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"She has a certain parlousness, don't you think?" Marcus asked, staring at Lady Bellington.

Peter eyed the woman holding court on the other end of the room. "What do you mean?"

The other man put his drink down. "It's the way she talks with people. Just enough flattery to reel them in. Just enough intelligence to make her interesting. A smile that brightens the room, but doesn't fully show in her eyes. She knows just when to back off if she challenges someone, and gives enough of an apology to be courteous." He paused. "She's dangerous."

"But--"

He scoffed. "Don't say 'she's just a woman,' Peter."

Instead of dismissing the notion, Peter watched the woman. The way she moved. The way she talked. The way she showed just enough vulnerability to make other men fall all over her, but never enough to give any one of them particular attention. Marcus was right! Peter turned to say so, when he noticed Marcus had disappeared. Bloody hell! I hate it when he does that! he thought. Peter turned his attention back to the crowd, but noticed that the court had dispersed. Lady Bellington, was no longer in the ballroom.

Neither was Marcus. Dammit, now I'll have to find him! Peter took a breath, then made his way to one of the side doors, hoping to sneak into the rest of the house. He carefully greeted other attendees of the ball as he wove through the crowd. Finally he gave his regrets to another beautiful woman, saying he needed to get some air, and slipped out one of the side doors.

The hall he ended up in was much darker than the ball room, and there were already people taking advantage of shadowed corners. Peter sighed as he walked past them, discreetly checking, but none of them being Marcus.

"Can I help you, sir?" asked a deep voice from behind him. Peter turned to see the Bellington's butler standing with his arms in front of him. His face was a mask, and he almost looked bored. He was pale, bald, but impeccably dressed.

"Oh, sorry. I'm trying to find my friend. I thought he might have gone to get some air."

"Ah, yes, Mr. Blakely. He is with Lady Bellington, sir. I can take you to him," he turned and stalked away in the opposite direction.

"Oh, but, I don't wish to disturb them--" Peter began, but the butler just kept walking. He jogged a little catch up with the man. "Um--"

"The Lady will explain everything to you, sir," the butler said without missing a step.

Explain what? Peter wondered as he followed him. He was rather unsure of what he'll find when they arrived at their destination, and harbored a very strong feeling of wrongness about it all. They turned a couple of times into adjoining hallways, and the amount of party-goers diminished as they went until they were in an area of the Bellington mansion that was quiet. Peter kept close to the butler, so as not to get lost, but he also noticed that the amount of turns and hallways didn't seem to match the size of the house. After what seemed like more than ten minutes, Peter finally asked, "Um. May I ask where we're going?"

"To the Lady's Workroom, sir. She is expecting you."

"Workroom?"

"Yes, sir," the butler replied, saying nothing more.

After a few more turns, the man finally stopped in front of a set of double doors and knocked three times. One of the doors clicked open and Peter noticed the door was nearly a foot thick. The butler opened it as if it weighed nothing. "If you would, sir," he said, gesturing me to go into the room.

Peter peered through the door. The lighting inside was as dim as the hallway. He could see several figures moving around inside, most of them with the silhouette of ladies in skirts. Something told him that he should run, but just as he was about give his excuses, he saw something glint in the low light. He stepped forward and saw that it was the butterfly pin Marcus always wore on his jacket. The man himself was sitting in a chair under a brighter light staring at something, but Peter couldn't see what. Marcus' face was blank.

"Marcus!" he yelled, but Marcus didn't move.

The others in the room, however, did. Peter could feel the weight of several sets of eyes staring at him. He tried to turn and run, but the butler gripped his arm, keeping him rooted to the spot.

Lady Bellington emerged from the darkness. "Ah. Mr. Collins. I had a feeling you'd join us eventually. Those of you in the intelligence services are much too curious about secrets for your own good!" She stepped aside. "Do come in, Mr. Collins. We have your seat waiting for you."

The butler shoved Peter through the door and shoved it closed behind him. He then heard something else bolt into place. Several smaller, thinner hands gripped his arms. They were just as strong as the butler's, even though the hands looked much more delicate. When he looked around, he could see several ladies in dresses around him, but the hands that were on his sleeves had long, thin figures that looked as fragile as twigs. Peter tried to struggle, fear gripping his heart, but the hands held firm, dragging him after Lady Bellington to a chair next to Marcus, who still hadn't stirred.

They sat him down and locked silvery metal cuffs around his legs and arms. Peter tried to struggle out of them, but whatever metal it was wouldn't budge. It was paper thin, but as strong as iron or steel. "What are you doing to me?" he asked.

Lady Bellington stood before him, putting a hand to his face. Part of him wanted to pull away from the touch, but curiously, another part of his mind craved the touch, as if it knew the lady would take care of him. No! he thought. This woman is dangerous! I know she can kill me with a thought! Peter closed his eyes and shook his head. How did I know that? When he opened them again, he was looking straight into Lady Bellington's. She smiled warmly, but that warmth was only in her smile. As he fell into her dark eyes, all his fear and anger began to fade and he began to feel sleepy. He tried to keep his eyes open, but he couldn't fight whatever was taking him over.

"Sleep, my child. You're going home," she said gently, and the world went black.

Peter woke again to a dimly lit room, lying on his back. The ceiling was white and silver, with no obvious source of the dim light. He couldn't feel any restraints on his arms and legs anymore, but moving his feet and hands felt strange. Lifting one of his hands to his face he gasped to see that the fingers were long, thing, and delicate, a lot like the hands of the ladies that had grabbed him in Lady Bellington's workroom.

"What happened to me?" he yelled, as he attempted to roll over and sit up. His body, however, was completely out of proportion. His legs were twice as long as they had been, with bone white skin, instead of a normal human color. Peter fell to the floor, which, thankfully, was soft like a mattress. He grabbed his head and gasped again. It felt much bigger than it used to be, and to his horror, it was completely hairless. When looked down he realized there was no hair anywhere on his body, nor did he have genitals. "Oh God! Someone! Anyone! Help me! What's going on? What have you done to me!" he cried out, backing against the wall just to have something somewhat familiar touch him.

The lights brightened slightly to a warm orange color. Two other beings that had a similar body shape to his-- large heads, large eyes, and bone-white skin, came in. One was wearing a filmy green and gold translucent jacket over their naked body, while the other was naked except for a white bag with a silver strap that crossed over them. Peter could see some sort of flat objects poking out of the top of the bag, and the person with the bag was tapping another flat object.

The person in the jacket -- They must be people Peter surmised through his fear -- came over to him, knelt down, touched his face like Lady Bellington had, and said something in a language he couldn't understand. They appeared to be waiting for an answer.

"Who are you? What did you do to me? Why are my limbs like this!" Peter demanded.

The person blinked. "Oh dear," they said in English, with the same voice as Lady Bellington. "You haven't regained your memories?"

"Memories? I'm Peter Collins! Son of Martha and David Collins! I am an agent with Her Majesty's Intelligence Service! Why do I look like this? Are you doing something to my mind? And where's Marcus? I demand you stop this instant, whoever you are!"

Their hand shot out and grabbed him by the throat. Peter somehow instinctively knew that if he moved, he'd be dead in an instant. How he knew that, he didn't know. "You," they said in a quiet, but deadly tone, "will be quiet. Doctor?"

The person with the bag stepped forward, pulled out some sort of instrument and waved it over him. The end of it lit up as the doctor did so. "Damn," they said. "The morphological DNA took hold, but it looks like this one's from a diluted line. The genetic memory is corrupted. The other one you brought up was a much better genetic specimen. The skin color of the other suggested a more robust genetic lineage. From what our operatives could tell, they had Egyptian ancestry, which means a less polluted line."

"Less polluted line?" Peter squeaked. "I'll have you know--"

The fingers on his neck squeezed, stopping Peter's tirade. "I told you, you will be quiet, Inferior. You are in the presence of your Queen, and I am deciding your fate." The Queen turned to the doctor. "Is there a chance to awaken the genetic memories?"

The doctor looked at their instrument again. "No, unfortunately. If you had sent me a sample of their DNA, my Queen, I could have saved you the transport power. Was he one of the pale ones?"

The Queen nodded.

"Unfortunately, the pale ones are harder to judge if the Recursion will take. It's usually somewhere around twenty percent. It's probably best to recycle it's DNA into the incubators. At the very least, we can bolster the gene pool."

"Very well," the Queen said, looking back at Peter and finally releasing his throat. "Well, my dear. While your DNA may be inferior for Recursion, your genetic material will help create a new generation of us." She sighed. "It's a shame that the genetics of those we left behind is becoming so tainted." The Queen stood and turned to the doctor. "We agree with your assessment. Ensure that the proper rituals are held for him."

"Yes, my Queen," the doctor answered. With one last look at Peter on the floor, the Queen left the room. The doctor dug out another small instrument from their bag.

"What is that?" Peter asked. "What's DNA? What are you going to do to me?"

"Something to help you sleep, my friend," they said, trying to sound friendly.

"No! You're going to kill me! I don't want to die! I want to go home!"

"You are home, Peter," they said. "Unfortunately, your DNA doesn't remember that." They pressed the object to his neck, and he instantly felt sleepy again. He tried to fight it, but whatever the doctor had injected him with was too strong. "Don't worry, we'll honor your sacrifice," the doctor's voice said, gently, as his consciousness faded.