It took me 20 minutes to reach the school. I had been very self conscious when I started, but of course, no one paid any attention to me. After all, you wouldn't look twice at a 9 year old boy on a bike, unless someone mentioned that he had been a 6 foot sophomore in college the day before.
I wondered if Susan had come straight here, then noticed a group of skinny 12 year old girls awkwardly practicing routines in baggy cheerleader uniforms. Their skirts kept slipping down, and at least two had given up trying to keep their shoes on, but they otherwise seemed oblivious to their absurd appearance. I again mentally cursed Susan for her recklessness, despite her apparent use of the awareness control this time. What would happen when someone who knew these girls came by? Or worse, if they went home before she changed them back? I decided I had to act immediately. Since I knew the school, I parked my bike and entered through the gym door, always kept open for weekend activities. Just inside, I almost stumbled over a naked baby girl, sitting amidst a crumpled pile of a cheerleader's uniform, goo-ing happily and chewing on an empty bra strap. Susan had gone too far: I mean, a group of junior high kids on property would probably pass casual inspection, but a baby?
"I wonder if you're Courtney?" I asked the infant. She burbled incomprehensibly. I picked up the baby and her discarded clothing, and started again towards the chemistry department. As we neared the lecture room, I could hear Susan's voice.
"Shhh," I told the baby, settling her on the floor on top of her sweater, and hoping she could understand. I then crept forward.
"But, Mr. Wilson," she said in exasperation, "be reasonable. I mean, these problems are way hard. Why I'll bet even you have trouble figuring some of these out."
A tired but calm voice returned, "I assure you, Mrs. Green..."
"Call me Margie."
"Er, Margie. These are basic problems that should pose no difficulty."
"For example."
"Well, take problem 3."
By this time, I had reached the door, and peered cautiously around the corner.
Robert Wilson, a bearded, middle aged man with receded hairline was dressed in an open-necked dress shirt and khaki pants. He had leaned over to trace his finger along the equation in question, and didn't notice Susan surreptitiously bring out the device and press the down button. She must have hit it hard, because his transformation was rapid. His hairline descended again, his face smoothed, and slight paunch disappeared. Then his beard began to thin and finally just disappeared as he receded into his teens. Susan must have hit the mental adjustment button as well, because his voice faltered even as it began to rise in pitch.
"You see, osmolality is calculated by the...um...you take...it's like..." The concept was clearly becoming impossible for the young teen to grasp, but it kept his attention sufficiently fixed that he didn't notice as he began to lose height, and Susan's head reached and then passed his. By the time she stopped, she faced a 13 or 14 year old boy, his baggy pants drooping dangerously.
Susan interrupted him.
"See," she said triumphantly, "no wonder Susan couldn't answer these."
"I don't understand," he answered in a contralto, then looked up and did a double take as he found himself looking straight into Susan's cleavage. He gulped and cleared his throat nervously.
Susan started again.
"Mr. Wilson...or, Bobby - do you mind if I call you Bobby?" She put her foot on a desk chair as though to scratch her ankle, allowing her skirt to ride up past mid thigh, and I guessed, flashing him a view of her panties from his vantage point. He began to pale and perspire, but I also noticed a bulge form at his crotch despite the looseness of his pants. "I don't see how you can criticize Susan for not doing problems you can't do yourself."
"I...I..." His eyes darted from cleavage to crotch helplessly and the bulge stiffened.
She leaned over, pretending to look at the worksheet, dangling her beasts and exposing them further. Suddenly she pretended to hear a noise and turned towards the window, "accidentally" brushing her thigh and ass against his jutting penis.
"Oh. Oh. Ohhh." Mr. Wilson moaned uncontrollably.
Susan turned back with apparent concern, still brushing her body against his protruding member.
"Why Bobby, what's wrong?" she asked, all innocence.
"Oh...ahhhhhh."
"Are you all right?" she smirked, knowing what had happened. He blushed deeply.
"I, uh....I..."
She looked down and found what she expected: a wet stain spreading over the front of his khakis.
"Oh, dear. You DIDN'T!" she feigned horror. "You just orgasmed?"
He hung his head in shame and mumbled something.
"You're SORRY?" Susan snapped. "Sorry doesn't cover it, MR. WILSON. Wait until the school board hears about this. What kind of perverts and sex maniacs do they have teaching my daughter?"
"I...I...I'm sorry," he repeated. "Please, I don't understand. It won't happen again.
It's never happened before. Well, not since..." he trailed off.
"All I can say," Susan drew herself upright and towered above the shrunken teacher,
"is if my Susan has one reason to complain about you for the rest of the year, I shall have no choice but to report this to the authorities. Good day!"
She spun on her heel, breaking into a satisfied smile as she left him behind. I crouched and prepared to tackle her, trusting to recover the control in the confusion.
Unfortunately, the baby chose that moment to let out a squeal of triumph having finally managed to suck her own toes, and Susan stopped suddenly after just entering the hall, spotting us both. I jumped, but she had braced herself and managed to catch me fast in her arms.
"So, still lying and trying to trick me." She twisted my arm behind my back and then threw me down the hall. I burned with shame at how easily she had handled my physical attack, reminded again of my reduced circumstances.
"Pick up the baby and step into that next room across the hall," she ordered.
I set the sucking baby and her clothes on the floor and waited. Susan followed me in after a minute and closed the door. If either of us had looked out the window more carefully, we would have seen the cheerleaders outside back to normal size.
"You should have seen the look on Mr. Wilson's face when I changed him back just now," she laughed. "He is totally clueless about how he lost it like that. And I don't think he'll be going anywhere until that wet spot dries - I saw him lock his door."
Her mouth reset into a frown, and she tapped her foot. "I thought I could trust you, but it's obvious I can't. I think little Courtney needs a playmate." She raised the control resolutely this time, neither of us noticing the door behind her open slightly.
"Go ahead," I finally defied her. "You're going to ruin everything by zapping everybody anyway. We'll all end up in trouble, and they'll take the control away, and that'll be the end of it. So go ahead, do it so I won't have to watch you mess up anymore."
I hadn't expected anger to accomplish anything, but Susan froze in open-mouthed surprise. However, the real reason for her hesitation then manifested. With a small cry, she shrank almost instantly into her collapsing clothes, and a few seconds later, a naked infant crawled out from beneath the tank top and skirt, looked around in shock, and began to cry.
I leapt forward and snatched the control from where it had fallen from her hand. It looked undamaged.
"Yes!" I shouted, before remembering to keep my voice down. I lifted it in triumph and waved it at the baby beneath me. "Thank God, maybe I can still set things right."
Susan looked at me with as perplexed an expression a 6 month old could manage. "What happened," I asked, "you have the thing pointed backwards?"
A new male voice cleared his throat just outside the door, which then swung open the rest of the way to reveal a thin, dapper man with ginger hair and mustache, probably late thirties, and very carefully dressed in a fashionable suit and tie. In his hand was an electronic box which appeared superficially similar to mine, but larger and with more controls. He came in, closed the door and held out his hand.
"Actually, that was me. I've been monitoring your case and decided I needed to intervene. Allow me to introduce myself: Henry Gregory Wells, at your service."
I reached up to take his hand, confused, and watched his grip swallow my child's hand. My gaze was naturally drawn to his other hand holding his control box. His had several additional buttons, and two sliding bars as well as a dial control that were entirely different. He saw me staring.
"Oh, allow me." He raised his device, I felt a strong tingle, and watched myself shoot up to full height, my clothes magically restoring as well. I hate to admit it, but my first action was to reach down to check on my cock. A welcome and familiar size rewarded me.
"You must have found your unwanted regression distressing," he commented dryly.
"Who or what are you?" I asked in my restored baritone.
He laughed.
"Oh, excuse me. A fuller introduction is in order. I am a Fixer, one of the upper ranks in the Chronos Continuum. One of my duties is to monitor potential new members and clean up mistakes which prove dangerous or," he glanced down at Susan, who had stopped crying, and now listened in interest as well, "unwise. I've had quite the time cleaning up after your sister." He looked at Courtney. "And I'm not done yet.
Still, no reason we shouldn't enjoy this and get something back. Make sure you hold your control while I work, David. I'll explain later."
He aimed at Courtney, and we watched the baby rapidly age to toddler, little girl and then pre-teen. He paused to admire his work so far, then aimed again. As she passed puberty, her nipples and breasts swelled , her hips flared, and her limbs shot out as she neared adult height. Soon, a naked 17 year old sat on the floor, still goo-ing baby talk. However, her eyes fell on baby Susan, and her expression changed. She started to crawl across the floor towards her, her breasts swinging freely.
"I believe her still infant mind has managed to realize her size advantage relative to her tormentor," he commented, watching her approach with appreciation. Susan began to cry again, prompting him to continue. "Although potentially interesting, I had best finish. We still have a lot of ground to cover." He unlatched a recessed cover, exposing a red switch. When he pressed this, Courtney froze.
"I have restored her mind, but have her in a stasis field which renders her, shall we say, highly suggestible." He turned to address her. "Miss Courtney, you will put on your clothes and join your friends. You were late for practice, but otherwise nothing unusual has happened. You will, of course, forget your rejuvenation today."
"Yes," Courtney agreed, standing slowly and giving us a marvelous view of her teen body. She turned, went back to her clothes and dressed, then left, all without another word.
"Wow."
"Yes. Very handy, but very wasteful of energy. We don't like to use it unless absolutely necessary."
"Amnesia?"
"Selective and controllable. A complete memory wipe is prohibitive and sometimes dangerous. Usually, the experience memories can be reshaped or blocked, and most subjects, if they remember anything, will dismiss it as a dream." He smiled. "Still, I dare say Mrs. Cates will hesitate to ever spank her daughter again. Much of that experience was actually good for her, so I left most of it intact." He became serious again. "You know, when Susan managed to take and use your control so easily, I thought you would be disqualified. We can only afford members who show, how shall I put it, a certain level of maturity. And discretion. However, you were so persistent in your attempts to guide your sister, and to regain your box, I decided you were member material after all. Of course, your natural abilities in chronon production help considerably in membership considerations"
"Chronons? And membership - in the Chronos Continuum?"
"The Chronos Continuum," he affirmed. "Sit down, let me tell you about us."
In the next hour, Mr. Wells explained and revealed much. Some highlights:
"It was Heidegger who discovered chronons, the transdimensional particles that allow us to manipulate time. They are generated as an energy byproduct of intense mental activity in a small percentage of the population. Ironically, it is exactly this type of energy which is produced when people of our, ah, enthusiasm fantasize or even better experience the sort of age transformation you've been experimenting with. In other words, chronons are produced when chronons are used. We gather the energy in two ways: disseminating stories of our activities to appreciative readers (we'll give you a special modem to use for your computer), and, for particular adepts such as ourselves, by absorbing energy directly as a feedback through our Heidegger boxes."
"This." I held out my control.
"Exactly. As an initiate, yours is a basic control, but it still channels energy efficiently in both directions. My advanced model works the same way with some additional refinements."
I remembered Courtney, and glanced down at Susan. "So I've seen."
"Yes. It has capabilities including instant and specific age selection," he showed how the central dial could be used to activate a digital display labeled Target Age,
"and delayed aging effects which proceed at your choice of speed, without having to maintain the subject in the box's sights. These controls will be available to you as a full member. The mental controls are reserved for advanced members."
"Lots of fun at parties," I cracked.
"As a matter of fact..."
We talked on. The Continuum was a secret organization whose members were dedicated to maintaining its secrecy, given the chaos or possible catastrophe that could result if such powers were widely known or distributed. As he had told me, it was the use of chronons to manipulate age that resulted indirectly in their production.
"Perpetual motion machine," I suggested.
"Not quite," he corrected. "It takes more energy to generate chronons than we recapture from individual users. That's why we use other forms of stimulation."
"Like stories."
"Yes, and like the activities at our monthly meetings which you'll be expected to attend. Members are expected to occasionally contribute videos or photos showing creative use of chronons. With a room full of enthusiasts, such material yields a large amount of energy from a single device's use."
"I can't wait."
Later, I asked about the other capabilities.
"How can you change clothing or control minds?"
"The chronons have remarkable abilities when interacting with matter. Somehow, the clothing becomes congruent with the localized space-time continuum."
"Did you write for Star Trek?" I joked.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Sorry. And the suggestibility?"
"The chronons are intimately related to mental activity and can be used to shape thoughts." He frowned. "However, the exchange rate is steep, and the energy waste enormous. There are far better fates for chronons."
Mr. Wells finally got up to leave. He handed me some papers with additional information, meeting times and locations, an instruction booklet for my Heidegger box and his card with a 24 hour number for emergencies.
"I'll be your sponsor until your initiation at this month's meeting." He touched his control to mine and pressed a button. "This will give you a full charge that should last until then. Henceforth, your device will be recharged from the central battery.
An extra incentive to not miss meetings. First level members are limited to a one month charge, and their use of their boxes is monitored."
"Monitored?" I asked uncomfortably.
"A necessary precaution. Accidents happen. Carelessness." He indicated Susan. "And some members prove...untrustworthy." He smiled again. "Buck up. Its a small price to pay, and we are open minded to the extreme."
I blushed, remembering incidents of the last 2 days.
"Do you see everything that happens?"
"Of course not. We're not peeping Toms. Usually." A half smile flitted across his face. "We only monitor activity if the Heidegger box indicates an unusual amount of activity or it is activated by an unauthorized individual. When Kate used it, I felt I could let it pass, but when Susan set off the alarm, I monitored more closely and decided to reveal myself early."
Relieved, I promised to study my material and thanked him for the opportunity.
"Not at all. It's people like you who make the Continuum possible. You're already giving back every time you use your Heidegger box." He glanced at Susan. "Shall I erase her memory."
She looked up at me with wide, baby blue eyes, which pleaded and filled with tears. Except for being careless, she really hadn't done things different from me.
"Can she...does she?" I hesitated.
"Can she be a member? No." I looked disappointed. "Not yet. Actually, she also generates chronons that could make her eligible. Its her age and lack of discretion that prevent membership at this point." He paused. "Of course, if you think she can be trusted..."
Despite her lack of muscle control, Susan managed to nod her head quite emphatically, and again fixed me with a pleading gaze.
"...I don't see any reason you can't let her use the device occasionally. With supervision. She can serve an apprenticeship to test her control."
"Thank you," I was relieved. Susan laughed and clapped her hands awkwardly.
"Shall I restore her?"
Baby Susan smiled and drooled.
"No." Her face fell. "I'll take care of it. Slowly."
"Good man. That's the spirit. Keep dreaming and imagining - exactly what we need to keep the group strong. Think I may take a stroll around the school. You know."
"I think I do."
We shook hands again on more equal terms, and he left.
I aged Susan to between one and two years. She managed to climb unsteadily to her feet and moved her mouth experimentally.
"Tanku, D...Daby." By standing, she revealed a small yellow puddle beneath her. "Me wet...no contol."
"We'll take care of that." I quickly cleaned up with paper towels, then
morphed her adult clothes into a diaper and toddler dress. After dressing her, I took her pudgy hand in mine.
"Shall we grow?"
We both laughed and headed home.
The End