Time is impossible to measure where I am.

The journey between death and return – guided by the light is meant to be brief, so fleeting in fact as to go by without notice and yet I am aware while in this dark, the inky black between because for the first time there is no light, guiding or otherwise.

---

Time is impossible to measure where I am.

Below me – I know, the black surrounds me, how do I know below, above, right, or left? Well, the mind needs reference points and will imagine them if needs be. I can’t explain beyond that, so please don’t challenge my fragile reality. I am hanging on by a thread here. If you remember; the stay in the black is meant to be brief. This brings up another point. Who am I talking to? Am I entering madness?

I shake my non-existent head. Below me, dim lights grow into brighter lights and then for a shorter time fade to the briefest of glimmers before winking out of existence or possibly joining the black. They aren’t the large bright light I am expecting, and I reject being drawn to them. An additional pull manifests from them, seeking belonging, they call to my being. I sense if I quit my resistance the glimmers would, of all the lights, welcome me. Odd. I resist because these aren’t the guiding light …

---

Time is impossible to measure where I am, yet the lights below, at one time a cluster now stray in several directions.

A bright light pulsates in the distance, above me. An urge to join this light, nibbles at my will. I resist. Shortly after, a long time after? Afterwards? A glowing bright warm light above me blots out the other, either consuming or outshining either consequence irrelevant as I will myself towards the guiding light I have known after every mission upon death.

---

An echo of a kind voice penetrates my consciousness, “Agent zero one, dash zero, zero, seven, A an unfortunate return.”

I close my eyes, no I don’t. They didn’t open. I hear blood pulsating in my head and know I am once again flesh. The body is vibrant, strong. My mind is weary and so, I order my body to sleep.

---

A light, humorous voice penetrates my consciousness, “Agent zero one, dash zero, zero, seven, A you need to wake, we have much to discuss.”

My eyelids snap open, eyes focusing, calibrating to ensure the bright white room doesn’t blind me as the capsule door is already in the open position. I swing my perfect muscular human legs over one side. My designer hands grasp the handles of the capsule and with a light flexing of my biceps, my feet slap upon the cold white clinical floor. I eye my, erm, manhood, the slapping of which against my thigh reveals more than I care to know about the future owner. My vision of my human body has fewer muscles and proportional appendages. Therefore, this grown body isn’t meant for me, yet my spirit occupies and now owns this designer flesh bag. Most importantly, I am glad to be alive.

The sliding open of the room’s door breaks my deliberations over my new body. My eyes rising to drink in the perfection of the female form. I change my mind; pure blonde hair long would be … better. Before my eyes, her dirty blonde hair brightens and lengthens. My jaw drops.

“I hope the demonstration educates and convinces you quicker than any verbal explanation?” Her voice is musical, the tone soothing.

“Yes, Operator, yet clearly you aren’t human.”

“My race is the great secret, and it is we who have hijacked your future.” Her eyes glance down, her cheeks don’t colour. “Would you feel more comfortable in clothes?”

Her cold emotionless white one-piece medical smock, white knee-high boots I know wraps and hides the ideal female body shape according to me, permitting me to carnal temptation. “Clothes would be most welcome.”

Deep within me, a twist of disappointment churns my stomach.

---

I stare at the monitor, glance twice towards the Operator for confirmation. Her stoic face remains unmoving.

The perfect male human body in the arrival room, free of the capsule, shuffles upon the white tiles of the floor shifting one knee and then the other, travelling in a circle, eyes closed. His feet drag behind, devoid of any independent movement. His arms dangling beside his body, although occasionally rise to wipe his brow, hands hanging loose.

“Note the circle he travels, exact, no deviation. How many years do you think such practised confinement would be required? His feet and hands, perfect yet his mind tells him they are useless.” Her voice seeps into my thoughts.

“Who is he?” I ask, my voice quiet, my ears straining to hear my own words.

“You would better know him as the Ranger Hob and then the Leader Goblin, officially he is the GPA of this planet. His mission directly opposed to yours, to ensure the goblins remain primitives under the guidance of hobgoblins.”

“I … I smashed his feet and ankles, his hands and wrists …” I try to swallow and can’t. My throat is dry. A small cup of water presses into my hand, which I take and down in one motion. I only wanted to protect my wives from his threat.

“Your wives I expect honouring their husband’s last request,” she purrs.

Does she admire the result, or the dedication of my wives to serve beyond my death?

I am afraid to ask but I must know. “How long does a goblin live for?”

“A goblin? Forty years, maybe fifty although most die violently or starve well before then. He though is an Agent in a designer goblin body and your wives, your wives’ daughters and their daughters took their sacred duty and oath to the extreme. They kept him alive for over two hundred years.”

“Why? Because I asked?” My hands slide down my face, an enemy yes, yet no mind would be able to survive such an existence …

“You left an enduring legacy behind, your wives in particular fervent in their devotion.” Again, the purring undertone in her voice.

“Three generations though? Two hundred years?”

“Your line is long-lived Lord Farmer Hob. That and the dedication of your wives proves my people made the right choice, took the optimal gamble on you.”

Gamble? Without effort, my inner Hob rises. My hands grasp her shoulders while I try to burn through her face with my eyes. Wait, my inner Hob!

“I am glad your experiment upon me proves you right.” Her head flops back and forward before I realise, I am the cause. In a blind rage, I am shaking her body. “I didn’t have a choice?”

My hands close upon themselves, which startles me out of my fury. I blink. The Operator is now the size of a girl child, two-thirds my height.

Her child voice further stuns me into calm. I know she isn’t a child, yet I can’t harm a human child.

“The GPA’s existence is ending Agent. The humans in charge don’t understand the mysterious workings, in a word, magic.”

“Pfft!” I snort. “Magic? This is the age of technology. The spaceship, the growing of designer flesh bodies. The re-entry of spirits into those bodies …” My voice fades as her child’s head shakes from one side to another.

“How do you think technology reaches into the realm of the cross-over, spirit release after death?” Her incredulous voice resonating, chiding me. “How do explain the change in my body size?”

“I see the guiding light and then enter the prepared body …” I reply weakly. I ignore her changes, one revelation at a time is all I can handle for now.

“What joins one to the other? What alerts you to the possibility? Draws you back instead of scattering your spirit across the universe?”

I grunt and sigh, feeling my brow wrinkle in defeat. There needs to be something … Magic is as good an explanation as any, yet where does the magic come from? I look at her in askance, she is once again my height.

“Certain worlds generate magic, while others don’t. The GPA after many hundreds of years is beginning to recognise them from mineral analysis, the civilisations inhabiting them and to some extent, the most confusing thing for them, the number of Agents such worlds spawn. My race’s homeworld was the starting point of their investigation for an unusual reverse reason. Once we were conquered, humans who resided there or were born there, saw ‘the light’ upon death. They became the original Agents, and you are the last of them.”

I stretch an arm out and lean against the wall behind the monitor. My informant is a “Demon”. They are from legend, humans, many years after the first invasion of their planet scoured the known universe eliminating them. They were a secondary race on their home planet, the primary race also devoted to hunting them believing they had eradicated the race. Their ability to change their appearance, a survival mechanism, yet how?

“The human race was ravenous when first invading the universe. Other races impeded their spread and consumption of resources. The invasion of my planet changed that, in terms you may understand, the primary race, brutal xenophobic militaristic thugs of sufficient technology advancement gave humans a bloody nose, while my race infiltrated human command and control by shifting. We were searching for a noble ally, we found instead a greater threat and leaked information to assist the primary race. Shifting is our term for changing our appearance, body shape and the like by harnessing the magic on our planet. The discovery made on the cusp of our extinction becoming our survival technique enabling us to blend in with the primary race, allowing them to believe they had finally wiped out the planet’s other sentient race.”

I slide to the floor, my back against the wall. “Human history records many deaths and after a hundred years, planetary bombardment … planet life erased, an annual celebration returns to re-enact the bombardment …”

“During those hundred years the GPA came into being, our magic a catalyst for the technology being developed to guide those few in death who could “see the light”. Your human technology could detect and track spirits but couldn’t draw them and transplant them into a body. For that, my race provided the key.”

I hold up a hand. “Why, help your enemy? Humans hunted your race.”

“The GPA’s mission was to infiltrate planets before considering conquest. Assess risk against reward, steer the planet to accept the arrival of others from the stars. Use leadership manipulation, technology breakthroughs and grow belief in magnanimous extra-terrestrials to name a few techniques. Before humans wiped out opposition, bombarded tough planets and now they try to assimilate. Is this perfect? No. Is this better? Possibly.”

I climb to my feet and approach her, less than an arm’s length separates us. “Where do I, the last of my class, the last original, fit into this grand plan?”

She doesn’t back away. “The very planets which have the capacity to generate Agents are the very planets the GPA send Agents to, to prevent them developing into planets like my homeworld. Thereby blunting the potential of worlds capable of generating a belief in magic and then the inhabitants developing techniques to wield that power. They are on a path to self-destruction.”

Folding my arms I say, “Can’t you explain?”

“There is a test to become an Operator. This test unfailingly chooses my race, because my race, a long time ago, as shifted human engineers developed the test. The test is reliant on magic. No human in a position of power and/or authority can afford to believe in magic, such a belief would be their downfall. So, they can’t acknowledge this and will simply slaughter the messenger.”

What of news channels I thought and just as quickly dismissed. Their communication is always sanitised, supportive of the ruling elite and presiding government. Anything in disagreement is labelled false, subversive and a threat to humanity. The ruling elite recognised a long time ago to share enough wealth to ensure a majority comfortable middle class, these then volunteered into the ranks of the military and law enforcement securing rather than challenging. Cheerfully keeping in check, the lower class.

“On this world, I have been a failure, what now?” I mumble, my conviction fleeing as my reason to be an Agent falls from a lofty height, I once thought unassailable.

“No Agent, you are an opportunity. During your awakening, I have been discussing your future with my peers. Know firstly, you should have joined the bright light and awaken in a different body on another ship. A ship that has now left this planet’s orbit to reduce its risk of discovery. Your arrival here and the mental destruction of the Agent assigned to this ship allows us many options.”

---

I stare up at the ceiling of my quarters, the bed beneath me contouring to cradle my body in the optimal position for comfort and rest. Massage an option. The room is at the perfect temperature, the empty glass and partially eaten meal satisfying my basic needs and yet I am still hollow in some way. Perhaps the word options she used, was my sticking point. Their options for me …

Thinking of my options, they are slim. His ship. This means every flesh body grown within would carry his identity, his Agent Number. The body I occupy included. My return to human civilisation would occur in this body, why didn’t I answer the lessor bright light? I sigh, what would that mean when I don’t have clue about the consequences?

The door to my quarters slides open with a swish breaking my train of thought. I don’t need to confirm who visits, there is only one other free on the ship, isn’t there?

“I am here to assuage your doubts …” she purrs. Her arm extends high up on the doorway, while her body slinks, filling the opening in an alluring overtly sexual way.

It doesn’t take much to imagine her shifting ability facilitating any sexual encounter, yet I don’t understand this change of tack. Temptation instead of reasoning? Her physical appearance is exactly my type and yet the word hollow slams down my libido. I mumble and wave her away. She pouts and cancels her display.

“I can be a goblin?”  Her body begins to shift and change colour.

“No!” I shout. As she returns to her former shape and complexion, I continue, controlling my voice until calm. “I am more interested in knowing my future if I had chosen the bright light?”

Hands on her hips she replies, “Fewer options, one being never returning to humanity. The other ship couldn’t grow flesh bodies, your spirit would need to be inserted, like last time, after host death. Incredibly risky for you and those performing the task. Descent to the planet surface to acquire a host, prepping the host, casting the false guiding light, spirit insertion and then return the host to the planet surface and escape for them.”

“You expect me to return?” I feel the desperation in my voice, yet such a thing is so unexpected, an Agent only visits until death. I quirk my head, I have never considered suicide or charging into certain death to ‘escape’ a mission … why not I abruptly wonder. Why was the guiding light from the original hijacking of my spirit better than the next?

Her hands animate while talking. “Your mission isn’t complete Agent. You’re no longer officially working for the GPA and while we have the real Agent incapacitated, we can pass any test except for a physical visit. Why would they visit? This is a surveillance mission and the Agent returning to the planet on multiple occasions, the growing of flesh bodies on multiple occasions wouldn’t be outside the normal parameters of such a mission.”

She quirks her head and smiles. Her return of my body language is such a human thing, and comforting … I inwardly growl at myself; she isn’t human I tell myself.

“You plan to grow a hobgoblin body and return me to the planet below?”

“Well … there isn’t a need. Due to his untimely first death the Agent sort and acquired approval to have a grown hobgoblin body on standby. He threatened to resign if he needed to resort to a goblin flesh bag again. So, we are ready to go now.” Her eyes flash back down the corridor a strong hint she means immediately.

“How do you seem to know much of my experience upon the planet – my wives for example?”

Her silence is golden, her face scrunching up in self-debate. “The other ship spied upon you as much as this ship spied upon the Agent, it is the way with these missions. Now, can we begin? We need to extract your Spirit from your present body and perform the insertion into the hobgoblin and then transport you to the surface.”

“Sounds like a lot to do. I think I need some more thinking and questioning time … the original guiding light, why was that light so authentic?”

“There is no time …” She bites her bottom lip. “Magic, from many, a huge reserve of magic too risky to repeat a second time. Satisfied? We must hurry, the GPA record the time spent on the planet and the time spent on the ship of the Agent and we need to get you on the planet in his hobgoblin body.”

I shake my head, seeing an obvious flaw. “Won’t that mean he is in two places at once?”

She advances into my room, one step, two steps and stops. Perhaps I have broken her cool. “That is my concern, but if you must know, I can erase one presence record as an anomaly, the more difficult is creating a false presence. So … please, can we begin?”

“Are you erasing my presence or his presence now?”

She stomps a high booted foot. “We haven’t the time for your games. Your presence, now please we must begin.”

I lay back, hands under my head upon the bed. I wonder what further concessions I can earn with my disobedience.

I hear the snap of clips. “You can use my body if you must, quickly, but after we must hurry …”

A round full breast, firm nipple pointing at me, distracts as one flap of her clinic gown falls away. She grits her teeth ever so slightly, which is proof enough she is lowering herself because she must, not because she wants to. I don’t fully understand the urgency, after all an Agent needs a break between missions. This isn’t the concession I am chasing; more information would be ideal. Sometimes though you don’t know what you don’t know, in this case, what would be useful critical questions. Waiting here, I will be caught with her and the easiest solution for the GPA would be erasure.

“We haven’t the time,” I retort while stretching and leaping from the bed. I stride through the door before she fully realises. I glance back enjoying the sight of her naked breast bouncing as she scurries from my room while trying to ‘button up’. The edge of pleasure of course is taken away because I know she can reduce or enlarge breast flesh or nipples at will giving the feel of artificial to the entire exposure.

I wait for her in the monitor room. No, I am not chivalrous, simply put I don’t know where to next. She bustles past and I follow. Opening a door down a white clinical hall, I follow her in. On one slab lays my future self, a hobgoblin body. Another slab waits for me and I don’t hesitate, dropping my clothes to the floor and climbing upon the slab to lay down.

Standing at a console her eyes thank me for my co-operation. “The slabs are linked to facilitate the transfer and as you have perhaps guessed, naked flesh is optimal. Now, with a small discreet dash of magic, the transfer between the two bodies occurs. Once you are on your feet, practice acclimatising yourself to the new body and then we will head to the transport.”

I nod. My eyes become heavy, and I lose consciousness.

---

Waking and sitting up I feel at home in this body, perhaps being a hobgoblin previously has prepared me?

“No!”

Her scream draws me out of my quiet celebration and as I eye my surroundings, I realise I am still human. Still, human, the words seem odd …

Between the slabs, she scrunches down upon her haunches, hands over her face. Is she shedding tears? I slide from the slab and embrace her. Instead of rejection or resistance, she crawls into my hug, her hands around my neck, head resting against my chest. Her warm tears roll down my naked flesh.

My hands surround her head in a caress of concern, pushing away until our eyes meet. “Explain.”

“Your Spirit refuses to leave the human body. I have tried three times, each time applying more of my magic … too much of my magic. I will need days to recover, we don’t have days … there will be a breach in protocol and a visit will be scheduled, this is the end. I will be discovered.” She sniffs. “My magic will be too low to conceal my species from their machines and once I am revealed to be a Shifter, how long before others are …”

Leaning forward I kiss her. Full, passionate, and sincere. Her babble I feel is the first absolute truth she has spoken since my arrival, and I hope my kiss is taken as a reward or at the least a comfort. I am also aware the action could be considered an assault … this thought vanishes as she returns the kiss, forcefully. This though feels more like the desperation of the condemned. I break off the kiss, yet her lips follow mine and as good as my ego feels my hands hold her head back.

“What would prevent the transfer?” I ask, with strength in my voice, demanding an answer.

“Opposing magic, a magic resistance … but you are incapable of …”

“Assume I am, what are our options?”

“Get his body back to the planet. That will give us more time before the protocol is broken.”

I kiss her forehead. “Will you have enough magic?”

Closing her eyes she says, “For the transfer yes.” Opening her eyes, she locks onto mine. “I will be unable to maintain this shape …”

“About time I get to see the real you.” My warmest smile bookends my words.

“You … you …”

I place my finger across her faltering lips.

“Fetch the Agent. I need to prepare his hobgoblin body.”

She raises an eyebrow, yet stands with me, taking my hands to do so.

With my accomplice gone, I walk over to the inert hobgoblin flesh bag. After a brief search, heavy blunt tools aren’t to be found in a clinic room, yet sharp scalpels in different sizes and shapes abound. With surgical precision, I cut tendons in the body’s ankles and wrists and apply wound plasters to prevent blood loss. A knocking about the doorway alerts me to her return. I look up and she is forcing a gurney through the doorway. I rush to assist and shortly after we have the sedated human body of the Agent upon the slab.

She glances my way and rushes to the console. From behind the console, she hands me an instrument and my quizzical look must explain everything.

“When the hobgoblin opens his eyes press this end against his neck.” She points. “Then press the other end to inject.”

“What about me?”

Tears form below her eyes. “I will need to kill you,” she sobs. “I can’t transfer your Spirit, yet while in the black you are able to see other guiding lights, the one to this ship, the one to the other ship and perhaps there are others. If not, you can return to this ship … although I regret to say, only upon his death.” She weakly nods to the unconscious Agent.

So that is why the familiar guiding light shone. What universal timing or co-incidence managed that one in a millennium chance.

While she is in a guilty mood I ask another question, “How did you know I could see other guiding lights?”

“When our magic is strong Shifters develop an empathy talent and while not enabling a complete personality examination, we can detect strong emotions and read the top-of-mind memories. This helps when we assume the identity of an existing person, although incredibly dangerous when we meet persons they know well. I am sorry for my intrusion … I needed to know who you really were before … well before I thought you could help without violent rejection.” Her eyes stare into mine. “I am sorry.”

I laugh, loud and long. Stress relief? An answer to a niggle that has been bothering me. Or celebration?

Wiping the laughter tears from my eyes I notice she is a couple of steps away and I lean forward to embrace her. She doesn’t struggle for release.

“Let’s do this, I hope you enjoy killing me.” I release her as I think of a wrinkle in our plan. “How will I find him? How long will he survive by himself, with no water or food?”

“He will be taken care of.” She speaks with such conviction I don’t question and simply accept.