James Bond: Pussywillow
By Kismet & Raven...

    Part 1 Kismet There was the sudden flutter of birds alighting from their 
perches. Octopussy  looked out of her gilded window, searching for the 
possible intruder. She looked  out over the paradise which her small island 
provided. Even now, there were two  woman frolicking naked in the deep 
blue courtyard pool. Perhaps they had  startled the flock of birds.

The beautiful woman pulled her flowing silken nightrobe tightly around her  
shoulders. She wore a worried expression. Octopussy knew too much, and it 
was  only a matter of time until they came after her.

"So how has business been?" a voice asked from behind her.

Octopussy turned in surprise, her shock turning into sudden happiness.  
"James!" she exclaimed.

She started to move towards him, then paused as she reminded herself what 
he had  done to her. Even though James had saved her life, she could not 
forgive him for  leaving her. Instead of walking towards him, she strolled 
towards her aquarium.

"Not so happy to see me?" he asked.

"It's been a long time, Mr. Bond," she answered calmly, although her heart 
raced  out of control.

James smiled. It was a small upturn at the corners of his mouth.  "So formal? 
I thought we could be more relaxed around one another."

"Why are you here?" Octopussy demanded to maintain the charade of control.

"I need your help," Bond asserted matter of factly as he paced to the cabinet.  
Once there he commenced to make himself a martini, as if it were his wet bar.  
Octopussy had always found his easy confidence to be both infuriating and  
intoxicating. The man was a scoundrel, yet she would have him no other 
way.

"Do you want anything?" Asked Bond as an afterthought.

"No . . . ." Octopussy said, moving to her dresser, " . . . . .yes. I want you  
to leave. You can't just waltz in and out of my life like this.

Bond finished making his drink, then turned to her, a knowing smile upon 
his  face.  "You know, I didn't come to this island of woman for business . . 
. .

Rather than complete his thought, James let the myriad possibilities linger in  
the air.

* * *

Commander James Bond rolled over in bed to face Octopussy. She wasn't 
there. He  turned to see her at the cabinet, making a drink. The British Secret 
Agent took  advantage of the moment to reach for his clothes which were 
neatly draped over  the back of a chair.

While his lover had her back turned away from him he pulled his pants on,  
followed by his shirt.

Octopussy turned and approached him slowly. "Shaken, not stirred, just as 
you  always like it," she declared, gently setting the glass down upon the 
corner of  the night stand.

James didn't bite at the mocking tone to her voice, although he was sorely  
tempted. He pulled his shoes over his feet, lacing them with a traditional  
double knot. He didn't touch his drink.

It was time to get down to business. "Someone is smuggling a large quantity 
of  refined chemical compounds from the United States. For what purpose, I 
do not  know, but they have been rumoured to be for Iraq," Bond said in a 
conversational  tone as though he were discussing the weather.

Octopussy sighed. "I knew you were coming here for business, James. Why 
did you  have to lie to me? I thought we knew each other . . . to well for that. 
Did you  think that I wouldn't give you whatever you asked for without . . . 
without  that?" Octopussy gestured at the tangle of covers in the queen sized 
bed.

"I would have come for that regardless, Octopussy, but we both know that . . 
. 

"Yes, that Khamal Khan's men have a vendetta against you. They'd do 
anything to  get your head on a platter. It's dangerous for you to be here. It 
didn't stop  you from coming for your precious information, though.

Bond went to hold her. She backed away.

It was a breach of protocol, yet Bond felt it vital to disclose to Octopussy a  
vital piece of classified information. Perhaps that would make everything  
clearer.

"Khan's body was never recovered. The government still believes him to be 
alive  somewhere.

"I though as much," nodded Octopussy, "in answer to your question, I gave 
up the  smuggling business a long time ago. I've been carrying on my fathers 
research  into octopus, keeping my nose out of trouble.

"I know you've still got your finger in the pie, Pussy," Bond pressed. "This 
is  important. I need to know who's behind the smuggling.

"James, I don't know anything." Octopussy insisted.

Bond knew she was lying. He lifted the crystal glass to his lips, downing the  
potent potable in one gulp. As he did so, Octopussy moved forward, and 
hugged  him.

Bond encircled her in his arms. She seemed to be a little scared, shivering a  
little in fear . . or was it excitement?

There was a sudden hissing sound. Bond felt a sharp sting on the back of his  
neck, and jerked free of Octopussy. She held a hypodermic syringe and a  
triumphant smile adorned her lovely face.

"What did you just inject me with? Pussy, tell me!" exclaimed Bond.

Octopussy never had a chance to answer the man. From the corner of his eye 
007  saw a shadow move. He reflexively grabbed hold of Octopussy to pull 
her onto the  bed, rolling with her to the other side.

There was the almost inaudible pulse of a silenced machine pistol. The bullets  
traced them onto the bed, puncturing the linen and pillows and sending a 
cloud  of feathers into the air. Jame's momentum carried them both over the 
far side of  the bed onto the floor. The bed now lay between the attackers and 
the couple.  Bond grabbed his Walther PPK from the bed table whilst deftly 
disentangling  himself from Octopussy. All of his moves were fluid, almost 
like a lethal  ballet, borne of years of field experience. The agent fired over 
the shredded  mattress.

James turned to tell Octopussy to run as he gave covering fire.

Unfortunately, Octopussy would never run again. Bond looked into her dull 
glassy  eyes to realise that he didn't have to save her. She was already gone.

Bond's eyes narrowed. He would mourn his companion later. This was one 
of the  realities of life for an agent carrying a license to kill.

Bullets continued to rain down at his position, pinning him down. His 
assailants  were firing from the other room, but walking towards him. There 
were two guns,  so there must be two gunmen. Bond looked up, noting a 
hugely ornate candelabra  in the middle of the room.

007 had long since learned that nearly everything could be used as a weapon 
in a  fire fight. Where was the lowering mechanism? Bond quickly scanned 
the room for  the rope until he found it. The lowering cord was nearby, 
outside his cover, but  still close enough. If he moved quickly, he'd probably 
be able to reach it.  Bond prepared to leap. However, whatever drug that 
Octopussy had placed into his  system was making him feel light headed and 
woozy.

Having no time to waste, he shot the rope where it was tied to the wall, then  
leaped. Bond grabbed the end with his left hand. He shot into the air as the  
candelabra crashed to the ground, pinning the two machine gunners under its  
weight. Molten wax sprayed over their trapped bodies.

Bond climbed over the balcony, looking down at his handy work.  "Not 
bad," he congratulated himself as his vision began to blur.

Again there was gunfire. Bond fled, the bullets ricocheting all around him. 
He  dove for a shuttered window and crashed through the thin timber frame. 
The agent  had been through this so many times in his brilliant career. He 
knew without  even looking that he was falling three stories to the courtyard 
below.  Fortunately, there was a pool for him to land in. A top British Agent 
always  knew the points of ingress and egress prior to entering a building! 
Bond dove clumsily into the middle of the pool, greatly surprising the three  
nubile women swimming therein. The unclad beauties stood bolt upright in 
the  glassy blue water.

Their bobbing breasts lingered in James's mind as his vision blurred.

* * *

Bond sat bolt upright. He looked around and recognised that he was in the  
apartment he rarely used. What was he doing here? He climbed from his bed 
and  hastily dressed, turning on the television. "It's a lovely May morning, 
the  weather is fine-" He turned off the television. It was January not May. 
He had just been in India  at Octopussy's island. What was he doing here? 
Where had the time gone? He had to get down to Universal Exports and find 
out what the hell had been  happening! He quickly dressed in his navy Italian 
suit and made his way to his  Bentley.

The drive to Universal Exports was quite quick, especially since he sped 
most of  the way there. Commander Bond climbed from his old car and 
started his way up  the steps. It was only then that he noticed that there were 
four men converging  on him from behind. Not knowing who they were, he 
turned to them, a warm smile  on his face.

"Don't even try anything Mr. Bond. We know what you're capable of. If you 
don't  come quietly, we'll be compelled to use force," one of them said, 
obviously they  intended on blocking his escape.

"You have me at a disadvantage. Four to one hardly seems fair odds," Bond 
said  as he placed his hands in his pockets. These men looked like they were 
secret  service, which probably meant they weren't. He'd better not kill them 
though,  just to be on the safe side.

"Take your hand out of your pockets Mr. Bond," the leader said.

007 complied, pulling out a coin which he started to flip casually, as though 
he  had them out numbered.

One of the other men, the largest of the lot and obviously impatient, 
grimaced.  "I don't care who he is. This guy is coming with us," he said, 
reaching out with  his beefy hands for Bonds throat.

Bond flicked the coin high in the air and ducked under the choke, stepping in  
close and elbowing the man deep in the solar plexus.

The giant grunted but didn't seem bothered too much by the blow. 
Meanwhile the  other men drew their guns. Berrettas, standard issue for 
British secret service.  Bond noticed all of this in an instant. Then he closed 
his eyes and placed his  arm in front of them. The coin touched down to the 
ground and exploded in  seeringly bright light.

All four men recoiled in shock and pain, totally blinded by the brightness of  
the coins combustion. Bond made his way down the steps to his car, climbed 
in  and started it without opening his eyes. He could hear bullets pummelling 
into  the armoured hide of his modified vehicle.

Bond planted his foot and tore off down the street, cursing the fact that his  
paint job had been ruined yet again. 007 turned a corner -

* * *

and found himself floating in a pool. He gasped for air and struggled to free  
himself from the shattered window frame which supported his weight. He 
must have  passed out for some time when he hit the water. His shirt was a 
tattered mess so  he shrugged it off, then pushed off his shoes which seemed 
to be suddenly too  big. The laces must have broken. The edge of the pool 
was nearby, if only he  could get there! Swimming in his pants was hard, 
especially since they had  dropped around his ankles. He kicked the black 
slacks off and reached the edge  of the pool, pulling himself free. 

As he stood, Bond experienced an incredible shock. He was not in his body 
any  more. He stood in his boxers, by the edge of the pool in a foreign body. 
A  woman's body! Gunfire started up again. Bond ran for cover, almost as 
though he  were not in complete control of his new body. He turned and 
looked back at where  the noise was coming from. 

Armed woman were converging upon Octopussy's room. The isle of woman 
was  reacting to the presence of these unknown assassins, quite violently. 
Bond  looked down at his new body and ran a hand over it. The breasts were 
full and  rounded, topped with nipples that were proudly pointing out in the 
night air.  His arms were thin and delicate, his waist narrow, his hips just the 
way he  liked them on a woman. His long legs were perfectly shaped. The 
body felt real  and the sensations his hand was creating were most 
unexpected.

Bond wanted to keep playing with his new body, but instead his hands 
reached up  to trace his face, then feel his short cropped hair. His hair cut 
seemed to be  the only thing unchanged, except the strands of hair was much 
finer than before.

Against his will again, his hands reached down and held out his boxers.  
Undeniably before 007's eyes was a female -

* * *

Bond frantically pulled his car from the path of an oncoming truck. The 
semi's  horn blared as 007 missed the rig by scant inches. His Bentley 
fishtailed onto  the correct side of the road again. What had he been thinking? 
Where had his  mind been? He drove along the street going over the strange 
memories.

Could it have been real? No. It was impossible. Someone must have 
brainwashed  him. These thoughts must be implanted in his mind by an 
expert mental  manipulator. If this could be done... his foe must be 
interesting indeed. Bond  smiled. This was turning out to be a most 
challenging case.

Part 2 Raven

Q approached his late model Mercedes-Benz, still nestled safely in its  
designated parking spot. He was bone weary. With the stunning 
reappearance of  007, James Bond it had been an eventful day at the 
venerable offices of  Universal Export. Even Q's underlings down in the lab 
were abuzz with the news,  and Q had to constantly prod them to complete 
their assigned tasks.

Q was very concerned but chose not to overtly express his misgivings about 
the  whole affair.

As Q neared the Benz, he could see some of the dents and scratches left on 
the  vehicle by, who else, James Bond. One of the fringe benefits that Q 
enjoyed was  unlimited usage of the equipment that field agents destroyed. 
Bond kept him in a  steady stream of such equipment, more so than any other 
agent.

Q sighed, whispering under his breath, "Oh Bond. What trouble have you 
gotten  yourself into this time?"

Q didn't have long to wait for an answer. No sooner did he settle in to the  
leather driver's seat, and turn over the engine, than he felt the cold muzzle of  
a Walther PPK on the back of his neck.

Bond!!

Q was completely deadpan, "for Heaven's sake, 007. It's about time. Your 
weapon  is hardly necessary.

"You knew that I'd be coming, Q?"

"Of course! Where else would you go? Wasn't it me who helped you out of 
that  mess when you got your license to kill revoked for avenging Felix 
Leiter?"

"Yes, but now the entire British Secret Service is after me. I don't know what  
it is that I'm supposed to have done. You would be placing yourself in grave  
personal danger. Why? We haven't been exactly . . . friends.

That much was true. Bond frustrated Q more times than he cared to 
remember, and  often was the target of his childish pranks. Still, there was 
something about  the rakish man that Q couldn't help but like. Although he 
would never say it, Q  considered James Bond to be the nephew, or son, that 
he had never had.

He went to pull out of the secured parking lot of Universal Export, looking 
over  his shoulder, "For goodness sake, 007. Get down. Do you want to get 
caught?" Bond withdrew his weapon, placing it in the waistband of his 
trousers. He  crouched lower so the security guards, in reality British Special 
Forces,  wouldn't see him. Still, he couldn't resist asking Q a question.

"Why Q? Why help me?" he whispered from his hiding place.

"You may be many things Bond, but you are no traitor. You may be childish,  
reckless, and a little cavalier for my tastes, but you would never betray your  
own country! Now get down whilst I get us out of this lot.

Bond did as he was told, the word "traitor" still ringing in his ears. What 
were  they saying that he did? If he could only recall! Unfortunately, any time 
that  he tried to access those events of the last four months, he got . . . 
darkness.

Once Q was clear of security, and they were well on their way to . . . 
wherever,  Bond resumed a normal sitting position. He had to know what he 
was accused of.

"Q? Why are they saying that I am a traitor? You must tell me.

"You don't know? Q sounded sincerely shocked. "I though that you might 
offer me  an explanation of what has happened.

Bond leaned back into the leather seat. It was only 7:00 p.m., yet he was  
already exhausted. Dodging your own compatriots could prove to be rather 
tiring.

"I wish that I could, Q. All I have is a gap in my memory of about four 
months.  There is just nothing there. That is why I sought you out. I thought 
that you  could help me.

"Extraordinary!" exclaimed Q, in his unique fashion. "What is the last thing  
that you do recall, 007?"

"I went to visit Octopussy on her Island of Women. I remember that she . . .  
injected me with something, and then we were attacked. I seem to recall 
jumping  into a pool with a few of her women. Then there is nothing . . . 
until I awoke  in my flat this morning.

"Then you do not know?" pressed Q.

"Know what, Q? Tell me.

Q hated to be the bearer of bad news, but he had no choice. "Octopussy is 
dead.  She was murdered by those loyal to Khamal Khan for retribution for 
her part in  your last escapade. Her entire organisation, including the Island 
of Women has  been taken over by somebody new . . . a woman calling 
herself only Pussywillow.  The woman have reverted back to their criminal 
exploits, only worse. It was  thought that you were in league with this 
Pussywillow.

"That's impossible, Q. You know it.

"I do know that, 007. The problem is that your retinal scans and fingerprint  
were used to access certain sensitive information. Those are things which 
cannot  be duplicated, indicating that it had to be you. The person who 
accessed that  information knew exactly where to look. Again, they are things 
only a select few  know, including you, 007. The evidence is quite damning.

"You have to help me, Q.

"It's obvious to me that whatever Octopussy injected into you has somehow  
effected your memory. We will have to do some testing on you . . . take 
some  blood for analysis.

"Where Q? We can't exactly go into the office.

"Of course not, 007. I've been in Her Majesty's Secret Service longer than 
you,  and do have my own resources. I have a lab of my own where I dabble 
in my free  time. I might add that it would be a perfect place for you to lay 
low for  awhile. The company would never think to look for you in my own 
private lab.

"Thank you, Q. I appreciate that.

Q appreciated the sentiment, but stayed on task so that he would not disclose  
his unstated affection for the man. "Right then. You'll need some equipment 
if  you are to survive this. If you look in the bag on the floor, you will find . .  
. .

Bond interrupted his friendly nemesis, "Q? You really did expect me didn't 
you?"

"Really Bond. If you would just pay attention!"

'Bless you, Q,' thought Bond.

The two drove toward Q's private lab, with Q explaining the assortment of 
exotic  equipment to 007.

Several hours later, Bond had taken the opportunity to shower, change into a 
new  set of clothes that Q had the forethought to bring, and to have a spot of  
dinner. He was now safely harboured in Q's private lab.

When they first arrived, Q drew a blood sample, and then set to the task of  
analysing it. The lab had a computer terminal that granted him access to some 
of  the government's best medical and research data bases. Q had security 
clearance  for all of Her Majesties secret projects. Q sat hunched over the 
screen,  unmoving, for hours.

Finally, he exclaimed, "Astounding. Simply astounding.'

Bond came over to where Q was sitting. "Do you have the results, Q?'

"I do, 007, and I must say, they are remarkable. I have never seen anything 
like  this.

"What?" asked Bond.

"It appears that a pair of chromosomes in your gene sequence have been 
replaced  by those of an entirely different species.

Bond was surprised. "Can they do that?"

"Nobody has been able to do that yet. It would require a sophisticated  reo-
virus, that nobody has yet been able to perfect. It would appear that  
Octopussy did.

"What's a reo-virus, Q?"

"It acts like a normal virus attacking the body's normal cells. Just like the  
AIDS virus, it replaces individual chromosomes in a DNA strand with others 
that  it is carrying. Quite remarkable really. Theoretically, if the virus is  
sophisticated enough, it would work a complete physical transformation.

"What is the other species, Q?'

"Unknown. The computer has only been able to identify it as a lower phylum 
. . .  most likely mollusc.

Bond sighed. Why would Octopussy tamper with his body in that way? "Try 
an octopus.

"Of course," declared Q. "Why didn't I think of that?"

Q punched in a series of commands into the computer while Bond watched. 
The two  of them waited for the screen to return with the requested 
information. Instead  it came back with the message, "Calculating time to 
complete task . . . .

There was a pause, followed by still another on-screen message, "70 hours to  
complete DNA comparison.

"Right! We won't have your answer for another three days, 007. It will take 
the  computer that long to match the chromosomes.

Just then, the computer beeped again. Q made the appropriate commands to  
retrieve the data.

"There is something more, 007. The reo-virus that did the transplantation is  
still in your blood. It is in a latent stage . . . just waiting for something.  
There is also a second reo-virus that is in a latent stage.

"What do they do, Q?" questioned Bond, although he had a fairly accurate 
idea of  what one of them did.

"That is impossible to know right now, Bond. It will take a few days to break  
down that reo-virus, and figure out how it is triggered. You are just going to  
have to stay here for a few days. I am going to need more blood.

"What does all of this have to do with my memory lapses, Q?"

"I don't know at the current time, 007. Perhaps it is an unintended side effect  
of whatever the reo-virus does. The answer lies in your blood. Can you stay 
put  for a few days? Can you stay out of trouble?"

"Yes! Sure!" assured Bond.

Q left an hour later, taking Bond's blood samples with him. He would need 
the  more powerful equipment of his main lab at the "company" to complete 
his  analysis. At the very least, he was going to need an electron microscope 
and a  gene sequencer program.

He left Bond alone in the small person lab. Fortunately, there was a little flat  
in the back for the times that Q stayed over.

Bond tossed and turned for awhile, as he had matters of great concern on his  
mind. However, he did eventually surrender to the demands of his exhausted 
body.

Had he been awake he would have had his answer and been witness to a 
fantastic  transformation.

But then again, had he been awake, the transformation would not have 
occurred.  As soon as Bond entered REM sleep, the transplanted 
chromosomes of the octopus  reversed, like a chemical gate opening. What 
was once "Y" became "X." The gate,  in turn, triggered one of the latent reo-
viruses.

Bond's muscles shifted to assume new proportions and dimensions. His 
bones  cracked in to powder, only to reform to support a new physiognomy. 
The sexual  organs of the person who used to be James Bond retracted and 
split to form the  genitalia of a woman. Finally, as the contours of his face 
metamorphosed to  compliment his new gender, his chest softened, and 
slowly began to expand. This  happened in a matter of minutes.

The person known only as Pussywillow arose from the bed where James 
Bond once  lay. She casually crossed over to the full length mirror on the 
opposite side of  the room. Her body still felt the bone weary exhaustion that 
her other had felt,  but she knew that would soon change.

Pussywillow looked at the reflection in the glass. Where Bond had been 
suavely  handsome. This woman was attractive. The short dark hair was the 
same, albeit a  little fuller, silkier, and shinier. The rest of the body was very 
feminine. 

Where Bond had been 6'1", she was only 5'4". Pussywillow touched every 
inch of  her 34C-23-35 frame.

Yes . . . she was attractive for a woman of Bond's real age, and she knew it.  
Yet, it was not the type of beauty to make men crawl, to make them putty to 
be  moulded. This was not the type of beauty that she needed to be 
Pussywillow.

She grinned a most evil smile, and then tripped a mental trigger. Instantly, the  
second reo-virus became active, setting about its programmed task.

Pussywillow felt the now familiar tingle of the transformation rush 
throughout  her body. It was almost erotic. She never tired of watching the 
transformation  in the mirror. Again, there was the shifting of muscles and 
cracking of bone.  The last was intensely painful, yet she stood resolute as a 
testament to her  sheer willpower. Pussywillow had long since learn to ignore 
the pain.

Minutes later, a new woman stepped away from the mirror. Where the other 
female  body was only attractive, this one was drop dead gorgeous. The 
long, yet  powerful sinews, tendons and muscles of the new form allowed 
her to move with  the grace of a jungle cat.

She was the physical incarnation of a Barbie Doll, in her mid-twenties.  
Pussywillow was tall at 5'10", and her body impossibly slender to exude a 
sleek  countenance. Long, dense blonde hair fell to her heart shaped behind. 
The only  thing that she hated were the breasts. She preferred smaller breasts 
to go with  her sleek, aristocratic body, but men preferred larger breasts. 
Thus, they were  a necessary evil. There were other, internal modifications to 
ensure maximum  pleasure during sex, which weren't important at this very 
second. 

As with each such transformation, Pussywillow felt strong and perfectly  
refreshed. She should know, for she designed it that way. When her body 
reverted  to the repugnant male form of James Bond, he too would feel 
refreshed and  rested.

The 38DD breasts swayed invitingly as she searched for some clothes that 
she  could wear. Pussywillow had to get back to Bond's flat to retrieve the  
identification for this body, and for the other transitional form which  
Pussywillow had aptly named Honeydew Mountjoy. Pussy had business to 
attend to  in London. However, first she had to make use of Q's computer.

It was a good thing that Bond had carefully watched Q enter his password. 
He was  slick, not knowing when he would he would need to use that 
computer. Of course,  his memories, knowledge, skills, fingerprints and 
retinal patterns were hers.  She had to collect the British Government's data 
on Weapon Z . . . their  biological weapon. To do this she had to give Bond 
some limited control of her  body. Pussywillow resented having to lower 
herself to 007's crude male form but  it was a necessary evil.

It was also the perfect cover. While Bond slept, Pussywillow lived. 
Pussywillow  was concerned that Bond had recalled the form of Honeydew. 
It had only been for  an instant, right before Pussywillow had asserted 
herself. Fortunately, only  Pussywillow knew how to trigger the 
transformations. That was the fail safe.  Bond would never figure out how to 
transform into Honeydew and there was no way  he could become the chosen 
form of Pussywillow. 

Pussywillow smiled sweetly, the grin was quite sinister at the same time. 
After  Bond's brief encounter with Honeydew, the most that Honeydew 
could be considered  would be a henchman. Make that henchwoman of 
Pussywillow.

It was the perfect cover . . . to hide in plain sight.

Part 3. Kismet

Bond tossed and turned, unable to sleep. He climbed from the bed as though 
in a  daze, walking over to the mirror. He felt as though he had not slept a 
wink.  Bond looked at his reflection in the glass, shock replacing his 
weariness.

The man's usually debonair exterior was replaced by that of a distinguished 
and  very attractive woman. Without any self control, his hand reached up 
and toyed  with his dark glossy hair. It felt finely textured in his small hand.

007 looked at his small firm breasts outlined under his shirt. They were soft  
and inviting to behold, but they were the last thing he wanted to look at. The  
rest of his body was also very feminine. Against his will he was forced to 
drink  it in. The narrowness of his waist, his reduced stature. He must be 
under five  and a half foot!

Bonds hands started to roam over his new body, playing with it. The caress 
of  his delicate hands was strangely erotic but Bond fought the response of 
his  body, struggling to find a way out of his hallucination. There had to be 
some  seem in this false reality, an inconsistency that would lead him back to 
the  real world. He struggled but the sensations his body was experiencing 
worked  against him, sapping his will.

He disrobed, his creamy skin much softer and paler than ever before. Slowly 
his  hands made their way down towards his new sex, covered by his 
boxers, his eyes  imposed to watch the unfolding spectacle. Then his hands 
stopped.

His eyes locked with those of the woman in the mirror. She grinned a most 
evil  smile as though she were mocking him, as though she knew exactly 
what he was  going through! The moment hung like a dagger poised above 
his heart.  Bond was forced to turn and pick up something on the bed. It was 
a post card.  Bond looked at it closely. It showed the skyline of Hong Kong. 
'What the hell is  going on here?' he wondered.

His eyes were again forced down to take in the female body he was still 
wearing.  His hand inched under his Union Jack boxers, tracing down his 
stomach to the  soft downy hair above his clit. 

His hand stopped and 007's eyes were forced to look at the postcard, his 
small  hand turning it over. A date and time were scrawled on the back of it. 
And a  name followed by the word assassinate.

'What the hell?' he thought as the world dimmed around him.

* * *

Bond awoke an instant later, refreshed and aware. He ran his hands over his  
body, making sure that everything was still there. Maybe... it was just a 
dream.  He clung to this thought for a moment before old reflexes kicked in.

Searching quickly, he grabbed a pen and paper and started sketching rapidly. 
He  had a good eye for detail and he never forgot a woman's face. If this 
woman were  real, Bond would soon find her.

When he finally held up the picture Bond frowned. She may have well been 
his  sister! Well it was a start.

Next Bond carried out a meticulous search of the room. He looked for 
anything  out of the ordinary. He found the postcard.

Bond thought carefully about what he had discovered. Not much. He knew 
the name  on the post card. Octopussy's father had an assistant, John 
Baltimore. It was  him. Maybe he was the link. Bond read the time that the 
assassination was  scheduled for. It was less than thirty two hours away! 007 
racked his mind. If  he waited for Q to return his best lead could be lost. If he 
chased after it,  Bond knew that he would be walking into a trap.

He was being played by an expert! Either a mind manipulator or, incredible 
as it  seemed, a female version of himself. Doubtless the only person who 
could find  Baltimore was him. He would lead the hunt to the fox! He had to 
though.

* * *

The first thing Bond noticed as he stepped from the terminal was the 
oppressive  heat and humidity. Even the night was humid. Hailing down a 
taxi, Bond ordered  the driver to the walled city, the dark seedy underbelly of 
Hong Kong. It took a  little searching through bars but Bond finally managed 
to locate his snitch, Si  Koh Tic. The man was a triad member but he owed 
Bond his life. Tic would be able  to hook James into the criminal network, 
allow him to get in contact with  Baltimore.

Baltimore was the leading chemist for one of the triad gangs, which made 
him  very valuable. Worth his weight in gold, not the type the triads would 
sell out.  Yes, Bond was leading someone to the fox.

Tic took Bond deeper into the walled city. This was the part of Hong Kong 
that  was owned and run by the criminal element. The entire place was like a 
fortress.  It was dilapidated, the streets bustling with neon glow and post 
hand over  furtiveness. Crime had survived under the new regime.

Bond looked up at the mammoth building he was being ushered into. It was a  
concrete mass, balconies latched haphazardly onto it's face, long clothes 
poles  pushing out and up from the edifice, washing cords strung from one 
building to  the next. It was like a huge spider-web hung between buildings.

Bond shook his head as he surveyed the vertical slum. He stepped inside. 
Most of  the interior of the building had been gutted and remodelled. Rough 
hewn holes in  concrete walls provided new doorways, whole supporting 
structures were rusted  and exposed. This place was a death trap, in more 
ways than one.

Bond started to pass sentries, men standing around, a little to idle and out of  
place to be anything other than guards. Even though possession of a gun was 
a  capital offence, Bond was certain they were packing.

The lift clanked open and Bond stepped inside, followed by two guards. As 
the  lift lurched and climbed its way upwards, the two men patted Bond 
down.  Satisfied he was apparently unarmed they nodded at one another. The 
mesh doors  opened. Bond walked down the corridor, taking in the sentries. 
He was impressed.  A frontal assault on this place would be suicide.

The guards bustled Bond into a room. It was well appointed, out of place 
amidst  all of the squalor and ruin. There was a large bay window that 
overlooked the  building opposite, a wasted view really. The two men stood 
behind 007, guns  aimed at his back.

"I understand you've been having a rough time of things Mr. Bond, or 
should I  call you 007?"

"James is fine.

"Can I offer you a drink? You are partial to a Dry Martini from what I have  
heard.

"Shaken...

Baltimore nodded to one of his Asian guards. The man went to the bar and 
started  to make up the drink. "So what do I owe the pleasure of your visit 
too? This  wouldn't have anything to do with the British Secret Service being 
hot on your  tail?"

"No. This has to do with you. I think someone might be trying to kill you.

"They're highly unlikely to succeed. I have the best protection money can 
buy.  My drugs are in high demand you know.

"It has to do with Octopussy.

"I was devastated to hear of her demise. She did bite off more than she could  
chew with Khan though.

"You know something about the case I was investigating?" Bond asked.

"All I know is that she got wind of a large shipment of raw materials being 
sent  to South America. Octopussy knew a little too much. Somebody had the 
poor girl  eliminated.

"Do you know who Pussywillow is?"

"Sadly no. All I know is that she is a new player, is wealthy and operates on 
a  global scale," Baltimore said.

Bond could sense that the man was lying. "Were you working on anything 
with  Octopussy?"

"Funny you should ask that. I was actually -"

Bond had a sudden premonition. He couldn't explain it, but he acted on it,  
diving to the ground behind a couch just as the window broke into a 
latticework  of cracks. Bullets tore through the glass and into Baltimore and 
his guards.  They didn't stand a chance.

Bond looked out through the holes and saw five black clad figures dangling 
from  ropes, reloading the machine pistols they held. They looked like special 
forces.  Whatever they were, they obviously intended upon finishing him off. 
Without a  seconds thought Bond charged at the window and dove through 
one of the ragged  gaps, bridging the gap between the building and one of the 
hanging killers.

The sudden impact caused the assassin and Bond to swing away from the 
building.  Bond grappled with the dangling figure, swinging wildly on the 
abseil rope. He  tried to grip the freshly reloaded machine gun, realising at the 
same time that  it was a woman he was struggling with.

The other hitmen reloaded. The sound of the clips slipping home was loud in  
Bond's ears. He was suspended twenty stories up fighting a woman for a 
gun while  four murderers prepared to shoot him. Grabbing the guns 
shoulder strap, Bond  pushed away from the woman, letting his body drop as 
he and the woman swung back  towards the building. The instant 007 
tumbled free the four gunmen opened fire.

The sound of gunfire was deafening and the muzzle flashes were like strobe  
lights. The woman Bond had just been struggling with let out a pained cry as 
her  compatriots finished her off. The gun that Bond had been fighting over 
was  wrenched from her lifeless grip as 007 fell into open space. Twisting, 
Bond  managed to grab a handhold on the building and swing onto the 
balcony the next  story down.

Commander Bond fired up at the black silhouettes and hit two of them before 
the  clip emptied. Meanwhile his other hand searched for a door handle. 
Finding one,  he turned it, only to discover the door locked.

Bond looked at the door, then pushed away from it as the assassins opened 
fire,  the murderous crossfire cutting off his only avenue for escape. He 
pressed his  body against the balcony partition. He was pinned down, easy 
pickings, his gun  empty. He could he not shoot the lock and Bond knew that 
there was no way he  could make it to the door without being killed. His 
Walther was hidden in  several pieces all over his body and would take more 
time than he had to  assemble.

"We have you Mr. Bond. Give up now.

Bond looked at the shoddily constructed balcony. "You don't know me very 
well,"  Bond said then did the unthinkable. He leaped over the balcony into 
open space.  It was a long way down. Bond's vision dimmed -

* * *

to be replaced by that of another. Pussywillow sensed the mad ploy and tried 
to  assert control over the body she and Bond shared, to grip the balcony at 
the  last moment. It was too late. 

The physical transformation to Honeydew Mountjoy had begun and 
Pussywillow was  in control but she was still falling towards certain death. 
Then she hit the  first bamboo clothes line, the pole pummelling her in the 
stomach, the impact  slowing her descent. As she tumbled she grabbed a few 
of the passing lines which  stretched between the buildings. They tore free 
from the building she had  recently leaped from but held firm on the other 
building.

The last blow had almost knocked her out, winding her badly. Pussywillow  
continued downwards, her head hitting another bamboo pole, knocking her  
senseless -

* * *

Bond blinked, his head pounding as he bounced from one bamboo pole to the 
next.  He reached out and grabbed desperately at the passing lines. Suddenly 
one of the  lines he was holding pulled taught and he started to swing towards 
the opposite  building. Then the cord snapped. From somewhere above he 
could hear gunfire. The  clothes around him jumped and leaped as they were 
torn by bullets.

Another line pulled tight and Bond continued his swing towards the opposite  
building. Then the line tore loose from the opposite building, causing him to  
drop downwards. He only had three more lines! There was a tense moment 
as two  lines snapped in rapid succession. Then there was one. It was 
holding him and he  was still swinging...

Bond flinched as he swung through a line of washing, narrowly avoiding 
being  impaled on one of the protruding bamboo poles. 007 hurtled into the 
opposite  building, flying through an open window and landing in a room in 
a tangle of  laundry and washing lines. He climbed to his feet and unravelled 
himself. The  room was full of mahjong playing Chinese. He pulled a bra 
from his shoulder and  smiled warmly.

"I'm sorry, this isn't my room," Bond explained as he ran through the middle 
of  their game and out of the room before they could overcome their surprise. 
007  ran down the corridor and started down the stairs, feeling a little woozy. 
He  nearly lost his footing, his ankle twisting in a shoe that seemed suddenly 
too  small.

'Not a hallucination now! I have to chase after the killers!' Bond thought as 
he  continued to make his way downwards, each step becoming harder. His 
clothes  seemed to be growing, tangling his steps. 'This isn't real,' he kept 
telling  himself, 'this isn't even possible!'

007 stopped and hastily assembled his Walther PPK, the pieces stashed all 
over  his body. The action helped him retain his mental balance. Then he 
started down  again.

Feeling the skin crawl on his chest in a most unusual fashion, Bond was 
forced  to pause on a landing. Gathering his breath, 007 prepared himself for 
his latest  delusion. He looked down at his body and was confronted by the 
familiar image of  the female body he had been hallucinating about. His body 
seemed to be  transforming before his eyes.

Unable to resist the urge he opened his shirt and looked inside. Breasts. The  
same breasts he had seen before. They were small and pert. Just as he 
remembered  them. Though they were not as large as he liked them, his 
breasts were quite  attractive.

There was something different though. This time he seemed to be in control. 
What  on earth was happening? He really seemed to be the woman he had 
dreamed of. He  leant against the wall in defeat. For the first time in his career 
he found  himself in a position he could not solve. He could cope with 
torture, death,  injury, poison, gunfights... but not this!

'They're getting away,' a small part of his mind said. He had to finish this  
mission. 'If you ever want to stop these bizarre transformations and 
flashbacks,  you have to find out who Pussywillow is and what she is doing. 
She's the key to  all of this,' he thought, half convincing himself.

The clothes he was wearing were a hindrance. He emptied the contents of his  
pockets into his jacket whilst kicking off his now useless shoes. Shedding 
his  suddenly too long pants, Bond started downwards again, his small 
breasts  bouncing in an odd fashion as he took the stairs two at a time. 

'Something will have to be done about these breasts,' he thought. Bond ran 
down  the until he reached what he expected to be the ground floor. He ran 
towards the  exit but couldn't find it. He seemed to be on the wrong floor!

Looking out a window, Bond saw the two remaining villains rappelling to the  
ground across the street. They were moving slowly as they had to navigate  
through the wash lines. Bond noticed the overhanging verandah which 
provided  cover to the walkway along the street and climbed through the 
window onto it.  As he considered his next action he spied a dress on one of 
the lines. He  grabbed it and quickly shed his shirt and pulled the stolen 
garment over his  head. He inspected himself. His union jack boxers showed 
through underneath.  Bond, ever the military man, decided to go commando 
and pulled off his boxers.  The dress was a bit tight around the chest and bum 
and obviously much too short  but it would have to do. 

Bond turned to watch what the black clad figures were doing. The killers had  
reached the ground and were climbing into a mini-van. Judging by the 
execution  of the assassination Bond assumed it was stolen. These people 
seemed like  professionals.

Bond had to get in that van! A truck was making it's way down the street 
which  gave James an idea. 007 ran to the edge of the roof and leaped onto 
the moving  trucks trailer, then made his way along the roof towards the 
drivers cab. He  climbed down on the passenger side and opened the door of 
the still moving  truck. The driver turned and stared as Bond climbed in.

"Follow that van," Bond ordered. It was the first time he had spoken. Only 
now  did Bond discover that his deep voice was now quite husky and a few 
octaves  higher.

The driver smiled, "what's in it for me?" 

Part 4. Raven

Bond trained his Walther PPK at the startled truck driver, who blinked twice 
in  disbelief. Bond answered the man's question, "What's in it for you? A 
bullet in  your head if you don't get this bloody truck moving.

The poor truck driver could tell from the steely gaze in the beautiful intruders  
eyes that she wasn't bluffing. "S-sure Miss. A-anything you say. I don't 
want no  trouble," stammered the rattled driver, with the slightest hint of his 
native  Cantonese dialect. He depressed the gas peddle, which accelerated the 
truck  forward.

The sudden motion tossed Bond's now much smaller feminine body about 
the cab of  the truck. However, it wasn't enough to dislodge the loaded 
weapon in his hands.  Normally he could handle the Walther with just one 
hand, but this new situation  required the use of both.

Bond looked out of the corner of his eye so that he could see what was 
happening  on the road ahead. He didn't want to turn his head to give this 
driver any  advantage. In this body he sensed that he could easily be 
overpowered. However,  it suddenly struck him as odd that he had been able 
to leap from the roof onto  the cab of the truck as easily as he could in his real 
body. Perhaps he retained  a portion of his old skills . . . at least he silently 
prayed that he did. He  would need them to get out of this damnable mess!

'How could this have happened,' he wondered amidst all of the activity. It 
had  to do with the injection that Octopussy had given him, he just sensed it. 
Why?  That was the question. Unfortunately, he couldn't worry about that 
now, and  would just have to play the hand that he been dealt. Wasn't 
resourcefulness one  of Bond's sterling qualities?

The one thing that he did know for sure was that the short oriental dress felt  
odd on him. It wasn't like men's clothes at all. He particularly bemoaned the  
sensation of the night air lapping at his barren sex just underneath the short  
hem of the dress. Bond squirmed and plucked at the alien clothing even as he  
barked commands to the truck driver in his contralto voice.

The peripheral inspection of the road ahead yielded the logistics of the current  
situation. They were not catching up to the van, but neither were they losing  
any ground. The truck driver was only maintaining the same distance.

"Faster! Step on it!" demanded Bond, realising how weak it sounded with a  
woman's voice.

"Please," pleaded the truck driver. "I didn't mean to offend you earlier. I  
don't want any trouble, and it looks like you're in the middle of something  
dangerous.

Bond had to concede that the man was correct, as once again his recklessness 
had  placed another innocent in the path of danger. He smiled to himself 
thinking, at  least this man isn't as irritating as Sheriff Pepper! He had the 
distinct  misfortune of running into that fat Louisiana miscreant on two 
separate  missions.

"Don't worry," Bond tried to reassure the driver, lowering his voice.  
"Everything will be okay. Just catch up to the van, okay?"

Bond was stunned at how sultry his voice was at a lower volume. It didn't  
distract him from worrying exactly how much protection that he could give to  
this man in this body. If push came to shove, what could this weak body do? 
The driver accelerated again, utilising the full capacity of the engine. In a  
minute or to, they found themselves tailgating the van.

Bond tucked the weapon the only place that he could . . between the soft 
flesh  of his small and perky breasts. "Just ease it a little closer and . . . hold 
it  steady!"

Bond started to crawl out of the open window of the passenger side. This  
produced an immediate reaction from the driver. "What are you doing , Miss? 
You  are going to get yourself killed.

Bond, however, had to try. He just hoped that a portion of his old skills still  
resided in this body. He gave his assistant parting instructions. "As soon as I  
jump, turn off the road. Get away from here as fast as you can.

"Who are you?" the nameless driver asked simply.

"Bond. James Bond!" came the reply.

The driver cocked his eyebrows thinking, 'strange lady. Beautiful, but 
strange!' Bond carefully inched out of the window of the moving vehicle 
onto the front  hood. He motioned for the driver to move closer still. The 
driver closed the  distance so that it was close enough to leap. At least it was 
close enough to  leap in his old body. 007 drew a deep breath, tensed his 
slender, hairless legs,  and jumped. He was suspended in mid air in the gulf 
between the vehicles for  what seemed to be an eternity.

He landed on the bumper of the van, his smallish hand finding the handle to 
the  rear door of the vehicle. Bond realised, in this one instance, his new 
body had  proved to be an asset. Had he been in his real body, his feet would 
surely been  unable to fit on the narrow bumper, and his hands would not 
have so easily  grasped the door handle. He breathed a slight sigh of relief as 
he saw his  former companion follow the parting instructions.

The driver was heading away to safety.

Unfortunately, Bond wasn't as safe. He could feel the van slowing to a stop, 
and  he knew that the passengers therein had realised that they had an 
intruder. The  van skidded to a final stop. Bond hopped off of the rear 
bumper, simultaneously  reaching down the front of the tight dress for the 
weapon. It was gone! Bond  knew without a doubt that it must have fallen 
out in the jump.

He did the only thing that he could do . . . assume a fighting stance. He had 
no  idea if he would be able to inflict any type of real damage with these 
slender,  minimally muscled arms and legs. He steadied himself when he 
heard the two  remaining black clad assassins approaching from either side of 
the van.

From the right side came a tall, pretty brunette woman, while from the left 
came  a slightly shorter red head. The red head was much better looking! It 
occurred  to Bond with a start that both of the women were much taller than 
he now was.  The presence of all these women was starting to resemble an 
oddly familiar  pattern.

Then a very strange thing happened. The two women, rather than attacking, 
took  on an aspect of relief at the sight of Bond. They eased up into a casual  
position, lowering their weapons, and Bond didn't know whether to attack 
himself  or to play along. The next statement that he heard convinced him to 
play along.

The tall brunette, who appeared to be in charge spoke, "Honeydew? What are 
you  doing here in Hong Kong? We thought that you were in London 
assisting  Pussywillow! We followed Bond as you ordered using the tracking 
device.

A lot of the missing pieces fell into place with that one declaration. What he  
had experienced earlier was not a dream, and he had actually been in this 
body  previously. These women obviously recognised him in this body as 
some type of  superior, perhaps second only to . . . . Pussywillow. Bond 
had apparently spent  some time as this Honeydew, and was an assistant to 
Pussywillow. It went far to  explain the missing four months and the use of 
his fingerprints and retinal  patterns to access sensitive information.

Bond now assumed a casual stance as he attempted to smile at the other two. 
He  was on the inside in this body, and could not waste the opportunity. 
Bond  checked the legs of the other two girls to find what he knew had to be 
there.  Octopussy's octopus tattoo. They were there. Idly, he glanced down 
at his own  soft legs to find an identical tattoo near the ankle.

Bond looked at the brunette straight into the eyes. "Change of plans!" he tried  
to sound authoritative.

Without even skipping a beat, Bond took charge of the situation. He had been  
undercover many times, and that experience served him well here. It went 
without  saying that he had never been undercover exactly like this! Again, he 
would have  to adapt, and use whatever resources were at his disposal.

"What is the status of Baltimore?"

This time the red head responded, with an apologetic note of sadness in her  
voice. "Dead . . . but so are Beverley, Celeste, and Hilary. Bond almost 
made a  mess of things, just as you warned he would.

Bond, still playing along, inquired, "I see. Where's Bond now?"

The read head still explained, "Unknown. He fell out of the window, and 
could be  hurt or dead. Judging from his past performance, he probably 
survived. We at  least lost him, so he won't know who we are, or where 
we're going.

The red head looked down at Bond's bare feet. In all of this action, James  
hadn't found the time enough to locate a pair of shoes.

"Mountjoy? Where are your shoes?"

Bond thought, that must be this Honeydew's last name. Lovely! He was now  
Honeydew Mountjoy. Bond had heard a lot of wild sexually suggestive 
names in his  past adventures, and this one was right up there. The only 
exception was that  now he had that sexually suggestive name.

"I was in a rush to get to you so I ditched them to run. I was plan B. I was  
going to take out Baltimore with a sniper rifle on the opposite building if you  
failed. You missed Bond but I winged him. He won't bother us for awhile.

Exactly how long, Bond did not know. He had no idea how long this 
transformation  would last, but he had already decided to make the best of it. 
He would learn  what he could of this Pussywillow or her plans while he 
could.

"You were there?" queried the brunette.

"Yes. You were very sloppy. I will have to bring this to Pussywillow's  
attention.

That did not sit well with the other two, confirming Bond's suspicion that  
Honeydew Mountjoy held a substantial position of power within 
Pussywillow's  organisation.

"What is your next move," asked Bond carefully.

"As you instructed. We are go back to the Island of Women to await the 
return of  you and Pussywillow. We were on our way back to the plane now.

The Island of Women, mused 007? Baltimore had proved to be a dead end . . 
.  literally. Whatever Bond was looking for was certainly back on the Island, 
and  that was the best place to start. With Pussy in London, he wouldn't have 
a  better time to snoop around under the guise of Honeydew. He was 
certainly  dressed for the occasion . . . so to speak. He only hoped that he 
could find  Octopussy's reasons for doing this to him in the first place, and 
perhaps an  antidote.

"I'm coming back with you. Pussywillow can handle the business in London  
herself.

"We better get going then because we're already running late.

With that, Bond joined the other ladies in the van, and departed for the plane  
that would return him to the place where this all started . . . the Island of  
Women!

* * * Bond had hoped to gather a little more useful information, to what 
promised to  be the performance of a lifetime, from his two companions. 
Unfortunately, they  were fast asleep within minutes after boarding the plane. 
The only thing they  did succeed in doing was finding him a pair of black 
high heeled pumps to wear.  They belonged to one of the dead female 
assassins!

Bond himself could not sleep. He felt tired, but was to keyed up to even 
attempt  slumber, and there would be time enough for that later. That left two 
options:  explore the wild sensations that his body was sending him, in 
essence explore  his new found femininity, or attempt to put more of the 
pieces together. He  opted to stay as far away from the former as long as 
possible. 

He couldn't avoid it forever!

'What day is it?' 007 wondered. 'Q must be wondering where in the bloody 
hell I  am.' Bond noticed a newspaper laying in the seat to his right, so he 
picked it  up to read. However, when he looked down at the paper spread in 
his small lap,  he had to look past the small firm breasts encased within the 
tight dress that  he wore. He silently thanked the heavens that it wasn't a low 
cut dress. It was  distracting enough having to watch those soft mounds rise 
and fall on his chest  with each breath.

It was then that he noted the date on the newspaper. Two entire days had 
passed  since he had fallen asleep on that initial night in Q's personal lab. 
'That is  just bloody great,' mused 007 mentally. Another lapse in memory to 
deal with.

With what the woman had told him, Pussywillow was still in London. He 
had to get  word to Q somehow. 'Q?' though 007. 'He must really be 
wondering about me after  disappearing for two more days. If only I could 
remember where Pussy was in  London, what she was doing there, or even 
what she looked like. Anything to give  Q a lead!'

Unfortunately, there was nothing. Something was clearly inhibiting his 
memory  whenever he became this Honeydew Mountjoy, but he had no idea 
what it could be.  Why could he remember being Honeydew now. Absently, 
Bond rubbed the aching bump  on his head from the fall, not realising the 
possible connection.

At the very least, he should warn Q that Pussy was in London, for they had 
to  find out what she was doing there. The answer struck Bond all at once. 
Q's  computer! If he could find a computer at the Island of Women, he could 
e-mail Q  a warning.

* * *

Once out of the plane on the Island of Women, it took all of 007's 
concentration  to walk in the high heels. Oddly enough, that concentration 
was only required  for the first few steps! Thereafter, the natural reflexes of 
the feminine body  that he wore came to life. 

That was when Bond knew for sure that this Honeydew persona had spent 
some  serious time in heels. It was all coming too easily. With the heels, 
Bond's gait  took on a fluid and feminine grace. All he had to do was not 
interfere with the  body's natural movements by over thinking everything. He 
found that if he just  kept his mind focused on the larger mystery, the body 
just took care of itself.

The pilot must have radioed ahead that Honeydew was coming back to the 
Island  because the other women had quite literally rolled out the red carpet.  
Absolutely everybody recognised him as Honeydew Mountjoy, with usual 
greetings  of, "Hello, Honey.

That was clearly his nickname now, and he shuddered at having to respond to 
such  a silly moniker.

Fortunately, the girls led him directly to Honeydew's suite. It was a large  
plush suite, with expensive furnishings, again indicating her rank in  
Pussywillow's organisation. Bond spent a few moments exploring every 
crevice of  his new suite. He located clothes, shoes, lingerie, make up, and 
all other  things essential to the life of a beautiful woman. 007 also located a 
computer.

With a very girlish sigh, James plumped down in the hard chair in front of 
the  computer to send Q an E-mail. Bond hadn't noticed it before, as he had 
been  sitting in the padded seats of the van and plane, but his buttocks 
definitely  felt fleshier now. It felt as if he had some built in padding in his 
seat! Bond got the message off to Q, hoping that it would do some good. 
Bond added  that he was following up on a lead, and would contact him 
when he could.

That done, Bond continued his exploration. Within a short time, he located a  
door to an adjoining suite . . . Octopussy's old suite. Now it was 
Pussywillow's  suite. Bond momentarily got a lump in his throat when he 
thought about his  former lover, and for a second there, thought he was going 
to cry.

"Damn body!" he gently swore under his breath. This woman's body was 
making him  experience emotions deeply and fully. Emotions were the one 
thing that up until  now, that he had never had to deal with. An agent couldn't 
afford them, but now  . . . there was no way around them.

He was about to explore Pussywillow's suite when a phone near the 
computer rang.  Bond crossed the room to answer the interruption. 
Therefore, he picked up the  receiver, saying, "Yes?"

There was an unknown girl on the other end. "Honey? There is a man calling 
from  London named Nigel Wrath. He says that he was supposed to have a 
meeting with  Pussywillow last night to finish up some type of transaction. 
She never showed  up. He's wondering what he should do with the goods, 
so he called here. He asked  for you by name.

"Put him through," Bond replied.

Bond knew Wrath. He was a weapons dealer of some repute, said to deal 
with some  exotic requests. The company had him under surveillance for 
some time, as he was  rumoured to have some of Drax's satellites from the 
Moonraker fiasco. What would  Pussywillow be doing with him? Where was 
she now? There was only one way to find  out.

"Honeydew Mountjoy? What is going on here? I thought that I had a deal 
with your  employer two nights ago. Where the bloody Hell is she?"

In his best girlish voice, Bond said calmly, "I do not know Mr. Wrath.  
Pussywillow comes and goes as she pleases, and answers to know one. If I 
may  ask, how did you get my name?"

"Pussywillow told me that if I couldn't speak to her directly to contact you,  
there on the Island. That is what I did.

007 thought quickly. He had to find out what this deal with the weapons 
trader  was. Therefore, he would have to try and bluff his way through the 
deal.

"I am prepared to finalise the transaction Mr. Wrath. I can be in London 
within  a few hours. Why don't you tell me where to meet you, and the time. 
I shall be  there forthwith.

"No need, Honey. I have to be in Bombay tonight on other business, and 
thought  that I might meet your there. Would that be acceptable?"

Bond considered for the moment, but he really had no choice. He would have 
to go  out in public as Honeydew. "Do you know the Palace Casino, Mr. 
Wrath?" "I do . . . very well.

"I shall meet you there, at 10:00 sharp.

"How will I know you, Honeydew?"

"I'll find you. Your reputation, as well as your face proceeds you.

In that, Bond was not lying. If Bond had a womanising counterpart on the 
other  side of the law, Nigel Wrath was it. Bond was going into the lion's 
den, but not  as the lion. He was to be the lioness!

Part 5 Kismet

Q stared at the computer generated image before him, the spinning double 
helix  of a human DNA sample projected upwards from his desk. The 
evidence was  undeniable. Q had run all the tests three times, just to be 
certain. 

The British Secret Service Research and Development Chief had figured out 
what  the two reo-virus strains in Bonds blood actually did. Q had even 
managed to  trigger both and he certainly didn't like what he had uncovered.

The twin viruses caused a complete change in Bond's DNA, and of the forty 
six  chromosomes in Bond's cells, it was the Y that was being affected by the 
two  reo-viruses.

When the first reo-virus was activated it caused little change other than a  shift 
of Bonds cells to female. The virus altered Bond's Y chromosome to become  
an X chromosome. When DNA matching was carried out the differences 
were minimal.  Q easily determined that the variations in genetic composition 
were in line with  the alteration of a single chromosome from Y to X. This 
virus also allowed the X  chromosome to be returned to it's unaltered Y form.

The second reo-virus however caused dramatic changes. The Y chromosome 
wasn't  altered, it was completely replaced. The new X chromosome seemed 
to come from an  octopus, which should be impossible. The resultant cell 
was about two percent  different from a normal humans, a big difference. 

Q had identified the octopus that the virus had been derived from. A rare 
genus  that was found only in an isolated chain of islands in the pacific. The 
Octopus  was capable of changing gender under certain circumstances. This 
went a long way  towards explaining why the human cells could be 
manipulated.

"Dear god Bond, what have you gotten involved in this time?" Q wondered 
aloud as  he massaged his scalp. Q reached down for another piece of the 
puzzle.

In shaky hands Q held the sketch of the attractive woman Bond had left for 
him  to investigate. With this picture before him Q was forced to accept what 
he had  been trying to deny. "It couldn't be... no it's not possible. An 
alteration on  the cellular level is different to a complete physical 
metamorphosis," Q said,  hoping against hope.

When Q had first seen the drawing he had thought it to be some twisted joke 
of  Bonds. But based on his research, Q was forced to contemplate that this 
might be  the female Bond that the first reo-virus would create. Since Bond 
and this  'woman' shared the same genetic pattern it was also possible that 
she was behind  the thefts that Bond was accused of. After all she would 
have the same finger  prints and retinal scan. That was if she existed.

"Damn you Bond, you always disappear at the most inconvenient times," Q 
swore.  He needed Bond here to run more comprehensive tests. "Where has 
the man gotten  too?" Q was particularly concerned about the second reo-
virus. The alterations  it caused bordered on the inter-specie level, not just a 
change in gender.

There was a sudden change on Q's computer screen. He had some new mail.  
Doubtless it was some joke or another. Q moved to check it anyway, very 
relieved  when he discovered that it was from Bond.

Reading the brief message only made Q more anxious. 007 had journeyed to 
Hong  Kong to interrogate Baltimore, but Baltimore had been eliminated by  
Pussywillow's assassins. Q remembered Baltimore, a gifted chemist and 
biologist  that had worked with Octopussy's father. Obviously Q and Bond 
were both pursuing  the same case from different directions. 

Bond also indicated that he was meeting Nigel Wrath, the arms dealer. Q tried 
to  determine where Wrath figured into all this but couldn't. 

It was all too confusing. Q decided that his efforts would be better spent on  
discovering how the virus worked. Maybe then he could create an anti-virus. 
In  the meantime Bond could take care of himself.

* * *

At the moment Bond was having problems of a most unusual sort. He had 
just  finished a most interesting shower and was trying to decide what would 
be  appropriate to wear to a Casino. Honey had a huge range of expensive 
dresses  which made things even harder. Usually Bond just slipped on a tux 
and that was  it.

As he dried his damp hair with a towel, Bond silently wished that he could go 
in  a tux, but two things stopped him. The first was that it would be out of  
character of Honey. The other hindrance was that Honey didn't have one.

Based on his experience with female agents Bond was looking for a dress 
which  would be utilitarian whilst making the most of his newly acquired 
feminine  wiles. Anything that restricted his legs too much was definitely not 
a  consideration. Apparently Honey thought the same as he did. Very few of 
her  dresses were made just for show, even though all of them were 
spectacularly  revealing

Commander Bond held up a strapless black dress which was slit all the way 
along  one leg to the hip. It was a made from a thin glittering material that was  
almost transparent from certain angles. Bond knew that this was excellent to  
distract peoples attention. Anything which gave him an advantage was good. 
Best  of all the dress could be zipped off into two pieces to create a mini-skirt 
of  sorts. He put it aside.

Having made a decision on the black dress, Bond proceeded to choose shoes. 
He  chose a pair of high heels that matched the dress. These were not 
practical, but  flats would have been unacceptable at a Casino, especially 
when she had to be  the centre of attention.

"Damn, I'm even thinking of myself as a woman!" Bond said aloud.

The small stockpile of weapons Honey kept were quite impressive. 007 even  
noticed a few of Q's gismo's amongst them. He pulled out a small pistol and 
the  matching garter holster. In the past he had found it quite an enjoyable  
experience to discover one of these beauties nestle between a woman's 
thighs,  but no-one was going to find his.

The black hand bag which went with the dress had room for a pistol so Bond  
placed a Gloch in there. He liked his Walther PPK, but once again Honey 
didn't  have one. He also selected a cigarette case and a cigarette stick. As 
007 made  sure everything fitted in the purse he received a surprise of sorts. 
He found  Honey's contraceptive tablets and a number of ribbed condoms.

"Not something I needed to know," Bond said. He looked at the packet of 
pills.  "One a day," he read aloud. 

He closed his eyes and shook his head. He popped a tablet from the casing 
and  placed in his mouth and swallowed.

"The things I do for queen and country!" he said, looking down at the dress. 
The  only thing he needed now was underwear. He went to one of Honey's 
drawers and  pulled out a skimpy black G-string. The dress was sufficiently 
tight that he  would not require a bra, but this little beauty was definitely 
required. 

007 quickly stepped into the thong g-string and examined his reflection in the  
mirror. "What a pity I'm you," he said to his reflection as he adjusted his  
newfound breasts. He then picked up the dress and struggled into its tight  
confines. It was a most impressive sight. He put on the high heals then 
finished  the outfit off with the matching bag. He looked like one of his better  
conquests...

There was a knock on the door. Bond looked away from his reflection. 
"Come in,"  he called.

A tall woman entered. Bond ran his eyes over her. She was attractive in her  
muscular way, but there was something coldly foreboding about her. He 
knew her  from the British Secret Service files. Ivana Kutchukokoff. "Ivana, 
how are you?"  Bond inquired.

"Good," she said with a thick Slavic accent. "I am to guard you tonight." She  
was efficient in everything she did, walking, talking and if Bond remembered  
correctly, killing. Six foot tall, most of it highly compact muscle, she cut a  
striking figure. 

Bond tried to remember any more details about this woman. Ivana 
Kutchukokoff was  an ex-soviet agent that specialised in assassination. Her 
methods were  apparently quite painful, especially for males. Bond was glad 
he was meeting her  in the body of Honey and not in his male one.

That she was with Pussywillow spoke volumes about the female leaders 
power.  Ivana was a staunchly loyal socialist, not the type that Bond would 
have picked  to join up with a criminal.

"Well, I'm almost ready. I just have to do my make-up," Bond said. 'Oh my 
god,  did I just say that?' he wondered.

Bond went over and allowed himself to relax. With Honey's practiced hand, 
Bond  was soon looking resplendent, his face lightly made up, his lips a 
pouting matte  red. Even his lashes were done. 'It's a good thing that 
Octopussy is dead,  otherwise I'd kill her myself,' Bond thought half 
heartedly as he looked at the  beautiful woman he had become. 

'Tonight you must do whatever is required to discover what Pussywillow is 
up  too. Just remember James, Queen and Country,' Bond thought.

* * *

As 007 stepped into the lushly appointed Casino foyer he was acutely 
conscious  that he was attracting stares. Having women look him over was 
nothing new, but  men eyeing him off was something else entirely. Bond was 
suddenly appreciative  of the ice cold presence of Ivana.

Without the slightest outward sign of his uncertainty, Bond made his way to 
the  bar.  "What can I get you Honey?" the man asked.

Bond smiled at the way the question sounded. It could almost be a pick up 
line,  except it was the name of this body. "A Martini -" 

"Stirred not shaken, I know.

Bond frowned. Why would he want it stirred? This woman had bastardised 
his trade  mark drink!

Moving away from the bar, Bond scanned the tables pausing when he made 
eye  contact with Nigel Wrath. The man wore a custom black tuxedo that 
fitted him  well. He had a rakishly charming smile on his handsome face, the 
type of smile  that won women's hearts. Bond knew this because he had 
possessed that same  smile. 

Even though their paths had crossed numerous times, Bond had not met this  
illusive arms dealer. He knew of Nigel only by reputation. Wrath was an odd  
fellow from what Bond understood. He was brilliant at his arms trade and 
other  illegal activities, but the criminal possessed his own unique moral 
code.  Bond remembered conversations about Wrath with his associates in 
the now defunct  Afghan resistance. For some bizarre reason Nigel had sold 
at below cost to the  Mujahadin. It wasn't for religious reasons either. Wrath 
apparently felt for  their cause.

Though Wrath's activities were illegal, Bond could almost respect the man. 
There  was a certain twisted chivalry to the mans actions. Except now Nigel 
was dealing  with Pussywillow.

Bond made his way to the gaming table, his path clearing as people turned to  
admire him. He could almost get used to this.

"Mr. Wrath," Bond said, extending his hand.

"A pleasure to meet you Miss Mountjoy," Nigel said suavely as he held 
Bond's  hand and proceeded to bring it to his mouth to kiss. With his best 
poker face  Bond casually pulled his hand free. Nigel smiled and nodded his 
head towards the  woman before him, acceding the point but not the game. 

Inwardly Bond was a little amused. It was just the sort of thing he would 
have  tried if their roles had been reversed. He would have to watch this wily  
adversary, but fortunately Bond knew exactly where Wrath was coming 
from.

"Do you gamble?" Wrath asked, his eye brow raised suggestively.

"A little," Bond replied blandly, moving to take a seat. He was well aware of  
the subtle innuendo of Wrath's comments and found them slightly flattering.

"Allow me," Wrath said, moving to assist with the chair. Ivana imposed 
herself  between her female charge and the Nigel. Arms crossed she silently 
glowered at  the man. "Well, maybe not," Wrath said, reaching into his 
pocket and pulling out  a cigarette case. Moving to a seat on the opposite side 
of the table he popped  the lid. "Cigarette?" Wrath offered, holding the case 
out to James.  007 shook his head, "I have my own," Bond said. 

Wrath nodded and adroitly pulled out an expensive cigarette. With a small  
flourish he put the case away in his pocket then lit up.

"What are the stakes," Bond asked, amused by the man's quirky movements.

"I thought you knew? If I win we go to my room -"

"You're not going to win," Bond said with certainty.

"Then we're going to your room," Wrath said, a beguiling smile on his face.

'Damn I hope I'm not this irritating when I put on the charm,' Bond thought, 
his  interest growing. He wanted to know what made Wrath tick. There was a 
lot more  going on behind that facade, Bond was certain.

"Black Jack," Bond said, naming the game.

They started out, bets a minimum of ten thousand dollars. Bond was acutely 
aware  that direct discussion of Wrath's business with Pussywillow was a 
taboo subject  in public, but that didn't mean she couldn't skirt the subject. 
This wasn't just  a game of cards after all.

"So tell me. How has your work been going lately?" Bond inquired as the 
hand was  being dealt.

"Very quiet," Wrath said, "but I understand you've been involved in a hostile  
takeover quite recently.

"Yes, that is true," Bond looked at his cards. A Jack and a six. Not good. 
He'd  have to go all or nothing. "But it is very important to keep competitive. 
You  should never go for less than break even, even in an Muslim market," 
Bond said,  indicating he knew about Wrath's Afghan support. He held up 
his hand for another  card.

Wrath smiled easily, wearing a bland poker face as he also indicated he 
wanted  another card. "You never know when you'll need a favour returned," 
was Wrath's  easy reply.

Bond held up his new card. A four. That brought him to twenty. Bond held 
his  dainty hand over his cards to show that he would sit.

Wrath did the same.

The dealer flipped his cards over. A king and a nine. "Dealer pays twenty and  
twenty one," he said.

Wrath showed his three cards. They came to twenty.

With an ironic smile, James turned his cards face up. "Neither of us won. I  
guess we're going back to our own rooms. Alone," Bond said.

"So it would seem," Wrath said, putting out his cigarette, "unless I were to 
ask  for another card." Nigel placed a one hundred thousand dollar chip on 
the table  and indicated to the dealer for another card. 

"Sir you've already won," the dealer pointed out.

"Humour me. If I break twenty one the house can keep my bet. If not, you 
don't  have to pay me a cent. This is just between me and the lady.

Bond nodded.

"Very well," said the dealer, shrugging as he dealt Wrath a card. Wrath 
picked  it up slowly, his eyes on the black clad woman the entire time. She 
kept her  eyes on him. The corners of Wrath's mouth were upturned in a 
small laconic  smile. He threw the card down on the table with a flourish of 
his wrist. It was  an ace. The gathered crowd muttered in awe.

"I guess we go to my place.

Bond placed a five hundred thousand dollar chip on the table, "I'll raise you,"  
he said cockily.

The dealer was a little confused. Neither of the gamblers stood to gain 
anything  by this. He dealt a card to the small woman. She picked it up with 
the rest of  her cards and looked at them. Then the lovely woman placed them 
face down on the  table, shoulders slumped in defeat. "I've broken twenty 
one," James said, a  slightly surprised expression on the woman's face as 
though she had never lost  before.

"Mr. Wrath wins," the dealer said. There was an amused chortle in the crowd 
as  the tension evaporated.

Nigel Wrath stood and made his way to the black clad woman. "Miss 
Mountjoy, I  believe we have business to discuss in my private suite.

Once again Ivana interposed herself between Wrath and her charge. "That's 
all  right Ivana, your services are no longer required tonight," the woman in 
black  said.

Ivana cast one last scalding look over Wrath, then departed.

The woman accompanied Wrath from the Casino.

The dealer shook his head and picked up the five hundred thousand dollar 
chip,  placing it in the Casino's winnings drop. He then picked up the 
woman's cards  and turned them over. She'd drawn an ace as well. The 
dealer just couldn't  understand women sometimes. 

* * *

"I like your hands," Bond said as they stood in the elevator. "I'm sure you  
could do wonderful things with them.

"Oh, I can," Wrath said, as he turned towards the small woman. "You know, 
I like  you so much more than Pussywillow. She's so tall and imposing, 
always gets  straight to the point. I like they way you play around things. 
Like a little  mouse you skirt the main issues, never saying up front what's on 
your mind. You  seem to be such a mystery, and I love mysteries.

Bond nodded, taking a step back as Wrath moved forwards. 007 placed a 
hand on  Wrath's wrist as the man moved his hand towards James to embrace 
him. James  realised now how much stature he had lost. Bond now barely 
reached the mans  chin! The sudden proximity of Wrath worried James. 007 
needed to stop the man's  advances, he was not ready for them. 

"You move very quickly," Bond said quickly, turning a card around in his 
hand  and holding it in front of Wrath. It was an eight. "Very deft the way 
you  slipped it up your sleeve.

Wrath smiled sheepishly, his cheating revealed, "you can't fault a guy for  
trying." Bond had turned aside Wrath's advances, placing him momentarily 
on the  defensive.

"That means I won and we should be going to my place. A pity, since my 
little  island is so much nicer than this hotel," Bond said airily, leading Wrath 
along.  He didn't know why he was doing it! "You've never been to the Isle 
of Women  before, have you?"

"No I haven't, but I must admit, I'm a little curious," Wrath said in an  
understated manner.

Bond arched an eye brow. If Wrath was as womanising as his reputation 
suggested  then he would surely love the Isle of Women.

The elevator stopped and the couple made their way to Wrath's room. The  
penthouse suite was open and airy, the decor Imperialistic in nature although  
influenced heavily by the native Indian style.

"Would you like a drink before we get down to business?"

"Yes, Bourbon on the rocks," Bond said. He strolled around the penthouse,  
admiring the furnishings. Wrath passed him the drink.

"Thank you," Bond said as he opened his hand bag and pulled out his 
cigarette  case, careful of the Gloch. Seeing the varied contraceptive devices 
he rapidly  closed the bag.

Wrath smirked, obviously having seen the contents of Bond's purse as well. 
"My  we do come prepared don't we?" Nigel said, a rakish grin once more 
affixed to  his face. "That's some heavy protection you're packing.

It was only with incredible willpower that Bond stopped himself from 
blushing.  He should have gotten rid of this paraphernalia!

"So shall we finish the transaction I began with Pussywillow?" Wrath asked.

Bond nodded. "Yes, bring me up to speed.

"All the medical equipment your employer wanted is available. Some of that 
stuff  is worth a mint, but you're paying top dollar. All I need now is a 
delivery  address." 

Bond sipped his drink slowly. "South America," he said, playing a hunch.  
Baltimore had hinted that was where Pussywillow had been sending raw 
materials.

Wrath smiled, "I'd thought as much. But where exactly?"

Bond didn't have the foggiest idea. If he failed to answer, Wrath would 
become  suspicious. Bond searched his mind for a solution to his dilemma. 
When he  encountered a protagonist of the opposite sex he couldn't outwit, 
he invariably  just slept with them. 

Unfortunately 007 was a woman at the moment and Wrath was clearly a man. 
'Where  are those gun toting assassins when you needed then?' Bond 
wondered. 'Queen and  country James...'

007 moved forward and kissed the surprised Wrath. Wrath stood for a 
moment,  stunned. 

This minx had been playing hard to get all night, now she was throwing 
herself  into his arms. Not one to question his good fortune, Wrath kissed the 
slight  girl back. He took her to his bed.

Bond was a little restrained at first. This had been his last line of defence  and 
he had not fully anticipated the consequences of using a female body to  
seduce a man. Judging by his level of excitement, his body was more than 
ready  for the task.

It was strange to kiss a man. The kiss was pleasant and Bond could feel a  
growing excitement. Wrath ran his hands over Bonds softly curvaceous 
body,  tingles of pleasure starting in Bonds sensitive skin. Bond responded 
in kind,  running small delicate hands over Wrath's well muscled body, 
slowly tracing  downwards towards the man's rising manhood then teasingly 
leading away.

Wrath's hands moved to the small mounds of Bonds breasts and caressed 
them  through the dress, then pushed the almost sheer fabric down so they 
popped free,  the nipples pert and erect. Wrath leant down and engulfed one 
in his mouth,  flicking it gently with his tongue. Bond squirmed at the sudden 
pleasure.  At this moment Bond realised exactly how much bigger Wrath's 
male body was in  comparison to his female body. Up until now Bond had 
always played the dominant  role, the woman in his life submissive, with a 
few notable exceptions. Now the  roles seemed reversed. Bond had little time 
to dwell on this as the black dress  which clad his feminine waist and hips 
was pushed even further down exposing the  black thong he had chosen 
earlier that day. Bond couldn't seem to resist,  Wrath's hands were 
everywhere at once, playing the female body like a master.

Bond retained enough presence of mind to reciprocate, using every trick he'd  
ever learnt in his coloured career. Bonds knowledge was formidable and 
Wrath was  equally impressed. Bond could tell by the manhood which was 
pressed firmly  against his soft waist.

"Good thing I come prepared," she said reaching into her bag and producing 
a  condom. Wrath smiled and pulled her thong bikini off her, exposing her 
new sex  to the cool air. He pulled off his pants and applied the rubber. 

Bond had a moment to stare before he was on her. As he slid into her, Bond 
let  out a cry of pleasure, wrapping her legs around his waist. It was unlike  
anything she had imagined. The way Wrath slid in and out of her, gently 
coaxing  her as he fondled her breasts and nipples was sublime.

Lying on her back, a man pounding away deeply inside her, Bond tried to 
analyse  the new sensations but couldn't concentrate. She had to act. Wrath 
was going too  slowly! "Faster," she begged in her husky voice. "Deeper," 
she breathed.

Wrath smiled as he obeyed her commands, the small and compact woman 
beneath him  moaning and groaning whenever he moved the slightest 
amount. Wrath could hardly  believe it. She was almost like a virgin, totally 
lacking in self control or  poise, completely submissive to his every action. 
She had been the one to start  their encounter but Wrath was the one who was 
firmly in control.

James ground away with Wrath above her, then it just stopped. Wrath had 
pulled  out!

"Get down on all fours Honey. We're going to do it doggie style," Wrath 
ordered.

Bond didn't even think. She just acted, turning around on the bed, her firm  
rounded arse high in the air, her puckered cunt tingling with expectation. She  
could feel Wrath position himself at the sensitive folds of her clit, his head  
barely resting inside her. He placed a hand on her waist as she tried to push  
back on him. 

"No, be patient," Nigel said. He waited a few seconds then slowly slid into 
her.  James whimpered. From this angle the pleasure was exquisite. She 
could feel  sweat rolling down her body towards her breasts. It coalesced at 
her nipples and  dripped to the damp bed sheets.

Wrath moved leisurely in and out then paused. There was an expectant intake 
of  breath from Honey. Wrath smiled as the moment stretched, bringing his 
hand under  her to play with her engorged lips. She squirmed a little.

Wrath pushed deep into her and she let out a sharp cry, arching her back.  
Gripping her firmly around the waist he started to pound away into with a 
fierce  tempo punctuated by yelps and gasps. He could feel her becoming 
wetter.

Bond didn't know what was happening. She could feel a shuddering in her 
privates  each time Wrath pounded into her and he seemed to be pounding 
into her  incessantly. It was like he wasn't even pulling back. Her insides felt 
extremely  sensitive and numb at the same time. It was as though the pleasure 
was coming  from everywhere and nowhere. 007 let out a shuddering scream 
as her vaginal  muscles convulsed, warmth flowing from her. And it just kept 
on going.

* * *

Bond dressed quickly and left the room. Sex as a woman had been quite 
enjoyable.  Wrath had also been very good, exceptional even. Female 
orgasms were a great all  over body rush. Bond now knew what he had been 
missing. Nigel was an adventurous  lover and had made losing his virginity 
the second time around all the more  memorable.

As he left with an extra bounce to his step, the apparently sleeping figure of  
Wrath roused and began to dress. 

Once back on the island, Bond began his search. If this was where 
Octopussy had  developed the virus that was behind her transformations, then 
Bond wanted to  discover Octopussy's lab. He had searched both Honey's 
and Pussywillow's rooms  and found nothing to indicate a lab. It must be 
downstairs. 

Bond stripped from his slinky black dress and grabbed a flowing black silk 
shirt  and a pair of raven leg hugging pants, quickly changing into them. Next 
he  pulled on a pair of riding boots. Smoothing down the outfit, Bond was 
surprised  at how feminine he now was.

007 looked out the door to check the passage. It was all clear. Familiar from  
past visits, Bond made his way to the sub-basement. He stole along the 
corridors  quietly, wary of disturbing the guards, reasoning that although he 
appeared to  be Pussywillow's second in command he may not be allowed 
down here.

James came to a secure door with a palm scanner. Bond knew how to by-
pass one of  these, but his foes may expect him to know... he couldn't 
continue second  guessing his foes. Bond started to disable the highly 
technical lock, unscrewing  the face then rapidly rewiring it. He found the 
work easier with his newly  nimble fingers. The door slid open. 

Bond looked into the sparse room. It was a lab all right. This was where  
Octopussy had made the Virus that was causing him so much grief. Bond 
turned on  the lights then went over to one of the cabinets and started 
browsing. He found  a small rack with samples marked reo-virus strain A, B 
and C. 

Bond was curious as to what they did. He took one of each, slipping them 
into  his bra. These undergarments came in handy, except for holding guns. 
As he did a  final search of the lab he saw a detailed map of South America 
which showed  exactly where Pussywillow's base was!

Footsteps coming along the corridor distracted Bond. One of the guards was 
doing  her rounds and coming this way! Bond turned off the lights in the lab, 
his eyes  rapidly adjusting to the darkness. He was going to be forced to 
jump the guard,  he just hoped that he was strong enough in this small female 
form. 

Suddenly there was a muffled sound followed by the noise of someone 
collapsing.  Bond moved to the side of the door, ready to jump who ever 
came through the  entry.

A hooded man stood in the corridor, looking at the disabled lock. He had just  
rendered a sentry unconscious and had been prepared to break into the lab, 
only  to find the palm pad all ready dismantled.

The dark man padded silently towards the entry, listening for any untoward  
noise.

There was a sudden sound to his left so the man rolled to his right, suffering 
a  glancing blow to the face. It smarted a little but his balaclava had been torn  
off as well. The man was already moving, going into a defensive crouch,  
preparing to fight.

Bond looked at the man. Nigel Wrath. "What are you doing here?" he hissed,  
keeping his voice down.

"What about you!" Wrath asked. There was a commotion brewing outside, 
both of  them realised that the guards were onto them.

"Follow me," Bond ordered, running back towards her room. They made it 
there  without anyone seeing them. Looking around the room, Bond realised 
that it was  altogether to open. There was nowhere to hide Wrath.

Having a sudden idea Bond hastily began to strip. Wrath looked at the 
woman, "my  we do have an appetite.

"Get into the shower! Get the hot water going and steam it up!" Bond 
ordered.  Wrath obeyed. Bond followed the man into the shower as he threw 
his scant  undergarments to the ground. James got the water to a reasonable 
temperature and  wet his short hair. As he stood there, two armed sentries 
burst into the room.

Bond poked his head out through the door. "What do you think you are 
doing!"  Bond demanded, covering his naked female curves. The two woman 
appeared most  contrite.

"We're looking for an intruder. He has raided Pussywillow's lab.

"Search the island. The thief mustn't get away," Bond ordered, "report back 
when  you find the intruder! I have to finish my shower.

Part 6. Raven

Wrath approached Bond from behind. As Bond was closing the translucent 
shower  door, Wrath reached around Bond's narrow waist and chest to cup 
the small but  firm breasts that were there. At the same time, Wrath slid his 
erection between  Bond's silky thighs so that it nestled very near to Bond's 
sex. 

"Now about those appetites of yours, Honey!" 

A shiver of delight travelled up and down Bond's spine. In his varied career, 
he  had experienced pleasure in all of its myriad forms. Some forms were 
wilder,  more intense than others, but nothing so wild as he had experienced 
tonight as a  woman. The memories of the sensations that he had felt whilst 
making love to  Wrath came back to him. 

His female body literally ached to do it all over again. 

However, Bond pulled away, turning to face his companion. His eyes 
involuntarily  glanced downward at the Wrath's swollen, impressive 
manhood. Again, a wave of  desire passed through Bond, confusing the 
woman. 

"We can't Nigel . . . we have no protection. I can't risk getting pregnant." 

That much was true, and Bond was not ready to experience that manifestation 
of  womanhood. 

Wrath reached up to caress Bond's cheek with the palm of his hand. Oddly, 
007  found himself leaning into that caress. 'What is happening to me,' Bond 
worried. 

Wrath's caress didn't stop at Bond's cheek. He continued upward, behind 
Bond's  ear. Bond felt Wrath's fingers travel behind his ear, and suddenly 
the man was  holding up one of the packaged condoms that were inside 
Honey's purse. It was  exactly like the old magician's track where they 
plucked a coin from behind a  child's ear. 

"But how . . . ." Bond began. His verbalisation was interrupted by Wrath's  
finger at his lip. He held that finger there while answering the unfinished  
question. 

"Simple slight of hand, my dear Honey. A simple matter really for somebody 
who  has aces up his sleeve. Would you do the honours?" There were many 
things which  Bond needed to do, but with the intruder alert he and Wrath 
were trapped in this  suite at least until morning. Bond never was one to deny 
himself pleasure. What  was it that they taught all of the agents at the 
academy? Sometimes it was  necessary to use your body was a weapon. 

'What I do for Queen and country,' thought Bond again! Bond took Wrath's 
finger  into his mouth. He sucked the finger between his two soft, moist lips, 
while  twirling the fingertip on the tip of his tongue. Simultaneously, he took 
the  condom, now bereft of its packaging. 007's free hand found Wrath's 
manhood, and  stroked it several times to maintain the erection. It was hardly 
necessary.  Bond deftly rolled the prophylactic up the length of Wrath's not 
so hidden  weapon. Then he let the finger slide slowly out of his mouth. 
Bond stood on his  tip toes to kiss Wrath on the lips, and when he did, 
Wrath's manhood found a  willing home. 

Bond pressed her breasts into Wrath's chest and sighed as he savoured the 
new  sensations again. This time he managed to retain some self control. It 
was  difficult to do it standing up in the shower and they had to move slowly 
but  Bond found it rewarding. The woman ended up wrapping her long legs 
around  Wrath's waist and slowly lowering and raising herself. The constant 
flow of warm  water over James' body was incredibly erotic. This time Bond 
kept control and  made it an encounter which Wrath would likely never 
forget.

Afterwards 007 curled up into Wrath's strong arm, trying to remember the 
warmth,  safety and security that he felt. 

He never understood, until this very second, why the fairer sex had a need to  
cuddle after the act of making love. It was one of but many alien, but  
pleasurable, feelings that Bond was mentally documenting in preparation for 
his  return to manhood. He was no slouch as a lover, but with the inside 
knowledge  that he no possessed about a woman, he would be the best lover 
alive. He even  learned a trick or two from Wrath to try on women, when he 
return to his former  body. 

Bond was sure that Wrath probably now imagined that the person that he 
believed  to be Honeydew as the best woman lover he ever had. 007 had used 
his first hand  knowledge of a man's body to touch, kiss, or whatever to 
Wrath's body. The  results were rather . . . explosive! A though occurred to 
Bond. As long as he  was trapped, for the time being, in Honeydew's room 
with Wrath, he might as well  use the time to find out as much information 
that he could provide about  Pussywillow. However, he had been going for 
about 48 hours, without a rest.  Slumber was gently beckoning for Bond, 
and he could feel his eyelids drooping.  "Have you ever made love with 
Pussywillow?" Bond asked Wrath. 

There was a long silence which said it all. Before Wrath could answer, 007 
posed  a more incisive query. 

"Who's better in bed . . . me or Pussywillow?" Bond expected that it would 
be  him. There was no doubt in his mind that no woman alive could know 
how to touch  a man's body as he did. The answer that he got was quite 
shocking. 

"A gentleman doesn't discuss such things, Honey. You are English also, 
judging  from your accent, and you should know better." He was hedging! 
Wrath was hiding  something that Bond instinctively knew that he had to 
know. He did his best to  feign a feminine giggle, whilst softly elbowing 
Wrath in the ribcage. 

"Ah . . . but you are no gentleman, Nigel." Wrath took a bemused protest to 
that  remark. 

"I beg to differ with . . . ." Bond grew tired of the lovers' playful banter  that 
he had triggered. This time he was just a little bit more insistent.  "Just tell me 
Wrath!" 

"My, my! Is the lady that competitive with her boss. If you must know, you 
are  very similar. Seldom have I had the pleasure of sleeping with two 
women who knew  a man's body so well. I would have to give Pussywillow 
higher marks, as she was  a lot more . . . uninhibited in bed. Maybe it is just 
a matter of style and  preference, but you were much more conservative. 
Sorry, but you asked." Now it  was Bond's turn to be silent. Wrath 
interpreted this silence to be evidence of  stepping upon a woman's fragile 
emotions. He hugged Bond tightly. 

"I didn't mean to imply that you weren't spectacular . . . you were. I 
wouldn't  be here now if you weren't." Bond decided to seize upon the 
direction of the  conversation, and Wrath's defensiveness to learn a little more 
about his  ultimate for . . . Pussywillow. However, the wanting comparison 
to her in bed  WAS disturbing to him for some reason. He chalked it up to 
simple  competitiveness. 

"Who's body do you like better . . . mine or hers?" 

"Hmmmmm," considered Wrath. "I would have to say yours, Honey. I've 
always  preferred shorter women. They are much more . . . feminine to me. 
Pussywillow is  much too tall for me." That told Bond that he was dealing 
with a tall woman,  potentially a very tall woman. 

"Anything else?" 

"Her body is unnatural in a way. It's almost too perfect, in that she is very  
slender and has very big boobs. Not that I don't mind big boobs every now 
and  again, mind you. I prefer smallish breasts, like yours that will hold up 
over  time." With that utterance, Wrath stroked one of Bond's nipples from 
his  spooning embrace. The barest of touches was enough to enlarge that 
nipple by a  substantial margin. Bond felt like groaning in response to the 
renewed  attention. The body was willing, but the exhausted spirit was weak.  
Instead, Bond continued with his subtle interrogation. "What about our  
respective hair?" 

"I would have to give Pussywillow the nod on that one. I have always adored  
long, thick hair. Hers is well below her bottom, as you know. Let's call it a  
tie here, on second thought. I prefer your brunette hair to her blonde, even  
though yours is very short. It looks good on you, believe me. It looks like it .  
. . fits!" Now Bond was moving. He had a pretty accurate description thus 
far,  and there was only one thing left to determine without revealing himself. 

"Who's prettier?" 

"That's unfair, Honey. You are very beautiful, but she has model looks . . .  
maybe better." That completed the picture. He could E-mail Q what to look 
for,  but for now, he had to cover with Wrath. 

"A girl can hope can't she?" posited Bond, playfully. 

"I was starting to wonder. It was beginning to sound as if you had never met 
the  woman. That reminds me, why were you sneaking around in your 
bosses lab? You  never told me.

Bond had to take a chance here. His gut, call it women's intuition, told him  
that he could trust this man. 

This was a potential ally amidst this sea of confusion. Bond spun around in 
the  man's arms, so that he could look into the man's eyes. 

"Look . . . Nigel . . . I'll be honest with you. Just because I am 
Pussywillow's  second doesn't mean that I know everything that she's up to. 
I think she is  planning something . . . bad. I can't let that happen.

Again, Wrath was quiet for a second, but he didn't allow that pause to linger  
this time. "Hmmm... I wasn't wrong about you after all. I sensed that you 
were  not like your boss." 

Bond looked into Wrath's eyes, and asked, "I might ask you the same 
question.  Why would you risk braking into Pussywillow's lair just to get a 
look at her  lab." 

"You do not know me very well, Honey, but I do not sell weapons to just  
everybody. I am not a mercenary. I will only sell my wares to those who 
cannot  defend themselves. I will admit that I make a . . . handsome profit in 
the  trade, but I will not sell to those who will use the weapons to oppress 
others.  "That is what disturbed me about Pussywillow. I don't know how, 
but she knew  that I had some of Drax's leftover satellites. I had hoped to 
cannibalise the  technology to use on something else, but never got around to 
it. Pussywillow  contacted me, and offered much more than the things are 
worth . . . enough for  me to consider the sale. There was just something 
about it which didn't feel  right. 

"The satellites are for delivery of a biological agent. I had to find out what  
that agent was before I could even consider the sale, and with you boss 
missing  . . . . well, it was just the perfect time." The pieces were starting to 
fall  into place. However, what could be the biological agent. Suddenly, it 
dawned on  Bond that it had to be something to do with reo-viruses. His eyes 
widened,  drawing the attention of Wrath. 

"Do you know what she's up to, Honey?" 

"I am . . . not sure. I have an idea, but would rather not say. If you want to  
help me, we can investigate tomorrow." Wrath kissed Bond, with Bond,  
surprisingly kissing back. There was much to be said for this casual kissing.  
Wrath verified his involvement, "I'm in.

"Listen, Nigel. If we get separated for any reason, complete the sale with  
Pussywillow. Don't do anything to arouse her suspicion, okay. I'll meet you  
where the delivery site was marked in South America in two days. Promise 
me."  Bond had been through way to many of these things to know that you 
always have a  back up plan. 

"I promise, I promise," Wrath guaranteed. 

Bond knew that site all too well. That was Drax's alternative missile silo 
where  he had launched some of his shuttles during the Moonraker incident. 
If there was  another shuttle there, coupled with the wayward satellites, it 
could spell  disaster. 

Wrath started to caress Bond erotically for one more go. However, Bond 
turned  around into the cuddling. Spooning position once again. 

"I'm . . . exhausted, Nigel. Perhaps in the morning." 

"Anything, Darling." As Bond finally drifted off into sleep, he couldn't help  
but smirk that this was the endearment that he utilised upon his own sexual  
conquests. Wrath quickly joined Bond in the land of Nod. 

* * *

Pussywillow awoke from her slumber a little under an hour later. The first 
thing  that she noticed a strong sense of disorientation. Where was she? What 
had  happened to her? For the first time in Pussywillow's short existence she 
knew  fear and insecurity. 

She was aware of arms, male arms, lightly holding her body, and she heard 
the  soft snoring into her ear. 

When Pussywillow opened her eyes, she recognised Honeydew's room. She 
was  sleeping in Honeydew's bed with some man. 

That was when Pussywillow panicked. She had no idea how or why she got 
here. She  closed her eyes again to take a mental inventory of all of her 
memories in  recent history. The last thing that she could recall was her 
accursed male other  attempting to forestall the assassination of Baltimore. 
Bond had been trying to  escape by jumping from the twentieth floor and 
Pussywillow had decided to take  control triggering the reo-virus which 
caused Bond's transformation into  Honeydew. 

As was the usual process, the persona of Pussywillow began to emerge from 
her  hiding place. That transfer of conscious control of their shared body was  
interrupted by . . . a blow to the head. 

After that there was . . . nothing! Pussywillow really started to be concerned  
now. She usually retained the memory of everything that this body did in 
either  of the Bond or Honeydew forms. This was the first time that she had 
no recall of  what this body had been doing. The memory gaps were normally 
the side effect  upon the Bond form, but now they were hers also. Clearly, 
the blow to the head  did more than just knock the Pussywillow persona form 
unconscious.  Pussy slowly extricated herself from the sleeping man so as to 
not awake him.  Again, she was startled, after stretching to her full glorious 
height to realise  that she was in her Pussywillow form. It was the first time 
the transformation  was ever triggered by sleep. Usually the Pussywillow 
form was triggered by the  mental command while in the Honeydew form. It 
was the Honeydew form that was  normally triggered by sleep. 

The ramifications were crystal clear. Bond had gained control of the 
Honeydew  body! However, what had he done with it . . . slept with a man? 
That seemed most  unlikely, and most out of character. The only other 
possibility was the creation  of a third persona who was truly the underling 
Honeydew Mountjoy, that was an  amalgam of both of the other persona's. 
One thing was certain. The man in the  bed, whoever he might be, held the 
answers that Pussywillow required.  She turned back toward the bed, feeling 
the heavy, large breasts sway in the  darkness. Pussywillow also felt her 
extremely long hair tickle the top of her  soft behind. The tall blonde took one 
step closer to the bed, squinting to  discern the mans identity through the 
darkness. There was something . . .  familiar about the way that he was 
sleeping, and she sensed instinctively that  it was somebody that she knew. 

Only after another step forward, did Pussywillow recognise Wrath. 

The presence of Wrath was something close mind numbing surprise. 'He and  
Honeydew sleeping together? Perhaps all is not lost, she pondered. 
Nevertheless,  the matrix of the reo-virus is unstable now, and I will have to 
accelerate my  plans.' 

Pussywillow leaned forward, allowing her breasts to press into the barren 
arms  of Wrath. She stroked the arms dealer on the cheeks, to be rewarded by 
his eyes  fluttering into awareness. The man blinked twice at the gorgeous 
woman before  his eyes. 

"Pussywillow? When did you get here? Where's Honey?" 

"Shhhh," soothed the evil mastermind. "I arrived only a while ago. I had to 
send  Honey . . . away for a while. There was a task that I needed her to do. 
I told  her that I would . . . take care of you for her.

"Oh," was all Wrath could manage. 

Pussywillow reached lower, and began to massage Wrath's growing 
member. Just the  sight of Pussywillow's nubile body was enough to arouse 
his dander. 

"I'm sorry that I missed you in England. An emergency came up . . . you  
understand? I believe that we had some business to conclude?"

"It's quite all right, Pussy. Honey closed the deal for you. The satellites are  
yours at the price you stated. All you have to do is give me the terms of  
delivery." That eased Pussywillow's mind for the moment. The signs pointed 
to  the creation of a third Honeydew persona, but there was still something 
about  the whole thing that didn't sit quite right. It was something that she 
would  have to look into right away. 

Pussywillow moved up her timetable with one statement to the helpless man,  
"Delivery in two days. When you leave tonight, I will give you the location in  
South America. But first, let me close the deal appropriately." Pussywillow  
stripped of the sheet to reveal the naked, virile form of Wrath. She lowered 
her  lips onto Wrath's manhood, taking its entire length in one motion. No 
matter if  the form of Honeydew was animated by Bond or by a third 
persona, she wanted to  leave no doubt in Wrath's mind as to who was the 
better woman. 

* * *

All of Pussywillow's doubts about who was controlling the Honeydew body 
were now  removed. The rewired palm identification plate confirmed that 
there was no third  Honeydew persona. As an amalgam of the two, or even 
as Honeydew, she would have  know how to gain access to the lab. That 
meant that Bond was controlling Honey's  body. A brief test verified that 
fact. 

Pussy tried to mentally trigger the metamorphosis from Pussywillow to 
Honeydew,  as she had countless times before. She could not! The buffer 
between herself and  Bond was gone, meaning that Bond was one step closer 
to discovering the truth.  He, or rather a variant of his own personality, was 
really Pussywillow. Would he  be shocked to know . . . or titillated? What 
would he think of Pussywillow's  body. 

Clearly, the only way that Pussywillow could emerge was if Bond fell asleep  
while in Honeydew's body. 

That begged the question of how, or even if, either Pussywillow or 
Honeydew  could transform back into the male Bond. Once Bond was . . . 
well Bond, how  would he transform back into Honeydew. 

So many questions, yet very few reasonable answers. 

As Pussywillow sat in her lab, she found the whole situation intolerable. 
When  she first became the Pussywillow persona, it took her a while to figure 
out the  mechanism of change. It took a little longer to figure out the process 
once she  had Baltimore synthesise the second reo-virus to her exact 
specifications, but  there was still that troubling variant that sometimes made 
Bond spontaneously  shift back into the Honeydew body. That was the only 
time Bond's real persona  got a glimpse of the woman that he had become 
before the Pussywillow persona  took over again. Baltimore had assured 
Pussy that it was just an instability in  the matrix that would stabilise over 
time. 

That did not prove to be true, and now the matrix was really destabilised.  
Baltimore was dead by her own command. How could she have foreseen this  
complication? The answer was very clear . . . she couldn't have. 

Pussywillow smiled up at the map of the world on the over-large computer 
view  screen. 

That left only Q! After Baltimore had synthesized a third reo-virus, he had  
lived out his usefulness. No sense in leaving loose ends, and since he could 
not  turn the third reo-virus into an airborne virus . . . . 

Baltimore simply lacked the equipment to map the virus down to its last 
genome.  Only the British biological research department, accessible to Q, 
could do that. 

Now Pussy literally grinned. It had been so easy to get Q to analyse Bond's  
blood. By now there was no doubt that he had the reo-viruses mapped all the 
way  down to the last molecule. Q's analysis would provide her with the 
information  that she needed to complete the reo-virus. 

The tall blonde woman's immaculately manicured nails flew across the 
computer  keyboard. She input Q's password, gleaned from Bond's 
observation of Q. The data  flashed upon the screen. 

Pussywillow's eyes began to dart to and fro on the screen, absorbing the  
information that was located there. 

"Hmmmmm," vocalised Pussywillow, as she came across one particularly 
interesting  passage. It seemed that Bond's REM sleep produced a specific 
endorphin. It was  the same endorphin that was produced when his body 
went into a high level of  stress or exertion. Q's analysis indicated that it was 
the endorphin that  triggered the biological switch from Y to X, and that in 
turn triggering the  first reo-virus to active. The trigger of the second virus, 
she already knew. On  second thought, she thought she knew! Those rules 
didn't seem to apply now.  Pussy leaned back in her chair, absently lifting a 
glass of champagne to her  pretty bee-stung lips. She pondered the 
information that she now possessed. Her  Pussywillow body, and persona, 
were now apparently triggered by the same effect  as Bond to Honeydew. 
Sleep or high bodily stress. It was certainly possible that  some of the 
genomes of the two reo-viruses may have intermixed in the trauma  during 
transformation. Did that mean that Bond could consciously control the  
switch from Bond to Honey, as she used to be able to from Honey to Pussy.  
She shivered again. Bond was so close now. 

Pussywillow again studied the screen. She saw that Q had mapped out the 
portion  of the first reo-virus, now the second that had created the unintended 
second  persona. There was no doubt that Q suspected the truth. Yes . . . 
time was  definitely running short! However, Q had also inadvertently located 
the  chromosome that could convert the reo-viruses into an airborne virus. 

That made Pussywillow grin despite the rest of the bad news. She 
downloaded that  portion of the analysis into her computer to combine it with 
Baltimore's  research. It was only a matter of hours until her computer 
completed the  formula, and synthesized the final version of the third reo-
virus. That airborne  virus was the key to world conquest . . . something 
which had eluded all of  Bond's other foes. 

Once that virus was delivered into the atmosphere with Drax's leftover  
satellites and rockets, all of the women in the world would be transformed 
into  men. That would leave she, Pussywillow, as the only woman left. She 
would be the  mother of a new race . . . the perfect hive mentality, that would 
worship her as  the Queen Mother. 

They world would have to come to her, as the only remaining woman for 
their very  survival. She would have all of the power, and control of the 
world! It was  perfect. 

A message flashed up on the screen, "34 hours remaining until reo-virus  
synthesis." That left enough time. Only one task remained until launch. Q's  
analysis had to be eliminated at the source and, of course . . . Q would have 
to  die. This was something that she would have to take care of herself. 

* * *

Bond woke up in Honeydew's bed. He sat up, and knew in an instant. He 
was back  in his own male body. He scanned the room, and breathed a sigh 
of relief when he  saw that Wrath was nowhere in sight. Thank goodness, 
thought Bond! That . . .  would have been hard to explain. 

Bond's hand touched a note next to his right hand. It was perfumed. Bond's 
hands  clumsily opened the note, and his eyes beheld the flowing script of a 
woman. It  read: 

* * *

James:

By the time that you read this, it will be too late. I am very sorry, but  Q must 
die! Do not try to save him because you will fail. It was a shame that I  could 
not meet you in person. I have heard a lot about you. 

Pussywillow 

 Pussywillow! She was here, and I slept right through it. Wrath has to be 
with  her. That was unimportant at this very moment, for the only thing that 
mattered  was Q. He had to be warned right away. 

Bond quickly located Honeydew's computer, and sent an E-mail warning to 
Q. That  warning included, to the best of his ability, a physical description of  
Pussywillow. That would have to do until he could get back to England. He 
had to  get back to protected that irascible old coot. 

Part 7. Kismet

How on earth was he going to get back to England? All of his fake 
documents were  lost in Hong Kong. He was in India, in the middle of 
Pussywillow's island of  women, and he was a man. Though he was back in 
his male body, Bond wished that  he was still in Honeydew Mountjoy's 
body. At least he would have some mobility  on the island and be able to 
travel incognito.

Bond thought about the womanly curves he had possessed and smiled. Being 
Honey  had been... an interesting experience. Distracted for a moment 
thinking about  Honey's body, Bond did not notice that his body was slowly 
reshaping.

The first sign Bond had was that the clothes he was wearing were starting to 
get  bigger. 'I'm changing!' Bond thought, relieved and confused at the same 
time.  The change was quite rapid and within minutes Bond was back in the 
familiar form  of Honeydew. 

Without pausing to consider the transformation, Bond went to Honey's 
wardrobe  and started to select some clothes. He dressed quickly in a pair of 
tight black  leather pants and a body hugging top. He also grabbed a stylish 
matching leather  jacket, made to conceal the bulge of a holstered weapon.

Deciding that being authoritative was the best option, Bond left Honey's 
room  and marched into what appeared to be Pussywillow's secretaries 
office. "I need  passage to England, immediately. Organise it," he said 
sharply.

"I'll have Pussywillow's private jet ready in a moment," the immaculately  
dressed woman replied. 

"I shall accompany you, Pussywillow's orders," said Ivana.

Bond looked at the imposing woman. Obviously Ivana was coming with 
him.

* * *

Q finished his last batch of tests, then examined the data. He scratched his  
head, promising himself more sleep once he was done. He'd subjected the 
virus  and some sample cells to a series of time acceleration tests and 
discovered  that, whilst similar, the two viruses were diametrically opposed. 

The two viruses seemed to be vying for dominance, actively seeking each 
other  out and attacking one another, fighting over the sample cells in a 
microscopic  war. In the original sample taken from Bond the two viruses 
had been matched.  However in all of Q's tests the second strain had 
unfailingly defeated the  first. Once the first virus was destroyed, the second 
virus rapidly changed all  of the cells in the sample to a permanent XX 
configuration.

It was only a matter of time before this happened in Bonds body. Q had to 
find a  way to neutralise the second virus.

He went back to his old research and frowned. Someone had been accessing 
these  files. Q ran a tracking program that traced the source back to an Internet  
service provider in India. Bond?

Q thought about this. Why would Bond access his files...

Then the warning arrived. 

- Q, beware of Pussywillow. She is a tall blonde with long hair, model 
looks,  large breasts and a killer figure. Will try to assassinate you. Also 
plans to  use Drax's space equipment to deliver a biological weapon of some 
sort  worldwide. Rally forces to South America... On my way back to 
England. Bond. -

Reading the message, Q felt reasonably safe. In the heart of the British Secret  
Services Research and Development Q was very well defended. His main 
weak spot  seemed to be Bond's female double. If she existed then the evil 
female knew  everything that Bond.

Q considered what he knew of 007. The cornerstone of Bond's being seemed 
to be  his womanising ways. If he had a weakness it was his male ego...It 
saddened him  to think it, but Q pondered whether Bond had completely 
cracked and turned  rogue. Becoming a woman might be the only think that 
would make the agent turn,  or at least make the agent schizophrenic. 

The very thought terrified Q. Bond was a wildcard, seemingly capable of the  
impossible. If he had turned evil then the world would not be safe! 

Q tried to imagine what a mad Bond might do. Turn all the men in the world 
to  women? It sounded preposterous, but Bond possessed the virus that could 
do it.  However the virus needed to be injected into people to affect them. It 
wasn't  air borne... 

"My god," Q said, finally piecing everything together, the viruses and their  
mapping, the theft of the information and Drax's delivery system! The last  
person Q could trust now was Bond. Suddenly fearful Q started to make up a  
backup copy of his research. This may well be needed to reverse the damage 
that  Bond would cause.

There was a sudden loud boom. Q looked away from his computer, 
recognising an  explosion when he heard one. Q could hear the sounds of 
approaching gunfire. The  gall of Bond. First warn of an attack, then attack! 
Q realised belatedly that  Bond was capable of planning a flawless attack on 
the British Secret Service.

Grabbing the DVD with the vital information, Q ran into the weapons testing  
area, picking up a small pack almost as an after thought. He activated the 
pack,  just as eight black clad commandos charged into the room. Their leader 
was a  woman, but the seven others were men.

Seeing Q, the woman opened fire on the fleeing man, her underlings firing a  
moment later. Somehow they missed the aging scientist as he ran further into 
the  area. They gave chase, following him into a narrow cul-de-sac. Cockily 
they  advanced on the weaponless man, taking their time now that they had 
him  cornered. He seemed to be frantically loading a weapon of some sort.

"Goodbye old man," their leader said, a wry smile on her feminine lips.

All eight assassins opened fire on the man. He smiled back at them warmly as 
he  finished loading the weapon, the wall behind him cracking under the fire.

"What?" the leader said as the image of Q flickered then disappeared.

There was a strange pulse and one of the men was struck by a dart. He pulled 
it  from his shoulder. "A hologram my dear," a voice said. They turned to 
find no  one behind them, just a bay of computers.

"Fan out and find him. Pussywillow will pay double for his head," the 
woman  ordered. 

The man who had been shot nodded with his compatriots, but he felt weak.  
Something was in his system and whatever it was, it made him feel odd. He  
collapsed to the ground. 

There were two more pulses and a pair of the killers were hit. They seemed  
unaffected at first but as they searched for their invisible assailant they  began 
to feel a little light headed and woozy. They both collapsed a moment  later.

Q shot another assassin with a tranquilliser and he collapsed a moment later.

Finally the killers congregated back together to discuss what they should do.  
The four remaining assassins were shot.

"What's happening?" The first man asked, as he stumbled. The others 
collapsed.

Q stepped from his hiding spot, seemingly emerging from a computer bank 
like a  ghost. The computer bank blurred as had the other hologram.

The Secret Service arrived soon after and took the men into custody without 
any  struggle.

"Frightfully useful gadget," Q explained to the British Agents as he pointed to  
his portable projector. He pushed a button on the pack and the computer bank  
flickered and disappeared.

* * *

Bond waited in the customs line, very aware of the male officers that were  
giving him the once over. Bond chided himself for wearing such revealing  
clothing. There were times when it was desirable to inconspicuous, and now 
was  one of them. 

Although Honeydew Mountjoy was not officially a real person, she did 
possess the  very best forged documents which money could buy. 
Unfortunately if Q was doing  his job a woman fitting Honey's description 
would be wanted by the British  Secret Service. That was if Q was doing his 
job. 

Apparently either Q wasn't or these people were incompetent as Bond was let  
through customs without a problem. 

Ivana however waited on the plane. She was quite well known to the British  
Secret Service and would no doubt be picked up by the authorities.

* * *

'I'm not as young as I used to be,' thought Q as he sipped a refreshing 
coffee.  He had just spent a harrowing night with little sleep worrying about 
Bond's  mental condition. The attack had to have been organised by 007. 
Bond and  Pussywillow were one and the same. There was no other answer.

"Good morning," Bond said, "I'm glad to find you in good health. The 
warning I  sent seems to have arrived in the nick of time.

Q turned at Jame's voice, the colour draining from his face.

"Bond!" he said, a little fearfully as he stared at the masculine man that Bond  
currently was.

"Q, I need to know, have you been examining those viruses?"

"Yes, and I think I know what is causing your memory lapses," Q said, 
inching  towards a fountain pen that doubled as a gun.

Bond's eyebrow rose at the apparent ruse. "So, you think I've really turned 
bad  Q? I thought you trusted me.

"James, your actions have caused me to re-evaluate my trust. You've stolen 
my  research. You were the only one who saw my private access code.

"I won't deny that I know your code, but I didn't steal your research!"

"I mapped out the two viruses in your blood and this data has been stolen. I  
think that yourself and Pussywillow are working together to create an 
airborne  virus," Q said. He didn't want to confront Bond directly over the 
issue. If Bond  now had a split personality then being told about 
Pussywillow may well shatter  the mans mind. His grip at the moment must 
be tenuous at best.

"Me and Pussywillow?" Bond asked, totally missing the relevance.

Q considered what he should tell Bond. Maybe if he gradually told the 
agent..."I  think you've cracked James. There's now two personalities in 
you, the male and  the female. Yin and Yang, complete opposites. One good 
and one evil.

Bond nodded. "I've suspected as much myself, but I'm back in control. 
Complete  control. Allow me to illustrate," Bond said, willing himself to 
change into the  form of Honey. He had to get Q to trust him. Q was the only 
one who could create  an anti-virus and cure his condition.

The secret agents features softened greatly, his jaw, cheeks and nose 
becoming  smoother and more refined. As he shrunk in height other changes 
became more  apparent. He could feel the unnatural tingle as his breasts 
started to form, and  slowly grow until they were quite evident under his 
shirt, the slightly larger  nipples pointing through the thin fabric. His bones 
shifted form, his hipbones  altering to accommodate his changing sexual 
organs. He could feel his muscle  tone reduce all over, his rump increasing in 
size and his waist narrowing  drastically.

"Incredible!" Q muttered as he stared at the now obviously female 007. It 
amazed  Q that Bond could trigger the change at will.

"It's all right Q. I can cope with this. It isn't driving me over the edge. It  
actually isn't too bad," Bond explained, his English voice several octaves  
higher but still undeniably Bonds candour.

"So how did Pussywillow get my codes?" Q prompted. Somehow he had to 
make Bond  figure it out himself... herself. If Bond could completely 
confront her feminine  side, Pussywillow may disappear. At least that was 
what Q believed.

Bond thought about this. Pussywillow seemed to be dogging him 
everywhere. She  had placed a tracking device on him and sent him to 
Baltimore. She had used  Bond's knowledge to get Q's research. Honey 
must know everything he did and she  was telling Pussywillow.

"I don't know. But we don't have time to waste finding out. If what we've  
uncovered is correct, we only have a limited time before Pussywillow acts. I  
have to get to South America," Bond said, "and I need your help. I think 
your  expertise may still be needed. Can you organise transport there 
immediately?" Q thought about it. Even with all his misgivings he trusted 
Bond, had incredible  faith in the mans courageousness and strength. Q had 
every confidence that the  man would overcome his dilemma... but was that 
faith strong enough to risk the  fate of the world? Q thought that it was. Bond 
had saved the world so many  times, it was only fair that he be cut some 
slack.

Q nodded. "I can organise a military flight for us to the Falklands. From there  
we can make our own way. I'll also organise our means of egress. What do 
we  need?"

"We? I have to go into Pussywillow's base alone, and I'll be able to do that  
easily. I'll be going in as the persona that I've taken. Pussywillow's right  
hand ... er woman, Honeydew Mountjoy.

Q seemed ready to make a comment.

"Don't even think it Q!" Bond said sternly in a feminine voice. "You have to  
analyse these new Viruses," Bond said as he passed over the three virus vials 
he  had found in Pussywillow's lab. "If my guess is right, two of these are in 
me at  the moment. I need to know what the third one does.

"Very well," Q said, unhappy with the situation. He wanted to be there to 
help  Bond, perhaps guide him. "What else do you require?"

Bond thought about what he would need. "The launch site is situated above a  
natural geyser within a glacier. The design is intended to screen the heat  
blooms of construction from probing satellites. I need cold weather gear. Ice  
climbing equipment. Light explosives... I'll rig the place to blow from the  
inside, anything else and our virus may escape.

Q nodded, familiar with the history of the site. He was just amazed that it had  
been resurrected. "I have some interesting climbing equipment. Experimental 
but  it will do the trick. And I might have a special plasma torch that you can 
use  to cut through the ice to lay the charges. It would be handy in other  
situations.

Bond nodded, "I've always found your toys to be fun to play with," he said  
flippantly.

"They're not toys Bond!" Q said in annoyance.

"If you say so. I need you to contact Nigel Wrath for me. I made plans to 
meet  him but I don't think I'll be able to keep them," Bond said.

"Wrath? That arms dealing leach?"

"He's not a leach!" Bond said with a vehemence that surprised even him. 
"He's a  rogue and a scoundrel, but no leach," 007 explained.

Q blinked but deftly changed topics, "so what should I tell him?"

Bond thought, "he doesn't know Bond, only Honey. Just tell him that 
everything  is taken care of.

"Really Bond, this is most exasperating. What is the nature of your 
relationship  with this man? He is one of the biggest criminals in the world!"

Commander Bond smiled mysteriously. "Q a woman doesn't discuss such 
things," the  shapely agent said with all the understated charm that Bond had 
ever possessed.

The elderly man shook his head, hardly surprised. "007, you never change," 
he  muttered.

"I have to go. I've a plane to catch, Pussywillow's private jet," Bond said.

"I'll send the equipment you've asked for to the airport. And do be careful 
with  it 007, I'm not signing it out to James Bond