Chromosome Quest Read online

  Returning to the email inbox, I checked the residual spam and started deleting it. As the spam dropped into the bit-bucket, the next message popped into view. With a sharp intake of breath, I saw it again. “Are You A Boob?” stared at me. Again. Angrily, I deleted the email!

  Cursing a universe that allows such cons and hucksters to prey on the vulnerable, I exited email and headed over to my Social Media page to see what social inequity has Cyberspace in a twitter today. I paged through the usual postings of lost pets, cute kids, ribald jokes, cat videos and religious exhortations. Still fuming slightly at the persistence of that ad, and more particularly, annoyed at myself for chasing that nude woman like a sex-starved idiot, I tried to relax as I watched a few cat videos, wishing my current situation was more conducive to owning a pet.

  Cats are not as a rule considered the manly pet, dogs being considered more masculine by some. I have had many dogs and almost as many cats. Both make terrific companions, in different ways and for various reasons. I would have one of each if I could. Unfortunately, at the moment I can't support myself, much less a companion.

  The comical cat left me laughing out-loud as the clip ended, and I returned to the home page still shaking silently at the animal antics. A new posting had appeared while I watched the video, and once again, I saw red as the annoying “Are you a Boob?” glared at me from the screen.

  Was the universe sending me a message? Is there some reason I keep seeing this ridiculous advertisement everywhere I turn. Am I a boob? Duh.

  We've already established that!

  With sudden resolve, I checked the time. Early afternoon! I still have time to get to the bottom of this, find out what sort of scam is in play. I secured the computer and charged out the door, energized by a sudden purpose.

  I determined to penetrate whatever fraud they are perpetrating, and perhaps blow the doors off that run-down den of thieves by calling in the cops to bust em.

  I found myself out the door, down the street, striding energetically, purposefully heading back toward the derelict store-front I had paused in front of earlier.

  I didn't know the mysterious red-haired woman was behind the advertisement and whatever con they were running. In fact, I had nothing whatever linking them. Somehow, intuitively, I connected them in my mind, perhaps for no other reason than I had been reading the ad when I first saw her.

  I wondered, was I going back to the dilapidated storefront in search of revenge for a supremely annoying advertisement, or pursuit of a possible job opportunity I desperately needed? Or was I hoping to encounter her there? I had no reason whatever to think she might be present, but I can't shake the idea she is somehow connected.

  After a few minutes of brisk walking, I found myself staring anew at the dilapidated storefront with its boarded up window. “Are you A Boob?” scrawled in red, once again stared at me from the plywood. A line of hapless souls stood in front of the sign, queued up in front of the door. Had they too followed my white rabbit. Are we all just a bunch of horny losers chasing a piece of fantasy tail. Or is it just a more mundane case of job-hungry people chasing down an advertisement that promised employment at high pay? My mind insisted the latter was the case. Still, I wondered.

  Men were queued in front of the storefront and down the sidewalk. At least fifteen men of various descriptions waited in front of the building, and there was no way to know how many were inside. A few women stood in line too. Not that surprising, I suppose. Gender-specific employment is a minefield of social-justice legal technicality and in our increasingly litigious society, who knows what motives a woman might have in applying for a job advertised for a man. Besides in these days of transgender acceptance, who can be confident of a stranger's sex short of a DNA test? You can’t trust your eyes.

  Chromosomes seldom lie!

  A few of those in line did not meet the criteria listed in the ad, even ignoring gender. Someone barely over five feet tall weighing in at 300+ pounds could hardly be described as “Tall, Healthy and Physically Fit” could they?

  The line was moving slowly. In fact, it didn't seem to be advancing at all when I arrived. I took my place at the end of the line and stood placidly, awaiting my turn. Though calm on the outside, on the inside I was seething, not so much angry at those running this circus side-show, as at myself for allowing myself to fall sucker, falling in spite of my best resolution for whatever scam was in the offing. I had pegged it as a waste of time when I first saw the ad and nothing I had yet seen suggested otherwise. But here I was, quietly standing in line, obediently queuing up for whatever sadistic game might be in the works, ready to become the butt of whatever practical joke was in play. Casually, I surveyed the scene for candid cameras.

  I occupied myself studying my fellow applicants. Every few minutes the door would open, and someone would exit. From their body language – the drooping shoulders, the slow shuffle – rejection was in the air. The time between each exit was long enough to convince me that a significant test or evaluation was taking place within. Even specimens that fell far short of the announced criteria seemed to be turned out at the same rate as anyone else. It seems no one, no matter how far they diverged from the stated profile was rejected out of hand. Whatever test they were administering, it appeared to be applied equally to all. The social-justice warriors would be pleased.

  When I first arrived, a stout fellow close to my height and build had been at the head of the line. A few minutes later someone exited, and then that fellow disappeared inside. I tried to note the other candidates as they entered, that I may compare them to those who exit. I strove to estimate how long the process might take.

  An hour passed. Six candidates exited, and six new applicants entered. The pace seemed to be consistent at one every ten minutes, as near as I could judge.

  Two hours went by. That first fellow had not reappeared. Neither had anyone who had entered behind him, but some dozen apparently failed candidates had emerged, and twelve who queued in front of me had gone in, keeping the average time to process a candidate hovering around the ten-minute mark. That did not seem very long, yet the line seemed to be moving very slowly.

  I surmised they were conducting the tests in parallel, every individual taking much more than ten minutes, but on average rejecting one every ten minutes. I watched to see if any came out in a different order than when they went in, thus suggesting a parallel process wherein individual candidates could require various evaluation times. I noticed each departing candidate had been escorted out by a short, chubby, balding little old guy, who appeared to be staff. After each was shown out, he would wave in the next hopeful.

  Two of those rejected had been women. Three men and three women were still outside, ahead of me, when the guy who had been at the head of the line when I arrived emerged. He too displayed the body language of rejection. Based on this, I estimated I had another hour to wait. He had seemed much closer to the advertised criteria, at least in appearance, yet appeared to have been rejected. I, therefore, did not consider my chances exceptional. I was close to blowing it off and going home, but having come this far and with no other pressing demands on my time, I resolved to stick it out.

  Sometime later there were two in front of me and a much longer line behind. The chubby little old guy appeared at the door, but he didn't escort anyone out, nor wave anyone in. He pulled out a tiny table and chair and sat down, pulled out a stack of cards, wrote some numbers on them as we watched. Twice he paused and counted noses. He pointedly avoided my gaze. I wondered why, and whether I should feel insulted.

  Clapping his hands for attention, he announced: “Everyone in line at this time is invited to return tomorrow.” Groans and grumbles arose from the line. “If you'd like to take a number to retain your place, we will take your application in order, starting tomorrow morning.”

  A few turned and stomped off grumbling. The rest of us queued in front of the table to take a number. Chubby cut me off along with the two in front of me, saying “Not You” and
pointed for us to return to our place in line. I had arrived here just in time to be today's very last candidate.

  While he was taking names and giving out numbers to the thirty or so candidates in line behind me, another departing candidate peeked out, glancing around as if uncertain. Without glancing up from his cards, chubby waved him on out. A few minutes later, this repeated as yet another discarded candidate appeared. Again, chubby waved him out and turned back to his cards. The two in front of me looked around as if expecting an invitation. Chubby waved a hand at them and told them to go inside and wait if they wished, he would be along shortly to get them started. They entered, leaving me standing alone at the door.

  After a few moments, chubby put away his cards, his pen and folded his chair and table. Then he turned to me, and said, “Come on Fitz, we may as well get you started too, we have a lot of promises to keep and miles to go before we sleep.” Taken aback, I wondered how he had known my name. I hadn't so much as said hello to anyone since I arrived!

  Precipice

  We entered the dimly lit storefront. My eyes adjusted, and I decided it wasn't quite as dimly lit as I had first thought, and it was much cleaner than I had expected from the exterior. We were in a small anteroom. The two who had been immediately in front of me were waiting there as well. One was a man, the other apparently a woman, although plain-looking, almost masculine. That she had applied to an advertised position explicitly calling for a male seemed odd, but our host seemed not to notice.

  After a few moments fussing around with the table, chair and cards and such, our host handed us each a small plastic pouch. He instructed “Remove all clothing, shoes, jewelry, piercings and anything similar, place them along with any phones, wallet and other items, in this bag. Write your name on the card and put it in the bag so that it is visible. Your possessions will be secure and returned to you when finished. Just drop the bag into that slot, and our staff will take care of it.

  “Think of this as a medical examination. Don't worry, your anonymity and personal safety are guaranteed.”

  The woman raised her hand. Our host nodded to her. “We are expected to undress here in front of strangers?”

  “Sorry,” He sighed, “Normally, candidates are processed one at a time, and I have more time to explain. I apologize. It's late, and we are all a bit tired. You three kinda bunched up on me at the end of the day. I wanted to get you all processed today. Forgive my shortcuts, the impatience of a crotchety old man. Perhaps I should have told you three to come back tomorrow, but I judged we could get you in and get you processed today if we hustled. If you'd rather not, you may come back tomorrow and be at the head of the line.”

  The woman turned as if to leave. Before she could do so, he stopped her and continued. “Perhaps I should explain that self-confident comfort in one's own skin is supremely relevant to the job. If you are selected, your post will involve continuous, total nudity, your own and that of many others in a social setting. If you join our team, you will live the next several months bereft of clothing. It is not for nothing that our advertisement stated 'comfort with one's own body' as a job requirement. Conducting the test with applicants nude in mixed company is part of the process, our way of weeding out those who might have a problem with the requirements.

  “Demonstrating comfort with nudity from this point forward is itself a test you must pass. If you are not comfortable in a nude environment, you may as well skip on out now and save us all some trouble. This is not for you!”

  The last phrase was delivered almost in a sing-song as if reading the recruitment ad. I suppose he was, in a way.

  He paused a moment, and seeing no further objections, continued. “Our doctor will examine you. There will be a simple blood test, a CAT scan, a brief examination of physical fitness, and an intelligence test of sorts. It is of utmost importance nothing be on your body that is not a natural part of your flesh. Jewelry and such can cause severe problems in the scanners. There are other reasons, too, which I will not explain. At least not unless you are selected.

  “Once the testing is complete you will be given a place to rest and wait a short time while we evaluate the results. Once we complete the evaluation, we will return your possessions to you, and you will be escorted out.

  “Unless you should be selected!

  “If selected, you will go straight from this office to your formal training at another facility. Nothing you brought here today will go with you. We will provide everything you need there. You will live, train and work at multiple remote locations for several months, at the end of which you will return here, all your possessions returned, and you will be very well paid for your time away, and in addition, very handsomely rewarded if your project is successful. If you are not prepared to abandon your life here and now, this instant, leaving behind all your possessions, this is not for you.” Again, that slight sing-song lilt.

  With that, he turned on his heels and exited through the door without giving anyone an opportunity to raise further objections.

  My companions and I stood open-mouthed for a moment. Then after a brief hesitation we all three began undressing. I discretely turned to face the wall, keeping my eyes focused elsewhere, avoiding looking at the others. I sensed the others must be doing similarly.

  Personally, I have no fears or hangups about nudity. I have been to nude beaches in the area, and I am comfortable in my own skin, not overly shy about being 'caught' naked. Skin is skin, and we all have more or less the same amount of it. I have often observed nudes in the city, the Urban Nudists, the protesters undressing openly on the street and so on.

  I may have had concerns about some of their actions, their wisdom, perhaps even sometimes their appearance, but not simple nudity.

  Still, disrobing in public, in the presence of strangers can be daunting if you aren't expecting it. I wasn't.

  A few moments later – bare as the day I was born with all my possessions in this small plastic bag – I turned to face my companions. I was only mildly surprised to note the ostensible woman sported a member as masculine as my own, jarringly out of place below hormone augmented, but nonetheless very feminine appearing mammaries.

  Like I said, Chromosomes seldom lie.

  Not my first rodeo, nor my first tranny, I thought as I crossed the room and inserted my bag into the slot in the wall, and my fellow adventurers followed my example and did likewise.

  As we steeled ourselves for the coming examination, I pondered the other aspect of the program. What would I be leaving behind if selected and were to depart here and now leaving all behind? Not much, I decided. A few items of spare clothing. An old and tired laptop. An unfinished novel I probably would never finish. A two-year-old Droid which was in the plastic bag I had just surrendered. Would it accompany me on my hypothetical travels, I wondered.

  It seemed not.

  My room is paid up for several months. I suppose if I don't return, my landlady will store my meager possessions for a while. After that, I don't know. Would someone call the cops and report me missing. Possible I suppose, but I doubt it. An orphan, I have no family, few friends, few acquaintances. I will worry about that if the time comes.

  We stood there, studiously ignoring each other's skin. Minutes later, after the last plastic bag hit the table behind the slot, a strange woman dressed in medical scrubs, a nurse I surmised, opened the door and called the name of one of the others. I wondered again how they knew his name. He entered, following her, and disappeared.

  My companion and I passed several minutes in silence. Finally, studiously avoiding the elephant in the room, I broke the stillness by casually remarking on the singular nature of this job interview, if that's what it was.

  My companion responded with a grimace. Then, ice seemingly broken, picked up the conversational thread and ran with it. “It seemed a good opportunity to start fresh, and I need a job. More scary in a way than I bargained for though. I hadn't anticipated the nudity requirement, but what the heck. I'm not gonna let that
be a problem. I don't hide who I am. It's never comfortable to be in a situation where you worry about the preconceptions and fears of others, but it has to be faced.”

  I nodded and responded, “I think today a lot of people feel a touch of hopelessness, for many reasons. Anything that promises adventure and a new life is attractive. I didn't anticipate the nudity requirement either, but it's not an obstacle. Other places may be more rigid, but people here in this city do not often get exercised over skin or lifestyle.”

  I continued, “Most urbanites these days are too preoccupied with their own troubles to spend time being upset over someone else's.”

  My companion was nodding agreement when the door opened, and the scrubs-clad nurse again appeared and motioned to my companion. Without ceremony, I was suddenly alone. Not merely alone, but alone in unfamiliar surroundings, and utterly, completely naked, without so much as a toothpick. Having surrendered my plastic bag to the slot in the wall, I found myself standing alone in an empty room, feeling more than a touch vulnerable.

  I had absolutely nothing whatsoever, just me, my very very tender skin and I.

  Falling

  I stood there, feeling vulnerable for many minutes. Perhaps it seemed longer than it was. Various thoughts flitted through my brain as I considered how many ways this could turn really dark. Am I the butt of some cosmic joke, or victim of some outrageous scam. I was a fool to place myself in this position. Will the cops find my abused, naked body in some alley? Time stretched, and my imagination became frenetic. Then the door opened again.

  The nurse motioned to me, and I stepped through the portal into a spartan interior room with a small desk occupied by an ordinary appearing laptop and, opposite that, an elevator door. Motioning to the elevator, she indicated the obvious. I stepped inside. There was a prominent handgrip, which I instinctively grabbed. The door closed, and the elevator went up. Or was it down. Maybe both. It moved and moved. It stopped. It shook. At one point it seemed to go sideways, then almost seemed to do a loop-the-loop. Maybe not, but still this was one odd elevator, I concluded. Perhaps it was merely a distraction, intended to disorient me. If so, it worked. I was glad I had grabbed that handle.