As Elliot adjust to his new female body and falls for his old friend, the colony of Salopia crumbles around him, forcing him to take action in Exile of the Mind 2, available on Body Swap Stories, Smashwords or Amazon.
In the conclusion of this erotic, action-packed sci-fi adventure, Elliot is starting to adjust to his new life as a sexy thirty-year-old woman after his mind isolation punishment. He realizes that he still shares some residual feelings and memories with the person that used to inhabit this body, and finds himself falling for his old friend, Simon. The temptation becomes too much and they explore Elliot’s new body together.
But a revolution is coming to Salopia with the arrival of the UN forces, and Elliot and Simon get caught up in the fight. As Prime Minister Vaughn’s servitors crack down on the colonists, Elliot and Simon plot an escape. And the only way to safety is to try to steal Vaughn’s ship right out from under his nose.
Elliot sat up in the small bed, transfixed by the images playing out on the vidscreen. A handful of servitors faced off against a small crowd of about twenty people. The shop behind them was ablaze, though the automatic systems had cut in and were dousing the fire with white foam. The small crowd shouted angrily at the servitor, and Elliot could make out that they were protesting against the Prime Minister while the servitors, in their dead voices, ordered them to disperse.
The small mob seemed to grow angrier and Elliot clutched the sheets to his chest as he watched the servitors suddenly jump towards the crowd, swinging their metal fists. The servitors were all shapes and sizes – men, women, young, old – and all had a blank-eyed stare as they used their mechanically enhanced bodies to bash the protestors. Elliot watched the servitor of an old woman punch one of the protestors with a metal fist and her enhanced strength. He recoiled in disgust as the protestor fell to the ground and the servitor dispassionately turned to another. That was someone’s body, stolen by the state without consent and used to maintain Prime Minister Vaughn’s grip on power.
“We have to help them,” Elliot said, gripped suddenly by a visceral desire for justice.
He threw off the covers and stood, naked, before bending to find his clothes.
“Help them do what? Get arrested?” Simon replied.
Elliot looked up at him, his panties in hand. “The government stole those people’s bodies. You think those servitors want to do that?”
“What are we going to do?” Simon shot back. “You can’t run out there like that.”
Elliot looked down at himself. At his breasts. The swell of his hips. The dark hair between his legs. His body was naked. Feminine. Gentle. No match for the rough and tumble outside.
“You used to care.” Elliot said, though he knew deep down that Simon was right. What use would he be now?
“I still care. But if you stand up you get cut down. Besides, the UN is coming. They’ll sort things out.”
“Not unless the Prime Minister faces resistance from within, too.”
“What kind of resistance is this?” Simon said, gesturing to the vidscreen.
The crowd was small and disjointed, and the servitors worked together to quickly dispatch them. After the first few went down the rest fled. Soon it was only the handful of servitors left, gazing blankly around them in front of the smoky remains of the mechanic’s shop while drones buzzed overhead, transmitting the action straight to the colony-wide vidfeeds.
By now Elliot was dressed and he stared angrily at Simon. “I’m leaving.”
He stormed to the door and Simon reached out to grab his arm. “It’s not safe out there yet. Stay with me.”
And though a part of Elliot ached to do so, he yanked his arm out of Simon’s light grip. “It’s not safe anywhere. And you won’t even save yourself.”
Elliot was aware of the dead-eyed stare of the servitors as he left Simon’s shop. But they didn’t stop him as he hurried to the massive public elevators. When the door closed and the elevators lurched upwards, Simon released a sobbing breath. Had Vaughn made Elliot’s body do that while his mind was in isolation? Using him against his fellow citizens? It was as bad as being put in someone else’s skin. A violation of bodily autonomy.
The corridors were quieter than usual as Elliot made his way back to his family’s quarters. When he entered, his father had the giant vidscreen on. Prime Minister Vaughn was speaking against the backdrop of his ship, the Torino, an ambassadorial planet hopper that had been luxuriously redecorated with gaudy gold trim and glittering gems and was now used as Vaughn’s private ship. It had been completely retooled—living quarters, med facility, food replicator—so that the Prime Minister could safely escape whenever he wanted. The money for the redecoration had come directly from the food funding for the lows and was the first event that had begun Elliot’s hatred of the government.
“These hoodlums will be punished,” Vaughn intoned with steely-eyed fury. “Anyone with the UN is a traitor to Salopia and will be treated with the harshest possible methods. I promised law and order and will do whatever is necessary to stop this enemy from within.”
“Goddamn traitors,” Richard agreed.
“How can you say that?” Elliot snapped from the doorway. His father turned to him in surprise. “Doesn’t it bother you that he’s breaking the law?”
“He’s made us safer,” Richard retorted. “Your mother used to be afraid to go to the markets on her own. I used to find discarded needles outside our quarters every night. Prime Minister Vaughn has cleaned up the entire capitol.”
“At what cost?” Elliot spat. “We’ve lost our freedom of speech. Our freedom to assemble. Our freedom to control our own bodies. All so that the corridors can be a little bit cleaner.”
“You’d rather live in depravity as a man than as a woman in safety,” Richard scoffed.
It was clear Elliot would never get through to his dad. He turned on his heel and stamped back to his room, locking the door behind him. There was a SysMessage waiting for him from Simon, checking to make sure he made it home all right. Elliot’s only response was to leave the message on ‘read’.
Elliot’s mother and sister were no help. His mother kept trying to pretend everything was all right. The riots were contained to the lower levels so, to her, they were little more than an interesting news item she could gossip about. Elliot’s sister had no interest in politics, more caught up in the social world of her school. Elliot ignored her offer to braid his hair. He was tired of being treated like her own living doll.
And still each day he was forced to return to Simon’s shop and work in the office. He needed the credits and his dad forced him out of their quarters. All Elliot could do was avoid Simon’s entreaties, responding to his questions in monosyllables. The pity rolling off Diane was palpable, and Elliot found himself tensing whenever she was around.
Over the next several days there were more security servitors than usual roaming the lower levels. They patrolled in pairs, one with a modified gun arm, the other with metal fists. Graffiti appeared on the walls: Down with Vaughn and cartoonish images of his sneering face dripping with blood.
There was tension in the air, evident in the nervous glances whenever someone dropped off a skycar for repair—which happened with less frequency—or the silence in the corridors Elliot walked through. As the UNSF gunship Hamlet approached, things were becoming ever more fraught. Market traders were a little more guarded, a little less raucous than usual. People didn’t stay in groups to talk but hurried back to their quarters. Anyone walking alone – particularly a young man – was met with suspicion.
“What did I do?” Simon finally snapped one evening when Elliot was on his way out of the shop. “I’m trying to protect you and you treat me like an enemy.” He stood by one of the aircars, sleeveless white shirt clinging to his solid form.
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