The thump as his breakfast tray was slid through the slot awoke him, and he sat up abruptly. He'd been so exhausted by the events of the previous two days that he'd slept deeply and without any dreams that he could recall having. He climbed out of bed and made his way to the feeding station, anxious to eat before the delay caused any investigation.

In the moulded depressions in the tray were a plastic cup full of tea, sealed with a layer of film presumably to stop it spilling, two slices of toast, and a blob of something that might be jam. A spoon was sealed in a slot by a thin film, and he broke this out and used it to scoop the jam onto the toast, spreading it with the back of the spoon. The meagre meal was consumed quickly, and then he turned his attentions to getting dressed as quickly as possible.

He remembered that his partner had changed her underwear first thing every morning, so the briefs he had worn since arrival went down the chute. A quick shower followed. He discovered that he could sit down to go to the toilet, provided he slid back a little to get behind the raised lip at the front of the bowl designed to catch a woman's flow. Activating the flush got his nether regions wet, but the mechanism seemed to dry it all off okay with minimal splashing on the floor. He pulled on a new pair of briefs, his slip and smock, ignoring the sports bra, which he folded and put back on a shelf. He put his feet into the beach slippers and made himself ready for any summons.

While he waited he decided to explore the personal terminal. When he thumbed the touch switch at the side of the display it lit up, to show him a canned lecture describing the rules and regulations of his new existence before dropping into a simple menu. He spent some time exploring the obviously limited facilities before the door opened and a Shepherd poked her head through.

"Service, citizen. I'm here to take you to Sick Bay for your admission check-up." It was a new Shepherd, whose blouse had red cuffs to the short sleeves. Her name plate said 'Sophia' and 'Sick Bay Supervisor'. She looked closely at Marlon as he stood up.

"You're a male!"

"I'm glad somebody recognises that fact, Shepherd," Marlon said. He stood before her and held out his wrists. Sophia fished a set of cuffs out of the back pocket of her trousers and secured him.

"What are you doing in a place like this?" she asked, as she led him out into the corridor.

"Long story," he replied.

Now that he had his wits about him, he could see that the section of corridor in which he stood had grills and gates separating it from the watch station at one end and the lifts at the other. Last night, he had been too depressed to notice his surroundings. Beyond the watch station, another set of gates led to the other half of the corridor, with further gates at the far end. He could not make out what was beyond them. Sophia led him to the lift end of his half and passed through the gate, but instead of calling a lift walked him down the stairs beside the shaft.

"I hope you don't mind," she said, "It's only one flight and the lifts can be busy at this time of morning."

They reached the Sick Bay area, which was identifiable by having dark red doors, and he was shown into an examination room.

"I'm going to have to ask you to take off all your clothes," the Shepherd said, removing the cuffs.

Marlon did so, and stood naked, having long decided that there was no point in getting embarrassed in the present circumstances. In the middle of the floor was a diagnostic seat, of the kind his local doctor used. Sophia motioned him to sit down on it.

"Lie back, citizen. I have to secure you to the chair."

"Shepherd?"

Sophia clicked a webbing strap round his waist and pulled it tight. "We get all sorts in here, and we have to protect ourselves, and our patients, of course. You don't look particularly dangerous, but one can never tell, particularly if the patient is someone we've never seen before. Now lie back, please."

Straps were fitted across his chest under his armpits, round wrists and upper arms, across thighs and round ankles, rendering him almost completely immobile except for his head. Once this had been completed, the Shepherd pushed a needle into a vein on the back of his left hand and began to take samples. Removing the needle, she took the samples to be tested, and then gave Marlon a thorough physical examination. She paid particular attention to his penis and testicles.

"You'll forgive me, citizen. We don't usually see these in Sick Bay, so I'm not familiar with any problems that might be associated with them."

"I don't think I have anything wrong with them, but there might be things I'm not aware of. Your examination seems extremely thorough. Can I ask what you're looking for?"

"The usual bacterial, viral and fungal infections, of course. The unusual, like degenerative diseases of your internal organs, including cancer, arthritis and diabetes. Also things like parasites, fleas, ticks, crabs, lice, worms, both internal and external. Basically anything we can find which might threaten either you or anyone else you come into contact with."

"Do you really get people with those kinds of things in here? Answering myself, I suppose you must do."

"Yes, unfortunately. You're from a fairly affluent area of the city, I can tell by your skin condition and tone. We get all sorts in here, and despite the State saying it doesn't happen, some of them are in pretty poor condition."

Sophia then unstrapped his thighs and ankles, restrapping them individually, before using the controls to adjust the seat. The lower portion divided, and then hinged under buttocks and behind knees to elevate his legs and separate them.

"Normally we give each detainee a gynaecological examination, but obviously there's no point with yourself. I'll use the opportunity to have a look at your anal passage while you're here, though. Now hold still. No, I want you to relax. There, I'm finished."

A chime sounded, and the Shepherd went to a terminal to get the results of the blood tests. Marlon squirmed in the chair from the after-effects of the unpleasant examination.

"Looks like you're clear, citizen. At least from the first tests. There are one or two diseases which will take longer to test for, so you'll be confined to your room for a week until we can clear you. You can get dressed now."

Sophia reset the chair and released Marlon, who pulled on his clothes. She re-secured him and then took him back to E Deck, but instead of returning him to his room, she took him through the next set of gates and to the two women sitting at the watch station.

"Your new - and unusual - resident has passed the first tests," Sophia said to the two. "Keep her, I mean him, isolated for the next seven days as usual. Any problems, I know you'll call me."

The two women smiled at Marlon in greeting. "Good morning. I'm Elena and she's Kristina. We've been going over your record and we're a bit confused. What do we call you?"

Marlon said, "It seems my DNA matches both my own ID record and that of a woman. She's the one who committed the offences, but the court seems to have got the details confused, although I know that's not supposed to happen. My name is Marlon. I'm not that keen on being called by the woman's name, because that might be seen as an admission of guilt."

"Or a denial of reality," responded Sophia. "We get a lot of people in here with delusions. Mostly that they're innocent, but it can go a lot deeper than that."

"Look, you examined my body," protested Marlon, "did it look at all like it could ever have been a female body?"

"Well, no," admitted Sophia, "but then again I'm not an expert on what's medically possible in that particular area of study. You might look, very convincingly I might add, like a man, but I don't know of any way I could test that would prove that you were not previously once a woman."

"That's all right, dear," said Kristina, "we don't really mind what you are in here, or what you're called. If we gave you a woman's name, it would be degrading, and being in the facility is degrading enough. We'll call you Marlon for now. It's not a problem for us, I'll just make a note on your record."

"You do realise that I'm dressed entirely in female clothes?" Marlon said, "Isn't that degrading enough for me?"

Kristina shrugged. "You're in a female facility. It's the standard issue clothing, we don't have any other sort. What do you expect us to do? Do you find it particularly uncomfortable?"

"I find the entire experience uncomfortable," he replied. "The clothes, well, for actual comfort and fit I've no complaints. It's the psychological angle that makes me uncomfortable."

Elena spoke. "Actually, dressing like the other detainees may give you a benefit, in that you won't stand out. If you don't do anything stupid while you're here, you will eventually be allowed to mix with some of the other detainees on the Deck. You may also come into contact with detainees from other Decks. Seriously, if it becomes generally known that a male is up here, you could be in some danger from some of the rougher elements downstairs. We don't want to have to keep you in solitary for your entire sentence."

Marlon hadn't thought of that, and he nodded understanding. "Good point. What do you suggest I do, then?"

"If you want to blend in, you've made a good start. Just keep blending in. Let your hair grow longer, and let the Facility hairdresser style it. Think seriously about using a female name, if only for your own safety. We'll know why you're doing it, and that's all that matters."

"Will you give me some time to think about this?" he asked, "I wasn't prepared for any of this, and I have yet to get my thoughts together."

The two seated Shepherds nodded. Marlon rubbed his chin, and he noticed an obvious stumbling block.

"Do you have anything like shaving equipment in this place?" he asked. "I don't think you have too many bearded women in here. I'd really stand out if I can't shave it off."

Sophia replied, "We don't allow shaving equipment in here, for safety reasons. Some women do suffer from facial hair, and there's a simple surgical procedure we do which permanently removes it."

She came close to Marlon and examined his face. "Funny, I never thought of your stubble when I was examining you. We can clear all your facial hair for you, but it will probably take a week or so of sessions, because there's so much of it, and I must warn you, once it's gone, it's gone for ever."

"Surgical procedure?" asked Marlon, concerned.

"Don't worry. It uses an intense pulse of light to kill the roots of the hairs. We don't cut you open, if that's what you're worried about."

Marlon said, "Can I think about that as well? It would be a big step to take, but I can see the problems I'd have if I allow - or indeed, if you allow - my facial hair to continue growing."

"Of course. I'll call you later on this afternoon to see what you've decided. Now, perhaps, you'd better return to your room."

Sophia escorted him back to his room, released his wrists, and locked him in. Marlon immediately lay down on the bed and began to try and collect his thoughts. His personal terminal chimed. He got up, sat in front of it, and activated the display. Elena's face looked at him.

"Service, Shepherd. What can I do for you?"

"I wondered if you realised that you can choose what you have for lunch. If you use the 'Services' menu and follow it down, you will find meal choices. You have just time to select something before they make up the trays. Otherwise you get whatever's left over."

"I didn't know that. I haven't had much time to find my way round the system. Thank you, Elena."

Marlon decided to spend some time investigating the system, discovering that while he could select what he ate for each meal, each choice affected what was offered for other meals that day. He supposed that made sure that everyone got a balanced diet, but it meant that he had to remember that fact when he decided what to have. Additionally, he found that the system provided a 'diary' function which enabled him to set an early morning alarm, amongst it's usual functions. He wasn't sure what use a diary would be to most detainees, since their day to day existence would mostly be the same. He was still investigating the system an hour later when his chosen lunch banged into the feeding station.

After lunch, he decided to sample any entertainment that might be available. There wasn't much, but he settled on a baseball match he could have on while he tried to make sense of what had happened to him. In fact, he had just got interested in the match when his communicator chimed again, and he got up to take the call. It was Sophia.

"Service, Shepherd."

"Service to you. I was discussing the problem of your facial hair with some of my colleagues and they reminded me that we do in fact have shavers in Sick Bay you could use. We use them to prepare detainees for minor procedures. I could let you use one for a limited period, assuming that you decide to go with the removal procedure. Have you decided yet?"

Marlon fingered his bristles. "I have, Shepherd. It's becoming apparent to me that I need to blend in here in order to accommodate myself to my new circumstances, so yes, if you're giving me the choice, I choose to have my facial hair removed."

Sophia nodded. "Good. I can't schedule anything for you until you've been cleared, and then you'll need at least five sessions. We need a gap after the first session to see if there are any problems, so it's going to take a while before it's completed. As for the shaver, it's battery operated and someone can bring it to your room. Because you're still quarantined, essentially, the shaver will have to be sterilized between uses, and I'll make it available for you to use every other day. Will that be all right?"

"Whatever you say, Shepherd."

"Very well. Someone will bring the shaver up later this afternoon, and it will be on a tray pushed into your feeding slot. The person who brings it will wait till you've finished and bring it directly back. Understand?"

"Yes, Shepherd. You mean I have to use it as soon as it arrives, so that the bringer doesn't have to hang around."

Sophia smiled at him. "I like your attitude. I think you're going to get along quite well in here."

The shaver duly arrived, and Marlon gratefully made his face smooth again. He placed the shaver back on the tray, closed the cover, and went back to his baseball match.

The next week went very slowly. Marlon realised that each day would soon end up much the same as the previous one, and he used his diary to note when he needed to change clothes. He worked at developing a routine to occupy his days. Eventually, Sophia called to tell him that he had been cleared, and that he would be collected the following day for his first facial hair removal treatment.

He was strapped into a diagnostic chair, and his eyes covered by opaque goggles to protect him from the light source. An area under his chin and down his neck was treated, the principle being that the skin there was more sensitive, and that would tell them if the machinery had been calibrated correctly. A soothing balm was applied, and he was returned to his room. By lunchtime the following day, the redness had disappeared and when Sophia arrived during the afternoon to check him over, she was satisfied that he could undergo the procedure without problems.

"We'll keep to a schedule of every other day, to allow your skin time to recover. I'll still have to send the shaver up, for the parts of your face we haven't done yet. Try not to let the shaver get near the areas that have just been treated, it'll probably make them sore." She looked him over.

"Your hair's a bit of a mess. Are the Shepherds not looking after it for you?"

"No, Sophia," replied Marlon, startled. "I didn't know they should be. What do they do?"

"They are supposed to come in every morning and brush it for you. I suppose they haven't done yours so far because it's so short compared to most of the detainees, but it's beginning to look a bit untidy. Do you wash it often?"

"Every second or third day, Sophia. I don't think it's going to get dirty enough for me to do it much more often."

"I'll mention it to them on my way out, so they can add it to their schedule. I'll also ask them to add you to the hairdresser's schedule. She does E Deck once a fortnight. You don't have a lot to play with, but it's a start. I think that's all for now. You'll be seeing me quite frequently since I check everyone on E Deck at least once a week, so do tell me if you have any problems, won't you."

As Sophia got up to leave, Marlon said, "Actually, there is one thing. I don't know if it's an allergic reaction to the material, or whatever the clothes get washed in, or maybe something else, but I'm getting irritation across my chest. Can you have a look, please?"

"Of course. Can you pull your things up for me?"

Marlon obliged, and Sophia inspected his chest. "I notice you're not wearing a bra. That allows the other garments to rub your nipples. It's commonly caused Jogger's Nipple, you might have heard of it."

"Now you mention it, Shepherd, I have. I haven't been wearing the bras because there didn't seem much point, but of course, if it's going to stop the rubbing, then I will."

Sophia nodded. "Anything else? Good. I'll be up to collect you for the next hair removal session some time tomorrow morning then."

The following morning, after his breakfast tray had been collected, he had a visit from one of the day shift Shepherds he hadn't yet met.

"Service, citizen, I'm Belle. I've come to brush your hair for you."

"Oh, yes. Service, Shepherd. What do you need me to do?"

"This can get a little awkward," she said, "because of the limited furniture arrangement in the rooms, so we've found that the best way to do it is if you sit cross-legged on the bed, facing the wall. That gets you at about the right height for brushing."

Marlon climbed on the bed and arranged himself with difficulty.

"Oh, I forgot," Belle said, "can you get comfortable? I'm used to dealing with women who have much more flexible hip joints."

"I can manage, Shepherd. I think I may have to practice to loosen my joints up a little more. How's that?"

"A little closer to the wall, please, then you can brace yourself with your hands on the edge of the bed. How do you want me to do it for you?"

"As you wish, Shepherd. I assume you've talked with the others about my position in here?"

"I have. You have a nasty tangle here. You haven't had your hair combed or brushed since you came here, have you?"

"No, Shepherd. I think I got away with it for a while because it was so short, but, as you say, it needs regular brushing now. Belle, is it? This seems an unnecessary thing for you to have to do, but I assume there's a good reason for it."

"Yes. You know that some of the people on this Deck are under suicide watch, don't you? Good. That means no loose objects in the rooms that might be turned into devices for self harming. On some of the other Decks detainees do have their own brushes and combs, but not up here. We don't mind doing it at all. It means we get to see everyone every day, and it also means that even detainees who are doing solitary aren't left without visitors all day."

She put a hand on his shoulder, and leaned forward. "You do realise that you are currently in solitary status, don't you? Most detainees usually are for the first month or so, so it's not a punishment or anything like that, it's just to give you a chance to settle in. Of course you're a special case, so you might be on your own for longer, I don't know."

"I didn't know that, Shepherd. I don't seem to know very much about what's going on at all."

"When I'm finished with your hair, I'll show you how to find your case file. You won't be able to change anything, and some of the file won't be visible to you, but you'll at least be able to find out what's happening to your status here, and how any appeal or parole hearing is progressing. Most detainees check their file every morning, just to see if anything has changed."

"I didn't know such a thing existed. Thank you, Shepherd."

His file contained very little, as he had suspected it would. The detainment order, the transfer order, his current status, and the number of days remaining were displayed. The link to his appeal did not function, so they assumed that it was still in some pending state.

Marlon thanked Belle, and after she had locked him in, he went and inspected himself in the bath cubicle, where a sheet of polished steel was securely fixed over the washbasin. She had brushed his hair into a style that could be either male or female. It wouldn't stay like that, of course. He decided to have a chat with her the following morning and see if he could arrange for her to do it while his hair was damp, to enable it to dry into a simple style.

He looked at his face. The shadow from the bristle darkened his cheeks and chin, and he wondered what his face would look like when it was all gone. At least he wouldn't have to shave for much longer. It was a morning chore, as for every man, but it wasn't something he would lose sleep over if he never had to do it again. Perhaps it would make him look younger.

The very last hair removal session was the worst, since it was the stiffest bristles on his top lip. By now he had become used to the discomfort, but this occasion was so painful that he had to be given a pain relief injection before he could be led back to E Deck.

After that, his life turned into a dull routine, enlivened only by the daily visits of the Shepherds who did his hair, and occasionally stayed to talk to him, and by visits from Sophia to check his health. He started doing the channel twelve exercises each morning, and in the afternoons he would read the news or a book from the library. All action on his appeal seemed to have stalled somewhere, not that he had much expectations on that score anyway.

The hairdresser came, one of a small team of Shepherds who did nothing else but circulate the facility trimming and styling the detainees' hair. She was accompanied by two detainees who apparently were some sort of trusty, their status being indicated by royal blue cuffs to the sleeves of their brown dresses. These were the first detainees Marlon had seen since the day he had arrived at the facility.

Some rooms nearest the watch station had been converted from residential purposes for other uses, and one of these had become a Treatment Room. It held a diagnostic chair which Marlon was strapped into. While the hairdresser trimmed him, her two assistants attended to his finger and toe nails, efficiently trimming and filing them into shape. The three assumed that Marlon was female, and he made no attempt to convince them otherwise. He was returned to his room feeling self-conscious about the attention that they had paid to him.

After about two months in the facility, he had to ask to be taken down to Stores and re-measured, since his smocks were getting tight at chest and hip. His new outfits were a little more shaped, and the dresses he was given had a back zip welded in to make them easier to put on or take off. He mentioned his changing shape at Sophia's next visit.

"I had to get new clothes from Stores, Sophia. I think I'm beginning to put on a little weight, and I feel quite flabby. Is there any chance I can do some real exercise somewhere? The channel twelve routines I do are keeping me flexible, but they don't seem to be getting any weight off."

Sophia grinned. "You could always try eating a little less. What exercise did you have in mind?"

"I used to do a little running," he replied, "I know you're not likely to let me go outside for a long run, so I wouldn't expect that. But what might you be able to offer me?"

"You're in luck, as it happens. There's an Exercise Room on each Deck, I'm surprised no-one's mentioned it to you. There's a couple of running treadmills and a rowing machine in yours. I'll ask the Shepherds to schedule you in some sessions. How long have you been here now? It seems like ages."

"Thank you for reminding me. It's been about two months. Why?"

"I'll ask them about your status. I don't think there's much need to keep you on your own any more." She held up a hand. "I can't promise anything, mind you, I can only offer a medical opinion, but I think it's about time you were able to interact with more people than just the E Deck watch." She paused. "Of course, there may be other reasons than those I've been told about why you're being kept separate, but if there aren't I shall certainly press for a change of status."

"I would appreciate it if you would, Shepherd. Life in here is getting a little boring."

"Not to mention, it's a sure-fire way for someone to get depressed," Sophia said. "As I said, I'll see what I can do, but I can't promise anything."

The following morning when Elena came to do his hair, she told him that his status would soon be changing.

"We're not going to do it all at once, though," she explained as she brushed his hair, which had been styled into a short bob with a fringe. "We want to introduce you to the others gradually, so what we'll do is to schedule sessions for you in the Exercise Room with one of the other detainees. Once you start doing that regularly, we'll rotate your partners and they'll all get to know you over a period of time. That also means you won't have to deal with everyone at once. When you've been shut away in here it can be a bit overwhelming."

"Thank you, Elena."

"You'll need to contact Stores and ask them to send up some running kit for you. You'll need shorts, a running top and a pair of running shoes if you're going to use the treadmill."

"Of course, Elena, I'll do that directly you've finished."

His running kit arrived that afternoon, and Elena brought it to him. The running top and shorts were in the same green as his dresses and had obvious feminine styling, but Marlon hadn't expected anything else. He looked with interest at the shoes. No laces, obviously, but touch-closure straps for a comfortable fit.

"I would keep those purely for your running," she advised. "There's nothing to stop you walking around in them at other times, but you'll wear them out if you do that. We've scheduled you for a slot later tomorrow morning. If you carry on as normal and do the channel twelve exercises like you've been doing, by the time someone fetches you, you'll be nicely warmed up."

When Linda, the fourth of the day Shepherd team, led him out the following morning, he was quite nervous. He had changed into the running kit, leaving his briefs and sports bra on underneath. She took him to the other half of the corridor, to a room corresponding to the Treatment Room, and opened the door. Inside was Belle and another woman, who was striding along on one of the two treadmills.

"Grace, this is Marion. She'll be joining you for your exercise today," introduced Linda. "I'll leave you both in Belle's capable hands," she said, and left the three of them in the room.

Marlon looked at the other detainee. She was a little shorter, much smaller in build, and fair against Marlon's dark colouration. She looked to be about forty years old or so. He climbed onto the other treadmill, and Belle came over.

"I suggest you start out real easy to begin with," she said, "since it's been a good while since you've done anything like this sort of exercise. You've put on a bit of weight, as well, so that's going to make it seem harder as well. I'll show you how to operate the controls."

Marlon decided that a fast walk was probably enough for his first session, and soon worked up quite a sweat. He recognised that if he did this regularly he would have to change his bathing habits.

"Is this your first time in here, then?" asked Grace after a while. Marlon glanced at Belle, but she just waved her hand. It appeared that talking was permitted.

"Yes," replied Marlon. Over the course of a conversation, he told her his story, but omitted the fact that he was a man. He found that he could answer most of the questions truthfully without that information being significant. In return, he discovered that Grace had been convicted of murdering her baby while suffering from post-natal depression. Though she seemed to have come to terms with it now, she was still under the close scrutiny of Sophia. All too soon the session came to an end and he was ushered back to his room.

That week he did four half-hour sessions, all of them with Grace. The following week, he was allowed hour sessions, part on the treadmill and part on the rowing machine. His time on the machines overlapped with that of other detainees, so from then on he was introduced to most of the remaining people who lived on E Deck, save two who were judged to be insane, and two more who were on close suicide watch. His fitness recovered, but curiously, his flabbiness didn't fade. His skin still remained soft, and the excess still remained on his chest and hips.

After four weeks his status was changed from "at risk, isolated" to "at risk", and he was allowed to leave his room during the day to visit the other detainees. Kristina explained how this worked.

"After the breakfast and lunch trays have been collected, and the catering trolleys have gone down in the lift, your door will be released. You'll get to recognise the click, no doubt. Whenever your tell-tale is green, that means you are free to leave your room. If you want to leave your room, just open the door and come out, you don't have to ask anyone. If you are happy to have someone visit you, then leave your door open. Similarly, you can visit anyone who has left theirs open. If you wish privacy, just close your door. The room next to the Treatment Room is a small lounge with a few chairs and a drinks dispenser, if several of you wish to have a chat. There's another one in the other half next to the Exercise Room, and you can visit that as well if you want to. Just remember not to neglect anything you have been doing, such as the channel twelve exercises or your treadmill sessions. A chime will sound when you have to go back to your rooms."

Marlon's new routine thus changed to include social visits during the afternoon. In his old life, he had not been that talkative, with anyone much except his partner and a couple of close friends at the factory where he had worked. He discovered that he quite liked talking to the motley selection of women who made up E Deck. He found that he could understand their problems and sympathise with them, recognising that many of them had had little choice in the actions that had led them to be sent to the facility.

He had to be careful in the reminiscences he told to them, in case they figured his secret out, but in the end a tiny mistake meant that they all learned what he was.

"What did you say you did again, before you came here?" asked Martha, a large woman who had stolen money, and who was on E Deck through risk of self-harming.

"I was a Machinist, First Class," he replied, absent-mindedly.

"What, you operated a sewing machine?" asked Jill, who had killed her partner before he could murder her, and who was consumed by guilt.

"No, I operated a milling machine."

"Flour, you mean?"

"No," he replied patiently, "I operated a fifty-tonne computer-operated milling machine, making industrial pumps from castings, and other parts for power stations and chemical works."

This information was greeted by the group of eight women in the lounge with dead silence. They all knew that, however much the State harped on about the equality of men and women, there were certain jobs which men did, and certain jobs which women did, and what he'd just told them wasn't one of the latter.

"That's a man's job," one of them said.

"That's right," Marlon said. "That's because that's what I am."

The women stared at him, some showing disbelief, others showing caution.

"You don't look much like a man," accused Martha. "Are you right in the head? If you was a man, you wouldn't be in here, now, would you?"

Marlon sighed, prepared to recount his story yet again, but before he could start, Belle appeared in the doorway. Marlon had realised long ago that all their conversations were monitored by the watch desk. She raised her eyebrow at Marlon.

"Belle," Marlon pleaded, "unless you were prepared to lock my room and throw away the key, there was always a good chance that the E Deck residents would find out what I was. I'd rather they were told the facts by me, rather than have some fantastic tale generated by the rumour factory. Please?"

Belle looked at the other women carefully. Finally, she came to a decision, and addressed them all.

"I'll let Marlon tell his own story -" it was the first time any of them had heard his real name "- but I must warn you all of this. The fact that Marlon is male, yes he is male, must must not be allowed to leave E Deck, for his own safety. I must also warn all of you to be on your best behaviour around him. We don't need any romantic entanglements or unwanted pregnancies up here. If word gets out, or if we get any trouble at all, we might just lock all of you in your rooms and throw away the keys. Understand me?"

There was a stunned silence. Finally a voice spoke.

"If he's really a male, what's he doing in here? Why does he look like a woman?"

"I look like a woman because I'm trying not to be noticed," Marlon answered. "As to why I'm here, you can be sure that it wasn't of my choosing. Belle, will you stay? Some of what I have to tell them may sound a bit fantastic, and I'd like some backup."

Belle assented, and he began his story, from the beginning. The women, who had initially seen him as a potentially destabilising influence, realised that he was the victim of circumstances and that he really had no control over what had happened to him. He was showered with sympathy and made an honorary member of the sisterhood. It seemed apparent that they would all stand together to protect him and his secret. Belle nodded to herself as she realised that Marlon had made the right decision, even though it had seemed shaky to her at the start.