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DEEDECK DESIGN
Chapter 3
When Moira paused in her progressively inventive verbal protest, Jaime whispered, “Sorry, ma’am,” in a squeaky tone, his face brick colored.
She took a deep breath—even that simple activity took on new weirdness as her muscular chest swelled like bellows—and did her best to smile for the poor, distressed fellow. “It’s fine. I’m a doctor. I can handle it.” Then she slowly sat up and maneuvered her heavy legs over the side of the bed. “Has this body been out of commission? It feels sluggish.”
“Mr. Coltier hasn’t used it for a while, but his normal revival time is slower than yours. You have an impressive revival record and stats, ma’am.” He ducked his head, gaze dropping from hers as if he was giving her a bold compliment. For a tech, she supposed it was high praise indeed.
“Thank you. Could you help me up?”
“Sure.” He lurched forward eagerly, fumbling a bit before he caught her elbow and gave support under her big hand.
She took it slow, shifting her new weight in gradual degrees to see if the legs were ready to support it. When she thought her legs were steady enough and she had the balance down right, she eased to her feet. She towered over her assistant, she acknowledged with grim dismay. Her new body was a giant.
Jaime made a small sound, and she suddenly realized that she was gripping his hand hard. He had a pained grimace on his face, and she loosened her hold instantly.
“I’m sorry, are you all right?” she asked. “I guess I don’t know this body’s strength.”
“You’re…usually much more petite, ma’am,” he said with a faint, breathless quality to his voice and strained smile, and she wondered just how hard she’d squeezed his appendage.
“Are you injured?” she asked with professional sharpness.
“No, no, I’m okay. Did you need help…um, changing into clothes?” His eyes skittered away from hers.
Another curse slipped out before she could stop it, and she watched him flinch. It wouldn’t be quite as bad an invasion of her host’s privacy as relieving herself, but it was a close second. With a sigh, she tested her new limbs grimly. “Let’s get over to the changing alcove first. Then we’ll see,” she said in as neutral a tone as possible, trying not to sound as glum as she felt. Hard to be chipper with a voice that sounded like distant thunder.
“Sure, Dr. Bannen,” he mumbled.
They started off slow and easy, but by the time they got to the changing area, Moira felt steady enough on her feet to gently shrug away from Jaime’s grip. “Thank you, Jaime,” she began to say, “I think I can—” Movement caught her eye, and she was startled into silence by the appearance of a man next to her. It took her a second to realize she was looking into a mirror, and the sight kept her silent and frozen with horror.
It was one thing to conceptualize being in another person’s body, to understand it in the abstract, but it was another thing entirely to see the full proof of it, to see her emotions, expressions, and movements written on a stranger’s face and body. Even with the glimpses she’d caught of her host’s limbs before, the full impact of her plight hadn’t registered until this moment.
She was huge and hairy and male. It was all she could do not to shriek hysterically.
“Dr. Bannen? Are you okay?”
“Not…even…remotely,” she wheezed, and shut her eyes. Taking deep breaths, she started calculating med doses in her head, a technique she used to focus her thoughts before stressful events. When she had calmed a bit and her mind was clearer, she opened her eyes again and tried to look into the mirror with clinical detachment. The lack of horror on the face looking back at her helped, though she could still see desperation in the dark brown eyes.
Striving to ignore the fact that she was inside this man, she studied him as if she was meeting him for the first time. Which she basically was—his face wasn’t familiar at all. His strong, regular features had faint lines at his dark eyes and around his mouth, giving his face a hint of grim hardness. His hair was dark and sleep-messed, with a bit of curl at the ends, even though he wore it short. His jaw still had a shadow of hair instead of the smoothness of removed follicles, but was clean-shaven, something she supposed the techs did for him on a regular basis. His skin was a uniform gold-tan, which could be genetics or a good color job.
He was tall—she estimated almost six and a half feet—with broad shoulders and arms roped with muscle, but he wasn’t bulging like some vain playboy or entertainer. The white robe was a bit too small for his large frame, so it opened further down his chest than it would have on her, showing hard planes dusted with dark hair. The cloth cinched into a trim waist and narrow hips, and ended mid-thigh, showing long, muscular legs that looked much better attached to the whole package.
In fact, now that she considered him as a separate person instead of the body she inhabited, everything looked better. Looked good, actually—he was quite attractive. Very attractive and sexy. If this man walked up to her on a social deck, his secretive dark eyes and the edge of danger in his powerful form would drop her heart right into a sprint and scramble her brain. She could imagine butterflies in her stomach and a catch in her breath, especially if he was barely dressed like he was right now…
Moira felt a strange sensation low on her host’s body. With a puzzled frown, she looked down. “What the—?” she strained her new voice with a higher register, staring in disbelief at the rise in the front of her robe.
Horrified outrage and embarrassment snapped her head around to glare at Jaime. “Don’t you men have control of that thing at all?”
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