Major Kincaide approached his target carefully, using the ample cover and his years of experience as a Ranger. It was funny, a lot of guys, not in the Rangers, tended to look down on their heavy use of stealth. James gave a low chuckle, thinking of that. Like he didn't get enough opportunities to prove his courage, he should take unnecessary risks to earn a bunch of jerks' respect? Not hardly.
Respect, that was something he'd been thinking about a lot lately. There was a time he almost obsessed over it. That had been one of the main reasons he became a Ranger in the first place. But you get a little older, you get a little wiser. These days, there were only two people who's respect he gave a damn about. Three, counting himself.
He was coming up on the target now. Target: not enemy to be killed, not hostage, or victim, or even beautiful woman to be rescued. Thinking that way, got you dead. Before the mission, and especially after the mission, you could think about just who those 'targets' were. You had to, or you'd lose your humanity. But during the mission, they were just targets. Still, he was glad that he was a Ranger. His targets were almost always enemies to be killed - or, rarely, people to be rescued. If he were air corps or artillery, his targets would usually include 'collateral damage', civilians, women and children that he couldn't think of as enemies, not before the mission, and certainly not after.
He squeezed under the heavy fabric that prevented visual acquisition. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the dimmer light. And there she was. He couldn't think of her as a target now, not in the usual sense. Prize would be a better word. The only thing separating him from his prize were the bars of the cage that held her.
That was a common mistake.
People tended to think of strength as proportional to size; and it was, in a way; but in different ways, depending on what kind of strength. A muscle or steel bar, one sixth of an inch thick, was only one thirty sixth as strong as its one-inch counterpart. But that was tensile, or pulling, strength, which was proportional to the thickness squared. The bending strength of a rod, on the other hand, depended on its moment of inertia (technically, its second moment of area) which, in turn, was proportional to its thickness to the fourth! A one-inch rod was thirteen-hundred times harder to bend than a one-sixth inch one. That was why minis were so flexible; bones, ligaments and tendons worked much the same way.
James braced himself against the bars and began to pull. He remembered one more factor from his micro-ops course. A bar was harder to bend, the thicker it was; but it was easier to bend, the longer it was. These bars looked about ten feet tall to him, but were actually only a little more than a foot. Effectively, he was only about six times stronger than if he and the cage had been full-sized - not thirty six. He was gratified and relieved, when he felt the bars give.
He entered the cage quietly, but not quietly enough. The woman, already stirring from the sound he'd made bending the bars, became fully alert. She looked over at the unexpected intruder in surprise.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
"I'm here to rescue you, milady," he said with a smile.
"Now that's just silly," she said, giggling. "Come over here, and I'll give you a kiss for your trouble. But then you've got to go. It won't do at all for my master to wake up and find you here."
"Is he a cruel one then, your master?"
"No, he's quite sweet," she said, "but do you really want him to find out about you, like this? This was your idea, after all. Let him get used to the idea of having a mini parent - or two. I told you before, that I thought he could handle it. Well, now I'm certain of it! But James, if we wait much longer, there could be other... complications. He might get used to having me... to himself. I think I should tell him today."
James pondered a moment. "Hmm, I worried a little about that. Are you sure that he hasn't gotten used to that already?"
"No," she said, "it'll be fine, but not if he finds us in here together! Then he would feel betrayed."
"Don't worry, it's only 04:30. We've got some time. And I have a mission to complete."
He grabbed her roughly and kissed her passionately.
"And a target to acquire."
He quickly tossed off her nightshirt. She didn't even know where his own clothes had gone, maybe she did it herself.
"And a duty to... fulfill."
"Oh, James!" she cried.
"Quiet, woman. You'll wake the baby."
"He's no baby any more."
"Just don't let him forget that you're his mom," he said, punctuating each word with a powerful thrust. "I'm his father, and you're his mom. His mom. His mom! Mom!"
"Mom. Mom!"
"What?" she said, in confusion.
"You were screaming," said Michael. "Were you having a bad dream?"
"Uh, no," she said, blushing. "I was... dreaming about your father."
"Oh," he said, with a knowing smile. "Did you know that minis blush a lot?"
"We ah," she blushed even deeper, "our blood vessels are very close to the surface."
"Do you need a minute," he asked, "or would you like to come watch me try to make breakfast?"
"Let me just wash my face first," she answered.
A minute later, she sat in the hollow of his collar bone and snuggled a bit closer to his neck than usual. As he started for the door, she noticed the mini dart sitting on his shelf, a souvenir his father had sent home two years ago, which she had given to Michael.
If it had struck an inch to the left, James would have been a minned. The bootleg potion Al Qaeda used would have turned him into a micro, possibly even smaller than she was, depending on how big a dose he got. Of course, she would have gotten minned too, to be with him; but the strongest pill you could legally get back then was a sixthy. Margaret wondered what that would have been like, towering over James? She suspected she would have been spending a lot of time on her knees. Maybe officially become his love slave, so that kneeling beside him would be expected.
O cursed dart, why didn't you fly true and send my James back to me?
Breakfast was fine. Eggs, toast and bacon. Don't burn them, and they're always good. Margaret got the bread from the bag and buttered it. She Wished she could do more, but she didn't let it bother her this time.
"So, Magpie," Michael started.
"Yes, Master?"
Michael ached his eyebrow. "Master?"
"Well," again with a blush; she tried not to be self-conscious of it. "I decided you were right. I want to have fun this week, but I also need to use it for a reality check. But just this week, OK? This week...."
She took a deep breath and continued, "you're in charge. Anything legal - um, anything that would still be legal, if I was normal size - you have the right to insist on. So... calling you Master, wearing a leash, being nude - actually, that wouldn't be legal in public, but it's still OK. What's left? Begging for food? Mini tricks? Piercings? Uh, let's agree no permanent body mods, OK? Otherwise, what you say goes.
But next week, big or small, it's back to Mom and Michael."
"Can I call you Magpie sometimes? When it's just you and me?" he asked.
"Well..." she said, "why don't we just wing it?"
Michael laughed.
"Anyway, you started to say something?" she asked.
"Oh, yeah," he said. "So, tomorrow's Memorial Day, so we'll go visit Dad, uh visit his grave, tomorrow. But you usually go to the Memorial Day service, the day before. I know how you don't want to go to our church today. So, I thought we could go to another one, downtown or something."
He got that out in a rush, and Margaret was surprised that this seemed so important to him.
"Why are you so anxious to go to church, all the sudden?" she asked.
"It's just, I thought you should try doing normal things... as a mini. Church isn't really my thing, Mom. I mean, I go and all, but it's always been real important to you. So, I thought you should see how that would be."
Margaret thought about it and realized that, once again, he was right. Church was a big part of her life. If being a mini made her too uncomfortable to go there, then that was one more reason to take the antidote and never touch another mini pill. On the other hand, if she knew that she could still go to church, that would be one less worry. She began to suspect that Michael had talked to Dr. Connors or someone. He didn't get all this insight from Minis for Dummies!
They finished breakfast and headed upstairs to get ready. Michael ran a little water in the sink, for her to wash off. She had bathed the night before, but it took so little time and water for her to bathe, that it made more sense than just washing her face and sweaty areas. Michael got out a can of sun screen.
"Of course, you'll dress for church," he said, holding up the can, "but I'm not sure where we're going after. Better be prepared. Don't worry, I promise I'll be as professional as the Mini Mart guy."
Margaret pouted only a moment, then remembered that she had already resolved to put modesty on hold for the week. She tossed off her nightshirt and quickly climbed into the water. When she was done, Michael let out the soapy water and used his hand to direct fresh water on her, so she could easily rinse without getting her hair wet. He wrapped a washcloth around her to lift her from the sink and dry her off. Then Margaret posed, holding her hair up, to allow him to spray her all over, with sun screen. Michael was very professional, but he did enjoy the view.
Church was a surprisingly normal and comforting experience. There were a few other minis there, and Margaret only stood out because she was the smallest and most conservatively dressed. She spent pretty much the entire service on Michael's shoulder, even standing and kneeling there, as appropriate. Margaret realized that she would need to start exercising, if she didn't want to get horribly out of shape, being carried around all the time. But she decided to wait and see what Michael came up with. It would probably be more fun, for both of them (if slightly more embarrassing for her), than anything she would suggest.
After church, they took a walk downtown, window shopping and just enjoying a sunny Sunday afternoon. It was much too hot for the dress Margaret was wearing, so Michael had her take that off. Margaret felt oddly liberated, wearing only a hat and collar. Even the leash (which she had not worn to church) was a comfort. She felt very secure on Michael's shoulder but knew that she would be an easy target for mini snatchers, without the leash.
They shopped for a while, especially enjoying the antique stores. Margaret had always liked antiques, but now they both looked at them with special interest. Antiques often contained nooks and crannies and sometimes even secret compartments, that would be exciting to explore at Margaret's size. Michael took her picture posing on or beside several interesting pieces. Then Margaret got the idea of climbing into the window display for a quick photo shoot. They liked this so much that they repeated it at two more antique stores, two clothing stores, a florist's, a toy store, a candy store and a photographer's studio. The Photographer was the only one to complain.
Heading back to the car, Margaret felt a sudden chill. Coming straight, deliberately, unavoidably towards them was Mary Henderson, her co-worker. She was not her friend. Mary had a wide and widening smile - never a good sign.
"Margaret!" she called out. "I can't believe it! You're so cute! You know, no one could believe that you had the guts to go to work, four feet tall." Margaret had been reduced to four foot six, for the past week, in preparation for the full reduction. But apparently Mary was rounding down.
"But now I see that we underestimated you - and your threshold for embarrassment. And this must be little Michael, not so little any more. He's gotten so big and strong and virile, I'm sure. I guess nothing beats home cooking. Congratulations on that, dear."
Margaret was mortified and struggled to compose herself. It was amazing how quickly one could go from artistically, liberatingly, nude - to vulnerably, humiliatingly, naked. She crossed her legs with as much nonchalance as she could muster, but there was no way to cover her breasts, without announcing to the world how embarrassed she was. Michael was obviously out of his depth here; and besides, this was her challenge, not his.
"Yes," she said, "Michael's taking excellent care of me during my vacation."
"Vacation? Surely you're not planning to go back to work after this?" Mary asked, genuinely shocked.
![Image](https://shrunken-women-board.com/phpBB3/download/file.php?id=10302)
"Of course," said Margret, beginning to feel a little more confident, "I can't afford a mini resort; I certainly can't afford to quit my job. I'll be back next Monday."
"Oh, really?" asked Mary, contemptuously. "You can't afford a mini resort, so you spend a week, playing naked with your little boy. Somehow, I doubt that your clients - or Fenton, Marsh and Marsha - will have quite so liberal an attitude."
"I don't see why they would have a problem with it," Margaret said, uncertainly.
"You don't see why they would have a problem with you spending a week as your boy's... toy?" Mary asked, incredulously.
"Mrs. Henderson, Mom's not my toy. I promised her I'd treat her like a mini this week - except," he emphasized, "I won't do anything that would be illegal if she was big. And I won't do anything that makes her uncomfortable. Maybe some parents couldn't trust their kids to keep a promise like that. But... I just feel sorry for them."
With that, he brushed past her and headed to the car.
"Thank you, Michael," said Margaret, as she snuggled next to him and kissed him lightly on the cheek.
"Jeff Henderson's not a bad guy, not really," he said. "But there's no way she could trust him like this - Susanne either, for that matter. She knows it, I know it, and she knows that I know it."
Margaret did feel a little bit sorry for Mary, as she thought about that.
"I'll still catch hell next week," she said.