Darrell Bain & Jeanine Berry - Gates 01 - The Sex Gates

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The Sex Gates

ISBN: 1-894841-32-8

First Edition eBook Publishing January 25, 2002

Dedication:

To my son Allan, the bulletproof man.

Darrell Bain

To my husband Pat, who helped me achieve my dreams.

Jeanine Berry

BOOK I

MARS

Chapter One

All our lives changed forever the day the gates appeared. They brought riots, chaos, and war, and

eventually they changed the future of the human race.

But for ordinary people—for my friends and me—the gates brought an awesome choice—whether or

not to go through.

***

That day, I was walking down the street on the new North Houston college campus with two of my

friends, Don Wesley and Russell Borderlon, and my girl, Rita Hernandez. None of us suspected that the

world was about to change. It was a Sunday, during spring break, and unusually cold weather for Texas

had cleared the skies of their normal polluted haze. We were on our way back home after eating lunch at

the campus beanery. The food there wasn’t anything to brag about, but it was convenient and came with

the tuition, so we all ate there a lot. Besides none of us were very good cooks.

The campus was almost deserted because of spring break. Most of the students were gone, heading

down to Galveston or Corpus Christi. The ones who could afford it, and didn’t mind the risk, flew to

Mexico.

Those of us who remained were enjoying a lazy Sunday. Don and Russell were walking in front of Rita

and me. Russell had his palm computer out and was arguing with Don over some physics problem. I was

saying something I have long since forgotten to Rita, using it as an excuse to blow in her ear.

I heard a gasp from Russell.

“Hey! I’ll be goddamned!” Don said.

I looked up just in time to keep from bumping into them.

A gate had materialized almost on top of us. It appeared on the grassy lawn at the east corner of the

campus, adjacent to Romania Street where we always turned when going home from the cafeteria.

Russell later told me that its appearance was instantaneous as far as he could tell. One moment there was

only grass and a paved street in front of us, and the next moment the path was blocked by the gate, a

glowing green arch darkening to dull turquoise inward from the edges and toward the space in between.

Though it was only about twenty feet high and maybe ten feet across at its base, we were so close it

seemed to tower over us.

We untangled ourselves and stood gaping up at it in amazement.

“Where on earth did that come from?” Rita demanded. She stared up at the gate with huge black eyes as

wide open as a frightened owl.

I was frightened, too. Years of reading science fiction told me that the gate was clearly alien. I slipped a

protective arm around her waist.

“It came out of nowhere,” Don said, awed. “I almost ran into it.” He stood with his hands on his hips,

head tilted to one side as if he were examining a blackboard problem in one of his math classes.

“Impossible.” Russell shoved his handheld computer back in his pocket. He glared at the gate as if it

were defying some natural law.

“It did!” Don repeated.

“What in Christ is it?” Rita asked. I could feel her shivering inside the circle of my arm. She crossed her

own arms against her chest in a defensive posture, flattening her breasts into the crook of her elbows.

“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out,” Don said. This was typical. He tended to view life as nothing

more than a complex math problem he could solve with a minimum of effort if he could only find the right

approach. He took a step toward the gate, hands outstretched.

“Don, don’t! It might be dangerous.” Even as he spoke, Russell reached out to grab the back of Don’s

windbreaker.

He was too late. Don was already walking forward. Three quick steps brought him into the edge of a

faint nimbus extending from the darker turquoise inner portion. For a second I could see him there,

frozen, one leg lifted for the next step. Then he disappeared as abruptly as a popped soap bubble.

“Don! Come back!” Rita screamed. She broke free of my arm and took a step forward.

For a second I froze, stunned by the sight of Don vanishing. Then my body reacted, and I grabbed Rita,

catching the belt of her toga. I yanked her backward just as she reached the edge of the nimbus where

Don had disappeared.

Rita stumbled and fell against me, and I held her tight, frightened at how close she’d come to that strange

haze. She pressed her hands to her face in horror, her eyes wide with panic.

“Let me go!” Her voice rose in a panic as she struggled to get free of my grip. Her

coffee-and-cream-colored complexion paled to a sickly yellowish gray, draining all the beauty from her

face.

I shook her. “Rita, calm down! We’re okay.”

“This is impossible—Don has to be here!” Russell’s dark blue eyes glittered with curiosity. Keeping well

away from the entrance, he began edging around the side of the arch, as if by stepping off its dimensions

he could measure it and assign it to a category within the physics he loved so much.

“Omigod!”

That scream was a startled soprano voice. It came from the other side of the arch. Some other woman,

as frightened as Rita, was losing control.

That thought lasted only a second. The voice came again, louder and shriller, with an overtone of

horrified surprise. “My God, what’s happened to me? My God! Lee! Russell! Where are you?”

Russell and I both bolted around to the other side of the arch. On edge, it was less than ten feet wide.

Three or four quick steps and we were around the corner. Russell pulled to a hasty halt and I ran full tilt

into him.

My momentum knocked us both to the ground. I rolled over and found myself flat on my back staring up

at a totally naked woman. She stood a foot away from my head, her legs spread apart as if she needed

all the support she could get to stay standing. Her head was bent and she was clutching both her breasts,

staring at them as if they were two strange parasites suddenly attached to her body. A mass of curly

brown hair blew around her shoulders.

I stared, fascinated. It wasn’t her nudity that grabbed my attention, as you might expect, but the

horror-struck expression on her face. She raised her head, looking bewildered, like a child too young to

understand who had just caught a glimpse of her distorted reflection in a funhouse mirror.

“My God!” Her hands left her breasts and began scrabbling through the bushy triangle of brown hair

between her thighs in a frantic search. As she looked down, she noticed me lying at her feet.

“Lee! What’s happened to me?” Her voice broke. Suddenly she moaned and hunched up, trying to

cover both breasts and pubic area with her arms and hands.

Russell was already standing up again, starting at the strange woman with his mouth open.

I heard another sharp intake of breath and looked up to see Rita standing on my other side. Her eyes

were still wide with fear, but I knew seeing another woman in distress would distract her from her own

worries. Rita was usually a picture of calm competence, and her life was dedicated to helping other

people. Seeing a naked woman in front of her, she snapped into action. “Lee, get up and give me your

jacket,” she said, beginning to peel hers off.

The woman was muttering to herself as if she were about to lose it, but Rita was accustomed to

encountering strange behavior as a psychology major. Now she calmly ignored the eerily glowing gate

behind her and walked up to the naked woman, holding out her jacket.

I got to my feet and shucked out of my own jacket while she was wrapping hers around the woman’s

hips. She grabbed mine and threw it over the woman’s shoulders.

Meanwhile, Russell continued to stare at the woman with amazement. “Don? Is that you?” He moved

forward, as cautious as a cat approaching an unknown danger.

“It’s me. I’m Don. Oh, Lord love the pope, look what that thing did to me.”

“Lord love the pope” was one of Don’s favorite expressions. I should know. He was my best friend,

closer than my brother. I must have heard him say those words a million times in the past few years.

I was still stunned, but hearing “Lord love the pope” come from the woman’s mouth made me start to

believe; that is, if we weren’t dreaming the whole thing. Besides, I was beginning to notice that this

woman resembled Don, in the same way that Don’s eighteen-year-old sister might have.

Rita looked worried. “Well, we can’t stand here. Whatever this thing is, it’s dangerous. Let’s get her to

your house, Lee, then figure it out. Come on, dear.” She grabbed the woman’s hand, tugging her away

from the gate.

“Don’t call me ‘dear,’ damn it. I’m a man!” Don, if that’s who it was, pushed Rita away. She hadn’t had

time to zip up the jacket and the violent shove made her breasts pop up. If she was a man, you sure

couldn’t prove it by her anatomy.

The sight of those round breasts seemed to break Russell out of his trance. “Please, I’m not sure who

you are, but we need to get away from this thing before it grabs someone else. If you come with us, we’ll

take care of you.”

The woman clutched the jacket closed again and with a reluctant nod went along with Russell and Rita as

they started back to my house. She didn’t say anything else as we walked along. She seemed to be

concentrating on her walking, like a neophyte sailor on her first cruise in choppy seas. Her eyes were the

same dark brown as Don’s but they appeared glassy, as if she were coming out from a heavy doping

session.

The few students we saw were all shouting and running in the opposite direction, toward the new gate. I

looked back over my shoulder, half expecting it to be gone, but it was still there. Already a small crowd

was gathering, coming from all directions. There was little traffic on the street, and the few strollers we

passed on the sidewalk were staring ahead at the gate. Besides, they were used to seeing students in odd

raiment; probably they thought the girl with the jacket tied around her hips by the sleeves and another

hanging over her shoulders was the victim of a new clothing fad.

Rita stayed close to this stranger who claimed to be Don while Russell and I hung back. Russell didn’t

say a word to me—he was too deep in thought. Well, I was thinking too, but I doubt my thoughts were

as profound as Russell’s. Mostly, my mind circled round and round one incredible idea: was it possible

that weird green arch could change a man into a woman?

It sounded like a wild science fiction tale, one I would read in a book but never expected to see

materialize right before my eyes. My mind kept replaying the picture of the gate appearing out of

nowhere, but my astonished disbelief refused to vanish. It wasn’t possible.

As I watched the woman struggling to walk, I felt a pang of guilt at my relief that it was Don who had

gone through the gate rather than me. How would I react if it sucked me in and turned me into a woman?

I didn’t want to pursue that thought. Fortunately, I didn’t have to, as my house came into view, sitting like

a sanctuary on its spacious corner lot, and we turned into the drive.

I rented this house, which was a post-Millennium modular located only a few blocks from the college

campus. It was solid on the outside, but it was easy to rearrange the rooms on the inside. Don and

Russell lived there with me, and I’d spent the past several weeks trying to talk Rita into moving in too.

I told the door to open, and Rita hustled the girl into Don’s bedroom. Russell snapped out of his reverie

as we entered, and we both headed straight for the bar at the far end of the great room. This room was

comfortably furnished with a couple of loungers and the two wall screens that connected us to the media

and the web.

I don’t usually drink much, but I still kept the bar well stocked for parties and for the others in the house.

Russell hardly drank at all, but he didn’t object when I poured us both a double shot of Jack Daniels and

dropped a couple of ice cubes into the glasses. We sat down on the little lounger and propped our feet

up, trying to pretend we weren’t straining our ears at mumbled sounds coming from the bedroom. I

couldn’t make out what Rita and Don were saying, other than a strained curse or two from the strange

young woman claiming to be Don.

I leaned back in my chair, already aware that the life I had known until now was about to change forever.

Before the arrival of the gates, I was more or less a perpetual student. I had already earned degrees in

journalism and biology at North Houston College, but I was still taking undergraduate courses (all that

were offered at North Houston at the time) in psychology, business, sociology and anything else that took

my fancy.

It probably sounds like I was leading a spoiled life of leisure, doing as I pleased, while other students had

to struggle after the last of the federal loan programs were cancelled. I have my grandfather to thank for

that.

My grandfather, Mosby Stuart, was an eclectic jack-of-all-trades who was relatively uneducated but

self-taught in a number of subjects, most notably electronics. My parents claim I take after him. My dad

described him as a visionary, a dreamer who wandered all over the South for years, seeking a niche and

dragging his family along with him while he looked. He finally found a place for himself during the

electronics explosion back before the Millennium, making his fortune designing software for some of the

early computers.

He retired to eastern Texas where he spent a lot of time sitting in front of the keyboard or browsing

through his vast library. Dad used to tell me stories of how Grandpa and Grandma argued over all the

space the books took up in the house, especially his collection of science fiction, which I later inherited.

That was before e-books became wildly popular, of course.

I wish I had known him better, but Dad was in the military while I was growing up, and we didn’t get

back to Texas that often. Grandpa was a Civil War buff, and Dad told me I was named after Grandpa’s

favorite general, but only after Grandpa promised a hefty donation to the disabled veterans of America,

Dad’s favorite charity. Mom and Dad had a disagreement about whether to call me Jackson or Lee, or

so I heard from my older brother, Derek. Mom won, because as far back as I can remember everyone

has called me Lee.

Grandpa and Grandma were killed in a car crash while I was still in my teens. Grandpa’s will left his

house to my Dad. Each of us kids got a trust fund. I started drawing my annuity on my eighteenth

birthday, a few months before I was ready to start college. For a young kid, it was more than enough. I

was able to afford the rent on a four-bedroom home off campus, a new car every couple of years, and

still had plenty left over to enjoy life.

Rita was the greatest joy of my life in North Houston. I had originally chosen to go to that college

because it was close to my family. Mom and Dad had moved into Grandpa’s house only thirty miles

further north on the NAFTA highway. In the two years before I started college, I grew to love that old

place and the piney woods it was set in, a few miles out from the little town of Ruston. Now, with Rita in

my life, I had a whole new reason to love living in Texas.

Russell and I had time to finish our drinks before Rita and the strange woman came out of the bedroom.

The woman was dressed in a pair of loose slacks and one of Don’s shirts. Her face wore a stunned

looked, but the dark brown eyes were all-too familiar. They were Don’s eyes.

“I could use one of those,” Rita said, spotting the glass in my hand. She left the woman sitting on the

large lounger while she made them both a drink.

Don—to make things easier, I’m going to call the woman Don for the time being—slugged his down and

then doubled over in a fit of coughing.

“God,” he finally said in a strangled voice when the coughing stopped. “That burnt my throat. What did

you put in there?”

“The usual.” Rita gave him a worried look. “If that body is brand new, maybe it’s never tasted liquor

before. Better take it easy.” She took the glass and made him another drink, but I noticed she added only

a bare minimum of liquor to the mix.

Don took a tentative slip and seemed to relax a bit. He—no, I guess I’d better call him ‘she,’ since her

body certainly left no doubt about gender—she finished what was in the glass, then sat slumped over as if

trying to hide her new breasts behind the oversized shirt.

I was still struggling to sort out my thoughts. Don had been my best friend for years. We enjoyed the

easy, comfortable friendship of two people who thought alike, were both crazy about science fiction,

played the same web games and helped each other in classes. Don was my tutor when I struggled with

math, and I helped him when he had to write a paper. We had grown close, almost like brothers. In fact,

many times I had found myself wishing he actually were my brother rather than the one I had. I had never

been comfortable around Derek, even when we were young. And since he had come out and told the

folks and me he was a transsexual, I hadn’t had much to say to him. Every time I thought about his claim

that he was a woman trapped in a man’s body, I became queasy.

Russell’s blonde eyebrows creased in a frown. He looked at Don, glanced away from where she sat, and

then forced his gaze back to her.

“Uh, Don, do you remember what happened to you when you went into that, uh, gate I guess we can call

it?”

“I don’t remember a damn thing. One second I was walking toward the arch, and the next thing I

remember is coming out on the other side like this.” She looked down at her body, then got up and

stalked over to the bar again. I couldn’t help notice how her hips swayed as she walked. I looked away,

taking a deep breath. This was crazy.

By this time I had abandoned the idea that I might be dreaming. The whole scenario was too clear and

defined, too logically linear once the basic assumption of that gate, as Russell called it, was stipulated. I

had two thoughts in rapid succession.

“How do we know you’re really Don?” That was the first one.

“Et tu, Brute?” She looked pained.

As much as I loved Don, I needed to make sure this was really him. Maybe I had read too much science

fiction, but I couldn’t help wondering if some strange force inside the gate had made an exchange.

The woman who claimed to be my best friend seemed to read my thoughts. She glared at me and

snapped out a few words like a challenge. “Willy’s Arcade. The redheaded stripper.”

I blushed, remembering the incident, and Rita turned to give me a curious stare. I had never told anyone

about that episode except Don.

She leaned close and whispered something to him. This time she blushed. She looked over at us. “She’s

Don, all right. I have to believe it now.”

“Don’t call me ‘she,’” Don snapped.

“I still say it’s impossible,” Russell said. “Something like this violates all the known laws of physics.

Maybe we’ve all been hypnotized or drugged.”

Rita shook her head, making her thick black hair dance around her shoulders. “I don’t think so. This isn’t

how hypnotism works.”

“How do you know?” Don got up and poured another two fingers of whiskey. She almost dropped the

bottle when she picked it up to pour. She was drinking way too much, especially if her body wasn’t used

to it, but I could hardly blame her.

“Remember, I took a course in clinical hypnosis last semester.”

Hypnosis hadn’t been my second thought, but it was close enough not to matter. “Suppose the, uh, entity

inside the gate stole your, or Don’s, thoughts and transferred them into another body?”

“I didn’t see any entity, and I’ll guarantee you I’m still me, even if I am in this fucking female body.” Don

slugged down his drink and endured another coughing fit. I couldn’t help notice how his breasts jiggled

with each cough.

Rita gave him an odd, almost angry stare. He should have known better than to say something like that,

but I guess I might have, too, under the circumstances.

“How can you guarantee that?” Russell said.

Don plunked her glass down on the bar, her soft red mouth trembling as she fought back tears. She

leaned away from the barstool she had been propping her arm on and wobbled a step or two toward the

bathroom. “Because I have to piss, God damn it, and I don’t know how!” Her features twisted and I

thought she was about to cry.

Rita rushed over and led her to the bathroom, keeping an arm around her waist.\

For a moment after they left, Russell and I sat in dead silence. Then Russell spoke up. “Hey I wonder if

there’s anything on the news about this?”

I don’t know why we hadn’t thought of that sooner.

“On!” I told the wall screen. The screen lit up and we were looking at a shot of a bright green arch. A

mob surged around it, held back by policemen. I noticed immediately from the buildings in the

background that it wasn’t the same gate we had seen on campus, not unless it had moved in the

meantime.

The volume came up and we heard a newscaster’s voice, shaking with emotion. “You are looking at the

gate that a young woman passed through shortly before police arrived. She vanished, but now a man

who appeared naked on the other side is claiming to be that same woman. He says his sex was changed

by the gate.”

And that, of course, is how the term sex gates came into being.

Chapter Two

While the news anchor was still blathering about “this unique event” and “awesome phenomena,” I

unhooked my phone from its belt latch and glanced at the charge. It still had almost twenty-four hours left

on it so I didn’t bother to plug in. I pointed it at the other screen on the adjacent wall and zapped into the

web to see what was happening there, then asked for two minute scans from my favorite web sites.

Coverage on the web wasn’t much better than the networks. The first two showed scenes similar to what

the networks were displaying. Just before the screen changed to the third, Rita and Don came back out

of the bathroom.

Don was still feeling the effects of her three quick drinks. “Look, ma. No cavities!” She grinned, showing

a set of perfect teeth.

I looked. Don had had a gold crown, and it was missing. Maybe this wasn’t Don after all. Then I

remembered that stripper incident. If this woman wasn’t Don, how could she know about that?

“And look here! My scar is gone.” She pulled up one pants leg to display her shin, where Don had a scar

from a cleating accident in high school. It was gone, too. I stared, still feeling a sense of unreality, and

couldn’t help but notice the shapely curve of her calf. She dropped the pants leg and headed back to the

bar.

I got up and followed her. We stood next to each other at the counter. I was aware that this new body

was soft and slender and wonderfully shaped, and that awareness made me squirm. This was my

friend—my male friend! I tried to think of something to make her feel better.

“If you had to change into a woman, at least that gate made you into a pretty one,” I said. It was true.

Don was a good-looking man; as a woman (if it was really him), she was gorgeous.

She glared at me. “I don’t give a damn. And stop staring at these.” She folded her arms across her

breasts. “I’m not going to have them much longer.”

“What? You’re not?”

She tipped her glass and swallowed half the contents. “Damn right. I’ve figured it out. It’s simple enough.

If going into that gate turned me into a woman, then going back through it ought to make me a man

again.”

Russell, on his way over to join us, overheard the comment. “That doesn’t necessarily follow.”

“You got any better ideas?” Don demanded.

“Don—” I hesitated. I was still having trouble thinking of her as my best friend, but I was concerned for

her, nevertheless. “Why don’t you wait a bit? Like Russell says, you don’t know that would work.”

“I don’t care. How would you like to have to squat to pee?” She swallowed hard as a sudden thought

occurred to her. “Or, Jesus Christ, what if I have a period?” She set her glass down, and turned toward

the door, her face desperate.

Rita’s yelp stopped her. “Hey, listen! A man who was changed is trying to go back through the gate!

Right now, live!”

We all hurried over to the lounger where we could get a better view of the screen.

“What happened? Did he come back out?” Excitement, or maybe the liquor she was still drinking, slurred

Don’s voice.

“Not yet,” Rita said. “Be quiet and listen.”

The report was coming in over the CNN network.

“ …two minutes now and so far he has not come out the other side, nor has any sign been seen of her, or

I should say him, as he was male before the change. Going through the first time is almost instantaneous,

so this may be a bad sign. It may mean that the sex gates are a one-way proposition, but, of course, it is

too soon to say for certain. And as hard as it may be for you to believe, some people do want to change

their sex. Already, we have one report of a police guard set up around the gate near the Presidio to keep

a crowd of men and women from going –”

“Aw, smash it to hell!” That was another one of Don’s favorite expressions. She turned away from the

screen, her face filled with despair. I could see she was discarding the notion of trying to go back through

a gate, at least for the time being.

Instead, she sat with the rest of us through the afternoon and on into the evening, watching the screens

and listening to more and more information pour in from the web and networks. In that, we were not

alone. Most of the people in America sat down and watched the news that night as the gates began to

change our world forever.

I sent out for pizza. Don ate enough to soak up some of the whiskey and topped it with a Nohang pill to

ease her transition back to sobriety.

Secretly, I’d been worried that the government would soon block access to the gates, stopping Don from

going back through even if she wanted to. But it quickly became obvious that the military and police, no

matter how hard they tried, were going to be unable to stop people from using the gates; there were

simply too many of them.

As reports came in, we learned there were thousands now in place around the world. They had

appeared all over the planet at exactly the same time (or as near as anyone had been able to figure). The

largest numbers materialized where the most people lived, suggesting some sort of knowledge about

earth’s population density on the part of the originators of the gates. The networks were soon displaying

a giant world map, with different colors depicting population gradients and white dots representing the

location of every gate known to exist up until that moment.

Another startling development (besides the sex change) was announced as we were polishing off the last

of the pizza. This time the network news was ahead of the webs. The elderly anchor, retired but brought

back for commentary, was as excited as a child on the way to Disney World.

“So far, every person who has gone through the gate has reappeared as a young man or woman in

vibrant health, no matter what age they were when they entered. Are these gates the long-sought fountain

of youth? It appears that they are, if you don’t mind changing your gender along the way. Not only are

those who go through emerging on the other side young, initial reports indicate when they go through the

gate they come out with whatever ailments they might have had cured! No more arthritis or failing

eyesight! No more senility or incurable cancer! This could be a boon for humanity, the dawning of a

wonderful new age, a precious gift brought to us by the benevolence of unknown—”

The network cut him off as he began to ramble euphorically, not making much sense. If I had to bet, I

would put money on him heading for a sex gate straight from the studio.

“See?” Rita said to Don. “Maybe it’s not as bad as you’ve been making it out to be.”

Don pursed her lips and looked thoughtful. She had told me once that her family had a genetic

predisposition to vascular disease, one of the illnesses still not curable by gene therapy. Her dad had died

of it a year after we met.

“That’s wonderful for old people. But damn it, I don’t want to be a woman. I’m a man.” She tossed her

thick brown hair back over her shoulders with an annoyed flick of her hands.

“Why do you feel that way?” Rita looked curious. It’s obvious to me why she’s a psychology major;

she’s always asking people about their feelings. At the moment, she was cuddling next to me on the

lounger, but she leaned forward to listen to Don’s answer.

Don was sitting by herself in my easy chair. “How would you like it if you were wearing the wrong body?

Everything is heavier. I almost dropped the Jack Daniels bottle. And my hips seem like they’re out of

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TheSexGatesAllrightsreserved©2002DarrellBainandJeanineBerryISBN:1-894841-32-8FirstEditioneBookPublishingJanuary25,2002Dedication: TomysonAllan,thebulletproofman.DarrellBain TomyhusbandPat,whohelpedmeachievemydreams.JeanineBerry BOOKIMARSChapterOne Allourliveschangedforeverthedaythegate...

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