travelling to their lairs. She'd need to allow Janet enough control to find her way to hers but not so much she could alert authorities or alter her habits.

And that gave her hope. She knew Janet had a lair to herself. No mate. But she couldn't get there on her own, she couldn't delve that deep, that hard, here. Let others think her strange, like this human next to her. Her position was tenuous and were she to lose control she'd not have the strength to move again.

She would become Janet. Then. This was the world that had been in their sight. It was... large. Three billions of these humans. Their escape had been by necessity hurried, not perfectly attuned. But everything they'd learned said they'd not be pursued despite the damage, the carnage, they'd left behind.

For now.

But that still left no easy task. Billions. Janet was a human, a woman. Their word for a young-bearer. As always, her aim had been true.

She needed a man. Yes, man. His, yes, his, aim would be true too then. She just needed to find him.

Her man.

A First

Janet stood naked in front of the full-length mirror that was one side of the door in her tiny bedroom.

Her bedroom.

She'd collapsed onto the single bed once Janet had led her to the lair, a small space divided into three smaller spaces in a building made up of such lairs. Apartments. Apartment 3D.

Her sweat-soaked clothes, the 'dress', 'blouse', 'stockings', were discarded on the bed, on the floor. So many more sorts of cloth under those! The coverings of her feet, the 'shoes' had been left in the larger space before she entered this room. Her red hair was her favorite feature, she loved the color, the way it flowed in waves, although like her body it was full of sweat and not at its best.

She'd discovered that women, the child bearers, removed hair from under their upper limbs and from all of their lower limbs. Arms. Legs.

But not from between the legs. She pushed her fingers down her flat, sweaty abdomen into the hair, had found sensitive flesh hidden. She used the sweat-slickened fingers to circle the sensitive spot, had felt it grow, a tingle below and around that. She pushed her fingers down, separated the folds of flesh, her eyes slitted and she made a satisfied 'hmm' through her closed mouth with an exhale. She watched her body sway in the mirror, the bulge of her hips gave this body a pleasing symmetry.

Her other hand rubbed the large, firm, round globes on her chest essential to the symmetry, found the sensitive flesh at the front of each, these grew as well. Her fingers worked low and high, her breathing sped up, her mouth opened and her eyes closed, she felt a progressively higher level of pleasure, she pushed the body onward. She moaned as her pleasure plateaued, waves of feeling flowed outward from between her legs. Her balance wavered before she steadied, then took three deep, slow breaths before her eyes opened. She looked at the smiling reflection in the mirror.

You silly, stupid woman, Janet, that you object to this. Too bad. I'm Janet now. I won. You fought well, once the shock of arrival had worn off and we were in your lair, your place. You were strong. But not strong enough.

Why would you not bring yourself such pleasure as this?

Not with yourself. Not with others. Never.

Is that why you covered your body so, Janet? So many layers in this heat. No more. Not in her lair, her apartment. 3D. She preferred being uncovered and saw no reason to ever be any other way in here. But every human she'd seen outside had covered their bodies. She felt Janet's shudder at the thought of her skin being seen.

She needed more information about this world. Janet had been strong but, but blinkered. So much of the world of no interest. Like men. She wanted a mate, to bear young, but the mechanisms of that, physical mating, was outside of her knowledge.

Or even her interest.

Stupid woman. How do you get one without the other?

She sighed. She was used to having all knowledge at her fingertips with small electronic devices on which one could answer any question, talk to any other. Nothing like that in this tiny room, nor in the tinier room meant for bodily functions, to expel wastes, clean the body. That smallest room and much of the furniture elsewhere was familiar in its basic shapes. Not surprising given the gross similarities of her new and old hosts.

She opened the door and walked naked into the largest living space. She searched, a... a radio, on a stand in the corner. It brought sounds. But those could not be guided, it simply played whatever was sent. The room contained printed materials. On paper. So, quaint. Since Janet could understand this 'English' so could she now. But they appeared to simply be chronicles of light entertainment. She quickly analyzed pictures of women and men. Clothed. Partially unclothed at... beaches. The ocean.

She'd done well. Janet was young, twenty and a couple of the planet's revolutions, her body, face, hair, were favored by many, based on these entertainments. That would put her in good stead with her plans.

A mystery. She was in her prime. This Janet could've had her pick of fine mates.

Like the man, tall, well-muscled, even if sweaty and dirty, who'd whistled at her as she'd left the bus and had said 'looking good, red'. She'd tamped down Janet's instinct to threaten harm to the man. She'd smiled instead. Why not? Such could be of use to her. And this was the end of a, of a 'work' day, so all on the bus were like him to some degree or another.

She emptied Janet's purse, looked through more papers. One caught her eye. Los Angeles Public Library. A library. She smiled. In this world knowledge was still on paper, as it had been long in the past in the place from which they'd just escaped. She would find what she needed there.

There were green pieces of paper. 'Money'. This society required money. Janet acquired money with a job. 'Job'. Ok. The sun was not yet up, she had time before she needed to reverse yesterday's journey. On the bus. 'Bus'. They would give her money in return and she would give that money to others. For foodstuffs. To be allowed to remain in this lair. To acquire new coverings for her body.

But now, this body needed nutrition. Then she would need to feed. It had cost her much to absorb this Janet, but at the same time to preserve knowledge, skills, the ability to hide as her. To become her..

Janet had a nice stockpile of foodstuffs. That was handy. Nutrition for her body now. Then she'd go to this job and after that find prey. Then she'd feed.

Payday and Prey

It had taken her about 30 of what these humans called minutes to get to grips with this typewriter that would be her close companion for the near future. The language and the alphabet were unique to this world. In fact, as she understood it, to this district in which she and hopefully her mate had arrived, many others were used around this world. But the idea of using extremities that transmitted information into a device appeared to be another universal, like much in her lair. She was in a large chamber, where she and many other women all toiled at typewriters and transferred marks made by hand on paper to new paper.

Janet was of course an expert at this but it had taken a bit of practical experience to solidify the new connections in her now-much-improved brain to the improved dexterity in her extremities. Though built from an entirely distinct genetic base these humans didn't differ in gross physical structure from her and her mate's most recent hosts, that had eased her transition. It was a surprise, a pleasant one.

Janet worked in a 'studio', this was where the entertainments that were sent to radios and televisions were created. Janet and the other women typed scripts and such written by 'writers' for them.

But the studio also had a 'news' department. It gathered information and transmitted it to inform these humans about 'current events'. Janet had just finished a script for today's 'five o'clock news'.

"You're looking very nice this morning, Janet," she heard a woman's voice, soft, but with a kind of huskiness other women's voices had so far lacked. She looked up as an attractive woman approached. She was taller than Janet with a more slender build and lacked the large mounds, the breasts, and the round, broad hips that she had. Her face was thinner too, unblemished, her eyes not quite round but perfectly symmetrical, her hair very dark brown and cut short, not as severe as almost all of the men she'd seen, but well shorter than any other woman's. She was dressed similarly to Janet, a short-sleeve button-down cream blouse, a dark skirt that ended at the tops of her knees, just shorter than Janet's own. This woman's blouse did not fit snugly across her breasts like Janet's did.

And that had been a source of amusement earlier. Janet, the old Janet, still existed in a fashion, in a form that objected when it was clear only a bra was to be worn under the blouse. A layer of 'petticoat' had also been eliminated, only a thin silk slip under her skirt. Stockings and what she understood was a garter belt and 'panties' completed the outfit, along with heeled shoes. The objections had been noted. And ignored.

"Thank you... Marsha," Janet took the slightest pause to retrieve the name, a couple of women near Marsha's path showed expressions of challenge to this Marsha. Interesting.

She'd drawn from Janet a picture of her job and so had expected the crowd. She'd also dredged out that Janet was polite but these others called her 'standoffish.' That was good. She'd made polite gestures of greeting, it seemed universal that by simply echoing back what their own words and gestures allowed one to pass. At least initially. Janet hadn't expressed deep affection for any of her coworkers.

"I've never seen you wear this blouse, Janet," Marsha said as she stopped to stand alongside the seated woman, she reached and took the end of the sleeve between a finger and thumb to rub it, Janet leaned slightly to allow her skin to contact the skin of the fingers. She'd found light contact was not frowned upon, had tested a few of the women, found none were good prey.

"It was in the back of the closet," Janet said, "it's a nice one for summer."

She didn't add the reason it was in the back. It had become too small and figure-revealing for the old Janet. Too bad. There's a new Janet running things now.

Janet turned slowly as the fingers maintained their contact. She reached up and used her other arm to run fingertips along Marsha's own sleeve end. Marsha seemed surprised but recovered quickly and Janet noticed a number of women around the room glanced quickly. They tried not to be obvious, but were clearly interested in this meeting. Janet's fingers brushed across Marsha's as the redhead released the other's blouse and lowered her hand.

The seated woman shivered. She smiled, tried to summon an expression of interest, of combination, but Janet, the old Janet, rebelled at the thought. It took her two heartbeats to recover, her control not yet perfect. Marsha had slightly withdrawn but Janet reached to make tentative contact again.

"You okay?" Marsha said softly.

"Quite," Janet said, slowed her breathing to a cadence that hopefully displayed calm, "just, well, just not quite myself. Need a change..."

"A change?"

The edges of Marsha's mouth quirked up.

"Would you like to come out with us after work? It's payday after all...," Marsha's voice started softly, dropped almost to inaudibility.

"Yes," Janet said, copied the soft tone, "I'd like that."

Marsha smiled, one last brush of her fingers on Janet's arm just below the sleeve end.

"I'll stop by about five, then, get ya?"

Janet smiled, nodded. Marsha smiled back, turned, continued in the direction she'd been going prior to their meeting. She heard wordless expressions full of unknown emotions, sharp ones, amongst a number of these other women. She stored those, she would need to understand their meanings, she'd need to be here a long time.

But. This Marsha. The old Janet did not, hmm, did not care for her. Marsha was wrong.

The touch had told her that this Marsha had never engaged in the breeding act. She had lain with many women. But never a man. That made her a creature of disgust to the old Janet. But Janet had never lain with a man either, nor with women. She needed to understand this. Confusing.

But for now, she knew all she needed. Marsha was a virgin. She was prey. And it was obvious Marsha wanted this Janet, would be easy to get close. She was perfect.

"Now this IS a surprise," said a man's voice, deep, smooth, a voice used to being heard.

Janet turned, saw a beautiful, no, a handsome man, this culture preferred that term, going by Janet's printed entertainments. Whatever word, he resembled many from those entertainments. He was in a blue suit, a white shirt, a red tie. His short brown hair had an almost countable number of grey hairs just at his temples. His face was firm, smooth, his facial hair only just showed. He held a stemmed glass with a conical bowl, a round seed of some sort in the clear liquid contained by the glass.

She and Marsha sat at a small table in a back corner of the bar they'd walked to, three blocks from their workplace. She recognised a few people she'd encountered during the day from other compartments, other floors. A couple of women had come by their table, spoken in light tones, but Marsha had warned them off in some subtle way. She would review all of this when she was stronger, was fed. Deduce the ways.

"Hello, George," Marsha said, "not working on a big story tonight? Out with us proles?"

His laughter was soft, clear, he pulled a rare free chair and sat, set his glass on the table.

"How DID you get this wonderful young lady out? I never thought I'd see the day," he said as he smiled at Janet, then at Marsha, "you're a magic worker, Marsha."

Janet smiled back, she sipped at her glass of chilled, nearly clear "white" wine. She didn't need to hunt for Janet's opinions on both that and this George. The scream, if these others could've heard it, would've been clear blocks away. George was one of the 'on air' personalities for the studio in which they all worked, the old Janet had on occasion typed up his scripts but she recalled no such today.