The sky was overcast and the air was bitingly cold on Thursday morning - but I'd learned my lesson and (reluctantly) had Tammy cut an opening in the back of my winter coat. I loved that jacket, a big heavy number with enormous pockets - but it did me no good if I couldn't wear it. I cut a strange figure, though; it was a little big for me before, and now I was swimming in it. It hung past my knees and made my torso look too big for my legs and head - but I was comfy and the cold wasn't getting to me, so what the heck.

Tammy was more bothered by it; she kept fiddling with the flannel blanket she'd draped over her tail. Apparently even merfolk thermoregulation mechanisms couldn't take the sting out of it altogether; I'd suggested getting a sleeping bag for her lower body, but she thought it'd be uncomfortable for her fins. At least we wouldn't be out here long; our ride was nearly here.

After a couple minutes, a battered old rattletrap Toyota lurched over the rise into the dorm parking lot, skidded unnervingly on the ice, and stopped just shy of scraping its bumper over the curb, in a stutter of anti-lock brakes. The driver backed up, turned, and pulled alongside us, motor still running.

I looked the car over nervously; years of road salt, dusty back-country gravel, and washboarding were reflected in its body like rock strata, and even I, no gearhead,* could tell the plaintive rattle of an engine on its last legs. I noted the chatter of my own inner workings; as noisy as I sounded to myself, it was a smooth, well-ordered cacaphony next to this. Would I ever sound like that? In some hypothetical future, many years down the line, would it be the machine equivalent of getting old, gray, bent, and creaky...?

* (Pun not merely unintended, but rejected with extreme prejudice.)

The driver got out; it was a teenage girl, and it was clear from her face that she was Tammy's sister. She wasn't as finely-sculpted as Tammy had been, but the contours were still familiar; and with Tammy's subtle change of countenance they could almost be twins, though her sister was a brunette. "Geez, Tam," she said, huddling up into her jacket, "you didn't have to wait out in this!" Her breath clouded as she spoke, as if to illustrate. "I coulda just texted you when-"

She stopped short, her eyes widening as she caught sight of a caudal fin peeking out from under the blanket. "Tammy?" she sputtered, scrambling around the car and nearly slipping on the ice. "Omigod, for real!? You...you're a...!"

"...Yeah." Tammy nodded sheepishly. "I, uh, would've told you, but I figured this'd be easier, since I was coming home anyway."

"When? How!?" Her sister's expression mingled surprise, concern, and excitement. That seemed about right to me, but I wondered if the excitement - which seemed to be winning out - was part of why Tammy hadn't told her right away. I'd certainly had my fill of that with Emma that first weekend, and Tammy had been actively angry about her change, back then...

"About a month ago," Tammy said. "Long story, but we had a, uh, containment failure during an experiment, and this happened." Her fin twitched uneasily at the memory, and I could see her tail-muscles tense underneath the scales.

"Wait, you didn't do it on purpose?" her sister asked. "But I thought-"

"No, I didn't." Tammy cut her off, with a glance in my direction. "Look, uh, we can talk in the car, okay?"

I was confused by her sudden brusqueness, but I didn't get to think much about it before her sister turned to me. "Oh, right, you must be-oh, wow...!" She stared at me with unabashed fascination, and moved around to get a good look at my key. "You're, uh, wow...is that for real?"

I squirmed uneasily, feeling like I was being put on display, but I'd had to get used to this over the last few weeks. "Yes, it's real," I said, trying not to sigh; I could feel something inside me clicking irritably regardless.

"Wow," she breathed, her breath freezing in the cold. "Tam said she was bringing a friend, but I never imagined...wow. That is way cool, not gonna lie." She grinned and stuck out her hand. "Nice to meet you, I'm Rhoda."

I returned the handshake, feeling a little nervous. "S...uh, Susan."

I could see Tammy giving me a funny look out of the corner of my eye. I wasn't really sure myself, but I'd been considering it since she invited me. I didn't know how her family would react to a guy in a girl's body (well, a girl-shaped body,) and she had enough to worry about dropping her own bombshell; this would be uncomfortable, I was sure, but it had to be better than admitting the truth, and this way I wouldn't be any more of a distraction for her than I could help. I could live with this for a weekend; it was just acting, really...

Rhoda grinned even wider, shaking my hand vigorously. "S-s-so c-cool to meet you," she said, her teeth starting to chatter. "Uh, g-guess we should g-get in the c-c-car...?"

"Please," Tammy said. Rhoda opened the passenger door and turned to help her sister in; but Tammy thought for a moment, smiled, and shook her head. "I, uh...I think I've got this, sis." She wheeled up next to the car and tossed the blanket in; then she planted her tail against the floor, grabbed the top of the frame, and lifted herself out of her chair, swinging easily into the seat.

Rhoda gasped audibly; she looked like she was about to cry, and it struck me that this was actually a pretty big deal. Of course I'd seen Tammy deal with getting around before her change, and it was clearly easier for her not having to dead-lift her whole lower body, even if the new body-plan wasn't ideal for life on land. But she'd been handicapped ever since I'd known her, and she'd never made a big deal of it, so I hadn't thought about it much. Obviously, it'd mean a lot more to her family, who'd been through that with her...

"T-Tammy...omig-g-god, Tammy...!" her sister stammered, her voice quavering. She was chattering up a storm now, and visibly shivering. Tammy shushed her.

"C'mon, sis," she said with a wry grin. "We can talk about it when you aren't freezing to death."

----------------------------------------

Getting underway was enough of a reset for Rhoda to recover, and she was consumed by curiosity and excitement. She peppered her sister with questions for the next half-hour, starting with the full story of our fateful mishap. (Well, nearly; Tammy was discreet about my not being exactly who I'd presented myself as.) She was fascinated to hear about how swimming worked with a tail and what exploring the lake was like, and she asked about a bunch of specific issues for paraplegics and whether they were still a problem - things that I'd never have guessed myself, but someone who grew up with an affected family member just knew.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

For a while, I just sat back and listened. (Well, sat forward - I had to sit in the middle of the back seat and use the lap belt to give my key room to turn.) I felt out of sorts again, wondering if I was deficient as a friend for not giving this much thought over the last few months, and why everyone around me - even the people I'd never met - was more together than me.

The ride was also getting to me; between the short wheelbase and worn-out suspension and the rough, poorly-maintained streets heading out through New Lakeside to the highway, there was no end to the jostling and vibration. At least I had no spine to injure, but it felt like some of my mechanisms were being pushed out of tolerance, just slightly beyond their ability to compensate. It didn't actually feel like indigestion, but it had that sort of constant low-key irritative property to it.

Things improved once we turned onto Hwy. 23 proper; the engine rattled alarmingly as we sped up, but the ride was smoother. A ways down the road, Rhoda's inquisition moved on to me; we ran through the litany of questions I'd gotten used to answering - did I know how I worked, what happened when I ran down, etc. - but she asked a few new ones as well. Some, like whether I still felt emotions, were things I'd thought about myself, but she caught me completely off-guard when she asked: "So...what does it feel like, being wound up?"

It wasn't that I'd never considered it, but I definitely hadn't given it serious thought; I'd noticed the differences in technique between Tammy, Emma, and Anne, for sure, but I'd never really thought about how it felt...

I thought for a long moment. "It's, uh...well, I mean, it's rejuvenating, obviously. Like catching your breath when you're worn out. And...it's weird, because everything stops and starts around me until it's done and I can just run normally. But..." I searched my memories for a suitable analogy. "It's...like having someone comb your hair," I said at last. "You know, kinda...basic personal-care stuff, except someone else is doing it to you, and you just have to trust that they've got you..."

"Mm," she said. "Sounds nice..."

"It's-" I started, then stopped, frowning. Nice? It wasn't unpleasant, but it was also the limiting factor of my entire existence now: the reason why I needed other people on-hand all the time, why I could never be independent like this... That was supposed to be nice!? Just because it felt soothing and comforting, and secure, and...and...!

I sighed. "It's...yeah, it's nice." I felt like I should be blushing, and wished I still could. But I couldn't deny the simple fact of it...

"Mm-hmm," Rhoda replied. "So...is it, like, getting a hug, or more like cuddling? Like, y'know, if it was a guy you liked...or a girl," she added, noticing my expression in the rear-view mirror, "would that be, uh...?"

"Rhoda...!" Tammy scolded, looking a bit flustered herself. She glanced back at me to see if an apology was due.

Her sister shrugged, keeping her eyes on the road. "What? I'm just asking..."

"I...don't know," I lied. I couldn't say I hadn't thought about it, but I hadn't let myself reach any conclusions; I still didn't understand the sense of lack-of-feeling I had with that aspect of my psyche, and it wasn't like it would be relevant anytime soon...

"...Huh." She didn't sound convinced, but she didn't press the matter. There was a silence after that which seemed to last for a minor eternity before a distraction blessedly presented itself.

"Wait, uh..." I blinked in surprise that was only half-feigned. "...Did we just pass a giant fish statue?"

"What, you've never seen the walleye before?" Tammy chuckled, as if this was a cultural institution that everyone knew about. Rhoda laughed. "Man, I wanna stop just for the heck of it, now...!"

I laughed too, and shrugged. "Nah - I've never been out this way, that I recall anyway. Just up and down the interstate, mostly." I wasn't that fascinated by a fiberglass fish, but at least it broke up the conversation...

We drove on in less awkward silence for a while longer before Rhoda returned to quizzing her sister. "So," she said, "you figure you're gonna try again, or...?"

Tammy blinked in confusion. "'Try again...?' Oh, uh..." She frowned and thought for a moment. "Honestly, I dunno. I've been busy enough just getting used to this that I haven't thought about it much - that and classes. Plus, we're still on the naughty list right now, as far as the administration's concerned."

"But you could, down the road, right?"

She nodded uneasily. "Well, yeah. It's just...there might be risks to it."

"Really?" Rhoda said, surprised. "Like what?"

Tammy glanced back to me. "Well, nobody's really sure," I said hesitantly. "We think the morphic field - uh, the force that keeps you shaped like you - can be weakened by prolonged exposure to metamorphic forces. It takes about the same energy to change a subject again as it does the first time, but it progressively decreases after a few changes. We don't know what happens when it approaches zero, but it's possible the morphic field might break down completely."

Rhoda gave a low whistle. "And then what? You become, like, a shapeless blob or something?"

I shook my head. "Probably not. Amorphous species like slimes or shapeshifters are actual demi-human types, after all. But you might start changing spontaneously from, say, cell-phone signals or even cosmic background radiation. Pressing your luck could mean you live the rest of your life never being in one shape long enough to get used to it."

"Yow," she said. Tammy nodded. "Yeah. So...not gonna rule it out, but I'm not gonna rush into that. I always figured on being in the field when we finally crack targeted changes, anyway."

Rhoda nodded thoughtfully, and we drove on in silence. The awkwardness between us was gone, but I couldn't stop thinking: what were my prospects like, now? The last few weeks were such a blur that I'd hardly stopped to think about it. Practically speaking, the odds of returning to my true shape were, well, astronomical. It wasn't even known if you could become a normal human; there'd never been a documented case. Some demi-human types were externally indistinguishable, or nearly so, but never just plain-vanilla human.

So my best bet for a return to "normal" would be a male demi-human of a fairly non-exotic type. I could live with that; being, say, an elf or a cat-person would still take some getting used to, but nothing too crazy, compared to this. But how reasonable was it to expect even that? I might just as easily become a centaur, a harpy, a plant-person. What if I couldn't fit into normal restroom stalls and had to duck under most doorways? Or had wings for hands, and had to do everything with my feet? What if I were rooted in place, living in a planter or out in the garden? What would be an "even" trade-off...?

And really, there was no guarantee I'd even be male. If anything, demographic trends leaned the other way (which fueled a lot of speculation on demi-humans' supposed reproductive drives and whether some force in the universe favored an increase in the diversity of sentient life.) Hermaphrodity (of several flavors) wasn't out of the question, either...

Of course, I could keep trying (at least in a scenario where some research lab was willing to blow through any arbitrary amount of energy on one subject,) but that's what gamblers always tell themselves: just one more pull of the lever, you're really feeling it this time, your number's finally about to come up - and then you end up in some unknown but assuredly traumatic kind of total morphic-field breakdown...

But what did that leave? If I wasn't willing to gamble on finding a somewhat more familiar form, I'd have to resign myself to living out my days as this strange girl-shaped clockwork contraption: to never being independent, to being seen as a woman, a machine, or some bizarre combination... I couldn't do that, could I? I couldn't just give in, the way I always did - this was my life, here! I had to do what I could to go back to how I was supposed to be, no matter what Emma or Anne or Rhoda might think about it...

But that was all off in the nebulous hopefully-near-future, anyway. Until the faculty relented or another lab reached out to us, I couldn't change again, whether I could work up the courage or not...

Tammy and her sister went back to chatting, this time about casual family and life stuff - how uncle so-and-so was doing, when Rhoda got her license, and so on. I got as comfortable as I could, half-listening, letting my mind wander, trying not to think about the long-term more than I already had. I remembered long holiday car trips as a kid, before I'd gotten a Game Boy, just lying down on the seat after finally getting bored of crosswords and Mad Libs and dozing off to the quiet, rhythmic bumping of the pavement joints, until finally a voice said-

"Hey-uh, hey, Sue...?" Tammy said. "Wake up, we're here."